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The blankets are a tangle of limbs and fabric, pushed down and pulled back up so many times that they have lost all sense of order. But they’re warm, clinging to them like a cocoon, keeping the chill at bay. Tony is half-asleep, his head resting on Steve’s chest, one hand draped loosely over his ribs. His breathing is slow and steady, but Steve can feel by the subtle shift beneath his skin that he isn’t fully out yet.
He brushes a hand through Tony’s hair, smiling faintly at the mess of it, and for a moment, the sight tugs at something softer inside him — a memory of a morning from what already feels like forever ago, where he thought Tony’s messy hair made him look like a hedgehog and Steve’s heart could not handle all the love that had suddenly filled him.
That love has only grown since.
“I read something today that fit you,” Steve murmurs in the silence.
Tony makes a sleepy noise, as if half-interested.
Steve’s smile curls at the edges. “It’s called the hedgehog’s dilemma,” he continues.
That earns him a soft huff, Tony’s nose nuzzling against his chest in a lazy protest. “Oh, great. What’d I do now?”
Chuckling, his hand slowly smoothes up and down Tony’s back. “It’s about how, in the winter, hedgehogs want to huddle for warmth, but the closer they get, the more they hurt each other with their spines. But usually, they can’t afford to stay apart.”
Tony groans, his face pressing further into Steve. “Is my beard prickly or something?”
“No, I’m just saying… it sounds like us. In the beginning. Keeping each other at an arm’s length, until we didn’t.”
Tony’s fingers flex slightly against his side. “Hm. Okay, yeah. Why bring it up now?”
“I just found it interesting,” Steve says, messing up his boyfriend’s hair.
“I was finding sleep interesting.” Tony huffs and turns around. “Ugh, now I’m awake. Fine, tell me more about it.”
“Well, that’s kinda it,” Steve laughs. “I just liked that the hedgehog moniker fits you in more ways than one.”
Tony levels him with a look that’s equally unimpressed, judgmental, and vaguely offended — the kind of expression that reminds Steve, with no small amount of affection, of those cat memes he’s grown obsessed with (much to Tony’s endless dismay).
“Alright. And you just happened to read random hedgehog trivia because...?”
“I was bored,” Steve answers truthfully. “I grabbed that book Clint gave us as a gag gift last Christmas. Turns out, I couldn’t put it down.”
Tony blinks at him. “101 Things You Didn’t Know About Hedgehogs? You read the whole thing?”
“Uh... yeah?”
He hums, somewhere between baffled and endeared. “Okay. Tell me more fun facts.”
“What d’you wanna know? They cover a wide array of topics.”
Tony taps a lazy finger against Steve’s chest, right over his heart. “Dunno. You’re the expert now.”
“Alright. Did you know that—”
“Wait.” Tony taps him again, firmer this time. “You have an eidetic memory, right?”
Steve doesn’t often talk about his memory. People often get it wrong — it’s not like he sees everything in sharp detail or remembers everything. It’s more like certain things just stick, like they’re imprinted on his mind. Some might call it photographic, but it’s not exactly like that. He can recall facts, details, random bits of information — but only the stuff that matters or has an emotional hook. It’s like his brain files away the important things, whether it’s the timeline of a mission or the way Tony takes his coffee, or something he wishes he could forget, like the feeling of his body slowly freezing him to death as the serum fought against it, making it longer and more cruel than necessary.
When they’ve talked about his memory before, Steve understood that Tony’s is like this too, but in his case, it’s wildly selective. Tony doesn’t forget things, but he definitely chooses not to retain them, especially if they’re boring or irrelevant. That’s why Steve looks down at Tony, confused, because he knows that Tony knows that Steve does, in fact, have an eidetic memory. But Tony’s just grinning.
“You know I do.”
“’S what I thought. Hey, JARVIS, remember our good old whale pun directory? Let’s set up a hedgehog one.”
The second it clicks in Steve’s mind, he groans, low and exaggerated. “Oh, Tony… You know I’m no good at jokes.”
“C’mon, old man.” Tony smiles wider, pressing a kiss to Steve’s chest like a full stop. “I won’t make you tell me jokes. Just the facts you learned. Barely compares to the one million puns I, must I remind you, totally nailed.”
Steve huffs a laugh, warm and helpless. “Okay, fine. Challenge accepted.”
“But no more studying,” Tony adds, all sleepy and soft again.
“No more,” he promises. “You can even hide the book if you want.”
“Nah,” Tony murmurs. “I trust you. Plus, J’s monitoring your movements and your internet searches. So good luck trying to cheat, hot stuff.”
“Wouldn’t ever. Wanna hear another fact, then?” he asks, but the body on top of him starts to breathe with a familiar, calm rhythm.
“Goodnight, hedgehog,” Steve whispers, and he can’t hide the fondness in his sigh.
—⎊—
Steve loves his mornings with Tony; their schedules are so often misaligned, even after years of being together, that the days he gets to have this feel like a special gift to him. The kitchen is usually quiet, save for the low hum of the coffee machine and the occasional clatter of a pan being nudged aside. Their penthouse is so high in the sky that pure morning light spills through the large windows, painting soft, golden lines across the counter almost every day. It’s like something straight out of a fairy tale, or a dream come true, one that Steve hadn’t even dared to dream.
There’s a comforting routine to it all — the way Tony always knows exactly what to do to get them both started, whether it’s cooking scrambled eggs with a side of bacon and toast, or sweet-talking Steve into making pancakes. It’s perfect, and calm, and it’s home, a stable anchor throughout the chaos of their lives.
But that’s not what Steve finds when he returns from his run today. He hears music, which isn’t unusual in itself, but what’s unusual is what kind of music it is. Instead of the typical rock Tony plays when he’s focused or classical when he’s getting ready for the day, a deep, pulsing beat fills the kitchen, bass-heavy with sharp, synthetic hooks and a relentless rhythm that makes the room come alive. Perhaps a bit too much for Steve’s taste.
He leans against the doorway, watching Tony, barefoot, standing at the stove with a hashbrown raised high like some kind of crispy, golden trophy.
Then, without warning, Tony starts dancing.
It’s not smooth or coordinated — it’s loose, unrestrained, and completely Tony. He sways his whole body, shifting from one side to the other with an almost playful energy, like he’s lost in his own rhythm. His arms swing above his head, hashbrown firmly held in one hand, guiding it through the air with a fluid, carefree motion. Every now and then, he adds a quick little kick, a burst of enthusiasm that feels spontaneous and just a bit too confident. Steve’s gaze lingers, realizing with a smirk why so many people told him Tony had been all the rage at clubs back in his younger days. This is effortlessly magnetic, even when Tony’s just having fun.
Steve keeps watching, amused and amazed. “What’s all this?”
Tony turns toward him with a smile, still swaying in sync with the music.
“We’re having a moment,” he says, nodding towards the hashbrown.
Chuckling softly, Steve crosses the room to pour himself some coffee. “Are you about to eat your dance partner?”
Tony gasps, clutching the hashbrown to his chest dramatically. “How dare you?” Then, without missing a beat, he pops it into his mouth, still moving. “Well, guess you were right.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
Tony swallows, then, grinning, points a finger at Steve. “And yet, you love me.”
He steps forward, presses a gentle kiss to Tony’s temple, his smile softening. “Yeah,” he murmurs, stealing the next hashbrown off Tony’s plate. “I do.”
“Hey, I made you your own plate!” Tony says, slapping his hand away.
Steve grins, nibbling at the hashbrown anyway. “It’s best you don’t eat too many of these. After all, hedgehogs can’t eat potatoes. Raw potatoes, in particular, contain solanine, which is toxic to them. Even cooked potatoes are a no-go because of the high starch content. Not exactly great for their digestive systems.”
Tony stares at him. “Oh no, what did I sign up for? It’s so creepy when you do... all that. It’s like you turn into an infomercial.”
“I’m just looking out for you, Tony. JARVIS?”
“This is indeed a true fact, Captain. Entry confirmed.”
Tony rolls his eyes, switches the music to something softer, and hands Steve his plate before settling down with his own.
“So,” Steve says casually, after a minute of silence, “do you have any pictures of you in the ’90s?”
“What?”
“Just curious,” Steve continues, pretending to study the hashbrown in his hand. “I bet you were... quite the sight on the dance floor.”
“Stevie, you dog.” There’s a knowing twinkle in his eyes. “I knew it. I knew you were a perverted old man.”
He chuckles, shrugging casually. “Hey, I’m just asking... But, um, do you?”
Tony’s eyes darken, and his gaze locks onto Steve’s with a heated intensity that makes the room feel smaller. “You’ll be the death of me,” he mutters, voice dropping low. His smirk widens as he shifts closer, closing the space between them. “God, I’m so taking the leather pants out of storage.”
Steve gulps, his heart racing at the suggestion. “Uh, you—wait, seriously?”
His boyfriend leans in, his breath warm against Steve’s ear, his voice soft and teasing. “You better believe it,” he whispers, before pulling back slightly, a wicked glint in his eye.
He grabs his plate with exaggerated care, smirking again. “But for now... breakfast. Don’t wanna make you late for your meeting with Fury.”
Steve can’t help the way his pulse spikes and his pants tighten.
“Yeah, I’m—I’m definitely gonna need some cold water.”
—⎊—
Steve is on his way back from a long, boring day at SHIELD when he sees a beautiful bouquet of flowers in a bucket next to a small newspaper stand, and impulsively picks it up.
“Who’s the lucky lady, Captain?”
He looks at the woman behind the counter and tries to tell himself to remain calm. It is an assumption he hasn’t tried to dispute before, so there’s no real reason for people to think anything differently than Steve Rogers being a heterosexual, single man.
Still, it doesn’t mean he has to agree with the epidemic of people feeling entitled to gossip about aspects of his life he simply hasn’t publicly talked about before.
He clenches and unclenches his fists. It’s just a question, she’s just making conversation. It’s not like she actually cares about a name — she’s fishing for a confirmation that Captain America is no longer a virgin, or whatever narrative the media is going with these days.
“Sorry, ma’am, can’t tell you. But when we’re ready to go public, you’ll be the first to know.”
The woman tsks. “I’m not gonna sell it to the papers, you know.”
“Wasn’t worried you would, but now I feel like I should be,” he jokes, then hands her the dollar bills before he can hear anything else. Luckily, the place is right across the Tower, so he isn’t too worried about getting photographed. That is, until he runs into the swarm of paparazzi waiting by the doors.
Apparently, they’re here to ask about something or the other that Stark Industries did or didn’t do; he’s not entirely sure, nor does he care. But when they see him walk in with the flowers, all questions shift to variations of, ‘who is the a mysterious lady’, ‘is it Black Widow’, or worst of all ‘is it Pepper Potts and is that why Tony Stark said or didn’t say the thing he was supposed to say or not say’.
He keeps his composure as he makes his way through the crowd, but by the time he’s reached Tony’s lab, he’s made up his mind.
“Good evening, handsome,” Tony says upon seeing him. “Sorry for the mess outside, it’s… well, it’s nothing, but, as usual, they made it into something.”
“Hi, hedgehog. Yeah, I… I know how it goes. Don’t be surprised if they start linking me to any woman who’s ever entered the Tower, by the way,” he says, waving the bouquet around.
“Pft, get in line. Oh, are those for me?”
Steve nods, only half-listening.
“Well, that’s very sweet of you, honey. But are you alright, Steve?” Tony asks, walking closer and carefully taking the flowers out of Steve’s hands.
“We should come out. I think it’s time,” Steve says, cutting right to the chase.
Tony looks surprised for a second, then he exhales slowly, a complicated expression settling over his face.
“Okay, yeah, sure, we can start talking about… options. But did something happen?”
“No, no, it’s just, I—I wanna buy my boyfriend flowers and not get asked what lucky lady it’s for. I don’t wanna worry about whatever random woman they’re gonna speculate I am with. I don’t want people to think I’m single or sleeping around when my heart belongs entirely to you and has for years. I didn’t think it was necessary before, inviting everyone into our private lives even more than we already have, and gossip didn’t use to bother me that much, but I… I don’t wanna hide it anymore.”
Tony clears his throat softly, and places the flowers on the nearest table, playing with the ribbon tied around them. “And the gay stuff, that doesn’t scare you?”
Steve snorts. “The things I did to you last night should tell you I’m not scared of another man’s penis, sweetheart.”
Tony rolls his eyes, but he’s not trying to conceal his smile. “I’m serious—”
“Me too. I don’t have a problem with my sexuality. I know other people will, but I understood a long time ago that I will never, ever be able to satisfy everyone.”
Tony walks up to him, and gently grabs his forearm.
“A gay Captain America in a relationship with Tony Stark won’t go over well. They’ll all say I converted you.”
“Then I will tell everyone what I was getting up to in the army. Surely someone’s still alive to confirm it. And you’re getting it wrong; Captain America is not dating Tony Stark. Steve Rogers is. I know you think your reputation overshadows Iron Man’s, and I know I don’t have much of a public persona outside of being a superhero — no company, no genius, no legacy like yours. But maybe it’s time we show the world more about the human under the cowl, and the human under the Tony Stark mask, too.”
Closing his eyes, Tony lets his head fall on Steve’s shoulder.
“They’re gonna hate us. I’m used to it, but they’re gonna hate you, they’re gonna yell slurs at you and cancel your appearances and start some international discourse—”
“But I love you, so it’s worth it. And I know there’s kids who look up to Iron Man, to you, and cling to those interviews and blurry photos from your past. Kids who wonder, and hope. And it’s not good that they speculate, but the reason they do it is that they have nothing else. They only have the rumors. Imagine if we told them not one, but two Avengers are just like them. So, unless you’re not ready, which I will respect, don’t try to change my mind just to protect me. I know what I want.”
All Steve ever wanted was to be brave. And he has been; brave in punching bullies, brave in defending his country, brave in aligning his actions with his values and not compromising his morals. In the past, the mere idea of being open about his preferences was a total impossibility, something he couldn’t even imagine. But then, he woke up in a future that not only decriminalized it, but made it perfectly legal to marry your beloved regardless of anyone’s sex, and Steve… Steve is starting to think he ran out of excuses to stay private about this, and that it’s not right for people to look up to him and call him brave when he hasn’t been, not entirely. But maybe he can be brave now.
“You won’t be able to break up with me as easily, you know,” Tony says. “It’ll be a Big Deal, capital letters. It’ll follow you around forever, no matter if you decide to settle down later with some nice—”
Steve kisses him to shut him up, because the alternative would be punching him.
“I’ll never wanna settle down with somebody else but you. I wanna make an honest man out of you, Tony. Who else would I be telling that people used to think hedgehogs carried fruit around on their spines like little fruit kebabs? But the thing is, hedgehogs actually keep their spines flat when they walk, so it would be impossible for them to, therefore the fruit poking is just a medieval myth?”
“Nobody else, got it,” Tony chuckles against his lips, and Steve laughs too, to hide the emotion he actually feels.
They’re actually going to do this.
—⎊—
It’s only later that it occurs to Steve that he basically told Tony he wants to marry him by saying there’s nobody else he wants to settle down with. Since Tony didn’t freak out or say anything else about it, Steve assumes he isn’t entirely averse to the idea either.
Turns out he’s right, because Tony proposes to him two days later as they have dinner in their living room, holding a beautiful band he made with his own hands, visibly shaking with nerves.
“I wish I could start this with some great metaphor about how hedgehogs mate for life, but I actually found out that they are solitary animals, generally only meeting during the breeding season, and even then, usually mating with multiple partners, and, I mean, the male doesn’t usually stay with the female to raise the babies, which is kinda sucky, I like to think I’d be a better dad, not that I think of that, but like, anyways, I used to be like that, y’know, and that’s okay, we’re sex positive over here, but you made me want to never ever kiss anyone else ever again, and I love sex but I would also give that up if that would make you happy because I wanna be with you forever, and—”
“Tony, baby, can you stop for a second?” Steve asks as he gets up from the table.
Tony pauses his awkward speech and swallows, looking paler by the second.
“I am saying yes, by the way,” he adds as he starts running to his home office, not wanting to actually give Tony a heart attack. He quickly fishes out his own custom-made ring that has been hidden away for months before returning to the living room, and starts smiling like crazy when he sees a confused Tony, still on one knee, visibly relaxing as he understands what Steve is holding.
“Marry me?” he says, kneeling in front of Tony, who is now crying. Steve feels tears well up on his own face as he watches the man he loves reach for him.
Safe to say, in this moment, none of them have any doubts left about the kind of life they wanna build together.
—⎊—
Their relationship announcement ends up being a short statement disclosing their engagement, and nothing more. Their PR team suggested a gradual build-up to it: coming out individually, confirming the inevitable dating rumors that would arise from that, and only later bringing up the vague possibility of marriage. They also said it was probably for the best to make it seem like it was all happening in real time, rather than admit they’ve been hiding something big from the entitled public. But Steve just scoffed and said he wants it to just be done and over with, in an honest way. Tony simply said he wants it to be as shocking and as dramatic as possible. Nobody could change their minds.
Right before it goes live, Steve goes on what might become his last run for a while — anticipating the extra bad influx of paparazzi who will undoubtedly want to get a statement out of him — and stops by the little stand on his way home. He winks at the woman as he pays for a fresh bouquet of flowers and makes sure to flash his ring.
“You’ll hear about it in about thirty minutes. But I promised you a heads up.”
“Do I get that name too, then?” she answers, shocked and happy and suspicious, all at once.
Steve smiles mischievously. “How ‘bout this: it used to be written on that big ugly building across the street. ‘Was hard to miss. Have a good day, ma’am!”
Her eyes couldn’t get any bigger.
—⎊—
As expected, the media has a field day with the news. Some people call it progressive, others call it a joke. They’re used to all sorts of comments by now — just a part of the life they’ve carved out for themselves in the spotlight. The back-and-forth goes on for weeks, but they try not to care.
It’s harder, though, to be blasé about it, when a rumor gets picked up that they’re expecting a baby. A baby, with two dads, and no mom. The backlash is swift and harsh, and Steve can feel the sting of it in the pit of his stomach. They’ve fought for everything they have, but still, people tear them apart, call them names, make judgments without even knowing them. The weight of it is heavy, and all of it over something that isn’t even true, but something that is a reality to so many gay parents out there, who did nothing wrong, and have to hear the vile comments at every corner and on every channel.
“You think they’d let us be happy for five minutes,” Tony says one night, curled up on the couch with Steve, scrolling through his phone. The headline of the latest piece mocks them, criticizing their ‘decision to start a family by paying a surrogate a million dollars to undergo a very dangerous procedure which creates a baby from both of their DNAs without the need of a woman.’
“They don’t understand,” Steve says quietly, his hand taking Tony’s phone and locking it. “But that’s their problem.”
Tony sighs, leaning back against Steve’s chest. “I don’t care what they think. We’ve been through worse. I just wish it wasn’t such insane lies.”
He doesn’t talk about it, but Steve knows Tony’s also facing a lot of heat from Stark Industries’ board members for the inevitable stock drop. It angers Steve, way more than he’d like to admit. He clears his throat and aims for levity.
“The other day, I saw an article saying you’re getting a secret surgery to be able to get pregnant.”
“And I don’t even want kids! Jesus Christ,” Tony says, which makes Steve’s heart ache deeper than he expects, sudden like a punch to the gut, but he shoves that aside for now, focusing on the way Tony is currently rubbing a spot right over his heart.
“Hey, so, did you know that hedgehogs do this thing called self-anointing?” he asks, trying to mask the hurt.
—⎊—
The media gives them a break when something bigger happens: the identity of an assassin credited for over two dozen murders becomes public knowledge, confirming the unfortunate theory Steve and Natasha had come up with a while back, when they started tracking the guy. It’s a few messy months, but with assistance from Tony and Sam, they manage to both dismantle Hydra and build a solid case in his favor. It helps that Bucky, admittedly reluctant, agrees to join their fight and publicly stop the impostor as he tries to murder the King of Wakanda and frame it on the Winter Soldier.
The public is split between seeing him as a hero and a victim or a vigilante and a murderer, but ultimately, Bucky gets his pardon under a strict set of rules and conditions, and with combined help from the grateful Wakandans and Tony’s augmented retro-framing experimental technology, Steve gets his best friend back.
—⎊—
Steve never gave marriage much thought. Growing up sickly and poor, he never thought he could become the type of man a family would rely on. His general lack of interest in women didn’t necessarily help, and upon seeing the mess and destruction his drunken father brought upon everything he touched… He simply decided that giving his life to his country was the only dignified thing he could do, no matter if it brought him death.
Perhaps, especially because it probably would.
But against all odds, it didn’t, and here he stands now, in an impossible future and with a ring in his hand, ready to commit to the rest of forever.
Their wedding is small, just a few close friends gathered on a field as the sun sinks low, casting a golden glow over everything. They both look effortlessly handsome, as Pepper had put it: Tony’s in a perfectly tailored black suit, sharp and refined, while Steve keeps it simple in a navy jacket, the fabric soft and timeless.
Tony looks at Steve as they stand together, a small, tremulous smile tugging at his lips. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he murmurs, looking a little awestruck.
Steve returns the smile, his voice steady but soft. “I do.”
“Hey, you’re saying it too early,” Tony jokes, just as Rhodey tells the guests they can be seated.
The moment feels soft, intimate, like it’s just for them. Their vows are brief but full of all the love they have for each other. Tony grins a little as he speaks, his voice low and warm.
“I promise to always have your back, even when you hog the covers.”
Steve chuckles, his hand brushing Tony’s. “I’ll try not to steal the covers, but no promises.” He pauses, voice turning more sincere. “I promise to love you. Every day. No matter what.”
As they exchange rings — the same ones they wore for their engagement, as they are plenty special already — there’s no need for grand gestures. It feels like the final, natural step in something that’s been years in the making, a marriage that’s always been there, just waiting for the right moment to settle in.
“Let’s party, everyone!” Tony loudly exclaims as the group erupts in cheers.
They all dance until the morning, carefree and happy for once, and if Steve walks in on his best friends kissing each other in a corner as the sun rises, well… that’s nobody else’s business.
—⎊—
Steve interrupts Tony’s story with a quick peck on his lips. It turns out to be a mistake.
“Hey! I recognize your ‘I’m about to turn around’ kisses and I don’t appreciate them.”
“Aww, Tony, no—”
“Oh, so I’m Tony now?”
Steve chuckles, shuffling closer to give him a kiss on the cheek, but Tony pulls away just in time, his expression hurt.
“Hedgehog, baby, love of my life, I am just so, so tired. I will listen to you tomorrow, you can tell me all about it. I promise. Right now, I need to sleep. I had a really long day.”
Tony rolls his eyes, crossing his arms as he turns around himself. “You always say that. Really long day, I get it. The world depends on you, blah, blah, blah.”
Steve stares at his back for a moment, clearly debating whether or not he wants to engage. Then his lips twitch upward. “Can I make it up to you tomorrow? I will listen to you so hard.”
Tony huffs, not backing down. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Steve sighs dramatically, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yes, perfect, you can judge me tomorrow. Tonight, all I want is to sleep.”
Tony is quiet for a second, then shakes his head with a defeated sigh. “Fine. In exchange for a hedgehog fact.”
“You’re adorable when you’re pouty,” Steve says, assuming his position as the big spoon. “Here’s a fact: hedgehogs are nocturnal. Their whale husbands aren’t. Now let me sleep. I’ll love you tomorrow. Promise.”
Tony hesitates, then turns around for a small kiss. “Fine, fine. But I’m totally holding you to that tomorrow thing.”
“Wouldn’t dream of anything else,” Steve mumbles, already pulling the covers over his shoulders, ignoring Tony yelping about his now-exposed toes.
—⎊—
It’s a quiet, uneventful evening. Steve sits on the couch, lost in thought, his eyes tracing the fading light of the sunset as it drifts through the window. Tony’s next to him, focused on some gadget or another, completely absorbed in his own world.
Steve’s been turning the thought over and over in his mind all week, quietly, almost afraid to say it out loud. But now, the moment feels right. Or at least, it feels like a moment. He hesitates, feeling the weight of it settle in his chest.
“Tony,” he says, his voice quiet but steady. “I wanna ask you something. Are you certain you don’t want—I mean, your decision to not be a father, is that… is that final?”
Tony freezes, mid-motion, his eyes snapping to Steve in an instant. His fingers twitch around the piece he’s been fiddling with, but he doesn’t look back down. The panic is clear in his face, even if he’s trying to mask it with a grin.
“What?” His voice rises a little too high. He sits up straighter, like he’s suddenly unsure whether this is some kind of joke. “Wait, what do you mean, I’m not a father? Is DUM-E not real enough for you?”
Steve swallows, his heart picking up pace. He turns fully toward Tony now, the idea suddenly feeling real.
“I mean... I’ve been thinking. Would it be so crazy if we really did it? All the things the media said — well, maybe without the experimental procedures,” he chuckles nervously. “We’ve been together for a while, we’ve built a life. We’ve got everything we need. I believe we could do this, Tony. But only if… only if you want it too.”
Tony drops the gadget on the coffee table — Steve can now recognize it as one of Widow’s weapons — and looks at him for a long moment, disbelief and something darker flickering across his features.
“Are you—are you serious? A kid? Like, us... with a kid?”
Steve nods, trying to maintain his composure, but there’s something fragile about the way his heart is fluttering. He can tell Tony’s about to get even more panicked, and that’s the last thing he wants, but he wants to go through with this.
“I think we’d be good at it. I think we could make it work. You, me... raising a child. You as a father? God, Tony, you’d be exceptional. What if we did that, my hedgehog? What do you think? Is it completely off the table?”
Tony leans forward suddenly, his hands gripping his knees as if holding onto something steady.
“Steve, no. I—I’m not sure about this. You’re talking about a child. A human child, possibly even a baby. Like, I’m supposed to raise a kid? With my past, our past? Have you not seen what I’m like? You know what kind of mess I can make—”
Steve puts a hand on his shoulder, though his own heartbeat is racing. “Sweetheart, calm down. I’m not saying it has to be right away. Just think about it, okay?”
“No,” Tony says, standing up and pacing around the room now. His voice shakes a little. “What if I mess it up? What if the baby—what if they’re just like me, Steve? What if I can’t protect them? I—”
“Tony.” Steve’s voice is steady now, grounding. “I know we’re not perfect. But we can give them something real. Something good. A home, like you gave me.”
Tony looks at him, clearly overwhelmed, his chest rising and falling a little too fast.
“I’m not sure I’m cut out for this. I don’t even know where to start. I—I never even thought about being a dad. You know me, honey. I’m…” His words falter, and for a moment, his usual bravado is gone.
Steve reaches for his hand, pulling him back to sit down. “Okay, that’s—okay. I don’t agree with your opinion, I know you’d be so good, but I understand it’s not the best time to try to change your mind. Just think about it, alright? We can figure it out. We’ve always figured it out.”
Tony stares at him, fear all over his face. “Are you gonna leave me if I can’t do this? Because I love you so much, Steve, you know I’d give you anything, but I can’t do that to a child, I know how it feels to be unwanted and resented—”
“Tony! Tony, God, no. If you don’t want it, it’s okay. You’re my family, Tony. Okay? I won’t leave you,” he promises as he hugs Tony close to him. “I just wanted to understand how final your decision is and the reasoning behind it. It’s my fault for not bringing up before, in all these years. I am happy with you, I promise.”
It’s not like Steve ever expected to get to the moment in his life where he’d want children, not with the fear of being just like his terrible father, and not in this line of work, but somewhere along the way, born from the love he shares with his husband in the sanctuary they built together, the idea started to take form, and now he can’t leave it alone. He wants it so bad, his body aches from it.
But ultimately, nothing is worth losing what he has with Tony. If it’s not with Tony, he doesn’t want it at all.
“You’re all I want,” Steve says after a minute of silence.
“Not all you want,” Tony corrects, defeated.
“Not all I want,” he agrees. “But all I need. I can live without it. I just thought…”
Tony swallows, and kisses Steve’s jaw before dropping his head on his shoulder, deflating.
“I’m sorry. It’s not a hard no. I just don’t know if I can handle this. A kid? I don’t know how to be what they need.”
Steve squeezes his hand. “I’d be right here. If that’s what’s holding you back, if it’s the fear… We’d be in this together, Tony. You’d make an amazing father, I promise.”
Tony glances down at their hands.
“Alright,” Tony finally says, looking up at Steve with a tentative smile. “I’ll think about it.”
Steve smiles, feeling the knots in his chest loosen a little. “Thank you, Tony. That’s all I ask.”
—⎊—
Months later, Steve stands in the middle of the living room, staring at the mountain of baby stuff that has somehow multiplied in the last few days. Boxes of clothes, shelves of toys, and, most prominently, an enormous stack of diapers — though that is one thing that you can never have too much of, he supposes.
Tony walks in, coffee in hand, and freezes mid-step. His eyes lock on the towering pile, and he raises an eyebrow, sheepish.
“I overdid it, right?”
Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “Maybe a little.”
Hands up in mock surrender, Tony grins. “I was just trying to be prepared. We’re going to need them, right? And honestly, better too many than too few.”
Steve moves closer to the pile, picking up an unopened package. “Are you planning to stock up for the next decade, or—?”
“Well, maybe not decade,” he says. “But, you know… just in case.”
Steve grimaces, glancing around the room. “Alright, alright. But can we take it down a notch with the hoarding?”
His chest tightens thinking of all the children without toys or enough diapers. Tony already gives away so much, and Steve knows there’s only so much he can do alone. Still, it doesn’t make the pile or the guilt any easier to face.
Steve reaches over to tousle Tony’s hair, the warmth easing the light tension between them.
“We’re donating half of this, hedgehog.”
Tony nods. “Yeah, okay.”
Steve leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the temple. “I swear, you’re going to be the most prepared parent on the planet.”
Tony laughs, a tinge of nerves in his voice as he lets his hand find Steve’s. “Guess we’ll see.”
Smiling, Steve lifts a small stuffed bunny that was buried under a pile of Avengers-themed baby socks. He wonders if Tony ordered any hedgehog-themed toys. That would be incredibly cute.
“Hey… did you know hedgehogs can carry up to 7,000 quills on their backs?”
—⎊—
“Since when do you know how to sew clothes?” Steve asks one night as he enters the lab.
Tony glances up from the mess of wires and schematics on the workbench, blinking like Steve just grew another head. When was the last time he slept?
“What?”
“Nat told me you’re making something.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Tony wipes a hand across his forehead, leaving a smudge of grease behind. “I’m... trying. Experimenting. How hard can it be? If I can make a robot…”
Steve watches him, amusement tugging at his lips. “A little stitch here, a little wire there…”
“Exactly. Just wait ’til you see me sew up my wounds. Now that will impress you.”
“God, don’t even joke about that.”
“It’s all about precision, baby. Tech, skin, fabric, same thing.”
He raises an eyebrow. “And why did Aunt Nat hear before me?”
Tony shrugs, too quick, too practiced. “Maybe I wanted to surprise you. Thought she’d keep it a secret.”
“Did you ask her to?”
“No.”
Steve crosses the last bit of space between them, resting a hand lightly on Tony’s lower back. “What’s going on?”
Tony exhales, hesitant, then pulls out a bundle of fabric from a drawer. “It’s a tradition on my mom’s side. The mother hand-sews the outfit for the baby’s baptism. I had one too. I thought… maybe we could have something special, handmade, to honor her. Even though there’s no ceremony.”
Steve picks up the dress. It’s a soft ivory batiste, edged with delicate embroidery, a faint shimmer of lace at the cuffs.
Tony continues quietly, “She taught me when I was a kid. Said I had steady hands, better than hers. Sat at the table with a glass of wine, tape measure around her neck, while I sewed straight lines and listened to her stories about her nonna.”
Steve just listens, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He remembers watching his own ma patch his clothes, or knit him socks for the winter if someone gave them some yarn or an old blanket she could turn into a sweater or two.
“I haven’t touched a needle in years,” Tony admits. “But thinking of bringing the baby home… I wanted her to have something from my mom. I don’t know why I hid it from you. Guess I wanted to make sure it’s perfect, first.”
Steve presses a kiss to the side of Tony’s head, grease and all. “That’s beautiful, hedgehog. The dress is gorgeous. She’s gonna feel so loved in this.”
Tony lets out a shaky breath and leans into him, forehead resting lightly against Steve’s shoulder.
“Good. I already make clothes for her dad all the time. Figured the kid should get in on the couture treatment.”
“I’m pretty sure your version of clothes involves kevlar and polyethylene,” Steve says with a laugh.
“And yet, you’re wearing them with pride,” Tony says, smug. “You’re welcome.”
—⎊—
They get their baby girl, and their world shifts in an instant.
Their first weeks with Jamie are nothing but sleepless nights, whispered lullabies, and the faint, sweet scent of baby lotion that clings to everything it touches. Steve falls in love with it right away.
He wants skin-to-skin contact from the very beginning. He likes to peel off his top and draw Jamie close, the tiny weight of her fitting perfectly against his chest, soft and fragile and impossibly real. It anchors him in a way nothing else ever has. His arms tremble sometimes — not from fear, but from awe — as he feels the delicate pulse of life in his hands, the quiet trust that he is now responsible for everything she is and will be.
Jamie drifts to sleep like that, nestled against him, ears brushing the steady rise and fall of his chest. Steve doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe too loudly, letting himself memorize the shape of her in his arms, the warmth she leaves behind. He traces her tiny fingers with his thumb, marveling at the perfection of her, the infinite possibility of the life she carries within.
From the doorway, Tony watches. His eyes are bright, glimmering with something raw, unspoken, almost sacred.
“I love you,” he murmurs, voice low, nearly swallowed by the soft hum of the Tower. “Both of you. More than you’ll ever know.”
Steve glances down at Jamie, then toward Tony, and in that instant — the faintest squeeze of their daughter in his arms, the soft light falling across Tony’s face — he feels the whole impossible, beautiful expanse of their life in one quiet heartbeat.
“Love you, too. My hedgehog and our hoglet.”
Tony steps closer, reaches out, and Steve shifts Jamie slightly so that she rests against Tony’s chest too. The warmth of both men surrounds her, and she stirs, tiny eyes blinking open.
Steve watches, chest tight with awe, and he realizes that this — this quiet, profound ordinary moment — is the thing he has fought for all his life. Not fame. Not missions. Not glory. This. The imperceptible joy of a shared pulse, of a soft laugh in the middle of the night, of knowing they have each other to hold on to, come what may.
—⎊—
He didn’t think life would change that much, but Steve measures time differently now, not by missions or briefings but by the small rituals that give shape to the day, by the weight of Jamie in his arms as he learns the exact angle she prefers to be held and the way her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt like an anchor.
Morning begins with mandatory preparation, bottles lined up with military precision, a diaper bag stocked so thoroughly it rivals any field kit he ever carried, Tony’s voice drifting in from the other room as he talks through both feeding schedules and half-formed ideas for safer cribs, as if the inventor and the father are finally speaking the same language.
Steve discovers that patience lives in unexpected places, in the slow rhythm of rocking while humming songs his ma once sang, in wiping spit from a star-spangled shoulder without a second thought, in learning how to smile through exhaustion because Jamie responds to joy more than anything else.
He carries her through the city strapped against his chest, aware of every sound and movement, feeling more grounded than he ever does standing watch over a battlefield. The world looks different when filtered through the responsibility of keeping someone this small safe, when danger feels less abstract and love feels heavier than a shield.
The tabloids love to make fun of the gay dad who carries his daughter in an effeminate way. Until Steve punches a killer robot with his left fist while holding his right hand over Jamie’s face, more annoyed at the interruption of his walk than scared, and then he starts to get painted as a hero again. It is almost as exhausting as parenting, keeping up with the public’s conflicting opinions on him.
Evenings are quieter but fuller, marked by Tony’s laughter as Jamie grips his finger with surprising strength or the excitement of reading her a new book. Steve understands, in these moments, that heroism has shifted its meaning, that saving the world now begins at home, in teaching a little girl that she is held, protected, and deeply, irrevocably loved.
Fatherhood is also the quiet rewiring underneath, the parts Steve doesn’t have words for yet. It’s the way his body stays half-alert after missions, how risk calculations change without his permission, how victories feel unfinished if he can’t come home afterward. It’s realizing that this commitment exists whether he is ready for it or not, heavy and constant and demanding better from him on days he feels thin.
It’s frustration he has to swallow because she deserves steadiness, fear that doesn’t look like panic but like planning three steps ahead, grief for versions of himself that no longer fit and relief that they’re gone anyway. It’s learning that strength sometimes means asking Tony to take over, that leadership can look like admitting he’s outmatched by a crying baby and staying present anyway.
It’s also being changed in ways that don’t announce themselves, realizing years later that the man who picked up that shield is not the man who picks up his daughter, and understanding that both are real, and important.
But it’s also heartfelt and carefree moments, a natural extension of the silly version he only allows Tony to see. He’s glad to realize he’s still capable of that.
The moment it happens, he’s already feeling tired and on the edge after a little argument with Tony. Nothing serious, as usual, but enough to make him uneasy. But the second Steve sees it hanging in the window of a tiny boutique across the street, bathed in warm afternoon light, the plan forms. Steve can’t help it. Some things just call to him.
A fluffy onesie, round and soft and absolutely ridiculous, made to look like a teddy bear. He walks in, and even though the store is just a reseller with no ties to the manufacturer, he walks out half an hour later with an order confirmation for a custom-made hedgehog onesie, with tiny ears and plush quills layered down the back in velvet browns.
The package arrives in a week. By the time Steve opens it, he’s smiling like an idiot. He doesn’t try to stop himself.
Later, Tony reaches into the gift bag Steve offers him and lifts the onesie out with both hands, holding it up at arm’s length. He blinks at it once. Then again.
“…You bought her a hedgehog costume.”
“It’s a winter onesie. Custom. She gets cold. A hedgehog’s body temperature is slightly lower than a human’s. They need extra warmth. Thought I’d help.”
Tony snorts as JARVIS beeps a confirmation, but he doesn’t put it down. His thumb drags over the fabric, testing the softness, lingering at the stitching like he’s memorizing it.
“She’s gonna look so ridiculous in this,” Tony says, already smiling despite his words.
Steve grins, warmth settling easily in his chest, the quiet certainty of a life where this is what they argue about. “Yeah,” he says. “I can’t wait.”
Jamie wears the onesie for the following weeks. Steve and Tony take so many pictures.
—⎊—
Unfortunately, Steve finds out pretty early on that he’s exceptionally good at worrying.
Tony can call him crazy all he wants, but if Steve sniffs even the tiniest of inconsistency, he’s not feeding their baby that food. Even though Tony insists he’s overreacting, Steve can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. He’s learned to trust his instincts, even when they’re inconvenient, even when they don’t make sense to anyone else.
He stands in the kitchen, staring at the jar of baby food on the counter like it’s a bomb waiting to go off. It’s the third jar he’s looked at today, and so far, they all seem… fine. But there’s something about this one, something he can’t put his finger on. It’s subtle, but it’s there, just on the edge of his senses, and it nags at him like an itch he can’t scratch.
When he was a kid, food was never something you threw away. He can still remember the nights when his ma would put together whatever she could, using every last scrap to make a meal. It didn’t matter how old or stale the bread was, or if the meat wasn’t exactly fresh anymore. If it was food, you ate it. It was all they had, and they had to make do with it. Throwing food away? That was a sin. It was wrong. But now, as an adult, he knows better. He can’t let good food go to waste, not when there’s so much history tied up in it and so many kids still hungry, but he also knows that some things can make you sick. And that’s a kind of wrong, too.
He sniffs the jar again, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. What if it’s bad? What if he’s wrong about it? But if there’s even the slightest chance it could harm Jamie… He can’t risk it. But then again, what if it’s just fine? What if he’s overreacting?
Tony is lounging nearby, flipping through a tablet. “You’ve been sniffing that jar for ten minutes, Steve. I think it’s safe. No need to call in the Avengers for this one.”
Steve doesn’t respond immediately, his nose still hovering over the sauce. He’s breathing in deeply, trying to catch the faintest hint of something. But no, it’s just applesauce. There’s nothing wrong with applesauce, right?
His mind flashes back to the sickness that came after eating something bad when he was a kid, the way his stomach twisted and churned for days. He remembers waking up to his ma sitting by his side, trying to comfort him as she wiped away his fevered sweat.
He can’t let his child experience any of that. Jamie deserves better. She deserves a safe, healthy life, and Steve and Tony are in a position to offer it, unlike Sarah Rogers.
“Steve. C’mon. What is it this time? The color off?” Tony asks, his voice a little sharper now. He’s noticing Steve’s reluctance, the way his jaw tightens.
“I just don’t like the smell of it,” Steve says quietly, his hand gripping the jar a little too tightly. “I’ll put a request in.”
“You’re not actually going to contact the company again, are you?”
“Different one, this time. I can’t just ignore it, Tony. What if something’s wrong with it? What if it’s not safe for Jamie?”
Tony stands up, stretching lazily. “It’s not like we don’t have a million baby food options. You're doing too much, Steve. If you really don’t like that one, just use literally any other.”
“But it doesn’t smell right,” Steve insists, his voice rising ever so slightly, an edge creeping in. “I’ve got a—” He stops himself, shaking his head. He doesn’t want to sound crazy. He’s not crazy. “I just don’t trust it.”
“Alright, Steve. Call another company. I’m sure they’ll also be thrilled to hear from Captain America about the suspicious applesauce. They’ll definitely recall the whole batch just for you.”
Ignoring the sarcasm, Steve pulls out his phone. His fingers hover over the screen, the doubt still strong in his mind. What if he’s wrong? What if he’s just being paranoid? What if he’s not?
“I’m calling,” Steve says, determination in his voice. His fingers dial the number, and within seconds, he’s speaking to a customer service representative. The words spill out of him in a rush, the tension from his childhood mixing with his current worry, and he can’t stop himself.
“I need to report a potential safety issue with your product. I’m not sure what it is, but I—my baby could be at risk. I can smell it, and something just feels… wrong.”
He doesn’t stop talking, doesn’t stop explaining what’s wrong, even as the rep tries to calm him down and assures him they’ll look into it.
Finally, after what feels like hours, Steve ends the call. He stands there for a moment, holding the jar in his hands, his breath coming a little too fast.
His husband watches him, concern now edging out the sarcasm. “Honey, I know you’re trying to protect her, but this is—”
“I know,” Steve interrupts, his voice quieter now, a little more defeated. “I just… I can’t help it. I’m not crazy, hedgehog.”
Tony walks over, his steps soft. He gently takes the jar from Steve’s hands, looking at it, then back at Steve.
“I know, baby. I know you’re just trying to protect us, but you’ve got to trust the world sometimes. I’m not saying you’re wrong… but you don’t always have to fight everything.”
“I just don’t want to fail her,” he admits.
“You won’t. She’s lucky to have you.”
Steve takes a deep breath, finally letting some of the tension leave his shoulders. “I guess I’ll wait for their report. And maybe… maybe we just throw that one out for now?”
Tony smiles, but there’s no malice in it. “We can do that.”
A few days later, the recall report finally comes through. The company had run tests on the batch, and it turns out, there had been a minor contamination issue. Nothing severe, but still enough to raise concern. They thank him and offer a full refund. Steve wants to cry, but manages to control his emotions.
When Tony asks, Steve tells him the result was negative. As much as Tony made fun of him before, Steve knows his husband. Tony runs on evidence and facts; give him even the smallest proof that something might be wrong and he’ll worry it to pieces. Steve, by comparison, is the calm dad. Relatively speaking. No need for Stark Industries to buy the entire factory. Although…
—⎊—
The meeting dissolved into white noise a while ago, voices overlapping without ever quite saying anything, each person convinced they’re adding something essential while Steve feels himself slipping further and further from the thread.
It isn’t that the work doesn’t matter. It’s that his mind won’t stay where he puts it. It keeps drifting home instead, where he should be. Two Avengers can’t step back completely, someone still has to show up, but at least Tony can work from home most days, because Pepper makes that possible. Pepper is a godsend, honestly. Steve should get her a nice present.
When his phone vibrates against the table, the sound cuts through him sharper than any raised voice. He glances down without thinking.
Jamie’s sick.
The words sit there, unadorned, without urgency or explanation, and somehow that makes them heavier. He stares at the screen longer than necessary, waiting for the follow-up that doesn’t come, his chest tightening as the room carries on around him, oblivious. He feels suddenly untethered from all of it. The worst has happened.
By the time he pushes his chair back, the decision is already made, his body acting on instinct while his thoughts lag behind. The scrape of the chair legs is louder than he intends, drawing a handful of curious glances, but he’s already moving, already reaching for his phone again.
“Captain?” someone calls, uncertain.
“Emergency,” he says, the word automatic, thin with distraction, and then he’s out the door before anyone can ask for clarification.
The hallway feels too long, every step stretching the distance between him and the only place he wants to be. He dials Tony as he walks, thumb pressing harder than necessary against the screen, as if that might speed things along.
Tony answers immediately.
“What’s going on?” he asks, keeping his voice steady with effort, the way he always does when he needs the world not to tilt.
“JARVIS sensed she’s running a fever,” Tony says. He sounds tired, but controlled — the careful calm of someone who doesn’t want to scare anyone, least of all Jamie. “Called her doc. It’s nothing food related based on her symptoms. She just needs to rest, and we’ll get her checked out if it doesn’t get better within a few hours.”
Steve closes his eyes for a moment as he reaches the elevator, pressing the call button with the side of his fist. He pictures Jamie as she was that morning, warm and solid in his arms, and feels something inside him pull tight.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “I’m on my way.”
When he gets home, the apartment is hushed in that fragile way that only exists around a sleeping baby. The lights are low. The air smells faintly of disinfectant and warmed formula. Steve toes his shoes off by the door, moving more carefully than he has any right to, as if the quiet itself might shatter if he’s careless.
Tony is on the couch, Jamie tucked against his chest, her small body swaddled in a blanket that’s clearly been added after the fact. Her cheeks are flushed, her mouth slack with sleep, one tiny fist curled into the fabric of her dad’s shirt. He looks up when Steve enters, something in his expression loosening just a little.
“She finally went down,” Tony says softly.
Steve nods, stepping closer, lowering himself onto the arm of the couch so he can see her properly. He reaches out without thinking, brushing his knuckle gently along her foot, warm even through the blanket.
“How high?” he asks.
“Better,” Tony replies. “But still higher than I’d like.”
Steve exhales, slow and controlled, and lets his hand rest there, grounding himself in the rise and fall of her breathing. She shifts faintly at the touch, a small noise catching in her throat before she settles again, trusting without knowing why.
“She didn’t cry much,” Tony continues, quieter now. “Just… wouldn’t settle. Kept going stiff every time I tried to put her down.”
“I should’ve been here,” Steve murmurs, the words slipping out before he can stop them.
Tony glances at him, firm but gentle. “You are here. And you had important work to do.”
“Pointless meeting, actually,” Steve replies. “Gotta talk to Fury about that.”
Swallowing around the tightness in his throat, he carefully slides his arms under his daughter, letting Tony guide the transfer. She fits against him perfectly, still small enough that her weight feels more emotional than physical, her head tucking instinctively beneath his chin.
He rocks her without thinking, murmuring something soft and meaningless as her fingers curl weakly against his chest. He’ll do better next time.
—⎊—
They don’t mean to make Cars a habit in the Stark-Rogers household, but it becomes one anyway.
Steve sits on the floor, back against the couch, their daughter folded against his chest like she belongs there, which she does. One sock is missing, left somewhere in the clutter. He stopped looking for it hours ago. The living room glows soft blue, the TV volume kept low, almost reverent.
Lightning McQueen barrels across the desert, bright and impossible to ignore.
Tony comes in quietly, pausing in the doorway. Steve watches as he studies their daughter first, not the movie. Her eyes track every movement with serious concentration, brows faintly knit, like she’s trying to understand everything at once.
“You know,” Tony says quietly, “there are other movies.”
Steve doesn’t look away. “So I’ve been told.” Their daughter makes a small sound, pleased and intent, and grips Steve’s shirt tighter as Lightning speeds up. “She really likes the fast cars,” he adds.
“My daughter, indeed,” Tony replies approvingly.
Doc Hudson appears on screen, calm and measured against Lightning’s chaos. Tony tilts his head, studying him.
“You know… Doc kind of reminds me of you.”
Steve glances down at their daughter, then back to Tony. “Explain.”
“Went away for a while. Came back older, rugged, legendary. Sad and lonely, but ultimately, knows exactly who he is.” Tony shrugs. “And I’m the young, reckless driver with too much confidence and not enough sense.”
Steve lets out a soft huff. “I would’ve thought it was the other way around. You’re the sexy old man.”
Tony grins, unapologetic. “I contain multitudes.”
Their daughter giggles, a small, delighted sound, at the sight of Doc. Steve feels it in his chest, grounding him, and presses a kiss into her knuckles when her little hand drifts up.
Tony’s eyes stay on her, softening. Steve watches him more than the movie, noting the quiet care in the way he leans closer.
“She’s already picking favorites,” Tony says.
“She always does,” Steve replies quietly. “People, too. She watches before she decides. My daughter, too.”
They laugh. At the same time, Lightning brags on screen, and Doc rolls his eyes. Tony squints. “Okay, but… are we thinking Lightning and Doc have something going on?”
Steve exhales through his nose, barely resisting a smile. “Tony.”
“I’m serious, look at them,” Tony says, still low and calm, more focused on their daughter than the movie. “Don’t question me.”
Steve shakes his head, but there’s no real protest. “You’re projecting.”
“Probably,” Tony concedes easily.
Their daughter shifts, tiny hand lifting again. Steve catches it, kisses the knuckles again, and she settles immediately. Tony slides closer, shoulder brushing Steve’s.
“If she grows up loving competition,” Tony says quietly, “I want her to know she doesn’t have to be the fastest one in the room to matter.”
Steve looks at him, really sees him. “She already knows,” he says softly. “She just likes watching how things work.”
Tony swallows and nods once. Steve lets his gaze drift back to their daughter. Her breathing evens out as sleep creeps in, body heavy and warm against him. The race on the screen slows, but no one reaches for the remote.
—⎊—
Of course, the happy bubble is not impenetrable. It never is, when the outside world exists.
“We need to devise a new plan, end of discussion,” Steve says, his voice firm with command. He’s used to giving orders, to leading, but the sharp tension in Tony’s eyes makes the disobedience feel different, almost personal. Steve’s trying not to let it show, but he’s irritated.
Tony retracts his helmet, shaking his head, about to disagree with Steve for a third time. “But Steve, we don’t need a plan—”
“I am your superior, and you will listen to me,” Steve replies, his voice too calm, too controlled. He can feel the urge to snap, to lose his cool, but he pushes it down. He’s Captain America. He’s supposed to keep it together.
“I am your husband,” Tony hisses back, and Steve feels a flicker of annoyance at the reminder. The line between their professional lives and personal lives is always blurring, and sometimes it feels like Tony is testing him just to see where the line even is. And right now, Steve doesn’t feel like entertaining it.
“Not on the field, you’re not,” Steve says, keeping his voice even, even though there’s a tightness in his chest. “Not if you think it gets you special treatment.”
Tony huffs. “Special treatment? Sure, you not trusting me to do the right thing, not trusting my instincts, not trusting that I’m capable of not screwing up when I’m by myself, that’s special treatment.”
Steve grits his teeth. “Tony, I do trust you. But we can’t take any risks that could sabotage the mission, and that’s final.” He’s trying to keep his emotions in check, but there’s something about Tony’s defiance that’s starting to wear on him. Tony doesn’t get it. He just doesn’t.
“Yeah. Yeah, I get it. You trust Tony, but not Iron Man. Wow, and I thought Fury only got it wrong on one account. Turns out Iron Man isn’t fit for your team, Captain Rogers.”
Steve’s temper flares, but he won’t let it out. He can’t. Not here, not now. “Hedgehog—”
Tony cuts him off before the words can fully leave his mouth. “Don’t you dare call me that right now, soldier.” Tony’s voice is low and sharp, and it stings more than Steve would like to admit. He knows what Tony’s doing by reminding him of his rank, of what Steve’s duty is, and putting distance between them. He’s trying to get under his skin, and it’s working. But Steve won’t let it, not now. He won’t give Tony the satisfaction of seeing him crack.
He looks Tony straight in the eye, steeling himself. “Fine, then stop wasting time and listen to me. Here’s what we’re gonna do, everyone.”
Soon after that, the mission unfolds. The Avengers are on the field, doing their best to follow the plan Steve has carefully laid out: infiltrate, disable the enemy tech, and extract without drawing attention. No heroics, no improvising. But Tony, as usual, can’t help himself. When the enemy’s security perimeter starts to close in, he throws the plan out the window, launching himself into action with the kind of reckless confidence that only Tony Stark can pull off.
He blows up the whole building, taking out systems while the others fight their way through the enemy ranks. The alarms blare, the countdown clock to extraction ticking down too fast, and Steve isn’t the only one who hears it. The rest of the Avengers have been moving in tandem, ready to back up the plan, but now they’re scrambling to cover Tony’s tracks. They’ve all been trained to improvise, to think on their feet, but this? This is beyond improvisation. This is Tony cutting through everything Steve had carefully planned, trusting his instincts over his team’s coordination.
When Steve finally finds Tony, standing alone in the middle of the mess he’s created, he knows it’s bad. The enemy forces are still close, the extraction zone compromised, and not a single face around them isn’t worried. Natasha curses under her breath, Clint yells into his comms to try and reroute the backup, and Thor just looks confused, still trying to figure out if this is some kind of elaborate plan.
Tony, however, stands there, helmet off, with that infuriating grin of his. He looks untouched, like a child who’s just gotten away with something he knows was wrong. He barely even glances at the chaos, still riding high on the adrenaline, completely oblivious to the mess he’s created.
“You did not just do that,” Steve growls, chest tight with anger.
“I had it handled. You’re welcome,” Tony says, completely unconcerned with the wreckage around him. “I distracted them, and I grabbed the—”
“You don’t get to make those calls, Tony!” Steve’s voice is a mixture of disbelief and fury. He feels the pressure of the team on him now, the weight of their lives resting on his shoulders. But more than that, he feels something else, a deep, burning fear that Tony just doesn’t understand.
The others start to gather around. They all look to Steve for direction, and Steve knows, deep down, that they’re all counting on him to keep things together. But how can he? How can he when Tony, his husband, won’t even listen to him?
“This is exactly why I made the plan,” Steve says, his voice rising in frustration. “So we wouldn’t be in this position!”
”Well, if you trusted me—”
”I trust you to be responsible! For our daughter!”
Tony looks at him, expression softening for a moment, but only for a moment. He opens his mouth to speak, but Steve’s not done yet.
“I’m terrified of waking up alone, you asshole,” Steve’s voice cracks a little as he lets his anger bleed into raw fear. “For the first time, I have something so good, so real. If you’d thought of Jamie at all, you wouldn’t risk leaving her without her father.” He swallows hard. “You’re not enhanced, Tony. You’re not invincible. And no matter what you say now, it won’t change the fact that it was a stupid idea. An unnecessary risk. I am enhanced, and I would never pull that shit!”
Tony’s eyes darken with frustration. His hands clench into fists at his sides. “You would. If there was only the time between your enhanced fucking heartbeats to make a decision, and it came between yourself and us, between Jamie and us, you’re telling me you wouldn’t do it? Mister jumping over a grenade?”
Steve steps forward, seething. “Mister cutting the wire! How about the solution where nobody dies?”
Tony doesn’t back down. “Did I die? Did I die? No! This was that solution. The other option was we all fucking go boom.”
Steve’s fists are trembling now. The whole team is watching, all of them waiting for Steve to do something, to make everything okay. But it’s not okay. Tony’s reckless stunt has shaken him to his core.
Clint steps forward, a hand on Steve’s shoulder, trying to ground him, but Steve pulls away sharply. “What about trusting that one of us would do something? We were ready to, and you got in the way. What if I wasn’t ready to cover your ass? What if I wasn’t there to pull Nat out when you were supposed to?”
There’s a moment of silence, and for a second, Steve thinks maybe Tony is going to continue the fight. But instead, Tony’s jaw clenches and his eyes go distant.
“Yeah,” Tony mutters, voice low. “I fucked up. Sorry, Nat.”
Not one apology to Steve. Before he can respond, Thor, ever the one to break tension, chuckles lightly from behind them. “Is this not a conversation better had once we’ve survived the day?”
The other Avengers nod in agreement, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Steve allows himself to exhale. The mission isn’t over yet. They’re not done. But this? This is a conversation for later. A conversation they’ll have to have, because if they don’t, Steve doesn’t know how much longer they can keep this up.
“Yeah,” Steve says quietly, glancing at Tony. “This isn’t over.”
—⎊—
After they wrap up the mission, after the mess has finally settled and the adrenaline has ebbed, Steve sits with Tony in the quiet of their shared apartment. The hum of the city outside is low and steady, grounding, and for the first time since the Avengers alert woke him up from sleep this morning, Steve can properly breathe.
Tony leans back, hair mussed from the day’s battle, eyes soft and wary. “You still mad?” he asks, voice small, careful.
Steve shakes his head, letting out a slow breath. “Not mad,” he says. “Just…. You scared me, Tony. You always act without thinking.”
Tony swallows, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I know,” he admits quietly. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”
Steve reaches for his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I know you were,” he says, voice steady. “And that’s why I love you. But we can’t be heroes in isolation. Not anymore, not with everything we have.”
“Your plan would’ve failed.”
“Tony,” Steve starts, with a warning in his tone.
“It would’ve,” Tony says, then leans into him, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder. “But mine wasn’t all that great, either. Should’ve worked together. But you don’t listen to me, you know? I wish you listened to me more.”
Steve smiles faintly, tilting his head to press a kiss to the top of Tony’s. “You’re right. I’m too scared to let you take risks. But you’re Iron Man. I… I didn’t expect fatherhood to make me so protective. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
For a long moment, neither of them speaks. They just sit there, letting the weight of the battle settle around them without it crushing them. Because survival isn’t just about getting through the day; it’s about getting through each other, about finding the rhythm in the disarray, the trust in the recklessness, the love in the fear.
They squeeze each other’s hands, leaning together, and Steve feels the quiet satisfaction of balance restored. The mission is over, his team is safe, and his family is at home.
—⎊—
As the holiday season rolls around, they find out there is one little problem with Steve constantly saying hedgehog as a replacement for Tony’s name. He should’ve anticipated it.
“We’re back, hedgehog,” Steve shouts as he enters the apartment after their short walk, rocking Jamie against his chest.
“Ogg!” Jamie repeats, immediately and proudly.
Steve smiles before he can stop himself.
Tony sighs loudly from the other room, where he set up his office all over the dining table. “Papa, I’m dad, remember?”
“Ogg,” Jamie insists, louder now.
“Let’s go see what dad’s up to, huh?”
He carries her into the kitchen. The soft glow of Christmas lights strung across the apartment casts warm patterns on the floor, and the faint scent of pine and cinnamon drifts through the air. Steve looks at Tony, hair a little wild, sleeves pushed up, looking comfortable and sexy in a way that still surprises Steve sometimes.
“Hey, Daddy,” Steve says, handing him the paper cup. “I got you some eggnog from your favorite place.”
Jamie’s attention sharpens. She points at the drink.
“Ogg?” she asks.
There’s a beat, then Tony laughs under his breath and rubs at his face. “Oh no. Oh, absolutely not.”
Steve’s mouth twitches. “I mean—”
“Ogg!” she repeats, this time pointing at Tony.
“Steven! You’re teaching our daughter that I’m an eggnog.”
“Ogg!”
The look Tony gives him is annoyed, and full of love.
“Just get out of here, Papa,” Tony says, reaching for Jamie. “You need a shower. Were you speedwalking with our baby again? How fast does Captain America have to walk to get so sweaty in the winter? It’s ridiculous, seriously…” Tony keeps muttering.
“Ogg, ogg!” Jamie interrupts him, thrilled.
Tony scoops her up easily. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss into her hair. “You got me.”
Steve steps back, smiling as he leaves the room.
“Love you, eggnog!”
“Eff you, Papa!” Tony screams back.
“Pa!” Jamie adds.
—⎊—
Some days, Steve still catches himself watching Bucky like he might disappear again.
Not in fear — that part has softened with time — but in quiet wonder, the kind that settles in when something lost comes back changed and alive and choosing to stay. Bucky laughs more easily now. He leans where Sam is without thinking about it. He looks like someone who has finally stopped bracing for the world to end.
What Steve hadn’t anticipated, though he can’t imagine not loving it, is watching his two best friends fall in love with each other. Sure, they’ve been hooking up for two years now, but both of them insisted it was nothing but a physical release of stress. Looking at them now, Steve can say that’s a load of bull.
It’s still new when they come over to see Jamie for her birthday, careful without being awkward. Sam hovers in that polite, uncertain way of someone trying not to take up too much space. Bucky sits close enough that their shoulders nearly touch, hands loose in his lap, eyes following Jamie like she’s the only thing in the room worth tracking — besides Sam, of course. Steve recognizes it instantly. He remembers the early days with Tony, how affection felt deliberate then, how every small choice carried weight simply because it mattered.
Jamie, meanwhile, does not bother with caution around them. Probably helps that they give her a toy right away. An ugly Iron Man toy. It’s objectively an odd, mismatched thing, with crooked stitching, a lopsided helmet, and an incredibly huge head. Jamie clutches the plushie tightly, as if it’s the most comforting thing in the world, then toddles straight up to Bucky, plants her feet, and points at him with absolute confidence. “Bucket,” she declares.
Tony laughs. Steve doesn’t even try not to. Bucky blinks, then smiles, slow and surprised, crouching down in front of her. “Bucky,” he corrects.
“Bucket,” Jamie insists, satisfied. This is better than the Kee she used to call him. Right?
Sam leans forward, already grinning. “You know a lot of words for a one-year old, don’t you?”
Jamie turns at once, arms lifting in unmistakable demand. “Sammich,” she says happily.
“That’s me,” he says, scooping her up without hesitation. “I think.”
Steve watches Bucky’s expression soften as Sam settles Jamie against his hip, the way his eyes follow the motion like it’s instinct now. It’s obvious where it came from — Jamie heard Bucky call him Sammy just a few minutes ago, heard it said gently and full of love.
“Well,” Steve says, amused, “could be worse.”
Sam, leaning against the counter, snorts. “If I ever have kids, I’ll teach them to call y’all Tuna and Stove.”
Glancing at Bucky for his reaction, Steve only finds him smiling.
“You know, I’m glad we never got together because I could never handle being a Tuna Sandwich to our kids,” Tony says.
“I don’t think that was ever on the table for us, Stark,” Sam says easily. Steve just glares at him for daring to say our kids to another man. Bucky hums in agreement, reaching out so Jamie can grab his fingers again. She does, immediately, calling him Bucket once more.
Steve watches the sweet portrait the three of them make. Tony catches his eye and smiles, knowing exactly what he’s thinking.
It’s strange, Steve reflects, how life fills in around the spaces you thought would stay empty forever. How love doesn’t always arrive loud or perfect or fully formed, but slips in sideways, through mispronounced names, shared smiles, and a small girl who knows who her people are, even if she’s still learning the words for them.
“Okay! Who’s ready for presents?” Tony says with a clap of hands.
“Me, me!”
—⎊—
Steve hugs Tony from behind, letting his head rest on his husband’s shoulder. “Baby’s asleep. Did you know hedgehogs are good runners, proficient climbers, and can even swim?”
Tony turns around with a sigh. “Steve, you’re never going to run out of hedgehog facts, are you? It’s been so long. You gotta have a hundred and one by now.”
Steve shrugs. “Some things never end,” he murmurs. “Some things,” he gestures vaguely, at Tony, at Jamie, at all of it, “just keep going.”
“Oh my god, not you turning this into a sappy speech,” Tony says, laughing, but Steve sees the love in his eyes.
“Our story,” he whispers against his lips, “will never, ever end.”
Tony exhales loudly, the kind that carries relief, amusement, and fondness all at once. “Good,” he says. “Because I wasn’t ready for it to.”
“Also,” he adds, almost under his breath, “hedgehogs are surprisingly good at handling whatever comes their way. Figured it was worth knowing.”
His husband just rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitch upward. Steve grins, hugging him, and for a moment the world narrows to warmth, quiet, and the soft certainty that their love, just like hedgehog facts, is meant to last forever.