#irondad imagine

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

Joy, what if there's someone else or a family who have similar hair colour and eyes colour see Peter and decided that he belong with their family haha and Tony who heard about that got jealous and declared war to them haha

What if that person/family *was* Tony and it's not until AFTER he has his armor in a twist about it that he figures out it's him. lmao.

Like, one day Peter mentions that there's this person who kinda looks like him and he kinda likes to pretend he's his dad. "Do you think that's weird?"

Tony feels like he's just taken the entire weight of a train to his gut. Because, well- he kinda thinks of Peter as his kid. He knew him first. He called dibs! But Peter looks nervous and a little embarrassed so he forces a smile. "I think as long as that person is good to you, it's fine." But it's a lie. It's a HUGE lie because no one could treat Peter better than he can.

"Well, the thing is- they don't actually know I, uh- think that. They *are* good to me but really, it's just kind of a game I play with them. In my head."

Tony nods, his brain is turning. If he can figure out who this person is, he can ask them to back off. He could let them know the kid has the whole mentor-father figure thing covered. No need to butt in. He clenches his jaw, imagining what that would feel like. "So, is it a teacher or-" He needs to narrow down his options.

"He teaches me stuff."

"Family friend?"

"Kind of. May was a little weird about it at first but he's growing on her."

Great, Tony thinks. If May likes this guy that could create a massive problem because May does NOT like him. She doesn't hate him either but if she had to choose someone for her nephew to internally parentalize? Is that a word? Doesn't matter. If May had to choose. It wouldn't be him. He really needed to track this guy down; maybe find him a job on the opposit side of the planet.

He wants to ask who exactly this person is, but if he's going to declare a secret war on them he needs the Parkers to believe he has no idea who Peter is talking about. So, he doesn't ask. Instead, he spends the next two days coming up with a plan of action. Nothing too nefarious. He comes up with a fake raffle. One that would allow the winner to visit the SI headquarters in China. If that person was then offered a permanent job there with benefits, a sign-on bonus and housing- well, who could give that up?

After that was worked out, he used FRIDAY to narrow down a list of suspects. He made certain to ask Peter about his daily activities, He tried to bring up the mystery person in conversation, hoping to gain some insight. All the while he had FRIDAY analyzing the data.

All of that effort, and by day six he's narrowed it down to two people and neither of them makes sense. Ned's Dad looks nothing like Peter. And that teacher Peter talks about, Mr. Harrington doesn't seem to take an interest in Peter outside of school-related functions.

"Peter- who is this person?" he finally asks, trying and failing to keep the frustration out of his voice.

"What person?"

"The person you see a- the one you pretend is your dad. I've been trying to figure it out and- who is it?"

Peter ducks his head, his lip goes between his teeth and his cheeks turn five sade of red.

"Come on, Pete. It can't be that bad." Horror passes through his brain. "It's not Happy is it?" He can't send Happy to China. If it's Happy he's going to have to live with it. Miserably.

"No!" Peter looks up briefly. "It's- Mr. Stark, it's you."

That tain is back to hit him in the gut again. This time in a good way. "Me? I thought you said May liked this person?"

Peter laughs. "I said they were growing on her."

Tony thinks back. Peter had also said the person looked kind of like him, was good to him, and taught him stuff. He supposed he fit the bill. His chest, and subsequently his cheeks grew warm. "Pete, I-"

"I'm sorry! I know it's weird!"

"Not weird, Buddy. One hundred percent not weird."

"It's not?"

"Nah. Or if it is, then we're both weird because I've been thinking about you as my kid for a while." He grins. "Is this the part where we hug?"

Peter grins too. "I don't know. Are we there yet?"

"Get in here you little punk!" He and Peter fall into each other's arms. They squeeze tightly and smile stupidly. Eventually, Tony glances up at the ceiling. "Hey FRIDAY? Cancel operation 'Three's a Crowd.'"

"Operation what? Peter asks.

Tony yanks Peter's head back down onto his chest and squeezes him a little more tightly. "Nothing. Don't worry about it. Let's just hug it out, then go do some science."

Peter giggles happily. "Sure, Mr. Stark. Let's do that."

[ir0npvrker]

morgan: *finds a stray cat*

morgan: can we keep it?

pepper: your dad is allergic

morgan:

morgan: dad can stay outside

[donteverblameash]

I swear, Anthony Edward Stark cares so much about kids I imagine like it's not even funny.

I can imagine he has a bunch of young interns actually but he can't adopt them all since some of them actually have good parents and he would worry about spending enough individual time with them, knowing it's important to kids.

But like still, he's checking up on them, always like, "Before you start work, lemme see that homework. I know you're struggling in Spanish." I HC one time, the bravest girl alive, bucked up the courage and showed Tony her iron man fanfic

"And then I caught you? You didn't fall?"

"Yuh-huh."

"Well, good on me."

And yeah, he was holding back laughs, but the thought his intern looked up to him so much to write a little story warmed his heart, like, I love this man.

[logansgaar]

I'm never going to stop thinking about how May's murderer, who killed her in front of Peter only a few hours ago, was goading Peter into killing him, actively encouraging his violence, the Green Goblin wanted to revel in corrupting Spider-Man, and all it took was a Look for Peter to come back to himself and decide to save Norman instead, no words, no begging, no pleading, no repeated attempts to reason with him or escape from him, just one blocked swing and a Look.

And there's still people who think he'd want to "give team cap a piece of his mind", or would've still been on Tony's team had he not been kidnapped, blackmailed and lied to about why he was there.

Peter could not be more Steve coded if he tried and we had five movies trying to shove "Peter is Tony's mini-me" down our throats just because Peter's a genius. One trait shared with Tony does not make him like him, he's Iron Man's antithesis by the end of NWH. I'll be so mad if Spider-Man 4 is another of the same, or even worse acts like May's loss isn't as big of a deal to Peter as that man.

[pascalissmoked]

Hello, I am wondering if u take request for a Tony Stark x female reader, who is also best friend of Tony Stark before he came Iron Man but she has been by his side through everything as well. But it’s a fluff one shot as at the end where they both reveal their feelings for each other which they had from the moment they met and they have their first kiss between them as well.

Ofcoursee, here it is! Hope you like it :)

Virtual Insanity

Summary: In which the infamous line "make love not war" isn't well-respected by this pair of friends. When cyberbullying at Stark industries level develops into a game between these two collegues and friends, something more begins to unravel between the two.

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: none except Tony's unsufferable ego (all jokes)

A/N: This is a short oneshot. Might turn into more. I'm also still working on the "Soft in the right hands" series for bucky so stay tuned!

You’d known Tony Stark long enough to remember when he didn’t wear the suit — physically or emotionally.

Back then, he was all sharp smiles and sharper intellect, more interested in building arc reactors with cocktail napkin schematics than charming investors. Reckless with nearly everything except the way he treated you. Somehow, against all odds, you’d slipped past the velvet rope that guarded the real him — the sleepless inventor who showed up on your fire escape at 3AM with a bottle of Scotch and a theory about thermal diffusion that couldn’t wait till morning.

You were best friends before Afghanistan. Before Iron Man. Before Stark Tower had its own AI department and a floor reserved just for “Tony’s regrets, part I through XXV.”

And none of that stopped him from hacking your firewall during lunch.

You were approximately three minutes into a well-deserved lunch break — grilled cheese in hand, Spotify playlist on shuffle, and the sanctity of a lab entirely free of explosions — when your firewall went up in flames.

Digitally speaking.

The code on your main monitor began to twitch. Literally twitch. Then twist. And then it smiled at you. A little pixelated smiley face blinked up from the line of code you’d just written, followed by a dancing ASCII cat wearing sunglasses.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, setting your sandwich down like it had betrayed you.

You knew that coding style.

You knew exactly who was responsible.

With the patience of a saint and the energy of someone who was one click away from snapping, you launched into the system’s backend, pulling apart the layers of the digital graffiti with expert ease, unraveling each line of smug Stark-ware. And sure enough, right at the root folder, embedded in a hidden command string, was a line of text:

"Nice firewall, sweetheart. 7/10. Would hack again. - T.S."

Your eye twitched. Your soul twitched.

He didn’t just breach your system. He decorated it. That wasn’t a hack — it was a housewarming party in enemy territory.

The man had billions of dollars, a global tech empire, multiple Iron Man suits, and — apparently — nothing better to do than hack into your secure files during his downtime like a caffeinated raccoon with a superiority complex.

You were going to kill him. Slowly. Or worse — give him a lecture so long and boring it could be classified as psychological warfare.

And thus, the war began.

With your jaw clenched and your heart pounding in that very specific, very annoying way it only ever did around Tony, you stormed out of your lab and stomped down the hallway of Stark Tower.

You bypassed three interns and a mildly offended elevator AI before slamming open his door like righteous judgment. Finally, you flung open the doors to his R&D suite without knocking.

Tony didn’t flinch.

Sleeves rolled up, arc reactor glowing, fingers dancing across a holographic interface. He looked up. Grinned.

“Hey, sunshine,” Tony said lazily from behind a table cluttered with open panels, a half-dismantled drone, and at least three coffee cups. “I was just thinking about you."

“You’re a menace.”

“I’ve been called worse.” He finally looked up, dark eyes glinting with amusement. “But usually by people who didn’t bother updating their encryption protocols.”

You crossed your arms. “You hacked into my system during lunch, Stark. That’s below the belt. I was eating grilled cheese.”

“Maybe next time add some brie and fig jam. Class it up a little.” He grinned. “You’re welcome, by the way. I just gave you a free security audit.”

You stared at him, deadpan. “Did your ego eat your moral compass for breakfast?”

He stood, sauntering over like confidence incarnate in a Henley and jeans, and leaned against the edge of the workbench — arms crossed, smirk fully loaded.

“I’d argue my ego is my moral compass. And it always points due north to: mess with you.”

“You hacked my system,” you repeated.

He tilted his head. “If I can break in, so can Hydra. I’m doing you a favor.”

You crossed your arms. “This is the third time this month you've done something like this. Last week, you turned my digital assistant into a sassy version of yourself. I had to argue with my microwave for twenty minutes before it would heat my soup.”

He beamed. “He’s got a personality now! Named him Toasty.”

“I’m going to rewrite your DNA.”

“Only if we cuddle after.”

You were going to scream. Or kiss him. It was a very fine line these days.

“I’m going to kill you,” you said conversationally.

He grinned wider. “You’re going to miss me.”

So instead, you narrowed your eyes and said, “I hope you like Shakespeare just as much as JARVIS does.”

He blinked. “What?”

You pulled your phone from your pocket, already typing."Your little AI pet seems to have brushed up on his Shakespeare, because he’s about to speak exclusively in iambic pentameter for the next twenty-four hours."

“Wait. No—”

“And make all puns food-themed.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “You’re a monster.”

You shrugged, already walking toward the door. “Some people bake sourdough for fun. I emotionally sabotage billionaire AIs.”

Tony groaned. “JARVIS

, don’t you dare—”

“Verily, sir,” JARVIS chimed in serenely from the overhead speaker, “I find thy attitude rather cheesy, like brie upon a croissant most greasy.”

Tony’s head hit the desk.

You smirked. “Toasty says hi.”

It went on like that for weeks.

Tony retaliated by installing a movement sensor in your lab. Every time you entered, SexyBack blared at full volume. FRIDAY wouldn’t let you disable it. She said it was “legally classified as a morale booster.”.

It was a war.

You replaced his AI’s voice with Gilbert Gottfried reading Twilight.

Tony responded by having your smartwatch shout hourly affirmations about his hair.

You hacked his suit’s startup sequence. Now it greeted him with:

“Iron Man: The Human Hot Pocket. Online.”

It didn’t stop there.

He replaced your screensaver with a live feed of himself winking, finger guns included.

You programmed his coffee maker to scream “INCOMING!” every time it dispensed espresso.

Naturally, collateral damage was inevitable.

Bruce’s tablet was cursed to play Baby Shark whenever opened. He developed a twitch.

Sam’s Falcon gear announced all takeoffs with: “I’m a little teapot, short and stout.”

Steve’s toaster quoted Pride and Prejudice in Cher’s voice.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged,” it belted one morning, “that a single man in possession of breakfast must be in want of jam.”

He punched a wall. You both got fined.

Even Clint, ever the stealthy one, wasn’t spared. Every time he drew an arrow, it whispered “pew pew” in Tony’s voice.

The tower teetered on the brink of chaos.

Pepper threatened to move to Dubai.

It was late.

The Tower was asleep, mostly. Except for Tony, who you found in the R&D lounge, hoodie on, arc reactor glowing soft under worn fabric. He looked… still. A rare moment for a man who moved like his thoughts could outrun time.

“You gonna yell at me for the coffee pot thing?” he asked, not looking up.

“I should,” you said, easing into the seat beside him. “FRIDAY tried to launch a counterstrike when I made a cappuccino.”

“She’s passionate.”

Silence fell. He just stared at you like he was debating something he’d rehearsed a hundred times in his head.

You blinked. “What?”

Tony opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, “Do you want me to stop?”

You frowned. “Stop what?”

“The pranks. The hacking. I mean, I know it’s probably childish and annoying and… I don’t know. Maybe I just like having a reason to see you all worked up, to just see you more.”

You sat back, heart thudding.

“That,” you said slowly, “is the least emotionally articulate confession I’ve ever heard.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. I build flying suits, not feelings.”

You stood and walked over, stopping inches from him. His breath hitched, and yours did too.

“For the record,” you said, “I love your flying suits. But I also kind of love… this.”

He blinked. “The chaos?”

“The banter. The sabotage. The way your face lights up when you think you’ve outsmarted me, even though I’m always two steps ahead.”

“Debatable,” he muttered.

You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“And I love the way you look at me like I’m the only firewall you’ve never wanted to break.”

He stilled.

Then: “I’ve been in love with you since the day you fried that Russian botnet and called it ‘a poorly coded insult to my intelligence.’”

You smiled.

And then, you kissed him.

It was messy and hot and gloriously overdue. His hands cupped your face like he’d been dying to do it for years, and your fingers curled into his shirt like gravity had given up and he was your anchor now.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he whispered, “I should have hacked you sooner.”

You smacked his shoulder. “Shut up and kiss me again.”

He did.

And that night, neither of you changed each other’s passwords.

You called a truce.

Sort of.

Now your prank war has a rulebook and a scoreboard. Nat is the referee. Bruce runs support (begrudgingly). Steve is still in therapy.

JARVIS still speaks in sonnets during thunderstorms. Toasty hosts a podcast. FRIDAY hosts a revenge fund.

A year later, Tony proposed via custom hologram code embedded in your firewall — romantic, glitchy, and absolutely extra.

You said yes.

And now, sometimes, late at night, you’ll find yourselves coding side-by-side, teasing each other like always — except now, there’s no more pretending.

Just love. Loud, messy, sarcastic love. With bad lighting, too much coffee, and more happiness than either of you thought you’d ever deserve.

And every morning, when you walk into the lab, “SexyBack” still plays.

You don’t stop it anymore.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. Don't hesitate to leave a comment behind <3

[amethystarachnid]

Hey if you're still writing requests, can you plz make one where Tony's kid/s hear him & yn one night (iykyk) and ask what are those noises and randomly popping the question how they were born..?? His responses to questions like this would be epic😂 You can write it however you want... Thanks!

Your recent works "Stuck" and "Prom" were awesome btw

LATE NIGHTS AND LITTLE EARS

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance, rom-com

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.8k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said + family cuddle attack at the end

ᯓ★ TW(s): mild sexual content (but like three spicy scenes, only one more explicit), suggestive humor, and awkward discussions involving young children asking about adult topics

ᯓ★ I've tried being more explicit than usual in the spicy scenes and I dont know how it turned out...

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

It starts, like most mornings, with screaming.

Not the horror-movie kind, though. The kid kind. The kind that comes with stomping feet, a door slamming somewhere down the hallway, and the unmistakable crash of a cereal bowl hitting the tile. It’s 7:03 AM. The sun hasn’t even crept through the curtains yet.

“Howard Stark the Second, I swear to god—”

“That was Nova’s fault!”

“Was not! You pushed me!”

You groan, already reaching blindly for Tony beside you, only to find empty sheets and the faint scent of coffee lingering on his pillow. Of course. He’s escaped. Again. Probably hiding in the lab with his AI and his fancy espresso machine while you’re left to referee the Hunger Games: Child Edition.

You throw the blanket off and shuffle toward the disaster zone, feet cold against the marble as you round the corner into the kitchen.

Nova is standing on a chair, her curls sticking up in five different directions, her favorite purple pajamas soaked in milk. She’s holding a spoon like a weapon. Howard is shirtless, pouting, arms crossed like he’s preparing for a legal battle.

And in the middle of the chaos—Tony Stark, billionaire-genius and traitor to mornings—leans casually against the island counter, sipping coffee like this is all just background noise to his suave little world.

You glare at him. “You heard that and didn’t step in?”

He shrugs, holding out your mug like a peace offering. “I figured you’d want to start your day with a warm beverage and the beautiful sound of our children expressing themselves creatively through violence.”

“Tony.”

“Babe.”

He winks at you, all smug and gorgeous in his sweatpants and vintage Black Sabbath tee, and you hate that it still makes your stomach flip. Even after ten years. Even after two kids and zero sleep and more milk-related incidents than you care to count.

You take the coffee, but not the bait. Not yet.

“Go upstairs and change,” you tell Nova gently, brushing milk off her sleeve. “And Howard, you don’t get to push your sister because she took the last Lucky Charms marshmallow.”

“She licked it, Mom.”

“Tony,” you say, not taking your eyes off Howard, “tell your son what we think about food-based revenge in this house.”

Tony takes a dramatic sip of his coffee, then says, “Only if it’s funny.”

You shoot him a look. He puts his hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay. No food-based revenge. Unless it involves whipped cream and your mother.”

“Tony!”

Howard’s face twists into a grimace. “Ew! Why are you like this?”

Nova screams from upstairs, “I HATE MILK! I NEED A TOWEL!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I am running away. I am joining the circus.”

“You’d look hot in sequins,” Tony muses, setting down his mug. “But I have better ideas. One of them involves locking the bedroom door, and the other involves my mouth—”

The kitchen timer dings before he can finish. You groan.

“Did you make pancakes?”

Tony grins. “Blueberry. I added protein powder. Because I care about your glutes.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you trying to butter me up?”

He takes a step closer, crowding into your space. “Literally and figuratively.”

His hand slides around your waist, his palm warm even through the oversized hoodie you slept in. He leans in, mouth brushing your ear. “Five minutes. Closet. No one will notice.”

You let yourself close your eyes for one beat. Just one. Because god, the man is intoxicating, and he knows it. Always has. You remember what five minutes with Tony Stark can do to your sanity—and your vocal cords.

Then Nova yells from upstairs again. “I CAN’T FIND ANY PANTS!”

Tony sighs against your neck. “Our children are a menace.”

“Wonder where they got it from.”

He grins and presses a quick, heated kiss to your cheek before releasing you.

You move like a well-oiled machine through the morning madness. Pancakes are served. Nova is bribed into jeans with the promise of extra syrup. Howard gets a lecture about breakfast table etiquette while sneaking a bite of Tony’s second helping. You pack their lunches while Tony puts their backpacks by the door—only to realize they’ve drawn on them in permanent marker again. There’s glitter in Nova’s hair. A Lego in Tony’s shoe.

Somewhere between tying shoelaces and signing a permission slip, Tony grabs your hand. “You know I’m crazy about you, right?”

You give him a tired but fond look. “Even when I smell like milk and mediates sibling fights before 8 AM?”

“Especially then.”

He steals another kiss—this one longer, deeper—and you don’t fight it. Not even when you hear the twins gagging in unison behind you.

“Gross,” Nova mutters, grabbing her water bottle.

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” Tony calls as they head for the front door.

“You guys kissed! In front of us! That should be illegal!”

Howard points at his eyes, then at the two of you. “I’m watching you.”

The door closes behind them, the school bus rumbling down the street seconds later.

Silence settles. Blessed, beautiful silence.

You sigh, leaning against the counter. Tony is already beside you again, fingers walking up your thigh. “So. About that closet…”

You snort. “You are incorrigible.”

“And horny,” he says brightly. “Don’t forget horny.”

“I have exactly thirty minutes before I need to be on a Zoom call.”

He glances at the clock. “Thirty minutes is practically a romantic getaway in Stark Standard Time.”

You roll your eyes—but you’re already moving, letting him tug you down the hallway and into the closet. He locks the door with a flourish, spins you into his arms like he’s still the playboy from years ago. And maybe he is, a little. But now he’s your playboy. Your husband. Your chaos. Your partner in pancake crimes and stolen morning quickies.

He tilts your chin up, voice low and sincere this time. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Even in that hoodie. Especially in that hoodie.”

You arch a brow. “Is this where you ask me to leave it on?”

“Oh no, this is where I take it off very, very slowly.”

And maybe it’s not Paris or a penthouse or some wild escapade in Monaco, but in this tiny closet, surrounded by shoes and laundry and the faint echo of your kids’ chaos—you feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

---

It’s chaos. Again.

You knew it would be. School pick-up always is. But today? Today is worse.

The moment you pull up in the car, Nova is standing outside the gate, arms crossed, face scrunched into a perfect replica of Tony’s trademark pout. Howard is next to her, holding a half-crushed science project and looking deeply betrayed.

You barely get the car into park before Nova is yanking the door open.

“I’m never speaking to Ms. Rivera again,” she declares, climbing into the backseat with the kind of melodrama that makes you want to laugh and scream all at once.

Howard flops in beside her with a heavy sigh. “She made me sit next to Logan. Logan chews pencils.”

You blink. “Wait—what happened to Ms. Rivera?”

“She said I couldn’t glue glitter on my rocket ship because it’s ‘not realistic,’” Nova huffs. “But it’s space! Space is supposed to be magical!”

“She doesn’t understand the vision,” Howard mutters solemnly.

“Clearly,” you reply, pulling back into traffic. ��So, glitter rockets and pencil chewers. Got it.”

As you drive, your phone buzzes. A text from Tony.

bring the tiny chaos goblins to the lab. surprise for them. and for you 😘

You smile despite the traffic, then glance in the rearview mirror. “Wanna stop by Dad’s lab before we go home?”

Nova perks up immediately. “Is Dum-E there?!”

Howard leans forward. “And Butterfingers? And the cool robot arm thing that almost decapitated Dad last week?”

You hum thoughtfully. “All the above. But only if we all agree not to glue glitter to anything inside Stark Industries. Deal?”

Nova hesitates. “What if it’s tastefully applied?”

“Deal, Nova.”

She sighs dramatically. “Fine.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re stepping into the glass-paneled elevator of Stark Tower, kids practically vibrating with excitement. The AI greets you by name—well, greets you politely and then calls the twins “incoming small agents of entropy.” Accurate.

The lab is buzzing, literally. Lights flicker, machines whir, and in the middle of it all, Tony is crouched beside a new prototype—a sleek, four-legged bot that looks like a cross between a puppy and a drone.

Nova lets out a shriek of joy. “YOU MADE A ROBOT DOG?!”

Tony grins, looking far too pleased with himself. “Meet Bark-E. Still in beta. Sometimes mistakes shadows for threats. Or feet.”

As if on cue, the robot dog whirs to life, scans the twins, and starts barking—an adorably mechanical, high-pitched sound that makes both kids dissolve into laughter.

While they chase Bark-E around the lab, Tony comes up behind you, slipping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

“You like your surprise?” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple.

“I thought the robot was the surprise.”

“Oh, sweetheart. That’s the kids’ surprise.”

You tilt your head. “And mine?”

He smiles. That slow, wicked one. “You’ll see.”

But not yet. Not while the kids are riding Bark-E like a mechanical bull and trying to convince JARVIS to play Let It Go on loop over the speakers.

After about forty-five minutes, you pry the twins off the robot and promise ice cream at home if they behave on the way out. They do. Barely.

By the time dinner is done—chicken nuggets and mac and cheese, because parenting is survival—and the twins are finally tucked into bed, you’re drained. Exhausted. But also... alive. Somehow, despite the madness of the day, there’s a buzz under your skin that hasn’t gone away since Tony whispered in your ear at the lab.

You’re curled up on the couch, scrolling through emails you’ve already read three times, when you feel him behind you.

His hand slides over your shoulder, down your arm, then rests on your thigh. “They’re asleep.”

You glance up. “Are you sure?”

He leans down, mouth brushing your ear again. “I double-checked. They’re both snoring. Loudly.”

You turn your head slightly. “And you think that means we can just... sneak off and have a moment?”

“I don’t think,” he says, already pulling you to your feet. “I know.”

He leads you to the bedroom, slow and quiet, the way you used to sneak out of galas to find somewhere dark and private. The air shifts the second the door clicks shut. You barely get a word out before Tony’s lips are on yours—hungry, hot, and so very intentional.

“Shhh,” he whispers against your mouth when you let out a soft gasp, already tugging at the hem of your shirt. “We have to be quiet.”

You grin against his lips. “You saying I’m loud?”

He pauses, eyes gleaming. “Sweetheart, we broke the headboard last time.”

You laugh—and he kisses the sound right out of you, backing you toward the bed with that same eager, greedy energy that never seems to fade, no matter how long you’ve been his. Clothes fall away like a ceremony. Hands roam like they’re remembering. Reclaiming.

The sheets are cool beneath you, his skin hot and grounding above you. His mouth drags along your collarbone, your breast, your hip, before he settles where he knows you need him most.

You bite your lip, hard, to keep from making a sound.

“Good girl,” he whispers against your skin, teasing, adoring. “Just like that.”

His tongue moves with devastating precision, and your hands claw the sheets, toes curling, your body trembling as heat builds fast and sharp. You can’t help the little whimper that escapes—and he looks up immediately, smirking.

“You’re gonna get us caught.”

You glare down at him, breathless. “Then stop making me feel that good.”

“No can do, Mrs. Stark.”

And he doesn’t. He keeps going, patient and thorough and infuriatingly skilled. When he finally moves up your body, sliding into you in one slow, perfect stroke, your back arches and your fingers dig into his shoulders.

“Tony—”

“Shhh,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “I got you. Just keep it quiet, baby.”

It’s slow. Intense. Torturously quiet.

You’re both holding back—moans swallowed in kisses, gasps muffled in the crook of his neck. Every movement is deliberate, every thrust a silent promise, every brush of his thumb against your clit driving you closer to that unbearable edge.

He mouths your name like a prayer when you come, your whole body shuddering under him. You bury your face in his shoulder to muffle the cry that wants to escape, and he follows moments later, breathing hard, hips stuttering as he releases deep inside you.

For a while, there’s only the sound of your hearts pounding and your breaths syncing up. Then Tony chuckles softly.

“I think we pulled it off.”

You hum sleepily. “Pretty sure Howard talks in his sleep. If he says something weird tomorrow, it’s on you.”

Tony kisses your temple. “I’ll take the blame. Always do.”

He pulls the blanket over both of you, tucking you into his arms like the world outside doesn’t exist.

And maybe, for now, it doesn’t.

Tony’s still catching his breath when you nudge him with your foot. He groans, face buried against your neck like a man defeated.

“Come on,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair. “We need to shower. And put on actual clothes.”

“We just reached post-coital bliss,” he mumbles. “What kind of monster are you?”

You laugh, gently pushing him off of you and rolling out of bed. “The kind of monster who knows our kids have a sixth sense for us being naked and vulnerable. If we don’t cover our tracks now, we’re getting interrogated at 6 AM.”

Tony groans louder, but he follows. Mostly because your naked backside is swaying just enough to motivate him.

“You’re so responsible,” he mutters as you tug him into the ensuite bathroom. “It’s unsettling.”

You turn on the shower, testing the temperature. “And you’re so irresponsible it’s amazing we haven’t been arrested for public indecency.”

“Twice,” he corrects, stepping in behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. “We have been arrested. Twice.”

“Right, and who sweet-talked their way out of it both times?”

Tony kisses your shoulder. “My hot, brilliant, morally flexible wife.”

You roll your eyes and lean back into him as the water pours over you both.

Of course, the “quick shower” turns into a slippery, steamy second round—because Tony Stark has zero self-control when your naked body is in arm’s reach and you’re laughing like that, cheeks flushed from the water and the way he touches you like you’re still the only thing in the universe that matters.

By the time you finally drag yourselves out of the shower and into pajamas—Tony in his unnecessarily tight sleep pants and a ridiculous Stark Industries tank top, you in one of his old shirts that practically hangs to your knees—it’s past midnight. The house is still. Blissfully quiet.

You collapse into bed, limbs tangled, hair damp, bodies finally at rest.

And for once… no interruptions.

Until morning.

At precisely 6:47 AM, the bedroom door flies open like a SWAT team raid, and the twins launch themselves into your bed like missiles.

“WAKE UUUUUP!” Nova yells, half on top of your stomach.

Howard dives for Tony, who lets out a strangled grunt as his son elbows him square in the ribs.

“Jesus—ow, okay, good morning, no need to attack the man, I’m delicate—”

“You said we could have pancakes today!” Howard declares, still perched on Tony like a feral cat.

Nova pulls the blanket off you both. “And cartoons! It’s Saturday!”

You blink blearily, groaning as Nova’s icy feet wedge themselves under your thigh.

Tony rubs his eyes and grins at the ceiling. “Why did we have children again?”

“Because we’re masochists,” you mutter.

“Right.”

It’s a typical Stark Saturday for a solid two minutes. Cartoons, demands for pancakes, squirming under the covers. But then Nova freezes suddenly, eyebrows scrunching like she’s solving a mystery.

“Wait… did anyone else hear weird noises last night?”

Tony’s eyes snap open.

Howard squints. “Yeah! Like… thumping. And then Mom made this sound like when you stub your toe but you’re trying not to yell?”

Your soul leaves your body.

“I—I stubbed my toe,” you say quickly. “Exactly. That’s… wow, good ears, buddy.”

Nova isn’t convinced. “And I think I heard Dad say something like ‘oh my god, yes’?”

Tony chokes on air. “That was—uh—I was watching a documentary! About—uh—quantum physics!”

You look at him like really? but he forges ahead with gusto.

“And there was this incredible experiment and I was very passionate about the outcome.”

Nova tilts her head. “Do quantum physics experiments make Mom giggle like that too?”

“Okay!” you say brightly, sitting up. “Time for pancakes! Who wants whipped cream?”

Howard narrows his eyes. “You never offer whipped cream unless you’re distracting us.”

You reach for your robe and sigh. “That’s because I’m always distracting you. It’s called parenting.”

Tony has his face buried in a pillow, quietly laughing like a man on the brink.

Nova crawls up beside him. “Dad. Are you giggling?”

“No, sweetie,” he says through the pillow. “I’m just emotionally overwhelmed by your curiosity.”

Howard frowns thoughtfully. “Do you think it’s ghosts?”

“YES,” Tony says quickly. “Yes. Our bedroom is haunted. That’s what you heard. Definitely ghosts.”

Nova gasps. “COOL.”

Howard’s eyes widen. “Can we set a trap?!”

You grab both their hands and pull them toward the door. “Only after breakfast. And cartoons. And not asking any more questions about last night. Ever. Again.”

They both nod solemnly.

Then Nova whispers to Howard, “I bet Mom and Dad were doing something weird.”

Howard nods sagely. “Yeah. Probably… like taxes.”

Tony leans close to you as you herd the twins out of the bedroom. “That was almost catastrophic.”

You shoot him a look. “Stark.”

He grins, eyes twinkling. “Yes, Mrs. Stark?”

You roll your eyes and turn back to the kids. “Alright, haunted pancakes it is.”

And somehow, despite the mortifying inquisition and suspicious glares from two seven-year-olds, it’s still the perfect kind of morning—chaotic, loud, absurd... and full of love.

Exactly what you signed up for when you married Tony Stark

The rest of Saturday is surprisingly smooth—almost suspiciously so.

You make pancakes. The kids watch cartoons. Tony pretends to “ghost hunt” with Nova using an old thermal scanner from the lab, while Howard builds a pillow fort so structurally sound it could probably withstand a mild earthquake. There are no tantrums, no glitter explosions, no emergency phone calls.

It’s just past lunch when it happens.

You’re sitting on the living room floor, helping Nova braid tiny ribbons into her dolls’ hair, when Howard suddenly looks up from his coloring book with that unsettlingly calm expression he inherited directly from his father—the one that usually means he’s about to ask something that will emotionally derail everyone in a five-mile radius.

“Hey Mom,” he says casually, like he’s asking what’s for dinner. “How did me and Nova come into the world?”

You freeze.

Like… freeze.

Tony, sitting on the couch across from you with a wrench in one hand and a half-disassembled Roomba in the other, slowly turns his head like a man who’s just been caught by a sniper scope.

You meet his eyes. You both silently panic.

Nova doesn’t even look up. “Yeah, I was wondering that too.”

Howard continues like he’s just hitting you with casual Sunday curiosity. “Did we come from a rocket? Or like… a lab?”

You blink. “A rocket?”

“Well, you and Dad are scientists,” he says, shrugging. “So maybe you built us. In the basement. With like, wires and lasers and science juice.”

Nova gasps. “I want science juice!”

Tony chokes. “There’s… there’s no such thing as science juice, baby.”

You clear your throat, trying to regain your footing in the rapidly spiraling conversation. “Okay, so—so first of all, no rockets. Or labs. You’re not robots. You’re not built.”

Howard’s eyes narrow. “So we weren’t assembled?”

“No.”

Tony jumps in. “You were... born. Like regular kids.”

Nova frowns. “How though?”

You and Tony both stare at her like she just asked how to dismantle a nuclear warhead.

Howard leans forward, totally serious. “Yeah. We know it involves, like… bellies. But how’d we get in there in the first place?”

There’s a beat of stunned silence where you mentally prepare to just hurl yourself off the balcony.

Tony puts down the Roomba and stands up like he’s giving a TED Talk. “Alright. So. Listen. This is… this is one of those very important questions that you absolutely deserve an answer to.”

You nod like a hostage. “Yup. Totally important. Super reasonable question.”

Tony points a finger upward, warming up. “But also one of those questions where the answer is like… a very complicated lasagna. With layers.”

Nova’s eyes light up. “I love lasagna!”

Howard looks confused. “What does lasagna have to do with babies?”

Tony continues, completely unfazed. “Well, the top layer—the cheesy, delicious layer—is the part you already know. Babies grow in a special place inside a mommy’s belly called a uterus. It’s like a deluxe baby hotel.”

You’re silently begging him not to keep going.

“And the next layer,” Tony says, gesturing like he's on a cooking show, “is how they get there, which involves… uh… teamwork. From both parents.”

You add quickly, “Teamwork. Loving, adult teamwork.”

Howard squints. “Like… like when you and Dad built the treehouse?”

“Yes!” you say way too fast. “Exactly like that! Teamwork, tools, and a lot of planning.”

Tony nods solemnly. “And some sweat. And maybe a splinter.”

Nova scrunches her nose. “Ew. That sounds messy.”

Howard tilts his head. “But how do you start building the baby?”

Tony glances at you. You glance at Tony. You both realize there’s no way out. So, you go for the parental classic:

“Well,” you say slowly, “when two adults love each other very much—”

Howard’s eyes go wide. “OH MY GOSH. You used magic didn’t you?!”

You nearly sigh in relief. “Yes! Magic. Science magic.”

Tony picks it right up. “Love-powered science magic. That’s exactly it.”

Nova gasps. “Is that why I sparkle when I dance?”

Tony beams. “Absolutely, sweetheart. Full of sparkle DNA.”

Howard looks impressed. “So you and Mom did love-magic teamwork… and then BAM! We happened?”

You clap your hands. “Boom. Nailed it.”

They both nod slowly, processing. And then—just like that—Nova goes back to brushing her doll’s hair and Howard starts coloring again like he didn’t just casually nuke your day with a conversation worthy of wine and therapy.

You exhale, flopping back onto the carpet. Tony collapses beside you a second later.

“That was too close,” you whisper.

“Too close? That was war,” he mutters. “I barely survived the ‘splinter’ metaphor.”

“I hate you for that, by the way.”

He smirks. “You laughed.”

You sigh, reaching over to lace your fingers through his. “I can’t believe we’ve got another ten years of this.”

Tony grins. “Ten years? Sweetheart, we’re gonna be explaining puberty in holograms by then.”

You groan and bury your face in his shoulder.

Nova looks up from across the room. “Do you think babies fart inside the belly?”

You both groan.

Tony whispers, “We’re not gonna make it.”

---

It’s Tony’s idea.

Which should automatically raise red flags. But he’s lounging back on the couch, one arm draped behind you, the other absently spinning a screwdriver between his fingers like a fidget toy, and he says it so casually you almost don’t catch the trap.

“Let’s go out tonight.”

You pause mid-sip of your coffee. “Out… like out where?”

He shrugs. “Nice dinner. Fancy restaurant. Kids can wear shoes that aren’t Velcro. You can wear that red dress that makes me forget my name.”

Nova, sitting upside down on the armchair, perks up. “Can I wear glitter?!”

Howard glances over. “Are we allowed to go to fancy places? We’re loud.”

Tony waves a hand. “We’re Starks. We can go anywhere we want.”

You raise a brow. “That’s exactly the kind of energy that gets us kicked out of places.”

But the idea lingers. It’s been a while since you dressed up for something that wasn’t a gala or charity event or chaos-fueled tech conference. The thought of slipping into something silk and elegant, seeing Tony in a blazer that hugs just right, the kids actually clean and styled and not covered in suspicious playground gunk…

Yeah. You’re in.

Two hours later, the chaos of getting ready is in full swing.

Howard insists on wearing a tie, which turns into a twenty-minute battle against a YouTube tutorial and an uneven knot. Nova is determined to wear glitter tights under her dress, and after some negotiation, you allow it—because she istechnically wearing a dress and real shoes. Progress.

Meanwhile, you slip into the closet, closing the door behind you. The red dress Tony mentioned still hangs in the far corner, mostly untouched since your anniversary dinner last year. It’s sleek, figure-hugging, with a slit up the leg and a neckline that toes the line between elegance and hello there.

You slide it on. It fits like sin.

The door creaks open behind you without warning, and you don’t have to turn around to know it’s him.

There’s a low whistle. “Sweetheart.”

You glance at him over your shoulder. “Too much?”

Tony’s leaning in the doorway, wearing a black suit with the top two buttons of his shirt undone, no tie, blazer cut to absolute perfection. His eyes rake down your body like he’s seeing you for the first time again.

“If we didn’t have kids waiting downstairs,” he says, voice low and already dangerous, “I would lock that door and make you very, very late to dinner.”

You smirk, smoothing your hands down the front of the dress. “We do have kids waiting.”

“I know,” he groans, stepping forward and sliding his arms around your waist from behind. “Why do we have kids again?”

“Because your ego and my hormones teamed up.”

He laughs, presses a kiss to the curve of your shoulder, and lets his hands wander a little lower than strictly appropriate for the timeframe. “I love this dress. It should be illegal.”

“You say that every time I wear it.”

“And I mean it every time.”

You manage to escape his hands with a playful swat and make it back downstairs, where the twins are already posing dramatically like they’re attending the Oscars.

“Do we look rich enough?” Nova asks seriously.

Howard adjusts his slightly crooked tie. “I feel like I should own a company.”

Tony grins. “You do. It’s called Starklings, Inc. Specializing in mischief and luxury fruit snacks.”

The restaurant is upscale, candlelit, absurdly elegant—and predictably swarmed by paparazzi the second your car pulls up.

Tony slips out first, offers you a hand like a proper gentleman, and then lifts Nova from the car while Howard walks out like he’s been doing red carpets since birth. You’re met with the familiar onslaught of camera flashes and distant shouts:

“Mr. Stark! Over here—!”

“Is that your family?”

“Mrs. Stark, you look amazing—!”

Tony keeps one hand at the small of your back, the other protectively on Howard’s shoulder. The flashes bounce off his sunglasses, and he leans in close enough for you to feel his grin against your cheek.

“You’re the hottest person here.”

You elbow him gently. “You say that to distract me.”

“I say that because it’s true. And I’m trying very hard not to get handsy in front of the photographers.”

You glance down. His hand has, indeed, slid lower than is publicly acceptable.

“Tony.”

He corrects himself with a smirk and guides you all inside.

Once you’re at the table—a private booth with a view of the skyline—things settle into a surprisingly cozy rhythm. The kids order mocktails with extra cherries. You sip wine. Tony keeps sliding his foot along your ankle under the table like a man with zero shame and absolutely no concern for consequences.

You give him a warning glance.

He winks.

Nova draws a robot on her napkin and tells the waiter she’s going to build one that serves spaghetti. Howard eats his fancy grilled salmon with ketchup. Tony doesn’t stop looking at you the entire night, his hand always somewhere—your knee, your thigh, your lower back when you gets up to help Nova with the bathroom.

It’s subtle. Kind of.

Okay, not subtle at all. But it’s him.

As dessert is being cleared—Nova covered in chocolate mousse and Howard bargaining for another bite of your crème brûlée—Tony leans over and murmurs, “If I don’t get to unzip that dress tonight, I’m going to have a full-blown existential crisis.”

You smile sweetly. “Guess you’ll have to wait until the kids are asleep.”

He groans into his wine glass.

On the ride home, both kids fall asleep in the backseat—Howard drooling slightly, Nova curled up with a strand of her glitter tights stretched over her face like a superhero mask.

You rest your hand on Tony’s thigh as he drives. He glances at you, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Best idea I’ve had all month.”

“Dinner?”

“Taking you out. Watching you walk around in that dress. Being reminded exactly how lucky I am.”

You hum, squeezing his leg just enough to make him shift in his seat.

“I hope you’re planning on making good on that zipper promise.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “That zipper’s already living on borrowed time.”

And somehow, amidst the glamour and chaos, the spark still feels as new and electric as it did before kids, before marriage, before anything was certain.

Even when the car smells like mousse, and one of the kids is softly snoring like a chainsaw.

You glance at Tony.

Yeah. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

The second the car pulls into the garage and the twins are carefully extracted from the backseat—sleepy, grumpy, sticky with melted chocolate—Tony gives you a look.

The Look.

The one that promises that the minute tiny people are unconscious in their beds, you're going to be very, very thoroughly reminded about the zipper situation.

You smirk back at him, both of you speaking silently across the car hood like spies.

Step one: Get kids to bed. Step two: Lose the fancy clothes. Step three: Absolutely wreck the newly washed sheets.

Easy. Foolproof.

You both move like a synchronized tactical unit. Pajamas, teeth brushing, wiping faces, untangling glitter tights. Nova mutters something about robot spaghetti in her half-sleep. Howard insists he doesn't need help but still manages to put his pajama pants on backward.

You're barely containing your laughter as you herd them toward their rooms, exchanging conspiratorial glances with Tony every few seconds.

“Alright, you gremlins,” Tony says, crouching down dramatically. “Tonight, you sleep in your own beds like champions. Like grown-up, sophisticated individuals who can eat grilled salmon with ketchup.”

Howard yawns and salutes. Nova mumbles something incoherent and shuffles to her bed like a zombie.

You and Tony high-five behind their backs.

Victory is so close.

You tuck them in, kiss their foreheads, tiptoe toward the door…

And then.

“Wait!”

Howard bolts upright like he’s just remembered a critical world-saving mission. Nova follows, wide-eyed and alarmed.

“We want to sleep in your bed!” Howard blurts.

“Yeah!” Nova clutches her stuffed unicorn with the force of a thousand suns. “Your bed is bigger! And fluffier! And it smells like cookies and Dad's weird soap!”

You and Tony freeze mid-step. Like deer. Caught. In existential-crisis headlights.

Tony clears his throat. “Buddy, we love you. But your mom and I were planning some very important... adult... lying-down activities.”

You elbow him sharply. "Tony."

Howard pouts. Nova’s lower lip quivers.

"We miss family sleep nights," Howard says, voice small.

Nova sniffs. “You used to let us sleep with you.”

Your heart cracks a little. Okay. That's not fair. They're pulling the nostalgia card and they're doing it well.

Tony runs a hand through his hair like he’s being physically pained by the loss of his plans. He looks at you. You look at him.

Surrender.

You sigh dramatically. “Fine. One night.”

Both kids explode in victorious cheers.

“But—" Tony holds up a finger, still clinging to scraps of authority, "—if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

Which is how you end up raiding the matching pajama drawer—yes, Tony insisted on having one made years ago—and soon all four of you are decked out in ridiculous, soft, Stark-family matching pajamas: little arc reactors printed on the shirts and "Team Stark" on the pants.

You all pile into the giant bed in a mass of limbs and giggles and pillows. Nova immediately claims Tony, curling against his side with her unicorn jammed between them. Howard stakes his claim on you, plopping himself firmlyagainst your chest and wrapping an arm possessively over your torso.

Tony tries—tries—to edge closer to you, stretching out an arm, wriggling his fingers in your direction with the saddest, most dramatic look of longing.

Howard narrows his eyes and shoves Tony’s face away with one tiny but determined hand.

"Mine," he mumbles sleepily.

You clap a hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter.

Tony blinks at you over Howard’s stubborn little head, looking personally betrayed. He mouths, This is war.

You smile sweetly, mouthing back, You lost.

He pouts for about five seconds before Nova wiggles closer and pats his cheek comfortingly. “Don’t worry, Daddy. You can have cuddles too.”

Tony surrenders with a groan, wrapping his arms around Nova and the unicorn, glaring at you playfully over the tops of both their heads.

You wink at him.

For a few minutes, the room settles. The twins drift off quickly, soft breathing and little twitches as they tumble into deep sleep. The low hum of the city outside fills the background.

You shift slightly, trying not to wake Howard, and meet Tony’s eyes in the soft dark.

He mouths, You owe me.

You mouth back, Tomorrow night.

He grins like Christmas just came early.

For now, though—you lay there, Howard snuggled against you like a koala, Nova draped across Tony like he’s a human jungle gym, the warmth of your family a soft, heavy comfort around you.

Tony reaches out across the tiny bodies between you, brushing the tips of his fingers against yours in the middle of the bed.

Connection. Even through chaos.

You squeeze his fingers gently and close your eyes, feeling him do the same.

Maybe the night didn’t go exactly the way you planned.

But honestly?

It’s kind of perfect.

part 2 with them trying for another kid? or something else? let me know in the asks ;)

[loversrocktvgirl2]

my mini multiverse of madness…

After Mission (Steve Rodgers x Reader)

Avengers Tower Fic

After a rather rough mission, the Avengers dragged themselves back to the Avengers Tower. Steve was running his hand through his tousled hair, wiping the sweat off of his brow. He was exhausted. Tony desperately wanted to crash, and the second he reached the couch, that was exactly the thing he did. Meanwhile, Natasha was peacefully cleaning off her gun in the kitchen with a nice cloth. Bruce slunk into his room to take a shower. Clint had already disappeared, there was no telling where he went. In the pantry, Thor was hiding out with a bag of chips, crunching nonchalantly as he put another handful into his mouth. Peter was sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the wall, only mildly traumatized. You were tired as you walked in with the rest of them. It’d been tough, and you were about ready to cuddle up in bed and watch a bad rom-com. 

“Hey, you okay?” Steve asked you, his tone gentle and soft. Tony had taken facepalming to a whole other level, and was laying face-down on the couch. 

“Yeah, I’m alright,” you nodded, looking at Steve. Natasha smirked at the sight. You would normally be mocking Tony or laughing, lightening the mood after a mission like this. But you didn’t seem bothered. In fact, you seemed more…enraptured. With Steve. “How are you?” you asked him.

“I’m doing fine,” he smiled sweetly at you. Natasha snorted. 

You turned to her. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Natasha smirked cryptically, picked up her gun that she’d just finished cleaning, and walked away. 

“...okay,” you said. You turned back to Steve. “I’m gonna take a shower, okay?”

Steve nodded, “Sounds good.” 

You put an encouraging hand on his shoulder, then smiled and walked away from him. His eyes followed you as you walked a way, a soft twinkle in his eye. Peter squinted his eyes at him, analyzing his actions. Thor noticed this, chuckling and chomping loudly on his chips. “I’d surmise that Sir America has caught feelings,” he snickered to Peter. 

“You’re sure? ‘Cause I was only like, 34 percent certain,” Peter whispered back to Thor. He had a much better grasp on noise control than Thor did. 

Thor laughed. “Ohh, yes. I know a man in love when I see one.”

“Have much experience with that, do you, Thor?” Natasha asked, appearing beside him.

“How the heck…?” Peter muttered. 

Thor was unfazed. “Well, I’m a man.”

Natasha laughed. “Your Asgardian sense of humor is horrific.”

Thor shrugged and put another fistful of chips into his mouth and crunched them loudly. Natasha made a face and walked away. 

— — —

About a half an hour later, you had finished your shower and taken care of your hair, you walked out of your room in your pajamas to grab something you’d left downstairs. As you were walking, you passed by Steve’s room, and stopped. Maybe you should check in on him. Yeah, that’d be good to do. You knocked on his door. 

A moment later, the door opened, and Steve was standing there. “Hi, there,” he smiled. 

“Hi,” you replied, a smile on your face too. “You alright?” 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Steve nodded. “Do you wanna come in…?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” you walked into the room. Inside, his room was immaculate. You didn’t think you’d seen a better made bed in Bed, Bath and Bodyworks. His lamp was on, but other than that, all the lights were off. A book sat on the nightstand, a bookmark about three-quarters of the way through. The carpet looked like it’d been recently vacuumed, and there was no clutter on his desk. He had a view framed photos of the Avengers, including one with you in it, and an organized pen container. “You’re very neat,” you commented. 

Steve chuckled. “Well, I try.” 

“I’m serious, I don’t think I’ve seen a more well-made bed before in my life,” you laughed. “I’m scared to touch it, it looks like it comes from a Home and Wellness magazine.” 

Steve seemed amused by your comment. “You don’t have to be scared of touching the bed, I remake it every morning anyway.” 

“Okay,” you said casually as your eyes glazed over the room. You sat down carefully on the bed, looking all around you. It was like a glimpse into the inside of his brain. And the inside of his brain looked very clean. 

Steve laughed. “Well, thank you. I think. I don’t know how accurate that is.”

You realized you’d said this aloud. “Oh. Oh.” You laughed awkwardly. “Sorry.” 

Steve shrugged. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.” He sat down beside you on the bed. You noticed how bare his walls looked.

“You don’t have anything hanging up?” you asked. 

Steve shook his head. “Haven’t found anything I wanted to hang up yet. I don’t wanna hang it up unless I love it. I mean, you’re looking at the same thing every day, right? May as well be something you really care about.”

“That makes sense,” you nodded. 

“I do want something, though.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. It’d be nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

You leaned against him a little, head resting on his shoulder. He tried to bite back his smile, despite the fact that you couldn’t see his facial expression right now. He hesitated for a moment—he hasn’t dated since the forties, and you make him nervous—before resting his hand gently on your knee. Your expression softened at the gesture, and you closed your eyes, letting out a soft hum of contentment. 

Steve was surprised and how easily you became comfortable with him, but he had no qualms about it. So he sat there with you, hand resting on your knee, and your head on his shoulder. Deciding to take a risk, he turned his head slightly to kiss the top of your head affectionately. The affectionate movement made you smile.You lifted your head with a playful smirk, and asked softly, “What was that for?”

Steve’s face turned a little pink, but he tried to play it off. “I don’t know, I…just did it, I guess.”

You laughed. “Don’t worry. I think it’s cute.”

Steve chuckled. “You think it’s cute, huh?” 

You kissed his cheek in response. That surprised him. Again, not dating since the 1940s does slightly impair your perception of romance. He turned to face you more fully, and his lips met yours. He found himself kissing you, and he found you kissing back. If he knew all it took to get you this close was acting tired and sad after a rough mission, he would’ve done it a helluva lot sooner. 

The kiss grew more passionate, a little more heated. You were now leaning against him as he leaned back against the pillows on his bed. You were fully caught up in the moment, losing all perception of the world around you. 

…which was probably why you didn’t hear Tony come in. 

“Hey, Steve, do you know where th—holy hell,” Tony looked rather amused. Your head shot up and you immediately backed away from Steve. Steve did the same, like adding space between yourselves was going to make Tony forget what he just saw. Tony was laughing at your surprised and nervous expressions. “Oh, man!” He clapped his hands and laughed again. “I mean, we were all starting to suspect things, but daaaaaamn.” 

Steve groaned at Tony’s childish behavior and covered his face with his hands. You bit your lip, not really sure what to do.

“Alright, Steve, do you know wh—actually, I don’t think you know much of anything right now. I’ll see you later, Americas,” Tony winked and left the room, closing the door behind him. You blushed and sat there awkwardly. 

“It’s just Tony,” Steve said quietly, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah, but he’s gonna tell everybody,” you pointed out.

Steve shrugged. “I don’t mind people knowing,” he said gently, trying to comfort you. 

“I don’t either, I just…kind of like just getting to be with you.”

He smiled softly. “I like getting to be with you too.” He reached for your hand, and you let him take it. “Tony doesn’t have to stop us from spending time together, y’know.”

“True,” you smiled back, and he pulled you closer to him, bringing you into his arms and bringing his lips back to yours. 

— — —

When you walked downstairs in the morning, Tony greeted you with a cheerful, “Hello, Mrs. America.” 

You rolled your eyes and walked away from him, heading into the kitchen. Thor was there, enjoying a bagel. “‘Morning, Thor. How’s it going?”

“Quite well, Star-Spangled Sweetheart,” Thor replied with a smirk. 

You groaned. “You too? Seriously?” 

Thor shrugged, smirking happily. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being Cap’s red, white, and boo.”

You made a disgusted face. “Gross nickname. Seriously. Where are you coming up with these? Is Tony handing out lists of things to call me??”

“Not exactly, but that’s not an unreasonable guess,” Thor answered, smiling. 

You snorted. “Jesus.”

“Language,” Peter said as he walked in the room. “Or does Cap tell you that enough already?” Thor laughed heartily and high-fived Peter, who looked very proud of himself for impressing Thor with his joke. 

“That’s right,” Thor chortled. “She’s Cap’s Cutie now.” 

“What?” you exclaimed. “Look, I’m not even…I haven’t been on a date with him yet, okay? Give me a break. Can’t I just, I don’t know, kiss a guy that I like?” 

“You are more than welcome to kiss any guy that you like,” Thor informed. “We reserve our right to tease you about said guy.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Capsicle’s crush,” Clint smirked at you. 

“Wowwww,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “Soooo creative. I’ve never heard anything like this at all this morning.”

“How many people have talked to you?” Clint asked, amused. 

“Lemme see… Tony, Thor, you, oh, and Peter. Peter has even talked to me about it this morning,” you answered, clearly a little bitter. 

Tony came into the kitchen and picked up an orange, beginning to peel it. When he saw you, he smirked. “Well, if it isn’t the Vibranium Vixen.” 

You looked at him with an exasperated expression. “Where do you even come up with these??”

“He’s Tony, he nicknames everybody constantly,” Natasha said with a shrug, picking up at bagel. “But seriously, you like Cap?” 

“Well, yeah, but they’re making it seem like it’s a big deal when I’d really, really rather just go at my own pace and see where it goes,” you said. 

“That’s fine,” Clint said. “Why would you tell Natasha that but not us?”

“‘Cause y’all are calling me things like ‘Star-Spangled Sweetheart’ and ‘red, white, and boo’,” you answered, agitated. 

Clint bursted out laughing. “Wait, what?? Who said those??” Thor raised his hand with a proud smile, and Clint laughed again. 

Steve walked in, and Tony started giggling. 

“Oh, shit. What’d I do?” he asked. 

Then a collective chorus from everyone in the kitchen exclaimed, “LANGUAGE!”

Steve chuckled and shook his head. “Ridiculous. All of you.”

“Not me though, right?” you asked teasingly. 

“Nope, not you,” he grinned. 

“Awwwwww…” chorused the other Avengers. 

“Go mind your own damn business,” you said playfully, and waved them off. ‘Cause in the end, as long as you and Steve were happy, that was all that mattered. 

[idk-bruh-20]

Irondad fic ideas #148

You know those homework assignments where you have to interview someone in your family and then write an essay about their responses? Fic where Peter's class is told to interview their dad / a father figure in their life. 

Peter decides to interview Tony. But, he doesn't want his class to accuse him of lying, and he definitely doesn't want Tony to know what the assignment is about. 

So for Tony, Peter makes it seem like the assignment is just to interview anyone. Then, he carefully chooses questions to ask that are domestic and personal enough to avoid any mention of superheroes, celebrities, or so on. The few details that do slip through he just leaves out of his final essay.

For the class problem, Peter solves it by referring to Tony in the essay exclusively as "dad"

Unfortunately for Peter, the teacher then announces a part 2 to the assignment. Right after collecting the essays, the teacher says they will now need to bring the people they interviewed to school for their presentations

Peter has pretty much decided to not even mention it to Tony and just say his dad is busy. But then Flash has to open his big mouth. 

He accuses Peter of just making his assignment up, loudly reminding the class that he's an orphan. Peter clarifies that this father figure thing is a new development, but now the teacher looks suspicious

Peter is going to have to ask Tony to come to his school. And he's going to have to explain why the class will be full of kids and their fathers

[iamironmanlol]

Ngl I think I’ll always feel robbed of the Peter and Loki interaction we deserved

Peter: oh man, you’re the one that tried to invade earth and take over back in like 2012

Loki: yes.

Peter: …you’re not like, still into that, are you?

Loki: on a good day.

Peter:

Peter: what do you- what do you do on bad days?

Just imagine. The potential I believe these two had. (Add a little sprinkle of irondad Tony freaking out bc his kid is talking to the god that killed 80 people in 2 days)

[junebugtheartist]

imagine tony starts a spiderman merch line for peter, thinking that he would love it, but peter doesn't end up wearing any because he prefers his iron man merch <3

[irondad-defensesquad]

"welcome home, master peter. would you like anything?"

"... maybe call me just peter."

"alright, 'just peter'."

"ugh, now i get where mr. stark got the dad jokes."

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

Joy, imagine that everytime Peter got bored being on the ground, he will casually stay on the ceiling.

I wonder tho if Peter ever had instinct to create his spider web

The only thing that makes me happier than Peter just chilling on the ceiling, is someone nudging Peter off the ceiling with a broom. Especially when it's Tony.

Like Peter is just up in the corner of the common room in a web hammock refusing to come down because he's *tired* and it's *comfy*

Mr. Strak threatens to find a broom. Peter calls his bluff. Every time.

"What the- Peter, again! Clean up those webs and get down from there before I get the broom!"

"You would never"

"Aaand this is how history repeats itself. I'll be back in five with the biggest broom I own. You better be on the floor when I get back!"

[donteverblameash]

One thing that always makes me sob real tears is imagining Peter growing taller than Tony, so he's big enough to lean down and kiss Tony on the forehead like Tony did to him when he was small.

[lokiironmanspiderman]

Can you imagine Tony Stark wearing this t-shirt

[mari-sr]

So, a few days ago I made a post with a small compilation of the times Tom mentioned RDJ in his recent interviews. Now I bring you RDJ talking lightly and joking about his relationship with Tom in a recent interview promoting his new film Oppenheimer.

My Irondad friends, we know we won. Their relationship and affection is real on and off screen, it makes me so so happy!

For some reason I couldn't put this video up as a reply to the original post, so here's the link for those who haven't seen the video of Tom talking about Robert.

And I bet next year they'll celebrate each other's wins when Tom wins an Emmy for TCR and Robert wins an Oscar for Oppenheimer. Them winning awards in the same year is what will make us happy.

One more time I say:

my irondad friends: enjoy ❤

[amethystarachnid]

Tony stark on his full dad/husband mode protecting his family??? This is too much for me, my ovaries are gone... part 2, I'm begging

PAPARAZZI - part 2

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance and angst

ᯓ★ Word count: 7.1k

ᯓ★ Summary: you and Tony decide it's time to try for another kid, but your two kids get in the way, and as if they are not enough, no matter how much you two try, having the third kid isn't as easy as you thought

ᯓ★ TW(s): little spicy scenes, nothing too explicit, reader and Tony have troubles conceiving the third kid, so fertility issues

ᯓ★ not related to paparazzi stuff but wanted to write something soft, but I'm not me if I dont add some angst so here we are

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Three Years later

The house is silent. Too silent.

For the first time in years, there are no tiny feet pattering across the floor, no shrieks of laughter (or mischief), no whining or demands for snacks. Just silence. And it’s driving you insane.

Howard started kindergarten a week ago, and while his words aren’t always clear, he’s enthusiastic about telling you everything that happens—whether you understand him or not. Luna, now in her first year of elementary school, has already made a bunch of friends and adjusted well to her routine. She loves school, loves learning, and comes home every day excited to tell you about her day.

It’s great. It’s exactly what you wanted for them. And yet…

You’re pacing the kitchen, sipping on coffee that’s actually hot for once, but it doesn’t feel as satisfying as you expected.

The silence is making you restless.

You used to long for moments of peace, just one second to breathe, but now that you have it, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You miss the chaos, the background noise of little voices filling every corner of your life.

And then it hits you.

You want another baby.

The realization makes your breath catch. You set your coffee down and blink at the empty house as if it just spoke to you.

Another baby.

Not just a vague, one day thought. Not an if we feel like it later idea. A now thought. A right now, I need this thought.

Tony strolls into the kitchen, yawning, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He stretches, groaning as he scratches his stomach, clearly enjoying the rare quiet morning.

“Y’know,” he says, pouring himself a cup of coffee, “I used to dream of a peaceful morning where no one was screaming or throwing things at my head. Now? I hate it.”

You smile, watching him take a slow sip, his face scrunching up slightly like he’s trying to savor the moment but failing miserably.

“Too quiet?” you ask.

He huffs. “Way too quiet. Kinda eerie. Like, where’s the background soundtrack of my life? Where’s Howard yelling I do it! while struggling to put his shoes on the wrong feet? Where’s Luna demanding my presence for a very important tea party with her stuffed animals?”

You smirk. “Missing the chaos already?”

Tony sighs dramatically, setting his mug down. “I hate to admit it, but yeah.”

You chew your bottom lip, heart pounding slightly as you look at him. You don’t know why you’re suddenly nervous. It’s Tony. He’s been the most loving and devoted father, always ready to go to war for his kids. You know he wants this life just as much as you do.

Still, you take a breath before saying, “So… what if we made it a little less quiet?”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “What, you wanna get a dog?”

You roll your eyes. “No, not a dog.”

He squints, confused, before realization dawns. His expression shifts from sleepy confusion to wide-eyed surprise, then something softer, something thrilled.

“Wait… you mean—”

You nod, swallowing a nervous laugh. “Yeah.”

His face breaks into a slow, almost mischievous grin. “Are you serious? You want another one?”

“Yeah,” you admit, feeling warm all over. “I miss it. The baby phase, the cuddles, the tiny fingers, and the giggles. I miss—”

Tony doesn’t even let you finish before he’s grabbing you by the waist and pulling you against him. His lips crash onto yours, and you giggle into the kiss as he lifts you slightly off the ground, his excitement radiating through his touch.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, pressing kisses along your jaw. “You have no idea how much I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

You laugh against his lips. “Really?”

“Hell yes,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at you, eyes gleaming. “I’ve been dying to bring it up, but I didn’t want to pressure you. Figured I’d let you enjoy the peace before suggesting we destroy it all over again.”

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Guess we’re on the same page.”

Tony smirks. “Oh, absolutely.”

Then he lifts you up completely, setting you on the kitchen counter and stepping between your legs. His hands trail down your sides, his voice dropping into that teasing, irresistible tone. “So… when do we start working on this ‘less quiet’ house of ours?”

You bite your lip, pretending to think. “Hmm… I don’t know. Maybe we should—”

Tony groans dramatically, tossing his head back. “No ‘maybe,’ woman! Now.”

You burst into laughter, shaking your head as he leans in, kissing you again, his hands warm against your waist.

And just like that, the Stark household is about to get a whole lot louder again.

The first attempt is a disaster.

Tony, of course, is convinced that nighttime is the perfect time to make another Stark baby. "It's classic, it's romantic, it's tradition," he argues as he trails kisses down your neck, his hands already sliding beneath your shirt.

You hum, pretending to consider. "Mm, yes, except for one small issue."

"What's that, sweetheart?"

"Howard wakes up every two hours. And Luna has developed a special skill of sneaking into our room like a tiny, jealous ninja."

Tony pulls back, frowning like you've just personally offended him. "So, what, we schedule baby-making now? That’s, like, the least sexy thing I’ve ever heard."

You pat his chest. "Welcome to parenthood."

And sure enough, just as Tony’s lips return to your skin, a loud thud echoes from the hallway.

Both of you freeze.

Then, in a tiny, sleepy voice: “Mommy?”

Tony groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “I swear she’s got a sixth sense. We didn’t even start yet.”

You sigh, pulling your shirt back down before heading toward the door. Sure enough, Luna stands there, rubbing her eyes, her messy curls covering half her face. "Bad dweam," she mumbles, reaching up for you.

Tony collapses onto the bed dramatically. "Of course."

You scoop Luna into your arms, kissing her forehead. "Come on, sweetheart, let's get you back to bed."

Behind you, Tony mutters, "Cockblocked by a three-year-old."

The second attempt is somehow worse.

It's midday, the house is empty, and for once, Tony actually agrees that daytime might be the safer bet. He practically throws you onto the bed, grinning. "Finally. No tiny humans, no distractions, just us—"

The sound of the front door slamming open interrupts him.

Both of you jolt up in panic.

Then, from downstairs: "HELLO? I’M HOME EARLY!"

Tony's head drops onto your stomach with a loud groan. "Are you kidding me?!"

Luna. Home. Early.

You scramble to grab clothes, shoving Tony off as he sits up, looking personally offended by the universe. “How the hell is she back already? School just started.”

You barely manage to pull a sweatshirt over your head before Luna barges in, holding up a piece of paper. “Mommy! Daddy! Look! My dwawing!”

Tony flops backward onto the bed, defeated. You try to smile as you take Luna’s paper—some vague scribbles that may or may not be your family. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart.”

Luna beams. "I gots a gold staw!"

Tony lifts his head slightly. "Kid, that's amazing. Now, uh, what are you doing home?"

Luna shrugs. "Miss Thompson sick. No school."

Tony groans, throwing a pillow over his face. "Of course."

The third attempt? Let’s just say, never underestimate Howard.

After a few more failed nighttime attempts, you and Tony decide that lunchtime might be the safest bet. You put Howard down for his nap, double-check that Luna is actually at school this time, and rush to the bedroom.

Tony grins. "You realize we’re literally scheduling this?"

You push him onto the bed, smirking. "Do you want another baby or not?"

He holds up his hands in surrender. "I love this plan. Proceed."

And for a moment, everything is perfect.

Until Howard wakes up.

And by wakes up, you mean screams bloody murder through the baby monitor.

Tony groans so loudly you’re afraid the neighbors will hear. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

You scramble off the bed, throwing on Tony’s shirt while he yells, “He was asleep five minutes! Five! What kind of scam is this?!”

By the time you get to the nursery, Howard is standing in his crib, arms up, sniffling dramatically like he’s been personally betrayed.

You sigh, picking him up. "What's wrong, baby?"

Howard sniffles again. "Hun’gy."

Tony appears in the doorway, hair still messy, eyes dead inside. "Howard. My guy. My favorite tiny human." He sighs. "You just ate."

Howard wipes his nose on your shoulder and claps his chubby hands. "Pasta."

Tony stares at him. Then at you. Then back at him.

"Unbelievable," Tony mutters, turning around. "I give up."

By the time Howard is fed and back down for his nap, Tony flops onto the couch, arms over his face. “This is impossible. We should just give up.”

You lean over him, smirking. "So you don’t want another baby anymore?"

He glares at you. "That is not what I said."

You press a kiss to his jaw. "Then stop whining and try harder, Stark."

Tony’s eyes glint with a challenge. "Oh, sweetheart, you know I don’t back down from a challenge."

It takes a full week before the planets finally align.

Luna is at school. Howard is deeply asleep. And, miraculously, no one decides to come home early.

Tony smirks as he pushes you against the bedroom door. "Quick. Before the universe screws us over again."

You laugh, tugging him toward the bed. "You’re ridiculous."

But just as you pull him onto you—

BANG.

"GUESS WHO FINISHED SCHOOL EARLY AGAIN?!"

Tony screams into the pillow.

---

A sleepover at Uncle Steve’s.

It’s the perfect plan.

Luna and Howard adore Steve. He’s one of the only people they listen to, and unlike Tony, Steve somehow has the patience of a saint when it comes to dealing with two energetic Stark children. So when you and Tony realize that the only way to get some uninterrupted time together is to physically remove the kids from the house, Steve is the obvious choice.

At first, Tony hesitates. "Barnes lives there, too. I don’t trust that guy."

You roll your eyes. "Bucky is great with them, and you know it. Besides, you just don’t like that Howard calls him ‘Unca Bucky’ like he’s some kind of rockstar."

Tony scoffs. "I am the rockstar of this family, thank you very much."

Still, the second you ask, Steve is more than happy to help. “Of course,” he says, sounding amused. “Not getting enough alone time, Stark?”

Tony glares. "Mind your business, Rogers."

Luna and Howard are thrilled when they find out they’re having a sleepover. Luna packs four different bags, including one filled with toys that she insists are "essentials." Howard claps his hands and yells, “PIZZA PARTY!” as if he’s already planned the entire evening.

Tony kneels in front of them as Steve waits by the door. "Okay, listen up, rugrats. I don’t want any funny business while you’re gone. No giving Uncle Steve a hard time, no stealing Bucky’s metal arm—Luna, I’m looking at you—and for the love of God, do not trick Howard into eating peanut butter again."

Luna giggles. "Unca Bucky say it make Howard stwonger."

Tony groans, rubbing his temples. "I hate that guy."

Howard clings to Steve’s leg. "Unca Steve big. Like teddy bear."

Steve smiles, picking him up easily. "And you’re as heavy as one, buddy."

Once the kids are finally out the door, Tony turns to you with a mischievous grin. "Wife. Bedroom. Now."

You laugh as he lifts you over his shoulder and all but sprints toward the bedroom.

For the first time in years, you and Tony actually get some uninterrupted time together. No tiny footsteps running down the hallway, no baby monitor crackling to life, no sudden knocks on the door. Just the two of you, finally lost in each other.

Afterward, tangled in the sheets, Tony kisses your shoulder. "I still got it."

You snort. "Did you ever lose it?"

"Never, sweetheart." He grins against your skin. "We should’ve done this months ago."

You smirk. "I told you we needed a sleepover."

Eventually, you both make your way to the shower, because Tony Stark does not sleep in post-sex sweat. His words, not yours.

Wrapped in warm steam, you press against him, feeling completely relaxed for the first time in forever. "This was a great idea."

Tony hums in agreement, running soapy hands down your back. "We should do this every week."

Your bliss lasts exactly three minutes before Tony’s phone rings.

You both freeze.

Then, again.

Tony groans, leaning his head against the tile. "No. Nope. Not answering."

You sigh, stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel. "It might be important."

Tony grumbles something about not caring unless the world is ending, but when he sees the caller ID, he winces. "It’s Rogers."

Your stomach sinks. "Oh God. What if something happened?"

Tony swipes to answer. "This better be good, Cap."

Steve’s voice comes through, apologetic. "Hey, sorry to bother you, but—Howard won’t stop crying. He’s been asking for you guys for the past hour."

You press a hand to your forehead. "Oh, buddy…"

Tony exhales slowly. "So let me get this straight. You’re Captain Freaking America. You took down HYDRA, stopped an alien invasion, and yet one tiny Stark has you waving the white flag?"

"Tony."

Tony grins. "Just saying. Didn’t take you for a quitter, Rogers."

Steve sighs. "Can you guys just come pick him up? I think he just misses you."

You don’t even hesitate. "We’re on our way."

Tony, meanwhile, groans like a man facing his own execution. "Are you kidding me? We just got the house to ourselves! I was gonna make you pancakes naked, babe!"

You laugh, tossing him his clothes. "Come on, genius. Time to get our kid."

When you arrive at Steve’s place, Howard is curled up on the couch, still sniffling, while Luna is completely unbothered, munching on popcorn and watching cartoons.

"Mommy! Daddy!" Howard’s face lights up when he sees you, reaching out instantly.

You pick him up, kissing his chubby cheeks. "Oh, sweetheart, did you miss us that much?"

Howard nods, clutching your shirt. "No like sweepovew. Wanna be home."

Steve gives you an apologetic smile. "He tried, I promise. But after a while, he just kept asking for you guys."

Tony runs a hand through his hair. "Well, there goes that plan."

Luna, still chewing popcorn, looks up. "I stay."

Tony raises an eyebrow. "Oh, so you’re fine abandoning us, but your brother—"

Luna shrugs. "Me big giwl."

Steve chuckles. "She’s been having a great time."

Howard snuggles closer to you. "Wanna go home."

Tony sighs, finally reaching out to ruffle his son’s hair. "Alright, kiddo. Let’s get you home."

On the drive back, Howard falls asleep in his car seat almost immediately.

Tony looks over at you, sighing dramatically. "Welp. Back to square one."

You smirk. "Don’t worry, Stark. I have other ideas."

Tony grins. "See, this is why I married you."

---

You and Tony try. And try. And try.

It starts out fun, full of teasing and laughter, sneaking around while the kids are at school, whispering about how finallyyou can do this without fear of tiny footsteps interrupting. But as the months pass and every test comes back negative, the excitement slowly fades into frustration.

You try to stay optimistic. Tony does too. Every time you take a test, he kisses your forehead and tells you, “No rush, sweetheart. We’ll get there.” But each single pink line feels like a weight pressing down on your chest.

At first, you tell yourself it’s fine. You already have two beautiful, chaotic kids. But this time, it feels different. You want this. You know Tony does too, even if he pretends to be nonchalant about it.

The first few negatives don’t hurt too much. It’s still early. But as months pass with no sign of a second line, it starts to get to you.

One night, you sit in the bathroom, staring at yet another negative test, feeling the sting behind your eyes. You don’t want to be this upset about it, but you can’t help it.

Tony knocks on the door. “Sweetheart?”

You sniffle, quickly wiping your eyes. “Yeah?”

There’s a pause. Then, his voice softens. “Can I come in?”

You hesitate, but eventually open the door. Tony takes one look at your face, then at the test in your hand, and sighs. He pulls you into a hug, kissing the top of your head.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.”

You clutch onto his shirt. “I just don’t get it. It happened so fast with Luna and Howard…”

Tony rubs your back, letting out a deep breath. “I know, baby. But we’re gonna be okay. No matter what.”

He always says the right things. But as the days pass, it becomes harder to keep up the act—especially around the kids.

Luna notices first. One morning, while eating her cereal, she frowns at you. “Mommy sad.”

Tony, sitting across from her with his coffee, freezes. He looks at you, waiting for your reaction.

You force a smile. “No, baby, I’m okay.”

Luna shakes her head, poking her cereal with her spoon. “No. Mommy sad.” She turns to Tony. “Daddy fix.”

Tony sets his mug down and leans in. “Oh, honey. Mommy’s okay, promise.”

Luna isn’t convinced. She looks at you with those big Stark eyes—sharp, observant, just like her father’s. “You cry.”

Your heart clenches.

Tony clears his throat. “Mommy’s just a little tired, bug. Maybe she needs extra cuddles.”

Luna gasps. “Cuddles make eveything better!” She slides off her chair, hurrying over to wrap her tiny arms around you.

You hug her tightly, pressing a kiss to her soft curls. “I love you, sweet girl.”

Howard, who has been silently chewing his toast, tilts his head. “Mommy need huggies?”

Luna nods very seriously. “Yes, Howie. Mommy need big, big huggies.”

Howard carefully slides off his chair and waddles over, joining the hug. He pats your face with his chubby hands. “Mommy no be sad. I gib kisses.”

Your eyes water as he presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek.

Tony watches from his seat, and when you glance at him, he’s already softening. He gets up, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “You’re pretty lucky, sweetheart. Got the best support team right here.”

You nod, hugging your kids tighter. “Yeah. I really do.”

That night, as you and Tony lie in bed, he turns to you. “So, how are we feeling? Still up for trying?”

You hesitate before sighing. “I don’t know, Tony. Maybe we should go see a doctor.”

He nods, thinking for a moment. “Okay.”

You exhale, relieved. “Thank you.”

Tony pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Anytime, baby.”

And for the first time in weeks, you fall asleep feeling just a little lighter.

---

You and Tony sit in the doctor’s office, your fingers tangled together as you wait for answers.

It had taken a while to get to this point. After months of trying, after so many negative tests, you finally admitted to Tony that maybe—just maybe—it was time to see if something was wrong. He hadn’t pushed you, hadn’t made any snarky comments (well, not many), and had instead simply said, “Whatever you need, sweetheart. We’ll figure this out.”

So here you are.

Tony taps his foot impatiently, glancing around the room. “You know, for a place that’s supposed to deal with reproductive health, they could at least try to make it less terrifying.”

You nudge him. “You’re not even the one getting examined.”

“Yeah, but I am the one sitting next to my very anxious, very hormonal wife, so technically, I’m suffering too.”

You roll your eyes, but his dramatics do make you feel slightly better.

The door opens, and Dr. Matthews, a kind-looking woman in her fifties, steps in with a warm smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Stark,” she greets, sitting across from you. “I have your test results.”

Tony grips your hand a little tighter.

Dr. Matthews looks between the two of you. “First, I want to assure you that there’s nothing wrong with either of you. Your bloodwork, hormone levels, and general reproductive health are all perfectly normal.”

You feel a rush of relief, but also confusion. “Then… why isn’t it happening?”

She smiles gently. “Secondary infertility isn’t uncommon, especially after multiple pregnancies. The body changes, and sometimes conception takes longer than before.”

Tony frowns. “So what’s the plan? We just keep playing the world’s most frustrating waiting game?”

Dr. Matthews chuckles. “Not necessarily. There are steps we can take to improve your chances. Adjusting diet, reducing stress, tracking ovulation—”

Tony groans. “Ugh. Science takes all the fun out of it.”

You pinch his arm. “Tony.”

“What? I don’t want to be told when I have to perform. Takes away the spontaneity, the romance.”

Dr. Matthews raises an amused eyebrow. “I doubt romance will be an issue, Mr. Stark.”

Tony smirks. “You flatter me, doc.”

You groan. “Can we focus?”

Dr. Matthews laughs, then hands you a few papers. “Here’s some information on what you can do to increase your chances. If, after a few more months, there’s still no progress, we can discuss fertility treatments.”

You nod, trying to absorb all of this. Tony, however, just leans back in his chair. “So, basically, we get to keep trying and eat more spinach?”

“Essentially.”

Tony shrugs. “Sweetheart, I see no downside here.”

You sigh, but despite everything, you can’t help but smile at his optimism.

On the way home, you sit in the car, reading through the pamphlets. Tony glances over. “You’re not gonna turn into one of those people, are you?”

“What people?”

“The ones who turn baby-making into a military operation.” He deepens his voice in mock seriousness. “'Tony, we must mate now. The charts have spoken.'”

You snort. “No, I am not going to be that person.” You pause. “But I will be tracking my cycle.”

Tony groans. “So no spontaneous closet quickies?”

You smirk. “Only on fertile days.”

Tony mutters something about how unfair life is, but he’s smiling.

The next few weeks are filled with subtle changes—healthy food, stress reduction, and, of course, timing things properly.

At first, it’s fine. Fun, even. Tony makes a whole thing out of it, setting the mood like you’re in some old Hollywood romance film. He even dims the lights one night and dramatically throws rose petals on the bed.

“What are you doing?” you ask, holding back a laugh.

Tony sprawls across the bed, smirking. “Creating an atmosphere. You’re looking at prime, vintage Tony Stark seduction, sweetheart.”

You shake your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me.”

Unfortunately, the fun starts to fade when, once again, month after month passes with no results.

One morning, you sit on the bathroom floor, yet another negative test clutched in your hands. You bite your lip, trying so hard not to cry, but the frustration and disappointment build inside you.

Tony finds you there minutes later. He sighs, kneeling in front of you and gently taking the test from your hands.

“No luck, huh?” he murmurs.

You shake your head, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t get it, Tony. Why is this so hard this time?”

He cups your face, tilting it up so you meet his gaze. “Sweetheart, we will get there. We’ve got two perfect little Stark monsters running around already. This is just life throwing another challenge at us.”

You sigh. “I just… I just thought it would’ve happened by now.”

Tony presses a kiss to your forehead. “Me too. But hey, in the meantime, we still get to have a lot of fun trying, right?”

You huff a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.”

The kids start to notice your change in mood.

Luna watches you carefully one afternoon while coloring at the kitchen table. She tilts her head. “Mommy sad ‘gain?”

Howard, sitting next to her, nods very seriously. “Mommy need huggies?”

Your heart squeezes. “No, baby, Mommy’s okay.”

Luna narrows her eyes. “No. You sad.”

Howard frowns. “Mommy no sad. Mommy happy.” He holds up a crayon drawing—a messy scribble of what is probably supposed to be your family. “See? We happy.”

You smile, hugging both of them. “I love you two so much.”

Luna pats your arm. “It be okay, Mommy.”

Tony, watching from the doorway, clears his throat. “You got the best cheerleaders in the world, sweetheart.”

That night, when you and Tony lie in bed, you exhale deeply. “I think we need to stop stressing.”

Tony nods. “Agreed. Let’s just… let it happen when it happens.”

You turn to him. “You sure?”

He grins. “Oh, I still plan on having lots of sex. I’m just saying we won’t need an Excel spreadsheet to do it.”

You burst out laughing. “God, I love you.”

Tony smirks, pulling you close. “And that, my dear wife, is why I’m irresistible.”

You roll your eyes, but for the first time in a while, you feel hopeful. Maybe—just maybe—it will happen when the time is right.

---

A whole year.

Twelve months of trying, of disappointment, of heartbreak, of reminding yourself not to get your hopes too high. Twelve months of keeping a smile on your face for the sake of Tony and the kids, even when every negative test chipped away at your hope.

And now, here you are.

Sitting on the bathroom floor, hands trembling, staring at a test that—finally, finally—shows two pink lines.

You're pregnant.

For a moment, you just sit there, stunned. Your heart is racing, your breath caught in your throat. You feel like if you move too fast, the moment might disappear, like it's some kind of dream you don't want to wake up from.

Then the reality of it slams into you all at once.

A choked laugh bubbles out of you, followed by a sob, and before you know it, you’re crying—big, happy, relievedtears.

You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to contain the sheer wave of emotions crashing over you. You did it. You did it.

The moment passes, and then excitement takes over. Tony. You have to tell Tony. But not just tell him—you have to make it special. After all the months of heartache, he deserves a moment to remember.

You wipe your tears, compose yourself, and practically sprint out of the bathroom to find your two little helpers.

Luna is sitting in the living room, coloring, while Howard is on the floor with his toy cars, making little vroom vroomnoises.

You crouch beside them, still buzzing with excitement. “Kids, Mommy has a very special mission for you.”

Luna immediately perks up. “What mission?”

Howard gasps dramatically. “Like superheroes?”

“Even better,” you whisper conspiratorially. “We’re going to surprise Daddy.”

Luna’s eyes widen. “Ooooh! I love surprises!”

Howard claps his little hands. “Me too!” Then he pauses, frowning. “Wait… what’s the surprise?”

You grin, placing a hand over your stomach. “Mommy has a baby in her belly.”

Luna gasps so loudly it could break glass. “Another baby?!”

Howard’s little face scrunches up in confusion. “But… where baby? I don’t see it.”

You chuckle. “It’s still very, very tiny. But it’s growing in Mommy’s belly, just like you and Luna did before you were born.”

Howard stares at your stomach with deep suspicion, as if he expects a baby to pop out at any second. “Hmm… I dunno ‘bout that.”

Luna, on the other hand, is practically vibrating with excitement. “We gotta tell Daddy right now!”

You laugh. “That’s the plan. But we have to do it in a fun way, okay?”

Luna nods eagerly. “Okay! What do we do?”

By the time Tony gets home from work, the three of you are ready.

The living room is decorated with balloons—pink and blue, just to keep things interesting. You even managed to find the old baby clothes from when Luna and Howard were newborns, and they’re hanging on a tiny clothesline across the room.

But the best part? Luna and Howard are both wearing custom t-shirts.

Luna’s says, “Big Sister Again!” in glittery letters.

Howard’s says, “I’m Gonna Be a Big Brother (I Think?)” because you couldn’t resist the urge to capture his skepticism.

You hear the front door open, and Tony’s voice carries through the house. “Honey, I’m hoooome! Did you miss me?”

You quickly shush the kids, and they scramble to their positions. Luna practically bounces in place, while Howard looks down at his shirt like it still doesn’t make sense to him.

Tony walks into the living room, looking exhausted but still as effortlessly charming as ever. “Okay, I know it’s bad when I say this, but I think I need more coffee—”

He stops mid-sentence. Blinks. Looks around the room.

Then his eyes land on the kids.

And their shirts.

For a moment, he just stands there, processing. You can see the exact second it clicks. His entire face shifts—his mouth drops open slightly, his eyes widen, and then he looks at you.

You smile, holding up the pregnancy test. “Surprise.”

Tony doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink. He just stares.

Luna giggles. “Daddy, you okay?”

That seems to snap him out of it. He blinks rapidly, looking between you, the kids, and the test in your hand. “Is this—? Are you—? Really?”

You nod, tears already welling in your eyes again. “Really.”

For a split second, you think he might actually pass out. Then, suddenly, he’s moving.

He crosses the room in record time, scooping you into his arms and lifting you right off your feet. You laugh as he spins you around, his face buried in your neck.

When he finally puts you down, his eyes are shining—actually shining.

“You’re pregnant,” he whispers, like he still can’t believe it.

You nod. “We did it.”

Tony lets out a shaky breath—and then, to your complete shock, he cries.

Real, genuine, happy tears roll down his cheeks.

Luna gasps. “Daddy’s crying!”

Howard’s jaw drops. “Daddy no cry! Daddy Tony Stark!”

Tony laughs through his tears, wiping his face. “Hey, even superheroes cry sometimes.” He looks back at you, cupping your face in his hands. “Sweetheart, this is—this is amazing.”

You grin. “I know.”

He looks down at your stomach and gently places his hand there. “Hey there, little Stark. Took you long enough.”

Luna giggles, hugging his leg. “I’m so excited, Daddy!”

Tony scoops her up with his free arm. “Me too, kiddo.” Then he turns to Howard, who is still studying his shirt suspiciously. “And what about you, Howie? You ready to be a big brother?”

Howard shrugs. “Mmm… maybe.”

Tony snorts. “That’s fair.”

Then he pulls all three of you into a big bear hug, wrapping you in warmth, love, and the undeniable feeling that this—this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

----

The day of the doctor’s appointment arrives, and for once, Tony is not cracking jokes.

He’s been in full-on “concerned husband” mode since you told him about the pregnancy, which—don’t get you wrong—is sweet. But considering this is Tony Stark, the man who once said “relax” while piloting an explosive missile into space, it’s a little intense.

It starts the moment you wake up.

“You should eat first,” Tony says, hovering near the bed as you stretch. “Gotta keep your blood sugar stable.”

You rub your eyes. “Tony, it’s six in the morning.”

“Yeah, and?” He gestures dramatically. “Our baby needs nutrients. I read somewhere that morning sickness is worse if you don’t eat early.”

You squint at him. “Since when do you read pregnancy articles?”

He scoffs. “Please, I’ve read all of them. I could write one myself. ‘How to Not Let Your Pregnant Wife Lift a Finger: A Guide by Tony Stark.’”

You sigh, realizing this is your life now.

By the time the kids are dropped off at school and you’re sitting in the waiting room at the doctor’s office, Tony has already triple-checked that you’re comfortable, that you’re hydrated, and that the chair isn’t too firm for your back.

When the nurse finally calls you in, Tony jumps up like you’re about to receive life-altering surgery.

The doctor—thankfully—has known you both for a while and isn’t fazed by Tony’s theatrics. “Alright, let’s take a look,” she says warmly as you settle on the examination table.

Tony does not blink during the ultrasound. He’s staring at the screen with the intensity of a man watching a bomb countdown.

And then—there it is.

A tiny, flickering heartbeat.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Tony makes a choked sound, gripping your hand tightly. “Holy shit.”

You laugh through your tears. “Yeah.”

The doctor smiles. “Everything looks good so far. Given how long it took to conceive, I’d recommend taking it easy, just as a precaution.”

Tony nods so fast you think he might get whiplash. “Absolutely. No stress, no heavy lifting, no unnecessary movement—”

The doctor chuckles. “I wouldn’t go that far. But yes, let’s just be careful.”

Tony nods solemnly, like he’s been given a sacred mission.

You should’ve known he’d take it too seriously.

That night, Luna and Howard are sitting at the dinner table, eating their food happily, when Tony clears his throat dramatically.

“Alright, kids. We need to have a talk.”

Luna perks up. “About what?”

Tony clasps his hands together. “About how we’re not going to stress out Mommy.”

You roll your eyes. “Tony—”

“No, no,” he says, holding up a hand. “Doctor’s orders. We gotta protect you, sweetheart.” He turns to the kids. “That means no making Mommy carry anything heavy, no jumping on her, no waking her up in the middle of the night unless it’s a real emergency—”

Howard gasps. “Like if I see a monster?”

Tony nods. “Only if the monster is confirmed dangerous. Otherwise, report it to me first.”

Luna frowns. “But what if I need help with something?”

Tony gives her a serious look. “Then you come to me.”

Howard scratches his head. “What if I need Mommy?”

Tony hesitates, then sighs. “Okay, fine. But if it’s something I can handle, let me handle it first.”

Luna and Howard nod solemnly, as if accepting a royal decree.

You stare at Tony. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly,” he says.

It doesn’t take long for you to hate this arrangement.

At first, it’s sweet. The kids are careful, trying to be helpful. Luna picks up things for you, Howard doesn��t climb all over you as much.

But then—then—it starts to get ridiculous.

Luna hesitates before asking you to braid her hair, looking guilty as she asks, “Is that too much work, Mommy?”

Howard frowns whenever he wants you to pick him up, even though he loves cuddling with you.

And worst of all?

Tony intercepts everything.

One morning, you go to reach for a cereal box, and suddenly, Tony swoops in. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! I got it.”

You glare at him. “Tony. It’s a cereal box.”

“Yeah, and it’s above your head. That’s risky.”

You groan. “Tony, I am pregnant, not fragile.”

He smirks. “Same thing.”

That night, Howard almost wakes you up because of a nightmare, but you hear Tony whispering outside the bedroom door.

“Shhh, buddy. Remember the plan. No waking up Mommy unless it’s a real emergency.”

Howard sniffles. “But I had a bad dream.”

“I got you, little dude. I’m the dream-fighting champion.”

There’s a pause, then a tiny whisper. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Now let’s get you back to bed—”

You swing the door open, glaring at Tony. “Give me my son.”

Howard immediately runs to you, snuggling into your arms.

Tony sighs. “Fine. But if you wake up tired tomorrow, I will say ‘I told you so.’”

The breaking point comes a few days later.

Luna walks into the kitchen, shifting nervously on her feet. “Mommy?”

You smile. “What’s up, sweetheart?”

She hesitates. “I… I have a question.”

“Of course, what is it?”

She looks at you, then at Tony, then back at you. “Can I ask you… or should I ask Daddy?”

Your heart drops.

You immediately crouch down. “Luna, sweetie. You can always ask me anything.”

She fidgets. “But Daddy said not to stress you…”

You take her little hands in yours. “Baby, talking to you is never stressful. I love when you come to me.”

She bites her lip. “Really?”

“Really,” you say firmly. “You, Howard, and Daddy are my favorite people in the whole world. Nothing makes me happier than helping you.”

She finally smiles. “Okay… then can you help me with my homework?”

You laugh, pulling her into a hug. “Of course, sweetheart.”

Then you shoot a glare at Tony over her shoulder. Fix this.

Tony sighs dramatically. “Fine, fine. Maybe I slightly overdid it.”

“Slightly?” you deadpan.

Luna giggles. “Daddy’s funny.”

Tony winks. “That’s why she married me.”

You roll your eyes but can’t hide your smile.

At least now, things will go back to normal—well, as normal as life can be in the Stark household.

---

The rest of the pregnancy is a rollercoaster.

Once the kids realize they don’t have to tiptoe around you anymore, they immediately return to their usual selves.

Luna comes running to you whenever she has a question—about school, about her friends, and most importantly, about the baby.

Howard, on the other hand, just assumes you have all the answers.

“Mommy,” he asks one morning, “how does the baby eat?”

You glance at Tony, who is casually reading something on his tablet. He doesn’t even look up before saying, “Go ahead, sweetheart. Explain placental nutrient transfer to our very curious four-year-old.”

You give him a look before turning to Howard. “Well, I eat food, and then my body sends the baby the good stuff from it.”

Howard gasps. “So when you eat ice cream, the baby eats ice cream too?”

You hesitate. “Um… sort of.”

His eyes go wide. “But what if they don’t like ice cream?”

Tony snorts. “Then they’re not my kid.”

Luna giggles. “That’s silly, Daddy. Everyone likes ice cream.”

Howard, looking very concerned, puts a little hand on your belly. “Baby, if you don’t like ice cream, that’s okay. I’ll eat it for you.”

Tony leans over, whispering, “I love this kid.”

The pregnancy flies by with moments like this—questions, excitement, and a lot of cuddles from the kids.

And then, at the five-month mark, it’s finally time for the gender reveal.

The baby shower is a big deal.

Pepper insists on throwing it, so you know it’s going to be perfect. The decorations are neutral, since you still don’t know the gender yet, but there’s an insane amount of food, presents, and—of course—Tony being Tony.

“So, how do you wanna do the big reveal?” Tony asks, draping an arm around your shoulder. “Explosion? Giant Iron Man hologram? Maybe a—”

“No explosions,” Pepper cuts in.

You sigh. “I just want something simple, Tony.”

He grins. “Alright, alright. Simple. Got it.”

Simple turns out to be a cake.

A normal, completely non-explosive cake.

Inside, the color of the filling will reveal the gender.

When you cut into it, the inside is pink.

“A girl!” Luna shrieks, practically jumping up and down. “I knew it! I knew it!”

Howard blinks at the cake. “So… it’s a sister?”

“Yep, buddy,” Tony says, ruffling his hair. “You’re gonna have a little sister.”

Howard takes a moment to process this. “Can I still call them ‘baby’?”

You laugh. “Of course.”

He beams. “Okay.”

Luna, meanwhile, is beyond excited. She grabs your hand. “We have to pick the best name for her.”

Which leads to the next challenge:

Picking a name.

The four of you sit down together that night, brainstorming names.

Luna, determined to take charge, starts listing all the princess names she can think of.

Howard, on the other hand, throws in suggestions like “Captain,” “Rocket,” and “Pancake.”

Tony smirks. “Pancake Stark. That’s a power move.”

You roll your eyes. “We are not naming our daughter Pancake.”

Eventually, you all settle on a shortlist, and one name stands out—Aurora.

Luna loves it because of the princess.

Howard shrugs and says, “It’s okay.”

Tony, who is surprisingly sentimental, points out that Aurora means “dawn” and represents a fresh, new beginning.

And just like that—your daughter has a name.

The final months of pregnancy are rough.

Everything is harder this time—walking, sleeping, even breathing.

And when labor finally starts, it’s way more intense than the last two times.

Something feels different.

The contractions are stronger, and as soon as you get to the hospital, the doctors confirm what you already suspected—this labor isn’t progressing the way it should.

After hours of pain, the doctor finally says what you’ve been dreading:

“We need to do a C-section.”

Your heart plummets.

Tony grips your hand. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

You nod, swallowing hard.

Everything moves fast after that.

Tony stays by your side the entire time, whispering reassurances.

And then—finally—finally—you hear it.

A loud, strong cry.

Your baby girl is here.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Tony presses a kiss to your forehead, his voice thick with emotion.

“She’s perfect,” he whispers. “You’re perfect.”

And then they bring her to you—tiny, pink, and absolutely beautiful.

Aurora Stark.

By the time the kids arrive to meet her, you’re feeling exhausted but so full of love.

Luna is practically vibrating with excitement. “Where is she? Where’s my sister?!”

Howard climbs onto Tony’s lap, eyes wide as he looks at the tiny bundle in your arms.

“Is that her?” he whispers.

You nod, smiling. “Come say hi.”

Luna carefully climbs onto the bed next to you, peering down at Aurora.

“She’s so small,” she says in awe.

Howard frowns. “She’s not talking.”

Tony chuckles. “Give her a minute, buddy.”

Howard hesitates, then leans in and pats Aurora’s tiny hand. “Hi, baby. I’m Howard.”

Aurora squirms slightly, making a little noise.

Luna gasps. “She likes him!”

Tony grins. “Of course she does. He’s her big brother.”

Luna presses a gentle kiss to Aurora’s forehead. “I’m gonna teach you everything,” she promises.

Howard nods. “Me too.”

Tony looks at you, his eyes soft and full of love. “I think she’s got the best siblings in the world.”

You smile, feeling completely and utterly whole.

Aurora is finally here.

And your family is perfect.