Dear Darling
“Please, I have a daughter.” The statement comes out as a plea for mercy and to anyone else it would seem genuine, but not to them.
They know that he’s using it an excuse to spare his life, they know he doesn’t truly care about his own flesh and blood.
“A daughter-“ The wicked little bitch pleads with them, clasping her hands in an attempt to mercy that falls short.
“Hi sweetheart,” Bucky turns his back on the couple and takes a few steps to crouch near the wall, peering down at the small child, “you shouldn’t be watching this.”
She’s out of bed and wide eyed, curious about the two men standing before her father and step-mother. Her hands are clutching the wall and she should be scared but Bucky knows that her penchant for mischief and curiosity is unbound.
“Who are you?” She questions with a tilt of her head, and Bucky feels a bubbling laugh building in his throat.
“My name is Bucky, and that’s my friend Steve.”
“What’s gonna happen?” Bucky’s slips stretch and the appearance of fangs protrude form his lips, and his hand flexes with every beat of the child’s heart.
“Nothing you need to worry about. I have something for you.” From behind his back, Bucky pulls a stuffed rabbit that seems lifelike with soft browned fur and a cute button nose.
“Its cute.” He smiles again at her awing, handing it over with a gentle pat to her head.
“Go back to bed, honey. You’ll be safe in your bed.”
He waits until she’s gone and then he stands, his jaw clenching and thirst hitting him dead on. He turns slowly, watching his partner holding the couple still with an underlying threat.
“If you touch anything that belongs to that sweet child,” Bucky’s voice is deep and intense, his huskiness akin to deadly rage, “we’ll disembowel you.”
“To start.” Steve finishes with a deep seeded growl, a few pops and cracks of his bones a sign of his ability to shift on the fly. “Now…we need to discuss a few things-“
“I don’t have it!” The quim cries, shaking and holding his hands up for safety. “Please, you can have her-“
“Her?” Steve reaches for the front of his shirt and lifts him clean off the ground, the tips of his toes hovering against the floor. “You can’t give away what doesn’t belong to you.”
“My daughter-“ he attempts again, and finds it shot down.
“-will be getting gifts from now on. They are for her and her alone and if you touch them, if you try and pawn them off, you’re going to die.” Bucky warns once and the man is dropped back down to the floor, his wife clinging to him.
“You still have a debt owed, and we will be back to collect payment. Gradually.” Steve straightens himself out and clears his throat, glancing over his shoulder to gaze upon Bucky.
“She likes the rabbit, already asleep.”
“Good.” Steve steps away from the couple and turns sharply, striding toward Bucky. “Let’s go, we have another few stops to make tonight.”
The climb is jaunting as you attempt to scale the side of the house to get back into your room. The light is dimmed from the new moon and there’s a distinct lack of sound surrounding the house, but from within the house you can hear the toxic and twisted sound of your father and step-mother.
She’s shrieking like she usually does, a ploy to make your father feel better about his impudence and you feel nauseous when you hear him asking her how it feels. There’s nothing more than the sound of them that makes you feel as sick, and you’re quick to climb into your bedroom and slam the window shut behind you.
However as you turn to your bed, you find that all sound has been erased anyway. It’s muffled and quieted by the gift that’s sitting squarely in the middle and the letter written in thick stationary. You’ve had gifts like this before, once a year for every Christmas and your birthday, and of course Valentine’s Day.
They started out cute when you were younger, stuffed bears and little charms, a jewelry box or new colouring books. As you got older the gifts had become more suited to your age like journals and sketchbooks, perfectly balanced perfumes and jewelry.
However your favourite had been a music box that came when you turned 16. It was beautiful and well crafted, it depicted an image of a wolf howling while a ballerina danced to the moonlight skyline. It was your most prized possession, it was beautiful and breathtaking.
And the music box had come with the delivery of a modest, safe vehicle signed in your name and completely free. It was a gift from someone who had sponsored parts of your life and only left a few short words in letters occasionally.
Dear Darling, the letters began, the newest was no exception.
You loved the letters and loved the gifts, especially since your father and step-mother had in no small measure tried to forget you were still around.
Dear Darling,
Hope this finds you well, you’re turning 19 soon sweet girl. This gift is smaller than the ones in the past, but it’s no less beautiful. Stay safe sweet girl and keep your head up, you’re doing amazing sweetie.
SR & BB
You sat on the bed and grasped the box, holding it securely as you lift the lid and gazed at the charm bracelet sitting inside. It was resting on a velour pillow with a few pretty charms hanging off the bracelet, all of which were detailed and immaculate.
A wolf howling at the moon was next to a bat hanging upside down with its wings spread. There was a detailed rose that looked as if it was embedded with tiny little rubies to make the petals, and the final charm was your initials.
“Its beautiful,” you crooned and lift it from the box, looking over every immaculate detail before slipping it on your wrist, “I love it.”
You had no memory of who was giving you these gifts, but with every gift had come a feeling of security and wanting.
Every gift was catered to you, and every gift made you feel like a princess.
505 notes
·
View notes