#peter parker x little!reader

[angelbaby-fics]

Ur finally opend ur request again yayyyyyy

So I'm very sick rn and I thought of daddy stucky x little reader x little Peter where she is sick but they dont notice it until they are at the avenger tower and she fell asleep while playing with her stuffys and her friends and Peter goes to daddy buck and is like "daddy tiny fell asleep" and he is like huh again? And then they found out that she's sick 🥺

Daycare Dilemma

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: What a precious idea 🥺 I love older brother Peter & I love that you guys do too 💕 I changed up the request just slightly but I hope you still love it!! 💕

The day started just as well as any other day. You had breakfast with your family at the kitchen table, one of Steve’s records playing softly in the corner of the room while Bucky cut your pancake into bite-size pieces. Peter’s spoon chimed against his bowl as he shoveled sugary cereal into his mouth. The sun was a bit bright on your sleepy eyes, but aside from that you couldn’t complain. The mornings were your favorite part of the day anyways. 

Syrupy pancake bites scratched down your throat, but you chalked it up to having just woken up. Even Bucky could tell you were taking a bit longer than usual to perk up that morning, and he rubbed your back reassuringly as you took some sips from your water cup. You usually sat in your own chair, but today you ate breakfast in Bucky’s lap. He and Steve had some business to attend to at the compound so he soaked up every moment with you before he had to go to work. 

Thankfully, the compound had a daycare center not far from the meeting rooms, so they knew you and Peter would be in good hands while they were busy. Mr. Stark had spared no expense on all the amenities a kid could dream up and then some. There was a massive indoor playground with swirling slides that led outside the building into the courtyard garden, a motorized swing set that took you far higher than the swings at any park you’d been to, and a trampoline built right into the floor, surrounded by soft plush barriers to minimize injury. Staff members were always available for the kiddos that needed more hands on supervision, while F.R.I.D.A.Y. kept track of the more independant little ones. 

You often looked forward to getting to spend time there, but today, all you really wanted to do was stay curled up in Bucky’s arms. Steve could barely keep Peter’s hand in his as you all approached the daycare entrance, the boy’s excitement practically propelling him towards the door. Yours and Peter’s backpacks were slung over Steve’s shoulder, while Bucky focussed all his energy on carrying you. He could tell you were quiet, and clingier than usual; he assumed you were anxious about being separated from your daddies so soon after breakfast, and he wanted to drop everything and stay home with you. But it was a very important meeting, and a rather short one at that, and he whispered reassuringly in your ear that he’d be back before you knew it to snuggle on the couch for the rest of the day. 

Bucky sat you down in the younger kids area, correctly assuming that your lack of energy today was an indicator of a smaller headspace. This area had a big tent full of pillows and blankets, a big tv, and some soft toys and stuffies strewn around for you to crawl and find. Steve came over with the backpacks, puting Peter’s in a nearby cubby, and removing the pacifier and bottle from yours before putting it in the cubby as well. Peter was long gone already, climbing up the playscape as high as he could go. You took your things from Steve with a soft smile, immediately putting your paci in your mouth and leaning up to tap it against your daddy’s lips. Then you reached out for Bucky so you could do the same for him. 

“We’ll see you soon, okay lovebug?” Bucky said softly, tugging his thumb across your cheek. 

“We won’t be long, promise. Love you, babydoll.” Steve added, and the two stood up, leaving you in the baby room as they went back out into the main room towards the exit.

“Make sure to keep an eye on your sister,” Steve called up to Peter, who was perched on the top level of the playground with an arm stretched out towards the ceiling, “And no webs indoors!”

Peter lowered his arm dejectedly, rolling his eyes as your daddies turned to leave for their meeting. At the last minute he called out “Bye Daddy! Bye Baba!”

The tv was playing Winnie The Pooh, which you liked very much, so you gathered some of the pillows and blankets to make a little nest for yourself. You weren’t hungry for your bottle yet, so you set it aside as you got yourself comfortable. The daycare felt colder than usual, and your toes were feeling like little icicles in your socks, so you pulled as many blankets as you could over yourself, just your face peeking out to watch the tv screen. Your blinks got longer and longer until eventually you were snoring softly in the confines of the tent. 

It didn’t take very long for Peter to get bored of playing by himself, and soon climbed down from the playscape to look around for you. He might have missed you all hidden in your nest if his spidey sense hadn’t suddenly picked up your raised temperature and raspy breathing. Peter bounded into the tent and couched by your side, not sure if he should wake you up and ask what's wrong, or let you rest. He looked around the room for a daycare attendant or someone he could ask for help, but he saw a familiar face instead. 

“Hey, Angel!” Steve greeted, entering the baby area while Bucky signed you out at the entrance. “Are you checking on your little sister?” The meeting had been just as short as they’d promised. 

“Baby’s sleepin’,” Peter replied with a shrug, making Steve’s eyebrows furrow.

“Again? Did she sleep the whole time?” He asked, softly brushing aside the blankets so he could caress your face. He could tell from the moment he made contact with your skin that you were running a fever. 

“Everything alright in here?” Bucky asked, joining his family. He could feel Steve’s tenseness as he entered the room.

“Looks like we’re gonna have to give this one a little extra loving when we get home,” Steve answered, scooping you up with the blanket still wrapped around you so as not to disturb your slumber. He’d wash it and return it when you were better. 

“Oh? We have a sick baby on our hands?” Bucky asked nervously, mentally kicking himself for not noticing when he was feeding you breakfast. 

Bucky gathered yours and Peter’s things while Steve rocked you back and forth in his arms. Then the four of you made your way back towards the elevator up to your home floor. When the metal doors were within sight, Bucky gave Peter the ‘okay’ to run ahead and press the buttons for all of you, one of his favorite duties. When the kid was out of earshot, Bucky leaned over to whisper to Steve, hoping you were still asleep so you wouldn’t hear his insecurities. 

“I should have noticed, Steve. She sat in my lap all morning and I just thought she was tired.”

Steve shifted you over to one arm, your slumber undisturbed as you were pressed comfortably into the side of his chest. With his now free hand, Steve reached out to hold his husband’s.

“There’s no use worrying about it now, honey,” He rubbed a reassuring thumb against Bucky’s hand. “All we can do now is give her all the love she needs. And I happen to know you’re very good at that.” 

#little!reader #agere fic #marvel agere #stucky x little!reader #daddy!stucky x little!reader #daddy!stucky #cg x little!reader #cg!stucky #stucky x reader #peter parker x little!reader #stucky x little!peter #chloe's fic

[buckysugar]

𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲’𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 | 𝐛. 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬

au masterlist

reader has a bad dream and struggles to maintain a balance between her big self and her little self. it doesn't help that all she wants is bucky, the man she wishes to be her daddy.

note: this my first fic so please be kinds !! i hopes you likes n maybe i writes more in the futures? thankies for readings, i lubs you 🎀☁️🫶🏽💗

you were a lonely baby when bucky met you. you had your family, sure, but they weren't there for you in the way you needed them to be. you'd just had a fall out with your best friend and had began isolating yourself from everyone and everything

it wasn't until peter found you at school, crying on a park bench in the rain, that things started to change for you. that was a few months ago. under the false pretence of moving away for college, you left your family and joined peter at the avengers tower after three months.

everyone loved you the moment they met you. you were so kind, so quiet and well-mannered. just so doll-like that no one could pick a bone with you. they hadn't known you were a little, and they still didn't but they wouldn't be surprised to find out. they all protected you and cared for you like you were their own. of course, you felt very out of place considering how quickly everything had happened but they all reassured you that they enjoyed having you around more than you knew. and with peter by your side, things were okay.

the one person who was iffy about you at first was bucky. he was too scared to come close, to taint your innocence with his darkness. over time, he came to realize how similar the two of you were in different ways and he let his wall break down. he opened up to you in the slightest of ways, and so did you. your feelings of hurt and anxiety still resided in your heart, but the avengers made you feel like you finally had a home. especially bucky.

"y/n, peter, what are you still doing up?" tony asked as he barged into the boy's room.

"we're just studying for a test, mr. stark. there's a lot to cram," peter replied in a tired voice, running a hand through his hair as the only light in the room came from his laptop and the bright city outside his window.

"okay, well this isn't the time to be studying, it's 1am. go to sleep," tony looked at him sternly, ready to walk out. "tiny, you look tired. head to bed, alright?"

"y-yes, sir," you nodded softly, giving him a smile.

"goodnight, kiddos. get some rest."

peter huffed, slamming his laptop aggressively. this caused you to flinch from your seat on the bed, making him give you an apologetic smile.

"i didn't realize how late it was," he spoke quietly, moving your book out of your lap. "let's get some rest, bug."

"mkay," you shuffled under the covers and made room for him to come in beside you. peter turned on the night light he kept for you in these instances before sliding into bed, opening his mouth to say something when he noticed the pout on your face.

"what's wrong?"

"i don't have squiggles."

"i got you," he tried easing your worries, pulling you into his chest. "you're safe with me, now close your eyes y/n/n."

"thank you, petey. goodnight."

--

"stop! where's my bucky? where's my daddy? i want him!" you shouted at the man in front of you.

"he's not coming back for you. he's gone, you're all alone like you always have been."

"i wan' him back," you cried, looking around through the foggy crowd of people around you. you didn't know where you were or who you were talking to, but you felt so alone and unsafe.

"you're alone now, y/n. nobody's coming to find you. you're trapped."

--

you woke up to heavy breaths, jolting upwards as you forced yourself awake. you were shaking like a leaf, heart beating rapidly against your chest as you looked down at peter who was sleeping soundly.

"wan' bucky," you whispered through tears, clutching the blanket to your chest. you were feeling so little right now, so scared and vulnerable.

you didn't know what to do. you didn't want to go bother or disturb him. the man rarely ever slept, but what if this time he was? you couldn't do it. but staring at the clock that read 3:14am, you didn't know how much longer you could take it.

he always told you to come to him whenever you needed him. you never did for fear of wasting his precious time but surely he wouldn't mind, if he wasn't asleep at least. you took a deep breath, using the back of your hands to wipe away the stray tears you didn't know had fallen. you carefully hopped over peter's sleeping frame and quietly made your way out of his room.

the hall was dark, making you let out a quiet whimper. your fingers clawed at your neck as you took shallow breaths, wishing you were holding squiggles right now for comfort. he always knew how to cheer you up.

"miss. l/n, you appear to be in distress. shall i alert mr. barnes?" F.R.I.D.A.Y's voice boomed, causing you to jump out of your skin.

"n-no, no, no. F.R.I.D.A.Y, b-be quiet. you'll wake everyone ups," you whispered, staring up at the ceiling.

"i'm sorry, ms. l/n, it appears mr. barnes is already on his way."

"w-what?" your eyes widened, looking around as you heard heavy footsteps walking towards you.

your eyes cracked with tears as you couldn't see a thing, reminding you of your scary dream as a quiet sob made its way out of your mouth.

"hey, y/n/n, don't worry. you're okay, everything's okay, love," you heard the familiar voice.

"b-bucky, you here?" you asked the dark abyss, pulling your thumb into your mouth.

"hun, i'm right here. i'm walking towards you," bucky replied, not missing a beat. his voice didn't sound tired at all. in fact, he sounded more awake than ever.

as he reached you, he heard the little sounds coming from you and his heart ached. he carefully placed a hand on your shoulder, causing you to jump and cry.

"plum, it's just me—"

you quickly ran into his arms and he held your quivering frame tight to his chest. you didn't want to speak, not in the hall where anyone could find you. you wanted to go to his room and let everything out, tell him all your fears and get the reassurance you so dearly needed.

"shh, shh. you're okay, my love, you're alright. i'm right here, i'm not leaving," he comforted, lifting you into his arms and taking you to his bedroom.

he locked the door behind him and sat on the bed, running a soft hand down your back as your tears soaked the skin on his neck.

"what happened, bug? what's got you so worked up?" he asked quietly, pulling you out of his chest.

you made a sound of disapproval before shoving your head back into the crook of his neck, just needing to be close to him.

"okay, okay. that's okay you can stay there," he rocked you slowly. "but can you please be the good girl i know you are and tell me what's wrong?"

you hiccupped, nodding your head. "t-the.. the guy t-took me.. n.. n you was gone!"

you balled his shirt in your fist, sobbing so hard your chest began to hurt. "was— was all 'lones n he.. he saids you wasn't gonna come backs."

"aw, my love," it clicked that you had a bad dream, the hurt in your voice tugging at his heartstrings. "i'm right here, i promise you i'll always find you wherever you are."

"was s-so scareds d.. da.. mm," you shook your head and stopped, finally taking the moment to actually realize where you were. you were with bucky, you couldn't call him daddy. but you were safe, no one was going to take him away from you and he wasn't going to leave you.

"thought.. thought you were g-gones," your voice cracked at the memory. a string of snot clung to his shirt through your cries and you wanted to laugh but you couldn't.

he kissed the top of your head, deciding again to try to get you to peak out from your hiding spot. he cupped your face in his hands, observing your red and teary eyes. he wiped the tears away softly before kissing both your cheeks as you hiccupped again. your lips were plump from the crying, and he continued looking down to notice scratches on the skin of your collarbone.

he'd have to talk to you about that in the morning, but for now he needed to get you back to sleep.

"you need a tissue," he mumbled, reaching over to his bedside table and grabbing one. he placed it on your nose. "blow."

you listened like you always do, silent wetness still dripping from your cheeks but they were beginning to slow down. he through out the tissue after humming in satisfaction. his hands moved down to your neck, using his thumbs to rub soft circles under your ears as you sniffled. it felt good, really good. you closed your eyes, his touch being more than enough to bring you back down to earth.

"you feeling a little better, baby?"

"mhm," you nodded, wiping your face aggressively. "m sorry."

"no, no. don't ever be sorry. you're okay, my baby's alright. bucky's here, you'll never be alone, hm? it's all going to be okay," he pulled you back into his chest, cradling your head ever so gently.

"t-thank you, bubby."

he smiled at the nickname. "no thank you's. now, lets get the little one back to sleep, how does that sound?"

"sounds good," you whispered.

"good girl," he turned off the lamp by his bedside table and got himself into bed with you clinging to him like a koala bear.

he simply chuckled as you looked up at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. he could feel your heart beating against his chest, it was still a bit quick but not as fast as it was before which was a good sign. no more words were spoken from you but he kept uttering words of reassurance until your breathing slowed. his delicate voice and the feeling of his hand tapping your side lulled you to sleep in no time.

#daddy!bucky x little!reader #daddy!bucky #peter parker x little!reader #bucky barnes #daddy bucky #daddy bucky barnes #daddy!winter solder x little!reader #daddy!winter soldier #the spider kid's best friend au

[cannibalizedyke]

His Sweet Baby

MCU!Peter Parker x GN!Reader

Word Count: 404

Warnings: Age regression (SAFE FOR WORK. IF YOU HARASS ME FOR WRITING AGERE OR SEXUALIZE THIS FIC IN ANY WAY I WILL IMMEDIATELY BLOCK YOU.)

Summary: Peter helps you fall asleep when you’re small.

Taglist: @gg-is-a-loser @yesshewrites1 @dragon-master-kai @secretlymerfolk

Peter heard you whimper softly, voice soft, high-pitched, and babyish.

“Peter…” you whined, hands reaching out to grab his shirt, cuddling into his back.

You were definitely small; he could tell by the childish tone of your voice, the clinginess of your actions, the whininess in how you said his name.

“Yes, honey?” he said, rolling over to gently bring you into his arms.

“My head hurts.” Your voice was muffled against his chest.

“Aw, baby, I’m sorry. Do you want me to get you some medicine?”

“Mm-mm.” You shook your head. “Don’ wan’ you to leave me.”

“I could take you with me,” he suggested.

“Noooo!” you whined. “Don’ wanna get out of bed.”

“All right, baby, all right.” He kissed your head.

“Hungry…” You pouted. You were distressed, Peter could tell, but your brain was rejecting any solutions.

“What do you need?” he asked gently.

“Don’ know,” you whimpered. “Wan’ my head to stop hurting an’ my tummy to stop hurting an’ to go to sleep but I can’t!”

“All right, darling, all right. I’m gonna turn on the Owl House, real quiet, do you think that’ll help?”

“Maybe.” Your voice was soft, muffled. “Don’ know.”

“We’ll see.” He kissed your forehead and turned on the bedside lamp, filling the room with gentle golden light. You sighed a bit, slightly more at ease now that the room wasn’t pitch-dark. Peter turned on your comfort show and put the volume down to ten—loud enough for you to hear it but not so loud for it to be upsetting.

You hummed contentedly, squirming around on the bed with a bit of a smile on your face. “Watch with me, Petey!” you demanded with a pout.

“Okay, okay!” Peter smiled and joined you on the bed.

You watched the show intently for a couple of episodes, but after a while your eyelids began to droop. You yawned and collapsed against Peter’s side, burying your head in his chest.

“‘M sleepy, Petey,” you mumbled, eyes shut. “It’s time for night-night, I think.”

“All right, baby. Light on?”

“Light on,” you confirmed.

“Okay.” Peter laid down beside you and gently positioned you next to him. “Sweet dreams, honey. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” you murmured, words slurred by your being half-asleep.

Peter smiled and let himself drift off to dreamland as well. He loved his sweet baby, and he loved when you could finally find peace.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x gn!reader #peter parker x agere!reader #peter parker x small!reader #peter parker x little!reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #peter parker oneshot #peter parker blurb #peter parker drabble #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fic #peter parker #mcu!peter parker x reader #agere #age regression #agere!reader #little!reader #small!reader #sfw #sfw agere #sfw age regression #x reader

[hiimponyboysgirl]

wait for naptime

 requested? : no

pairing : daddy!peter parker x little!reader

pronouns : she/her

prompt : reader is tired,but its not quiet naptime yet,so they have a tantrum. 

warnings : none, unless you count tantrums as a warning

as peter does his work at the table,y/n walks in,drowsy eyed. “daddy,i tired.” she says,and peter looks up. “but princess,its not naptime yet.” he says. “but i tired!” she says and peter raises his eyebrows. ‘why don’t we go play?” he says,and y/n shakes her head. “i wan’ nap now!” she says,and peter shakes his head. “We can’t nap now,babygirl! we have a schedule!” he says,getting a little annoyed that she won’t stop. “no!” he says,sternly. “but why not?” she asks,fussily. “because we only have 30 minutes love!” he says,and she sits down on the ground and starts crying. “that’s not working today.” he says,but she just continues crying. “baby,stop!” he says,and picks her up and sits back down. “but i wanna sleep!” she says,and he leans her head on his shoulder. “you threw a fit up until naptime. you could have colored or sat out here and i could have given you juice but no,you threw a fit. i’m sorry baby,but you can’t have a treat when you wake up.” he says,and puts her juice on the table. “i sowwy daddy.” she says,and peter,rubs her back. “go to sleep love.” he says,and y/n slips of into there nap they’ve been waiting for.

#little!reader #peter parker x little!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker

[catastrxblues]

i love ao3 but tumblr fanfics just hit different 😩😩

#i’m not saying it just to say it #it’s a fact #i speak only the truth #you fanfic writers are geniuses #james potter x reader #peter parker x reader #bucky barnes x reader #ron weasley x reader #remus lupin x reader #marc spector x reader #loki x reader #sirius black x reader #steven grant x reader #percy jackson x reader #harry potter x reader #steve rogers x reader #did i just expose myself on how i chose to use this silly little website every now and then 🫣 #these are my lifelines tho so <33 #esp the angsty ones #nadirants

[bethsvrse]

please PLEASE learn how to tag your fanfics. Don’t tag fluff when it’s angst, don’t tag smut when it’s fluff and please don’t tag characters that ARENT EVEN MENTIONED IN THE FIC!!!!

#bethsvrse #tagging characters on a meme post that isn’t a fanfic but can still apply to them is okay though #I wanna have a little laugh before I continue scrolling #fanfic #remus lupin x reader #steve harrington x reader #george weasley x reader #sirius black x reader #peter parker x reader #spencer reid x reader #stiles stilinski x reader #james potter x reader #marvel x reader #star wars x reader #han solo x reader #luke skywalker x reader #marauders x reader #doctor who x reader #bruce banner x reader #joel miller x reader #aaron hotchner x reader

[dylan-hart]

peter: do you need help, mister loki sir?

loki: no thanks. i’m god.

(y/n): …

avengers: …

tony: (y/n)…don’t…

(y/n): …

steve: (y/n)…

(y/n): hi god, i’M DAD—

clint: [flips table] jUST ONE DAY OF PEACE IS ALL I ASK FOR—

yelena: [cackles in the distance]

#avengers #the avengers #avengers x reader #loki x reader #peter x reader #tony x reader #steve x reader #clint x reader #yelena x reader #x reader #incorrect quotes #loki laufeyson #peter parker #tony stark #steve rogers #yelena belova #avengers x teen reader #clint barton #hawkeye #(y/n) is a little shit #tony stark x reader #steve rogers x reader #loki laufesyon x reader #yelena belova x reader #clint barton x reader #peter parker x reader

[leos-regression-cove]

I have a request to have cg! Peter Parker x little! reader.

Reader had a ton to do at school (homework, tests, projects, etc) and had to stay big all week. They want to regress, but they don’t to keep Peter away from going on patrol so they try to stay big and they think Peter won’t notice. However, Peter notices.

Reader can be fem or gender neutral.

(I don’t know if that’s a good request, I just don’t see a lot with cg! peter parker 😭)

CG-Senses

CG!Peter Parker x GNLittle!Reader

Rating: Gen

Summary: Reader is overwhelmed with homework and trying to stay big, but it makes them grumpy so a tired Caregiver!Peter stays home with them.

Word Count: 448

Warnings: Reader is grumpy and may come off as rude/sarcastic

A/N: This is such a cute concept and a very sweet prompt! CG!Peter Parker was fun to write and I'd love to do more with him if you have more ideas because idk if I did the dynamic justice in this short little oneshot.

Support me on AO3!

“Hey,” Peter shut the door behind him. “I brought you some Mexican food from that place down the street?” 

“Yeah, thanks, just set it down there,” you said. 

He did as you asked but then paused before walking into his room. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Why? Are your ‘spidey-senses’ tingling?” you asked sarcastically. 

Peter stopped putting on his suit and poked his head out the bedroom door to shoot you a look. 

Immediately, it almost made you crack. You drew in a breath a little quicker than you meant to and turned back to your homework. 

Then he softened. “I can hang out tonight if you want. I don’t need to go out…” he hinted. 

“I have homework,” you said. 

He leaned over your shoulder to take a look. “Do you want help with it? We can knock it out pretty quick--” 

“No! Go!” you said. “Go be spiderman!” you whined. 

“I don’t need to tonight. I can be here for you.”

“I’m a big kid!” you whined, starting to cry. Why was he staying here?! You had homework!

“I know, it was a big week for you. It’s okay. C’mon, come to daddy, I’ve got you.”

You hesitated to stand up but when you did, you couldn’t help but fall into his arms. 

“Yeah, I’ve got you. See? Not so bad.” 

“I have homework,” you whined. 

“I know, but I need you to eat and then we’ll do homework, okay?”

“You gotta work!” 

He shushed you and brought your crown up to his chin, resting his head atop yours. 

“I don’t have to patrol tonight. I have a baby to take care of.” 

“...Is it me?” you asked. 

He looked down at you and smiled. “Of course it’s you.” He paused for a moment. “And do you want to know a secret?” 

You nodded curiously. 

“I’m tired, too.” 

He helped you eat and you worked through your homework together before you could really regress. He turned on the tv for you and was laying out all your toys as you put on your kitten pajamas-- the one-piece with the hood and little orange cat face. 

There, you crawled into his lap as he sat on the floor with you, playing with your toys, crashing toy trucks together and having your action figures save the planet. 

You turned to hand one to him, but that’s when you noticed he was asleep. Back pressed up against the couch, he had gone night-night before you! He was always out so late that that almost never happened! 

You turned the tv off, and then the lights, and curled up next to him. A long rest was really what you both needed

#agere fic inspo #fandom agere #marvel agere #x reader #x gender neutral reader #little!reader #agere fanfiction #agere fanfic #anon asks #requests #cg!Peter Parker #caregiver!peter parker #🎠chatter

[jjtheresidentbaby]

could you do maybe cg! Tony where peter comes over when reader is little and Tony is worried peter is gonna be too rough with them cuz reader is like shy n more reserved when little, but he's really sweet and the three of them jus color and stuff?

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ gentle ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

|| tony stark x reader x peter parker

warnings: tony being anxious, pet names

-

Tony sits nervously next to you, tapping his fingers restlessly against his thigh as you both wait for Peter to arrive. This is the first time he’s going to be around while you’re small, you’ve gotten along with the teen at random party’s Tony’s hosted or occasionally seeing him while he was on a mission, but Tony has anxiety about him seeing you while you’re regressed.

He knows Peter would never intentionally hurt you, but the boy has super strength that’s fairly new and controlling that can be difficult. Not to mention how much energy Peter has compared to your own, a loudness and excitement you don’t tend to match while in headspace. You’ve always been on the quieter side of things, Tony’s worried you might get overwhelmed today and has already told you that you can ask to go to your room anytime you need to.

You’re not worried about seeing Peter, he’s always been nice and sweet towards you, you don’t expect anything different today. So you’ve done what you can to calm Tony down. Cuddling into his side seems to be the most affective, and what you’re doing right now.

“Here he is baby.” Tony says quieter, more for himself than you but you’re okay with it, you silently nod and curl farther into your caregivers side.

“Hi guys, sorry I’m a few minutes late I was caught up in patrol with this guy who lost his bike.” Peter rambles as he dumps his backpack and mask onto the floor, smiling brightly to you and Tony once you’re able to see his face.

“Hi Pete!” You grin when he walks over, crouching in front of the couch to be at your level.

“Hey there, Mr.Stark said you’d be feeling small when I came over today, is that true?” His tone is gentle and calm, you can feel Tony relax next to you at hearing it.

“Uh-huh. You wanna color with me?” Peter immediately nods, letting you pass by him to get over to the coffee table where coloring books and crayons are stashed underneath it.

You and Peter sit across from one another, cross legged and chatting quietly about what picture Peter should color and which one you should. Tony can’t help but sigh in relief at the sight, and snap a quick picture that he hopes neither of you noticed. He also makes a mental note to put Peter on the ‘possible babysitters’ list he has going for emergency’s.

-

#jj writes #marvel agere #little!reader #caregiver!peter parker #caregiver!tony stark #peter parker #tony stark #tony x reader x peter

[xozombiee]

nerd | p. parker.

warnings: praise, peter parker’s abs, fingering, marking, kissing, nerd kink😶…, dirty talk?, boring nerd facts

synopsis: peter finds out you’re secretly turned on by his intelligence and uses it against you.

study nights like this weren’t unusual. peter sitting by your side while your sat with your legs crossed next to him. text books were scattered across your bed since he was helping you study for a chemistry quiz that was this friday.

you shut the book with a huff, turning to the boy next to you. “i’m bored.”

peter looks up from his book, “you wanna take a break?” he asks.

you nod in reply, jumping off the bed. you stretch, your shirt rising up in the process which makes the spider boys face turn pink. you smiled, “you hungry? i can make some food real quick.”

“maybe later. we should take a break for a few then get back to studying.” he suggested.

you let out an exasperated whine, falling back into your rolling chair. “whyyyy? i hate studying. it’s so boring.” you argued.

“you said it yourself. you cant fail this test.” he replied. you frowned. “well not everyone is as smart as you, pete.”

“i’m not that smart.”

“yes you are! you have so many awards! and you’re like…awesome at everything!” you told him, making him smile.

“you’re actually so smart…it’s kinda hot.” you grumbled like an old man. peters ears perked at your words.

“hot?”

“yes, it’s hot!” you yelled, spinning the chair away from him.

peter took a moment to think. you were obviously embarrassed about it. so was there was more to the story? he smirked to himself as he thought of an idea.

he stood up from his spot, getting close to your ear, “did you know there’s enough dna in the average persons body to stretch to the sun to pluto and back—seventeen times.” peter whispered.

“seventeen?” you mumbled, turning your head to his.

“yeah. and, the earth has a mass of five point nine seven times ten to the power of twenty four kilograms.” he smiled.

you stared at him, eyes shifting to his lips every two seconds before you finally pulled the collar of his t-shirt. your lips connected. peters hands grabbed your hips, steadying himself above you. you stood from the chair, walking to the bed. lips disconnecting for a breath of air. your hands were pushing the text books onto the floor.

your knees met the mattress, your weight sinking it in as you sat. you wiggled your hips as you crawled across the bed. peter stared at you like you were the millennium falcon lego set you had gotten him for christmas. he was absolutely so in love.

he followed behind you, dragging your hips back to him. you squirmed in surprise, watching peter grin at you. his fingers played with the hem of your shorts and you were practically begging for him to take them off.

“is this okay?” he asked, tugging them to your thighs.

you nodded desperately, making him smile to himself. after taking your shorts off, all to be seen were the cute cotton flower panties you wore underneath them. a small damp patch was covering the middle, making all the blood in peter shoot down his body.

opened mouth kisses were placed along down your torso, “did you know a cloud can weigh about a million pounds.” he said between each kiss.

you felt insane for being turned on by this.

“peter..”you sighed, wrapping a hand in his brown locs.

“baby?” he replied. his eyes stared up at you, watching as you looked as if you were about to faint.

“need you…now.” you whispered. you just want him to stop teasing you and start pleasing you. feeling his breath near your core was driving you insane.

hands trace against the inside of your thighs, sending shivers up your spine. peter pushes the fabric that covered your cunt to the side, putting two fingers inside of you and curling them as he does, making you moan.

“peter.” you barely say below your breath, holding onto his bicep.

“shhh..baby. let me take care of you.” he said against the skin of your collarbone. you whispered in reply.

his kisses were so light against your neck. if you hadn’t known it was him, you would’ve thought a butterfly had landed onto your throat, fluttering peacefully. his trail of kisses moved down to your chest, then eventually to your stomach again.

“pretty girl..my pretty girl.” he muttered.

you cupped your mouth with your hand, muffling the cries of your voice. you couldn’t let your roommate hear, or your other colleagues down in the other dorms.

peter noticed the hand covering your mouth. he took the hand occupying your insides, removing it and pulling yours away.

“don’t get shy on me now.” he pouted.

your legs closed from the loss of touch, hoping for some friction as you rubbed them. peter brought his lips close to your ear, pushing your hair away from your face.

“i know you think about this all the time. it’s so obvious from the way you stare.” he says.

your eyes squeeze shut, “peter, please..”

“please what?”

you get quite at the next part, but thanks to peters enhanced senses he heard what you said clearly. 

“always.” he replied. you watched as he ripped his own shirt off, his abs coming into sight. god he was fine. he pulled back your underwear, watching as it tickled down your thighs.

peter entered slowly, bottoming out. for several moments, the bedroom was silent, apart from your panting. your eyes couldn't leave his figure.

you reached a hand up to push several strands of hair out his eyes. he pulled almost all the way out before thrusting back in, making you throw your head back.

fuck you were gorgeous with your head thrown back against the pillow, back arched. it wasn't the first time peter had seen such a sight. hell, he’d even took pictures and videos of it for himself.

"gonna fill you up, pretty." you nodded, the corners of your vision beginning to blur from the intense pleasure. 

you could feel the spark of your insides begin to light, almost as if it was about to go off. you were so close. “peter.”

“yeah?”

“close.”

peter grabbed your hips, adjusting them to his. he picked his pace up, making your brain fuzzy. the circles he was tracing on your clit added to the pleasure he was submerging you in. your fists grabbed the sheets as if they were going to save you from this animal of a man.

You were incoherent as you came, only whines mixed with slurred chants of his name leaving your mouth. peter followed quickly behind you; a whimper leaving his lips.

peter relaxed against you, his head falling against your chest. you laughed softly as his curls tickled your skin. “fuck.” you breathed.

“yeah, fuck.” he grinned.

the two of you laughed, holding each other tightly. the room was soon filled with silence once more. it was comfortable. as always.

“yknow..the world record for the most female orgasms is one hundred and thirty four in one hour. i bet we can beat that.” peter winked.

the room was silent.

a loud cackle was heard from below him, which is where you were laying.

“why the fuck do you know that?”

@xozombiee2022

#peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker is the loml #i love peter parker #peter parker is a little shit #this is a cry for help #i love men #smut mention #mcu x y/n #xozombiee

[youandtom2]

Request if you want it: Tom is playing at a golf event and reader is a journalist there. She absolutely can't stand him, because she finds out he is quite arrogant and full of himself. They go after each other throughout the whole day with sarcastic remarks. But somehow (you can fill in the details) Tom seduces her by the end and he gets her on her knees and he totally dominates her, making her choke and gag. And he embarrasses her by making her feel his muscles and beg to suck him off and he boasts about how easily he got her in the palm of his hand. :P

(14/07/22) brain go brrrrrrrrrrr THIS REQUEST!!!!

a/n (28/06/23): This was a request that was sent in and one that I had started last year that I really wanted to finish. Apologies to the anon who sent this in and waited for it whoops. This was supposed to be short but I clearly don't fucking know what short means so here's like 7k or something???

Anyway here's 'A Word for the Youth Diary?' Shitty title I know but I literally can't think of anything else.

MASTERLIST

"The weather is absolutely gorgeous here at St. Andrews' Castle Course, celebrating the first 'Pro Amateur' charity competition where a host of celebrities, socialites or anyone with a keen passion for golf can compete. A number of spectators have gathered around the course, eager to soak up the buzzing atmosphere, the scenic landscape and the presence of Hollywood stars, all in the views of the warm Scottish sun. Now that's something I never expected to say!"

The red light of your recorder dims as you press pause on your commentary. You made the switch to recorder a few years back when journalism became too close to drowning in a number of scribbled, illegible notes written far too quickly. Now it is a simple case of pressing record and pressing pause.

Of course, wherever there is a flock of celebrities congregating in the one area for the week, there will always be flock of paparazzi and journalists close by, each with the same agenda. It usually feels like mission impossible to get a word in with a celebrity or document anything of note or interest when there's a wall of other journalists blocking your way, but today those things won't be a problem. Because you’re not going after who may probably be the most coveted celebrity here. Tom Holland.

You don't quite don't know where it stemmed from; your strong dislike towards Tom Holland. In all honesty, your hatred towards him is very self-inflicted, but there's something about his ego that paints him in a very arrogant light. He knows he's hot shit with the press, he knows everyone fancies the man, he knows that his many talents has sky-rocketed him up the societal ladder and onto the throne of the rich and wealthy. What makes him double as frustrating than he is arrogant is that he hasn't done anything wrong. He's Hollywood's golden boy; ever the humble, handsome, kind, charity-giving actor that has claimed the hearts of many across the world. It's what makes your hatred towards him completely unjustified, so while no one shares the same view as you, there is some things you can do to quietly preach your opinions.

"First to arrive at the course is the notable Tom Holland, waving to the crowd with a smile, loving the attention as ever. Although I'm not sure that his mismatching colour-blocking golfing attire will receive the same compliments!"

The smirk on your lips lasts for the majority of the day as you talk incessantly into your recorder. Your goal isn't necessarily to shit on Tom, only when the opportunity presents itself of course, like when he swung the golf club at an awkward angle, sending the ball straight over the forest and into the sand bunker.

"Oooh, what a poor shot from Tom Holland. He'll be disappointed with that one. Perhaps leaning towards the 'amateur' side of the competition in comparison to some other competitors. Tom Holland yet again teaching us a valuable lesson in life; just because you're a pro at one thing doesn't mean you're a pro at everything else."

The crowd politely applauded and off he went with his caddie. While others followed, you choose to stay rooted while you wait for Mark Wahlberg to walk up to the tee. He's who you've been waiting for all afternoon. Getting a word in with him would set you up for the highlight of your career.

"Mark! Over here! Mr. Wahlberg! A word for the Youth Diary? Mr. Wahlberg!"

As it seems, Mark calmly maneuvers way past the wall of journalists, paying them, and you, no mind and strolls over to the starting point. Damn. You have to get a word with him somehow.

"Mark Wahlberg takes a mighty swing and thrashes the golf ball high into the air, and the crowd watches in astonishment as it sails its way over towards the green, a hair's breadth away from perfection as it rolls upon the hill. A round of applause circles around Mark as he proudly walks on with the confidence of a man who's set on winning this competition."

As the hours tick by, you find yourself without any luck. Those first few minutes of the competition were stuck in a loop, constantly experiencing deja vu of having to witness Tom Holland's unlucky shot followed by being ignored by Mark Wahlberg. You haven't had one decent interaction with anyone yet. Things are getting a little desperate.

You even begin to understand why the majority of journalists are following Tom Holland like a lost flock of sheep; he's very chatty. He stops at every turn to give his narration on his own playing, offers a brief insight to the projects he is currently working on, and if he likes you, even spill some of the secrets of his private life. It's a journalist's dream, one that you haven't even had the taste of yet since Mark Wahlberg is as accessible as the vaults of the Bank of England. Anyone with common sense would advise you to follow the crowd and ignore your bias towards him and just interview Tom Holland if it means you have something worth printing.

Oh no, no, no, no, no, no. Not a chance. He gets enough attention as it is.

"Mr Wahlberg! A word on your new film? Could you tell us about Uncharted! Mark! Over here!"

Not even a glance is spared your way in yet another attempt to get his attention. From your left, a voice emerges. A fellow reporter sidles himself next to you, away from the crowd that follows Tom Holland. You spot the Sky Sports label wrapped around his microphone.

"He doesn't like to speak much to the press. Thinks that he'll say something and they'll twist his words," he sympathies. It's genuine, obvious that he too has been caught up in the same frustration you've been facing all afternoon. At least he has a little more insight as to why you haven't gotten a word from Mark.

"Yeah, I figured. It wouldn't hurt just to say hello and have a small chat. What could the press twist about that? If anything, I think he's damaging his reputation by not saying anything. It's rude, y'know?"

He nods his head in agreement, but the sigh he blows doesn't seem to match. "You have to let it go though. They're not obliged to tell us anything. This is just a day out for them, they're not getting paid so why should they have to say anything about their work? It's just our luck whether they choose to talk to us."

"Ugh, I guess you're right, but I still need something for my article."

"Sky Sports has had lots from Tom. Why don't you try your luck with him? He seems to be a lot chattier than Mark. I don't know much about film journalism, only sports, so I don't know what it is you're looking for. But if you ask him anything, I'm sure he's willing to provide."

You look to him with contempt in your eyes, your lack of smile instantly shuts down his suggestion.

"I appreciate the suggestion but no. He's too easy. Think of how many journalists are here desperate to get a word in about sports, golf, acting, celebrity personal lives, all that show biz. If everyone shared the one source, audiences wouldn't bother reading them all because they all be the same, boring stuff. Think about it. If you, and 30 other journalists had the chance to interview Ronaldo, you would all take it because after all its Ronaldo. The only downside would be that you would then have 30 articles all saying the same thing and audience getting bored after reading 1. Now think about having the chance to interview Messi. It would be hard but total payout if you got it. Plus, you would stand out from the rest and that's what would gain audiences' attention."

Once again, the reporter sighs. "Look, kid. I've been in this job for 20 years and I've learned that sometimes you just have to cut your losses. If your objective is to get something to write about for your article, then you should do it however and whatever way you can, doesn't matter who the source is. If your objective is to get something from Mark Wahlberg specifically? Then you should scrap the whole article and try again. Something is better than nothing."

"I refuse to take anything from Tom Holland."

"Suit yourself. Good luck. Oh, by the way, I think you're still recording. Wouldn't want you to get your chance with Mark only to realise you have no storage left on your recorder."

You mumble a weak thanks and remember to press the pause button on your recorder. The reporter saunters away back towards the crowd, your only indication of knowing where Tom Holland is. You consider it for a second, but determination drives you away, following Mark to the next hole.

~~~~

It's all to play for in the final hole with only two possible candidates capable of winning the trophy. Currently sitting in the lead is the elusive, mysterious Mark Wahlberg, strolling casually along to the final hole with his team behind him. Ah, and of course, next in line is Tom Holland soaking up the attention as he strings along behind Mark Wahlberg like an apprentice would their mentor. It's not clear whether the confidence he walks with is a poorly executed imitation of his acting mentor ahead of him, or whether it is a man deluded with besting him. All will be revealed within the hour.

It's well into the evening of the Pro Amateur competition and the luck that reporter wished you earlier has yet to find you. With the final hole well underway, you're starting to think that it never will. So far, you've gotten a few short, curt answers from other celebrities here but nothing near the sustenance your article needs. If only Mark could stop being so stubborn.

"One at a time please guys, one at a time." Tom's smug, arrogant tone of voice emerges from behind you and not too soon after, tens of other voices asking him questions. As he makes his way nearer, so do the swarm of people and in an attempt to get out of the way, you're stampeded by the press. Bumped, shoved and pushed, you struggle to find your balance and fall precariously on your knees with your equipment tumbling from your bag. In all honesty it didn't hurt, but what an inconvenience picking up all your bits and bobs. Ugh it's all his fault.

Before you do anything irrational and say something you shouldn't, you pack up your stuff and walk away.

The competition concludes with a twist that no one was expecting. With a gust of wind getting the better of Mark Wahlberg, it earned him a double bogey and cost him the trophy, annoyingly snatched up by Tom who achieved victory with a birdie. You seethe at the sight of Tom holding up the golden trophy, soaking up the champagne that his teammates spray all over him and hearing the applause from everyone, even you as a slow, lethargic clap rings from your hands. All to just to keep up the pretence of 'liking him' of course. Ugh, why did he have to win?

After a day of being the lone ranger in a journalists mission, you concede to following the crowd into the conference room where many like you await behind a wall of microphones and a valley of cables to hear from today's competitors. And Mark Wahlberg is one of them. This might be your chance to get a question in. Quick! Where's your recorder?

Fuck. It's not in your bag. Where is it? You rummage through your bag again and it's definitely not there. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Where could it be? Did you lose it when you fell over? Has it been stolen? Fuck, you really need that!

You have no other option but to record from your phone and in your quiet, subdued panic, you try your best to catch anything he has to say. The quality isn't great and it's picking up outside noise to the point that articulation has no place on your recording. Sweating at the loss of some expensive equipment and valuable content, your phone drops and the clatter of it paints a mountain on its waveform, rendering the recording useless. Fuck, if you hadn't lost your recorder.

People start to look at you in your fluster and your legs starts bobbing erratically. The attention is too much and it's exactly why you prefer to stay behind the microphone and not in front of it. You have to leave. At the next possible opportunity, you end your recording and begin to make your way through the aisle, apologising profusely to the other journalists who wait for Tom Holland to make an appearance.

You just about make the double doors of the conference room when you hear Tom's voice welcoming the room.

"Before I start, I wanted to check to see if this was anyone's recorder..."

Everything about you stops dead in its tracks; your feet, your heart, your breathing, your entire existence. Nervously, you spin around to spot Tom Holland holding your recorder in his hands, fingers fluttering around its buttons. How the hell did he get his thieving hands on it?!

A pit opens up in your stomach at the dreaded thought of having to announce yourself in front of everyone to claim it. But damn, you really need your recorder back.

Braving the nightmare, your hand raises half-heartedly into the air. "Uh...it's mine. Sorry, I must've dropped it."

Tom's deep brown eyes lock onto yours from the stage and he throws, what you think, a sickly smile before he offers up the most ridiculous idea. "I can set to record if you want. I can sit it riiiiight here." He sits it directly in front of him and sends you a sly wink. It's a spot any journalist would dream of having their microphone; right under their nose on the off-chance that anything muttered under their breaths or whispered discreetly would be picked up. Journalists are a sucker for secrets. Quite frankly, you don't care for his secrets, you don't care for his thoughts on today's events, and you really don't care for what he has to say at all.

But the only reason why you end up saying yes is because you care more about what people would think of you if you gave up an opportunity like that.

"Sure. Thanks."

You proceed to endure 15 minutes of Tom glorifying himself in front of the press. God, it's embarrassing. You could plainly hear the snide tone underneath the guise of 'self-evaluation'. Everyone seems to soak it up like a sponge, praising him for his insightful words and self awareness, writing nothing but positive words about the actor. Whatever. You wish you could drown him out but your paranoia is rooted to your recorder at his table, thinking the worst outcome as his fingers toying with its external case. What if he doesn't know how to work it and accidentally erases all you had from today? One slip up and it's gone. Your eyes constantly flicker from your recorder to him and no matter who he's speaking to or where he's looking, he always manages to catch your gaze.

Already outside your comfort zone, you audibly whimper when you see him lightly tap the little trash button at the end of the recorder, miles away from the stop, pause and play buttons that you would regularly use. You would only ever press that button with intention, it’s pretty to hard to press it accidentally. Even without knowing how to work the recorder, it doesn't take an idiot to know what that means, so watching Tom play with it tells you that he is whole-heartedly toying with you, enjoying the view of you panicking from his throne of sadism.

It's like he can sense your hatred towards him.

~~~~

"Thank you, thank you! Until next year!" Tom smiles as he walks off stage, your recorder in his clutch. The further he walks away, the faster you bob and weave through the crowd, feeling like you're fighting against the tide as it sweeps you out. Then, just as the room empties you reach the entrance to the backstage area in a relief, only to hit a brick wall that stands in your way between you and your highly coveted recorder.

"No press allowed backstage." A security guard towers over you.

"Tom Holland has my recorder. I'd like to get it back." You have no time for polite small chat, your request grumbling with agitation.

"Still can't allow you back--"

"You can let her through, Jim. It's alright." A young boy’s voice echoes from behind the wall.

The guard hesitantly lets you through, keeping you under his iron gaze while you slip through the narrow space he gives you. You are led out into a hallway with plaques decorating the hall, awards from winners of tournaments the venue has previously hosted, the newest addition being Tom's 'Pro-Amateur' plaque much to your distaste.

The boy you recognise as Tom's caddie leads you down this hallway, he hasn't said so much as a word to you as he confidently walks ahead. Now he's getting his assistant to fetch you? God, the arrogance!

"He's in here."

"Thanks," you quietly mutter. The door closes behind you, locking both you and the actor into the room. When you started the day bright and early this morning, you didn't think this was where you were going to end up. You couldn't have put money on it.

Although, you have to admit: despite putting your heart and soul into avoiding Tom Holland the entire day, this could be an exclusive for your article. Nobody else has had this opportunity, so why not take advantage of it?

Tom smiles as he greets you, carelessly tossing your recorder from hand to hand. You swallow nervously. "You are...?"

You respond with your name, who you report for, and make it abundantly clear that you would like to take back your recorder in one piece.

He approaches with a small, boyish chuckle like you just told a joke. "Sorry, I was just thinking," he casually says, "about how you once said you refuse to take anything from me."

What? Where did he hear...? Fuck. He listened to it. And that entire conversation you had with the Sky Sports reporter...

Your mouth drops. As does the anchor in your stomach.

"What was it you said again...?"

"You listened to it." He ignores you.

"Oh yeah, that my 'mismatching colour-blocking golfing attire wouldn't receive the same compliments'."

"You...listened to it all?" you reiterate once again. Your voice rings with all the inflections of a question, but you already know the answer. Unfortunately.

Tom's brows furrow inward.

"Honestly, I can overlook the fact you insulted my outfit, it doesn't bother me that much." There's a 'but' in his sentence. You're just waiting for it. You inwardly panic, trying to remember what else you said that would warrant that dreaded 'but'. Your shield of writer's anonymity has fallen; it's what protects you if you are to ever post negatively about a celebrity, but now that he knows your name and your face, you're left exposed.

"But..." There it is. And in a disbelief, he bites, "I'm too easy? Really?"

There's two ways you could go about this. Stand your ground and defend yourself, or dig yourself a grave and apologise.

Ha. Yeah right.

"I don't really think it was your place to listen to my recordings."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm. Should've minded your business if you knew what was good for you."

"You--" He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath, almost to contain himself and tries again. "You," he points accusingly, "are very...very lucky that you look as attractive as your voice sounds."

Your cheeks flush angrily. Safe to say, you're not used to anyone calling you attractive let alone Tom Holland, so in your fluster you have no idea how to respond. You don't know how to tame the flutter in your heart nor the fire in your stomach. Instead, you ignore it all and revert back to your original goal.

"Can I have my recorder back? Please?"

"In a minute." He swats his hand away from yours. High above your reach, you stand helpless as you watch his thumb crash land onto the record button, resuming from where it last left off. "I think that what you have about me in your article is a little bit too harsh. Why don't we start putting some positivity back in. I think you have it in you to pay me just one compliment. I did win the competition after all, I think it's deserved."

You laugh hysterically. The nerve of this guy! So conceited. "You don't deserve anything from me."

"C'mon. Just one. It's not that hard. I promise I'll give you your recorder back straight after."

Succumbing to his torment, your eyes roll over his features, his hair, his outfit and his body, trying to identify possible compliments that would meet his demands but yet wouldn't inflate his ego too much. What you don't anticipate is you're spoiled for choice.

Defeated, you sigh. "You...smell nice."

"Aw, c'mon. I said you were attractive and all you could think of was that I smell nice? Try a little harder."

"Hey, you said the deal was that I give you one compliment then I get my recorder back. Cough up, Holland."

A smug grin pulls at his lips. "I'm not satisfied. And I will give it back when I am satisfied."

Given that your hatred towards Tom Holland is now at least justified and not just self-inflicted, it means that it's twice as hard to sacrifice it all and compliment him like he so desperately wants you to, a complete betrayal to your own beliefs. But you NEED your recorder.

"You look strong."

"Elaborate."

"You clearly work out."

"What in particular?"

"Your arms."

"How can you tell?" He's really pushing the mark, overstepping it by miles with the dirty smirk he has on his face because he knows he is. You audibly grumble at the sight. Losing patience...

"They just looked particularly...muscular when you were swinging the golf club."

"Why don't you give them a feel and you can tell your readers how strong they really are in detail? I know you want to."

Is it bad of you to admit that you do want to feel them? Absolutely. Are you going to announce that to him? Absolutely not.

You don't move for a couple of seconds, your own conscience making so much noise inside your head that you can't make a coherent thought. A spark of adrenaline twitches at your hands, enough to catch Tom's eyes but it's not enough to swing it into force.

Quietly, slowly, he reaches for your hand and envelopes his fingers around yours, manipulating them to wrap around his upper arm. He makes sure to mold your fingerprints into his skin while he tenses, just to feel the sheer density of his muscles. His skin is warm, soft to touch but yet firm to grasp. While you become instantly fascinated, his glistening smile brightens in the corner of your eye. It's so quiet in the room that Tom hears the softest stutter of breaths and he feels like a winner all over again.

"Well?" He nods towards the recorder, its red button flashing. For the readers...

"Definitely..." you clear your throat. Why has your mouth gone dry all of a sudden? You retract your hand. "Definitely toned. Sculpted."

"If that's what you like then I should show you this..."

He takes your hand once again, its warmth holding you captive, and drags it all the way down to his torso. You can't pull your eyes away from how he sensually slips your hand underneath the hem of his shirt and weaves your fingers between the valley of his abs. Your fingertips skate over every sculpted ab of his, feeling the way they almost shiver at your cold touch.

Your fingertips aren't enough. Tom takes a step closer and your whole palm presses against him, almost too intimately for strangers.

Tom's head quirks to the side to get a better view of you. "Thoughts?" he asks, even though he can read them so clearly on your face. You're becoming entranced.

"...Holy shit," you whisper. "Um, yeah. Strong."

"For a woman who had a lot to say about me, you're certainly lost for words now."

As the heat rises and things escalate, neither of you diffuse the tension and the string of long, uninterrupted silence continues. Every minute that passes by is a precarious step over crossing boundaries and breaking every rule you have in your moral bible.

It forces you to suck in a nervous breath and hold it for a few seconds while you deliberate what the end goal is. Of course, it was to leave with your recorder but given your current position and your change of opinions, you're not so sure anymore. To be clear, your change of opinion isn't necessarily about Tom; you still think he's conceited, arrogant and incredibly vain, but it is what you do with that opinion that has changed. Before, you avoided him, stopped yourself becoming another little lost sheep and following him at every opportunity. Now? You're giving him every drop of attention you have to give.

Tom watches you intently while he silently introduces himself to your shyer nature, definitely not the same person that walked in here in a fit of rage and demanding for their recorder. The minute he meets that side of you, he knows exactly what to do next.

He drops his head as he drops his voice into his lower register, your hand feeling all the rumblings from his chest. "Want to be completely speechless?"

Fuck it. Sure you do. "Mm-hm."

"Good girl."

You aren't actually sure what he's planning to do so you look for intention in his eyes, but you see nothing but darkened caverns and devilish features. In fact, it's because you're looking into his eyes that you don't realise that he's grown hard underneath his straight grey trousers. Like before, he guides your hand fluidly underneath the waistband where the button pops out easily, and navigates you under the elastic band where he desperately shapes your fingers around him. He pulses underneath you, shaking with relief that he has you exactly where he wants you.

You dare not pull your eyes away from his, even as they droop in his pleasure. More so now that you admit how seductive they look. You try to mirror that same seduction with a small smile, moving your hand up and down his shaft independently.

Fuck, the more you move your hand, the more you think it's never going to end. Bluntly put, he's huge.

As a journalist, you should be eloquent with your words, careful in your choice of vocabulary, definitive with your metaphors, but all those years of reading and writing falters the second the sheer size of him stuns you. It slightly pains you to be so tasteless but nevertheless, you don't think there's any other way to put it.

So caught up in the heat of it, your common sense finally comes to once again acknowledge your recorder in his hand. You forgot he had been recording this entire conversation...

He brings it closer to his lips, seductively whispering directly into it. "Just like that..." He keeps going. "Doing such a good job - fuck - don't stop."

Encouraged, and progressively feeling turned on, you tighten your hand around his cock and move faster.

"How do I feel, sweetheart?" The microphone tilts towards you. Detail. Although at this point, you don't think it's for your readers as much as it is for you and Tom.

"So big. I almost can't fit my hand around you."

He very nearly buckled. That voice of yours is like a siren to him. Little do you know that when he found your recorder and listened to all of your little angry ramblings about him, it had sparked up a fiery, unavoidable desire inside him. It was hell having to listen to your voice talk shit about him, he just couldn't stand it. He needed to hear you compliment him, worship him, adore him, and he spent every spare minute of his day replaying your recorder, instilling your voice to memory until he could manipulate your words, imagining what they would say about him.

But now that he actually gets to hear you feed into his desire is twice the satisfaction than he initially thought.

As quick as lightning hits, an idea occurs to him and it completely devastates his entire system; if hearing you compliment him turns him on, how would having you beg for him make him feel? The idea becomes such an unstoppable craving he already knows his imagination won't be able to satiate it this time. He needs it for real and right now.

"You wanna taste?"

Doe-like eyes stare up at him - oh, you are so capable of begging him - and your movements come to a halt...all except your thumb sweeping over his tip. You didn't actually think this was going to go any further than a hand job.

"You want me to?"

Oh no, no, no. This isn't about Tom begging. "Because I know you want to. I can see how desperately you want to tell everyone how I allowed you to come backstage, meet me, get on your knees for me, how I allowed you to suck me off and how I allowed you to taste me." His hand slithers up your jawline and brings you close, leaving nothing but a hair's breadth to separate you. As you anticipate the feeling of his lips, you have but his breath fanning over yours and the anxiety bubbling at the pit of your stomach to feed from. "You just need to beg for it, sweetheart."

Beg. It was hard enough to lose one battle and compliment him, but to lose an even bigger one and beg? You would be absolutely humiliated.

Would be meaning if it was under any other circumstance, if you weren't so spellbound and seduced by him. But that simply isn't the case.

Not uttering another word, you slowly drop to your knees keeping Tom with the wicked grin within your sights. The zipper of his trousers comes undone and you pull him free, watching as his cock stands tall and bobs heavily with weight. Instinctively, your tongue rushes to wet your lips.

"Beg." Tom demands again. The recorder soon comes back into your view and your jaw clicks with frustration. He's capturing every single word much to his demented, power-hungry mind.

You chew through your irritation and instead tune into the feeling that's bubbling in and around your stomach, the one that's being powered by him. "Please," you breathe. "Please, Tom, I wanna suck you off so badly, I promise I'll be good."

"And do you promise to never write a bad word about me ever again?"

Oh, this fucker.

"I prom-"

"Say it like you mean it."

How you so wish you could lie through your teeth, but you know for a fact that from now on, any bad word you write about Tom Holland will forever be tied with this day. You'll think twice about writing badly because being on your knees for him will get in the way. You'll struggle to find the words to knock him because the compliments you paid him will stain your lips. You'll hesitate to criticise him because you'll remember how you verbalised about his good looks.

"I promise. Just--just let me taste you." It's sad how desperate you sound. "Please?"

He doesn't respond. There's one last warning to give.

"If you break that promise, I will come for you."

Adrenaline rushes through your veins and your heart pounds. Despite being adamant in your dislike for Tom, you do somehow get the feeling that the threat that rings through his tone is not one to be taken lightly. It buzzes a little too seriously for you to brush over it. So you answer accordingly.

"Okay, I promise."

The threat dissipates and he looks at you approvingly, his empty hand dropping to cup your cheek. You aren't so unaware of the twitch of his cock in your hand. "I just want to make it clear and put on the record that out of the two of us..." Tom angles you closer, "it's you that's the easy one. Too easy. So easy that you're already on your knees and begging me."

How you would slap that grin clean from his face. The scowl on yours warns him of it, but he simply laughs, mocking you.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Admit it." His boyish chuckle continues to ring in the air and its contagious effect pulls at your lips despite trying to hide it. He sees clearly that it pains you to admit it, so as a small motivator, he crouches to your level, his hand still cradling your cheek. In quieter words, though still delivered through a smirk, he murmurs..."Be a good girl for me, yeah?" His lips melting onto yours stops you from getting the chance to reply. The surprise of it fogs up your brain, submitted into a dream-like state as he gently molds his lips onto yours. It's short and leaves you wanting more.

With a flutter of lashes, you nod. "Atta girl."

He stands up taller once again and you take that as your cue to fulfill your promise. Your lips wrap around him and your tongue darts to sweep over his tip. His groans can be heard above you and no doubt heard by the recorder, crescendoing the second your head starts bobbing. Your hand covers what your mouth can't reach, doing as much as you can to make him feel good. It seems to work; his hips begin thrusting. Slowly, at first, to swing into rhythm but the more you swallow him the less control he has of his own movements, and soon, with your hair wrapped tightly around his fist, he's rutting erratically, drinking in the sounds of your moans of pleasure and pain.

"Fuck, you're so good at that."

"Don't stop. Don't fucking stop."

"Taking me so well. Good girl."

"Just like that, shit."

"Look how easy you are, fuck. So willing, aren't you? You wanted a word for your precious Youth Diary? Here it is; you are so easy it's pitiful. Fuck--"

Tom's animalistic nature completely dominates to the point where your tears and gags are silently begging to slow down. Every part of you is screaming out: your throat is bruising, your lips are tearing, your eyes are streaming, your knees are cramping, but holy fuck hearing him talk about you like that fuels the fire inside you.

His thighs twitch underneath your hands and you think he might just cum down your throat. The red-hot grip he has of your roots is your only warning before that happens.

Warmth fills your mouth and you're quick to swallow it down before you choke, like it’s instinct. He holds you hostage with his cock deep in your mouth, using you to string out the orgasm for as long as he can. Minutes later, you open your eyes to see Tom hunching over, still very much catching up to you in regaining his composure. His white fist grips the recorder while the other remains tangled through your locks, keeping you in place to prevent you teasing him any further.

When all seems settled, Tom lifts your chin once more - dabbing off the little drop you seem to have missed - and catches your gaze from behind the tears forming in the corner of your eyes. You already know what he's going to ask of you and when he perches the recorder in front of you, he shoots you a wink.

"Detail." He simply says.

"Hmm, you taste so good, Tom. Best I've ever had. I could taste you all day."

At that moment, something snaps in Tom. The smirk drops and his jaw tenses. It's small, minute changes, but it dramatically changes the atmosphere in the room. You just don't know whether it's for better or for worse.

You find your answer when Tom's muscular arms promptly tuck themselves under your arms with vigour, yanking you up onto your feet. The clatter of your recorder steals your attention as Tom carelessly throws it onto a coffee table to his right; after all, he needs his hands to be free if he is planning on returning the favour. You should be complaining about his lack of regard for your equipment and how he could've broken it, but the red flashing light still shows sign of life, so you decide to overlook it for now. Besides, Tom doesn't give you long before he whips your head back to claim your lips, hungrily moaning into them as he forces his body weight against yours and slams you flat against the wall. The collision whips all of the air out of your lungs but it isn't what causes the gasp to jump from your throat. Tom's lips find your neck, suckling onto the supple skin with intentions to bruise, all to distract you from his hand slipping under your skirt. With ease, he palms your cunt, offering just enough of a tease to have you burning for more.

"I need to hear you say my name again with that voice of yours." Ah, so that's what triggered him.

"Tom," you mewl, almost purring.

"As sexy as that sounds, I think it will sound even better when you’re cumming for me."

Oh fuck.

It's frightening how quickly Tom is able to weaken you with just the deft touch of his fingers to your clit and punishing kisses to your neck. You try your best to soak it in and remain somewhat stable to remember every moment of it, but goddammit you can't keep yourself together. So much so that despite Tom claiming to adore the sound of your voice, for the sake of dignity, he keeps his hand clamped hard against your mouth. Neither of you want curious ears to overhear the scandal coming from within.

Never did you think that Tom's all-round talents included making a girl cum so easily. It's kind of frustrating.

His fingers circle around your clit, dragging and pulling every nerve he can find and it winds you up perfectly. Legs shaking, breath faltering, you suspect you have mere seconds before he takes your orgasm.

Your whines and moans buzz from behind Tom's hand, muffled and diffused. Eventually he lets go, and replaces his hand with his lips, once again thrashing against yours.

"You gonna cum for me?"

"Fuck, I--"

"Say my name. Beg me to let you cum."

"Tom, please, I want to cum. Please let me cum."

Two fingers slot themselves into you, his palm taking over pleasing your clit and you have to stop yourself from buckling. It is the last sign Tom needs to know that you're on the precipice of shattering. With a devilish twinkle to his eye and a crooked smile, he sinks closer to you, his lips narrowly brushing against the shell of your ear and whispers the word. "Cum."

In a similar fashion to Tom what seems like hours ago, you come undone. Your hands grip onto his shoulders for stability as he refuses to stop abusing your cunt. His fingers dig deeper, his hand moves faster, and the tight curl of his knuckle breaking you sends you spiralling.

The gut-twisting tension soon turns to tranquil bliss as he slows his movements, finally catching a breath to revel in the post-orgasm haze with a twitch or two catching you out.

For as egotistical as you believed Tom to be, with the grounding kisses he litters over your cheek, neck, lips, he completely negates that belief. He utterly dominated you, yet affection fuels his movements; something you don't expect a vain person to have. Maybe he isn't all you made him out to be...

Calmly, you both collect yourselves until you're presentable, standing apart within the room as if what just happened never happened. The heat of the room is all that's left to suggest otherwise.

Tom doesn't stop you from reaching for your recorder, the plastic rectangular object feeling like home in your hand. You firmly press the stop button, letting the audio file save before you address Tom again.

"Thanks for...y'know, keeping it safe. I genuinely don't know what I would've done if I lost it."

Tom smiles kindly. "It's no problem."

"Oh, and congratulations."

He nods humbly. "Thank you. I didn't actually think I was going to win it, but I guess luck was on my side." Huh. He's not bragging...

Settling your recorder into your bag, you begin to make your way out of the room. You hadn't realised how late it had gotten and how hungry you had became until your stomach grumbled loudly. As you take your cue to leave, Tom leads you out with a gentle hand to the small of your back and chills arise. Shit. Don't start liking him now...

Tom clears his throat before you completely disappear. "Will I be seeing you lurking about any other events this year?"

Something about his question makes you smile. "Maybe. I've got a few film premieres that I will be attending."

"Good. Well, if any of them include me, I'll make sure to review your work again." How his wink makes you weak.

"Hmm, we'll see, Tom Holland."

~~~~~

It takes you over a week after the golfing event to eventually find the courage to finish writing your article. Most of it is written from what you remember thinking throughout the day, but your work leaves much to be desired. All that's missing from the article can be found on your recorder that you have deliberately been ignoring knowing what filth it contains.

It takes a couple of glasses of wine on a Saturday night to find the bravery to listen to it once again. It all goes smoothly at first, words flow from your mind to your fingertips and your article slowly builds as your past self feeds you your own commentary from that day. You were going to stick with your original idea, deciding to keep in all your criticisms about Tom Holland because who's going to stop you?

But your valour is short lived. Because you've reach the end. When you think you have the finished product, a masterpiece of literacy for your readers to enjoy and you have nothing else to write. Just when you think you're about to press 'publish' that you reach that part of your recording that you just can't bring yourself to turn off.

Shit, it turns you on so much to hear Tom's voice once again demand that you promise to never write another criticism again and the way you caved so easily in your lust-induced state. Even listening to it makes you resonate with it all over again, resurrecting the same excitement and anxiety to stir in your stomach. It's a reminder that persuades you that you don't necessarily agree with what you write about Tom. It makes you reconsider all that you've just written, your finger hovering over the backspace button prepared to fix the promise you're about to break.

Fuck. It's such a good story. Probably one of the best articles you've written. Alas, with the disagreement going on in your head, you can't find it in yourself to commit to it. There's also the problem that if you are to post it, the privilege of writers' anonymity will no longer be in your possession. Tom does, after all, know your name and your face, and you are damn sure he will take the time to find it and read it. What unnerves you is that you have no idea what actions he might take. How could you forget that warning?

"If you break that promise, I will come for you."

So there you sit with your empty glass of wine, chewing nervously on your nails while your eyes dry at the light of the screen you've been deliberating over for the last three hours. The question still remains.

What do you do?

#ngl the ending was a little rushed #cos this was way longer than i wanted it to be #oh well #enjoy! #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #golfer!tom holland #peter parker #tom holland fanfic #tom holland x y/n #anon asks

[angelbaby-fics]

hi hi love! could you please write something with peter p x little!fem reader where she regresses to around 3 years old and they're making like halloween decorations? love your writing <33

this is such a good idea!! i almost wrote this with little!peter at first before i realized you were probably asking for cg!peter but... let me know if you wanna read that one as well hehe! 🎃 204 words

peter's tongue poked out of his mouth as he concentrated on his work. sure, he could formulate a powerful web and shoot it with perfect aim across all of new york city, but cutting one out of construction paper? that didn't exactly come built into his spider suit. however, he tried his best, willing to do anything to give you the best halloween he could. sure he could buy decorations for you, but that was nowhere near as much fun as getting to make them with you.

hocus pocus was playing on the tv at a comfortable volume, and a pumpkin spice candle burned safely out of your reach, filling the room with halloween spirit. you weren't allowed to use the big scissors like peter was, so you focussed on your own craft, one that would compliment his perfectly. you painted a styrofoam ball black, accenting it with a pair of big eyes and a happy smile. using some pipe cleaners, you gave your creature eight legs, bending them half way so it could stand, and then you replicated it with a smaller foam ball, setting the two makeshift spiders in front of you on the table, so peter could see. 

"daddy, its us!" 

trick or treat!

#peter x little!reader #peter parker x little!reader #cg!peter #cg!peter parker #little!reader #marvel agere #chloe's halloween party!

[buckysugar]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐝’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 | 𝐛. 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

peter befriends a lonely little girl who becomes the light of the avengers' life; especially the one with the metal arm — this is their story.

disclaimers: agegap!au (reader is in college), daddy!bucky x little!reader, agere.

♡︎ baby's bad dream reader has a bad dream and struggles to maintain a balance between her big self and her little self. it doesn't help that all she wants is bucky, the man she wishes to be her daddy.

#daddy!bucky x little!reader #peter parker x little!reader #daddy!bucky #daddy bucky #little!reader #little reader #little space #the spider kid's best friend au #daddy!winter solder x little!reader #daddy!winter soldier #daddy winter soldier

[marvelfanfics1]

For Little Troublemakers -

While coming back from Peter's and Strange 's house, the Little!Reader can't help but take one of Little! Peters hoodie because he smells so good 🥹

Daddy Tony is very disappointed that she stole something and when he tries to return it to peter, he tells that it's okay for Little Reader to have it because she gave him her bracelet 👉👈

And the bigs can't help but see how cute their littles are 🥹

Little Lovers

Little Troublemakers Au

Pairing: daddy!Ironstrange x little!reader x little!Peter

Warnings: Age Regression, flufffff

                                   ⭒𖥸⭒

Tony was just casually walking past your playroom and had to make a double-take of you. You were sitting on your fluffy carpet with various toys laying around, but what actually got his attention was the big sweater you were wearing.

He did not recognize that one!

Tony knows exactly what's in your closet because he dresses you mostly every day, there's also a drawer with some of his t-shirts and a few hoodies because he knows you love how they smell like him.

The thing is he can't remember a pastel blue one where little paws were splattered on the back.

That was not one of his and neither yours.

"Baby?" he knocked softly on the door frame to get your attention.

You turned your upper half a little and waved at him with a smile.

"Hi, daddy! Look, I got my bunny dressed!" you said and showed him your bunny proudly that was wearing a purple dress.

"She looks great, but can you tell me where you got that hoodie from sweetheart?" he asked while walking over to you, hands in his pockets.

You looked down and fiddled with the end of it. You were afraid that he would get sad that you were wearing a hoodie from someone else and you don't want to hurt his feelings. You love your daddy's clothes but Peter's have such a different texture and smell so good as well, you always think of him when wearing them.

"Uhh...from Peter," you mumbled but Tony heard what you said with how shocked he looked.

"Did you take it with you last time we were visiting?" he asked.

"Yes, but-"

"No buts, that's not good baby, you can't just take something that's not yours. You will give it back to Peter at the weekend, okay?" he raised his eyebrow and you pout a little, nodding your head anyway not intending on making a scene.

"Yes daddy." you sighed and made grabby hands for him. "Up, please?"

Tony gave you a small smile and picked you up, kissing the side of your head, not pushing the subject any further.

⭒⎊🕸️۞⭒

The weekend came quickly and you were knocking excitedly on the front door. It opened a second later and when you saw it was Peter you practically jumped in his arms, giving him a bear hug.

"I missed you lots! We have so many games to play, come!" Peter told you and grabbed your hand, wanting to drag you behind him but a cough from behind you made you stop in your tracks.

"Didn't you forget something, sweets?" Your daddy said, nodding his head to the bag that he was holding.

"Oh...right." you let go of Peter's hand and took your bag, opening it you pulled the baby blue hoodie and Peter's face fell a bit.

Did he do something wrong for you to give it back to him?

"I wanted to give dis back to you." You said and wanted to hand it over to him.

"Why?" he asked, clearly confused. He thought you liked it, don't you like him anymore?

"Hello, little one" Stephen greeted you with a pat on your head and went to hug your daddy, longer than usual, then turned back to you and Peter. "What's going on here?"

"She took one of Peter's hoodies and I'm-" Before Tony could say anything more Peter interrupted him.

"She can have it! Look, she gave me one of her bracelets!" he said proudly and showed his wrist to them where he was wearing one of your self-made bracelets. Peter brought his attention back to you when you hung your head low, the hoodie still in your hands.

Tony and Stephen looked at each other and could've melted on the spot, both their littles were getting along so well and they couldn't be more happy. They watched Peter, who was helping you putting on the blue hoodie, giving you a kiss on your cheek.

He took your hand again and made you twirl around one time. "It looks gweat on you!"

You giggled and Peter now took the chance to take you to his room to finally play all the games he had in mind.

"You know, your little Casanova here is the reason she's a giggling and blushing mess every time I say his name," Tony said while crossing his arms.

"They're faster than us..." Stephen said and turned on his heel, making his way to the kitchen with Tony not far behind.

"Then I guess we have to catch up on them." Tony winked at him.

Since that day they have to keep an eye on you and Peter because Stephen noticed that a lot of Peter's clothes went missing more often and he put two and two together when he found a box full of colorful bracelets. He figured out that probably every time you gift the boy something he exchanges his clothes to return the favor.

It took Tony and Stephen 2 hours to explain to you both that Peter just can't give you all his clothes.

                                   ⭒𖥸⭒

Taglist

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @fluffyblanketgecko @lovelyy-moonlight

#little!reader #little reader #daddy!ironstrange x little!reader x little!peter #daddy!ironstrange x little!reader #daddy!ironstrange #daddy ironstrange x little reader x little peter #daddy ironstrange x little reader #daddy ironstrange #daddy!tony x little!reader #daddy!tony stark #daddy!tony #daddy tony stark x little reader #daddy tony x little reader #daddy tony stark #daddy!tony stark x little!reader #little!peter x little!reader #little!peter #little!peter parker #little peter parker #little peter #daddy!stephen #daddy!stephen x little!reader #daddy stephen x little reader #daddy stephen

[katethewriter]

Kinda Like You

from the New Kid series

Summary: Natasha and New Kid find they have much more in common than they originally believed.

Words: 3.5k~

Pairing: Natasha x little!Reader - Wanda x little!Reader - Wandanat x little!Reader(platonic) - Steve Rogers x Reader(platonic) - WandaNat - Wanda x Natasha

Warnings: mentions of child abuse, neglect, abandonment, tough love from Steve, misguided frustrations

A/N: Who wants to learn more about New Kid's past? Well, that's what we're doing today! This chapter is very dialogue heavy, but they are information sharing so enjoy!

“Pick your battles New Kid,” Steve calls from the side of the mat.

Y/n and Peter have been sparring for the past twenty minutes under the watchful eyes of Captain America while a few others filtered in and out. Currently, Natasha and Tony stand nearby, observing quietly as the 12 and 15 year old fight.

Y/n struggles to break out of the hold that Peter has caught her in.

“Tap out, Y/n. If you had followed through with your swing, he wouldn’t have caught you in the first place,” Steve chastises, “yield and reset.”

 With a huff, Y/n taps Peter’s arm, and he releases her. The pair turn to face each other and go again.

The girl lunges for Peter. He is able to quickly dodge the attack and circle her. Before she can react, he has her in another hold. She does her best, but knows she is unable to break free. With a glance to the side, she spots Natasha and Tony whispering to each other. Skepticism clear in their faces.  

Y/n sighs and taps out again.

“You always have to be thinking about the next move,” Steve walks onto the mat, “expect he will dodge, be prepared and plan for it.” He looks at Peter and nods his head to the side of the mat. The teen walks off, leaving the super soldier and New Kid in the center of the mat. “Reset.”

The girl prepares to fight her instructor, taking a deep breath to focus before the fight.

Steve attacks first, swinging for Y/n’s shoulder. The girl ducks below his arm. As he steps through the swing, she circles him and lands a kick to his back. She reaches for his arm to twist it behind his back, but he turns. With a swipe of his leg, New Kid’s back hits the mat roughly. She grimaces at the pain coursing through her.

“Always watch your feet.”

Suddenly, a scoff can be heard from the other side of the room.

Y/n turns to see Natasha’s stern look and pursed lips. They lock eyes for only a moment before the red head shakes her head and turns to the door. Steve helps the girl to her feet, and she continues to watch the widow leave the gym.

Natasha hates her. She has to. Y/n’s sure of it. Every time the widow watches her train ends this way, with a look of disapproval and a fast exit.

 Actually, that is how many of their interactions end.

Natasha walks in while 12-year-old Y/n is learning mission tactics, she exits quickly.

The widow is dismantling a sniper when New Kid is given a tour of the weaponry. She can’t be more than 10. Natasha doesn’t even spare her a glance as she finishes her task.

She passes her in the gun range, she clenches her jaw and leaves silently with a full magazine.

It seems the only time Natasha can stand to be in the same room as New Kid is at mealtimes.

Y/n watches as the gym doors slide closed behind the retreating red head. She wonders what she did to make the woman hate her so and if there was anything she could do to fix it.

Suddenly an arm is entering her vision rapidly. She ducks just in time to miss Steve’s swing.

“Never take your eyes off your opponent.”

🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸

Wanda trails kisses from Natasha’s shoulder to her neck.

“Hey,” the widow chuckles and pulls away slightly, “I am trying to watch the movie.”

The two have been curled up in Wanda’s bed watching movies all day. They’ve been together for over a year, and they’ve learned to savor the little moments they are able to hide from the rest of the world.

Wanda pauses her kisses briefly, “oh come on, you’ve seen this movie a hundred times.”

“Then why did you pick it?” she asks incredulously.

“Because you’ve seen it a hundred times,” the cheeky Sokovian responds leaning up to press her lips to the Russian’s. This time, Natasha doesn’t pull away. She deepens the kiss as the movie goes forgotten.

They lay there, kissing gently, just happy to be in each other’s arms.

…..then there’s a knock on the door.

“Ignore it,” Natasha says quickly before continuing the kiss.

Wanda shakes her head and pulls away, “I can’t. It’s Y/n; she needs something.”

The widow furrows her brows, “how do you know?”

“Her little thoughts are very loud,” the witch smiles, “I can hear them whether I’m trying to or not.”

Wanda rolls out of the bed, and Natasha groans. She pauses the movie, while the younger woman opens the door to greet little Y/n.

From the hallway, Y/n looks up to Wanda with a small smile.

The witch crinkles her nose with a grin and lowers herself to be closer to eyelevel with the girl. “Why hello, sweet girl! To what do I owe this pleasure?” She ends the question with a gentle boop on the girl’s nose.

“Can you help me put this on?” Y/n asks quietly, holding a dress out to display, “I can’t reach the buttons.” She looks down sadly, trying to hide her gaze from the witch.

Wanda quickly lifts the girl’s chin, so she is looking at her again, “hey, it’s always ok to ask for help, mala(little one). I’d love to help you.”

She stands and opens the door further for Y/n to enter. They only make it three steps into the room before the girl spots Natasha sitting on the bed.

Y/n stands still under Natasha’s gaze. Obviously, she has interrupted something. She shouldn’t be here. She can’t ask for help in front of Natasha. Not when it is very clear that the assassin already doesn’t like her. She is overcome with a large wave of nervousness.

From the bed, Natasha watches Wanda welcome New Kid into the room. The sight of her hits the widow like a truck. It’s the youngest Natasha has ever seen Y/n drop.

Natasha smiles to the girl, “Hey New Kid.”

“Hi,” Y/n shifts on her feet uncomfortably, then looks up to Wanda.

The Sokovian smiles and ushers her to her connected bathroom. “Here,” she takes the child’s hand, “lets go in here to get you changed.”

The two of them slip into the bathroom leaving Natasha alone in the bedroom while Wanda helps Y/n change out of her current clothes and into the dress.

All alone, Natasha tries to think of why seeing Y/n had such an impact on her.

The girl looked to be about 6, definitely the youngest Natasha has ever seen her drop. After a minute of thinking it suddenly makes sense.

She reminds her of Yelena.

The bathroom door opens. The pair reenter the room and sure enough, Y/n looks about (if not exactly) the same age as her sister was right before they left Ohio.

The nostalgia brings a lump to Natasha’s throat. She’s able to fight it back, but that proved difficult. When she looks at the girl in front of her, all she can see is her sister. The sister she never saw again.

“Wow! I love your dress!” the redhead beams, “where’d you get a dress that pretty?”

Y/n stands shyly with her folded clothes in her arms, “Clint gave it to me.” Quickly, the little girl thanks Wanda and makes an escape from the room and the gaze of Natasha.

She’s gone before either of them can say anything.

“What happened?” Natasha asks.

Wanda can only shrug.

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“You should go ask Y/n if she wants to watch with us,” Wanda says from her spot on the couch.

Team movie night would be starting in about 30 minutes. Wanda always liked to be the first one there, so she could claim the “cuddliest couch” before anyone else. It also heightens her chances of being first to pick the movie.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Natasha looks at her girlfriend skeptically, “the movies we typically watch aren’t exactly age appropriate. We don’t want to give the kid nightmares.”

Wanda swipes the remote off the coffee table and smirks, “that’s why I will be picking the first movie. Besides, she’s not that little right now. Her thoughts aren’t loud enough.”

The widow sighs, “Why don’t you go get her? I’ll save your seat. She’ll most likely say yes to you. She’s scared of me.”

“She’s not scared of you-“

“We both saw how she was yesterday,” Natasha states, “she froze when I said hello. She’s terrified of me.”

Wanda reaches for her girlfriend’s hand, “she’s just timid and unsure. Once she warms up to you, you’ll see. She’s the sweetest kid. You just got to coax her out of her shell.” She kisses Natasha’s hand before pointing to the door.

“Go, it’ll be good for both of you.”

Natasha makes her way down the hallway until she reaches Y/n’s door. She knocks, but never gets a reply. After a minute, she knocks again, but still hears nothing.

She presses her ear to the door. A sniffle and a whimper float through the air. The widow pushes open the door and taps lightly, “Y/n?” She calls softly not to scare the girl. “You alright?” She pauses to wait for a response. “I’m coming in, ok?”

Natasha takes a cautious step into the room, and she has to pause for a second.

 Aside from the array of clothing Clint had given the girl, there is no sign that a child lives in this room. Maybe Y/n prefers it, but it just reminds Natasha of how she grew up in a place where she was punished for being a kid. Every child should have at least some toys, even one who turns back into an adult.

Natasha follows the sniffles that lead her to the bathroom door. “I can hear you crying. Is there something wrong?”

“Something I could help you with?” Natasha taps on the closed door, and it gives under the pressure.

The door slowly swings open and reveals Y/n standing in front of the mirror with red eyes and a brush in her hand. Her hair is tangled into a large mat near the back of her head. The look on Y/n’s face is all Natasha needs to know the poor thing has been trying to brush it out for who knows how long.

The girl sniffles, “I took a nap, and it was like this when I woke up.” Her lip quivers, “it won’t come out.”

The older woman smiles lightly, “may I?” She holds out her hand for the brush. The girl sighs defeatedly and relinquishes the brush. Natasha places her hands on the girl’s shoulders and squeezes comfortingly. She smiles to Y/n through the mirror and begins to silently brush her hair.

Its quiet again. The only sound passing between them is the brush gently dragging through Y/n’s hair.

Y/n looks into the mirror, watching the older woman intently. She feels small, smaller than she is now. Maybe it’s the widow’s intent focus on her hair or her gentle touch or the complete contrast to the woman’s previous demeanor around her, but whatever it is makes Y/n have to fight the urge to drop younger.

She was 7 when she took her nap, and 13 when she woke up in this dilemma. With how she’s feeling right now, there is no way she would be able to pick how small she dropped. So she just fights it until it fades.

Natasha’s soft touch is comforting her more and more with every pass of the brush. It soothes Y/n enough that she can break the silence.

“Why are you helping me?”

The older woman briefly connects eyes with Y/n through the mirror. She smiles and looks back to her work, “because we’re teammates. Teammates help each other.”

The girl chews on her lip, “but you don’t like me.”

Natasha comes to a complete halt, and she looks to Y/n again. Her face is mixed with confusion and concern, “that’s not true, myshka(little mouse). Why do you think that?” She places her hands on the girl’s shoulders in a way she hopes in comforting.

It does comfort Y/n some, but she still feels nervous to answer her. She knows she will have to eventually, so she might as well get it over with. “You don’t want me to be here. You’re always mad to see me.”

Natasha’s face floods with more confusion.

“You always leave whenever I’m around, like when I’m training, and I lose or when you see me in my lessons, especially weapons you get mad….” Y/n pauses looking up to Natasha with big doe eyes, “did I do something wrong?”

“No,” the widow quickly answers, “no myshka(little mouse), you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Then why do you hate being around me?”

Natasha sighs and continues brushing out the tangles in Y/n’s hair. She understands why the little girl thinks what she thinks, and she knows why she is wrong. The misunderstanding is entirely her fault. She’s just not sure how to explain it to the girl.

She takes a deep breath to center her thoughts, “I don’t hate being around you. Sometimes I just get upset because you just remind me of my past.” She smiles sadly to the girl through the mirror. “I don’t know how much they’ve told you about me, but I grew up in a place that was not very good.”

“The Red Room,” Y/n states.

Natasha nods, “yes, that’s right. The Red Room was a very bad place. They took little girls from their families and trained them to be killers. They made us learn how to fight, how to follow someone, how to shoot, how to do all of it without being seen…. They even… they made us…they made us fight and kill each other.”

Once the widow is sure there are no more tangles in the girl’s hair, she parts it down the middle and begins braiding to keep her hands busy as she continues.

“I left that place because it turned little girls into weapons. I wanted to join a team that was actually trying to do good. Then I see cute little you training just like we did in the Red Room. The reason I get upset is because it makes me think that we’re no better than them.”

Natasha smiles into the mirror catching little eyes with her own, “that’s why I acted that way. It’s not your fault, myshka(little mouse). I’m so sorry I made you feel like it was or that I didn’t want you here.” She continues her braiding, “I think you’re gonna be good member of this team, once we get you ready.”

Y/n watches Natasha intently while she thinks of what to say, “you and me are kinda the same.”

Though she doesn’t look up from her braiding, the older woman is intrigued by the girl’s comment, “what do you mean?”

“I came from a bad place too,” Y/n explains, “now I’m here, so I can help people.”

“Where are you from?”

“Upstate,” the girl answers matter of factly. She’s not sure how much of her story she should tell. She trusts Natasha, especially after she just spoke of her own childhood. On the other hand, no one knows about how the girl grew up, not even Fury.

 Natasha hums, asking Y/n to continue.

“I was engineered,” the girl says as if she is saying ‘the sky is blue’.

The widow freezes, looking up to the girl in shock, “what?”

Y/n suddenly feels small again, but still she continues, “I was engineered in a test tube. Then I was transferred to an artificial womb until I was developed enough to live on my own.”

She twiddles her thumbs, unable to look up at the widow, “They were trying to make a shape shifter like you all thought I was. They tried to alter my DNA, but whatever they did, I think they did it too late. I already had too many cells with my normal DNA. I think that’s why I can only go back. All of me can shift except the cells that came from the ones from my conception.”

Hearing Y/n speak so maturely when she appears barely 13 throws Natasha for a bit. She has to remind herself that Y/n still has an adult brain in there.

“They kept me in their lab,” Y/n continues, “they would do these experiments on me. They would hurt sometimes, a lot of times. They kept trying to figure out where they went wrong. They were trying to fix me.”

Natasha clenches her jaw. She feels a rage she hasn’t felt in a very long time, and she makes a promise to herself that she will never let anyone harm this girl again.

The girl can sense the anger in the older woman, and it has her shrinking in on herself. “Are you mad?”

“Very.”

A breath catches in Y/n’s throat, and Natasha’s thoughts are pulled out of her anger to take in the girl in front of her. The fearful look has returned to Y/n’s face again. The widow kicks herself mentally.

“but not at you,” she reaches a hand out to pick up the girl’s chin, “myshka(little mouse), look at me please. I’m not mad at you. I promise.” She waits quietly until Y/n nods. Natasha smiles warmly, “Good girl. Now, I need you to tell me who had you? What agency?”

Y/n shakes her head, “there wasn’t an agency. It was just my parents… well, the scientists that called themselves my parents.”

“They lived somewhere else, away from the lab. They would go home at night and leave me in the lab.” The girl sighs heavily, “I never left the lab, until I escaped when I was 14. One night after they went home, I broke out of my room. I grabbed as many files about me I could find, and then I left.”

“…and you’ve been on your own since then?”

Y/n nods, “but now I’m here, and you’re gonna teach me how to help people right?” This time Natasha is the one to nod. The girl smiles, “then this much better than the Red Room, and you all are much better than my parents.”

Her words bloom a sense of calmness in Natasha’s chest. She’s just about done with the second braid.

“You know you’re lucky,” the older woman plays with the baby hairs at the base of the girl’s head. She tickles her there until she gets a giggle, “we may not have had good childhoods, but you get a second chance to be a kid.”

Y/n looks up, entirely enraptured by Natasha’s words.

“Not many of us have that chance.” In this moment, the widow can feel a soft spot in her heart that wasn’t there before. A spot that now belongs to Y/n, “its ok to be little around us. I know you’re an adult, but its ok to be a kid. We want you here either way. Definitely me, Wanda and Clint, the rest of them team hasn’t quite caught up yet, but they’re on their way, trust me. You don’t have to hide in your room anymore. Ok?”

Y/n nods with a large grin. She has a new understanding of Natasha. She especially can feel the start of a new friendship. Its hard to believe that just a month or so ago she had no one, no friends. Now, she has three and hopefully more to come.

Being caught stealing by the Avengers might just be the best thing that has ever happened before.

“All done,” Natasha says while she wraps a hair tie to the end of the second braid. She lays the braid down the girl’s shoulder, “what do you think?”

Y/n takes in the sight of her two French braid pigtails and smiles widely. She looks up to the widow who sports her signature one French braid, and she smiles even wider. “Hey, I look kinda like you!”

Natasha chuckles, “yeah, you do New Kid.” She rests her hands on the girl’s shoulders, “there’s about to be a movie night in about 5 minutes, would you like to join us?” She steps into the doorway, outstretching a hand for Y/n to take.

The girl happily takes her hand and follows her lead. As they walk through the halls, their hands swing lightly in between them.

"If you'd like," Natasha proposes, "I could train with you sometime. I'm a much better fighter than Steve anyway." She playfully nudges the girl's side. "I could teach you how to kick his butt."

Y/n smirks, "I think I'd like that."

"Me too."

When the two of them enter the common area hand in hand, they receive more than a few confused glances from the team, except for Wanda who just looks ecstatic. They take their seats. Natasha sits on the couch with Wanda, and New Kid claims the chair nearby.

As the widow settles into her girlfriend’s side, she whispers in Wanda’s ear, “you were right.”

The witch gives her a quizzical look.

“She really is the sweetest kid.”

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A few days later, and New Kid is already doing better. She’s coming out of her room more. She almost always gravitates towards Wanda or Natasha, which is fine by them. Each little interaction with a team member outside of training is making her feel a tiny bit more comfortable around the compound.

It’s not all that much, but a little progress is still progress.

One morning, Y/n opens her door to go to breakfast and nearly steps on a teddy bear sitting in the hallway. The sight of the toy has her itching to drop, but she’s dropped enough recently to control it. She remains her true age as she picks up the bear. Attached to the toy is a note with her name on it.

She fondly holds the bear tight to her chest as she reads the message.

Y/n, Just a reminder that its ok to be a kid. Its ok to want to do kid things. When I was in the Red Room, I wished I had a teddy bear even though toys were strictly forbidden. I thought you might like one too. Since, I’m kinda like you. -Natasha

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I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think down in the comments below. Also, if you have any ideas for what you would want to read, let me know!

As always, thank you so much for reading and for all your support. Much love!

-k

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Taglist: @battleg03 @thelittlewolfofaretuza @emiivey @dylanobriens-love @madelineleong @sluttyforfemaleavengers @santana1437 @thatonementallyillsimp @oliveoilpenguiny @you-are-beautifully-gorgeous @charcharslide-3 @anon1412 @universallypoetrycheesecake @mary-jinx @princess-kennys-rats @marvel-fan-2021 @ameeelia07 @kneelforloki @ornorr @prettysbliss @nattyolw @yukonasf @thursdayygrrrl @rach2602@ace-of-gay @casualbisexualfroggo @nyctophiliacatcher @ripofflizzie @chrisevansangel @randomnessbecausewhynot @lizlil @uselessastheginlasagnaa @m-h-r-h

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#avengers x reader(platonic) #avengers x reader #natasha x reader #natasha x little!reader #natasha romanoff x reader(platonic) #wanda x reader #wanda x little!reader #wanda maximoff x reader(platonic) #wandanat x reader #wandanat x little!reader #wandanat x reader(platonic) #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #steve rodgers #tony stark #peter parker #peter parker x reader(platonic) #fem!reader #little!reader #shapeshifter!reader #avenger!reader #cg!wanda x little!reader #cg!wandanat x little!reader #cg!natasha x reader #cg! x little! #new kid!

[clarks-letterman]

trying to find a canonical reason to put men in those flannel pajama pants yk the ones i’m talking about

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x male reader #x male reader #wally clark x reader #leon kennedy x reader #all men i want to see in this little number