Tony Stark (dad) x Reader (daughter) x Peter Parker (love interest)
A/N: after seeing endgame i needed some serious fluff to recover and upon after reading pretty much every single reader!daughter x dad!tony imagine on the internet, i just had to write my own. i know it’s not usually the sort of thing i post on here, but i hope you enjoy it all the same!
trigger warnings: mentions of abuse
“I don’t know if you think this is some sort of cruel joke or something, but it’s not funny,” you scowl at the lady behind the desk. “I’ve been fucked around with for my entire life and I’m sick and tired of it. Just tell me who it is.”
“I’m telling the truth,” the woman tries to remain calm, but is clearly annoyed, turning her computer around to face you as proof. “He’s your birth father and next in line for custody of you if anything should happen, which quite frankly, things have been happening for quite some time now.”
“No shit,” you stare at her with cold eyes, unamused. “But really? Him? I would take literally anyone else.” You pause when you come face to face with the computer screen though, his profile pulled up and surprisingly, your full name underneath the section for children. “So what?” You snort despite your curiosity. “Is he just going to store me up on a floor of his penthouse, hand me a million dollars, then have me on his way?”
“Don’t talk about him like that,” the woman warns. “He’s your new father now so you’re going to have to show him a little bit of respect. And me too if you wouldn’t mind so much.”
Ever since you could remember, you lived with your mother and your stepfather. Your mother was constantly sick and your stepfather was constantly drunk, both of them using you and abusing you on a constant. It wasn’t until the neighbors called the cops that things started changing, and CPS took you out from your home. Since you were still a minor, despite it only being by a couple of years, you had to be put into the custody of a living relative, or in this case, your birth father, whom you had never really seen or heard of until now. Your mother always told you he had simply knocked her up and left, and your stepfather had tried to convince you he was irrelevant as ever. You never even so much as caught a name until now. And lo and behold, it was none other than Tony fucking Stark. Everyone knew who he was, he was practically Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, and Elon Musk combined. And now, staring back at you from the computer screen, he was supposedly your long lost father. You felt both nervous and sick.
When the taxi cab lets you out at the front entrance of the Stark Industries building, you freeze. You would have thought you’d meet him through a town council meeting or some sort of crazy restaurant run in, but never this. It was possible you’d ever be related to him, right? You glance down at your shoes, thinking he’s probably where you got your dark hair from, then chew on your lower lip, sighing. There was no escaping this. It had to come someday.
“Excited to meet your father?” a blonde lady grins at you and you want to punch her in the face. You’re exhausted, stressed, and annoyed, not one bit excited to see her or your rich bitch of a dad.
“I guess,” you reply flatly, suitcase in hand as you follow her to the elevator.
“He was very surprised when your case worker reached out,” she admits. “He had forgotten all about you!” She lets out an annoying little laugh and you grumbled to yourself, yeah, of course he did.
He had forgotten about you when your mother was dying on the living room sofa. He had forgotten about you when your stepfather had hurt you night after night again. He had forgotten about you when you felt all alone, scared, terrified, and afraid to so much as go home from school every day. She didn’t need to remind you that he had forgotten all about you. You knew quite well. Too well for your liking.
“Well here’s your stop!” she tilts her head to the side, gesturing towards the door. “Be sure to introduce yourself and be friendly! Good luck!”
“Mhmm,” you grunt and watch as she struts away, clipboard in hand, then reattach your gaze to the door. Wonder what he’ll be like. If he’s anything like the television interviews and newspaper articles. You knock on the door and wait. And wait. And wait. You grumble to yourself and knock on the door again. Figures. You’re about to knock once more when the door opens and you’re standing face to face with him, a bit shocked to say the least.
“The fuck do you want with all the goddamn knocking, Jesus I thought you were going to- OH oh my god, shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t know-” he stares at you, blinking, facial expression between shocked and confused. “I thought you were coming tomorrow I didn’t-”
“You’re fine,” you actually laugh, and you can’t even begin to remember the last time you’ve done that. This wasn’t what you were expecting at all. To have him caught off guard, now that was the greatest type of advantage. “Uh, I’m y/n, actually. Your daughter, I guess?”
“Tony, Tony Stark,” he clears his throat and shakes your hand, still frazzled. “Uh, you probably already know that. Everyone knows that. Not to brag or anything but I-”
“I know who you are,” you narrow your eyes to avoid him going on some long spiel about all of his greatest accomplishments and achievements. “You don’t need to explain.”
“Ah,” he nods. “That’s good, sure you do. Of course you do.”
“So…?” you stare at him, still standing in the doorway with your suitcase in hand. “Going to invite me in or?”
“Oh yeah, yeah, sorry bout that,” he clears his throat awkwardly and invites you to sit down on one of the leather sofas across from his desk. “I was just working on some papers and uh-” he scratches the back of his head, looking around, obviously unsure of what to do in the situation.
“Why’d you leave my mom?” you stare at him, refusing to sit down, arms crossed, loaded question shot from the barrel of your lips.
“Excuse me?” he stares at you, dumbfounded.
“Why did you leave my mom, you asshole?” you spell it out nice and neat for him, defining your stance with feet planted in the ground and arms locked in place. “Why’d you do it?”
He stands there mouth agape, trying to form words with his lips, still shocked at your confidence and brash behavior. “How the hell did you think that was an appropriate question to ask?” he finally counters, taken aback by your rudeness. “I just met you, we’ve barely even said hello. Did your mother ever teach you manners?”
“I don’t know, maybe that was your job,” you replied. “Answer the question.”
“If you think you’re going to prance in here and act like you’re some resolute, vengeful, insolent little bitch desperate for answers you can leave,” he glares. “I don’t need another problem to take care of.”
“Wow, so I guess it’s just a father type of thing, huh?” you chuckle bitterly to yourself. “Calling your daughter a bitch and a problem.”
“Hey,” his voice falters, his expression softens, and he stretches out a hand apprehensively. You shake your head, reaching down to grab your suitcase. “I didn’t mean it like that I’m sorry-”
“I guess I’ll just go down the route of foster care since you’re such a prick,” you mutter, turning towards the door, but you feel his hand on your shoulder and you stop.
“Hey,” he says it more sternly this time, tightening his grip. You turn around and brush his hand off of your shoulder, glaring at him, but he remains apologetic. “Look kid, I didn’t mean it like that, really. I’m sorry, I just, I don’t know what to do to be honest. I’ve never been in a situation like this.”
“Neither have I,” you admit, turning a bit soft. “I guess I should apologize too.”
He stares at you, silence filling the space before he does, spontaneously wrapping his arms around you awkwardly, but with good intentions nonetheless. You’re not quite sure how to feel, but when he pulls back, he looks down at the floor. “I’m sorry, okay? For everything. For not being there enough. But I’m here now. And I know that doesn’t make up for even half of what you’ve been through, but I hope it at least means something.”
“Uh, I’ll take off work and get you settled in for the day,” he offers. “Just give me a second.”
He gives a soft smile and then turns away to make a quick call and you aren’t really sure what to think. Nobody had hugged you since, since forever really. It was different. It was nice. Deep down inside you hoped he really did care. You needed someone like that in your life, a father figure, any parental figure really, to trust and count on and be cared for by. You didn’t want to admit it, but you did. You were just a kid, lost and scared and full of hate for the world. You wished it would give back some love for once. You needed it.
“Here,” he reaches out a hand to take your suitcase for you. “We’re a couple floors up.”
It was foolish of you to be surprised. He was Tony fucking Stark, billionaire, with anything he could ever possibly want at his fingertips. However, everything still amazed you. The up to date technology, the fancy furnishings, the workers bustling about, and the wide variety of foods to choose from just to name a few.
“Thanks,” you tell him in between bites of a cheeseburger. You were both sitting at the bar counter and having dinner after he gave you a tour of the building and gotten you all settled in. “I know I don’t act like it, but it means a lot. Really.”
“Of course, kiddo,” he replies, wiping away some grease on his mouth with a napkin. There’s a pause and he clears his throat before bringing up the topic. “Uh, I should probably answer your question by the way.”
“Hmm?” you look at him, confused.
“Why I left your mother,” he clarifies, a bit uncomfortable. “Look, I was young. And foolish. And scared. I was so fucking scared.” He puts down the rest of his cheeseburger and sighs. “I shouldn’t have. It’s one of the biggest regrets of my life. And I didn’t know what happened to her, or you, and I’m sorry. Okay?”
“Look at you now,” you reassure, sighing. “You’ve got a big business and a busy job, you never would have had time to be a dad anyways.”
“I would have tried,” he insists. “Better than your dad ever did or will.”
“He’s not my dad,” you shake your head. “Don’t call him my dad, he’s not my dad.” You quiet and then turn towards him. “You are.”
“Yeah…” his voice trails off. “I guess I am.”
“I’m calling you Tony though,” you say rather harshly. “So if you think I’m going to call you my dad you can take that idea and shove it up your ass.”
“Alright,” he scoffs, offended. “Fine by me, Sassypants. Didn’t know you made the rules around here.”
“Sorry I just-” you go to apologize and he just waves a hand to dismiss you.
“It’s okay, I get it,” he reassures. “It takes time. Uh, I think it’d be weird anyways. Tony is fine.”
“Thanks,” you take the last bite of your cheeseburger and crumple up the wrapper. He glances at the clock and furrows his brow.
“Hey kid, you ought to go to bed,” he says.
“It’s not even-” you start to protest but he continues talking.
“It’s getting late. I’ll see you in the morning,” he picks up his remaining cheeseburger and leaves before you can even say another word.
The bedroom he’s given you is more than you could have ever asked for or simply even imagined. There’s an entire wall made of glass that leads out to a balcony. The bed is four times as large as your old one was. There’s a flat screen television, several sofas, an entire wardrobe full of clothes, and a smartphone and laptop that sits atop a coffee table with a note that says for you. Everything’s so great, it almost feels like a dream. You don’t feel tired, but when you your head on your pillow, your eyes close and they stay closed. You’re asleep before you even know it.
“You’re going to therapy,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth when you see him the next morning, and you want to so badly tell him that no, no the fuck you’re not.
“Why?” it’s more of a complaint than an actual question, but Tony puts his hands on his hips and narrows his eyes.
“Because of what you’ve been through,” he insists. “I think it would be good for you.”
“I’m fine,” you argue but he shakes his head.
“I already have someone coming after breakfast. It’s only an hour session, I think you’ll survive,” he persists. “End of discussion.”
“I don’t eat breakfast,” you retort.
“Now you do,” he shrugs. “Take care of yourself, y/n. It’s worth it. And you deserve it.”
It’s bullshit is what you think, but he’s gone before you can even argue with him. Sure you’ve had plenty of childhood trauma and dark moments, but you didn’t want to talk about it. Especially to a complete stranger who was stuck up and too prestigious for anyone to even begin to relate to. You’d go to therapy over your dead body.
Apparently Tony knew this too, because he had hired someone to escort you all the way to breakfast and then therapy, which was absolutely ridiculous. He was babying you, and it annoyed the hell out of you. You didn’t know what had gotten into him. He was so chill the other day, and now he was being a total helicopter parent. It frustrated you to the point of insanity. You kind of hated him for it.
“We’re going to start with talking about your parents,” the therapist gives a friendly smile, but you want to punch him in the face. You’ve realized it’s become a habit lately, wanting to punch a person in the face, especially to all of the fake, plastic, cheesy people Tony’s put in charge to babysit you. Ever since the overeager blonde who had led you in to meet him.
“No, we’re not,” you tell him. “You’re going to go home, and I’m going to walk out that door, and you can’t do a damn thing about it.”
“O-okay?” the therapist looks at you strangely as you get up off the couch and leave. “Wait! Wait, miss! Miss!” But you’re already out the door. Fuck that shit.
There’s an entire building to explore, and a giant day ahead of you. You can’t wait. Although you were slightly concerned that Tony might see you sneaking around on some floors through security cams or a body guard might come snatch you and drag you away back to therapy, you still wanted to take the risk. You raced down halls, clicked on random buttons and touchscreens, and wandered throughout rooms. Sure, you collected some strange stares from others and you had a couple close calls with people asking for your identification, but other than that, you were free.
“What’s down there?” you point towards the steel doors that clearly read no entrance allowed, coupled with extreme security measures, padlocks, and several guards.
“Classified,” a guard responds gruffly and you eye him.
“Who’s allowed in?” you wonder.
“Mr. Stark,” he answers. “That’s it.”
“What about the daughter of Mr. Stark?” you put on a pretty smile and the guard sighs.
“He doesn’t have a daughter,” he rejects. “Nice try.”
“Uh huh…” you draw out your words. You don’t know why but you really want to find out what’s in there, what he could possibly be hiding, what’s so important that he’d need five guards to protect one door. “Is it some secret project? Is he building a time machine or a clone or something?”
“It’s classified,” he repeats flatly. “Now get lost before I have you escorted out.”
“Pretty sure I’m allowed to be in there,” you muse. “I mean, you clearly don’t believe me, but he is. My father that is. Tony Stark. I’m sure he would be pretty pissed to see his workers denying access to his own daughter now, wouldn’t he?”
“He has no familial relations with anyone within this building,” the guard explains. “Now this is your last warning. Leave. While I still have a little bit of patience left in me.”
“Fine,” you put up your arms in defeat. “I see how it is.”
You began to walk away, trying to think up a plan around it. That’s when you saw your opportunity. If you could get the guards to open up the door, then distract them enough to leave, then you’d have a one way ticket to waltz right in. It was crucial that your plan would be foolproof, otherwise you’d probably only find yourself in more trouble. You sat at one of the benches at the end of the hallway, eyeing the door every now and again to try and form a plan. That’s when the most peculiar thing had happened.
A boy about your age in a hoodie and ripped jeans clutched his bookbag straps with both hands, wavy hair and brown eyes, a bit anxious and jittery it seemed like, nodding at you as he passed. He walked right up to the door, reaching down in his pocket for an ID, and upon presenting it, the guards swung open the entrance and he walked right in. Your jaw practically dropped. He just walked right in there, like it was nothing, a piece of cake. You had no idea how he did it, much less after the guard had convinced you Mr. Stark was the only one allowed in. Something was going on and you knew it. You were determined to find out who that boy was and talk to him.
Unable to contain your frustration, you walk up to the guard at the door, hands on your hips. “Who was that?” you pout. “How come he gets to go in?”
“He’s an intern,” he simply replies. “Stark Internship.”
“Looks a little young to be an intern,” you argue.
“You look a little young to have so much confidence,” the guard counters. “Now get lost before you get into some real trouble.”
“Fine,” you mutter, walking away and retreating to your bench. There was only one option left, and that was to wait. So you waited and waited and waited, hours it seemed like, until the boy emerged once again, except different.
His sweatshirt was held in his arms, his bookbag slouched on his back, hair messy, tired eyes, and sweat coated his forehead. It looked like he had just gotten finished with a workout or something. It was quite attractive, really. You almost forgot why you had waited for him to get out. “Hey!” you jumped up when he walked past and he flinched, startled. “Oh god, didn’t mean to scare you there, haha. I’m y/n. You?”
“Uh…” he falters, confused. “Y/n?”
“Yeah, y/n,” you nod. “And you are?”
“Peter,” he offers a hand to shake, still hesitant. “Peter Parker.”
“Never seen you around here,” you hum and he nods.
“Yeah, I could say the same about you,” he gives a soft laugh. “What are you doing here?”
“Internship,” you lie and he blinks, suddenly interested.
“The S-Stark Internship?” he tilts his head to the side, confused.
“Yeah, just started a couple days ago actually,” you continue to fib, the look of confusion on his face growing even stronger.
“Oh,” he stares at you. “Um, funny I haven’t met you yet then. We’re usually all together…”
“I haven’t gotten my verification yet, uh, I lost it,” you add onto your nonsense of a story, hoping to fool him. “I was hoping maybe you could help let me in.”
“I don’t know,” he laughs nervously, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t really think we’re doing the same kind of internship.”
“Why? What’s yours like?” you question and he freezes.
“Mine?” he chokes. “Well um, like uh… robots?” He seems as unsure of his answer as you are.
“Yeah, yeah, like uh, artificial intelligence type stuff, real top secret, yeah,” he begins to ramble and you look at him strangely as he continues to fabricate an obvious lie. “You know that Siri type stuff and the Alexa, like the stuff that talks back, well Mr. Stark thought that we could build a Baymax type thing-”
“You’re not studying robots,” you say flatly. “Give it up, Parker.”
“Okay, yeah you’re right. I can’t tell you, I’m sorry,” he sighs. “Look, I’d love to, really, I would, but my um, my contract doesn’t allow it.”
“Alright,” you frown. “Whatever, it’s cool.”
“I don’t mean to be rude or anything,” he insists. “I’d love to tell you, really, I just-”
“No, no,” you tease. “I get it, I’m not special enough to know. It’s alright. Guess he just likes you better than me.”
“It’s not like that at all!” Peter cries and you have to keep yourself from chuckling. “I’m sure Mr. Stark respects all his interns the same, it’s just uh, I have a different sort of case you know.”
“I assume you’ll be back here around the same time tomorrow?” you inquire and the boy nods his head in approval. “I’ll be here, too. Talk to you then.”
“O-okay,” he replies, watching as you get up off the bench and walk away.
“See ya, Peter,” you salute goodbye.
“N-nice to meet you, y/n!” he stutters, standing there and blubbering like an idiot. He was such a nerd, and a klutz, and a horrible liar, but he was kind of cute you had to admit.
You’re taking the elevator up to your room and as soon as you walk in, you regret it. Tony’s sitting on the couch, waiting for you, arms crossed, disappointed look on his face. You groan, about to turn around and walk out, but he scolds you. “Hey,” he raises his voice. “Come here.”
“What?” you ask, annoyed, walking towards him.
“I pay a couple hundred for a therapy session and you just blow him off? Really?” he inquires and you stifle a laugh. “What? You think it’s funny?”
“Blow him off,” you smirk and he hardens his gaze.
“You know what? I’m sick of your sarcasm and sass and-” he has to stop, catching himself. “Alright, yeah, okay- it was kind of funny, I fucked up, but you know what I meant!” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just trying to help you, okay?”
“I don’t need therapy,” you state flatly. “I already told you, I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not fine,” he shakes his head. “Look, y/n…” He presses his lips together thoughtfully. “Sit down. Come on. Let’s talk.”
“Not really like I have a choice,” you mutter, reluctantly taking a seat on the sofa across from him.
“I went to court today for custody against your parents,” he explains in a low tone. “I read your case file. I know what happened.”
“So?” you stare at him and he seems pissed.
“You’ve been through a lot,” he insists. “I think it would be good for you to address some things to try and heal.”
“I don’t want to,” you argue. “I don’t need to.”
“You were abused, y/n,” he says and you look away, ashamed. Embarrassed. Scared. You didn’t like to talk about these sorts of things. “A lot happened in that house.”
“I know,” you whisper, looking down at your shoes. “I’m aware.”
“I’m just worried about you,” he confesses. “I want to do anything I can to help. I’m not uh, I’m not really good at the emotions and the feelings, but I’m trying. Alright? I know this can’t possibly be easy for you, but that doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me, or anyone else for that matter.”
“I’m scared,” you admit, and his eyes soften. “I’m afraid, alright? I’ve never had anyone give me an ounce of love, much less all of this.”
“I just want you to be okay,” Tony gently puts hand on your knee. “I care about you, y/n.”
“Thanks,” you give a half hearted smile.
“Now come on,” he stands up, extending a hand. “I think it’s about time I show you the game room.”
“The what room?” you wonder.
“Oh kid,” he laughs. “You are not even close to prepared for this.”
Your jaw drops at the sight when you walk through the double doors. He’s such an ass to leave this out from the tour, but you don’t complain, because the surprise is so worth it. There’s giant pinball machines, ski ball, arcade games, a virtual reality arena, movie screens, and neon lights everywhere. “I’ll kick your ass at pool,” you challenge and he grins.
“It’s on, loser,” he accepts.
Tony shows no mercy whatsoever. The game’s over before you even know it, and you’re kind of pissed, but at the same time, grateful. He wasn’t taking it easy on you at all. You beg for another round. And another, and another. Every single time he kicks your ass, but you don’t mind one bit. It’s kind of amusing to lose to him. You can’t remember the last time you ever played a game with anyone, much less your parents. He was actually kind of fun.
“Hey,” you bring it up as you clumsily knock the cue ball off the table, groaning. “Why’d you get all psycho on me this morning?”
“Hmm?” he wonders, flawlessly sinking two stripes into a corner pocket once you’ve fetched the ball and handed it to him.
“The escort to breakfast and then the therapist and showing up in my room,” you explain. “You were so chill yesterday.”
“I didn’t know about your case yesterday,” he shrugs. “Now I do.”
“What?” you snort. “So now my sob story made you all teary eyed and heartbroken so you’ve got to suffocate me in bubble wrap before I so much as take a step outside the house?”
“Hey,” he snaps. “It’s cause I care.”
“Too much,” you roll your eyes but he tosses his cue to the floor suddenly, startling you.
“Well everyone else didn’t care enough!” he argues, angry. “They hurt you, y/n! They hurt you because I wasn’t there to protect you! Because I didn’t care enough to stick around! To check up on you! To make sure you’re okay!”
“Tony-” you reach out a hand, scared, but he shakes his head.
“I only found you once it was too late,” he insists. “And even then, it wasn’t even me. It was through the agency. Goddammit…” He looks up at you with tired eyes. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I care so goddamn much. But it’s only cause nobody else fucking does.”
He storms out of the room and you stand there, trying to process it all. You’ve never had anyone ever feel this way about you before. Not friends, not relatives, and certainly not your dad. It was overwhelming, yet refreshing. But it definitely took some time to get used to.
The next day you waited around anxiously at the bench for that kid to come along. It was gnawing at your brain all day wondering what he was doing there, why he was so young, and why the hell he was allowed to go to the one place you couldn’t. A part of you was too afraid to ask Tony about it, mostly because you knew if you kept persisting, he would guess something was up. Sure enough, around the same time, Peter came along, waving at you as he approached.
“Y/n, right?” he gave a warm smile.
“Yup, that’s me,” you nod. “So…”
“I’ve got to go to my internship,” he reminds, pointing at the door. “But uh, if you want to talk later, I’m free. Still don’t really know what you want to do with me though.” He gives a forced laugh.
“It’s all good,” you insist, but then suddenly, as he begins to walk away, you grab him by the bookbag.
“Woah!” he stumbles back and you steady him, apologizing.
“Sorry, sorry, look I’ve just-” you try to catch your breath. “I really need to find out what’s behind those two doors. I can’t help but feel like he’s hiding something back there.”
“Well he wouldn’t keep it so secret if he wasn’t,” Peter reminds and you roll your eyes. He’s about as much as a smartass as you are.
“Look, I just want to know, alright?” you beg. “I don’t know why, but I really do. It’s like something’s calling me.”
“Uh huh,” he looks at you weirdly. “Look, you’re really cute and extremely determined, but I can’t tell you what’s back there. I promised Mr. Stark I wouldn’t tell anyone, okay?”
You stare at him, blinking.
“You think I’m cute,” you blush and he looks away, embarrassed.
“Yeah, yeah,” he dismisses. “Good luck with your little mission there, y/n.” He begins to walk away again, but then stops, turning around. “Um…”
“Yeah?” you raise an eyebrow, smiling.
“If you uh, I don’t know, maybe want to hang out later? I wouldn’t mind at all, I mean, I’ve got time, and I-” he starts rambling again and you just laugh, shaking your head.
“Sure, Peter,” you smile back. “I’d love to hang out. See you after work.”
“Y-yeah,” he grins, stuttering. “O-okay, see you then.” He races off, and you laugh to yourself, thinking he’s awful cute. However, your question still wasn’t answered. What the hell was behind that door?
Before you knew it, you were eating churros with Peter in the game room, facing him off at a couple rounds of Mario Kart. “You so suck at this game,” you tease playfully as you sped past him into first place.
“Whatever!” he whines. “It’s only cause you keep throwing shells at me.”
“Aha!” you race to the finish line, ending the round, beating him by only a couple points.
“No fair,” he groans, reaching for his churro and sighing.
“Hey,” you nudge him softly. “We should play a game for something.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Like…” you pause, trying to think of something. “Let’s play a game of pool. If I win, then you have to show me what’s behind those two doors. If you win, um…”
“If I win then you get to be my girlfriend?” he quips and you stare at him, rolling your eyes.
“Sure, I’ll be your girlfriend,” you agree. “But only if you win!”
“Alright, how hard can pool be?” he shrugs, taking a bite of his churro, but frowns as he approaches the billiard table. “Aw shit, yeah. Pool is kind of hard.”
“I suck at it,” you reassure. “Don’t sweat it.”
“You’re the one who chose it, you can’t possibly be bad,” he argues.
“Bad enough to lose to Mr. Stark several times in a row,” you insist, and he stares at you, dumbfounded.
“Y-you played pool with him?” he wonders, amazed. “He’s never played pool with me!”
“We have a weird relationship,” you quickly tell him, forgetting that you were putting up a front as an intern as well. It would be weird to tell him you were Tony’s daughter, especially if you ended up losing this bet. You had to win. The cure to your curiosity depended on it.
“Now come on. Let’s play,” Peter smiles, releasing the balls from the wooden triangle formation at the center of the table. “I’ve got a girl to win over.”
“Uh huh,” you roll your eyes, chuckling. “Good luck with that.”
The tension in the room grows stronger with each click of a ball against the cue, solids and stripes soaring across the table clumsily, seldom ever sinking into a pocket. This was going to be a long game. Simply put, both of you sucked ass at pool. At least it would be a fair game. No matter how hard you tried to concentrate and angle each hit, you just couldn’t seem to master it. And for Peter, well, he was just as disoriented and confused about the game as you were.
“Oh no,” Peter’s eyes widened at the realization. “You’ve only got two left.”
“Aha!” you grin as you count the number of stripes left on the table. “Have fun trying to catch up!”
As your ego grew, somehow so did you skill, and you sunk the last two stripes into the pockets, squealing with joy. “Shit,” Peter’s face fell and you grin, making him bury his face in his hands.
“Take me to the hidden lair,” you muse and he looks devastated.
“No, no, no, no I was supposed to win,” he shakes his head, then looks up at you, horrified. “Oh god, I was supposed to win, oh no.”
“We had a deal, Parker,” you hum happily. “Better keep to your end of it.”
“Oh no,” he just keeps repeating it over and over again, running his hand through his hair, looking absolutely ruined.
“Come on,” you put a hand on his shoulder and he freezes up, looking at you, anxious. “It can’t possibly be that bad.”
“Look, I could get in such big trouble for this,” he hisses. “Like, I could get fired. Or killed.”
“Killed?” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “Uh huh, I’m sure he’d just chop your head off.” You sober up, narrowing your eyes. “Look, you’ll be just fine. I’m sure he won’t even notice.”
“Okay,” Peter mutters. “But if I get in trouble for this, I am so ratting you out.”
“Be my guest,” you bluff, although you feel queasy inside.
Both of you lay low and play a couple games of ping pong until your nerves cool down and its late in the afternoon. According to Peter, there’s less security after business hours when the building is closed to the public, so that’s the best time to do it. Plus, you couldn’t argue with him, seeing as you genuinely enjoyed spending time with him. He was quirky, nerdy, a bit flirty, adorable, and clever. He was hella nervous and apologetic though, which while at first was annoying, proved to be quite cute. You would be lying if you said you didn’t have a teeny tiny crush on him.
“Come on!” he whispers, beckoning you towards the door. “Look!”
To your surprise, there aren’t any guards around at all. None of them, really. You rush alongside him down the hallway, to the doors where he swipes his card, places his fingerprint on a screen, and types in a password before gaining access. You find yourself right at his heels, amazed by it all, but eager to know the truth all the same. There’s several doors, and surprisingly no security guards at all of them, just the same round of check up on identity, which Peter seems to have down pat. When the double doors swing open into a large room full of screens, technology, and statues, you gasp. It’s amazing.
“So uh,” Peter scratches the back of his head and laughs nervously. “What do you think?”
“Oh my god,” you come to the realization when you focus in on the statues, which you realize aren’t statues, but suits. “Please don’t tell me he’s some big superhero fan boy or something.”
There’s dozens of them, Ironman suits, lining the walls. It makes you chuckle. There’s the classic and then upgraded ones, ones with special add ons and colors, plenty of variety among them. You’ve seen him on the nightly news and in magazines and posters in classrooms and your old friends’ bedrooms. Ironman. Your mother hated superheroes and told you to stay away from them, mostly because they were too politically invested. A part of you told yourself that they were silly, dressing up in costumes and fighting crimes the government was too incapable of handling, only to disappear and never be seen again. But deep down inside, they had always kind of interested you.
“Uh… that’s not really it,” Peter murmurs, still scared to tell you the truth.
“Then what’s with all the memorabilia?” you gesture around the room, confused. “He looks like Ironman’s biggest fanboy.”
“It’s not memorabilia, it’s real,” he explains. “These suits are real. All of it.”
“So that,” you point to the giant Avengers symbol on the wall. “That’s supposed to convince me that all the Avengers meet up at Stark Industries? What? Is this a paid sponsorship kind of ordeal or something?”
“Y/n,” Peter warns. “I don’t think you get the idea.”
“Clearly I don’t,” you fold your arms over your chest. “So spill.”
“I’m Spiderman, alright?” he blurts out, and you burst out laughing.
“Wow,” you say sarcastically. “I am so amused. Really? You think I’m going to buy that bullshit?”
“I am!” he cries and you just laugh harder.
“You? Spiderman?” you look him up and down and stifle a chuckle. “Right, right.”
“Hey,” he toughens his gaze. “You know what? Give me a minute. I’ll be right back.”
“Uh huh,” you sigh as he walks away. “Okay, whatever.”
It seems like as soon as he’s turned the corner there’s someone who jumps out, except in one of those colorful spandex suits, and- “Sorry!” his voice yelps as you come tumbling down to the floor, hit by a spiderweb.
“What the fuck!” you exclaim, hitting the ground in an instant, a sticky thread tying your stomach down to the floor. You look up, watching what looks to be Spiderman swing from the ceiling tiles back and forth, spewing webs from his fingertips and bouncing around, before landing at your feet, helping you up, letting you untangle yourself from the mess.
“Didn’t want to hurt you, but you didn’t believe me,” he shrugs, unzipping the mask and letting his face be revealed.
“Peter?” you eyes widen. “But- b-but Spiderman was just-”
“I am Spiderman,” he narrows his eyes. “See?” He raises the mask, sighing. “You didn’t believe me so I had to show you.”
“What the hell,” you mutter, thinking you must be hallucinating, watching as he swings up and off of a ceiling tile once again, making a circle around the room before landing at your feet perfectly, giving a soft breathy laugh of exhaustion and happiness.
“You’re Spiderman,” you state strangely. “Then what’s with the Ironman shit?”
“Mr. Stark isn’t always Mr. Stark,” Peter gives a knowing look. He gestures towards the array of suits and your heart almost stops. You’ve connected the dots.
“Holy shit,” you breathe. “He’s Ironman?”
“Yeah,” a voice startles both of you from behind and you jump, turning around, and utter dread paralyzing your very being. “I’m Ironman, and both of you are in huge fucking trouble.”
“M-Mr. Stark, nice to see you this evening,” Peter tries to put on an apologetic smile but Tony’s eyes show no sympathy.
“What the hell, kid?” he shouts. “You think this is some sort of game? That you can show your powers off to your friends? Reveal my identity? Huh?” He turns towards you and he just about loses his shit. “And y/n? Seriously? What the hell?”
“You were the one keeping secrets,” you argue and he gives you a death glare.
“Oh? So it’s my fault?” he looks pissed as hell. “I cannot believe the two of you.” He suddenly stares at Peter, disgusted. “And you. What are you doing hanging around my daughter?”
“Your daughter?” Peter raises an eyebrow and you shrink.
“Yeah, y/n’s my daughter,” he says firmly. “I bet she conveniently left that out for you.”
“I-I I had no idea sir,” Peter stutters and he rolls his eyes, frustrated and exhausted.
“Look, both of you need to remember some manners and some rules,” he sighs. “Y/n, no wandering. Mr. Parker, no talking to my daughter.”
“Mr. Stark!” he whines but Tony shushes him simply with a hand.
“I can’t trust you around her, you’ve already gotten her into too much trouble,” he snaps but Peter looks devastated.
“I promise I’ll be on my best behavior,” he insists.
“Yeah Tony, it was my fault anyways, really, I’m the one who pressured him into showing me,” you agree but he shakes his head.
“I don’t like the looks of you two together,” he points a finger at both of you. “Too much, uh…” He tries to think of a word but just shakes his head again, sighing. “Too much, okay? You’ll send me straight to cardiac arrest.” He clicks his tongue, groaning in frustration. “You know I have anxiety issues. Damn it.”
“Tony,” you begin but he hardens his gaze.
“You go to sleep. Now,” he demands. “And hey, Pete? You’re going to have a little word with me, alright? Not another word from either of you.”
“Yes sir,” he swallows down his anxiety.
“Sorry,” you mouth to him, slowly exiting the room, dreading whatever he’s going to say to you later.
Once you return to your room, you face plant yourself into the pile of pillows and flop onto the blankets, disappointed in yourself. Of course Tony would’ve found out! He had cameras crawling all over the place, and he probably knew you would sneak in, and that’s why he rescinded all the security guards. Much less, he had the audacity to act like you and Peter weren’t allowed to be friends simply because you were his daughter. It made you sick. You made your first friend in forever, potential boyfriend, and he had screwed that up for you too. When there was a knock on the door, you didn’t even bother lifting your head. There was another knock, and you groaned aloud.
“Hey, I know you’re in there,” he calls out and you groan again, much more audible this time. “Alright I’m coming in, kiddo.”
The door swings open and you lift your head groggily, but only because you have to. “You don’t even have to yell at me, I’ve already learned my lesson,” you sigh. “Save your words, I now know better than to-”
“Shut it,” Tony interrupts, unamused. “Let’s talk.”
“Fine,” you surrender, sitting up, facing him.
“You know now,” he states softly, a bit of worry lingering within his eyes. “You’re right. You know. Far too much. And that puts you in danger.”
“In danger of what?” you scowl. “You think the bad guys are going to come for me all of a sudden?”
“You know things you shouldn’t. About both me and your friend,” he continues. “I just want to make sure you’re safe, and in order to do that, you need to swear to me on your life that you won’t tell anyone.”
“My life’s not worth much,” you admit and he glares at you. “Alright, alright, I’ll cut the bullshit. I don’t even have anyone to tell anyways.”
“Promise me,” his gaze pierces you, intimidating and threatening all the same. “Promise me that you won’t tell a single soul.”
“Promise,” you repeat. “But hey, didn’t you take it a little harsh on Peter?”
“I told him what he needed to hear,” Tony simply replies. “Stay away from him and it’ll be one less problem to worry about.”
“I don’t know why you’re making him out to be such a horrible guy,” you whine. “He’s actually pretty nice.”
“I know that kid better than you do,” he narrows his eyes. “Trust me, he’s way too busy for a girlfriend. And if anything happens to him, you’d be devastated. It’s best he keeps his head on straight and does what he needs to get done around here. Last I checked, that’s not breaking into my facilities after hours and talking to my teenage daughter.”
“Ugh,” you groan. “Okay, fine. Whatever.”
“Also, you’re going to school tomorrow,” he says and you sit up even farther, eyes widening.
“Excuse me?” you stare at him, sick and shocked all at the same time.
“It’s government legislation, you’re going back to school,” he insists.
“I can’t go to school,” you argue. “I don’t want to.”
“Well you are,” he states. “And that’s that.”
“Why?” you persist and he grumbles.
“Because I said so! That’s why!” he throws his hands up in the air. “God, I already had one teenager to worry about and now I have two.” He mutters to himself and then sighs, cooling off. “Okay, look, I’m sorry. Maybe I am being a bit too harsh, but if there’s one thing I’m not changing my mind on, it’s you going to school. Alright?”
“Okay,” you murmur, defeated.
“I’ll think about you and Pete tomorrow,” he reassures. “For now, you need to get some sleep. Okay, y/n?”
“Yeah, yeah,” you nod. “Thanks.”
“Of course,” he gives a small smile. “Sorry I’m such a jackass all the time, just trying to look out for you.”
“I know,” you mouth. “Thank you.”
He nods and then turns on his heels to leave the room, shutting the door behind him, leaving you exhausted, tired, and scared. Extremely scared about tomorrow.
Walking down the hallways of lockers only reminded you of just how much you hated school. It was a miserable, terrible, horrible place full of people who sucked. Including you, actually. You were a lousy student with bad grades, you often got caught up into fights and the occasional drugs, and you didn’t care for any extracurricular activities. You slept through classes, avoided lunch, and skipped whenever you deemed fit. You wanted to try this time around though. For Tony. For how much he tried for you.
“Hey,” you felt someone bump your side and you were about to throw a punch when you faltered, realizing it was your friend.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry-” you begin apologize, but he laughs.
“It’s all good,” he reassures. “Sorry about yesterday.”
“Yeah, I got an earful too,” you roll your eyes. “Much less, it wasn’t your fault, you shouldn’t be apologizing.”
“I know but still,” he shrugs. “Anyways, heard you’re new around here.”
“Yup,” you sigh. “Everything kind of sucks.”
“That’s school for you,” he replies. “But hey, you should join some extracurriculars so we can hang out more. Like maybe Robotics Club or Science Olympiad or Debate Team-”
“God you’re such a nerd!” you chuckle. “You’re kidding right?”
“No,” he looks at you, frowning. “For real. It’s awesome.”
“Robotics Club,” you narrow your eyes. “Do I really look like the type to join Academic teams?”
“Sure,” he insists. “Why not?”
“Cause that’s for losers,” you put a big L on your forehead. “And I’m not a loser.”
“You’re the new kid,” he quips. “Sounds like a loser to me.”
“Hey!” you playfully jab him in the shoulder and his laughter dies down.
“I’m just saying, there’s a meeting at lunch in the Chemistry lab if you have nothing better to do,” he offers, checking his watch. “Catch you later! Wouldn’t want to be late to next period.”
“See ya, Parker,” you wave goodbye, thinking about it as you walked into your next class. Robotics Club? Really? Was that how you wanted to be known at your new school? You stared absent mindedly at the chalkboard, pondering the idea. What else did you have to lose? You promised yourself that you’d try, right?
Sure enough, at lunch you walked into the Chemistry labs with a red tray containing overcooked chicken tenders, a handful of ketchup packets, a chocolate milk cartoon, a cookie, and a couple carrot sticks with a cup of ranch. “I am soooo stealing that cookie,” Peter grins and you swat his hand away, sitting next to him.
“No the hell you aren’t,” you argue.
“Alright, alright,” he surrenders. “I should probably introduce you to my friends. This is Ned and MJ.”
“Oh, hey!” you give a wave and they stare at you up from their toolboxes and metal parts.
“Do you have a genuine interest in engineering or are you just here cause Peter’s hot?” Ned narrows his eyes and you scoff.
“What?” you stare at him.
“Girls only come into this room because they have to for class or cause Peter Parker’s in here,” MJ explains. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“Guys too,” Ned quietly adds and MJ nods in agreement.
“Well I’m here cause he’s here but not cause he’s cute or anything like that,” you argue, catching Peter’s glance and you catch yourself. “N-not saying that he isn’t cute but like-”
“She’s one of them,” Ned sighs. “Yup.”
“No I’m not!” you insist. “I’m here cause Peter’s my friend.”
“Boyfriend,” MJ teases and you sigh.
“Nuh uh. Last I checked, he lost his end of the bet,” you remind and both of their ears perk up.
“Bet?” Ned inquires, dropping his screwdriver.
“Uh…” you suddenly remember what your side of the deal was and you freeze. You can’t possibly tell them the truth!
“She wanted to know about the thing,” Peter simply shrugs and they both go “Ahhh” before nodding and going back to their work.
“Wait. The thing?” you turn towards him. “They know?”
“Yeah,” he says, as if it’s something obvious. “They’re my best friends, of course they know.”
“They know you’re Spiderman?” you hiss and all three of them whip their heads at you, wide eyed.
“Quiet!” they snap in warning, flitting eyes around the room at the others, thankful nobody else heard.
“Shit, sorry,” you put up your hands defensively. “Didn’t mean to say it aloud.”
“Better not,” MJ warns. “It’s top secret.”
“Alright, alright,” you continue to apologize. “Enough of that. Why don’t you show me how to help with that circuit board?”
“I’d love to,” Peter grins. “Come on, we still have a good twenty minutes left.”
When you get home from school, you go up to your room to find a gift basket, making you raise an eyebrow. It was filled with all sorts of snacks and an assortment of different goodies like makeup, stuffed animals, and even a couple gift cards. What was this for? You toss your bookbag to the floor and notice a little card with a crudely drawn smiley face on the front, and you open it up, smiling. “Hey y/n! Hope you had a great day at school, kiddo! Sorry I’m not there to say it myself, but I’m currently on a business trip. I’ll be back in a couple days. Feel free to hang out with Parker while I’m gone, sorry I was hard on you both.” Your eyes gravitate towards the bottom of the card, where you feel your eyes start to get teary. “Stay safe. I care about you, really. And as weird as this might sound, I love you. Okay? Stay out of too much trouble! Love, Dad.” You hold the card to your heart, and although it might seem cheesy, it really does mean a lot to you. Almost to the point of shedding a tear.
You’ve never had anyone care about you this much. Not MJ or Ned, not your new best friend Peter, and definitely not your dad. It meant the world. And now to think that you had friends, a potential boyfriend, and a caring father, it seemed as if everything was perfect. Although, you still had a lot to find out. The whole superhero identity thing, classes at school, what you’d do in Robotics Club without knowing a single thing about Robotics- although, you assumed, Tony could probably help you out, being goddamn Ironman and everything. You laughed a little to yourself, still staring at the card in your hands. Not knowing was okay sometimes. In fact, it only made you even more excited to the future to come. Cause you were happy and healthy and safe and you finally knew who your dad was for once in your life- and you couldn’t possibly ask for anything more, because you would have never asked for anyone else.
“I love you too, Dad,” you whispered, still smiling. “Love you, too.”
