Avengers Age Regression Oneshots

Un-planned

Tony and Peter lived together in Tony's penthouse. It wasn't a place Peter ever imagined himself calling home—fancy glass walls, sleek furniture, and every piece of tech under the sun. But over time, the sprawling penthouse had become more than just a luxurious hideout. It was where they had built a life together, one filled with science experiments, hero duties, and—perhaps most importantly—Little Time. Tony didn't always plan to regress. It was usually spontaneous, sneaking up on him when he felt too overwhelmed or exhausted. One minute he'd be in the lab, hunched over some new project, and the next, Peter would find him curled up under a table with grease on his cheeks, mumbling about being too small to fix it. Peter didn't mind. He'd scoop Tony up—small, soft, and giggling—and carry him to the playroom Tony had insisted they build together. It wasn't a full nursery, but it might as well have been. The walls were a soft, calming blue, decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars and hand-drawn pictures Peter had helped Tony paint. There was a low table for coloring, bins stuffed with Lego sets, and shelves filled with stuffed animals—most notably Dum-E the plush robot, a favorite Tony liked to hug during story time. The corner held a big, squishy beanbag chair, which Peter had lovingly dubbed "The Snuggle Spot." There were no cribs or changing tables—Tony hated the idea of feeling too much like a "baby"—but there was always a thick blanket on the couch, perfect for swaddling him up when he wanted to feel small and safe. Some nights, Tony would stay up late tinkering until his brain couldn't take any more, and Little Time would slip in unannounced. Those were the times Peter was ready to be there—gentle hands pulling Tony away from the lab, guiding him into comfy pajamas, and sitting with him on the couch to watch cartoons. "Can we play now?" Tony asked one evening, wide-eyed and already clutching a stuffed Iron Man plush in one hand. His voice was soft and small, telling Peter exactly where his headspace was.Peter grinned. "Of course, we can, buddy." They spent the evening building a Lego tower. Tony's hands worked quickly, his brain hyper-focused on the tiny pieces. But when his hands got clumsy, and his frustration started to build, Peter was there with soft reminders, steady hands guiding Tony's to snap the bricks into place. Afterward, they curled up on the beanbag chair, Tony in Peter's lap, swaddled in his favorite blanket. His little brain buzzed with leftover energy, making him fidget and squirm, but Peter didn't mind. He simply held Tony tighter, planting soft kisses on his messy hair until the squirming turned into soft snores.Life with Tony like this was unpredictable but perfect in its own way. There were no strict rules or rigid schedules. Sometimes Little Time showed up on a lazy Sunday morning with coloring books and pancakes, and other times, it arrived after long, stressful days when all Tony needed was to be held. And no matter when or how it came, Peter was ready—always ready—to be exactly what Tony needed. Because this wasn't just Tony's penthouse, and it wasn't just their playroom. This was their home. And in their home, Tony never had to worry about being too small or needing too much. He was perfect just the way he was. And Peter? He wouldn't have it any other way.