#stockholm!reader

I made my way to my apartment, walking just faster than I normally would. I fought to keep my breath even, but my heart still beat rapidly in my chest and paranoia crept up the back of my neck the closer I got to my front door.

With a quick turn of my key I swiftly step past the threshold and slam the door closed. I rest my back against it and drop my chin to my chest, taking in one long deep breath. As I exhale, the ringing in my ears fades and the grinding of the fissure machines fill my small home once again.

The gathering is soon.

The last before we finally take action.

I pace from wall to wall, clearing personal items to free up chairs and crates for seats. There were about twenty in our team, each of them sick of Shimmer and how it was affecting everything in the under-city. The drug was flooding the streets like plague, ripping apart the delicate ecosystem of the fissures and its people. We had to survive down here. All of the people had looked out for one another, but now the fight for another glowing purple vial seemed to be more important than the fight for your neighbor.

I couldn’t take it anymore. Something had to be done.

A sudden knock made me jump. With a quick glance over the room, I approach the door to let in my first visitor. I looked through the peephole to see a familiar figure standing in the hallway. I rushed to let them in. 

“Ryot! You’re actually on time for once,” I giggle and pull the man in for a hug.

“Wouldn’t miss this for anythin’, Xylia,” he says as he pulls down his mask, “I wanted to get here early, just incase I needed to save ya from gettin’ cold feet,” he grins as he tilts his head forward slightly.

“No need for all that,” I sigh as I push his forehead causing him to smile and stand at full height, “I’m ready, dude,” I reassure him. “Let’s just review the game plan, make sure this is fool-proof.”

I knew I could count on Ryot; he has been there since the beginning. He grew up in The Sump and when it became my permanent home, he was the first one to take me under his wing. He taught me how to fight, to scavenge, to survive in the fissures. He was a long lost brother, gifted to me when I had nothing left, and I was grateful he had my back.

Ryot was also fed up with the Shimmer situation. The both of us had spoken about saving up and getting out of the fissures, climbing to The Lanes, but the drug was working its way up anyway. It was just as bad above us, and that's when we both decided; instead of running away, we would fight the problem at its source.

We would go after The Eye of Zaun. 

Walking into the lion’s den seemed like a deathwish, but we had carefully planned the attack. Months of following leads, sleepless nights of reconnaissance work, just to track down The Eye.

The man was an industrialist named Silco. He had been in power since I was a child. He fed the people of the under-city false hopes of being liberated from Piltover while simultaneously crippling them with a steady stream of Shimmer. If we take him out, the empire he built will topple. It seemed so simple, one person’s life to liberate a nation, but that was just talk. Liberating Zaun would take dedication and cunning.

Ryot had lost himself in the blue prints that were scattered across the table.

I could tell he was worried, his thick eyebrows furrowed as he nervously toyed with one of his long locs.

His golden eyes scan the documents, them flickering as he takes in every last detail, talking under his breath as he scribbles notes.

Sitting beside my brother, I put a hand on his shoulder before working to sort out the last of our plans before the others were to arrive.

It didn’t take long until each member of our team was present and there was a low humming of conversation. I step onto my table and suddenly the conversation goes silent and all eyes are on me.

“Tonight we gather to save our people.” I pause for a moment, trying to find the right words. I falter a moment before noticing Ryot close beside me, looking up at me with an encouraging smile before giving me a single nod. With a deep breath I continue, “Shimmer has become an epidemic, ravaging our city and I am tired of Piltover turning a blind eye. Refusing to help us. Instead, we shall be the ones to save our once great nation. Tonight we strike The Eye of Zaun down from his seat of power!”

As the entire room cheers Ryot helps me down from the table and a few people come and embrace me. 

“Why should we follow you on this fuckin’ suicide mission, aye?” The moment was cut short once another voice from the back of the room cut through the celebration.

“Excuse me?” Ryot turns toward the source of the voice.

“You heard me,” the voice comes again. It’s grovely, but familiar. The pale skinned half-elf pushes past the few at the back of the room and stops at the center. “I get what we are fightin’ for, but if we step foot in that place…” he says as his gaze moves from Ryot’s eyes to mine. “She’ll get us all killed.”

“Devexian,” Ryot says sternly, taking a single step toward him.

The room is silent as every face looks between the two men for their next move.

Devexian straightens his posture and looks down just slightly to Ryot who takes another step toward him.

“Do you remember when those carts of Shimmer would be hauled through our streets every day?” Ryot says calmly, taking another step toward Devexian. “Do you remember how people would crowd them everyday, waiting for one of His men to take pity on one of them and toss them a vial? Until somebody was fuckin’ dumb enough to try to take from them?” Ryot takes the final step to close the distance between the two men. His head is craned upward to make eye contact. 

“Do you remember how many people died that day, Devexian?”

Devexian’s adam’s apple bobs up and down with a loud gulp.

“Do you see those carts around anymore? Hm?” Ryot asks again, but before Devexian could answer Ryot chuckles. “Do you think they just left on their own?”

Devenxian’s silent as his glance shifts over Ryot’s shoulder to me.

“Ahhhh, yes,” Ryot sighs, “You got it,” he encourages before stepping to the side so he is no longer standing between me and Devexian.

“Xylia is why they are gone,” Ryot says in a flat tone, his playful smile gone. “She organized us. She rallied us together and made those Shimmer pushers too scared to use our streets,” he says as he returns to my side.

Devexian nods and looks down before taking a step back.

“My sister is not your enemy,” Ryot says toward him, but then looks around to address the room. “The slimey excuse of a human being that thinks himself big enough to call himself The fuckin’ Eye of Zaun. Is. Our. Enemy.”

The energy in the room spikes. Voices ring in agreement.

Ryot looks toward me with a smile.

“He’s right,” I say and step forward. “We have our target. And our plan. We will fight like we have every single day of our lives down here in the Sump,” I extend an encouraging look toward Devexian and he nods, “and we will win.”

***

The music could be heard outside of The Last Drop, the steady rumble of the bass thumped through the street. Standing beside the entrance, I basked in the glow of the green lights that illuminate the front of the building. I nervously tap my foot to the beat of the music, watching my people slowly enter the bar as I wait for Ryot to join me. He had stayed behind, claiming having to tie up some loose ends and make some last minute preparations, but he was taking longer than expected.

“Typical. He shows up early, but fuckin’ late when its time to get shit done.” I grumble, biting my lower lip as I flick the ashes from my cigarette before taking another long drag. As the minutes pass, my anxiety builds. We had a small window of time to attack and every single minute was indispensable.

During our reconnaissance missions we had noticed that over the past few weeks Silco had been on the move; never staying in one spot for too long. It seemed like he was planning something big, we just couldn’t figure out what it was. Shimmer shipments were moving steadily and our inside sources told us he had gotten the rights for a few more mines. That was normal, which made Silco’s off moves even more unsettling.

Looking down at my watch I let out a heavy sigh. Ryot needed to be here fifteen minutes ago. If we are any later, we have to pull our people out and who knows if they’ll even come back, or worse, Silco could be onto our plans and retaliate before we can regroup.

“Yo, Xy!” A familiar voice calls for me.

I could see the silhouette of Ryot in a nearby alleyway, his amber eyes almost glowing in the darkness. I drop my cigarette to the ground and step on it as I quickly walk up to him, already annoyed with his tardiness. “Where the fuck have you been Ry?!” I hissed.

“Like I said, last minute preps, dude.” He says with a grin, pulling a small device from his pocket.

“What’s that?” I ask while starting to reach for it, but he quickly pulls it away.

“Be careful!” He snaps, shaking his finger at me. “I spent the last few minutes rigging some explosives to the bar, just in case shit gets hairy. We’ll have an escape plan for our escape plan.”

My annoyance instantly melted away and I wrapped my arms around him, “You mean a plan B?”

“Yeah, plan B or whatever,” he giggles, playfully pushing me away. “Now c’mon, we don’t got much more time left.”

We both walk toward the entrance of the bar, “It’s now, or never,” I say brazenly.

“Now or never, sis.” Ryot chuckles, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, ushering me inside.

Walking into The Last Drop, we were immediately surrounded by colored smoke; a thick haze that seems to be consuming the whole building. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The green neon lights illuminated the haze, making the patrons into shadow-like ghosts dancing around the bar.

Ryot breaks away, giving my shoulder a comforting squeeze before he disappears into the fog.

I am still a moment, just watching his silhouette moving between the maze of tables before he finally lowers into a seat. Once I saw that he was in position I took a deep breath and made my way toward the bar. Taking a seat, I wave the bartender down. “Oi! Oi!” I try to yell over the music.

The bartender quickly glides toward me, throwing a hand towel over his shoulder as he says, “Wot can I get cha dearie?”

“Whiskey on the rocks, make it a double,” my voice strains as I try to talk over the music, “and open a tab!”

The man began making my drink. I watched him intently, trying to distract myself from the anxiety that was building in my stomach.

He placed the drink in front of me with a smile and began taking other drink orders from the people around me.

My heart pounds in my ears as I look down at the drink in my hand, the beat of my blood rushing through my veins nearly drowning out the music around me. I knew I had to act now or it would be too late. I took a deep breath as I leaned back against the bar, propping my elbows on the marble countertop. I needed to calm down. Anxiety meant impulsive choices and tonight we couldn’t afford any risks or mistakes. 

I was about to take a sip of my drink when something caught my eye; a slender man standing on the upper level of the bar. His eyes scan over the area below as he rests his forearms on the railing until his dual-colored gaze met my own. 

I froze.

Silco, the mighty Eye of Zaun, was looking at me. His fiery eye seemed to burn through my soul. 

Something told me to run; to call the whole thing off, gather everyone up, and bring them to safety. The tension in my body threatened to snap until that fear began to fade. The shaking in my bones calmed and a snarl creased harder on my face as a different feeling began to bubble to the surface.

Hate.

Hate for the man that caused me and my people so much pain. Even though we are already under the oppressive boot of Piltover, he still managed to profit off our suffering and make our lives even worse. I couldn’t back down now. The Eye of Zaun was here, everyone was in position, and we were ready to fight back. He cocked his head as he looked down at me with a curious grin. Anybody subject to his searing gaze would have turned away in fear by now, but I stood my ground.

I will not live in fear of him anymore.

Suddenly his glance shifts away and he straightens himself before stepping back into the shadows. With a smirk I quickly drink the glass of whiskey. I take a deep breath as its warmth runs down my arms and pools in the pit of my stomach before spreading throughout my body. I hold my drink for a moment, tapping my index finger against the glass, before suddenly slamming it on the ground. 

“FOR THE UNDERCITY!” I cry out across the bar. The glass explodes the instant it hits the floor. Conversation immediately stops as nearby patrons turn their attention toward the glass shards at my feet.

“Aye! The fuck ya think your doin’ ya brat?!” The bartender screams.

I reach for the dagger in my belt as I quickly turn on my heel toward the hot breath behind me. In an instant it lodges itself just between his eyes with a sickening crunch, sending the man crumbling to the ground like a rag doll.

Then suddenly, five more bodies drop, their necks cut from ear to ear by Ryot and a few others who had started their movement with the signal of the shattering glass. At that moment, time seemed to slow down. 

It was time to tear this place to the ground.

The room explodes into chaos and the two guards that were standing just inside the entrance come hurtling toward me at lightning speed, much faster than they should for how bulky they are. I raise my arms to brace for impact just before Ryot and Devexian collide with the two large men, bringing them to their knees before snapping their necks in one fluid motion.

In one fell swoop Ryot slips a dagger from his waist and tosses it in the air with a little flourish before catching it and extending his arm just as a woman steps close enough to be caught on his blade.

“Aahg!” the woman cries.

“Xylia! Find Silco!” Devexian commands as he raises an arm to block an incoming dagger. 

“We got it from here sis! Go!” Ryot barks and takes out his gun. He gives me a reassuring wink before shooting bullets into the other guards. 

I proudly smile at him before dashing into the crowd. Bodies and fists are crashing together as people flow through the exits, trying to escape the carnage. As I weave past fighters I duck into a corner near the bottom of a large stairway and turn back toward the destruction.

We are tearing through The Eye of Zaun’s army like paper. With each hit from the opponent, two of them drop. We came with blades and gunpowder and the amount of bodies on the floor proved how unprepared they were for our ambush. Everything is going according to plan. Now was the most crucial step of our plan, a piece that I trusted only with myself; the finishing blow to their leader to end this madness once and for all.

The guards that had been posted at the bottom of the stairs were now bleeding out in the middle of the bar. I take two steps upward, watching behind me to make sure I don’t catch the attention of anybody behind me. With stealth, I make it to the upper level of the bar where it was much darker, but luckily had less of the sickly green haze that made it difficult to see.

Still crouching, I take a moment to adjust to the dim lightning, allowing my irises to relax and further open to let in any and all bits of light. I felt like a predator on the hunt for its prey. With a slow breath in I dash to where I last saw the target, searching for any trace of him.

Searching the area I found a small hallway, barely shielded by thick curtains. Just as I step forward and cautiously bring my hand to the thick velvet…

BOOM

There is a loud blast that vibrates through my rib cage as I fight for balance while the building seems to sway.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I hiss as I stand from my crouch to turn around, clutching the railing as I look down into the green cloud of dust and debris. How did things go south so quickly? But I had just gotten up here? We had every guard on their ass! We had done everything right!

Pulling my pupils tight again, I focus on the shadows that push and pull the smoke until I recognize Ryot’s glowing golden eyes near the exit.

He looks terrified. Something was wrong, so very wrong.

I fought the urge to run to him as more of Silco’s fighters blocked their retreat.

Only one bomb had been triggered out of the supply Ryot had rigged, so he must still have confidence in the plan? Right?

My grip on the railing tightened as I watched what was left of my team pull back from the exit as Ryot led them to the other end of the bar, but Silco’s followers were close behind.

“They knew we were coming!” An unknown voice shrieked and my heart dropped into my stomach.

No. We had been so careful not to let things slip. Everyone was a long time friend or trusted acquaintance. There was no possible way they could have known we were coming.

Watching everyone try to run away, sent me into a panic. I needed to act fast. If I didn’t get to The Eye of Zaun now, he wouldn’t just send his men after us. He would spend the rest of his days hunting us down like common vermin until the threat was terminated.

Each of us knew the risks. We all understood that whatever happened in the bar was second only to the ultimate goal. For me to make it to Silco and kill him.

Silco would not triumph. We needed to stay in this fight.

With one last look I turn away from the railing, slipping my hands into the slit of the heavy curtains before darting down the hall while doing my best to keep my footsteps quick and nimble. The Eye was within my reach, the blueprint of The Last Drop almost overlapping my vision as I flit to the last door on the left.

I could finally bring this war to an end. 

This fight couldn’t be for nothing.

I stand before a dark wooden door, and for a moment I hesitate. I know whatever lies behind this door could either free everyone from the Eye’s oppressive grip on the Under City or kill me. I twist the door handle and the clicks open, the pale green light of the neons shining through the crack. I take a deep breath in before I take out my dagger and-

CRACK!

The feeling of metal hitting the back of my head, caused me to lurch forward, falling to my knees. My vision now hazy, so I turn to look at my attacker.

CRACK!

I do not get the chance, I am plunged into total blackness.

***

A bolt of white hot pain flashes across my chest, my eyes shoot open and I try to scream for Ryot, but all I can manage to do is let out a panicked whimper of pain. I look down to see my top stained red. I try to bring my hand to the cloth to check on the wound underneath, only to struggle against the rusted metal clamps restraining my forearms and the rope that kept my calves tight to the legs of the chair.

“Fuck!” I grunt as I try to pull my arms out of their confines, but even my slim hands can’t be pulled through the steel cylinder.  My eyes flash upward. I’m in a small room with a burning torch hung beside the large wooden door. The walls are a mix of stone and metal, dusty and dank. I pull my head as far as I can to my right in an attempt to look over my shoulder and behind me, but just as my chin meets my shoulder my right collar bone cracks. The scream that left my body shook my bones and echoed in the small cellar of a room. I drop my head, panting and trying to stay as still as I can as the fire of my movement dulls to a throbbing ache.

Suddenly the large wooden door swings open and hits the hall behind it, the speed of the movement almost blowing out the torch.

“You’re finally awake,” a deep and grainy voice says as it’s figure ducks under the door frame and lifts the torch from it’s casing on the stone.

“Fuck off!” I spit as far as I can, my loogy making it just in front of the man’s feet. “Where am I!?”

The man closes the door before turning back toward me, his wide gate allowing him to approach me in only two steps. With him closer and holding the torch I can now see his face. His skin is a pale blue and he’s covered in black geometric tattoos. He leans in closer, “The vermin wants to know where she is,” he chuckles and a lighter voice joins behind him.

I gasp and strain against my bindings as another figure comes into view. 

They had short dirty blonde hair that went every which way like they went at it with a pair of sheers and no mirror. Their face is dusty and as they approach the larger figure’s side they grin and show they are missing three of their top teeth. “Hello, Dear,” they grin as their eyes flash purple.

“Where am I!?” I demand again, and try again to pull my arms free only to bruise my wrists even further.

“Yonn, the light,” the smaller figure gestures and the one called Yonn steps closer, holding the torch over my head. I try to look up, but my collar bone screams again. I pant as I continue to pull against the clamps as the blonde reaches into their coat.

“You will refer to me as Nastoen,” they say as they slowly pull out a crystal tagger, the length continuing and continuing almost impossibly long for where they kept it until they swiftly adjust their grip to direct it’s tip at my face.

“What the fuck is going on?” I snap.

“It seems there was an attempt on the Eye of Zaun’s life,” they say as they turn away to pace slightly. 

I remain quiet, hoping they would give me more information.

“I’ve been asked, due to my… skills,” Nastoen flicks the dagger easily in their fingers, “to acquire information from you-”

I spit again.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Nastoen smiles as they move their blade to deflect my projectile with no effort. Their crystal blade glows like a fiery opal where my saliva touched it. It sizzles slightly as the moisture burns away. Then in one smooth moment they were back in front of me, the tip of their dagger an inch from my neck. “You will tell me who was involved in this failed coup,” the blade moves closer.

“I’m not going to tell you anything.”

Nastoen grins and gently slides the edge of the crystal against my neck, the gem glowing as it meets my skin. I cry out, as I feel the strange blade heat up against my skin. Struggling against the chair to try to move away, but my head just hits against the back of the chair as it feels like my throat is being torn apart by molten glass. They pull their blade away and I gasp as I look down, expecting to see my blood pouring onto my lap, but there was none.

“Interesting thing, this crystal,” Nastoen says as they carefully examine the length of the dagger, careful to keep their hand on the stone grip. “Shimmer isn’t the only thing they cultivate in those mines,” they say as they point the top of their tagger at my hand. “There’s a natural crystal down there that when soaked in shimmer, has some interesting properties,” they bite their bottom lip as they rest the tip of the blade on my hand.

I cry out, cursing loudly as opalescent sparks fly from my skin and when they pull away, all that is left is a cauterized gash in my skin. For a moment, I feel like I am going to pass out again, but the blade is suddenly at my cheek and I can feel my skin starting to bubble. “The wounds tend to heal quickly, but I’ve been told the burn,” they say as they push the blade just slightly deeper into my cheek, “is the worst pain one can experience.”

I scream again as Nastoen pushes deeper into my face, making my teeth feel as if they are going to pop out of my skull, before he pulls back again. My head falls forward causing another crack to come from my collar bone, but even now that pain is dwarfed compared to what I had just experienced. “The blade…” I croak.

Nastoen adjusts their shoulders and smirks. “The Sump Rat has something to say?”

“The blade does all the work,” I sigh with a smug smile, I will not let him break me, “You have no skill.”

The last thing I remember is the way their face pulled into a grimace and then the indescribable burn of the blade before everything went black. Each time I came to there were more burns on my hands and arms. I was thrown more questions that I did not answer.

Then darkness, again.

I don’t know how long I was out between each interrogation, but each time my eyes fluttered open the dagger flew to a new portion of my exposed skin until Nastoen started cutting through my clothes to reach the untouched flesh underneath.

“Tell me! Who sent you!!” Nastoen shouts.

So much time had passed that even the torch Yonn still held above me less of a flame and more of a stake that burned like almost dead coal after a fire. I fought to lift my head. I lost count of how many times the crystal blade was held to my skin and how many time’s the world had gone black because of it.

“You know, you really suck at talking to women.” I say through nearly gritted teeth, the pain of talking is almost too much to bear.

“You smart mouthed brat! If you don’t want to talk I’ll just-” Nastoen’s nostrils flared as they lifted their dagger into the air.

I wince, preparing for the searing burn of the blade to cause me to fade away again.

“That’s enough.”

I opened my eyes to see Nastoen still standing with their arm held high, panting as they looked down at me with wild eyes. They slowly lower their arm, never losing their grip of their dagger, prepared to maim in an instant.

The dim light from the torch moved as Yonn left my side and moved away with Nastoen.

“You are quite the survivor,” the voice speaks again as he takes a step closer to me. “Amazing you still haven’t spilled any of your secrets.”

With Yonn’s torch now behind the figure, all I could see was the slim silhouette of a man approaching me. “There are no secrets to tell.” I groan, my throat burning from the deep wound across the middle of my neck.

“That is just fine, darling. Those friends of yours didn’t put up nearly as much of a fight.”

“Don’t you dare touch them!” I growl.

“There’s just a bit more information I am seeking, and I think you can help me.”

“Fuck you.” I seeth.

“Ah, I think you may change your mind. See, I have something that Nastoen here does not. Much more persuasive than a charming little dagger,” the shadow says playfully.

Suddenly a figure is thrown to the floor beside the man; the shadow coughs.

My blood instantly runs cold, it’s Ryot.

“Xy- don’t tell ‘em anyth-” Ryot starts until Yonn’s boot comes down on his back.

Tears well in my eyes as I look back toward the figure. “Who are you?” I demand.

There’s a low chuckle and a small movement before a light that is glowing purple, is pulled from the man’s coat. Suddenly his body is illuminated by the vial of shimmer and my breath catches in my throat as I see him lifting the vial,  a soft, purple glow revealing his scarred face and corrupted eye.

Silco.

I gasp, but before I can speak, the sound of another person being dragged into the small room catches my attention. “Please, please just let us go-” Devexian cries as his body hits the floor.

I fight to hold back the tears, but they suddenly fall down my cheeks. They are all alive, they somehow lived through whatever happened at the bar. I was relieved to see them unharmed, but I knew that would not last long if I didn’t act fast. “It was me!” I yell, a jolt of pain surging through me when I do, “All me!” I cough, trying to keep my voice strong.

Two more large men enter the room with lit torches and toss another body onto the ground, and another. They were piling my friends on top of each other and I blinked through my tears as I scanned over their bodies for any sign of movement. Some of their hands twitched and some of them groaned, but half of them didn’t move at all.

“Please! I talked them into it! I- I told them I’d pay them if they helped me fight,” I lied, trying to keep my voice as even as I can.

“Xylia-don’t do this.” Ryot mumbles from the floor.

I quickly cut him off, “Please let them go. Please,” I pull at my restraints again, but they still don’t budge.

Silco’s posture straightens before he tosses the vial of shimmer to Yonn, I could hear him chuckle, “Good riddance.” before leaving the room with Nastoen. 

I watch as Silco steps over a limp body toward Devexian. Tears stream down my cheeks as I flex against my bindings over and over with no success in breaking them. He grabs the hair at the back of his head and yanks backward, craning it back to expose his neck. “I can't have people who are so easily swayed toward violence with just a bit of coin, running in the streets,” Silco says as he reaches into his coat again, but this time pulling out a dagger.

“We can come to an agreement! Stop!” I cry, my eyes flashing between the dagger at Devexian’s neck and Ryot, nearly lifeless on the floor next to him.

Devexian weakly brings a hand to Silco’s.

“A band of assassins isn't safe for Zaun,” he says calmly as he effortlessly drags the blade through Devexian’s neck.

“No!” I scream, watching his blood pour into the stone floor.

Silco keeps his grip on Devexian’s hair for a moment, watching as his blood pumps onto the ground with the last few beats of his heart, before dropping him back into the pool of thick crimson. He steps over his body and kneels beside Ryot, doing the same; yanking his hair to crane his head back to expose his neck.

“It was me! It was me! It was all me!” I sob.

Ryot’s golden eyes meet mine.

“I paid them off! I talked them into it!”

“The city is safer this way,” Silco says, dragging his dagger through Ryot’s throat.

The glowing ember of Ryot’s eyes fades to a dull yellow.

“You fucking monster!” I scream as I watch the growing puddle of blood under Ryot’s body.

Silco stands, wipes his blade on a handkerchief, and pockets his dagger. “Kill the rest,” he demands, cold and emotionless.

He walks out of the room as his henchmen reveal their own daggers and knives, walking to each body, even those already dead, pulling their blades through flesh over and over again until the smell of iron fills the small room.

“Stop!” I beg, choking on my tears, “Please! Stop!”

With blood still dripping from their knife, one of the large men steps toward me, leaning in close enough that their musty breath fans over my face as they chuckle.

I throw my head toward his, the crack of his skull echoes, calling attention to the other henchmen as they kick the bodies of my crew to the walls and off of the main floor.

Just as their eyes meet mine I pull my arm once more and with a final crunch of my wrist, my arm is free.

In the instant they start stomping toward me I reach for the knife that had clattered to the floor and cut my legs free. I stand and spin, swinging the wooden chair into the closest body coming for me. They crumple to the ground as the chair breaks into pieces, leaving the metal cuff on my forearm, but overall, I am free.

I refuse to die without a fight.

Three of Silco’s men stand before me, readying themselves for me to strike. 

My body aches as I step before them, muscles weighed down by grief and fear. I look down at my boots leaving prints in the layer of blood that had flooded over the stone. Then, the blood fades away. The bodies fade away. I see red as I lift the knife in front of me. The first guard smirks and as they lunge toward me, I easily duck below the swipe of their massive arm, before lodging the knife into their thigh and pulling with all of my strength causing the blade to slice through their femoral artery. They are brought to their knees with a garbled scream, before they fall over, smacking into the wet floor.

The second and third charge at me at the same time. I dodge a punch on the right and deflect a blade with the cuff still on my forearm. Using that moment of their surprise, I thrust my arm upward, lodging the full length of my dagger under their chin. They instantly fall, and as I’m pulling back my arm, I spin and force my knife into the last guard’s gut with all the strength I can muster. Blood spattering into my face as he coughs, before falling to the ground.

Adrenaline is coursing through my veins as I look over my hands, bright red with fresh blood. Then I remember…my brother.

I run to Ryot, kneeling in the pool of blood that surrounds him. I push his shoulder and he rolls onto his back. I hope to see his comforting expression he always has, but his face is pale and cold to the touch.

“Ryot… Ryot please…” I say as I hold his cheeks, his dim eyes staring up at me. “Ryot wake up.” I cry, my tears falling onto him. “Ryot!” I shake his limp body, searching for any sign of life. Pressing my head to his blood soaked chest, I listen for a heartbeat, but I am met with nothing. I let out deep heavy sobs, clinging to his cold body.

I couldn’t hear the steps over my painful cries. Suddenly, I feel a sharp pinch between my shoulder blades before I collapse even further onto the floor.  My vision blurs as I look up to the figure of a large woman looming over me. Here

“Sevika?” I groan as I try to lift myself from the ground. “What the fuck did you do to me?”

“A little somethin’ to keep you in check.” She smirks, before picking me off the ground and tossing me onto her shoulder.

I try to struggle against her, but my limbs feel heavy again. She kicks Ryot’s corpse out of her way before carrying me out of the room, I fight to keep my eyes open as I sway with each of her steps. The woman stops for a moment, I come to for a moment, trying to stay hyper vigilant of my surroundings. 

“What do you want me to do with this one, Boss?” Sevika’s voice is low.

There isn’t a reply at first, all I can hear are footsteps that stop behind Sevika. I turn my head toward the sound and wince as my tired muscles scream at me. I am met with the sight of Silco standing before the both of us.

“Hmm,” Silco hums in thought.

He’s so close. If only I could just move my fucking arms, I could get him. 

I could feel the drug taking effect, making my already worn out body feel even more exhausted. My entire body feels like lead and as blood rushes to my fingertips, I can’t seem to move my arms anymore at all. With the strike of his lighter he looks at me with a humored grin. He lights his cigar and takes a long draw in before exhaling into my face. “She’s got some fight in her, maybe she can be of use to us.”

“You fucking monster.” I  manage to growl.

He lifts his hand and gently grabs my face.

“And she has a smart mouth, too,” he pauses, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “She will come back with us. Maybe she’ll be of use…” his cold gaze meets mine again, “or not, we shall leave that up to her.”

I strain against the weight of my body while Sevika begins to walk out of the building. As she carries me down the street, the sun begins to peek over the edge of the cliffs, warming my skin. I fight to stay awake but the warmth of the rising sun and the rocking of Sevika’s steps lull me to sleep.

I do not know where Silco is taking me, but even as I drift into a fitful rest, fear of what will happen next overtakes me. Last night, this man had taken so much from me, now he threatens to take what little freedom I have left.

*** READ CHAPTER 2 ***

"Daddy? What's wrong?" you peaked your head into his office, anxiously reaching out for his arm.

"I told you to wait in my bedroom!" Bucky snapped, making you jump back, fear in your eyes, a pang of guilt cutting through his anger.

"Go," he said more gently, running a hand through his hair with a deep sigh.

"I'll take care of it," Steve spoke, gesturing for Bucky to follow you.

He walked back through the house, the one he'd kept you in for eight months, building a life you were finally warming up to. The door to your bedroom - which was rarely used - was closed when Bucky came down the hall. Bucky quietly pushed it open, taking in the soft pink light that streamed through the curtains. You looked beautiful, despite your face being wet with tears. You were curled up in the corner of the bed, biting your fingertips as you cried softly, your cheek resting on your knees as you curled in on yourself.

"I know I disobeyed," you choked, holding something out to him.

Bucky approached you to see what was in your hand, surprised to see the pink leather strap that he'd taken to your backside many times before, whenever he'd felt you earned it in the past eight months. He took it from your hand, kneeling down in front of you.

“Please just spank me, I can’t bear to have you angry at me,” you begged hoarsely, once again shocking him.

“I need it,” you interrupted as he opened his mouth, and the words died in his throat.

Bucky stood, wiping your tears with his thumbs, cradling your face. His vibranium hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you up onto your knees, your head lowering to the bed.

He hushed your whimper, pushing up the slip around your waist. His palm smoothed over your bare skin, the touch tender, a silent communication that he was no longer angry. You kept your face buried in the pink sheets, darkened with the puddle of tears.

Bucky placed his hand on the small of your back, steadying you before the strap cracked against your delicate skin. You sobbed in relief, aware that Bucky wasn’t spanking you nearly as hard as he was capable, doing this for your benefit over his. The leather licked across your skin again, three times quickly in succession. Your cries turned to moans as Bucky took advantage of your exposed position, playing with your dripping sex. He watched your expression change as he gently circled your clit, feeling it harden under his fingertips, slick running down the skin.

“Want you to come, baby. It’s okay, just let me make it feel better,” Bucky coaxed soothingly, gently fucking you on two of his fingers as he continued to stroke you.

The sting in your backside had turned to a dull warmth, mixing with the heat throbbing between your hips. You were close to an orgasm after only moments of this — Bucky knowing exactly how to touch you.

A shudder rolled down your spine before you melted into a euphoria that left your thighs twitching and your cunt spasming. Bucky gave you a moment to catch your breath before wordlessly cleaning you up. He gently eased you out of your collapsed heap on the bed, adjusting you to curl up against his chest, your body folded between his legs.

“I love you.” He whispered into your hair, squeezing you as if he could absorb the stray sobs that wracked your shoulders.

“We’re going to have to go?” You whispered, confirming that you had caught the end of his conversation with Steve.

“For a little bit. I will keep you safe with me, I won’t let anyone harm you,” Bucky promised, firmly pressing a kiss to your forehead, cradling your body in his arms.

.🍓.

Steve praised you as you drank the sedative Bucky made, the two of them preparing to take you to a private airfield, to get you far away from Stark’s looming investigation.

“You’ll keep me safe?” You whispered to Bucky, holding his forearm, your eyes glassy.

“I’ll protect you with my life. Nobody can take you away,” he stroked your cheek, nodding at Steve as your eyelashes began to blink heavily. You sank into the bed, your hand slipping off of Bucky and dangling over the edge. When he lifted you, your body was limp, affected by the much heavier dose you’d been given, to ensure you could get on the plane without an issue.

Despite Steve there with trained medical assistance, it gave Bucky anxiety to see you that way. Though you would have gone with him willingly, he still didn’t want to risk losing you, counting down the moments until he had gotten you out of the country.

Bucky carried you onto the private plane, lying you down on white leather seats. Steve handed him a blanket to drape over you, a gesture that reminded Bucky how thankful he was that Steve was coming abroad, not leaving him alone.

“I hate to do this to her,” Bucky confessed, the back of his finger stroking your cheek.

“She’ll be fine, she’ll adjust.”

.

It was dark when you came to, no idea how much time had passed, or where you were. After a moment of orienting yourself, you realized you were in the back seat of a large SUV, too lethargic to fully sit up.

“James?” You mumbled, too out of it to even think about the fact you spoke his name.

He looked down at you in surprise, softening at the sound of his name on your lips. He’d expected to be angry if you ever called him by his name, but your call out to him had the opposite effect.

“I’m here, my love. We’re almost home, where you can sleep properly,” Bucky promised, tenderly cradling your head in his lap.

“Where’s home?”

“Sokovia.”

You dozed in and out of consciousness, barely waking up to process that Bucky was carrying you somewhere, men speaking overhead in a language you couldn’t understand.

Your limbs were heavy, head pounding and full of fog. Maybe you’d woken — maybe you hadn’t — it wasn’t clear.

.

There was no sunshine to greet you. You’d finally awoken in a grey room — a storm raging outside in the same hues as your bleak surroundings. It was terribly cold, and much darker than the daytime you were used to.

A man walked by, shouting sharply in a language you didn’t understand. You jumped, cowering back against the corner of the couch you were on, startled by the unfamiliarity of everything.

“You’re okay, you’re safe here.”

At the sound of James’ voice, the tension left your back and you visibly relaxed once you saw him. He came to your side, touching your forehead to feel for a fever. You leaned into his touch, anxious for some familiarity, yearning for him to comfort you.

“How do you feel?” James questioned, tilting your chin up and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“M’heads foggy,” you mumbled, knuckling at your bleary eyes.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he embraced you, clinging to him and burying your face in him. James stood, carrying you out of the office he’d been working in. He took you to what you presumed was your shared room in this new country, setting you down at the edge of the bed.

It was so different than your traditional home Bucky had before. This building was a brutalist design, stark concrete that matched the grey weather outside. The bedroom was more of a suite, a table and couch on one end, and the tub in the room instead of in the attached bath. Views out large windows overlooked an industrial city, centuries old and weathered by the cruelty of time.

You turned at the sound of running water, James drawing a bath for you in the huge bathtub. His hair hung down messily in his eyes as he leaned over, ditching his teeshirt to reveal extremely toned muscles. As you watched, a warmth began to spread through your chest, encasing your body as you ached for intimacy.

James looked up as he felt you approach, pausing to kiss your temple. He stilled when your hand went to his torso, fingertips tracing the definition of his abdomen.

“Will you get in with me, please?” You asked, looking up to meet his eyes, quietly holding his gaze.

“Of course. C’mere,” James’ voice came out in a whisper, his fingers tilting your chin up.

You kissed him softly, stepping closer so your bodies were touching, his arms snaking around your waist. This kiss felt different, so intimate and loving compared to your history. You exhaled as he pulled away to get in the bath with you, his back resting against the high side of the tub.

“James, I—” you began, straddling his waist and reaching below the water to touch him.

His head rested to the side, mesmerized by how sweet his name sounded on your lips, still so unused to it.

“Baby, wait. Our first time can’t be like this. You deserve better,” he insisted gently, stopping you from riding him.

The surprise was evident on your features, and his wet hand cupped your cheek to pull you into another kiss.

“I want to, I do, more than anything. Just not here, not in this state,” he spoke against your skin, relaxing as you nodded.

You sat down in the water, letting him massage soap over your sore body. He hummed softly as he touched you, fingertips trailing up and down your spine, basking in your short-lived peace.

The door swung open, making you jump and cover your chest with your arms, frightened by the intrusion.

“Don’t you knock?” James snapped, standing up.

Water dripped from his Adonis form, completely bare and on display as he climbed out of the tub. He wasn’t shy in front of the blond man who’d stormed in, one with harsh eyes and sharp features.

“It’s my house,” he snapped back in an unwaveringly impatient tone before launching quickly into the language you didn’t understand.

“Come,” James interrupted him, reaching to help you out of the bath.

You hesitated, not wanting to be seen naked by the stranger who had stormed in, but took his hand out of obedience.

“I’m not looking at you,” he waved dismissively before turning and slamming the door behind him.

“That’s Zemo, the baron who is hosting us. It is his compound. He won’t hurt you,” James gently explained, helping you out of the water and handing you a towel.

“I’ve got to go help him with some work. You’re free to roam inside, everywhere is stationed with his private security. Steve’s around here too, should you need something. Be my good girl?” He was apologetic, but you nodded bravely, watching him go.

Despite having more freedom to explore than you expected, you weren’t keen on wandering around the cement castle surrounded by strange men who didn’t speak your language.

You found that your new place had also come with a new wardrobe, likely in the rush to leave the states. A grin crossed your face as you pulled sweats from the drawer, unable to help yourself but be thankful for more practical clothing. It was cold in sokovia, colder in the cement and stone compound. You found matching socks, comfy as possible in your drug-hangover.

The growling of your stomach became impossible to ignore, resigning to find something to eat. A long hallway stretched out past your room, most of the adjacent doors closed. Unsure of what to do, you walked through the building, listening for a familiar voice.

“Steve?” You called, unnerved by the silent security that watched from doorways.

Your voice became more desperate, wanting the protection of your lover but unable to get it.

“I’m here,” Steve’s voice sent a wave of relief over you, seeing him in an office, closing his laptop.

“You’re awake, and hungry, I’m sure?”

A nod confirmed his ability to read your mind, and he led you down to an immaculate kitchen. Glass doors lined the dining side, looking out into frostbit gardens, stretching for several acres of the compound.

“You should spend some time outside on a nicer day. Some vitamin D would be good for you,” Steve noticed you staring.

You took a seat at the bar top as he set out some toast for you to eat while he made smoothies. The loud grind of the blender made you cringe, earning an apologetic smile. Steve explained that you needed rest and extra hydration to recover as you drank your smoothie, though you slowly began to space, losing track of what he was saying.

.

When James finally got out of meetings with Zemo, it was pitch black outside in the unforgiving night. He crossed a small courtyard to the building you were in — where the living quarters were, and went in search of you.

“Hey,” Steve stopped him in the hall, signaling to be quiet.

“She ate some, but definitely still out of it. She’s asleep in here, wouldn’t go back to your room alone,” he explained, letting James in his office, where you were contorted into a chair. James knelt down, gently rubbing a hand over your thigh.

“Baby,” he murmured, rousing you out of your fitful sleep.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

You nodded, getting up and taking his hand. James said goodnight to Steve before returning to your suite, rubbing your back over the lilac sweats he’d gotten for you.

His hand slipped from yours as he went to change out of his suit, running his hands through messy dark hair as he pulled it out of its bun. You walked up behind James, wrapping your arms around him and resting your cheek against his back.

James’ hand went over yours, gently thumbing over your knuckles and standing in the quiet with you. You clung to him, your consistency in what was so much chaos, needing him to ground you.

The doors were heavily bolted, reinforced steel. All the windows were bulletproof glass, sealed shut and covered by metal bars, imprisoning you in the house. Bucky had a set of keys somewhere, because he let himself out of the house to get groceries. The outside fence and gate was another obstacle, and escaping seemed like a distant fantasy the longer you wandered around the house. Bucky had spent months building the most secure safehouse he could, one where no one would find you, and you could never escape from. 

An idea occurred to you, filling you with dread. Would freedom be worth killing him? You ran into the kitchen, searching for a knife, pulling on drawers to find them all locked — all except for the one filled with little pink plastic utensils that were for you to use. Disdain swirled in your stomach as you stared at them, loathing the way he infantilized you, even if the smallest part of you enjoyed the mindless babying.

“What’re you looking for?” Bucky asked hoarsely, his voice deep and gravely from sleep.

You froze, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to think of how to get out of trouble, to shake his suspicion. His gaze was frightening, and you felt like prey caught in a trap. 

“M’hungry, daddy. I didn’t want to wake you up,” you whispered, cheeks heating as you attempted to appease him.

He hummed, uncertain if he believed you, but you opened your arms, reaching out to him. Bucky hugged you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He was surprised that you seemed to welcome his touch, making him question if you were really plotting an escape.

“How about some waffles?”

You nodded shyly, gasping as he lifted you to sit up on the counter, the marble cold beneath your bare thighs.

“I want some coffee,” you said, catching his bicep as he poured himself a cup.

“You’re too li-”

“But I’ve been behaving. I’ve been your good girl,” you interrupted, sick of his delusional ‘you’re too little.’

Bucky paused, knowing you were right. You had been good, obeying everything he said for the last two weeks, too afraid of being viciously spanked again. Bucky’s punishments terrified you, his sadism overpowering his desire to protect and baby you. A shudder rolled down your spine at the memory, and a reaction Bucky recognized with some level of satisfaction. His torture was effective.

“Just one,” Bucky instructed, pouring you a small cup with a bit of milk.

You watched him mix batter beside you on the counter, pouring it into a waffle maker as a sweet scent slowly filled the kitchen. You sipped the coffee, noting that it didn’t taste like what you made at home, the desire to escape relit in your heart. It was bitter and dark, causing you to nearly gag on the taste.

“What’s that face?” Bucky asked, gently thumbing over your pouted lip. 

“It’s not like... It doesn’t taste like I thought,” you whispered, glancing down at your coffee. 

You didn’t say “it’s not like the coffee I used to make,” remembering Bucky’s threat to beat you if you talked about your life before him. He said nothing, taking the cup from your hands and pouring its contents down the sink. He frowned when he saw your eyes were glassy, tears welling at your waterline as your bottom lip trembled. 

“Oh, babydoll, it’s okay. Daddy’ll give you your special pink milk later, it’ll taste much better than my icky coffee,” he attempted to console you, his thumb smoothing over your lips.

Bucky cut your waffle for you, placing sliced strawberries on top, making it look pretty and tasty. He adored taking time to spoil you, even though you were never as grateful as you should be. In his fantasy, you appreciated everything whether or not it was clear.

“Go sit down,” Bucky commanded gently, handing you the plate and giving you an encouraging nudge toward the table.

You slowly forked the little bites into your mouth, staring out the window at the sunny day outside. Your captor watched you, studying your longing gaze. With the perimeter secured, he had thought of letting you into the yard today, until he’d woken to discover you searching for an escape route. He’d let you off this time, unsure if your excuse was partially true, and the way you’d hugged him melted his heart. He hoped there wouldn’t be a next time, but it was inevitable that you would try to run, you hadn’t yet accepted fate or fallen for him as he dreamed.

“Eat all of it, please,” Bucky spoke as you poked at the last few pieces.

You began to cry again, too frightened to talk back, despite being too full to finish the last few bites. You knew Bucky was meticulous about your health, but you really weren’t up for the big serving he’d given you, your appetite diminished from your failure of escape.

“Oh, baby. What is it, talk to me?” He tilted your chin up, preventing you from hiding your tears.

“I d-don’t want you to s-spank me for back t-talking,” you sniffed between hiccups, moisture streaming down your flushed cheeks.

“I’m just full, please don’t make me eat anymore,” you cried, flinching as he raised his metal hand.

Bucky’s heart broke, his hand gently coming down to stroke your hair, as he intended. He didn’t mean to make you cry, recognizing that you weren’t just being difficult. He had only attempted to comfort you, raising his hand without considering your fear of being hit.

“Breathe, doll. You don’t have to finish it, it’s alright. You don’t have to eat anymore,” he assured you, taking the leftovers away.

You pulled your knees to your chest, trying to calm your pathetic little sobs. Bucky finished the dishes, walking over to kneel down on the floor in front of you.

“Are all of these tears because you’re overly tired? My poor baby,” he carefully lifted you up, his hands warm under your thighs.

You didn’t answer, hiccuping softly as you sobbed, your cheek resting on his shoulder. He carried you through the house, back to your bedroom, before sitting down in the rocking chair with you. Your thin silk nightie was bunched up around your waist, only tiny pink panties covering your lower half, the sight catching Bucky’s attention.

He wrestled between wanting to calm you down and wanting to rip the little pink silk from your body and fuck you into next week. You were so small and delicate in his arms, and he could see a little dark patch on your panties from the moisture that had seeped through. He wondered if you’d been touching yourself before you got up that morning, or if it was from a wet dream.

“Daddy,” you whimpered, yanking him out of his filthy daydream.

He looked down, realizing he’d been absentmindedly rubbing his finger over the now-soaking cotton that hugged your pussy. He stopped your legs from closing, holding them open.

“Baby, you’re all wet,” he frowned as if it were a problem to be resolved.

“Maybe I shouldn’t let you wear any panties, not when you ruin them like this.”

Another wave of tears threatened to fall as he pried the fabric from your body and slipped it into his pocket for safekeeping. Already, the attire was skimpy, but not wearing panties left you almost entirely exposed.

A broken moan escaped your lips as his thick fingers breached your hole, filling up your tight sex. He stroked you from the inside, his thumb tracing little circles on your clit in tandem until your thighs were trembling.

Pressure built above his fingers, as much as you tried to fight it off, desperately wanting not to come. You gripped his wrist, far too weak to pry him off of you. A helpless orgasm ripped through you, the heat nearly painful.

A grateful sob escaped when he left you alone to clean up while he prepared you a bottle with the strawberry milk laced with sedatives. Dread sank over you, not wanting to be drugged and plaint, but knowing you didn’t have a choice.

You cleaned the mess from between your legs, slipping a clean pair of panties on just as Bucky returned, a disapproving expression narrowing on you when he saw you dressing. 

“Thirsty, baby?”

You didn’t react, even as you were laid down over his lap, your head resting in the curve of his arm. He forced the nipple of the bottle past your lips, squeezing the plastic so the warm, sweet milk filled your mouth. He smiled when he heard your swallows, your eyelashes fluttering as drowsiness settled in. He’d dosed your bottle enough to make you pass out, wanting to be sure you stayed put. 

“Don’t feel good,” you whined, turning your head and breaking free of the bottle. 

“Shh, you’ll feel better once you drink-”

“No!”

Bucky slapped your ass with his metal hand, delivering a sharp spanking for your protest, ignoring your pathetic sniffles. He pulled your jaw open and made you swallow the rest of the contents in the bottle, until you were asleep in his arms and no longer disobedient. 

He watched you, studying your sleeping features and admiring how peaceful it was. His fingertips traced along the warm skin on your bottom, heat rising to the surface after only a brief spanking. He hated to make you cry, but a sadistic little part of him preferred you like that, submissive and freshly punished. 

He laid you down in bed, positioning you carefully amongst the sheets, placing a white stuffed rabbit under your arm. Bucky’s fingers hooked in the sides of your panties, pulling them easily from your body without your typical resistance. After fetching a camera, he took snapshots of your pussy, peeking out between parted legs.

He took the panties you’d been wearing, before heading to the drawers and taking the rest of them, deciding you didn’t need to be wearing them until you were his good girl again.

. 🍓 .

You had no idea what time it was when you awoke, Bucky’s refusal of keeping clocks or calendars or anything that would allow you to know how much time had passed, adding to your dysphoria. 

The sky was dark, meaning it was sometime in the middle of the night. How many days had passed since you’d been sleeping was unclear, but your stomach ached with hunger. 

You realized he’d stripped you naked, and when you went to dress, the drawers were empty, save lacey little teddies. All the panties were gone, and you bit back an infuriated scream. You searched for something to cover up in, but were left with nothing other than skimpy lingerie. 

Determined to escape, you crept softly to Bucky’s room, standing at the end of his bed, trying to decipher whether or not he was awake. When he didn’t stir or react to your presence, you decided he was out cold, and it was safe to search for the keys to the door. 

Trying to be as silent as possible, you searched through the drawers next to his bed, desperate to find the keys that led to your freedom. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, baby?” A metal hand wrapped around your bicep, jerking you backwards into his hard body. 

“Let go!” You shrieked, yanking your arm in an attempt to free yourself from his grip. 

“Trying to escape? Trying to find these?” he snarled, dangling a keychain in front of you. 

You burst into sobs, weakly hitting his chest as you struggled in his arms. 

“I treat you so well, I buy you pretty toys and clothes and keep you safe and fed, and you’re just an ungrateful bitch. I hate that you make me have to punish you,” Bucky shook you as he shouted. 

He threw the keys out of sight before jerking your shoulders and dragging you from his bedroom. 

“No!” your scream rattled his nerves, a visceral wail leaving your throat as you attempted to fight him off.

The screams died in your throat as he slapped you, the sting stunning you into silence. You were dragged into the basement, a dark crypt reserved only for his most violent punishments. The cement floor was cold under your feet, cracks in the ground mirroring the cracks in your mind and heart as he chained your wrists to the ceiling, tight enough that you were just unsteady on your feet. 

Bucky’s metallic hand ripped the garment from you, baring you to the cold, damp air. Blood was pumping in your ears, your head growing dizzy before your cruel captor ever laid a hand on you. 

“Don’t ever try to run from me again,” Bucky hissed, gripping your jaw harshly enough to bruise your delicate face. 

He wasn’t satisfied by your choked whimper, grabbing a leather strap from the wall and striking you with it. Your whimpers morphed into pained shrieks, a broken cry falling from your lips with every welt that spread across your skin. 

Bucky felt as if his soul was withering away as he beat you, seeing red and hating every second of beating you, hating you in that moment for making him punish you. Your limbs were limp, unable to hold yourself up anymore as you shuddered from pain. 

He dropped the implement, walking around your wounded form to lift your hanging head. Your eyes were glassy as you seemed to stare through him, expression on your features. 

“You wanted to be outside so bad?” he questioned, his voice ragged, freeing your wrists as you collapsed onto the stone before he picked you up, hearing you choke as he touched your raw, abused skin. 

You winced, too delirious to notice he was carrying you out the back porch, unlocking the door and taking you into the freezing night air. It was sometime at the beginning of winter, sleet pouring down from the sky and temperatures lowering into tiny numbers. 

Bucky dropped you on the porch, wincing at your pained moan. You began to shiver, your whole body shaking from the cold as Bucky went inside, locking you out in the freezing night. 

When you began to regain consciousness, you screamed for him, the cold seeping deep to the center of your bones. Freezing to death seemed like a very real possibility, and you were overwhelmed with pain and discomfort as you wept and clawed at the door, begging for Bucky to let you back in, to hold you and keep you safe, far more terrified of the cold night than of the man who could keep you safe. 

. 🍓 .

The sun was barely peeking out over the horizon when Bucky threw the door open. You flung yourself against his warm body, desperate for any solace from the winter. Numbed from the cold, you didn’t notice the pain of him hugging your wounded body. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. Let’s get you warm, my poor sweet girl. This is why you can’t try to run away... It isn’t safe out there,” he nearly cried, pulling you inside of the house. 

“D...da-ddy,” you stammered, your teeth still chattering. 

You wrapped yourself around him as he carried you to the bathroom, filling a bath with hot water. You squealed in discomfort at first, the heat feeling like it was burning your skin, searing the parts of you that had been scourged by Bucky the night before. 

“I know, baby, it’s not gonna feel good at first,” he apologized, stroking your hair as he tried to settle you down. 

“H-hurts.”

He apologized profusely, washing you with soap, your skin cool to the touch. Eventually, you warmed up as the water temperature cooled, and the trembling subsided. 

“I’m going to take care of you and then you can have some food, arlight, babydoll?” he asked, setting you down on the bathmat as he emptied the tub. 

You were weak on your feet, holding the edge of the counter for balance, wrapped up in a towel. He gently dried the water from your skin, and wrapped your hair in a fresh towel, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

“Still cold,” you whined, pressing your body against his, chasing his lips as your broken mind searched for affection.

“I’m so sorry, I’ll help you warm up,” he assured you, gently rubbing some sort of salve on your wounds, taking the sting away. 

He held you still when you tried to squirm away, the touch painful at first before it soothed you, tears sliding down your cheeks as he covered your tender thighs with the cream. 

“Shh, I know,” he soothed, kissing you all over before gently helping you into some soft fuzzy pajamas you’d never seen before, the pale lilac flannel shielding your skin from the bitterly cold house. 

Matching fuzzy socks warmed your feet, protecting you from the chill of the hardwood floors as you followed Bucky, limping slightly. 

“You can go wait on the couch, babydoll,” he offered as he warmed up some liquid on the stove to put into a bottle for you.

You shook your head silently, your arms wrapped around his torso and your face buried in his warm chest. As his hand gently massaged through your hair, some of your anxiety dissipated, clinging to him for protection. 

“Alright, this should warm you up,” he said, twisting the top onto a bottle after adding a generous amount of sedatives to keep you still and calm while you healed from his punishment. 

“Warm?” you mumbled blearily, your tone hopeful. 

“Yes, angel,” he promised, sitting down on the couch and laying you down between his legs, a weighted blanket draped over you.

His thumb lovingly stroked your cheek as he held the bottle to your lips, relaxing in relief as you began to drink the contents without protest. He put a stuffed bear into your arms, turning on a quiet movie, his heart melting as you snuggled closer into him. 

“Daddy,” you wept, snuggling into him as he lifted you out of your little bed, carrying you out of the nursery-like room.

“I heard you crying on the monitor, babydoll. What’s got you so upset?” He questioned, anxiety nearly making him sick with worry.

Bucky hated to make you upset, but more than anything, an outside force disrupting your peace made Bucky animalistic — willing to do anything to put a smile back on your pretty face and eliminate the threat.

“Nightmares… I dreamt I was stuck outside and you couldn’t hear me crying for you,” you sobbed, your mind fractured, memories twisting into unclear bits and pieces.

“Oh, my poor baby, I’ll always hear you and come save you. Daddy’s here, it was just a dream, you’re alright.”

His palm gently patted your bottom as he carried you down the long hallway, hoping the rhythm of his footsteps would lull you back to sleep. Your mind was fractured, memory telling lies as you clung to Bucky for any kind of comfort, desperate for solace. Your mind forced you to remember the night only a few days before as a dream, one that pushed you closer into Bucky's arms.

"You're safe, babydoll. You need to go back to sleep," he encouraged, walking you into his bedroom, sighing as you gripped his henley as he tried to set you on the bed.

"I'm cold," you fussed, gripping his sleeve, not wanting to be left alone in the dark bedroom on his grey sheets.

"I'm getting you a bottle," he tried to calm you down, but you refused to let go, tears welling at your lashes, threatening to fall.

"Alright, alright. Just relax for a moment," Bucky begged, trying to reach into the side drawer of the dresser.

He pulled a pacifier out, and the look on your face sparked his expression of warning, daring you to protest. It wasn't a new addition, but Bucky hadn't made any attempt to pacify you, not after how you'd taken smaller steps into indulging his fantasy.

Bucky settled down against the headboard, ignoring your soft fussing, adjusting you to sit on his lap, your head cradled under his chin.

"Here, angel. Be quiet and let yourself rest," he cautiously forced the nipple into your lips, tears leaking from your lashes at the humiliation.

You slowly relaxed, still in your traumatized, drug-induced haze, and as much as you hated it, your current position was soothing, offering the feeling of safety you were so desperate for. His hand was warm against the curve of your backside, gently patting you along with the rhythm he was humming, your brain too clouded to recognize.

He could feel you drifting off, the tension releasing from your muscles and the deepening of your soft breaths. Bucky stayed up most of the night, listening to be sure there were no more signs of nightmares, or memories, the two confounded in your fractured mind's eye.

.

"I'm cold," you whined again, now awake the next morning, but still complaining like you had the night before.

Bucky frowned, pressing his palm to your forehead, discovering that you were burning with fever. A swear slipped out under his breath, knowing it was his fault you were sick, that he never should've locked you in the cold.

"Not feeling well, baby?"

You shook your head with a pathetic sniffle, your gaze wounded as you looked to him for help. You obeyed when he told you to lay back down, promising to return as he wandered to his closet, pulling out soft pajamas for you.

"Wait, we've got to get your temperature taken and get you cleaned up first. You'll feel better," he interrupted when you reached for them.

Though you ached to protest, you were feeling too worn out to put up much of a fight, though Bucky heard the definite whimper of complaint.

"Don't think just because you're sick, I won't spank your bottom," he warned with a kiss to your pouted lips.

"Sorry, daddy," you whispered, letting him undress you from the skimpy, wrinkled pajamas you had been in.

"I can take it under my tongue!" you pushed back against Bucky's hand as he attempted to bend you over his lap.

"You're too little, we've got to take it this way," his tone was stern, allowing no room for argument.

Your lips closed, your stomach lowering against his thighs. His hand was warm, gently spreading you apart, causing a squirm of discomfort. Silver eyes flicked to yours before returning his attention to your ass, easing the thermometer inside of you.

"I know you feel awful, daddy's sorry," Bucky apologized, tapping the glass tip, your thighs tensing.

The five minutes you spent over his knees were miserably long, and he kept soothing you softly, praising you for being good. Bucky checked the numbers, drawing in a harsh breath as your temperature neared 105 degrees.

"You really are sick," he felt guilty, helping you up and leading you to a hot bath, wanting to relieve the miserable chill that left your form shaking.

"Get in with me?" your voice was raspy, and he nodded, sinking into the water behind you.

"You're so warm, please don't leave me," you whispered against his neck.

"I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

He took his time cleaning off your skin, making sure the water stayed hot as he cleaned the sweat from your body, hoping the weak scent of peppermint would settle your nausea.

Bucky talked softly, keeping part of your mind distracted from your misery, listening to him talk about the garden he was growing in the backyard, where your fresh lavender and fruits came from.

"Don't feel well," you mumbled tiredly, your skull pounding from pressure, and your mind exhausted from trying to fight off the nausea.

"I know. I thought I could make you some soup. Would you eat some?" Bucky seemed to speak to you like his equal, ebbing off of his infantilizing for a brief moment.

"Yes, please," you decided, hoping it would settle your stomach.

He went to start the soup while you climbed into the fleece pajamas, pushing your feet into fuzzy socks to avoid the chill that still hung in the air. The muscles in your arms ached as you dried your hair with a towel, everything sore and weak despite you only being awake an hour.

The house was already beginning to smell warm and homey, the scent of Bucky's cooking wafting through the halls. You went to the bed, searching for your bunny to hold before you found him in the kitchen.

"Hey, I thought you'd be in bed," Bucky frowned when you walked in.

You didn't answer, wiggling your way under his arm, craving his body heat and safety. He kissed the crown of your head, pouring soup into a mug and shutting off the stove.

"Don’t feel good.”

“Sweetheart, I know, I’m sorry,” he gently cradled your head, trying to lead you into the living room.

Bucky successfully got you comfortable on the couch, or as much as you could be with your ailments. He spoon-fed you soup while letting you watch movies, a rare occurrence in your isolated little existence.

You ate as much soup as possible before your stomach threatened to force it back up, your skin breaking into a cold sweat. Bucky felt horrible, listening to your strained breathing and feeling your body tremble against his.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” you whispered, getting up and running to the hall bathroom, dropping to your knees just before the contents of your stomach emptied.

“Baby, that’s it, get it out,” Bucky’s hands drew back your hair, gently rubbing between your shoulders as you succumbed to the misery.

You stood on shaky feet once you were finally done, moving to the sink to brush your teeth and wash your face. He helped put your hair up, feeling bad that you already felt so awful after showering.

“Can I get you anything?” His voice was soft, a question that a normal boyfriend would ask when their girlfriend was sick.

“Gingerale?” You begged softly.

He nodded, stroking your cheek tenderly before pulling out one of his fresh hoodies for you.

"I've got to run out to get some, can you try to nap for me? I'll be gone less than an hour," he promised, and you whimpered at the idea of being left alone in the house.

He put on a movie for you, snuggling you up on the couch with your pink rabbit and soft blankets, making sure you had everything you would need for him to be gone for a few minutes. As much as you fought to stay awake, your eyelids were heavy, eventually fluttering closed as sick exhaustion dragged you under.

Your sleep was fitful with nightmares, sweat soaking though Bucky’s hoodie as you fever-dreamt. A crack of thunder had you startling out of your sleep, disoriented and alone in the dim house. Shadows on the walls seemed more frightening now that you were sick and alone, Bucky unable to protect you. Tears began to streak down your cheeks as you anxiously gripped your rabbit, wishing him home, feeling utterly helpless in the storm.

.

“Hey, hey, I’m here, baby,” Bucky’s voice surrounded you in warmth, gathering your hair as you leaned against the tub, sick for the second time that afternoon.

“Please don’t leave me alone again,” you begged hoarsely, choking on pathetic sobs before heaving once more.

“Fuck,” Bucky swore, wincing as you gagged and choked, hating to see you miserable beyond his control.

Your misery only made your sobs harder, your body soaked in sweat as you trembled from anxiety and nausea. He helped you clean up, pulling your hair up as you washed your mouth. You leaned against the counter, letting him clean your skin with a washcloth, apologizing for leaving you shivering from the dampness.

“Whenever you feel up to it, I’ve got some gingerale and toast for you,” Bucky spoke gently, soft lips pressing to your temple.

“I can’t right now, I feel yucky,” you sniffled, rubbing your eyes and praying he didn’t get upset.

“That’s okay, angel.”

Guilt washed over him as he walked to the kitchen to make some tea for you, your beg for him to stay with you breaking his heart. He regretted leaving you alone, hardly able to believe that only weeks ago you were screaming and kicking to get away from him.

Bucky's eyes softened when your hand wrapped around his bicep, your body clinging closer to his. You'd gotten out of bed, following him to the kitchen, a suffocating anxiety of being left alone if he wasn't in your sight.

"I might have to have someone come take a look at you," Bucky sighed, pressing his palm to your forehead, feeling your temperature.

You shook your head, afraid of the idea of anybody else touching you other than Bucky.

"No, I'll be good, I don't want someone else," you whimpered.

He kissed your head, finishing your tea and deciding to drug you just a bit, in hopes you could sleep off whatever affliction was wreaking havoc on your system.

Bucky settled you between his legs, your head on his chest, taking little sips of tea whenever you could. He was relieved when you finally slept, watching you get the rest you desperately needed. Part of him feared when your fever broke, you'd go back to the way you were before - seeing him as a monster.