AN: Seeing as I received aib asks, decided to dig this from the drafts. Please, reblog and give me feedback 😊 Hope you guys like it as well!
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Arisu
Arisu feels bad about it, he really does.
He doesn’t enjoy keeping you locked up like a savage animal, so ferocious that it needs to be contained. It’s unnecessarily cruel and it breaks his heart every time you cry or scream, begging him to let you go.
He wishes he could, but that’s not an option. Not anymore. Not when there’s so much confusion and reluctance in your mind regarding him.
Arisu can’t possibly allow you to leave, to let you go and live your own life when there’s no absolute certainty that you’ll always come back to him every day.
He can’t let you go when the small, but imposing voice in the back of his mind insinuates that you won’t ever come back. That you’ll run away. Go away from him. That you’ll find someone better than him. That he’ll never see you again.
Arisu can’t let you go - he won’t let you go. He needs you, more than anything in his life. He can’t function properly without you. You’re the beacon that guides him through life, you’re the one person that gives his life a meaning - a reason for him to live.
How can Arisu let that slip away from his fingers like sand?
The answer: he can’t.
“Can you…Can you please open the door?” Arisu tries again. “I haven’t seen you in hours. Just wanna make sure you’re okay in there.”
He keeps going.
“I just…I wanna talk to you, face to face. I miss you.” Arisu feels the words slipping out like water, effortless and pure, but they have no impact over you.
“Are you okay?”
Only silence replies to his question.
You haven’t left the bathroom for what it feels like an eternity even though it’s only been five hours, your little sanctuary of peace - the only room in the house with a functioning lock.
He gently knocks on the door, resting his forehead against the wood with a little sigh. There’s not a single sound coming from inside, but he’s certain that you must be listening even if you remain silent.
“I’m sorry.” he repeats with a low voice, barely audible. “I’m only doing this to protect you. I hope you can understand that one day. That I’m not a monster. I’m not crazy.”
He sighs again. “All I want is to protect you. Keep you safe. That’s all I want.”
Banda
Banda is a calm, collected individual.
Unbothered by whatever tantrums you throw.
Uncaring of whether you hysterically cry yourself to sleep.
Unrelenting despite the food that you throw back at him in a rebellion display.
For him, it’s a game. An entertaining game of patience, of endurance, of power. How much can you fight back, how far can you resist him until you reach your breaking point.
Many are the words that can be used to describe Banda, but delusional isn’t one of them. He’s not a fool. He is not seeking love. He is not seeking the happily ever after.
What he desires is something far more powerful, a million times more effective in binding you to him.
Fear. Respect. Obedience. Submission.
Breaking you - mind and soul - till there’s not a single rebellious bone left in your body. Soft. Pliant. Quiet. Not a single stray thought lingering around, poisoning you against him. To melt and reshape you in the way he wants to, leaving no detail behind.
The red dot of the cameras never stops blinking, the undeniable evidence that Banda is always monitoring you - day and night.
The ropes around your limbs never loosen up, painfully digging into the irritated skin.
The duct tape never leaves your lips, keeping you just like he wants to - quiet like a little mouse.
Banda contemplates you, gaze dark and somber. Eyes never straying away from your face, deeply focused. Studying. Analyzing. Mapping every feature of your face with an eerie intensity that has your skin crawling with discomfort.
For the first hours, not a single word came out of his lips - nothing but quiet silence that loomed over the room as Banda remained seated across you.
He just stares. Like a doctor analysing a fascinating illness. Like a predator studying a prey before the attack.
The silence breaks with the faint rumble of your stomach and only then does Banda finally speak, breaking the stillness that reigned inside the small, sterile room that has become your own.
“You’re hungry.” he calmly says. Voice cold and impassive, just like his face. Nothing about his posture hints at the slightest pity, remorse, nothing.
There’s no way for you to answer him back, not with the tape that shuts your lips together. Even if you could speak freely, there’s nothing you could say.
Nothing that Banda would listen to anyways.
His head lowers down for a moment, wrist with an analog watch rising mid air - his first movements since he entered the room with the sole purpose of intently observing you.
“Almost time for dinner.” he looks back at you, the corner of his lip curving appreciatively. “Your body is adapting to the meal schedule. That’s positive.”
He speaks of you as if you’ve achieved something great, a prize in a competition. Your body’s reaction to the conditioning imposed by Banda isn’t positive. Far from it. It’s a nightmare.
Does it mean you’ll stop hating him, eventually? That your body will stop resisting him, losing every inch of strength?
That makes you wonder how long until it’s your mind turn to succumb to this new life controlled by Banda.
Chishiya
Chishiya is intelligent and that means he obviously has a plan. He has a plan, then he has a back-up plan as well as a precautionary plan in case the back-up plan fails.
No one is as prepared as Chishiya is. Unfortunately for you, that means your chances of escaping him become fairly limited, so slim that are almost nonexistent.
Restraining measures and safeguarding precautions are thoroughly assessed and evaluated, taking into consideration various scenarios.
Plans are designed accounting factors such as your mental health, the level of physical strength you possess, your current levels of IQ and EQ, amongst innumerous variables. Every single detail, every minuscule characteristic about you is factored in.
His apartment is sound-proofed as well as baby-proofed. Locked down in a way that ridiculed high-security prisons. There’s simply no way out.
Chishiya isn’t a man with a propensity for violence, far from it. He doesn’t lay a single hand on you to break your spirits. He prefers to play psychological games with you, toying with your vulnerabilities, your feelings and emotions manipulated relentlessly.
Chishiya feeds you lie after lie. Your family never cared about you the way they should. Your so-called friends weren’t as trustworthy as you believed them to be. The job you had was nothing but a dead-end.
He isolates you, becoming your only source of human interaction. Tears, screams, violence - none of that works to persuade him to release you.
You’re his now.
Chishiya finds you laying in bed - not like you could be in any other place with the chain circling your ankle.
The cotton blanket has been thrown over your head, hiding you entirely under the covers and only a small tuft of hair peeking from underneath the blanket reveals your presence. You resemble a bratty, whiny child that didn’t get her way.
He stays by the wall, catching up on the barely perceptible tearful sniffing.
“Is your plan to spend all afternoon crying?”
His question receives no answer, not that he expected any.
Silent treatment has been your most recent defense mechanism, an attempt to make him give in to your whims - a pathetic strategy if you asked him though. Silence doesn’t bother him as much as you believe it does.
“I’ll be leaving for the hospital soon. Might be home later than usual.” he informs you. “Do you need anything before I leave?”
The silence prolongs itself and Chishiya nods, more to himself than to you.
You’ll break the silence vow. Eventually. Sooner or later. Chishiya is patient enough to wait for it.
Niragi
There’s no remorse, no regret, no pity.
The only thing Niragi feels when watching you cry and beg, heavy unbreakable chains keeping you within the basement, is raw satisfaction.
The greedy beast in his chest rumbling with contentment each and every time he watches you unsuccessfully fight back - getting nowhere near freedom.
A little bird that can’t fly away. Wings clipped down. You are caged. Trapped. Chained down.
Exactly how Niragi likes you.
He’s quite cruel with you. How else is he supposed to teach you that actions have consequences? That you can try as hard as you can but in the end, your place is beside him. You’re his. The sooner you learn that, the better.
Talk down to him? You’re going to see stars with how hard he slaps you.
Throw your food at him? Get ready to eat burnt meals and moldy bread.
Try to escape? Leather belt is in his hand already, ready to mark your skin.
Pretending to be good? Niragi isn’t a fool, he can see very well through whatever lying facade you put up.
With a man such as Niragi, you really have to tiptoe around him. To plan exactly what you’re going to do, to think and rethink whatever you want to say. Otherwise you find yourself on the receiving end of a major chaos, violence and harsh words used against you.
Niragi desires to break you, to transform you into nothing but a weak, fragile shell of who you used to be.
To punish you, to hurt you, to control you. With Niragi, pain is the only thing you'll get.
“That’s it then, you’re not gonna eat?”
Irritation drips from Niragi’s voice, but you stubbornly keep your eyes to the floor, fixed on the thin white line between the tiles.
You ignore him and the plastic plate of food that sits across from you - a greasy fast-food hamburger and oily fries. They look harmless enough for you to believe that nothing about the food has been contaminated with whatever idea that could’ve crossed Niragi’s mind, but at this point it doesn’t even matter anymore.
Your appetite is long lost, despite the dull ache in your stomach. You blatantly refuse to eat anything that has been touched by Niragi, who is currently getting angrier by the moment.
“I’m speaking to you. Are you freaking deaf or sum?” he strides closer, getting up in your face.
Your gaze shakes, the furious warmth emanating from Niragi making your guts twist with uneasiness, cheek twitching with the anticipation of the slap you’re certain to receive.
Just as on cue, the predicted punishment is delivered, leaving behind a burning sting on your cheek. Niragi grabs you by the hair, pulling on the roots to yank your face up.
Forcing you to face him.
“Eat. Now.” he growls. “Before I start messing up with that pretty face of yours.”
Kurt Wagner in the circus with tightrope walker reader. You are in two different tents. He's in the Blue tent (for obvious reasons) and youre in the pink one. Sometimes after hours if his lines get low. He will teleport over to you, to see your last show of the night. He watches you balance on a tiny string 25 feet in the air, youre always smiling so wide. Every single shoe, having the time of your life. Kurt wishes he could be so free in his actions instead of being chained down. He wishes the children would smile at him like they smile at you. He wishes you would notice him, you seem sweet. Warm to the others. You've only interacted with him a handful of times. He remembers each one perfectly.
The very first time was while he was sobing on the floor of his enclosure, his back burning from the whipping. His head pounding. And you just walked over, not stopping to look at how demonic form. "Are you alright, lovie?Here... how about I sit with you for a while...?" And you just sat there, while Kurt tried to duffel hie tears, you just talked about anything, broken cotton candy machines, some wierd kid at your morning show, some guy taking a picture with you at a gas station, and Kurt just watched. You picked at your nails, picked at hay on the floor. He was sure about you.
Of course it was you who ended up unlocking his cage, giving him some cash and the motivation to leave.
Pairing: Bob Reynolds/Sentry/Void x New Avengers F!Reader
Summary: They all said the mission would be easy. They were wrong.
Warning: Post-Thunderbolts*. Language (probably). Fear and anxiety. Reassurance. Mission gone wrong. Hostage situation. Vague mission is vague. Suspicious mission is suspicious. Whatever else I failed to mention.
Author’s Note: I don’t own the MCU or Marvel Comics in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owners. Similarly, I don’t own any of the gifs or pictures I use for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas.
Word Count: 3,896
Series Masterlist | Masterlist
Next Chapter ->
You gently knocked on Bob’s door, biting the nails of your other hand while you waited. It was almost time to leave, and he was still locked away in his room. You couldn’t blame him—not really. This was his first mission. He’d only just been cleared for a trial run, a test to see how well he’d handle himself in the field. Val thought he’d gained enough control to warrant it—at least this once.
You were tagging along as an extra pair of hands.
And support.
After everything with the Void, things between you and Bob had settled into a quiet understanding. You didn’t walk on eggshells around him. You didn’t try to weaponize his powers for attention or convenience. You treated him like anyone else. And in a world where alien invasions were practically routine and half the population had once vanished with the snap of someone’s fingers, you figured it was best not to dwell too much.
Not entirely, at least.
You still carried your own fears. Anxieties that clawed at the back of your mind. That someday, someone like Thanos could resurface and the fragile normalcy you were piecing together would fall apart all over again. And yeah, maybe your past wasn’t squeaky clean. But redemption had to count for something, right? The Thunderbolts—because, honestly, the idea of being an Avenger still felt too big, too bright—hadn’t exactly been your dream team, but it was a start.
When Bob didn’t answer, you let out a quiet sigh and knocked again.
“Hey, Bob? You okay?” Your voice was soft, coaxing.
“Uh…yeah,” came the muffled reply. “I—I’ll be out in a minute.”
“We’ve gotta go soon. Bucky’s gonna be on our asses if we’re late.”
“Right. Just…just give me a minute.” His voice wavered, thick with nerves.
You stepped back, resuming your quiet chewing on a thumbnail. A bad habit you never quite kicked—one that showed up when your thoughts spiraled. You still weren’t sure what kind of mission this was. All you’d been told was that it was “simple.” Nothing to worry about. But with Bob coming along, you had to wonder if it was chosen to boost his confidence. Something low-stakes so he could walk away feeling accomplished.
It rubbed you a little wrong, but at the same time…you got it. Throwing him into the deep end would’ve been reckless. He needed something manageable. A first step.
The door finally opened.
Bob stood in his Sentry suit, hair messily slicked back, a sheen of nervous energy clinging to him. His eyes darted to you and then away again, restless and unsure, like he was already bracing for something to go wrong.
He looked amazing.
You smiled gently. “How’re you feeling?” you asked.
Bob gave a quiet, humorless laugh as he stepped into the hallway, falling into step beside you. “Nervous,” he admitted. “I don’t want to mess this up.”
“You won’t,” you said, glancing over at him. “I’ll be there every step of the way.”
He nodded, small and stiff.
“From what I heard, it’s supposed to be an easy mission.” You peered up at him again. The anxiety still lingered, sitting heavy on his shoulders. It tightened his jaw, curled his fingers into uneasy fists. It made your chest ache. Nudging him gently with your elbow, you offered a small smile. “You’ll be fine. Don’t overthink it. Once you’ve got a few of these under your belt, it’ll start feeling natural.”
“I—I just don’t want to let anyone down,” he stammered. “I’m finally starting to feel like I’ve got some control, like I’m not constantly fighting myself. I’m in a good space right now and…the last thing I want is to lose that. Or to screw something up.”
You stopped just outside the elevator and gently reached for his hand. Bob looked at you, startled at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to accept the comfort. But there was curiosity there too—hesitation, not resistance.
You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.
“You’d never mess this up.”
Your voice was soft, reassuring—gentle in that way that made Bob’s heart flutter and his cheeks heat. His eyes flicked away, bashful under the weight of your kindness. You made him feel warm and steady, like the panic clawing at the edge of his thoughts couldn’t quite reach him when you were around. You were patient, kind—and somehow, you made him feel like he could do anything.
“I’ll be with you till the very end,” you promised, giving his hand another squeeze. “Then we can come back and…maybe watch a movie or something.”
You smiled, just a little—sweet and easy. There was a soft flush to your cheeks, and it made Bob’s breath catch for half a second.
He couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Hesitantly, he curled his fingers around yours, hand warm and solid as it gently wrapped around your own. There was something grounding in the contact—something that made you feel light, and made him feel… safe.
“I’d like that,” he murmured.
For a brief moment, the two of you stood there, hands still clasped, a quiet stretch of stillness settling between you—until—
“You’re late.”
Bucky’s voice cut through the moment like a blade. Bob startled, flinching at the sudden sound. His grip tightened on your hand for a split second before it fell, his posture stiffening as he turned toward the voice.
You sighed, annoyed but not entirely surprised. Bucky had a knack for unfortunate timing. You threw a half-hearted glare his way.
He didn’t even blink.
“We were coming,” you muttered, arms crossing.
“Not fast enough.” Bucky’s tone was as dry as sandpaper. He looked Bob over with a narrowed gaze. “You good?”
Bob nodded quickly, though his voice still caught a little. “Y-yeah. I’m okay.”
Bucky looked to you for confirmation. You gave him a subtle nod. That was enough.
“Good,” he said. “Now can we talk about the mission?”
You both nodded. For a flicker of a second, relief passed through Bucky’s features before it vanished behind his usual stoicism. He led the way into the elevator, the three of you riding it up in tense silence.
Once you reached the floor, Bucky motioned for you and Bob to follow him into a secure conference room. He shut the door behind you with a soft but firm click, locking it. When he turned to face you both, he was all squared shoulders and business.
He grabbed two manila folders from the table and handed them to you and Bob as he started his briefing.
“This is a retrieval mission,” he said, his voice clipped but steady. “According to Val, some highly classified intel fell into the wrong hands. You two—” his eyes flicked between you and Bob, “—are going to break into a secluded, heavily guarded facility and get it back.”
You opened the folder, skimming through the contents. Your brows knit together as you flipped a few pages. “Nearly all of this is redacted,” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone.
You glanced over at Bob’s file. Same deal. Big black lines slashed through entire paragraphs.
Bob was gripping the folder tightly, his knuckles paling around the edges. His thumb rubbed anxiously against the spine like he was trying to wear it down. His eyes flicked between the papers without really reading them, and his jaw was clenched in quiet tension.
You nudged him lightly with your elbow and offered a faint smile. Just enough to catch his eye. Just enough to say you’re not alone.
Bucky let out a long, quiet exhale. “Yeah. I know. It’s…above our clearance level. Apparently. She said it was need-to-know only. But you’re good with tech and retrievals, and Bob’s…well, indestructible.” He shrugged, though the motion looked more tired than casual.
You bit down on the inside of your cheek, not liking the vagueness. “I don’t know,” you said under your breath. “I like to know what I’m retrieving before I go charging in.”
“If I knew, I’d tell you.”
You looked at Bob again. He was still pale, still holding that folder like it might float away if he let go. His eyes had that far-off look, like his mind was already running through worst-case scenarios. You leaned in just a little, shoulder brushing his, grounding him back to the room.
“You’ve got this,” you said quietly, just for him. “And I’ve got you.”
He blinked, then looked at you—uncertain, but grateful. That same soft warmth passed between you again. Fragile, maybe, but real.
Bucky stifled a groan. “Before you get all soft and sentimental—here.”
He reached into his jacket and handed you two USB drives.
You flushed, clearing your throat as you quickly snatched the devices from his hand, shooting him another half-hearted glare. “Thanks,” you muttered, though your tone leaned more toward embarrassed than grateful.
Bucky pointed to the black-colored USB. “Once you find the intel, download it onto this one.”
Then he tapped the blue drive. “This one’s carrying a virus. Nasty thing—fast-moving, brutal. Val says it’ll tear through their systems like a chainsaw once you upload it. Total data wipe.”
“Get the intel, drop the virus. Got it.” You slipped both drives into your jacket pocket. “Anything else?”
Bucky gave a single nod, no humor in his voice. “Don’t die.”
You rolled your eyes, but didn’t argue. Typical Bucky.
Beside you, Bob shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His brows were slightly drawn, his grip still tight on the folder, like he was trying to memorize everything before it slipped away. The USBs hadn’t made things any better—if anything, he looked more tense now, his shoulders wound tight beneath the suit.
You turned slightly toward him, your voice low. “Hey,” you said gently, catching his eye. “We’ll be in and out, yeah? Nothing fancy. Just stick close to me, and we’ll handle it together.”
Bob gave a tight nod, but it took a second for his jaw to unclench. His gaze flicked to where your hand had gone into your pocket, then back up to you. “You make it sound easy.”
You smiled faintly. “It’ll be easier with you there.”
A flicker of something softened his features—just a little. He looked like he wanted to say more, but held back, anxiety still threading through his posture.
You leaned just a bit closer, your shoulder brushing his again. “We’ll be fine,” you whispered. “And when it’s over, movie night still stands.”
That finally earned a small smile from him. A quiet one. A flustered one, soft and warm. But real.
And enough—for now.
* * *
Once you’d secured your gear and double-checked your weapons, you and Bob made your way to the quinjet. Bucky handed over the coordinates once you were both strapped in—your hands settling instinctively on the controls as you took the pilot seat.
“Comms working?” Bucky asked, holding out an earpiece.
You took it and slipped it into your ear. He called your name to test the line, and you gave a nod of confirmation. Bob did the same as Bucky ran through his.
“If anything goes sideways,” Bucky said, glancing between you both, “you let us know immediately.”
“Who else knows about the mission?” you asked.
“Yelena,” Bucky replied. His eyes flicked toward Bob, and something softened briefly in his expression. It wasn’t a secret—Yelena and Bob had a friendship that was borderline legendary on the team. Platonic soulmates, someone had once joked. You’d found it kind of sweet. Comforting, even, how close they were. How easily they understood each other.
“She and I are on standby in case things go south,” Bucky added. “You call, we’ll be there.”
“What about the others?” Bob asked, his voice calm but tight around the edges.
You chimed in with a nod. “Yeah. Ava’s powers could come in handy.”
Bucky raised a brow. “And you trust Alexei not to blow the whole thing wide open?”
You smirked. “He’s funny, at least.”
“Debatable,” Bob muttered under his breath.
“John’s the one who can’t shut up,” you said, rolling your eyes. “A complete menace.”
Bucky let out a dry chuckle. “A real ray of sunshine, that one.” But the humor faded quickly, replaced with something more grounded. “Seriously, though. If things feel off—even a little—you contact me or Yelena. Got it?”
You nodded. Beside you, Bob gave a quiet, “Yeah,” as he adjusted his gloves.
Bucky placed a hand on your shoulder, firm and steady. You turned slightly toward him as he gave it a small, reassuring squeeze.
“Keep her safe, Bob,” he said, his tone shifting to something quieter, almost protective. “You’re the muscle in this operation.”
“Right. Yeah.” Bob nodded, the nervous energy behind his eyes briefly replaced with focus. “I won’t let anything happen.”
You felt warmth rise in your cheeks at that. He meant it—every word. And something about the way he looked when he said it, the way his voice steadied...it settled something in you.
You missed the flicker of a grin that passed over Bucky’s face.
“I’ll see you guys when you get back,” he said, stepping back. “Be safe. Stay together. Remember—this mission’s supposed to be a piece of cake. You’ll be back before dinner.”
“Damn right,” you said with a smile, fingers flexing slightly on the controls.
Bob gave a small smile of his own as he looked over at you. And though neither of you said anything more, the quiet moment between you was enough.
As Bucky disappeared down the ramp, you moved to close the quinjet doors behind him. The hydraulic hiss of the seal locking into place echoed faintly through the cabin. You took a breath—steady, even—and turned your focus to the controls.
“Bob, you buckled in?” you called over your shoulder.
“I am,” came his reply. His voice was calm, but there was a tightness to it—something sitting just beneath the surface.
You glanced back at him for a beat. He was already in his seat, straps pulled snug across his chest, fingers resting against his thighs like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. There was a tension in his posture that hadn’t eased, not entirely, even with the pre-mission banter.
With a firm nod, you turned back to the console and eased the quinjet off the ground.
The engines hummed to life, smooth and familiar, the runway quickly falling away beneath you as you guided the jet into the open sky. Clouds stretched across the horizon in calm, lazy layers—blue skies painted with soft streaks of white. A good day to fly. A good day for a mission. You hoped, at least.
Easy in, easy out. That’s what Bucky said.
But even with the confidence in Bucky’s voice, even with the simplicity of the plan laid out in front of you, there was something in the air that clung a little too tightly. Something quiet, like a shadow just out of reach. You couldn’t name it—couldn’t even be sure it was real—but it made your grip tighten just slightly on the controls.
You weren’t the only one who felt it, either.
The USBs were tucked safely inside your pocket, small and innocuous, but they felt heavier than they had any right to. They weren’t made of much—plastic and metal—but the weight of what they carried pressed against you like a reminder. One was a lifeline. The other, a weapon.
Your fingers brushed against the outside of the pocket, a subtle motion, like you needed to make sure they were still there. Still real. Still yours to control.
Simple mission, you reminded yourself. In and out. No complications.
But that uneasy feeling in the back of your mind hadn’t left—it was quiet, coiled low in your gut, like a storm you couldn’t see but could feel all the same. It didn’t make sense. There was no logical reason to think this mission would spiral. And yet…
You didn’t say anything—just reached up and adjusted the comms in your ear.
The quinjet sailed smoothly through the clouds, but the quiet between you and Bob was heavier than before. Not uncomfortable—just…aware.
You exhaled softly and flicked a few switches, settling the jet into cruise. You shifted in your seat, eyes flicking across the horizon, then down—just for a moment—to the pocket of your jacket.
“Almost there,” you murmured, mostly to yourself.
Almost there.
And whatever waited ahead.
* * *
You landed the quinjet a few miles out, far enough to avoid detection but close enough to make the trek manageable. The engines powered down with a low hum, fading into silence as you flicked the last switch off.
Unbuckling yourself, you sat up and glanced over. Bob was already on his feet, standing stiffly as he swallowed hard. His shoulders were squared, but the tension in his frame hadn’t eased—not really.
“Remember,” you said softly, reaching for his hand. “Piece of cake.”
Your fingers closed gently around his, grounding the both of you. Bob nodded, his hand tightening around yours in a quiet squeeze—steady, but not without nerves.
“You ready?” you asked.
“As I’ll ever be,” he said, voice low. Honest.
You nodded once. “Good enough.”
A breath escaped you—one of those slow, quiet exhales meant to shake off the weight you weren’t quite ready to carry.
“Wanna go over the plan?”
Bob nodded.
You gave a quick nod in return, shifting into mission mode. “First, we scout the area. Take out any guards only if absolutely necessary. Quiet and clean.”
“Makes sense,” he said, his brows pinching slightly in focus.
“When we’re close enough to the perimeter, I’ll need you to fly up. Scope the building from above—look for entry points, patrol patterns, anything that seems useful.”
“Got it,” he murmured, already tensing like he was rehearsing it in his head. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a thin line of determination.
“We’ll stay connected through comms,” you continued. “Once we’re in, we keep a low profile. I’ll handle the data transfer and the virus. You just make sure I’ve got the time to do it.”
Bob gave a short, shaky breath that might’ve been a laugh. “I—I guess that sounds easy enough when you say it.”
You offered him a crooked smile. “It always sounds easy when you say it out loud.”
There was a beat of quiet between you. The forest around the quinjet rustled softly, the wind weaving through the trees like it knew something you didn’t. The building you were heading for was out there—silent, fortified, waiting.
“I’ll lead on foot,” you said, voice dropping into something a little more serious. “Let’s move.”
And just like that, the stillness cracked, the mission starting to take shape around you—one step at a time.
* * *
The trek through the woods was…easy.
Unsettlingly so.
You’d expected guards. Maybe some hired mercs—someone paid to keep eyes on the perimeter. Hell, even a motion sensor would’ve made sense. But the path was quiet. Too quiet. No patrols. No movement. Just trees and silence and a building up ahead that might as well have been waiting.
Fifteen minutes in, you and Bob came to a stop.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” you muttered, kneeling behind the cover of a thick tree. Your fingers tightened around the bark like it might anchor your rising unease.
Bob dropped beside you, his brows drawn tight in concern. “There hasn’t been anyone.”
“I know.” Your voice was sharper than you intended—frustration bleeding through.
Was this another one of Val’s clean-up jobs? A quiet way to tie up loose ends? She knew what kind of dirt you and the others had on her. Yet she’d paraded your team around like you were the next generation of Avengers.
So…why just send you and Bob?
Why did this feel so wrong?
You swallowed your doubts and turned toward him. “Bob, I need you to get up high—get a full sweep of the area.”
His eyes widened. “Are you sure? You’ll be—”
“Just scan,” you interrupted gently. “I can handle myself.”
Bob hesitated. You could see the way he wanted to argue. The way his lips parted like a protest was on its way—but it never came. He just nodded, even though his jaw was clenched tight.
“Keep your comms open,” you added. “Tell me what you see. Even what you don’t see, okay?”
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
He lingered for just a moment longer, looking at you like he was trying to memorize your face. You nodded, offering a small smile—just enough to calm the rising storm in his chest.
That did it.
With a deep breath, Bob launched himself into the air, slicing the air as he disappeared above the tree line.
You exhaled and stood slowly, eyes sweeping the treeline ahead.
“Okay,” you whispered. “Let’s do this.”
• • •
From above, Bob kept his gaze locked on the ground. Yelena and Bucky’s training echoed in the back of his mind—look for patterns, watch the trees, trust your gut. Every shadow, every unmoving object, he cataloged it all. You were counting on him. He couldn’t afford to screw it up.
“How we lookin’, Bob?” your voice crackled over comms, low and steady.
“I’m not seeing anything,” he said, frowning. “I’ll keep looking.”
“Okay, just be—”
Your voice cut out.
Sharp. Sudden. Final.
Bob froze in mid-air, his body jolting like he’d been struck. “Hello?” he called, panic already bleeding into his tone. He called your name. “Can you hear me?
Nothing.
His thoughts scattered. No, no, no—
He dove downward, back toward where he’d last seen you, heart pounding against his ribs. His landing was rough, uneven, branches snapping as he hit the ground. But it didn’t matter.
You weren’t there.
Not even a trace.
He called your name, twisting around. “Where are you?!”
He launched himself back into the sky, faster this time—his eyes scanning every inch of the forest. Every tree. Every shadow. But still—no sign of you. His stomach twisted. This couldn’t be happening. Not this fast. Not this soon.
His hand pressed hard against his earpiece. “Come on, answer me. Please—say something—”
“Stay where you’re at,” a sharp voice broke through the static in his ear.
Bob spun mid-air and caught sight of the speaker—an older man, standing atop a rocky ledge, a gun leveled at him with casual cruelty.
“Where is she?” Bob snapped, descending slowly, every muscle in his body wound tight. “What did you do?”
The man smirked, tilting his head. “The girl? You want to see her again, you’re going to do exactly what I say.”
Bob’s fists clenched, trembling with restraint. “And if I don’t?”
The man’s grin deepened. “Then what happens to her? That’s on you.”
Bob felt it all at once—fear, rage, helplessness—like floodwaters crashing through him. His hands were shaking. He couldn’t see you, couldn’t hear you. He had no idea where they’d taken you or what condition you were in. All he had was this bastard with a gun and a threat.
You’re the muscle in this operation. Bucky’s words echoed distantly.
Right now, he felt like nothing.
He didn’t move, didn’t speak—just raised his hands slowly in surrender, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
“I swear,” he whispered, voice shaking, “if you hurt her—”
Warnings: angst, dark Winter Soldier, kept reader, implied past non-con, breeding kink, possessive Winter Soldier, darkfic, this Winter Soldier is not nice
Trope: captivity
A/N: The end of kinktober is getting closer; we are getting a creepy little update to this dark story.
Catch up here: The cabin in the woods & The cabin in the woods (2)
Flufftober vs Kinktober 2025
Your world changed within a few weeks. Before you came to your family’s cabin, you had a life, a job, friends, and a boyfriend. Now you have a captor. A man telling you what to do every moment of the day.
“Up,” the man says, forcing you on your feet. He watched you scrub the floor in the bathroom for half an hour—punishment for trying to bite him when he touched you.
He wants you to call him Soldier, and you’re not allowed to leave his side. His closeness and demands are suffocating. The worst is, you slowly get used to his rough touch, and your body surrendered a long time ago.
“Soon you will carry my spawn,” he cruelly comments when you clutch your churning stomach. “I will breed your bloodline out of you.”
The soldier laughs, but it’s a hollow sound. He’s punishing you for your family’s sins. Sins you didn’t know about until he had you in his clutches.
“Don’t worry, doll,” his voice is rougher whenever he thinks of making his baby grow in your womb, “you’ll look even prettier swollen with my child.”
You shudder. How can he expect you to raise a child in this hellhole? This is not a place for a baby or any living soul.
He cocks his head, as if to read your mind.
“We won’t raise them here,” the soldier says, making you wince. “Yes, I read your mind. You’re easy to read.” He grins wolfishly. His blue eyes seem to glow when he looks at you. “You know, my senses are heightened. I can smell how you leak for me whenever I touch you.”
You don’t say anything and look away. He wouldn’t listen. The soldier never does.
Not when he buries his face between your legs, nor when he uses your body to taint you with pleasure you never asked for. He’s a cruel, but skilled man.
“I found a better place for me to stay and to keep you,” his eyes search your face. You are no longer arguing or fighting with him. It’d only end with chains around your body, and his cock buried inside of you for days.
Your voice, you haven’t heard it for days – or has it been weeks already since you last spoke? He doesn’t want you to argue or talk back or tell him that his fucked-up war with Hydra has nothing to do with you.
“You know, I used to be a ladies’ man, back in the days. That was, until Hydra got me in their iron fist,” he says, patting the metal arm he likes to use to pin you down. “A gift from them.” The soldier huffs. “I wanted to rip it off more than once, but they always put it back on.”
For a second, you feel sorry for the man he used to be. You shake your head at your stupidity. This man is not your friend, nor does he deserve your sympathy. He’s your captor, nothing else.
You warily watch him sit on the bed, kicking his boots off. He looks at you, a strange look on his face. “I’d call you beautiful if not for your bastard of a father.”
“I’d call you a man if not for the horrid things you did to me,” you bite back before you can stop yourself.
You gasp, taking a step back as he rises from the bed to step toward you. He lets you stay with him for longer every day before bringing you down to the basement. Now you will end up down there for hours, if not days, without light, food, and water.
“There’s still fire in you.” he roughly wraps his flesh hand around your throat and presses you up against the wall. You don’t fight him; it never brings you any good if you do. “Good, I’d hate for you to be dead inside.”
He boops your nose with his metal hand before dropping his hand from your throat. “Get cleaned and come back. You have ten minutes. No clothes.”
You follow his order and hurriedly walk inside the bathroom. Everything is better than ending up in the basement.
Eight minutes later, you stand at the end of the bed, hands clutched to your sides. The soldier hates it when you try to cover your modesty. It doesn't matter any longer. He robbed you of any trace of dignity you had left.
“Come here,” he says, patting the empty spot next to him on the bed. You lower your head and crawl under the covers, lying on your back, waiting for his command.
You hold your breath when he moves toward you, but doesn’t grab you. The soldier kneels on the bed, staring down at you. You can feel his eyes on you as he cocks his head to listen to your heartbeat.
“You don’t have to be scared.” he doesn’t sound convincing, but you try not to make him mad and tell him to fuck off. Instead, you blink one eye open to watch him rest his head against your belly.
“What?” You wonder what has gotten into him. He usually throws you around like a rag doll, but now, he seems to act like a gentle lover when nuzzling your belly.
“Hmm…success,” he confirms your worst fear. “You’re so lucky that I found you, not one of the other soldiers…”
Waiting for the pharmacist to check my work when a thought hit me.....
What if Inho kidnapped Gihun, Junho, AND Gayeong before the 2nd season and forced them to play happy families?
Like, have Gaeyong call him papa and Junho play the son (because Inho helped raise him, and Gayeong needs a brother, right?) and Gihun play the role of the mother?
I think Gihun would lose his shit but might not be able to do much because his daughter is there with him and Junho is starting to realize that inho is more unhinged than he thought...
Read on Ao3, or in full below (more below the cut)!
Thanks to @datvcompanionweeks for hosting!
For the first time since he and Illario had played together as children, someone had gotten the drop on Lucanis.
Such a rarity would have given him pause, if not for the larger problem—a small army of Venatori waited for him on the Minrathous docks, and he couldn’t spot a way out from his vantage point on the ship’s deck as it pulled in to berth. Though his mind flicked through dozens of scenarios, he came up short, because they had seen him, and they had mages. If he turned his back in a mad dash for the deck rail, he’d be hit by a wall of spells so quickly it would stop him from even reaching it. If he somehow managed to hit the water below, they might freeze it solid.
A small smile touched Lucanis’s lips. Squaring his shoulders and straightening the spine Caterina’s cane had infused too much steel into, he drew his weapons. If they wanted a spectacle, he’d be happy to oblige.
The gangplank dropped before the mooring rope had even been thrown around the bollard. A sea of red and black surged up it and over the rails beside it—aided by footbridges conjured by the mages—a wave irrefutably spelling his doom as they circled him.
Finally, he thought to himself, lifting his chin.
One member of the throng stepped forward, a veil obscuring his face just like the rest of them. Lucanis’s lip curled at the indignity of not knowing the faces of the men sent to kill him.
“Lucanis Dellamorte?”
“Sí,” he answered, half-bowing at the waist.
“By order of Magister Zara Renata, you are hereby under arrest for crimes most grievous against the Tevinter Imperium,” the Venatori announced, producing a parchment scroll and dropping it open. It clattered to the deck, but Lucanis cut him off before he could continue.
“It should be longer,” he told the lackey, most helpfully. “Those are just the ones you know about.”
Then he added another crime to it, flinging his body forward and plunging his dagger deep through ribs and sinew, pinning the worthless parchment to the Venatori’s chest.
Chaos broke out instantly, the circle falling in on him. Grabbing hands tried to subdue him, but he was worth every one of the many sovereigns he’d ever been paid; he took down no fewer than five with a single, arcing swipe of his sword. He laughed madly as hands flew to throats, blood flowing through fingers to slick the wood beneath too many feet—there were no gorgets beneath these veils, it seemed—but he did not stop, even with angry shouts in his ears as the next wave pushed their fallen brethren aside to get at him.
Death by a thousand shallow cuts, Caterina had called such a mob scenario in their training, warning them never to attempt to take on such a thing, for it was a fool’s errand.
But he was no fool. He was a Crow.
Pulling his dagger out of the first Venatori’s chest, he threw himself into the throng, hacking and slashing, stabbing anyone that got too close and parrying everything else. Even as he dodged sword blows and used bodies to shield from spell fire, he cut a sizable swath through the mayhem, his blood thundering through his veins in a way he’d never experienced, in a way that made him feel as if he was alive for the very first time. Spearing through two assailants with a single thrust of his sword as if they were skewered meat being sold on the streets mere feet off the ship, he roared with the bloodlust Caterina had also cautioned them against.
In the end, it was his very blood that did him in.
Though he was covered in a fine sheen of the Venatori’s by the time he broke through the crowd of front-line warriors, it was the rogues behind them, and the unexpected range of their sickles that managed to draw his. One caught the crook of his elbow, slicing through the thin leather there to his flesh beneath, barely worse than a scrape, but that was all it took to begin subduing him. A single cut lead to two, two lead to four, and so on and so forth, until their mages had such a hold on the blood that had spilled from him, his arms dropped to his sides and he stopped fighting.
Cheers rose up around him as his weapons fell from fingers he had no control of, despite his mind’s direction to sink them into more throats. Hands found purchase on his unresisting limbs and bore him from the ship like flotsam on the sea. If his throat had been able to laugh, he would have—he’d taken on a literal mob, and he hadn’t died.
Why hadn’t they killed him?
Worse, he’d retained consciousness just long enough to witness the Venatori ship they’d dragged him onto turn down, submerging into the Nocen sea, a wall of iron-gray water rising up in a cruel mimicry of the dreams that had plagued him since the age of eight. It crashed up over the hull and the bow, the deck and the masts, the sails falling horrifically limp and pooling with water as the vessel sought the fathoms beneath the surface, but he’d blacked out before the inescapable flood sent him to his watery grave.
For that, he had been thankful.
Until consciousness slammed back into him as he lay on unyielding stone, shackled at wrist and ankle, unarmed, unarmored, and naked. Though he dared not open his eyes before assessing precisely how much trouble his recklessness had landed him in, he cast around with his other senses, hoping his oddly sluggish brain could parse something useful.
The smell of stale brine and blood, new and old alike, flooded his sinuses, but he did not know if it emanated from his surroundings, or his person. The acoustics of the room sounded massive, yet also oddly muffled. Something enormous ground out a steady rhythm above him, emanating into the stone beneath him and vibrating deep into his bones atop it. But it echoed up into something above it too—the patchy stone ceiling of a ruin, perhaps—and beyond that, whatever muffled the huge space groaned eerily, as if it held back an inconceivable amount of weight.
Wards, he thought, and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
Where was he? And why hadn’t he died?
Then, a voice standing over him cut through his mind’s desperate scramble for answers.
“I know you’re awake, Crow.”
If he hadn’t been a Crow, it might have made him jump. But he had been trained better than to give potential torturers so much as an inch, so he continued to lay unmoving, keeping his breathing shallow and even.
“Hmm, you insist on playing dead?” she pouted.
The accent of her lilting voice suggested she was an Altus from Minrathous. High-ranking Venatori, maybe a magister, he thought. Not great.
“Just as well. You are a dead man, Lucanis.”
“Would you care for some pointers? Because you’ve done a poor job of it, from where I’m laying,” Lucanis answered, unable to help himself.
The woman laughed, delighted. “That isn’t what they think in Treviso. Word has it your Crows have draped their tacky casino in black for you. Or rather, for the body we transformed to look like you. And it looked so like you.”
Cool fingers grasped his jaw hard enough for pointed fingernails to prick the skin of his cheeks.
“Some of my finest work, really,” she marveled, turning his face this way and that. “A shame they burned it. But maybe your grandmother died of a broken heart while watching yet another grandchild get fed to the pyre. Two birds with one bloody stone would be a fine prize for all the heartache you’ve caused.”
Lucanis’s eyes snapped open, but rather than glare at his captor, his eyes stole a darting glance around the room, looking for exits, opportunities, anything. All he saw was too much sand, ruined stone, and ancient Elven touches gilded in aurum.
“Are you curious where we’ve taken you?” she asked, too sweetly.
The grip twisted his head far to the right, to give him an unobstructed view of dismembered bodies on tables that were likely twins to the one he lay chained to, the jars upon jars of blood beside them making his stomach lurch. Then she twisted his head around to the left, pointing with the scarlet nails of her other hand to a set of windows high above the massive room, Elvhen statues standing beneath it like sentinels. The vivid patch of blue beyond them stood out bright in the grim room, but something about the way the sky moved unsettled him in a way he couldn’t place—until a whale swam past.
Lucanis’s heart began thudding madly in his throat. He swallowed, trying to get it back beneath his ribs, and the woman cackled once more.
A lot of trouble, then.
“That’s right. You are mine now, Crow, and there is no escape. Anything to say for yourself?”
When the fingers turned his face back to her, Lucanis leveled her with his most intense glare, the one he’d perfected to avert everyone’s eyes. Icy irises—so blue they were nearly indistinguishable from the whites of her eyes—stared right back at him, unflinching and half-mad with delight above a cruel smile that split her crimson lips. Black hair matched the black, diaphanous dress undulating around her like una medusa in a current, sheer enough that it left little to the imagination.
She should have been beautiful, but so much blood magic emanated from her, Lucanis’s watering eyes saw the matching black heart and worse that lay beneath the pretty veneer. He curled his lips in his own empty smile.
“I charge extra to begin a contract in bondage.”
Her terrible smile widened. “Oh, you are everything I’d hoped for and more. Do you know who I am?”
“Unfortunately, I do, Zara,” he supplied at once. He’d had eyes on her despite her recent absence from a more public profile.
“Magister Zara Renata,” she corrected, her voice light, but her nails squeezing hard enough to make blood trickle down his cheek, “and I have never been so delighted to sink my claws into my prey after all this cat and mouse. For everything you’ve done to the Venatori, I will so greatly enjoy extinguishing that fire in your eyes.”
Lucanis laughed. “You think I am the prey?”
Zara let go of his face and trailed bloody fingertips down his chest. “You’ve no idea the trap that’s been set for you. You come into my Imperium with such confidence, murdering my mages, our glorious true believers. But you’ve forgotten one thing.”
“My ability to care?”
When her cold smile flickered, he laughed again. Crows did not break under duress. He would not break. He was just getting warmed up, even as his skin crawled when she leaned over him so closely their bodies touched.
“The Dragon does not fear the Crow.”
“I heard the same from your friend Ambrose, and look how that ended for him. I will do the same to you. I will write that contract with my very blood.”
“Not if I do it first. You’ve picked the wrong dragon, Lucanis.”
He rolled his eyes. “You Venatori love to call yourselves that, but you know what you truly remind me of? Snakes. And what do Crows do to snakes? Eat them.”
Pure, terrible delight flooded her face. Lucanis knew in that instant he’d made a mistake his training could not hope to overcome.
“Well, if you insist…” she purred, and then turned, snapping her fingers at something. “Bring him his last meal.”
Whumpee sat upright, hardly breathing as Caretaker held their hand, thumb running over their cold, damaged skin. Doctor looked up from their notes, frowning. "Any vomiting?"
They nodded, a frown settling in. "Yeah, but I think was from... When they came back, they had been dead for months. I would've brought them to a doctor but I was in such shock from them coming back, and they really hate hospitals. They'd seemed... okay yesterday. I've seen them *bad* before— they went through a lot with Whumper."
Whumpee didn't blink once this whole time. Caretaker looked up at them, studied the pools of blue in their eyes. They'd failed to mention how haunted those eyes had become since they came back from the grave yesterday. Or how quiet they'd gotten after Whumper captured them.
But now they were here, a doctor at the house, the thought of everyone's mind being whether or not Whumpee was truly alive again.
its all a twisted game to him; the unlocked chain, the door thats left slightly ajar. its a deliberate plan to provide that false sense of freedom, as though you’ve been blessed by his absent mind to find this opportunity to escape from the grimy depths of the dungeon you were dragged into.
