New beginnings (Natasha/you age regression)

12

This chapter contains nursing/breastfeeding! If that's not something you're okay with, I'll see you in the next chapter!

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Natasha wants nothing more than to cry as she stares defeatedly down at you. You were sprawled out on the couch in nothing but a diaper, your skin flushed and scolding to the touch. Your face was soaked with tears, eyes red and swollen, and you were wailing so hard she could barely even hear herself think.

You'd been in hysterics since throwing up your breakfast hours earlier, and nothing she does is even coming close to calming you down. You'd stopped for ten minutes after crying yourself to sleep, but after Natasha had accidentally woken you up by changing your diaper, you were back at it with full force.

Her ears were ringing, her head was pounding, and she just wanted everything to stop. She'd had to set you down because she could feel herself nearing her breaking point, and she didn't want to inevitably end up snapping at you despite the growing urge to do so.

She knew you couldn't help it, but this was becoming too much, and she hated herself for thinking that.

With a heavy sigh, she bends down and hauls you back up into her arms. Your legs settle either side of her hips, hanging limply, and she brings one of her arms down to support you as she cups the back of your head. You wail loudly into her ear as she begins to pace around the room with a light bounce in her step, and she feels herself beginning to break.

"Please stop," she whispers as she comes to a standstill and closes her eyes, a single tear streaming down her cheek. "Please y/n. Stop. It's okay, you're okay." She manoeuvres you sideways before setting herself down onto the couch with you cradled in her arms. You end up nestled against the crook of her arm and breast, and she leans down to press a tender kiss to the scolding hot skin of your forehead.

Your hands tremble as you cling to the material of her shirt, your wails rising an octave, and Natasha has to refrain from dumping you onto the couch and leaving the room. This wasn't your fault, she reminds herself as she begins to softly bounce her legs. You were sick, and small, and unable to communicate how you were feeling. This wasn't your fault.

"You're going to make yourself sick," she murmurs with a quiet sniffle as she reaches forward to grab the pacifier from the coffee table, swiping the nipple against your lips. Your mouth instinctively opens, and you suckle for approximately three seconds before spitting the soother out with another wail. Not letting it deter her, Natasha tries again, this time gently holding the pacifier in place. You seem to accept it this time, your red rimmed, puffy eyes staring up at her in heartbreaking confusion.

"I know," Natasha murmurs with understanding as she lets go of the pacifier and tucks your soaking wet hair behind your ear. "It sucks being sick, doesn't it?" She then uses the pad of her thumb to wipe the tears off of your cheeks, leaning down to press her lips against your hairline.

You sniffle softly as your bottom lip trembles behind your pacifier, and Natasha's eyes widen as she prepares herself for yet more tears. Surprisingly however, they don't come. You simply let out a quiet whimper as you burrow yourself against her chest, and Natasha lets out a quiet breath of relief as she adjusts you so your head was tucked beneath her chin and tightens her arm around your bare frame.

Her hand instinctively comes down to pat your padded behind, and she groans internally when she realises you needed to be changed. "I'm sorry baby." She murmurs regretfully as she rises to her feet with you cradled in her arms and hurries towards the bedroom.

After easing you down onto the bed and grabbing a clean diaper along with wipes and baby powder, she makes quick but careful work of making you nice and dry. She even extends the process a little by giving your upset tummy a massage, smiling at the content gurgle she receives in response.