Steve Rogers And Bucky Barnes Images

Handled

MOB!Buckyxreader because why not?

Warnings - blood, drug trade, kidnapping, torture, violence, language, panic attack

You had no part in this...whatever it was. All you knew, was that you were bleeding, your jeans were covered in blood, and men were handling you like shit, so much you had a black eye as well as a busted vessel surrounding your pupil.

They were serious, talking as if they were making a drug deal. Which, you were sure they were when one brought out a suit case and made eye contact with you the whole time as he opened the lid and started to grab a full bag of white powder, smirking at your reaction.

You were squirming with tears dripping past the tape over your mouth, your screams muffled with the sticky object as he walked closer until he was squatting in front of you.

"Now, now, babygirl," he cooes sweetly and reaches his hand to your face, only you pull back, earning a harsh slap to the cheek. The sting only caused more tears to escape from the reality he set in, telling you how real this was. Telling you that your last few hours on Earth would be hell. He grabbed your cheeks from when your head snapped to the side to make you look at him. "You gotta be a good girl for me so you don't end up hurt more than you already are."

Sobs shake your body as you try and get away from him, only to feel his hand go to your hair to pull it down, stopping your movements.

"God you're a fucking bitch," he mutters and looks back at a few of the other men as they walk forward. "Don't kill her, just make her think she's dead." The words caused more screams to leave your mouth, but it was as if he was deaf because they listened to him instead of your incoherent pleas, hitting you like you were a punching bag.

Thinking back to what the first said, you really thought you were dead, because light flooded into the room with a few shadows coming in, your lungs burning with every breath when you tried to lift your head. Your ribs were broken, no doubt with every shift in your torso as they puncture into your lungs with fluid filling them.

Everything was too much of a blur to recall what happened, but you knew you were in more pain, your hair being pulled back once more with a knife hitting your throat. Three people stood in front of you, new men all with expensive suits like the others you've been with for at least three days.

"Let her go," One speaks up in a demanding tone, his arms uncrossing from his chest and body moving forward as he makes eye contact with you. "Why do you even need her? She compromise anything?" He asks, eyes scanning over your body before watching your chest. Though, he's not being predatory, only counting how many breaths you take in the matter of thirty seconds and how wheezy they sound. "You're killing her, Rumlow," he states, and it's the first time you hear a name.

"It's just mindless fun," the one behind you says. Rumlow. He lets the edge of the knife dig into your skin and you try to keep still when your sob breaks through, not wanting anymore damage than he's caused. "One of my guys liked her, and I gotta repay them for all they do to me. But, she was a fighter, like most are, and we gotta punish them somehow."

In seconds, three guns are pointed at you, the movements on your neck stopping as the blade is pushed into your skin more deeper. You could feel the blood slowly moving down to your shirt, which was no longer a pastel red, but covered in a darker shade all along the fabric from your nose, head, and now neck at the collar.