Hi everyone!Iâm mostly here to lurk tbh,but I thought Iâd make an intro post for whenever I do wanna post!
Iâm an autistic age regressor,and I use any and all pronouns.I regress anywhere from a toddler to a kid.I currently donât really have a caregiver,but Iâm fine without one.
I also write agere content (strictly SFW) and am happy to take requests in the following fandoms for headcanons or fics;
Bugsnax
The Magnus Archives
Among Us (The 2026 show)
Something is knocking at your door (Thatmobâs Verity series)
Lackadaisy
If youâre interested then feel free to shoot me an ask! :]
Hii hii hello I rlly like your among us agere fics I think that they're the best agere fics for among us ever and that u R awesome
Omg haiiiii!!!!! Thatâs so nice of you thank you very much! Iâm working on more Baby Blue rn but I also take requests if you want me to write smth specific (no pressure!) :]
Being an autistic age regressor is weird because sometimes everything feels like too much and I donât understand any of it and Iâm just like okay am I slipping or about to have a meltdown/shutdown?
(Then thereâs the evil third option - a slip triggered by a meltdown/shutdown)
For regressors who curl up tight when the world feels too loud or too heavy. Like a little pill bug tucking itself away, they retreat into themselves when things get overwhelming â not out of weakness, but as a way to cope and feel safe.
They may go quiet, need space, or hide away under blankets until things feel okay again. And thatâs perfectly valid â because even pill bugs know that sometimes, the best way to survive is to curl up until the storm passes.
đ§ïžThis identity can include neurodivergent regressors, system littles, or anyone who doesnât experience regression in a linear or âstandardâ way
Warnings:Brief mentions of tantrums,past neglect,accidents and shame surrounding regression,brief allusion to the Lukasesâ heart health issues.
Summary:Peter isolates himself when heâs big, but in little space he adores being snuggled.
Or
Peter goes on a mission to get hugged by all of his caregivers
Genre:Fluff
Word count: 975
Peter was small.
Not physically, of course. No; physically Peter was a mountain of a man, broad and tall in a way that only a childhood of doing nothing but running around in the wilderness and eating more than he reasonably should to avoid talking to anyone and an adulthood of a relatively sedentary job combined with regular, full meals could build. But right now, Peter was neck deep in regression, knuckle being gummed on and eyes soft and bright and teddy clutched in one loose fist. Right now, Peter was as little as little could be.
Tadeas Dahl had of course see Peter small before - heâd soothed many a tantrum, balled up many a wet sheet so it was discreet as he threw it into the washing machine, hummed many lullabies to soothe fussy little captains to sleep at ungodly hours of night. Tadeas to big Peter was his right hand, his confidant. Tadeas to little Peter was his main caregiver, his Teddy, was warm arms and a gentle voice and calloused hands brushing away hot tears and shame alike in favour of comfort and rest.
This was why, when Peter snuck up behind Tadeas like this, the first mate didnât question his oldest friendâs appearance, just offered a soft smile; Peter, even little, was much like a heavily guarded fortress - one wrong move and his walls would become impossible to breach.
âAh, there you are my little captain. Are you alright?â
Peter, without warning, surged forwards and squeezed Tadeas in a tight hug. The caregiver winced, then hugged back.
âPeter! Is something wrong? Does something hurt?â Then, because the Lukasesâ genetic cardiac fates always weighed heavy on the manâs mind; âis it your chest?â
Peter shook his head, turning it to gaze at his Teddy with big, all too trusting eyes.
âJusââŠ.. wanted a hug, Teddy.â He mumbled, struggling with his words as he always did. Tadeas, as always, was a pushover for his little boy and tilted his head to brush away curls and kiss the littleâs forehead before replying,
âThen a hug you shall receive, seashell.â
Peter giggled at the nickname and, after a while longer, pulled away to toddle into The Lonely.
âWait- ah, never mind. Someone else will get him.â Tadeas shrugged and returned to the busywork heâd been attending to, relishing in the feeling of knowing Peter finally trusted multiple people with his little space.
đ«ïžđŒđ§ž
Simon was adding the final touches to an absolutely delightful painting of a sunset, if he did say so himself, The Vast occasionally tugging his hand to rework a cloud or add some more pink in one part, some deeper blue somewhere else⊠when two familiar fluffy socked feet padded up behind him. Smiling, the old man spun around in his stool to look at the regressed captain, cooing at him as he took in the way every rough edge of Peter had softened out in his headspace.
âThere he is, my favourite little man! Let me get a better look at you, come here..â with a wave of Simonâs hand, a gentle gust of wind made Peter move towards the painter, stumbling on the last step and being caught in the more lithe manâs arms, âthere we are, my sweet little sailor! Is it time for another game of throw the baby, do we think?â
Peter smiled and shook his head, wrapping his arms tight âround his grandpaâs neck, snuggling into him.
âNuh. Wanâ cuddles.â
Simon hummed teasingly, swaying Peter side to side a little.
âAre you certain? Iâm sure I could get you right up into the clouds!â
âMm-mm. Jusâ snuggles.â
Simon smiled then, petting Peterâs curls softly.
âVery well, little captain.â
And after squeezing Simon tightly - and having a few Werthers pressed into his palm with Simon making a long âshhhhâ noise just to watch Peterâs face light up with the childish joy of secret keeping - Peter toddled back off into the fog, leaving the painter to return to his craft with a soft, fond chuckle.
âïžđŒđ§ž
Martin was making tea when the heavy weight of one regressed seafarer crashed into him, arms wrapping tight âround him.
âOof!- hello, Peter. You okay?â He asked gently, reaching one hand behind him to absentmindedly stroke Peterâs cheek.
âCuddles.â Peter mumbled in lieu of a response, burrowing his face further int Martinâs neck. Martin smiled, and let him stay there, and miraculously managed to finish making his tea without scalding either of them. Luckily, heâd already been making decaf which meant that after he was done making his own he retrieved one of Peterâs sippy cups and filled it halfway, adding more milk than was probably reasonable to ensure the little didnât burn his tongue and a sprinkle of sugar to make it appropriate for a little boyâs palate, and then handed the drink to his little. Peter, being mentally about three at the moment, promptly plopped himself down on the floor and began suckling away at the drink in his sippy while Martin, because he had a hot drink and Peter was 6â4, tried his best not to bump into the baby.
He managed to sit down without issue, and they both finished their tea together, Martin talking without expecting a response and Peter occasionally pausing in his drinking to babble an answer, which Martin responded to the same as he wouldâve with words, and then Peter snuggled the rest of the way up to Martin, set his empty sippy aside, and allowed himself to drift into a deep sleep.
Later on, Tadeas and Simon would show up and the three caregivers would piece together what had happened with no small amount of humour and confusion, but right now Martin was trapped on the floor with his little boy in his lap and he couldnâtâve been happier.
Summary: A nasty cocktail of trauma and autistic burnout makes Mordecai start having accidents. His caregivers try their best to dispel his embarrassment when heâs confined to pull ups.
Genre: Fluff
Note(s): I usually try to make my Lackadaisy fics as historically accurate as possible and started freaking out because adult diapers didnât come around until the 80s but. I mean. Theyâre anthropomorphic cats in the 1920s who are all extremely accepting of a mentally impaired, asexual, biromantic, Jewish trans man in this fic so I think adult diapers being around a few decades early can be forgiven. Oh yea also Mordecaiâs trans in this. It wonât be paid much attention to but itâs there. One last note - this is obviously not intended to be sexual. No judgment if thatâs your thing but please keep all comments sfw!
Word count: 809
âMordecaiâŠ.â
âNo! No, I refuse to go around wearing one of those! Iâm not an invalid!â
âNever said you were, honeybun. What I did say was that this is your third accident in two days and as much as I love my little boy I cannot be wanderinâ off every few hours to give him a change.â
âSo donât! Iâm a grown man who can dress himself!â
âHon, yâthink I donât know how you act when youâre feelinâ like a kid by now? Câmon, thereâs nothinâ to be ashamed of.â
âMitzi!â
âDonât you raise your voice at me, Mordecai.â
ââŠ..okay, Mimi.â
âGood boy.â
With that settled, Mitzi led Mordecai out int the common area again. Luckily enough, Viktor had cleared out what few guests thereâd been when Mordecai had wet himself just twenty minutes ago, and the two drunks that remained - Zib and Sedgewick - were too busy being curled up in a darkened corner sucking face to care about what was happening at the door.
Mordecai was dressed in the usual childish, oversized clothes heâd don when he could during a little episode, but the bulge of his pull-up was visible. His face burned as he approached the bar and - with Rockyâs help - climbed onto one of the stools. Chatter resumed shortly and Viktor, almost on instinct, set down a small glass bottle of honeyed milk for the tuxedo. Upon noticing Mordecaiâs embarrassment, Viktor leaned in close and murmured to him;
âYou okay?â
âWhat do you think, Viktor.â
âIs nothing be ashamed of. You are small. Many little ones need thing like this. No shame in protecting hardvood.â
Mordecai just buried his face in his hands, humiliated still, but he allowed himself a few small sips of his honey milk. Viktorâs words bounced around in his head; you are small.
He said it soâŠ.. so easily. Like it was simple fact. Viktor - and everyone in the Lackadaisy, really - was used to Mordecaiâs slips by now. They were used to the way the triggerman would soften, his hard edges falling away to reveal a small, scared boy who followed his grown ups around like a second shadow and clutched at their arms when they started moving too quick for him to keep up. How the years spun back in his mind until he was small and vulnerable and needed protecting. Once he wouldâve scoffed at the idea, but nowâŠ. He looked down at the glass bottle of milk. Now, being coddled like this felt so, so comforting. Like a warm, fluffy blanket wrapped around his whole body. And he had to admit he understood the pull up; he was prone to losing control of his bladder when he was this small, and changing him was always a song and a dance as he would often stubbornly argue that he was big and didnât need changing even when he was obviously lying. He swallowed the last of the warm, sweet drink and laid his head on the counter with a deep sigh.
It was nice, he supposed, getting the childhood he never could - one where he wasnât hungry, or cold, or afraid. One where no one questioned his boyhood; his family had been accepting, but the outside world had been far less so. It was nice to be allowed to be a little boy. And the toys he had, the model train and the teddy bear and his number blocks and his pop up book, were more than he couldâve dreamed of when he was back in NYC.
He chewed on his lip, thinking as long and hard as he could about it while he was small, but Ivy mustâve caught his expression because;
âHey, Mordecai? You wanna come up to the cafe with me instead? I know you donât like the smell of booze.â
Mordecai nodded sheepishly, and Ivy offered her hand to guide him away from the speakeasy and up to the Little Daisy cafe instead. Heâd taken care of her like this, when she was small. Tried his best to hide what parts of the lifestyle he could. Now, it seemed, Ivy was returning the favour.
They sat together in a booth, Ivy sipping on a soda and Mordecai, though he would adamantly deny it if asked, dozing off in his seat. Ivy giggled at the sight, watching as his head began to nod. Soon enough, Mitzi came up the stairs and Mordecai whined, reaching for her.
âThere you are! Sorry, hon, I didnât mean to leave youâŠâ she sighed, âah well. Câmon, letâs take you home so you can have a nap.â
Mordecai was scooped up by Mitzi, and he gave a small wave to Ivy as his caregiver carried him away and into the car.
By the time they arrived at Mordecaiâs apartment block, the little was fast asleep.
Warnings:Some minor depiction of sensory issues and a near meltdown
Summary: Since becoming his husbandâs caregiver, Eddie had learned that the worst noise an unmonitored little could make was silence.
He had learned, since spending his first Easter with Frankie being open about their regression just a week ago, that a close second was the giddy vocal stimming currently emanating from the kitchen
Or
Frank is regressed and sneaks a bunch of Peeps marshmallows while Eddie isnât looking.Shenanigans ensue.
Genre:Fluff,slice of life
Additional notes: I know agepril ended five days ago but I forgot to post the rest of these drabbles so Iâm posting them now instead. Ye đ
Word count: 725
Since becoming his husbandâs caregiver, Eddie had learned that the worst noise an unmonitored little could make was silence.
He had learned, since spending his first Easter with Frank being open about their regression just a week ago, that a close second was the giddy vocal stimming currently emanating from the kitchen - squeals, giggles, and long âmmmmmâ noises, along with Frankie smacking his lips repeatedly - Eddie, of course, had no issue with his husbandâs stims, they happened even when his dearly beloved was as big as could be, but he recognised these particular ones from one source and one source alone;
Frankâs sugar rushes when he was too little to go running off at the speed of light.
Eddie peeked his head into the kitchen, mentally preparing himself.
âThose are a lotta noises for such a little bug- oh no.â
Frank had been left alone for two, maybe three minutes tops while Eddie had been hunting for the littleâs favourite set of isopod toys. In those few minutes, Frank had managed to get into the kitchen and take the pack of Peeps marshmallows off of the counter, and eat at least four- no, now Eddie looked closer it was at least six missing. Marshmallow had gotten onto Frankâs hands and face in their rush to eat as many as they could, though thankfully their excitement at the sweetness was distracting him from the sticky texture that would otherwise be enough to trigger a meltdown. Small mercies. Upon seeing Eddie, Frank pausedâŠ. Then grinned wider, squealing and attempting to cram another marshmallow in as the mailman hurried over and took the pack from his baby.
âNo-no! Câmon, give those to papa- youâre too little for those, baby, especially six of em!â
Frank whined, reaching for the marshmallows. It was at that point that he seemed to notice how sticky their hands and face were, and the smile that was still halfway there dissolved immediately, his breathing quickening.
Eddie moved fast, desperate for such a nice afternoon to not be taken away from his little one by a meltdown. He set the marshmallows aside and grabbed the wipes, kneeling to gently begin wiping away the marshmallow fluff as Frankâs squeals rose, becoming distressed as he waved his free hand and oh, where was the littleâs binky when it was so desperately needed? Frank wailed, distressed by the texture as Eddie did his best to wipe it away quickly without hurting his little one, beginning to wipe his cheeks.
âSh, sh, sshhhhh sweetie, itâs okay, papaâs here, papaâs right here, papaâs makinâ it go away. Breathe for me, buggy, big deep breaths like I taught you, itâs gonna be okay,â
A stream of gentle reassurance spilled from Eddie as he finished wiping Frank clean and recovered his binky, cleaning it before offering to the regressor who accepted it quickly. Crisis averted, Eddie sighed in relief as he stood, disposed of the wipes and scooped his little one up, booping him affectionately as he retrieved the toy bugs and carried Frank into the living room.
âWhat am I gonna do with you, huh? Little menace, Julieâs rubbinâ off on ya..â Eddie murmured as he set the once again giggling little one on the floor, setting the toys out in front of him so Frank could play, the regressor wiggling forward on his belly, their onesie - a flower patterned one, sleeveless and ending at the crease of their thigh, only really worn because Eddie thought he looked cute as a button in it and it helped Frank to fully relax into their regression rather than for the purpose of keeping him warm - would surely soon end up dirty, but Eddie couldnât find it within himself to care, watching as the little entomologist suckled on their binky and played with the insect figurines and only just resisting the urge to scoop them up and keep cooing over him. Heâd been nervous to be a caregiver at first, worried he could damage his husband while he was in such a delicate headspace, terrified heâd do or say the wrong thing and ruin this coping mechanism the entomologist had spent years refining their usage of, but as he sat there on the couch, watching such a sweet scene, Eddie had never been more certain heâd made the right call.
Warnings: some very mild angst (Peter is sick :[), a slight allusion to/mention of Peter being emotionally neglected during his childhood and the fact that his regression is a coping mechanism for that trauma, also not sure if this warrants a warning but Peter is left to âcry it outâ at one point because Martin gets overwhelmed and needs a minute
Summary: Peter is sick and regressed and thus refusing to eat anything. Simon comes to the rescue with a way to soothe his sore throat and get some fruit into him
Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, sick fic
Additional notes: Iâm not sure if adult sized high chairs actually exist but I mean itâs TMA so if they can have eldritch fear entities they can have adult high chairs. Also both Simon and Peter are filthy rich so they couldâve just commissioned someone to do it for them. Also Iâm British and so are the characters so theyâre calling them lolly ices and not popsicles
Word count: 550
âPeter, please, I know you donât feel well but-â
âRight, I canât do this. Come on, mister, back to bed.â
And despite Peter throwing a tantrum the whole way, he was laid in bed and Martin left him to cry it out. He hated leaving his little boy to cry anything out, he knew Peter had already been alone for one childhood and hated making his regression lonely too - this was supposed to heal the parts of his childhood that had been damaged, not repeat them - Martin was aware that if he didnât separate himself from Peter while he was screaming and unwilling to listen to Martinâs words then he was going to end up screaming back. Leaving Peter to self soothe while he called for back up was the lesser of two evils.
After what felt like days to the distressed little (it was ten minutes) the door creaked open again and a cheery voice came from the doorway, slowing Peterâs hysterical sobs.
âI hear my favourite little captain isnât feeling well?â Simon cooed, smiling gently
âGranâpa!â The little boy managed to respond, tears still spilling down his cheeks as he laid in bed.
Peter made grabby hands for Simon, who held a plastic tray in one hand as he effortlessly - thanks to some help from The Vast - lifted his not-so-little boy with the other, perching him on his hip and cooing to the little for a moment, hoping to settle him somewhat, before he spoke.
âDoes someone have a sore throat, sweet boy? Donât worry; Iâm here to make it all better. And-â he held up the tray to get Peterâs attention on it, still smiling as he showed Peter the contents of it; lolly ices of every hue. â-Iâm going to do it with sweeties!â
Peter rested his cheek on the older manâs shoulder, tears and tantrum both forgotten, as he was carried back to the kitchen and sat down at the table in an adult sized high chair, a bib tied around his neck before a fruit lolly ice was held up to him. He looked sceptically up at his grandpa Simon, who smiled and spoke again, âgo on, darling. Theyâll make you feel better, I promise.â
That was all the encouragement Peter needed. He descended on the lolly ice and the flavour of summer fruits filled his mouth, the coolness soothing his sore throat and the small bits of soft fruit Simon had snuck in putting something gentle into his belly. Simon cleaned the kitchen around the now happy little boy, only pausing to pet his curls or give him a new lolly ice. By the third one, Peterâs eyes began to droop, and soon enough he was being scooped up and set back to bed, tucked in with his teddy bear snuggled close to him, and the little boy was out like a light, exhausted both by his sickness and his crying. As Simon waved a very tired but now significantly calmer Martin goodbye and walked out the house, he smiled to himself;
Summary:Peter isnât good at communicating when heâs little due to both shame and not being very able to speak while regressed,Tadeas helps his baby however he can.
Genre:Fluff
Additional notes: this is a lot shorter than I meant it to be, but eh. No beta, as is typical for my fics, so be aware of that. Also Iâd just like to say here that every depiction autistic regression I write is inspired by my own experiences, so if it feels inaccurate to you then thatâs why :]
Word count: 451
Tadeas was used to Peter regressing by now. It was practically part of their routine, something the captain did every so often to destress. The way the first mate saw it, it was no different to how he did crosswords to decompress, or having a comfort food.
Peter, however, did not see it that way. So Tadeas had needed to come up with a million and one ways for his captain to communicate with him without being too overt.
One night, Tadeas was up late finishing paperwork when he heard familiar lumbering footsteps behind him. He sighed, set his pen down, and turned in his seat.
âYou had better have a good reason to be disturbing-â
He paused, taking in Peterâs appearance. Old, well worn pyjama pants, a hoodie that hung off of the man, hiding his whole body, slippers that Peter had owned for about as long as Tadeas had known him, and a teddy bear hidden in his arms as he held it tight.
Peter was little.
ââŠ.nevermind. Sorry for snapping, mâlove. Come here, let Teddy see you.â
Peter worried his lip, coming closer. His steps were unsteady, nearly tripping multiple times. When he got close enough, he plopped himself down in front of Tadeas and watched him with big, trusting eyes, own hand drifting dangerously close to his mouth. The caregiver caught it in time, luckily.
âAh-ah. No hands in mouths, thank you. Your hands are icky, remember? What do we do if we need something to gum on, Petey?â
Peter mumbled something, fidgeting.
âPeter,â Tadeas coaxed gently, reaching down to tuck a snow-white curl behind the littleâs ear, âwhat do we do when we need something?â
âTeddy.â Peter responded, pointing to his caregiver, then; ât-tell. Talk. Teddy help.â
Tadeas nodded encouragingly, impressed the regressor had even managed that.
âGood job, baby. I think weâve both had a long few days, hm? Letâs go get you something to gum on and your cards.â
Peter whined as Tadeas helped him to his feet - the man hated communicating with others when he was big, but when he was little he couldnât stand it. Tadeas sighed, stroking the otherâs hair again, âI know, baby boy. You donât have to talk too much, but Teddy canât help you if you canât at least tell him what you need.â
Peter whined again, but relented. One pack of communication cards acquired and a lolly ice later, Tadeas pet the other manâs hair as he settled in for the night, eyes heavy. He hummed gently, the tune of a half remembered lullaby floating through the captainâs quarters as Peter dropped off.
Convincing his little boy to communicate things was hard, but always worth it.
Ship(s):None (Frank + Eddie are married but Frank is baby in this so Eddieâs their papa)
Warnings:None! Pure Fluff :]
Summary: Spring has sprung in the neighbourhood and papa Eddie takes his baby bug out to play.
Genre:Fluff
Additional notes: Frank doesnât speak while regressed, so he uses an AAC and signing to communicate in this. Also this is very short, sorry about that, and itâs not beta read so if you notice any mistakes no you donât :]
Word count: 735
The sun was high and hot in the sky when Eddie and Frank emerged from their home, Frank toddling behind the mailman a little more clumsily than usual, Eddie holding a picnic basket. Frank, dressed in dungarees and a t shirt with no shoes or socks - there was no litter in the neighbourhood, and all the snails lived deeper in the woods, so going barefoot in the grass was as safe as anything - almost began gumming on his hand before Eddie gently caught their wrist and shook his head.
âAh-ah-ah! Hands out of mouths, baby. Can you use your big words to tell papa what you need?â
Frank paused for a moment, hesitated, then shook their head. Eddie recognised the meaning and fully turned to face him;
âOh⊠oh! You not feelinâ talky, sugarplum? Thatâs alright - you want Mr Buttons or your cards?â
Frank paused again, bouncing a little, then held up one finger. Smiling, Eddie produced Frankâs AAC device - which Eddie had playfully dubbed Mr Buttons in an attempt to help his little feel more comfy using it - and handed it over. After thinking long and hard, his brow furrowing adorably in a way that had Eddie barely resisting the urge to just scoop Frank up and cover him in kisses, Frank managed to compose his sentence and the TTS spoke in its robotic voice.
âI want something to chew, papa.â
Eddie smiled wide, making his pride clear to see to encourage Frank.
âGood job! Would you mind waiting âtil we sit down, though, baby? Just âcause the freezer bag is-â Eddie paused to glance inside the picnic bag â-yep. Right at the bottom. Anâ thatâs where your teether is. Here- take papaâs hand for now, you can play with my fingers to give you somethinâ else tâdo.â
Frank, being as patient small as he is big, nodded and set the strap for his device around his neck so his hands were free once more, beginning to play with Eddieâs fingers as the mailman found them a good place to sit. Soon enough, Eddie had sat them in a patch of grass in the very beginnings of the woods and grabbed Frankâs teething ring, and the little entomologist relaxed instantly as they chewed on the silicone ring, sensory seeking complete.
Eddie set out the picnic so none of the foods touched, just how Frank liked it, and dished up for the both of them. He had to stop twice because a little Frank is a distractable Frank and the regressor kept getting caught up with bugs, following them away from Eddie without warning. Despite these mishaps, Eddie remained as calm and gentle as he ever was, and handed Frankâs plate - segmented, of course, because being regressed made Frank even more sensitive to mixed tastes and textures and Eddie would not let his baby be uncomfortable during a picnic, no way no how - to him with love in his eyes. Frank ate, and soon discovered they were far hungrier than theyâd thought, cleaning their plate quickly before handing it back to Eddie and showing him two fingers to ask for seconds. As Eddie began to dish up more food, Frank registered he wasnât eating right that moment and started to fuss just before Julie appeared as Eddieâs saving grace, chattering away to Frank so he forgot all about papa not being able to fill up the plate by magic.
By the time all the food was done and the cups and the like packed away, Julie had pulled Frank away to play her latest game. Upon realising Eddie wasnât with them, however, Frank waved over to his caregiver, abandoning his device entirely in favour of signing âplayâ over and over again. Eddie laughed, approaching his little bug with a grin.
âAlrighty, baby, papaâll play with you. Whatâre we doinâ?â
The game seemed to be some odd combination of Patty Cake, tag, and hopscotch. After hours of playing, it was getting close to curfew, and so they bid Julie goodbye and returned home, Eddie emptying out the picnic basket and helping Frankie get changed into his pyjamas, holding him close as they snuggled beneath the blankets.
As Frank fell asleep in his caregiverâs arms, they smiled softly, gripping him tight. How lucky was it that heâd found a caregiver so willing to go at their pace?
The ones who are tall, fat, busty/curvy, buff,,, all of the above,, maybe scarred and rough looking from their years of struggling,, but they're just as teeny tiny and cute and squeezable as any other baby or kid :((
