(soft mentions of abuse, agere fic, 854 words, third person)
it was quiet in mama’s house. not the scary kind of quiet that keeps baby on high-alert, but the warm kind. the kind that smelled of fresh laundry and chamomile tea.
baby was curled up on the couch small and still, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket that mama had warmed up in the dryer. baby hadn’t said much since arriving. mama didn’t ask why. she just sat nearby and kept the space safe.
“welcome home, sweet girl,” mama said softly, tucking the blanket under baby’s feet. “you don’t have to be brave, or big, or okay. you can just be baby.”
baby’s eyes welled up, and mama noticed right away.
“do you wanna have lap time, baby? want rockies with mama?” she offered gently—no pushing, no demanding.
“you’ll let me have lap time, m-mama?” baby asked as if in disbelief. she looked up with careful eyes, like she was unknowingly reliving something through a physical ache in her chest and belly.
mama smiled warmly and nodded. “you can always have lap time with mama, darling.”
she opened her arms and baby timidly climbed into her lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. mama rocked gently, her hand stroking baby’s back.
“you were supposed to have someone like me,” mama whispered. “you should’ve never had to go through that alone.”
baby’s whole body shook. not from fear—but from relief.
baby stayed in mama’s lap for a long time, her head tucked under mama’s chin. her little fingers curled into mama’s shirt like she was scared to let go. she wasn’t crying anymore, but she hadn’t talked either.
mama didn’t mind. she just kept rocking. back and forth, back and forth. she hummed sometimes too. nothing specific, just soft, sleepy sounds that baby could melt into.
after a while, baby’s voice came out quiet as she lifted her head from mama’s chest. “mama?”
“mama’s here, baby,” mama said softly, still rocking.
“i dunno if i… if i ever had a real home,” baby said. her voice was shaky, like it didn’t wanna come out at all. “not like… this kind.”
mama gave baby all the time she needed and just listened close.
“i tried t’ talk about it before,” baby mumbled. “but i… i always felt dumb. like maybe it wasn’t… bad ‘nuff. like i was jus’ bein’ too much. l-like i was lying…”
she rubbed at her face. “i told my friends. teachers. they never said it was okay to call it- i mean. i dunno. i never really called it anythin’. jus’ felt wrong.”
baby shifted again, like her chest hurt. “sometimes i think… what if it was just normal? what if i made it worse in my head? what if i was just… dramatic.”
mama’s hand paused for a second, then went back to rubbing slow circles on her back.
“but it hurt, mama,” baby whispered. “i didn’t even do anythin’ wrong but they still made me feel like i was bad. like i was always too loud or too needy or too… me.”
mama nodded softly in response, letting baby speak.
“mama?” baby said again, smaller now. “do i… does it still count? even if it wasn’t… like- really bad stuff? even if nobody ever said it was a- a…” baby stopped herself and whined, pressing into mama’s chest.
“abuse, huh, baby? they never called it abuse,” baby nodded desperately, let out a whimper, and tightened her hold on the back of mama’s shirt. “i know, bubby… i know. it absolutely counts, baby. you were just a little girl doing her best. they should’ve loved you better, my darling. and the people you trusted should’ve believed you.”
baby’s lip trembled, soothing strokes still being traced across her back. “but i dunno if i’m allowed to feel this bad about it…”
mama’s voice stayed steady. “you are. you can feel as much as you do about it, my love. nobody gets to tell you that you were overreacting. you lived it, baby girl. it was your heart, and your life. not theirs.”
baby inhaled deeply, her breath hitching in between.
“and baby…” mama said, soft but firm. “you’re allowed to call it abuse. because it was.”
that broke baby open. her shoulders shook as the tears came again—heavy but not loud. just that quiet kind of cry that came from deep down, like something was being let go after being carried too long.
mama’s arms tightened just a little. “you were never too dramatic, sweet girl. never overreacting, never sensitive, never difficult. you were just too alone because those people never saw you. you had to hold it all yourself, in your big aching heart.”
baby sobbed, chest rising and falling like the words were peeling something heavy off her. “mama…” she whispered. “it hurt s-so bad… my heart h-hurt…”
“i know, baby. i know.” mama kissed the top of her head. “you didn’t deserve any of that. not a single bit. and you don’t have to carry it all by yourself anymore. mama’s here now. mama’s right here.”
baby no longer needed permission to feel. she just needed mama.
✧˖°. mama’s baby feeling too big to be little 𝜗𝜚 ‧₊˚
(agere fic, third person, 800 words)
it was a quiet night, mama’s bed smelled like bergamot and lavender. baby was all snuggled up in her jammies, curled against mama’s chest with her favorite stuffie tucked under her arm.
but baby wasn’t as relaxed as she seemed. her body was comfy but her mind was going fast in mean circles, which made her physically ache too. when she shifted, pulling away just a little, mama noticed.
“what’s wrong, bubby?” mama asked softly, brushing her fingers through baby’s hair.
baby didn’t answer right away. she let out a soft exhale through her nose and wiped her cheek quickly, like she had cried without realizing. “...i shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.
mama blinked, confused. “in my bed?”
baby nodded. “i’m too big for this…”
mama frowned gently, sitting up a little so she could look baby in the eyes. “too big for what, sweet girl?”
“all of it,” baby mumbled, her voice wobbling. “too big to be sleeping with mama. too big to need help with every little thing. too big to cry just ‘cause my cup spilled or my show turned off…”
mama’s heart ached.
she reached out and tucked baby’s hair behind her ear. “oh, honey.”
“i feel stupid,” baby added in a rush, like she wanted to get the words out before she chickened out. “like, i know i’m not a real baby. i know i’m not supposed to need this much. it’s just… i do. and then i feel pathetic for needing it.”
baby didn’t look at mama when she said it. she had her head turned down, eyes glossy and cheeks hot with shame.
“sweet girl,” mama says, and presses a warm kiss against her baby’s forehead head. “look at mama.”
baby hesitated, but her teary eyes flicked up. they met mama’s that were gentle, steady, full of love she hadn’t earned and didn’t need to. her lip wobbled again as she used all the energy in her tiny body to hold back sobs.
mama’s voice was so soft. “you’re allowed to need. you’re allowed to want to be little. and you’re never stupid for that.”
baby shook her head, just once. “but i am. i’m big, mama. i’m supposed to take care of myself. but i still wanna whine when my juice spills, or cry when i get overwhelmed, or crawl into your bed like a baby just ‘cause i feel scared.”
“and all of that is okay,” mama said gently. “you know what i see when you do those things?”
baby sniffled, eyes focused like she wants to believe mama.
“i see a little girl who never got to feel safe enough to be soft. i see a heart that’s learning, slowly, that she doesn’t have to be strong all the time. i see someone brave enough to let herself need.”
baby let out a trembling breath. she pressed her forehead into mama’s shoulder, small fingers grabbing the edge of mama’s shirt like she didn’t know how to say ‘please hold me’. but mama already knew.
she was already wrapping her arms around her baby girl, already rocking her gently.
“you’re allowed to be little here, bubby. you don’t have to prove anything. not to me. not to anyone.”
“but… what if people think i’m weird?” baby mumbled.
“then they don’t get to be close to you,” mama said firmly. “but i will always be here. and i will always love you, big or little, clingy or quiet, crying or giggling. those people who don’t care, don’t understand, or don’t want to try—they just don’t know how to value your big aching heart. you’re so precious, so sensitive, so loving. so, so beautiful. and if they don’t see you, it’s their loss.”
“even if i feel like a burden?”
mama held her tighter. “you’re my bubby. and you are the best kind of burden. the kind mama wants to hold. every day. every moment. i want to baby you. because you deserve it.”
and that was the moment baby melted. her soft little cries came back, messy and quiet, as she buried herself in her mama completely.
“see, baby girl? you think you’re too big but you fit just right in mama’s arms.”
baby lets out a half-sob, half-giggle at mama’s reassuring words. and mama was right. baby’s so snug against mama’s body, like they were meant to find each other, like perfect tiny puzzle pieces held together with love.
“mama?” baby said, her face still hidden.
“yes, baby bun?”
“i love being mama’s little girl.” baby said. “you’re the only home i’ve ever had.” mama’s breath caught, and for the first time that night, it was her turn to blink away tears.
they stayed in each others arms, baby’s soft breaths floated against mama’s soothing rubs as the night drifted away.
[end]
feel free to send requests through the mailbox in my pinned! <3
you’re sitting cross-legged on the cold floor, wearing your comfiest jammies dotted with stars all over the fabric. the light in the room is warm and golden, like evening sun. there’s gentle music in the background—twinkly and calm.
your fingers are flapping softly. not too fast but a steady rhythm to keep your mind regulated. sometimes you bounce your knees or rock a little, other times you press your hands together and squish them between the floor and under your thighs. you’re not upset, and mama knows this. you’re just full of feeling that needs to be let out.
mama watches from the couch, her eyes steady on you with a gentle smile on her face. not pushing, just being present.
“you’re doing so good, baby,” she says softly. “let it all out.”
you look up, shy and unsure. but mama’s still smiling.
no judgement, no fear. just love.
you keep your eyes on mama, as if asking for something without speaking. mama knows it’s too hard right now, and she sees right through your lack of words.
“come here, baby,” she pats the spot next to hers on the couch. you start to crawl your way over, still letting the energy flow out of your body as you move.
“mama loves watching you stim,” she adds. “you’re expressing something so big and beautiful in your tiny body. and that’s amazing.”
you snuggle into mama’s side, and she wraps one arm around you like a blanket. you feel her start to rock you gently, matching the rhythm you had already been swaying in. it doesn’t stop your stimming—it flows with it. making you feel safer, like you belong.
mama’s hands start to rub your back in long, soothing strokes. from the nape of your neck down to your spine, just the way you like it. her voice hums a tune, low and cozy in your ear. you press your cheek against her chest and feel her heartbeat. your body lets out one of those tingles—the ones that release everything you’ve been keeping below—and you finally let go.
for once, there’s nothing you need to explain, and nothing you need to hide.
you don’t even notice the way mama’s eyes lock on you at the dinner table. you keep at pushing your food around the plate like you’re at war with it, the fork barely scraping against porcelain. your tummy feels like it’s tied in knots—the emptiness making the pain grip your heart. the rules in your head get louder the longer the meal sits untouched: don’t eat, don’t give in, you don’t deserve it.
mama noticed every change of heart, every time your hand tenses around the fork. she pulls her chair closer to you. “baby,” her voice low and soft, “can mama sit with you while it feels heavy?”
with your gaze still fixed on the fork, you give the tiniest nod. mama then gently lays her hand over yours. her grounding and steady touch finally gives your body the safety it needs to glance upwards with wide eyes. mama greets your face with a warm smile as her thumb rubs soothing circles on the back of your hand, forming a space where the fear stops and you begin.
“you don’t have to finish anything today, sweet one,” she says. “not for me, not for anyone. it’s okay if it’s hard. you’re not bad for struggling”
the guilt burns hot in your chest anyway. “i can’t, mama,” you whisper, so quiet it barely reaches mama’s ears.
mama nods, like she was expecting that. “that’s okay, my love. we don’t have to do all of it tonight. maybe we can just try one soft thing together. how about some soup, hm? mama knows you love soup.”
she reaches for the bowl she made earlier, gentle steam curling into the air. she offers it without pressure, just giving you something you both know is safe for your tummy and heart. you slowly sit up, not taking the bowl yourself, like you’re waiting for something else.
mama sees the way you look at her and immediately knows. she grabs the spoon, scooping up the perfect amount of broth and guiding it to your lips.
“that’s it, baby. good job,” she murmurs. you swallow and a single tear drops from your cheek. there’s almost a small smile creaking on your face as mama keeps feeding you. both the soup and her love warming up your body in a tight hug.
you proudly finish your bowl of soup and mama gives you a soft kiss on the forehead, setting the bowl down. “see, love? your body knows how to hold kindness. you gave it a little today, and that’s enough.”
“i’m sorry, mama.. i know it’s not enough…” you whisper between stinging eyes, blinking more tears away.
her hand moves to your cheek, rubbing with a gentle hand. “oh, but it is, sweetheart. enough isn’t about how much. enough is about you being here, letting mama take care of you. one sip at a time. that’s all we need.”
your chest loosens just slightly. mama doesn’t push further. she doesn’t measure bites or count sips. she only sits with you, her presence louder than the rules in your head.
“thank you for letting me care for you,” she says softly, kissing the top of your head. “your body will forgive the rest. i already do.”
mama cleans the kitchen up, then joins you for cuddles on the couch with a movie playing on the tv. the evening plays out with the help of the warmth from before.
[binge ED themes below]
the night comes, and everything starts feeling different. the hunger and panic crash in together, and suddenly you’re on the floor—wrappers scattered, chest tight with guilt. you curl up small, wishing you could disappear.
mama finds you there. she doesn’t gasp, doesn’t scold. she kneels, smoothing the hair from your damp forehead. “oh, baby,” she whispers, “that must feel so heavy.”
you shake your head as the shame boils over. “i ruined it,” you choke out. “i couldn’t stop. i’m disgusting-”
mama hushes you with a kiss to your temple. “no, love. you’re not ruined. your body just got scared and wanted comfort. it doesn’t make you bad. it just means you’re hurting.”
she pulls you in, rubbing your trembling frame. she waits until your breathing slows enough, then offers her hand. when you take it, she helps you up carefully, as if every part of you is fragile. “come sit with mama,” she says.
on the couch, she presses a glass of water into your palms. “here, baby bun. small sips, okay? your body’s been through a lot, my love. water will help it settle.” she doesn’t leave until you drink, her hand stroking your back in steady circles.
“i feel so sick,” you whisper, pressing a hand to your tummy. mama gives your hand a soft squeeze.
“i know, sweetheart..” she tucks a pillow into your middle, giving you something soft to hold. “hug this. let your body calm down. mama’s got you right here.” she hugs you tight.
you cling to the pillow, leaning into her side, face pressing against her shoulder. she rubs slow circles over your hand that rests on the fabric, grounding your body as it processes the intensity of today.
“you’re safe, my darling,” she murmurs. “no one’s angry and you’re not in trouble. not for having too little, not for having too much. mama loves you in all of it.”
when you whimper again, she guides you to lie down, your head on her lap. “close your eyes, sweet one. mama will help you rest. your body can heal better when it feels safe.”
she places a cool cloth on your forehead, humming while her fingers thread through your hair. the nausea begins to fade into a softer ache, less punishing under her care.
“your body deserves kindness no matter what,” she whispers, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders. “whether you eat too little or too much, mama will still hold you, still help you through. you don’t need to be perfect to be loved.”
your tears finally slow. your breathing evens with hers. and in mama’s arms, for the first time that day, you believe you might be safe inside yourself again.
mama puts an end to the intense night, reminding you that you can start fresh tomorrow even if that means another stressful day. you know in your heart that you’ll be safe by bedtime because mama’s here with you.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ mama helping baby with their monthly cycle .✦
(gender dysphoria mentions in the second part, agere fic, 1054 words, third person)
it was a sunny morning where the soft light shined perfectly to light up the bedroom. then, just as baby shifted under the covers, a sharp ache struck low in their tummy. it started small, like a squeeze, then grew deeper and heavier, stealing away the lazy comfort of the day.
baby then curled up into themselves, hands pressed against their tummy and face crumpled in pain. baby knew what was happening at the back of their mind, but the part of them that started to slip grew more confused and distressed.
when mama awoke from baby’s quiet whines, she immediately draws them in, holding them tight. “hi bubby,” she strokes their back and presses tiny kisses against their still warm head. “tummy hurt?” her voice keeps its low, loving tone.
baby can only manage a nod, shifting closer into mama’s body as their whimpers get louder.
“is it baby’s monthly today, hm?” mama strokes baby’s hands that squeeze into their abdomen.
baby nods again, adding more pressure against their tummy at mama’s touch.
“okay, sweetheart. mama’s gonna take extra good care of you today, yeah? baby wanna have some warm soup after we get changed?” she murmurs, using the soup as a distraction from the tedious task of getting changed.
a quiet exhale leaves baby’s lips before they whisper, “o-okay, mama…”
“that’s my good little baby. come uppies with mama.” mama helps baby up and they make their way to the bathroom. “what soup do you wanna have today, hm? we can have tomato, egg drop, creamy pumpkin…” she trails off trying to recall the ingredients they have. “...lentil, or peanut soup! what’s your tummy feelin?”
“mm.. egg drop soup pwease, mama.” baby manages to croak out.
“alright, my love. mama will make you some egg drop soup. you go potty in the bathroom first while mama gets your hot water bottle, okay?”
baby nods and a shy smile creeps out despite her tummy ache. “okay, mama. mama will come back?”
“always, bubby.” mama strokes baby’s cheek. “mama always comes back.”
baby does what they’re told and mama comes back before they know it. mama places the hot water bottle against baby’s tummy, and they let out a satisfied hum. baby’s tiny face nestles into mama’s chest.
baby then gets changed by mama’s tender hands, making the process safe and comfy as always.
“ready for soup, bubby?” baby’s face lights up, even amidst their discomfort.
“yes mama! mama feed me?” mama giggles as baby’s cheeky and needy side remains, never losing its sparkle.
“of course, sweetheart. baby can rest on the couch while mama cooks.” mama pecks baby’s head softly they make their slow way into the hall together.
[gender dysphoria mentioned below this point]
baby laid on the couch with a cozy blanket, while the smell of the yummy soup wafted through the air.
as the ache deepened, another feeling crept in—one that had little to do with the physical pain. baby felt too aware of their body, like every nerve in their body was shouting at them about something they didn’t want to think about. it made their skin feel too tight, their shape too wrong. they wanted to curl up smaller, to hide under the blankets until they could forget this part of themselves existed.
baby sniffled, pulling the blanket tighter until only their eyes peeked out. the tummy ache is bad, but the other feeling is much worse. then, the cries started to spill from baby’s heart, making their whole body throb.
even with the soup bubbling, mama’s senses kicked in immediately after hearing baby’s rustling. she dropped everything and walked over to baby, petting baby’s hair.
“oh sweetheart,” baby’s breath hitched at that, eyes filling with tears. “those thoughts feel so loud, don’t they? like they’re shouting over everything else.”
baby’s lip wobbled, and mama’s gaze softened. “it’s okay to feel upset about it. it’s okay to wish things were different. but none of those mean thoughts are the truth about you.” her thumb traced a slow circle over baby’s cheek. “you’re still my baby. still you. every single part of you belongs here, safe with me.”
her thumb keeps tracing circles, each one keeping baby’s body lax. “your body isn’t all of you. it’s just the shell that carries the person i adore. my baby who’s strong enough to be here, even on the hard days. and that beautiful soul in you is real, valid, and exactly who you say you are.”
“m-mama…” baby’s voice cracks and their face starts to crumple again, as if there’s more ache beneath what may seem to already be an overwhelming amount. still, mama replies without a pause, knowing exactly what baby’s thinking about.
the thoughts push up against their throat and tangle with another, bitter and familiar. their voice never came, but mama caught it anyway, as if the words had been written across baby’s gaze.
“i know, bubby. it’s still heavy, isn’t it? it’s not just about what others see… it’s about what you see, isn’t it? when you look at yourself and the ache is still there.”
baby’s eyes burned, mama’s thumb wiping the dampness away before it even fell.
“but listen, my love. your reflection is only a sliver of your truth. the way you feel, the way you move through the world, the way you know yourself—that’s the whole picture. and that part is already right. already perfect. mama knows it doesn’t go away, and you’re always allowed to hurt. just know that you are more than your body, bub. your experience is your own special little world, even when nobody else will ever understand.”
her voice stayed low, steady. “if the ache comes back tomorrow, or the next day, you’ll still be you. and i’ll still love you exactly as you are, in every mirror, in every light. you’re complete, even when you don’t feel whole.”
baby finally calmed. their pain not dismissed, but heard and still accepted. the ache will come back, staying as close as a shadow, but so will mama. baby’s fingers loosen their grip on the blankie, and reach out to mama instead.
“there we go,” mama whispered, leaning her forehead to theirs. “we’ll let those thoughts pass like clouds, and i’ll be right here holding you until the sky’s clear again.”
the lights were dim, a little golden glow from the nightlight painting soft shapes on the walls. the fan hummed quietly, and baby laid curled up on the bed, half-buried under her favorite blanket, her stuffie tucked under her chin. mama sat beside her as she brushed her fingers through baby’s hair. “feeling cozy, baby bun?” she asked softly.
all baby gave was a small nod after a pause. baby had been quiet all evening—no babbles, no giggles, not many smiles. just a few quiet breaths and that look that meant baby’s thoughts were too big for her tiny body to hold.
mama leaned in and pressed a warm kiss on her forehead. “you’ve been quiet today,” she murmured lovingly as she grazed baby’s soft cheek. “is something on your mind, my love?”
baby shrugged, her body tensed just enough for mama to notice. her wobbly voice was barely above a whisper as she responded with “i dunno…”
but mama knew exactly what baby meant. it wasn’t that baby doesn’t know what she was feeling, it actually means baby didn’t know how to say it. so mama didn’t push. she didn’t even react. she just stayed petting baby’s head and her voice kept the gentle tone that tells baby that she’s safe.
“it’s okay if you don’t wanna talk yet, baby. i’m not going anywhere. mama loves baby so, so much.”
baby’s lip wobbled a little, and she squeezed her stuffie tight. “...m’sorry.”
mama’s petting slowed, “for what, baby?”
“everything…”
there it was, baby’s tears streaming down her cheeks. “oh, sweetheart,” mama pulled baby in closer, kissing the top of her head. “you don’t have to say sorry, my love.”
baby’s shoulders trembled as she pressed her teary face into mama’s chest. “but i’m too- t-too much, mama… i’m too much, too s-sensitive, and i’m always saying the wrong thing. i know you won’t say it but i know i’m a burden.” her voice crumbling above her stifled sobs.
mama didn’t rush to answer. she heard baby’s breath hitching, on the verge of many more tears. she gave baby time after her explanation to process her feelings, slowly going back in with her gentle words.
“my sweet baby,” her voice in a low hum. “you are the type of burden people want to carry. the kind we hold close to our chest, because we choose to. because you’re worth it. you’re worth every ounce of care it takes. you’re allowed to burden the ones who love you.”
baby looked up, tearful and wide-eyed, confused. “but that’s not what people ever showed me…” that line showed mama years of baby being neglected, being told to grow up and figure things out on her own.
“i know, baby,” mama said gently. “they taught you love was something you had to earn. that being ‘too much’ meant being pushed away. that needing anything made you bad.”
she kissed baby’s forehead, slow and warm.
“but they were wrong.”
mama rubbed her back in slow, grounding circles. “you could cry every night. you could cling to me every second. you could need so much, and it wouldn’t make you any less lovable.”
baby’s lip wobbled even harder, forming a wide pout. her voice cracked.
“but… what if i never get better? what if i always feel this broken? and- and… mama gets tired of me?”
mama didn’t flinch. she nodded, like she'd already considered that and loved her anyway.
“mama will still be here. holding you. every night. every cry. i don’t need you to heal to be worth loving. you’re not a project. you’re my baby. mommies never give up on their babies."
baby broke. the tears came—not heavy, but soft and constant, her tiny fists curled into mama’s shirt like she didn’t know how to let go. but it’s okay, because she never has to.
they lay there like that for a long while, baby crying little sniffly cries that didn’t need fixing, just witnessing. until her sobs turned into sleepy breaths, and her body finally went heavy in mama’s arms.
“mama?” baby whimpers out.
“yes, darling?”
baby lets out a sniffle before saying, “thank you… love you…”
mama places her hand behind baby’s head, keeping it steady against her chest. “you never have to thank me for loving you, sweet baby.”
baby nods softly, shifting impossibly closer to mama’s warm body.
“you’re not too much,” mama whispered one last time, voice melting into the quiet. “you were never too much. the people around you just never held you enough.”
