Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Clint Barton/Steve Rogers Characters: Clint Barton, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Tony Stark, Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), James “Bucky” Barnes, Stephen Strange, Bruce Banner Additional Tags: Age Play, Non-Sexual Age Play, Diapers, Bottle-Feeding, Team as Family, mentions of spanking, single swat spanking, Storytime, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Footie Pajamas, Pacifiers, Chocolate milk is the only good milk, Tony is a smol, Clint is also a tiny, and Nat, And Bruce, and thor, Mama Loki, Papa Strange, Bucky’s a good hel’ber, Deaf Clint Barton, Clint’s robot ears Summary:
Bedtimes are tough, even if you’re an Avenger. Especially if you’re an Avenger.
Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Clint Barton/Steve Rogers Characters: Clint Barton, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Tony Stark, Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), James “Bucky” Barnes, Stephen Strange, Bruce Banner Additional Tags: Age Play, Non-Sexual Age Play, Diapers, Bottle-Feeding, Team as Family, mentions of spanking, single swat spanking, Storytime, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Footie Pajamas, Pacifiers, Chocolate milk is the only good milk, Tony is a smol, Clint is also a tiny, and Nat, And Bruce, and thor, Mama Loki, Papa Strange, Bucky’s a good hel’ber, Deaf Clint Barton, Clint’s robot ears Summary:
Bedtimes are tough, even if you’re an Avenger. Especially if you’re an Avenger.
Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, Mycroft Holmes’s Umbrella Additional Tags: Age Play, Non-Sexual Age Play, Brotherly Bonding, nappies, Dummies, Spanking, Mycroft has the patience of a saint, dinos are very ‘portant, Little Sherlock, Little John – Freeform, Bathing/Washing, Bratting Series: Part 3 of The ‘Co-’ Series
Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade Additional Tags: Non-Sexual Age Play, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Diapers, Dummies, mentions of spanking, Little Jawn, Little Sherlock, Broken Bones, Age Play Summary:
Broken bones are bad enough. Broken bones on a 40 year old toddler are even worse.
Chapter 4 is up!!!! Come read the RP turned fic that @sadieandmo and I created ^_^
Sadie: I can’t really picture Mycroft as a Little myself personally, but this prompt actually gave me an idea…so maybe this can qualify?
¯_(ツ)_/¯
Hope you like it, anon!
“Yes, and what is it that
you
want?”
“Mycroft.”
Mycroft ignored his name and the tone of voice it was used in, and continued to stare down at his feet with a not-even-remotely-veiled sneer curling his lip. “Well, why is he looking at me like that?”
“He wants you to play with him.”
The sneer deepened. “I don’t ‘play’.”
John raised an eyebrow. “…Seriously? You’re going to try to give me that, with a whole closet full of board games here, and you with a gameroom that at least 80% of the people on the internet would sell their grandmother for?”
Mycroft continued to scowl. He didn’t have an answer for that. He didn’t like not having an answer. He didn’t know that John knew about the gameroom. “You’ve got a big mouth,” he told his little brother, who was still sitting at his feet.
Sherlock didn’t answer…not verbally, at least, as Mycroft preferred, but hummed at him questioningly. Then he sat up on his knees and held out the lump of what looked like dirty, purple clay in his hands, offering it to him.
“Aw, lookit,” John grinned, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand. “Go on, Mycroft…play with him!”
“Games are one thing,” Mycroft admitted, albeit begrudgingly. He sniffed and sat back in his chair. “But I don’t do ‘crafts’.”
John rolled his eyes; this was not a worthwhile argument, and damned if he was going to let him spoil his baby brother’s good mood. “C’mere, love,” he said, reaching for Sherlock. “Mycroft’s being a pain in the…bum. I’ll do playdough with you.”
Sherlock wilted as John scooped him up into his lap from behind.
“ ‘Playdough’?” The name sounded as disgusting as it looked. “It’s clay.”
“Not quite.” John took the lump and split it in half, keeping one for himself and giving the other back to Sherlock, who slapped his on the table and began to mash it flat.
“It looks like it.”
“It’s different,” John said…there was a bit of an edge to his voice. But he was determined no to let the elder Holmes boy spoil anything with his smarmy attitude. “It’s…” He tried to think of a good reason, one that Mycroft wouldn’t rip to condescending shreds. “…softer.”
Mycroft stared at him flatly.
“And more colorful.”
He rolled his eyes.
“And it’s easier to sculpt.”
“So…child-friendly clay.”
John sighed as he worked the clay–playdough, in his hands to soften it. “Sure, Mycroft.”
Sherlock peeled his flattened purple pancake off of the table, then pinched it back into a lump and handed it to John with a grunt.
“What are you handing it to me for, hm?”
Sherlock tried to mash it into John’s fist with the other half, only succeeding with a small part…the rest was moulded to John’s hand.
“I take it you want me to do something with it?”
Sherlock nodded.
“What d’you want?”
Sherlock pressed his hands together and made a rubbing motion.
“A ball?”
Sherlock nodded again, excitedly.
“Ohhh, no.” John laughed, peeling it away. “I’m not rolling balls for you anymore…mine always come out egg-shaped, then you get cross with me for hours.”
Mycroft, who had been (surprisingly) quiet as he sat off to the side, watching, suddenly held out his hand. “I can roll one.”
Two sets of eyes sat and blinked at him, and he began to wonder why he’d opened his mouth. But before he could withdraw the offer, Sherlock was scraping all of his playdough together and shoving it across the table at his brother. “P’eathe!” he said, his dummy slurring his words. “P’eathe, My’coff!”
Mycroft wordlessly took the cl–playdough, and began to roll it between his palms.
John bounced Sherlock on his knee, beaming like an idiot.
“…Shut up.”
“Didn’t say a word.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Within the next hour, Sherlock not only had an entire army of miniature snowmen (all made with a trio of perfectly rounded spheres), but he had switched over to his brother’s lap. “What now?” Mycroft asked, resting his chin on Sherlock’s shoulder as he gazed over their battalion of handmade ball-men.
Sherlock grinned and reached for one of the smaller snowmen on the outer flank ( ‘pawns’, Mycroft referred to them as)…then slapped his hand down over it, smashing it flat as he giggled like mad.
John roared with laughter at the look on Mycroft’s face as each and every one of his painstakingly crafted army were smashed by a maniacally
cackling toddler, who was taking great pleasure in his destruction.
“That’s the thing about playdough, Mycroft,” John said, chuckling and wiping the tears from his eyes as the other man shot him a withering glare.
“Smash it down all you want, but at least you can always build it back up.”
Sadie: Embie and I were discussing the pirate AU she reblogged earlier, and of course, that invited the question:
Embie: “
I wonder what pirate babylock would look like”
Naturally, I obliged: “
Cap’n Da’ would have him in a bandana with his hair sticking out the
sides like piggytails, and he’d have a little gold stud earring in one
ear instead of a gold hoop like the big boys. 😛
“
So now, after mucho begging and being told to hold her dipies on, I’m supplying Embie with more baby piratelock headcanons.
Feel free to add on!
He’d be a spoiled little thing, too–pirate coins and treasure to play
with, pretty jewels to play dress-up in…and God help anyone else but
the Cap’n trying to put him on the Naughty Step! They’ll walk the plank!
Instead of a parrot on his shoulder, Captain Watson has a little bejeweled pirate babe on his knee, gnawing on a gold chain.
He’s a mischievous little blighter, but the crew becomes fond of having
him around. Then comes a night where the Cap’n has to spank him, and
when Cap’n Watson steps out of his quarters afterwards, there’s the
whole crew glaring at him, ready to mutiny.
He loves to leave little pictures all over the ship (and parchment when he gets his hands on it) in charcoal.
Charcoal + Cap’n Da’s maps=why he got his bottom smacked^^^
The galley cook made him an extra sweetie that night^^^
Give him a coil of rope and he can come up with more efficient, secure knots than anyone had ever seen before. Plus, it keeps him busy for HOURS.
John looked up from his mac, where he’d been engrossed with video after video of ‘mysterious’ disappearances (it was baffling; they were so obviously clickbait-y and fake, but the end of one led to another, which led to opening two more tabs, which led to clicking more vids on the sidebars of both, and before he knew it, John had been completely immersed in the weird side of youtube for the better part of two hours), and found himself alone in the sitting room with an obnoxiously loud, cartoon feature playing on the telly.
A particular little nappy-wearing someone was nowhere to be seen.
…Shit.
“Sherlock?” No answer.
John shut his computer and put it aside. “Sherlock, sweetheart? Where’d you go, love?” he called out, keeping his voice even. Nothing had happened (yet), no catastrophies, no one was crying (yet)…no, there was nothing to worry about (yet).
There was no answer. John walked through the flat, calling Sherlock’s name and trying to coax him out. “Sheeeerlock…” He thought if he made it sound like a game, the little detective would be more likely to come out.
As a matter of fact, it could be a game…Little Sherlock loved hide-and-seek, after all.
But as tempting as John tried to sound, he ended up with nothing. No muffled giggles, no pattering feet…nothing in the kitchen, nor the bathroom, same with both bedrooms (and he looked under both beds AND out both windows!).
If John didn’t know any better, he would say he was alone in the flat.
…Oh, shit.
John hurried back through the flat,forcing himself not to run and telling the note of panic that was poking at the back of his head to shut the fuck up while also telling himself that no, there was no way Sherlock would up and leave the flat by himself, not when he was little, that even as a little he still had some sense of self-preservation for his narrow little arse, and….
John rushed into the sitting room, and came to a complete stop.
He wasn’t alone after all.
The sitting room was no longer empty.
And neither was his chair, which now had a little padded, curly-haired dummy-sucker curled up in it, calmly watching the animated movie that was still playing.
John took a deep breath and sighed in relief, then chuckled…it was fine. Everything was fine; he’d been right.
The doctor walked over to the chair and stood in front of the little detective, blocking his view, and put his hands on his hips. He cleared his throat; “Found yourself a seat, did you?” he asked, looking down at Sherlock with a straight face.
Sherlock looked up at him and blinked, then grinned around his dummy. “Yesh I ha’b!” he said proudly, and wiggled on his bum.
John was able to hold it together and not melt into a puddle of warm goo at the sight…but only just, because that was the cutest damned thing he’d ever seen. “Daddy thought a monster had gotten you,” he said in a very serious manner, and raised his eyebrow.
Sherlock’s eyes grew wide. “A mon’ser?”
“You didn’t know there’s a monster on the loose?”
Sherlock shook his head quickly.
“But there is! A great, big…” John grinned wickedly and held up his hands like a mad scientist proud of his creation, “…TICKLE MONSTER!” he crowed, and dove onto the little detective for the attack, going right for those extra ticklish ribs.
Sherlock shrieked and tried to scramble out of the chair but found himself blocked in by Daddy and his reachy, grabby arms! He tried to protect himself from the onslaught, but they were everywhere…tickling his feets, his tummy, his armpits, his neck, his legs; no matter how much he flailed and kicked, there they were! “No mon’ser, NO MON’SER, ‘TOPPIT! NO MON’SER!” he squeal-laughed over John’s monster growls.
John didn’t stop until he was just as out-of-breath as Sherlock. “Can Daddy…have his seat…back now?” he panted, grinning broadly.
Sherlock lay on his back, breathing heavily in between phantom giggles, his hands clamped onto John’s wrists in a feeble attempt to hold them off. “No… more…mon’ser?” he huffed.
“That depends on whether you get your thieving little bum out of my seat.”
Sherlock thought about it, and while John was wondering if he had enough left in him for another round, the little detective nodded.
“Good lad. Monster needs a break after that, anyway…you gave him a good one in the ribcage.” With Sherlock still holding his wrists, John lifted him up into a sitting position, then hauled him out of his chair. “I’ll make you a deal; you can sit in my lap and watch the rest of your movie, how about that?”
Sherlock nodded as he was stood on his feet; “Y’ah, soun’s goo–” The little detective stopped in mid-sentence, and looked down at himself. “…Uh-oh.”
“ ‘Uh-oh’? What’s ‘uh-oh’?…” John followed Sherlock’s gaze, and found what ‘uh-oh’ was.
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