Tiny little one cuddled up for bedtime with their caregiver while they talk. They’re trying so hard to stay awake and keep talking, but their eyes keep fluttering and their cg’s voice keeps getting softer and softer, lulling baby into dreams between bits of babbles until finally they give in completely.
i feel like rocky can throw a fierce tantrum when hes pebbleish. incredibly dramatic flopping around, flailing his legs, stomping against the xenonite tunnels in a rhythm that would be incredibly annoying for other eridians, flinging out the most dramatic of declarations that Rocky Not Doing Anything Anymore. World Is Unfair. Grace Mean Mean Mean. Grace Not Rocky's Best Friend. the sort of stuff children say doing their best to hurt someone else's feelings and... not really succeeding
grace taught middle school, which about covers the age range where a kid might still throw a tantrum but also has the necessary experience to insult someone in a way that actually hurts, so rocky's absolute grumpiest is not that impactful. he just waits it out until rocky exhausts himself (which doesn't take that long, relatively — humans are endurance hunters, after all). and then,
"all done, buddy?"
[defeated whistle/sigh]
"it was frustrating when our math didn't agree, huh."
"... grace think rocky stupid."
"aw, rock, no," grace scoots close to rocky's ball — he's sitting on the floor so they're about eye level — and gently taps out their code word for everything's ok. "rocky is very smart. and very good at math. but we're working together, which means we help each other when we make mistakes, right?"
rocky is currently all splooted out, but tilts towards grace.
"it was tough being so mad. and your body did what it needed to do to get that all out. no hard feelings, ok?"
"Mama, I'm a big kid today! Do you want to go for a walk and I can tell you all about the movie I watched yesterday?"
"Of course I do, buttercup! Let me get my shoes!"
𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊
"Mama, baby! Ma! Up!"
"Oh, what an adorable little baby! Come here, let me wrap you up and give you a cuddle!"
𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊
"I'm tired of being a person, can I be a kitten after dinner?"
"Always. Let me get the ribbon toy for you to chase after you have a nice nap."
𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊
"I don't feel like regressing, but I still want to watch a Disney movie with a stuffed animal, is that okay?"
"Absolutely! What movie do you want to watch? Should we make some snacks for movie night?"
𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊
"Mama I don't want to go anywhere -- I'm just a moss ball, I can't move."
"Oh, are you? That's a new one, let me get you some water and I'll look up how to take care of you.... Hmmm, it says here that a moss ball needs to be rolled around to make you more round. Alright, curl up little one, you're about to get rolled!"
( hi everyone! it's that time of year again... expect me back sometime in august! in the meantime, consider donating to direct relief for earthquake recovery in venezuala! )
So for this story, I'm sort of thinking that Pope knows the reader regresses, but it's not something he's been present for in the past. They are just pretty good friends, halfway lovers. So, when he comes over to see regressed reader, he falls into taking care of him like a second nature. Pls enjoy!!
𓆝𓆟༝˚｡⋆𓆉︎⋆｡˚༝𓆞𓆝𓆝𓆟༝˚｡⋆𓆉︎⋆｡˚༝𓆞𓆝𓆝𓆟༝˚｡⋆𓆉︎⋆｡˚༝𓆞𓆝
Pope needed to get out of his house. Smurf was arguing with Baz, and Craig and Deran were loud and obnoxious. Line after line of blow, lined up then snorted. It was driving Pope up the wall. So, he figured he would head to his buddy's apartment. They often hung out after rough jobs, playing Call of Duty, ordering food, the occasional fuck, without discussing the possibility of what they could be in the future. No strings attached so to speak.
He didn't bother to text first, because he was over at the other man's place all the time. It didn't seem to bother him when Pope showed up unannounced, so Pope had stopped texting. So, he got in his truck to drive over, to see his friend. Maybe blow off some steam, maybe drink some beer.
𓆝𓆟༝˚｡⋆𓆉︎⋆｡˚༝𓆞𓆝𓆝𓆟༝˚｡⋆𓆉︎⋆｡˚༝𓆞𓆝𓆝𓆟༝˚｡⋆𓆉︎⋆｡˚༝𓆞𓆝
Your day had sucked. You had some really mean customers, and you had slammed your finger in the hood of one of the cars you were working on. The shop advisor had criticized you in front of everybody, saying you didn't check the brakes on a vehicle right. Since you left the mechanics shop, covered in your greasy uniform, you could feel yourself slipping.
The walk home sucks, pathetic little sniffles escaping you as you make your way to your small apartment. You arrive after about a 15 minute walk, and see Pope's truck parked in the lot. You sigh, and scrub your hand over your face, trying to be big again.
Sure, Pope knew about your regression, but it wasn't something you'd ever let anybody see. Maybe it was because you were obsessed with the fact of being manly and always being tough. Even though you try, your lip wobbles again and you feel pathetic.
You trudge up the stairs, knowing Pope is probably on your couch already, waiting for you to be home. You open the door, and sure enough, Pope is on the couch, remote in hand, surfing the TV channels.
"Hey man. What's up?" Pope asks, then notices the tears in your eyes, and pauses slightly. That's about all it takes for you to burst into tears. You close the apartment door and drop your lunchbox on the floor, and walk over to the couch where he's sitting.
"Jeez man. What happened at work?" He asks, grabbing your bicep and pulling you down to sit next to him. You can't really form words, as your hands find his shirt and grip it like a lifeline.
"P-ope." You sob, and his hands find your shoulders, gripping them gently.
"I'm right here." He mumbles softly, his eyebrows knitting together as he puts the pieces together. You guys had discussed a while back, how sometimes you felt younger. You didn't go into too much detail with him, but enough for him to get the gist. And he realizes that's what's happening now.
"Are you small?" He asks, trying to find the right words to soothe you. You say nothing, and lay down to put your head in his lap, nose to his tummy. "I guess that's a yes."
"'M tired." You mumble, and Pope runs his fingers through your hair. He's never seen you vulnerable, hell, you refused to even be emotional around him. You had a deep-rooted need to always be seen as tough, and it made him chuckle sometimes, when he could see you holding back tears when you guys watched a sad movie.
"Yeah? Wanna go to bed then?" He asks, feeling your nose press against his stomach. You shake your head, ever stubborn, and he sighs fondly.
"I dunno how to take care of a little boy." He teases, curling your short locks around his fingers. You mumble incoherently, your hands grabbing at his shirt. He decides it's probably for the best that he makes executive decisions right now, so he lifts you to your feet to help you change out of your dirty work uniform.
You whine incoherently, but don't fight too much. You're so tired, and Pope is such a solid presence beside you, it feels wonderful. You've never had anyone to take care of you during times like this, you've never even let anybody see you cry.
"I know you don't wanna, but you smell like oil and rust." He says, moving you to stand in the middle of the bathroom. He moves your limbs around like a puppeteer, and strips you down to boxers. He's sure he won't be able to get you to shower, so he gets a soft washcloth and runs it under hot water.
"Even though you're mind is so little, you smell like a grown man." He teases, carefully scrubbing you down with the warm cloth. He pays extra attention to your hands, to get all the grease from the day off. He then lifts your arms, and swipes on some deodorant.
"Now you're a clean boy." He says, and you mumble something he can't quite understand. "Let's get pajamas on. Hm? Then we can... What do you even do when you're small?"
You shrug. Usually, you just lay in bed and cry and think about how bad you want someone to take care of you. The prospect of having someone here to take care of you, to play with you, it's quite jarring.
"Watch cartoons?" You offer, as he puts his hands on your shoulders and steers you to the bedroom. He grabs clean boxers, and digs around in your dresser to find some clothes.
"We can watch cartoons." He says, finding a pair of soft pants and a big, oversized t-shirt. He wrangles you into those clothes, with a lot of effort. You're not being much help right now, squirming and giggling. Well, at least you weren't crying.
He hauls you onto your bed, and turns the TV on, settling beside you. "What cartoon bud?" He asks, flicking through the apps.
"Ninja turtles" You reply, voice soft. Your thumbs works it's way into your mouth, as he finds your cartoon. You curl against his side comfortably, and he wraps his arm around you.
He knows when you're not regressed, you'll have to discuss your whole relationship. He wouldn't mind being your caregiver for times like this, but he's not all that educated on balancing that and an actual relationship. But he figured that was a different conversation for when his boy wasn't feeling so small.
So he lays in the bed with you, arms wrapped around you as you doze off. He decides there's probably nowhere else he'd rather be.
