They’re born into magical families, but they have no magical ability themselves. They never get to go to Hogwarts, they never get a wand from Ollivander’s… But they are always surrounded by magic. Mothers and fathers all casting spells all the time, while they trudge along behind, unable to join in. And it must be the worst, to know about this world and know that you’re the disappointing child who can’t be like the rest of the family.
But what if they just develop their own brand of magic?
Dream with me. We know that Harry & CO learn all about the witch hunts. It’s brushed over in the books and stuff. We only hear about the witches and wizards who get caught, enjoy the process of burning with all their protective spells, and then go on their merry way. We assume that it was a bunch of muggles who were really killed. Weird old women who lived alone in the woods. Young women who made poultices and grew herbs. Men who had great affinity with the earth and the seasons.
They were targeting squibs.
Squibs, who had grown up with magic, but always seen it as unattainable. So they turned outward, toward the magic of the energies of the world. They learned to divine the future with cards and drops of ink. They found a way to gently push at the flow of life around them, doing a smaller, slower sort of magic. And they formed covens, to talk about their way of life and to share their methods.
And as time passes, as history moves past burnings and trials, they still practice. They charge crystals in the moonlight. They have incredible gardens. And, incredibly, they have access to the magical paraphernalia in their homes. Their brothers and sisters come home from Diagon Alley with bags full of mandrake root, because wouldn’t you know it, it’s the perfect thing to mix with mugwort to produce deep, dreamless sleep! They pour over the old family copy of The Standard Book Of Spells for tips on how to give a real kick to their sigils. When a friend is stressing over exams, they may not be able to help blocking hexes, but you can bet they’ll be there with supportive words and a fresh spell jar to help soothe anxiety!
And sure, witches and wizards mutter about the incredibly simple magic. It’s a big joke that’s giggled over in Witch Weekly articles. But simple as it is, the magic works. And better, it provides these beautiful, kind people with a community of their own that they can turn to. And sometimes the families will get involved, celebrating Samhain with conjured bats and floating candles, and enchanting maypoles to twirl through the air for Beltane, and always offering tips where they can, for the bits of magic that you don’t need to be born magical to do.
It’s not the right, “normal” sort of magic. It’s magic with a big bold “k” tacked onto the end of it, bold as brass. But somehow, this world blooms in the heart of the wizarding world. Somehow, everyone gets along.
summary : as the adopted daughter of none other than tony stark, you have a myriad of responsibilities. babysitting peter parker probably wasn’t supposed to be one of them. not that you’re complaining.
word count : 4.7k (also known as the longest thing I’ve ever written)
author’s note : ur adopted b/c not everyone is white and i don’t want anyone to feel excluded from reading this due to the fact tony is white (and yes ik there are interracial couples i just want everyone to feel included i want to make sure whoever wants to read this can without feeling weird about it b/c i know it is something that bothers people in the fanfic community okay bye enjoy my loves.)
Tony Stark was a lot of things to a lot of people. He was the billionaire, he was the genius, the philanthropist, and the notorious playboy in his younger years. Most notably, however, was that he was Iron Man. He was marveled at by the entire world, him and the group of heroes that stood beside him; the Avengers, as they called themselves. To you, however, he was your father.
A terribly overprotective one, at that.
Of course, this was only to be expected of a father, even a foster one, but the lengths the man went to in order to keep his only daughter out of whatever he deemed trouble were rather extensive. You rarely ever left the Avengers tower, and if you did you were accompanied by a team of people you could only describe as rip off Secret Service men. Sometimes, Natasha would replace them, or Steve, but that was a rare occurrence. You were homeschooled by the best tutors his money could pay for- this particular move was less about refining your education and more about keeping you away from any boy in the five boroughs.
You chose to spend majority of your time reading in your room and training, always wary of anyone who approached you about being a friend. Your surname meant everything to people, especially the girls that wandered around Manhattan desperate to become the bestie of the daughter of the richest man in New York. You loved your dad with all your heart, but the stigma that ran with the Stark name would never stop irritating you.
That, and the impromptu plans he threw at you on a regular basis.
“Miss Stark, your father is requesting access to your room. He knows you hate it when he barges in.” Vision drifted into your room without warning, making you jump. You yanked your earbuds out of your ears, giving him a look.
“I hate when anyone barges in, Vision. That includes you, too.” You pushed your chair away from your desk, placing your pen on the desk and shutting your notebook. “Tell him he can come in if he lets me become an Avenger.” You raised your voice at this, knowing he would hear you.
“He says that he’ll consider it if you let him in.”
You raised your eyebrows. “Touché.” You motioned for the door to open, and your father walked into the room, immediately taking his pristinely polished shoes off and lying down on your bed. You stared at him.“Dad, it’s not cool to wear sunglasses inside. You look lame.”
Tony Stark rolled his eyes at you. “It’s called a look, sweetheart.” You laughed, pretending to nod in agreement. He placed his hands behind his head as you spun your chair back around to your desk. “What are you working on?”
“Something for Bruce,” you muttered, pen cap between your teeth as you continued to jot down important points from his numerous lab reports. You were going to have to hand in a full analysis of his findings for your end of term science paper, and he was more than willing to aid you. “Science report.”
“My daughter, beautiful and intelligent, my flesh and blood,” Tony declared proudly.
“Dad, I love you to the death, but I’m still not your biological kid,” you smiled all the same, though, and he knew behind the tough exterior you were happy to hear his expressions of admiration.
“Who needs a biological kid when I’ve got this great, wonderful adopted one right in front of me.”
Not looking up from your notebook, you said, “You’re really laying it on thick today. I’m all of those things, obviously, but I know you want something. So, what is it?” You paused, then said, “Thank you, by the way.”
“You sure we’re not related?” He sat back up, clasping his hands together. “What do you say about Germany?”
“Nice enough place I guess, interesting history, why?”
“I kind of need you to go there for two weeks with me.”
With a groan, you dropped your pen and held your face in your hands. “Another surprise trip? Dad, I have school. I have homework! Do you see this?” You held up the thick stack of reports from Banner’s lab, waving them around. “This is gonna be, like, my life’s work.”
Tony shook his head. “Kids these days and their homework. Seriously. When I was at school I would have taken any opportunity to shirk my responsibilities.”
“You did do that.”
He waved his hand. “Technicalities. Anyway, as you know the Avengers have been disassembled. Sokovia Accords and all that bullshit. I assume you’ve been keeping up?”
“Hard not to.” It was true. Anything in the news was about the great split of the infamous team, Captain America vs Iron Man. It was impossible to turn on the television without hearing about it. And, considering you lived underneath the same roof as half of them, it was quite literally not an option to be ignorant to what was going on.
“Good,” he grinned proudly again. If there was one emotion that the man felt whenever he was around, it was proud. Nearly everything you did made him beam with pride, and if you had been placed into an actual high school, there was no doubt in his mind that the person at the top of every single class would be you. You excelled no matter the circumstances. “So, to sum up, there’s gonna be a big showdown in Germany. Western style, naturally. Guns blazing and everything.”
Your eyes lit up and you nearly flew out of your chair, rushing over to him. “Oh my god, are you finally gonna let me fight? You’ve seen my training, right? I’m getting so good. I’m like, practically Natasha level good. She’s been showing me that move where I can snap people’s necks with my thighs and-”
“First of all, your thighs are not going around anyone’s neck, so jot that down,” he interrupted. Your enthusiasm visibly deflated. “I need you to kind of watch over this kid who’s coming with us. He’s from Queens. You love Queens.”
“You’re making me babysit?” You flopped down on your bed, staring up at the ceiling. “C’mon, dad, I’m sixteen. That’s practically an adult. I think I should be allowed to fight this time. I’m Avenger worthy.”
“Practically an adult is not the same as literally an adult, as in over eighteen.” You groaned again. “Don’t call it babysitting, anyway. He’s your age. Well, he’s a few months younger, but that doesn’t matter. Just call it… hanging out with a good kid that’s fighting for your dear old dad and making sure he doesn’t get into trouble in Germany or annoy Happy too much.” He patted your knee, standing up. “We leave in the morning, kiddo, so pack up.”
“How come he gets to fight if he’s younger than I am?”
“’Cause he’s not my daughter. Goodnight, light of my life.” He kissed your forehead before leaving, giving you another encouraging smile.
“Goodnight, pain my ass,” you grumbled as he left. He popped back in, a stern expression on his face. “If I watch your new protégée can I become an Avenger?” Tony rubbed a hand over his eyes. Teenage girls were exhausting.
“We’ll talk about it.”
You’re sitting at your breakfast table with suitcases piled next to you when Peter Parker strolls into your life with happiness in his every footstep because he is just so, so glad to be there. You’re spooning cereal into your mouth when he sits down directly across from you, a video camera cupped in his soft looking hands and the little red button clicked on, meaning that he is recording you. You place your spoon back into the bowl of milk that is dusted with cinnamon sugar from the Cinnamon Toast Crunch you’ve been eating for the past ten minutes.
“Do you mind?”
“Mind what?” He asked, peeking up from behind his camera. You gestured toward it, wiping your mouth with your sleeve.
“The camera. I’m kind of still in the middle of eating breakfast in my pajamas,” you leaned forward, switching it off. “You must be the Spider-Boy.” The chestnut haired boy feels a blush creeping up his neck and settling along his cheekbones when you say that.
“Oh, did Mr. Stark tell you that?” He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing awkwardly. “Um, it’s Spider-Man, actually.” He mumbled the man part, knowing fully well that he didn’t look like much of a man in the eyes of anyone, his eyes casting down as he fidgeted with the strap on his camera.
“Oh good,” you nodded. You took another spoonful of cereal. “I like that better. Nicer ring to it.” You grabbed your box of sugary breakfast and pushed it toward him, an offering.
“Huh?” He was a bit dazed. He stared at the box in front of him and then realized he had been doing that for far too long of a time to be considered normal. “Oh, right, um, sure, thanks!” He opened the box and took a handful, shoving it in his mouth. You kept eating your cereal, silently staring at the bowl and willing yourself not to laugh at the boy in front of you. With all his nerves, he was still a bundle of energy and cheerfulness, and, well, let’s face it, he was sort of adorable. “So, you think my name’s cool?” He tried to sound suave, charming, as he said it, tried to smirk at you, but he stopped when he realized that he looked stupid.
You gave him a half smile. “It’s pretty good.” His face positively lit up with happiness to be taken seriously, and you knew the feeling too well. You stuck out your hand. “Oh, forgot to introduce myself-”
“Y/N Stark, adopted daughter of Mr. Stark, probably the smartest girl in all of New York and, uh, correct if I’m wrong but… Black Widow’s best student as well as Bruce Banner’s apprentice.”
You gaped at him. The blush he had been sporting crept up to his ears and made his nose turn the shade of a strawberry. “Well, uh, yeah,” you said, flustered. “Should I creeped out or flattered?”
“Flattered, please.” The genuine worry in his eyes as he leaned forward made you laugh. He had an endearing personality.
“Flattered it is.” You watched the slow sigh of relief leave his mouth, his hands flying up the mess of hair atop his head and fixing it distractedly. Your dad walked into the room, and Peter practically fell out of his chair trying to stand up and seem presentable. Your slouch was indicative that you didn’t care much. He was just your dad. “Morning, pops,” you slid the box over his way.
He frowned at it.” Y/N, that stuff is crap. I don’t know why you eat it.”
“Wanda and I like it,” you said defensively, a slip of the tongue. You knew your dad was going to get annoyed at the mention of the Scarlet Witch, who had evaded and ignored his attempts at keeping her powers under control. “It’s good. High quality. Right, Peter?” You whipped your head toward him.
He felt his heart give a little tug. He grabbed the box out of your hand and shoved more cereal in his mouth, the cinnamon sugar sticking to his lips. “Yeah, Mr. Stark. Best stuff ever,” he said through a mouthful of it. Tony gave them an amused glance, picking up your two heaviest suitcases and beckoning you both to the landing strip. Peter swallowed his food.
He didn’t even like Cinnamon Toast Crunch that much. He was just thrilled that you knew his real name.
Everything about this kid was infuriatingly dorky in the cutest way possible. You came to this conclusion as you boarded the jet with ease, sitting in your usual spot by the window and greeting Happy with your typical friendly smile and idle chitchat. Peter stumbled onto it with awe written across his features as he stared around the place, touching nearly everything much to Happy’s dismay.
“Haven’t you been on a plane before?” The man asked, growing irritated with the way the kid was filming everything. You saw Peter zoom in on Happy’s face and grinned out your window.
“Nope, never!” Peter exclaimed, his video camera still in front of him as he captured every detail of his trip.
“Well, sit down so we can take off,” Happy said gruffly, grabbing Peter’s shoulders and forcefully placing him into a seat.
Peter sat still for a moment, then hopped over to the seat next to you. He placed his camera in front of him on the tray table. “Y/N, smile for the camera. I’m recording.” You looked at him, then turned to the camera and gave it a deadpan stare. You even threw in a slow blink. “Good enough,” he shrugged. He kept it recording as he shifted in his seat so that his entire body was facing you, his chin resting in his hand and his elbow on your armrest. His gaze was sort of nice. “So, Miss Stark, I have a few questions.”
“Um, okay, shoot,” you closed your book that you had open on your lap. “I’m not that interesting, just so you know.”
“I think you’re interesting,” he assured you. You heard Happy let out a choked laugh at Peter’s flirting attempt, but it was just another thing you found sort of lovely. It was a genuine compliment. “What’s your favorite subject in school?”
You’d been expecting the typical what’s it like being Tony’s daughter spiel, and you were pleased to get an actual question about yourself for once. “I like everything, I guess. I kind of love school, but I don’t go to a conventional school, so. Training is cool, I like that a lot.”
“You train with Black Widow, I have to ask- can you show me some moves? I need to refine my technique before the fight,” he explained.
“Do you wanna learn how to crush people with your thighs?”
“Wow! Do you think I could? Could you teach me? That’s so cool,” he beamed, turning to the camera for a split second with an overexcited look.
You pursed your lips, staring out your window for a minute. You were up in the air by now, and there was long flight ahead of you. “Maybe. If my dad is okay with it. I have to check.” Peter looked confused,
“Why wouldn’t he be?”
“He’s, you know, really overprotective.” You put your first against the cheek, leaning the same way that Peter was. You sighed. “I don’t have a lot of friends. Which is fine, but I can’t even attempt to go make any because I have a whole freaking SWAT team on my ass the minute I step out of the tower because he’s so worried about my safety.” You let your head hit the window, your eyes rolling skyward. “And that makes no sense because-”
“You’re really strong and stuff. You can protect yourself,” Peter finished.
“I think you know me a little too well, Peter,” you said, poking him lightly in the arm. “But… yeah, exactly. I don’t really get to do anything fun. I don’t have adventures. Sure, reading is fun and studying is fun for me and training is great and I love hanging out with everyone in the tower but I’m still a teenager. No fun for me, though. My life is pretty boring, sorry if that makes your little video diary suck.” You stuck your tongue out at his camera.
“No worries,” he said, taking it off the tray table and turning it toward you. “Tell me every boring detail, Miss Stark.”
“As long as you stop calling me Miss Stark.”
“You’ve got a deal.”
It was a seven hour trip, and you both passed out by the three hour mark after Peter had pried every excruciating detail from your life out of you. You hated sleeping on airplanes, but your head was slumped against his shoulder and his arm was knocking against your own and his sweatshirt was as soft as pillow. You remembered the shy glance he had given you just before you knocked out on his shoulder for the remainder of the flight. He had a sweet smile.
Peter filmed absolutely everything. He filmed himself getting off the plane and then filmed you getting off the plane and nearly shoved the camera in Happy’s face until he threatened to break it and Peter backed off. He radiated enthusiasm. “Look at this, and this, and this, oh shit wow that’s so cool look at this! Oh man this is good stuff!”
“Peter this is literally just the airport how am I supposed to take you around the actual city?!”
“OH WOW Y/N have you seen this!”
He zoomed in on your face, your devoid of emotion look appearing again. “Are you ever gonna smile for the camera?” He gave you a pout, doe eyes and all. You turned away.
“No. I’m supposed to be babysitting you, please be behave.” You touched your fingers to the bridge of your nose, dragging Peter to a couch. “Please sit. We’re getting the hotel reservations checked.”
“Do they juice boxes? I’m really thirsty.” He was just trying to make you laugh at this point, and annoying you was kind of funny for him. You let out an involuntary chuckle when he pretended to claw at his throat, throwing himself on the ground.
“I’ll make sure they have juice boxes for you, Petey. You’re such a seven year old, geez.” You pretended to gag.
Looking offended, Peter replied, “I’m actually twelve.”
Jokingly, you said, “You’re a twelve year old that’s going to get a punch in the face if you don’t settle down right now.” He stood up, directly in front of you with his light eyes and little grin, another feverish looking heat burning at his face. Nevertheless, he still said, “It’d be an honor to get beaten up by you.”
His voice, the sincerity he carried within it despite the ludicrous statement, made you feel those famed butterflies fluttering inside you. Maybe it was the way he looked into your eyes as he said it. Maybe it wasn’t. But something within you was starting to like Peter Parker, and you’d barely known him for twenty four hours.
Then again, it was hard to not like Peter. The kid was just so damn likable.
He had known it from the moment he first set his eyes upon you that day in the tower that he was a goner. If he had known it then, just from sitting down across from you with nothing to him but his lanky figure and a suit that resembled a onesie more than it did a costume fit for a hero such as he, he was sure of it now, a week and a half later.
Every day had been the same routine. He’d be up bright and early in the morning so you could help with him his training, teaching him how to utilize the suit your father had given him with ease rather than his usual tactic of jumping into everything blind. You’d been the one to help come up with nearly all of the web shooter combinations. He didn’t know all of them yet, or close to half of them, but he was progressing wonderfully.
After training, you’d give him the tour of your favorite places around Germany, close enough to where you’d both be able to get back to the hotel before dark. He filmed the both of you constantly, but you shied away from the cameras every time without fail. He couldn’t understand why, but he didn’t push. He just liked filming in general, and would accept you not smiling in any of his clips as long as you were still in there.
There was a beautiful sense of normalcy that came with hanging around Peter. You reveled in it. No one had ever made you laugh so hard with his ridiculous attempts at jokes or made you smile so much at his shy flirting skills that clearly needed to be revisited.
It was okay. You didn’t mind. And the fact that you didn’t tease him for it made him so, so happy.
Then, came the day of the fight. Peter had his camera out, he was dressed in his spidey suit, and you were standing there next to him dictating who he should and shouldn’t go after.
“Don’t go after Wanda ‘cause she could obliterate you in two seconds and Cap could crush you, too, but he won’t ‘cause he’s really nice like that. Bucky won’t care as much, though, so don’t do that- Ant-Man seems pretty cool and harmless but I don’t have as much intel on him and Peter if you get hurt you have to go hide somewhere-”
“I’m not gonna get hurt,” he said confidently.
You ignored him. “I’m gonna be in your earpiece, figuratively speaking, so I’ll hear everything you do and if you talk I’ll be able to hear you and you can hear me. So, just… keep me updated.” Peter took off his mask for a second, hair sticking up everywhere from the static. You leaned up, smoothing it back into place. Everything about him was soft. You wanted to curl up in it and stay there for as long as you could.
“I’ll be fine, Y/N, don’t worry,” Peter placed his hand on your shoulder. You felt your face heat up.
“I- I’m not worried.” You totally were. “I know you’ll be fine.” You didn’t want him getting hurt. “I just want you to be careful.” You didn’t want him to fight.
You could’ve sworn his face fell a bit when you said you weren’t worried, but he squeezed your shoulder anyway. Without a moment’s hesitation, you threw your arms around him, your nose pressing against his neck as you took a deep breath. He stood there for a second without doing anything until he realized that if he didn’t hug you back, he’d be the dumbest person on the face of the Earth. You felt his surprisingly defined arms hug you back.
You didn’t look at him when you pulled away. You stared at the spider emblazoned on his chest, gave him a quick good luck, then departed from the room. You sat on your own hotel bed with a rapidly beating heart.
The nerves were killing you. Ten more minutes. You opened your laptop and pulled up the system that would allow you to communicate across Team Stark. You were more focused on your dad and Peter. You tapped into your dad’s earpiece after placing the headset on. “Dad?” You spoke into the microphone.
“Hey, kiddo, everything okay?”
“Y-Yeah I just-” you took another breath. “Be safe. I love you.”
“I love you too, Y/N. Are you sure everything is okay over there?”
“Can you just make sure Peter gets out okay? If he gets hurt, bring him right back, please. That’s it.” Maybe it was a stupid request in someone else’s eyes, but you needed Peter to make it back in one piece. Tony Stark looked over at Peter Parker, crouching in his hiding spot and fumbling around with the gloves of his suit and gave the kid a knowing smile. Of course that was the one his daughter fell for in the end. Perfectly fitting.
“I’ll make sure.” You knew your father couldn’t see the grateful smile on your face, the sigh of relief that fell past your lips when he spoke these words.
Peter Parker, I swear if you make it out of this, I will smile like an idiot in every single one of your stupidly adorable video diary things. I swear. Just be safe.
“Your black eye is awful,” you told him, dabbing at it with more cream. “Totally ruins your face.”
“I think I look manly.”
“You think incorrectly.” You stepped back, your fingertips tilting his chin up so you could examine it further. “I think I got the worst of it. You did really well, Peter. Exceptionally well.” His face was glowing from your compliment.
“Can I get on that tape?” He asked excitedly, ducking under his hotel bed for his camera. You nodded, and he switched the camera on. He held out his arm so that you were both in frame. And you smiled. He forgot all about what you were supposed to say the moment that beautiful smile appeared there. “I- wow, Y/N.”
His stare was kind as it usually was. “You just-” he paused. “Your smile is really, really beautiful.” There was no way for you to turn away from the camera this time and you were left grinning like a lovestruck idiot at the boy in front of you, leaning up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek.
You slept the entire plane ride the way you had the last time, curled up against Peter. This time, it was intentional. One of your arms was flung across his waist and his was wrapped around your shoulders, the sweatshirt he had came in now swaddling you cozily. There were two separate cars waiting for you. You stood in between them when the flight got off, the sleeves of his sweater hanging off your hands as you reached out to grab his. He felt you push a piece of paper into his hand. “You better call me, Peter Parker. I’ll be really upset if you don’t.”
He wrapped you suddenly in an embrace that lifted you off your feet just a little bit, his lips pressing against your temple. “I’ll call you every day.”
He kept true to his word. Every day without fail, your phone rang with a call from Peter, and you fell asleep on the phone with him more often than not. If you weren’t on the phone with him, you were texting him, and if you weren’t doing that, you wished that you were. The consistent communication was better than nothing, but regardless, you missed his presence. You missed the way you felt walking next to him as he explained why chocolate ice cream was so clearly better than vanilla. You just missed him.
“Peter?” You held the phone to your ear, nestled in your blankets already even though it was barely nine o'clock. His sleepy voice mumbled out a yes? “Would it be stupid if I said that I missed you?”
She could practically hear his wide smile through the phone. “Of course not. I miss you, too. So much. Probably more than you miss me.”
“That’s so not true!” She scoffed.
“Wanna bet?” His tone was mischievous, no longer the hoarse, pretty voice of a boy just waking up from his nap. “Open your bedroom door.”
“Are you joking?”
You hung up the phone, throwing back your covers and not caring one bit that your hair was a dripping mess from your shower or that you were wearing a terrible set of hello kitty pajamas that weren’t meant for anyone over the age of ten based on the size of the top. You nearly tackled him to the ground when you saw him standing in your doorway, a happy squeal escaping your lips. You were surprised he even got in, considering your dad wasn’t home, but you figured Vision had let him in. Vision always had a way of knowing.
“Have I ever told you that you have a really pretty smile?” Peter’s lips hovered over yours, almost hesitant. You took the initiative to kiss first, your hands delving into his silk-like hair. There was no point in waiting anymore. Your noses bumped together clumsily when he tilted his head back, admiring. You could feel your whole being light up when he gazed at you the way that he did, in that admiring, careful, Peter way of his.
“Careful, Spidey,” You warned, hands on his chest as you stared right back up at him.
“Careful of what?” He quirked an eyebrow.
“You’re going to make me fall in love with you one of these days if you keep looking at me like that.” It was only the truth, and you were a honest person.
“That’s sort of the plan,” he shrugged in a seemingly careless way, but he couldn’t hide it. He was an open book. An open book who loved you, and the way that you smiled at him when he pulled back his sleeve to reveal a web shooter, a strange glint in those brown eyes of his as he said, “You up for an adventure?”
Smoothie: 1 small frozen banana, ½ cup blueberries, 1 tsp @organicburst acai powder, ½ cup-1 cup almond milk (depending how thick you want it), Juice ½ lime, 1 tsp ground flax - Blend together in a high speed blender or food processor
Toppings: fresh berries, coconut and more acai powder!