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ptergwen · 2 months ago

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dad!peter and overprotective tony omg 😭🫶

hi, Q! Love your fics and wanted to request one.

I wanted to request a fic of Stark!Reader and Peter Parker, getting pregnant in their teens some angst(Tony kinda hates him)yada yada skip some time and their kid is like 3 and ruins Peters wedding proposal(like by maybe finding the ring box and asking Tony and reader what the box was)in front of the other avengers(like Sam, nat, Steve and Bucky who were tying to help him set it up.

Hi! I'm so sorry, I didn't see your request. You requested way before I turned my request off. So, I hope you enjoy your requested fic.

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𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬

Parings → Peter Parker x Stark! Reader

Warnings → Teen pregnancy, panic, slight cursing, protective Tony Stark, mild emotional distress, dramatic reader energy, Peter being the softest bean but terrified of dying via Iron Dad, accidental proposal, chaos toddler.

Summary → A broken condom. A pregnancy. Tony’s fury. Peter’s panic. And somehow, a chaotic toddler and surprise proposal later, pure love.

It all started with one condom breaking.

One. Freaking. Condom. The deadliest snap of latex in human history.

You and Peter had been together since you were sixteen...young, stupid, head over heels, and utterly inseparable. Every kiss felt like gravity was pulling you into each other. Every glance lasted too long. And that first time? It had been awkward and sweet and fumbly and perfect, wrapped in giggles and whispered “I love you”s. You were careful. But even the universe sometimes has other plans.

And yours apparently included becoming a mother at seventeen.

---

You stared at the test. It stared back.

Your bathroom—plush, sleek, and obnoxiously Stark in every way—suddenly felt like a prison. The walls were closing in. The marble tiles were too white. The mirror was mocking you.

Two. Pink. Lines.

“No,” you whispered, like it might change things. “No no no no—oh my god, no! ”

You clutched the sink, knuckles white. Your heartbeat was thunder. Your stomach did a full Olympic flip. This couldn’t be real.

“I’m dying,” you said out loud. “I’m literally dying. I’m going to combust. I’m seventeen and pregnant and dying.”

And like any logical teenager with billionaire parents and a genius-level IQ, you did the most sensible thing you could think of:

You fainted.

---

You came back to with Peter kneeling beside you, his face soaked in terror.

“Babe?! Babe?! Y/N, are you okay?! You’re breathing weird—oh god—should I call an ambulance? Should I—”

You groaned. “Peter…”

He flinched like you’d cursed his entire bloodline. “Oh thank god. You passed out! Why’d you pass out?! Did you hit your head?! Wait—were you electrocuted?! I told you not use your straightener in the—”

You sat up and shoved the pregnancy test in his chest like it was radioactive.

Peter blinked. Took it. Looked at it.

And then…

“Oh.”

Silence.

Then: “Oh.”

Then, louder: “OH MY GOD—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth. “Do not say ‘pregnant’ in a Stark-owned building with FRIDAY always listening like a spy! She’ll tell my dad and then my dad will kill you, and I’m not emotionally ready to lose my boyfriend and my dignity in the same week!”

Peter was pale. Like sickly snowman pale. “We used protection. We always use protection. I’m always careful. I even checked the expiry date! ”

“Maybe it broke,” you said weakly. “I don’t know. I’m not a physicist—”

“—you got an A in Physics—”

“—OKAY BUT NOT A BABY IN PHYSICS!”

The panic was contagious. Your voice cracked. Peter looked like he might faint too.

You took a deep breath, tried to remember any coping skill your therapist taught you. Deep breathing, positive visualization, not setting your billionaire father’s penthouse on fire...

Peter ran a hand through his curls, pacing like he was rewinding every moment of his short life.

“Okay. Okay, we can fix this. I mean—not fix it like—not like get rid of it! Unless you want to! I’ll support you no matter what! I’m just saying—oh my god you’re pregnant. You’re pregnant. I put a baby in Tony Stark’s daughter. He’s going to launch me into the sun—”

“Peter.”

“THE SUN, Y/N—”

“Peter, for the love of God, stop spiraling and sit down before you have an asthma attack.”

He obeyed like a kicked puppy. You sat beside him, shoulders touching. Both of you stared at the test like it might disappear if you blinked hard enough.

“I’m scared,” you whispered.

Peter turned his head to look at you. His eyes were glassy. “Me too.”

A beat.

“Do you hate me?”

Your heart broke. You shook your head instantly and crawled into his lap. “No. Of course not. You’re the only reason I’m not sobbing right now. I love you, Peter.”

“I love you too,” he said, arms tightening around you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I’m still going to sob later,” you mumbled. “In the fetal position. With a whole chocolate cake.”

Peter offered a watery chuckle. “Yeah. I’ll bring the forks.”

---

You didn’t tell Tony immediately.

You wanted to. You wanted to rip the bandaid off. But every time you thought about it, a vivid image of Iron Man frying Peter like a chicken nugget clouded your brain.

But you didn’t get the chance to delay for long. Because of course. Of course your dad would find out on his own.

---

It started with a med scan.

You’d been feeling faint a lot lately—your iron levels were tanking from the pregnancy. And Tony, ever the “my daughter sneezes, we run diagnostics” type of dad, ran a quick check with FRIDAY.

And there it was.

The bun in the oven.

Tony froze.

You were in the middle of sipping orange juice when he burst into your room like a goddamn hurricane.

“Whose child is it?!” He demanded.

You choked and sprayed juice everywhere. “DAD—”

“Don’t play dumb with me, young lady, I invented the dumb teenager routine! Are you pregnant?!”

“...Yes.”

“WHO IS IT.”

“...Peter.”

He went dead silent.

His eye twitched.

He turned around and walked out the room.

You heard him yell, “FRIDAY, locate Spider-Boy. And prep the Hulkbuster—”

“DAD NO—”

---

The Avengers Compound had never heard so much yelling in one day.

Bruce was hiding in the lab so he doesn't hulk out from all the distress. Natasha was already pouring whiskey for drama.

Steve had his “I am disappointment” dad face on.

Bucky was taking bets with Sam in the hallway.

Tony tore into Peter like he’d personally offended every Stark ancestor

“I trusted you!”

“I—I didn’t mean to—I mean I did mean to but not this—”

“You got my daughter pregnant in high school!”

“You said I could date her!”

“I didn’t say you could raw dog her in my house—”

“DAD!!”

Peter stood his ground the best he could, but there were literal beads of sweat forming under his curls. His hands were shaking. His voice cracked.

“I love her,” he said finally. “I love her. I didn’t want this to happen so soon but—I’m not going anywhere. I’ll do whatever I have to. I’ll get a job. I’ll quit being Spider-Man if I have to. I don’t care what happens to me, as long as she and the baby are okay.”

Your dad stared at him.

And for a moment, you saw something flicker in his eyes—something other than rage. Regret, maybe. Fear.

Then he scoffed and walked away. “You better be ready, Spider-Boy. Because if you’re not... I will end you.”

---

You and Peter sat on your bed for hours that night.

You’d cried. He’d cried.

“I’m scared I’m gonna ruin everything,” he said into your neck.

“You won’t,” you whispered. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

---

It wasn’t easy.

But it was real.

You loved each other. And a tiny heartbeat had already begun to grow between you—unplanned, unexpected, but so deeply loved already.

You were seventeen.

You were pregnant.

You were terrified.

But you had Peter Parker.

And somehow… that made it a little less scary.

--------

Four Years Later

The Avengers Compound was not designed for toddlers.

It had reinforced walls, biometric security, and an automated defense system strong enough to vaporize a small country—but none of it prepared for Benjamin Anthony Stark Parker, age three, chaos incarnate, and absolutely obsessed with putting his sticky fingers where they didn’t belong.

“BEN!!” You yelled as you chased him down the hallway, barefoot, in Peter's t-shirt and shorts. “Put the screwdriver down!”

Ben cackled and kept running, holding a Stark Industries screwdriver like it was the freaking Tesseract. “I fix Daddy’s webs!!”

“BABE—” you shouted toward the kitchen. “YOUR CHILD IS TRYING TO TAKE APART THE WALL!”

Peter poked his head out of the doorway, holding Ben’s Spider-Man sippy cup like it was a fragile artifact. “Technically he’s got good instincts. Kid’s gonna be an engineer.”

“He’s gonna be grounded for a century.”

Peter strolled over and scooped Ben up mid-run like a damn pro, tossing him in the air with that confident dad-grip that used to give you heart attacks but now just made you melt.

Ben squealed, dropping the screwdriver. “I FLY!”

“You sure do, little man,” Peter said, kissing his cheek. “Now what did we say about stealing tools from Grandpa Tony’s lab?”

Ben grinned. “Only when he’s not lookin’.”

You slapped your forehead. “God, he really is your copy.”

Peter shot you a proud smile. “What can I say? He’s got the Parker charm.”

You gave him a look. “You mean the Parker chaos.”

Ben wiggled in his arms and pointed. “Hungry!”

Peter nodded, already heading back toward the kitchen. “French toast with banana slices it is.”

“...and chocolate chip cookies!” Ben added hopefully.

You pointed dramatically. “One. One chocolate chip cookie.”

Ben gasped. “Nooo!”

Peter laughed so hard he almost dropped him.

---

Your little family had been living at the Compound ever since Ben was born. After the initial dust settled—Tony’s anger, your emotional breakdowns, Peter nearly passing out at Ben’s birth—your dad had done something unexpected.

He gave you your own floor.

"Fine," he’d grumbled, hands shoved into his pockets. "You two want to play house? Then do it properly. But if I hear so much as one 'oops, we forgot to babyproof the lab,' I will relocate you to New Jersey."

You and Peter had moved in the next day.

It was perfect. A cozy living room, an open kitchen, a nursery that will eventually turn into a "tiny explorer’s lab" as Ben got older. Peter even built a little loft corner where Ben could pretend to "web-swing" off the walls using foam ropes. (Tony may or may not have helped improve the safety harness after Ben launched himself into the couch too hard once.)

---

Peter adored being a dad.

You’d known he would. But seeing him in it? Pure magic.

He woke up early just to make smiley-face pancakes. He could fall asleep mid-cartoon marathon with Ben curled against his chest like it was the easiest thing in the world. He read bedtime stories in different voices—gave Winnie the Pooh a Queens accent once. He was gentle. Funny. Endlessly patient.

And yeah, he still freaked out sometimes—like the time Ben fell and scraped his knee and Peter called Bruce in a full-blown panic because “IS HE BLEEDING TOO MUCH? WHAT IF HE HAS A BLOOD DISORDER?!”

But you loved him more for it.

---

Today, though, something was off.

Peter had been... twitchy. Nervous. Kind of adorable but also suspicious. You caught him whispering with Bucky in the gym, texting Steve, and at one point, you walked in on him in the supply closet muttering, "No, I don’t want rose petals, Cap, she’ll make fun of me—"

You didn’t push it. But you knew something was up.

Ben, however, had no such restraint. He watched everything. Heard everything. Absorbed secrets like a nosy little sponge.

Which... became relevant very fast.

---

Later that afternoon, you were curled up on the couch with Natasha and Wanda, sipping tea and watching Ben try to teach his stuffed Iron Man how to do push-ups.

Tony walked in with Bucky and Steve, holding some kind of tech pad and rambling about AI upgrades. That’s when Ben turned around, climbing up onto the couch like a wild cat.

“Grandpa!” He chirped. “What’s a ring box?”

You froze.

Tony blinked. “A what?”

“A ring box,” Ben said again, climbing into his lap like it was nothing. “I found a tiny box in Daddy’s sock drawer! It’s shiny and has a sparkly thing inside! Daddy called it a ring box.”

The silence that followed could’ve been bottled and sold as tension.

Steve coughed. Bucky looked at the ceiling. Nat raised a slow eyebrow. You stared at your son like he’d just detonated a nuclear bomb with his juice-stained fingers.

Tony squinted. “What color was the sparkly thing?”

“White!” Ben said proudly. “And round! I wanted to wear it but it's too big.”

Tony slowly turned his head to look at you.

“Y/N... please tell me your idiot boyfriend didn’t give a three-year-old access to a diamond ring.”

You were already standing. “BENJAMIN. ANTHONY. STARK. PARKER.”

Ben shrank into Tony’s arms like a gremlin. “Uh-oh. Mama's mad.”

Tony looked far too pleased. “You didn’t know?”

“Of course I didn’t know!!” You whined.

Nat raised a hand like she was in class. “Should we be texting Peter or...?”

Too late.

Peter walked in from the hallway, humming to himself, holding a folder and a juice box, looking far too smug about something. His smile dropped instantly when he saw all of you staring at him—and Ben sitting in Tony’s lap like a tiny traitor.

“Uh..,” Peter said. “What happened? What did he do? Is he bleeding? Did he put a fork in an outlet again—”

Ben stood up on the couch. “DADDY! I told Mommy and Grandpa about the ring box!”

Peter. Went. White.

“...What.”

Ben nodded. “The shiny box you said was for the big surprise! I didn’t take it! Just looked! I’m good! But mommy's mad!”

Steve stood. “I’ll go start the backup proposal plan.”

“Don’t you dare,” Peter whispered.

Nat was smirking. Bucky had his phone out. Tony looked ready to have a heart attack. And you? You just crossed your arms.

“Peter Benjamin Parker. Were you going to propose to me?”

Peter looked like a man on trial for treason. “...No?”

“Peter.”

“Okay yes but it was supposed to be next week—with fairy lights and candles and Ben holding the ring and wearing a bow tie and you were gonna cry and say yes and I’d ugly cry and it was going to be perfect!”

Ben gasped. “I get a bow tie?!”

“Not anymore!” Ben pouts.

You walked over to Peter slowly and gently cupped his face. “Baby. You gave a toddler access to the ring.”

“I didn’t! I put it in the sock drawer! No one goes in the sock drawer!”

“I do. I literally always do.”

Peter looks at you, flustered, panicked, lips parted like he was about to cry, and your heart melted into a puddle.

“I love you,” he said, voice breaking. “I wanted to ask properly. I wanted it to be everything you deserve.”

You leaned in and kissed him softly. Then whispered, “it’s already special. It’s you that matters to me.”

Ben clapped. “KISS AGAIN!”

---

The proposal happened that night anyway.

Not on the rooftop. Not with candles or a perfect speech.

Just you, Peter, and Ben curled up on the living room couch.

The ring fit perfectly.

Peter cried. You cried. Ben tried to eat a goldfish cracker off your hand mid-kiss.

Tony watched from the hallway. He didn’t say anything. Just nodded once to himself.

“‘Bout damn time,” he muttered, then walked away.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

Tags:

@sir-this-is-a-wendys @moniffazictress11 @words-to-accomplish-something @ptergwen @lightgreysoul @gh0stst4r

#peter recs 🦠

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