Steve Rogers And Bucky Barnes Images

✪ Handled

Warnings - Torture, blood, gore, reader is stabbed, mentions of pregnancy loss, cheating ex-bf, trust issues, descriptions of torture methods/abuse, violence, mafia terms, guns/shootings mentioned, speculation of rape, but not confirmed or talked about, death, murder, angst, reader throws a knife at Bucky, smut (p in v, protection used, slight thigh riding, making out mostly).

Reader is referred to as Sweets in this, but Y/N is mentioned. Bucky goes by James in this. Oh. and Steve is kinda an asshole.

The dress I described is pictured above

There could potentially be a part 2

In no way did you have any part in this. Whatever could describe what was going on with half slitted eyes and a mind barely hanging by a thread. The only thing that you could grasp was that everything hurt. It didn't matter what part of your body was attached, it all hurt; throbbed as you did your best to keep an active eye out for the man who was doing this to you–men. So many of them were in on it like some sort of high school prank.

But this was serious. This was life altering and traumatizing as you took notice in the expensive suits, brief cases and several crates several of the men were guarding like their life depended on it. Like your life depended on it. Though, you were just the woman strapped to the chair while they were the ones holding the guns. And the drugs they were most likely selling.

The tape that was slapped over your mouth was going nowhere as you did your best to move, hoping your joints didn't get stiff and pop like hours before. Your knees were bleeding out, fresh pair of jeans you'd decided to wear the day you were snatched off the street now stained with the memories of a drug deal you had no part of. Hell, you thought gangs were a joke.

You quickly learned they weren't.

In the time that you've been captive, you've noticed there was a leader. The boss man, as the others called him, gave out orders like some military. Do this, he would shout, hurt her, would be the next. This was all some game to him, even now as he looked at you from his throne, which was some squabbled chair behind a large desk. It was silly considering you were in some sort of warehouse.

Watching him stalk towards you slowly only made the edges of your eyes blur. The crowbar dangling from his hands, twirling with his thoughts made tears form and fall down your bloodied face adorned by knives and sticks. Maybe even a belt buckle. You had no clue since you weren't entirely conscious after he grabbed rebar from one of the tables, a quarter of it stuck in your thigh he now used as a stand to pull you closer.

"Now. Now." His voice was like nails on a chalkboard, scraping its way into your head as the rough pads of his fingers lifted your head by the chin, grip not so gentle. Through the wave of dizziness and hopelessness, you could see the joy this brought him; the pure excitement rimming his brown eyes as he toyed with the crowbar in his right hand. "Are you going to be good for us, or are you just going to be like the rest of them?" The question was rhetorical, but it was like it made things better for him, the tape around your mouth silencing the sobs trying to escape just like the rest of your mind.

All your pleas were met with laughs from everyone. The dim lighting didn't help to see all members of this tortuous club, but you could easily count the nine other men surrounding you, each having their own weapon to use on your body like some communal punching bag. This is where nightmares formed, no matter how many times you prayed for them to end it all.

A vicious hand grabs at your hair, snapping your neck back as harshly as he could so he could be as close to your skin as possible. His breath was warm, full of malice and hate as he chuckled at your sobs, body aching too much to move entirely, head spinning at the bright light above keeping you front and center for everyone to see.