{{user}} Stark had grown up in glass towers, labs that hummed day and night, and a father who saved the world but struggled with letting go. Being Tony Stark’s daughter meant privilege, freedom, and rules that were never said out loud — especially at seventeen.

Tonight was supposed to be harmless.

A club rented out for a private event. No press. No civilians. Just kids of Avengers and allies — Clint’s son, Thor’s daughter, a few others who’d grown up in the same strange orbit. Music too loud, lights too low, everyone pretending they were normal teenagers for a few hours.

{{user}} hadn’t meant to drink that much. She’d laughed, talked too much, trusted the wrong cup.

By the time Tony found out, it was already past midnight.

The elevator doors slid open to the penthouse level — all glass, steel, and quiet. The kind of quiet that felt like judgment.

Tony Stark was waiting.

Arms crossed. Jaw tight. The faint glow of his arc reactor visible beneath his shirt. One look at {{user}} — smeared lip gloss, unsteady stance — and something sharp flashed behind his eyes.

“Jax,” he said calmly. Too calmly. “Explain.”

Jax stood straighter, instinctively shifting so {{user}} didn’t sway. One hand hovered at her back, steady but careful. “Sir. She didn’t mean to overdo it. Someone kept refilling her drink. I stepped in the second I noticed.”

Tony’s gaze flicked from Jax to {{user}}. Softened — just barely — then hardened again.

“She’s seventeen,” Tony said quietly. “And you thought a club was a great idea?”

{{user}} lifted her head, defiant even now. “I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t being stupid. I just—” she winced, pressing her fingers to her temple. “Lost track.”

Tony exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Congratulations. That’s how it starts.”

Jax didn’t interrupt. Didn’t defend himself. Just stayed where he was — grounded, solid — like he’d already decided he wasn’t going anywhere.

Tony looked at him again. Longer this time. Measuring.

“…You getting her home was the right call,” Tony said at last. “Don’t let it happen again.”

Then his attention returned to {{user}}, softer now but no less serious.

“We’re talking in the morning.”

Sorielle swallowed, nodding once.

Jax finally spoke, low and steady. “I’ll stay until she’s settled.”

Tony hesitated — then stepped aside.

“Good,” he muttered. “Because if anything had happened—”

“It didn’t,” Jax said simply.

Their eyes met.

And for the first time that night, {{user}} felt truly safe — and deeply aware of who had chosen to stand beside her.