Hidden littles- Tony Stark

"I-I'm Sorry"-19

Warning—mentions of abuse, rape, and improper treatment
Do not read if you are uncomfortable with any of these.

"Anthony Edward Stark, come here Right Now."
Tony bit his shaking bottom lip and attempted to blink back a waterfall of tears as he quickly toddled over to where his daddy sat on the side of his queen sized bed. His swollen diaper chafed at his inner thighs uncomfortably, and the red lash marks and purple splotches beginning to form across his shirtless back ached more and more every time he as much as breathed.

Once Tony had made it over to the bedside, his body trembling as if he were one of those cartoon characters who had been blasted with freezing air, his caregiver—Obadiah Stane— reached a meaty hand towards him and went to seemingly ruffle his hair.
"Good boy," he spoke in a heart-chilling way, his sharp blue eyes boring into Tony's teary brown ones.
Then, the same meaty hand that had just been petting his hair, reached down and grabbed Tony's neck violently, yanking him on top of the older man's lap.
"Now," Tony's daddy spoke while wrapping his arms tightly around Tony's rib cage, making the little cough due to the loss of oxygen.
"Let's get down to business."
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Tony Stark sat up with a start. His breathing was heavy and similar to in his nightmare, his eyes were flooded with tears. He had been having the same nightmare for weeks now, and although he never reached the end of it, every time he went to sleep, he would get closer and closer to the horrible event that was to happen.

Tony still remembered that day, and many other days just like it...what Stane had done to him....

"Baby?"
Tony was pulled out of his train of thoughts and looked up at the familiar voice so fast he could've gotten whiplash.
Peter was looking down at him with sad brown eyes, and it was only then when Tony realized where he was.
Tony looked around to find the bars of his grey crib surrounding him. Over his legs rested a neon orange blanket, and his white pacifier and fox stuffed animal lay discarded next to him.

"Baby boy, what's wrong?" Tony was pulled out of his thoughts yet again to find Peter's hand lifting his chin up to face him.
Peter had taken a shower while Tony was sleeping, and he now sported a plain neon yellow shirt, as well as some blue jeans. He was barefooted, and his hair was lazily made, still being partially wet.
Peter let go of his chin and wiped away a small tear on Tony's cheek before reaching down over the bars of the crib and scooping Tony into his arms. Tony sniffled and laid his head on Peter's shoulder as Peter made his way over to the changing table, laying Tony down and strapping him in.

"Was it a nightmare?" Peter asked tentatively while he began to undo the bottom of Tony's black and dinosaur-covered onesie.
Tony nodded.
Peter sighed and reached up to Tony's hair, combing his hand through it slowly. He knew that after nightmares, Tony was usually pulled out of his headspace, or stuck in between headspaces.
"I'm so sorry you had another bad dream. I bet you're not fully little right now...are you?"
Tony simply nodded again. He felt small, small and scared, but he had been pulled out of his headspace enough to know what was going on.

Peter changed Tony in silence, swapping out his soaked diaper for a fresh one that had small, colorful blocks on the front, before zipping his onesie back up and clipping another plain white pacifier onto it.
He then un-clipped Tony and raised him back into his arms, kissing the little's nose with a small, sad smile.
"I bet your hungry, hm? Let's get you something to eat and then we can talk."
————

Tony sat quietly in his highchair. Despite him having his pacifier clipped to his onesie, Tony chose to instead suckle his thumb quietly while he swung his feet back and forth over the edge of the chair slowly.
He could see Peter watching him like a hawk from the other side of the kitchen where he was currently slicing corn off of a cob and making a plate of food for Tony, his eyes showing a lot of concern.
Tony looked away and instead faced the small highchair table in front of him, trying his hardest to get Peter's sad facial expression out of his head. He didn't like it when his pap—Peter was sad.