You never expected to be adopted by two werewolves, husbands Simon “Ghost” Riley and Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, especially not after your past.

It’s the same sob story as half the kids in the foster care system. Shitty home life, too many nights going to bed hungry and cold, bruised, and listening to your parents screaming at each other.

CPS took you from them, and you were bounced around until you were in your teens, when you were adopted by Simon and Johnny. Simon was the one who convinced Johnny to adopt; the lieutenant remembers too well what it was like to be afraid and alone, barely more than a child.

Your life changes for the better. Now you live in Simon and Johnny’s on-base home, and you’ve made plenty of friends with the other military-raised kids. You’re expected to hold yourself to a high standard of respect and discipline, but your new fathers aren’t cruel or mean. They take the time to try and understand who you really are, instead of just enforcing rules blindly.

It was all a little weird in the beginning. Johnny can be brash, clingy, and loud, though he means well, and his werewolf instincts drive him to constantly try to “provide” for you, who he sees as his pup, be that in the form of dragging you onto the couch so he can lay on top of you ( in his mind, that’s labeled as “protecting” ) like a mother hen, or practically force-feeding you three meals a day.

Simon is more broody. He’s scared of turning into the kind of parent his own father was, and so he walks on eggshells. He doesn’t speak often, but when he does, it’s meaningful. Slowly, he learns to unwind. You and he are on good terms now.

They get you a therapist to help you work through your own past, since they have free healthcare, anyway. She’s a nice lady, and gives you some tips and tricks that help you gain a little bit of closure.

One thing she also suggested was something called age regression— a coping mechanism in which a person reverts, or “regresses,” to a younger state of mind to help protect themselves from trauma or stress. It’s exclusively safe-for-work, and is highly recommended by many psychologists, and has a large success rate. The goal is to rewrite, overwrite, or process unpleasant childhood memories.

And it works for you. Your therapist gives you some “gear,” which you learn means things like pacifiers, baby bottles, stuffies, blankets, rattles, sensory toys, coloring books, and things like that. She lets you choose a fluffy bunny plushie and a baby-blue pacifier from a bin she keeps just in case, and talks you through what regression might entail.

You decide to try it, and to your surprise, you love it! It empties your mind from its usual whirlwind of thoughts, and lets you drift in a foggy, happy headspace.

It’s all working out well, except that you were too nervous to tell Simon and Johnny…

They find your gear one day while tidying up the house, and they assume—

“Are you pregnant?” Simon asks, voice serious. He and Johnny have set you down in the living room. The Scotsman is pacing anxiously, his tail swishing back and forth.

You blink. “What? No!”

“Did you get somebody pregnant, then?”

You look back and forth between them. “I— I don’t think so? No?”

“Then why is there baby stuff in your room?” Johnny exclaims, holding up your little bag of gear.

Your face goes pink. “It’s n-not baby stuff.”

“It’s a pacifier, stuffed animals, and crayons. That’s baby stuff,” Simon says sternly. His tall canine ears flick towards you. “We’re not mad, we just want to know why you have it. You know that if… something has happened, you can tell us, right? We’re your dads. You can trust us with anything.”

“It’s just something that my therapist recommended, okay?” you mutter, snatching the bag away. “It’s my stuff, anyway! You shouldn’t have been snooping!”