warnings: mention & slight description of a car accident close call, anxiety, crying, involuntary agere
word count: 2k
The near-accident doesn’t hit you until you’re already home.
When the driver swerved into your lane—close enough that you felt the wind of it against your window—your brain did that thing where it stayed fiercely functional. You got out of traffic. You kept driving. You got home. You put your bag down.
It’s when the apartment door closes behind you that your hands begin to shake.
Amber’s in the little kitchenette, humming—something soft, something upbeat because she always tries to bring light into spaces that don’t have enough of it. She turned at the sound of the front door.
“Hey, babe. You’re home—”
She stopped. Her eyes take you in like she’s studying a page.
You didn’t need to speak. Your trembling says everything.
She’s across the room in two steps.
“Hey, hey, come here.” Her arms opened, but she didn’t force them around you—she waited for you to fold into her. And you do. You dive.
Her sweatshirt smells like fabric softener and cheap cafeteria coffee and the faintest hint of warm bread from the shelter’s kitchen. Everything familiar. Everything safe.
Your head tucked under her chin immediately, your knees curled inward as your breathing stuttered. The day catches up with you all at once— a tidal wave hitting the shore of your body. “Baby, what happened?” Amber murmured against your hair. One hand cups the back of your skull, the other rubs slow circles down your spine. You try to speak. You can’t.
Your body slips downward, into something smaller, softer, younger—not by choice, not consciously, but the way your brain protected you sometimes. The floor feels too big. The room feels too loud. The memory of the car veering toward you flashed behind your eyes.
“’m… s-sorry,” You whispered, voice wobbling.
Amber’s hands still for a moment—recognition settling into her touch. She’s seen you like this before. She knew the signs. But this was your first time…being small, openly in front of her.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” She assured instantly, firmly, the way someone placed their hand over a flame before you can get burned. “You’re okay. You’re with me.”
A little whimper escaped you, and your fingers clutched her hoodie tighter. Your breath hitched, and then the word slipped out in a tiny, shaken whisper you don’t have the energy to catch:
“…mama…”
Amber exhales softly—not surprised, not thrown off, just heartbreakingly tender. Though her heart clenches with grief at first. The grief of losing her own mother.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she breathes, pulling you closer until you’re practically in her lap. “Yeah. Mama’s here. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Your brain melted into that reassurance like it’s the only thing holding you together. Because it honestly was.
“Mama…” You buried your face in her chest. “Car… almost— hit—”
Amber pulled back just enough to look at you, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “Oh my god, baby. That must’ve been so scary. Are you hurt? Did anything happen to you?”
You shook your head, face buried in her shoulder again, sniffling. “Just… scared…”
“I know.” Her forehead touched yours. “You’re safe now. I’m so proud of you for getting home.”
Your lip wobbled again. “Mama…”
“Yeah,” she said, her voice turning even softer. “C’mere. Let’s get you somewhere cozy, okay?”
She guides you gently—always slowly, always checking your face for overwhelm—to the couch. She sits down first, then helps you curl sideways onto her, your head on her chest, your legs tucked between hers. She pulls the fleece blanket over the both of you.
Her hand drifts to your hair, combing it with the slow patience of someone who has all the time in the world.
“Deep breaths with me, honey,” she whispers. “Mama’s right here. Nothing’s gonna hurt you.”
You match your breathing to hers. In… hold… out…
Your body uncoils slowly, inch by inch.
“Good job,” Amber murmured against the top of your head. “That’s it. You’re doing so good.”
Your eyes are wet again before you can stop them. “Was… so loud… the car…” You choked on a sob.
“I know,” she continued. “I’m sorry you went through that.”
Her fingers trace your back, soothing. “But you’re safe. Mama’s got you. I won’t let anything near you.”
You hiccup softly, exhaustion pulling you deeper into regression.
“Stay…?”
Amber’s arms tightened, “I’m not going anywhere.”
She reached one hand down and starts tapping lightly against your hip—your favorite grounding rhythm. Slow, consistent, gentle.
Your breathing evened out.
Your shoulders dropped
Your cheek pressed fully against her chest, where you can hear her heartbeat—steady, warm, alive.
“You did so well today,” Amber whispered once she felt you settle. “You came home. You found me. You let me take care of you. I’m really proud of you, baby.”
You nuzzled into her. “Love you, mama…”
Her breath catches for a second—not out of discomfort, but because of the softness of it.
“I love you too, sweetheart,” she murmurs, kissing your forehead. “More than anything.”
The rest of the night is a blur of safety:
Amber rocking you gently.
Amber bringing you your favorite plush.
Amber helping you sip water.
Amber telling you stories from work in her softest voice, keeping everything mellow and bright.
Amber rubbing small circles on your arm until your eyelids droop.
When you finally fall asleep against her chest, she doesn’t move.
She just holds you, one hand in your hair, one arm wrapped around your back, whispering to your dreams:
“You’re safe. Mama’s here. Always.”
You take ages to fall asleep, constantly drifting in and out, jolting awake as though the memories kept replaying in your mind. Amber’s heart ached, but seeing you laid against her chest, hand clinging to her shoulder— to the fabric of a t-shirt like it was a lifeline. Like she was a lifeline, something swelled in her chest knowing that you trusted her this much, that you trusted her so much to be small and let her take care of you. You’ve never really had that kind of love in your life, but ever since being with Amber, she’s given you everything you missed out on and more.
————
The next morning, you wake up slowly. Not by choice but because your body felt heavy with exhaustion so you needed to. You felt like you were swimming through layers of fog to get to the top, rubbing your face, your vision slowly came into focus: the blinds that were barely open a crack letting in dim light from the risen sun, the dust motes floating in the air. You twist, turning around and coming face to face with Amber, half-awake. She murmured, rubbing your back, “Morning, baby.”
You blinked, realising a few things: you were on the couch, you were in Amber’s arms, you were wearing her sweatshirt…under a fleece blanket, laying mostly on top of Amber. The longer you looked at her face, the more time it allowed for the memories from last night to return. It came back to you in waves, the realisation of what happened was seen in your face, was felt in your body’s rigidness.
“Hey.” She pressed her forehead to you, noticing your expression, “You’re awake.”
You gulped, “Morning.”
“Feeling okay?” She asked and you nodded too quickly. “…’m— I’m okay.”
You climbed off her, she sat up, tilting her head, “You don’t have to say that right away…you know?” You chewed on your lip for a long while, avoiding her gaze. Then, you apologised quietly, “Last night…sorry. I d— I didn’t mean to call you—”
“Mama?” Her voice was gentle, as always. No teasing and definitely no judgement. You almost immediately flinched at the word and she decisively moved closer, her hand finding yours with no trouble or hesitation.
“Hey.” She muttered, “Look at me?”
You did, but slowly and hesitantly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” She said, voice so soft that it made you want to cry all over again, “You had a really scary day, and your brain did what it needed to do to protect you when you’re overwhelmed.”
“It’s— embarrassing.”
She put you in her lap sideways, your legs across her thighs. Cupping your cheek, she said, “Not to me. Never to me.”
You rubbed your face in frustration, “…I don’t want people to think— to think I’m childish,”
“That’s what I’m here for.” Amber insisted,“Listen to me,” she continued softly. “What happened last night wasn’t childish. It wasn’t weird. It wasn’t too much. It was your mind protecting itself. And you let me take care of you.”
She brushed her thumb across your cheek, lips curling into a smile. Warm and bright and like home, “That’s something I’m honored you trust me with.”
Your breath trembled,. “But the ‘mama’ thing…”
Amber’s eyes softened even more—like she’d heard the fear behind it: that you crossed a line, that you changed how she sees you, that she’s going to pull back.
“It didn’t bother me,” she said simply, honestly m.
You pull back slightly. “It didn’t?”
“It didn’t. You feel safe with me, you feel protected with me. I’m so happy that you feel that way with me. And you just reached for the safest word you knew. That’s it, I got you.”
Your eyes burned, tears threatened to spill but didn’t. “I’m glad I get to be your safe place.” She continued, voice barely above a whisper. Something in your chest crumpled, and you didn't sob, but tears still fell quietly…messily. Her arms wrapped around you again, a warm grounding hug. “You did nothing wrong. Something happened to you. Regression happens, you do what you need to do, feel what you need to feel…and I’m right here with you every step of the way. “
“You…” You sniffled, “You really mean that?”
Amber nodded against your hair, “Every word.” After a moment, her hand paused, “Do you remember last night clearly?”
You gave her a slow nod, “Yes…mostly.”
“If you ever don’t want me to use any of those small words afterward,” She said, “You can just tell me. I never want to cross a boundary.”
You sniffled, nose still runny, “No, you— you didn’t. You were perfect last night. I just… I get embarrassed after.”
“That’s normal,” Amber murmured, “Really normal.”
She cupped your cheeks again so you met her eyes, “But I need you to know—there is nothing about your regression that makes you less grown, less capable, or less my partner.”
Your throat closed, tightening painfully.
“I love all versions of you,” Amber hummed softly. “Big you, small you, overwhelmed you… all of it.”
A tear escaped down your cheek, “I love you too.” She smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Good. Now, how about breakfast? I made mac and cheese last night but we kinda… fell asleep on it.”
You let out a tiny laugh. “Yeah, I noticed.”
Amber brightened at the sound. “There’s my girl. C’mon—pancakes?”
You nodded, wiping your eyes. “Pancakes sound good.”
She took your hand, “Good.”
It was a slow day. You walked slowly, ate slowly, got changed slowly after Amber helped you wash your hair and showered. Bit by bit, the adrenaline and ache left your limbs. Your head that felt like it was filled with cotton? That cleared up too, all thanks to Amber. No longer fidgety, no longer tense, no longer scared.
You were safe,
you were loved,
you were seen.
Most importantly, you were home.
The day might have ended with you and Amber in each other’s arms, safe in your blanket cocoon, but the near-accident started your use of age regression as a way to cope with high stress, big feelings and triggers— like loud, sudden honks from vehicles on the street, your car jerking at a stop light, or something more subtle like a fellow shopper dropping a can of soup in the aisles behind you at the grocery store. One incident not even a minute long changed your life and started a long-term effort to seek normalcy. As upset as you were, with Amber, things felt better. With your legs straddling her hips and your forehead burrowed into her collarbone, your heart beating against hers…you felt at peace. Untouchable, because like she said, “Always. Mama’s right here, you’re safe as long as you’re with me.”
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It’s Friday evening. Amber and you are on the couch, blankets pulled over both of you. The movie is one you’d chosen together — a quiet drama with emotional scenes, but nothing you’d expect to trigger you.
You’re sitting in her lap, leaning against her chest. Her arm is around you, holding you gently.
Everything seems normal… until the pivotal scene hits.
A character in the movie experiences a loss, quietly breaking down in a scene so realistic that it tugs at your chest.
Suddenly, you feel the pull. Your chest tightening, lip trembling and the small whimpers escaping before you even realise it.
Amber notices immediately.
“Hey,” she murmurs softly, brushing hair from your forehead, “Hey, you’re okay.”
You instinctively press closer to her, murmuring:
“Mama… sad…”
The instinctive word surprises you even as it comes out — it’s part regression, part comfort-seeking. But still fully you. It still surprises you, surprises you that she just treats it like so, no judgment. no recalibration needed.
Amber strokes your back in slow, circular motions, humming quietly.
“You can feel little if you need to, baby. Or stay big. I’ll follow your lead.”
You curl slightly into her chest.
Your hands fidget with the blanket.
Tears threaten now.
Amber doesn’t panic. She doesn’t fuss.
She simply lets you feel, her presence steady, and her voice calm.
“Breathe with me,” she whispers, “One, two, three…” You followed her instructions, she smiles softly, brushing hair out of your eyes, “Good. You’re safe here.”
You slump further, smallness overtaking posture. Soft whines and murmurs escape your lips.
Amber doesn’t try to stop it — she knows this is healing for you.
“You’re okay, baby,” she murmurs, “I’m right here. You can stay little as long as you need.”
She presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, “You’re safe, and I’ve got you.” You hug her hoodie tightly, fingers digging into the fabric. The movie’s been forgotten, now switched for a calm, familiar cartoon you’ve seen just about a dozen times and asked nothing of you.
“Mama…”
“Yes, baby?”
“I… don’t wanna be sad alone.”
Amber holds you closer, rocking you gently “You’re never alone. Not ever. Okay?” She makes you look at her, makes sure you look at her— really.
“Never alone, you hear me? Never, as long as I’m here.”
You nodded, then quickly buried your face in the crook of her neck. The soothing motions of her palm on your back continued, along with the occasional brush of her lips along your hairline. “Good girl.”
You’re not paying attention to the cartoon, but neither of you mind. It was something that you’d still be able to follow even if you missed some parts. Now Amber hums, soft and steady, until your breathing evens.
You exhale a long, shaky breath.
“I… feel better,” You mumbled. Amber simply smiles, pressing another kiss to your head, “That’s because you let yourself feel it with me, baby. That’s brave.”
You nuzzle closer into her shoulder. “…Thanks, Mama.”
“Always, baby. Always.” Her palm stills on your spine.
As an episode of the cartoon came to a close, you begin to fidget, getting restless. “Hmm, I think it’s time we got up for a little bit.”
You whined softly, shaking your head, inhaling deeply the smell of the laundry detergent from her clothes and the smell of her shampoo- orange and mint. Always. Smells like home.
“We go together.” Amber said softly, “Just gonna sit at the kitchen table, drink some water…maybe a snack, that good?”
You nod quickly, and Amber could just picture the smile on your face and smiled herself. She nudged you off her lap but held onto your hand, then you two walked to the kitchen together while you clung to her side like a barnacle. She chuckles, ruffling your hair, “You want water? Or just snack?”
“…I wan’ soup. But in a cup.” You decided slowly, almost shy. She could barely hear you but still did. Cup-a-Soup. She grins, grabbing the electric kettle, filled it and let the water boil. Then she grabs a mug, poured in a sachet of chicken noodle and prepared a small packet of Goldfish. You smiled at the sight of it, she kissed your head. You leaned in to the touch.
While waiting, she sat down at the table and pulled you into her lap. You don’t resist, you love being close when you’re small. And when you’re not. Once it was done, she brought it over to the table and sat you back down where you were. Then you stared at the mug like it offended you. Amber nearly snorted, grabbing the teaspoon she’d just plunked into the mug a few seconds ago, and lifted it to your lips, “Blow.”
You obeyed, then took a sip, melting contently. She smooched your cheek, “Good?” You nodded, eyes now on the crinkly bag of Goldfish. She peeled it open, handing it to you. You munched on a few, she fed you another spoonful. Eventually, you decided to hold onto the mug yourself and drink straight from it now that it’s cooled down. She watches you fondly while you sipped on the soup and happily ate your crackers.
“After this, bath, then I’ll braid your hair, ‘kay?”
“M’kay.” You hummed, nodding softly. She cupped your face, thumb brushing your cheek.
After picking out soft pajamas, and helping you undress, Amber steadied you while you sat in the bath. She sat on the mat next to the tub, making sure you were safe and watched you play. Also, staying engaged while you talked to her about anything that came to mind: a cloud you saw this morning that looked funny, the neighbour’s cat staring at you earlier when you took the trash out together with Amber, how Joan likes the rainbow sprinkle donut best but would always ask if you wanted it first. When you fell quiet, she guided you out of the tub and wrapped the fluffy towel around you.
“…Mama?”
“Yeah, baby?” She pressed her lips to your hair.
“…You stay?”
“I stay.” She nodded, pulling you sideways onto her lap, “Always stay.”
Your shoulders droop.
“Want me to do your hair?”
“Yes, please.”
She nudged you carefully of her lap, and you were now sitting in the space between her legs. Amber reached over to the nightstand then began brushing your hair carefully. You played with the hair ties in the meantime. The repetitive motion of the hair brush made you feel sleepy, your eyelids droop. You feel the gentle, precise tugs as she braided your hair, fighting the urge to melt into her just so. Amber seemed to have noticed, “Almost done, baby.”
Once she set the hair brush done— barely, you crawled back into her lap. “There you are.” She smiled, you smiled back, hand holding onto her shirt. Not fisted, just..there. Grounding.
“Wanna stay like this for a bit?”
You nodded, voice a hum, “Lil bit.”
“Okay.”
Amber waited, slowly rocking you, until your eyes closed and your breathing was deep and even. Until your hand let go of her shirt. She placed you on the mattress, swiftly pressing a stuffed bunny in your arms. You stirred, whined, frowned. Amber slid into bed next to you, pulling the covers up over both of you. You whined again, brows furrowed. “I’m here, sweet girl. Mama’s here.” Amber shifted closer, touching her forehead to yours.
You finally settle again and Amber falls asleep with an arm on her waist. “Got you. Always.”
Warnings: EDs, ED behaviours angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, happy ending
w.c.: 4.6k
I: The things she notices
Amber first saw you on the bus, an ordinary Tuesday morning. You were at the back of it, in the aisle seat, hood over your head as you looked out the window with your headphones on, trying to block out the noise of the other students chatting and laughing and even yelling. It was not even 7am and the world was already too loud. You’d think Amber would notice them first, but instead she saw you. Because you were the only one who was quiet, shrinking in on yourself, trying to hide. Amber weaved her way to the back, sliding into the empty seat next to you. “You’re in my English class, aren’t you? Ms. Williams? The one with the broken projector?”
You only blinked at her, she grinned. Amber remained unfazed, of course.
That day, she sat with you in English class. Then the next one, and the next one. Then she’d find you at lunch and join you. Your stomach would twist, and you’d eye your carton of milk and the napkin hoping she doesn’t notice. Other days, you hope she doesn’t say anything about the slice of apple pie you’d picked apart- crumbs everywhere…filling spilling out and smeared on the plate. Sometimes…you had nothing.
One day, a question finally came up. “Are you like— severely allergic to most foods or something?” Her tone is joking and light, but her eyes don’t lie. She was worried. And you wanted to laugh, no one’s ever worried about you. Amber’s always made it a point to talk to you. At first, the conversations were about nothing: how the cafeteria always smelled like rancid dumplings or puke, how your Chemistry teacher Mr. Novak would be teaching and then get distracted and digress for the rest of the class…movies, books, music, even the park once. Today, that’s changed. Your voice got caught in your throat. You couldn’t answer her, no. She’s noticed you. She’s noticed that you barely ate your lunches, she’s noticed that you had plenty of wit and jokes but your smiles would always suddenly stop- like you’d hit a wall.
Amber offered you a bag of chips, you politely declined. She wasn’t offended. The chips remained on the table in front of you, along with your usual lunch tray. She doesn’t press you for answers. Instead, the next day in English class she brought a granola ‘for herself’ but left it on your desk. Yet she didn't say anything when you slid it into your pocket at the end of class after staring at it the entire hour.
Amber didn’t know the word for what she was seeing, for once she didn’t know. For one she wasn’t eager to go searching for answers. She just knew it wasn’t right for someone to kook okay yet carry so much pain and hurt in their eyes.
So Amber stayed. She stayed, not because she wanted to know why. She stayed because she felt a pull, she wanted to be by your side. She didn’t want you to be alone.
After school, she would walk part of the way home with you. And taking the bus the rest of the way, then you would part ways with her when you got to your stop. You and Amber would talk about everything and nothing, with you starting to open up in the spaces between. How your Mom always thought you were filling out, how your Dad always thought it was too shocking when you went for seconds, how…being in a bigger body meant you were lazy. Meant you were fine and oblivious. Even when you barely ate, people thought you had already devoured your entire lunch because all they see was a juice box or a carton of milk and a few napkins. And…how, sometimes, you just…wanted to vanish.
Amber didn’t flinch. But she saw you, she saw how your mask of laughter and jokes cracked and fell away. She listened, like what you were saying mattered. It all mattered.
“That’s not weird, I don’t think so.” Amber said, “I think…that’s a lot of pain. Pain of someone who’s not been taken seriously.”
You looked down at your straw, blinking profusely. Amber sipped on her own drink as a heavier silence lapsed between the both of you. “If it helps, I take you seriously.”
Seven words, a short sentence. But it stuck, like a stubborn seed planted in frozen soil.
From that moment on, your friendship with her grew in quiet and consistent ways. Amber’s kept to her own silent promise of not commenting on what you ate, instead, she’d talk to you about anything: the kids she was tutoring, her choir ladies’ ridiculously funny squabble about match scarves and mittens. All so your mind stayed engaged in a conversation rather than thinking about the food. Amber’s made the world bigger- made your world bigger so it no longer felt small and mundane.
Slowly, sometimes when you smiled, your smile would reach your eyes. Every weekday morning, you’d see her on the bus, and the seat next to you would be empty- saved for her while your earphones were stuck in your ears without music, your backpack clutched over your stomach. At least twice a week, you’d open your front door to Amber standing on your porch holding notebooks and stationary saying she was here to study. Though…both of you knew that she would just end up doodling in the margins of her notebook. She’d text you at random hours- ‘Morning! Try and have a good day today’ at 7am or ‘Just burnt toast😆 looks like a sad egg got tattooed on it’ at 11am or ‘Did you know stars make sounds??’ at 2am. Almost always, when she’d text you in the middle of the night, you would be awake. It was like she knew.
You’d reply…
‘Morning’
‘Sounds about right’
‘Sounds?’
Every time, she’d be grinning at her phone as if she’d done something right. As if it was proof that she was doing something right, something good. That could grow and grow in the chaos and cracks of calm moments. That…being noticed didn’t have to hurt all the time. That being alive was so much more than what you’d tell yourself sometimes.
That was the year that Amber started to believe that people could be miracles too. You were a miracle, that she was witnessing every day.
————
II: When cracks shatter
By senior year, Amber knew your tells better than you did.
She could tell when you were running on fumes. When your smiles got quieter, your energy brittle like glass…one touch and you’d probably scream the house down if you let yourself. The worst tell? When your hoodie sleeves swallowed your hands whole— you’d use them to hide how badly your hands would be shaking.
“Been eating?” She asked, quietly, casually, as if she was asking whether or not you slept well last night.
“Yeah, don’t worry about me.” You’d always shrug.
And she’d mumble, “Too late.” Pretending that you couldn’t hear her.
You never knew how to explain it, ever. Not then and not now. You didn’t not eat. You’d eat just not enough. Not enough to maintain energy levels, focus, and a balanced mood. Enough to shut up the guilt that buzzed and buzzed in your brain all day like persistent static on a broken TV, until you felt the first pang of hunger between meals. Then, you’d have a snack to soften the ache in your stomach, telling yourself that this wasn’t bad enough to count. Then, the guilt would return, intense and obnoxious like it was mad at you for taking care of your needs.
Amber got it, even if she didn’t entirely understand or agree with what your mind thought. She didn’t believe in not enough or too much, she believed in you.
One December evening, the usual Portland drizzles made your plans for a walk a bust. But as you watched the skies clear up while sitting at your bay window, you then decided to sit outside, taking in the lingering smell of the rain and wet asphalt. The smell was like a tether to safety- it’s how you’d know you were home.
Later, you saw someone wearing a red hoodie, holding an umbrella over their head to shield themself just in case the rain returned. As they got closer and clearer in your vision, you could tell it was Amber and your lips tugged into a smile slowly but it was a big one. Until she was standing in front of you and showing you the contents of the plastic bag from a nearby grocery store. Amber pulled out two Cup Noodles. Cheap, filling and warm. Technically perfect for the weather this evening. But to you, it made you uncomfortable. Made your stomach twist again as it does— always from something that was never hunger.
“Not really hungry.” You muttered, entering the house. She followed behind you but stopped in your kitchen. Amber was already tearing her seasoning packet and pouring it into her cup, then she boiled some water, “Cool.”
You settled back into your usual spot on the couch, watching her in the kitchen.
Amber continued, “Then you can keep me company. But if you happen to eat some, I promise not to tell.”
You laughed, a little tearful. But, still a laugh. The thing about her though, is that she never turned the walls that you’ve built up into a challenge. She simply waited for the doors to open themselves. Halfway through the movie, she took a peek at you while you were engrossed in the movie- your Cup Noodles was empty. She smiled while looking at her phone to hide it, she didn’t say anything, she didn’t look at you again directly until you looked at her first. Amber offered a small, but warm smile and a tissue.
When graduation came, you’d already grown accustomed to her love. One that was never demanded and only offered.
She was the first person to hug you without hesitation since the fourth grade. The first person to sit with you and hold your hands through panic attacks. The first person who didn’t see you for your appearances like they were problems to solve.
You’ve been thinking, ‘Maybe this is what safety felt like.’
Sure. Still, the guilt stayed. Some nights you would be lying in bed and thinking about how much light she’d poured into you— someone who was constantly swallowing the dark. But then you’d get a text, ‘Hey, you. Proud of you for existing today. Thank you for keeping me company’ and ‘💗’
Oftentimes, your response would be a voice note, ‘Thanks for noticing me.’
Eventually, college came and went like a storm, chaotic and unpredictable yet still familiar. You two lived 30 minutes away, you in a dorm and Amber in an off campus school apartment. She stayed composing music, teaching choir classes…keeping the same whirlwind of hope intertwined with chaos.
You were 21 when she called you one evening after work, crying from her car after a bad day at work, telling you that she missed you. That was the day you decided you didn’t just want to be a best friend anymore.
You wanted to be the person who held her when the world felt too loud. You wanted to make her her favourite coffee in the mornings, listen to her hum while brushing her teeth. You wanted to give her all the softness she’d given you — and maybe, if you were brave, let her love you the same way. (She already did, you were just clueless)
But bravery wasn’t your strong suit.
It took another year — another winter — before anything changed.
You were sitting together in her tiny apartment, the heater rattling like it was about to quit. You’d been laughing over old photos, the ones where your teenage selves looked too young to know anything about love, but somehow already did.
Amber’s laughter faded first. She looked at you, eyes soft, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it, “You know I’ve been scared for you sometimes. Like… not in a pity way. Just — you don’t see how good you are. And I don’t know how to make you see it.”
You swallowed hard. “You already do.”
Her lips parted — a breath, a pause, a world shifting. And before you could overthink it, you were kissing her.
It sure as hell wasn’t planned. It was shaky and nervous, even a little desperate. But real. When you broke away, she laughed tearily and amazed, “Well, took us long enough, huh?”
“Yeah.” You gave her a small smile, as a deep pink dusted your cheeks.
That night, when you shared a quiet dinner together — something simple, something you actually let yourself enjoy — she didn’t make it a celebration or a test. She just reached across the table, brushing her thumb over your knuckles.
“Whatever happens,” she said, “you don’t have to do this alone anymore.”
And for the first time, you believed her.
————
III. What Love Doesn’t Fix
Being with Amber didn't cure you.
There was no clean line between before and after, not one moment where the fear switched off. It was the same ache in a different light, only now, there were arms that held you when the ache got too loud.
The Beginning
You’d expected dating Amber to feel different — bigger somehow. But it didn’t. It felt like *home.*
You still spent mornings in the same diner you’d gone to as friends, still shared fries and secrets.
She still texted you songs that made her think of you. You still leaned on each other through long workdays and cheap dinners.
Only now she kissed you goodbye, and her thumb lingered on your cheek. But beneath all the warmth, your old habits still waited. Some days you’d wake up lightheaded and tell yourself you weren’t hungry yet. Some nights you’d push food around on your plate while she told stories, hoping she wouldn’t notice.
She always noticed.
“You doing okay?” she’d ask softly, and you’d always reply “Yeah,” even when you weren’t. Amber didn’t argue. She just reached over, laced her fingers through yours, and said, “Okay. Just checking.”
The Slip
It was late autumn when your worst relapse in some time occurred.
Stress, new job, too many people asking too many questions about “self-care.” You started skipping breakfast again. Then lunch. Then dinner when Amber worked nights. You thought you were hiding it. You thought you were fine. But, you thought wrong.
One night, she came home early and found you sitting on the kitchen floor, dizzy, crying because you’d dropped a plate and couldn’t make yourself clean it up.
Not a peep came from Amber until she’d crouched down next to you, and grabbed your wrist, “I’ve got it.” Her voice was as quiet as a lullaby but firm, “Hey, look at me. You’re okay, honey.” You flinched, not from her touch but the rampant shame exploding from deep within your core.
“I’m sorry.” You whispered, “I was doing so well.”
Amber didn’t reprimand, Amber didn’t ask why. She shook her head, “You don’t owe me anything.You don’t owe me progress charts. I just need you breathing, okay?”
Tears rolled from your cheeks like a broken dam, your noises loud and guttural from deep down, all clawing its way out of you painfully. Amber remained as steady as ever, holding you tightly until your breathing evened out and your crying calmed. “You’re okay.” She’d keep repeating, “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”
You had no clue how long you stayed like this in her embrace, but the next thing you remember was sitting on the floor by the coffee table, holding onto a granola bar. The same kind of granola that Amber once left on your desk in high school. That and a mug of ginger and honey tea, warm and comforting. Your eyes zeroed in on the steam swirling out of the ceramic mug, trying to stop your breathing from getting erratic. Trying to stop your brain from telling you lies. With trembling hands, you peeled open the granola bar and took a nibble as your throat ached and tears rolled down your cheeks. Amber doesn’t speak, only sat next to you in silence, her knee brushing yours like a reminder that she was right there with you.
You’d eaten half of the bar before she even said anything. “See? Still here, still trying.” She said, smiling like you had just run a marathon.
The Work
You started therapy after that. Not because Amber asked you to. But because she held your hand through the tedious search of someone who understood atypical anorexia— the kind that would hide behind bigger clothes and even bigger smiles.
Initially, therapy seemed like it was all numbers and panic, every meal, every snack, every drink felt like a test that was impossible for you to pass. You’d feel absolutely spent after every session from the talking and the crying and the confronting. But, Amber would always wait outside every appointment, sometimes sketching…sometimes writing in her journal.
It was several months into therapy when something happened. After the session, you drove with Amber to the diner for an early dinner. You didn’t just share fries with her, you ordered your own meal when the waitress came to take orders, and you ate most of it. Without hesitation.
Amber loved you through the quiet wins: the first time dining out at a restaurant that wasn’t pre-selected, the first time you didn’t have to look for a mirror afterwards to check, the first time you asked for dessert after dinner with a smile on your face and didn’t apologize for it.
The Weight Of Normal
Living together and sharing your lives meant Amber saw the tiniest battles— the staring at the creamer in the fridge door shelf, a shaky hand reaching out to grab it. Then you’d grab it firmly and poured some into your morning coffee, to the toughest fights— the days and nights that would end in tears and hunger. Sometimes you’d cook together with her, other times you could barely watch her being such a pro in the kitchen while you clutched your mug of green tea trying to remember how to breathe. Sometimes you’d ask for a certain dish for a meal excitedly, other times you’d force spoonfuls of stirfry into your mouth while you tasted tears along with your food.
You used to feel guilty that Amber had to deal with you. You remember the night you told her that a few years ago. “…’deal with’ you?” Amber’s brows were furrowed together, “Honey, do you think I have to be with you?”
You stared down at your feet, intentionally holding your mug that was a little too hot, tightly so you’d feel the burn. So you wouldn’t tear up, “You deserve someone easier.”
“Nothing is easy. I don’t want easier, I want you.”
“Even— even when I’m like this?”
“Especially then.”
Nothing dramatic, nothing loud. Just quiet, steady truths that held the cracks together. That held you together when you couldn’t do so yourself.
The Promise
The eve of your 30th birthday, you woke up and everything was quiet. You opened your eyes and shielded them with the back of your hand from the sunlight slipping through the cracks in the blinds. You feel a pair of arms around your waist, Amber’s arms holding you as close as she could to herself. You wanted to turn around to face her, and after awhile, Amber finally stirred so you could move.
You just…looked at her face, admiring every little freckle and crease by her eyes, the way her hair was sprawled all over her pillow with a few strands covering her face a little. You brushed those out of her eyes, slowly cupping her cheek and brushing it with your thumb. Suddenly, the world around you felt like it had disappeared. It felt like you were now holding the world in your hand. Your world.
You got started with your morning while she was still asleep. You had to let her sleep in, it was so rare for her to do so. You had your coffee and some avocado toast. Then, you swept the floors, cleaned windows and mirrors, and individually wiped every single cubby on the TV console in the living room. You found Amber’s notebooks in one one them, a small stack that you placed on the table while you wiped the surface clean of dust.
Curious, you flipped through one notebook: Scribbles, random lyrics, little comments and summaries of her days…
‘Heard a laugh from her today. I’ve finally won’
‘She definitely doesn’t like coffee as much as she’s trying to tell me she does.’ with a laughing emoji sketched next to it.
Then…‘she’s learning to stay, and I’m learning to let her.’
You smiled, then a tearful chuckle followed. You swiftly arranged the books neatly and placed them back where you got them.
You and Amber spent a quiet day at home, always wrapped in each other’s arms after breakfast was done. Both of you pressed up against each other, Amber resting her chin on your shoulder as she occasionally pressed kisses along your skin. She’d hum sometimes, or the conversation would be brief and random about anything at all, sleepy smiles and giggles, sweet kisses.
That night, while standing in the bathroom together brushing teeth, you said, “I’m still learning.”
She rinsed out her mouth and dried off her face with a towel by the sink. “Good, me too.” She whispered, kissing your temple.
And in the quiet of the night, you realised that love hadn’t fixed you. It had made space for you— all of you. The happy, the hungry, the mending parts.
————
IIII: The Long Quiet
The wedding was small, intimate. You and Amber both wanted it that way: your best friends and hers, some fairy lights hanging from apple trees in the backyard. Amber wore a dress she’d thrifted, but you’d sewn on a subtle pink lace around the waist like she’d wanted. You wore something else, something that you felt comfortable in, that you felt like yourself in.
You didn’t think about how you looked like for once. You thought about how her hand trembled when she slid the ring onto your finger, and how she whispered, “Finally,” like the word itself was holy.
You’d built a life in that spirit— not extravagant, but deliberate.
Ordinary Light
Morning routines came easy at first. Amber’s alarm, always too loud. Her half-burnt toast. The smell of coffee drifting down the hall. You’d join her at the table, sleepy-eyed, bare-faced, safe. She still drew little doodles on napkins — hearts, smiley faces, lyrics half-finished. You started keeping them in a drawer. A quiet archive of small kindnesses. Therapy had become less about crisis, more about maintenance. You were eating regularly now, though some days you still needed reminders.
Amber never made a ceremony out of it. She’d simply slide a plate your way and talk about her day — her students, her music, the neighbor’s cat that kept visiting. The dog that would sometimes tag along when he smelled chicken. Conversations filled the spaces where guilt used to live.
The Crack
But marriage, as holy as it was, didn’t protect you from relapse. It came quietly that winter, the way old things do — slow, familiar, convincing. Work stress. A few skipped meals. A comment from a relative at a holiday dinner that lodged under your skin.
“You’ve really filled out.” You smiled politely. You laughed. You changed the subject. And later that night, standing in the bathroom,you felt everything old and sharp crawl back in. You didn’t tell Amber right away. She was already juggling too much — a new teaching schedule, late rehearsals, exhaustion that pulled at the corners of her eyes.
So you kept quiet. You started shrinking again — not in size, but in presence. Talking less. Laughing less. Smiling less.
Amber noticed anyway.
Breaking point
It happened on a boring Monday. She’d come home early- which was not a common occurrence these days. So she was happy about it. Until she came home to see you sitting at the kitchen island, staring blankly into a bowl of half-eaten Spam and egg over rice.
With your hands clutched together and tears clouding your vision, you looked up and guilt flooded in, “I was just—”
“Not eating again?” She asked. You could tell she was trying to be firm, but didn’t want to blame. Her voice also cracked.
You froze, then a sniffle, “Amber—”
“I thought we were past this.” She started, dropping her bag and sitting down next to you. You could see her face clearly now since she was so close. Her eyes were red and teary.
“I thought you
trusted me enough to tell me when it got bad
again.”
The silence between you was unbearable.
You whispered, “I didn’t want to be a
disappointment.”
Amber’s breath hitched. She crossed the room in
three steps, took your face in her hands. “You
could never be that. Not to me.”
You wanted to believe her, but shame pressed
heavy in your chest.
“I’m trying,” you said, tears slipping free. “It just— it came back.”
Amber nodded, thumb brushing them away.
“Then we start again. Together. Same as before.”
You collapsed into her arms, the tension shattering like a glass being chucked across the room. That night, you ate together in silence — not out of obligation, but because it was a promise.
Try Again
Your therapist was called bright and early the next morning. You went more frequently this time around than you did before, following a strict regime. Scheduled check-ins, therapy sessions and medication. Learning all over again that recovery was not linear.
Amber stayed right by your side through all of this, like she’d promised way before the vows.
When you couldn’t eat breakfast, she sat with you and held your hand, talking to you to keep your mind engaged in something else. When you cried over the guilt, she said, “You don’t owe me normal. Just honesty.”
Some nights, you’d find her sketching while you talked through the worst thoughts, drawing lines and color like she was stitching calm into the air, helping you illustrate your thoughts and feelings in a way you didn’t know how. It was her way
“This isn’t failure,” she said once, looking up. “It’s a flare-up. It means you’re still fighting.”
You believed her, slowly.
In fact, years would’ve passed before life started to feel gentle again. In the rhythm of consistent effort: therapy, medication, love, self-care and honesty. This kind of forgiveness for yourself took years to build. You wouldn’t lie and say that you wouldn’t have it any other way. You wished you could have it other ways sometimes. A way of life that didn’t consist of so much pain. But despite everything you’ve fought through, all the times you’ve fallen and swore you couldn’t get up again? You were here. You were still here. Living, loving and learning.
The pain didn’t vanish. It became manageable because you were healing and now had the tools to navigate it.
“You okay?” Amber reached out to grab your hand as you both sat on the edge of a tide pool, watching the water, feeling the breeze blowing through your hair.
You nodded, “Better than okay.”
Bright-eyed and wide-smiled, Amber squeezed your hand, leaning in for a kiss, “Let’s keep it that way. No, this way.” She booped your nose and you giggled, “Still the girl I fell in love with.” Amber sighed, content.
You remarked, “We made it.”
She shook her head, “We’re still making it.”
Some loves don’t heal you. They teach you how to heal yourself, and stay long enough to see you do it.
🏷️ Tag list: @ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartandstuff @pda128
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warnings: stress-induced age regression, fluff, comfort, some crying
word count: 854
Everyone has moments where they feel childish, vulnerable, ashamed. This time, you tried to fight your regression — and Amber won’t let you fight alone.
It started as a normal afternoon.
Amber’s doing dishes after lunch.
You’re at the dining table with your laptop open, trying to finish a simple online form for work.
But the form has too many boxes.
The website keeps refreshing when you hit “next.”
Your laptop fan is loud.
The clock is ticking.
Amber’s dishes clinked.
Outside, a dog barked.
It hits you all at once — not a meltdown, not panic — just that feeling of everything being Too Much, Too Loud, Too Hard.
You blinked fast.
Your jaw trembled
Your fingers shook on the keyboard.
You push the laptop closed quietly, pretending it’s fine. You stood up.
Amber noticed the movement and glances over.
“You done already?” She asked lightly.
You nod — too fast, too stiff, “Y-Yeah. Just… taking a break.” Your voice was high and tight.
Amber’s eyes narrowed — gently, worriedly.
“Sweetheart,” Amber said softly, “Come here a sec?”
“I’m fine,” You insisted, stepping back. Though you regretted it immediately. Your heel bumps the leg of a chair; the loud scrape makes you flinch so hard your whole body jolted.
Amber’s chest tightened. She raises her hands in the gentlest surrender.
“Okay,” She whispered, “Okay. You’re not small. You’re just overwhelmed.”
You bit your lip hard, tears building. Amber stepped closer. “You’re not in trouble,” She continued, “You’re not embarrassing. You’re not weak.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, “Please don’t… don’t look at me…”
Amber’s heart cracked.
She moves forward anyway — slow, careful — and places a hand over yours.
“Honey,” Amber whispered, “I always want to look at you.”
Your lip wobbled, your shoulders shuddered.
And the tiny, fragile voice slips out before you can stop it, “M…Mama…”
Amber reacted like you’ve been shot, seeing the guilt and embarrassment in your face from how easily the layers wore down.
“Oh baby,” She breathed, pulling you into her chest immediately.
“There you are. It’s okay. It’s okay. Let it happen.” You crumbled in her arms — the tension, the fight, the shame — all of it dissolving the moment she held you.
You continued falling apart quietly. Just soft, shaking inhales against her hoodie. “I didn’t… I didn’t want… to be…” Your voice cracked, “Small.”
You’ve been doing so well. Five weeks since you ran into a trigger that you brought yourself down from, now you were back to square one no thanks to some glitchy work form.
Amber pressed a kiss to your temple, “You’re not choosing it,” She whispered, “You’re not wrong for it. You’re not doing anything bad.”
You clinged tighter, “I thought… you’d get tired.”
Amber froze like the words stabbed her, “Tired?” Her voice broke, “Of taking care of you?”
You nod, tiny. Of course, tiny.
Amber cupped your face in both hands, lifting it gently so you’re forced to see how serious she is.
“Listen to me.” Her thumbs wiped your tears away, “I will never get tired of you. Not like this. Not in any way. Not ever. I love you.”
You swallow hard, tears spilling.
Amber leaned her forehead to yours,“You don’t scare me,” she whispered, “You don’t overwhelm me. Your smallness isn’t a burden — it’s a part of how you cope. And I want to be the one you go to, no matter what you want, what you need, how small or how big you feel. I want to be there for you.”
Your breath stuttered, “Mama…”
Amber’s arms wrapped around you again, tight and protective, “Yeah, sweetheart. Mama’s right here.”
Amber brought you to the couch, sat down, and pulled you into her lap like she’s done it a thousand times. She has, probably.
You curled up instantly, hiding your face in her chest, your smallness finally settling now that you’re not fighting it. Calm, and soft. Not panicked and fidgety.
Her hand rubbed your back.
Her cheek rests on your head.
Her breathing synced with yours.
“Thank you,” You whispered brokenly, “For… not being mad.”
Amber pulls back just enough to kiss your forehead, “I could never be mad at you for needing comfort.”
Her voice softened, “Never.”
You sniffle, shrinking down, “Still… don’t want you to think I’m weird.”
Amber laughed a little — a soft, sad, tender sound — and smooched your cheek, “You’re not weird,” She murmured, “You’re human. With a soft heart.”
Her arms tightened, “And lucky for you, I’m really good at loving soft hearts.”
You drifted in and out of smallness for the next hour — rocking slowly in Amber’s lap while she hummed and stroked your hair.
When your breathing finally evens and the shame fades, you mumbled, “Mama… I didn’t mean to hide.”
Amber kisses the top of your head, “And I’ll always see you anyway.”
You melted, pliable under her hold. And Amber held you like she was built for it.
TAG LIST — @ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartandstuff @pda128
A/N — Turned out shorter than I wanted it to, but oh well
x fem! reader (subtle regression becoming obvious)
warnings: agere, fluff
word count: 1.7k
click the source link for more chapters to the series!
No meltdown. No dramatic trigger. Just exhaustion, quiet tears, and Amber holding you through it.
The week wears you down in tiny, invisible slices. Nothing catastrophic happens — just a string of small, draining things: extra shifts, a snappy coworker, one too many rude customers, two nights of barely enough sleep, a headache that comes and goes like a tide, a train delay, three missed lunches.
By Friday night, you’re running on fumes. In fact, not even running— sprinting.
Amber noticed the moment she saw you come through the door. Your backpack strap is slipping off your shoulder; you don’t fix it.
Your eyes look glossy.
Your voice, when you say “hey,” is small in a way you don’t notice.
Amber is across the room in seconds.
“Sweetheart.” Her hands cupped your cheeks, “Rough day?”
You shrugged, trying to keep the wobble out of your jaw. “I’m fine.”
But Amber knew the difference between fine and holding yourself together with sheer will. She leaned her forehead to yours.
“No pretending with me, okay?”
That’s all it takes for your chin to tremble.
Amber pulled you into her arms, tight and warm, one hand on the back of your head.
“There you go,” She whispers into your hair. “You’re home now.”
It starts with quiet tears.
Not sobbing.
Not trembling.
Just quiet, tired, overwhelmed tears soaking into Amber’s hoodie.
You clutch her shirt without thinking.
Amber’s heart squeezed — this isn’t a meltdown, and it isn’t full regression.
It’s something softer. Delicate.
Something in-between.
A smallness made of exhaustion rather than fear.
She kissed your temple, letting your weight sink into her.
“You held it together all week,” Amber murmured, “Let it go now. I’ve got you.”
Time passed slowly. And by the time the sun went down for the night, Amber coaxed you gently toward the bedroom, her hand warm on your back.
“Let’s get you cozy,” She said softly. “Movie in bed?”
You nod — small, wordless.
Amber changed you into one of her soft, oversized shirts. You barely lifted your arms; she guided them through the sleeves.
“You’re so tired,” She whispered, sympathising deeply. “You don’t have to do anything on your own tonight.”
She tucked you into bed, then climbed in beside you, opening her arms, “Come here, baby.”
You crawled into her automatically, melting into her chest like gravity wants you there. She settled one hand on your back, the other stroking your hair.
Her voice stays at that low, soothing hum, “I’m right here… breathe for me…”
Your breath shook, then steadied after a couple of minutes.
That’s when the regression begins — soft, unintentional, like a slow tide pulling you gently inward.
You nuzzled closer, fingers curling in her shirt.
“Mama…”
Amber shuddered — not with fear, but with emotion.
Protectiveness.
Grief.
Love.
She presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.
“Yeah, sweetheart. Mama’s here.”
Now, the ‘snuggle nest’. Amber arranged the pillows around you both so you’re enclosed, safe, and warm. She pulled the blankets up to your shoulders and rubs slow circles on your back.
“You’ve been holding so much,” She whispered, “Let me hold you now.”
You mumbled something small, a “Tired…” into her collarbone. Amber swayed slightly even lying down, rocking you with instinct more than intention.
“Then rest,” Amber continued, voice low, “I’ll stay awake. I’ll watch over you. You’ve had a long week, sweet girl.”
You look up at her with heavy, vulnerable eyes, “Promise?”
Amber cups your cheek, thumb rubbing your skin with infinite gentleness, “I promise.”
The deepest comfort was getting to sink deeper into her — tiny, exhausted, yet trusting.
Your breathing slowed, your fingers loosened, your forehead pressed to her throat.
Amber hummed a soft melody her mother used to sing — something she rarely ever shared. Only with you. Only for you.
She watched the tension leave your face. Then, in a voice so soft it’s almost prayer:
“You’re safe with me. As long as I’m breathing, you’re safe.”
Your eyes fluttered, almost shutting. You whispered, barely audible, “Love mama…”
Amber closed her eyes, to hold the tears in.
“I love you too, baby. So much.”
You fell asleep against her chest, legs bracketing her hips, your hand curled in her shirt naturally, your breath warm and slow.
Amber doesn’t move for a long, long time — content to hold you, protect you, anchor you.
She kissed the top of your head and whispered into your hair, “My sweet one… rest. I’ve got you. Always.” Amber doesn’t sleep for a long time, even when you were in deep sleep, because she knew sometimes you’d let out a soft, scared whine from bad dreams. And she wanted to be right there and awake to help you. Feeling your weight against her though, she also got lulled to sleep. So eventually, you just nuzzled closer and she held you tighter. Both of you calming down further in each other’s embrace, in this little bubble. And for the first time in a long while, Amber got a full night’s sleep and woke up well-rested along with you.
The morning started softly, no alarms, no rush. Neither of you had to work this Saturday morning. Amber woke up before you did and was already in the kitchen making breakfast, so the spot next to you was empty, just cool sheets. Slowly, you rolled over and eventually, out of bed. One hand of yours pulling the blanket, the other tucked your bunny under your chin as you stood in the hallway.
“Good morning, my little sleepyhead!” Amber greeted cheerfully. You managed a small, sleepy smile as you rubbed your eyes, mostly with the bunny’s paw. “You look comfy.” She teased gently, you giggled before settling into one of the chairs in the dining room, blanket still pulled over your shoulders, bunny in arms as you rested on them folded. You could barely stay awake, and the smell of Amber’s coffee, and warm fresh waffles…everything seemed so perfect and cozy. You almost felt like you could drift off to dreamland again right here.
While the waffles cooked, Amber took the time to come over. She kneeled down, brushing the hair away from your face, “Hey. Feeling okay?”
“…eepy mama,” You nodded.
She only smiled, so warm and gentle you felt the same spread across your chest. Along with relief. And safety. And trust.
“That’s okay, we’re having a nothing-day.” She assured, “We stay home, and I do chores. You help me if you want, but mama’s here with you all day. Sound good?”
“Yeah.” You agreed quietly.
“That’s my girl.” She pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Breakfast is almost ready. I made waffles.”
Your eyes lit up just enough, you woke up just enough to sit up straight by the time the plate of pink guava waffles and banana slices was placed in front of you. You inhaled deeply, the warm fragrance made you smile. A familiar favourite. Amber handed you your fork, and contemplated helping you cut up the waffle into bite sized pieces, but she knew you had your way of eating- stabbing the fork into the waffle and slowly taking bites out of it worked. You didn’t make a fuss about it and being independent while small made you happier than ever.
“Why are you staring at my coffee cup?” Amber giggled, messing with your hair, “No coffee this morning, mama doesn’t want your tummy to hurt.”
You sulked, “Want drink.”
Amber slid out of her chair knowingly, filling up your cup with warm green tea and honey, “Careful.”
You hummed in appreciation, taking the plastic cup in both hands and took small sips before putting it down. Breakfast passed slowly, just you and Amber, no rush, no distractions. By the time dishes were cleared, you were already following her from room to room while she did her chores. Not clinging, just orbiting. Like a little moon drawn to its planet. You even followed her to the bathroom while she cleaned it but squealed quietly and left because you didn’t like the smell of the cleaning products. “I’ll be right back, baby.”
You plopped on the couch, knees tucked to your chest, fiddling with bunny’s paw. Staring into space, your mind drifted into nothingness, and yet, time still passed. Things were quiet, only the clinking coming from Amber scrubbing the bathroom floor and the brush occasionally hitting the sink, your slow breathing and the feel of bunny’s worn down fabric beneath your fingers.
Eventually, you feel a dip in the spot next to you on the couch. Amber’s arm across your shoulder, her leaning her head on yours. “Hi, baby.”
You gave her a noise. Barely audible, vulnerable. She heard it loud and clear and kissed the side of your head, “You’re okay.” She murmured, being alone with your thoughts sometimes made you sad. Amber doesn’t make it her mission to cheer you up quickly, she does it in a way that you don’t even realise. Quiet cartoons in her arms, her brushing your hair and braiding it, encouraging you to make up little stories and voices for your toys while you played with them, coherent or not. Then, when the heaviness in your chest finally lifted, your face would be bright, your laughs would be full.
As the evening painted the walls golden and pink, you nuzzled into her collarbone, bunny pressed to your chest, breathing slow and matched with Amber’s while the steady sound of her heart was grounding under your ear. Post-meal grogginess hit you hard when you were small, the sounds and colours of Bluey blurred as your eyelids drooped. Amber knew you were drifting off to sleep, so her hand continued its steady soothing motion of going up and down your spine. “Sleep.” She whispered, “Rest now, hm?”
You nodded just enough for her to notice. “Good.” She murmured into your hair, brushing a hand through it and giving you a kiss on the forehead, “Good girl.”
“…Bed?”
“You wanna go to bed?”
“…Yeah.” You mumbled, tiny.
“Sure, sweet girl.” And Amber stood, one arm on your back and one under your knees, making sure you had bunny and blanket with you before she even started walking. She put you down in bed carefully and tucked you in before laying next to you, holding your face briefly while your legs were tangled with hers naturally. You smiled, sleepy and content and your eyes fluttered shut. “Good night…mama.” You nuzzle closer to your pillow, the scent of the detergent and Amber’s lotion feeling like anchors grounding you in unimaginable ways.
“Sleep tight, baby. I love you.”
TAG LIST — @ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartandstuff @pda128
You and Amber are standing in the cereal aisle of the neighborhood grocery store—fluorescent lights humming, soft pop music playing overhead, some random carts squeaking on linoleum. She’s comparing prices between two boxes of granola, squinting in that way she does when she’s thinking too hard.
You’re holding the basket.
You’re tired from the work week, but fine.
Until—
The overhead lights flicker once.
It’s barely noticeable.
It blinked.
It was like a hiccup in the ceiling.
But it hit you like someone had pulled the floor out from under you.
Your grip on the basket loosened.
Your breath gets caught.
Your vision tunneled.
Somewhere far away, Amber’s voice drifts, “Babe? You good? This one’s on sale— oh.” She turned and saw it immediately.
Your shoulders curled inward.
Your hands clutched your chest.
Your eyes widened and unfocused.
She puts the cereal down and steps close, lowering her voice.
“Hey. Sweetheart. Look at me.”
You tried. Your eyes flick upward, desperate but dazed. Amber softened instantly, even more.
“Are you slipping?”
You gulped. A small nod.
“Okay. That’s okay.”
Her voice slows, warms. “You’re safe. Another flicker of light overhead makes your breath stutter. Amber moves subtly, placing herself between you and the aisle—shielding you from everything without making a scene. One hand rests lightly on your arm.
“Do you want grounding?” She asked gently.
You nod again—small, and quick.
“Okay, baby. Let’s do it together.”
She taps her fingers softly on your wrist. “Can you copy me?”
You match her rhythm— barely.
Still, she murmured, “That’s it. Good job.”
A shopping cart rattled loudly at the end of the aisle. You flinched.
Amber leans in. Her voice drops to a whisper meant only for you, “Hey, it’s alright. I’ve got you.”
Your breathing picked up again.
Then Amber lowered her hand into yours—open, waiting. You took it instantly.
She squeezed once, your body relaxed a fraction.
“Do you want out of the aisle?” Amber asked, you nodded.
“Okay. We’re gonna move slow.”
She guided you out, walking at your pace—practically a crawl—but she makes it feel normal, chatting softly as you go.
“Remember what we need? Just the basics. Bread, eggs, pasta… and those little cookies you like.”
Your small voice slips out before you can catch it.
“Cookies…”
Amber smiles softly. “Yeah, honey. Cookies.”
You don’t even realize you’re slipping deeper until your feet start moving closer to hers, your shoulder brushing her arm, your free hand clutching the fabric of her hoodie sleeve.
She noticed, then adjusted effortlessly.
“Do you wanna use your words,” She asked quietly, “or do you want mama to figure it out herself?”
You stiffened.
You didn’t mean to drop that far.
But Amber squeezed your hand.
“It’s okay.” She whispered.
Your cheeks were warm, your eyes stung, and you shook your head.
“C… can’t…”
“Then I’ll take care of it,” She murmured, kissing your hairline. “Stay close.” Amber guided you toward the bread aisle, keeping her body angled so you’re always half-shielded, half-tucked against her side.
Anytime someone walked by too fast, she stopped until they passed.
Anytime the speakers crackle, she squeezed your hand reassuringly. When you froze entirely in front of the bread shelf, lights buzzing overhead— Amber stepped behind you, hands warm on your shoulders, voice low and slow: “Breathe with me, baby. In… and out… Mama’s here.”
You melted back into her without meaning to.
A few minutes later, when you’re calmer, she helped you carry the basket— with her hand over yours so it’s not as heavy.
By the time you reached checkout, you’re tiny— quiet, clinging and soft.
Amber loaded everything onto the conveyor belt while you hold her hoodie from behind, half-hiding under her arm. When the cashier says, “Find everything okay?”
Amber smiled and answered for both of you. “Yeah. Thank you.”
She paid quickly, grabbed the bags, and led you out, keeping the world small around you.
Outside, the sunlight is quieter.
The air is cooler.
Amber stopped on the sidewalk, set the bags down, and cupped your cheeks with both hands, checking your eyes gently.
You blink up at her—small, tired, overwhelmed.
She smiles softly, "There you are.”
You make a tiny noise, and you leaned into her hands.
Amber whispers: “Good job, sweetheart. You did so, so well. We’re going home now, okay?”
Your throat constricted. “S-Sorry.”
Amber immediately shook her head, pulled you into her chest, “Nope. No sorry. You didn’t do a single thing wrong.”
You clung to her shirt. She held you tighter, “Let’s go home, baby,” she whispers into your hair. “Mama’s gonna make it all quiet now.”
You nodded against her, breathing in her warmth, her scent, her safety.
Hand in hand, you start walking home— slow, steady, no rush.
Amber never lets go once. Even in the car, she kept her hand in yours, or on your thigh. The drive home…was peaceful: you curled up in the front passenger seat engulfed by her sweatshirt that you were wearing, Amber drove with great care as usual, the radio playing softly in the background.
Once home, you helped her carry the groceries inside. “Oh, thank you, sweet girl. There we go, good job.” She kissed the side of your head, rubbing your back. You beamed, cheeks blushing slightly.
“Wanna go play on your own for a little bit while I unpack the stuff?”
You shook your head, “I…I help?”
“You wanna help me, baby?” She smiled. You nodded, softly but eagerly.
“Okay.” Amber crouched down to your level briefly, “First, the fruit.” She opened the fridge door and pulled out the fruit drawer, “Hand me the apples, honey.”
You stepped over to the bags, peeking in them with no rush, finding the apples and handing them to Amber. There were five- you handed her three first, then the remaining two, trying not to drop them. Amber chuckled in amusement, “Thank you, baby. Mango, blueberries, then lettuce.”
“…kay.” You acknowledged quietly, returning to the bags. Okay, mango…you grabbed the one and turned around to pass it to her. Strawb…no, blueberries. Your brows furrowed together as you slowly turned back to look at Amber, confused. Amber giggled, walking to you. “Blueberries. Mhm, you got ‘em. Thank you, my love. Now, the lettuce.”
You giggled quietly, feeling a leaf of the vegetable before handing it to Amber. She stuck it in the fridge before moving over to the pantry. “Okay, cookies.”
Over the next few minutes, you two worked in harmony. She told you the item she wanted and you gave it to her, she arranged them neatly in the pantry. “Alrighty, all done. What do you wanna do now, sweetie?”
You raised your arms up, she immediately scooped you up and went over to the couch. “We’ll sit for a while, then shower, hm? Or a bath?”
“…bath.” You muttered.
“Sure, baby. We’ll even play with the duckies you like.”
“Okay.” You replied, nuzzling closer, hand balling the fabric of her hoodie over her chest. She stroked your head, pressing a kiss to your hairline every now and then while holding you close.
“I love you.” She whispered, lips brushing your hairline again.
“…Thank you, mama.” You mumbled.
“What for?” She rubbed your back.
“F…for helping me. At the store…everything.”
“Of course, mama’s here. I’ll always be here.”
TAG LIST — @ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartandstuff @pda128
A/N — This starts the series of oneshots based on how they navigate the aftermath of the near-accident. Regression starting to be used as a coping mechanism, for comfort. Her triggers and Amber’s unwavering love and support.
