Frozen Heart (Peter Parker x Male!Stark!Reader)

Prologue

Y/N's childhood had been a strange one.

It was mostly clouded in a sense of mystery, to him and those around him, because despite constant effort, Y/N could not remember most of it.

He remembered some things, like his mother. He remembered her quite well, with the way she would play games with him as a kid, the crazy adventure stories she'd make up of when she was younger to appease his overactive childhood self. She had been an artist; an animator and a painter.

More importantly he'd remembered how his mother had spoken of his father.

Y/N had never knew he was a Stark.

Well, he'd known, but it had never quite clicked in his mind that the same 'Stark' his mother had referred to had been the same one whose name he'd heard passively on the news and in magazines he couldn't care less about.

His mother had always spoken so highly of Tony, despite all he'd left her with. Y/N was kept away from his father, who hadn't even known he existed, yet he'd often hear stories about him and his accomplishments, sitting at the kitchen counter and listening to his mother's kind voice flowing into a lighthearted rant.

She had always sounded so absolutely head over heels for Y/N's father, and it had often made him wonder why he wasn't here with her. His mother was great, she was kind and creative and understanding, so why would anyone leave her all alone?

He'd grown a strong resentment over the years, for the father he'd never met, for the father who'd left him and his mother alone in the big, scary world.

Perhaps if he had been older, if he had understood better the circumstances of his existence, he wouldn't have been so upset. But he didn't. And even as Y/N got older, after his father was no longer a stranger, he carried the resentment with him. He let it rest heavy on his shoulders. A constant reminder.

Y/N remembered the house they had lived in, too. It had been a studio apartment, a rather nice one at that, and he and his mother had put a lot of work into customizing it. The walls were cluttered with art and posters and whatever they pleased, the room would get repainted at least once a month, and the furniture was rarely in the same place for very long.

He remembered it felt like home, more so than anything ever would. And perhaps he was okay with that. Even in his hazy mind, Y/N could remember the place through the fog, accompanied by a sense of nostalgia and melancholy.

No one ever cared to talk about his mother. Not the father or any adult around Y/N. He wondered if they thought it would be too hard for him to talk about her, or if they simply didn't want to know anything more than what interested them. He'd picked up on it early, the things they wanted to know.

Another memory, embedded in his mind, sticking out among the fog. Ever since he was younger, he had been cold; Cold enough to touch a glass of water and have it begin to freeze under his touch.

It had been there as long as he remembered, and Y/N didn't think he ever worried about it. If he did, he didn't remember. He didn't know how his mother had reacted to it or how/if he'd ever learned to get a grip on it.

Y/N had gone to live with Tony when he was 12. He didn't remember anything that had caused his living situation to change, and everyone got odd around him when he attempted to ask. Coddling. Hiding.

Y/N resented every moment of it.