junegoal - Tumblr blog

junegoal · 5 days ago

Note

"Wish I never loved you" 💔

Requesting you for a really soul-shattering, heart breaking, ugly crying sad ending fic w tony & y/n. My depressed af brain needs it. (Make it like a really bad breakup or divorce but NOT death)

Pweaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 ofc only if u want to

RUSTED LOVE

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: pure angst

ᯓ★ Word count: 3.7k

ᯓ★ Summary: you thought marrying Tony Stark would be a living fairy tale, and at first it was: perfect marriage and a perfect babyboy, until he started being more Iron Man than Tony

ᯓ★ TW(s): Emotional Neglect, Parental Absence, Divorce, Child Heartbreak, Abandonment Issues, Chronic Disappointment, Emotional Infidelity (prioritizing work over family), Parental Guilt (you said angst...)

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

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

The penthouse is quiet when you wake up—too quiet. The space beside you in bed is cold, untouched. Tony didn’t come to bed again. You sit up, running a hand through your hair, and listen for any sign of him—the hum of the lab below, the distant clinking of tools, the low murmur of JARVIS responding to his commands. But there’s nothing. Just silence.

Luke’s soft voice drifts from the nursery, calling for you. “Mama? Mama, up!”

You force yourself to move, pushing back the heaviness in your chest. Luke is standing in his crib, arms outstretched, his big brown eyes—so much like Tony’s—bright with excitement. The second he sees you, his face lights up, and he bounces on his toes. “Mama! Up, up!”

You scoop him into your arms, breathing in the sweet, innocent scent of him—baby shampoo and warmth. He clings to you, pressing his face into your shoulder. “Where Daddy?” he mumbles, his words still clumsy, still learning.

Your throat tightens. “Daddy’s working, baby.”

Luke frowns, his little fingers playing with the collar of your shirt. “But… but Daddy said park.”

Your heart sinks. Tony had promised. Again.

You carry Luke to the kitchen, setting him in his high chair as you start breakfast. The penthouse feels too big, too empty, despite the two of you filling it with your presence. You try not to think about the days when Tony used to wake up with you, when he’d pull you into his arms before either of you even opened your eyes, whispering against your skin how lucky he was. When he’d make pancakes with Luke balanced on his hip, laughing as their son smeared syrup everywhere.

Now, the lab consumes him. Iron Man consumes him. And you—you’re left with the pieces of the man you married, the man who used to look at you like you were his entire world.

Luke babbles happily as he eats, telling you some story only a three-year-old could invent, full of half-formed words and wild gestures. You nod along, smiling when he giggles, but your mind is elsewhere—on Tony, on the growing distance between you, on the way he flinches when you touch him sometimes, like he’s already braced for disappointment.

You take Luke to the park alone. He runs ahead, squealing as he climbs the jungle gym, and you watch him with a hollow ache in your chest. Tony should be here. He promised.

When you get back, the penthouse is still empty. You put Luke down for his nap, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he drifts off, his tiny fingers curled around the stuffed Iron Man toy Tony gave him last Christmas.

You find Tony in the lab, bent over a gauntlet, his hands moving with mechanical precision. He doesn’t hear you at first, lost in his work. You stand there, arms crossed, watching him. He looks exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, his hair a mess, his shirt wrinkled.

“You missed the park,” you say quietly.

Tony startles, turning to face you. His eyes flicker with guilt before he schools his expression. “Shit. I—I lost track of time.”

“You always lose track of time.”

He runs a hand over his face. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to him—to both of you.”

“When, Tony?” Your voice cracks. “When will you make it up to us? Because it’s always later. It’s always next time. And Luke—he doesn’t understand. He just knows his daddy isn’t there.”

Tony’s jaw tightens. “I’m trying.”

“Are you?” The words spill out before you can stop them. “Because it feels like we’re not even part of your life anymore. It’s just you and the suits and the missions. We’re just—background noise.”

He flinches like you’ve struck him. “That’s not true.”

“Then prove it.” Your eyes burn. “Because I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep waiting for you to remember us.”

Tony stares at you, his expression raw. For a moment, you think he’ll say something—anything—to fix this. But then the console behind him beeps, an alert flashing red. His gaze darts toward it instinctively.

And that’s all the answer you need.

You turn and walk away before he can see you cry.

That night, you lie in bed alone again, listening to the silence. Luke stirs in his room, whimpering in his sleep, and you go to him, smoothing his hair until he settles. You stay there, watching him, wondering how much longer you can keep pretending this is enough.

Tony finally comes to bed hours later, slipping under the covers carefully, like he’s afraid to disturb you. He doesn’t reach for you. He doesn’t say a word.

And that—that hurts more than anything.

You close your eyes, aching for the man who used to love you without hesitation. But the bed feels too big, the distance between you too wide.

And for the first time, you wonder if love was ever enough to begin with.

---

Luke’s fever spikes in the middle of the night.

You jolt awake to the sound of his weak, pitiful cries—not the usual energetic whining, but something small and broken. Your heart lurches as you stumble into his room, flicking on the light to see him curled up in bed, his face flushed, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead.

“Mama,” he whimpers, his voice hoarse. “Mama, hurts.”

You press a hand to his forehead and your stomach drops. Burning up.

“Oh, baby,” you murmur, scooping him into your arms. He clings to you, his little body trembling, and you carry him to the bathroom, fumbling for the thermometer. The digital readout flashes red—103.2.

Your breath catches.

You call Tony first. It’s instinct, even though you know better by now. The phone rings and rings before going to voicemail. You try again. Nothing.

Luke whines against your shoulder, his fingers clutching your shirt. “Daddy?” he rasps, his big, glassy eyes searching your face. “Want Daddy.”

Your throat tightens. “Daddy’s… busy, sweetheart. But Mama’s here.”

You don’t bother calling again.

Instead, you move on autopilot—children’s Tylenol, a lukewarm bath, cool compresses pressed to his forehead. Luke cries the whole time, his tiny voice cracking as he calls for Tony between sobs. “Daddy come? Daddy help?”

You swallow back the lump in your throat. “Soon, baby.”

But Tony doesn’t come.

Hours pass. The fever dips slightly, then spikes again. Luke drifts in and out of restless sleep, his breaths shallow, his cheeks still too pink. You don’t sleep at all. You sit on the edge of his bed, stroking his hair, whispering reassurances you don’t feel.

Morning comes. The penthouse is still silent.

You check your phone—no missed calls, no texts. Nothing.

Luke wakes up crying again, his voice weak. “Daddy…?”

You close your eyes.

That’s when it hits you—the quiet, devastating truth.

You can’t do this anymore.

Not the empty promises, not the loneliness, not the way your son’s heart breaks every time his father chooses something—anything—over him. Over you.

You think of divorce. The word sits heavy in your chest, ugly and final. But for the first time, it doesn’t scare you. It feels like the only way to stop the bleeding.

You press a kiss to Luke’s forehead, your voice barely a whisper.

“It’s okay, baby. Mama’s here.”

----

The days pass in a blur of quiet heartbreak.

Luke’s fever breaks after two long days, but the ache in your chest doesn’t fade. You watch him play with his blocks on the living room floor, babbling to himself, his little voice still scratchy from being sick. He doesn’t ask for Tony as much anymore—not since that night. It’s like he’s already given up, too.

You kneel beside him, smoothing his hair back. “Hey, baby. What are you building?”

He grins up at you, holding up a lopsided tower. “For Daddy!”

Your stomach twists. Of course.

“You wanna show him when he gets home?” you ask carefully.

Luke’s smile dims. He shrugs, turning back to his blocks. “Daddy busy.”

The resignation in his tiny voice is what finally breaks you.

That night, when Tony finally drags himself up from the lab—hair disheveled, oil smudged on his cheek—you don’t greet him with silence like usual. You stand in the doorway of the bedroom, arms crossed, and say the words you’ve been dreading.

“We need to talk.”

Tony freezes. He knows that tone. His eyes flicker with something like fear before he schools his expression. “Yeah. Okay.”

You don’t sit. Neither does he. The space between you feels like a chasm.

“I’ve been thinking about divorce,” you say quietly.

Tony flinches like you’ve struck him. His mouth opens, then closes. For once, the genius who always has a quip, a solution, a way out—has nothing.

You continue before he can find his voice. “Luke doesn’t even ask for you anymore, Tony. He expectsyou not to be here. And I—I can’t keep doing this. Waiting for you to remember you have a family.”

Tony’s breathing is uneven. “I—I didn’t realize—”

“That’s the problem,” you whisper. “You don’t realize. Not until it’s too late.”

He looks gutted. Lost. For a second, you see the man you fell in love with—the one who promised you forever with shaking hands and stars in his eyes.

You take a shaky breath. “Luke’s birthday is in three weeks. I’m giving you one last chance. Be there.Not just physically—really be there. For him. For us. Or I’m done.”

Tony swallows hard. His voice is raw when he finally speaks. “I’ll fix this.”

You want to believe him.

But you’ve heard that before.

---

The days slip by, each one marked by Luke’s growing excitement—and the quiet, gnawing dread in your chest.

"Mama, can I have a dinosaur cake?" Luke asks one morning, swinging his legs at the kitchen counter as he scribbles on a piece of paper with a blue crayon. His tongue pokes out in concentration as he draws what might be a T-Rex—or possibly a very lumpy cloud.

You smooth his hair back, smiling despite the heaviness in your chest. "Of course, baby. A big one, with green frosting for the scales?"

Luke gasps, eyes wide. "And sparkles?"

You laugh softly. "And sparkles."

He cheers, kicking his feet, then pauses. His little face scrunches in thought. "Daddy like dinosaurs too?"

The question is innocent, but it stings. You hesitate, then choose your words carefully. "He does. But even if Daddy’s busy, we’ll still have the best cake, okay?"

Luke nods, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—disappointment, maybe, or just resignation. He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask when Tony will be home. Just goes back to coloring, humming to himself.

That’s the worst part.

That he’s already stopped expecting him.

Later, while pushing him on the swings at the park, you test the waters again.

"Hey, bug," you say softly as he giggles, wind rushing through his hair. "What if… what if just Mama and you lived somewhere else one day? Like a new house?"

Luke slows his swinging, little brows furrowing. "No Daddy?"

Your stomach twists. "Daddy would visit. But it would just be you and me most days."

He thinks hard, tiny fingers gripping the swing chains. "Like… like Uncle Rhodey visits?"

You nod. "Yeah. Like that."

Luke is quiet for a long moment. Then, in a small voice: "Daddy not come home now anyway."

The words hit like a punch.

You stop the swing, pulling him into your arms, pressing a kiss to his temple. He doesn’t seem upset—just matter-of-fact. Like he’s already accepted it.

And that? That kills you.

Tony tries.

Sort of.

He comes up for dinner twice that week, though he’s distracted, checking his phone, his leg bouncing under the table. Luke beams the first time, chattering excitedly about his birthday plans, but when Tony blanks on the name of his favorite stuffed animal ("It’s Rex, Daddy," Luke says, crestfallen), the light in his eyes dims a little.

The second time, Tony makes it through the meal—but leaves halfway through Luke’s bath time when a call comes in from Pepper. You hear him murmur "It’s important" before the elevator doors close.

Luke doesn’t ask where he went. Just splashes listlessly in the tub, his dinosaur toys floating forgotten around him.

That night, as you tuck him in, he looks up at you with those big, too-knowing eyes.

"Mama?"

"Yeah, baby?"

He fiddles with the edge of his blanket. "If Daddy not come to my birthday… it’s okay." He says it like he’s trying to convince himself. "We still have sparkles."

Your vision blurs.

You kiss his forehead, lingering a second longer than usual. "Yeah, baby. We’ll still have sparkles."

But as you shut his door softly behind you, you know—

Three weeks won’t change anything.

And you’re done waiting for a miracle.

---

The morning of Luke’s birthday dawns bright and sunny, as if the universe is mocking you.

You wake up early, decorating the penthouse with colorful balloons and dinosaur banners while Luke still sleeps. The dinosaur cake—green frosting, edible sparkles, just like he wanted—sits proudly in the center of the table. You check your phone for the hundredth time.

No messages. No calls.

Tony had mumbled something about "finishing up a project" last night before disappearing back into the lab. You hadn’t even bothered arguing.

Luke comes padding out of his room, rubbing his eyes, his hair sticking up in every direction. The second he sees the decorations, his whole face lights up. "Mama! It’s my day!"

You scoop him up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "It’s your day, baby! Four years old—such a big boy!"

He giggles, squirming in your arms. "Where Daddy? He see my cake?"

Your smile falters for just a second. "Daddy’s… still working. But he’ll try to come up later, okay?"

Luke nods, but his excitement dims just a little. He doesn’t ask again.

The party is small—just a few of Luke’s friends from the playground and their parents. The kids shriek with laughter as they play pin the tail on the dinosaur and smash open a piñata. Luke runs around with a paper crown crooked on his head, his cheeks flushed with joy.

Every time the elevator dings, though, his head whips around.

Every time, it’s not Tony.

Halfway through cake, one of the little girls—Emma, with curly pigtails—tilts her head and asks, "Luke, where’s your daddy?"

Luke stuffs a huge bite of cake into his mouth, frosting smeared on his chin. "Daddy’s busy," he says, like it’s a normal fact, like saying the sky is blue. "He makes ‘ron Man suits. But Mama got me sparkles!" He points proudly at his cake like that explains everything.

The other kids just nod and move on, but your chest aches.

By bedtime, the penthouse is quiet again.

Luke is exhausted, half-asleep as you tuck him in, still wearing his party hat. He clutches Rex to his chest, his eyelids drooping.

"No Daddy?" he mumbles, barely audible.

Your throat tightens. "Not tonight, baby."

Luke nods, his lips trembling just a little before he buries his face in his stuffed dinosaur. "S’okay. Had best birthday."

You press a kiss to his forehead, blinking back tears. "I love you, Luke. More than anything."

He’s already asleep before you finish the sentence.

You find Tony in the lab at 1 AM, still hunched over a holographic blueprint.

He looks up when you enter, his face flickering with something like guilt when he sees your expression. "Shit. The party—"

"Was today," you say, your voice deadly calm. "Luke waited for you. Kept looking for you. And you didn’t even text."

Tony runs a hand through his hair. "I lost track of time—this new propulsion system—"

"You always lose track of time." The words come out sharp, brittle. "But not today, Tony. Not on his birthday."

He opens his mouth, then closes it. For once, he has no excuse.

You don’t wait for him to find one.

You turn and walk out, the weight of your decision settling over you like a shroud.

Tomorrow, you’ll call a lawyer.

Tonight, you’ll cry where Luke can’t see.

And Tony?

He’ll stay in the lab.

Just like always.

---

The papers arrive three days later.

You hold them in your hands, the weight of them heavier than any suit Tony’s ever built. You don’t cry. Not yet. There’s a strange numbness in your chest, like your heart already knew this was coming long before your mind caught up.

You find Tony in the kitchen, staring blankly at a cup of coffee he hasn’t touched. He looks up when you enter, and his eyes drop to the folder in your hands. His face goes pale.

"You really meant it," he says quietly.

You set the papers on the counter between you. "I did."

Tony doesn’t touch them. Just stares like they might burn him. "I know I screwed up. I know I—" His voice cracks. "But I don’t want this."

"Then why did you make it so easy?" The words come out harsher than you meant, sharp with months of bottled-up hurt.

Tony flinches. He looks down at his hands—the hands that built empires, that saved the world, that couldn’t hold onto his own family. "I thought I had more time."

"You didn’t," you whisper. "That’s the whole point, Tony. Time was the one thing you never gave us."

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Finally, Tony takes a shaky breath. "If this is what you need… I won’t stop you." His voice is raw. "But Luke—"

"He’ll still be yours," you say, softer now. "I’d never keep him from you. But he deserves better than waiting for a dad who never shows up."

Tony nods, jaw clenched like he’s fighting tears.

Explaining it to Luke is harder.

You wait until after breakfast, when he’s curled up on the couch with Rex, still in his pajamas. You sit beside him, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Baby, remember how we talked about maybe living somewhere new? Just you and me?"

Luke nods, clutching his dinosaur tighter. "No Daddy?"

"Daddy will still see you lots," you say carefully. "But we’re going to have a new house. Just us."

Luke is quiet for a long moment. Then, in a small voice: "Daddy not gonna come to my new house either?"

Your breath catches. "He’ll try, baby. But if he doesn’t… it’s not your fault. Okay? It’s never your fault."

Luke sniffles, pressing his face into Rex’s fur. "I wanna stay here."

You pull him into your lap, holding him tight. "I know, bug. But Mama needs this. We need this."

He doesn’t understand. Not really. But he wraps his little arms around your neck and holds on like he trusts you to fix it—even though you can’t.

Tony signs the papers that night.

He doesn’t fight. Doesn’t argue. Just stares at the divorce decree for a long, silent moment before picking up the pen.

When he hands it back to you, his fingers brush yours—just for a second—and his voice is barely above a whisper.

"Tell Luke… tell him I’m sorry."

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat.

And just like that, it’s over.

The fairy tale. The dream. The man who loved you but couldn’t choose you.

You walk away, clutching the papers to your chest.

This time, Tony doesn’t call you back.

---

The apartment is smaller. Quieter.

No lab humming beneath your feet. No JARVIS announcing Tony’s arrivals and departures. Just the sound of Luke’s toys scattered across the living room floor and the soft tapping of your laptop keys as you work from home.

It’s strange, this new life. But slowly, it starts to feel like yours.

Luke adjusts faster than you expected. He loves his new room—painted blue, with glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling—and the park down the street where he can run without FRIDAY reminding him not to scuff the floors. But sometimes, when the doorbell rings, he still perks up.

“Daddy?” he’ll ask, hope flickering in his big brown eyes.

Sometimes, it is Tony.

(Other times, it’s just the mailman.

Luke stops asking after a while.)

Tony’s visits are… inconsistent.

He shows up for the park one Saturday, sunglasses hiding tired eyes, and Luke sprints to him, nearly tripping over his own feet. Tony catches him, swinging him up into a hug, and for a moment, it’s like nothing changed.

But then Luke tugs on his sleeve. “Daddy, you stay for dinner?”

Tony hesitates. Glances at you.

You don’t say no.

(You should say no.)

But the way Luke’s face lights up when Tony nods is enough to make you bite your tongue.

Dinner is awkward. Tony tries too hard, asking Luke about preschool, about his toys, like he’s cramming for a test on his own son’s life. Luke doesn’t notice, babbling excitedly about his new dinosaur book.

When Tony leaves, Luke waves until the elevator doors close. Then he turns to you, grinning. “Daddy remembered!”

Your heart cracks a little.

Because it shouldn’t be a surprise when his father shows up.

Other times, Tony forgets.

Luke sits by the window in his tiny dinosaur backpack, waiting. And waiting.

“Maybe Daddy’s saving people,” he says after an hour, kicking his feet against the couch.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Maybe, baby.”

(You checked the news. There are no emergencies. No crises. Just Tony in his lab, ignoring the world.)

You take Luke to the park yourself. He doesn’t mention Tony again that day.

One night, as you tuck Luke into bed, he looks up at you with those too-old eyes.

“Mama?”

“Yeah, bug?”

He fiddles with Rex’s tail. “Daddy loves me?”

The question knocks the air from your lungs.

“Oh, baby.” You gather him close, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Daddy loves you so much. He’s just… bad at showing it sometimes.”

Luke nods, like he’s turning the words over in his head. Then, softly: “You show it enough for both.”

You hold him tighter, blinking back tears.

Maybe this isn’t the life you dreamed of.

But it’s yours. And you’ll make sure Luke never doubts he’s loved.

Not for a single second.

maybe it's not what you hoped for...but I hope you like it <3

100 notes · View notes