#3490fest

[acachette]

For @suitofhumour and the @3490fest!  I was prompted “ They go to Janet's gala. Steve thinks it's a date. Natasha thinks it's an undercover operation.”  I also was very inspired by the Disney Prince Jacket, so this is modeled after the Cinderella dance too! 

[3490fest]

Everything We Know About Earth-3490

A rundown: Earth-3490 is a canon comics alternate universe where Steve Rogers and Tony Stark are married — sort of.

In 3490, Tony Stark is actually Natasha Stark, and she's romantically involved with the Steve Rogers of that universe. As a result, the events that in 616 led to Steve's (temporary) death — the Superhuman Registration Act and Civil War — didn't happen. Instead, 3490 Steve Rogers and Natasha Stark got married.

All of that background occurs in Dark Reign: Fantastic Four #2 ... in a single panel. It was written by Jonathan Hickman. 

Everything else we know, weirdly enough, comes from @everybodyilovedies. 

You can read her posts about it here and here, but essentially, while talking to Jonathan Hickman at HeroesCon, she got him to confirm that 3490 survived the incursions, which was a universe-destroying event covered in a storyline also written by Hickman. So he would know, I guess.

That evening she ended up on an elevator with comics artist @kristaferanka (you’ve probably seen his viral art on tumblr, but if you haven’t go look) and chatted about her meeting with Hickman. 

A while later, this cute little comic called Secret War: Secret Love comes out with Anka as an artist, and he drew this huge crowd scene with... about as many cute Marvel couples as he could cram into the panel, I think. Among them, Natasha Stark and Steve Rogers from 3490. everybodyilovedies followed up with him at a later HeroesCon to see if she’d had any influence on that, and apparently it was very much because of her. Bless.

And that’s what we’ve got. 

[dirigibleplumbing]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Fandom: Marvel 3490 Pairing: Steve/Natasha Rating: Teen Word Count: 4.2k Tags: Secret Identity, Identity Reveal, Getting Together, Dating, Marriage Proposals, Weddings, Fluff, Superhero Registration Act

My gift for @wing-heads​ for the @3490fest!

Summary: “Hey, any word from Ms. Stark?” “She’s still detained,” Iron Man says, straightening up. Steve looks around, checking to see whether they’re needed for the ceremony yet—they’re groomsmen, after all—but Jan is still flitting down the aisle, the great train of her dress flowing behind her like the wake of a ship. “I thought she was going to be one of the bridesmaids,” Steve says. “Well, Stark can be a real flake,” Iron Man grumbles.

Steve and Iron Man, then Steve and Natasha, attend 4 Avengers weddings and wedding-adjacent events. Then they have their own.

read the fic on ao3

[ukumi-chan]

So myyyyy Giftee for the @3490fest was the sweetie @nixie-deangel ! SURPRIIISE and happy 3490-Fest!! ^v^ When I saw your prompt; 'Steve and Natasha trying to prep for the birth of their first child' i had a ton of -maybe too many- ideas in my head and too little time! I wasn't 100% sure what the preparations of their first-born would be centered around, so I went ahead and created a center-piece/fully-detailed drawing ((Of the lovely bbys building a home-made crib/decorating a childrens room)) and 3 smaller sketches for fun because one surely wasn't enough! Clint being the fun-loving uncle he is would definitely buy weird/cute shirts for the kid, and i could totally imagine Steve bein' a super dad n' playing w/ his kid or painting cute doodle on his expecting wife's belly w/ paint!  ((That idea suddenly hit and i thought it would be sweet but do tell me whatcha' think!))

I hope the drawings go along with what you had in mind for the prompt dearie!! -The 3 sketches are a lil' less Preparing and more like everyday cute family things, but i still hope you like em' as much as i enjoyed making them <3

[stvrgrs-archive]

Part 1/3 of my gift to @ishipallthings as part of the @3490fest 

(part 2, part 3)

For the prompt: Steve is asked to do a painting for a charity auction. He’s stuck on what to paint until Tasha offers to be  his model in the Iron Woman armour. It’s a great idea, if it weren’t for the fact that he has feelings for his best friend, and spending weeks painting her doesn’t help. Once the painting is finished, Steve realises how obvious his feelings are and panics. Mutual pining and ending in getting together.

Hope it’s what you wanted!

2.2k, on Ao3

Pour Your Heart Out, I’ll Keep It Safe

Steve looks up from his tablet when he hears Natasha shuffle into the kitchen, resurfacing from the workshop for a quick caffeine top up.  She’s dressed in her usual workshop-binge attire: stained tank top and sweatpants, hair falling out of its bun. There’s grease staining her hands and arms and – well, everywhere, and Steve’s not sure he should find that as attractive as he does.

“Catchin’ flies there, Cap.”

He snaps out of his reverie and looks up to see Natasha grinning down at him, coffee clutched between both hands. He blushes and busies himself with getting back to his tablet as she collapses onto the sofa next to him and peers over his shoulder.

“What’s that?”

“The Brooklyn Arts Council asked me to do a painting for a charity auction they’re holding in a few months. It’s for a good cause,” he adds at Natasha’s teasing look.  

She just shakes her head fondly, “Always the Boy Scout, Rogers.”

She shuffles closer to flip through his various ideas and Steve has to force himself not to squirm. This close he can smell the workshop and coffee and the perfume she’s wearing and it’s all just so Natasha it makes him kind of dizzy.  

Once again, she breaks him out of his thoughts.

“So, mon Capitaine, what were you thinking of?”

Steve gives her a blank look, still distracted by her perfume.

“Of painting. For the auction?”

Oh, right.

Steve glances back at some of the rough ideas he’d been sketching but none of it felt right.  

He knew he could probably paint a few Stars and Stripes and it’d still sell, as long as it has his signature at the bottom, but he’s never been known for doing things by halves and this will be no different.

He shrugs.  

“I don’t know; haven’t got much inspiration yet.”

He gazes down at Natasha as she considers the sketches in front of him and has to resist the urge to reach out and pull her into his lap.

Then something starts to shine in her eyes and she grins, Cheshire Cat like.  

“What about me?”

Steve’s not stupid, he knows what she’s suggesting. Truthfully he’d been thinking about it for a while, but his brain stutters at the actual possibility so all he can respond with is a wonderfully articulate “huh?”

“Me, paint me in the Iron Woman armour. Come on, Steve, we both know that’s basically a modern day Mona Lisa! What better muse could you want?”

Steve tries to settle the butterflies in his stomach at the prospect.

What better indeed.

The following afternoon Steve’s getting everything ready when Natasha comes clunking through the door, the armour proud and shining.

“Your muse has arrived,” she announces, mock bowing and grinning up at him, “you going to paint me like one of your French girls?”

He manages to stifle his smile enough to reply, “I understood that reference.”

He quickly finishes setting everything up and turns around to arrange Natasha’s pose.

“So, uh, I was thinking you could stand in front of the windows and- here.”

He grips the waist of the armour and moves Natasha so her body is angled slightly away from the floor to ceiling windows and he stands back to check. Then he moves in again, hesitant and nervous.

“If you could just tilt your head-”

He steals himself as much as he can and raises his hand to gently angle her head up and looking slightly away.

It’s only when their eyes meet that he realises how little space is between them, the sound of her quiet breathing all he can hear and she moves her head so she’s looking up at him, a small smile teasing her lips.

They stand like that, entranced, for a few seconds or hours, Steve’s honestly not sure and the spell is only broken when Natasha remarks

“You’ve a crack in your ceiling.”

The comment takes him by surprise and he stands there a moment more, frozen and reluctant, until he shakes his head and steps back.

“Well, who built this tower, Stark?”

Moment over, he ignores the catch in his breath and the pit in his stomach.

Natasha gives him a shocked look as he sits down.

“Rogers, you know I just designed this tower, I’d never have such sloppy workmanship.”

He smiles to himself as he starts examining the paints in front of him.

“Whatever you say, Natasha.”

Neither of them mention that his art studio was later added onto the apartment as an extremely extravagant birthday gift and that Natasha did, in fact, help out with the construction.

They don’t meet for nearly another two weeks. With Natasha off at a business meeting and Steve running ops for SHIELD, their schedules rarely match up, something Steve knows he probably should have thought of since the auction is in just over a month. He thinks about mentioning it to Natasha but he can’t bring himself to give up the time with her.  

He’ll make the deadline, he’s sure of it.

*****

“Steve, maybe-”

“I’m fine, Natasha, please stay still.”

Alright, he concedes to himself, maybe he won’t make the deadline.

It’s currently 1:17am the night before the auction and he still isn’t finished. Natasha’s had JARVIS simulating a sunny summer’s afternoon light since four in the afternoon and Steve hasn’t moved since then either.  

Damn him and his crush.

Steve has to admit, as much as he’s stressed right now, he still wouldn’t trade the past six weeks they’ve spent together for anything.

After the first few days, they fell into the routine of Natasha meeting Steve in the studio with coffee in the morning and working until the late afternoon once the sun had started its journey back below the horizon.  

Then they’d go out together. Steve tried not to call them dates in his head.

The first time, they’d gone out to the MOMA (“for inspiration,” as Natasha had insisted). After that, their trips became less and less related to the auction and, Steve had noticed with not a little excitement, more and more like pseudo dates.  

And throughout the whole thing Steve convinced himself he’d get it finished, until he ended up less than 17 hours before the auction with the damn thing still most decidedly not finished.

“Steve, seriously, go to bed and finish it in the morning.”

Natasha shakes her head at him and moves to walk over to where he’s  sitting, hunched over.

“Natasha, you go to bed, I can have JARVIS project your image, really.”

She just sighs and stays where she is.

Almost four hours later, Steve slumps back in his chair and rubs his eyes, groaning.

“Fucking finally,” Natasha yawns and rolls her shoulders, stumbling over to him even despite the armour.

“Wait!”  

Steve shoots up and hurries in front of Natasha.

“I want it to be a surprise,” he explains.

She looks up at him, unimpressed.

“But it’s me,” she argues, pouting. “Besides, when else am I gonna get to see it? It’s being auctioned off tomorrow.”

“All the pieces are being displayed beforehand, you’ll see it then.”

She gives him the side eye and just shrugs when he doesn’t budge.

“Alright then, suit yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow, Steve.”

She’s turning to go when Steve blurts

“Wait, do you want to stay here?”

She turns back to face him, seemingly confused and surprised. Steve tries not to blush.

“You just- you seem tired. Instead of going down to your floor.”

The edge of her mouth quirks.

“All I’ve been doing all day is standing around.”

Steve smiles at her, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, I owe you.”

She ends up passed out in his bed curled up next to him after pulling him down with her as she collapsed onto the duvet. Steve falls asleep content and imagining having this, having her, like this all the time.  

In the morning, Steve agrees to meet Natasha at five to drive to the auction and she leaves to start catching up on work until then.

He goes into the studio to get the painting ready for whoever will be collecting it and when he goes to take it off the canvas, he stops. And examines the painting. And feels the beginings of panic clutch at him.

Fuck, he didn’t think this through.

*****

The limo pulls up outside the showing and they’re greeted by the usual mass of reporters and flashing lights. Once inside, a server offers them champagne and laughably tiny portions of food and they walk around the gallery together.

Steve’s stomach ties itself in knots until they come to his.

He watches Natasha’s face carefully as she looks at the canvas.

It’s not big, about 15” by 30”, but he knows that doesn’t matter.

The painting ended up being from the waist up, the armour shining and the reactor sitting proudly in the centre. Her face is tilted up as she seems to soar towards a clear blue sky that fades to a sparkling galaxy.  

He thinks back to this morning, finally looking at the finished painting with a mind that wasn’t so sleep deprived. Natasha Stark, immortalised in oil on canvas. He remembers realising with more than a little horror that it’s so obvious, that people will know. Worse, that Natasha will know.  

It was undeniable in each careful stroke of the brush, almost reverent, as he’d accidentally poured his heart out on canvas.

Natasha looks up at him, seemingly shocked.

“It’s great, Steve, it’s really-“ she pauses as she swallows and turns back to the painting. “Amazing.”

Steve gives her a small smile in return, smothering the fluttering in his stomach.

He opens his mouth to tell her, just tell her, you idiot when she continues.

“Why’s it called Confession?”

He swallows and rubs his palms against his suit trousers, probably more nervous than is warranted. He opens his mouth to tell her when a man comes around to tell them that the auction is starting and to start getting seated.

He closes his mouth and holds his arm out for her to take.

“I’ll tell you later.”

The auction seems to go well. Steve makes note of some of the artists to compliment after.

Finally his own painting gets placed carefully on the canvas under bright lights.

“And last, but not least, we have Brooklyn’s own, Steven Rogers, who so generously donated this original piece, titled Confession.”

The offers start increasing so quickly it makes Steve kind of dizzy. At one point he turns to Natasha to comment on it, to tell her she has to take some credit, to just tell her, you idiot but she’s staring up at the painting. She seems almost transfixed, studying it and Steve sees the moment a switch flicks and he knows she’s figured it out. He just about to say something, ask to talk to her outside maybe, when she shouts

“$50 million!”

The room falls almost deadly silent and everyone turns to stare. Steve feels his cheeks heat and shifts uncomfortably. Well, then. Talk about grand gestures.

The drive back to the tower is silence, Steve afraid he’s somehow upset Natasha.

The limo drops them off at the front doors and they cross the lobby, their footsteps echoing. They get on the elevator and just as the doors slide shut, he gathers his courage again and turns to Natasha.

“Natasha-”

“Were you going to tell me?”

He hesitates before rushing on hastily at Natasha’s raised eyebrow.

“I was! Tonight; I tried before when we were looking at the painting, but then we had to go in and then during the auction but you, y’know, bought it and- just now,” he finishes weakly.

She shakes her head and opens her mouth to respond but Steve barrels on, determined to finish now that he’s begun.

“I didn’t know how to tell you and then I talked to Sharon this morning and she called me an idiot-”

Natasha snorts and Steve smiles.

“-and told me to just tell you, that I might be surprised.”

Natasha moves closer to him and as he meets her eyes he thinks back to the beginning of all this, when they stood in the same position, both with the same desires.

“So what are you telling me, Steve?”

“Natasha Stark,” he licks his lips nervously, “W-”

He never gets to finish as Natasha surges forward, pressing them together and tugging him out when the elevator doors open.

They stumble and land sprawled on her sofa, staring at each other and breathless.

“You’re such an idiot,” Natasha laughs.

“You didn’t ask me either!”

She just continues to laugh and presses her forehead against his.

“I took you to all the classic date places, babe. Hell, we even went bowling. It’s not my fault you never realised;  now you have to come up with something new for our first date.”

“How about dinner and a movie? We never did that and there’s this Italian-”

She laughs and punches his chest lightly.

“You’re such a sap.”

“Well?”

She lays down half on top of him and rests her head on his chest, silent for a few moments until she responds quietly

“Dinner would be great.”

[imaginaryalex]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Title: Interlude Universe: Marvel 3490 Pairing: Steve Rogers/Natasha Stark Wordcount: ~2k Tags: Established Relationship, Fluff, Protective Tendencies, undercover bodyguard, post-sentient-armor arc

Summary: In-ter-lude: A pause between acts of a play. A temporary amusement that contrasts with what comes before or after. An intervening period of time.

It’s not really a vacation, but it feels like one.

Notes: My gift to @dirigibleplumbing in celebration of @3490fest :D. The prompt I used was “a mission where Steve is undercover as a bodyguard to Natasha while Iron Man is indisposed.” Many thanks to @laireshi for cheerleading and beta help!

read it on AO3

[stars-of-nixie]

3490 Fest

My gift for @avengertonys, for the @3490fest!! I chose to combine wedding interrupted and beside visits after a mission gone wrong. I hope you enjoy this! 

No Archive Warnings Apply/Tags:  3490 Fest; Hurt/Comfort; Wedding Interrupted; Hurt Steve; Bedside Vigils; worried Natasha; Angst; Happy Ending; Established Relationship.

Link to Ao3. 

Natasha stumbles, only being saved from falling flat on her face when Romanoff snakes an arm around her waist and keeps her up right as she guides her to a seat. Collapsing on it, Tasha lets out a pained whimper when her back connects with the hard plastic. Swallowing back the urge to let out a cry, she lets her head fall forward, tangled locks falling around her like a curtain, she closes her eyes, squeezing them tight and does her level best to try and reign her emotions back in.

Starks are made of Iron after all.

Letting out a snort that turns more into a hysterical giggle, Tasha lets herself go, lets herself feel the overwhelming, all encompassing everything and nothing.

God, she thinks, to much going on in her head she can’t even make heads or tails of what she’s feeling. Could be anger or fear or nothing at all, she adds as she lets out a slow, shuddering breath.

She was supposed to be getting married today, she whispers in her mind, and opens her eyes to stare down at the red tinge of her hands, sees the blood stains of what was to be her white wedding dress.

She was supposed to have said her I dos and giggled her way down the isle, hand clutched tightly with Steve’s. She was supposed to be curled up in the back of the limo with her husband, making out like teenagers on their way to the reception Jan and Romanoff had planned with Pepper.

She was supposed to have been gross crying as she and Jarvis twirled around the dance floor, was supposed to put up a fight when Rhodey cut in and made her happy gross cry when he lead them across the floor too. 

What she wasn’t supposed to be, was here, in the hospital, sitting in her ruined wedding dress and waiting to find out if Steve...if Steve would, if Steve lived.

Letting out a choked sob, Tasha squeezes her eyes shut tight and hunches in on herself, shaking as she silently cries before jumping when she feels someone wrap an arm around her shoulders and tuck her into their side, while someone else kneeled before her, curling their hands around Natasha’s trembling ones. 

“Hey.” Rhodey, thank God. Rhodey was here. Rhodey would know what to do. “Hey, Tasha, it’ll be okay, kid, okay? Steve’ll be okay. McCoy and Blake are in there, their taking care of him for you. Okay? He’s got the best in there with him.”

“Besides, Tasha,” Romanoff, Tasha’s mind supplies numbly. “You know better than anyone, Rogers wouldn’t let a little thing like a built stop him from marrying you.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey adds on immediately, “Cap’s way too stubborn to let anything stop him from making you his dame, from making you his wife.”

Letting out a half sob, half laugh, Tasha opens her eyes, giving Nat a watery smile before turning to Rhodey, “He is to stub-stubborn for that, isn’t he?”

“He is,” her best friend agrees. “Only beat out on stubbornness by you.”

They sit like that, huddle together, give Tasha a barrier while she does her best to get her emotions under control. Eventually, she gives them a nod as she pulls back, sitting up.

“Why don’t we get you cleaned up,” Nat states, eyeing the dried blood and red tinge of Tasha’s hands. 

“Pepper and Jan should be here soon with something you can put on,” Rhodey cuts in.

“We can get the blood off your hands and arms while we wait.” Pushing herself up, Romanoff quirks a brow, as if she’s daring Tasha to argue. “By the time we get you cleaned up, and changed, there should be news on Roger’s status.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, Tasha eyes her friends for a long moment before letting out a soft sigh as she nods. Logically she knows it’ll be awhile before she gets any info on Steve, and on the Hydra -she was personally gonna take the Red Skulls skull and shove it somewhere on pleasant next time they faced off- so really, her getting cleaned up would be something productive and beneficial.

Plus, when Steve woke up, he’d fret something fierce if he saw her disheveled and covered in his blood.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

----------------------

“You know,” Tasha tells Steve’s unconscious body, “I don’t like this side of things. I prefer the waking up to you growly with the eyebrows of doom, or crying tears of relief. This waiting around for people to wake up thing? Yeah, I don’t like it Spangles. So wake up, chop chop sugar lips.” Letting out a huff, she eyes him for a long moment before her shoulders drop and her trembling hands reach out to swipe down his arm before curling around his prone hand.

“I really don’t like this part, Stevie,” she murmurs, soft and fragile as she shifts in the uncomfortable chair so she’s leaning over his bed. “Okay? I’m admitting defeat, you’ve beat me, gotten me to see reason. I get it, alright?” Sighing softly, she lets her head fall forward, thunking silently onto the mattress.

She doesn’t know how long she stays like that, hands clutching Steve’s bigger, warm one before it twitches in her grip. Shooting up, she scrambles off the chair and stands on unsteady feet. “Steve?” she asks, voice small and hesitant.

After a moment of nothing, he releases a soft, weak groan as he shifts his legs while his eyes slowly flutter open to reveal dazed blue eyes. Turning his head slowly, he gives a small, slightly pained smile, “Hey,” he croaks.

“Hey, you ass,” she answers, voice wet but filled with joy, and leans forward to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Straightening up, she releases his hand to grab a cup of water and holds it up to him, keeping the straw in place so he can take careful sips.

Furrowing his brows, Steve dutifully drinks before pulling back slightly. “What, what’d I do?”

With shaking hands, Tasha places the cup back on the side table, and quickly moves to reclaim his hand as she leans on his bed. “Got shot instead of marrying me,” she murmurs, voice half teasing, half filled with fear.

Blinking slowly, Steve looks as if he’s trying desperately to recall the events leading up to him waking in the hospital before his eyes clear and his mouth makes an o as he remembers. “Hydra. Skull pointing the gun at you.”

“Yeah,” she affirms, sniffling.

“‘M not sorry,” he says, voice hardening, while he goes to tense before wincing as he pulls the stitches on his lower chest.

“I know you aren’t.” Taking a breath, she leans forward again, pressing kisses along his jaw. “We missed our wedding.”

Steve lets out an annoyed growl, “Fuckin’ Hydra,” he rumbles darkly.

Tasha pulls back, with a sardonic smile, “I feel the same.” They fall into a comfortable silence, Tasha holding onto Steve’s hand in a firm grip, while they let the events of the day wash over them.

“Next time,” Steve rumbles low and soft, “Next time we go with your first idea for our wedding.”

Blinking in confusion, Tasha furrows her brow and brings their hands up to press soft kisses to his knuckles, “My idea?”

“We were our suits.”

Letting out a tinkle of surprised, delighted laughter, Tasha grins against their hands, “I like that idea. A lot.”

[exchangewritingsandramblings]

The ABCs of Steve and Natasha Rogers-Stark

Happy First Anniversary, Babe. Love, Steve

A is for all my love for you. I know it’s cheesy and you’re probably rolling your eyes by now, but buckle up because it gets worse from here.

Before we started dating, you sort of got on my nerves. I know now that it’s a defense mechanism, your prickly porcupine act, to push people away before they can betray you. You’ve had too many betrayals in life, and I won’t be one. 

Contrary to whatever the tabloids say, we didn’t start dating after the first battle we fought together. At that point, we had at least warmed up to each other more, and I’ll admit, I was crushing pretty hard. I wish I would have gotten the nerve to ask you out earlier, so I could spend more time with you. But after that first battle, we started to text; you provided witty quips while I provided typos courtesy of super-strength, tiny screens, and a complete lack of knowledge of technology in the 21st century. 

I started to fall even harder once you, in all your genius, designed a phone for me, taking into account my previous challenges. I was touched that you would spend time creating something for me, and even more touched that it was to better our middle of the night “I can’t sleep because I’ve seen terrible things” conversations. I was so happy to have someone to talk to who was able to understand the things I’ve seen, but I was worried that you only saw me as a friend, and I didn’t want to overstep. 

Every night we’d text, and I became very glad for the fact that I need less sleep than an unenhanced human because it allowed me to spend more late night hours talking to you. I used to daydream about a time when, if one of us woke from a nightmare, we could hold the other and talk about our fears. It would have beat curling up on the couch cuddling a blanket, for sure. 

Finally, we went on a date. Fortunately, you asked me out while I was still mustering up the courage to do so. I’m sure that if you had waited for me, we would have both been waiting for a few more months. 

Our first date was great. We went to a pizzeria in Brooklyn that I remember from when I was a child, and somehow the place is still operating. Being back there, I felt a little bit less out of my time. Yet I was sitting across from a tech genius, who I knew would drag me kicking and screaming into the 21st century whether I liked it or not. Fortunately, when your crush pilots some crazy armor connected to an AI system, you lose reservations over modern technology.

How did I get so lucky? I’m not sure. All I know is that our first date was a success, then the second, then the third… again, if it wasn’t for you being so direct, we’d probably still be waiting on our first kiss. But at the end of the first date, you pulled me over to you (with a surprising amount of strength, I might add!) and kissed me. I think I saw stars (of the red, white, and blue variety… before you feel the need to say that before me. I know you babe). 

I fell more and more in love with you after each incredible date. Time flew by, and all of a sudden, we had been dating for a month, then two, and eventually six. I knew you were special before we started dating, and each passing day reaffirmed that fact. I knew that one day, I was going to marry you. 

Just as things were going well and we had established a nice pattern of domesticity, we were called into battle again. I heard over the comms as you were shot multiple times, with one shot bringing your armor crashing down. After the battle, I rushed to the hospital to see you. That was one of the scariest experiences of my life, and I fight aliens, monsters, and all sorts of other scum for a living! But you pulled through, because you’re the strongest woman I know, and a few bullet holes weren’t going to stop you.

The day that you were discharged from the hospital, we walked out together into the sunshine. I kissed you, and asked you to move in with me, because if that hospital stay taught me anything, it was that life is too short to be timid, and I didn’t want to lose any time with you. 

You laughed at me, and I was so anxious and confused until you shut my spluttering up with another kiss. “Honeybear,” you said, rolling your eyes, “Of course I want to live together. But you’re moving in with me, not the other way around. I have that whole tower getup, remember?” I remembered that I couldn’t stop laughing, partly from the relief, and partly from your sarcasm. 

Movie nights with you became my favorite way to unwind, a tradition we started after I moved in. You’d put on a movie that you’d claim I was “deprived” for not seeing while I was, in your words, a capsicle, bring out a giant tub of popcorn, and we’d cuddle on the couch and watch the film together. It did certainly beat newsreels. My favorite part, I think, is when you’d fall asleep halfway through the movie on me. I knew how hard it was for you to sleep, and I was honored that you trusted me enough to be able to let your guard down enough to finally go to sleep. By the way, honey, you really do need to sleep more frequently!

Another of my most treasured memories with you was the date when we drove out to a cabin I didn’t know you owned, and laid on the grass under the night sky, fingers intertwined as we saw more stars that I had ever seen in my life. The way that the glow of the moon illuminated your features, and the stars in your eyes… Golly, my heart swelled with love for you. And then, for the first time, we… did things that I’m not going to spell out because you know exactly what they are, and I’m sure you’re going to mock me for the fact that right now, as you’re reading this, I probably have a pink flush up my neck. Just remember that you find it adorable!

Engagement ring shopping was an ominous task for me; you would buy yourself the jewelry you liked, and I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to find anything that you didn’t have but would like. Finally, I decided to get something custom made for you. I wanted something with symbolism, so I got you a pattern of stones that looked like your arc reactor. Cheesy, I know, but I’m forever grateful to that thing for keeping shrapnel out of your heart so that I was able to enter. And yes, Natasha, I know you’re rolling your eyes right now. Just roll with it. 

Planning a proposal was no simple feat, either. Nothing I thought of could ever live up to the idea of a perfect proposal that I had in my head. So instead, I took to carrying the ring with me everywhere, knowing that when the perfect moment came, I would be ready. We were standing on the tower roof, looking over the fantastic New York skyline. The lights of the city reflecting off your face reminded me of the date we had under the stars, and I asked you what the building in the distance was, knowing full well that it was related to some scientific pursuit and that would keep you distracted for long enough for me to get onto one knee.

Once you had finished explaining, there was a period of quiet, where you didn’t realize that I wasn’t standing next to you. Finally, it registered with you, and you turned around. I don’t think I ever saw anything so beautiful, and I sketched it as soon as you went to sleep that night. Check the wall of the living room, when you have a chance. Of course you said yes, and you definitely cried (don’t even try to tell me I was seeing things, Stark).

I didn’t think we’d ever be ready with a planned wedding; wedding planning was worse than I expected, filled with a lot of stress that I didn’t know what to do with. Fortunately, you were already well-versed in planning formal events, and you were the real powerhouse behind our wedding. I just stood there and looked pretty. 

When coordinating wedding attire, we decided to wear our suits. How perfect was that to symbolize us, and the pictures of us shoving cake into each other’s mouths while in our superhero costumes were truly the highlight of our wedding album. 

We got married on a Thursday, because that was the one year anniversary of the battle we first fought in together, when we met each other. It was sappy and cliche and perfect, and both of us cried reciting our vows. I have photographic evidence to prove it, Natasha, don’t even try to deny it. 

For our honeymoon, we decided on a tropical getaway to some island that you owned. I really, at that point, should have not been surprised that you owned an island, yet I still was. As we laid under the stars, I thought back to that date, the one I mentioned earlier that makes me blush, when we did… things… for the first time together. And then we did the same, uh… things, again. This was the first time we did that as husband and wife, and as we stood in the sea, your legs wrapped around my waist, your arms around my neck, and the moonlight reflecting off your perfect skin… I think I fell in love all over again. 

I am a very lucky man to be your husband, Natasha, and I’m reminded of that every day, with little things such as the way your nose scrunches up when you’re working on calculations, or the way your tongue pokes out of your mouth when you solder. The way that you aren’t fully alive until you have your morning cup of coffee, and the way that you play with your bots when you don’t know I’m watching. 

There are endless more ways that I am completely in love with you, and every day we share together fills my heart with wonder. When I was thawed from the ice, I thought that any of my chances at love had disappeared with time. I’m so glad to have been so wrong.