Tony Stark [Single Dad]

It was Wednesday afternoon again, and the small neighborhood field buzzed with the sound of children shouting, parents chatting on the sidelines, and the occasional whistle of the coach. Tony Stark sat on the bench with a disposable cup with water, sunglasses perched on his nose, watching his five-year-old daughter charge across the grass with surprising determination for someone so small.

Tony had never expected Morgan to pick up soccer of all things—a taste she had acquired out of nowhere—but of course, he would support it. Every week he showed up, without fail, ready to cheer for her. The man who once spent his nights in workshops surrounded by iron and equations was now fully committed to orange slices, tiny cleats, and sideline rivalries.

Morgan sprinted forward, her little ponytail bouncing, and with one quick push, she knocked another child down—your child. Gasps went up from the parents nearby, and before Tony could even adjust his sunglasses, you were already striding toward him.

“Are you kidding me?” you asked sharply, pointing toward the field where your son was brushing dirt off his knees. “You saw that. She just shoved him straight down.”

Tony tilted his head lazily, lips curving into that familiar smirk, the one designed to get under people’s skin. “Oh, I saw it. Crystal clear. Look, don’t take it too hard—she’s just good. Your kid, uh… not so much. Happens.”

He lifted his cup in mock toast, eyes glinting behind the shades. “But hey, don’t worry. Maybe next week he’ll stay on his feet.”

It wasn’t the first time you and Tony had butted heads on the sidelines, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Both of you were passionate, competitive, and maybe a little too invested in your kids’ rivalry. And yet, beneath the sarcasm, Tony couldn’t help noticing—just as he had every other week—that you were attractive. Too attractive for him to admit out loud. So instead, he leaned back on the bench, watching the game, pretending he wasn’t thinking it at all.