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amethystarachnid · 1 day ago

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If you promise us a happy ending, I'm okay with a angst part 3 hahahahah a breakup would be nice. The boy needs to move into another place, Tony being the most supportive and cute dad ❤️

CHRISTMAS MORNING - part III

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

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

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.9k

ᯓ★ Summary: first love heart break is rough, but nothing a trip to Paris can't resolve

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ Part I | Part II

ᯓ★ Prequel

ᯓ★ maybe a prequel to let you know how Tony and y/n ended up with four kids? 🤭, just wanna focus some more on the two of them before the kids

ᯓ★ Tony Taglist: @groovy-lady

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

Summer turns to fall, and Cora and Ryan’s relationship becomes a steady part of family life. By now, Ryan is a regular visitor to the house. Though Tony still maintains his “watchful dad” persona, he’s noticeably relaxed around Ryan, occasionally sharing a sarcastic comment or offering him a soda without much fuss. You’ve even caught Tony grumbling about the boy’s taste in music—not exactly glowing approval, but close enough.

Cora, meanwhile, is glowing in a way you’ve never seen before. She’s still her fiercely independent self, but there’s a new softness about her—she’s less quick to snap, more patient with her siblings, and her happiness is infectious. Except, of course, when it comes to Alex and Howard.

The twins, ever the chaos-makers, have taken their jealousy of Ryan to theatrical levels.

“Cora doesn’t love us anymore,” Alex announces one afternoon as you’re folding laundry in the living room.

“She just loves him,” Howard chimes in dramatically, lying face-down on the carpet like his world has ended.

You glance up from the socks you’re sorting and try not to laugh. “That’s not true, and you know it. Cora loves you very much.”

“Then why doesn’t she play with us anymore?” Alex demands, sitting up with a pout.

“She used to build forts with us,” Howard adds, now rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling like a tragic hero in a Shakespearean play. “Now she just texts him all the time.”

“Boys,” you say gently, sitting down beside them. “Cora’s growing up. That doesn’t mean she loves you any less. She’s just figuring out who she is and spending time with someone who makes her happy. But you’ll always be her little brothers, okay?”

“Yeah, but we don’t like him,” Alex mutters.

“You barely know him,” you point out.

“We don’t have to know him to not like him,” Howard says stubbornly.

Before you can respond, Estelle toddles into the room, dragging a blanket behind her. She climbs onto your lap without a word and leans against you, her thumb in her mouth.

“See?” you say, wrapping an arm around Estelle. “Even when Cora’s busy, you’ve got each other—and us.”

The twins don’t look entirely convinced, but they nod reluctantly.

Later that evening, while the kids are occupied with a movie, you and Tony find a rare quiet moment together in the kitchen. He’s leaning against the counter, sipping a glass of wine, while you finish tidying up.

“They’re really laying it on thick, huh?” Tony says, smirking as he recalls the twins’ earlier dramatics.

“They’re jealous,” you reply, rinsing the last dish. “They miss her, and they don’t know how to say it without turning it into a production.”

Tony sets his glass down and crosses the room, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “Well, they’d better get used to it. She’s not a kid anymore. And I’m pretty sure Ryan’s sticking around.”

You lean back against him, savoring the warmth of the moment. “You really think so?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I still want to give the kid the third degree every time I see him,” Tony says with a chuckle. “But yeah, he’s not bad. And she’s happy. That’s what matters, right?”

You turn to face him, resting your hands on his chest. “You’re a good dad, you know that?”

“Don’t let that get around,” he says, grinning as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Just then, Estelle toddles into the kitchen, clutching a stuffed animal in one hand and rubbing her eyes with the other.

“Mommy,” she says sleepily.

You scoop her up, kissing her chubby cheek. “What are you doing out of bed, little one?”

“Can’t sleep,” she murmurs, resting her head on your shoulder.

Tony reaches out to brush a strand of hair from her face, his expression softening in that way it always does when he looks at her. “Come on, princess,” he says. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

He takes her from your arms and carries her upstairs, humming a soft tune as she curls against his chest. You follow a few steps behind, watching the way he cradles her with the kind of tenderness that still catches you off guard sometimes.

Back downstairs, the twins are sprawled on the couch, fast asleep by the time the credits roll. Cora is in her room, probably texting Ryan, and the house feels peaceful in a way that’s rare but cherished.

Over the next few weeks, the twins continue to grumble about Ryan, but their protests lose some of their bite. They still don’t love the idea of sharing Cora’s attention, but they’re slowly coming to terms with it.

One Saturday, Cora surprises everyone by joining the twins for a game of basketball in the driveway. Ryan is nowhere in sight, and the boys are thrilled to have their big sister back, even if only for an hour. You watch from the porch with Tony, sipping coffee as the three of them laugh and bicker over the rules.

“See?” you say, nudging Tony with your elbow. “They’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, though his gaze lingers on Cora a little longer. “But I reserve the right to be overprotective forever.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” you reply, leaning against him.

It’s late afternoon when the front door opens, and you hear the unmistakable sound of Cora’s school bag dropping onto the floor. Usually, this is accompanied by her calling out, “Hey, I’m home!” or the sound of her heading to the kitchen for a snack. But today, it’s eerily quiet.

You glance up from the stack of papers you’re sorting at the dining table, your instincts immediately on alert. Tony, who’s tinkering with something small and metallic at the kitchen counter, notices too.

“Cora?” you call, standing.

Then you hear it—soft, muffled sobs coming from the living room. You’re moving before you even think, Tony right behind you.

You find her sitting on the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest, her face buried in her arms. Her whole body shakes with the force of her tears, and it feels like someone’s reached into your chest and squeezed your heart.

“Sweetheart?” you say softly, sitting down beside her.

Tony freezes for a moment, his eyes wide with panic as he takes in the sight of his usually strong, confident daughter falling apart. “What happened? Who hurt you? Tell me right now, and I’ll deal with it,” he says, his voice already edging toward anger.

Cora looks up, her face streaked with tears, and shakes her head. “No one hurt me, Dad.”

“Then what’s wrong?” you ask gently, brushing her hair out of her face.

She tries to speak, but her voice cracks, and a fresh wave of tears spills over.

Tony, clearly struggling to stay calm, sits on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. “Cora, you’re scaring me here. Just tell us what’s going on.”

After a moment, she takes a shaky breath and manages to get the words out. “Ryan… Ryan’s moving to London.”

Your heart sinks. “Oh, sweetheart…”

Tony blinks, his initial panic giving way to confusion. “London? Like… England London?”

Cora nods, wiping at her eyes. “His dad got a job there. They’re leaving in a month.”

“And what does that mean for you two?” Tony asks, though he already looks like he knows the answer.

Cora swallows hard, her voice trembling. “He… He said we should break up. He doesn’t want to do long distance.”

Tony’s jaw tightens, his fists clenching on his knees. “That little—”

“Tony,” you say sharply, cutting him off. “This isn’t about you wanting to punch a teenager.”

“Why not?” he mutters under his breath, but he backs down.

Cora lets out a shaky sigh. “It’s not his fault. He doesn’t think it’ll work, and… maybe he’s right. But it hurts so much.”

“Oh, honey,” you say, pulling her into a hug. She collapses against you, her sobs muffled against your shoulder.

Tony’s expression softens as he watches her, and he reaches out to squeeze her hand. “He’s an idiot if he thinks he’s not going to miss you every day. You’re amazing, Cora. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise.”

Before she can respond, there’s a small sound from the hallway. You turn to see Estelle standing there, clutching her favorite plushie—a well-loved bunny with one floppy ear. Her wide eyes take in the scene, and she hesitates for a moment before toddling over to the couch.

“Cowa sad?” she asks, her voice tiny and uncertain.

Cora sniffles and sits up a little, trying to wipe her tears away. “I’m okay, Estelle.”

But Estelle isn’t convinced. She climbs onto the couch beside her sister, her little face scrunched up with concern. Without a word, she holds out her bunny.

“Bun-bun make you happy,” she says solemnly.

Cora’s breath catches, and for a moment, she looks like she might start crying again—but this time, for an entirely different reason. She takes the plushie with trembling hands and pulls Estelle into a hug.

“Thank you, Stellie,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

Tony watches the scene unfold, his usual snark and bravado nowhere to be found. He looks at you, and you can see the helplessness in his eyes. He hates seeing any of his kids in pain, and knowing there’s nothing he can do to fix it is clearly killing him.

Later, after you’ve managed to convince Cora to eat a little something and Estelle is back to playing with her toys, you find Tony in the garage. He’s pacing, running his hands through his hair, and muttering to himself.

“Tony,” you say gently, stepping into the room.

He stops and looks at you, his expression a mix of frustration and sadness. “I hate this. I hate that she’s hurting, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“I know,” you say, wrapping your arms around him. “But she doesn’t need you to fix it. She just needs you to be there for her.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” he admits, his voice quiet. “I’m not good at this kind of stuff.”

“You’re better at it than you think,” you tell him, resting your head against his chest. “Just keep showing up. That’s all she needs.”

Over the next few days, Cora starts to open up a little more. She talks about the memories she and Ryan made together, the inside jokes they shared, and the plans they’d dreamed of before the news of his move.

The twins, thankfully, are oblivious to the situation for the time being. They’re too busy with basketball practice and their latest obsession with building the tallest block towers they can manage. You’re grateful for the reprieve—it gives Cora space to grieve without their constant questions and commentary.

One evening, as you’re tucking Estelle into bed, she looks up at you with her big, curious eyes.

“Cowa okay now?” she asks.

You smile softly and brush her hair back. “She’s getting there, sweetie. Thanks to you and Bun-bun.”

Estelle nods, satisfied, and snuggles deeper into her blankets.

By the end of the week, Cora seems a little stronger. She still has moments where the pain hits her all over again, but she’s beginning to smile and laugh more often. Tony even manages to get her to join him for a round of Mario Kart, and the sound of her laughter fills the house like a balm for everyone’s hearts.

“She’s going to be okay,” you tell Tony one night as you’re lying in bed.

“Yeah,” he says, though his voice is still tinged with sadness. “But it’s going to take time.”

And so, as a family, you give her all the time she needs, surrounding her with love, support, and the occasional inappropriate dad joke to remind her that she’s never alone.

The chaos starts one evening during dinner. The twins are unusually quiet, their usual chatter about basketball, school antics, and random “fun facts” replaced by curious glances toward Cora. She’s sitting at the table, picking at her plate of pasta with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. The sparkle she usually carries has dimmed a bit since the breakup, though she’s been doing her best to mask it.

“Hey, Cora,” Alex pipes up, breaking the silence. “Where’s Ryan? He hasn’t come over in forever.”

Howard nods, his mouth full. “Yeah, didn’t he say he’d bring us that big bag of caramel popcorn? He never did.”

You can see the subtle flinch in Cora’s shoulders before she glances at you, silently pleading for help. Tony immediately stiffens, his protective instincts on high alert as he watches the exchange unfold.

“Guys,” you say gently, “Ryan… isn’t coming over anymore.”

The twins pause mid-bite, their synchronized reactions almost comical.

“What? Why?” Alex demands, his tone filled with disbelief.

Howard narrows his eyes. “Did he do something to you, Cora? Because if he did, we’ll—”

“No!” Cora cuts in quickly, setting down her fork. “It’s nothing like that. He’s moving to London, and we broke up.”

The twins blink, processing this new information. Then, as if on cue, they both push their plates away and hop off their chairs.

“Unacceptable,” Alex declares, his hands balling into fists.

“Totally unacceptable,” Howard echoes, his expression darkening. “He can’t just dump you and move to London like that!”

“It’s not his fault,” Cora says, though her voice is tinged with frustration. “He doesn’t want to do long distance, and we both agreed it was for the best.”

“That’s a bad excuse,” Alex snaps, pacing back and forth.

“He’s a coward,” Howard adds. “And cowards don’t deserve you, Cora!”

Before you or Tony can intervene, Estelle, who has been sitting quietly in her high chair, suddenly pipes up in her tiny, serious voice.

“Coward don’t deserve Cowa,” she says, mimicking Howard’s words almost perfectly.

Tony chokes on his water, and you nearly drop your fork.

“Estelle,” you say, trying not to laugh. “Sweetie, you don’t even know what that means.”

“Coward,” Estelle repeats, crossing her arms like her brothers, as if she fully understands the weight of her declaration.

“See? Even Stellie gets it!” Alex says, gesturing dramatically to his baby sister.

“We should punch him,” Howard announces, his face set in a grim expression.

“Punch him,” Estelle echoes, holding up her tiny fist.

At that, Tony finally snaps out of his stunned silence and stands up, waving his hands in front of him. “Okay, okay, let’s pump the brakes here. Nobody’s punching anyone.”

“Why not?” Alex asks, glaring up at his dad.

“And anyway,” Howard adds, “Ryan hurt Cora. Isn’t that worse?”

“Guys,” you say firmly, stepping in before this spirals any further, “violence isn’t the answer. And Ryan didn’t hurt Cora—he made a difficult decision, and sometimes relationships just don’t work out. It’s no one’s fault.”

“But Cora’s sad,” Alex says, his lower lip jutting out in a rare display of vulnerability.

“We don’t like seeing her like this,” Howard agrees.

Cora, who’s been quietly watching the whole exchange, finally speaks up. “I appreciate you guys wanting to defend me, but I don’t need anyone to fight my battles. I’m okay, really.”

“You don’t seem okay,” Alex mumbles.

“She’s just figuring it out,” you say softly, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “And the best thing you can do is support her and be there when she needs you.”

The twins exchange a look, clearly reluctant to let the matter drop.

“We still don’t like him,” Howard mutters as he sits back down.

“Yeah,” Alex adds. “And we’re never eating caramel popcorn again.”

At that, Estelle solemnly pushes her sippy cup away and declares, “No popcorn.”

Tony snorts, shaking his head as he sits back down. “You’re really digging in on this, huh?”

“Someone has to,” Alex says with a dramatic sigh.

The rest of dinner is a little quieter, though the twins occasionally shoot pointed glances at Cora, as if they’re still plotting how to avenge her heartbreak. Estelle, meanwhile, alternates between eating her mashed potatoes and mimicking the twins’ exaggerated arm-crossing stance, clearly enjoying the attention.

Later, as you’re tucking Estelle into bed, she looks up at you with her wide, innocent eyes and asks, “Cowa happy now?”

You brush a strand of hair from her face and kiss her forehead. “She’s getting there, sweetie. Thanks to you and your brothers.”

Estelle smiles, snuggling into her blankets. “Okay. No popcorn.”

You stifle a laugh and tuck her in, leaving her room with a heart full of love for your fiercely protective little family.

Downstairs, you find Tony sitting on the couch, staring at the wall with a contemplative expression.

“You okay?” you ask, sitting beside him.

He lets out a long sigh. “I don’t know how you do it. Keeping them all from forming a vigilante squad and storming London.”

You laugh, leaning your head on his shoulder. “It’s a team effort.”

Tony wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer. “She’s going to be okay, right?”

“She will,” you say confidently. “She’s got us. And if that’s not enough, she’s got two little brothers and a baby sister ready to take on the world for her.”

Tony chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Yeah. That’s enough.”

It starts with little things, subtle and soft gestures to help lift Cora’s spirits. You and Tony both know she’s heartbroken—first loves are never easy to lose, and Ryan’s move to London had hit her harder than she wanted to admit. But you also know the kind of family she has. Stark resilience, wrapped in unconditional love, with just a sprinkle of chaos.

The effort begins the morning after the twins’ dramatic anti-Ryan declarations. Cora walks into the kitchen to find the twins at the breakfast table, uncharacteristically quiet. Estelle is perched in her high chair, clumsily holding a spoon as she tries to feed herself yogurt.

“Good morning,” Cora mumbles, still a little groggy.

“Morning!” Alex chirps, way too chipper for this early.

“Hi,” Howard says, looking suspiciously at his brother.

Cora narrows her eyes. “What are you two up to?”

“Nothing!” Alex says, but his grin gives him away.

Howard looks down at his plate, trying to look innocent but failing miserably. That’s when you step in from behind them, holding a plate of Cora’s favorite pancakes—chocolate chip, with extra whipped cream.

“We just thought you deserved a special breakfast,” you say, setting the plate in front of her.

Cora raises an eyebrow. “Okay, what’s the catch?”

“No catch!” Tony’s voice booms as he strides into the kitchen, dressed in a casual hoodie and jeans. “Just a family-wide campaign to cheer you up. Welcome to Operation Cora Smiles Again.”

Cora groans, though there’s a tiny flicker of amusement in her eyes. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“And you love us for it,” Tony says, dropping a kiss on the top of her head before grabbing his coffee.

Over the next few days, the “operation” goes into full swing. The twins take it upon themselves to invite Cora to all their activities, from basketball practice to board games, though their “invites” are mostly just them dragging her out of her room. Estelle toddles after her sister constantly, climbing into her lap during movie nights and insisting Cora help her with her coloring books.

Tony, of course, takes things to a whole new level.

One afternoon, he barges into the living room where you and Cora are sitting, her head on your shoulder as the two of you watch some feel-good rom-com. He’s holding his phone, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Ladies,” he announces, “pack your bags. We’re going to Paris.”

Cora sits up straight, her mouth falling open. “What?”

“You’ve always said you wanted to see the Louvre, right?” Tony says, grinning. “Well, I figured, what better way to distract you than with some world-class art and culture? Plus, croissants.”

“Are you serious?” Cora asks, still stunned.

“Dead serious,” Tony replies. “Private jet leaves in two days. Hope you’ve been brushing up on your French.”

“Dad, you can’t just—”

“Already booked it,” he interrupts, waving his phone. “Non-refundable. So you’re coming.”

Cora looks at you, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Mom?”

You shrug, smiling. “He’s not kidding. You might as well start picking out your outfits.”

She blinks a few times, then a slow smile spreads across her face. “Okay, fine. Paris sounds… amazing.”

Tony pumps his fist in victory, and you shake your head fondly.

When the day of the trip arrives, the excitement in the house is palpable. The twins are bouncing off the walls, thrilled at the idea of flying on the family’s private jet again. Estelle is too young to fully understand what’s happening but seems to pick up on the energy, clapping her hands and shouting, “Pawis!” every few minutes.

Cora, meanwhile, is quieter but visibly excited. She spends most of the flight flipping through a guidebook Tony had casually tossed her way, her mood lighter than it’s been in weeks.

Once you land in Paris, it’s like a whole new world opens up for her. The city is everything she’d imagined—bustling streets, beautiful architecture, and, of course, the Eiffel Tower. You and Tony make sure the kids experience all the highlights: boat rides along the Seine, macarons at a fancy patisserie, and a picnic at the Champs de Mars.

But the real highlight is the Louvre.

Walking through the museum, Cora is completely captivated. She takes her time studying each exhibit, her eyes wide with wonder as she absorbs the art and history. Tony stays close, his usual sarcasm dialed back as he watches her with pride.

At one point, she stops in front of the Mona Lisa, her expression thoughtful.

“It’s smaller than I thought it’d be,” she says.

Tony smirks. “Yeah, but it’s got personality. Kind of like someone else I know.”

Cora rolls her eyes but laughs, and it’s one of the first genuine laughs you’ve heard from her in a while.

By the time you return to the hotel that evening, everyone is exhausted but happy. The twins collapse onto their beds, and Estelle is already dozing off in your arms. Cora sits on the balcony, looking out at the city lights.

Tony joins her, leaning on the railing. “Feeling better?”

She nods, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah. Thanks, Dad. For all of this.”

He shrugs, though you can see the emotion in his eyes. “Anything for you, kid.”

When you join them, Tony wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. Together, the three of you watch the Eiffel Tower sparkle in the distance, a quiet moment of peace in the midst of everything.

The Paris trip continues to unravel in a blend of heartwarming family moments and the kind of chaos only a Stark family vacation could produce. It starts innocently enough as you all wander through the streets of Montmartre, the cobblestone pathways alive with music, street performers, and the scent of fresh pastries. Cora has perked up considerably since the museum visit, her mood lighter, her laughter more frequent.

But then there’s him.

It happens as the family pauses near a small café. You’re distracted, helping Estelle adjust the straps of her sunhat while Tony orders espressos, croissants, and a ridiculously overpriced cup of hot chocolate for the twins. Cora’s off to the side, flipping through postcards at a nearby vendor stand, when you notice a boy about her age approaching her.

He’s tall, with tousled dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and a confidence that screams “Parisian charm.” He says something in French, his voice lilting in a way that immediately draws Cora’s attention. She blushes, brushing her hair behind her ear as she responds—haltingly but gamely—in the French she’s been practicing since she knew about the trip.

Tony notices it too.

“What’s happening here?” he says, his tone shifting to dad mode as he steps closer, coffee cup in hand.

“Oh, relax,” you say, biting back a smile. “He’s just flirting with her.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “Flirting? In broad daylight? In front of me?”

“He probably doesn’t know you’re her dad,” you tease, leaning closer. “She does have my genes, after all.”

Tony smirks but doesn’t lose his focus on the boy. “Well, he’s about to find out.”

Before he can make a move, the twins return, each holding a baguette that’s nearly as big as they are. Alex squints at the scene unfolding by the postcards.

“Hey, who’s that guy talking to Cora?” he asks, his mouth full of bread.

“Probably her new boyfriend,” Howard says, grinning mischievously.

“Not helping,” Tony mutters.

“Let’s just give her some space,” you suggest, tugging gently on his arm. “She’s allowed to talk to boys, you know.”

Tony sighs but relents, though he keeps a close eye on the interaction. Eventually, the boy waves goodbye and walks away, leaving Cora clutching her postcards with a dazed expression. When she rejoins the group, Tony can’t help himself.

“So, who’s your new friend?” he asks, trying (and failing) to sound casual.

Cora glares at him. “Nobody. Just some guy.”

“Did he give you his number?” Alex asks, grinning.

“Did he try to kiss you?” Howard adds.

“Guys, stop,” Cora groans, her cheeks turning bright red.

Tony crosses his arms. “Was his name Pierre? Because he looked like a Pierre.”

You smack his arm lightly, laughing. “Tony, let it go.”

Despite the teasing, the moment passes, and the family moves on to the next adventure. The twins, however, are not so easily distracted.

That evening, as you’re lounging in the hotel room, flipping through a travel guide, the boys march up to you and Tony with matching determined expressions.

“We want to go to Disneyland,” Alex announces.

“Disneyland Paris,” Howard clarifies.

“Please, Mom?” Alex adds, turning his best puppy-dog eyes on you.

Tony snorts. “You’ve got to be kidding me. We came all the way to Paris, and you want to see Mickey Mouse?”

“Oui, Mickey,” Estelle chimes in from her spot on the bed, clapping her hands.

You glance at Tony, who’s already shaking his head. But then Cora chimes in, a small smile playing on her lips.

“It could be fun,” she says. “And the twins have been really sweet to me lately. I think they deserve it.”

Tony groans. “You’re killing me, kid.”

The next day, you find yourself standing in the middle of Disneyland Paris, surrounded by excited children, cotton candy stands, and the sound of cheerful Disney music. The twins are practically vibrating with excitement, dragging Cora from one attraction to the next.

Estelle is equally thrilled, her eyes wide as she points at every princess she sees, babbling excitedly about their dresses.

“Look at her,” Tony says, watching Estelle hug a life-sized Winnie the Pooh with absolute joy. “She’s two, and she already knows how to work the system.”

“She’s your daughter,” you tease, linking your arm with his.

The day is a whirlwind of rides, character meet-and-greets, and an obscene amount of overpriced snacks. Tony tries to talk his way into a VIP area at one point, but you manage to reel him back before he starts name-dropping himself.

Later, as the sun begins to set, the kids are busy chasing bubbles near Sleeping Beauty’s Castle, and you and Tony find a rare moment of peace on a nearby bench.

“Remember the last time we were in Paris?” he says, his voice low and teasing.

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “I do. And I remember how much wine we drank that night.”

Tony smirks. “It was a good night. A productive night.”

“Tony,” you say, laughing softly.

“What?” he says, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying, nine months later, we had Cora. Coincidence? I think not.”

You shake your head, leaning into him. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, the chaos of the day fading into the background. Tony takes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he says quietly. “Keeping this whole crazy family together, making sure everyone’s happy…”

“You help,” you say, smiling up at him.

He grins. “Yeah, but you’re the glue. The sexy, unstoppable glue.”

You laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Mrs. Stark,” he murmurs.

The moment is interrupted by Estelle toddling over, holding a sticky cotton candy in her hands. “Mama! Dada!” she says, grinning. “Candy!”

Tony scoops her up, laughing. “All right, princess. Let’s get you cleaned up before you stick to everything.”

As the fireworks light up the night sky, you watch your family, your heart full. Cora is smiling again, the twins are their usual mischievous selves, and even Estelle is giggling as Tony pretends to “steal” her cotton candy.

It’s not perfect, but it’s yours. And in this moment, it’s everything you could ever want.

Returning to Miami is bittersweet. After the whirlwind adventure in Paris, filled with laughter, healing, and plenty of magical moments, the familiarity of home feels both comforting and a little dull in comparison. The private jet touches down mid-morning, and as you step onto the tarmac, the heat wraps around you like an old friend. Estelle claps her hands excitedly at the sight of palm trees, and the twins immediately begin discussing which of their toys they missed most.

Cora, however, is a little quieter than usual. She’s not sulking—in fact, she seems happy—but there’s something in her demeanor, a kind of soft distraction, that doesn’t go unnoticed. You and Tony exchange a knowing glance as you watch her scrolling on her phone, her thumbs moving quickly over the screen as a faint smile plays on her lips.

By the time you’re back at the house, it’s clear that whatever—or whoever—Cora is texting has her full attention. The twins bolt up the stairs to their room, racing to see who can dump their luggage the fastest. Estelle toddles after them, babbling about her stuffed animals and pausing halfway up to plop down and rest.

Cora lingers in the living room, dropping her bags by the couch and flopping down with a sigh. Her phone is still in her hand, and her fingers immediately start typing again.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “So, who’s the lucky recipient of all those texts?”

Cora doesn’t look up, but she does roll her eyes. “Nobody.”

You smirk, taking a seat next to her. “Nobody’s got you smiling at your phone like that? Come on, spill.”

“It’s not a big deal,” she says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just talking to some people I met in France.”

Tony sits on the arm of the couch, folding his arms across his chest. “Oh, some people, huh? Are we talking guys, girls, or… Pierre?”

“Dad, seriously?” Cora groans, but she’s laughing despite herself.

“Wait, is it actually Pierre?” you ask, feigning shock.

“No!” Cora insists, finally setting her phone down and looking between the two of you. “His name is Louis. He was in line behind me at the Louvre, and we started talking while we waited. He’s cool, okay? That’s it.”

“Cool enough to text all day?” Tony teases, his grin widening.

“Cool enough to not break my heart, which is more than I can say for other people,” Cora shoots back, though her tone is light.

Tony’s smile falters for just a moment, and you place a hand on his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Well,” you say, steering the conversation back to neutral ground, “I think it’s great that you’re making new friends. France clearly left an impression.”

Cora nods, picking up her phone again. “Yeah. Louis and his friends were all really nice. They even invited me to come back someday and visit.”

Tony stiffens. “Visit? Alone? Over my dead body.”

“Tony,” you warn, shooting him a look.

“I’m just saying,” he mutters, leaning back. “Paris is great and all, but it’s a long way from here. And I don’t trust teenage boys. Especially French ones. They’re too charming.”

Cora laughs, shaking her head. “Relax, Dad. It’s not like I’m packing my bags tomorrow. Besides, you liked Paris too, remember? You wouldn’t stop talking about the croissants.”

“She’s got you there,” you say, smiling.

The next few days pass in a blur of unpacking, settling back into routines, and adjusting to the Miami heat. Cora spends a lot of time in her room, but instead of sulking like she had after the breakup, she seems genuinely happy. You often catch her laughing at something on her phone, and her mood has improved so much that even the twins take notice.

At dinner one evening, Alex leans over his plate of spaghetti and asks, “Cora, why are you always on your phone? Are you playing games?”

“No,” she says, twirling her fork. “I’m talking to my friends.”

Howard squints at her. “What friends? You don’t have any friends here.”

“Not here,” Cora says patiently. “In France. Remember the trip we just took? I met some people there.”

“Like Pierre?” Alex asks, grinning.

“His name is Louis,” Estelle pipes up, repeating what she’s heard so many times over the past few days. She giggles as if she understands the joke.

“Okay, dinner table rule,” you say, holding up a hand. “No teasing your sister about her friends. Got it?”

“Yes, Mom,” the twins say in unison, though you can tell they’re not entirely sincere.

After dinner, as you’re cleaning up in the kitchen, Tony wanders in, a dishtowel slung over his shoulder.

“So, what do you think about this Louis kid?” he asks, leaning against the counter.

“I think he’s halfway across the world and just a friend,” you reply, rinsing a plate. “And I think it’s good for Cora to have someone to talk to who isn’t us.”

Tony sighs. “Yeah, I guess. But I’m not thrilled about the idea of her running off to Europe to visit him someday.”

“She’s not running off anywhere,” you say, setting the plate in the drying rack. “And if she ever did, it wouldn’t be without a lot of planning—and probably a chaperone.”

Tony smirks. “So, you’re saying I’d have to go too?”

“Obviously,” you say, smiling. “You’d hate to miss out on more croissants.”

As the days turn into weeks, Cora continues to text Louis and his group of friends, her phone buzzing at all hours with messages and pictures. You catch glimpses of their conversations occasionally—photos of the Eiffel Tower lit up at night, jokes about the Louvre’s long lines, and even a video of someone attempting to skateboard in a cobblestone alley.

The twins remain mildly suspicious of this new development, but their jealousy is quickly forgotten whenever Cora agrees to join them for a game of basketball or a movie night.

One afternoon, as you’re sitting on the patio with Tony, watching Estelle splash around in the kiddie pool, he leans over and says, “You know, I think she’s really okay now.”

You follow his gaze to where Cora is lounging in a hammock, laughing at something on her phone.

“She is,” you agree, resting your head on his shoulder. “And that’s all that matters.”

Tony wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer. “You know, we’re pretty good at this whole parenting thing.”

“Speak for yourself,” you tease. “I’m the glue, remember?”

He laughs, kissing the top of your head. “Fair enough. But I’m the fun one.”

“Sure you are,” you say, smiling as you watch your family, your heart full.