#little!reader

[tinylilacbun]

rafe plugging little readers nose w his fingers because she refuses to eat

That's the realest thing I've heard today 😭

The most difficult thing is getting you to eat your vegetables or make you try new stuff in general since you’re kind of a picky eater and Rafe is not exactly a very patient person to begin with either.

"C‘mon kid, it’s not that bad." He tries to get you to eat your peas, not bothered by the grimace you make as he’s used to your dramatics. "Just one spoon, and if you don’t like it you don’t have to eat it."

You hesitate for a moment, eyeing the food on your plate again but quickly shake your head, making Rafe sigh for what feels like the hundredth time as you mumble out. "Nuh-uh, they look beh."

"Yeah, but you might like them even though they look weird to you." He interjects, chewing on his food and almost groans when you keep poking around in your own with your spoon.

When he has had enough he reaches out to grab your spoon from your hand, scooping up a few the peas together with some of the mashed potatoes and holds it up to your mouth expectantly.

"Open your mouth." He demands in a low voice, his face setting into a firm glare as you keep your lips sealed shut.

"Mm-mm!" You protest, shaking your head yet again.

He then suddenly results to using a old but surprisingly working method, pinching your nose shut with his other hand as he keeps looking straight into your eyes. "If you want to breathe, you gotta open your mouth, baby."

You try your best to keep a brave face, even though you know that Rafe won’t budge this time, it’s rare when he does give in and leave you be but today doesn’t seem like one of those times.

Slowly you start to run out of oxygen, your hands gripping the seat of your chair as you desperately try to get your way.

Eventually you have to open your mouth for a gasp of air, instantly being met with Rafe shoving the spoon past your lips and clamping his over them right after. "Chew and I’ll let go."

You whine, squirming on the chair as you reluctantly start to chew the icky peas, giving him an adorable glare while he just smirks at you and pats your cheek lightly.

"Good girl." He praises, watching you swallow and raises his brow as he waits for a reaction, shaking his head with a chuckle when you open your mouth again for another spoonful as he expected. "All the fuss for nothing, huh?"

"More, p‘ease." You simply demand, letting him feed you the rest of what’s on your plate.

[sunshineestelle]

🥺🥺 *babbling to myself* I woves Loki!!!

Daddy’s Back

Daddy!Loki x Little!Reader

Summary: Loki promised he’d be back but he’s late which upsets you

Genre: Fluff, comfort, age regression

*not proof read*

The castle halls were quiet, save for the soft rustling of rain against the windows of Asgard. The golden walls, usually so grand and imposing, felt warm and cozy today. You padded softly on the carpeted floors, your bare feet making no sound. The sleeves of your oversized jumper nearly swallowed your hands, and the stuffy bunny you held close was beginning to show signs of being well-loved.

Loki had promised he’d be back before the rain started. But the rain had started, and he still wasn’t here. You were trying very hard to be patient.

You sniffled softly and climbed up onto the enormous divan in the library, curling up like a kitten with your bunny in your arms. You mumbled to yourself, repeating things Loki had told you before. “Daddies always come back. He said he would.” You tugged the sleeves of your jumper over your hands and rubbed your eyes.

Just as a tiny whimper escaped your lips, the door creaked open.

“Little star?” came that familiar velvet voice.

You peeked up with big, teary eyes. “D-Daddy…”

Loki was across the room in a moment, his long green cloak swirling behind him as he knelt beside the couch and reached for you gently.

“Oh, sweet one,” he murmured, cupping your cheek with a cool hand. “I’m here. I’m so sorry I was late.”

You launched yourself into his arms without a second thought, bunny squished between you both. “You said you’d be back b-before the rain,” you hiccuped, your voice muffled in his tunic.

“I know, dove,” Loki whispered, holding you close and stroking your hair. “I was caught up in the court longer than I expected. I should’ve sent a raven ahead. That was my fault.” He kissed the top of your head. “But I’m here now. And I won’t leave again tonight, I promise.”

You nodded, though your arms stayed tightly wrapped around him. “I tried to be big… but I got w-worried…”

“My brave little one,” he said, easing himself onto the divan with you still in his arms. He tucked you into his side, pulling a soft enchanted blanket out of thin air with a flick of his fingers. It shimmered like starlight but felt warm as sunlight. “You never have to be big when I’m here. You’re safe now.”

You nestled against his chest, breathing in the scent of him—magic, pine, and something warm and rich like spiced cocoa. “C’n we cuddle lots, Daddy?”

“Of course we can,” he said softly, brushing his lips across your temple. “All evening. We’ll read stories, and I’ll make cocoa appear from thin air, and perhaps if my darling wishes it—” he glanced down with a twinkle in his eye, “—a little magic puppet show from the prince of mischief himself?”

Your eyes lit up, and you nodded eagerly, your earlier worry already melting away.

“Only if there’s bunnies in it,” you whispered.

Loki chuckled. “Only bunnies? I’ll have to summon an entire court of royal rabbits, then.”

You giggled and buried your face into his chest, feeling completely and utterly safe. The rain outside continued to fall, but it no longer mattered. You were wrapped in Loki’s arms, and his heartbeat was your lullaby.

Here, in the quiet glow of the library and the soft safety of his embrace, you were just his little one. And he was your daddy.

And that was all you needed.

[id0ntrem3mber]

BatMan as a Caregiver ☆

● First and foremost, very protective and paranoid about your safety. This is Batman, after all. Will put trackers in your clothes, bags, and even in your stuffies (Doesn't damage or hurt them though ♡)

● Absolutely loves to carry you. No matter your weight, size, or height he's going to carry his baby-bat. Either because you're tired, clingy, or just because he wants to, you always end up on his hip at least twice a day.

● Loves it when you sit on his lap while coloring when he's doing stuff on the Batcomputer. He always makes sure you never see anything triggering or scary though.

● Will spoil you with whatever your heart wants. Whether you have three of them or more already he'll get it for you anyway.

● Prefers to be called Dada or Papa rather than Daddy. But will except anything given to him by you :).

● When he's ultra busy Alfred or Uncle Clark are your babysitters. Prefers Alfred most of the time though because he knows Alfred will protect you no matter what.

● If you're also one of his sidekicks/ orphans he adopted, he would want you closer than most when on patrols or missions. Plus, he can always tell when you're teetering on the edge of regression on patrols and will send you back to the batcave.

● I also headcannon Dink as a Big Brother regressor, so Bruce sometimes has you both (or more) on his hands.

● Can make you simple dishes if you're hungry, but you both like it more when Alfred cooks. Will always do his best, though.

● Adores the mornings when he can wake up with you in his arms, your head on his chest, and the quietness of the morning surrounding you both in a comforting and soft hug. He'll always keep you safe and warm.

[orellazalonia]

I LOVED caged in comfort part 9, and I can’t wait for part 10!!!

Hello there, I appreciate your enthusiasm for this series! I also got your other asks for this as well, thank you! I hope you enjoy and thank you for the request. Happy reading!!!

Caged in Comfort (Pt. 10)

Summary: You start to realize how deeply the milk has been affecting you, feeling a quiet panic rise beneath the haze as you overhear Bucky confronting Steve who is furious that the doses are erasing parts of who you were. (Dark Stucky x little!reader)

Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Stucky. Age Regression. Forced Age Regression (References to Drugging/Drugged milk, Forced little space). Angst. Hurt/comfort. Stockholm Syndrome in the future likely. You are responsible for the media you consume.

Word Count: 2.2k+

Caged in Comfort Masterlist | Previous | Next

You were curled up on the thick blanket in the corner of your room, surrounded by a soft ring of pillows, colorful toys, and plush animals. A half-empty bottle lay near your hand, lukewarm now. Your thumb was in your mouth, but you didn’t remember putting it there.

Your body felt heavy and loose-limbed, draped in the oversized onesie Steve had dressed you in that morning. Somewhere in the background, a lullaby looped quietly.

But as you lied there, a realization hit you like the edge of a sharp wind: a flicker of clarity, fast and jarring. A string pulled tight in the haze. Your brain tried to push forward, to grab something–

“Why can’t I think?”

The world for a second tilted. You blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the rainbow-colored stacking cups beside you. But your thoughts, when you tried to follow them, slipped away like soap.

You sat up.

The movement felt wrong, too slow. It was like your limbs didn’t belong to you. You stared at your hands, pale and clean, and flexed them. They didn’t shake, but the inside of you did.

Your eyes darted to the door. It was closed, not locked just shut. You haven’t had to open it yourself in a while. They told you not to.

“You’re better when you don’t have to think, sweetheart.”

You heard that in Steve’s voice, deep and warm like a lullaby. You didn’t know if he said it this morning or a week ago. Time was… stretchy now.

You remembered Peter though.

He’d come yesterday, or maybe earlier. He’d played blocks with you and called you “princess” in that soft, awkward voice of his. You liked Peter. He didn’t make you drink the milk. He didn’t correct you when you reached for a cup instead of the bottle. He had smiled when you babbled nonsense and ruffled your hair, but he also watched you like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

Your head throbbed.

You moved forward slowly, trying to stand, but your knees trembled before you could get all the way up. So you sat down hard, breathing heavily. The tension in your chest began to increase. You were confused and frightened. However, it wasn’t from something on the outside, but instead by what your brain couldn’t do.

You looked around the room to find a big soft rug, toy shelves, and picture books with rounded corners. There was a nightlight glowing even though it was still daytime and the curtains were drawn. You tried to focus on one single memory. One real, clear memory that wasn’t shaped like a bedtime story.

Something about the milk.

Your bottle. The one Steve held up for you when your hands “got too shaky.” You’d stopped wanting it a long time ago, but he never stopped giving it to you.

You crawled to the mirror and sat in front of it.

Your reflection stared back, lips shiny with drool and your hair in soft pigtails. Your eyes were glassy but they flickered, just for a moment, and then you saw yourself. Not the quiet baby or the good girl. Not even the one who had been staying still when they said “shh.” Just you.

Your breath hitched.

Then footsteps came.

You scrambled back, heart thudding in your chest as instincts took over. You didn’t mean to fall into position like that: sitting cross-legged, thumb back in your mouth, and the blanket pulled into your lap. But by the time the door creaked open, your mind was already slipping back under the fog like warm bathwater.

“Hey, pumpkin,” Steve greeted gently, stepping inside. Bucky followed, a soft cloth in one hand. “Did you nap okay?”

You nodded. Just like they wanted.

But somewhere deep inside, that thread of confusion and fear stayed present and tight. Something that wasn’t all the way gone. Not yet.

After lunch (applesauce, half a cookie, and warm milk in a pink bottle), you were laid down in your soft corner again. Your eyes were droopy. Your body felt warm and empty, your thoughts slow and sweet like syrup. Someone, maybe Steve, had kissed your forehead and said, “Rest now, honey.”

But you didn’t sleep.

The blanket was warm and your body was heavy, but the fog didn’t drag you down all the way this time. Something in your chest was restless, uneasy. Like a little bird trapped within a cage.

You heard footsteps again. Except not toward you this time, but down the hall. The door was cracked just a little.

Then you heard a voice. Bucky’s.

His voice was low, sharp, and angry in a way you didn’t hear often, not anymore at least. “You gave her too much.”

Silence.

You blinked slowly, body frozen under the blanket. You weren’t sure you were supposed to hear that.

“She couldn’t even walk this morning. She just looked up at me and– she wasn’t even there.”

Steve’s voice came next. Quieter, steadier, but tired all the same. His words were accompanied by a sigh, “That’s the point, Buck.”

Your thumb was halfway to your mouth, but it didn’t make it to its destination.

“No. No, that’s not the point. The point was to help her, not lobotomize her.”

There was a pause. Then you heard something clatter. Maybe it was something Bucky knocked over as you heard him pacing. Or maybe it was a cup hitting the counter too hard.

“She used to talk,” Bucky continued, quieter now, hoarse. “Even when she let herself be little, she used to babble. She’d smile, play pretend; but now she barely makes a sound unless someone tells her to.”

You stared at your hands. They looked so small.

Steve’s voice again, his tone tight, “Did you not see the way she wanted to claw her way out of this? Or when she was sick, didn’t you see what it did to her when the memories started bleeding through again?”

“So your solution is to constantly drug her? Bury her?” Bucky snapped.

You flinched.

“You think I like this?” Steve bit back. “You think I like seeing her like this?”

Something about the way he said it made your chest twist. Steve never yelled, not that you could remember. But now, he sounded like someone breaking something with his own hands.

“I don’t know anymore, Steve,” Bucky whispered. “I really don’t.”

Your heart was beating loud and hard in your ears.

You didn’t know what most of it meant, not fully. But “drug” was a word that stuck in your chest like a splinter. You’d heard it before whispered when you were “too sleepy” or spoken low when your legs didn’t work right. You saw the expressions that accompanied the word. Sometimes Peter had that same flicker in his eyes when you couldn’t string a sentence together.

You rolled to your side. There was a stuffed lamb near your cheek. Its button eye was loose.

Your head felt thick, but your body started to curl in on itself, a tiny tremble blooming in your chest. Not a tantrum, not even crying.

Just… a feeling. A scared one. A knowing one. The kind that didn’t belong to a little girl at all.

Bucky didn’t speak for a long minute after that.

He stood there with his jaw clenched, staring at the wall like he could punch right through it.

Steve’s face had gone pale, guilty, but resolute. His fists rested on the table like he needed to steady himself.

“Look,” Steve finally said, voice lower now. “I’m not saying it’s perfect. I’m not even saying it’s right. But it’s the only thing that keeps her from hurting.”

When his partner said nothing, he added on, exasperated. “She doesn’t cry anymore, Buck.”

Bucky turned his head slowly. “That’s not the win you think it is.”

He walked away without waiting for an answer.

When he reached your little room, the door was cracked. Light filtered through dim fairy lights around the ceiling, a white noise machine murmured in the corner, and the whole place smelled like lavender and warmed milk.

You were still curled in your little corner, blankets tucked around you, and your body impossibly still. Your bunny stuffie was in your arms and a pacifier lay on the floor nearby, untouched.

And your eyes, your big wide eyes, were open watching the ceiling. Vacant, but not fully. Like someone standing behind a locked door.

“Hey,” Bucky called out gently.

You didn’t move.

He knelt slowly beside you. He didn’t touch you yet, just watched.

“You okay?”

Your head turned a few inches. You blinked slowly.

He tried a smile. “You look like you’re somewhere far away.”

Your lip trembled a little, so small he almost missed it.

And then, so faint he thought he imagined it, you whispered, “So, he lied…”

Bucky’s heart broke right down the middle.

“What do you mean?” He asked, voice soft, eyes searching yours.

Your breath hitched. “Said… said it was just ‘cause I was little. Not… not ‘cause of the–” You blinked again, trying to hold the thought, but it slipped through your hands like water. The only phrase you could manage to convey your feelings were: “I don’ wanna be gone.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky breathed, reaching out at last. He brushed the hair gently off your forehead and pressed a warm hand to your cheek. “You’re not gone.”

You closed your eyes then, like it hurt too much to keep them open. But a tear escaped anyway, creating a path down your cheek.

Yet even though you were upset and not being particularly ‘good’, Bucky didn’t seem to mind the tears. Because to him, it meant there was a part of you that was still in there. He pulled you into his lap without hesitation and held you like you were something fragile.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered into your hair. “I should’ve fought harder. I won’t let him keep doing this to you, even if we have to go slow.”

Your fingers curled in his shirt and you didn’t speak again, but the tremble in your shoulders said everything.

Bucky just held you and rocked you gently. You weren’t gone yet. Not if he had anything to say about it.

He didn’t leave your side that night either.

He stayed right there on the floor mat, propped against the wall with you tucked against his chest. His metal hand ran slow, soothing circles on your back while the other held a warm bottle of only milk that he reassured you of and you occasionally sipped from in a daze. No pressure, no coaxing, just comfort.

You barely spoke. It was more so little whimpers now and then, soft sniffles when your brain drifted too far toward awareness and back. He hushed you every time, soft and steady:

“I got you, doll. You’re safe, I promise.”

Eventually, you fell asleep with your bunny clutched between you both, cheek pressed to his chest.

Bucky didn’t sleep that night. He listened to the weight of your breathing. Every time you twitched or whimpered, he shushed you, rubbed your back, or whispered nonsense until you settled again. He hadn’t felt this protective in years.

And definitely not this angry.

It was early morning when Steve crept in, quiet as a shadow. He froze when he saw you both.

“You stayed here all night?” He asked softly, guilt already creeping in.

Bucky didn’t move. “Yeah.”

Steve took a step forward. “She okay?”

“No,” Bucky snapped, low and cold. “She’s not. You crossed a line.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “I’m just trying to help her.”

Bucky turned his head slowly, careful not to disturb you. “Drugging her isn’t helping. It’s erasing her.”

Steve hesitated, looking down at your tiny form bundled in Bucky’s arms.

“She said she didn’t want to be gone,” Bucky said, eyes narrowing. “She knows, Steve. Somewhere deep in there, she knows what you’re doing to her.”

Steve looked like he’d been slapped. “She was hurting–“

“She still is,” Bucky cut in sharply. “She just doesn’t have the words for it anymore.”

Steve sat down hard in the armchair, rubbing a hand over his face as he sighed deeply. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

“I thought bringing her here meant giving her a choice to actually live, to be cared for and loved,” Bucky said. “But this– this isn’t it.”

Steve was silent.

“I’m not saying go cold turkey or abandon our goal,” Bucky added, softer now. “She still needs help getting grounded sometimes or direction on what should be done. But we’re not drugging her into silence anymore. Even if I have to stand between you and her.”

Steve finally met his eyes. “Okay, okay. We ease off. Talk to Bruce. Re-evaluate everything.”

“Good,” Bucky murmured, tightening his hold around you. “Cause I’m not letting you take another piece of her.”

You stirred slightly, letting out a faint hum and rubbing your eyes. Your thumb found your mouth again, but this time safe, held, and not alone.

And this time, Bucky didn’t feel so powerless.

Taglist: @the-ruler-of-death @gaychaoticraccoon @hazydespair @yarn-mony @eviebuggg @phoenix-eclipses @daddysbitchybaby @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @mischiefsemimanaged @eilrahcorac

[whisperofaflame]

Mama Choose

WandaNat x Little!Reader ❀

Summary: The morning after some intense intimacy with your girlfriends, you wake up in their bed, feeling soft and small. Natasha and Wanda are there to catch and comfort you, whatever headspace you're in ���

Word count: 2k ♡

Heads up: This is a SFW age regression one-shot. There is very vague reference to *something* having happened the night before, but otherwise this is just pure fluff ♡

Author's Note: I've never written something specifically about age regression before... this just kind of happened the other day (I think I was in need of comfort so gravitated towards writing something super fluffy). Thank you to everyone who let me know they'd be interested in trying this out from me, I needed that extra push! Anyway, I really hope this is okay 🥺♡

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) ♡

[kkayyerr]

Puppy!reader with season 1!Rafe and he is trying to play golf and wants her to focus on him but she keeps getting distracted.. then he gets all rough and like manhandles her.

Ugh! It’s a need!

Attention seeker.

Summary: Rafe hates when his little girl is not paying attention to him. Luckily, he has his ways to help her stay focused.

Pairing: Frat!Daddy!Rafe x Little!puppy!reader.

Warnings: Age regression, Rafe being a meanie, mostly fluff.

Rafe loved the attention, especially from you. He liked how you would watch him do anything with those small glimpses in your eyes.

It was kind of adorable. 

Especially you liked watching him play golf, clapping your little hands every time when the ball would reach the right spot. You would cheer him up even if the ball wouldn’t reach the hole, because usually you were just excited to be there and support your Daddy through his game.

However, today Rafe noticed that your attention was centered around something else. Those goddamn coloring books that he had bought you earlier. He didn’t mind you being quiet and calm, but right now he wanted to see you paying attention to him and not those childish drawings. 

 

„Hey, baby! Are you watching?”

 

Rafe called out to see your reaction, and he smiled softly at you when you finally raised your head, distracting yourself from coloring. You nodded quickly, even though you clearly couldn’t tell what he was doing the last couple of minutes. You waited until Rafe would turn around and then got your eyes back on the coloring book. 

How would Rafe notice that you are not paying attention? 

After all, he was too busy playing golf to check on you every five seconds.

Or at least you thought so. 

Rafe made another attempt at hitting the ball with the club but missed it. That small mistake made him very frustrated, but what angered him even more is that he hasn't heard any cheering noises from you. He turned around just to see you sitting in the same place, holding crayons in both of your hands and completely ignoring his presence. 

Your behavior was starting to piss him off. 

Rafe dropped the club onto the ground and headed towards you. He approached you quickly, not giving you any chances to explain yourself before harshly yanking your shoulders. 

 

„Baby, do you forget what you have to look at, or am I just not interesting to you anymore, huh?”

 

You tilted your head down, immediately hiding your embarrassed face from him. You dropped your crayons down and slowly closed the coloring book. Your cheeks turned red because of his words, and his sharp tone almost made you tear up. He had rarely spoken to you in that tone when you were regressed. Only if you would do something really bad. 

His fingers grabbed your chin, and he quickly forced your head up, holding tight enough to bring your attention but not too tight to make it actually hurt. 

 

„I asked you a question.”

 

You looked at him, trying to figure out what to say to make him less mad at you, but it seems like you screwed up badly this time. Your eyes teared up from the overwhelming feelings of guilt and fear of him leaving, so you shook your head to swipe the tears away.

 

„I won’ do it `gain, Daddy.” 

 

Your voice was shaky, but you still needed to speak up like a big girl for him to forgive you, so you took a deep breath before continuing. 

 

„I love you more than coloring!”

 

Rafe chuckled at your childish statement, but for you those were big and meaningful words. He finally let go of your chin and picked you up into his arms, letting you rest your head on his shoulder and relax for a little bit. Rafe then went back to the golf cart and put you inside, placing you on one of the seats, so you would have an amazing view of him. 

He gave you a small kiss on the forehead and ruffled your hair a little bit too rough before stepping aside and heading back to the putt. 

 

„Don’t you even dare move an inch, puppy.”

 

He said, and you nodded obediently, fixating your big eyes on him. For the rest of the day you were cheering him up, giving the loudest applause that you could, just so he would get back into the cart and reward you with some kisses and hugs.

Taglist: @tinylilacbun @aew-regression-cove @rafecameronsloverrrrr

[mommyslittlebird]

absolutely giggling and kicking my feet at mommy!wanda who loves how easily her little falls asleep 😴 car rides? zonked. tv at night? slumped. cuddles anywhere CLOSE to bedtime? snork mimimimi time. Wanda’s always so good at carrying them up to their bed and making sure they’re somewhere safe while they sleep 🥹

I love this so much!

Also Mama Wanda knowing her little always gets so fussy when they’re sleepy. I’m imagining the vine of the little girl telling her dad she’s gonna take a nap on the beach.

You, fussing and crawling into Wanda’s lap while she’s in the middle of something: “I take a nap.”

Wanda, wrapping her arms around you and cooing sympathetically: “you want to take a nap?”

You, nodding and laying your head on her shoulder: “I take a nap right here.”

Wanda, brushing your hair out of your face and kissing your head: “okay baby, you can take a nap right there.”

You, still pouting and whining: “goodnight.”

Wanda, chuckling and turning back to whatever she was in the middle of: “goodnight, my love.”

[purestpup]

🍎 ⋆˚｡ ⋆ cg! spiderman moodboard ⋆ ｡˚⋆ 🍎

"Ohhh, would you look at this, my tiny spider missed me sooooooo much you colored in a picture of me!!! no, c'mere little one let me see!! ah, the perfect shade of red! gosh, what a talented little bug i have! c'mon, let's go hang it up with the others!" (v self indulgent featuring the pic i didn't finish coloring in today!!)

[gothghostiie]

In the spirit of all the awesome agere stuffs, how bout Simon with a little who gets vvvv sleepy when they regress??? They just an eepy lil thang

absolutely!!

cw: age regression

hmmm. simon adores his little any way they are, but a sleepy little thing like you? has his heart melting. he loves having you conked out on his lap, head sacked against his chest while you snore quietly, it makes him feel like he's doing a good job of making you feel little and safe. he can always tell when it happens, smirking at every little yawn you give.

"someone's a little sleepy, hm?" he murmurs softly, already pulling you close, no matter where or when, kissing the top of your head. "don't worry, I'm here." is all he whispers while rocking you a little bit, wrapping you in a blanket; or his jacket if no blanket is available. keeps humming or talking softly until you fall asleep. has loads of pics of you sleeping.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Our Baby.

Best Friends!Wandanat x little!reader

Summary: Natasha and Wanda are best friends who have always only been that, but when you come crashing into their lives and take on the roles of caregiver will their relationship deepen?

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: Age Regression, mentions of stress and being overwhelmed, caregiver/regressor, fluffy, comfort

Authors note: I saw a post about two best friends being caregivers for someone and this happened sooooo let me know if you want more

Also, to all the littles, seeing this, please tred lightly on this blog! This is my big 18+ blog, but I do have some little!reader fics. Everything is marked accordingly!

Wanda and Natasha had been inseparable for years. The two women were practically extensions of one another, sharing a bond so deep that they didn’t think anyone could ever come between them. That is, until you came crashing into their lives—quite literally.

It had been a particularly hectic day in the city. You were rushing down the sidewalk, juggling your tote bag and a stack of books, when you collided headlong into two very sturdy figures. Hot liquid splashed everywhere, the unmistakable aroma of coffee filling the air.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” you gasped, immediately dropping your things to grab napkins from your bag. You looked up, your wide, apologetic eyes meeting two startled, but intrigued, gazes.

Wanda smiled gently, already sensing the warmth and innocence radiating from you. “It’s alright. No harm done.”

Natasha, on the other hand, smirked, brushing coffee from her leather jacket. “You’ve got quite the impact for someone so small.”

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you continued to stammer apologies, your hands nervously twisting the napkins. Something about their presence was overwhelming—but not in a bad way. It felt… safe, somehow.

That moment sparked the beginning of something neither Wanda nor Natasha had anticipated. They’d initially invited you out to lunch to reassure you that everything was fine. But one lunch turned into several, and soon, the two heroines found themselves eagerly waiting for your next meeting. You were sweet, playful, and endearing in a way they couldn’t quite describe.

Wanda and Natasha hadn’t immediately noticed your little tendencies. You were so good at masking that even they, two of the most observant people you’d ever met, didn’t put it all together right away. But over time, the signs began to show.

It started with little things. Like the time you fell asleep on their couch during a movie night. Wanda, ever the caregiver, went to drape a blanket over you and froze mid-motion. Your thumb was tucked in your mouth, and you were suckling softly in your sleep. She didn’t say anything at first, but the sight stuck with her.

Then there was your choice of drinkware. You always seemed to have colorful tumblers with cartoon characters on them. Wanda thought they were cute, but Natasha couldn’t help but tease you about your “sippy cups.” You only giggled nervously, brushing it off as something you just liked.

The biggest hint came the first time they asked you to spend the night unexpectedly. They could see the hesitation in your face before you shyly asked, “Can I go home to grab something first? I, um, I need my stuffie to sleep.” You didn’t elaborate, but they saw the soft blush dusting your cheeks as you avoided eye contact. Natasha, being Natasha, simply smirked and said, “Of course, detka. Everyone needs their comforts.”

But the moment of clarity came on a particularly stressful day for you. It had been weeks of mounting pressure from college—assignments, deadlines, and social obligations piling up until you couldn’t take it anymore. You showed up at their apartment in tears, unable to mask how overwhelmed you felt.

Wanda had just opened the door when you pushed past her, pacing in the living room. “Ish no fair!” you cried, your voice higher-pitched and trembling. “They ep ivin me too mush stuffs, an I an’t do it! I an’t—I no wanna!”

Wanda blinked, stunned for a moment before her motherly instincts kicked in. “Sweetheart,” she cooed, stepping closer. “Baby, hey, hey, it’s okay. Come here.” She gently guided you to the couch, her soothing voice and soft hands calming you just enough to sit down.

But as you tried to explain what was wrong, the words tumbled out in a way that surprised even you. “Ish so dumb! olege is too hard, an I just wan loler or wash toons. I no wan do big peoples stuff!” you wailed, curling up with your stuffie tightly clutched to your chest.

Natasha, who had been watching quietly, crouched in front of you. Her sharp, calculating gaze softened as she reached out to hold your hand. “Woah, those are some really big things to deal with, little one,” she said gently, her tone surprisingly tender. “Way too big for you to be thinking about, don’t you think?”

Wanda nodded, sitting beside you and rubbing your back. “Exactly. Mama and Daddy are here to take care of the big stuff, okay? You just focus on being our sweet little girl.”

You sniffled, looking up at them with wide, watery eyes. “Really?”

Natasha smiled, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Really. Let us handle it. You just stay small for us, alright?”

That was the day things changed. They didn’t just accept your regression—they embraced it wholeheartedly. From that point on, they made sure you always had a safe space to be yourself, no matter how little you felt. 

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

It had been a few months since Wanda and Natasha had fully embraced being your caregivers. Their small apartment had worked for a while, but it was quickly becoming clear that it wasn’t enough space for the three of you—especially when you regressed and wanted to run around or build blanket forts. Wanda had been the first to bring up the idea of moving, and Natasha, took the lead in making it happen.

Of course, they didn’t tell you right away. They wanted it to be a surprise.

One sunny afternoon, Wanda and Natasha took you on what they called a "special outing." You didn’t think much of it at first, happily clutching your favorite stuffed animal as they guided you out to the car. But as the drive continued and the scenery shifted from busy city streets to quiet suburban neighborhoods, your curiosity piqued.

“Where are we going?” you asked, bouncing slightly in your seat.

Wanda smiled from the passenger seat, turning to look at you. “You’ll see soon, baby. Be patient.”

Natasha smirked from the driver’s seat. “I think you’ll like it, detka. It’s a big surprise.”

When the car finally pulled into the driveway of a charming two-story house, your jaw dropped. The exterior was painted a deep, calming blue with crisp white accents, and there was a small front porch with enough room for a swing. The yard was spacious and inviting, with plenty of room for you to play.

Wanda stepped out first, holding her hand out for you. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go take a look.” You held her hand, your stuffie in the other.

As soon as you stepped inside, you were in awe. The interior was just as beautiful as the outside, with a clean palette of whites and deep blues that felt cozy yet elegant. Your little heart couldn’t contain the excitement as you clutched your stuffed animal tighter, your eyes darting around the open spaces and tall ceilings.

“This is ours?” you squeaked, looking up at Wanda with wide eyes.

“Not yet,” she said with a soft laugh. “We’re still deciding, but we wanted you to see it first.”

Natasha smirked, already following the realtor as she walked through the house, discussing what changes could be made before moving in. “Go on, malen'kaya,” Natasha encouraged, nodding toward the hallway. “Explore a little.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You darted off, your stuffie bouncing in your arms as you ran down the halls, peeking into each room. There was a large kitchen with an island perfect for baking cookies with Wanda, a spacious living room where Natasha would undoubtedly set up a big TV for movie nights, and upstairs, you found a bedroom that you just knew would be yours.

The house was perfect.

When you ran back to find Wanda and Natasha, they were standing in the living room with the realtor, discussing changes they’d like—adding a fence to the backyard for privacy, painting one of the upstairs bedrooms in softer, more playful tones, and installing blackout curtains in the master bedroom.

Natasha looked over as you skidded to a stop, a bright smile on her face. “What do you think, little one? Do you like it?”

“I love it!” you exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement.

Wanda knelt down and cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing over your soft skin. “Good. Because this is going to be your new home, sweetheart. Somewhere safe and quiet, just for us.”

Tears pricked at your eyes as you threw your arms around her, your stuffie squished between you. Natasha joined the hug, wrapping her strong arms around the both of you.

“You two are the best,” you whispered, your voice muffled by Wanda’s shoulder.

“And you’re worth it, detka,” Natasha said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “This is just the beginning.”

[angelbaby-fics]

Daddy stucky x little reader where she loves taking naps especially With her daddies so can you do something where the little one is in a very very young headspace like a few months or a year and they are at the avenger tower but she sleeps most of the time and just wanna near to her daddies

Naptime With Daddies

Word Count: 450

A/N: ohhh this is on of my favorite concepts ever!! i love thinking about this!!!! especially when i'm stuck in public somewhere & i just wanna go to sleep, i just daydream about daddies 💕

Some babies had blankies, others had stuffed animals, a sentimental item that went with them everywhere. You were a bit different though - instead of cloth comforts, your favorite things to snuggle with were your daddies, Bucky and Steve. Any time you had to sleep, you’d prefer it to be in their arms, and if you were in their arms, chances are you’d fall asleep sooner rather than later. You just couldn’t help it, the serenity of knowing how safe you were in their trustworthy embrace, nothing could ever hurt you there. And they didn’t mind it one bit.

With their exceptional strength, either one of them could hold you for hours at a time without getting tired. When he took you grocery shopping, Steve would push the cart with one hand and hold you in the other. If you stayed awake, he’d point to the things he needed, and you’d grab them and toss them in the cart. By the end of the shopping trip, though, you’d usually nodded off, face smooshed into Steve’s shoulder as he checked out. 

Bucky’s chest was more preferable to you than any mattress. The two of you could more often than not be found on the big sofa in the living room, you asleep on him while he read a book or watched a movie, your presence soothing him. If you were still napping in Bucky’s arms by the time he needed to go to a therapy appointment, he’d bundle you up in a blanket and just bring you along. He’d even bought you a cute pair of noise canceling headphones, so you wouldn’t have to hear anything that wasn’t safe for little ears.

All the other Avengers were used to seeing you sleeping through meetings. Sometimes it took all their super strength not to get distracted by how peaceful you looked in Steve’s arms as he tried to get them to pay attention to the mission. Tony would often crack jokes to hide his jealousy; Peter was far too rambunctious to sit through a whole meeting, let alone nap through one. Sometimes you even slept so soundly, you’d make it in and out of the meeting and back home without even waking up. 

Your favorite by far, were the days when neither of them had to work, or shop or do anything at all. These days were somewhat hard to come by, since your daddies were so important and responsible, but every so often the schedules would perfectly align. The only time you’d get up from the bed would be to cuddle on the couch for a while just to get a change of scenery. These were the best naps of all.

[tinylilacbun]

rafe making little reader nap cuz she got all grumpy

"Can you tell me what the hell that was back there?" Rafe asks after shutting the front door behind him rather loudly, setting down the bag of clubs as you stomp your way upstairs with your arms crossed.

You might have given him some attitude at the country club in front of his friends, which is something he doesn’t tolerate at all, even more so when you didn’t give a reasonable explanation for your bratty behavior.

It might have to do something with the fact that you couldn’t really sleep last night, and then had to get up early because Rafe planned to go golfing with Topper and Kelce for a few days now.

He told you that you can stay home, that it will be boring for you after a while since you would mostly sit in the cart or stand close to Rafe any chance you get.

Then after lots of assuring that you’ll be an angel and not whine as long as you’re there, he let you come with him despite his better judgment.

He even suggested that you should take some stuff to entertain yourself with while he’s occupied to keep you satisfied as long as possible.

Yeah, it didn’t even last for more than an hour.

You started getting snappy, mouthing back at him and letting him know how much you didn’t like to be there, to the point that Rafe had enough and dragged you back to his truck with some half-assed excuse to Topper and Kelce.

The day was simply too long and overstimulating for you, now walking inside the bedroom and going straight to the closet to get out of your itchy clothes.

You hear the sound of Rafe‘s footsteps approaching, turning around to face his irritated gaze, pulling down the sweater you took from one of his hangers.

"You better give me a good reason why you thought that acting like a brat won’t get you in trouble." He chuckles but it wasn’t one of amusement and more of a 'i'm close to losing it'.

You simply shrug, not liking where this is going and fiddle with the end of the sweater anxiously, you don’t even really know yourself why you acted that way.

"Oh, you don’t know now? So you just thought it would be fun?" He asks, taking some steps towards you, his frustration not faltering.

You shake your head, it wasn’t fun at all - not today at least, you just don’t know how to tell him what’s bothering you since he’s always the one that figures everything out.

And he does, the second you reach up to rub at your eyes and let a small yawn escape it’s like a lightbulb lights up above his head, drawing out a sigh as he finally figures out the reason for your bad mood.

"A‘ight, c‘mere." He waves you over, scooping you into his arms when you’re close enough and heads for the bed, simply shushing you when you give him a confused look. "Just relax."

He gently lays you down, sitting down on the edge next to you, running a hand through your hair, smirking when you close your eyes and sigh contently at the gesture.

"Someone just needs a nap, huh?" He points out, chuckling at the way you whine when he stops caressing your hair. "Yeah, thought so."

When he sees that your breath evens out he carefully stands up again, pulling a blanket over your body and tucks your plushie under your arm, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your forehead. "Sweet dreams, baby…"

[bunnybuunn]

Bad humor.

Summary: Agatha makes a bad joke about reader’s stuffie and Rio forcing her to fix the situation.

Pairing: Mama!Agatha x Little!reader x Mommy!Rio.

Warnings: Age regression, slight angst, Agatha being Agatha, fluffy ending.

You were excited to go on another trip with your mommies because you knew that it would be fun. The best part of dating witches was being by their side while they were dealing with their usual magical stuff. Right now you were busy packing all of your stuffies in your backpack when one of them accidentally fell down on the floor.

 It was your favorite stuffed bunny. 

You were just about to pick it up when Agatha's hand grabbed it before you could. She smirked a little bit before looking at it with a fake worried look on her face and then pretending to check his pulse. Agatha looked at your little confused face, and it was hard for her to suppress her smile. 

 

„I’m afraid that Mr. Bunny is dead, darling.”

 

The woman put a hand on her heart, pretending to be completely devastated by his death. If you weren’t regressed, you would immediately catch on to her sarcasm, but right now her words sounded so realistic to you. Agatha enjoyed teasing you, but being the woman she is, she couldn’t stop when she should’ve. 

 

„What an awful death.”

 

She mocked once more before looking at you and seeing that you already got teary-eyed. That was a very bad sign, and the last thing that Agatha wanted right now was dealing with your tantrum. 

You tried to hold back your tears, but almost started crying before Rio entered the room and saw you standing in front of Agatha with your eyes full of tears.

She had almost let out an annoyed sigh, finding that situation way too familiar. The woman knew that it was probably another one of Agatha’s stupid jokes that made you this upset. 

 

„You okay, honey?”

 

She asked, approaching both of you and tilting your head up by gently grabbing your chin with her fingers. You shook your head and pointed at the toy that Agatha was still holding in her hands. 

 

„Mama said that Bunny died!”

 

You said, before hot tears flushed down your cheeks and you let out a couple of sniffles, looking at your favorite toy in the woman’s hands. Rio knew that she had to calm you down before the whole situation got too overwhelming for her liking. 

 

„He has to go wit’ you now, Mommy.”

 

Rio almost growled from your words. She hated dealing with your tears. Seeing you like that made her black heart ache. She didn’t want to deal with that stupid situation, but she had to since her wife also behaved like a whole child.

She gave you a pat on the head and then turned her head in Agatha’s direction.

 

„No, baby, I won’t take him away. Mama will fix it, right?”

 

Her tone let Agatha know that it wasn’t a question. Rio was fed up and was waiting for Agatha to fix the situation that she had created herself. 

The woman sighed deeply and then put your stuffie on the bed, thinking of ways to make your bunny „alive“ again. The next minute, purple glimmer washed over Mr. Bunny’s body, turning him into an actual bunny. 

It wasn’t Agatha’s plan that she wanted to go with, but at least the toy clearly didn’t seem dead now. 

Both Agatha and Rio looked a bit surprised, but they quickly relaxed when they saw that your little face finally brightened up as you saw a small bunny sitting on the bed. 

 

„Well, I guess he’s more alive than he had ever been before, my dear.”

 

Agatha said, quietly amazed by her work. Rio smiled softly at her, feeling glad that the whole situation was finally over. 

You picked up the bunny and hugged him closely, gently petting his little head with your fingers.You always wanted a pet, since Señor Scratchy didn’t seem to enjoy playing with you at all. 

 

„I guess Señor Scratchy just got himself a new friend, didn’t he, sweetheart?”

 

Agatha rolled her eyes at Rio’s comment before both women leaned down to give you a little kisses on the forehead. You smiled softly at them before turning your whole attention back to the bunny that was now sitting on your lap. 

Taglist: @aew-regression-cove @tinylilacbun

[id0ntrem3mber]

RedHood as Caregiver ☆

• I feel like he would be a laid back Caregiver unless you were being unruly or even unsafe. He does put rules down but they're easily bendable or pushed aside. But if you start being unsafe he will get strict fast.

• He loves reading to you. Whether it's bedtime stories or children's books or books your regressed mind doesn't quite comprehend he'll read to you no matter what.

• Prefers to keep you within reach or at the least in eye range. But will let you wander, though not for too long or he will track you down and be glued to him for the rest of the day.

• On that note he loves holding and cuddling you. He just likes you close in general. If you don't feel like cuddling he'll be satisfied with just holding your hand.

• If he's too busy being RedHood your babysitters are either Roy or Artemis, sometimes on worst case scenario will let Bruce babysit as well.

• Jason doesn't really mind what you call him but likes Baba, Bubba, ect. more.

• If you're playing pretend he will get very into character and do silly voices.

• Despite not having much money he tries his best to save and buy you the toys or stuffies that you really want.

• Makes sure you never get near his RedHood gear in fear of you getting hurt or worse messing with it.

• He always makes sure to never come actively bleeding. He will even go to Bruce or Alfred if it means you won't see him like that. When he comes home to you, he doesn't want to be RedHood. He wants to be your caregiver.

[orellazalonia]

Loved Even on a Hard Day

Pairing: Stucky x little!reader

Summary: You tried so hard to stay big for date night with Steve and Bucky, determined not to ruin something so special. But when it all became too much and you broke down, they gently brought you home, wrapped you in softness and love, and reminded you that even on your littlest, sickest days, you are safe, cherished, and never a burden. [Based on this request!]

Disclaimer: Age Regression. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Sensory overload & Breakdown. You are responsible for the media you consume.

Word Count: 3.3k+

Main Masterlist

You’d been looking forward to this for days.

It wasn’t just any date night, it was the first real night out you’d planned in weeks. Between missions, long hours, and Steve and Bucky both being on rotation, time together had been hard to come by lately. And time where all three of you could be together as partners? As equals who just wanted to fall in love over pasta, wine, and pretend the world was soft for a few hours?

That was rare.

Steve had circled it on the calendar with his usual neat, military-precise handwriting. “Date Night — 7:00 ❤️”

Bucky had made dinner reservations at a cozy little Italian place tucked away in Brooklyn, the kind with warm bread served in a cloth napkin and an old piano in the corner that was occasionally played.

You even picked out your outfit a few days in advance. It was a soft, button-down shirt Steve loved on you, and slacks that made Bucky whistle every time you wore them. You were proud of yourself. It was a “big” night. No regression, no caregiver roles. Just three people in love.

You wanted to be good. Polished, grown, and present.

But things started slipping the second you woke up.

It wasn’t dramatic at first. It started with just that faint scratch in your throat and that sticky feeling in your mouth that made you get up and grab water in the dark before the sun even rose. You felt heavy when you sat up, dull around the edges. But you brushed it off. You were probably just tired anyways.

Then came the first real sign.

The shirt. The one you were so excited to wear. It suddenly felt… wrong. The collar, which had always laid flat, itched at your neck like it had been starched in sandpaper. You adjusted it again and again. You tried tucking it in, untucking it, you even used the lint roller, hoping maybe it was just fuzz or static or something, but nothing helped.

It still felt weird.

But you pushed the discomfort away and moved on. You had a day to get through, after all. A normal adult, capable day.

But then, while brushing your teeth, your hand slipped and your toothbrush clattered into the sink. And the sound it made was louder than you expected, you flinched like it was a gunshot. However, you picked it up, rinsed it off, and started again.

Then it slipped again. This time hitting the counter and falling all the way to the tile floor.

You stared at it for a long moment, toothbrush lying there like it had personally betrayed you. Your heart was beating a little faster now, your fingers slightly shaking. You took it again, washed it off, and left it in its holder this time; now splashing cold water on your face.

When you went to grab breakfast, the smell of eggs cooking made your stomach twist. It wasn’t nausea–just that heavy, uneasy pressure that made you press your palm to your belly without thinking. You took a sip of coffee and almost gagged.

That’s when Bucky walked in.

His hair was still wet from his shower, wearing a navy henley that clung to him like a second skin. His dog tags peeked from under the collar, and he was smiling. That easy and warm smile he only gave when he was especially happy.

“You’re up early,” He said, brushing a hand over your lower back as he passed to grab a mug. “Couldn’t sleep? Or too excited for tonight?”

You forced a smile and nodded. “Just excited.”

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to your temple. “You look gorgeous already.”

You mumbled a thanks, even though you felt anything but. You couldn’t explain it though. You were still you, but everything about today felt… off. Your skin was too sensitive, the air felt like it pressed against you instead of surrounding you, and every little sound scraped your nerves raw.

Still. You didn’t want to say anything. You’d looked forward to this too much. You weren’t going to ruin it.

Later, Steve came home from the gym, gym bag slung over one shoulder and a smoothie in his hand. He was flushed and glowing, already talking about how he’d booked the car for 6:30 and picked up the wine the restaurant let him bring.

“We could even do dessert at home,” He said with a wink. “Picked up that chocolate lava cake you like from the bakery on 34th.”

You nodded, but your head was starting to pound. And for some reason, the thought of chocolate made your stomach ache even more.

Throughout the afternoon, the tension slowly tightened inside you like a rubber band pulling too far. You tried distracting yourself by watching part of a movie, folding some laundry, scrolling on your phone; but nothing stuck. You couldn’t settle, couldn’t rest.

Then you dropped your phone. Then you bumped your elbow. Then a siren screamed outside your window and you flinched so hard the remote fell from your hand.

When Steve came by to check in, his brows furrowed.

“You sure everything’s okay, honey? You’re kinda pale.”

“I’m fine,” You said quickly. “Just nervous, maybe. It’s a big night.”

Steve didn’t look convinced, but he nodded and gave you space.

By the time you stood in front of the mirror to get ready, you felt like your body wasn’t your own. You kept fiddling with your clothes, trying to fix things that weren’t broken. You changed your socks twice. Your hair wouldn’t lay flat. You slipped on your shoes even though they felt too tight, like they were pinching places they never had before.

Still, you pressed your palms to the counter, took a deep breath, and told yourself you could do it.

Tonight mattered. You mattered. They loved you.

You could be good. You didn’t want to be a burden. You didn’t want to be little, not tonight. Not when everything had been planned so carefully. But your stomach churned, your throat ached, and a tiny voice inside your chest, the one you were trying very hard not to listen to, kept whispering:

“I don’t feel right. I don’t feel safe. I don’t feel good.”

But still, you pushed through the door and smiled, because the last thing you wanted was to ruin the one night you all needed so badly.

When you made it out, Steve smiled so warmly when he saw you that it made you feel a little guilty for hiding your feelings.

“You look amazing,” He complimented, offering his arm like a gentleman. “That shirt’s my favorite on you.”

You tried to smile back, tried to absorb that love and use it like armor. “Thanks, Stevie.”

Bucky was waiting by the car with his hand already on the door, letting you slide into the backseat before he took his place beside you. You could feel his eyes on you even as Steve got behind the wheel.

“You alright?” Bucky asked softly, his voice low and meant just for you.

You gave a small nod. “Just tired.”

That was becoming your default answer. Tired. Always tired. It sounded reasonable and acceptable. Something an adult would say.

But you weren’t just tired. Your skin was buzzing, your head throbbed, your stomach twisted, and your hands were starting to shake faintly in your lap. You tucked them under your thighs so they wouldn’t see.

The drive should’ve only taken twenty minutes, but it felt like forever.

The worst part was the silence in the car. It wasn’t unfriendly. In fact, it was casual and relaxed, the kind that would normally feel safe. Steve was humming something faint. Bucky was fiddling with your fingers now, gently lacing his hand through yours.

But even that felt too much. Too warm. Too tight. Too everything. And still, you smiled. Still, you said nothing because this night was important. Because they were trying, and you wanted to try too.

Steve glanced back through the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of your face.

“You okay back there, sweetheart?” He asked, casual but careful.

You looked up too fast, startled, and nodded. “Yeah. Just a headache.”

“You sure?” Bucky’s thumb gently brushed your knuckles. “We don’t have to go out if you’re not up for it. We can call, cancel–”

“No,” You said quickly. “I’m excited, I’m really happy. I promise.”

Neither of them looked convinced. Steve opened his mouth like he might press further but then the restaurant appeared around the corner, glowing warmly under strings of yellow lights.

They let it go.

You didn’t remember getting out of the car.

Not really. You remembered Steve stepping out first, walking around to help you. You remembered Bucky saying something sweet like, “You ready, my love?” You remembered trying to smile, trying to seem like you were fine.

But then—

Your ankle rolled.

It wasn’t dramatic. It was just a small misstep off the curb. A tiny slip into a shallow puddle. Cold water instantly soaked through your shoe and your sock, chilling your skin all the way up your spine.

And that was it.

That was the thing that cracked you open.

You tried—tried so hard—to blink back the sting in your eyes. To swallow down the heat rising in your chest. But the tears welled before you could stop them, and then your breath hitched, sharp and sudden, and your whole body folded in on itself.

You sobbed.

Right there on the sidewalk, in fancy clothes with warm lights above you, and the smell of garlic bread wafting from the restaurant just a few feet away.

Your hands clutched the sides of your coat like you were trying to hold yourself together.

“I—” You choked out. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why— don’t wanna ruin—“

Steve was at your side in a blink, Bucky a heartbeat behind.

“Whoa, hey. It’s okay. It’s alright, baby,” Bucky said softly, arms already sliding around your waist as he tucked you close. “Breathe. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Steve crouched in front of you, one hand on your arm, the other gently cupping your face. “You’re not ruining anything, sweetheart. You hear me? You’re not ruining this.”

You tried to speak, to explain, but everything inside you had come undone.

“I tried—” You sobbed. “Tried to be big. I didn’t wanna mess this up. I wanted to be good. And now I— I can’t— I don’t—”

“Shhh, baby,” Bucky whispered, swaying you gently in his arms. “You are good. You’re always good.”

Steve leaned in, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “Honey, you’re warm. Your face is flushed.”

You blinked at him, dazed and a little confused.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Steve said gently. “Your body’s just telling us something’s off.”

Bucky held you tighter. “We’ve got you, sweetheart. We’re going home.”

“But date night…” You whispered, voice small and cracking.

Steve kissed your forehead. “This is date night now. You and us, wrapped in blankets, taking care of each other. That’s just as romantic as anything else.”

You pressed your face into Bucky’s coat and let yourself break fully then; sobbing, sniffling, messy, and soft. You didn’t have to be big anymore. You didn’t have to hold it together, because they were there for you.

The car ride home was quiet.

Not the tense kind of quiet, it was the gentle quiet. The kind where Steve adjusted the heat just a little higher because he noticed you were shivering, even though you hadn’t said anything. The kind where Bucky never let go of your hand, even as you leaned against him with your cheek pressed to his shoulder and your sock still cold from the puddle.

Your sniffles had softened by then, replaced by a dazed stillness. You weren’t little completely, but the edges of your world had blurred. Your stomach still ached in that heavy, writhing way, and your body felt like it had been filled with sand. Feeling weighted, slow, and too much all at once.

You didn’t say much when they helped you inside. Just let them move around you in their steady, practiced, and familiar way.

Steve locked the door behind you, already shrugging off his jacket. Bucky knelt to untie your shoes, fingers gentle as he peeled the wet sock off your foot and made a small, sympathetic sound.

“Still freezing,” He murmured. “Let’s get you warm.”

He scooped you up like it was nothing, one arm under your knees and the other cradling your back. You curled instinctively against his chest, breath hitching again but this time it wasn’t panic.

It was relief.

Steve was already upstairs by the time Bucky carried you to the bedroom. The lights were dim with the bedside lamp casting a soft, golden glow. Your favorite blanket, the cloudy oversized one with tiny stars stitched along the edges, was already laid out on the bed.

“Got the pajamas, Steve?” Bucky asked.

“On top of the dresser,” Steve called from the bathroom. “Already brought out the soft ones. No tags.”

Bucky smiled down at you, eyes full of something tender.

“You hear that, sweetheart? Softest jammies, warm bed, and your daddies taking care of everything. Sound good?”

You nodded, a small whimper escaping before you could stop it. He set you gently on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of you again.

“Arms up, baby.”

You lifted them sluggishly, letting him unbutton and take off your shirt, his fingers slow and careful so the fabric wouldn’t scrape against your skin. When he slipped the shirt off, you let out a tiny shuddering sigh like you’d been holding in tension for hours. He helped you into the pajamas made of that kind of fabric that felt like being hugged.

Steve came in with a warm cloth, gently wiping your face: your cheeks, your nose, under your eyes. He kissed your temple and murmured, “There’s my sweetheart,” like it was the easiest, softest thing in the world.

Your hair was then brushed and your feet tucked under the blanket. You were warm, cared for, and held in all the places that had hurt earlier.

Bucky crawled into bed beside you, letting you climb onto his chest and settle with your ear pressed over his heart. Steve slid in on your other side, wrapping an arm over both of you, big hand splayed between your shoulder blades.

They were quiet for a while.

Just the sound of breathing, the faint hum of the heater, and the occasional brush of Steve’s thumb on your back or Bucky’s fingers in your hair.

You weren’t crying anymore, but you were still sniffling a little; your body hadn’t quite caught up to the calm in your chest.

“…’m sorry,” You mumbled finally, voice hoarse.

Steve kissed your forehead. “For what, honey?”

“For… not feeling good. For— for ruining tonight. I really didn’t wanna—”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Bucky cut in, voice low and firm but loving. “Not even a little.”

“But I–”

“You don’t have to be big all the time,” Steve murmured. “We love all the parts of you. The ones that laugh with us over spaghetti, and the ones that cry into our shirts when your tummy hurts.”

You blinked hard, chest wobbling again with emotion.

“You were trying so hard to be okay, weren’t you?” Bucky asked, his vibranium hand rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades. “That’s brave, honey. But you don’t have to do it alone ever.”

You let yourself breathe then. And as you did, your body started to let go of the tension in your arms, the ache in your chest, and that tight pinched feeling in your throat that had followed you all day.

They held you like the world was small and safe, like this moment was the only one that mattered.

Eventually, Steve got up just long enough to bring you a glass of cool water and two small pills for the low fever they were certain was creeping in.

Then they pulled the blankets tighter, turned off the lamp, and let the silence settle over the room like snowfall.

No one needed to talk, not now. Not when everything was soft. Not when you were finally, finally okay. Not when you were home.

And when morning came, it arrived slowly.

You weren’t sure what time it was. The curtains were still drawn, soft light filtering in through the edges. Everything felt hazy, like the world had wrapped itself in a sleepy, fuzzy dream just for you.

Your head still ached a little, and your throat was dry. But your tummy wasn’t as twisty, and you weren’t crying anymore. Instead, you were tucked under a mountain of blankets, sandwiched between Steve and Bucky, warm and safe.

And small. Very small.

You blinked up at the ceiling, eyes already a little glassy, and made the tiniest sound in your chest. Not from pain, but from that deep, low ache that meant you were little, needy, and didn’t want to be alone, not even for a second.

Bucky stirred first.

He blinked down at you and smiled, sleep still thick in his voice. “Hi there, bub.”

You blinked up at him, lip wobbling already.

He wrapped both arms around you and tugged you even closer. “I got you. You don’t gotta say anything. Just breathe for me, yeah?”

You nodded against his chest, letting the warmth of him settle over you like a second blanket.

Steve groaned softly as he stretched, then blinked over to see you pressed into Bucky’s chest, tiny and teary and flushed.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He whispered, already shifting closer. “Still not feeling good?”

You shook your head.

“Still our little one today?”

You nodded slowly, lip wobbling again. “’M feelin’ small…”

“Yeah, you are,” Bucky murmured, kissing the crown of your head. “Still sick too, huh? I think your body’s asking for rest today.”

Steve pressed a kiss to your cheek and smoothed your hair back. “You wanna stay in bed for a while? Maybe get some cartoons going? I can make toast and apple slices.”

You sniffled, nodding before confessing softly. “Warm jammies too much now. Don’t wanna wear ‘em anymore.”

Bucky was already on it. “Alright, baby, let’s get those off. You want something different or your blankie instead?”

You nodded quickly again, tears building again. “Yes please…”

Together, they moved slowly and carefully. No rushing or pressure. Steve pulled the pajamas off while Bucky held you steady, whispering soft nothings like “You’re doing so good, bubba,” and “Almost done, just a second more.”

Then they helped you into a onesie and wrapped you in your softest blanket, your “cuddle burrito,” as Bucky called it, tucking every corner around you so nothing itchy touched your skin. Only soft things, only warmth.

You were laid gently in the middle of the bed again, little enough now that you didn’t mind being fussed over. You liked it, needed it. Especially when Steve wiped your eyes gently and Bucky kissed your forehead and neither of them made you talk more than you wanted to.

They just knew.

“Gonna go warm up your bottle,” Steve whispered, brushing his fingers over your brow. “And get you a cool washcloth, alright, honey?”

You nodded, barely able to keep your eyes open now, safe in your little cocoon. Your thumb found its way to your mouth and Bucky didn’t say a word, just smiled and settled beside you again, hand stroking your side through the blanket.

“Could stay like this forever,” He murmured.

You made a tiny, sleepy noise in response, somewhere between a whine and a hum.

“You don’t have to be big today, sweetheart,” Bucky added softly. “You don’t even have to try.”

And when Steve came back with your bottle, warm and sweet and wrapped in a cloth so it wouldn’t burn your hands, you were already half asleep again.

Warm, loved, and cared for no matter what.