The wedding had been small. Classy. No flying suits, no press, no explosions — just Pepper, Tony, a quiet garden, and a lot of whispered promises.

You had been there, of course — front row, arms crossed, trying not to scowl. You weren’t sure how you felt about Pepper Potts — the famously brilliant CEO, Tony’s partner in crime (and now in life), and somehow… your new stepmother.

You didn’t hate her. But you weren’t sure she belonged in your life either.

And Pepper? She noticed. Of course she did. She noticed everything.

So she didn’t force it. No awkward hugs. No “motherly” advice. Just… gentle presence. A cup of tea left outside your door. A text checking in. An open invitation to talk — but no pressure to accept it.

Until one night, weeks after the wedding, you found yourself downstairs at 1:23 a.m., rummaging through the kitchen. The weight of everything — change, grief, growing up — had built up, and now it pressed on your chest like one of Tony’s old arc reactors.

Pepper walked in quietly, wearing a soft robe, her red hair tied back.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked.