a/n: sorry guys…this will be the last request i accept for a baby/toddler/child (agewise) reader!! it’s been added to the rules but do not fear anon!! this one goes out to you 💕💕
requested by anonymous
Tony only left for five minutes to take a shower, and in all those five minutes, you got loose.
“What are you talking about, JARVIS? Y/N’s two, they couldn’t have opened the door! You let them out?” Tony yelled, running through the halls with wet feet and shampoo in his hair.
“No, sir, they seem to have figured out a way to open it themselves.” JARVIS replied. “Please be careful, sir. You may slip.” He added, but Tony was only focused on wrangling you. “Y/N should be in the kitchen now.” And as Tony turned the corner, he found you with your toy wagon full of building blocks, a stack of “stairs” you’d created with them, and your head in the fridge with all sorts of food on the ground.
“Strawberries?” Tony asked you, in awe of your invention—not original by any means, but impressive for a two year old.
“Stwahbewwy?” You replied in an innocuous baby accent and your dad put you safely on the floor, reaching into the drawer that contained your favorite treat. “Tank you.” You grabbed your fruits and wandered over to the couch.
“If that wasn’t the proof you needed to know y/n’s yours, I don’t know what is.” JARVIS commented, beginning to pull the video feed from your adventure and adding it to the “Baby Book” file in Tony’s experiment collection.
“You think I ever doubted it? Y/N’s got my perfect facial hair, duh.”
I feel like tony is the type of dad who has no filter. He truly doesn't give a single shit about what topic yall are talking about (whether it's romance, intimacy etc) you could talk about the weirdest or kinkiest thing and he's unfazed (he loves that you trust him so much that you talk about anything)
OOOOOH MY GOD YES ANON YOU ARE SO SO CORRECT ABOUT THIS. We've got a long one here so buckle up bitches
Tony’s the type of dad to have no boundaries in the HEALTHIEST WAY possible. You could start ANY conversation with “hey dad, is it normal-” and he’s already FULLY prepared for wherever this is going. He doesn’t even need to know where it’s going, he just knows he’s going to get you to your destination safely. You head into his workshop with one of those “I have a question but I feel weird about asking it” looks and you drop the “can I ask you something? Is it normal-”
He’s already dropping his tools and giving you his full attention.
“I’m sat.”
His abrupt use of slang instantly breaks the tension and you find yourself laughing. You give him a withering look.
“And I really regret teaching you what that means.”
He doesn’t even blink, he just shrugs and states matter of factly, “I would have found out anyway.”
And it’s true, he would. (Someone pLEASE remind me to go into how in touch Tony is with slang and memes and youth culture and how surprisingly influential he is with gen z and gen alpha because I have a LOT to say on the matter.)
If you’re a boy or amab, Tony can confidently promise you there is NOTHING you’re going through or worried about he hasn’t already seen. He’s been around every rodeo at least twice. The freckle on your sack is not cancer, you’re totally healthy (but he’ll have Jarvis run some tests just to double check), or just because you need to shave more or less often than you thought you would right now doesn’t mean you’re broken or your hormones are out of whack. If you got a random weird boner it doesn’t mean you’re suddenly attracted to the squirrel you saw outside a bodega. Tony can and will confidently tell you that it’s okay, sometimes a random boner is just a random boner.
If you’re trans this man is CONSTANTLY reassuring and affirming your gender. Doesn’t matter if you’re his son, his daughter, or just his kid. The point is you’re his kid. No one in Stark Tower EVER misgenders you (because they’re nice and you’re basically their Eloise/Zack and Cody. They literally ALL love you.) and if they say anything shitty about you even if it’s behind your back??? OH. BOY. OH MY GOD WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT. You know when he’s yelling at Peter and he’s like “no because this is where you ZIP IT. THE ADULT IS TALKING.” Dad wrath + CEO OF YOUR COMPANY WRATH??????? UNMATCHED. Any issues you have with hormones or first puberty or second puberty or anything to do with your transition including any parts or pieces that you want added or removed, he has NO fucking restraint in his support. He is so, so deeply there for you. There’s not any topic “awkward” or “embarrassing” enough that his dad instinct doesn’t immediately override. He just hears my kid needs something. My kid has a problem so I am going to fix it. It goes without saying that he gets you the BEST care team on the entire planet for gender affirming care. No that is not an exaggeration. You’ve got a whole team of doctors and specialists from Iceland, Belgium, Thailand, Malta, Germany, and Canada to name a few, some of your doctors are even trans themselves so they really get first hand what you’re going through. And among his other work as Iron Man both globally and to provide relief for innocent civilians all over the middle east and africa, and other dangerous or active war zones, you know what he does?? He launches a campaign called Operation Nest Egg. You know what Operation Nest Egg does???? It gets at risk trans youth in transphobic or dangerous places out safely, AND provides access to excellent gender affirming care. Of course Tony always cared about looking out for marginalized and oppressed groups, but now that he has a trans kid??? It’s really fucking personal.
And last but DEFINITELY not least, do not get me STARTED on how much this whole topic applies to girl dad!tony. I still struggle to wrap my head around how much of a feminist this man is when it comes to you. I feel like there’s still a lot of stigma around girl dads that they can’t or don’t participate in stuff like period talk, shaving, relationship questions, all that girl stuff (or if there’s not a stigma there’s not nearly enough representation for involved girl dads yk) and the thing is Tony is SO wrapped up in how big his little girl is getting, he still sees you as his baby, so when it does come time to start preparing for puberty talks and stuff like that, he feels totally blindsided for a moment. Like it’s only just NOW dawning on him that his brave brilliant little girl is going to end up as a brave brilliant little woman in just a few years. And does that actually make him want to choke and sob and throw up??? Yes!!!! Of course!!!!! He could barely handle it when you started walking and didn’t need him to carry you anymore, you think he’ll be able to cope with seeing his little girl fill out her first voter registration form?????? Absolutely not!!!!! But he’s going to!!!!!! Because he keeps reminding himself, this is what he signed up for. Raise you better than his dad did with him, end the generational cycles, and enjoy every minute of it. And he’s doing a damn good job so far.
So when he starts preparing to help you through your tween and teenage years, he starts like a goddamn doomsday prepper. He’s already having Jarvis compile an almanac of any and every single issue and problem and question that girls could possibly go through during puberty, he’s making himself a fucking teenage girl OSHA manual. It’s this. It’s literally this.
The odds of you feeling nervous or awkward or weird about talking to your dad about girl stuff are low, just because of how deeply supported you feel by Tony all the time. But if you do, you can GUARANTEE you’re in for what will become one of Tony’s top Iron Dad talks of all time. It starts a little quiet, a little awkward, and after a moment of silence he gives you a look.
“Would you rather talk to Pepper about all this? Cause we can get Pepper up here to walk you through it.”
He dead pans the question, but there’s an underlying current of sincerity. Of course if you wanted to talk to pepper instead he’d respect that, but his heart would also break a little knowing that there’s something that he wasn’t qualified to help you with. But he doesn’t have to worry about that. The moment he even suggests asking pepper, your eyes go wide and you shake your head adamantly.
“No. I definitely do not want to talk to Pepper. About like… filing taxes or something, sure. But not this.”
And he laughs, because he knows exactly what you mean. Pepper is great, really. She’s great at what she does. And what she does is keep Stark Industries running like a machine, excelling in her role as the notorious ginger corporate shark. The Stark Shark, if you will. Tony did try to talk her into an investment program called Stark Tank. That was shot down quickly, but he’ll bring it up again at some point.
You let out a weepy laugh and continue.
“One time I went to Pepper because I scraped my knee and she dropped me off at a first aid station in the R&D labs, and said that I can take it from there.” You recall. “I am not asking her for a tampon. Like, ever.”
You’re both laughing now. Tony feels a deep sense of catharsis, of rightness that you don’t trust anyone but him to help you when you’re confused or in a fragile, delicate moment like this. This is a really huge moment for both of you, because it shows you first hand that there is nothing and I mean nothing that you cannot talk to your dad about. If for whatever reason you’re particularly upset or uncomfortable and you feel like you can’t get the words out, you can always write it down. He probably whips up some cool program with a snarky anagram like SAWTRAP. Sensitive Anxious Worries Text Read Articulation Program. Yes he did name your puberty guide ai thing after a jigsaw trap. Probably your idea because “it’s gonna be years of blood horrors, just… dressed cuter. And with lip gloss.”
So the way SAWTRAP works is that if you need to talk to something but you don’t want to say it (which is rare) you can type it out and Tony gets pinged (if he’s not already in the room with you, which he usually is). He connects to an earpiece so you don’t need to worry about someone overhearing, and so do you. Your question is played for him in an AI modulated vocode of your voice, he types out an answer, sends it back, and you hear his AI voice reply through your headphones. It’s deeply encrypted for security and privacy, and it feels personal and reassuring with an added layer of slight distance for you to process without feeling awkward or anything. And lemme tell you, this shit WORKS. It works so well you rarely have to use it. It actually makes you feel more secure knowing you have options, that for little questions body hair, random aches or pains or twinges, ways to keep your skin clear you can even just ask Jarvis. Ask Jeeves?? I don’t know her. Jarvis is your robot friend, and Tony is your dad and your number one supporter and SAWTRAP is your dad box.
The point is that there is nothing in this goddamn world, or any of the other ones that you can’t Talk to Tony about. Also, part of him is still like “wait wait. You scraped your knee and pepper sent you to an eye washing station in the R&D labs???? Where the hell was I during this??? They had to have been merchandising all the Avengers stuff, you know I always keep Iron Man bandaids around for you.”
Screaming sobbing throwing up!!!! Truly delicious and truly true. Girldad!Tony you have my heart <3
a bucky x tony stark daughter oneshot would cure my soul....
Give Him A Chance, Dad » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier and Tony Stark/Iron Man
Pairings: Dad!Tony Stark & Daughter!Reader, Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Stark!Female Reader
Summary: You try to talk your dad into giving Bucky a chance.
Warnings: Fluff, little bit of Angst, language, mentions of HYDRA/Winter Soldier, kissing, pet names
A/N: Thank you for the lovely request, anon🩵
Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.
Header made by my friend🩵 / divider made by me
GIFS ARE NOT MINE! Gif credits go to the creators.
You hate keeping things from your dad. It always makes you feel bad. You’ve been keeping something in particular from him and that’s your relationship with Bucky. You’ve and Bucky have been dating in secret for a few weeks. Actually, it’s not a secret to Steve, Sam, and Natasha. They’ve walked in on you and Bucky either kissing or cuddling at least one. Steve walked in on you two accidentally and Sam and Natasha had a feeling that there was something going on between you two and their suspicions were confirmed when they saw you two kissing once. Anyways, you’ve been keeping it from your dad until you can find the words to tell him, in which you finally did. You’re just nervous to tell him.
“Are you ready to tell my dad about us?” You nervously asked Bucky.
“Yes, but I’m nervous.” Bucky says.
“Me too, baby.” You say.
This could go one of two ways. One, your dad tries to kill Bucky. Two, he might actually approve of you dating him after some convincing.
“Dad?” You say as you entered the lab.
“What’s up, kiddo?” Tony asks, not taking his eyes off of what’s he’s fixing on his Iron Man suit.
“I- We have something important to tell you.” You say nervously, holding Bucky’s hand.
“We? Who’s we?” Tony asks, looking up to see Bucky. “Oh, it’s you.” He groans.
Tony notices you and Bucky holding hands. That immediately tells him that there’s something going on between you and him.
“Why are you two holding hands?” Tony asks.
“Well, dad…” You nervously begin.
“You’re pregnant, aren’t you? Did you get my daughter pregnant?!” Tony asks, grabbing Bucky’s shirt like he’s about to kick his ass.
Bucky Barnes- soldier and former Winter Soldier actually looks scared right now.
“What- no! Dad, I’m not pregnant!” You exclaimed.
Tony let’s go of Bucky. Bucky let’s out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding.
“What’s so important then?” Tony asks.
“Me and Bucky are dating.” You say.
“No, absolutely not.” He says.
“But dad, I love him.” You say.
“Why would you fall in love with the man who killed my parents- your grandparents?!” He asks, raising his voice a bit.
Bucky looks down with the look of guilt on his face.
“Dad, it wasn’t him. It was HYDRA.” You say, standing up for Bucky.
“He still did it.” Tony says.
Bucky looks down, guilt taking over him. You put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t you want me to be happy, dad?” You asked.
“You know I do, kid” Tony says.
“Bucky makes me happy and I’m in love with him. I love him like how you love Pepper.” You say.
Tony sighs and rubs his hands over his face before looking at Bucky.
“Before I approve of yours and my daughter’s relationship, I want to know your intentions with her.” Tony says.
“My only intentions are to love her and make her happy.” Bucky says.
“It better stay that way, because if she comes to me crying, I’m going to kick your ass. Do you understand?” Tony says.
“I understand.” Bucky says.
As much as Tony doesn’t want you to date Bucky because of what he did to his parents- your grandparents, he wants you to be happy and find love and you found both of those things with Bucky.
“Ok. Fine. I approve of your relationship with him.” Tony finally says.
You smiled and hugged your dad.
“Thank you for approving of our relationship.” You say.
“You’re welcome, kid.” Tony says.
You grabbed ahold of Bucky’s hand and you two left the lab.
“See. I told you that you didn’t have anything to worry about.” You say, giving his hand a squeeze.
“I know and you were right.” Bucky says.
“I love you, baby.” You say softly, standing on your tippy toes to kiss him.
“I love you too, doll.” He says just as softly, kissing you back.
Summary: You're not the best at hand-to-hand combat, but your the second best Stark with sarcastic responses.
Warnings: Platonic nicknames, possible swearing, sarcastic humour.
Reader's Age: 18
The biting wind whipped around Y/n as she stood on the training platform, a scowl etched on her face. Sparring with super soldiers in January was not her idea of a fun Friday afternoon. Especially when all she had to defend herself was the Stark family arsenal of sarcasm.
“Alright, kid, you ready?” Steve, radiating earnest encouragement, adjusted his gloves. Beside him, Bucky simply stared, his metal arm gleaming dully in the overcast light. Sam hovered behind them, a wry grin on his face. He knew how this usually went.
"Born ready, Captain Rogers," Y/n quipped, her voice dripping with irony. "Just try not to break anything too important. Dad would have a conniption if his precious lab assistant came back in pieces."
Steve winced. He still wasn't entirely used to Y/n's… bluntness. "We'll be careful, Y/n. This is just for practice."
"Practice for what? The Super Soldier Olympics?" She rolled her eyes. "Last time I checked, my skill set leaned more towards coding and caffeine addiction, not hand-to-hand combat."
Bucky finally spoke, his voice gruff. "Everyone needs to know how to defend themselves, Stark. Especially with your… family history."
That hit a little too close to home. Y/n tightened her jaw. "Right, because I specifically asked to be born into a world of interdimensional travel, rogue AI, and sentient purple grapefruits. My bad."
Steve sighed and stepped forward. "Alright, enough talking. Let's see what you've got."
The next few minutes were, to put it mildly, humiliating. Steve, ever the gentleman, pulled his punches, but even he couldn't help but land a few glancing blows. Bucky, predictably, was less restrained. His metal arm was like a battering ram, and Y/n found herself mostly dodging and weaving, her reflexes surprisingly sharp despite her lack of formal training.
"Having fun yet?" Sam called out, leaning against the railing.
"Oh, I'm having a ball, Sam," Y/n gasped, narrowly avoiding Bucky's fist. "This is exactly how I pictured spending my Friday: getting pummeled by a century-old assassin. Living the dream, really."
She managed to duck under Steve’s arm and deliver a swift kick to his shin. It wasn’t exactly a knockout blow, but it was enough to make him stumble.
"Not bad, Y/n," Steve said, rubbing his leg. "You're getting faster."
"Years of dodging Dad's bad science puns have honed my reflexes," she retorted, then spun to face Bucky, who was advancing with a predatory gleam in his eye. "Alright, Tin Man, let's dance!"
Bucky lunged. This time, Y/n tried a different tactic. As he swung his metal arm, she sidestepped and grabbed a handful of his long hair, yanking him off balance.
"Sorry, Barnes! Didn't know you were so sensitive about your 'vintage chic' hairstyle," Y/n said, releasing him and darting away.
Sam burst out laughing. Even Steve cracked a smile. Bucky, however, wasn't amused. He charged again, his movements less precise, fueled by irritation.
Y/n knew she couldn't keep this up forever. She was already winded, and her sarcasm reserves were starting to run dry. As Bucky cornered her near the edge of the platform, she knew she was out of options.
"Okay, okay, I surrender!" she yelled, throwing her hands up in the air. "Uncle! Mercy! I admit defeat! You win, metal arm! You’re the best at… uh… arming metal-ly! Yeah, that’s the one.”
Bucky stopped, his expression a mixture of annoyance and begrudging amusement. “You’re impossible, Stark.”
“That’s what my therapist keeps telling me,” Y/n said, panting. She collapsed onto a nearby bench, gathering her breath.
Steve clapped her on the shoulder. "You did well, Y/n. You're quick, and you think on your feet. You just need to work on your… offensive capabilities."
"My offense is impeccable," Y/n said, gesturing to Bucky. "Just ask him. I practically incapacitated him with my devastating wit."
Sam snorted. "Yeah, well, wit doesn't exactly stop a bullet."
"True," Y/n conceded. "But it can annoy someone enough that they forget what they were going to do in the first place. That's a defense mechanism in itself, right?"
She looked up at their faces, a hopeful glimmer in her eyes. They were her dad’s friends, family even. And despite the inherent strangeness of having super soldiers trying to turn her into a miniature Avenger, she knew they cared.
Steve, ever the optimist, gave her a reassuring smile. "It's a start, Y/n. We'll keep working on it."
"Great," Y/n said, her sarcasm returning full force. "Just promise me one thing: next time, can we at least do this in a heated environment? And maybe with a pizza? I'm pretty sure I can weaponize pepperoni."
Bucky rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Even he had to admit, Y/n Stark, with her sharp tongue and Stark-brand stubbornness, was growing on him. Even if she did almost pull his hair out. He smirked, “I’d pay to see that.”
As the three men began to pack up, Y/n pulled out her phone. Time to order that pizza. And maybe send Dad a text. Something along the lines of: 'Almost got murdered by Bucky today. Send backup (and maybe a new shield design. Sarcasm-proof, preferably).
I'm pretty grumpy with the fact that Marvel took Tony from us before we could see him using "I have young children at home." 'Dad voice' on his teammates.
"No, but you see, that makes me make this face ☹️. This is not a good face."
"Hey, hey. We are using gentle hands. If you can't do that, you will keep them at your sides or in your lap. Capiche?"
"I understand you are having a big feeling, but you do not throw those papers at me."
Tony notices this change and gets embarrassed then quickly gets over it because it's working.
How are you doing ? I was an idea for a series or one-shot for a Peter Parker x fem Stark reader. For a PDHPE assessment at Midtown High School, students are paired up with "fake" relationships assigned to them, with the intention of simulating real-life scenarios—however, one unsuspecting couple which is Peter and Y/n unexpectedly develops genuine feelings for each other, blurring the lines between what was supposed to be a mere exercise.
Hi! So, I’ll be honest, I had no idea what a PDHPE assessment was at first 😅 and had to do a little digging. Once I realized it was more of a fantasy-style prompt, it actually fit really well with a Stark!Reader storyline. Hope it’s close to what you imagined, and that you enjoyed watching Peter Parker fall head over heels for his assignment partner💙✨
Warnings → Fake dating, Friends to lovers, Fluff, Humor, Stark Sarcasm, Protective Tony, Flash being Flash, Mild language, PDA.
Summary → What started as a fake dating project turns real fast.
(gif not mine)
You were already halfway checked out the moment your PDHPE teacher, Ms. Calder, wrote “Relationship Simulation Project” across the whiteboard in big Pink letters.
You blinked at it.
Peter, two rows over, tilted his head like a confused golden retriever.
And Flash whispered (loudly), “Is she seriously making us fake date? This is not what I signed up for when I chose PE over Drama.”
You leaned over to MJ, eyebrow raised. “What the hell kinda Black dimension lesson plan is this?”
Ms. Calder clapped her hands for attention like a chaotic game show host.
“Okay, class! So to explore interpersonal communication, compromise, and emotional regulation, you'll be paired up to simulate a romantic relationship for one week. Each pair will complete a daily journal, a conflict resolution worksheet, and plan a 'mock date' together. This is for assessment, people.”
A few groans echoed around the room. Peter Parker turned an impossible shade of red.
You muttered, “If I wanted forced intimacy, I’d go to another Stark family therapy session.”
“Names are being randomly chosen,” Ms. Calder went on. “No swaps, no trades, no take-backs. This is about working with people outside your comfort zone. Growth, people.”
You rolled your eyes. “Growth can kiss my a—”
“—nd our first pair is…” She glanced at her tablet. “Peter Parker and Y/N Stark.”
The silence was so loud you could hear the metaphorical record scratch.
You blinked once. Then twice.
Peter looked like he had stopped breathing. Fully frozen. His pen dropped out of his hand and rolled off the desk with a dramatic little clatter.
MJ snorted quietly beside you.
“Oh my God,” you said under your breath. “I’m going to fake date a human golden retriever.”
She elbowed you. “Didn’t you say you haven’t seen him since that mission briefing last week where he knocked over two mugs and called you ‘dude’ twice?”
“That was three mugs,” you muttered, “and he also called me ‘sir’ once by accident.”
Meanwhile, Peter was frantically gathering his things to come sit beside you. He bumped into the desk. Then the chair. Then his own knee.
You raised your hand as he awkwardly took the seat next to you.
“Quick question,” you said dryly. “Do I get hazard pay for babysitting a nervous breakdown?”
Ms. Calder smiled like she hadn’t heard you. “Try to treat this seriously, class. Think of it as a way to learn about yourself, and each other.”
You turned to Peter with a half-smirk. “So… boyfriend. Long time no see. Ready to fake love me for a grade?”
He coughed. Choked on his own spit. Literally.
“Y/n! I—uh—hi. Yeah. I mean. Sure. Girlfriend. Wow. Okay. This is fine. I’m fine.”
You leaned back in your chair. “You’re already sweating, Parker. This is gonna be fun.”
Peter just nodded, trying to look casual while dying inside.
You raised an eyebrow. “You're already short-circuiting and we haven't even started. You're lucky I'm used to tech malfunctions.”
Peter let out a laugh that was mostly panic. “Um. Yeah, fake dating. Cool. Fun.”
You tilted your head, amused. “Weird how I’ve seen you literally throw a bus across a street and this is what breaks you.”
He groaned softly. “Please don’t tell Mr. Stark I choked on my own spit when you said ‘boyfriend.’ ”
You smirked. “Depends. You plan on doing anything else embarrassing today?”
Peter looked genuinely concerned. “Should I say yes just to mentally prepare?”
You leaned back in your chair with a shrug. “Honestly? Yeah.”
Oh yeah. This was gonna be chaos.
----------
You told yourself it was still just an assignment.
Even when Peter brought you real flowers to your “mock date.”
Even when his hand lingered way too long during your “communication trust exercise.”
Even when he sent you goodnight texts that said “sleep well, Y/N :)” like it was just for homework.
You were a Stark. You didn’t catch feelings. Feelings caught you and then got yeeted into the sun.
At least, that’s what you told yourself until you were ten minutes into your second fake date, sitting side by side at the local boba place Peter picked, knees touching under the table and you realized:
Peter Parker was kind of… devastatingly sweet.
And kind. And funny. And soft. And awkward. And nervous in a way that was weirdly endearing, like he wanted to impress you but didn’t want you to know he wanted to impress you.
“You don’t have to hold my hand the whole time,” you teased, looking down where his fingers were wrapped gently around yours.
His ears turned bright red. “R-right! Sorry! I just—Ms. Calder said physical affection boosts realism and—uh—I can let go, I wasn’t trying to—”
You smirked and squeezed his hand. “I’m messing with you, Parker. Relax.”
“Oh,” he said, clearly short-circuiting again. “Cool. Haha. Relaxing. I am relaxed.”
He was not relaxed.
You tilted your head and studied him for a moment, your tone softening.
“You’re doing really well, y’know. You’re not half-bad at this fake boyfriend thing.”
His eyes flicked to yours, hopeful. “Really?”
“Yeah.” You smiled, surprised at how much you meant it. “Honestly… I think you’re kind of better than most real ones.”
He blushed so hard he nearly combusted.
---
DAY 4: Texting for the ‘assignment’
Peter: hey so i’m supposed to check in with my fake gf or i fail romantic communication
You: wow. tragic.
Peter: i know. pls answer this or i’ll have to write a poem about my emotional decay
You: ngl i kinda wanna see that
Peter: rude. i’m a sensitive artist.
You: ok ok. i had a good day. fake bf check-in: 8/10. could use more boba.
Peter: noted. fake gf deserves the world (and also extra boba)
You stared at your phone way too long after that one.
---
DAY 5: Jealousy hits like a truck.
You were walking out of class when Flash suddenly appeared like a gremlin summoned by drama.
“Hey Stark,” he grinned, draping an arm over your shoulders. “If this whole fake thing with Parker doesn’t work out, you know where to find me.”
You blinked at him. “The trash?”
Peter was a few steps behind you, arms crossed, clearly trying so hard not to look bothered.
When Flash strutted off, Peter mumbled, “You know, you really don’t have to flirt back just to keep it realistic…”
Your brow furrowed. “What?”
He froze. “N-nothing! I mean, it’s fine, I’m not mad! Or jealous. Or—uh—noticing. You can flirt with whoever. Because we’re fake. Haha. Totally fake.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You good, Webs?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Y-yeah. Totally. Just… don’t date Flash. Even fake-dating Flash would be a crime against humanity.”
You laughed. But something weird and warm fluttered in your chest.
---
Later, you were walking together toward the compound’s garage when he offhandedly said,
“I used to have this thing for Liz, but that feels like… forever ago.”
You nodded casually, but your smile dropped half a centimeter.
Used to. Past tense. Cool. Why did that sting?
“...She’s not you though,” Peter added quickly, without even looking at you.
You stopped walking.
“What?”
He blinked. “What?”
You squinted at him. “Did you just compare me with her?”
Peter turned crimson. “NO I—well—I mean yes? B-but I didn’t mean it like that, I just—I mean you’re—you’re you, and she was—wasn’t.”
You stared at him for a second. “That was maybe the dumbest sentence I’ve ever heard.”
He buried his face in his hands. “I deserve that.”
You smirked. “Yeah. But… thanks. I think? ”
You kept walking, but now your heart was doing that stupid flutter thing and you had to pretend you weren’t smiling like an idiot.
----------
Final day of the project.
You sat in the back row of PDHPE, arms crossed, watching another pair present their “reflection” with forced smiles and robotic delivery. You and Peter were up next.
Your brain was not focused on the assignment. It was spinning with the emotional chaos of the past week, the “practice” holding hands, the late-night texts, the jealousy, the way Peter looked at you like you were the only person on the planet.
Which, rude, because he wasn’t supposed to make you feel like this.
Feelings? For Peter Parker?? That was so not in your schedule.
You cleared your throat. Time to deploy your defense mechanism: Sarcasm, Stark-style.
“You ready, Fake Boyfriend?” You whispered, elbowing him.
Peter looked nervous but smiley. “Only if you’re ready, Fake Girlfriend.”
God, he had the audacity to look at you with those soft brown eyes and mean it.
You rolled your eyes. “Let’s get this cringe-fest over with.”
---
The two of you stood in front of the class. Your slideshow behind you was mostly Peter’s doing, because let’s be honest, you were good at many things, but formatting Google Slides without adding memes of your dad or the Avengers in pajama pants was not one of them.
Peter started off with the basic summary:
“Over the last seven days, we explored different aspects of relationship-building like communication, empathy, and conflict resolution—”
You cut in, deadpan:
“—And somehow didn’t kill each other. A modern miracle.”
Everyone laughed. Peter blushed. You smirked.
Then came the reflection part.
Peter shifted awkwardly. “Um. So. Personally… I learned that sometimes, pretending something is real can accidentally, maybe, kinda… feel real.”
Your heart skipped a beat. You glanced sideways. He wasn’t looking at the class. He was looking right at you.
You blinked and whispered, “Is that in the notes, or are you just going off-script?”
He shrugged, nervous smile tugging at his lips. “Off-script.”
Your heartbeat was not listening to you anymore.
You turned back to the class with a too-casual shrug. “Well. I learned that boys who bring you boba and blush a lot might actually be tolerable.”
More laughter. But your voice cracked a bit, just at the end.
---
After class.
You bolted down the hallway, trying to collect your thoughts, only to hear sneakers skidding behind you.
“Y/N—wait, hey—can we talk for a second?”
You turned, arms folded, doing your best impression of Not A Girl With Feelings.
“About what? Our fake relationship? Or the part where you made it all confusing by being, like… weirdly sweet and real boyfriend-y and—ugh—nice?”
Peter blinked. “You thought I was sweet?”
“Don’t push it.”
He stepped closer, looking a little breathless. “Okay. I know we were supposed to be pretending. But I wasn’t pretending when I said it felt real. Because… it did. You feel real.”
You stared at him. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
He swallowed. “I mean… you’re always sarcastic and you act like nothing phases you. But I see you. You take care of people. You remember the tiny stuff. You roll your eyes, but you never walk away.”
Your wall cracked, just a little. “That’s......dumb. You’re dumb.”
Peter laughed, a little shy. “I know. But I like you anyway.”
You blinked, heartbeat absolutely feral now. “You do?”
“I-I do.”
He stepped a little closer. His voice lowered, nervous and hopeful.
“Can I kiss you? Like… for real?”
You bit your lip. “For the assignment?”
He smiled. “No. For me.”
You hesitated for a breath. Then whispered, “Okay. But just so you know… It's my first kiss but I'll still grade harshly.”
He leaned in. Gentle. Warm. Soft like a secret.
And fireworks. Literal brain static. You barely registered the way your hand reached up and grabbed his hoodie to pull him a little closer, just to be sure this was real.
When you pulled back, both of you were blushing messes.
Peter grinned. “So… real boyfriend now?”
You smirked. “Guess so, Parker. Don’t screw it up.”
-----------
Peter didn’t think the day would end like this.
Standing in the Tower kitchen. Shirt slightly wrinkled. Lips slightly swollen. Heart? Absolutely sprinting.
You were sitting on a stool across the island, trying (and failing) to hide your smirk behind a mug of tea. Because, well… your dad had entered the chat.
And he did not look thrilled.
Tony Stark stood there, arms folded, brows raised in that very I’m not mad, just… disappointed. And maybe preparing to nuke your soul kind of way.
“I thought,” Tony said slowly, “this whole ‘pretend boyfriend’ thing was for an assignment. You know. Educational purposes. Graded participation. Harmless simulation.”
Peter swallowed. “It—uh. It was. Originally. I swear.”
Tony raised one brow like he was about to pull up a PowerPoint labeled LIES.
“So when exactly,” he asked, voice dangerously calm, “did this turn into my daughter shoving her tongue down your throat on my security footage?”
You choked on your tea. Peter looked like he might faint.
“Mr. Stark, I swear, it wasn’t—like—planned, I didn’t mean to—”
“Didn’t mean to what? Fall head-over-webs for Stark Baby #1? Accidentally catch feelings during a state-mandated fake dating project? Grow up, Parker. That’s literally the plot of every romcom ever.”
Peter blinked. “So… you’re not mad?”
“Oh, I’m mad,” Tony said, sipping his espresso. “I’m furious. Because I trusted you to be an awkward little nerd with no game. And here you are. Pulling moves.”
You leaned forward, grinning. “Dad. Chill. It’s not that deep.”
Tony narrowed his eyes. “Y/N, sweetheart, I love you. I do. But you have the worst taste. First you had a crush on Draco Malfoy when you were ten, and now this—”
“Draco was misunderstood!” You snapped.
“Yeah, well so is Parker,” Tony said, glaring at him. “Misunderstood until he’s grounded for life.”
Peter looked pale. “Am I grounded?”
“You? ” Tony snorted. “Kid, you’re not even my kid. I can’t ground you. I can just… make your life extremely inconvenient.”
You laughed. “He’s bluffing.”
“I invented bluffing,” Tony said.
Peter raised his hands, sheepish. “Look—I know this is… not ideal. But I like her. A lot. And I promise I’ll never hurt her. I mean that.”
Tony stared at him for a long, quiet moment.
Then he sighed. “Great. Now I gotta threaten a teenager with a vibranium wrench. Happy Tuesday.”
You jumped off the stool and kissed Tony on the cheek. “Love you, Dad.”
“Uh-huh. We’ll see how much when your monthly allowance suddenly evaporates.”
“Alright. Fine. Just… no funny business under my roof. And if I see you sneaking into her room again, I’m replacing your web-shooters with electric hand belts.”
Peter turned white. “Y-Yes sir.”
You blinked at Tony, all wide-eyed innocence. “Define ‘funny business,’ exactly?”
Tony groaned into his espresso.
-------
Extra: Stark Baby Got A Boyfriend
You weren’t trying to cause a scene. You really weren’t.
But you were also very much not sorry that Peter Parker—newly promoted boyfriend and your favorite fake-to-real love story—was kissing you like the world didn’t exist.
Right in front of your locker.
At 8:02 a.m.
On a Wednesday.
You were the one who pulled him in, hands in his hoodie, heart in your throat.
He stiffened for half a second, then melted. Melted like butter. His hands found your waist, hesitant but warm, and he kissed you back like he’d been waiting his whole life for it.
Your fingers curled into the front of his hoodie as he leaned in, lips warm, kiss a little messy and rushed, like he was still getting used to the whole "dating a Stark" thing.
Which, let’s be honest—he was.
And then:
“UH—EXCUSE ME??”
You both jerked apart.
Cue MJ, coffee in hand, eyes wide like she just saw a UFO.
And Ned, frozen mid-step, mouth open, brain totally buffering.
They stood there like they’d accidentally stumbled onto the craziest scene in the universe.
“You guys are—? Since when are you—??” Ned flailed his arms, “I knew something was up during that mock conflict resolution session!”
MJ pointed dramatically. “You rolled your eyes at him too affectionately. That’s how I knew.”
Peter scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “It’s… recent?”
“Understatement,” you muttered, smirking. “About sixteen hours recent.”
“Wha—?!” Ned shrieked. “I’ve been manifesting this since sophomore year and I still didn’t see it coming?!”
Peter chuckled, pulling you closer by the waist. “I think it surprised us too.”
And then, as if summoned by Devil himself—
FLASH THOMPSON WALKED BY.
He froze mid-strut.
Blink.
Blink blink.
Error 404: Brain not found.
You could hear his brain combusting.
“WAIT. WAIT. WHAT—WHAT IS HAPPENING—” Flash pointed. “YOU’RE—SHE’S—PARKER?! YOU’RE DATING Y/N STARK?!”
Peter blinked. “Uh. Yeah?”
Flash did a double take so violent he almost tripped over his own Air Jordans. “WHAT DIMENSION IS THIS. WHAT DO YOU MEAN PENIS PARKER GOT THE STARK HEIRESS??”
You tilted your head sweetly. “Aw, Flash. You jealous?”
He sputtered. “Of—of him?! No way, I just—like—seriously?! You’re a Stark! You could date anyone! You could date, like, a Hemsworth or someone!”
You shrugged. “Yeah, but Peter actually knows how to use a brain cell. And, y’know, he doesn’t speak in protein shakes.”
Ned wheezed. MJ snorted her coffee.
Peter was still red in the face, but the smile he gave you?
Yeah, worth every second of hallway gossip.
Flash, meanwhile, walked off muttering to himself like an NPC in total glitch mode.
Hey! If your taking requests, I love your work so much and I had an idea I would really love to see how you execute it.
So it would be with Tony Stark, and if its okay Male!Reader, but not romantic, the reader is a teen who is a product of some old fling Tony had and after being poorly taken care of by his mom (whatever that inclines you to write, abuse, bad boyfriend, alcoholism etc.) She dumps him off at stark tower with a note and what little belongings the reader has and his birth certificate to Tony for him to take care of. And the rest of what happens from there is up to you! Basically heavy on the found family troupe, and a little angst with some good fluff. The reader can be from 16-18 still in high school. He has Tony's sarcastic humor and smarts, but he nodes his intelligence because his mom never really helped him appreciate it, basically one of those kids that gets straight A's without seemingly trying and looking kind of stupid, the reader is quiet and a bit cold but that's because of how he was raised, and isn't one to share how he's feeling. If you can do this I'd be so thankful, if not its completely understandable, I hope I gave you enough creative liberty to make it fun, I know it'll be great if you do write it! Again I love your fics so much and I can't wait to read more of what you have!!💜☺
LEGACY
⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK
ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x male!reader
ᯓ★ Genre: platonic!, a lot of angst and some fluff
ᯓ★ Request from: normal request
ᯓ★ Story type: one shot
ᯓ★ Word count: 5.5k
ᯓ★ Summary: literally what the ask said
ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of abusive household and rader feeling like people keep abandoning him
ᯓ★ Thank you so much for your request and for liking my work! <3
ᯓ★ My Masterlist
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
Your whole life, you’ve never known stability. The cramped apartments, the ever-shifting walls painted in hues of desperation, are as familiar to you as your own skin. You’re seventeen now, but you still feel like you’re stuck in this never-ending carousel of uncertainty and survival. Your mom—who’s always been more into herself than anyone else—has a way of shoving her problems under the rug, sweeping you along with the mess until you’re barely holding it together.
Her boyfriend—if you could even call him that—is the latest problem. Travis is the kind of guy who doesn’t need to say much to make his point clear. It’s in the way he takes up space, fills every room with his presence, making himself the center of your lives as if it’s his right. He started coming around when you were fourteen, and it’s only gotten worse. You know he hates you, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. To him, you’re a nuisance, some extra baggage he never asked for, and he’s got no problem reminding you of that. Your sarcasm and quick wit, the things that make you, you, are just more reasons for him to snap, roll his eyes, or call you ungrateful.
Your mom’s always been…complicated. You’ve known that since you were little, watching her go from one relationship to another, always searching for some kind of validation she never seems to find. She calls herself a free spirit, but it’s like she’s just drifting, lost in a fog of her own making. She can be fun, sure, when things are good. There were even moments when you thought she really loved you. But as time went on, you learned to read the signs: the distant glances, the subtle irritations, the way she avoids looking at you for too long, as if you’re some kind of mirror she doesn’t want to face.
It’s your intelligence that bugs her the most, you think. You see through her, every lie, every excuse, every careless decision. And she knows it. It’s like looking into a warped mirror—she can see pieces of herself in you, but you’re everything she’s never been: sharp, observant, with a mind that doesn’t let things slide. And it grates on her.
The fights get worse as you grow older, each one escalating faster than the last. Your sarcasm is your armor, your way of dealing with the endless cycle of disappointment. But every quip, every clever retort, only makes her angrier. You can tell she hates that she can’t control you, can’t manipulate you the way she does with everyone else in her life. She calls you difficult, a burden, a mistake she should’ve never had. You don’t let it show, but each word leaves a scar, another reminder that you’re on your own.
Then one day, it’s too much. Travis and your mom are fighting—again. It’s loud, voices echoing in the small apartment, and you’re in your room, trying to block it out like usual. But this time, you hear your name. You’ve been in this situation enough to know that’s never a good sign. So, you stay quiet, waiting, listening.
“You know he’s not even mine, right?” Travis snaps, his voice dripping with frustration. “Why do I have to put up with this kid? He’s not my responsibility!”
“You think I don’t know that?” Your mom’s voice is strained, like she’s barely holding on herself. “I’ve tried—God, I’ve tried—but he’s just…he’s too much. I can’t handle it anymore.”
There’s a pause, and for a second, you think maybe she’ll say something else, something that makes it sound like she cares. But the words never come.
“Then get rid of him,” Travis says, so bluntly that it leaves a chill in the air. “You’ve got the kid’s birth certificate. Drop him off at his real dad’s. He’s rich, isn’t he? Let him deal with the brat.”
You don’t move. You barely breathe. But deep down, you already know this is it. There’s no fighting it this time, no clever comment to deflect what’s happening. She’s made her choice, and it’s not you.
The next morning, she’s silent as she hands you an envelope. There’s no apology, no excuse, just a look that tells you she’s already gone, checked out of whatever shred of motherhood she once claimed to have. You don’t even ask where you’re going; you know the answer as soon as you see the address on the piece of paper.
Stark Tower.
It feels like a final act of cruelty, really. The man she’s always refused to talk about, the one figure in your life who’s only ever been a name, and now he’s your last option. Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, Avenger. And, apparently, your father.
You stand outside Stark Tower with a single bag of your things and that stupid piece of paper—the birth certificate that’s somehow supposed to mean you’re his problem now. You feel like you’re stuck in some cosmic joke, a punchline to a story you didn’t even know you were a part of. There’s no going back, though. That’s clear enough.
So, you take a deep breath, adjust your bag on your shoulder, and walk through the doors.
Tony doesn’t even get a chance to process it at first. One moment he’s sipping coffee in his lab, deep in the flow of something unnecessarily complex that’s keeping his mind busy, and the next, Pepper is calling him down to the lobby. She sounds irritated, stressed—like maybe it’s his fault, which Tony wouldn’t be surprised by, honestly. He heads down, muttering about "another hero here to tell me how to do my job."
Then he sees you.
You’re leaning against the glass wall, wearing an expression that’s somehow familiar yet entirely alien to him. It’s not hard to recognize the mix of defiance and exhaustion in your eyes; he’s spent years perfecting that look himself. But the shock doesn’t really hit until you hand him the birth certificate. Your name and his, right there in black and white, unavoidably real.
For once in his life, Tony Stark is speechless.
“Seventeen years,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “And now you’re here because…?”
You shrug, clearly unimpressed. “Mom didn’t want me anymore, and apparently, you’re my dad. So… here I am. Congratulations.”
You’re blunt, almost cruel in the way you say it, like you don’t expect anything from him and don’t care if you get it. But he can’t look away from you. For the first time in a long time, he’s out of his depth. He’s had seventeen years to know this was possible, maybe even inevitable, but standing in front of you, he realizes he’s never prepared himself for this. He’s never thought about what it would mean to actually be a father.
Yet here you are, standing in front of him with your mother’s words still hanging over you, and he can see the weight you carry in the way your shoulders are always tense, the way your eyes don’t quite meet his.
“Well, kid,” he says after a beat, plastering on his most confident smile, “looks like you’ve officially joined the Stark family. There’s no going back now.”
Over the next few days, Tony throws himself into fatherhood with all the enthusiasm of someone tackling a new, challenging invention. He’s reading parenting books, taking advice from anyone who’ll give it, and trying desperately to crack the code of how to be a “cool dad.” He lets you explore Stark Tower freely, offers you access to his entire workshop, and even builds you a custom tablet, “Stark-style,” he brags, with enough advanced tech to impress even the most skeptical teenager.
He talks to you about science, testing your knowledge and realizing with a mix of pride and horror that you’re nearly as sharp as he was at seventeen. He tries to make jokes, throwing out sarcastic one-liners he assumes will win you over. Sometimes, he even manages to get a smirk out of you. But that’s as far as it ever goes.
Every attempt he makes is met with your icy wall, a defense mechanism built after years of disappointment and neglect. You listen, nod occasionally, but never laugh or even show interest. The most he ever gets out of you is a dry, deadpan “cool,” which is enough to keep him going but never enough to satisfy him.
Tony tries not to take it personally, but it’s hard. You’re right there, his kid, yet you’re worlds away, keeping him at arm’s length as if he’s just another adult you can’t trust. He catches glimpses of the sarcasm, the intelligence, but it’s wrapped up in layers of resentment and guarded detachment. You’re always cool, always distant, and he knows why, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
One evening, he sits you down with a grin, tossing a shiny, compact device into your hands. It’s sleek, metallic—one of his newer designs.
“Mini reactor prototype. You’d be the first to use it.” He says it with pride, like he’s giving you something no one else in the world could get.
You look at it for a moment, then at him. “Cool,” you say again, but your voice is flat, unimpressed. You set it on the table between you without another glance.
Tony’s grin falters, and he lets out a frustrated laugh. “You’re a tough crowd, you know that?”
You just shrug, giving him that practiced blank stare he’s come to know well. He’s finally reaching his breaking point. “Y’know, I’m trying here,” he says, exasperated. “I’m trying to… I don’t know, connect. Be… whatever it is you need me to be. But you’re acting like I’m just another stranger.”
You pause, considering him for a moment, and something shifts in your expression—like maybe, for just a second, you see his effort. But then your face goes neutral again, back to that familiar shield.
“Maybe that’s because you are,” you reply, voice quiet, almost too soft for him to hear.
Tony feels the blow, but he hides it with a forced chuckle. “Fair enough,” he says, though there’s a sting in his voice. “I can’t change the past, but… I’m here now. I’m not gonna just… walk away.”
The words linger between you, both of you knowing the weight they carry. You’ve heard promises like this before. You’ve heard them from your mother, from people who were supposed to care, and each one of those promises had turned hollow, leaving you more alone than before. So, when Tony looks at you with genuine sincerity, with a hope that you’ll give him a chance, all you can do is nod, burying any flicker of vulnerability.
As the weeks go on, Tony keeps trying. He brings you into the lab with him, walks you through his latest projects, even lets you experiment with some of the tech yourself. He drags you to burger joints at midnight, tries to coax out stories about school, hobbies, anything. Sometimes you let your guard slip, offering a sarcastic remark, a comment that makes him laugh—but the moment always passes too quickly, and you’re back behind that wall before he can push any further.
He’s persistent, though, and there’s a part of you that almost wants to give in, that wants to believe him. But your trust is a muscle you haven’t used in so long, it feels impossible to start now. So, you keep him at bay, deflecting his kindness, giving him just enough to satisfy his efforts without letting him in.
Tony doesn’t quit, though. He keeps showing up, every day, every night, and for the first time in your life, you don’t feel like someone’s just waiting for the moment they can leave.
Every morning, Tony insists on driving you to school, and it’s nothing short of a spectacle. He shows up outside Stark Tower in one of his many luxury cars, honking loudly, practically begging for attention. It’s become a routine, one you can’t escape no matter how many times you roll your eyes or tell him he doesn’t have to do it. He’s always got some snarky excuse, saying things like, “It’s my job as a dad,” or “I just want to see the kid off,” as if anyone believes he actually cares about high school protocol.
And everyone notices. Whispers trail behind you as you walk the halls, classmates you’ve known for years suddenly gawking at you like you’re a different person. They don’t know you as you anymore; they know you as Tony Stark’s kid. It’s suffocating. You’ve spent your entire life trying to stay unnoticed, to blend into the background. Now, no matter where you go, everyone’s waiting for you to crack a joke like him, to show off some kind of Stark-level genius.
Only one person seems to still see you, really see you—your best friend, Sam. You’ve known him since middle school, back when everything was simpler, when no one knew or cared who your dad was. He’s the only one who doesn’t treat you any differently now, the only person you actually trust enough to talk to about any of this.
One afternoon, you’re sitting outside on the bleachers with Sam, trying to ignore the fact that Tony’s car is already parked by the curb, waiting for you. The other students eye it like some exotic animal they don’t quite understand, but you keep your head down, just hoping the day will end without any more awkward questions or judgmental stares.
Sam nudges you. “So, uh… you still giving the old man the cold shoulder, huh?”
You sigh, avoiding his gaze. “I’m not giving him the cold shoulder. I’m just… keeping my distance.”
He rolls his eyes. “Dude, I see you with him every morning. The man looks like he’s about to recite the Gettysburg Address just to get a smile out of you. And you’re over here acting like he doesn’t exist.”
You shift uncomfortably, crossing your arms. “He’s only doing it because he feels obligated, Sam. It’s Tony Stark. He doesn’t actually care about me.”
Sam raises an eyebrow. “You really believe that? You think he’s the kind of guy who’d waste his time on someone he doesn’t care about?”
You don’t answer, but you can feel Sam’s eyes on you, cutting through all your defenses. He’s always been able to read you better than anyone, and right now, that’s the last thing you want.
“He’s trying, Y/N,” Sam continues, his voice softer. “Like, really trying. And I get it. I get that you’ve been burned, but… maybe give him a chance? Just talk to him. It’s not like he’s gonna run off if you tell him what’s going on.”
You look away, jaw clenched as you try to shake off the knot of emotion tightening in your chest. You don’t want to admit that Sam might be right. Letting someone in, giving someone a chance—that’s always been a dangerous game, one you’re not sure you can afford to play again.
That night, you’re lying awake in your room, staring at the ceiling, Sam’s words playing on a loop in your mind. The silence around you feels heavy, pressing down on you, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you owe Tony more than you’ve been giving him. You’ve seen his effort, the way he tries to connect with you, even when you push him away. He’s there, every day, waiting for you, and no one has ever done that before.
Something shifts in you, a kind of tired resignation, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you get up and head downstairs to his workshop.
Tony’s hunched over a table, tinkering with some gadget, and he barely notices you at first. It’s only when you clear your throat that he looks up, surprise flickering across his face before he masks it with a smile.
“Hey, kid,” he says, setting down his tools. “Couldn’t sleep?”
You shrug, suddenly feeling the weight of what you’re about to say. “Yeah, I just… I wanted to talk to you about something.”
He raises an eyebrow, a mixture of curiosity and concern on his face. He gestures to a nearby chair. “Go ahead. I’m all ears.”
You sit, staring at your hands as you try to find the right words. For a long time, there’s only silence between you, the air thick with tension. Finally, you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to speak.
“I know I’ve been… difficult,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I know you’re trying. It’s just… it’s not easy for me.”
Tony watches you intently, not interrupting, his expression softer than you’ve ever seen it. You look down, focusing on your hands, the words spilling out before you can stop them.
“When I was a kid, my mom was all I had. I thought… I thought she cared about me, even if she didn’t always show it. But she changed, especially after she started seeing this guy. Travis. He wasn’t… he wasn’t a good person, Tony. He… he made sure I knew I wasn’t wanted.” Your voice breaks slightly, but you push through it, feeling the old wounds tear open. “He told me I was a burden, that I was just in the way. And my mom, she… she just let it happen. She barely even looked at me by the end.”
Tony’s face darkens, his jaw clenched as he listens, but he stays silent, letting you continue.
“I learned not to trust people,” you say, voice wavering. “Every time I thought someone would stick around, they didn’t. So I stopped… I stopped letting people in. I told myself it was easier that way.”
You look up at him, and for the first time, there’s no mask, no shield—just raw vulnerability, something you haven’t allowed yourself to feel in years.
“And then I showed up here,” you say, your voice barely a whisper now. “And you… you keep trying. You keep showing up, every day, like you actually care. And it’s… it’s confusing, okay? Because part of me wants to believe it, but the other part…” You trail off, wiping away a tear that slips down your cheek.
Tony doesn’t hesitate. He reaches over, placing a hand on your shoulder, grounding you, letting you know he’s there. “Y/N,” he says softly, his voice rough with emotion. “I can’t change what you went through. I can’t go back and fix it, as much as I wish I could. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”
You meet his gaze, and there’s something in his eyes that you’ve never seen before—a fierce, unwavering resolve that feels almost foreign. You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words sink in, feeling the tiniest flicker of hope spark to life.
“It’s not easy for me,” you murmur. “It’s… it’s hard for me to trust people. And I know I’m not the easiest person to be around. But… I want to try. I want to believe you. I just… I need you to be patient with me. I need you to not give up on me.”
Tony nods, his hand still resting on your shoulder, steady and reassuring. “Hey,” he says, his voice breaking a little. “I’m not giving up on you, kid. Not now, not ever. You’re my son, and I’m here for the long haul. However long it takes, okay?”
The words settle around you, a warmth you haven’t felt in years. You don’t have to say anything; he seems to understand, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before he lets go. And in that moment, something in you softens, just a little, like maybe you can let him in.
For the first time, you allow yourself to believe him, to believe that maybe he really won’t walk away. And even though the walls around your heart don’t come down all at once, you feel them start to crack, piece by piece, letting a little light seep in.
After that night, things start to change. It’s slow, gradual, like thawing ice, but there’s a noticeable shift between you and Tony. You’re still guarded, still wary of letting him all the way in, but he doesn’t push. He just keeps showing up, every day, every night, just like he promised. And slowly, piece by piece, you let him in.
The first time you ask to work on something together, Tony practically beams. You’re sitting at the kitchen counter with your physics homework in front of you—normally a breeze, something you’d get done in a few minutes. But today, you’ve left a few problems untouched, hoping he’ll notice.
Sure enough, Tony glances over your shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “Need a hand with that?” he asks, and there’s a careful lightness to his voice, like he’s trying to keep things casual, so he doesn’t scare you off.
You shrug, trying to act indifferent. “Sure, if you’ve got time,” you say, even though both of you know you could solve this on your own without breaking a sweat. But Tony doesn’t call you out on it. He just grabs a chair, pulls it over, and sits down next to you, leaning in to look at your work.
For the next hour, the two of you go over formulas and theories, his explanations coming with a few sarcastic quips and exaggerated hand gestures. Every so often, he goes off on a tangent, telling you stories about his own time in high school or sharing a strange fact he thinks will help you remember a concept. You listen, half-smiling at his antics, and eventually even throw in a few of your own sarcastic comments. You can tell he’s trying not to make a big deal out of it, but there’s a spark in his eyes that tells you he’s thrilled to be here, helping you, no matter how small the reason.
As the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time in Tony’s workshop. It becomes your safe space, the place where you don’t feel like you have to hide or put up walls. Tony lets you explore, handing you tools and explaining how they work, guiding you through his more complicated inventions. It’s like learning a new language, one he’s eager to teach you, and he’s a surprisingly patient teacher.
One afternoon, he’s working on a new suit upgrade, and you’re watching, silently impressed by how smoothly he moves, how every action is precise and practiced. You’re deep in thought when he glances over at you, smirking.
“Thinking of joining the family business?” he jokes, tossing you a wrench. “If you’re interested, I could always use an extra pair of hands.”
You catch the wrench, feeling a rare, genuine smile tug at the corners of your mouth. “Maybe I will,” you say, feeling a rush of warmth that’s unfamiliar but not unwelcome.
He shows you how to tighten a piece of armor plating, explaining each step with a casual ease that you find yourself getting lost in. There’s something oddly comforting about the way he talks, like he’s sharing a secret only the two of you understand. And as you work, side by side, you realize that you actually look forward to these moments, the quiet companionship that comes from working together on something you both enjoy.
One evening, you catch yourself staring at your chemistry textbook, pages open to a particularly dull section on thermodynamics. Normally, you’d power through it on your own, but tonight, you feel the familiar tug of loneliness creeping in, and before you know it, you’re on your feet, heading down to Tony’s lab.
When you reach the doorway, he looks up, surprised, then quickly wipes the expression off his face and pretends to be engrossed in his latest project. “What’s up?” he asks, as casually as he can manage.
You hold up the textbook, pretending to be annoyed. “This stuff is terrible. Thought maybe you could explain it better than my teacher does.”
Tony raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Well, I’m honored to know you think so highly of my teaching skills.” He gestures for you to sit down, and as you do, he starts flipping through the pages of your book. “Thermodynamics, huh? You sure you’re not just here for the riveting conversation?”
You roll your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
But you both know the truth, and there’s an unspoken understanding between you as he dives into the material. He doesn’t just lecture; he makes it a story, breaking down each concept with analogies, acting out scenarios, and throwing in enough jokes to keep you both entertained. You throw in questions just to keep him talking, just so you don’t have to go back to your empty room just yet.
And somewhere along the way, you realize you’re not just learning about science. You’re learning about him—about his quirks, his sense of humor, the way he lights up when he’s talking about things he’s passionate about. He’s not just Tony Stark, billionaire genius, Iron Man. He’s… Tony, your dad, someone who, against all odds, actually seems to care about you.
Over time, you both fall into a rhythm. Tony starts waiting for you in the mornings, holding out a cup of coffee or hot chocolate, claiming he needs company on his drive to work. You never say it, but you look forward to those mornings, the way he fills the car with stories about his latest projects or about old college pranks he pulled that make you laugh in spite of yourself.
One day, you’re both hunched over a set of schematics in his lab, tossing ideas back and forth as you brainstorm a new design for a stabilizer that could potentially improve flight control in his suits. You’re getting so into it that you forget to be guarded, throwing out suggestions, bouncing thoughts off each other in rapid-fire succession.
At one point, Tony stops, leaning back in his chair to look at you with a smirk. “You know,” he says, a touch of pride in his voice, “you’re pretty damn good at this. Got that Stark brain for sure.”
You feel a warmth spread through you, and for the first time, you don’t brush it off. “Maybe,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “But I guess it helps when you have a good teacher.”
Tony chuckles, but there’s a glimmer of emotion in his eyes, something raw and unguarded. “Yeah, well… you’re not a bad student either.”
There’s a moment of silence as the two of you look at each other, an understanding passing between you that doesn’t need words. You know he’s trying, and somehow, that knowledge makes the walls around your heart crumble just a little bit more.
A few days later, you’re working on homework in the living room when Tony walks in, holding a set of blueprints he’s obviously excited about. But when he sees you bent over your books, he pauses, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
“Hey, need some help?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
You look up, raising an eyebrow back at him. “With calculus? Pretty sure I’ve got this covered.”
He shrugs, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I was quite the calculus prodigy back in the day.”
“Oh, yeah?” You smirk, half-teasing. “Care to prove it?”
Tony grins, and before you know it, he’s pulled up a chair, leaning over your work with the same intensity he brings to his inventions. You pretend to need help with a few problems, and he’s more than happy to guide you through them, throwing in jokes and sarcastic comments the whole way. Every so often, he nudges your shoulder, grinning like he’s just scored a victory when he catches you smiling.
Eventually, he lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, I think we’ve both learned a lot today,” he says, stretching dramatically.
“Yeah,” you reply, smirking. “Like the fact that you’re worse at calculus than I am.”
Tony gapes, clutching his chest in mock hurt. “Unbelievable. Betrayed by my own son. This is a new low.”
You chuckle, shaking your head, and for the first time, it feels easy. Comfortable. Like maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to keep fighting him off.
“Hey,” Tony says, his tone shifting to something softer. “Thanks for letting me in. I know it wasn’t easy.”
You meet his gaze, feeling that familiar vulnerability creeping in, but this time, you don’t shy away. “Thanks for not giving up,” you reply quietly. “I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with.”
Tony chuckles, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “Nah, you’re a piece of cake. Besides, I’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”
You smile, a real one this time, feeling a warmth settle in your chest. For the first time, you allow yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, things are going to be okay.
It’s supposed to be a routine mission. Just another intel-gathering run, in and out, with minimal risk. Tony had waved it off as no big deal before he left, throwing you a smirk and saying, “Just another day in the office.” But that was hours ago. And now, as you sit in the dim glow of the living room, watching the news report blaring on the screen, dread twists deep in your gut.
You watch the shaky footage of Iron Man fighting, and this time, it’s different. He’s outnumbered, missiles tearing through the air, beams of energy slicing through the smoke and chaos. The news anchor’s voice breaks as they report the intensity of the fight, how Iron Man was last seen plunging out of the sky after a heavy hit. For a terrifying moment, you catch a glimpse of him falling, his suit battered, smoking, before the feed cuts out entirely.
Your heart stops, and a painful tightness fills your chest. The hours that follow are a blur of pacing, every second dragging longer than the last. You’re used to him going out on missions, used to the danger that comes with being Tony Stark’s son. But this… this is different. This isn’t the usual playful bravado, the usual cocky promises that he’ll be home for dinner. This is life or death, and for the first time, you’re faced with the horrifying thought that he might not make it back.
After what feels like an eternity, the front door finally opens. You spin around, heart pounding, and there he is, looking worse for wear but alive. He’s moving a bit stiffly, his armor scratched and dented, his face smudged with dirt and a few new cuts. But he’s here.
Before he can say a word, you rush toward him, the flood of relief hitting you so hard that you barely register the fact that you’re moving, throwing yourself into his arms. Your grip is tight, like if you let go, he’ll disappear. You don’t even realize you’re trembling until you feel his arms close around you, holding you just as tightly.
“Hey, hey,” Tony says, his voice soft, touched with surprise but warm. “I’m okay, kid. I’m here.”
You pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears, and he’s looking at you with an expression so full of gentle understanding that it makes you feel like a kid again, vulnerable and desperate. Without thinking, the word slips out, raw and unguarded.
“Dad…” you whisper, voice breaking slightly, “don’t ever… don’t ever do that again. I thought… I thought I was going to lose you.”
Tony’s face softens, his own eyes welling up. He’s silent for a moment, as if he’s savoring the word, the weight of it finally hitting home. His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, his grip firm but gentle, grounding you.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. But I’m here, okay? I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
You nod, the tears slipping down your cheeks now, and Tony pulls you in again, holding you tightly, his hand running gently over your back. It’s the first time you’ve let yourself fully embrace him, the first time you’ve allowed yourself to lean into his strength, to accept the warmth he’s been trying so hard to offer. And as you stand there, held in his arms, a sense of peace settles over you, soft and comforting, melting the last of your walls away.
After a long moment, he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, a tear slipping down his own cheek as he smiles, eyes bright. “You called me ‘Dad,’” he says softly, his voice full of wonder, as if he’s just received the greatest gift in the world.
You give a small, watery smile, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah, well… don’t get used to it,” you mumble, but there’s no heat behind the words, only affection, only gratitude.
He chuckles, pulling you back into a hug, and you feel his hand rest on the back of your head, his grip firm and reassuring. “I’m already used to it,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m not letting you go, kid. Not ever.”
In that moment, you realize that this is what home feels like—right here, safe in his arms, with nothing left to fear.
