Chapter Text
Tony Stark never planned on being a father, but life had other ideas. Now, he has a one-year-old son, Peter, a tiny bundle of chaos who can’t speak yet but has already stolen Tony’s heart. Keeping Peter a secret from the world is easy—until it isn’t. When an old enemy targets Stark Industries, Tony must protect his greatest invention yet: his son.
Tony Stark prided himself on many things—his genius, his charm, his ability to build world-changing technology in a cave with a box of scraps. But nothing, absolutely nothing, came close to the pride he felt when he looked at the tiny human currently using his Arc Reactor as a teething toy.
“Okay, bud, I know it’s shiny, but how about we don’t chew on the thing that keeps Daddy alive, huh?” Tony carefully pried Peter’s chubby fingers away from the glowing centerpiece of his chest. Peter just blinked up at him with those big brown eyes, gurgled happily, and stuck his fist in his mouth instead.
Tony sighed, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He had a billion-dollar company to run, a superhero suit to maintain, and an ever-growing list of people who wanted him dead. And yet, the most difficult challenge of his life?
Raising a baby.
“Jarvis, how long until naptime?” Tony asked, rocking Peter gently in his arms.
“If Master Peter follows his usual schedule, he should fall asleep in approximately seventeen minutes,” JARVIS responded smoothly.
“Seventeen minutes, huh?” Tony smirked. “That’s enough time to fix up the—”
A loud wail cut him off.
Tony froze.
Peter’s little face scrunched up, his tiny hands flailing as he let out a frustrated cry.
“Okay, okay, what is it now?” Tony quickly bounced him, checking his diaper (clean), offering him a bottle (rejected), and even pulling out Dum-E’s mechanical claw to offer a plushie (also rejected).
Peter only cried harder.
Tony panicked. He could defuse bombs, outthink corporate sharks, and survive a battle with aliens. But a crying baby? That was a whole different battlefield.
“Come on, kid, give me something to work with,” he pleaded.
Peter sniffled, hiccupped, and then, out of nowhere, reached up—grasping a handful of Tony’s beard.
“Ouch! Okay, okay, that’s new,” Tony muttered, gently detaching tiny fingers from his face.
Peter blinked up at him, sniffing. Then, as if deciding his Daddy’s face was his favorite comfort object, he buried his little head into Tony’s neck, going quiet.
Tony stilled.
The warmth of Peter’s small body, the soft puffs of his baby breath against his skin—it was enough to make Tony’s heart squeeze.
“…You just wanted cuddles, huh?” he murmured.
Peter didn’t answer, obviously, but the way he curled closer told Tony everything he needed to know.
Tony sighed in defeat, tightening his hold on his son. “Yeah, okay, kid. I got you.”
And just like that, Peter drifted off to sleep, safe and sound in his father’s arms.
Tony sat there for a long moment, listening to the steady breathing of the tiny human who had become the center of his world.
He would protect this kid with everything he had.
No matter what.