Can I request headcanons about being Tony Starks son?
Tony Stark x Son!Reader
[MASTERLIST]
SUMMARY: The life of Tony Starkâs son through the years.
WARNINGS: Mentions of death, kidnapping, grief.
A/N: So sorry for the late reply, so much has happened. I understand you had requested this in 2024 and itâs now 2025. I didnât expect it to take me so long. Iâm not going to go into detail on why, as itâs personal. I hope that I had written this to your liking. This is headcanons, so itâs going to be bulleted. So much shit happened that I had to push it to the side. I hope you enjoy!
[GIF NOT MINE]
Of course, you were a product of a one night stand.
Your mother hooked up with your father one fateful 2006/7 night and of course she got pregnant.
A party and many drinks later led to your very existence.
Your father had never shared what happened with your mother, how he had gotten custody over you. So, thereâs that part of the story youâll never know the answer to.
Not that it mattered. Sheâs not around to tell her story, and knowing how you got here wasnât going to change what happened to you.
Now, your father wasnât the best in the beginning. Leaving you with babysitter after babysitter. Well, they were more like nannies that often got switched out. After all, he was still a playboy. Becoming a father would do little to hinder his lifestyle.
Until he became Ironman. You were about two when it happened, your only memory of the event was your fatherâs assistant. Was she an assistant? God, you canât remember. She took care of you during his absence, when he was in that foreign country assumed to be dead.
If anything, the moment your father became Ironman was the moment he became a dad. Not your birth, not the moment he held you. The moment he grew into a better father was the moment he became Ironman.
The whole arc reactor thing mesmerized you. Your eyes would be glued to his chest as it glowed in dim lighting.
If anyone asked you what happened between the day your father became Ironman to the day the Avengers saved the world for the first time, youâd honestly wouldnât be able to answer them. Those years hadnât much to remember. After all, you were still a child during this time. If anything, the most adventure you had during those years was preschool, happy driving you around and being a begrudging babysitter when you were left unattended. As much as Peppy Potts (as you were to call her, her name wasnât as easy as one would assume,) adored you, she was no babysitter.
Hell, even a brief memory of silent plans your father made in the case of his death would cross your mind. He was hiding a lot, those days.
Getting picked up in a non-extravagant vehicle was something that your father wasnât too keen on. He was a flashy man with gimmicks only the rich could partake. And yet, it was done to keep you safe. Hell, you even had a false last name for the first few years of your life. You were too young to protect yourself. It was quickly done after some paparazzi got a whiff of the school you were attending and crowded the school just as you were getting out.
It was a stupid last name, too. It was a wonder you werenât bullied by four year olds. Or kidnapped. Honestly, you were too trusting, too loving.
Well, you were kidnapped that one time. Loki got you. Thats honestly how you remember some bits and pieces of it all. It was such a scary few days. Spent a while shaking and bundled up. Met a few heros and spent quite a bit of time with your father. Once again, this triggered another onslaught of changes with your father. He spent time with you. An actual father.
The more you think about it, the more you realize you were far too young to comprehend the majority events of your past. The big bads, the small things. All you really remember is being a kid. You heard almost everything second-hand. You were there for such small increments, pushed off before it was too dangerous.
When Ultron came to fruition and the worldâs safety was at risk, you were, once more, sent away. However, you remembered this one. You stayed with the Barton family once the Avengers had been sent there. You were roughly eight or so.
Clintâs kids were great, though. So was his wife. They were fun to play with. Especially Lila, she was closer to your age. Called Natasha her aunt. You want to call Natasha your aunt, too. A privilege that you had shyly asked for right before you were properly entrusted and left with the family.
You helped Mrs.Barton, as you were too afraid to ask her for her name, with whatever she asked her children of. You felt it would be unfair otherwise. Despite the insurance, you pushed on.
Lila played dolls with you, chased you through the fields. It was fun. Best friends forever, youâd say with a grin.
Going back home was not fun. Saying goodbye to the Bartonâs tearfully, your father had begrudgingly agreed to let you visit sparsely. But visit nonetheless.
Your family got a little bigger.
Hell, you even got the guts to shyly ask Peppy to be your mom. By then, she had been dating your father and been such a big part of your life that she qualified for the title. Even took over driving you to and from school. Of course, with a normal looking car.
Your first birthday party that you properly enjoyed also happened in this time. You had friends attending, your father attending, your newfound mother attending. Even new aunts and uncles.
You even qualified for the gifted program. However, you contested. You were a smart kid, smarts practically ran in the family. But you didnât want to change classes. You wanted to remain in the same classes as your friends. The need to nurture your smarts may not have occurred in school but it had with afterschool activities.
Tutors and small projects in which your help was enlisted had proved very valuable. In which you had showcased immense understanding.
At the staggering age of 9-10, during the time of what the press dubbed as âcivil war,â the enactment of the Superhero Registration Act, you were accepted into the Stark Internship. One of many, really. Without bias. One would assume it held some considering your age, but your father insisted, as well as your mother, it be done the proper way.
You were surrounded by teenagers, older than you. Even adults. Few got into the program. Including a rather nervous and anxious Peter Parker. Your father liked him. A lot. Hell, because of this you were in proximity with Peter often. Knew of his secrets.
âPeter,â youâd find yourself leaning over the teenâs shoulder one afternoon. He was having lunch with your father.
âCan you show me some cool tricks?â
Peter would look between you and your father. Nervous. âGo ahead,â your father would say.
Your favorite super hero, from then on, was Spider-Man. He became your favorite hero. Your big brother. Your babysitter. Ned Leeds, as you learned his name from Peter, asked you a plentiful of questions that you hardly knew the answer to once you met him. Primarily about what happened during those aforementioned fights you never witnessed.
About when you got kidnapped. Thatâs when Peterâs blood ran cold, panicking. You assured them it was fine. You hardly remembered it. Just bits and pieces. It doesnât scare you anymore.
Life went on. Your father had a fight with Peter, Peter lost his internship, Peter got back his internship. He was still your older brother.
Now, once more, you were left out of it. But, the Blip, you were at school when it happened. Your father out in space and your mother worrying like no tomorrow. The last bell and you were on your way to the car. Students around you fizzled to nothing, parents and teachers too. You yelped, running to your mother.
A lot of calls were made. No Lila, no Peter, no dad. Your world crumbled, grades plummeting.
And then dad came home, skeletal.
There was a few weeks of finding a new normal. Mourning was not easy. Classes were quiet. And the impromptu move. Your parents got married and you were an older brother.
You started highschool. And honestly? It was rough. You thought about life a lot. You were being sent to Peterâs highschool, something you begged for once you entered middle school. You always wanted to be like him.
At 15 your father allowed you to tinker with some suits. Much like the anniversary gift for your mother, you were allowed to make your own. Not for proper use just yet, for experience. And for a father-son bonding. Sue him, you grew out of playing catch at seven and had been itching to create something remotely similar to the Ironman suit for years now. Might as well allow you to do something remotely similar under supervision.
Family time happened often. With Morgan constantly asking you to play with her, or mom asking you to help her with cooking. And, with dad consistently aiding you in this project.
And then dad died and so many people came back from the dead.
Lila was still that kid. You were older than her now instead of the other way around. You desperately wanted to remain friends with her, best friends, but you felt odd, awkward.
Peter Parker wasnât your big brother anymore. He was your equal. He was a grade ahead of you, and you shared electives. It was⌠So weird.
âLook⌠Look at how big youâve gotten,â Peter would breathe once he got a good look at you, hands settling on your shoulders. âOh, man. You⌠You look likeâŚâ
Youâve been getting that one a lot now. Youâve grown into your features. Many of which recognizable and comparable to your fatherâs. It broke you once your mother pointed it out one day. A gentle hand resting upon your shoulder as you gone through a box of his old blueprints. âYou look like your father, you know. Got his smile, his nose, his hair,â sheâd tease by scrunching your your hair. Youâd laugh it off, biting your cheek as a pit opened in your stomach.
Depression and anguish ate away at your limbs, the funeral taking more from you. Locked away in that bedroom, your sister would sit outside and ask you to come play. Despite having gained them back, youâve felt⌠So lonely.
Peter dropped by often. A request from your mother. It was weird. This all felt wrong. Lila, too. Despite the age difference between you two, she insisted upon maintaining the friendship she still felt you had.
Itâs hard. But itâll get easier. An assurance.
You started working on the suit again. And day by day, itâll get easier. Just stay in contact with those you love. Make friends.
âThe road to recovery ainât easy, bud,â your mother would say on the harder days. A hand pressed firmly to your back. âWhat matters is you do what you can to get through it.â
And you took it to heart.
Itâs finally done. Once again, I apologize for how long it has taken. Let me know if I need to fix anything, thereâs any errors, or inconsistencies. Or, if itâs just plain bad. I hope you liked this and if youâd like me to expand on this, let me know!