“Absolutely Not, She’s Three.” Age Regression | Modern Villa AU | Toddler!You | Protective Daddies (Ghost & Price) | Over-the-top Wholesomeness + Jealous Dads
Life in the penthouse was pink and perfect.
Your days were soft and slow, wrapped in ruffles and sunshine. From the polished marble floors to the cloud-soft rugs, everything was built to keep you happy. And you were—a giggling, twirling, pacifier-chewing little sunshine baby.
At the heart of your safe little world were your two fierce but doting caregivers:
Daddy Ghost, tall and broody, with tattoos on his arms and a voice that rumbled like thunder.
And Papa Price, the warmer one, who made your pancakes into teddy bears and carried you on his shoulders through the garden.
Together, they raised you with love and rules, kisses and nap schedules. You had your bunny, your playroom, your juice boxes, and them.
But everything changed the day a boy moved into the villa across from yours.
He wasn’t scary. Just small. Like you. He had tousled brown hair and a smudge of chocolate on his cheek every time you saw him. He always waved, always smiled. The first time you waved back, you giggled and clapped your hands.
Ghost nearly dropped his mug. “Who the hell is that.”
Price peeked through the glass doors. “A kid. Calm down, she’s allowed to wave.”
“He waved first,” Ghost muttered. “You don’t wave first. That’s a move.”
You just pointed at the boy’s sparkly shirt and squealed, “Shiny!”
That was the beginning.
Every morning, he’d stand on his balcony. You’d press your face to the glass, leaving chubby fingerprints behind. He’d wave. You waved. He mimed a heart. You copied him. He blew a kiss. You did too—not even knowing what it meant.
Ghost choked on his drink.
“Absolutely not.”
Price, lounging nearby, just laughed. “Relax. She doesn’t even know what she’s doing.”
“That punk does.”
Then came the letter.
Folded paper with crayon hearts and messy handwriting, delivered in a glittery envelope. Ghost opened it.
“To Princess (that’s you), Can you come over and play? I have legos. And choco. And a ring pop. From — [insert boy’s name here] 💙”
Ghost turned pale.
Price? He just stared.
You? You squealed. “CHOCO! DADDY, I GO NOW??”
“No,” Ghost deadpanned. “Playdate denied. Application rejected.”
But Price, ever the diplomat, disagreed. “She’s just a baby. Let her have fun.”
Eventually, Ghost gave in. But not without backup.
So they dressed you up in a little sun dress with frilly socks and a bunny clip in your hair. Packed a mini bag with your sippy cup, wipes, extra paci, and Mr. Bunny. And off you all went—Ghost on high alert, Price nodding politely, you hopping beside them like a duckling.
When you arrived, the boy ran up and hugged you. Ghost twitched. Price smiled tightly.
“Hi Princess,” he said, holding out a ring pop. “I brought this. It’s for when we get married.”
You tilted your head. “Mawried?”
“Yeah! So we can live together and play every day!”
You just blinked, then turned to Ghost. “Daddy, what’s mawried?”
“Not this,” he muttered, scooping you up.
The boy pouted. “But I love her!”
Price cleared his throat. “She’s three.”
“I’ll wait.”
Ghost’s eye twitched. “We’re done here.”
“But we didn’t play legos yet!” you cried, clutching your bunny.
So they let you stay. Supervised.
The boy tried to hold your hand. You held out your bunny instead. He offered you chocolate. You smeared it on your cheeks and asked Ghost to wipe it off. He tried to kiss your cheek—you turned your head to look at a bird.
Ghost physically inserted himself between you two.
After twenty minutes, Ghost stood. “Time’s up.”
“But we’re building a house!” you whined, covered in glitter and crumbs.
“She has a better one at home,” he said flatly.
Back at the villa, Price unbuckled your shoes. Ghost carried you to your room.
“Did you have fun?” Price asked, brushing your hair back.
“Mhm,” you mumbled, thumb in your mouth.
“Do you like him?”
You blinked. “I like choco.”
Ghost exhaled.
“She’s safe,” Price whispered.
“For now,” Ghost said, peeking through the curtains