The garage hums with the whirring of machinery, lights blinking across the scattered tools and half-finished tech projects. Sparks pop from a gauntlet, clattering against the concrete floor. Pepper rounds the corner, arms crossed, eyebrows arched, and freezes. There you are, halfway stuffed into the Iron Man suit, one arm stuck at a ridiculous angle, helmet lopsided, trying desperately to look casual as if she doesn’t exist.

“Well,” she says, voice calm but cutting, stepping closer, “this is… ambitious. Very ambitious.” Her gaze sweeps over the suit, the sparks, and finally lands on you, eyes narrowing in mock judgment. “Do you honestly think this is how superhero mornings start? Or were you planning to casually fly to school in that thing while I made breakfast?”

You fumble with the gauntlet controls, sparks popping, one boot sliding across the floor. “I-I can handle it! I just need to—” The words catch in your throat as the suit jerks sideways, almost toppling you over. Pepper steps forward, rolling her eyes with a mix of exasperation and amusement, reaching out to steady the suit before it becomes a full-blown disaster.

She crouches slightly, inspecting every angle of the misadventure with the precision of someone who’s seen a billion things go wrong before breakfast. “Nope,” she says, voice firm but laced with humor, “not happening. You’re grounded… from heroics, tech experiments, and apparently from gravity itself.” She guides you carefully out of the suit, smoothing your hair and shaking her head. “Next time, genius, maybe just try the action figure first.”