#tony stark deserves the multiverse

[tony-stark-official]

Love that u give actual advice to ppl instead of just telling jokes (tho ur jokes r funny 2), there’s a reason ur my fav celebrity

Thanks, I kinda take it upon myself to help out where other people won't or can't. What's the use of a ridiculously restless brain going mach 3 if I don't put some of that into helping other people? I think I genuinely might explode if I sit still without something to think about or work on for more than 15 minutes, so if anything, you're helping me.

Good to hear my jokes are still landing too, I'm glad I haven't lost my touch. [;

[dalekofchaos]

Doctor Doom gets ruined AND WHITEWASHED AGAIN!

4 attempts to get Doctor Doom right

4

And we STILL can’t get this right

A master of magic and science. A man who rivals Doctor Strange and Reed Richards as the most powerful sorcerer and the smartest man alive. He rules an entire country with an army of Doombots. Considered to be one of the greatest Marvel villains. And they still can't get him right. They have to make him a fucking Tony Stark variant. Tony Stark is not Victor Von Doom and Doom is above Tony Stark.

Victor wearing the mask always is integral to his appeal and aura like Vader's mask. It not only hides his vain scars he caused due to his failures, but it closes him off from humanity and makes him believe he’s beyond it.

As far as I'm concerned Marvel Ultimate Alliance and EMH are the only good adaptations of Doom

Doctor Doom being a romani man with a background CENTERING his family's racial persecution. with his ethnicity at the forefront of his motivations and his tragedy. and they really just brought back Robert Downey Jr.

Being romani is INTEGRAL to doom’s character and without that he’s not doom. he NEEDS to be romani and played by a romani character. full stop, don't believe me? Read Book Of Dooms.

Since 1964 Victor von Doom has been established as a Romani character. His childhood was filled with antiziganism and his parents deaths were caused by it. This later led him to become Doctor Doom and overthrow the Latverian government to protect his people

I am so fucking sick and tired of this whitewashing bullshit and the ethnoerasure of Marvel characters.

The Maximoff Twins, The Ancient One, Moon Knight and now fucking Doom.

God fucking forbid an actual Romani actor PLAYS A ROMANI CHARACTER.

But no they pulled another fucking multiverse shit all so RDJ could return and it all feels like blackface from Tropic Thunder

I DON'T GIVE A FUCKING SHIT ABOUT ANTHONY STARK FROM EARTH-11029 OR INFAMOUS IRON MAN

If you wanted evil Iron Man so fucking bad, why didn't you just do Superior Iron Man?

The LAZIEST, DUMBEST, most CONTRIVED BULLSHIT casting ever, Marvel continues to not beat the whitewashing allegations. Doctor Doom deserved better.

Romani actor Charlie Clapman was right fucking there AND HE ENDORSED IT!

I'd even suggest Romani actor Óscar Jaenada as Doom. Again another Roma actor who's actively interested in playing Doom

And you know what? As bad as the 1994 movie was, Joseph Culp the first actor to play Doom in the Fantastic Four (1994) movie by Oley Sassone & Richard Corman. Culp was also white but he very clearly cared for the comics background of Victor von Doom

and you also know damn well they're going to erase everything about Magneto too that makes him who he is… which is his entire fucking background. how horrible of a person do you have to be to repeatedly disrespect the minorities who created these stories?

Doctor Doom is Roma Romani. He is not white. The MCU loves to whitewash its Roma and Jewish characters and it’s time we called them out for it. Dr Doom is not a white man, he is Roma!

They will never nail down the complexity of Victor Von Doom

Every year Doom goes to hell to fight Mephisto to rescue the soul of his mother. He finally won her soul with the help of Doctor Strange only for her to reject him.

No evil Stark replicant will ever fucking match the complexity of Victor Von Doom.

I don't care if this is a one time thing for RDJ. They specifically chose to do this when the fans were begging for a fucking Romani actor. It also doesn't fucking help that Marvel has erased nearly EVERY fucking ethnic character has been whitewashed.

Scarlet Witch & Quicksilver: Erased Romani heritage and whitewashed. Moon Knight & Wiccan: Casted non-Jewish actors. Sabra: Featured in anything at all, and actress is an IDF soldier to make matters worse.

The MCU is full of ethnic erasure, military propaganda & racism. it’s disgusting this is continuing with Dr Doom’s casting. remember to continue to boycott marvel, because of the genocide they support by casting an iof solider to play a character from the zionist terrorist occupation

Dr Doom is one of those villains that it should be IMPOSSIBLE to fuck up but wasting him on a cheap Iron Man nostalgia casting pop might be the way

[amethystarachnid]

Omg, Secret Admirer with Tony as a normal request??? This is soooo him 💕💕💕

SECRET ADMIRER

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

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

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance, rom-com

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.1k

ᯓ★ Summary: where Tony realizes he sucks at being a secret admirer

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think, just a little spicy scene at the end

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

There’s a knock at your apartment door just as you’re finishing up your evening tea. You frown, glancing at the clock. It’s well past eight, and you aren’t expecting anyone. Setting your mug down, you make your way to the door, hesitating for only a moment before unlocking it and peeking outside.

A deliveryman stands in the hallway, holding a large bouquet of roses wrapped in elegant cream-colored paper. The vibrant red petals contrast sharply against the neutral tones of your apartment complex, and for a second, you just stare.

“Delivery for Y/N Y/L/N,” the man says with a friendly nod, holding out the bouquet.

“I didn’t order any flowers,” you say slowly, though you take them from him anyway. The arrangement is heavy in your arms, the scent intoxicating.

“They’re already paid for,” he assures you. “Enjoy your night, ma’am.” And with that, he turns and leaves.

You step back inside, kicking the door shut with your foot as you turn the bouquet in your hands. Nestled among the roses is a small, simple card. You pluck it free, heart beating just a little faster than usual.

For someone who deserves to be admired from afar.

That’s it. No signature, no indication of who sent them.

You blink at the words, reading them over once, then again. A secret admirer? You almost laugh at the thought. You’re not the kind of person who receives anonymous flowers on a random Tuesday evening. You work for one of the busiest, most brilliant men in the world, and between handling Stark Industries' never-ending demands, you barely have time to think about your own personal life, let alone some mysterious admirer.

But the flowers are beautiful. The kind of expensive, expertly arranged bouquet that couldn’t have come from just anywhere. And there’s a part of you that—while hesitant, while skeptical—can’t help but be a little flattered.

The next morning, you bring them to your office. You tell yourself it’s just practical; they’re too beautiful to leave wilting at home, and your desk could use a little brightness. You set them near the edge of your desk, where the rich red petals can catch the sunlight streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

When Tony Stark walks in, his reaction is immediate. His dark eyes lock onto the roses before he even glances at you.

“Wow,” he says, sauntering over. “What’s the occasion? Are we celebrating something? Did I miss your birthday? Because if I did, let me know so I can send you something even more extravagant to make up for it.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not my birthday. And they were a gift.”

Tony leans in, hands in his pockets, tilting his head as he inspects the bouquet like it might hold the answer to some unsolved equation. “From who?”

You let out a small, amused scoff. “I don’t know. They came with a note, but no name.”

His expression doesn’t change, but you swear there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. “A secret admirer? Now that’s intriguing.” He straightens up and looks at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You have a stalker, Y/N. Should I be concerned?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Highly doubtful. Probably just some silly office prank. Or maybe a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Tony repeats, clearly unimpressed with your theory. “Right. Because people mistakenly send ridiculously expensive flower arrangements to someone’s exact home address all the time.”

You shrug. “Maybe it was meant for the apartment next door.”

He makes a thoughtful sound, then leans one elbow on your desk, still fixated on the roses. “So you’re telling me that some guy out there—some hopeless romantic with, let’s be honest, impeccable taste—sent these to you, and you’re just gonna write it off as a coincidence?”

You shoot him a pointed look. “I don’t have time for mysteries, Tony. Unlike you, I actually have to focus at work.”

Tony places a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “Hey, I focus. I’m very focused. In fact, right now, I’m focused on finding out who’s trying to woo my assistant behind my back.”

You roll your eyes again, but this time there’s a smile threatening at the corners of your lips. “I think I’ll survive without knowing, Stark. Now, do you have any actual work for me, or did you just come here to interrogate me about my very mysterious, very unexpected flowers?”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine, fine. We’ll get back to the pressing matters of corporate chaos and world-changing tech. But mark my words,” he says, pointing at you as he backs toward the door. “I’m onto this. Secret admirer, if you’re out there, know that Tony Stark is watching you.”

With that, he disappears down the hall.

You shake your head, exhaling a small laugh. If you didn’t know better, you’d think Tony was actually jealous.

But that would be ridiculous.

Right?

Tony strides into his office and immediately shuts the door behind him, pressing his back against it like he just escaped a high-stakes mission. His heart is hammering against his ribs, which is insane because he’s Tony Freaking Stark. He does not get nervous. Not when presenting game-changing tech to a room full of world leaders. Not when wearing a billion-dollar suit and dodging missiles. Not even when facing off against gods or aliens.

But apparently, when it comes to you and flowers, his composure is about as solid as a wet paper bag.

“Okay,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he paces toward his desk. “Okay, okay, okay. No big deal. Play it cool. She has no idea.”

He plops down in his chair, spinning once before slamming his hands down on his desk dramatically. His AI assistant, FRIDAY, chimes in with her usual calm efficiency.

“Sir, would you like me to schedule your—”

“FRIDAY, emergency situation,” he interrupts, leaning forward and lacing his fingers together like he’s about to broker a multi-billion-dollar deal. “Give me a full diagnostic of Y/N’s reaction to The Flowers.”

A brief silence. Then, “Sir, I do not have access to the depths of human emotion. However, I can confirm that she smiled.”

Tony’s hands slam onto his desk again. “YES.” He punches the air, rolling backward in his chair with an overzealous victory spin before suddenly halting. “Wait. How big was the smile? Are we talking polite ‘oh-this-is-nice’ smile, or was it, like, melted butter on a stack of pancakes smile?”

“I would classify it as a pleased smile, sir.”

He groans, slumping in his chair. “Not enough. It has to be more. I spent an unreasonable amount of money on those roses—do you know how hard it was to find a florist who could arrange them just right and deliver them exactly on time without looking suspicious?”

“I do. I processed the payments.”

“Right. And now she thinks it’s a mistake.” He drags his hands down his face. “A mistake, FRIDAY. A coincidence. She thinks some random Romeo accidentally sent her flowers instead of realizing they came from me, the actual genius mastermind behind the whole thing.”

“Would you like me to subtly reveal your involvement, sir?”

Tony snaps his fingers. “Yes. No. Wait. No. That’s desperate. I can’t just tell her. I have to be—what’s the word—mysterious. Intriguing. Like a suave, romantic, definitely-not-panicking billionaire.”

“You are currently pacing, sir.”

Tony stops mid-step. “I’m thinking.”

“You are fretting, sir.”

“Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, fair point.” He exhales, tapping his fingers against his chin. “Alright. New plan. I have to escalate. Bigger gesture. Something that makes her really stop and go, ‘Wow, my secret admirer is so thoughtful and attractive and, oh wow, maybe I do have feelings for him after all, what a shocking and unexpected development.’”

“Would you like me to draft a PowerPoint with escalation options?”

Tony blinks. “…You know what? Yes. But make it classy. None of that basic heart-shaped nonsense. I need originality.”

“Understood. Adding ‘romantic strategy’ to your files.”

Tony flops back into his chair, exhaling through his nose as he stares at the ceiling. “God, this was so much easier when I was just secretly pining from a distance.”

There’s a knock at the door.

“Boss?” Happy’s voice calls through the wood. “Why are you talking to yourself?”

Tony jolts upright. “I’m not. I’m talking to FRIDAY.”

“…Which is basically yourself.”

“Semantics, Happy.” Tony clears his throat, quickly swiping at his shirt like he needs to smooth out invisible wrinkles of stress. “Do you need something, or are you just here to judge my very normal and not at all spiraling behavior?”

Happy steps inside, eyeing him like he’s trying to determine if Tony’s having a real crisis or just an emotional one. Considering there are no explosions, it’s probably the latter.

“Just letting you know, Pepper’s on her way up.”

Tony stiffens. “Oh no.”

Happy frowns. “Oh no, what?”

“She knows things, Hap. She has that sixth sense where she looks at me and just knows I’m up to something.”

Happy crosses his arms. “You are up to something.”

“That’s not the point!” Tony hisses, standing and smoothing down his jacket. “The point is, if Pepper finds out, she’s gonna grill me. And then she’s gonna smirk. And then she’s gonna say something vaguely condescending but also supportive, and I cannot deal with that right now.”

Happy just looks at him. “…Dude. Just tell Y/N you like her.”

Tony gasps, appalled. “What? No! Are you insane? That’s crazy. That’s reckless.”

“It’s normal.”

“It’s madness.”

Happy sighs. “You realize you’re a grown man, right?”

“Debatable,” Tony mutters, straightening up just as the elevator doors ping open.

Pepper steps out, and the moment she sees him, she pauses. Her eyes narrow slightly. Tony feels a bead of sweat form at the back of his neck.

“Tony,” she says slowly.

“Pep,” he says casually, leaning on his desk like a guy who definitely isn’t going through an internal meltdown.

She glances between him and Happy, then at the very specific way Tony is standing, and her eyes light up in realization. Oh no.

“Oh my God,” she says, her lips twitching.

“No,” Tony immediately counters, pointing at her. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

Her smirk grows. “It’s about Y/N, isn’t it?”

Tony throws his hands in the air. “God, why am I so predictable?”

Happy raises a hand. “For the record, I didn’t say anything.”

Pepper crosses her arms. “Let me guess. You sent flowers anonymously, and now you’re freaking out about whether or not she liked them?”

Tony points at her again. “See? This is what I’m talking about. The smirk. The knowing. I cannot deal with this.”

Pepper shakes her head, clearly enjoying this way too much. “Tony, she brought them to work. If she didn’t like them, they wouldn’t be sitting on her desk right now.”

Tony freezes. “…Oh my God, you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.”

His whole body relaxes. Then immediately tenses up again. “But what if she just brought them because she didn’t want them to go to waste? What if it was, like, a casual desk decoration decision and not a romantic appreciation decision?”

Pepper pinches the bridge of her nose. “Tony, you are the smartest person I know, and yet you are so dumb.”

“Hey, rude.”

Pepper sighs. “You need to escalate, right?”

Tony brightens. “Yes.”

She gives him a knowing look. “Then send another gift. Something more specific. Something that says you, but also says, ‘I see you, I appreciate you, and I want to sweep you off your feet.’”

Tony strokes his chin. “You know, you’re kinda good at this.”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “You’re just realizing that now?”

Tony grins. “Alright. Operation ‘Woo Y/N Until She Inevitably Falls for My Irresistible Charm’ is a go.”

Happy groans. Pepper sighs. FRIDAY pings with new strategy options.

Tony? He just smirks. Time to up the stakes.

By the time you finally step out of the elevator onto your floor, your body is practically begging for a warm shower, a comfy set of pajamas, and a night of mindless television. Work was busy, as usual, but for some reason, today left you more drained than expected.

Maybe it was the way Tony seemed to be in a particularly peculiar mood—alternating between his usual self and then randomly staring off into space like he was running some kind of internal diagnostic. It was weird, even for him.

You sigh as you dig your keys out of your bag, already daydreaming about sinking into your couch—until you freeze.

There, sitting right in front of your apartment door, is a small, elegantly wrapped box.

Your heartbeat skips.

It’s not just the box. It’s the deep red ribbon tied into a flawless bow, the delicate paper, the way it’s positioned exactlyin front of your door like it’s waiting for you. And, most noticeably, the letter resting on top of it, your name written in beautiful, looping script.

You glance down the hallway, half-expecting to see someone lurking around a corner, watching to see your reaction. Nothing.

Slowly, you bend down, picking up the package. It’s not too heavy, but it has just enough weight to feel substantial. You hesitate before carefully slipping your finger under the envelope’s flap, breaking the seal. The letter inside is written on high-quality paper, and you run your thumb over it before reading.

Y/N,

I thought about sending flowers again, but that would’ve been repetitive (and I’m many things, but unoriginal isn’t one of them).

You work hard. Too hard. Always running around making sure everything in my world runs smoothly, and I bet by the time you get home, you barely have the energy to do something just for yourself. So, consider this a reminder. Take a break. Indulge a little. Let yourself enjoy something just because you deserve it.

I hope you like it.

—Your Secret Admirer

Your breath catches in your throat.

Your secret admirer.

This is not a coincidence. Not some random mistake. The flowers might have been a fluke, but this? This is deliberate.

You exhale slowly, staring at the letter for a moment longer before carefully folding it back into the envelope. Then, with slightly shaky hands, you pull at the ribbon on the box, letting it unravel like silk between your fingers. The lid lifts easily, revealing a smaller velvet box inside, along with a small note.

You pick up the note first.

For your nights off. (Yes, you’re allowed to have those.)

Frowning slightly, you flip open the velvet box and blink.

A bottle of ridiculously expensive, limited edition dark chocolate liqueur truffles stares back at you, nestled perfectly into the packaging. The kind you’ve only ever seen in high-end stores and never dared to buy for yourself.

Your lips part in shock.

This is not a casual, run-of-the-mill gesture.

Someone—a very specific someone—knows you well enough to pick something so ridiculously tailored to you that it’s impossible to ignore.

Your hands tighten around the box as your mind races. Who? Who?

You step inside your apartment, setting the box down on the kitchen counter as you think.

Your admirer is thoughtful. Observant. They knew about your workload. They knew about your tendency to push yourself too hard. And they knew—somehow—that you have a particular weakness for these chocolates.

Your gaze flickers to the letter again.

That handwriting. The confidence. The slight air of playfulness mixed with genuine care.

It’s familiar. Too familiar.

Your stomach flips.

No.

No, it can’t be.

You press your lips together, heartbeat quickening as one very, very dangerous possibility lodges itself into your brain.

You shake your head quickly.

There’s no way.

Right?

Meanwhile, across the city, Tony Stark is lying on his couch, staring at the ceiling like a man who just realized he may have made the most reckless, insane, brilliant decision of his life.

“She’s going to figure it out.”

“She is not going to figure it out,” he mutters, throwing an arm over his eyes. “She’s way too logical. She’s gonna overanalyze it, then dismiss the obvious answer because I’m me.”

“You did sign the note in a way that heavily implies you’re actively watching over her well-being.”

Tony groans, rolling onto his side. “That’s called thoughtful.”

“That’s called suspicious, sir.”

“…It’s a little suspicious,” he admits, biting his lip. “But, I mean, if she does figure it out—”

“She may confront you.”

Tony’s stomach drops.

“Oh, shit.”

Back at your apartment, you sit cross-legged on your couch, the box of truffles open beside you, letter in one hand, a half-eaten chocolate in the other.

You chew slowly, rolling the flavors over your tongue as your mind keeps circling back to one thing.

Tony.

Because here’s the thing—no one else in your life fits. No one else watches over you that closely. No one else has both the means and the audacity to pull something like this off.

And the handwriting?

You’ve seen it before.

In memos. In sarcastic little notes scribbled in the margins of blueprints. On the occasional post-it left on your desk when he was feeling particularly lazy about emailing.

It’s his.

You rub your temple, torn between disbelief and something warm curling in your stomach.

Tony Stark.

Your boss.

Your genius, billionaire, impossible-to-wrangle boss… is your secret admirer?

You let out a breathless, half-laugh, staring at the letter again.

“Holy shit.”

Your heart does a weird little somersault as you run through every interaction with him over the years.

The long nights working together. The easy banter. The moments where he lingered just a little too long after dropping you off at your apartment, like he wanted to say something but never did. The way he really looked at you sometimes—like you were more than just his secretary.

Had he… had he always felt this way?

And had you been too blind to notice?

You lean back against the couch, fingers tightening around the letter.

This changes everything.

And you have no idea what to do next.

The next morning, you walk into Stark Tower with a plan.

It’s not a great plan—mostly because you’re making it up as you go—but it’s a plan nonetheless.

You want to confirm your theory.

That Tony Stark—your boss, the undeniably attractive, irritatingly brilliant man who’s been in your life for years—is your secret admirer.

And if he is?

Well… you’re not sure what you’ll do with that information just yet.

For now, the priority is simple: get him to slip up.

As you step off the elevator and into your office space, you take a deep breath, schooling your expression into one of casual innocence. The flowers from two days ago are still sitting in a vase on your desk, now accompanied by a small, decorative box filled with yet another gift—this time, a limited edition, leather-bound novel by your favorite author.

At this rate, you’re either being wooed by a very wealthy admirer… or, you know, Tony.

You smooth your hands down your skirt and head straight for his office, knocking once before pushing the door open.

Tony is, predictably, seated behind his desk, feet propped up, a tablet balanced in one hand while the other stirs his coffee lazily. He glances up as you walk in, his expression unreadable.

“Boss,” you greet, giving him a saccharine smile.

He raises a brow. “You’re smiling.”

“I always smile.”

“Not like that.” His eyes narrow slightly. “That’s your I’m up to something smile.”

Your lips twitch. “Oh, please. Maybe I’m just in a really good mood.”

His gaze flickers briefly to the flowers still sitting on your desk before returning to you. “Must be some damn good mood.”

You step closer, stopping in front of his desk, tilting your head slightly. “You know, Tony, I was thinking…” You place your hands on the edge of his desk and lean in just a fraction. “It’s so interesting that these gifts keep showing up at my apartment.”

His grip on the tablet tightens slightly.

“Yeah?” he says, far too casual. “Maybe you’ve got an obsessed fan. Should I be screening your calls?”

You let out a soft hum. “Could be that. Or… it could be someone closer.”

Tony doesn’t even blink. “Like who?”

You study him for a moment, searching for any tell. He’s good—too good. But you know him well enough to recognize when he’s pretending not to care.

So you go in for the kill.

“You know,” you say airily, “the handwriting on the notes looks really familiar.”

His smirk falters just slightly.

Gotcha.

“Huh,” he says after a pause. “Weird. Maybe you’ve just seen it somewhere before.”

“Oh, I know I have.” You tap your chin. “It kind of reminds me of your handwriting, actually.”

There it is. The smallest twitch of his eyebrow.

You grin.

Tony narrows his eyes. “Are you accusing me of being your secret admirer?”

You shrug, feigning innocence. “I dunno, boss. Are you?”

His mouth opens—then closes. He shifts in his chair, reaching for his coffee in a way that is way too deliberate.

“I mean,” he says, taking a slow sip, “I would make a great secret admirer. Handsome. Charming. Generous.” He sets the mug down. “But I think I’d be a little more creative.”

Your stomach flutters despite yourself.

Damn it.

This is dangerous.

You straighten, giving him an amused look. “Well, whoever it is, they’ve got exquisite taste.”

Tony makes a small noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah, well. Guess you’ll just have to keep investigating, Sherlock.”

Oh, you will.

The gifts don’t stop.

Every day, something new arrives at your apartment.

A silk scarf in your favorite color. A playlist delivered on an old-school vinyl, filled with songs you know Tony listens to in the lab. A box of artisanal tea that happens to be the exact blend you make during late nights at work.

It’s almost comical at this point.

But more than that, it’s… intimate.

These aren’t grand, over-the-top displays of wealth. They’re thoughtful. Personal.

It’s making your heart race in ways you really don’t want to unpack right now.

And the worst part?

You’re starting to see Tony differently.

Or maybe, you’re just allowing yourself to really see him for the first time.

The way he remembers the smallest things about you. The way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. The way his entire face softens when you laugh.

It’s messing with your head.

And your heart.

You need to get to the bottom of this before you lose your mind entirely.

The next morning, you walk into Tony’s office with a very specific mission.

You shut the door behind you and lean against it, arms crossed.

Tony glances up from his desk. “Well, that’s ominous.”

You don’t respond right away. Instead, you pull something out of your bag—a note. One of the ones that came with your latest gift.

You hold it up. “Boss,” you say sweetly. “Care to explain why your handwriting is all over this?”

Tony freezes.

For one glorious second, he actually looks busted.

Then, like the absolute menace he is, he just leans back in his chair and smirks.

“You got proof, sweetheart?”

Your eye twitches. “You really wanna play that game?”

He shrugs. “If the shoe fits.”

You huff, stepping forward, slapping the note down on his desk. “Tony. This is your handwriting.”

His lips twitch, but he still manages to keep his voice even. “Maybe I’ve got a copycat.”

You gape at him. “A copycat? Oh my God, you are infuriating.”

“Sexy and infuriating,” he corrects, grinning.

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “So that’s how we’re playing it, huh?”

He winks. “Wouldn’t be any fun if I just admitted it, now would it?”

You narrow your eyes. He thinks he’s so clever.

Fine.

You’ll just have to beat him at his own game.

The rest of the day is war.

You drop subtle little comments just to mess with him.

“Oh, I just love a man who remembers the little things.”

Tony doesn’t flinch.

“I think handwriting analysis is so interesting.”

Still no reaction.

“If I ever had a secret admirer, I’d definitely want them to just admit it.”

Nothing.

Damn it. He’s good.

But so are you.

You walk by his desk and casually drop a file—along with one of his notes. “Oh,” you say innocently. “This accidentally got mixed in.”

Tony just smirks. “Huh. Weird.”

You resist the urge to scream.

Fine.

If he won’t crack…

You’ll make him sweat.

That night, you send him a note.

It’s simple. Direct.

So, Mr. Stark… how long are we going to keep pretending?

The next morning, you walk into work, completely prepared for a counterattack.

But the second you step into your office, you see it.

A small gift box on your desk.

And beside it?

A handwritten note, in very familiar script.

Your breath catches as you pick it up, scanning the words.

Guess the game’s over, sweetheart.

Your pulse races.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Here's the next part of your story, full of tension, humor, and chaos!

Just as you’re processing Tony’s note, your office phone rings.

You know who it is before you even pick up.

“Boss,” you answer, voice carefully neutral.

“Sweetheart.” The smugness in his voice is infuriating. “Got a minute?”

You exhale sharply. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” he admits cheerfully. “My office. Now.”

The line clicks dead.

You stare at the receiver for a moment before slamming it down with a groan.

Damn him.

Damn his arrogant, stupid, irresistible—

You shake your head. Nope. You’re not going there.

You grab the note from your desk, take a deep breath, and march straight into his office.

The second you step inside, Tony wordlessly presses a button, and the door clicks shut behind you.

Your stomach flips.

“Closed door meeting?” you muse, crossing your arms. “Sounds serious.”

Tony leans back in his chair, watching you with that insufferable smirk.

“Serious topic,” he agrees. “So, let’s talk.”

You arch a brow. “Oh, now you want to talk?”

“Hey, I love talking,” he says, spreading his hands. “I just prefer it when I’m winning.”

You scoff. “Well, I definitely won this round.”

Tony sighs dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. Fine. You got me.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, softer—almost hesitant:

“Was kinda hoping you’d like it.”

Your breath catches.

Oh.

You weren’t expecting that.

Something shifts in the air between you—something dangerous.

Your grip tightens on the note in your hand. “You mean… you were hoping I’d like getting gifts from a mystery admirer?”

Tony’s eyes lock onto yours, serious now. “No.” A pause. “I was hoping you’d like getting them from me.”

Your heart stumbles over itself.

Damn it.

Damn him.

You’re screwed.

Because the way he’s looking at you—hopeful, a little nervous, completely unlike the Tony Stark you’re used to—it’s doing something to you.

And worse?

You like it.

“You’re quiet,” Tony murmurs, voice lower now. “That’s terrifying.”

You let out a breathless laugh, but it comes out shaky. “I’m just…” You trail off, gripping the edge of his desk. “Processing.”

Tony tilts his head. “And?”

You glance at the note still clutched in your hand. “And… I think you really suck at being subtle.”

Tony grins. “Guilty.”

You shake your head, biting your lip. “I mean, God, Tony. The vinyl? The tea? Who else would know all that about me?”

His smirk softens. “Guess I pay attention.”

Your stomach flips again.

Oh, this is bad.

This is so bad.

Because suddenly, you’re seeing all the little things he does in a brand-new light.

How he always makes sure you eat when you’re working late. How he instinctively moves you out of the way of danger—even if it’s just a rolling chair in the lab. How he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

Your fingers tighten on his desk.

And then—before you can talk yourself out of it—

You kiss him.

Tony barely has time to react before you’re pressing forward, hands gripping the lapels of his jacket, mouth crashing against his.

For a split second, he freezes.

Then, with a sharp inhale, he kisses you back.

And holy shit, does he kiss.

It’s messy and desperate, all tongue and heat, like he’s been dying to do this for years.

You barely register him pulling you closer until you’re practically in his lap, his hands gripping your waist like he can’t stand the idea of letting go.

You make a sound against his mouth—a noise somewhere between a sigh and a gasp—and he growls, deep in his throat.

The sound shoots straight through you.

Oh, you’re so gone for him.

Somehow, you end up being lifted onto his desk, legs bracketing his waist. His hands slide down, fingers pressing into your thighs, and your head spins.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your lips. “I’ll stop.”

You breathe heavily, forehead resting against his. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That’s all he needs.

Tony surges forward, his mouth hot and insistent against yours, his hands—

Knock knock knock.

Both of you freeze.

You pull back, breathless. “Are you kidding me?”

Tony squeezes his eyes shut, muttering something under his breath before letting out a long, pained sigh.

“Not now,” he groans.

The knock comes again, more insistent.

You stare at each other for a beat, both of you very aware of how utterly wrecked you both look.

Tony exhales sharply, then presses a quick, frustrated kiss to your forehead before pulling away.

“Whoever this is,” he mutters, straightening his jacket, “is getting fired.”

You stifle a laugh, slipping off his desk, quickly fixing your own appearance.

Tony presses the intercom button. “What?”

There’s a long pause.

Then—

“Uh… boss?” It’s Happy’s voice. “Are you—? Is everything—?”

“Yes, everything is fine,” Tony snaps. “What do you want?”

Happy hesitates. “Uh. You said you needed a briefing on the—”

“I don’t need a briefing,” Tony interrupts. “I need privacy.”

Another pause.

Then, suspiciously: “Why do you sound out of breath?”

You choke.

Tony grits his teeth. “Because I was working out.”

Happy is silent for a long moment. Then:

“…You never work out.”

Tony glares at the intercom. “Well, maybe I started.”

You bite your lip, trying so hard not to laugh.

Happy, wisely, doesn’t push it. “Uh. Right. I’ll, uh… come back later.”

The intercom clicks off.

Tony exhales, rubbing a hand down his face before turning to you.

Then, like the absolute lunatic he is, he presses a button on his desk.

“FRIDAY,” he says, voice still slightly breathless, “from now on, I want a ten-minute warning before anyone comes near this office.”

FRIDAY’s voice hums to life. “Understood, boss.”

You snort. “Really?”

Tony turns back to you, grinning. “Oh, absolutely.”

Then he steps closer, hands settling on your waist, eyes dark with mischief.

“Now, where were we?”

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

This would be infinitely better than anything Waldron would come up with.

The next Doctor Strange movie should just be about him chilling in his house with all the weird little guys he collected

[loversrocktvgirl2]

my mini multiverse of madness…

Catfish (Peter Parker x Reader) 

Warnings: Mild cursing

You were Peter’s childhood best friend. When it came time for him to move in to the Avengers Tower, Aunt May was insistent that he bring someone with him to bring a sense of normalcy to the situation. She visited him constantly, of course, but she wanted someone who wasn’t a superhero to be around to keep him grounded and keep him in check. And he picked you. 

You were one of his favorite people, and when you’d agreed to live in the Avengers tower, he let out a huge sigh of relief. You thought it was fun, honestly, being around all of the Avengers and all of the cool and unique technology that Tony Stark had created. The Avengers had taken a liking to you, too. Natasha especially. As she said, “we could always use a little more feminine energy around here.” 

In general, you were a pretty cheerful person, but when you casually twirled into the kitchen, humming to yourself as you unwrapped the bagel bag, Peter knew something was up. You looked really… happy. “Someone’s in a good mood,” Bruce commented with a soft smile. He really was quite sweet and nice when he wasn’t being the Hulk. 

“I’ve got a date tonight,” you smiled. 

Well. 

You might’ve been really happy about this, but Peter certainly wasn’t. He adored you. No one was ever going to be good enough for you, not even him. And it was this thought that kept him from telling you how he felt. His jealousy overtook him slightly. Why did you have to go on a date? Who was it even with? Did he know the guy? Did he need to scare him, did he need to welcome him (ugh, not that), did he need to follow him? 

“That sound nice,” Bruce said pleasantly. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Someone I met online, I’ve known him for a few months, and he asked me out about a week ago,” you explained. 

“Where’d you meet him online?” Peter asked, before he could think to stop himself. He internally facepalmed. You probably didn’t want to be bombarded with questions, and the more information he knew, the more likely he was to get super overprotective. But were you even his to protect?

“It was on a forum for the students of the schools in the area, it’s safe,” you shrugged. “We hit it off. He’s real nice, I like him.” 

UGH!! No, no, no, no, no! Why’d you have to say that? Peter felt his jealously flare up inside of him. Why did you have to say that you liked the guy? Don’t like him, like me! Inside of his head, he was screaming. But it wasn’t really fair of him, if he thought about it. He’d never done anything to make you feel like he might be interested in you. Sure, he’d done that to try and preserve the friendship, but it was still on him. He didn’t deserve to feel this jealous. It wasn’t his place. So why did he still feel like this?

“Okay,” was all he said, giving you a small nod. 

“Where are you going out?” Natasha asked as she walked in through the kitchen, sipping her black coffee. 

“Some restaurant nearby,” you shrugged. 

Natasha shrugged and nodded. “Sounds nice. I hope you have a good time. We’ll try our best to keep that area of the city clear from catastrophe.”

You grinned. “Thanks, Nat.” 

Natasha nodded in response, and had another sip of her coffee. “Alright, I’m gonna go give Fury some shit for going against one of my suggestions, again. See you later.” She kissed the top of your head on the way out. Bruce smiled.

— — —

“Hey, Peter, I heard Y/N’s going on a date?” Tony asked him casually later. Peter nodded. “What’s his name, where’d she meet him?”

“Some online forum for high school students in the area,” Peter shrugged. “I don’t know what his name is. Apparently, they’ve been talking for a few months, and they’re gonna go out to dinner someplace tonight.”

Tony froze, then he turned to Peter. “We’re seriously going to let her go on a date with some guy she met online that we don’t even know??”

Peter shrugged forlornly. “She’s her own person, she gets to make her own decisions, I guess.” 

Tony sighed. “Jesus. No. Nuh-uh. There is no way that this is safe. We’re gonna find him. What’s the code to her phone?” 

Peter’s eyes widened, looking surprised at Tony’s question. “Uhh… it’s four-seven-two-seven. Why? What are you…doing?” Tony had left the room and returned a moment later with your phone in his hand. He typed in the code, and gave Peter a thumbs up. “Wh-what? Mr. Stark?” Tony began playing around with the apps on your phone, and once he found the guy’s account, he began typing on his own computer. 

“I’m not letting her go on a date with this guy unless I can get the full run-down on him,” Tony insisted, searching through the information on his computer. 

“Why don’t you just ask her?” Peter suggested, trying to protect your privacy a little bit. But he secretly really, really wanted to get the run-down, just like Tony did. 

“She’s got the rose-colored glasses on, it’s not objective,” Tony answered. “...Holy shit, Peter, get over here.”

Peter ran over to the computer screen that Tony was standing in front of. The guy? Well, his account that you had sure made him look like an average sixteen year old boy who lived in Queens, but Tony was able to find out otherwise. He was a thirty-two year old man who’d been arrested once before, scary-looking and definitely not a harmless boy your age. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” Peter muttered. “God. We can’t let her go out with him, he’s…he’s gonna hurt her. Why is she talking to him? What’s… what’s she said to him? Oh, God…”

“Told you we needed a background check,” Tony said. “We’re gonna go get him, alright? If she asks, it’s a quick mission for Fury, and nothing else. We’ll only scare her more if she finds out he was trying to catfish her.” 

Peter nodded. “Are we… are we gonna track him or something…?” 

“I got it,” Tony assured. “You and I are gonna take care of him, and kick that guy’s ass.” 

— — — 

You flopped onto the couch in your sundress, makeup perfectly done, and slid off your heels. Your date had never shown up, and you were devastated. Peter was sitting on the couch, and he could feel your distress. 

“Why would he ditch me?” you asked Peter softly. “Is it the dress?”

“No, no, the dress is good,” Peter assured. The guilt was seeping into him. He knew he’d done the right thing by protecting you and getting the guy arrested, but now you thought your date had just decided not to take you out. “I’m serious. You look cute.”

You gave him a sad smile. “Thanks.” You sighed. “Guess I don’t have much luck with this kind of thing.” 

Peter’s heart melted just a little hearing that. You didn’t deserve this, and he knew it. He could treat you so much better than this. He needed to tell you. 

“Y/N, I…” Peter’s voice trailed off. Then you looked over at him, and he just… he just couldn’t do it. “...you look nice.”

“Thanks, Peter,” you replied quietly. “You’re a good guy.” You leaned over and rested your head on his shoulder and sighed softly, disappointed. It broke his heart a little to see you so upset. But your words rung around in his bed. You’re a good guy. Was he? Or did you just see him that way? He’d protected you, but at what cost? You looked so…sad. Dammit. He wrapped his arm around you and held you to his side. 

[bennie-jerry]

My Beef with Wanda Maximoff - An MCU Rant

Sorry not sorry, I will ride the Wanda-ain't-shiitake train till the wheels are worn out. I do not care what her fangirls say. And if you're legitimately going to be so overly offended just from me disliking a FICTIONAL character, I highly suggest you click off, make some tea, and watch a Ghibli movie.

How many times does it need to be said? Just because someone suffers from some form of (small or big) trauma, IT DOESN’T GIVE THEM A PASS TO DO EVIL SH—

I really REALLY sincerely hope there's lore or bits I'm missing here (and if so, PLEASE tell me because I WANT to be wrong so BAD). But from what I know and remember, I feel as though I have every right to be disgusted with who Wanda is as a person.

It frustrates me so much how this carmine-colored narcissist will whine about people being scared of her, but she does stuff only a scary person WOULD do.

Purposefully setting the Hulk off so you could use him as a wrecking ball on innocent civilians in Johannesburg during Age of Ultron? Seems scary as heck.

Literally warping the universe itself to hunt and kill a teenager who did nothing to you during Multiverse of Madness? Seems scary as heck.

Brainwashing an ENTIRE town JUST so you can live in delusion about your man not being dead during Wandavision? Seems DOUBLE scary as heck.

Don't even try to defend what she did in Age of Ultron. Even if she supposedly didn't INTEND to have civilians killed, she sure as HECK didn't seem all too sorry that it happened. She wasn't ‘regretful’ that she did it. She was only ‘regretful' when Bruce confronted her on it. She has the nerve (the utter AUDACITY) to hate Tony Stark for the same CRAP that she does (if not worse, which let's be honest—it’s worse).

At least Tony Stark DIED out of an effort to save everyone, whereas Wanda usually tends to only help others when it benefits HER.

Wanda is nothing more than a Multiversal brat with a god-complex and no one can tell me otherwise. If something does not go 100% her way, she completely acts out and throws a reality-warping tantrum.

“Oh, but she tried to fix everything in Wandavision!”

Yeah, only after finding out she was BRAINWASHING people!

How the FREAK do you reality warp an ENTIRE town (especially at the large radius she used her magic) and expect NO one to be under mind control? Would you NOT try to fly around the premises to see if ANYONE else was there?

Once again, even if this was an example where she didn't INTEND for it to happen, then that proves another great flaw that she has.

Wanda hardly (if ever) thinks through her actions. And then when her actions bite her in the butt, she has the nerve to be surprised. Wanda almost never (and I'm being generous here) considers how her actions harm or affect others until it turns around and affects HER.

She did not deserve Vision, he was too good of a man for her, sorry not sorry.

Just the stuff she did BEFORE Multiverse of Madness ALONE is enough to not like her.

Let's not even get into the fact she never ACTUALLY apologized to Bruce Banner for everything she put him through. All she said at most when he confronted her is, “I know you're angry…”

Oh wow, REALLY? I couldn't POSSIBLY understand why Banner would EVER be angry at you for essentially brain-raping him (going into his mind and memories without his CONSENT) and using his worst fears against him to trigger Hulk so you could use him like a personal killing machine, further lessening the very few support systems he already HAD. She should feel grateful Banner didn't immediately throw her through a wall upon seeing her.

“But she became an avenger and helped them in Endgame!”

I could not give less of a DOOKIE about the fact she did that. Wanda fighting Thanos was literally the ONLY option she possibly had if she didn't wanna turn into dust along with the other half of the population. Sure, she also did it because she was forced to kill her boo BECAUSE of Thanos, but let's be honest—she would've had to fight him regardless. Her handing Thanos’ butt to him (while a very cool scene) doesn't prove JACK about her character.

The fact she ever BECAME an avenger after effectively traumatizing the MAJORITY of them is mind-boggling to me.

“Oh, I'm sorry I weaponized all of your traumas against you for my own personal gain because I wanted to work with a genocidal robot, can I join you guys?”

“Sure, Wanda! Come into the team and we'll pretend like you didn't do a darn thing!”

(The fact this isn't even ALL that she's done is absurd, I can still keep going—)

Don't even get me STARTED on Multiverse of Madness. And before anyone tries to say, “She did it so she could have a reality with her children!”

BRO, HER KIDS WEREN'T EVEN FREAKING REAL—

Wanda Freaking Maximoff wanted to murder a TEENAGER all for some children that were not even ACTUAL people. And when she did have them, didn't she make them FIGHT against the military in Wandavision or am I mistaken (which I VERY MUCH hope I am because what the he---)?

I do not care whatsoever what her reason is or what trauma she went through. Attempted murder of a minor (ESPECIALLY in this case, a minor who didn't even do anything) is inexcusable to me.

There is no way in frog fingers you guys are ACTUALLY trying to justify and/or downplay a grown ADULT trying to murder a CHILD (because that's what America was—a CHILD).

(Her and Miguel O'Hara would get along GREAT, when's the collab--)

And by then, she had ALREADY brutally murdered a whole bunch of people and probably corrupted the multiverse even FURTHER than she already had.

It wasn't until an ALTERNATE version of her (who ACTUALLY had her kids) told her to sit the [BLEEP] down (I'm paraphrasing here, but you get my drift).

Wanda is NOT a victim. Is she a good villain? Yes. But this witch isn't a victim. Not anymore at least. She doesn't apologize for her actions. She doesn't take responsibility. She doesn't reflect on what she does.

And even when she DOES finally do ANY of those things in ANY capacity, the damage is already done. In fact, it's not JUST done, it's also BURNT inside the oven causing smoke to go everywhere.

There is no rhyme or reason you could pull out that will convince me to be anything short of angry with this character and I'm so tired of her fans trying to defend her just because she was a lab rat and lost her man.

Once again, it's not bad to like a character that does awful stuff. But please, for sanity sake, STOP acting like they're a lost little angel BECAUSE you like them. I know they say "hurt people hurt people" but that still doesn't justify doing bad stuff just because bad things happened to YOU.

[under0-0s]

Petition to Declare Ms. Bea ( @crazyinlovewithmarvel ) as the World’s Best Sweetheart.

Good Greetings, This is Tony Stark. CEO of Stark Industries, genius, billionaire, and philanthropist—obviously. I’m sending this message to officially put forward a petition to declare Ms. Bea ( @crazyinlovewithmarvel ) as the World’s Best Sweetheart.

Now, I’m not just doing this for fun (though let’s be honest, I do enjoy a good petition). I’ve seen firsthand the kind of impact Ms. Bea has on everyone around her. She has this incredible way of spreading warmth and positivity wherever she goes. Whether it's through her posts or just the way she interacts with others, she makes everyone feel like they matter. Her kindness is practically a superpower, and I think the world could use a lot more of it.

On top of that, she has this magnetic charm that lights up any room. I’ve been around a lot of people—some famous, some not—but I’ve rarely come across someone who can make an entire community feel as loved and accepted as she does. She’s the type of person who lifts up others without expecting anything in return, and that’s something truly special.

Her passion for Marvel is undeniable, but what sets her apart is the way she channels that passion into spreading good vibes. It’s not just about fandom; it’s about creating a space where everyone can enjoy the things they love together, with kindness and respect. In short, Ms. Bea isn’t just a sweetheart—she’s the sweetheart.

So, consider this my official endorsement. As someone who’s seen the best and the worst of humanity, I can confidently say that Ms. Bea more than deserves this recognition. Let’s make it official, shall we?

Signed, Tony Stark CEO, Stark Industries Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist

P.S. This petition has been vetted by Jarvis—so yeah, it’s basically a done deal.

TAGS: @pepper-potts-in-charge @j-a-r-v-i-s-the-ai @multiverse-peterbparker @clintbarton-thearrowguy @its-nate-the-sharpshot @we-love-redwing @story-from-hr @proud-owner-0f-americas-ass @over-bi-the-wayside @thatone-midgardian @official-alpinebarnes @moon-x0 @loganschuchuzinho @merc-with-the-m0uth @doctorstrangywangy @official-tasha-romanoff @the-best-black-widow

______________________________________________________________

[izzy140105]

I wanna hear about your marvel oc pleeeease!!!

Okie!! I actually have multiple 😭 but I'll talk about my baby girl miss Isabelle Stark 🤭 (yes I name my oc the same thing in other medias - she has her own little multiverse in my mind)

⋆⁺₊⋆ cliche, but she's the oldest daughter to Tony Stark and Morgan Stark's half-sister.

⋆⁺₊⋆ her mother died in childbirth so she's never actually really known her and because she is the product of a one night stand Tony didn't really know her mother either (which is something he hates himself for because she deserves to know about her)

⋆⁺₊⋆ that said, Pepper has always been like a maternal figure to her. So my girl was OVERJOYED when Tony finally proposed to her.

⋆⁺₊⋆ she's incredibly smart for her age, but as Tony says "she's a Stark, of course she's smart".

⋆⁺₊⋆ another cliche, but she does become friends with Peter Parker (I should mention this is definitely MCU centred lol) as well Ned and MJ.

⋆⁺₊⋆ actually, her and Peter start to have little crushes on each other and do start dating at one point. It's so cute.

⋆⁺₊⋆ she's also secretly made her first Iron Woman suit. Though people called her Iron Girl and she kinda just stuck with that lol (*cough* until Tony died and she picked up the mantle *cough*)

⋆⁺₊⋆ Tony wasn't happy about that lol, but he was impressed that she remembered how to build one after being like (in his eyes at least) a baby when helping him with his.

⋆⁺₊⋆ father and daughter bonding moment while building the Iron Man suit <3

⋆⁺₊⋆ she also does blip when Thanos snaps, because I felt like hurting Tony more by making him lose BOTH Peter and her.

⋆⁺₊⋆ before I hurt myself more, I'm sure you can figure out what happens after that...

⋆⁺₊⋆ happier note to end, she becomes the owner of Stark Industries!! At like 15/16 but she'll be fineeeeee...

[tobiasdrake]

So, I know that you have issues with how Thunderbolt Ross was depicted in Brave New World, but what did you think of Samuel Sterns now that he's officially a supervillain?

Thoughts on Sterns?

First, credit for deftly avoiding the "Okay but did the Flag-Smashers really do anything wrong?" problem by attempting to cause World War III. Committing violence against fascists? Uh, that's fine, actually. Trying to start a global war over a natural resource? Fuck this guy. That is way over the line.

Sterns manages to land precisely where he's intended to: He's a pitiable figure. Someone driven to villainy who has to be stopped but also you kinda feel for the guy because his life didn't have to go like this. Like, if he just had a guy walk into Ross's office and shoot him in the face with a gun, I'd probably be fine with that. Like. Okay. Fucker got what he deserved. Good for you.

Ross made him into this, but he's the one who chose to take a personal vendetta to the extreme of trying to cause a global war, which is just uncalled for.

So it's fitting that in the end they both end up paying for it, locked away in the same prison. Though it's a bit ironic that they even end up there the same way, with both Sterns and Ross relinquishing themselves to the authorities.

I do think the film struggled to figure out what to do with the Leader's powerset. His mind control powers are replaced by a phone app that he can flicker in people's faces to program them to do things. The only power he got from his gamma-irradiated super-brain is the ability to effortlessly predict in advance, with 0% accuracy, how the events of the film will unfold.

He just walks around being constantly wrong and going, "Sam Wilson, you have somehow bested my masterful predictions yet again!" and it does not sound as impressive as I think the movie thinks it does. They don't even give a reason for why Sam keeps defying prediction; Sterns is just always wrong.

For all the trappings of the gamma-irradiated super-brain... at the end of the day, he's just a powerless guy with an evil plan who keeps getting stymied by the local superhero. And eventually he gets stymied so hard that he gives up and turns himself in, just so he can rub it in Sam's face that his doom is imminent. Which he is also wrong about.

So. That kinda sucks? He ends up feeling less like the villain of the film and more like a necessary cog to keep the conflict between Sam and Ross moving. ...which is kind of exactly what he is. Ross is pretty unmistakably the film's primary antagonist, with Sterns being relegated to a troublemaker that pushes him and Sam into conflict.

...

And then I laughed out loud when he showed up for the post-credits just to go, "My mathematic calculations tell me that Avengers: Secret War will be in theaters next year!"

Like. XD Did we really need this movie, of all MCU movies, to shill the multiverse? Sterns has just been sitting in his cell crunching the numbers and his equations have told him that multiversal war is coming. Okay. Sure. I guess. XD

Though the way he was like, "There are heroes who protect other realities too, muwahahahaha" really made me feel a lot more confident that "RDJ's Doom" is going to be a variant Tony Stark.

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 30 – FIX-IT

The abyss by amaryllis (Lillyo)

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 917 Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Tony, Protective Steve

Summary: It's his biggest nightmare. He falls, wakes up... and is the only survivor. In nights like these it's Steve who catches him and brings him back to light.

Reasons why I love it: The love Steve feels for Tony is so palpable in this one, it's amazing. This fic conveys so much emotion, and I love how Steve takes care of Tony, it's super sweet to see. Go and check this one out if you haven't, I'm sure you'll love it just as much as I do!

from you, me by seadawnknight

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: NR Words: 2,261 Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: This is how it starts: with Steve holding the weight of the world on his shoulders, mourning three and a half billion lives he couldn’t save. This is not how it ends.

Reasons why I love it: This fic is breathtakingly beautiful. The writing style feels like poetry, it flows so well, and the non-linear storytelling is absolutely spectacular. I can't believe how underrated this fic is, so I really hope that you go and check it out, because it deserves all the love in the world!

It Hurts Like Hell by agathaharknness

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 3,755 Tags: Angst and Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Endgame

Summary: Carol Danvers is Steve's only hope to see Tony again. If he's alive.

Reasons why I love it: This fic fits so seamlessly into canon it's like it was cut from the movies. The angst is so raw, and I really love Steve's inner monologue throughout all of it. And of course, the hopeful ending is absolutely beautiful. I love this fic, and I bet you will too!

What If... by Starlitverses

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: G Words: 5,623 Tags: Multiverse, Steve & Morgan, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary: ‘There must be a world somewhere, where the snap or your fight or any of the things that led us here didn’t happen. Maybe everything would change.’ Steve goes back in time to return the stones. On his way, he changes a few events in certain times to make sure they end better than his own timeline. A different world where thanos never attack, where the snap doesn’t happen. A world where Tony Stark survives. A world where Steve and Tony fall in love.

Reasons why I love it: Aaaah, this is so sweet! I especially loved Natasha here, she's such a badass. Those branching timelines are super interesting, it's so cool how each of them plays out. And the ending is amazing, the exact kind of bittersweet that I adore. Please go and read this one, it's so good!

Conductivity by felisnocturna

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 4,243 Tags: Angst, Open Ending, Grief

Summary: The train taking Tony to California breaks down in the seemingly abandoned ghost town of Timely. Or: After Steve's death on the courthouse steps, Tony is about to witness another tragedy. This time, he sees it coming, but even that might not change anything - not least because he is pretty sure that it's all just a hallucination.

Reasons why I love it: This is such a cool idea for a multiversal crossover! I love how 616 canon and 1872 canon play off each other here, I'd read a million more words in this universe. And I really enjoyed the role reversal and the angst that comes with it, it's super well-written. Definitely check this one out, it's fantastic!

[v-67]

Alright so, I stopped watching most of the Marvel after endgame because they were screwing some of it up and nothing felt right

I did watch Moon knight, and ofcourse the Spiderman movies, and the latest, the Deadpool and Wolverine movie.

The whole introduction of TVA frustrated me.

And the implication that Deadpool's universe was going to be doomed, but later on as he saves a bunch of multiverse he somehow manages to save his universe from getting broken.

And the people who are supposedly managing the TVA are surprised as well.

So does that in any way signify. That out of those gazillion fucking universes, and of every possibility everywhere, that Tony stark could've somehow made it out alive. The one which was in our universe.

If there's even a slight possibility, which was somehow not considered because of any stupid reasons. Then it kinda breaks my heart.

I mean, I'm not really complaining because it was a definitive end to an amazing timeline, and an absolutely amazing character. But a part of me always hoped that Tony got to live a long life, with Potts and Morgan. And that he saw Morgan grow up. And also that he got to spend some time with Peter.

He deserved to live you know.

Also this multiple timeline shit is super annoying.

Dr. Doom. As much as it frustrates me, and as much as I'm annoyed, I'm also just 0.001 percent intrigued.

The possibility of how Tony, the saviour in one universe ends up as Dr. Doom in another.

I have really mixed feelings regarding the whole multiverse thing.

But TVA? I hate that. So much. Some beings managing or overlooking these numerous universes gives me the whole matrix vibes. And it's just : Nope.

Second post because I had made two notes so eh. Here it goes.

[maedelin]

Negative Romys (bc I know there must be chill ones out there) @ Roguneto in Xmen 97: “NOOOOOO HOW COULD THE WRITERS DO THIS AND DESTROY ROGUE X REMY?! POOR GAMBIT!!!”

Me: *side-eying all of the Marvel material that clearly shows that Romy content severely outnumbering Roguneto content by a landslide and the same Roguneto content winding up being ruined anyway by later writers just because they can* “Ah, yes…poor Gambit…”

All jokes aside, I wonder if the Romys’ concern is that if Roguneto is positively received = somehow becoming canon in the comics later? Because I know Marvel (and DC) has a history of taking a few things that the movies/shows/ side comics have done that were well received by fans or were anticipated to be well received ahead of time by fans and sometimes the companies themselves and incorporating them into the comics later

(ex. X-23 from X-Men Evolution to actual comics, Tony Stark’s personality eventually just becoming Robert Downey Jr as a comic book character, Samuel Jackson!Nick Fury from Ultimate Marvel to MCU to secret son of original Nick Fury and goes by the same name, Magneto’s Helmet protecting him from telepathy in Xmen First Class Movie to comics, Comic!Rogue’s real first name being a combination of her movie self’s name and that actress’s first name, Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver not being related to Magneto after all bc their movie selves weren’t, Gwen Stacy’s fun alternative existence as Spider-Gwen/Woman , Miles Morales’s (yay!) existence, Tom Hiddleston’s portrayal of Loki influencing the comic version of him to become a sad little meow meow, Age of Apocalypse’s version of Changling/Morph being brought into X-Men 97, etc)

, but if one truly counts all of the slight/significant changes Marvel Comics have made to the main timeline because of other material, it’s REALLY not a lot.

There’s no need for anyone who ships Romy (which I also ship in addition to Roguneto bc yay multishipping!) to feel threatened by potential romantic alternatives.

And just in case the romantic ships might be altered after all (not likely): if the Multiverse is a thing, maybe we consider it’s not the end of the world if the relationships in the X-Men animated universe is not 100% going to follow how they played out in the comics.

ALSO also, when all else fails, they can just develop their writing/art skills and make fix-it aus 😆

The chaotic neutral part of me actually kinda still hopes that enough people with get on board with Roguneto though so that the comics will see the enthusiasm for them and bring them back in the main universe and shake things up again or in one of the official alternate universes and give them the love and respect the pairing deserves 🤪

I really appreciate your comments. I suppose there could be concerns from the Romy contingent regarding this. Sadly, I think at this point corporate IP is too dedicated to keeping the status quo maintained as it is for the longest time.

I agree with you, I see her relationship with Magneto as brief trysts in the mainstream universe, and an occasional AU marriage reveal. I think that Rogue and Gambit will remain a couple in the mainstream universe despite this current twist in the '97 series. There's too much time and money spent into the material, merchandise, and story that's been built for Romy in reality across various media, and in the perception of people's memories which sometimes have a rosy nostalgic glow. It takes a lot to re-educate an audience and I don't see corporations having that time and patience.

Jean and Scott will always remain together. Meggan and Brian are a duo for all time. Sue and Reed Richards are going to stay married.

No matter what, the story will always return to that. In this reboot, I think it's to give Magneto an extra angle and further reason to stay at the mansion if you leave in doubt his and Rogue's activities on and off camera.

I think my biggest complaint is how there's a circling of the wagons around Rogue when anyone (but particularly Magneto) is interested in her. It frustrates me because I believe characters should experience a lot of different relationships. It builds for a more well rounded person in reality, and a better character in the story. But with Rogue, why isn't she allowed to have other romantic encounters? Why must there be a strange arguments about age, about experience? These are traumatized beautiful people with fancy abilities in a soap opera. With capes. (And occasional opera gloves)

In short, I believe that instead of one ship, a character deserves an armada. I agree, alternate universe pairings would be fun too!

I too enjoy drama and can't wait to see how the show plays out this romance.

[delulu-with-wandanat]

Two Worlds Apart

Another song that has been stuck in my head- (this is also sort of a continuation) anyway idk if this counts as angst but ay its sad shit ig

‘Corrupted’ Wanda x ‘Earth 77’ Natasha

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Summary: After losing Natasha, Wanda ventured across the multiverse to find her lover. She found Earth-77. She decided to kidnap Earth-77 Natasha and brought her back to her own Universe, but like they said. You fuck around with the Universe, it’ll find a way to bite you back in the ass.

"Wanda, I have to return to my own universe." The incursion of her presence cause too much havoc. The environment surrounding them were breaking in ways they could have never imagined.

"Natasha, I can't... don't make me do this."

"You have too, moya lyubov. Look around!" The sky looked liked it was tearing itself apart, buildings collapsing, people disintegrating out of existance. "I don't belong here, Wanda. You have to return me-"

"NO-" The Scarlet Witch side of Wanda seemed to have returned for a split second, Natasha had to be careful with her words.

For the last couple of weeks Natasha was able to reduce the corruption that the darkhold had against Wanda. Slowly, but surely, Wanda was returning to her old self. The sweet, kind, gentle and loving Wanda Maximoff that Natasha once knew. Sure this was a variant of her Wanda, but they share a lot of similarities.

"A portion of my breath flew away with you the night you died. These past few weeks with you… was the first time I could properly breathe again. Please, don’t take this away from me.”

Natasha understood her pain, she truly does. As in her Universe, she had lost her Wanda. “When you left me that night, I put the blame on myself.” Natasha clenched her jaw as tears starts to pool in her eyes. “Believe me when I say I want nothing more than to stay here with you and be in your arms again. To have the life we always talked about.”

“And we could have that, Natalia.” Wanda pushed once more.

“Wanda we can’t-“

“Why not?” She asked rather coldly. The Scarlet Witch seems to have wrapped around her once again.

“My love please, I know you would never go through this willingly-”

“Am I wrong, for not being the same person I was before?” Natasha went silent at the eerie contrast of Wanda’s variant, and the Wanda she once knew. The one who sacrificed herself for the soul stone in Vormir.

“For wanting what I rightfully deserve? Everyone gets a happy ending, Steve returned to his lover in the past. Clint was reunited with his family… And I returned to nobody.” Wanda swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Your body was rotting on Vormir. And no one even bothered to held a funeral for you just because they were preoccupied with Tony Stark who snapped his little fingers.”

In Natasha’s universe, Wanda hadn’t gone snapped. During those 5 years they had build a life together. The significant difference between their lost was Wanda had not only lost Natasha, but also the time with her.

“Wanda…”

“You’ll destroy me if you leave.” Wanda whispered. Her lips were quivering and her breath was uneven.

“You are my goddess, Wanda.”

“Then come back to me, bring back a fraction of the breath you take because I can’t live another day where you are not near.”

-The song-

I think this song talks about a lover that broke up and the other still wants them back. It's a little different to this fic but meh it works. (I may be trying to gtfo of this country, but goddamn do we make great sad ass songs😩🤌)

Separuh Nafas - Dewa 19

Original lyrics: Separuh nafasku Terbang bersama dirimu Saat kau tinggalkanku Salahkanku Salahkah aku Bila aku bukanlah Seperti aku yang dahulu Kau hancurkan diriku Bila kau tinggalkan aku Kau dewiku Kembalilah padaku Bawa separuh nafasku Kau dewiku

Translated lyrics: A portion of my breath Flew away with you When you left me Put the blame on me Am I wrong If I'm not the same person as I used to be You'll break me If you leave me You are my goddess Come back to me Bring back a fraction of my breath You are my goddess

[amethystarachnid]

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

IS THAT EVEN A QUESTION???? OF COURSE YESSSSS!!!! 🥹😍 this family is so perfect!!!

CHRISTMAS MORNING - prequel

⤷ 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: 9.6k

ᯓ★ Summary: the story of how you and Tony ended up with four kids

ᯓ★ TW(s): some spicy scenes

ᯓ★ Part I | Part II | Part III

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

The private jet touches down in Paris just as the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of pink, orange, and lavender. From your seat, you can already see the Eiffel Tower twinkling in the distance, its golden lights shimmering like a beacon. The sight takes your breath away, and Tony, seated next to you, notices immediately.

“Wait until you see it up close,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “The Maldives were nice, but Paris… Paris is the city of love. It’s going to ruin you for every other place.”

“You’re the one ruining me,” you tease, turning to face him. “This is over the top, even for you. Who takes a honeymoon after the honeymoon?”

He grins, that classic Stark smirk that’s equal parts confidence and mischief. “I do. And you love it.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s not wrong. From the moment you said “I do” just a few weeks ago, Tony has made it his mission to ensure that your life together starts with nothing short of pure magic. First, there was the extravagant wedding, an intimate yet elegant affair with just the right mix of family, friends, and glamour. Then came the Maldives—a week of turquoise waters, white sandy beaches, and lazy mornings spent in each other’s arms.

And now Paris.

By the time you’re whisked away in a sleek black car to the hotel, the city’s energy is already wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Tony is at your side, his hand resting on your thigh as he points out landmarks through the window, his excitement almost boyish.

The car pulls up in front of a building so grand it looks like it was plucked from a dream. The Hôtel Plaza Athénée, with its iconic red awnings and ornate façade, is breathtaking. But it’s not until you step inside the suite that you truly understand the extent of Tony’s planning.

The room is enormous, with high ceilings, opulent chandeliers, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offer an uninterrupted view of the Eiffel Tower. A bottle of champagne sits chilling on the marble-topped bar, and a trail of rose petals leads from the entrance to the massive bed draped in silk sheets.

“Tony,” you breathe, turning in a slow circle to take it all in.

He watches you with a satisfied smile, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Too much?”

“It’s perfect,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. “Good. Because you deserve perfect.”

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, your heart swelling at the tenderness in his eyes. “You know, you’re setting the bar really high for the rest of our marriage.”

“Good,” he says, his lips brushing against yours. “Because I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

The next few hours pass in a blissful haze. You toast to your new life together with champagne, your glasses clinking softly as you sit on the plush sofa and watch the Eiffel Tower sparkle in the distance. Tony insists on feeding you strawberries dipped in chocolate, and you can’t help but laugh at his exaggerated attempts to be suave.

Eventually, the city outside calls to you, and you find yourselves wandering hand in hand through the streets of Paris. The air is cool but not cold, and the city feels alive in a way that’s almost tangible. You stop at a small café for espresso and pastries, and Tony spends the entire time gazing at you like you’re the most captivating thing in the world.

“Stop staring,” you say, trying to fight back a smile.

“Can’t help it,” he replies, his voice low and teasing. “I married a goddess.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in his tone makes your cheeks flush.

The night ends back at the hotel, where Tony pulls you onto the balcony. The Eiffel Tower looms large before you, its lights casting a golden glow over the city. He wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“This,” he says softly, his breath warm against your ear. “This is exactly how I imagined it. You and me, in Paris, with the rest of the world fading into the background.”

You turn in his arms, your hands resting on his chest. “You’re such a romantic. I never would’ve guessed.”

He chuckles, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Your laughter is muffled by his kiss, slow and deep and filled with every unspoken promise you’ve made to each other.

The next morning, you wake to the sound of soft Parisian rain tapping against the windows. The room is still dim, the heavy curtains keeping the early light at bay. Tony is already awake, propped up on one elbow as he watches you with a sleepy smile.

“Good morning, Mrs. Stark,” he says, his voice husky with sleep.

“Good morning,” you reply, your own smile matching his.

He leans down to kiss you, and you lose track of time, the rain outside becoming a soothing soundtrack to the soft, lazy morning you spend wrapped up in each other.

Eventually, hunger pulls you out of bed, and Tony insists on ordering room service. When the knock comes at the door, he’s shirtless and grinning as he wheels in a cart laden with croissants, fresh fruit, and enough coffee to keep you both buzzing for hours.

“Breakfast in bed,” he announces, setting the tray down on the bed between you. “Because I’m the perfect husband.”

“Perfect, huh?” you tease, taking a sip of coffee. “What happened to ‘genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist’?”

He smirks. “Retired the playboy title. I’ve upgraded to devoted husband.”

The day unfolds in a series of moments so perfect they feel almost unreal. You visit the Louvre, where Tony pretends to critique the art in exaggerated tones that have you laughing so hard you can barely breathe. You stroll along the Seine, stopping at little shops and buying ridiculous souvenirs, including a beret that Tony insists you wear for the rest of the day.

That evening, he surprises you with dinner at Le Jules Verne, the Michelin-starred restaurant inside the Eiffel Tower. The view is spectacular, but it’s the way Tony looks at you—like you’re the only thing that matters—that truly takes your breath away.

“Have I mentioned how beautiful you look tonight?” he asks, his voice low and sincere.

“Only about a hundred times,” you reply, your cheeks warming under his gaze.

“Not enough, then,” he says, reaching across the table to take your hand.

By the time you return to the hotel, Paris feels like it’s become a part of you—its magic, its beauty, and the love you’ve shared here all weaving themselves into the fabric of your story.

As you lie together in the dark, the Eiffel Tower’s lights casting a soft glow through the curtains, Tony pulls you close, his arms warm and strong around you.

“You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “Someday, when we have kids, I’m going to tell them all about this trip.”

You smile, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “What are you going to tell them?”

“That it was the start of everything,” he says softly. “The moment I realized there was nothing I wouldn’t do to make you happy.”

Your heart swells at his words, and as you drift off to sleep, you know without a doubt that this is the beginning of a love story for the ages.

The days in Paris seem to blur together in a dreamlike haze, each one more romantic and enchanting than the last. Tony insists on showing you everything—whether it’s the iconic landmarks or the hidden gems only locals seem to know about. He pulls out all the stops, making sure every moment feels like something out of a fairytale.

One afternoon, you visit the Sacré-Cœur in Montmartre, climbing the steps hand in hand as the city sprawls out beneath you in all its beauty. Tony stops halfway up to pull you into his arms and kiss you, not caring about the crowd around you. When you reach the top, he wraps an arm around your waist and points out landmarks in the distance, his voice filled with excitement as if he’s seeing it all for the first time too.

“You see that?” he says, pointing to a small café nestled in a nearby street. “We’ll grab a coffee there before heading back. Locals swear by it.”

“You’ve done your homework,” you tease, leaning into him.

“Only the best for Mrs. Stark,” he replies, kissing your temple.

From there, the two of you wander through the cobbled streets of Montmartre, stopping to admire street art and musicians performing on the corners. You share a crepe from a tiny stand, laughing as Tony tries (and fails) to eat it without getting powdered sugar all over his shirt.

“Worth it,” he says, brushing the sugar off with a grin.

That evening, you stroll along the Seine as the sun sets, painting the water in golden hues. Tony takes you to a bookshop filled with ancient, leather-bound tomes and buys you a vintage copy of a French poetry collection, insisting that you read it to him later even though your French is rusty at best.

“You’ll butcher the pronunciation,” he jokes, tucking the book under his arm. “But it’ll still be sexy.”

The laughter, the stolen kisses, the endless affection—it’s all a reminder of how much you love each other and how lucky you are to have found this kind of happiness.

On your fifth day in Paris, you return to the hotel suite after a long day of exploring, expecting to collapse onto the bed and rest your aching feet. But the moment you step inside, you freeze.

The room has been transformed.

Dozens of candles flicker softly, their golden light casting a warm glow over the space. Flowers are everywhere—roses, peonies, and lilies arranged in elegant bouquets on every surface. A bottle of champagne sits chilling in an ice bucket next to two crystal flutes, and soft music plays from hidden speakers.

You turn to Tony, your eyes wide. “What’s all this?”

He smirks, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Just thought we’d end our Paris trip with a little extra magic.”

“Tony…”

“You deserve it,” he says simply, stepping closer to wrap his arms around your waist. “Every candle, every flower, every second of happiness—I want you to have it all.”

Your chest tightens with emotion as you lean into him. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now, come on. Let’s toast to us.”

You sit together on the plush sofa, sipping champagne and letting the weight of the day melt away. Tony is as charming and witty as ever, making you laugh until your sides ache. But there’s also a softness to him tonight, a quiet vulnerability that makes you fall in love with him all over again.

As the champagne flows, the conversation grows quieter, more intimate. You talk about your future together, the life you’re building, the dreams you both have for the years to come.

“I can’t wait to see you as a dad,” you say softly, your head resting on his shoulder.

He chuckles, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. “Oh, I’ll be the fun parent, no doubt about it. You’ll be the one who makes sure they eat their vegetables and do their homework.”

“And you’ll be the one teaching them how to hotwire a car,” you tease.

“Exactly,” he says with a grin. “We’ll balance each other out.”

The night stretches on, and as the candles burn lower, you find yourselves tangled together on the bed, the rest of the world fading away. Tony is all soft whispers and gentle touches, his love for you shining in every movement, every kiss.

The next two days pass in a blissful haze, though the knowledge that your time in Paris is coming to an end lingers in the back of your mind. You make the most of every moment, revisiting your favorite spots and indulging in one last round of pastries and wine.

Finally, the day comes when you have to leave. The flight back to Miami is bittersweet—you’re excited to return to the villa, but saying goodbye to Paris feels like leaving a piece of your heart behind.

As the plane takes off, Tony reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers. “We’ll come back,” he promises, his voice soft. “Maybe for an anniversary. Or just because. Paris will always be here for us.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, a contented smile on your lips. “I love you,” you whisper.

He turns to press a kiss to your hair. “I love you more.”

When you finally arrive back at the villa, the familiar warmth of home wraps around you like a comforting embrace. The memories of Paris stay with you, though, lingering in the air like the scent of roses and champagne.

And as you fall asleep that night, nestled in Tony’s arms, you can’t help but feel like this is just the beginning of a love story that will last a lifetime.

A month later, life in Miami has settled into a blissful rhythm. The villa feels alive with the love and laughter you and Tony share, the memories of Paris still fresh in your mind. You’ve spent the last few weeks unpacking souvenirs, teasing Tony for his over-the-top beret collection, and finding new ways to love each other in the quiet moments of daily life.

But lately, you’ve noticed something different. Subtle changes that make you stop and think. The fatigue you’ve been brushing off as jet lag doesn’t seem to fade, and you’ve had a few mornings where you’ve woken up feeling queasy. At first, you dismiss it—stress, the heat, maybe a stomach bug. But as the days pass, a quiet suspicion grows in the back of your mind.

It isn’t until one morning, when the smell of Tony’s coffee turns your stomach, that you realize you need answers.

With Tony busy in his workshop, you sneak out to the nearest pharmacy and pick up a pregnancy test. The drive back feels surreal, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves. Once home, you lock yourself in the bathroom, staring at the little plastic stick as if it holds the key to your entire future.

And then it happens.

Two lines.

Your breath catches in your throat, and tears spring to your eyes as the realization washes over you. You’re pregnant.

The moment feels too big to contain, and you sit there for a while, holding the test and letting the joy sink in. When you finally compose yourself, your thoughts immediately turn to Tony. How will you tell him? He’s going to be thrilled—you know that much. But you want to make the moment as special as he’s made every moment for you.

An idea begins to form, and soon you’re rushing around the villa, gathering supplies and making calls. By the time Tony emerges from his workshop that evening, everything is ready.

He walks into the living room, his T-shirt smudged with grease and his hair a charming mess. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says, glancing around. “What’s all this?”

The room is bathed in soft candlelight, with a trail of rose petals leading to the dining table. On the table sits a small box wrapped in gold paper, alongside a plate of Tony’s favorite dessert.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady as your heart races.

His eyebrows lift, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Another surprise? You’re spoiling me, Mrs. Stark.”

“Just sit,” you urge, gesturing to the chair.

He does as he’s told, his curiosity evident. “What’s the occasion?”

You smile, your hands trembling slightly as you hand him the box. “Open it and find out.”

He gives you a playful look but tears into the wrapping with childlike enthusiasm. Inside, he finds a tiny pair of baby booties—soft, white, and impossibly small. His hands freeze, and his eyes widen as he stares at the booties.

“Wait…” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. He looks up at you, his expression a mixture of shock and awe. “Are you…?”

You nod, tears filling your eyes. “We’re having a baby, Tony.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his mouth opening and closing as if he’s trying to find the right words. And then he’s on his feet, pulling you into his arms with so much force you let out a surprised laugh.

“We’re having a baby,” he repeats, his voice full of wonder. “I’m going to be a dad?”

“You’re going to be a dad,” you confirm, your hands clutching the back of his shirt as he holds you close.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands framing your face. “You’re amazing. Do you know that? You’re absolutely amazing.”

You laugh, tears streaming down your cheeks. “You had a little something to do with it.”

“Yeah, but you’re doing the hard part,” he says, dropping to his knees in front of you. He presses his hands gently to your stomach, even though it’s still flat. “Hey, little Stark. It’s your dad. Just wanted to say… I love you already.”

Your heart swells as you watch him, his usual bravado replaced by a tenderness that takes your breath away.

“Tony,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

He looks up at you, his eyes shining. “I’m going to take care of you both. Whatever you need, whenever you need it—I’m here.”

Over the next few days, Tony’s excitement only grows. He dives headfirst into research, ordering books on pregnancy and parenting, and even designing a state-of-the-art baby monitor. He starts asking you a million questions—Are you eating enough? Are you getting enough rest? Do you need anything?

One evening, you catch him talking to your belly again, his voice soft and full of love.

“So, here’s the deal,” he says, his hand resting gently on your stomach. “You’re going to have the best mom in the world. Seriously, she’s amazing. And me? Well, I’ll do my best not to embarrass you too much. But I can’t make any promises.”

You watch from the doorway, your heart melting at the sight.

“Are you giving our baby a pep talk?” you ask, stepping into the room.

Tony looks up, grinning. “Just getting a head start. Never too early to bond, right?”

You laugh, sitting beside him on the couch. “You’re going to be an incredible dad, you know that?”

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “Only because I have you by my side.”

As the weeks pass, the reality of your pregnancy begins to sink in. You and Tony start making plans—converting one of the spare rooms into a nursery, discussing baby names, and dreaming about the future.

One night, as you lie in bed together, Tony traces lazy patterns on your arm, his voice soft and thoughtful.

“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you reply, smiling. “What do you think?”

He grins. “If it’s a girl, she’s going to have me wrapped around her little finger from day one. And if it’s a boy… well, I’ll teach him everything I know about being a genius billionaire.”

You laugh, resting your head on his chest. “Either way, they’re going to be loved beyond measure.”

Tony presses a kiss to your hair. “That’s a guarantee.”

In the quiet moments like this, you feel the weight of your happiness, the love you share with Tony expanding to make room for the new life you’re creating together. And as you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but think that this is the beginning of the greatest adventure yet.

The months of your pregnancy pass like a whirlwind, a beautiful blend of preparation, excitement, and moments of quiet connection between you and Tony. From the moment you told him the news, he’s been by your side for every step of the journey, making sure you feel loved, supported, and cared for in every possible way.

It starts with the nursery. One morning, Tony wakes you up with a mischievous grin and a blueprint in hand.

“Alright, future Stark,” he says, pointing to the paper. “Your nursery is going to be the coolest room in the house. Scratch that—the coolest room on the planet.”

You roll your eyes fondly, propping yourself up on the pillows. “Tony, it’s a baby, not a Stark Expo exhibit.”

“Details,” he says, waving a hand. “Look at this. Adjustable crib height. Temperature-controlled walls. And, of course, a soundproof system so I can build without waking the baby.”

“Let’s start with painting the walls,” you suggest, laughing.

He’s relentless in his enthusiasm, though, and over the weeks, you watch as the nursery transforms. The walls are painted in soft, neutral tones—gentle creams and grays, perfect for the baby whether it’s a boy or a girl. Tony can’t help but add some of his signature flair, installing a ceiling full of tiny twinkling lights to mimic the night sky.

“It’s so they’ll always have stars to look at,” he explains one night, pulling you into his arms as you both admire the room.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder.

The gender reveal happens a few months later, and true to your style, you decide to keep it intimate—just the two of you. You’ve both been careful to avoid finding out the baby’s sex during the ultrasounds, wanting to make the moment special.

One evening, you sit on the villa’s balcony, the ocean breeze ruffling your hair as the sun dips below the horizon. Tony has set up a simple cake with neutral frosting, and as he brings it over, you can’t help but feel a nervous excitement flutter in your chest.

“Are you ready?” he asks, holding the knife out to you.

You nod, your hand trembling slightly as you both cut into the cake together. As the first slice falls away, the inside reveals a soft pink color, and your breath catches in your throat.

“It’s a girl,” you whisper, tears springing to your eyes.

Tony lets out a breathless laugh, pulling you into a tight hug. “We’re having a daughter.”

The rest of the evening is spent basking in the joy of the news. Tony pours a sparkling apple cider for the two of you, and you sit together under the stars, imagining what your little girl will be like.

“She’s going to be brilliant,” Tony says, leaning back in his chair. “Beautiful, like her mom. And probably a handful, like her dad.”

You laugh, placing a hand on your growing belly. “We’ll name her something strong. Something that fits her.”

Over the next few months, as your belly swells and your connection to the baby grows, the name “Cora” keeps coming up in conversation.

“It’s classic, but not too common,” you say one night, lying in bed as Tony traces lazy circles on your stomach.

“And it has a nice ring to it,” he agrees.

Eventually, it feels like the name was always meant for her. Cora Stark.

Tony talks to your belly every chance he gets, his voice soft and full of wonder.

“Hey, Cora,” he says one evening, resting his head on your bump. “It’s your dad. I can’t wait to meet you. Just so you know, you’ve already got me wrapped around your little finger. And your mom? She’s a superhero, so you’re in good hands.”

The sweetness of his words never fails to make you smile. He’s even more protective than usual, refusing to let you lift a finger. You catch him researching everything from the best prenatal vitamins to baby-proofing techniques, and his dedication warms your heart.

As your due date approaches, the anticipation becomes almost unbearable. The nursery is ready, filled with soft blankets, tiny clothes, and toys Tony couldn’t resist buying. You spend your days nesting, organizing and reorganizing the drawers, while Tony hovers nearby, insisting on carrying anything heavier than a feather.

Then, one warm evening, it happens.

You’re in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner, when a sharp pain shoots through your abdomen. You freeze, your hand going to your belly as the knife clatters onto the counter.

“Tony,” you call out, your voice trembling.

He’s at your side in an instant, his eyes wide with concern. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I think… I think it’s time,” you say, clutching his arm as another contraction hits.

The next few hours are a blur of activity. Tony keeps his cool—barely—helping you to the car and driving to the hospital while simultaneously calling the doctor, Pepper, and every other person he thinks might need to know.

When you finally reach the delivery room, he’s by your side the entire time, holding your hand and whispering words of encouragement.

“You’ve got this,” he says, his voice steady even though his eyes are filled with emotion. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

And then, after what feels like an eternity, you hear the first cries of your baby girl.

“She’s here,” Tony whispers, his voice breaking as the doctor places the tiny bundle in your arms.

You look down at her, tears streaming down your face as you take in her tiny features—the soft tuft of hair, the little fingers that curl around yours.

“She’s perfect,” you whisper, your voice full of awe.

Tony leans over, pressing a kiss to your forehead before gazing at his daughter with a look of pure adoration.

“Hi, Cora,” he says softly, his finger brushing her cheek. “I’m your dad. And I love you more than anything.”

In that moment, with Cora in your arms and Tony by your side, the world feels complete. Everything you’ve ever dreamed of is right here, wrapped in the love you share as a family. And as you hold your daughter close, you know this is only the beginning of a beautiful new chapter.

Bringing Cora home for the first time is a surreal experience. The nursery, once so pristine and untouched, now feels alive with her presence. You carry her into the house, cradled in your arms, while Tony hovers beside you, holding the diaper bag as if it contains fragile glass. He’s been unusually quiet since leaving the hospital, his eyes never leaving Cora’s tiny face.

When you step into the nursery, the soft twinkling lights on the ceiling cast a warm glow over the room. You place her in the crib, a tiny bundle wrapped snugly in a pink blanket, and just stand there for a moment, your heart swelling with love.

“She’s really here,” you whisper, brushing a hand over her downy hair.

Tony leans over the crib, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief. “She’s so small,” he murmurs. “How is she even real?”

“She’s half you,” you tease, looking up at him. “Of course she’s perfect.”

He smirks, though his voice softens as he says, “She’s more you. That’s why she’s perfect.”

From the very first night, it’s clear that Cora has Tony wrapped firmly around her tiny, delicate fingers. She lets out the smallest whimper, and Tony is already out of bed, rushing to her side.

“Tony,” you murmur sleepily, watching him through half-closed eyes as he leans over the crib, gently picking her up.

“She needs me,” he insists, rocking her gently in his arms.

“She’s probably just fussing in her sleep.”

He shakes his head, looking down at her with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “She needs her dad.”

And that’s how the nights go. While you’re the one feeding her, Tony is always right there, handing you bottles, adjusting her blanket, or just staring at her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

By the end of the first week, you’re both running on very little sleep, but Tony seems to have developed a superhuman ability to function despite it. You, on the other hand, aren’t quite as lucky. One morning, you’re sitting on the couch with Cora in your arms, trying to keep your eyes open, when Tony appears with a tray of breakfast.

“Eat,” he commands, setting the tray in front of you. “I’ve got her.”

You blink up at him, too exhausted to argue. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” he says, carefully scooping Cora into his arms.

You watch as he starts pacing the room, humming softly to her. It’s a completely different side of Tony than the one the world knows—the billionaire playboy, the genius inventor. Here, he’s just a dad, utterly devoted to his little girl.

Over the next few weeks, his devotion only deepens. He insists on being part of everything, from diaper changes to bath time. At first, he’s all thumbs, fumbling with the snaps on her onesies and nearly dropping a bottle during one of her feedings.

“You’re a genius, and you can’t figure out baby clothes?” you tease, watching as he wrestles with a stubborn button.

“Hey,” he shoots back, narrowing his eyes. “This is complicated engineering.”

But it doesn’t take long for him to get the hang of it. Soon, he’s a pro at changing diapers, even inventing a gadget to make the process faster.

“See?” he says proudly one afternoon, holding up the contraption. “Efficiency is key.”

“Tony,” you laugh, shaking your head. “Sometimes you just have to do things the old-fashioned way.”

“Not in this house,” he declares, grinning.

Cora, for her part, seems to adore her dad. She has a way of calming down the moment she’s in his arms, her tiny hand clutching his shirt or his finger. Tony takes every little coo and gurgle as a sign of her brilliance.

“She’s communicating,” he tells you one evening as she babbles happily in his lap.

“She’s just making baby noises,” you reply, amused.

“No, she’s trying to say something. I think she’s trying to say ‘Dad.’”

You raise an eyebrow. “Tony, she’s three weeks old.”

“Genius genes,” he counters, grinning.

Despite his confidence, there are moments when you catch him looking a little overwhelmed. One night, as you’re getting ready for bed, you find him sitting in the nursery, holding Cora close to his chest.

“Hey,” you say softly, leaning against the doorframe.

He looks up, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I just… I want to get everything right, you know? I don’t want to screw this up.”

“You won’t,” you assure him, sitting beside him and resting your head on his shoulder. “You already love her more than anything. That’s what matters.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around both you and Cora. “She’s going to be amazing,” he murmurs. “Just like her mom.”

As the weeks turn into months, you start to settle into a routine. Cora’s personality begins to shine through—she’s curious, always wide-eyed and alert, and she has a smile that could light up the entire villa.

One afternoon, as you’re sitting in the living room, Tony pulls out a small black notebook and starts scribbling furiously.

“What are you doing?” you ask, cradling Cora in your arms.

“Baby Stark’s first invention ideas,” he says without looking up.

You laugh. “Tony, she’s not even sitting up yet.”

“Exactly. I’m getting ahead of the game.”

Moments like these make you realize how deeply in love you are—not just with Tony, but with the life you’ve built together. Watching him with Cora, seeing the way he lights up when she’s in the room, fills you with a sense of peace you’ve never known before.

And when Cora falls asleep at night, nestled in her crib under the twinkling lights, you and Tony steal moments for yourselves.

One night, as you’re lying in bed together, Tony wraps an arm around you and pulls you close.

“Can you believe we made her?” he asks, his voice soft with wonder.

You smile, resting your head on his chest. “It’s hard to believe sometimes. She’s so perfect.”

“She is,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to your hair. “And so are you.”

You fall asleep that night with his arms around you, your heart full of love for the little family you’ve created. It’s not always easy—there are sleepless nights and moments of exhaustion—but through it all, one thing remains constant: the love that binds you, Tony, and Cora together.

Cora as a toddler is an absolute whirlwind of energy and discovery, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s just beginning to babble actual words, and while most of them are jumbled sounds only you and Tony can interpret, she’s already mastered a few favorites: “Mama,” “Dada,” and, of course, “No.”

Tony is hopelessly, utterly smitten with her. If she had him wrapped around her finger as a newborn, she now has him tied up in a full bow, and he doesn’t seem to mind one bit.

One morning, you find him sprawled out on the nursery floor, Cora perched on his chest like she owns him. She’s giggling uncontrollably, her tiny hands patting his face as he makes exaggerated silly noises.

“Stark Industries meeting canceled, I assume?” you tease, leaning against the doorframe with a cup of coffee in hand.

Tony tilts his head to look at you, his face smeared with what looks suspiciously like mashed banana. “This is more important,” he declares, grinning. “I’m raising the next CEO.”

Cora claps her hands at the sound of his voice. “Dada!” she exclaims, the word coming out loud and clear.

“That’s right,” Tony says, beaming. “Say it again. Come on, kid, show your mom who your favorite is.”

You laugh, setting your coffee down and crossing the room to join them. “She loves us equally,” you point out, scooping Cora into your arms.

Cora doesn’t seem to care about the argument, instead turning her attention to your hair, which she grabs with surprising force.

“She’s got your strength,” Tony says, sitting up and brushing banana off his shirt.

“And your flair for chaos,” you counter, wincing as you gently pry her fingers away from your hair.

Despite her mischievous streak, Cora is endlessly sweet. She loves to hand you things—blocks, books, occasionally random objects she’s found on the floor—and say “Here!” in her high-pitched little voice. Tony, of course, takes every offering as a priceless treasure.

“Thank you, princess,” he says one afternoon when she toddles up to him with a crumpled napkin. He acts like she’s just handed him a gold bar, holding it up to the light and examining it with mock seriousness.

“Tony,” you say, laughing, “it’s trash.”

“Not to her, it’s not,” he says, slipping the napkin into his pocket as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Cora’s curiosity knows no bounds. She loves exploring every corner of the villa, her little feet pattering on the marble floors as she goes from room to room. Tony has taken it upon himself to baby-proof everything, but he still follows her around like a hawk, ready to scoop her up at the first sign of trouble.

One day, you find the two of them in Tony’s workshop, Cora sitting on the floor with a pile of colorful wires in front of her.

“Tony,” you say, raising an eyebrow, “is that… safe?”

“They’re not plugged into anything,” he assures you, crouching down next to her. “See? Harmless.”

Cora picks up a wire and holds it out to him. “Here!”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says, taking it with a grin. “You’re a natural.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. The two of them are thick as thieves, and it’s clear that Tony treasures every moment he spends with her.

Cora’s vocabulary grows quickly, and every new word is cause for celebration. When she says “love you” for the first time, you both nearly melt on the spot.

It happens one evening as you’re sitting on the couch, Cora snuggled between you with her favorite plush bunny clutched in her arms.

“Cora,” Tony says, leaning close to her, “do you know how much Dada loves you?”

She looks up at him with wide eyes, then tilts her head. “Love you!” she chirps.

You gasp, your hand flying to your mouth. “Did she just—?”

“She did,” Tony says, his voice thick with emotion. “She said it!”

“Love you!” Cora repeats, this time reaching out to pat his cheek.

Tony pulls her into his arms, holding her close as he presses a kiss to her forehead. “I love you too, princess,” he says softly.

Watching the two of them together fills you with a sense of joy that’s hard to put into words. Tony has always been larger than life, but with Cora, he’s different—softer, more grounded. He’s still the genius billionaire you fell in love with, but now he’s also a dad, and he takes that role just as seriously as he takes everything else in his life.

There are countless little moments that make your heart swell. Like the time Tony taught Cora to say “yes” by offering her cookies every time she got it right. Or the time he built her a tiny rideable car, complete with her name painted on the side.

“She’s one,” you pointed out as he presented the car to her. “She can barely walk, let alone drive.”

“Early start,” he said, unbothered.

And then there’s bedtime, which has become a ritual of its own. Tony insists on reading her a story every night, even when he’s exhausted from work. Cora’s favorite book is one about a bunny who goes on adventures, and she lights up every time Tony does the voices.

“One day, you’ll go on adventures too,” he tells her as he tucks her in. “But for now, your only job is to sleep and dream big, okay?”

“Dada,” she says sleepily, reaching out for him.

He stays by her side until she drifts off, his hand resting gently on her back.

Afterward, you find him standing in the nursery, looking down at her with a look of pure love on his face.

“She’s everything,” he says quietly, turning to you. “How did we get so lucky?”

You smile, wrapping your arms around him. “I ask myself that every day.”

Life with Cora is a constant adventure, filled with laughter, love, and moments of pure magic. And as you watch her grow, you can’t help but feel grateful for the beautiful family you’ve built together. Tony may have the world at his feet, but it’s clear that to him, Cora is his entire universe—and she always will be.

The first day of school for Cora feels like a milestone for both her and Tony. She’s five years old and practically vibrating with excitement, her tiny backpack filled with everything she carefully picked out for the occasion: pencils, crayons, and a little notebook with bunnies on the cover.

Tony, on the other hand, is vibrating with nerves.

“She’ll be fine,” you assure him for the tenth time that morning as Cora spins in circles by the door, already dressed in her new outfit.

“But what if she’s not?” Tony protests, watching her like she’s about to walk into battle. “What if some kid’s a jerk to her? Or what if she doesn’t like her teacher? Or—”

“Dada!” Cora calls, cutting off his spiral. “Let’s go!”

Tony sighs, giving you a helpless look. “She’s so little,” he says quietly.

You reach for his hand, squeezing it. “She’s ready. And so are we.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he manages to pull himself together as you drive her to the school. When it’s finally time to say goodbye, Cora gives each of you a kiss on the cheek and marches into the building like she owns it.

“She’s going to be a CEO one day,” Tony mutters as he watches her go.

“Just like her dad,” you reply, smiling.

Time flies after that. Cora thrives at school, coming home every day with stories about her friends and the things she’s learned. Tony makes it a point to be there for every milestone, from her first science fair to her first school play, where she confidently announces to the entire audience that her dad “builds robots that save the world.”

By the time she’s ten, Cora is a perfect mix of you and Tony: sharp, curious, and endlessly confident. She has her dad’s knack for problem-solving and your steady kindness, and you couldn’t be prouder of the person she’s becoming.

And then one day, everything changes.

You’re standing in the bathroom, staring at the little test in your hand, your heart racing. Two lines.

“Tony?” you call, your voice trembling slightly.

He appears in the doorway a moment later, his face immediately shifting to concern. “What’s wrong?”

You hold up the test, your lips curving into a smile. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, processing the words. Then his face lights up, and he pulls you into his arms, laughing in that carefree way that makes your heart swell.

“We’re having another baby,” he says, like he can’t quite believe it.

Cora takes the news better than either of you expected. When you sit her down to tell her, she gasps, her eyes going wide.

“I’m going to be a big sister?” she asks, her voice filled with awe.

“That’s right,” you say, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Are you ready for the job?”

She nods vigorously. “Yes! I’ll teach them everything I know!”

It’s not until the ultrasound that you discover the truth: you’re having twins.

Tony’s jaw drops when the doctor says the words, and for a moment, he’s uncharacteristically silent.

“Twins,” he finally says. “As in… two babies?”

“That’s usually what it means,” you tease, though you’re just as stunned as he is.

From that moment on, the chaos begins. Tony throws himself into preparing for the arrival of the twins, turning one of the spare rooms into a nursery with military precision. He builds matching cribs, installs baby monitors, and even designs a twin stroller that’s sleeker and more high-tech than anything on the market.

Cora, meanwhile, is fully invested in her role as a big sister. She helps you pick out baby clothes, suggesting everything from tiny bow ties to onesies with rocket ships on them.

“You know they’ll be babies, right?” you say one afternoon as she holds up a miniature suit.

“I know,” she replies confidently. “But they’ll grow into it.”

The day the twins are born is nothing short of extraordinary. You’ve never seen Tony more nervous—or more excited. When Alex and Howard finally arrive, tiny and perfect, Tony is instantly smitten. He holds each of them like they’re the most precious things in the world, his voice soft as he murmurs words of love and promises to protect them.

Cora is equally enchanted. She insists on being the first to hold them, her eyes wide as she cradles Alex in her arms.

“He’s so small,” she whispers, her voice filled with wonder.

“That’s because he’s a baby,” Tony says, smiling at her.

She rolls her eyes, already slipping into her role as the older sibling. “I know that, Dada.”

The first days at home are a blur of feedings, diaper changes, and sleepless nights. Tony is a natural, juggling the demands of two newborns with the same ease he handles billion-dollar deals. Cora does her best to help, fetching bottles and rocking the twins when they cry.

“They like me,” she says proudly one afternoon as she sits between their bassinets, singing softly.

“Of course they do,” you say, brushing a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re their big sister.”

Life with twins is chaotic, but it’s also filled with moments of pure joy. Like the way Tony lights up every time one of them coos or how Cora insists on reading them bedtime stories, even though they’re too young to understand the words.

“They’re going to be geniuses,” Tony declares one evening as he holds Alex in one arm and Howard in the other. “Just like their dad.”

“And their mom,” you add, smiling as you watch him with the boys.

Cora, sitting nearby with her favorite book, looks up and grins. “And their big sister!”

The event is one of Stark Industries’ annual galas, and this year, Tony insists on making it a full-family affair. It’s the first time you’ve attended one of these with the kids in tow—until now, events like this were reserved for just you and Tony while the children stayed home with their trusted nanny. But the twins are four now, and Tony seems to think they’re ready.

“They’re not ready,” you say as you adjust the hem of your dress, already picturing Alex and Howard tearing through the banquet hall like twin hurricanes.

“They’ll be fine,” Tony says with his signature confidence. He’s seated on the edge of the bed, fixing his cufflinks. “It’s good PR. The Stark family, united. The kids will charm everyone.”

“Howard bit Alex yesterday because he didn’t want to share a crayon,” you remind him.

Tony waves you off. “It’s a gala, not an art class. No crayons, no problem.”

Meanwhile, Cora, now 14 and perpetually exasperated by her younger brothers, is leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom. She’s dressed in a sleek black dress that makes her look far older than she is, her hair pulled back in a way that Tony has already called “unnecessarily mature” twice.

“They’re going to ruin it,” she says, crossing her arms.

“You’re not helping,” you tell her with a pointed look.

“Hey, I’m just saying,” she replies, smirking.

Getting everyone ready for the event is an ordeal in itself. The twins are surprisingly cooperative during bath time, but when it comes to getting dressed, it’s chaos. Howard refuses to wear the tiny bow tie you picked out for him, while Alex insists on wearing mismatched socks.

“You can’t see the socks under his shoes,” Tony says, clearly taking Alex’s side as he kneels down to help him into his little suit jacket.

“It’s not about the socks,” you reply, exasperated. “It’s about setting a tone. If we let them win now, they’ll think they can get away with anything.”

“They already think that,” Cora mutters under her breath, earning a sharp glance from you.

Eventually, you manage to wrangle everyone into their outfits. The twins look adorable despite their protests, and Cora looks effortlessly elegant in a way that makes you realize just how quickly she’s growing up.

“Alright, team,” Tony says as you all pile into the car. “Here’s the plan: we walk in, smile, mingle, and don’t touch anything breakable. Got it?”

“Got it,” Alex says, but you can already see the mischievous glint in his eyes.

The gala is held at a luxurious hotel downtown, the kind of place with chandeliers that probably cost more than your car. As you step into the grand hall, you’re immediately greeted by a sea of familiar faces—board members, investors, and socialites, all eager to shake Tony’s hand and coo over the children.

Cora stays close to your side, her expression polite but bored. The twins, on the other hand, are a bundle of energy, bouncing between you and Tony as they take in the glittering surroundings.

“Look at the big lights!” Alex exclaims, pointing at the chandelier above.

“Don’t climb it,” you say automatically, earning a laugh from Tony.

The first hour goes surprisingly well. The twins stick close, charmed by the endless parade of hors d’oeuvres and the fact that everyone keeps calling them “little gentlemen.” Howard even manages to say “thank you” without prompting when a waiter hands him a tiny plate of macarons, and you catch Tony beaming with pride.

But then the novelty starts to wear off.

“I’m bored,” Alex announces, tugging on Tony’s jacket.

“Me too,” Howard adds, his voice edging toward a whine.

“Okay,” you say, crouching down to their level. “What if we play a game? You two are spies, and your mission is to stay as quiet and sneaky as possible. Can you do that?”

They nod enthusiastically, though you’re not entirely convinced.

Meanwhile, Cora has found a corner to sit in, her phone in hand.

“Cora,” Tony says, frowning. “You’re at a gala, not a texting marathon. Put the phone away.”

She rolls her eyes but complies, slipping the phone into her clutch. “Fine. But if they break something, it’s not my fault.”

It doesn’t take long for the twins to push the boundaries of their “spy mission.” You catch Alex attempting to sneak a second macaron off a waiter’s tray, and Howard is dangerously close to climbing onto the stage where the band is playing.

“Alright,” Tony says, swooping in to scoop Howard up before he can make it past the first step. “Time for a Stark family meeting.”

He gathers everyone in a quiet corner, crouching down to look the twins in the eye. “Listen, guys, I know this isn’t as exciting as, say, Disneyland, but this is important to your mom and me. Can you stick with us for a little longer?”

“Okay, Dada,” Howard says, his small voice earnest.

Tony ruffles his hair. “That’s my boy.”

The evening continues with only minor hiccups. Alex spills a glass of water on a chair, and Howard tries to play hide-and-seek under one of the tables, but overall, it’s manageable. Cora even manages to crack a smile when one of Tony’s colleagues tells her she looks just like him.

“Poor kid,” Tony says later, his voice low as he leans toward you.

You laugh, nudging him with your elbow.

By the time the event starts winding down, the twins are visibly tired, their earlier mischief replaced by yawns and sleepy eyes. Cora looks ready to leave too, though she’s done an admirable job of keeping her brothers in check.

As you gather your things and prepare to head out, Tony wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“See?” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We survived.”

“Barely,” you reply, though you can’t help but smile.

On the drive home, Alex and Howard fall asleep almost immediately, their heads resting against each other. Cora sits quietly, her phone back in hand but her expression content.

Tony looks over at you, his eyes soft. “We did good, didn’t we?”

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers together. “Yeah, we did.”

As chaotic as the evening was, it’s moments like these—together as a family—that make it all worthwhile.

The night Estelle is conceived feels like something out of a rom-com that turns unexpectedly steamy. Cora is 16 and fully immersed in her own teenage world, juggling her social life, school, and extracurriculars like a pro. The twins, at six years old, are finally at a stage where they’re not constantly climbing the furniture or attempting to build rocket ships out of household appliances.

That night, the twins are having a rare sleepover at a friend’s house, and Cora has locked herself in her room with her homework and noise-canceling headphones. The house feels unusually quiet—peaceful, even—which is an anomaly in the Stark household.

Tony takes full advantage of it.

You’re in the kitchen, finishing the dishes after dinner, when Tony sneaks up behind you. His hands slide around your waist, and he presses a kiss to your neck.

“What are you doing?” you ask, though you’re already smiling.

“Enjoying the silence,” he murmurs, his lips trailing along your skin. “And my incredibly hot wife.”

You laugh, swatting at him with the dish towel. “Tony, I’m doing dishes.”

“They’ll be here tomorrow,” he says, turning you around to face him. There’s that mischievous glint in his eyes, the one that still makes your heart skip a beat after all these years. “But this moment? It’s fleeting.”

Before you can respond, he picks you up and carries you—dish towel and all—upstairs to your bedroom, where the evening takes a decidedly romantic turn.

A few weeks later, you start noticing the signs. You’re more tired than usual, food smells are suddenly a little too strong, and Tony catches you crying over a commercial for baby diapers.

“You okay?” he asks, concerned, as you wipe at your eyes.

“I’m fine,” you say, though the realization is starting to dawn on you.

The next morning, you take a pregnancy test. And then a second. And a third, just to be sure.

“Holy crap,” you whisper, staring at the two pink lines.

You decide to tell Tony that evening. He’s tinkering in his workshop when you walk in, holding a tiny pair of baby socks you picked up earlier that day.

“What’s this?” he asks, looking up from his project.

“You’re going to be a dad again,” you say softly, holding out the socks.

Tony’s reaction is immediate—he stands so quickly that his chair nearly topples over. “Wait, are you serious?”

You nod, tears in your eyes.

His face breaks into the widest grin you’ve ever seen. “Oh my God,” he says, pulling you into a hug. “We’re having another baby?”

“Yes,” you laugh, overwhelmed by his enthusiasm.

He drops to his knees in front of you, pressing his hands gently to your stomach—even though there’s no bump yet. “Hey, little one,” he says softly. “It’s me, your dad. You’re going to love it here, I promise. Just wait until you meet your mom—she’s the best.”

When you tell the kids, their reactions are predictably chaotic.

Cora is thrilled. At 16, she’s mature enough to appreciate the idea of a new sibling without feeling jealous. “Oh my God, another one?” she says, laughing. “Are you guys trying to build a basketball team or something?”

The twins, however, are a different story.

“What?” Alex says, his eyes wide. “A baby?”

“Where’s it gonna sleep?” Howard demands. “In our room?”

You kneel down in front of them, trying to explain. “The baby will have its own room, just like you guys do. And you’ll still have plenty of time with me and Daddy.”

“But babies cry,” Alex points out, looking skeptical.

“And poop,” Howard adds, wrinkling his nose.

Tony steps in, crouching down beside you. “True,” he says, nodding seriously. “But babies also think their big brothers are the coolest people on the planet. This baby is going to look up to you two like superheroes.”

That seems to win them over—at least for now.

As the months go by, the pregnancy becomes a family affair. The twins take their role as big brothers-in-training very seriously, often offering to help carry things or pat your belly to “say hi to the baby.” Cora is your right-hand girl, stepping in to help whenever the boys get too rowdy or you need a moment to yourself.

The gender reveal is a quiet, intimate moment at home. You and Tony decide to keep it simple, opting for a cake that reveals the gender when you cut into it.

When the knife slices through the frosting and you see pink inside, you both freeze.

“A girl,” Tony says, his voice soft with wonder.

“A girl,” you repeat, tears welling up.

The twins cheer because cake is involved, and Cora just smirks. “Called it,” she says, crossing her arms.

“Cora,” Tony says later that evening, as the two of you are lying in bed. “What do you think of the name Cora?”

“What?” you ask, laughing.

“Just kidding,” he says, grinning. “But seriously, do we have a name yet?”

It takes weeks of brainstorming, vetoing each other’s suggestions, and poring over baby name books, but eventually, you both land on a name you love: Estelle.

“It means star,” Tony says one night as he presses a hand to your now-round belly. “And that’s what she’ll be. Our little star.”

The day Estelle is born is as chaotic and beautiful as you’d expect. Tony is a nervous wreck during labor, pacing the room and muttering to himself about whether the hospital’s equipment is up to Stark standards.

But the moment he holds her for the first time, everything shifts.

“She’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion as he looks down at the tiny bundle in his arms.

When the kids come to visit the hospital, Cora is smitten immediately, cooing over Estelle like a proud big sister. The twins, however, are a bit more cautious.

“She’s so small,” Alex whispers, peering at her from a safe distance.

“Can we keep her?” Howard asks, looking genuinely concerned.

“Definitely,” Tony says, grinning.

Bringing Estelle home is a new kind of adventure. The twins are constantly vying for a turn to hold her, Cora is your go-to babysitter when you need a break, and Tony is completely wrapped around her tiny finger from day one.

“She’s our last, right?” you ask one night as you watch him rock her to sleep.

“Definitely,” he says, though there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

You give him a look, and he laughs softly. “Alright, alright. She’s our last. I’m good with this chaos level.”

And as you sit there, surrounded by the beautiful, chaotic family you’ve built together, you can’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world.

[cevans-is-classic]

I wrote two pieces to the song "Work Song" by Hozier.

This is the first.

18+ only. Sexual content, alcoholism, blood play.

Masterpost

Marvel

Tony reaches for Steve, digging his fingers in until the skin beneath bleeds. 

Steve keeps moving, head thrown back, chin tilted to the moldy ceiling. 

He feels everything  

The hair of Steve's legs scratching his arm, the heat of him around his cock. His hands feel like fire touching the golden shine of his skin 

If there are words, languages, spread across the multiverse that describe Steve Rogers? Tony would give his blood, heart, and soul to speak those words right now. 

He can’t. 

Nothing pushes past his teeth because Tony sold his soul for Steve decades ago. 

He has always been Steve’s. 

Steve gasps, “Tony.” 

His hand wraps around his cock, fucking into it as rocks his forward. He thumbs over the slit, dribbling out, smearing.  Steve jerks himself swiftly.

Tony craves Steve. 

He needs to press his lips to the sweaty sheen of his neck and bite.

“Tony.” Steve whimpers. Cock drooling, hips rolling over him one snap, two snap.

His mouth drops open, eyes falling to watch himself. 

He matches the rhythm, dropping on his cock, rocking back before jolting forward and twitching in his hand.

A hiss rips from between Steve teeth and he drops his hand, steadying himself on Tony's chest as he shudders. 

Tony's brain fills with static, blood rushing in his ears as he pushes at the mattress. Sliding from beneath Steve to push at his hips. He feels the length of Steve's leg and hooks it over his hips as he slides Steve backwards.

He goes willingly. 

His mouth red and swollen, spit coats his lips — tongue swiping out over his bottom lip. 

His eyes are dark.

His jaw trembles as he bares his throat and rolls his head back.

Tears fell to his cheeks. 

Tony shifts between Steve’s legs cooing at him when he pulls his cock out and Steve whimpers. 

“Tony-” He catches Steve in a kiss, sliding his cock back inside with a single thrust. 

Steve cries out his other leg hooking over waist. He rolls his hips to drop himself onto Tony’s cock. 

He grunts, baring his teeth watching Tony fuck into him. 

There’s nothing but the sound of breathing and slapping skin. 

Steve watches, reaching down to feel where Tony pushes into him. 

It makes Tony's knees shake, his heart thudding rapidly. Steve wraps his fingers around Tony's cock and holds it. Squeezing when Tony pulls out, rubbing his rim as Tony shoves back in. 

Steve wraps an arm around Tony's neck. “Mine,” he bites at his ear. 

Tony's head swims, chest aching for breath. He feels drunk, feverish where Steve mouths as his neck and matches his thrusts.

“Mine.” Steve slides his hand into Tony’s hair and pulls.

Tony gasps. Steve's legs lock at the small of his back. His heels digging into Tony's ass. 

“Yours.” Tony collapses, falling into himself, feeling the truth surrounding him in a shattering spray of pleasure. “I'm yours.”

Steve pulls his hair back, mouthing up his throat. He pushes at Tony's ass, pushing his hips forward, rocking them into rhythm.

Nothing could have prepared Tony Stark for the force that is Steve Rogers.

Looking to the left his eyes fall on the shield. Leaning against the wall, resting there. The blood staining The lip of it — the white star covered in marks. 

He belongs to Steve. 

He doesn't deserve him. 

He feels Steve’s thighs tighten, his finger pulling Tony's hair hard enough he whimpers, “I'm yours.” 

His stomach drops, body buzzing as he snaps his hips forward.

Steve drags him into a kiss, licking his name from Tony's tongue.

There is nothing sweeter than Steve Rogers moaning into your mouth. Their bodies moving together, skin heated to the touch. The sheets stuck to them, tangling them closer together. 

A crack snapped his hips forward and Tony saw the frame of the bed splintered beneath Steve's hand. Pieces of wood dug into the flesh, blood dripping down his palm.

Tony grabs the bleeding hand and twines their fingers together.

“I shouldn't be.” He breaks, a sob tearing from his chest.

Steve shushes him, a slow rock of his head, “My baby,” His fingers tighten around his. He watches the blood paint their skin. 

“My Tony.” Steve gasps, jerks beneath him. “Nothing you do could keep me away.” 

He sobs louder, moving faster, holding Steve's hips higher until the man screams his name. 

Wet heat spreads between their bodies, Steve's body undulating,  twitching beneath him.

Tony waits, his thighs tense, his balls pulled taut.

Steve is bleeding, crying, his hand touching Tony's face, dripping blood onto his lips.

“I'll always come back to you.” Tony breathes the words against Steve's lips and cries out. 

Bloody fingers card through his hair, touch his cheek, his neck. 

He hopes the blood leaves a stain. 

-

His head rolls to the side. Body trembling. His mouth is dry, and his tongue is stuck to the roof of it. A heaviness in his head weighs him down.

It doesn’t stop the room from spinning, stomach twisting violently. He throws himself over the bed and gags.

A scream rips from his throat when Steve pulls him back. Touching him, curling his fingers around his arm. 

His lips were a fiery brand against his ear 

“Shh.” Stron hand draws him back to him. A soft shush and sweet nothings murmured into his ear. 

Tony shivers, body racked with painful jolts. A sick feeling burns in his stomach, acidic, slashing through his body.

He knows he's covered in blood. It paints his face, dries along his temple, and sticks their chests together.

“Shhh.” Lips brush over his cheek. “It's not real.” He knows that voice. 

He'll always know that voice. 

“Steve.” 

“I'm here, Tony.” A cool rag wipes across his collar bones. His thigh slides between Tony's legs. His body molds Tony's as he cleans his chest.

“You're okay now.” Steve breathes out, tickling the back of his neck.

When had he come home?

Steve squeezes the rag and drops it. 

He'd been sober. 

Then he wasn't. 

And he couldn't get to his suit because he couldn't stop drinking. 

“You're okay.” Steve wraps his arm around Tony's middle. “I've got you.”

[bucky-h0e]

Bucky Barnes: ex-Winter Soldier, now DILF. | Universe Masterlist

Biological Child! Alpine and Bucky. Loosely follows The Falcon and The Winter Soldier with some minor (major) changes.

James Buchanan Barnes is no longer the Winter Soldier. Steve Rogers is considering retirement. Tony Stark is retired and expecting a second child. Natasha Romanoff is on a well deserved holiday. The World has not ended. Finally, Bucky can begin the journey to find himself once more. The same self that used to be quite the ladies man, not that he was complaining. Of course, that is until an mildly annoyed woman knocks on his door with a positive pregnancy test makes him realise just how much the super-soldier serum had affected his body and DNA.

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Includes: Bucky gets a woman pregnant literally first try by accident, Sam being a menace, Steve didn't go back, Tony and Nat are alive, Loki is there somewhere too, Bucky has a family, the fucking cutest shit you've ever read (hopefully) Baby Alpine because she is a warning, Bucky's grumpy ass painting a soft baby pink wall, girl-dad Bucky and Tony bonding, Peter Parker and Morgan Stark being older siblings to Alpine

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This is NOT a Romance/Shipping fic!

Part of the 'Many Adventures of Bucky and Alpine' Multiverse.

Each part will have it's own warnings.

Requests are Open

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Masterlist

Bucky Finds Out He's Going To Be A Dad