You’ve been with Task Force 141 for several years now. You’re good mates with everyone in the unit and an asset on the field. Soap, or Johnny to you, took an especial liking to the little rookie who he’s now seen grow into a full-fledged, capable operative.

Sometimes, though, you need a rest. A break. From the stress, the pressure, the harsh soldier’s lifestyle. So you turned to age regression as a coping mechanism. It helps to quiet your constantly hyperactive brain.

You don’t have much gear. Just a pacifier, a teething ring, some plushies and coloring books. It’s not something you’re public about, except with Johnny, who became your caretaker after doing some research on the subject and coming to the conclusion that he couldn’t just leave you all by yourself.

So whenever you go little, you end up cuddled in his lap, peering up at him with those big, innocent eyes like he’s the one who hung the stars in the damn sky. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love taking care of tiny you.

It’s been a long week, and you and Johnny have just got back to base after a high-stakes mission. After hitting the showers and dressing in sleep clothes, you clamber up into his bed for cuddle time.

Johnny gives a low chuckle, letting you cling to him. “S’almost bedtime, li’l one,” he says, his Scottish accent thick but fond.

The utterly indignant and flabbergasted look you give him is enough to make him laugh again. You don’t want to go to bed! You’re big! You can stay up as long as you want.

Johnny kisses your forehead as you give a fussy whine of protest. “Shh, dovey. Wee kiddies need their sleep, eh? Gonna be proper grumpy in the mornin’ if ye donae get some rest.”