Hello! Sorry I didn't post in a while - been so busy recently. Here is chapter five which means I need to find time to finish writing chapter seven. This is a shorter chapter but I make up for it I think in chapter 6. Just thought I should give more back story.
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
Warnings: Flashbacks with torture and gore.
Word Count: 1393
Chapter Five - Shadow and Sin
Shame is a place. Guilt is the architecture.
You lie awake in your bed at Avengers Tower. The quiet feels unnatural. The sheets, too clean.
It had been a long and painful day. Training had been a waking nightmare. The exhaustion made you prone to losing control. You couldn’t get their faces out of your head. The way the team looked at you. Like you were dangerous. Like you were to be feared.
The thought left you with an ice cold ache in your bones. Your hands were freezing, tingling despite the heat of the room. Your powers had drained you.
But something warmer tugs at your chest as you remember the moment on the roof. Bob. How accepting he had been of your admission. How he took it in stride and simply offered reassurance and a foreign sense of comfort.
He had talked about how he was scared of himself too. How he had two other sides to him that he was scared of losing control over. How he understood the feeling of power surging beneath your skin and the need for release. The line to walk was a fine one. He'd said it was like being on meth again. Control felt like chasing a high—just a little more. Always a little more.
It felt good having someone understand something about you that felt so unnatural. So forbidden. So violent.
You breathe, staring up at the ceiling with a hand bent under your head. Shadows twitch faintly across the walls. They were reacting to your emotions and unease even though you weren’t consciously calling them.
You were exhausted, but your body won’t sleep—until it does, and it swallows you whole.
--
You’d recognise this place from its smell alone. Sterile. Metallic.
Machines hummed from all around you. Lights buzzed like a drill against your skull.
You sit in a glass cell. Younger. Strapped to a cold metal chair. A medical gown loose over your smaller frame. Your body was damp with sweat, trembling. The salt of it hung in the air.
The door slides open with a mechanical hiss. Two guards drag in another subject. She’s scared, young, crying. She has blonde hair, cut short and choppy, as if she had attacked it with scissors in an attempt to regain some semblance of autonomy. She was small. Too small. Bruised. Crying. Blood on her cheek. A cut like a slash mark across a doll’s face. Her pale eyes met yours. Your face was trained into a blank state, no emotion. But your frame shook, hands vibrating with all the feelings you couldn’t show.
The speakers screech to life. She flinches.
You don’t.
“Engage.” A voice demands. Cold, detached. You stare for a moment. Two.
“No.” Your voice cracks. Jaw clenching shut again.
A guard hits you with the hilt of his gun. You feel the pain shoot through you and you heave in a shaky breath. Your eyes find hers again. Then they shock you again.
The metal chair buzzes with electricity. The white hot pain rattling up your spine, forcing your muscles to contract. A scream rips through you, echoing off the walls. You smelled burning. You were sure it was your skin. Or maybe the gown.
It stops. Your body instantly flopping again as you suck in air quickly. Your eyelids feel heavy. You manage to just about raise your head back to its original position and look at the small girl in front of you. She must’ve been the same age. Younger. Sixteen, maybe?
“Engage.” The same voice crackles through the room. You spit blood onto the floor. You had bit your tongue.
“Fuck you.” You growl, but you shake still. Terrified.
Another hit to the head. This time your cheekbone. A fresh graze mirroring hers. A reminder that the roles could have easily been reversed.
Another shock, blindingly hot and you hear something break in your jaw as it clenches. A tooth in the back of your mouth. Something snaps in you. There’s a guttural, deep roar of agony that crawls its way up from your abdomen, creeping up your throat and ricocheting off the walls.
It happens in an instant.
It’s as if you unleash something primal and ancient from the very depths of your bones. It tears outward, lurching forwards.
Your eyes squeeze shut from the shock but you feel it. Hear it. Her bones pop. Blood splatters on your face. The burning smell is more intense. She doesn’t even get the time to scream. Two hard thumps follow.
The electricity ceases.
And when you see what you’ve done, so does your heart.
The two guards lay lifeless at your feet. Their bellies split open like pigs. Innards strewn across the floor as their blood pools warm between your toes. But that wasn’t the worst of it.
There was nothing left of her. Her tiny body had been reduced to a pile of viscera. Her head was barely recognisable. One eye gone. The other stared through you. Slashes and gashes cut clean through her skull. Her jaw hung loosely, barely attached.
Bile shot up your throat as you puked into your own lap. The acid burned. Your eyes brimmed with hot tears.
You killed her. She was a child. She was so small.
There’s a shift beside you. A familiar tuft of brown wavy hair. Your eyes meet. They bore into yours with horror and sympathy.
“Bob.” You gasp.
No. No. No. He wasn’t meant to see this. No one can know this.
The chair falls backwards.
--
You wake, shooting up, covered in a heavy sheen of sweat. Your clothes stick to your body. You suck in air desperately. Eyes panicked and darting around your room. You weren’t sure you were out of it yet.
Bob looks at you like he’s seen everything, because he has.
He stands, a hand on your shoulder. He was scared. Not of you. But of your reaction to him seeing it all, to him not controlling his ability as he tried to wake you from your nightmare. Your guilt. Your shame.
“No.” You whisper brokenly. “Y-you weren’t supposed to see that.”
He knows. He knows you killed her. Eviscerated her. There was nothing to bury.
He slowly kneels in front of you, taking your hands shakily in his. You shake your head vehemently. You didn’t deserve this, you didn’t deserve this kindness.
His hands were warm, soft, grounding. Darkened by the lack of light in the room, his eyes locked with yours. Not a single trace of anger or fear or hate. There was only empathy.
Shadows gently hover around him. Neutral.
“I’m glad I did.” He replies. His voice is so soft, you almost don’t hear it. Your eyes are filled with unshed tears. One streaks down your cheek as you shake your head, your mouth opening and closing.
You realise the lamp that was on your desk had been flung across the room. A harsh smoky streak lay on the dresser opposite your bed. Evidence of your internal conflict made external. Visible.
“I heard a crash, so I knocked and came in. I’m sorry if that was overstepping a boundary.” He mumbles, eyes flicking away momentarily.
You couldn’t believe it. After what he had just seen you do, an echo of your past, he was apologising to you. You laugh. It’s disbelief.
“You just saw me murder an innocent child.” You say hoarsely, sniffling.
“I killed her, Bob. She was a kid. There was nothing left of her—and you’re apologizing to me?” A few more tears drip down your cheeks. He offers a small sympathetic smile and uses the cuff of his jumper to wipe them away.
“I guess so..” His words are sheepish and he has a lopsided grin as he fails to meet your eyes.
You take his chin between your thumb and forefinger, so light you’re afraid he will break. Or run.
“You’re insane.” You breathe. He huffs out a laugh.
“I tell you I have manic and depressive episodes and that I turned half of New York into shadows; you don’t batter an eye. But, I see something bad you’ve done, stay, and that’s what brings you to that conclusion?” He smirks, voice low. It gets a chuckle from you.
Hello! Part four. I finally wrote chapter six and by write I mean I blacked out and when I came to I'd written nearly 5k words so be ready for that chapter when it drops lmao.
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
Warnings: Kind of suicidal ideation at the end?
Word Count: 3076
Chapter Four - A Dark Reflection
You wake from shallow, fractured sleep. The night had dragged by, each hour heavier than the last. You’re still exhausted, a dull ache in your bones. Reaching for the bottle of painkillers on the nightstand, you rattle two into your palm and pop them dry before dragging yourself toward the bathroom.
The mirror doesn’t lie. Harsh truths lay bare, exposed on the reflective surface for all to see.
Your eyes are ringed with shadows.
Your skin is pale, drawn tight.
You look like a ghost still learning how to inhabit its body.
You brush your teeth with the new toothbrush, rinse, then splash your face with cold water in the hope it’ll wake something inside you. It doesn’t. You tie your hair up at the back of your head—tight, practical, controlled. A shower would help, but there's nothing clean to change into.
As you leave the bathroom, you notice a slip of paper shoved halfway under the door. You stoop to pick it up.
“We’re going shopping. Be ready. - Y”
Your stomach sinks.
Shopping. You hadn’t done that in years. Not since before HYDRA. Since before choice was stolen from you.
Everything since had been assigned. Uniforms. Routines. Roles. You’d worn what they gave you. Become what they needed. Shadows whisper viciously. Killer. Killer. Killer.
Still holding the note, you step into the hallway and make your way toward the common area. The smell of coffee hits first. Yelena and Bob sit on the couch, speaking in low tones. You think about using your powers to listen—then immediately discard the idea. Your body’s running on fumes. Using shadows this morning might leave you unconscious. Or worse. You clear your throat softly.
They both look up. Yelena stands, her expression warm but casual. Bob freezes mid-sentence, his robe loose around him. He looks like he wants to say something but can’t find the words.
“I got your note,” you say quietly, as if scared to be too loud, scared to occupy the space you take up.
“Good,” Yelena replies, walking toward you. “Figured since you don’t have any clothes, we’d pick up some basics. I didn’t know your sizes, so I couldn’t just order stuff.”
You nod stiffly. Your shoulders are tight, arms close to your sides, like you’re bracing for something. You are. You always are.
“I haven’t been shopping since before HYDRA,” you murmur. “I don’t even know what size I am.”
Bob glances away quickly, eyes glossy with something unspoken. He opens a book on his lap, pretending to read.
“We’ll figure it out,” Yelena says gently, already moving toward the elevator. “Come on.”
She pauses just before stepping in. “Bob, can you let Bucky know I’m taking Y/N out for essentials? I’ll drop her off for training after.”
Bob gives her a lazy thumbs-up and a lopsided smile. “Sure thing.”
You glance at him as the elevator doors begin to close. He’s watching you again, but doesn’t say a word.
Neither do you.
--
Yelena takes you to a few stores not far from the tower. The first one is easy—quiet, orderly. You grab the basics: underwear, bras, socks, athletic wear, shoes. Yelena helps you pick out a few simple garments, all neutral and functional. Nothing complicated. Nothing that asks questions.
The next store is a different story. A sensory ambush.
The lights overhead buzz like hornets, bright and clinical. Conversations crowd the air in uneven rhythms—some too loud, others just whispers—but they all blur together into a rising, inescapable noise. You freeze beneath the fluorescents, suddenly aware of how strange it feels to be choosing something for yourself.
You don’t know your size.
You don’t know your style.
You don’t know you.
Yelena notices. Without a word, she picks up three identical black shirts, each one larger than the last.
“Here. Try these on. See what fits, and we’ll go from there.” Her voice is gentle, but direct. She steers you toward the fitting rooms.
Three mirrors greet you inside, harsh and honest. You undress mechanically, cycling through the shirts. When you find the right one, you step out and quietly tell her your size. She nods.
“Good. Now go pick some shirts.” Her tone is upbeat, supportive.
You blink at her, overwhelmed, staring out at a forest of colour and fabric. Your face must say everything.
Yelena snorts. “That’s the saddest lost-puppy look I’ve ever seen.”
Shadows begin to flicker beneath the racks—your breath shortens. The reflections in the mirrors multiply, distort, echo you from every angle. Your powers begin to surge, crawling up your spine like static. It burns just behind your ribs.
Then, her voice cuts through it.
“Pick something black. It suits your vibe.” She bumps your shoulder with hers, grinning sideways.
It works. You huff a small laugh through your nose. Not much, but enough to break the spiral. Your hands stop shaking. You scan the racks again—still uncertain, but calmer now. You pull a few things: jeans, sweatpants, shirts, hoodies. Everything is practical, layered, safe. No statement pieces. Nothing that draws eyes.
Later, you sit together in the car. The silence feels thick, but not uncomfortable. You breathe in deep. It’s the calmest you’ve felt in hours. Yelena pulls something small from her coat pocket and holds it out to you.
“I know what it’s like… not having a say in what you wear, eat, or feel. So I got you this. It’s not much, but... it’s something you don’t need. Sometimes starting with one thing like that—one choice—makes it easier to find the next.”
In her palm lies a slim brown leather bracelet, soft with wear. A small silver charm shaped like a cloud dangles from the center.
You stare at it. Your mouth opens, but no words come. Emotion builds in your chest like pressure behind glass.
“I… I don’t know what to say.”
She gives you a crooked smile. “Most people say ‘thank you.’”
“Right. Thank you.” You take the bracelet from her, your fingers brushing hers. You slip it onto your wrist—your right wrist, where the manacles used to be.
It feels foreign. Not cold and metal. Not a restraint. Just... soft. Chosen.
You stare at it as Yelena starts the engine, the bracelet catching the light as the car hums back toward the tower.
--
Upon arriving back at the tower, you were both wrangled immediately into training by Bucky. You dump your bags in your room, throw on leggings, a sports bra, and a shirt, then head straight for the gym.
The space was industrial, echoing with grunts and commands. Padding lines the floor. Weapons racks are untouched — this session focussed on hand-to-hand. They had already been at it for a while.
Bucky was running the session, insisting that everyone pair up. He chooses Yelena, demonstrating a range of offensive and defensive moves smoothly. Both of them dodged and danced around each other with grace. You watch quietly, tense in the corner.
Ava pairs hastily with Alexei, leaving John to pair begrudgingly with you. He is blunt, impatient, seeing you as both a threat and a weak link.
Bucky explains to everyone that the point is to practice basic dodges, counters and grapples. There is a ban on using powers. Only controlled contact. You breathe, moving to a free mat with John.
You lock eyes with him, uncertain. His own reflect his cold, guarded demeanor. Both of you ready yourselves. He’s in an offensive stance, you immediately move into defense. You wait. Seconds tick by. It feels like hours. Each of you anticipating the other’s move. Then he strikes.
John comes at you hard — restrained, but intense. Each move is measured, sharp, a reminder that he’s trained to hurt, not spar. You dodge, flinching and anticipate his violence. Each move of his is equally countered by you but you make no attempt to fight back. Breaths rip through your lungs as you focus on every action, your brain panicking and unsure of how to attack without your powers.
“Fight back, Y/N, come on.” He grunts as he throws more punches. Although you blocked them, you would definitely feel it later. His super soldier strength was a serious advantage even though he was pulling his punches.
Suddenly, you flinch, giving him an opening which he takes. His fist collides with your ribs harshly.
You feel the wind knock out of you and you panic. Instinct takes over, pure and primal.
The shadows rip free, screaming from your skin like whips, tearing through the air. One slams into the mat — a crack splits the foam, smoking at the edges.
John barely dodges in time. He dives.
The room freezes.
Your shoulders tense, rising to your ears. You feel every stare — from the torn mat to your trembling frame. Your fingers tingle. You feel cold. The tension in the room rises to a fever pitch.
“You do that in the field, someone dies. Control yourself.” Ava steps back, cold and sharp.
“She’s not ready. This is what I was saying. You put us all at risk.” John raises his voice as he scrambles to his feet, pointing at you.
You’re trembling. Wide-eyed. Breathing too fast. You back away — shoulders tight, eyes dark. You’re scared of yourself more than anyone else.
Bucky approaches, raising a hand which immediately shuts down the argument. His voice is firm, but not cruel.
“That’s enough. Everyone out.”
They all slowly back out of the room. Yelena turns, her eyes watching you with concern before walking out the door.
“You’re not here to be perfect. You’re here to learn. But if you can’t control it, we will pull you back.” He says, low as he helps you to your feet. He looks into your eyes for a moment, sincere, but understanding. He turns, leaving you alone.
Alone with the echo of what you almost did.
Your eyes fix on the slash in the mat.
When you were HYDRA’s pet, if you lost control like that, you were caged or put into stasis after a brutal beating. You always had to keep a lid on it, so why were you struggling so much now? Was it because you felt like you had more to lose? Or was it because you were exhausted and hadn’t had the time to adjust to your new found but limited freedom?
You breathe, jaw tense. Fists clenching.
You let out a scream, throwing a punch at one of the training dummies so hard you feel pain shoot through your knuckles. Shadows pulse, throwing it against the wall.
One of the mirrors on the wall cracks, fracturing your reflection and you feel like you’re about to pass out from pushing your abilities too far. You collapse to your knees, smelling blood before you feel it trickle from your nostril and over your upper lip. You stay there, too tired to move.
You don’t know how much time has passed when the gym door finally creaks open. You raise your head to see who it is. Bob. He has a bottle of water in his hand and a softness written all over his face as he approaches. He kneels wordlessly, placing the bottle in your hand, his fingers brushing yours. His touch is careful, like he’s afraid you’ll break. Or that he will.
You don’t meet his eyes.
“You didn’t hurt anyone. That’s what matters.” He whispers, voice gentle as he stays close. His presence was soft, grounding. You blink, eyelids heavy.
“I don’t know how to work with people. I was never supposed to.” Your voice is barely audible, broken in the stillness of the room. The silence was a stark contrast from the violence of your earlier actions.
Your words make his chest feel heavy with melancholy.
He looks up to see Ava peering at them through the gym window before silently walking away.
--
You return to your room. It’s a welcome reprieve from everyone’s constant ever-watchful eyes. Grabbing one of your new hoodies and some sweatpants. You step into the bathroom, placing the clothes on the counter. The door clicks shut behind you, finally cutting off the surveillance camera’s gaze.
The shower is scalding, but you don’t flinch. You stand under its steady stream letting it wash the sweat and hurt down the drain. Your whole body ached with exhaustion. The shadows had gone quiet. You scrub until your skin burns, trying to wash the shame out of your pores, trying to prove—what? That you’re clean now? That you deserve this second chance?
You step out. You’d hoped a shower would make you feel more alive, improved. It didn’t.
You towel dry your hair and body, pulling on the sweatpants and hoodie. The fabrics were soft against your raw reddened skin. They felt comforting. Like a hug you had never received.
You spend some time slowly unpacking the shopping bags, storing the clothes in the closet and dresser. You had just finished, scrunching the bags up and putting them in the small plastic bin by the desk when three soft knocks sound from your door. They’re nervous. Barely there.
You open the door, revealing Bob, with his hair damp and dishevelled from his own shower. He had a fresh blue jumper on and some black sweatpants, slippers covering his feet.
“I figured you might want someone to show you around, since you haven’t seen everything yet?” He stutters softly, eyes meeting yours anxiously. His hands pulled at the cuff of one of his sleeves. The sight and the offer made you smile, and you found yourself agreeing with a soft nod despite already having seen the gym and briefing floors. He looks almost relieved at your acceptance.
“G-Great. Come on then, I’ll show you around.” He smiles as he starts to shuffle off down the hallway.
He gives you the grand tour, showing you the obvious spaces, hoping to make you feel a little more relaxed, settled. He shows you the unimportant stuff. Storage closets, kitchen quirks, silly paintings and pictures. A subtle way to show how he sees the tower—not as a fortress, but a home. It puts you more at ease.
You watch him with grateful, curious eyes as he starts to guide you down to the recreational floor. The elevator doors slide open, revealing a space with a bar, pool table, dartboard and several spaces for people to sit. It was often used for social gatherings like galas that Valentina liked to hold for good press or as a place to celebrate after a successful mission, he explains.
Then he turns to you.
“Well, that was the four floors you have access to…” He offers a small sheepish smile, but he hesitates for a moment. “But, I want to show you one more place, if you’ll let me?” He asks, eyes hopeful. Your eyes narrow softly, a small smile appearing on your face as you nod.
“Okay.” you agree.
He guides you back into the elevator and uses his keycard to go to the highest level. The ride is a little longer than what you’re used to, and part of you wonders what the hell all these floors are even used for. Then it stops, and the doors part.
He trips in his eagerness, and you laugh - the sound escapes before you can stop it. His head snaps up, eyes wide. For a moment, Bob thinks he imagined it - that laugh. But when he looks up, you’re covering your mouth, eyes bright. And something in his chest cracks open.
He grins, his cheeks turning a soft pink as he feels embarrassed that he almost fell flat on his face. But, he can’t help but realise it's the first time he’s heard you laugh. It makes his heart feel warm.
He catches himself staring for a moment too long, shaking himself out of it as you watch him carefully.
“Come on, it's just up these stairs.” He says leading you up a cramped stairwell. At the top is a door. He pushes it.
You both step out onto the roof of the tower. It’s dark. The only light coming from the door they just walked through, and the moon. Your eyes are soft and wide as they take in the night.
The rooftop is quiet, wind tugging gently at your clothes. Below, the city hums like a distant memory. But up here, it's just you, the sky, and the steady rhythm of your breath.
He smiles, watching you, eyes warm.
“I sneak up here when I can't sleep. Feels like the dark is quieter up here.” He speaks softly. He was right. You slowly inhale and exhale, the tension melting from your body. Was this what it was like to be free? Part of you wonders if peace like this ever lasts.
“You know, I get it. The shadows. It’s like a void, right? Like it’s gonna suck you right in and take control?” He whispered, something about his voice was soothing. His words struck something in you, deep and sorrowful.
You nod.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m teetering on the edge and if I push just a little further, shadows will consume me and I’ll just.. Disappear.” You admit, eyes conveying the weight of your words. “And some-sometimes.. I think maybe that’s not so bad.” You continue. The words you’d hesitated to say out loud for so long suddenly hanging in the air between you both. He doesn’t flinch.
There’s something open, vulnerable about you at this moment.
He looks at you with something tender for a moment, afraid that if he says or does anything, you might be scared off. He struggles to think of something to say, so instead he just slowly, carefully reaches for your hand, taking it in his.
His skin is soft and warm. It contrasts sharply with the cold air surrounding them. You notice how cold your hand is in comparison. He squeezes it gently. Reassuring. Something passes between them, something pleasant and unspoken. A kinship.
It is as if they see the darkness in each other. Both of them are a reflection of the other. The potential for incredible violence. Yet, they recognise that the other would choose kindness every time.
You turn your head, craning it towards the sky. He looks at you as your eyes fill with the night sky.
In that moment, as the starlight reflects in your eyes, Bob knows -he’d do anything to keep that light from ever going out.
Hello! Two chapters in one day. I'm busy the next couple days but I'll be no doubt fixating on how to progress.
I'm trying to stay two chapters ahead to at least give myself breathing room.
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART FOUR
Warnings: Flashbacks and medical stuff with needles.
Word Count: 2642
Chapter Three - A Second Chance
Valentina gathered everyone in the briefing room above the residential floor. From the moment everyone sat down, it was chaos. Words were hurled viciously from one end of the room to the other like knives.
Six guards surrounded you, a security measure in case you tried anything, but you were drained. Stasis did that. Waking up in a panic only to then use your powers on a large scale so soon after was bound to have its effects. Even if you wanted to run, to escape, you doubted you would get far. Instead, you stood outside the meeting room, peering in through the glass walls. You couldn’t hear a thing through the soundproofing.
Your eyes scanned the strangers in front of you, arguing amongst themselves, too busy to notice the inky shadow creeping in and under the table, eavesdropping. An extension of you. Their voices reverberated off your pounding skull, metallic and distorted, like listening through a tin can.
“HYDRA has a known history of exploiting people like her and she is too valuable an asset to lose. She will undergo deconditioning and training to be a part of this team.” Valentina’s voice cut through them like a blade as she stood suddenly, chair wheeling backwards. Her hands were poised on the table, her navy blue pantsuit a little ruffled. She cleared her throat, hands moving to pat out any wrinkles in her blazer as she stood to her full height. “She will be given a trial period. We will watch her closely, monitoring her abilities and whereabouts. I am not saying she can be trusted, I am simply saying we take the risk.”
Bucky couldn’t argue with her, his history with HYDRA was awfully similar. He was just lucky Steve was there to defend him. He sat, head in hands, wishing he was anywhere else.
“Are you forgetting that she almost killed me?” John raised his voice, his neck bruised where your shadows had coiled. He was furious at the mere thought of you being allowed a free pass onto the team after what happened. His hands clenched at his sides.
“Part of me wishes she did while she had the chance.” Ava muttered, arms crossed, expression drawn. “She’s dangerous,” Ava said quietly. “We should track her—at least until we know we can trust her. House arrest?”
“We were all given second chances, why not her? We’ve all pulled some bad shit at some point.” Yelena defends, shrugging, cutting in before John has a chance to react to Ava’s comment.
“Yes, but she is very powerful, very scary. We need to think about this.” Alexei chimed in, nodding as he paced up and down the room.
Bob sits quietly, listening to everyone talk about you. He remembered how scared and confused he had been when he came out of his pod months ago now. How they had all pointed their guns at him and how he was shaking and almost paralysed with fear. He could barely get his name out of his mouth when they had all first met. He sympathised with you.
“She was scared.” He spoke, barely above a whisper but they all heard him. “S-She was surrounded by strangers and machines in a place she didn’t know. How else do you expect her to react when everyone immediately treats her like a-a threat?” He says a little louder, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes.
The team pauses for a moment as if listening, then goes back to arguing.
Bob’s head falls forward with a sigh, looking down at his hands in his lap. He hated arguing. It always made his heart drum against his ribcage and his hands tremble. He fiddles with the hem of his jumper as he spots a shadow, swirling under the table. He frowns, then looks up, directly into your eyes which glowed softly through the glass.
You retract the shadow instantly, blinking as your eyes return to normal.
Your pulse throbbed in your ears. Head pounding. You stumble. A guard steadies you.
Bob doesn’t say anything.
--
It's another half an hour before they all come to some form of agreement. You are placed on house arrest. Free roam of the main floors of the tower accessed by a keycard, but if you want to leave then you need one of the team to accompany you. Training every other day with Bucky and Yelena. You don’t protest. If anything you were just relieved you weren’t being caged in another cell. Or terminated.
You are quickly taken to the medical bay which makes your anxiety spike. Places like this never meant anything good for you. Bucky stands nearby, watching you and noticing your fear.
“They’re going to fit a temporary subdermal tracking device and conduct a routine health check.” The supersoldier explains, his body language communicates tension, distrust. But, he understood what you were going through. It does nothing to ease your nerves.
The clean sterile smell and the soulless white walls remind you only of the experiments you’d been forced to endure. You were ushered onto a table. The cold metal surface brings sharp fragments of memory cutting to the forefront of your mind. You shake it off, focussing on the doctor who appears through a doorway with a kind smile.
“Okay, Y/N..” She says, looking over some papers before looking up at you. “I’m just going to give you a once over, make sure you’re healthy, nothing out of the ordinary. That means I will need to take a blood sample and a few other things. Does that sound alright with you?” She asks sweetly, eyes warm.
The whole situation was strangely terrifying. Her tone, the question of consent, is completely foreign, sending your brain into a meltdown. All you could do was look at Bucky, then back at her and nod.
She smiles and talks you through everything as she works. Her hands hold a syringe and you swallow thickly, mouth dry, sweat forming on your brow despite your body being cold. Your eyes glow a little and Bucky tenses. The doctor gently takes your arm in her other hand and presses the needle to the crook of your elbow.
The sting is familiar. Too familiar. The moment the needle breaks skin, your vision tunnels.
Metal straps. Bright lights. A voice saying, “Increase the dose.”
Your heartbeat spikes, thudding in your throat. The air grows thick.
Lights flicker. A glass explodes behind the doctor. You didn’t mean to. You never mean to.
She jumps, scared. Bucky flinches, watching your every move but you don’t look at either of them. Eyes squeezed shut as she continues to draw blood. Something flickers behind your eyelids, the face of your handler, brows drawn and angry. Once finished, she removes the needle and places a cotton ball on the scratch.
“Hold this, please.” She says softly. You do, eyes opening. “Do you suffer from headaches? Aches and pains? Anything like that?” She asks, tone a little shaky but professional. You nod despite the fear rushing through you.
“When I’m drained I get headaches. Nosebleeds too.” You answer tensely, voice tired. She notes it down, offering a bottle of painkillers.
“Okay, we can monitor that. The likelihood is that the more you train, the more you can push yourself. Start small and try not to go to breaking point every time.” She advises, and continues with the examination before finally pulling back, finished. “Alright, that should be everything for the health check. The only thing left is the tracker. It's another needle I’m afraid, so calm yourself with some deep breaths.” This needle was bigger, thicker.
Your breathing speeds up as she moves to your upper arm this time. She places it against your skin, then presses gently.
You’re not in control.
Not again. Please not again.
Breathe.
The lights pop. The shadows flinch.
She leaps away with a frightened squeak and you twitch. You swear you hear the sound of restraints rattling against your skull.
“S-sorry” You whisper. Bucky’s jaw clenches and you look down. “I’m not doing it on purpose.”
“I know.” He speaks, voice gentle. A flicker of something softer in his eyes, understanding.
The doctor shakes as she approaches again. You felt guilty for scaring her. She was younger than you by a year or two. Hopeful. Kind. She quickly finishes putting the tracker in your arm and gets you to sign the paperwork before leaving.
Bucky brings you to the elevator and then up to the residential floor. You take in the space carefully, mapping out the exits. The rest of the team stand bickering in the common area before turning to look at you. You are introduced to everyone individually, they are relaxed, but none of them step too close.
You’re coiled like a spring, eyes flicking to the cameras around the area. Every muscle is tense as Bucky tells you their names.
Alexei is the only one who offers his hand to shake and you take it gently, your hand dwarfed in his as he smiles, his moustache curling upwards in kind. John doesn’t move. Just watches. Coiled. Waiting. Yelena offers a small smile as she is introduced and Ava gives a curt nod. Bob gives you a little wave from behind the others. It’s awkward. Gentle. You hold onto that for a second longer than you should.
You don’t say anything as Bucky guides you to the spare room between his and Ava’s and opposite Bob’s. “I’ll let you take some time to settle in, get used to the place..” He says, eyes trained on your face as he opens the door for you. You shift past him carefully and into the room.
Sterile grey walls and floors. A floor to ceiling window. A double bed pushed against the left wall perpendicular to the glass opposite you. A desk and lamp stand next to the bed. Shelves hung empty above the desk. A door to an ensuite bathroom was opposite the entrance to the room. A closet and dresser lining the wall between the doors. It was cold. A camera had been installed in the corner of the room. Surveillance. It felt a lot like another cage, even if it was nicer than the last.
Bucky goes to close the door but you swing around and grab it before he can, a panic in your eyes. Shadows whisper. Cage. Cage. Cage. Bucky holds up his hands gently.
“You can leave it open if it helps,” Bucky says softly. “I just figured you might want some space. Time to breathe.” He explains, voice softer than before, knowing that look all too well. “The door only locks from the inside.” He adds, gesturing to the small locking mechanism. You swallow and nod, eyes darting away again before he leaves. He pauses a few steps away.
“I know what you’re going through. The fear. The panic. The distrust of everything. But you are safe here.” He whispers, eyes finding yours. Then he turns the corner, gone.
You stay still for a moment, watching as Bob briefly appears walking down the corridor and opening his door to go inside. He looks back at you over his shoulder, his eyes soft. He goes to say something. You close your door.
--
You had been sitting for hours on the bed, legs crossed in front of you. You didn’t have any possessions, so you just waited. For orders. For tests. For something. But nothing came. You were exhausted, but your body was still on high alert so you couldn’t sleep.
You had listened quietly, hearing footsteps moving around outside your room as people came and went. You heard dishes clattering as people ate dinner, but you didn’t emerge from your room, even when the smell of it drifted into your nostrils and your stomach growled in hunger. It wasn’t until you had the safety of the dark that you finally decided to move.
You closed your eyes, enveloping yourself in shadow. There was a brief moment of feeling like you were falling as you apparate from the bedroom and into the dark corner of the common area.
Alexei was snoring on the sofa, an open pack of cookies on his chest. The darkness in the tower whispered softly to you, communicating the whereabouts of everyone nearby. John is on the phone with someone in the kitchen to the left, the light spilling out of the room. He was complaining to someone, explaining that you were just a ticking time-bomb. His voice was echoey and distorted due to the exhaustion of your abilities, but you got the gist.
The more you used your power, the more you felt the shadows twitch, agitated. Careful. Careful. Careful. They hiss. Yet you continued to listen.
Bucky and Yelena appear, exiting the elevator from a late night training session. They talked quietly about you, discussing what could help you settle in. Bucky insisted that establishing a routine could help but Yelena wanted to take you to get some clothes since you had nothing.
The shadows itch — no, crawl. Like barbed wire under your skin. You should stop. You know you should stop.
“She’s dangerous.” John's voice echoes through the darkness. But it’s warped. Twisted. He didn’t say it like that. Did he?
The whispering shadows won’t quiet. They pull at your limbs like anchors. Your nose bleeds again. You wipe it away without looking. You slowly move from the shadows as Yelena and Bucky both pass and enter their separate rooms. You might as well take a look around the floors you had access to.
The floor above, the briefing room. Dim glass office cubicles surrounded the outskirts of the level, the main meeting room standing in the center. Valentina stood, talking to Mel, spotlighted by the bulbs above them. The phone lay in the middle of the table on speaker as they negotiated how to spin your addition to the team to the public, and to the higher-ups. From their tense body language and drawn expressions, it wasn’t going well.
You stay hidden in the shadows, backing slowly into the elevator again and this time to the level below the residential floor. They continue to hiss.
“Isolate her.” Your handler’s voice echoes from the shadows as you exhaust yourself further.
The elevator slid open. A long corridor stretched ahead, flanked by changing rooms. The air reeked of sweat and chlorine. The doors after that opened up to reveal a gym on the left fitted with treadmills and various different fitness and weighted machines. On the right, there was a room filled with sparring mats, melee weapons lined the walls for training purposes. Then, at the end of the corridor, a door to a pool.
You moved around the space, looking at the array of weapons and taking note of the cameras. You tried to stay in the shadows, where you were safe, but you were drained. They flickered around you but you were undoubtedly able to be seen by whoever was watching now. You move back to the elevator and back to the residential floor.
You dragged your legs achingly back to your room. Each movement brought with it a deep aching throb ricocheting through your whole being. You were on the brink of collapse as you placed a hand on your doorknob, twisting it and stepping inside.
There were a few moments where you shuffled tiredly towards your bed before you noticed it. A small plate sat on your bedside table, a hastily made sandwich in the middle, cut in half. It looked as if it had been made in a rush, as if the person making it wanted to finish it before they changed their mind. A note was messily scrawled and left under the plate to weigh it down.
Hello! Here is part two. It made me realise that Chapter 1 could easily be skipped, but it helped ease me back into writing so theres that.
Chapters 3 and 4 are written but I want to edit them and write more first. Hope you like this one at least.
PART ONE
PART THREE
PART FOUR
Word Count: 1783
Chapter Two - Woken Shadow
Breath ripped through your chest like fire, burning your lungs as your eyes darted around the pod, taking in what little you could see from the small window. The restraints were cold and harsh, biting into your wrists and ankles. Tubes coiled around your limbs, sensors pulsing. Fear and panic gripped your heart and brain like a vice, your entire body going into fight or flight.
The pod was so small. The walls were too close. The lights glared down, blindingly white. The air was sterile and freezing. Voices filtered in, muffled and tinny through a speaker above your head. Panic surged. Shadows burst outward like a nuclear flash—cracking the pod open as the door flung itself into the wall.
The space fills with inky black shadow, shimmering and ethereal.
A shiver runs down Bob’s spine, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. The team stand on edge, watching intensely, each of them ready to fight at a moment’s notice.
Cameras are obscured by the shadows.
Silence.
Then a scream, loud and furious.
It cuts through the rush of doctors, the buzz of equipment suddenly cuts out. Alarms start blaring. Lights crack and explode sending shards of glass scattering across the floor.
Bob throws his hands up to shield himself, flinching instinctively at the sound. The room is cast in darkness, the only light coming from the pulsing red of the alarms.
The whole tower was in black out.
“Containment Failed. Deploying Lockdown Measures.” A robotic female voice sounded through the room. It doesn’t take a second before the team leaps into action. John and Bucky rush to the chamber door as you appear, standing in the center of the reinforced glass cage, shadows lowering to reveal you, eyes glowing a deep purple. You take one look at them, fear and something cold flickering on your features before falling backwards, disappearing into shadows.
Bob watches in abject horror. Yelena and Ava move, eyes scanning the room.
Alexei helps create a perimeter as doctors rush from the room but it quickly becomes apparent that it's pointless as you reappear seemingly phasing in from the shadows in the room.
You rush to Yelena, shadows like a tidal wave behind you that come crashing into the blonde the second she reacts. Punches and kicks are traded, shadows acting like an extension of you as they shield you from the assault of the team. You disappear again suddenly, gone from the room and apparating into the hallway.
The red light pulses, painting you in a violent stroke of crimson as you take off down the corridor. The team scatters in an attempt to find you. Val demands capture over termination which sparks an argument with John who believes they should bring you down hard. Bob shakes, unsure of what to do or how to help but he steps forwards.
“She’s scared—” Bob spoke softly.
John held up a hand to silence him.
Bob flinched, stepping back. His voice had cracked. He hadn’t expected anyone to hear him.
Then the rumble hit—low and deep, rattling the floor beneath them. Bob grips onto John as he loses his footing briefly and stands again. John rushes from the room shouting over comms to the rest of the team.
The team had split to cover more ground, not knowing where you'd slip through next—vanishing and reappearing like smoke through a keyhole. You slithered through the shadows like ink. Your eyes searched for an escape through what seemed like endless corridors. You would disappear, only to reappear in a pool of blackness in another part of the tower.
The white walls, the scent of disinfectant, cold and clean and detached. Flashes of memory invade your mind in fragments. HYDRA, the tests, the needles, the pain. Being caged for days and weeks at a time. You had to escape and you had to run.
You turn into what looks like a lab. The mirrored walls reflect the shadows that cling to you like a second skin. With each step, mirrors spiderwebbed and burst—shadows licking at the glass like fire given form. Pointed medical instruments and glass clatter to the ground around you.
Memories run rampant, the ghostly feeling of restraints gnawing at your limbs as you writhed on a cold examination table in agony. Whatever they had given you felt like it burned every nerve ending you had. Screams echoed off the walls, howling and alone in the haze of the past.
Suddenly, footsteps, fast and heavy behind you. A grunt as whoever it was moved to throw a punch but it was quickly blocked by a pillar of shadow, hard and solid now as you turned to look. John moved around it, ruthless in his attacks which were dodged expertly. Each one he thought would land was blocked by a shimmering shield right before his fist connected.
You rain punches down on him, but you’re no super soldier. You don’t harness the same strength he had. Each hit, although jarring, does little damage.
His legs were swept out from under him by an icy black tendril. You stepped back, eyes glowing as you locked eyes with him, head tilting as the tendrils restrained him, and held him floating in the middle of the corridor.
“What mission is this?” your voice cracks, raw and unused. John doesn't respond, eyes narrowing as he struggles for breath. Shadows coil around him, squeezing tighter. He felt his bones starting to strain under the pressure. “Where am I? What mission is this?” You repeat, louder now.
He speaks into the comms with his location before you reach out with your hand, a shadowy grip mimicking your movements, wrapping around his throat and cutting off his words. You close your fist and he feels the breath leaving him, his face turning dark as his vision starts to go fuzzy.
“S-Stop! This isn’t a m-mission,” Bob stammers from behind you.
You turn, releasing your grip just slightly. John sucks in a desperate breath at the slight relief. Your eyes fall to Bob, shadows slowly snaking along the floor and walls towards him, curious. You take a step towards him, an oversized sweater loosely hanging on his form.
He didn’t look like your handler. His voice wasn’t like theirs. It didn’t snap like a command. It trembled. It… cared? That couldn’t be right. That wasn’t allowed.
He swallows audibly, hands shaking but held up in a surrender.
“This isn’t H-HYDRA. You are safe here, you’re free. You’re not theirs anymore” He explains, eyes soft but fearful.
“A trick. A test.” You mutter, shadows suddenly moving in around him, but not aggressive. His eyes flash gold for a split second but it catches your attention, face fully turning to him as you narrow your eyes.
“It’s the truth” Bucky calls out from behind John who was still suspended in the air. You tense, eyes still locked on the man in front of you. That voice. You recognised it. Even 14 years later. Which meant HYDRA was still behind this.
More footsteps, three sets. One heavy, two lighter. With a wave of your hand, black walls suddenly raise around the four of you in the lab, preventing anyone else from interfering.
“If you’re here then this is HYDRA, Soldat.” You turn, eyes cold, jaw tense as they lock on his, glowing with energy. He stiffens at the name. A flicker of fear runs over your face, through your veins. Shadows twitch at your sides.
“It's not. I’m not him anymore. This is New York. You’re not- you don’t have to be scared anymore.” Bucky tries to reason, dropping the knife in his hand, arms raised to mimic Bob’s. He takes a tentative step towards you.
“I know what it’s like to be made into a weapon.” He sympathises. You hesitate, shadows recoiling slightly as your powers stop writhing under your skin. “You don’t have to do this anymore, you don’t have to run or be afraid.” Another step closer as he reasons. Your eyes flick to his boots as he moves, then back to his face. “Let him go...” He says low, gesturing to John. “And I can prove it to you.” He finishes.
He didn’t look like the weapon they used to bring into your cell. No tactical gear, no mask, no blank stare. He stood without the rigid tension you remembered—shoulders looser, breath steadier, like he wasn’t waiting for a command. When he spoke, his voice had weight, warmth. Not the clipped, cold monotone of someone reciting orders, but the voice of a man choosing his words.
But it was his eyes that shattered the illusion. They weren’t empty anymore. No void, no calculation. Just...human. Brimming with something you never expected to see in him—guilt, yes, but also gentleness. Recognition. A flicker of pain. A question.
Understanding.
Your whole body is in conflict. Shadows whisper softly to you, telling you the whereabouts and conversations of the three outside the black walls surrounding the lab, telling you about every breath and shift Bob took, about each muscle John was using to try and fight against the grip you had on him. Your mind raced, every fiber of your being telling you to keep fighting and keep running.
Exhaustion was starting to seep in. Blood trickled from your nose and over your lips. A hand comes up to wipe at it. Your eyes flickered from a deep purple to their natural colour. Shadows gently withdraw from John, the walls come down from around the lab and seem to absorb back into you.
Could you really be free?
The red pulsing light still flickers over the space. Yelena, Ava and Alexei rush forwards, in front of Bob, Bucky holds up a hand signalling them to stand down. You cautiously step backwards as John is placed back on the floor, heaving in air. Alexei pats him roughly on the back.
Heeled footsteps click against the tiled floors. Valentina. She appears, tablet in hand, eyes reading something. The lights flicker back on, the red swapping out for a blinding white, illuminating everyone in full detail.
“Y/N L/N. 28. Taken from her family when she was 14 to undergo HYDRA experimentation. Subject is enhanced with the ability to manipulate shadow. Approach with caution.” She reads outloud. You turn, confused as you look at Valentina, eyes narrowed. “Looks like we decrypted your file just in time.” She approaches with a fake smile, sharpened with years of practice. “You, my little devil, are our newest recruit. No more HYDRA. No more handlers or conditioning.” She places a hand gently on your arm. Shadows hiss softly in your ears.
Hello! Guess who is jumping on the Thunderbolts bandwagon? It's me. I hate how few longer fics there are out there of our boy Bob so I cracked my knuckles and got to it.
I'm planning on this being about 20ish chapters long? I drafted out a plan but it could be longer or shorter depending on the storybeats and how things go. And knowing me I might randomly stop posting because of work.
Reader has shadow abilities kind of like ACOTAR if you've read those.
This chapter is just a lot of set up really. I've already written chapter two so I will post that tomorrow.
Slow burn. Eventual smut probably. Reader described as female. Sorry if they seem a bit OOC.
I haven't written in literal years. Be gentle.
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
Word Count: 3205
Chapter One - New Foundations
Four months post-incident.
Each month brought a wave of new issues. Press, missions, refurbishments, moving in. Valentina had been ruthless, scheduling interviews and conferences and missions and on and on and on. If anything, moving some boxes into the newly decorated Avengers tower was the most relaxing thing that the team had been told to do. Not that there were many boxes. Most of the team had very few possessions, given their line of work.
The team walked on to the main residential level of the tower. It was one of the only four fully furnished floors of the tower. The air was cool, almost overly so—Val’s idea of comfort, Bob guessed. On the right, a large modern kitchen fitted with state of the art appliances. The only thing Bucky cared about was if it had a coffee machine. It did. In front of the elevators was a living space. A spacious couch covered in cushions and throws curled around the area with a coffee table in the center and a generously sized TV in the open section. The walls still gleamed with sterile, untouched gloss, like a showroom that no one wanted to live in. Some boxes with their names on them stood stacked in an open space by the elevator. Alexei chuckled, the sound reverberating off the walls as it came from deep in his chest. He threw his arms out as he walked forwards.
“Home sweet home, eh? The TikTok will love this.” He said in his thick accent, a hand fisting his phone out of his pocket. The rest of the team groaned as he fumbled to open the app, his large thumbs struggling to hit the right buttons.
”Alexei please, enough with the TikTok stuff.” Bucky moaned as his head tilted back, looking to the ceiling as if looking for some higher power to step in, Yelena seconding his words. Ava immediately moved to the doors on the left to claim a bedroom for herself. The rest of the team eventually followed.
“New base, new me, huh?” John smiled, nudging Yelena with his elbow but no one laughed. Or even reacted.
They each looked at the almost identical spaces on the floor before bickering over who wanted which room. John and Alexei argued for fifteen minutes over who got the slightly bigger room at the end of the corridor. Yelena and Ava simply looked at each other and nodded, too tired to even care which bedroom they passed out in. Bucky took the bigger room whilst Alexei and John were too busy trying to justify which one of them was more deserving of it. By the time they had settled on an answer, Bucky had already moved his boxes into the space and started hanging up his clothes in the closet and drawers. Bob watched as the remaining super soldiers begrudgingly claimed one of the other rooms each, then silently settled into his own room next to Yelena’s.
Bob didn’t have much of anything. A few sets of comfortable clothes consisting of oversized jumpers and baggy pants, the serum in his veins making him resent the feeling of anything too scratchy or tight against his skin most days. He hung them in the closet against the same wall as the door. Some books, self-help and fantasy titles were now stacked on his bedside table. A journal, which he was told to keep by his therapist, was locked away in the desk that stood perpendicular to the large floor to ceiling window overlooking New York. He looked around, shifting in place. It had been a long while since he had somewhere to call his own, and as he took in the grey walls and floors, he realised his existence had been reduced to so few possessions he felt like he barely existed at all.
Bucky unpacked his possessions quickly and efficiently, giving everything a neat and tidy place. His favourite copy of The Hobbit sat on a shelf above the bed right next to a framed picture of himself and Sam and a signed baseball from one of his favourite players. He carefully shelved his vinyls and set up his record player on the desk. He found that having music kept him calm when he was alone, stopping him from thinking too much and often helped him drift off to sleep when he was struggling. He stood, eyes giving the room a once over, then stashed his guns around the room in case of emergency.
Yelena shoved her boxes in a corner, closed the door to her room, locked it, and fell into her bed half asleep already. She had been on a mission the day before and her body ached immensely. She didn’t even have the energy to undress. Unpacking could wait.
Ava stood quietly in her room, a box in her hands. She felt a little lost. Unsure. Why bother unpacking if she would likely have to move again soon anyway? She didn’t trust that she would be here long. Something would happen. She grabbed her essentials bag from the box and placed it by the bed, ready in case something happened and she had to run.
John unpacked slowly. Framed pictures of his wife and child, him and Lamar, himself receiving a medal of honour, all lining the shelves in his room. A few pieces of memorabilia from his days in the military were dotted around the room. He placed his shield by the door, standing and looking around with a nod.
Alexei had boxes upon boxes of stuff. Every piece of Thunderbolts memorabilia or advertising scattered on the desk in the corner. There were even some poorly made prototypes he had made for pitches to Valentina. Pictures of him, Yelena and Natasha, the thunderbolts football team and more sat on his now cluttered bedside table. His clothes half hung in the closet, half still in a box.
-
Shortly after they had finished settling into the new space, they were called to the briefing room, the next floor above. It was filled with tall, fancy looking glass offices and one big meeting room at the center. A few people in shirts and ties wandered around, seemingly organising files and still setting a few things up. They slowly stepped into the meeting space, each of them looking around, taking in their surroundings. Mel stood at the head of the table, papers in hand. A call comes through on the screen above her and Valentina’s name appears in cold white text. The atmosphere tenses in an instant as her voice pitches through the speakers.
“Good afternoon team..” She starts overly chipper, as if she hadn’t rangled all of them into this involuntarily. “I hope you’re settling into your new space well. But first, I wanted to make it abundantly clear how all of this will work. This is a new chapter — no handlers — just you and second chances.” She went on to explain. The team looked between each other with hardened gazes. Bob shifted nervously, his hands lost in the sleeves of his sweater as he fidgeted with the cuffs. His pulse roared louder than the speakers, a drumbeat behind his ribs. Ava stood, arms crossed, scowling at the screen. Bucky had his hands on his hips, jaw set as he looked at Mel who had the decency to look apologetic. John and Alexei stood, listening to Valentina as she continued.
“You have all been government-approved as a ‘Rapid Crisis Response Team’ with full autonomy. But, with that being said, I will be reviewing the cases before passing them on to you all. You will help people. You will be trusted.”
Ava and John both scoff at the last word, visibly tense and not believing it. After everything they had done individually, how could they be trusted? The public would undoubtedly be split and unsympathetic to the idea of a bunch of murderers being given praise and status and autonomy.
“Barnes, you will be acting field leader-” Bucky cuts in to protest, visibly uncomfortable with the idea. He was used to taking orders and making decisions when it was only himself to work with, not leading. She talked loudly over him and he took a deep breath, eyes closing, jaw clenching as she continued. “You are the most experienced person on the team with over 70 years in the field. You are the only correct choice and I trust that you will make the right decisions going forwards.” John didn’t look too pleased with the idea but being the good soldier he was, stood quietly, eyes locked on the screen still. Mel walked over to the group who were still standing by the door, handing them each a booklet of papers each and looking sheepish about the whole situation.
“Mel has some papers for you to read through. Terms and conditions, that sort of thing. You need to sign them before any operations can go forward. You have until tomorrow evening.” Valentina finished. Everyone opened their mouths to argue but the call cut before they could get a word in. Bob took his papers, offering a small smile to Mel and a ‘thanks’ as he started to flick through the handout. Bucky and John were reading through, shaking their heads and laughing but there was no humour in it.
“A new chapter. Government approved but autonomous but also Valentina gets to decide what missions come through. Sounds about right.” Yelena complained. The team shared the same sentiment. Alexei was already looking for a place to sign.
“Well, we have some reading to do. Best get to it.” Bucky said with resignation.
-
The residential level was silent. Each member of the team shut themselves in their respective rooms as they read over the documentation after the meeting. The space felt too big. Too empty. A subtle sense of isolation in the air. Bucky stood alone on the balcony, papers in hand. His eyes scan each page carefully for any risky clauses, anything that could get them stuck. Given everything, it was actually a pretty fair agreement. Funding from the government in return for service. He couldn’t help but remain suspicious. Working for corporations and institutions like this always came at a price.
He brought the glass of whiskey to his lips, sipping it and feeling the burn as it trickled down his throat. With a swallow, he looked out at the New York skyline. If anyone knew what to do here it would’ve been Steve. He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he gets to Sam’s name. His thumb hovers over the call button, hesitating. He locks the phone and pockets it again, turning on his heel and heading back inside and to his own room. Footsteps echoed too sharply in the open space, like the building hadn't yet learned how to muffle secrets. He picks up a pen, then signs the last page, throwing the documents onto the desk before flopping into his bed. New team. New chapter. New government contract.
-
Time passed in rhythms. Read, sleep, train, wait. And then, the next call came.
Four weeks had passed since they had submitted the paperwork. They started to settle into their own routines of training, missions and preferred activities. Bob was often left to his own devices in the tower, alone whilst the others were on missions. Although he was practically indestructible, they couldn’t risk him losing control out in the field as Sentry or Void. So he settled into a routine of going to therapy, writing in his journal and keeping things mostly tidy around the residential level when he had the energy and motivation. He read and listened to music in his downtime, finding it helped keep him focussed on something other than his racing thoughts. And he was always there when the team returned.
Today was no different. Bob’s cup smelled sharper than it tasted, more caffeine than flavor. Therapy, coffee, writing, coffee, dishes, tea, read. The elevator dinged twice, signalling someone had arrived. He peeked out from over the back of the chair he had claimed, overlooking the city as he read. Bucky and John were arguing about whether they should keep her. Bob frowned, hands trembling. The raised voices jarred him—but curiosity crept in Bob cupped the warm mug in his hands like it might steady him. Who was her. His eyes followed the men, still in their suits as they went to the kitchen, continuing to bicker as they grabbed a bottle of something hydrating.
“We should not keep her here, we have no idea what she is capable of.” John protested. Bucky had his eyes set on the other super soldier. “It stinks to high heaven, Bucky. We get sent to a HYDRA facility, told that there's a package we have to extract and we come home with her in stasis. Her file is encrypted. Valentina won’t give us answers-” John continues, rattling off the reasons he didn’t trust the whole situation. Bucky cut him off sharply.
“I knew her.” He replies. Voice cold, brittle. John pauses, stepping back slightly. Bob watches the whole thing, eyes wide, questions swimming through his skull. “I was tasked with taking her from her family when she was a kid and protecting her from facility to facility as the Winter Soldier while they did something to her. I was never told the details and I was moved somewhere else pretty quickly.” He admitted quietly.
Bob could just overhear as he stood, silently shifting across the floor until he stood at the entrance to the kitchen. The elevator dings again, Yelena, Ava and Alexei stumbling out of the metal box. Yelena had a cut across her eyebrow and a bruise forming on her jaw. It was then that Bob noticed everyone looked worse for wear. More so than usual after a mission.
“What the hell happened out there?” Bob questioned, looking at them all. Alexei brushed past him to the kitchen.
“We find new team member perhaps. Valentina seems interested in her, no?” The russian said as if it was the most casual thing on the planet as he grabs a pop tart from the cabinet by Bucky’s head, tearing open the pack and biting greedily into the sweet treat. “Mystery lady. Very pretty. Scary though.” He says the last part holding up a finger. The kitchen lights flicker. Alexei frowns and mumbles something about the continuous renovations.
“Who is she?” Bob asked, turning to Yelena and Ava who stood by him. He shifted, book still in hand, fingers keeping his page. He saw the look they all gave Bucky as he shrugged.
“Valentina hasn’t given us further information. We have people looking into decrypting her file. We don’t know how long it will take. All I know is she was being used by HYDRA for some kind of testing.” He says, drinking from a bottle.
“She is surrounded by shadows in her little box.” Alexei chimes in, mouth half full. “Black as night, shimmering.” He describes, almost in awe. “They curl around her like protective shield.” Pieces of pop tart scatter from his mouth as he speaks. Yelena grimaces but says nothing.
“Maybe she’s like us. A pawn. We all know how it feels.” The blonde explains, shrugging and wincing as her shoulder moves slightly the wrong way.
“Whatever she is, until we know more about her she's a danger. We should move her somewhere more secure, the detention level isn’t even fully operational yet.” John says, clearly trying to make everyone see sense in his riled state. Bucky sighs. “Like where, John? We don’t have anywhere to move her to. Valentina said to bring her here, that's what we did-” Bucky says, gesturing with his hands as another ding sounds from the elevator. “Speak of the devil and she may appear.” Bucky mutters under his breath. He stepped aside as the elevator doors opened. Valentina steps out into the space and approaches with a grin, Mel on her heels.
“Great job everybody. I hear it all went well?” She says a rhetorical question. Ava goes to speak.
“We had our arses handed to us before we could finally subdue the ‘package’.” She chastises, the last word punctuated by mimicking quotation marks with her fingers. “A little more clarification next time would be nice.” She spat. Valentina’s smile faltered for barely a second before she returned to normal.
“You did it. She’s here. And alive. That’s all that matters—for now.” The venom mixing with her sweet tone was not lost on the team. They all nodded. “Good. Her file should be decrypted shortly. How exciting.” She turns to walk back to the elevator but they all move to follow her, John grabbing her upper arm tight enough to stop her but not to hurt her.
“Hold on a second, we deserve some answers. Who is she? What is she? We-” She cuts him off. “As far as I know she has certain abilities that could be useful to us.” She snaps, sharp. “That is all you need to know.” She looks up at John with a sweet smile, her voice now sweet. John clenches his jaw, reigning in his attitude and letting go of her arm with a curt nod and they all follow her down to the detention level.
It's half lit, most systems not fully in place yet. The shadows didn’t fall naturally—they pooled, like ink dropped on tile. The lights buzzed overhead, flickering in places like they were deciding whether to fail. Most of the power on the level was going directly to a small reinforced glass chamber. In it, lay a stasis pod with a small window. There were flickers of shadow beyond it, occasionally shifting to reveal her face, peaceful, asleep. A camera was locked onto the chamber, onto the pod. Monitors were set up, showing her vitals.
Bob took in the surroundings, having never been on this level. It was devoid of natural light, all the windows shuttered down. Half-built with construction materials all over the place, plastic hanging from light fixtures above and incomplete walls and floors. Wires of all colours curled like snakes across the floor to the desks with makeshift set ups surrounding the chamber, some of them connecting to the pod within.
Scientists and doctors fluttered around the space chattering about her status, her vitals showing anomalies. She didn’t have any kind of super serum, but her DNA was surrounded by something dark, some kind of matter. They were scrambling to figure it all out. The word enhanced travelled like a whisper through the people working. Her vitals started to spike, as if she was starting to wake.
He cautiously approached the monitor showing the camera focussed on the window of the pod, her face flashing intermittently between smoky shadows. For a moment he could have sworn they weren’t in the monitor at all, curling towards him from the LED screen. He blinked, then stared, curious, but on edge. The lights flashed, monitors flickering for a moment. Black. Then back on. A prickle ran up his spine as he met her eyes, the sensation of being watched by something not quite human.
A/N: It sure has been a while. I'm non-binary now. Feel like compared to those fic writers that disappear for years and come back saying 'sorry I was in prison' that coming out as NB isn't all that big. This is a request from anonymous:
'Can you please do a Captain Flint X Reader where he spent the night with the reader on his ship(If you can add smut, that'll be great!! But If you're not comfy with it I understand!! <333) and when he's having a meeting with his crew the reader just woke up and is trying to find him, so she's just wearing a translucent robe and when she opened the door with Flint and His crew she was embarrassed and Flint's crew was all flustered and stuff.
IDK IF THIS MADE ANY SENSE, PLEASE FORGIVE ME!! IF YOURE ABLE TO MAKE THIS, THANK YOU SO MUCH!! MWA 💋
I love Captain Flint ;>'
Sorry its so short. I am well out of practice.
Words: 1683
Warnings: Smut. Porn. Lemon. Whatever you want to call it.
His hands were warm, leaving trails of lightning in their wake as they roamed the expanse of your bare skin. He grabbed and pulled at your soft flesh as his tongue swirled around your clit expertly. The sounds he was pulling from you were filth as he moved to tease your entrance with a single digit. Slowly, torturously so, he slid inside your cunt with ease. You groaned and bucked your hips, a wordless demand for more. He chuckled lowly at your impatience and placed soft kisses to the inside of your thighs.
"So needy." He growled, the sound low in his throat. He added another finger, stretching you just a little further as he began pumping them in and out of you. Your breathy moans were music to his ears and his cock twitched at the sound but despite his wavering self-control, he remained focussed on the task at hand. Moving his mouth back to your clit, he sucked the bud into his mouth and gently licked it with small flicks of his wicked tongue. Your back arched as he curled his fingers, stroking that spot inside you just right. For a moment, among all the sensations, your eyes scrunched closed and you swore you could see stars. He didn't stop but he didn't speed up his movements either leaving you just short of that tantalising peak.
"Ple-Please, Captain. I need more. I need-" Before you finished that sentence his pace quickened, knowing exactly what you needed. His tongue firmly lapped at you applying just the right amount of pressure. His fingers curled upwards and thrust in and out at a ruinous pace which your breathing quickly matched. You gasped, a hand coming to grip his hair. Time stood still, the feeling of your climax washing over you in powerful waves. His pace never slowed, his mouth continuing its patterns pushing you deeper into the pleasure. He moaned, the vibrations sending little shockwaves through you. Your back arched and his eyes found yours as you convulsed. The bastard smirked, knowing he was the only one that could bring you to the brink so violently. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull as he began to slow, bringing you back to reality with gentle touches to your body, the soft flesh tingling with the aftermath. Your eyelids grew heavy as he cleaned you up lazily with his mouth but you wanted to make him feel the way you did. You moved a hand to grab his thick cock as he crawled his way over you.
"You're tired." He blinked at you, eyes much softer than they were before. "You don't have to return the favour." You smiled, appreciating the gesture, but despite your tiredness, if you didn't have him right now you might just explode. Grabbing him tightly, you stroked up and down his length, brushing your thumb over the tip as you squeezed. His eyes rolled back and he sucked a breath in through his teeth as you undid the last of his self-control. The darkness in his eyes pinned you in place, the softness replaced with a charged gaze. "You're sure?" His voice was clipped. A nod from you was all it took as he grabbed your hands roughly and pinned them above you with a single hand, the other gripped your jaw as he kissed you. It was desperate and you could taste yourself on his lips, tongue darting out as you moaned wantonly into his mouth. He lined himself up and slammed into you, filling you up in one thrust. You gasped loudly, throwing your head back at the sudden intrusion. Leaving you no time to process, he started bucking his hips into you, the sound of skin on skin mixing with your whines filling the Captain's quarters. He moved his mouth to your neck to suck bruises into your skin, biting down hard as the speed and harshness of his thrusts increased.
You could feel him letting go of all control, for once letting himself drown in you, not fearing if he would break you. His thrusts became brutal, his cock slamming ruthlessly into just the right spot over and over again. "Touch yourself." He growled into your ear, releasing your hands. You obeyed him, fingers deftly circling your own clit as he watched, sweat beading on his forehead. "Thats it. You take me so well." The praise made waves of hot pleasure run through you as he lifted one of your legs onto his shoulder pushing him even deeper and you let out an involuntary scream as your vision turned white. A hand came to cover your mouth, muffling the sounds as he fucked you into the bed. You came. Violently. Your whole body shook and you couldn't suck in breath fast enough as his thrusts became sloppy. You dragged your nails down his back. The sight of you coming undone beneath him, the exquisite pain of your scratches, your screams against his palm, all of it brought him over the edge with his own guttural moans. You felt him twitching inside you as you came down from your high. Your breaths were fast and you continued to shake lightly as he pulled out of your still sensitive cunt, falling into the bed beside you. A few moments pass, both of you catching your breath before he pulls you into his chest.
The exhaustion chased away the remaining pulses of your orgasm as you bury your face into his neck. He kisses your forehead and pulls back to look at you, checking to see that you were alright. "Get some sleep. I'm not going anywhere."
-----
Sounds of the seagulls screeching outside the ship ripped you from your peaceful slumber. You let out a moan as you stretched, your body aching deliciously after last nights events. They came flooding back to you as you smiled blissfully to yourself, rolling over to find… nothing. You awoke alone. The bed was cold meaning he must've left long before you woke. You sat up, the pang of hurt making your chest tight. The cabin was empty. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you stood, quickly realising that the next few days may be a little sore. A white robe hung from one of the hooks near the door and you quickly threw it on to search for your Captain. The crew were on shore leave and shouldn't be back until the early afternoon. So where was he?
Pulling open the door, you tiptoed through the short wooden halls in search of some fruit for breakfast. The smell of the sea mixed with gunpowder as you passed storage barrels and cannons. The ship was empty as expected. Turning a corner, you could hear someone behind the door to the small dining area. Thinking it was Flint, you threw open the door, ready to give him a piece of your mind. Something about leaving a lady in his bed to wake alone and how he should make it up to you in some way. Yes, that would do nicely.
Those thoughts stopped as soon as the door opened. He wasn't alone. The crew were here. All of them.
The heads of every man on the ship turned to look at the intrusion, each of them at the table with their Captain stood at the head. They stared at you and suddenly you were acutely aware of the translucent white robe you had thrown on in a hurry to see him. Billy is the first to avert his eyes, face going bright red. Gates opens his mouth as if to say something but quickly shuts it as he looks between James and you. The air turns hot around you. Or is that your face? Looking into his eyes you quickly slam the door, embarrassed at the thought of those men seeing you almost naked. You hear him grumble something to the crew like 'You act as though you have never seen a woman before' as footsteps approach. You begin to turn and leave, deciding to return to his quarters and pretend that it did not just happen. Maybe if you were quiet and still enough, you would cease to exist, the wooden floors of the ship opening up to eat you whole. Or you could throw yourself off the side and just take a big gulp of the sea-
The door opens and closes, Flint coming to stand beside you. Your cheeks are bright red, your arms trying to cover your body. You look up at him, barely meeting his ocean coloured eyes. He shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around you. Its like a blanket on you because of the size. It is warm and smells just like him bringing some comfort.
"I am SO sorry. I didn't mean to intrude, I didn't think the crew would be back until the afternoon and-" You start babbling, feeling absolutely ridiculous. "Its half past two" He cut you off. You blink up at him. Your brows furrow as you stare at his clothed chest, thoughts flooding your skull. You had slept through the morning. What time HAD you gone to bed? It must've been late by the time you fell asleep. That's why he wasn't there when you woke. He had let you rest. A hand tilts your chin upwards, forcing you to look at him. His eyes look your body up and down, undressing you even though you wore so little. He wets his lips. "There isn't any need to apologise, I think that given the marks on your neck they know who you belong to." He looks away for a moment. "If not, what I'm about to do to you will ensure they get the message." He smirks, eyes returning to bore into your own. Your mouth suddenly runs dry, which is odd given that his words had the complete opposite effect between your thighs. Unable to form words, you simply nodded up at him earning a hungry kiss as he pulled you towards the captains quarters.
Can you please do a Captain Flint X Reader where he spent the night with the reader on his ship(If you can add smut, that'll be great!! But If you're not comfy with it I understand!! <333) and when he's having a meeting with his crew the reader just woke up and is trying to find him, so she's just wearing a translucent robe and when she opened the door with Flint and His crew she was embarrassed and Flint's crew was all flustered and stuff.
IDK IF THIS MADE ANY SENSE, PLEASE FORGIVE ME!! IF YOURE ABLE TO MAKE THIS, THANK YOU SO MUCH!! MWA 💋
I love Captain Flint ;>
JUST POSTED. Hope you like it. I have no idea when you sent this I have been gone an age.
A/N: Here is some whump. First time writing in over a year go easy. Might write a part two if enough people want it.
Words: 1226
Warnings: Death (maybe), Blood, panic attack, crashing.
You were no stranger to close calls. Working with the rebellion often placed you in harm's way. Although, you never really gave it a second thought, more than happy to throw yourself into whatever work you could to help the resistance, to fight the good fight. Having lost everything to the first order when they wiped out your planet, you devoted yourself to banishing them from the galaxy no matter the cost. Even if that cost was your life.
But then you met Poe and everything changed.
After a recon mission to gather intel on hidden first order bases, you two became fast friends. Then, drunken lovers. Now, each other’s whole worlds. You never thought you would find something worth slowing down for, or someone worth coming home for again. Yet there he was. Of course, you tried to resist it at first. After losing everything you couldn't bear the thought of getting close to someone only to lose them again. But Poe Dameron knew just how to bypass your fears and unlock your heart again. You healed.
Missions would go wrong every now and then, sure. One of you would argue about staying safe out of fear of losing the other but, neither of you would stay angry because it was never genuine anger, just panic and fear. In the end, you were both still alive and that’s all that mattered.
Then today happened.
You had been sent on a mission with black squadron to take out what was supposed to be a small first order base on a nearby planet. Upon arrival, you had all found it to be much larger than the intel had shown and with far more cannons. As usual, you all stayed focussed despite the circumstances. The team almost finished disabling their guns, then Poe got cocky. He sped directly toward the last working cannon, cheering over the comms in a too-early victory.
The last you heard was an explosion as his X-Wing was hit. His comms crackled over your headset. Then a ceaseless, unforgiving ringing in your ears. A fireball of metal collided with the surface. You screamed, heart sinking, stomach lurching as you brought yourself down to land. You couldn’t hear anything, not your voice shouting his name, not your feet tearing into the ground below as you rushed to the mangled wreckage of his fighter, not the rest of the team crying out for you to slow down. Just. That. Ringing.
Your mouth was dry, chest heaving, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you reached the heap of scrap. The cockpit was broken open, the man you love lay face down, flung a few feet from the ship. Grabbing his flight jacket, you hauled him onto his back. He wasn’t breathing.
Glass stuck out of his gut, blood quickly staining the orange material. Hands roamed his abdomen, trying to stop the bleeding before trailing to his chest to start compressions.
One, Two, Three, Four, Five… Nothing
One, Two, Three, Four, Five… Still nothing
You kept going, reaching thirty and then putting your mouth to his in an attempt to bring him back. You still couldn’t hear anything aside from the ringing. Snap tried to pull you from your lover’s body, from pushing on his chest, from saving him but you shrieked at him to let you go. Smacking his hand away, you crawled back through the dirt to Poe. Still. Lifeless. Sobs tore through you as you continued to try and bring him back. Jess and Kare stared in horror, tears silently trailing down their cheeks. One friend dead, another going mad with grief.
“Come on.” You whimpered, hands forcing his chest down again. “COME BACK.” A shout this time, hands beating on his ribcage. “You don’t get to do this. COME. BACK.” The last two words were exaggerated by your hands bringing two final hard smacks down on his sternum.
A crackled breath. The shaky rise and fall of a bloodied chest. Familiar parted lips gasping for air. He was alive. Unconscious, but alive. You howled, voice hoarse as you were torn from him. Jess pulled you against her as arriving medics placed him on a gurney to take him home. They kept working on him as you were gently guided alongside him. Your eyes never left the inhale, exhale of his breathing. Even as you were taken home and he was brought to a medical bay, you stared, convinced that if you looked away even for a fraction of a second, it would stop again.
Medical droids and doctors worked to remove the glass from his center, stitching the gashes left behind and placing a mask over his mouth to aid his breathing. They scanned his vitals, checked him over for other injuries until finally the busy room became quieter. Someone tried to check you over, asking questions about how you were but you still could only hear that ringing, slowly driving you insane. Then you vomited.
Bile splattered across the white flooring, the ringing slowly fading as the adrenaline and shock wore off. Every muscle in your aching body quaked as the events physically caught up with you. Jess was quick to catch you as you fell to the floor, a hand bracing for an impact that didn’t come. Instead, your outstretched hand made you realize you were covered in blood. Poe’s blood. More acid rose in your throat, you moved to cover your mouth but stopped short, not wanting his blood on your face. Jess shushed you, rocking you slowly in an attempt to calm you down as your breathing became erratic. A panic attack surged through you and tears blurred your vision. He was dead. He died and you didn’t think he was coming back. Your head shot up. Was he still breathing? Is his heart beating? Is he still bleeding?
“He’s alright, Y/N, he’s still breathing, the bleeding stopped and they said he's stable.” Jess cooed, rubbing your back as she answered your questions. You hadn’t noticed you’d said them aloud. She grabbed a washcloth from the basin nearby with her free hand, placing it under running water. Gently, she moved you to the chair by Poe’s bedside as your panic attack started to pass. Your whole body felt heavy as she began cleaning the blood off your hands. Every minute or so, your eyes drifted back to Poe’s breathing, then back to your hands as she rubbed them down. When she was finished, she threw the fabric to the side.
“I don’t suppose I can convince you to come away and eat something?” You shook your head in a silent ‘no’. “I’ll let the others know how he’s doing, I’ll be back later.” She finished and left you alone with an unconscious Poe. Slowly, hesitantly, you lifted one of your hands to carefully trace his own, he was warm, his touch familiar and comforting. You intertwined your fingers, leaning forward on the bed.
There were so many things you wanted to say to him, even when he was out of it. Instead, your head rested on the mattress, eyes watching the rise and fall of his chest. The beeping of his heartbeat on the screens lulling you into a restless slumber. He was alive. That’s all that mattered.
Thank you so much for writing for Black Sails! I cannot get enough. If it’s at all possible, would you be able to do one with Flint with the angst prompts 17 and 19? A gender neutral reader would also be amazing. If you can’t that’s perfectly fine. Thank you so much for writing. Artists like you have made me think 2020 isn’t so bad lol
Done and Posted! Hope you like it, sorry its so late though...
A/N: Requested by @annoyingwonderlandchild. Sorry its so late and short. I’ve been gone a while ... Hope you like it.
Words: 473
Warnings: Nightmares and mentions of past torture.
Things were getting to you recently. More than usual. You were on edge, irritable and had far too many a sleepless night. The past few weeks had been rough on the crew but you were kidnapped and held ransom so you could say you had it just slightly worse. The things they did to you, the torture, the pain, you feared it would haunt you till your dying days.
When Flint found you you were half dead, barely conscious and a whimpering mess. He rained hellfire down upon the crew that took you, he was covered in their blood, a murderous glint in his eyes. That was until he saw you, then he dropped to his knees by your side, all soft touches and gentle whispers of reassurance.
It had been over a month since then and he had rarely left your company. Your physical wounds may have healed but the mental scarring would be there for a long while yet. He never let you out of his sight for more than a moment, needing you safely next to him. You’d joked many times about him acting like an overbearing mother but he knew you found a great deal of comfort with him, and he with you.
You’d fallen asleep, which was a rare occurrence as of late, so Flint left you in his quarters, his coat draped over your body while he talked to Mr Gates out on the deck. He’d been gone for no more than ten minutes before he heard your cries.
You’d began to tremble, the nightmares taking over with beatings and cuts and slashes. You cried out as the attacker grabbed you, violently shaking you with a vice-like grip. “Don’t touch me!” You screeched, flailing your limbs in an attempt to break free. Your eyes shot open as you sat up, pushing desperately at the figure next to you. “Hey- hey it's just me” His voice cooed, hands cupping your face, bringing your frantic gaze to his own. Your breathing came out in rushed puffs as you concentrated on his stormy eyes. It was Flint, your Flint.
Your body slumped against his in relief. Sobs started to rip through your chest but he held you there, rocking back and forth as he stroked your hair. “It’s alright, love, you’re safe with me. I’m here.” he whispered, his lips just above your ear. You stayed there together until you finally calmed down, rubbing the wetness from your cheeks and looking at him.
“Thank you.” You choked out. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, fingers tilting your head up to him before he placed a feather light kiss to your forehead then on each of your cheeks, and then on your mouth. The sudden affection took you by surprise but you melted into it, glad to be safe in his arms.
Hi! Was wondering if you would be willing to write a Frank Castle x reader in which she is on her period and Frank tries to help and take care of her? I feel like we rarely see a Franks caring, fluffy side
A/N: Yeah shut up I know I haven’t been around in about a year. This was a cute little anonymous request that I thought would be nice to ease me back into writing things that aren’t my dissertation.
Words: 1075. If only my diss was this easy to write.
Warnings: None really, just some period comfort.
There was a knock at your fire-escape window. You didn’t budge, knowing exactly who it was. A moment passes before you hear the scrape of wood as the window is slid open. Booted footsteps make their way to your bedroom and then stop at the bottom of your bed. A blanket covered you as you lay in the fetal position, head buried in the pillows. There was a miserable look painted on your face.
The apartment was dark, all the curtains closed to block out the midday sun. Clothes littered the bedroom, take-out boxes and empty ice cream tubs were scattered around the living room. He took a breath as if to say something but quickly thought better of it, instead turning toward the kitchen silently. He knew exactly what was wrong.
On his journey to the fridge, he collected all the dirty laundry, throwing it toward the washing machine and tossed any garbage he found in an old bag of takeout from the Chinese place down the street. He kept the window he entered through open to let out the stale air. Once he got to the kitchen he heated up some water, filling your favourite fluffy hot water bottle and made you both a cup of coffee. He rummaged around the fridge, grabbing some chips and dip and a bar of chocolate. He brought you your cup with a couple of painkillers, setting them on your bedside cabinet before bringing his own along with the snacks.
The smell of coffee reached your nose and you made what Frank could only assume was a thankful sound before he left the room again. Sitting up, you wrapped the blankets around your head and shoulders, reaching an arm out towards the steaming hot mug. There were a few more noises from the kitchen but you couldn’t see exactly what he was doing until the familiar beep of your washing machine sounded. Was he tidying your apartment?
You leant over, peeking through the doorway from your bed and saw him return with the hot water bottle. He handed it to you and you unceremoniously shoved it into the waistband of your sleep shorts, feeling the cramps ease slightly. Your eyes fluttered closed and a groan left you as you took the first sip of your coffee with the meds. The bed dipped as he sat on his side, kicking his legs up with a chuckle at the image of you hunched over the mug. Only your face and hands were exposed.
The crinkling of a wrapper made you whip around to face him, your tired eyes finding the source immediately. He broke off a square of chocolate, giving you the rest of the bar which you dipped into your coffee, sucking the melted stick of sugary goodness and smiling lightly.
As Frank chewed the treat, he watched you with a soft gaze and rubbed small circles with his free hand over your covered back. Gulping down his drink out of habit, he set the cup aside and pulled you into his chest, his giant frame enveloping your own easily in a hug. A sigh of contentment rose from your chest, your overall mood improving tenfold as you relaxed into him.
“Thank you, Frankie.” You hummed. His head came to rest on your shoulder, taking in the quiet as you continued to sip your drink. Turning your head to look at him, you saw a new cut across the bridge of his nose. His eyes stared deep into yours. “I’m fine, sweetheart, let me just take care of you this time.” His gravelly voice replied to the unspoken question on your face. He placed a sweet kiss on your forehead and gently stood from the bed.
You moaned in protest at the loss of contact which made him chuckle. He moved across your room and into the bathroom where you heard the squeaking of your taps, then a gush of water. A citrus-y scent was wafted toward you as he returned. Kneeling on the floor, he grabbed your legs and dragged your blanketed body towards him before he started to peel away the layers, revealing you in your pyjamas.
“I feel like a naked hermit crab.” That made him snort. You put down the now empty mug and he scooped you up resulting in a small yelp of surprise from you. “I can still walk big guy.” You smirked, the feel of his strong muscles making you feel a certain way. You ignored those thoughts as he sat you onto the side of the bath, tugging off your fluffy socks. He reached for your shirt, which you let him pull from your body. Then his hands moved to your shorts, pulling the hot water bottle out and then shimmying the clothes down your legs.
Standing again, he fetched you some clean sweatpants and one of his shirts, placing them on the nearby counter. You had slid into the bubbles, the heat instantly working its magic on your muscles. Frank took the time to open all the curtains in the apartment, letting in the sunlight before coming back and plopping himself on the floor by the tub. His hands began massaging some shampoo into your scalp, light hums and moans leaving your mouth. He washed it off before doing the same for the conditioner.
You opened your eyes to look at him once he was finished.
“Who knew Frank Castle, The Punisher, could be so soft?” You teased. His head dipped as he laughed. You grabbed his chin, guiding it back up so you could kiss him. His lips danced with yours before you both parted for air. “So are you gonna join me in here or…?” Your eyes found his.
“You want me in there with you?” He questioned, a single brow raised. A smirk was slowly forming. “Well the water is splendid, it would be a waste.” You replied. Something mischievous flashed across his dark eyes. Many different scenarios of where this could go played in your minds eye, but Frank had other ideas.
He stood, kicking off only his boots before climbing into the small tub with you. You screamed in protest in between fits of laughter. Water sloshed over the sides and onto the tiled floor but you couldn’t care, he was beaming at you as his still clothed abdomen shook with amusement.
It was one of the most beautiful things you’d ever seen.
A/N: Remember how I posted something before one of my other fics saying that I had been consistently updating for weeks? Neither do I lmao who was she? Don’t know her anyway heres the fourth chapter of this black sails fic.
Words: 1823. Honestly I’ve been writing this since about 12pm I don’t know how its so short and its probably shit bc I haven’t written anything in months.
Warnings: Mentions of vomit as per the last chapter. Think thats it lmao. See you in three months.
As your eyes opened, there were a blissful couple of seconds where the previous night’s encounter didn’t exist in your memory. But, just like the sun flooding the room, unwanted flashes of vomit and slurred words rose like a tidal wave in your minds eye. You rolled over, burying your face and groaning into the pillow out of sheer embarrassment as a dull throbbing started in the depths of your skull.
Why did you keep drinking? You could’ve simply had one or two before retiring for the night and you wouldn’t have met that boatswain or thrown up on your own boots. What was his name again? Ben? Boyd? No, they weren’t quite right. Either way you made a mental note to apologise again whenever you next saw him.
Slowly, you tugged your still clothed limbs from the thin sheets, trying not to jostle your stomach too much for fear of whatever was left in there making an unwelcome appearance. Your pants were scuffed from where you took a tumble outside the tavern, your shirt was half undone, probably from a failed attempt to undress before not-so-gracefully falling into bed. A single boot was thrown on the floor alongside your coat, the other still stuck on your foot. What a mess.
A hot bath, that's what you needed, and a hearty breakfast if your insides don’t bring it back up. Pulling on the other boot, you made your way to one of the girls working downstairs, trading her coin to fill the tub in your room. You must’ve looked rough as you passed her to get to the man at the bar because when he turned to look at you, his brows shot up, disappearing behind his hair.
“You look like you could use a little hair of the dog, love.” He chuckled, eyes scanning your disheveled form. A grimace was your immediate response. “Some food then.” He offered, filling a bowl with something that you didn’t stop to look at as you practically inhaled it. The man watched you with a knowing smirk and had you not felt so terrible you’d have spat out a snarky comment. You chose to gulp down your water instead.
“Thank you.” You huffed with a small nod, tossing some money on the counter before you headed back upstairs. The state you were in just added to this morning's growing list of regrets but you weren’t quite sure if you cared how you looked to anyone else right now. All that was on your mind was a piercing headache and a good soak.
Stripping off, you stepped into the water, sinking down slowly as your body got used to the heat. Finally, with a heavy sigh, you rested your head on the back of the tub, your aching muscles beginning to relax. Scented oils and soaps were left on a stand by the bath. Working a generous amount between your palms, you massaged your limbs and torso getting rid of any tension and purging the memories of last night’s… festivities. In the quiet of your room, you took a moment to trace the small scars that littered your form, fingers landing at last on the freshly healed knife wound from only a few weeks ago. The soft pink flesh was still tender, and if you moved the wrong way it would ache. It was dangerous to be alone on this island, in this line of work. You needed friends, not just contacts. A crew, perhaps.
Letting your mind wander, you thought about your new found place among Flint’s men. You had to keep bringing in leads to be of any value to him, lest you risk being tossed aside and left in the dirt. He and his crew were among the most revered on the island, therefore cementing your part in that would bring security. It would ensure that other crews would leave you alone, as you were important to someone they feared and the consequences of harming you could be severe.
Then again, there was a little more than security on your list of perks as you thought more about the taller man from last night. He was kind to you, not that the others weren’t having bought your drinks and all, but, he made sure you were safe and fed. Billy Bones. You recalled. Replaying the meeting in your head, you winced at the slurred introduction and the puking soon after. Why did you care about how he saw you? Was it because he was the crew’s boatswain or because he was handsome and softer than most pirates you’d met.
Catching that last thought, you shook it from your head, refusing to let it take root in your brain. Attachments like that are a weakness here and you cannot afford to have those. You’d only met the guy once and he probably didn’t want anything to do with you anyway, especially after that drunken show you gave him. Cupping a handful of water, you splashed your face, scrubbing any further thoughts of the man from your head, instead, choosing to focus on finding a new lead for Flint.
They would be leaving to chase down the details you gave him yesterday in a couple of days, if not sooner, which meant you probably had around two weeks to find something of substance upon their return. You’d struggled last time but after sending out letters to old friends in neighbouring ports, you were hopeful something would turn up.
Padding your way to the dresser, you pulled out some fresh clothes and got ready, feeling much better than you did even an hour before. The food had settled your stomach and the water you guzzled seemed to bring some life back into your face as when you left to go hunt down some work, the barman from earlier spouted something along the lines of ‘A whole other woman’ when you walked by.
---
An uneventful morning led to an uneventful afternoon. There were no new letters or leads and the streets were pleasantly calm compared to usual. You certainly weren’t complaining, you had been feeling better since this morning but your body was still recovering. The easy day was probably just what you needed. You were sat on the beach, sipping some water and watching passersby as you sketched in the journal you kept.
It was something you’d taken to keeping since arriving in Nassau just over two years ago. A small leather book to help keep track of potential jobs and record anything interesting that happened. Really, though, you just loved to draw. You’d already filled a couple just like it with sketches of people, ships and landscapes that caught your eye, often accompanied by your messy scrawl. You were just about satisfied with your latest addition when Mr Gates clapped you on the shoulder making you jump and slam the journal closed. You’d never shown anyone the contents before.
“Sorry, Miss Devereux, didn’t mean to startle you.” He began, chuckling lightly at your reaction. “I heard you and the lads had quite the night..” He moved to stand by you as you got to your feet, dusting the sand from your pants. Tucking away the book, an amused smirk finds its way to your face as you look at him.
“Depends on who you ask.” You replied. “How were they this morning? Feeling sorry for themselves?” Your brows raised in question as you both started aimlessly wandering along the shore. A snort met your ears as his head fell forwards, looking at the ground then back at you. “I didn’t see the majority of them until at least noon and they were still in a sorry state, although I wonder how you must’ve been. I heard that you hurled your guts up right after meeting our boatswain.” Gates mused, eyes crinkling as he watched your entire face turn a lovely shade of red. You tried to keep your cool but your expression faltered into one of sheer embarrassment. Apparently, this was hilarious as Mr Gates exploded into a fit of hearty laughter, and as much as you told him to stop you couldn’t help but have a good chuckle yourself as you covered your face with a half-sandy palm at the thought.
When you both regain your composure, he gives you a reassuring pat on the back.
“Don’t worry, the only people who know are Billy and myself, the men still think you can hold your drink.” He winked. You made a move to argue that you could in fact hold your drink but he began talking about the plan to set sail the day after tomorrow. You listened intently and explained that you were awaiting correspondence from friends in other ports to supply more promising leads upon their return.
---
It had been four days since the crew left in search of another haul using your most recent information. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, you’d made some money here and there through smaller jobs and pickpocketing but overall, there was nothing of real interest. You spent the days reading anything you could get your hands on or drawing and you’d even had your eye on some paints in one of the markets, but all you could do was wait. Checking for mail at the front desk of the inn you were staying at every morning had become a routine, desperate for any work or ships that you could relay to Flint. It was on the fifth day that you had gotten a response from someone in Port Royal.
As you read over the letter for the third time, you could feel your eyes widen in disbelief, your heart hammered in your chest and you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. This was far too good to be true. Surely this was a myth. A prize of this magnitude was simply unheard of. Your eyes scanned over the paper again, barely able to focus on the words because your hands were trembling so violently. Calm down. You told yourself. It can’t be the truth. You thought as you stared at the other envelope that had arrived alongside it. At the bottom of the letter it read:
“P.S
Should you doubt my information, I sent you the correspondence shared between the dead man and the merchant with evidence pertaining to this gold. Best not ask how it came into my possession.
Your dear friend,
Josiah.”
You ran to shut the windows to your room and close the drapes. If anyone found out you had this information and the evidence to go with it, you would surely be killed for it. Tearing open the paper, you unfolded its contents. It was all here. The initials of the merchant, R.P., details alluding to the existence of this gold and the name of the dead man involved in plotting the course it would be on.
A/N: A Billy Russo request with a reader who is insecure about her body! Hope you like it.
Words: 1574.
Warnings: Swearing, Gross comments about weight, PlusSize!Reader if that even constitutes as a warning. Alcohol Mentions.
Business was booming. Patrons were buzzed, shots were being poured and music was rattling the windows. Working at the bar brought you a sense of joy, you knew the regulars, could handle trouble and the boss was more than happy to let you run things considering he owned about ten other bars and had a very nice penthouse in the city. He could care less as long as he makes his money. That wasn’t to say you and the other girls didn’t get good pay, he was rich but he wasn’t a dick.
This guy, however, was.
“Sweetheart, can you pour me and my friends another round?” He slurred, his attempt as a wink turning into an awkward blink as his eyes raked over you. Regardless, you did as he asked, filling three small glasses with a dark liquid, pushing them towards him. He caught your wrist as you went to move to the register. “I’d like to get a little something else from you after you finish too, if you wouldn’t mind.” Snatching your arm from his grip, you grimaced making your disgust evident then turned, wordlessly. “Fine, fucking fat ugly bitch.” He sneered, taking the drinks and stumbling through the crowd.
The words hurt but it wasn’t something you were new to hearing. Drunks often tried to flirt and a majority would be nice enough when you turned them down but others… others spat insults after a hit to their fragile ego. You had learned to ignore them, mostly, so you carried on with your night. Shots, cocktails, pints you name it you poured it and the rest of your shift ran smoothly.
When it got to around 3am, it began to empty and the girls started to tidy the mess. Glasses, spilled drinks, vomit, the usual. Last call was half an hour ago and you were wiping down the bar when the same guy from earlier fell forwards, barely catching himself on the counter. “Can I have one las’ drink, darlin’?” It took you a little while to decipher what he’d asked between the southern accent that had made itself more prominent now he was trashed and the fact he couldn’t coordinate his tongue enough to form full words. Once you figured it out you simply rolled your eyes.
“I think you’ve had enough, buddy. How about I call you a ride home?” You offered despite his earlier rudeness. His eyes couldn’t even stay focussed on you, his head wobbling as if his neck couldn’t hold the weight. “Only if you’re coming back with me.” At this, you sighed, signalling Perry, the security guard to escort the guy out. “There’ll be a taxi outside in a little while.” You said, the man fighting against the fact he was being dragged away by someone twice his size as he struggled against his hold. More foul words spewed from his mouth, not unlike before until the door slammed behind him.
Another half hour passed before you were ready to close and you sent everyone on their way home, the girls and Perry included. Rolling down the shutters and locking up, you turned on your heel to begin walking to your car. It was freezing, your breath coming out in small clouds as you wrapped your jacket tighter around you. Mid-December in New York always brought two things, plenty of business and an icy chill.
Rounding the corner, you picked your keys out of your bag, unlocking the car as you got closer. Unfortunately you didn’t quite make it that far before someone hurled you into the alleyway behind the bar. You were quick to retaliate, your self-defence lessons not lost on you as you kicked the attacker, causing him to double over. This gave you the chance to stand and you stared, wild-eyed as the adrenaline kicked in. Feet shoulder-width apart, left shoulder facing opponent means a smaller target, dominant hand behind gives more momentum and power. The man didn’t stand again in a hurry, instead, a pool of vomit burst from his mouth, steam rising from it in the cold. He wiped away the leftover trail from his chin with the back of his hand before rising to his full height again. It was the same fucking guy.
You relaxed only slightly, knowing he was probably far too drunk to do much of anything. Staggering towards you, he gripped your coat at the chest and you landed a solid hit to his jaw. It made him falter for a moment before he returned the hit with a backhanded slap, sending you to your knees.
“Stupid cunt, you should’ve just let me have my way with you. I asked nicely but no, your disgusting fat ass isn’t even worth the fight.” He growled, chest heaving. He approached your position on the floor, towering over you as you tried to blink the double vision away. The pain flooded your face but you swiped his shaking legs from under him, taking the moment to sprint out the alley and down the street.
You called the only number you could think of calling in that moment and heard his sleepy voice after the first few rings.
“Babe? What's wrong, will your car not start again? I told you I’d buy yo-” You cut him off with a panicked explanation of what happened and he was on his way in seconds. You kept running, not taking the chance that the asshole would catch up to you. Tyres screeching broke you from your instinct to keep going and you whipped your head around. Relief crashed over you in waves as you recognised Billy’s car. He parked beside you so suddenly that had you been in the car you swear you would have whiplash.
Breaths came out in small ragged puffs, desperate to fill your lungs with air. You weren’t sure how far you’d ran but it was easily a few blocks. His hands found your face, concern etched into his features as he brought your eyes to meet his own. Concern turned to rage as he spotted your split lip that you hadn’t even felt in the rush to get away.
“That bastard I swear to god I’m gonna tear him apart for ever laying a finger on you.” He spat, teeth gritted. Stopping in his path as you buried your head into his chest, he wrapped his arms around you as the adrenaline faded and you began to sob. You had dealt with angry patrons verbally before but never physically, Perry always made sure of that. Billy’s chin rested on the top of your head, jaw clenching and unclenching as he tried to comfort you, anger slowly ebbing away. “Let’s get you home, c’mon, baby.” He cooed, opening the passenger side door for you.
--
Upon arriving at his place, he took your coat and brought you a cup of your favourite tea and some biscuits. You were sat on the sofa, curled up in his lap but he knew something was still off. You’d refused the sweet treats, opting just for the tea and you had tensed up as he dragged you onto his legs.
“Sweetheart, something else is bothering you, I can tell.” He whispered, tucking a stray strand of unruly hair behind your ear. His lips placed soft pecks wherever he could reach, brows furrowed as he waited for you to open up to him.
“I’m not crushing you, am I?” Your voice wavered and you couldn’t meet his eyes. You had always been a bigger girl. High School was rough for you and plenty of people still made comments about your size with their transparent concern for your health. Over the years you had learned to shrug it off, practising self-love and acceptance was the biggest fuck you to it all but there were still bad days.
Billy reeled back, not prepared for such a question, the nature of which, to him, was absurd. “God, of course not, is that what it is? Did that guy say something to you about your weight?” He asked gently, hands moving to rest at your sides. You flinched away from his touch and that was all the answer he needed. Taking the cup from you and placing it on the coffee table, he pinched your chin so you were forced to look at him.
“You are the most beautiful woman to me, you have the body of a goddess and no I’m not exaggerating. Sculptors would have been glad to make something in your image. I adore every inch of this body, you’re soft and warm and it's exactly what I need.” He started, hands cupping the sides of your face. “Your cheeks are perfect for kissing, your arms give the best hugs, your stomach makes for a great pillow and my god you know your thighs drive me insane. There is not a part of you that I don’t love and that lowlife doesn’t deserve a second of your time if he doesn’t realise you’re the hottest, most gorgeous woman he has ever crossed paths with.” A stray tear fell from your eye at his words, a genuine smile on your face. You sniffled and he brought his lips to meet yours in a tender yet passionate kiss. His hands returned to your hips, stroking the skin underneath your shirt.
“Now, come shower with me and I’ll show you just what I think of your body.”
A/N: A Captain Flint request with the prompt “Come here, I want you closer.”
Words: 613. Super short.
Warnings: None.
It had been a difficult few weeks. Flint had been through so much chasing down a prize, the presence of which he’d begun to doubt. The crew were starting to grow restless, the absence of fortune making them turn by the day. Gates had been doing all that was in his power to calm the men but alas, there was only so much one man could do.
You stood in the little cabin on the Walrus, staring out the windows as the ship rocked gently in the sea. A storm was brewing on the horizon, both literally and figuratively, dark clouds in the distance threatening to strike down upon you as nightfall approached. James sat in his chair behind you, scrawling onto a piece of parchment, the sound of his quill scraping and the soft clinking of the inkwell the only sounds to meet your ears.
The darkness of the night began to settle and you moved from your spot by the glass to light the candles, completing your round at his desk. With a heavy sigh, he sat back, finished with the letter he’d been writing. He looked exhausted. Around his crew, he never dared to let his guard down or show weakness, needing to remain stoic to prevent doubt creeping into their minds. But here, now, there was only you. The one person he allowed close enough to really see him, to know him.
You leant against the solid wood of the desk, tilting your head to look at him with your own tired eyes. Running a hand through his hair, you freed it from its confines, letting it frame his face like a portrait. He leant into your touch, shamelessly seeking out affection in its smallest form. Fingers gently rubbed his scalp, earning soft grunts of appreciation, his eyes falling closed. A smile formed on your lips, watching his features slacken to show the closest thing to peace you’d seen on him in a long while.
“Come here, I want you closer.” His voice was gruff, another sign of his fatigue. He held out his hands, gesturing for you to sit on his lap. Obliging, you tucked yourself into his chest, finding solace in his warmth, the smell of gunpowder, sweat and old books filling your nose as you nuzzled his neck. A contented sigh left him, the usual hardened demeanor gone entirely. Your hands had moved to wrap around his middle, slipping underneath his jacket to trace small patterns through his shirt.
Lips met the top of your head in a soft kiss and he felt your mouth tug into another small smile, one of his own threatening to make an appearance. You could hear the firm and steady beat of his heart as you lay your head against him, reassuring you he was still living and breathing. A hand moved from your thigh, pinching your chin to angle your head enough so he could bring his mouth down to yours. The moment had you shuffling to straddle him in the chair, your own fingers gripping his jaw as your lips danced against each other.
Standing with you still wrapped around him, a giggle left your lips, always surprised by his strength. The sound brought a loving grin to his face as he parted from you, laying you on the cushioned seat below the window. Following close behind after shedding his coat, he brought you to his chest and you curled into his side. The sound of his breathing evening out and turning into light snores acting as a lullaby as you fell into a pleasant slumber, glad to have had the moment of rest before the oncoming storm.
Would you be willing to write a smut imagine for Matt Murdock? Maybe where the reader/his gf is a virgin?? And have it really fluffy at the end please??
Done, it should be up now!
Fandom Writings. @blahblahwritings - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
