#daddy!bucky

it wasn't his fault.

at least, that's what bucky would insist if ever questioned.

you had moved back in with him, framing it as wanting to get away from city life and easing back into the suburbs before you started your masters program. when in truth bucky knew you were worried about him, after your mother had up and left without so much of a glance back.

but if you were so worried about him…why were you so insistent on fucking yourself with a vibrator night after night?

maybe you forgot he had super soldier hearing, despite your attempts to stay quiet.

maybe you lost yourself in pleasure and couldn't quite help but let a noise slip out every now and then.

or maybe…you just wanted him to hear.

at any rate, bucky could now tell by the way you slipped off to the safety of your bedroom if he was in for a peaceful night's rest or one where he would spend half the night hard as rock, shame being drowned out by the incessant throbbing of his dick.

it always began the same. the click of a button, followed by a quiet buzzing, and then the soft sigh that spilled from your mouth like you just couldn't help yourself.

he shouldn't. bucky knew how wrong it was to let his mind wander. especially when it involved his daughter.

but the blood rushing to his cock had different plans entirely.

and truly…

what was he supposed to do? the sounds coming from your room were sweeter than sin and better than any porn he had ever watched.

it started innocently enough, he supposed. he would pretend not to listen. turned the volume up on the tv in his room to try to drown you out. tried noise cancelling headphones paired with calming music to meditate.

but it was like whatever frequency your muffled moans and sighs carried were sent straight to his eardrums and he was powerless to stop his body from reacting.

then it morphed into that as long as he didn't touch himself…there was no harm in it. he could imagine you, legs parted, back arched as you used the toy to make yourself come.

how the same eyes that would roll at him when he said one too many dad jokes were now rolling back in pleasure.

it was fine. his imagination could wander when he didn't act on it. everyone had urges…right?

but those lewd fantasies only served to add fuel to the fire.

like a pavlovian response, the second bucky heard the click buzz his cock sprung to attention. likely due to the fact it had been too damn long since he'd had any sort of relief, either by his own hand or someone else's after your mother had left. he had neither the time, nor really the provocation to do so. until you.

and while you groaned behind your shared wall, able to get yourself off because you couldn't possibly be thinking the same thoughts he was, he strained against his boxers, begging for stimulation. something. anything.

it turned him restless, causing him to stay awake long after you had satisfied yourself and drifted off to sleep.

night after night…

click buzz sigh

the tightening in his chest didn't lessen in the slightest. he could feel himself leaking, twitching at every sound. to the point it ached. from tip to base, even low in his stomach, every part of his cock hurt in yearning.

eventually, he began clinging to a pillow. something for his hands to grip so he didn't go back on a rule he had set. resigned to bucking his hips into the air so the slight friction from his boxers would provide some relief, with his ear pressed to the wall just to hear the sounds you were making.

"just like that…" you gasped, followed by a whine that sounded like you were biting down on your fist.

bucky, let out his own whimper, his arms banding along the now nearly flattened pillow. he could imagine you oh so clearly, once he got you underneath him. how sweet you would sound if he got his head between your legs instead of that toy.

the tension built low in his stomach with every breath, every gasp, every shaky exhale you tried to contain all sent phantom sensations to his sensitive cock. feelings that morphed to bucky imagining your fingers in its place. blatantly stroking slowly and giggling while he had to hold himself back from begging for more.

he groaned into the pillow, at the sound of your breathing increasing.

"you're about to cum aren't you?" he whimpered, muffled by biting on the fabric. the knot twisted in his stomach further, until he felt his release shoot free, coating the black material of his boxers and seeping through. but the ache didn't subside, even if his dick softened.

it was so wrong, so dishonourable that he was so affected as he was.

and it was only made worse when he watched you leave to go out with your friends one night. in a skirt that barely covered anything and a top that left little to the imagination.

it took all of the willpower he had to not demand you stay home. after all, you were an adult. and he had no reason he could admit out loud as to why he didn't want you to leave.

instead, he snooped. knowing he really shouldn't. but the magnetic pull of wanting a visual was entirely too strong. and if he were to really face it, snooping was the least immoral thing he could be doing at the moment.

your room was tastefully decorated. you had gotten rid of most things from your formative years, swapping it instead for knickknacks that indicated a woman now resided in this space. he pulled open your bedside drawer, and there it lay shamelessly.

a deep plum coloured vibrator, the source of all of your pleasure and his torment. it was cute, bucky thought to himself. average size, with a small attachment that would sit right on your clit. "lucky bastard," bucky grumbled, running a finger along the soft silicone.

slowly closing the drawer, his eyes were drawn to the bed. made with military precision just like he had taught you. but behind the mountain of pillows you likely used every day, was a larger satin pillow. something that was decorative, but still smelled like you. something that you wouldn't miss if he were to take it. and even if you did, why would you suspect him in the first place?

and so the arbitrary rules morphed again as he waited for you to return. which began with a bit more of a ruckus than normal. the stumbling and stuttered footsteps meant that he knew you had gone out drinking. so there was a chance you would be louder than normal, and that thought excited him more than he cared to admit.

it would be so easy to just go out and help you to bed. you were inebriated after all, and bucky just wanted the best for his daughter. but even he knew he wouldn't be able to hold himself back in your pliant state. one glassy eyed look, a bat of your eyelashes…he'd be gone.

so he stayed in his bed, naked and propped against the headboard with the door locked waiting for you to get into bed. head turned so his ear was against the wall to hear you better. his legs stretched long in front of him, cock already rising to attention. flushed with need, slowly dripping onto his belly at the thought of you, a little tipsy and messy, kissing along the sensitive head while your tongue darted out to give him a taste.

would you gag if he hit the back of your throat? or had you been blessed with no reflex just as your mother had been?

click buzz sigh

the three sounds pulled him free of his thoughts.

with his heart beating wildly in his chest, he slid his throbbing cock into the crease of the pillow just as another small sigh left your lips.

the nefarious part of him that knew he shouldn't be doing this halted, providing a new fantasy of what it would be like to sink himself into your tight heat and hearing that sigh up close.

he wasn't touching himself…really. the pillow folded in half was just to keep himself from barging into your room and proving that he could fuck you better than that toy could. and the satin pillowcase added just the right amount of soft friction, the picture of him pumping in and out out of you became clearer and clearer.

he timed his thrusts to what he could hear through the wall. speeding up as you did, pulling back when he heard you draw out a particularly soft fuck. at this point, he had heard enough that he was absolutely certain he knew just how you would like to be taken care of.

but he would have to save that imagery for the pillow. anything more would be entirely too shameful.

your high pitched whine cut through the rustling of his sheets and his own imagination. his cock now spilling profusely into the folds of the pillow, providing enough lubrication to slid

"that's it babygirl," bucky mumbled, unable to help himself. "i know you're gonna cum, give it to me."

his hands moved before his brain could catch up. one hand wrapped around his throbbing cock, pumping furiously as his other brought your pillow to his face. the faint aroma of your perfume and musk surrounded him in a heady combination. he couldn't help it, no matter how wrong it was.

rule broken and entirely forgotten about, he listened for your climax that wasn't far off based on how your breath was coming out in tiny gasps. hips bucking into his hand like he couldn't get enough, pillow cradled like a lover against his chest while he inhaled your sweet scent.

his own grunts couldn't be stopped now if he tried. the image of you bare, bouncing up and down on his cock while he met your thrusts was all he could see, the flutter of your cunt was all he imagined feeling.

and then…something new left your lips that he'd never heard during any of your sessions.

just as what bucky could only assume was your climax washed over you - loud enough that it couldn't have been an accident, clear as day…

"daddy."

💌 tagged babies💌

@nerdreader @starstruckfirecat @baguwagu @sunday-bug @murnsondock @7batsinatrenchcoat @overwintering-soldier @surebutwhy @embervelour @bananaminn @butterflies-on-my-ashes @okaytrashpanda @xamapolax @aceofheartsssss @mars-in-a-cup @doilooklikeagiveafrack @cjand10 @aesthetic0cherryblossom @rosemary-beach-babe @pattiemac1 @morphoportis @sugamilkey @dreammiiee @riah1606 @suri-de-city @ordelixx @galaxygoddess30 @magnificentreviewdreamer @flowstatefic @prk-hoon @multifandomrandomgirl @kodzuminx @sarapolare @sinistersnakey @greatenthusiasttidalwave @najdjjfjjdid @thelastbluecookie @squishyfruitloop @cammiwu @livia087 @boomyoulookingforthis @nvr-land @sebastians-love @lilulicious @themareverine

✨ wanna be spoiled with updates, theories, soft heartbreaks, & forehead-kiss fluff?

daddy just couldnt keep his hands to himself while he drives you back home

(car sex, fingering)

bucky just got a little impatient while you were riding him

(unprotected pinv, riding, creampie)

working you open with his fingers first

(fingering, mutual masturbation, eye contact)

you just wanted something to do during a movie night

(blowjob, oral fixation)

you both cant get enough of the sound of his balls slapping against your ass

(unprotected pinv, clit stim, pull out)

he’s been working way too late, you should probably send him a video of how worked up you are

(pillow humping, mirror sex/masturbation)

showing him all you’ve learnt about sucking cock

(blowjobs)

he loves when you tease him after a long day of work

(riding, pussyjob, unprotected sex)

he loves playing with his food

(fingering, clit stim)

making sure your first time is with someone who you trust, and who loves you deeply

(missionary, unprotected pinv)

Difficult.

A word that describes your current state of affairs. 

One you’ve heard too many times since you’ve been here. 

One warning you not to resist what they ask of you.

One willing you to comply.

One you don’t like.

The past few days have proven to be challenging. Whether that adversity is on your half or on that of your ‘caretakers’–as they have proclaimed themselves–is still undeterminable. 

Recent occurrences have shown little opportunity for escapement. If the two large men–seemingly more than twice your size–weren’t warning enough, the sealed and heavily locked doors, with windows that only show endless forest are enough to pool your guts to the very pit of your already hopeless stomach. 

It’s pretty, you think, noticing the faint tinges of orange overtaking the thick green leaves as you pass the window. You bounce ever so slightly as Steve turns up the stairs. His hold is firm, but the mixture of movement and height from the ground provokes you to tighten your arms held around his neck anyway. Even though it’s a small, involuntary gesture, Steve must notice as he hoists you a bit higher, and holds you a bit tighter, firmly securing you to his side. As Steve makes his way into your bedroom, your mind becomes preoccupied with a different set of colorful things. 

“Go on now,” Steve sets you down gently. “pick whatever you’d like, and Dada will read it to you.” he lightly pushes your cushioned bottom forward, his wide hand reminding you of your unwelcomed padded bottom half. You try to ignore the plushy feeling that rubs between your thighs as you walk–or waddle–towards the bookshelf. 

This has been your routine for the past few nights. 

You pick, he reads.

Ideally, to Steve, you would fall asleep to his lulling story before he even finished, but the unease that radiates through your stiff body is hard to miss. Truthfully, it pangs his heart every time your muscles tense under his touch. Every time you ever so slightly shift away from him, and refuse to maintain eye contact makes him worry that you’ll never understand how much they love you. 

“She just needs time Stevie,” Steve reminds himself of what Bucky said to him after disclosing these thoughts to his partner nights ago. Hearing you scream for hours after he had to punish you was worse than any physical torture he's felt.

“I don’t know. What if-”

“What if…what if what?” Bucky raises his eyebrows, shrugging his shoulders at Steve.  “What if we never saved her? What if we waited too long and she got hurt when we weren’t there?” Bucky implores alternatives to Steve's endless worries. Steve purses his lips, knowing Bucky is right. Steve wanted to make sure your arrival was perfect. Down to the last detail. It had to be. It had to be for you. You were more than perfection in his eyes. “Look,” Bucky steps closer to him, putting his hands on Steve’s forearms to draw him closer. “I know you worry, but we–you–” he pokes at his chest. “planned for this. All of it. She will come around. Like I said..” Bucky trails off, eyeing Steve with a soft smile. 

“She just needs time.” Steve says, mostly to himself, and leaning his forehead to meet Bucky’s. 

While selecting what children’s book you want read to you wasn’t on your agenda this week…or any time really, you’re simply grateful that they haven't forced you to sleep in their bed. 

Though, it’s proven hard to fall asleep at all. You’ve never been one to embrace change, and to say your life has been rewritten, would well, be an understatement. Steve can tell you aren’t sleeping much at night. He knows it’s only because you haven’t fully adjusted. But, he knows that you will. That you only need time. Steve is a patient man, and he’s waited more than a century for something to brighten up his life the way you do. He can wait a bit longer. However long it may take is fine. It doesn’t matter as you’ll always be his. His and Bucky’s. You’ll always be the little light in their life. Nothing can change that. 

Despite how patient Steve may be, you are otherwise convinced they are both keen on making your captivity more than challenging. Just this morning proved that fact alone. 

It was Steve's turn to give you a bath. Bucky wasn’t there when you woke up this morning. So Steve had carried you straight there himself after breakfast. You tried a small protest, asking if you could color instead.

“Oh of course angel! After Dada gets you all cleaned and dressed up.” he says cheerfully, predictably ignoring your request. At this point you’d rather be gross than be that vulnerable again. 

The bath wasn't anything noteworthy. It was nevertheless just as chilling as your baths with Bucky. Yet, Steve's stare was somehow more unnerving. 

Bucky’s scowl was unremitting, constantly fixed so tense you wonder if it hurts to frown that often or if his face is just stuck like that. 

Steve -on the other hand- seldom looked upset even when his actions would convey otherwise. 

He was deceitfully sweet to you. His melodious tone fictitiously coaxing you to trust him. It’s a tone you once mistook for true concern all those months ago in Washington. A pure guardian, a true hero you once thought. 

But you’ve learned better since. You’re not as naive now that his true nature has revealed itself to you. So when Steve brightly reassures you that they mean no harm, you know his word is as good as an unripe berry. Deceptively sweet, and enduringly bitter.

Steve scoffs lightly at your pointless suggestion to bathe yourself. “That’s a silly suggestion little one.” he playfully taps your nose, leaving ticklish bubbles behind. 

Talking to Steve was often like talking to a wall. Most of the time he’d laugh off any protest you had, calling you silly. Other times he wouldn’t acknowledge your words at all, only continuing to say whatever it is he’s talking about at that moment. It feels as though Steve is not talking to you, but rather at you. 

The times he did hear you, or well -talked to you-, he was often not pleased. And while Bucky held the majority of your fear between the two of them, there was something about the way all color would slowly disappear from Steve’s eyes when you upset him. It was a rare sight, and it terrified you.

Steve picked you up swiftly from the bathtub, drying you off while cradling you. Steve had a tendency to keep your feet off the ground much more than Bucky did. If you didn’t want to compliment him, you'd say that was actually pretty smart on his end. You can't really run away if you can’t even well…run. 

Instead of dressing you there in the bathroom like Bucky has been doing, Steve takes you to their bedroom where he has a quilted sheet laid out on the bed. He sets you there, instructing you to sit still while he gathers your clothes. It was much colder here, leaving the thick foggy air of the bathroom leaves you shivering, but that's not the reason you're gripping so tightly to the towel wrapped around you. Steve finally turns around to you, a lotion bottle in hand.

“Lean back for me little one,” he smiles softly, about to apply some of the lotion on his hands, but pauses, waiting for you to follow orders. Your stomach drops. Sure-he's already had his hands all over your bare form, but you thought that was over with. You had only mentally prepared for a bath, and what’s actually worse is that he wants you to lay back–completely naked–on his bed. You shake your head.

“Mm, no lotion” you say pathetically. You’re not sure why, but lately you’ve been having trouble forming actual sentences. 

Steve laughs a bit. “No lotion? I have to keep my little baby’s skin nice and soft. Baby skin is very sensitive” he says a bit more seriously, making you want to laugh at the ridiculousness of his statement. You just shake your head again, eyebrows furrowing to show your seriousness. Steve steps closer to you. “That wasn't a request.” he calls you by your name. Something you've quickly learned he only does before he's about to punish you. “I wasn't asking if you'd lay back. I was telling you.” His tone is absent of its usual mery. “Don’t be difficult. Now.” he demands. Your stomach somehow forms more knots. You decide to comply. You lay back, hands still clenching the towel around you. That doesn't seem to bother Steve though. He untangles your hands from themselves and slowly but firmly unwraps the towel from your body. You try to pretend this isn’t happening. Eyes not daring to meet Steve's while you’re completely and absolutely defenseless underneath him. Though you’re not looking at him, trying to ignore whatever it is that’s happening, his stare is burning into your skin, making you hot all over.

Steve takes his time. He warms the lotion up before it meets any part of your body. You still jolt when he touches you, not from any cold sensation, but just his touch. It startles you every time even though your body is bracing for it.

He doesn't miss a single area that needs it. He sits you up when it's time to do your back, and instructs you to move to the side to get your behind. He even lightly massages you as he goes. A gesture you might appreciate if you had a barrier of clothes. His final workspace is your midsection. And he spends a lot of time there, going over sections on your hips and stomach you know he’s already covered. 

You close your eyes when you feel his flat palm making its way down your middle, straight to where your more intimate part sits between your shaking legs. He doesn't touch you there. He’s just close enough, close enough to make you feel as though you're in a sauna. Fingertips ghosting around your mound in a way that makes you stop breathing completely. On one hand you feel as though you can’t recognize any sensation apart from how hard your heart is thumping. Nevertheless, you're overwhelmingly aware of how his steady hands circle around you, thumbs ghosting down the side, trailing to your inner thighs, where he stops. 

You’re crying. You don’t know how long you’ve been crying but the blanket underneath you feels wet on both sides from tears that have been waterfalling. 

This time, Steve acknowledges it.

“Oh-babygirl. I’m sorry.” he says, his tone almost implying he means it sincerely. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

And he didn't; he really didn't. Steve just can’t help it.

Steve liked to pride himself on his temperance and resolve. But when it comes to you. It’s as if you’re sunlight and he’s a flower that’s somehow survived the harshest winter. It’s as if you are the sun and he’s any and every plant compassing toward you, tidily locked by your gravity that he has no control over. You really are his light. And he’s waited for moments as close as these for what feels like an eternity. Every touch of your soft skin feels unreal. Like a vivid dream he wishes he’d never wake up from. But it is real. You're real, he’s made this real, he’s brought you here just for them. 

You’re his to have. But–he knows he can’t push things. He really doesn't want to scare you, and he certainly doesn't want to hurt you.

“Time. Just give it time.” Steve reassures himself silently. He just needs to give you time to adjust and maybe then you won't be crying at his every touch. His touch that he only means with love and care. That’s why he so delicately handles you, you’re the most precious thing that he needs to take care of.

Even so, the next few words that come out of his mouth disprove any actual guilt you think he might have.

“You must be so cold.” he says obviously, referring to your shaking, while touching your hot skin. “Dada shouldn't have let you sit out like this for so long.” you try to sit up, hoping this means he’s going to dress you soon but he lightly pushes back on your top half. “Not yet princess. Dada has to put on your bottoms.”

Thank god you think. Finally some clothes to cover up what you hate being exposed the most.

Just when you think this day’s episode of humiliation is over, Steve proves you wrong yet again with what he holds in his hands this time. 

A diaper. 

You really shouldn't be shocked by what you see considering you woke up in one upon your arrival. Honestly though, you had almost forgotten about it as Bucky has been dressing you in underwear ever since. You're almost too humiliated to speak but the adult side of you begs you to at least try.

“I-uhm, Dada?” you question, trying to figure out how to weasel your way out of this one, by saying something you know he likes.

‘Mmm?” he questions you while unfolding it. 

“Can-well-” you shake your head trying to form words “can I-just-can I wear just underwear…please.” you add.

He cocks his head at you quizzically, “No silly,” he says lightheartedly “Baby girls need these in case they have accidents.” he states confidently, now beckoning you to scoot closer to the edge of the bed. 

“But Bucky let m-” you quickly stop yourself midsentence of your fuck up. “D-Daddy le-” 

“Daddy isn’t here right now.” he says sternly. “And you’re going to do what I tell you. Here. Now.” he beckons you closer a second time, and when you take too long to comply, he takes it upon himself to roughly pull you towards him by your ankle. 

Instinctively–you kick at him, trying to stop whatever is happening. He sharply brings you to him, yanking you up in a second. His hand grips tightly around your jaw. 

“Is that a nice thing to do? Are you supposed to kick Dada? Hmm? Are you?”

You wriggle uncomfortably “let me go!” you plea stupidly.

“Oh, my poor baby.” he starts with that patronizing tone again. “Just don’t understand a thing in that little head do you?” He uses his other hand to caress your head as he says this. “I’m not letting you go.” he shakes his head “Never. What kind of dad would let this little girl go? Hmm? And where would you go? The big girl world? I know my baby can’t function out there. Too many big girl thoughts for that little head.” he pats at your head for emphasis. “Now I know you’re a confused little baby, but you’re smart enough to sit still and listen and do what Dada says, hmm?” He eyes you, one hand still holding your face while the other now keeps your arm pinned down. “Don’t you remember what happened last time you kicked Dada? Do you wanna be left all alone again?” Your face frowns, remember that long long night in your crib.

He moves your head side to side for you.

“Oh, good girl, what a good girl.” He praises even though you have not said a word. He keeps one hand on you while retrieving the original object that set you off.

“Now keep being a good girl and stay still while Dada dresses you. Understand?” he eyes you expectantly “If you move even once, I will have no choice but to punish you.” he looks at you with almost puppy eyes. “Now I know my dumb little girl can’t think for herself. That’s why you just listen and do what Dada says. You can do that, can’t you sweet girl?” Steve goes on and on, and you feel too stunned to speak, confused by his condescending words that really do make you feel silly as you just lay there truly dumbfounded by what is happening.

Steve does all the work again. He lifts your legs up and wraps your bottom snugly. Though you have no choice, you kind of at least wish you had the pull up from the other day…for some reason that one felt less embarrassing than this one as it is much more bulky.

Steve has you stand up after he finishes padding your bottom half, and he just stares at you.

“Oh my beautiful girl. Such a beautiful little girl.” he makes you spin around and you try to cover your upper half. Steve thinks to stop you, thinking how silly it is to try to cover yourself but how adorable it is that you’re doing that despite being unclothed in front of him for what has felt like to you-an eternity.

He finishes his praises while getting you into in the rest of your clothing. They're not too different from what you have been wearing, it’s another onesie, but this one is footed, and traps all of the heat your body has been producing the last hour in.

Steve smiles at you. “You’re so pretty, little angel.” he leans his head closer to you, and without you having any time to think, he places a kiss on your forehead. 

As you remember this morning you realize it could have gone a lot worse, that much resistance to Bucky would have probably not ended with a kiss to the head…you imagine anyway.  

You finally pick a book for him to read. A favorite of yours. 

Goodnight moon.

You somehow hope the familiar story will bring you some comfort into lulling you to bed tonight. Steve reads it to you well, even showing you the pictures as he goes. When he finishes you can’t help but give him a small smile. One you're sure he thinks is for him, but for you, you’re just happy he’ll be leaving you alone for the next few hours. 

As you lay there, home scented stuffie in arms, your mind starts to piece some things together. Fighting–obviously–isn't doing you any good. Sure, you get some–if any–pity when you cry, but besides that, there's really no pleading your way out of this. 

Your fingertips drift upward to the window right beside your bed. Its haunting palm marks from previous nights of trying to will it open giving you chills.

You make a mental note to try to wipe them off before they see them.

Normally, a foggy window would make you want to doodle a tiny drawing to giggle at later but you have no motivation or will to even make a shape. Your fingertips trace mindlessly making arbitrary marks.

Just as you're about to fall asleep you remember something. 

Bucky wasn't there this morning. An otherwise unnoteworthy fact as he came in with a brown bag of groceries in hand. But what he did after wasn't unnoteworthy. No–now that you think about this insignificant memory, you realize Bucky had keys in his hands, keys he must have used to unlock the door, keys you’re almost positive you saw him put in a drawer above the refrigerator.

Yes…if you were going to get yourself out of this situation, it wasn't going to be by loudly protesting. You were going to have to plan a quiet exit. 

They’d said it was a “down day.” A day to stay close. A “just us” day.

But now Steve and Bucky are standing with Sam and Bruce across the room, talking about something you can’t quite follow. They weren’t fighting or yelling. Just long words and nods, frowns that come and go. Every now and then someone laughs. Not in a mean way, just… not with you.

You glance at them.

They’re standing close together. Bucky has his arms crossed, looking serious like he does when he’s talking about grown-up things. Steve is listening and nodding along, sometimes talking too. Neither of them are looking at you.

You push your crayon a little harder into the paper. The tip breaks.

It startles you more than it should.

You look back at them again. They’re still not looking.

You scoot your bunny closer.

It’s not like they’re ignoring you… right? They’re just busy, just talking. They’ll come back soon.

But it’s been a long time. A whole coloring page time, a snack time, and a tummy-starts-to-hurt time.

You bite the inside of your cheek and try not to think about it.

You’re not mad. You’re not supposed to be mad. You get to have people who care about you now. Daddies who take care of you. You’re lucky. You’re supposed to be happy.

So why does your chest feel weird?

Your hand shakes a little when you reach for the next crayon. You're not allowed to be upset. That’s selfish, bratty.

You press your lips together.

Telling yourself that you shouldn't be thinking like this. Not when they’ve been so good. Not when they carry you, hold you, kiss your forehead, and call you baby. Not when they give you soft clothes, warm food, bubble baths, and everything.

Still…

The ache creeps in anyway.

You curl your legs up tight and hug your bunny close, crumpling just a little more in on yourself.

You glance at them one last time.

They’re still not looking.

So this time… you stop looking back.

You don’t cry yet. You just shrink, fold in a little smaller. Curl around your bunny like he can make you disappear if you hold him tight enough. He doesn’t say anything, just lies in your arms the way he always does, ears flopping over your hand, his little sewn-on smile not quite helping today.

They’re still talking, still far away.

You don’t want to bother them. You don’t want to be a problem.

You have been a lot lately. Needy. Clingy. Little all the time. You’d needed help getting dressed this morning and nearly cried when your sock felt funny. Bucky had fixed it without a word while Steve had kissed your head and said, “That’s okay, honey. We’ve got you.”

But maybe now they’re tired of it. Maybe they’re talking about that. Maybe they’re thinking: She’s too much. We didn’t sign up for this. She should be big today.

The guilt is a thick, sticky thing in your chest. It doesn’t explode, but it seeps slowly and heavily.

Your eyes sting even more but you try to blink it away. You don’t want to cry. If you cry, they’ll have to come over. And then you’ll be a problem again.

So you scoot back quietly, a little at a time.

You look over once more when you hear them again. They’re laughing at something Sam said.

You get up without thinking too much about it. You leave your coloring page, your crayons, even your bunny. Just long enough to shuffle behind the couch and curl up where no one can see.

It’s smaller here, quieter. No one will have to pretend to pay attention to you. No one will have to pause their important conversation to deal with you being silly and sad for no reason.

Your knees are under your chin. Your fingers twist the hem of your sleeve. You sniff once, very softly.

You tell yourself you’ll stay here just for a little bit until it stops hurting so much.

Meanwhile, there’s a pause in the conversation your daddies are having.

Steve’s mid-sentence when his eyes flick past the rug. His words trail off.

“Where’d she go?” He asks softly.

Bucky turns immediately. His arms unfold. His eyes scanning the room: the crayon box, the half-colored page, the stuffed bunny lying on its side like it was dropped quickly.

His heart skips.

“She was right there,” Bucky murmurs, already moving. “She was just–“

“She wouldn’t leave her bunny,” Steve says.

Bucky’s already crouching down, peeking under the coffee table, checking behind the armchair. “Sweetheart?” He calls, careful and calm. “C’mon, dove. Where’d you run off to?”

Steve moves slower. Not because he’s less worried but because he knows how this works. Littles don’t always hide because they want to be found. Sometimes… they hide because they think they shouldn’t be.

And that’s what cuts the deepest.

He spots the edge of your sleeve first. Tucked just behind the couch. Small and trembling.

He doesn’t speak right away. He crouches beside the couch, just enough to peek his head around the side.

There you are.

Curled up like a kitten in the dark. Knees to your chest. Face hidden in your arms. Not asleep. Just… trying to be invisible.

His heart aches.

“Hey,” He whispers gently. “There you are.”

You flinch at first, just a little.

Bucky hears the tone in Steve’s voice and kneels beside him a second later. “Baby,” He breathes, eyes softening instantly. “Oh, no…”

You don’t answer.

Steve doesn’t reach in. He just lowers his voice until it’s nothing but soothing for you. “We were looking for you, bug. Got a little worried when we couldn’t see you.”

You shrug, barely.

Bucky stays where he is, but his voice is warm. “Can you tell us what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

A sniffle.

Then, in a whisper so quiet it barely counts: “You were busy.”

Steve tilts his head. “Busy doesn’t mean we stop seeing you.”

“You forgot me…”

“Oh, baby,” Bucky’s voice softens as he adjusts his position so he’s closer to you. “No. No, we didn’t. We’d never.”

You finally glance up, eyes shining. “Didn’t wanna be annoyin’ or a bother.”

Steve’s hand comes to rest on the floor beside you, palm up and waiting. “You’re not. You never are, not even a little.”

“But…” You mumble, curling tighter. “Didn’t notice I was gone.”

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek, guilt pooling in his chest like lead. “That’s on us, baby,” He says gently. “That’s not your job to fix. You were hurting, and we weren’t paying close enough attention. That’s our mistake, not yours.”

Steve nods. “We’re so sorry, sweetheart. You matter, you always do.”

The tears come then, slow, quiet ones. The kind that you don’t want anyone to see, but they notice anyway. You don’t even know why you’re crying. It’s just too many feelings all at once.

“Can…” You whisper, eyes still wet, “Can I come out now?”

Steve’s voice breaks just a little. “Course you can.”

You slide forward into his arms, and he lifts you gently, like you weigh nothing. Bucky’s hands rub soothing circles on your back before leaning down to pick up your bunny and tuck it back into your arms.

“You never gotta hide from us, baby,” Bucky reassures. “Not your feelings, not for anything.”

Steve kisses the top of your head. “You’re safe now. You’re seen. Always.”

He doesn't let go either. Not even when he sits down fully on the couch with you still in his arms, curled against his chest like you belong there because you do. One big hand supports your back while the other cups your head gently, fingers combing through your hair in slow, steady motions.

Bucky follows close, sitting beside Steve and tugging your legs across his lap. His metal hand rests on your shin, grounding and cool.

You sniffle again. Not crying as much anymore.

“I didn’t wanna feel sad,” You whisper into Steve’s shirt.

“I know, honey,” Steve murmurs. “But you don’t have to be happy all the time to be loved. Littles get sad. And when you do, we come find you.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Bucky adds gently. “Feelings just… happen sometimes. Even the hard ones. We don’t want you to hide them or yourself.”

Your fingers twist in the fabric of Steve’s shirt. He lets you.

“I thought maybe I was too much,” You admit, voice so small it nearly disappears.

Steve’s arms tighten just a little. “You’re everything to us,” He says. “You’re never too much, you’re exactly you. And we love that you.”

“Even when I don’t talk?”

“Even then,” Bucky promises.

“Even when I cry?”

Steve kisses the top of your head. “Especially then.”

You nod into his chest, finally relaxing a little more, your legs draped across Bucky, arms tucked under your bunny, and eyes blinking slowly like you could drift off right there.

Bucky tugs a soft blanket over the three of you.

“Think our bug needs a recharge,” He says with a smile.

Steve chuckles, still stroking your back. “And maybe a snack after. You didn’t finish your juice box.”

You hum softly, barely awake. “C’n I have gummies too?”

Bucky leans in and brushes your cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You can have whatever you want, sweetheart.”

Steve’s voice is low, steady. “We’re not going anywhere. You don’t have to do anything but be here, with us.”

Your breathing slows.

The ache in your chest fades, replaced with warmth. Not just from the blanket. Not just from the quiet around you.

But from being seen, from being held, from being wanted.

And as you finally close your eyes, you realize you never needed to hide.

it’s been hours since there’s been a sound in your home. your dad is probably out, which makes it the perfect time to take out your frustrations.

he’s probably out running errands, you remember him telling you last night.

the vibrator was this cheap thing you'd ordered online a few weeks back, hidden in your drawer and it buzzed against you in a way that was almost too much at first.

your mind keeps wandering to stupid stuff, like how the sheets were bunching up under your hips or how your breathing sounded too loud in the empty room.

pressing it harder you shift again, wondering if you were even doing it right, if maybe you were broken or something because it just built and built but never quite tipped over.

that's when the door swings open wider, and there’s your dad with that look on his face, like he'd forgotten something and came back for it, but now he’s frozen, eyes dropping to where your hand was, the toy still humming faintly against your thigh because you'd yanked it away too fast.

he shuts the door behind him, which is what you dontt expect.

the soft click echoes in your head, and you scramble to pull the blanket over yourself, because shit, this is your dad.

maybe today is the day all those sneaky glances and little touches finally turn into something more.

"hey, kiddo—wait, shit, I didn't... I thought you were out," he mutters, but he doesn’t turn away. if anything, he moves closer to the bed, as he reaches out, to pluck the vibrator from your fingers before you could hide it properly.

god, it’s still slick with your juices, and you see the way his jaw tightens, eyes darkening as he switches it off and set it on the nightstand with a thud that makes you jump.

embarrassment floods you, but underneath it is a twisted relief because maybe he could fix it, maybe he knew something you didn't, and the way hes looking at you now only reiterates that he might know.

"sweetheart, you don't need that thing," he sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, and his hand brushes your knee through the blanket, sending a spark straight up your cunt that made you clench involuntarily.

his touch feels better than any toy ever could, you cannot deny that, so you don’t pull away. he tugs the blanket down slowly, exposing your legs, your hips, and you let him, your body betraying you with how it arches just a little toward him. "lemme show you how it's ‘sposed to feel, ‘kay? none of that mechanical crap. ya need real touch, baby." his voice is soft, framed in a way that’s a bit hesitant at the end, like he’s testing the waters, and you nod without thinking, breath catching as his fingers trail up your inner thigh, light at first, then pressing in, parting your legs wider.

"ya ever gotten there before? like, really let go?" he asks.

you shake your head, "no, daddy,” the little nickname slips in without any premise, “i … i try, but it never works. feels like I'm chasing something that isn't there."

his fingers inch higher, brushing against where you’re already wet, making you gasp

"alright, we'll take it slow, yeah?" he pauses, thumb circling just outside, teasing without diving in, and you could see the conflict on his face, the way his breathing had picked up. "is this okay, babygirl?" the words come out gruff, almost like he’s afraid you'd say no, but you don’t. you grab his wrist, holding it there, because this was already more intense than anything alone. "uh-huh, it's... it's okay, daddy just keep going, please."