The pen clicks shut. The lawyer's voice fades into background noise.

And just like that you're his.

Tony, genius, billionaire, former disaster of a man, now officially... a dad.

He blinks at the adoption papers for a moment longer than necessary, then looks up at the tiny human sitting beside him, you, with wide eyes and a pacifier hanging lopsided from your mouth, clutching a worn stuffed rabbit.

"Well," he murmurs, sliding the papers into the folder. "Guess you're stuck with me, kiddo. No refunds, no exchanges."

You stare up at him, then giggle, a bright, unfiltered sound that makes him laugh too. "Okay, yeah," he says softly, "I can work with that."

The car ride home is slow. He drives one-handed most of the way, the other resting lightly on your car seat just to reassure himself you're still there. You hum quietly, pointing at the city lights through the window, and every few minutes he glances back just to watch your face light up.

When you yawn, a tiny, squeaky sound, Tony clears his throat.

"So, uh... dinner. What do toddlers eat? Mini pizzas? Dinosaur nuggets? Or do I start the whole 'balanced diet' thing now?"

You mumble something that sounds like "mac'n'cheese," and he grins. "Good choice. You're definitely my kid."

When you arrive at the Tower, FRIDAY automatically lowers the elevator volume and dims the lights. Tony's been preparing for this though he'll never admit how many sleepless nights he spent making sure everything was perfect.

Your new room is cozy, full of soft light and shelves lined with toys and books.

There's even a Stark Industries nightlight shaped like an arc reactor.

He sets you down on the carpet, watching as you toddle toward the small bed with your name embroidered on the blanket: Ivory S.

Tony rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, okay, so I went a little overboard with the branding. Occupational hazard."

You wobble back to him, arms raised, wanting to be picked up. He hesitates for half a second then scoops you up easily. You nestle against his chest like you belong there.

For a man who's held his armor steady in mid-flight, it's this tiny weight against his heart that almost knocks the air out of him.

That night, he reads you a story or tries to. He gets halfway through before realizing you've fallen asleep, one fist clutching his shirt.

He stays there for a long time, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand resting gently on your back.

"Goodnight, kid," he whispers. His voice cracks on the last word. "You're safe now. I promise."

He stands, hesitates at the door, then looks back one last time and sees your small chest rise and fall in peaceful rhythm. It takes a while for him to get himself together and close the door behind him to let you sleep.