Avengers Age Regression Oneshots

🍼🩶🦾Aftercare💭◻️🔲

Bucky Barnes walked into the apartment he shared with Y/N, his body stiff and his mind heavy from the mission he had just returned from. The door closed softly behind him, but the sound still felt too loud in his ears. His breathing was shallow, and though the mission had ended hours ago, the adrenaline still pulsed through his veins. Everything felt too much—too loud, too sharp, too overwhelming.

He needed to come down, to escape the rush of his soldier mindset and slip into something softer, something safer. And the only person who could help him was you.

You were in the kitchen, making tea when you heard him come in. You didn't need to see his face to know how bad the mission had been; you could tell by the way his footsteps were heavier than usual. Quietly, you set down the mug and walked into the living room to greet him.

Bucky stood in the middle of the room, his shoulders hunched and his eyes distant, like he was still stuck in his mission mode. You gave him a soft smile, approaching slowly, not wanting to startle him.

"Hey, Buck," you said gently, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinched slightly at the contact, but when he saw it was you, he visibly relaxed. "You're home. You did good, okay? You're safe now."

Bucky's lips twitched into the smallest hint of a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He let out a shaky breath and nodded, though his body language told you he was still stuck in his head.

"I'm here," you continued, keeping your voice soft and reassuring. "Do you want to take a bath? Or maybe get changed into something more comfortable?"

Bucky didn't respond with words, but the slight dip of his head was enough of an answer. You took his hand, gently leading him toward the bedroom. As you guided him, you could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his body was still wound up tight, like a spring ready to snap. He needed to come down from it all, and you knew what would help.

Once in the bedroom, you helped him peel off the combat gear and layers of clothing that still clung to him like armor. He stood there in just his undershirt and boxers, looking at you with those big, tired eyes, and you could see the cracks starting to form in his tough exterior. Bucky didn't have to say it, but you knew he was ready to slip into his little headspace, to let go of the heavy burden of being the Winter Soldier.

You grabbed his favorite soft pajamas—the ones with the cartoon animals on them that always made him feel safe. He didn't even hesitate as you helped him into them, his body relaxing just a little as the familiar softness brushed against his skin.

"There we go," you said softly, giving him an encouraging smile. "How about we go cuddle on the couch, hmm? Maybe watch some cartoons?"

Bucky blinked at you, his eyes wide and soft now, looking more like the little boy he was when regressed than the soldier who had walked in. He gave a small nod, his hand reaching out for yours again. His touch was hesitant, but you grasped his hand firmly, giving him that grounding sense of security he needed.

You led him back to the living room, setting him down on the couch and pulling the soft blanket over his lap. He scooted closer to you immediately, resting his head on your shoulder. It was like you were his anchor, keeping him tethered to the present, away from the haunting memories of the mission.

You grabbed the remote and put on his favorite cartoon, the bright colors and silly characters already drawing his attention. He curled up beside you, his head nuzzled against your chest as you rubbed soothing circles on his back.

"Feel better, Buck?" you whispered, leaning down to kiss the top of his head.

Bucky let out a quiet hum of contentment, snuggling closer. "Mhmm..." His voice was small, almost shy, but you could hear the relief in it.

As the minutes passed, you felt the last of his tension melt away. His body relaxed fully against yours, and you could tell he had fully regressed now, slipping into that safe, little space where nothing could hurt him. His thumb found its way into his mouth, and he sucked on it absentmindedly as he watched the cartoon, a soft, sleepy expression on his face.

You smiled, knowing that he was safe and sound, wrapped up in the comfort of being little. "You're doing so good, Bucky," you whispered, continuing to rub his back. "You're home now, and you don't have to worry about anything. I've got you."

"Tank you..." he mumbled around his thumb, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stayed like that for a while, the two of you curled up together on the couch, the weight of the world fading away as Bucky drifted into the comfort of his little headspace. He was your little one, and you would always be there to help him find peace after the storm.