requested: can you please please pleaseeee do a blurb of 🍓Bucky helping the reader with her anal training ?!??
I mean… how could I say no
“c’mere, baby,” his soft voice coaxed you to lean back in his arms, melting against his chest as his lips pressed gentle kisses to your face.
you turned to face him, hands cradling his jaw as you kissed james, murmuring out a whimpery “daddy”. he rolled over with you on top of him, pressed tight to his warm chest, the two of you still bare from the night before.
“my sweet girl,” james hummed against your hair, squeezing your soft thighs in his hands.
“m’going to try something new with you today,” his tone was hushed, not breaking the sleepy spell that had settled in the dark bedroom.
“have i been bad?” you questioned, tilting your chin up to look into his silvery blue eyes.
“no, my love, you’ve been perfect. it isn’t a punishment,” he promised, dipping his fingers into your exposed slit, gently stroking until you were dripping.
a breathy sigh escaped your lips, pressing your face to his chest as he worked his middle and index finger into your cunt, his thumb circling your clit with practiced grace.
he worked you to a lazy orgasm, knowing exactly what to do to get your body to cream on his fingers and moan loud enough to wake the dead. you obediently cleaned the mess from his fingers with your tongue, feeling his cock harden under you as you dutifully sucked his fingers.
“you’ll be good for me, right babydoll?” he murmured, pushing down on your tongue, making your pretty eyes water as you gagged.
“yes, daddy,” your sweet voice preened when he let go.
you were relaxed and sleepy, in a calm, sedated, orgasm-induced haze. your eyelashes were closed as you heard him rustle through a box beneath the bed, your head folded on your arms as you obediently waited, lying on your belly.
bucky’s hands smoothed down your waist, his scruff tickling your skin as he pressed a kiss to the small of your back. you allowed him to manhandle you, sliding a pillow under your hips, your ass presented to him.
you startled a bit when he dripped something cold from a bottle over your ass, suddenly hesitant as you realized what he wanted.
"daddy, you said-"
"it's not going to hurt, i promise. we're gonna work you up to take my cock, babydoll," he swore, his warm hands gently rubbing your sides, soothing you to relax back down against the sheets.
he pulled a silicone plug from the box, just barely bigger than his fingers. a low whine of protest made him frown, the hand that rubbed your back pausing.
“it’ll be much easier for you if you cooperate. you wouldn’t like my cock in your tight little ass right now, would you, doll?” james threatened with a glare.
“no, daddy,” you resigned yourself to be docile, knowing he was doing this for your own good.
james’ large hands gripped the globes of your ass, spreading you for him. he watched your tense expression as he eased the silicone past your ring of muscle, your body accepting it easily. the glittery base peeked out, a shudder rolling up your spine as james tapped it, smirking at how reactive you were to him.
“so pretty, baby,” he praised, leaning down to kiss you.
you chased his lips as he pulled back, dropping your head back on the pillow as his mouth went to your tits, every touch multiplied with the foreign stretch stimulating you. you tried to form words, wanting to beg for his cock in your weeping cunt, but it came out as nothing more than a whimper. your fingers clawed at his hair, eyes rolling back as he knelt between your thighs.
Suffer does the wolf, crawling to thee
Promising a big fire, any fire
Saying I'm the one, he's gonna take me
I'm on fire, I'm on fire, I'm on fire
Suffering is nigh, drawing to me
Calling me the one, I'm the white light
Beautiful, finite
a/n: it's been a minute, because i couldn't decide where i wanted to go with this story, but i feel like i have a vision again. if you've sent asks about this au (many of you have) know that i am considering and incorporating your ideas, and i adore them. much love x grey
icymi: (part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)
"James."
You looked up, realizing that was his name - Bucky's name - as he turned to Steve, who stood in the doorway of the master bedroom. The tension sent nausea spinning through your stomach, Bucky looking down at you, saying nothing for a moment.
"Wait here, babydoll," Bucky leaned down and planted a kiss to the crown of your head.
He stepped out, following Steve with a scathing glare. He hadn't ever told you his name was James - and you didn't even call him Bucky, afraid to do so without permission.
"What? What could possibly bring you into my bedroom calling me 'James'?" Bucky snapped at Steve, as soon as you were out of earshot.
"You can't stay here with her," Steve said quietly, seriousness filling his cornflower-blue eyes.
"What do you mean? This is my home, she... She is my home."
"You stole the daughter of the Stark family off the streets. They haven't stopped looking, they have endless resources, and they're getting way too close. James, if you want to keep her, you have to leave," Steve explained, watching anger sear through him.
"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.
As hard as Bucky tried to nurse you back to health, you’d been sick for days, dehydrated and burning with fever, unable to keep anything down.
“Babydoll, look at me,” Bucky spoke softly, stroking back your hair as he sat on the edge of your bed.
Your lashes parted just enough that his blurry face came into view, a migraine pounding in your head. Your fingers gingerly slipped over his, your lips trembling as Bucky gently squeezed your hand.
“My friend Steve is a doctor, he’s going to come take a look at you because I think you need some medicine to get better. We’re not kicking this bug on our own,” he tried to speak quietly, praying that you wouldn’t panic like the last time he’d mentioned a doctor.
“Please no,” your whimper was barely audible, eyelids unable to stay open from the exhaustion the illness had wracked on your body.
Bucky sighed, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. He’d already called Steve, the only confidant he could trust with you — to come see about your afflictions. He was scared, seeing you so weak and fragile and a shell of yourself, frightened Bucky into realizing how delicate you were.
.
You stirred as Bucky slipped from the bed, going to answer the door. You were too miserable to even react, the only indicator of your fear being the increasing heart rate. The bedroom door opened gently, Bucky’s friend Steve following him in after a few minutes of hushed discussion.
“Hi, bunny,” the blond man spoke softly, a beard making his face appear gentle as he knelt beside you, Bucky watching anxiously.
Tears slipped down your cheeks, and you used all your strength to shy away from the hand that reached out to touch your face, unfamiliarity striking terror into you. Your few months with Bucky had trauma bonded you, the only thing scarier than him was someone else.
“Please, don’t be difficult. He’s not going to hurt you, Steve only wants to help,” Bucky promised, pulling you to sit on his lap, the vibranium arm snaking around your waist.
“D-don’t let him hurt me,” you begged into Bucky’s neck.
Steve’s hands were gentle as he felt your fever, his fingers gently massaging your throat to be sure nothing was swollen.
“Gonna press on your stomach, okay? Tell me if it’s uncomfortable. I’ll be real gentle, I promise,” Steve spoke softly, a gentle patience about him that was so dissimilar to Bucky.
Warm palms pressed to your stomach, making you feel like you were going to throw up the little bits of bread and soup you’d had.
“Don’t!” You gasped, spasming against Bucky, pulling your knees to your chest to protect yourself.
“Baby-“
“It’s okay, it’s alright. You’ve definitely got a bad strain of the flu, darling,” Steve diffused Bucky before he could reprimand your outburst and uncooperation.
“I’m going to give you some antibiotics, okay? After a couple days you should feel like a new person. For now though, you’re pretty dehydrated and that’s contributing to how awful you feel. I need to give you an IV and put you on a saline drip to get some fluids in you,” Steve explained patiently, his cornflower blue eyes never leaving yours as he spoke.
“You said he wouldn’t hurt me,” you whispered to Bucky, shrinking back against his chest.
“It won’t be bad, just a quick little pinch and it’ll help you feel so much better,” Bucky promised, one hand rubbing your back, attempting to soothe you.
“You can be good for us, can’t you? I know you feel icky, but I promise I’m going to help,” Steve tenderly touched your cheek, before retrieving an IV needle from his kit.
You laid your arm out, fighting back tears as Bucky held you still, letting Steve stick you as gently as possible. His heart ached at your pained whine from being stuck, hurt in your eyes as he taped the needle down, hanging a bag of fluids beside the bed.
“M’freezing,” you mumbled as the cold seeped through your veins, coupled with your fever to leave you trembling against Bucky’s warm form.
“Here,” he wrapped a fuzzy blanket around you, helping you settle against him, trying to talk you into a nap while you hydrated.
Bucky smeared kisses over your forehead, helping you drift off while Steve went to get some antibiotics for you. The house was quiet, freezing rain coming down on the roof in a rhythm that kept you drowsy.
You didn’t remember Steve coming back, just waking up to him easing the needle out and wrapping the injection spot. He gave you the first dose of the antibiotic, and Bucky informed you that he’d been staying to oversee your recovery.
“Daddy,” you sighed, your skin clammy and sticky from sweat as you sat up.
“I want a bath,” you requested once you earned his attention, wanting to be clean.
Bucky helped you up, frowning at the way you were unsteady on your feet, dizzy as you sat down on the edge of his bathtub, patiently waiting as he filled it with water.
“Can I wash your hair for you?” He asked, catching you off guard.
It was one of the first times he had asked what you wanted, offering himself instead of forcing it upon you. You nodded, not wanting to lift your sore arms to scrub your scalp.
Bucky carefully washed the grime from your hair, careful not to get any water in your eyes. His strong hands massaged your head as he ran the detachable faucet over it, getting all the soap and conditioner out.
His movements paused at your brief sigh, though he relaxed when he saw it was because his touch felt good, and was entirely wanted by you.
“I’ve got it,” you whispered, taking the loofah and cleaning your skin while he leaned on the counter and waited.
“Once you’re down again, I’ll make you some toast. Do you think you can keep it down?” He questioned as you sat on a stool in front of the mirrors while he toweled your hair.
Your affirming hum was enough for him, and he leaned in to press a kiss to your bare shoulder, so tender you almost forgot about the reality of your relationship.
“I’ll go start it, leave you to dress. Steve is working in my office if you need anything from him. I’ll be in the kitchen,” Bucky squeezed your waist before disappearing, letting you get dressed by yourself.
You found warm pajamas and socks, still bitterly cold despite Bucky’s attempts to keep the house warm in the winter. He watched as you entered the kitchen, pressing the button to turn on the kettle for some tea.
“I’ll get make it for you, go rest,” Bucky’s tone was gentle, though an edge of sternness hung in his voice so you didn’t argue.
You kissed the Star on his arm, sending a painful twinge through Bucky’s heart. He watched you slip around the bar into the open living room, putting on one of your soothing movies to doze in and out to.
With your sickness, he’d gotten less strict about you using the television, unworried about you being upset when you put on something quiet that ended up putting you to sleep a couple times a day. Young magicians casted spells on the television, bad CGI of the early 2000s adding to your coziness, and before your tea and toast was finished, you were barely awake.
“Try to wake up and eat for me, bunny,” Bucky helped you sit up on the couch, smiling at your sleepy yawn.
“I feel a little better after my bath and being hydrated,” you confessed as you sipped the tea and nibbled on the toast.
Bucky relaxed, tying your hair up and playing with the hem of your pajamas. His warm hand slipped under your shirt, rubbing your back tenderly. He looked up when Steve entered the room, leaning in the doorway, watching the two of you.
“You’re starting to look a little better,” he broke the silence, walking over and feeling your still-warm forehead.
“All I want is to sleep,” you confessed, your eyelids heavy.
“Drink the rest of the tea first. You need to stay hydrated. Daddy’s taking good care of you,” Steve hummed, exchanging a look with Bucky.
You forced the last couple swallows of lukewarm tea down, before dragging yourself to your feet.
“Your bed?” You mumbled, and Bucky frowned.
“I’ve got to work late tonight, I don’t want to wake you coming back to bed. Sleep in your own bed and get a good nights sleep,” he held your face, pressing a kiss to the bridge of your nose.
You were too tired to protest, satisfied when he handed you the stuffed rabbit that you curled up with when you weren’t snuggled into his warm body. You’d gotten used to sleeping next to him, safe from any unknown threats that lurked in the dark. The sound of the wind frightened you, your body remembering what it felt like to nearly freeze to death, anxiety only satiated when you were curled up against the space heater of a man.
“Steve is staying?” You questioned, uneasy that Bucky would be working, letting Steve unsupervised in the house with you.
“Yes, he’s here if you get to feeling icky again.”
Your eyes locked on the blonde that towered over you, his broad body nearly as thick as Bucky’s. After a moment of reading your expression, Bucky understood that anxiety was woven in your features. You didn’t trust Steve yet, afraid of everyone who wasn’t your savior.
“I can work from my laptop in your room until you fall asleep,” Bucky offered a compromise, knowing he couldn’t rush you into being comfortable with Steve.
You nodded, relaxing as he settled down in the rocking chair at the foot of your bed, standing guard while you slept off some of your sickness.
.
“People are looking for her. They’re playing the missing persons ads on the news,” Steve spoke over a cup of coffee, alone with Bucky in the kitchen long after you’d gone to bed.
“Even still? It’s been months. They usually give up after seventy-two hours,” Bucky sighed, shaking his head.
“That’s what you get for snatching a Stark.”
“She’s better off with me. She was mistreated, and the Starks have a world of enemies. Here she is safe and loved,” Bucky glared until Steve soothed him.
“I know. She’s perfect, she’s lovely, I’m just saying, they may come looking here eventually. How long are you going to hide her in this house? At some point, you’ll have to assimilate back into real life.”
“She’s still not completely attached, but it’s getting better.”
Bucky stood off the counter he was leaning on when you walked in, offering an arm. You sank into his side, his vibranium prosthetic wrapping around your waist as he smeared a kiss over your forehead.
“The weather is nice today. I think some fresh air would do you some good,” Steve broke the silence, and you froze against Bucky.
“It’s too cold,” you mumbled, shaking your head.
“Darling,” Bucky’s voice was surprisingly soft, and he reached over and grabbed a blanket for you.
Steve handed you a hoodie, pulling it over your head and smiling when the sleeves fell over your hands. Bucky lifted you effortlessly, carrying you outside to the front porch, where a white swing hung overlooking the garden. The last bits of snow had melted off the ground, promising spring soon, but the air was still crisp.
You shivered as you wrapped the blanket around yourself, settling onto the swing and inhaling the clean air. The sun was warm on your face, bringing life back into it that made Bucky breathe easy again.
“I love you,” Bucky’s eyes locked with yours, and you slowly leaned in and kissed him.
Quietly, you slipped out of bed, feet padding softly across the carpet as you gingerly poked your head out of your bedroom. You moved cautiously through the house, trying not to catch Bucky’s attention. He was still asleep in bed, giving you more freedom to search the house, looking for any means of escape.
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.
“You’re nice and safe with daddy, baby. Never going to let you get hurt again.”
“Oh, honey,” Bucky’s soft voice was full of sympathy, watching your shoulders wrack with weak sobs.
Your face and chest were flushed, stuttered breaths sounding broken on your lips. You’d worn yourself out crying, your arms wrapped tight around the pink rabbit Bucky had given you as a reward for good behavior.
“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.
The last thing you remembered from the day you were taken was the sunshine. You’d been out at a cafe during the day — sitting on a patio, in flourished white iron chairs under an awning in the city. The sun was warm and children were out playing, laughter filling the park across the street. You’d been drinking lemonade from a glass, the sugary sweetness cooling you off as you chattered with a friend.
You had even made it home and locked your door. Nothing alerted you to danger, you were humming to music playing from your phone, dancing in the little kitchen.
You noticed candy on your counter, with a note from your roommate — or so you thought — inviting you to have one. A grin crossed your expression as you tasted the strawberry candy, licking the sugar from your fingertips.
The floor swayed beneath your feet as you stumbled back to your bedroom, your vision blurring. Reaching out to the wall to brace yourself, your eyes fluttered open to reveal a figure in your bedroom.
Strong hands supported your weight, your head spinning from dizziness. You sagged into unfamiliar arms, your body going limp as it betrayed you.
“Just relax doll.”
.🍓.
The first thing that hit you when you regained consciousness was a dull, throbbing headache. You attempted to lift your arms to hold your head, only to find you couldn’t move them. Fear turned your blood to ice as you blinked your eyes open, met with an unfamiliar room.
The walls were painted a pale pink, white trim running along the floors and ceiling. White frilly curtains hung over the windows, ones that had bars on the outside and were undoubtedly locked and bulletproof. There was a hand-painted pink toy box that matched a small dresser, along with a mirrored vanity with a plush pink stool sat in front of it. There was a small table in the corner — one that had crayons and coloring books, and a few shelves with stuffed animals on them. It looked like a little girl’s room, exceptionally feminine and delicate.
You were in a bed with a princess canopy hanging over it, under a pink duvet and in between white sheets. Your wrists and ankles were bound to white metal bedposts, pink leather cuffs hugging your soft skin.
A terrorized scream broke through your lips as you began to fruitlessly struggle, attempting to kick and scream. Goosebumps burst on your skin as you realized you were naked under the duvet, horror seizing every inch of you.
The door swung open, a tall and very muscular brunette running in. Silvery blue eyes were wide with worry, searching the room for an unseen threat, as if he were used to seeing you tied up in a bed.
Your chest heaved as you froze, your screams abruptly stopping as you stared at the man. His brown hair was fluffy, and he had a rather stunning face with a bit of scruff — a man you would’ve found dreamy in any other setting.
“Why’re you screaming, babydoll? Are you hurt?” He asked, walking to your side.
“Let me go!” You cried, yanking on the cuffs.
“I certainly can’t let you up until you’ve calmed down, little miss. I can’t have you hurting yourself,” he knelt next to you, pulling the duvet down to inspect you, making sure you were unharmed.
“What’s going on?” Tears rolled down your cheeks as you weakly kicked your feet as much as you could in the restraints.
“Oh, babydoll, no tears,” he hushed softly, reaching up and brushing the moisture off your cheeks.
Confusion muddled your thoughts as he touched you tenderly, speaking gently to you even as he refused to let you up.
“I brought you to come live with me, so you could be safe from all the horrible, scary things out there. You’re my baby and I want to spoil you and protect you because I love you,” he explained as if it made sense.
“I don’t even know you! I want to go home, let me out!” You screamed, wriggling away from him.
“Silly girl, you are home. Good girls don’t scream at Daddy, and I’d hate to have to punish you,” he warned, squeezing your cheeks in his vibranium hand, making your lips pout.
“You’re a fucking psycho!” You hissed, making the gentleness immediately vanish from his gaze, replaced with a dark, sinister glare.
Dread swept over you, fear prickling up your spine as he looked at you with an appetite for violence. You instantly regretted your hateful snark, terrified by the way the man gazed at you.
“Daddy asked you nicely to behave. Little girls do not use nasty words or scream or kick at their daddies,” he sneered, his voice lowering dangerously.
“I’m sorry…” you breathed.
He frightened you, and you began to cry harder as he walked over to a little white cabinet under a window. He retrieved a strap in harsh black leather, the instrument standing out in stark contrast against the soft room.
“No,” you whimpered as he neared you with it.
Your ankles were chained together and lifted up, bending your knees to your chest and held down, though you were too afraid to kick at him when he looked as terrifying as he did then.
“If you struggle, I’ll only hit you harder, got it?”
The leather cracked down on your ass, the skin pulled tight and exposed to him, the position entirely unforgiving. Pain seared over the afflicted area, your brain barely having time to process the first hit as more were delivered. Your captor beat your bottom and the tops of your thighs completely raw, deep bruises and welts already forming on the skin.
You were sobbing so hard you couldn’t breathe, choking on sobs and trembling as you nearly passed out from the pain. It burned through your skin, feeling as if your entire backside was on fire. Bucky had lost count of the blows, somewhere after forty, and you assumed he must tire after a while, though your cruel captor only seemed to hit you harder the longer he continued. You thought he’d never stop, and you drifted into unconsciousness before he finally dropped the strap onto the bed, admiring the deep red welts and purple and black bruises that were already beginning to rise to the surface of your skin.
.🍓.
Bucky gently rubbed salve on your battered skin, sighing as you winced, even in your state of unconsciousness. He truly did hate to hurt you, but you needed to learn to be obedient, and starting off easy on you would do you no favors in the long run.
His mind traveled back to the first time he saw you, long before the day he’d followed you home and drugged you with candy. Bucky had followed you for over seven months, building this home out in the middle of nowhere as a safe house for the two of you. He’d seen you giggle, trying on a dress in a store with your friends, walking out of the fitting rooms to model it. They had teased you, saying it was too girly and looked to young for you, and he’d noticed the way your face fell. That’s when he decided he had to protect your sweet innocence.
He’d adjusted you to lay on your stomach, attempting to minimize your pain as much as possible. You were starting to wake up as he rubbed your back, slowly regaining consciousness. The sun had set and risen again, casting the soft golden glow of the morning into little pockets of light on the floor.
Your head was hazy, your mind only registering the warm sting from yesterday’s punishment. A deep sigh escaped your lips, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks as you wished to pretend it wasn’t real, and the man rubbing your back was only a dream.
“How’re you feeling, babydoll?” Bucky asked you, noticing you’d awoken.
You didn’t answer, at first, only prompted when he tapped your thigh over a bruise.
“Tired!” You gasped out.
“Does it hurt?”
You nodded shyly, noting that your wrists and ankles were also raw and tender from struggling against the cuffs.
“Poor baby. You won’t need these anymore once you learn to behave,” he sounded sympathetic, looking at where your skin had been rubbed raw.
“You can’t have solid foods while you’re recovering, but I’ll get you all those yummy nutrients you need. And while you eat, we can go over some rules so I don’t need to spank my sweet girl again,” he said, tapping your nose.
Your lips trembled as you began to silently cry again, this time too afraid — and in too much pain — to scream or act out.
He helped you sit up, attaching your wrists and ankles together so you couldn’t run or struggle against him. Bucky held you in his lap, sitting in a rocking chair in the corner, while putting a bottle to your lips.
“Shh, it’s just ‘til you’re able to eat solid food, sweetness,” he bummed as tears leaked from your waterline.
He cradled your head and eased the bottle into your lips, feeding you a warm, too-sweet creamy liquid. It was pink — or maybe it just looked pink through the bottle — and it tasted like vanilla and strawberries. You felt weaker as he forced you to drink from it, your mind growing bleary and the will to struggle slowly ebbing away.
“That’s it, doing so well for me, doll,” he praised softly.
“I’ve got simple rules for you, even your precious little head should be able to understand them. You will address me as ‘daddy’. There will be no screaming or fighting, no making messes, and no trying to run from me. I expect you to obey what I say and not to give me attitude. I know you can do it, darling. I’m going to take such good care of you here, and spoil you to death,” he smiled at your sweet face, kissing your cheeks.
His words make you sick to your stomach, your mind feeling over what he was saying to you. All you could do was cry, not yet ready to accept your fate as his little doll.
.🍓.
After six more days of bottle-feeding and drifting in and out of consciousness, and rubbing your wrists and ankles raw, you had finally given up.
When Bucky came into your room in the morning, you were lying awake, unmoving.
“Daddy?” you whispered softly, ready to do anything he wanted just to be let up. Your head was a little hazy from the bottle he’d given you the night before — the ones that were likely drugged to make you pliant.
“Hi, sweet girl,” he gently brushed some hair from your eyes with vibranium fingers.
“I’ll be good, I promise. Please let me get out of bed,” you begged, gazing up at him helplessly.
“You want up?”
He smiled as you nodded, leaning down and uncuffing your ankles first. His touch moved to your wrists, releasing you from the bonds, giving your skin a break.
“Oh, baby, your skin,” he sighed, rubbing a metal thumb over the raw, tender skin.
“Hurts,” you whimpered softly, and he looked at you sympathetically.
“I know. We’re going to get you nice and taken care of, don’t worry. How about a bath?” He offered, helping you stand.
You were unsteady at first, having to hold his biceps for balance as you felt weak on your feet.
“A shower?” you tried as he helped you into the bathroom.
Bucky gave you a disapproving look, making you sink back away from him.
“Little girls take baths. Since you’ve been sweet I’ll let you pick what kind of bubbles you want in it.”
You looked at your options before quietly picking the lavender. He ran water in the huge claw foot tub, letting it raise far higher than you were used to, before pouring generous amounts of the bubble bath and bath salts in the water.
“Come here, babydoll,” he helped lift you into the tub, the water raising to your chest.
Silent tears slid down your cheeks as he washed you, humiliation following his touch as he massaged soap into your body.
Fear prickled down your spine as he lowered your head into the water, preparing to wash your hair. It occurred to you how easily he could drown you then — and how powerless you would be to stop it.
Bucky hated seeing you cry like you were — especially when you had no reason to, in his mind. He was being tender and spoiling you. Bucky doted on you as the scent of lavender wafted around you and bloomed from his touch. He washed you gently, squeezing the water out of your hair as he pinned it up.
“Don’t cry, you’re alright,” he soothed, rubbing your back and letting you sit in the water for a bit, enjoying the heat on your sore, aching muscles.
You stared at the slightly purple water, slowly disassociating from the moment. His touch on your body felt foreign, frightening you. Hiccuped sobs began to break through your chest, spilling out your lips as you struggled to breathe.
“Shh, I’m going to get you something to help, just let me dry you off first,” Bucky attempted to console you, helping you out of the water as he realized you were beginning to panic.
You shivered in the cold air, water dripping down onto the fluffy bathmat you stood on — soft and shaped like a strawberry, a theme that seemed to be common in your surroundings.
Misery hung heavy in your bones as he rubbed you down with a warm towel, kissing the curve of your shoulder. You winced as he gently dried between your thighs, though his touch didn’t linger. Another towel was used to dry your hair, and he payed special attention not to pull.
“We’ll get you dressed and then calmed down,” he promised, leading you back into the bedroom.
You were keen to be dressed after the week being spent nude, though your face fell as he opened the wardrobe, revealing the clothes for you.
Bucky knelt before you, sliding delicate pink panties up your legs, kissing the little bow on the hem. He pulled out a pink romper-onesie next, one that had tiny melody’s on it. The little girl’s pajamas were sized to fit you, playing into Bucky’s deranged fantasy.
He took you back into the bathroom, helping you sit on the countertop while he fetched a first aid kit, intending to take care of where the cuffs had rubbed your skin raw. Little sniffles filled the otherwise quiet room as he gently soothed the irritation with a cream before wrapping them in white bandages.
“Gonna be all better soon,” Bucky promised before kissing the afflicted area.
You said nothing, staring straight through him, your shoulders still shaking in horrible anxiety. You felt like you were teetering on the edge of a panic attack, and he was sensing it, trying not to act stressed to overwhelm you.
“You look so pretty, doll,” he praised, patting your bottom gently before picking you up.
You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, fearing you’d fall, though his grip was firm under your thighs. He carried you out of the bedroom, into a living room that was just off an open kitchen, so Bucky could watch you as he cooked.
He set you down on the rug, telling you to sit pretty while he made you a bottle. You made a face as soon as his back was turned, detesting the way you were being treated. Though a part of you — a dark part, buried very deep — held a sliver of curiosity of how nice it would be to be taken care of, without having to worry about anything other than pleasing him.
You shook the thought away, your eyes scanning the room, looking for an escape. The windows were bulletproof glass, sealed shut with bars over the outside. The door was steel, appearing like a safe door, that had several deadbolts requiring keys. You were trapped in the house, and upon parting out the window, there was a high stone fence around the property, just barely in view through the fog. Even if you did manage to make it outside, it was unlikely you could get far.
A little gasp left your lips as he lifted you up off the floor, manhandling you without so much as a second thought. Bucky sat you down on his lap, situated sideways so that he could cradle your head in his arm. Your legs draped over the arm of the chair, and you were forced to gaze up at him as he picked up a bottle.
“You said—” you began to protest, interrupted before you could argue that you were capable of eating solid food now.
“My anxious girl, just drink so you can feel better. Stop arguing with me,” he chastised, guiding it into your mouth even as you squirmed on his lap like a bratty child.
One hand held your jaw, while the other held the bottle in place, forcing you to drink as the liquid leaked onto your tongue. You blinked away tears, looking up at Bucky helplessly as they slipped down the sides of your face.
“I know, you’re so overwhelmed, huh? It’s okay, just drink and it’ll all feel better soon, precious doll,” he soothed, pressing delicate kisses to your forehead as you drank the strawberry milk.
Drowsiness consumed you, leaving you limp and pliant in Bucky’s arms. He watched over you lovingly, doting on your and tracing shapes along your skin. Stuck between sleep and reality, you snuggled closer into the warmth of his chest, absolutely melting Bucky’s heart. He kissed your head, whispering softly about how sweet you were for him, praising you and telling you he loved you. The words sounded far away, blurring with your vision, barely heard over the rhythm of your own breathing.
.🍓.
You startled awake at the ghosting touch of a hand on your bare thigh, your body jerking back against the wall for cover as your eyes snapped open.
“Did I scare you? I’m sorry my baby,” Bucky apologized profusely, frowning at the way your chest rose and fell erratically and your gaze wide with fear.
“I just was checking your panties, you were moaning quite a bit on the monitor,” he smirked, kneeling beside your princess bed.
You were no longer cuffed to it, allowed to sleep in peace — or at least while your wrists and ankles healed from all of your useless struggling.
“I wasn’t dreaming,” you insisted, lying through your teeth.
You had been dreaming, and you’d been caught doing so. In your unconscious mind, you had explored the possibility of him fucking you, though you were in a setting where you wanted to be with the gorgeous man, instead of trapped in a sick, infantilizing fantasy of his.
“Daddy!” You squealed as his palm came down hard on your ass, stinging through the thin fabric of the panties he’d put you in.
“I don’t like lying little girls,” Bucky snapped in response, making your head lower submissively back onto your pillow.
Horror hung heavy over you as he hooked his finger in the crotch of your panties, pulling them aside to inspect your pussy.
“You’re all wet and desperate, poor baby,” he sighed, thumbing through your folds and sending a shameful shudder of arousal up your spine.
You shot him a wounded look, hating to be touched so intimately by the man you were terrified of, yet desperate for the relief that came with being touched in such a way.
You turned your face into your pillow, letting the pink fabric hide your blush and embarrassed tears as your hips rocked shamelessly against his hand. Bucky was thouroughly amused by your actions, intending to drive you to an orgasm just to see you come around his vibranium fingers that were now pumping in and out of your cunt. He reached down to rub your clit, toying mercilessly with the little knot until your thighs were shaking, and you moaned helplessly. Your walls clamped down on Bucky’s fingers as you came, gushing everywhere and making a mess on his hand. Soft sobs of embarrassment made your shoulders tremble, misery settling in as the euphoria wore off.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Bucky lifted you from the bed, setting you in the bathtub as he filled it with warm water.
He frowned at your squirms as he carefully wiped between your legs, washing the come from your skin. You sniffled pathetically, wriggling away from his touch.
“You’re going to be a brat after I let you come?” Bucky snapped at you, earning a wounded look.
“M’not being a brat,” you whispered defiantly.
He finished washing you up, being notably less gentle than before. Even as he dried you, his hands rose to cup your breasts and tease your nipples until they were hard and aching in the cold bathroom. You didn’t fight him, knowing better after you’d already gotten on his bad side that morning.
“Aren’t you going to dress me?” You questioned as he moved to sit on the chair in the corner instead of going to your wardrobe to pick out a frilly outfit for you.
“After I put your attitude back in line,” Bucky answered, grasping your forearm and pulling your naked body over his lap.
“Daddy…” you complained softly, squeezing your legs shut together to obstruct his view of your puffy sex.
“Count them. Or are you too little to count?” He taunted, landing his first spank against your bottom, your skin immediately stinging.
“One,” you breathed, residing yourself to endure the spanking, nauseous fear rising in your throat as you remembered the last time he’d beat you unconscious — and how it had taken a week before you could comfortably lie on your back.
“F-fifteen,” you sobbed as he groped your burning hot skin after finishing your punishment.
“You don’t talk back to daddy or resist him. Understand?” Bucky asked, making you stand in front of him.
“Mhm,” you sniffed, tears falling onto the carpet as you cried.
He slipped you off of his lap, and you sat between his legs on the floor and sobbed, your face resting against his thigh. Bucky gently stroked your damp hair, hushing you softly before lifting you to your feet.
“Does it hurt?” He asked, mortifying you as he leaned forward and gently kissed your smarting backside.
You nodded, and he reached up and wiped your tears from your cheeks.
“That’s why you have to be good for me, so I don’t have to hurt you,” he said sympathetically, as if spanking you had wounded him.
“M’sorry, daddy.”
You were shivering in the cold room, pressed against his body for warmth. His touch was gentle, fingertips gliding up your back, a softness you leaned into, savoring it while it lasted.
A whimper escaped your lips as he pulled out of your arms, and Bucky hurt at the noise.
“I’m just getting you something to wear, baby. Though you do look perfect naked with a nice red bottom,” he teased, making you blush hard.
You gingerly stepped into white panties, wincing as he pulled them up your legs, kissing along your thighs as he went. The fabric scratched your irritated skin, making you squirm as he held your hips. You allowed him to slip a baby pink jumper over your head, one that was much too oversized and hung down to your mid-thighs. You were thankful for the loose clothing, your aching thighs less uncomfortable than they would have been in pants.
You wandered over to the vanity while he searched for some frilly socks for your feet, your eyes scanning the contents of the drawer. You pulled out a strawberry chapstick and applied some to your lips, staring at yourself in the mirror. Bucky slipped the socks on you before turning you around to face him.
“I love you, baby,” he murmured before cautiously kissing your lips, unsure of how you’d react.
You found yourself kissing him back, melting into his chest as his warm hands settled on your waist. His tongue gently parted your lips, smiling as he found you tasted like strawberries. Sweet and innocent, just like the rest of his baby. You were breathless when he broke away, your head spinning.
“Tell me you love me,” he murmured against your cheek, his hands sliding under your jumper, needing to touch your skin.
“I…” you began, wanting to obey but feeling sick and twisted and confused.
“Tell me,” he hissed, his grip tightening on your soft waist.
“I love you, daddy,” you whispered, a tear sliding down your cheek.
