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~STUCKY~

Little Light Series- Where Steve and Bucky find their perfect little girl, even if you don't know it yet.

Part 1: Found- The first time you met Steve--or--the first time Steve found you.

Part 2 Nyctophobia- Steve and Bucky want you to adjust to your new life as easily as possible. Unfortunately, you don't quite seem to understand that yet. Part 3: Relent- With a rough night behind them, Steve and Bucky hope to focus on what they brought you here for: to be their good little girl.

Part 4: Retribution- While you're left feeling hopelessly confused, it's clear to Steve and Bucky that you have a lot to learn about being their good little girl.

Part 5: Resilience- Fighting your captors has gotten you no where productive. You're almost set on giving up, but a small discovery regains your lost hope.

Blurbs n thoughts n stuff <3 (within little light universe)

Can't Sleep- Daddy is more than understanding when his little doll can't seem to sleep.

Christmas Lights- What it's like for you to see Christmas lights with your Daddies.

More Than Anything- Trying to be a good girl when you're feeling under the weather is hard enough. Your Daddies seeing you sick is even harder.

Any Color- You don't like the color pink. Luckily, your Daddies don't mind one bit.

Helpless- Despite their worries, your daddies take you to the carnival. It all seems to be going well, until you get lost.

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.