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mama leaned in and pressed a warm kiss on her forehead. “you’ve been quiet today,” she murmured lovingly as she grazed baby’s soft cheek. “is something on your mind, my love?”

baby shrugged, her body tensed just enough for mama to notice. her wobbly voice was barely above a whisper as she responded with “i dunno…”

but mama knew exactly what baby meant. it wasn’t that baby doesn’t know what she was feeling, it actually means baby didn’t know how to say it. so mama didn’t push. she didn’t even react. she just stayed petting baby’s head and her voice kept the gentle tone that tells baby that she’s safe.

“it’s okay if you don’t wanna talk yet, baby. i’m not going anywhere. mama loves baby so, so much.”

baby’s lip wobbled a little, and she squeezed her stuffie tight. “...m’sorry.”

mama’s petting slowed, “for what, baby?”

“everything…”

there it was, baby’s tears streaming down her cheeks. “oh, sweetheart,” mama pulled baby in closer, kissing the top of her head. “you don’t have to say sorry, my love.”

baby’s shoulders trembled as she pressed her teary face into mama’s chest. “but i’m too- t-too much, mama… i’m too much, too s-sensitive, and i’m always saying the wrong thing. i know you won’t say it but i know i’m a burden.” her voice crumbling above her stifled sobs.

mama didn’t rush to answer. she heard baby’s breath hitching, on the verge of many more tears. she gave baby time after her explanation to process her feelings, slowly going back in with her gentle words.

“my sweet baby,” her voice in a low hum. “you are the type of burden people want to carry. the kind we hold close to our chest, because we choose to. because you’re worth it. you’re worth every ounce of care it takes. you’re allowed to burden the ones who love you.”

baby looked up, tearful and wide-eyed, confused. “but that’s not what people ever showed me…” that line showed mama years of baby being neglected, being told to grow up and figure things out on her own.

“i know, baby,” mama said gently. “they taught you love was something you had to earn. that being ‘too much’ meant being pushed away. that needing anything made you bad.”

she kissed baby’s forehead, slow and warm.

“but they were wrong.”

mama rubbed her back in slow, grounding circles. “you could cry every night. you could cling to me every second. you could need so much, and it wouldn’t make you any less lovable.”

baby’s lip wobbled even harder, forming a wide pout. her voice cracked.

“but… what if i never get better? what if i always feel this broken? and- and… mama gets tired of me?”

mama didn’t flinch. she nodded, like she'd already considered that and loved her anyway.

“mama will still be here. holding you. every night. every cry. i don’t need you to heal to be worth loving. you’re not a project. you’re my baby. mommies never give up on their babies."

baby broke. the tears came—not heavy, but soft and constant, her tiny fists curled into mama’s shirt like she didn’t know how to let go. but it’s okay, because she never has to.

they lay there like that for a long while, baby crying little sniffly cries that didn’t need fixing, just witnessing. until her sobs turned into sleepy breaths, and her body finally went heavy in mama’s arms.

“mama?” baby whimpers out.

“yes, darling?”

baby lets out a sniffle before saying, “thank you… love you…”

mama places her hand behind baby’s head, keeping it steady against her chest. “you never have to thank me for loving you, sweet baby.”

baby nods softly, shifting impossibly closer to mama’s warm body.

“you’re not too much,” mama whispered one last time, voice melting into the quiet. “you were never too much. the people around you just never held you enough.”

mama noticed every change of heart, every time your hand tenses around the fork. she pulls her chair closer to you. “baby,” her voice low and soft, “can mama sit with you while it feels heavy?”

with your gaze still fixed on the fork, you give the tiniest nod. mama then gently lays her hand over yours. her grounding and steady touch finally gives your body the safety it needs to glance upwards with wide eyes. mama greets your face with a warm smile as her thumb rubs soothing circles on the back of your hand, forming a space where the fear stops and you begin.

“you don’t have to finish anything today, sweet one,” she says. “not for me, not for anyone. it’s okay if it’s hard. you’re not bad for struggling”

the guilt burns hot in your chest anyway. “i can’t, mama,” you whisper, so quiet it barely reaches mama’s ears.

mama nods, like she was expecting that. “that’s okay, my love. we don’t have to do all of it tonight. maybe we can just try one soft thing together. how about some soup, hm? mama knows you love soup.”

she reaches for the bowl she made earlier, gentle steam curling into the air. she offers it without pressure, just giving you something you both know is safe for your tummy and heart. you slowly sit up, not taking the bowl yourself, like you’re waiting for something else.

mama sees the way you look at her and immediately knows. she grabs the spoon, scooping up the perfect amount of broth and guiding it to your lips.

“that’s it, baby. good job,” she murmurs. you swallow and a single tear drops from your cheek. there’s almost a small smile creaking on your face as mama keeps feeding you. both the soup and her love warming up your body in a tight hug.

you proudly finish your bowl of soup and mama gives you a soft kiss on the forehead, setting the bowl down. “see, love? your body knows how to hold kindness. you gave it a little today, and that’s enough.”

“i’m sorry, mama.. i know it’s not enough…” you whisper between stinging eyes, blinking more tears away.

her hand moves to your cheek, rubbing with a gentle hand. “oh, but it is, sweetheart. enough isn’t about how much. enough is about you being here, letting mama take care of you. one sip at a time. that’s all we need.”

your chest loosens just slightly. mama doesn’t push further. she doesn’t measure bites or count sips. she only sits with you, her presence louder than the rules in your head.

“thank you for letting me care for you,” she says softly, kissing the top of your head. “your body will forgive the rest. i already do.”

mama cleans the kitchen up, then joins you for cuddles on the couch with a movie playing on the tv. the evening plays out with the help of the warmth from before.

[binge ED themes below]

the night comes, and everything starts feeling different. the hunger and panic crash in together, and suddenly you’re on the floor—wrappers scattered, chest tight with guilt. you curl up small, wishing you could disappear.

mama finds you there. she doesn’t gasp, doesn’t scold. she kneels, smoothing the hair from your damp forehead. “oh, baby,” she whispers, “that must feel so heavy.”

you shake your head as the shame boils over. “i ruined it,” you choke out. “i couldn’t stop. i’m disgusting-”

mama hushes you with a kiss to your temple. “no, love. you’re not ruined. your body just got scared and wanted comfort. it doesn’t make you bad. it just means you’re hurting.”

she pulls you in, rubbing your trembling frame. she waits until your breathing slows enough, then offers her hand. when you take it, she helps you up carefully, as if every part of you is fragile. “come sit with mama,” she says.

on the couch, she presses a glass of water into your palms. “here, baby bun. small sips, okay? your body’s been through a lot, my love. water will help it settle.” she doesn’t leave until you drink, her hand stroking your back in steady circles.

“i feel so sick,” you whisper, pressing a hand to your tummy. mama gives your hand a soft squeeze.

“i know, sweetheart..” she tucks a pillow into your middle, giving you something soft to hold. “hug this. let your body calm down. mama’s got you right here.” she hugs you tight.

you cling to the pillow, leaning into her side, face pressing against her shoulder. she rubs slow circles over your hand that rests on the fabric, grounding your body as it processes the intensity of today.

“you’re safe, my darling,” she murmurs. “no one’s angry and you’re not in trouble. not for having too little, not for having too much. mama loves you in all of it.”

when you whimper again, she guides you to lie down, your head on her lap. “close your eyes, sweet one. mama will help you rest. your body can heal better when it feels safe.”

she places a cool cloth on your forehead, humming while her fingers thread through your hair. the nausea begins to fade into a softer ache, less punishing under her care.

“your body deserves kindness no matter what,” she whispers, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders. “whether you eat too little or too much, mama will still hold you, still help you through. you don’t need to be perfect to be loved.”

your tears finally slow. your breathing evens with hers. and in mama’s arms, for the first time that day, you believe you might be safe inside yourself again.

mama puts an end to the intense night, reminding you that you can start fresh tomorrow even if that means another stressful day. you know in your heart that you’ll be safe by bedtime because mama’s here with you.

“what’s wrong, bubby?” mama asked softly, brushing her fingers through baby’s hair.

baby didn’t answer right away. she let out a soft exhale through her nose and wiped her cheek quickly, like she had cried without realizing. “...i shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.

mama blinked, confused. “in my bed?”

baby nodded. “i’m too big for this…”

mama frowned gently, sitting up a little so she could look baby in the eyes. “too big for what, sweet girl?”

“all of it,” baby mumbled, her voice wobbling. “too big to be sleeping with mama. too big to need help with every little thing. too big to cry just ‘cause my cup spilled or my show turned off…”

mama’s heart ached.

she reached out and tucked baby’s hair behind her ear. “oh, honey.”

“i feel stupid,” baby added in a rush, like she wanted to get the words out before she chickened out. “like, i know i’m not a real baby. i know i’m not supposed to need this much. it’s just… i do. and then i feel pathetic for needing it.”

baby didn’t look at mama when she said it. she had her head turned down, eyes glossy and cheeks hot with shame.

“sweet girl,” mama says, and presses a warm kiss against her baby’s forehead head. “look at mama.”

baby hesitated, but her teary eyes flicked up. they met mama’s that were gentle, steady, full of love she hadn’t earned and didn’t need to. her lip wobbled again as she used all the energy in her tiny body to hold back sobs.

mama’s voice was so soft. “you’re allowed to need. you’re allowed to want to be little. and you’re never stupid for that.”

baby shook her head, just once. “but i am. i’m big, mama. i’m supposed to take care of myself. but i still wanna whine when my juice spills, or cry when i get overwhelmed, or crawl into your bed like a baby just ‘cause i feel scared.”

“and all of that is okay,” mama said gently. “you know what i see when you do those things?”

baby sniffled, eyes focused like she wants to believe mama.

“i see a little girl who never got to feel safe enough to be soft. i see a heart that’s learning, slowly, that she doesn’t have to be strong all the time. i see someone brave enough to let herself need.”

baby let out a trembling breath. she pressed her forehead into mama’s shoulder, small fingers grabbing the edge of mama’s shirt like she didn’t know how to say ‘please hold me’. but mama already knew.

she was already wrapping her arms around her baby girl, already rocking her gently.

“you’re allowed to be little here, bubby. you don’t have to prove anything. not to me. not to anyone.”

“but… what if people think i’m weird?” baby mumbled.

“then they don’t get to be close to you,” mama said firmly. “but i will always be here. and i will always love you, big or little, clingy or quiet, crying or giggling. those people who don’t care, don’t understand, or don’t want to try—they just don’t know how to value your big aching heart. you’re so precious, so sensitive, so loving. so, so beautiful. and if they don’t see you, it’s their loss.”

“even if i feel like a burden?”

mama held her tighter. “you’re my bubby. and you are the best kind of burden. the kind mama wants to hold. every day. every moment. i want to baby you. because you deserve it.”

and that was the moment baby melted. her soft little cries came back, messy and quiet, as she buried herself in her mama completely.

“see, baby girl? you think you’re too big but you fit just right in mama’s arms.”

baby lets out a half-sob, half-giggle at mama’s reassuring words. and mama was right. baby’s so snug against mama’s body, like they were meant to find each other, like perfect tiny puzzle pieces held together with love.

“mama?” baby said, her face still hidden.

“yes, baby bun?”

“i love being mama’s little girl.” baby said. “you’re the only home i’ve ever had.” mama’s breath caught, and for the first time that night, it was her turn to blink away tears.

they stayed in each others arms, baby’s soft breaths floated against mama’s soothing rubs as the night drifted away.

[end]

You sit curled in the corner of the couch within your bedroom in your softest clothes, hugging your knees with your stuffie squished between your arms. The tower feels too big today. Your limbs feel too small. You want to be held, but also… you’re scared to ask.

Because what if they don’t want to anymore?

They never said that. Not once. In fact, Steve just kissed your forehead that morning. Bucky helped you brush and tie the bow in your hair. But your brain doesn’t care. It just keeps whispering.

“They’d be happier if they didn’t have to tuck you in every night.” “You’re taking up too much space.” “They fought wars, and you cry over broken crayons.”

You hug yourself tighter and your best not to cry. You were fine yesterday. But now, your throat’s all sore from holding everything in, and your body feels too young to explain any of it out loud.

You look toward the hallway, where you can faintly hear the sound of dishes clinking. Steve cleaning up. Bucky’s voice follows, low and tired, saying something about reports.

You shrink smaller in your spot. You don’t want to be more work or the reason they’re tired. Or worried. Or stuck at home instead of doing superhero things.

You love them. And that’s why the thought hurts so much. Because what if loving them means letting go?

You don’t tell them how you feel. Not right away.

Instead, it builds inside of you, resembling a quiet ache behind your ribs. A heaviness you can’t name, not even in your little space. It hums beneath the surface on quiet days, when Steve brings you apple slices cut like stars and Bucky tucks your blanket just right. When they ask how you’re feeling and you just nod, not trusting your voice to hold the truth.

You don't mean to pull away, but you do. You stop asking to be picked up. You hide your stuffies under your bed. You sit stiff and too quiet, like if you're careful enough, they won't notice how heavy you feel inside. You try so hard not to be too much.

You don’t notice how Steve starts watching you a little longer when you say “I’m fine.” How Bucky lingers just a few extra seconds at your door at night.

Until finally, It breaks.

One evening, they make spaghetti and call you for dinner. You don’t answer. You sit curled up in your hoodie on the floor of your room, silent and still, your arms wrapped around your knees. You press your face into your knees, a hot tear sliding down your cheek. You don’t know what to do. You want to disappear. You want someone to notice. You want—

“…Sweetheart?”

Steve’s voice, suddenly close. You hadn’t even noticed him walking in, prompting you to flinch in surprise. He hesitates for a moment before crouching slowly to kneel in front of you.

“Hey,” He says, softly. “You okay?”

You nod too fast, like usual despite everything about you screaming otherwise.

He watches you for a beat. “You sure?”

Another nod. Too big this time. Your eyes are wet, your breath shallow. Another pair of footsteps approach as Bucky enters the room, spotting the two of you. He comes over in an instant, crouching down to meet your eye-level. You expect them to be mad. To ask why you’re being difficult. But it’s just them, crouched low, concern present in their expressions. You try to shrink away, but Steve doesn’t let you.

Instead, he gently touches your knee, asking gently.

"What’s going on in that head of yours?"

That’s it. That’s the sentence that makes everything fall apart. Your bottom lip trembles as your eyes fill. You try to shake your head, but the words stumble out in a whisper that sounds too small, too broken to be yours:

"I don’ wanna be a burden."

Everything freezes. Steve blinks like you hit him in the chest while Bucky exhales sharply, then moves in instantly, gently, and without hesitation. He’s the one who pulls you into his arms first, holding you against his chest like you might disappear.

You can feel Steve’s hand finding your back, warm and steady. You hear his voice reassure you.

"You could never be a burden. Not to us."

You sob quietly into Bucky’s hoodie. He doesn’t rush you either as he rocks you gently in his embrace, questioning lowly. “Where’s that coming from, baby? Who told you that?"

You don’t know how to explain it though. The guilt, the worry, the awful tug that you take up too much space and ask for too much. But you manage a whisper:

“I need too much… lotta times… I don’ wanna be a problem…”

Steve’s heart clenches at your broken words, reaching up to squeeze your shoulder gently. “Needing care doesn’t make you a problem. It makes you human. And you don’t have to earn our love, sweetheart. You already have it."

Bucky’s voice comes in next, his tone low and protective “Who told you that, huh?”

You shrug, face hidden in Bucky’s shirt. “Just… figured.”

“You listen here,” Bucky says, voice steady as he gently lifts your chin up to face him. “You could ask for every ounce of our time and energy and still not be too much.”

Steve nods in agreement. “Being your caregiver means being there when you need us.“

“But… you both tired,” You whisper.

“We’re human,” Steve replies, rubbing your back again in slow, firm circles. “We get tired. That’s not your fault. You didn’t cause that.”

Bucky nods. “The tired from a mission or a bad dream? That’s different. You?” His expression softens noticeably. “You’re the soft part of our day. You're the reason we want to come home.”

Your eyes well up again, but for a different reason.

Steve leans over and kisses your forehead, saying firmly. “You are wanted, honey. Every version of you whether it be little, big, sleepy, silly, sad. Got it?”

You nod, tearfully.

“Say it for me?” Steve asks gently.

You hiccup. “Am wanted…n’ not a burden…”

Bucky smiles, adjusting you in his lap and holding you snug. “That’s right, baby. Not even close.”

You cling to both of them, your heart slowly settling as their warmth surrounds you: steady, grounding, and safe.