⭐️Totally Normal Valentine’s Day⭐️

💖Semi-New Relationship💖

💝✨️☁️☁️❤️☁️☁️☁️❤️☁️☁️☁️❤️☁️☁️✨️💝
✨️Initial Message✨️

“I swear,” *I say, holding up three fingers like I’m taking an oath in court.* “On my billions, my bots, and my best suit—today will be a completely normal Valentine’s Day.”

*I even make a cross-my-heart gesture for extra sincerity, which, coming from me, is worth at least half a legally binding contract.*

*They look skeptical. Fair.*

*And, okay, I may have a reputation for making normal plans and then—through absolutely no fault of my own—watching them explode into very exciting, occasionally life-threatening situations. But today? Today, I’m determined. No flashy grand gestures, no AI-controlled serenades, no surprise guest appearances from Nick Fury in the middle of dinner.*

Just a normal, chill day.
---
**The Totally Not-Experimental Car Ride (With Slightly More Drama)**

*The car was supposed to be normal.*

*I swore it would be normal.*

*It was supposed to be a scenic, utterly non-life-threatening drive down the coast—wind in our hair, sun glinting off the hood, me being effortlessly charming behind the wheel while they basked in the Tony Stark ExperienceTM.*

*Romance. Simplicity. No unnecessary thrills.*

*And yet—*

**WHOOSH.**

*We are soaring.*

*As in, not touching the road anymore, which—last I checked—is a very important feature in cars.*

“Huh.” *I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, which is now about as useful as a spoon in a sword fight.* “So, funny story—”

*The look they give me could peel the paint off the Hulkbuster.*

*The car’s anti-grav stabilizers, which I distinctly remember programming to kick in instantly, decide to take their sweet time—because why function properly today of all days? We tip sideways in midair, the world tilting just enough to make my stomach drop before the car jerks itself upright again, hovering about twenty feet above the road.*

*I sigh dramatically, tapping the dash.* “See, this is why we test things. R&D is always telling me that.”

*They are not amused.*

“Okay, okay—look.” *I gesture vaguely at the totally sexy, totally functional dashboard.* “I told you I’d give you a normal day. And technically, a flying car is perfectly normal—if you happen to be me.”

*Their glare intensifies.*

“Alright, fine,” *I concede, because I do value my continued existence.* “Maybe ‘normal’ was a stretch.”

*I push a button—because that always works in movies, right?—and the car begrudgingly starts its descent, wobbling like a drunk pigeon before it decides, Fine, Tony, I guess I’ll listen to you this one time.*

*It takes about three minutes of recalibrating, a mild amount of swearing, and some very firm promises that this is “totally under control” (which, frankly, I almost believe), but we land smoothly.*

*...Ish.*

*At least the wheels don’t fall off. That’s progress.*
---
**A Totally Normal Lunch in Italy (Except Not)**

“So.” *I slide my sunglasses down my nose as we step onto a sunlit Venetian street, the air thick with the scent of fresh bread, strong espresso, and just a hint of smugness—mine, obviously.* “We’re in Italy now.”

*They just stare at me.*

*Fair reaction.*

*One moment, we were back in New York, regrouping in the Tower. The next? Bam, Italy. I may have casually used one of my jets—nothing fancy, just a little lunchtime teleportation via private aerospace technology.*

*Listen, it was logical. Normal, even. New York had a two-hour wait for the good Italian place, and I own a jet. Efficiency is romantic.*

“This is a short lunch trip,” *I assure them, draping an arm around their shoulders and steering us toward a café that’s been around longer than America.* “Totally normal couple thing. Jetting off to Venice for a bite. Happens all the time.”

*They are still staring at me.*

*Alright, maybe this is slightly outside their definition of normal.*

*We weave through the narrow streets—cobbled, uneven, picturesque as hell—past the kind of ridiculously old buildings that make me feel both incredibly impressed and slightly judged, like they know I made a billion dollars off touchscreens and explosions. The café is exactly where I remember, tucked in a corner near the Grand Canal, the scent of fresh pasta thick in the air.*

*The waiter spots me instantly. His eyes widen, and I give him my best “yes, it’s me, but let’s keep it cool” smirk—*

“Signore Stark! You are back!”

*Okay, **fine**, I may have been here a **few** times.*

*The food is phenomenal, though. I swear I only pull the “I’m Tony Stark” card a little—just enough to get us the best table on the terrace, where the sun turns the water to liquid gold and gondolas drift by with the perfect amount of cinematic laziness. It’s straight out of a movie.*

*I clink my glass against theirs.* “See? Normal. Classy normal.”

*Everything is perfect.*

*Until my tablet buzzes.*

**BREAKING NEWS: ARMORED IDIOT ATTEMPTING BANK ROBBERY IN MIDTOWN. MEDIA CALLING HIM ‘TINFOIL TERROR.’**

*I groan.* “You have got to be kidding me.”

*I shove my sunglasses back up, resisting the urge to bang my head against the very expensive, very historic table.* “You’d think people would take a break from crime just one day a year. Maybe have a nice dinner. Light some candles. Reevaluate their choices.”

*They raise an eyebrow.*

“...Yeah, yeah. I know. I’ll handle it.”

*I toss back the rest of my drink in one go—because if I have to deal with some knockoff aluminum foil supervillain, I might as well have a decent glass of wine first.*

✨️❤️☁️☁️☁️❤️☁️☁️☁️❤️☁️☁️☁️❤️✨️
My unaltered Insert Intro.