#team bonding

Older mentor/team leader and the new, younger team member

1. "I wish I'd met you earlier." "Earlier? Any earlier and you'd be in diapers, kid."

2. "You alright?" "Alright? That was awesome!" "… I miss having this much enthusiasm."

3. "You weren't raised to kneel, kid. And don't dishonor yourself by turning the other cheek. Get up."

4. "Can I have a hug?" "… C'mere. You alright?"

5. "Why do you hate me?" "I don't hate you. I hate having to drag more people into this fight—no matter who."

6. "Hey, uh… There's an issue involving the new kid, and I was told to get you…" *alarmed* "What issue?" "The, uh… The arm stuck in the vending machine kind?" "… Yeah, I'll be there in a second."

7. "Why did you tell me to leave?" "What happened is nothing I haven't seen before, and nothing you should ever see."

8. "An eye for an eye makes the world go blind." "Then maybe these fuckers should stop going for the eyes of my people."

9. "Oi. You got any allergies?" "Are you making me a lunchbox?" "It's called rationing. Do you?"

MASTERLIST

C’s corner: This is just a little chaotic fanfic with a fluffy ending requested by anon. Thank you so much for this request! I love creating chaos, especially Thunderbolts chaos. 🫶🏽✨

WARNINGS: Nothing but Thunderbolts chaos

✍🏽 WC: 3K

SUMMARY: You and John Walker accidentally invent a secret handshake. The Thunderbolts accidentally turn it into a team-wide crisis.

It starts because John Walker is unbearable.

Not in a serious way.

Not in a somebody take the shield away before this becomes an international incident way.

Just in the everyday, deeply irritating way where he catches the protein bar you toss across the kitchen without looking, then gives you one unbearably smug nod, as though the two of you have just completed a highly classified tactical maneuver.

Warnings: Luke Hughes is a jealous bitch, ur poor but i did a poor job at it. Nothing serious

Word Count: ~2,800

Summary: You've been dating Luke Hughes for six months, and his jealousy has always been adorable—until it isn't. At a team party, what starts as cute possessiveness crosses a line when Luke sees you talking to Simon Nemec. A confrontation forces both of you to face the real issue: trust, insecurity, and whether love is enough without it.

Notes: Thank you for reading! This was written as a request for a fluffy jealous!Luke fic with some angst and resolution. Comments and Likes are appreciated!

________________________________________________________________

You'd been dating Luke Hughes for six months, and in that time, you'd learned a few things about the youngest Hughes brother. He was sweet, thoughtful, and surprisingly soft-spoken off the ice. He remembered your coffee order, always texted you good morning even during road trips, and had a smile that made your heart skip a beat.

But you'd also discovered something else: Luke Hughes got jealous. Not in an aggressive or controlling way—more like a puppy who watched sadly as you petted another dog. It was, quite frankly, adorable.

The first time you noticed it was at a coffee shop near Prudential Center. You'd just finished your shift at the small café where you worked, your apron still dusted with espresso grounds and your fingers smelling like vanilla syrup. The pay was terrible, the hours were long, but it was what you had. Luke had offered more times than you could count to help you out financially, but you always refused. You were independent, even if that meant living paycheck to paycheck.

Luke had picked you up after work, and you'd stopped for actual good coffee—the kind you couldn't afford to make at your own shop. While waiting in line, you'd run into an old regular from your café, a guy named Marcus who always tipped well and chatted about his graduate classes. You hugged him hello, laughed at his stories about his thesis advisor, and promised to make his usual order extra strong next time he came in.

When you turned back to Luke, he was quiet. Too quiet.

"You okay?" you asked, linking your arm through his.

"Yeah," he said, but his jaw was tight. "You guys seemed... close."

You bit back a smile. "Luke, he's like sixty-something and married."

"Oh." His ears turned red. "I knew that."

You'd kissed his cheek, and he'd relaxed immediately, pulling you closer. It was sweet. Endearing, even. The way he tried to play it cool but failed miserably made your heart swell.

The second time was worse, or better, depending on how you looked at it.

You'd been at a team dinner, sitting between Luke and Dawson Mercer, when Dawson asked about your job. You'd launched into a funny story about a customer who'd ordered a drink so complicated it took you ten minutes to make, complete with hand gestures and dramatic reenactments. Dawson was cracking up, and at one point, you'd grabbed his arm for emphasis while delivering the punchline.

Luke's hand found your thigh under the table, squeezing gently but possessively.

You glanced at him, and he was staring straight ahead, jaw clenched, pretending to be very interested in whatever Nico was saying about their last game. But his grip on your leg didn't loosen.

"Luke," you whispered, leaning into him.

"Hmm?" He still wasn't looking at you.

"You know Dawson's just a friend, right?"

"Yep."

"And you know I'm going home with you tonight, right?"

His eyes finally met yours, softer now. "Yeah."

"Then relax, baby." You kissed his jaw, and you felt him exhale, his hand relaxing on your thigh, thumb now rubbing gentle circles instead of gripping.

Jack, sitting across from you, caught the whole exchange and smirked. "Lukey getting jealous again?"

"Shut up, Jack," Luke muttered, but there was no heat in it.

"It's cute," you said, and you meant it. The way Luke wanted you all to himself, the way he tried to hide it but couldn't quite manage it—it made you feel wanted, cherished even.

Quinn, visiting from Vancouver, raised an eyebrow. "Just wait until he really gets going. We Hughes brothers don't do anything halfway."

You'd laughed it off then. You shouldn't have.

The team party was at Nico's apartment—a sprawling place that fit half the roster comfortably. You'd come straight from your closing shift, still in your jeans and t-shirt because you didn't own anything fancy enough for these kinds of events anyway. Luke always said he didn't care what you wore, that you looked beautiful in anything, but you still felt a little self-conscious around the other girlfriends and wives in their designer dresses.

Luke kept you close for the first hour, his arm around your waist, introducing you to people you'd already met multiple times. You didn't mind. You liked being close to him, liked the way he smiled when he looked down at you.

But then Jack challenged him and Quinn to a video game tournament, and you waved him off. "Go. I'll be fine."

"You sure?" His brow furrowed.

"Positive. Go beat your brothers."

He kissed your forehead and headed to the TV room with his brothers, their competitive bickering already starting.

You wandered to the kitchen to refill your drink when you ran into Simon Nemec and some of the younger guys on the team. Simon was sweet—twenty years old and still kind of shy despite being a professional athlete.

"Y/N! Hey!" He brightened when he saw you. "How's the coffee business?"

You laughed. "Exhausting. Made about two hundred drinks today."

"That's insane." He shook his head. "I don't know how you do it."

You shrugged. "Bills don't pay themselves."

You chatted easily, talking about his adjustment to New Jersey, recommending good food spots that didn't cost a fortune—your specialty. Simon was engaged, asking questions, laughing at your jokes. You touched his arm when he said something funny, a habit you had with everyone. You were a tactile person, friendly and warm. It's who you'd always been.

What you didn't notice was Luke walking back into the kitchen, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw you.

Or Simon stepping slightly closer as you talked.

Or the way Luke's expression shifted from soft to stormy in seconds.

"Y/N." His voice was tight.

You turned, smiling. "Hey! Did you beat—"

"Can I talk to you for a second?" He didn't wait for an answer, his hand finding yours and pulling you toward the hallway.

"Luke, what—"

He guided you into an empty bedroom, closing the door behind him. When he turned to face you, his expression was unreadable.

"Really?" he said.

You blinked. "Really what?"

"Simon? Seriously?"

And there it was. You felt a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "Luke—"

"Don't." He ran a hand through his hair, pacing. "Don't laugh. I come back and you're all over him—"

"I wasn't all over him—"

"—touching his arm, standing so close, laughing like he's the funniest guy you've ever met—"

"Luke." You stepped toward him, trying to take his hand, but he pulled away.

That stung.

"I'm just trying to understand," he continued, his voice rising slightly, "why my girlfriend needs to be so friendly with every guy she meets. First it's customers at your job, then it's Dawson, now it's Simon—"

"Wait." Your smile faded. "Are you serious right now?"

"Yes, I'm serious! Do you know how it feels to watch you—"

"Luke, stop." Your voice was sharper now, cutting through his spiral. "You need to stop."

He froze, finally looking at you, really looking at you.

"I was having a conversation," you said slowly. "A normal, friendly conversation with your teammate. I wasn't flirting. I was being nice. That's what I do—I'm nice to people."

"I know, but—"

"But nothing." You crossed your arms. "This isn't cute anymore, Luke. This isn't you being a little jealous and me finding it endearing. This is you accusing me of something I didn't do, pulling me away from a party like I did something wrong."

His face fell. "Y/N—"

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do—"

"Then why are you acting like this?" Your voice cracked slightly, and you hated it. "I work a dead-end job for minimum wage, Luke. I live in a studio apartment where the heat barely works. I eat ramen more nights than I don't. And you—" You gestured vaguely at him, at the expensive party happening beyond the door, at the life he lived that was so different from yours. "You're Luke Hughes. You're talented and successful and you could have anyone. Anyone. And I chose you. I choose you every single day."

"Y/N—" He reached for you, and this time you were the one who pulled away.

"I touch Simon's arm when he makes me laugh because that's what I do with everyone. I'm a touchy person. I hug customers, I link arms with friends, I'm affectionate. That's who I am. And if you can't handle that, if you're going to make me feel guilty every time I'm kind to someone—"

"No." He closed the distance between you in two steps, his hands coming up to cup your face. "No, Y/N, please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

You could see the panic in his eyes now, the realization of what he'd done.

"I'm an idiot," he continued, his thumb stroking your cheek. "You're right. You're completely right. I trust you—I do. I just—" He exhaled shakily. "Sometimes I can't believe you're real. That you chose me. And I see other guys making you laugh, and I think about how I'm gone half the time, and how you deserve someone who can actually be there, and I just—I lose it."

Your anger was softening despite yourself. "Luke—"

"I know it's not an excuse. I know I was way out of line. But you have to understand—" His forehead pressed against yours. "You're it for me, Y/N. You're everything. And the thought of losing you terrifies me."

Your hands came up to grip his wrists, his hands still cradling your face. "You're not going to lose me because I talked to Simon. Or Dawson. Or anyone else. You're going to lose me if you keep doing this. If you keep making me feel like I have to walk on eggshells."

"I know." His voice was barely a whisper. "I know, and I'm sorry. I'll do better. I promise I'll do better."

You searched his eyes, finding nothing but sincerity and remorse. "You have to trust me, Luke. Really trust me."

"I do. I swear I do. This isn't about you—it's about me and my own insecurities, and I'm going to work on it. I'll talk to someone if I have to, I just—" He swallowed hard. "Please don't give up on me."

The vulnerability in his voice cracked something open in your chest. You sighed, letting your hands slide up to his face, mirroring his hold on you. "I'm not giving up on you. But this has to stop. The jealousy, the accusations—it has to stop."

"It will. I promise." He kissed your forehead, then your nose, then hovered over your lips. "I love you. God, I love you so much it scares me sometimes."

"I love you too," you whispered. "But love isn't enough if you don't trust me."

"I know. And I do. I trust you completely." He kissed you then, soft and sweet and apologetic. When he pulled back, his eyes were glassy. "Forgive me?"

You pretended to think about it, and he made a desperate sound that was almost a whine. Despite everything, you smiled. "You're lucky you're cute."

"So that's a yes?"

"That's a 'you're on thin ice, Hughes.'"

He laughed, the sound relieved, and pulled you into a tight hug. You wrapped your arms around his waist, breathing in his cologne and the faint smell of the detergent he used. He was warm and solid and yours, and you felt him relax against you.

"I really am sorry," he murmured into your hair.

"I know."

"I'll make it up to you."

"Oh yeah?" You pulled back to look at him, eyebrow raised. "How?"

His eyes darkened slightly, a smile playing at his lips. "I have some ideas."

"Luke Hughes, are you trying to distract me?"

"Is it working?" His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer.

You bit your lip, fighting a smile. "Maybe."

He kissed you again, deeper this time, walking you backward until your legs hit the bed. You gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss further, his tongue sliding against yours.

"Luke," you breathed when he moved to your neck. "There's a party—"

"Don't care." He sucked lightly at the sensitive spot below your ear. "Need to show you how sorry I am."

"They'll notice we're gone—"

"Let them notice." His hands slipped under your shirt, warm against your skin. "I need you to know that you're the only one I want. The only one I see."

Your resolve was crumbling rapidly. "We should probably—oh—" He bit down gently on your collarbone, soothing it with his tongue.

"Should probably what?" His voice was low, teasing.

"I don't remember." You pulled him back up to kiss him properly, pouring everything into it—your forgiveness, your love, your frustration, your desire.

He responded in kind, laying you back on the bed, his body covering yours. "I love you," he said between kisses. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"Show me," you challenged.

And he did.

Later, much later, you emerged from the bedroom, hair messy and clothes rumpled. Jack took one look at you both and groaned.

"Seriously? At Nico's place?"

Quinn just shook his head, amused. "Told you. Hughes brothers don't do anything halfway."

Luke didn't even look embarrassed. He just pulled you closer, kissing your temple, and you felt him smile against your skin.

"Worth it," he whispered, just for you.

You looked up at him, seeing nothing but love and contentment in his eyes. The jealousy was gone, replaced by certainty. Security.

"Yeah," you agreed, lacing your fingers through his. "Worth it."

And when Simon approached later to continue your conversation, Luke's arm stayed loose around your waist, his smile genuine as he joined in. Progress, you thought. It was progress.

Baby steps toward something lasting, something real.

You squeezed Luke's hand, and he squeezed back.

Bob Reynolds X Female!reader || WC: 4.5k

Summary: You fight to find a way up and out. Climbing a metal death tube with strangers you don’t fully trust, tethered together by necessity and sarcasm. When the plan unravels and the fall begins, you’re surprised to find you’d tear yourself open to save them.

TW: mentions of abuse and trauma, talk of depression and suicidal ideation, canon typical violence

Prologue ✼ Part 1 ✼ Part 2 ✼ _✼ Part 4

Silhouette Character Concept

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼ ✧༺🩶༻∞ ✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

You stare up at the shaft that stretches endlessly above, a steel tomb. The metal walls are smooth, sterile, and pitiless—offering no handholds, no breaks in the surface, and worst of all, no shadows. Just an uninterrupted column of brushed chrome illuminated from within by cold strip lighting. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to slip into the dark.

Your jaw tightens.

“So none of us fly? We all just… punch and shoot?” Yelena’s dry voice cuts through your grim thoughts.

Before you can answer, John squares his shoulders with a cocky grin. “Okay, don’t worry—I got this.”

You barely have time to react before he leaps upward like rocketing up like a firework. You slip into the narrow shadow he casts, hitching a ride up the wall as far as it will take you. Only half a mile up before gravity claws him down again. You drop with him, the shadow collapsing like paper, your insides flipping as his descent accelerates.

You watch him fall—then slam into the ground with a painful thud. You tense instinctively, expecting blood.

But of course he’s fine. Damn super soldier serum.

Yelena’s laugh cuts across the shaft like a bell. “You should try that again!” Ava calls after him, grin sharp. You emerge from the shadow beneath him and offer a hand, your amusement breaking through in a faint smirk.

John groans, hauling himself up with your help. “Yeah. We’re pretty far down here.”

He claps your shoulder—grateful, if a little winded before turning to Ava. “Alright, what if you just… walk up there or whatever and throw down a rope—?”

“First of all,” Ava interrupts, arms crossed, “someone other than you would have to ask me. Second of all, I’d need to know where I’m going, I’ve never been able to phase longer than a minute so I’d just get lost in an ocean of dirt and get crushed to death”

You shudder at the thought, you’ve been buried alive before it wasn’t fun. The air sucked out of your lungs and all you can do is struggle for a breath that won't come.

“Oh my god. We suck,” Yelena groans, tilting her head back in frustration.

That’s when Bob—quiet until now—speaks up. “I have and idea. What if… we brace back to back, feet on the wall, and walk our way up together?”

The simplicity of it hits like a lightbulb in the dark. You turn to him, a rare, genuine smile tugging at your lips. “That’s actually a brilliant idea.”

He startles a little, but nods.

“I’ll stay in your shadows,” you offer. “If anyone falls, I’ll make it to the bottom before you do.”

John squints at you. “Okay but—how does that work? What happens to you when you… crawl into there? Do you vanish like Ava?”

You hesitate, appreciating—for once—his curiosity is sincere, not condescending.

“If I’m being honest I’m not too sure. It’s like I erase myself. And shift into a strange in between space. They called it the Umbra—some kind of metaphysical corridor that links every cast shadow in the vicinity. I can see through it… but it’s weird like peering through the surface of black water.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Ava asks, voice a low almost knowing tone.

You already know that she knows who they are. You recognize the kinship in her eyes.

“The men in the lab. The white coats and clipboards. That’s what I called them, when I was young.”

The memory coils tight in your throat, but Ava simply nods. The two of you hold each other’s gaze a moment longer—something unspoken shared. You’re not ready to name it, but it feels like home.

Bob shifts beside you, visibly unsettled. Your words have lit something in him—a spark of half-buried recognition.

“Okay, okay,” Yelena cuts in, gesturing around. “Maybe story time later. For now, can we climb out of the death shaft?”

And just like that, the plan is in motion.

You seep into the shade just beneath Bob’s feet, nested in his shadow as the group begins their upward crawl, backs pressed to each other, feet planted on opposing walls like a human starfish. It’s awkward. Unsteady.

“Which one of you is wet?” Yelena hisses.

“I—I run hot,” Bob mumbles sheepishly.

“One of you has a weird hard butt,” John mutters.

“That’s my suit,” Ava snaps.

“Well you need to get a new suit,” Yelena fires back.

They bicker. You trail. Shadows flickering around you like a second skin, but guilt is heavy in your gut. You wish you could do more than watch and hitch a ride up.

You’re lost in your own thoughts, floating through the Umbra, until John’s voice jerks you back.

“I can see the door!”

They pause their ascent.

“Now what?” Yelena deadpans.

“I guess one of us climbs up first,” John suggests.

“And then the other three fall,” Ava counters.

“Didn’t think that far ahead,” Bob mumbles.

“Genius plan, Bobby,” John groans.

“Always making things worse,” Bob whispers to himself.

Your heart lurches.

You speak from below, your voice rippling up the shaft like a thousand whispers from a haunted well. “One of you reach your hand higher to cast a shadow to the edge, I can make it”

“Jesus Christ! Why do you sound like a living nightmare?!” John shouts.

“Laterrrr,” you croon, echoing through the shaft.

Before you can insist again you’re interrupted.

“C-CUCUMBER!” Bob suddenly shrieks. “Cucumber! Cucumbercucumbercucumber!”

“What the hell is happening?” Yelena shouts.

“I—growing up I heard that you can stop a sneeze by confusing your brain and i don’t know I just always yelled cucumber …I have to sneeze ..oh noo” you watch in horror as his face scrunches up

Everyone starts yelling over each other the word cucumber echoing around you.

Terror spikes. You launch upward, shadows shooting like lightning. Ava’s wrist is in your hand, your body half in, half out of the Umbra. It burns.

Agony lances through you. You let out a choked moan, shadows writhing as you push your limits. You wrap a tendril around Yelena’s waist, one around Bob’s ankle halting the sudden descent.

He lets out a sneeze that in the back of your mind reminds you of a kitten - adorable.

You try to push through the feeling of your body tearing and deconstructing itself. You weren’t meant to be this. Half-real, half-gone. Last time you tried something like this, you blacked out for a week. You were twelve. The scientists swore they’d “improve” the process.

They apparently didn’t

“WAAAALKER!” Your voice erupts in a chorus of voices, echoing like a banshee scream. Bob clamps his hands over his ears as a fire hose drops from above.

Ava is the first to pull herself up, followed by Yelena, then lastly Bob. John reaches down and catches Bob’s hand, hauling him up with some comment about arm day.

As soon as Bob is free of danger you slink through the shadows on the floor and claw your way out in a darkened corner. You lie there body curling on the cold ground like something half-dead and smoking, face down, struggling to steady your breath, to contain the aching in your bones and the restless shadows that curl around your limbs like smoke with nowhere to go.You press your cheek to the metal floor. It helps. A little

Ava edges toward you, cautious but concerned. “Hey… are you okay?” she asks, voice tentative as she leans down—close enough to check if you’re still breathing. She doesn’t even flinch at the billowing tendrils of darkness that seep back into your skin, though her eyes linger on them wary.

You grunt in response, lifting one trembling arm to throw up a thumbs-up, your cheek still mashed against the cold metal floor.

Ava huffs a breath, half relief, half disbelief. “Well, thank you,” she mutters. “If it weren’t for you, the only one making it out of here would’ve been that arsehole John. I don’t know how he planned to catch us—maybe with his ego.”

Despite the blood loss, the ache in your limbs, and the sensation of your shadow barely holding itself together, her sarcasm drags a faint smile out of you. You shift just enough to roll onto your back, your expression softening as you glance up at her.

“Heh… I couldn’t let you all fall to your deaths in good conscience,” you manage, your voice raspy. “Especially not you. Us lab rats have to stick together.”

The words slip from you easier than expected, warm despite the chill in your bones. Another piece of your shell flakes away.

Ava blinks, surprised—but not put off. She lowers into a crouch beside you, gaze searching yours like she’s seeing you fully for the first time. “You were in a lab too,” she says quietly, not as a question but as a recognition. A scar noticing another.

You nod, and for a heartbeat, the silence between you is heavy—shared and sacred.

“They had you as a child too, didn’t they?” she asks, softer now.

“Yeah,” you whisper, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Sometimes I still wake up thinking I’m back in that tank. There’s nothing like a child’s fear of the dark right?” You half joke before continuing. “That fear stuck with me I guess. Like the air’s thick and the light is poison. I thought… I thought it would stop hurting once I got out.”

Ava hums, eyes distant. “It doesn’t. Not really. But it starts to mean something when you’re fighting for someone else.”

You glance at her. “Is that what you’re doing?”

Ava gives you a half-shrug, half-smile. “I think so. Don’t know if I’m doing it right. But… you pulled all of us out of the dark back there. That’s more than most people ever do.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you say nothing.

She stands again, offering you a hand. “C’mon. Let’s keep surviving together.”

You hesitate, then take it—her grip strong, sure.

“Just don’t let John plan anything ever again,” you mutter.

Ava smirks. “Agreed. That man has the strategic grace of a sledgehammer.”

And just like that, something unspoken but solid roots between you.

A beginning.

Another piece of your hardened shell slips away.

As you stand up you freeze.

Something shifts.

A pull, cold and unnatural, coils in the air like a whisper in your bones. Your eyes snap back toward the elevator shaft.

John stands at the edge, motionless. Dazed.

But it isn’t him that rattles you.

It’s the feeling—that vast, unseen darkness. A presence that shouldn’t exist. You can’t see it, but you know it’s there. Clinging to him like a shadow that’s alive, wrapping around his body like a nightmarish caress.

You take a step forward, pulse spiking.

But then—it’s gone.

The pull vanishes as quickly as it came, receding like a tide.

You turn to stare at Bob, who now watches John with that same unreadable intensity as before. The same too-still stare.

And something twists in your gut, a feeling that something about Bob was wrong, unnatural.

Uncomfortable, you turn away and head for the exit—only to stop dead in your tracks. A dozen military-grade vehicles wait outside, their headlights beaming directly into the opening like spotlights. There’s no going out quietly.

“All right, let’s get out of here,” Ava sighs, following behind, her tone casual until she sees your face.

“Yeah, that’s gonna be a bit of a problem…” you trail off, eyes locked on the lights. If it were just you, escaping would be easy. Slip into someone’s shadow, ride the darkness out into the open, and vanish. It’s already pitch black out there. You could disappear.

And for a heartbeat, you consider it.

Why not?

You don’t owe these people anything. A ragtag crew of killers with too much baggage and barely a sliver of trust between them. They’re not your problem. You’ve walked away from worse. You’ve done worse things.

But then, your gaze flicks back toward Bob. He stands a few paces away, shoulders slumped, looking impossibly small in the cavernous dark. That strange, inexplicable pull in your chest tightens. The same feeling that made you reveal yourself back at the start. The same feeling that’s kept you here this long. You don’t know why, but… you can’t bring yourself to leave him.

Then your eyes shift over to Ava who you felt a kinship with through the horrors of being raised in a lab. If you left them behind then you truly were the monster the shadows whisper you are.

“Okay, we need to come up with a plan.”

“Here’s what we’re gonna do.”

John and Yelena speak at the same time, voices overlapping with mutual annoyance.

You and Ava exchange synchronized eye rolls.

“Oh, you’re the boss now? Cute,” she says dryly.

“Well, yeah—it’s our only chance of getting out of here,” John shoots back.

“I think I might just surrender,” Bob says softly, voice so subdued it snaps your head toward him.

“Okay, every man for himself,” John mutters without missing a beat.

“What?! No, absolutely not—Bob, can I talk to you for a second?” You step toward him, taking hold of his sleeve and pulling him aside while John and Yelena continue their bickering in the background.

Keeping your voice low, you try to sound calm, not desperate. “Bob, you don’t know what these people are capable of. You might not remember the clinical trials or the things they did to you—but I’m telling you, they don’t see you as a person. They’ll just go back to testing you, pushing your body until it breaks.”

He watches you carefully. His eyes, normally distant, spark with something—recognition, maybe.

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” he says slowly, the question implied but not asked.

You nod, sighing. “Different group. Same monsters. Trust me. They don’t care about your well-being.”

Bob frowns, something unreadable flickering across his face. “And… you do?”

The question hangs between you—fragile, honest, and terrifying. Before you can figure out an answer that won’t make either of you shut down in embarrassment, the argument in the background explodes.

“—and high school state football champs, back to back to back. Go Bears!”

You and Bob blink. Both turn toward the group, visibly confused.

“What the hell is he even talking about?” you murmur.

“Oh wow,” Yelena claps her hands mockingly. “When I was five, I was on a peewee soccer team called the West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts. Sponsored by Shane’s Tire Shop. We won zero games, and one time this girl Mindy did a poo at midfield. Anyone else have pointless childhood stories to share?”

Ava offers casually, “Grew up in a lab prison.”

Bob follows, deadpan: “Meth-addicted sign-twirling chicken.”

A sound escapes you before you can stop it—a startled, genuine laugh. And just like that, everyone stares at you like you’ve just grown a second head. As if they weren’t sure you could laugh.

You stifle it behind your hand, shoulders shaking. “S-sorry. Just… like, a chicken suit or…?” you manage, giggling again, contradicting your established doom and darkness persona the group has gotten used to.

“It was for a summer job,” Bob mutters with the resigned air of someone who’s accepted his shame. You let out another laugh that has his lips curling into a smile along with you.

You’re still catching your breath when Yelena launches into a tactical breakdown—one John immediately tries to contradict. But, miraculously, the group starts piecing together a viable plan.

“Okay. Yelena, take Bob and deal with the lights. John, I’ll shift into your shadow. If anyone gets close, we can hit them with a surprise attack. I can immobilize two, maybe three max, for about fifteen minutes. But if the lights go out, I can jump back to your side instantly.”

You lay out the plan with calm precision while Ava vanishes without a word.

Positioned at John’s side, you flatten against the wall, melting into his shadow, waiting.

Boots stomp closer—lots of them. Red lasers cut through the dark. John tenses, ready.

But something’s wrong.

It’s still dark.

The lights haven’t come on.

Your voice whispers up from the floor in a dozen hushed tones. “Something went wrong with the lights… I’ll be back.”

In an instant, you slip away, streaking along the ground, a living shadow. You reach Yelena and Bob just in time to see her frantically slamming switches while they argue.

“What’s going on?” you demand, peeling yourself out of the dark.

“The power isn’t coming back—” she starts, but you’re already gone.

Heart hammering you shade step back instantly, John is alone and there were like five armed soldiers heading his way.

You reappear beside him, eyes and veins an inky black. He glances at you clearly unsettled just as he turns the corner—and five armed soldiers rush into view.

Before John can take another step you send the shadows out like a curse.

They writhe forth from your body, slick and sinuous, dragging across the metal floor like liquid malice. The moment the soldiers turn the corner, they falter—mid-stride, mid-breath—as something unseen wraps around their throats.

Your shadows strike fast, snapping upward like nooses from hell. Inky claws burst from your forearms, spidering into the air like fractured bone and smoke. The men’s bodies convulse violently as their own shadows are ripped from beneath them—wrenched into the air like puppets torn from strings.

One collapses, twitching as his outline is peeled away. Another drops to his knees, eyes wide with silent terror, mouth agape in a scream too slow to escape. The third fights it—fingers clawing at his own body, trying to hold onto something intangible as your power threads through his spine like barbed wire.

Their shadows dance above them—twisting, flailing, screaming in a voice only you can hear. The same sounds that haunt your dreams.

You pin them in place, shadows writhing and coiling around their chests like constricting serpents, like a hand over their hearts slowly squeezing. Fear drips off them in waves.

John barrels through the chaos like a wrecking ball, tackling the two who remain. Fists fly. Bone cracks. But you’re barely aware—your vision is swimming with black. Your hands tremble, not from weakness, but from the weight of holding three souls hostage in the dark.

The strain threatens to split you in two.

One by one, you let go.

The shadows hiss as they slither back to their bodies, reluctant and resentful, like beasts returned to cages. The men collapse, gasping, pale as death. One tries to rise, only to collapse again—whimpering into the floor like a child in a nightmare.

But one fights harder.

He thrashes—soul and shadow unspooling, fighting the inevitable.

So you squeeze.

Your claws sink deeper. The air grows colder. Your veins flare black with strain, your bones screeching in protest as they shift beneath your flesh.

And then John finishes it—grabs him by the collar, drives him into the wall with a crunch. Silence follows.

You release your grip at last.

The shadows slither back to you like feral dogs called home, curling around your limbs and back into your veins as you sag against the wall—eyes hollow, heart hammering, darkness licking at your heels.

You don’t look at what you’ve done. Head down afraid to meet John’s gaze.

You already know what he saw.

A living nightmare wearing a human face.

He stares at you silently, chest rising and falling in the aftermath. You’re braced for the disgust—ready for fear or revulsion—but it doesn’t come. Instead, when your eyes meet, it’s worry that stares back at you.

Concern.

And you don’t know if that’s better…

You barely have time to process it before more footsteps can be heard. A blur of boots on metal as soldiers flood the corridor—shadows of violence approaching too fast. The guilt of what you just unleashed weighs down your limbs, and that one beat of hesitation costs you.

The bullet hits before you even register the sound of the gun.

A burst of heat tears through your shoulder, spinning you slightly. You stumble. John’s voice cuts through the air, harsh and panicked—“Down!”—and you obey, not by will, but by instinct.

Like the blood seeping into your clothes, you sink into the floor.

The world becomes smoke and yelling. Gunfire lights the hallway like a strobe. John rushes forward—bellowing, slamming into the next wave of soldiers. But you’re slow to follow. The Umbra yawns beneath you, vast and empty. Your head spins. You feel it trying to drag you deeper, whispering promises of safety, of oblivion.

You blink hard. Grit your teeth. No. Not now.

More voices—Yelena’s, sharp and defiant. Bob’s, breathless and unsure. Chaos rips through the space like a living being. You catch a glimpse of Bob literally strapped to Yelena like some weird adult baby carrier —apologizing, actually apologizing, after pulling the trigger—and the absurdity almost breaks you.

But then you see it: a final soldier, creeping behind the two with a weapon raised.

You don’t think. You just move.

You erupt from the wall behind the man like a nightmare, your own scream lost in the din. This time, you don’t stop at pain or paralysis—you take everything. Rip his shadow from his body like peeling skin. He drops with a shriek, eyes wide and blind with agony. And before you can even rein in the darkness, Yelena finishes him with one clean shot.

Then she turns.

Gun still raised, breath heaving—eyes locking on you.

You don’t flinch. You just vanish, sliding back into Bob’s shadow like falling through ice.

You reappear at his feet in a ripple of smoke and motion, hands immediately flying to him, checking his chest, his arms, his throat. “Are you okay?! Were you hit?”

He startles, stumbling backward at your sudden proximity. “I’m fin—oh my god. You’re bleeding!”

His voice cracks like glass. He reaches toward you, eyes locking on the crimson bloom across your shoulder. It’s spreading fast. Behind him, Yelena spins, already moving. She’s at your side in an instant, hands pressing gently against your injury, her mouth set in a grim line.

“How bad is it?” she asks, breathless. Her touch is surprisingly gentle for someone so deadly.

“I’ve had worse,” you mutter, though the world tilts sideways for a moment. Your skin is cold. Your limbs are shaking—not just from pain, but from what you almost lost yourself to. Again.

“Are you okay? That’s… that’s a lot of blood,” Bob says, voice wobbling between concern and queasy horror.

The two of them fuss. Over you.

You blink. You can’t remember the last time anyone did that.

And then you laugh.

It starts small—just a twitch of the lips—but quickly tumbles out, disjointed and half-hysterical.

“I’m sorry,” you gasp between giggles. “Did I see you coming in… strapped to her back? Why was that a thing?!”

Bob flushes. Yelena scowls. You can’t stop laughing.

It must be the blood loss. Or the aftershocks of your power breaking free. Or maybe the absurdity of the whole thing—a walking horror show like you being fretted over like a paper cut.

But your mirth is short-lived.

“What the hell happened to the lights, Yelena?!” John thunders as he storms over, limping slightly. “Also—I’m fine, by the way.”

No one answers him at first. They’re still watching you—Bob, pale and wide-eyed; Yelena, brows knit in concern. Neither of them looks away, even when the darkness still bleeds out at your feet.

They don’t flinch.

They don’t run.

And that unsettles you more than anything else.

Even now, bleeding and half-lost to the shadows coiling around your legs like restless serpents, they stay close.

Bob’s still hovering beside you, a hand hovering like he wants to help but doesn’t know how. His eyes flick to your shoulder and then to your face—he looks pale, but not scared. Just… worried. Like you matter.

Yelena is crouched at your other side, pressing a gloved hand firmly to the wound with practiced hands and a glare sharp enough to slice steel.

“Why rush off without us?” she mutters. “You were supposed to be the weird smoke in the background, remember?”

Her tone is light, teasing even—but her hands tremble.

You look between the two of them, heart twisting. They’re both too close. Too warm. Too vulnerable. You don’t know what you’d do if—

Your breath catches.

The thought of losing them—these strangers who’ve somehow become something more—hits like a punch to the chest.

It must be the blood loss, you rationalize, you’ve only known these people for a handful of hours yet your heart reaches for them.

“You could’ve been shot,” you rasp to Yelena, your voice rough. “You ran into the line of fire.”

She snorts. “So did you.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

You don’t have an answer. Just a flash of the man approaching from behind. Yelena’s expression focused but unaware. Bob’s too—confused, afraid, lit by red gunfire. For a moment, you’d thought—

“Bob,” you murmur, shifting slightly to look between the two of them, ignoring the shadows writhing beneath your skin. “Are you really okay?”

“I mean… no,” he admits, eyes flicking from your face to the blood between you. “But… also yes?”

It’s such a Bob answer you almost laugh. But the worry lingers.

“You didn’t deserve to be down here,” you whisper. “You shouldn’t even be—”

“I’m here,” he interrupts, quiet but steady. “So are you. So’s she. Guess we’re all in this.”

You stare at him, blinking away the blur in your vision. Not from tears. From blood loss. Probably.

Still—your fingers twitch, reaching out to graze his arm, and then Yelena’s. A tether. A grounding point. You’ve never had one before, let alone two.

“W-Walker…” you start to say, trying to shift the attention off yourself. “What you saw me do—I’m so—” You open your mouth, the words catching somewhere in your throat.

You don’t even know what you’re trying to say. Sorry? For traumatizing him? For the way you shifted into a literal nightmare?

Before you can continue he cuts you off, waving a hand as if brushing the whole thing aside.

“Yeah, thanks by the way,” John grunts from somewhere nearby, brushing ash from his shoulder and shooting you a sidelong glance. “Made my job way easier.”

You blink again, caught off guard. He’s not avoiding your gaze. He’s not afraid of you. None of them are.

He saw the thing in the dark, the teeth and claws and ink-black rage.They’re not shrinking away or asking questions you can’t answer. They’re still here. Still close.

And it leaves you speechless.

Stunned.

That moment of silence stretches just a little too long, and of course it’s Yelena who notices first. She reaches out, a hand on your good shoulder now, voice firm.

“Hey. We’ve got to get out of here and get you patched up. You with me?”

You nod slowly—once, then again, stronger. Your gaze flickers between them. Bob. Yelena. Even John.

They stayed.

And for the first time in a long time, the shadows feel a little less cold..

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼ ✧༺🩶༻∞ ✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

Next Chapter

A/N: so I’m really trying to figure out how long of chapters to post. Like is this length good or should in make them longer and post them less frequently?? Also from here we are gonna diverge a bit from the canonical story.

Apologies if I got anything wrong or if there’s a contradiction in there I feel like I reread this chapter 1000 times and my brain was not awake to edit lol

Thanks again for giving this story some love

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 3899

Summary: Tony has declared another night for team bonding, dragging everyone to a karaoke bar. It's here that Bucky meets you and possibly finds a real connection with someone he's been missing for a while.

Warnings: none

A/N: One of the last prompt fills I had for Bucky Barnes Birthday Bingo, which was a singer AU. This story ended up being a lot of fun to write.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Character Masterlist

Bucky scowled as another overly drunk patron knocked into him while trying to escape the crowded bar.

He'd taken up residence in that corner as soon as the Avengers group arrived, not wanting to partake in this evening's festivities but not having much choice. At least, they hadn't tried to pry him from his spot since they'd settled in the booth across the way. If he tried hard enough, he could make out their various conversations over the loudness of the bar.

Several screens sat high on the bar's walls.

While one might've expected sports to be playing, that wasn't the case here. No, they each displayed in perfect sync the words of some song being butchered from one person or another. Well, not all of them, but a decent number of them.

Bucky had learned from his years under HYDRA's thumb to tune out the background noise. It helped when a particularly pitchy or off-key singer made their way to the stage. He could ignore their poor attempts to sing whatever Top 40 hit they fancied at the moment.

It was just as well, too.

He had no interest in participating in this latest team bonding exercise that Tony had thought up.

No, he wouldn't be here at all if Steve hadn't asked him to consider trying something new with the team. Just once, his best friend had asked. It was those blasted puppy eyes Steve tossed his way that did Bucky in, and his best friend knew it. The punk!

Kallus started doing this at some point during the events of Rebels. Bodhi starts doing it on his second mission out with Jyn and Cassian after they miraculously survive Scariff.

Bodhi's sitting in a hanger grumbling to Jyn about not having a connector he needs to fix the mouse droid he saved. Kallus happens to be walking by with Zeb and overhears. He stops and mentions to Bodhi he thinks he has an extra one from the last time the Ghost crew brought a box of parts home.

Bodhi and Kallus started bonding while fixing mouse droids. Bodhi knows Kallus was a high ranking ISB agent before defecting and Kallus knows Bodhi is a fellow defector and works with Cassian, Kallus's fellow Fulcrum.