#little!reader

He dislikes that Perry expects you to fetch coffee for the entire staff, and he hates it even more when you bring some sad excuse for a lunch in your strawberry-patterned lunchbox. Almost everyone leaves for lunch. You, a struggling student, always turn Jimmy down when he invites you. You don’t have the money, Clark assumes, so he joins you in the breakroom a few times a week.

When you whip out the same peanut butter sandwich and apple that you always bring, Clark sees the way your face falls.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, and your heart quickens.

“Just tired.” You nod, then nervously tap at the table.

“Here,” he offers you half of his favorite sub sandwich he orders at the deli on the next block. “I’m not going to eat all of it.”

Your lips part to protest as he lays it out in front of you. “Clark, you don’t—”

“You look hungry,” he adds. “Did you eat breakfast?”

“Yes,” you answer quietly. His blue eyes are focused on you. Hard. Expecting. “…No.”

You find that the truth slips through your lips before he has a chance to question you further. “Y/N.”

“I had coffee,” you say next. “I have to get up at 4:30 if I want to catch the earliest train into the city, and sometimes I forget.”

Clark nods, understanding, although his mind is already working toward a solution.

After that, he shares his lunch with you when he can. When you get to work, there is always breakfast waiting for you. A breakfast sandwich from the deli or a Tupperware with homemade pancakes. It doesn’t take you long to put the dots together. When you thank him, he never answers directly.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

“But—”

“You have to eat breakfast.”

“But you don’t—”

“And lunch. And dinner. I don’t want to find out you’re still skipping meals.”

Your lips press into a thin line then. It’s the first time he’s seen you frustrated. Embarrassed, even. Your brows furrow, and you turn in your pink ballet flats and walk away from his desk.

The thought crosses his mind that he should back off then. Give you your space. And he tries. Really tries. But you are so needy. So much more needy than he even realized.

He follows you home. Your tiny studio apartment that you’ve made into a home, but that doesn’t make it any safer or less cheaply built. He checks on you most nights, makes sure you’re tucked into bed, although you stay up way too late working on assignments for Perry.

The night he hears you crying behind the bathroom door at work, he nearly loses control. It takes everything in him not to storm into Perry’s office and toss him off the roof of the Planet.

He doesn’t, of course.

He waits until everyone clears from the office. You emerge from the bathroom as the sunset illuminates the room in shades of red. You clutch your heart, frightened, when you find him waiting for you. You wipe under your eyes quickly, but there’s no hiding from Clark.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Please, Clark.”

“Tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart. I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me.”

Clark can feel how fast your heart is beating. He closes the distance between the two of you, one hand finding the small of your back and the other cradling your neck. Your lips tremble and your sweater sleeves pull down over your fists.

“Clark—” you hiccup, and the tears start to fall again. “I just… I-I—”

He thinks of how badly he wants you not to call him Clark in this moment. He’s been telling himself not to rush this. It will take time. “You’re okay,” he says, deep and soothing. “You’re being so brave.”

You blink up at him through the tears. “He… h-he ripped into my article. The final one. For my class. He’s hated every draft I sent him and it’s due at midnight,” your voice cracks, high and thin. “I think he’s gonna fail me. On my review. I-I worked so hard to get this internship, Clark.”

Clark’s jaw tightens. “I know you did, sweetheart,” he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“It doesn’t matter,” you shake your head. “I’m not a good writer. I-I’d be a t-terrible journalist.”

Clark’s eyes darken as he looks down at you. He sees you crawling inside yourself. Retreating. He doesn’t think as he lifts you off your feet, wrapping strong arms around your torso, before he carries you toward his desk.

Your body tenses, though you don’t protest. Your eyes only widen, and you go quiet. You have no sense of fight or flight. He understands that your first instinct will always be to freeze. His entire purpose in life is to protect people like you.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Clark takes a seat at the desk before he settles you into his lap. You wiggle, but he holds you tightly. It feels like pushing at a steel door. You hadn’t realized he’d feel so… heavy.

He rolls his chair closer to the desk, effectively trapping you in, and he opens his laptop, your back pressed against his chest. In your ear, you hear him say, “I’ll help you rewrite the article.”

“What—”

“I know what Perry is looking for. I can help you clean it up.”

“I’ll miss my train.”

Clark pauses for a moment. He clicks his teeth. “I’ll take you home.”

“Oh…” What choice do you have? “Okay.”

His voice lowers, soft but firm. “Relax.”

“I’m trying,” you sniffle.

“Good girl,” he whispers.

Clark is a man of his word. He helps you write the ten thousand words in a way that Perry would approve of. He helps you with the pacing, the tone, the flow. It never crosses his mind that you’re a bad writer. Just inexperienced. He remembers being exactly where you are.

When Clark finally feels your mood lift and sees the tired smile on your lips, he isn’t willing to let you go just yet.

You were hesitant when he opened the passenger side door of a dark sedan that doesn’t match his reporter salary. You were even more hesitant standing on the threshold of his high-rise apartment. You thought he would take you to the subway station, only for him to insist that you stay in his spare room.

Noticing your hesitation, he grabs your hand and leads you forward. The door closes with a finality you weren’t quite prepared for. You turn and feel your feet trying to carry you back toward the door. Clark squeezes your hand, gentle but firm. When he notices your body start to freeze up again, he sighs, low and almost fond, before taking matters into his own hands. Literally. You let out a startled breath as he sweeps you off your feet like a bride.

He isn’t frustrated with you. He directs you like a child about to wander into the wrong room, or a pet that doesn’t know any better.

“Let’s get you out of these work clothes, okay?” he asks rhetorically, carrying you deeper into the apartment. “And then you can have a warm bath and something soft to sleep in.”

“I don’t have any other clothes, Clark.”

“Don’t worry, baby.”

Your resistance matters little to him. You expect a guest room that’s impersonal. Bare bones. Instead, you’re met with a room with cream-white walls, a cozy bed with a white, fluffy comforter, and a plush, oversized teddy bear in the corner.

“I—” You clear your throat. “Is this a kid’s room?”

“No,” he answers as he sets you onto your feet. “I just wanted it to be… comforting.”

Clark’s lips part to explain further, but out of the corner of your eye, you spot a tall bookshelf. “You have The Secret Garden and A Little Princess,” you say. Clark watches how your eyes light up and how you pad over the soft carpet. “I’ve never seen these editions before. They are so pretty. Look at these pink flowers.”

His hulking figure shadows you as he reaches past, taking The Secret Garden off the shelf for you.

“I don’t know,” you say instead of taking it, but he grabs your hand, lifts it, and places the book in your palm. “You like these books?”

“I know you like them,” he answers casually, and your mind skips over the absurdity of the situation because next you notice a line of figurines that look like fairies on the shelf below them.

“Look around and get comfortable, sweetheart,” he says. “I’ll start your bath.”

You gasp softly as you lean down, studying a woodland fairy with so many delicate, adorable details.

Every detail in the room is perfect. There are even fairy lights hanging near the windows. Just like the ones you have hanging in your apartment. And on the nightstand?

A Hello Kitty nightlight.

The exact one from your Amazon cart. The one you’d bookmarked and rebookmarked, hovered over for months, but never bought.

“You ready?” Clark asks, snapping you from your daze. Your lips part to answer, only to realize his question is, once again, rhetorical. With a hand on your lower back, he guides you toward the attached bathroom.

The lights are dimmed to a golden hue, and the tub is filled with bubbles. A soft towel sits on the bathroom counter, and a pair of neatly folded pajamas rests right next to it. You glance at the older, taller man and realize he’s removed his glasses. You almost do a double-take, your eyes focusing on his features, and he’s almost unrecognizable.

You’re not sure if it’s the lack of sleep or the fact that this all feels like a fever dream, but you can’t help but let this happen to you.

“You’ve been working so hard, haven’t you?” It doesn’t help that his voice is deep and melodic. You look down at his fingers as he gently undoes each button of your cardigan. “Let me do this for you. Let Daddy take care of you.”

Daddy.

The word touches you somewhere deep. An embarrassing place.

“I don’t need you to,” you say, although you aren’t convincing. And now he’s undoing the buttons of your khaki skirt.

“Let me,” he says again, softer this time, like he’s reassuring you.

Isn’t that what you’re doing? Shaking like a leaf and letting him get you naked? It’s done with such care. His touch doesn’t wander in the slightest. It’s almost clinical. He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, and the glimpse of his arms—thick and muscled—makes your eyes widen. How had you missed this before? You’ve never felt intimidated by Clark until now. Never felt how much power radiated from him.

“I-I shouldn’t have come,” you stutter out, mostly to yourself. “I’m imposing,” you add next, politely.

He gives you a knowing look. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.”

It’s good to know. It’s reassuring. It isn’t completely your fault that this is happening. You cover yourself with your hands when he’s fully undressed you.

He guides you closer to the clawfoot tub and keeps you steady as you step into the warm water. His invasion of your personal space doesn’t stop there. You’re not sure if he understands the concept anymore. His hands are already reaching for the soap. He kneels beside the bath and continues to look at you like you’re the most fragile thing he’s ever seen. You look down then. You don’t meet his eyes as he runs a washcloth over every inch of your skin.

He notices.

“I know you don’t understand it yet,” Clark says. “But you will. You don’t have to do anything but let me take care of you.”

You focus on the warmth. The comfort in his voice. You realize you have to or else your heart will jump out of your chest.

“Relax.” He says that word again. Your eyes focus on him again as his fingers sink between your legs. A large hand against a small area. His palm presses against your lower belly. He spreads your folds, and everything in your body tenses.

Determined, focused blue eyes stare back at you. “Clark—” you rush out, and your small hands wrap around his arm. His arm doesn’t move as you push. It doesn’t even tremble beneath your grasp. “Clark, please. P-Please—oh my—”

“I’m not trying to scare you,” he says. “But I will be firm with you. You need that, don’t you?”

Your eyes flutter as your body trembles.

His movements are so precise. Large circles, and then small, concentrated ones. Your chest heaves as your head tilts back. It’s almost as clinical as when he was undressing you. It’s something he has to do. He’s treating the act like a mission that needs to be accomplished. A step in a nightly routine.

Now you’re dizzy. The act doesn’t take longer than two minutes. He applies the exact right pressure. It’s almost painful how your orgasm rips through your body. It's embarrassing how quickly it happens. “That’s it,” you hear him say. You gasp for air in between your moans. Now you’re holding onto him instead of futilely pushing at him. “Good girl, sweetheart. You needed that, didn’t you?”

He takes your silence and shaking body as a sufficient answer.

“Let’s get you dressed and tucked in, sweetheart. Big day for us tomorrow.”

When you wake, your first instinct is to cling. Your body feels tired still, despite all the sleep. There will no doubt be bruises blooming on your skin, but last night feels too far away to contemplate those aches, like it was experienced by another person entirely. This morning your head is cloaked in the marshmallow fog of something beyond your usual subspace, something fluffy and fragile and undeniably small. Right now all you can think of is them, and you need to know that they’re beside you, that they will cushion your fall. 

Today it’s Natasha’s turn to be on the receiving end of your clinginess, since she’s the one in front of you when your eyes open and the fuzzy desperation kicks in. Your fingers find her vest top and wrap around the bottom of the strap, clinging to the triangle of fabric like this will anchor you to her forever. She’s asleep, which surprises you. Natasha is always awake before you, always ready. Seeing her sleeping is strange, and although she looks so pretty and peaceful like this, you need her awake so you can reassure yourself of her love.

One more little tug prompts Natasha’s eyes to flicker open, and her lips curl into a smile when she meets your avid gaze. One glance down at your hand tells her everything she needs to know about your mindset this morning. You’re floating in the hot air balloon which always carries you away after an intense scene. The aftercare they give you inflates the balloon with warmth, and it rises according to the amount they give, the amount you need. This time their sweetness and reassurance has sent you so high into the clouds, there is no sign of returning to land anytime soon. The twitching of your nose and the way your knuckle sits between parted lips are telltale signs of this. Natasha knows you, and she knows that your head always gets more fuzzy as the altitude increases. Softer. Smaller.

Natasha cups your cheek and kisses you on the forehead. You just blink at her with doe-eyes for a while, feeling awestruck and expectant, then you wriggle a little closer and nuzzle into her arm. She is your whole world right now, and it takes a while for your brain to make space for anyone else. When you remember, you turn around to find the bed empty on your other side. 

“Mommy is in the bathroom,” Natasha tells you, gesturing with her eyes towards the ensuite door, which is surrounded by the slight glow which signals its occupied status. Her words reassure you instantly, both from the explanation and her ready use of the right title. It simply clicks together in your brain without need for translation, the puzzle pieces the right size and offering the right connections. You turn back to her, replacing your head against her arm. Once safely nestled, you sigh out your content, your breath warm against her arm — probably tickling the soft blonde hairs which grow there. She strokes the back of your head with the hand of the arm you have claimed, her open palm running down the braid she made last night. Her other arm is wrapped around your waist, her fingers creeping up your vest and dancing lightly up and down the bumps of your spine, which protrude a little in your curled-up state. You always seem smaller, somehow, on mornings like this. Perhaps because your limbs are always tucked in, pulling things close and clinging to your girlfriends, or any other source of comfort you can find in the devastating but rare event of their absence. 

“What do you want for breakfast, little one?” she asks, and you frown, lips pouting against your knuckle. Your brain is too fuzzy to think. Can’t she see that? Mommy would know; Mommy would take over if you were silent for so long. But Natasha is just waiting, expecting an answer you can’t give.

“Mama choose,” you mewl, the words slipping out without planning, without any awareness that this name is new.

There’s a pause, in which she stops stroking your arm and stays motionless and silent for a few moments. Just long enough to make something stir beneath the fog; the slightest niggle of worry twitching in your belly. But before it can awaken, she resumes the soft motions of her fingers on your skin and responds to you with a measured calm. 

“Okay,” Natasha says quietly. “Mama can choose when she is out the bathroom.”

You look up at her then, feeling a little lost. Something isn’t right about her answer. Why the need for waiting? You don’t get it, but you also don’t have the words to question it. So you wait, thoughts too disconnected to contemplate the confusion. 

When Wanda opens the door she immediately breaks into a smile at the sight of you and her wife curled up together. Natasha frees one hand from you to gesture for her to come, and Wanda approaches, sitting on the bed and stroking your thigh. 

“Our little one wants you to choose what we have for breakfast,” Natasha tells her, and you look up at her, your eyes glistening with tears when you process what she’s saying. 

“No!” you whine, clamouring for her to understand, tugging at her top in frustration. “Mama choose.”

She stares down at you, her eyebrows furrowed. There’s no recognition, no understanding in her eyes.

“My love,” Wanda says, huffing with laughter. “She doesn’t mean me. She means you.”

Natasha’s lips part into a small O, and you begin to tremble. She doesn’t want this. She doesn’t want you. You turn your head into her arm, because there’s nowhere else to hide. 

“Oh, baby…” Natasha breathes, stroking your back as you sob. “Is that right?” She pauses, finds your chin and tilts it up so you look at her again. There’s an odd expression on her face. She seems nervous, and it scares you. “Am I… am I mama?”

You give the smallest nod, then pull away from her hand to hide again, because you can’t bear to see the disgust on her face. You can’t bear the shame. 

“Oh.” It’s a tiny sound she emits. A sound that wavers and crackles with emotion. You cry into her despite her obvious distaste. You cry over what you’ve said, what you’ve done. But then she moves her arms, putting her hands under your armpits, scooping you up and turning you until you’re sitting side-saddle on her lap and hiding your face in her shoulder. “Baby, I... I’d love to be your mama.” 

Your sobs stutter a moment, as you process her words. But you’re too scared to believe them. Too scared to emerge from your safe place hidden in her shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t understand at first, little one,” she tells you, stroking your hair and then wiping away your tears when you look up at her in hope. She has tears of her own, pooling on her lashes and making her eyes twinkle. “I get it now. I — Mama was just a bit surprised for a moment. Happy surprised. Because you’re mine, and I’m so, so lucky to have you.” 

She rocks you then, hushing your leftover cries of overwhelm and kissing your forehead until you calm down and your breath slows. Her body is warm against yours, her grip steady and sure. She’s holding you so tightly, you couldn’t escape even if you wanted to.

“My girls,” Wanda hums happily, stroking the back of your neck and playing with the baby hairs that didn’t make it into the braid. She leans forward and gives Natasha a kiss on the lips, her hand still gently placed on the back of your neck. You watch, blinking away the tears that still cling to your lashes. Your mamas are so pretty. 

“So what does mama want for breakfast?” Wanda prompts, smiling between you and Natasha, who grins. 

“I am thinking pancakes,” she hums. “What do you think, malen’kaya printsessa?” 

You wrinkle up your nose at the nickname, because it’s new. But new doesn’t mean bad; new just means you’re not sure. But pancakes aren’t new. Pancakes you are very sure about. So you nod. 

“Pancakes it is, then,” she murmurs. “Our princess has spoken.” And she gives you a kiss on the nose, making you giggle. 

“Pancakes sounds wonderful,” Wanda agrees, and she tickles your feet just a little, prompting a pout. 

“Mommyyyy…” you whine, “no tickles!” 

“Sorry baby,” Wanda apologises, stopping at once and giving you a kiss on your cheek, which makes your pout evaporate. “Now, who would you like to make pancakes?”

You consider that for a moment. Mama usually makes the pancakes, and she makes them well. But Mommy is an excellent cook. You’re sure she can manage, and that would mean you could stay right here where it’s comfy, cradled on Mama’s lap. 

“Mommy make them please?” you ask quietly, feeling a wobble in your tummy at the act of choosing, in case you upset her. “And Mama stay?”

“Of course baby,” Wanda tells you, with a smile that soothes your worries. “Such beautiful manners too, my darling girl. You stay here with Mama, and I’ll make the pancakes.”

“Not big ones,” you clarify quickly, heart thudding at the thought. You hate big pancakes. They make your mouth feel fluffy and your tummy feel too full. But Mommy doesn’t seem to understand; she’s wearing that frown which means she’s thinking hard and still doesn’t know what you mean. But you can’t work out how to explain; the words won’t fit together. So you bury your face in your Mama’s neck, upset at your ineptitude and resigning yourself to a yucky breakfast.

“She means she doesn’t want them to be too thick,” Natasha says smoothly. “She wants thin ones — blinis, rather than American pancakes. That’s right, isn’t it, little one?” She guides you to raise your head with a gentle stroke of your cheek, clearly wanting to check your face for confirmation.

You smile at her in relief, and nod. You turn to face Wanda then, giving your Mommy a nod too, just to make sure. She smiles back at you.

“Of course, I forgot how much my baby likes thin pancakes. I’ll make lots and lots, and then you can do the toppings yourself, when they’re ready. Does that sound okay, little one?” 

You nod again, then fall back into Natasha’s hold with a sigh, watching your Mommy leave with a slight sadness, but one which is soothed by your Mama’s steady stroking of your arms. 

You stay quiet for a while, your bodies melting together and heartbeats slowing to a synchronised thud. 

“I love you so much, baby,” she whispers into the crown of your head. “You have no idea how much it means to me, to be your Mama.”

You look up at her, and see her smiling down at you, her cheeks glistening with tears. You reach up, trying to stroke them away, the way she and Mommy do for you.

“Happy?” you nervously check, as your thumb brushes one away.

“Yes, kroshka moya. Happy tears. Very happy tears.”

Even despite her reassurance, your eyes begin to water too. You can’t help it. Seeing anyone cry always sets you off. And you feel so fragile right now, so wobbly. 

“Oh, baby,” she coos, returning the favour and mirroring your actions, wiping away a tear with a gentle stroke of her thumb. “Look at the two of us, hm? Are these happy tears too?”

You nod, your hand lifting to grab at her own, needing something to hold, needing another piece of her, although you have so much already.

“Love you, Mama,” you whisper, and Natasha closes her eyes a moment and takes a deep breath, like she’s feeling something too big to share. Then she opens her eyes, and she leans her head down so her forehead presses against yours, skin touching skin.

“Mama loves you too,” she whispers back, her lips forming the words so close to your face that they become part of the air you breathe. The words settle in your lungs, seep into your blood and are pumped around your body until every fibre of your being is marked by the sentiment and imbued with your Mama’s love. 

“So very much, baby. Forever.”

Author's Note: Thank you for reading, especially if this is something you didn't expect me to post/don't usually read. I don't have any experience of age regression but I found this really comforting to write, so if there are folk who enjoyed it then I might do/share more of this kind of writing in the future. Please let me know what you think -- constructive comments are welcome too (as long as they are kind) ♡

You awoke to two soft sets of footsteps walking towards your crib. Your body folded over, sitting on your knees and elbows with your bottom in the air.

"Ladybug?” The soft Slovakian voice whispered, kneeling down and unlocking the bars at the side of your bed. Her fingers gently stroking the side of your soft cheek, your lips wrapped around your thumb, suckling slowly. “Baby girl, I know you can hear me.” Wanda’s eyes stayed on you, whispering nothing but softness as her fingers continued stroking your baby skin.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Nat’s voice came, hand firmly on your back.

“Nooooooooooooooooooooo,” you whimper, letting out the longest ‘o’ sound they think they had ever heard from you.

“We have a special day planned, honey.” Natasha’s fingers gently tracing your spine over your little-footed onesie. “A Winnie the Pooh day…”

At that, your eyes went wide, and you rolled over, sitting up quickly. You grabbed Eeyore and Winnie the Pooh stuffies. “Win da fooh!” Thumb still in your mouth, but a wide smile could be seen painted on your little face.

“Yes,” Wanda smiled. “It’s the author’s birthday, the man who wrote Winnie the Pooh, so why don’t we get you dressed, and have some breakfast, go out, and then this evening we can watch your favourite one, and maybe if you’re super good—”

“Mommy’s boobie!” You announce, hands already grabby towards Wanda’s chest.

“Always a booby girl, this one, big and little.” Nat teased gently, as she swooped in, picking you up from under your arms like you weighed nothing, placing you on her hip as she carried you through to the bathroom.

Sleepy.

Hair ruffled.

Onesie twisted.

Your head laying on Nat’s shoulder.

Thumb in your mouth and dribble on your chin.

Once you reached the bathroom, Nat sat you on the side of the sink; the marble felt cold even beneath your onesie. A shiver sent down your spine, your fingers still clung to Nat, as if she let you go, you’d be sucked away right down the plug hole and to a whole other dimension.

“Baby, you need to let go.” Nat tried, but with the shake of your head she pulled your fingers from her shirt. “Hey, I’m right here, but we have to give this cheeky little face a wash and these sharp teeth a brush, okay?”

“NO!” You huffed and shouted, kicking your feet, dangling over the side and not quite reaching the floor.

“No special day for you then.” Nat smirked, getting the washcloth ready.

“Waith! I want spethial day!” You pouted and happily let Nat wash your little face, pride lacing her voice anytime she spoke.

And that was how it went all day; if you didn’t want to do anything, if you didn’t want a diaper change, or if you didn’t want to get dressed or to leave the house. Wanda and Nat would lightly threaten ‘no special day’ for their little one. Which always forced you to relent and stop your tantrum or pouting.

The day had been good so far; Nat fed you your bottle before leaving the house so you wouldn’t be reaching for Wanda’s way of feeding whilst out in public. They got you dressed in just some black leggings and a Winnie the Pooh top, frilly socks and little dolly shoes. They packed up the car with your diaper bag and pushchair just in case you needed them.

The day was spent buying you a new Eeyore and a new paci with Winnie the Pooh on, then finding a bridge with a small stream where you could throw “pooh sticks” over, and even with the looks you got, both Wanda and Nat protected you and made sure you stayed focussed on your stick, and when you asked, “Mommy whith ones mine?” Wanda would point to the winning stick, even if it wasn’t actually yours, but the most important thing was that it made you happy.

After the Pooh sticks, they took you to a cafe that you’d been going to for a while now, one that was specifically for age regressors and their caregivers. They sat you on floor playing with your blocks, whilst the two of them had their coffee and some lunch, you’d have your food later.

They had something special planned.

“How’s she doing today?” The owner of the cafe asked, looking from you concentrating on your blocks, thumb in your mouth, placing one block on top of the other, then she looked and up to Wanda and Nat.

“Mmm, good, thank you Harriet. She’s doing well today, but she’s getting tired.” Nat nodded towards the way your eyes were beginning to shut every few seconds, but you were forcing them back open to build your castle.

“NOOOOO!” You wailed, screeching and throwing a block at the wall as you began kicking your feet, which raised an eyebrow from both your mommies.

“See?” Nat chuckled, “Okay, let me come pay, and we’ll take her home.” Nat pulled out her wallet and followed Harriet to the counter, whilst Wanda tidied the blocks away, ignoring your wailing, before pulling you into her lap and holding you close.

“Sweetheart, I need you to stay awake just a bit longer. I need you to walk to the car for me…” Wanda’s finger gently traced lines over your cheek, which wasn’t helping your sleepiness—you just wanted to fall asleep right there, clinging to the warmth of your mommy, with her fingers on your skin, her heart beating beneath your ear, and her lips kissing your crown.

“I spot a sleepy baby,” Nat smirked, coming back to the two of you, a new book in hand. “Honey,” Nat crouched down, gently pulling your thumb from your mouth. “Look,” Nat held up the book between her fingers.

A picture book.

“POh!” You said sleepily, eyes tired, trying to focus on the Pooh bear book Nat was holding, the outline of the yellow bear barely coming into focus.

“Let’s get her home.” Wanda whispered.

Nat nodded in agreement, picking you up from Wanda’s lap as if you weighed nothing. Usually, they would make you walk home, but due to how exhausted you were, Nat didn’t care—she held you under your diapered bum, your legs wrapped around her waist and balancing you on her hips loosely, your arms curled between your own chest and Nat’s, and your head dropped to her shoulder, drool covering your lips.

Wanda packed everything away, your juice and snacks that she tried to give you, but you refused because “No, Mommy! I build Pooh and fwiends dare casle!” so Wanda had left them on the side until you were ready, but they went untouched.

The three of you left the cafe, saying goodbye to Harriet, and you were fast asleep by the time Nat stepped outside with you in her arms.

“She’s exhausted.” Nat whispered, ignoring the people around and protecting you with everything in her, as was Wanda.

“Not surprising, building a castle for her friends.” Wanda’s hand stayed on your back and the other on Nat’s. “Good job; she can have a nap in the car.” Wanda said as she bit into an apple, “Oh, and I’m driving.”

Nat scoffed, “I-” frowning as she realised she couldn’t feel the keys in her back pocket.

“Looking for these?” Wanda smirked, holding up the car keys.

“I gUeSs yOuR dRiViNg.” Nat said with an annoyed tone, but not too loud as to not wake you.

The car journey home wasn’t too long, but they settled you into your car seat, and immediately, your thumb was back in your mouth, which they both couldn’t help but laugh at. Wanda was already sat in the driver’s seat, twisting round to look at you—they weren’t laughing to tease; it was more about how sweet and utterly adorable you looked.

You’d been regressed for quite a while at this point, and they would be damned if they let anyone but them take care of you.

Nat pushed your Eeyore stuffie into your spare arm and took off your shoes and socks. She knew how much you hated them, so she always removed them as soon as she was able to.

The drive home was full of soft things, soft voices, and your mommies singing along to the Mamma Mia soundtrack.

But you? You didn’t wake up once. You stayed where you were, in the same postion. Sleeping, snoring a little and dribbling as your thumb stayed in your mouth, but not sucking. Nat was sure you loved your thumb more than them, but she’d never say that—and she didn’t really mean it.

Once the three of you arrived home, Nat was the one tasked with getting you out of the car, whilst Wanda was the one who had a little something special to make for you before you had your milk for bedtime.

Wanda heard you and Nat coming in, you whimpering a little bit from being woken up, but it didn’t matter; Nat had you, and she heard her switch the TV on and the titles of Frozen play.

“Nat, she’s about to eat, no TV—”

“It’s just to settle her, Miss Moody!” Nat hollered back, making you giggle. It was always something they did intentionally, just to hear the little squeal of laughter escape your lips as they teased each other.

A happy home was important to them both.

Wanda rolled her eyes, pouring her homemade honey into some jars and the tea into the Winnie the Pooh teapot that you bought them both for Mother's Day (with some help from Steve). Then she cut up the toast with the Pooh Bear, Piglet and Eeyore toastie cutter and plated them up, setting it all on the table, including your little Eeyore plate, and the tea as far away from your seat as possible. Wanda and Nat, of course, had their usual adult plates at their place setting.

“Okay, is there a little one around here somewhere ready for her surprise?” Wanda called out, dusting her hands off on her pants.

You came barreling in, squealing and running into Wanda’s arms; she somehow managed to quickly pick you up and plop you into your seat.

“POOH!!!” You squealed, seeing his face as your toast, “Eeeyor an Pigwet!!”

“That’s right baby,” Wanda smiled softly, her fingers reaching up to the side of your face, and tucking a strand of hair back behind your ear “Now, if you can eat two slices of toast, Mommy will feed you your milk before bedtime, okay?”

“One!” You held up your finger to Wanda, proud of yourself for getting the right finger up.

“That’s right, that’s one, but this,” Wanda smiled, patient as always, as Nat poured their tea as Wanda bent up a second of your fingers, “is how many Mommy wants you to eat, okay?”

“Two?” You frowned.

“Two.”

“Otay I twy.”

“Good girl.” Wanda pulled you in closer to the table, and she spread some honey over the Pooh Bear toast, placing it into your little hands. You weren’t always great at eating, which is why Wanda and Nat kept you on milk a lot of the time, but they always ensured you had solid food too; you couldn’t survive on breastmilk alone, no matter how much you often tried to make it so.

So you tried, you always tried for them.

You took a bite, despite being upset at having to bite of Pooh bears ear, then his eyes, then his other eye and nose until he was almost all gone.

“Okay, my bad, didn’t realise she would be this upset about eating him.” Wanda sighed as she cut Eeyore’s face in half, which did. not. help.

“EEYORE!!!” you cried, still chewing the last of Pooh, big tears rolling down your cheek, and your bottom lip pushed out and into a pout.

“Well, what did you expect Wands,” Nat chuckled, grabbing a tissue and leaning across the table wiping away your tears. “the girl loves her hundred acre woods characters”

“NOOOOO! EEYOREEEE!!” You wailed, kicking your feet a throwing your sippy cup across the room.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Wanda sighed “I’m sorry Mommy cut Eeeyore’s face in half, but if you keep having this tantrum, you’ll go to bed with no boob time, okay?”

“Wanda!” Nat gasped, with a small smirk on her lips.

“What?”

Wanda’s word hit home with you, the one thing you always love at the end of any day was a feed. She had begun making sure she had enough milk for you anytime you needed it, wether it was for hunger of for comfort, she always wanted you to feel like you could have it even when you were big.

You decided not to risk your ‘no boob time’, so you ate what Wanda had plated up, whilst Nat got you a new drink, not that you were going to end up having any of it, because in the next moment just as you finished your last bite of Eeeyore, your head dropped and nearly landed on your plate—Wanda caught you just in time, her finger and thimb gripping your cheeks gently.

“Right, little dove, shall we get you cleaned up, and we can watch Winnie the Pooh?”

“Pooh, I wan Pooh…” you said sleepily, your head still being held up by Wanda’s hand.

“Come snuggle bug.” Wanda lifted your head and took the wash cloth that was handed to her by Nat. and giving your face an all over wash, and then doing the same on your hands, reaching into every little part of your soft skin. “Good girl.” Wanda smiled before she turned to her wife, who was beginning to clear up, mumbling something in Russian that you couldn’t quite gather. “Nat you okay for a minute?”

“Yeah, I’ll clean up and come and join you in a moment. I’ll make you some tea.” Nat smiled, gripping her plate and Wanda’s, before leaning in and pressing her lips to her wifes leaving a quick but soft kiss on Wanda’s lips.

Once settled on the couch with Winnie the Pooh playing in the back ground, Wanda stripped you of your leggings, just leaving you in your top, and crinckly diaper. She moved your head, settling it in the crook of her arm.

And then Nat joined, placing the two teas on the coffee table and sitting beside you, moving your feet onto her thighs, thumb rubbing small circles over your ankle.

Wanda’s finger stroked gently down your nose as you were already falling asleep, “sweetheart, not just yet, lets get some milk into cute little belly.” she said, patting your tummy, you hadn’t eaten much today, but the milk always helped to keep you fed, and full, and comforted.

Wanda slipped her shirt off her shoulder with Nat’s gentle help, and the unclasped her nursing bra, before placing the shiled over her nipple. Then, gently with her thumb she parted your lips and pressed her nipple into your mouth…and just like that, your mouth begun to move, suckling. Gentle at first, your tongue moving with your lips, pulling in the sweet taste of Wanda’s milk.

Her fingers stroking your nose, and then your cheek, watching as your mouth moved desperately hungry for her milk, watching you as you swallowed it down, breathing softly, until your eyes shut and all that could be heard was the soft little suckling of your wet lips as the milk continued to trickle down your throat and wet the side of your lips, and the noise of winnie the pooh in the background—your head going soft like candy floss and settled bettween your Mommies, after the best Winnie the pooh day ever. Falling asleep in Wanda’s arm, lips still attched, and milk drunk by the time Wanda pulled you gently from her breast.

“We love you sweet girl,” Wanda whispered.

“Our best little dove.” Nat agreed.

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.

He is not one for nicknames himself. Calling him one does seem to irritate him. So call him Ollie at most and nothing more. He call you sun or flower. Only using those two interchangeably and never your real name. 

On how you two (aka 1006 finding you) met it was when you first arrived. He watched you. How well you completed the game station, how you learn in the school, what you do in home sweet home. You werent aware for a few days but he made sure you were afterwards by leaving you a phone (similar to player’s but without buttons and only speakers) 

Why he felt drawn to you isnt revealed to him at first. He simply knows he is and needs to pursue it. But who would have figured his pursue is an obsessive and possessive one 

If you were friends with other bigger bodies and they happen to become apart of him and you question 1006 about it he simply says they’re extra parts. Your friends are still wandering on higher levels and these are simply spare parts of theirs, that is what he convinces you. Even if you don’t believe it what else is there to do? He lies to you but only to protect your innocent mind 

If you’re different, you’re innocent. Guilty, violent, and evil is all the same to him but innocence is not. He wants to keep it that way as well. He wants to protect and keep it in a case for safe keepings. He doesn’t hide the fact he sees you this way, if you question him he will answer bluntly 

You’re very alone there. sure there are smiling critters and prototype (+ bigger bodies before they died if you’re in that time line) but other than that you’re quite alone. You can play pretend and house all you want while being in your nursery all day without being interrupted. But then you don’t have anyone to really talk to other than the prototype using the phone. 

Physically he cannot do much to help you since you’re extremely fragile in his eyes (can physically do so when needed but avoids it to not accidentally break bone or tear skin. Since he has a lot of metal and sharp edges on him) but he will always help you mentally. He does wish to help you change your diaper or dress you up but his claws are much too sharp for you. But hours he could spend talking to you, mostly on the phone though, he does like to be wherever he can fit into inside playtime. 

If you like to wander, he isn’t a fan of that. He likes to keep you in the labs or low levels when you explore and always an eye on you. If you try to test this he does not appeal to it. Sneaking out is futile, he simply steps in front of you then scooped up and placed back into your nursery and now it’s locked. 

For you he tends to use Ollie’s voice. He doesn’t want his distorted voice to come out and disturb you. But any voice you request he can do and will do it for a special sunshine 

I see him showing his love through acts of services, quality time, and gift giving. Paci fell out of your mouth in your sleep? It’s some how back in your mouth in the morning and you notice your room is more organized than you left it. You’re never out of his sight so that’s quality to him and it takes up all of his time so quality time for him. And the gifts are many. He retrieve them from home sweet home (a bit morbid it’s dead kids toys but hey they’re toys!). Anything that catches his eye he makes sure to bring back to your nursery. Like a collection of trinkets and you’re the star of the trinkets, all placed in one room.

He is very specific with who can interact with you. Player, poppy, and anyone on their side is not allowed to know of you, let alone you know of them. He does not ever let you know of ms gracie or anyone who was involved with playtime. Most bigger bodies under his control can play with you. He does all of this to not taint your innocence with their rottenness as he says. 

He has often goes silent if you’re upset or throwing a tantrum. He takes a few moments to process and think on what he does first. Typically he removes anything that can hurt you, then sits with you, then talks with you once you’re calmed down. If you’re upset over the phone he uses vents in your room to let his hand move anything dangerous from you, afterwards he waits on the phone til you’ve calmed yourself. Either way he patiently talks through them. Patience, something he rarely spares but spares it for you. 

You are one of the reasons why the lab are so hidden and protected by the prototype. No one is allowed inside the labs or your nursery. You’re only allowed to visit others when you’re outside the labs and in a low level (as he can control and make sure everything go smoothly down there). No exceptions. 

An: I have been in the fandom for so long but just now playing the games and digging deeper into the lore. I’m on chapter four. This is probably highly mischaracterize, I havent played chapter5 yet and only seen some game play 

divider creed ; @/strangergraphics