#I mean they’re holding a knife and a gun

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Art the Clown x Reader SMUT • headcanons, how Art fucks, what he gets off to, etc

big content warning! contains some stuff that may gross you out; read at your own risk: menstruation kink, piss kink, oral sex, anal sex, object insertion, blood kink, various weapons mentioned, bondage, human hair and bones, butts and what comes out of butts, public sex, cockwarming, mostly dom!Art and sub!reader

🔪 Remember the work desk with all of Art’s weapons and tools on it? He knows you want him to fuck you, but he’s got shit to do (meaning weapons to build) so he lets you sit under the desk, cockwarming him while he works. You’re on the ground between his knees, patiently holding him in your mouth. When he finishes constructing his latest instrument of torture/slaughter, Art pats his palm against his thigh, wordlessly telling you to climb up into his lap and ride him.🩸

🔪 Art enjoys blood and guts, so it goes without saying that during your period, he’s particularly eager to fuck you. He can detect the slight change in your scent, usually aware you’ve begun to bleed even before you know. He plays with your pussy like it’s a new, special toy when you’re bleeding, spreading your lips and tracing his name on your inner thighs in red. Seeing/touching/tasting blood that comes from you is special to Art. It’s the only time he gets to play in blood without it being the result of him hurting someone, so that makes the experience unique for him. He saves your used pads for ‘alone time,’ using them later as a ‘sleeve,’ to masturbate with.🩸

🔪 Art sometimes fucks you with unconventional objects, like the handle of one of his weapons (knife, axe) or the neck of a bottle. If you’ve displeased him but he still wants to fuck you, he might deny you his cock and instead use something else, like the handle of one of his knives or the barrel of an (empty!) gun, to make you come instead of his cock, as a degrading ‘punishment.’🩸

🔪 Art loves bondage. He knows what he’s doing when it comes to tying knots, as evidenced by the multiple victims you’ve watched him restrain. He enjoys the power dynamic of being in absolute control of another person. When that crosses over into sex, you both get off on him tying you up and doing whatever the fuck he wants with your body.🩸

🔪 Art’s methods can border on sadistic at times (I mean how could they not??) but because he wants to keep you around to play with for the long haul, he never pushes you beyond the limits of safety, no matter how many new ways he comes up with to plug every hole in your body. If we know anything about Art, it’s that he’s perceptive. He studies the way your body responds to different forms of stimulation and mentally catalogs the information for later. All of his skill in crafting tools of torture means he’s able to create customized ‘toys,’ to fuck you with. But the thing is, they’re never normal, or sweet; they always contain something fucked-up and sick. Art once surprised you with a whip he’d put together for you. Its strands were soft and felt so good gliding over your clit. You came so hard when Art whipped your pussy till it was puffy and leaking. It would have been a wonderful gift, if you hadn’t realized later, upon closer inspection, that the strands now wet with your cum were in fact strands of human hair. And the custom dildo Art made for you, the one that was so smooth and colored beige/white? You later found out Art had chiseled and smoothed down a human bone to make it for you. The information almost made you sick on the spot. Art found your horrified reaction hilarious, of course, and it didn’t stop him from laying you down and fucking you with it all the same…🩸

🔪 ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL …

He loves to fuck you in the ass. Art’s a nasty little motherfucker when it comes to the stuff that comes out of butts, and I’m not gonna elaborate here, but you can use your imagination to follow where I’m going with this…🩸

🔪 Art has zero inhibitions: he kills anyone, anywhere. Imagine that relating to sex; of course he’s going to fuck you wherever he wants, including places where you might get caught. Sex in public/risky spaces feels natural to Art, because he literally does not give a single fuck. Remember the first time you ever saw him? When you stumbled out the back door of that sleazy little bar in your home town, so drunk off your ass you thought you were leaving through the front? Art was in the alleyway behind the bar, black garbage bag hoisted over his shoulder, not even looking for anyone to fuck up but when he saw you, he knew he’d found a victim for the night. He’d planned to stalk you home and do unspeakable things to you-but as you took the lead and approached him, there in the alleyway, he was caught off guard, his whole plan upended the moment you slid your arms around his waist, stood up on your tiptoes, and placed a soft, sloppy kiss on his cheek. He was awestruck, and even if he could speak, Art would still have been at a loss for words. You walked him backward a few steps, lining him up against a dumpster in the alleyway. You began fondling him through his costume, grinning when you realized his body had already begun to respond. One thing led to another, and within minutes, Art had you bent over that dumpster, with a fresh hole torn in the front of his costume where your bodies were joined…🩸

🔪 No one would associate The Miles County Clown with tenderness, but if they knew Art, they would see a softer side of him only you do. He’s still fucking deranged, don’t get me wrong. But Art also has moments of vulnerability, when there’s nothing he wants more than to hold you. Sitting in Art’s lap, he wraps his arms around you and stays still, so still, just enjoying the soft thump of your heartbeat against his, and the low hum of your breath on his chest. Your nearness calms the monster inside Art so well that sometimes, he forgets he is the monster itself…🩸

🔪 Another benefit of having you in his lap? Art realized he could use his strength to make you stay in his lap no matter how badly you had to get up and take a piss, forcing you to wet yourself all over him. You felt him gradually getting hard under you as you began to wriggle on his lap. Art could see your discomfort, and when you told him you needed to get up and take a piss, he refused to release you. You’d expect him to be smiling at you at a time like this, silently mocking you; but the look in his eyes was deathly serious, pitch black and full of a demented lust that would have had you locked you in place even if his arms hadn’t. Blushing into his shoulder, you accepted the fact that Art wasn’t letting go of you any time soon, and that he really was into this. He wanted this to happen. You allowed your bladder to empty, a soft trickle saturating your panties, followed by a steady stream of hot piss that spread over Art’s lap. His clothes were soaked through below the waist, your piss running down between his thighs and dampening the couch cushion beneath you. Art was rock hard by this point, his wet cock throbbing against your pussy. He lifted you off his lap just enough to reach between your bodies and position his tip against your entrance, then used your piss as a lube to slide inside you…🩸

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Final Girl.

Pairing: Yandere!Chrollo x Reader (HxH).

Word Count: 1.4k.

TW: 'Girl' Is In The Title But Reader Is Gender Neutral, Death and Blood, Mentions of Guns, Manipulation, Implied Kidnapping, and Spoilers for the Ninteenth-Century Novel Dracula.

The night you met him was, by no coincidence, also the night you learned what it meant to feel your blood run cold.

‘Met’ might’ve been an exaggeration. You didn’t meet him so much as you stood still and stared at him – lumbering down the hallway, clutching a gore-splattered butcher's knife, his suit disheveled and stained with a dark, blotting substance you couldn’t bring yourself to put a name to, in your fear-induced paralysis. With the manor's high ceilings and dim lighting, he seemed impossibly tall, his black eyes blank and terrible, his smile manic in a way that sent a chill up your spine, that left you frozen where you stood and unable to run as he came to stand in front of you, as he raised a hand and—

And pointed to the book tucked under your arm, a yellowed paperback beaten to hell and back from weeks of loving abuse. You’d spent hours wondering if you should bring it with you, if there was anyone else on the face of the planet who’d be stupid enough to bring a book to a mascarade ball, but you figured you’d have to step out for a breath of fresh air at some point, tonight, and phones weren’t really an option at this kind of thing. Looking back on it, you struggled to remember why you’d spent so much time agonizing over something so inconsequential, especially when whoever found your body likely wouldn’t pay it a second glance. “Is that—” He started, pausing to wet his lips before correcting himself. “Is that Bram Stoker’s Dracula?”

You blinked several times, shifting your weight. “It is,” you managed, eventually, just before the point of no return. “I… I’m only a few chapters in, though. They’re only on the second blood transfusion.”

His smile widened. “I’m reading it for the second time, now. That’s one of the best passages - you can practically feel the dread mounting in the prose.” While he spoke, you stole another glance at his attire. With your shock beginning to fade and your nerves given a few seconds to cool, you could see that he clearly hadn’t just walked out of a crime scene. His clothes were wrinkled, but not torn, not displaced the way they would’ve been if he’d been in a real fight, and he was covered in a cartoonish amount of (presumably fake) blood. He couldn’t have meant for it to be realistic, not unless you were supposed to believe he’d bled twenty people dry on his own.

He must’ve noticed you staring. His rambling trailed off into an airy chuckle, his free hand drifting to his blood-soaked shirt. “I’m afraid I might’ve misread my invitation,” he admitted, with a slight shrug. You were almost in awe of his nonchalance. Showing up to a masquerade ball in a costume fit for a b-rated haunted house would’ve left you catatonic for… god, the rest of the year, at least. “That’s how I found my way back here, actually. You can understand why I wouldn’t want to stay in the ballroom for very long, considering I’m dressed for a very different party.”

“No, no, that makes a lot of sense! I mean, a costume party would be more in-season.” You felt like an idiot. You could only hope you hadn’t looked as scared as you felt. “Honestly, I’m just surprised they let you in with a prop.”

He glanced to his ‘knife’, too, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Oh, this little thing?” He took the blade in his free hand, bending it downward. Unceremoniously, it snapped into two pieces as easily as if it’d been made of little more than tin foil and plastic - which, to be fair, it probably was. “Most people struggle to see me as a threat, for whatever reason.”

“The doormen probably just felt bad for the strange man who showed up to a charity gala covered in blood.” You spared a small smile, then genuinely brightened, taking up your novel and fishing out the spare mask you’d shoved between the pages while you were getting ready. He should’ve counted himself lucky that you could never be bothered to find a real bookmark. “Mine came in a set of two,” you explained, signaling for him to bend down. A little too easily, he obeyed, stooping just low enough for you to work your spare mask over his head. It was cheaper than anything you would usually like to show off – the base simple black cloth, the embroidery meaninglessly gaudy, the main body kept in place by little more than a simple white ribbon that never seemed to sit just right, but he accepted your offering with a grateful hum. “It’s not much, but—” You paused, buttoning his suit jacket, doing your best to make it look a little less like he’d just walked out of a bad slasher movie and a little more like a tragically color-blind, but ultimately well-dressed party-goer. “It should get you through the door.”

He straightened his back, and you thought you might’ve seen something spark in his dark eyes. Then again, it could’ve just been the moonlight. “I don’t think I ever got your name.”

Oh, right – that was something most people did before offering to fix a stranger’s clothes, wasn’t it? You rushed to introduce yourself, and he did the same. “Chrollo Lucilfer.” And then, offering you his hand, “Perhaps I’d be more warmly received with a plus one?”

As hesitant as you were to slip back into the ballroom on the arm of a disheveled stranger who’d already made an impression of his own, it would’ve broken your heart to turn him down. That, and you might’ve had a weakness for disheveled strangers who fell on the more handsome side of the spectrum.

You laughed as you threaded your arm through his, letting Chrollo guide you back to the main event. A second passed with only the sound of your footsteps and distance music to fill the quiet, then another. Eventually, you broke the silence. “It’s very well-written,” you started, trying to fight the urge to fidget. “But… I don’t think I’m the right audience. I care too much about Lucy. Seeing her go through so much and knowing she’s not going to make it is just—” You sighed, shook your head. “It’s agony. Especially when the villain is literally in the title. I mean, I know the characters don’t know that, but still.”

“The benefit of a voyeur's perspective.” For all his glowing praise, he didn’t seem very offended. “I think the dramatic irony is part of the appeal. By the time the tension breaks, it’s nearly too painful to keep going.”

“Which is exactly why it hurts to read,” you groaned, slumping into his side. “I get why it’s happening, but I just can’t stand spending so long on the build-up knowing how it’s going to end. It probably doesn’t help that Lucy’s one of my favorites, either. Well, aside from Mina, but it wouldn’t be fair to compare her to the author’s self-insert.”

The two of you came to a pair of rounded oak doors. There’d been a pair of attendants stationed outside when you left, but Chrollo didn’t seem to mind shouldering it open himself, ushering you inside with a smile and an idle gesture. You took a second to steel your nerves, still not entirely prepared to throw yourself into a very crowded room filled with very loud music and very eager socialites, then crossed the threshold, coming face to face with—

Carnage. Pure, unadulterated carnage.

There were bodies everywhere, each corpse mangled and bruised and broken in every possible way. Dark blood and broken glass covered the formerly pristine ivory floor, and the walls were painted with the remnants of gunfire. A few people were still standing – the murderers, you figured, judging by the blood on their outlandish clothes, the weapons in their hands, the indifferent agitation written across their expressions as you stared at them in horror, as your heart threatened to give out for the second time that night. The tallest man you’d ever seen pointed a hand-held machine gun in your direction, but Chrollo found his way back to your side, resting a hand on your shoulder as he spoke. “Hold your fire,” he said, casually, as if you weren’t standing at the edge of a bloodbath. As if he’d known what he was leading you into. “I think I’m going to keep this one.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. The air hitched in your throat as he brought a hand up to your chin, tilting your head back and forcing you to meet his unblinking stare. You’d been right the first time. There was never anything his eyes could’ve been but terrible. “I always did like Mina.”

There was never anything he could’ve been but a monster, prowling for his next kill.

“I guess I just have a soft spot for survivors.”

[xiakato]

GISELLE- The Bitch In The Red Dress (M)

A/n: I've been playing too much resident evil lately

September 1998, you'll never forget it. The grizzly murders in the Arkley Mountains to the zombie outbreak in Raccoon city, her. She strung you along with little to no effort. Her beauty was something else, something not of this world. You and her got along per se, a kiss to stop your overthinking while you were in the thick of it. The hive was when everything went south. Her lies came out in the open due to the person you have been chasing with her.  The explosions destroy the bridge and they are desperate to hold her from falling. The slipping of her hand from yours. The sinking heart as you watch her fall with the metal bridge. You had to get out, the city was forfeit.

Years later

You got hit by an assignment, the president's daughter was kidnapped by a cult in Spain's countryside. Ever since Raccoon city, you've tried to get away from the fight with the B.O.Ws that Umbrella left behind and the ones that are hidden away from greedy eyes. The cult leader, Saddler, is an extremist. Possibly due to the influence of the plaga or perhaps he always had these ideals and beliefs and the discovery of the plaga allowed him to act on it. The countless lives of the villagers, those part of the cult and those who were experimented on were lost. You fought through the village, Castle De Salazar, the place where you ran into her, The one that stole your heart amidst chaos. The red dress is reminiscent of the one she wore all those years ago. The knife shines in the moonlight as it is pressed against her neck, her porcelain skin reflecting in the polished finish. 

“Use knives next time, they’re better for close encounters,” You take the handgun from her hand tossing it to the side sheathing your knife. 

“Y/n,” You look at the woman as she takes off her sunglasses, you thought she was dead.

“What are you doing here Giselle?” You ask her, keeping your feelings in check. You’re on a mission, you have to be on guard at all times. 

“Don’t worry about it, handsome,” She walks towards the window, “So cold to me after all these years apart.” 

“After your lies, you’re lucky I don’t shoot you here and now,” You stare at her, fighting the urge to soak in her moon kissed beauty. 

“Oh honey, I didn’t mean to lie to you, we both had a job to do that day,” You shake your head at her as she smirks,” Well see you around handsome,” She tosses her glasses causing a flash bang to go off blinding you as she takes off out of the window.  You stare out of the window she left from,shaking your head leaving to the maze below. The castle was something else, the castellan was an interesting character to say the least. Ningning got taken to an island off the coast. Chasing after the man that took her, he’s quick perhaps beyond human limits. Getting to the dock, seeing a boat with a woman inside. She looks at you, “Need a ride handsome?” 

The rough waters did little to deter you from looking at her, her hair neatly done despite the situation. You shake your head, getting rid of the excess thoughts. “Why Giselle?” 

“All these years and that’s all you can ask Y/n?” She quirks an eyebrow, “You disappoint me.” 

“I have something to ask you, but I won’t get a straight answer,” She chuckles as you sigh,”Raccoon City, after the incident. You try to save one, a hundred more die. The world changed and so have I. So the question is have you changed Giselle? or are you just trying to use me again?” 

“You? Changed? You only think you have, what do you think? Do you think I’ve changed?” She looks over as she pulls the boat over to the side off the cliff aiming her grapple gun, “Don’t think too hard, handsome,” She takes off rocking the boat, you react quickly, steadying the boat before leaning back in the chair and sighing. 

“Story of my life.” 

The island was just as you expected to be, until you ran into him, Krauser. The man that trained you, the sparks from the knives slashing against each other. He knocks you onto your back diving his knife for your neck, a gunshot rings out making Krauser jump back and look over where it came from.

“Well if it isn’t The Bitch In The Red Dress,” He smirks as she starts firing down at them, with his enhancements, he can run faster than humanly possible. Dodging the bullets and jumping towards her, she grapples out of the way with him still chasing. 

“What the fuck is happening here?” 

The island of horrors, abdominations, fucking lasers, a comfy throne. You are pretty sure you’ve seen it all on this island alone. Finding Ningning again, you managed to find a machine that can get rid of your plaga after Giselle saved your ass again. Sending electric currents into a certain spot at a single spot, for one fucking hurt, and two killed the plaga so You are free from the plagas control and Saddler has another thing coming. Rushing outside to see Giselle tied by her wrists hanging in the ai. 

“Y/n isn’t that?” Ning asks, as you nod.

“Stay here,” You tell her as you get into the elevator heading up, meeting Saddler as you ignore him tossing your knife cutting down Giselle. His form changed into a spider-like form with eyeballs on his legs. The fight felt like it took forever, Until you spot Giselle running over, “Y/n use this~” She yells out tossing a RPG towards you, you rush picking it up. Shooting it at Saddler as he recoils from the blast, his body sizzles away, you spot the vial, you grab it as you feel a gun press against your head. 

“Hand it over,” Giselle says as you hand it behind you, she takes as she runs off the side getting an helicopter, “The island is set to blow,” She tosses a key ring, “Better hurry up Prince Charming.”

The helicopter takes off as you run back to the elevator, grabbing Ning by the hand, “We have to go,” You rush towards the underground water way, seeing a jet ski waiting for you, you hop on with her and speed away dodging the falling rocks, you get out of the waterway with Ning holding on tightly. 

“Wow that was close,” She says resting her head on your back, “So um.. what do you think about some over time?” 

“I’m good,” You chuckle, “I have some one else in my mind.”

“Is it her?” She asks and you merely nod as you drive off, “I figured,” She mutters leaning her head down on your shoulder. 

You get a nice vacation after getting the president's daughter back to the states. You take in a breath of fresh air standing in front of your house, getting to the front door, you notice it's slightly opened. Immediately drawing your 9mm, turning the safety off you make your way through the living room. Clearing every room in the bottom floor before moving up. Clearing rooms up to yours. Opening the door, your laser lands in the middle of the forehead of the intruder.

"Oh my, what a welcome," she's says as she crosses her legs in her trademarked red dress.

     "What are you doing here Giselle?" you ask her holstering your gun, sighing.

"just thought I'll see you again," her eyes trailing your body in suit. "You look good like you always do, perhaps the president's daughter flirting with you did you some good."

“Don’t even talk about that,” You place your gun onto the dresser by the wall before looking back at her as she stands walking over to you, her hands trailing down your shirt undoing button by button. She pulls off your shirt and suit jacket in one swoop. She kisses your scars soflty, her eyes lock onto the gunshot on your shoulder. 

“I remember when this happen,” Her fingers softly glazes over the gunshot, “I was scared to be honest.” 

“Even though you say that, were you really?” You question her as you feel her fingers quiver against your skin

“I’m telling the truth for once, Y/n. I didn’t want to lose you even though I only just met you a few hours prior,” She kisses the scar, her kisses trail down your body as she gets to her knees undoing your belt. Pulling your cock out, she smiles licking her lips, “I missed this,” She pushes you towards the bed, taking off your boxers and slacks. She strokes your cock slowly as she spits on it, “I feel you throbbing already~” She kisses up your shaft, “Already needy for Mommy?” She takes your tip into her mouth, you feel her tongue swirl around it sending shivers throughout your body.She pushes herself deeper as your cock reaches her throat.

“Fuck,” You mutter as your hand reaches the back of her head pushing your cock deeper. She pulls back, her saliva cascades down onto your cock as she strokes it faster and faster, her other hand caressing your body, her hand going over your abs and scars as she sucks your cock.She pulls your cock out with a pop as she stands up, dropping her red dress onto the floor,  her naked poreclain body on perfect display for you as she straddles you, her thighs covered in her juices as she slides your cock into her, hearing her breath hitch as you feel her up. Your arms wrap around her waist, as she starts to ride you. Her ass bouncing on your cock, her tightness squeezing every inch of you. She wraps her arms around your neck as she rides your cock faster and faster. 

“Fuck me babyboy, Use me fucking use me baby,” She pleads with you as you thrust upwards, hitting her womb as you ravage her, her moans fill your ears. You hear nothing else other than her, she is in every one of your senses. Her juices dripping down your balls creating a puddle on the bed, “Give me that dick baby,” She moans out as her hands grip onto your hair as her hips meet your thrusts. You feel her walls tighten around you as she cums over your cock, her body shaking as you don’t stop chasing your own orgasm, “Fucking cum in me, fill me the fuck up with your cum babyboy,” She urges you as you feel it coming you fuck her faster and faster and you feel the first shot, you push yourself as deep as you could. You see her bright smile as she feels you fill her up, “So so much~” She giggles as she sits up, your cock still in her, “You filled up Mommy so well,” She moves her hips slowly, milking the rest out of you, “Surely you have more for me~?”

[trashcakery]

fadelstyle headcanons bc why tf not

Style has already apologized (wholeheartedly and with tears) for ambushing Fadel’s support group sessions.

Every Saturday, they make breakfast together, trying new recipes, flavors, etc. They also almost always fuck it all up because Style is too distracting in an apron.

Style listens to heavy metal now.

Fadel often naps with his head on Style’s lap, and Style plays with his hair while he sleeps.

Fadel and Style’s dad watch 70s/80s shows together, leaving Style completely left out. They actually have nearly identical 80s rock CD collections too.

Style asks Fadel about his ex often. His personality, their time together, what Fadel loved about him. He’s even suggested they take flowers and visit his grave together. When you’re ready.

Fadel has yet to win an argument.

Saying no to Style is literally impossible for him. He’ll frown, sulk, look pissed, but never actually say no.

Fadel has bad days, lows that become debilitating. His past crashes down on him, but Style is always there. Gentle. Quiet. Giving him space, but also taking care of him. Helps him in the shower. Brings him food. Takes it away when Fadel refuses to eat. Brings it back. Holds him while he sleeps.

They love shopping together. Fadel loves the way Style glows when he tries on new clothes.

Yes, they’re both freaks. Yes, it excites them to do it in public, grabbing at each other’s necks, indulging in chest play, roleplay, you name it. But their biggest turn-on, especially for Fadel, is actually being domestic. Being soft and vanilla, even. No, because think about it— Style has probably had his fair share of sleeping around, experimenting, partying, going wild. Fadel, on the other hand, has always felt burdened by his body and its needs. His teenage years, his early adulthood, none of it was normal. He never got to experience sweetness. Never got to take his time, to feel wanted, to feel loved. To him, sex was always transactional, until his ex, who 'left' the moment Fadel showed vulnerability. So yeah, they love being wild. But what they love more is being at home—lazy morning sex, showering together, taking it slow, looking into each other’s eyes. It’s actually so sweet and heartbreaking.

After months of nagging, Fadel finally folds and teaches Style how to use a gun.

Style knows how to use a knife very well. (Don’t ask how they found out.)

Fadel practically lives at Style’s house, spends 80% of his time there.

Style’s dad is teaching Fadel how to fix his car. “What do you mean you’re marrying into our family without knowing these basics???”

Fadel whimpers. :)

Style has proudly stolen and cut up at least ten of Fadel’s t-shirts, including a vintage 1970s Led Zeppelin Rules America tee that he spent half his savings on when he was 16.

Style loves taking Fadel’s fingers into his mouth when they have sex, because it drives Fadel insane. :)

One time, while they were just hanging out in Fadel’s room, Style asked, “So when did you start finding me attractive?” Fadel’s face went beet red. Style, being the menace that he is, kept pushing, until Fadel finally blurted: “Yes, I found you attractive the moment I saw you. Yes, I thought about you while I was alone. Yes, of course I fucking did. And yes, it happened here—where else would it happen?” A smirk. “So you liked it when I lay on my stomach for you in the sauna… like this?” Style rolls onto his stomach, looks up at Fadel exactly like he did that day. “Tell me, what did you think about? Did you imagine my face?” “Shut up." “Did you imagine they were my hands or mouth?” “Style.” “Did you call my name?”

They both smell amazing. Fadel wears deep, earthy colognes. Style wears fruity, flowery ones. He also goes crazy for lip balms so Fadel buys him a new one every time he goes to the grocery store.

“Hey, you really need to stop being so trusting.” “He said his cat was dying.” “Style, he was literally trying to steal your wallet.” “But he showed me a photo. :( He had one leg missing.” “…Jesus fucking christ.”

[furiosophie]

“Ghost?” Soap asks as he pulls open the door, knife still in hand, baby still wailing. “What are ye doin’ here?”

“What am I doing here?” Ghost throws back at him, brows creased and eyes downright murderous, the kind of look that back at base would mean Soap is about to run laps until he pukes. “You just disappeared for a bloody week, Johnny! Didn’t even tell Price where you were going, aren’t answering your fuckin’ phone, what the hell do you think I’m doing here?”

“Right,” Soap says because yes right, he has a vague memory of Ghost texting him, but he also doesn't really have a clue where his phone is right now and he definitely wasn’t aware it’s been a week until he just mentioned it. For a moment Ghost looks like he’s going to take him by the shoulders and shake, and then his eyes land on Joey, and he frowns harder as if he only just noticed that Soap is holding a screaming child.

“You knock someone up, Johnny?” he asks and it sounds oddly offended but mostly like he’s taking the piss, so Soap is about to tell him to fuck off when there’s a loud crash from the bathroom, followed immediately by a high shriek. He whips around, trips over one of Cass’ tiny toddler-sized shoes, and nearly impales himself on the damn knife if it wasn’t for Ghost grabbing him by the arm to hold him steady.

“Give me the baby,” Ghost says like he says give me that gun when they’re hunched over in the dirt, bullets flying past their heads, so Soap does.

to you i can admit (that i'm too soft for all of it)

[read on ao3]

ship: john "soap" mactavish/simon "ghost" riley

words: 19 220, completed

tags: mw iii fix-it, set between danger close and trojan horse, kid fic, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, domestic fluff, getting together, ghost fell first, soap fell harder, ghost is just some guy (tm), jk this still has 09 ghost backstory, fellas is it gay if the superior officer you've been lowkey flirting with for four years drops everything to help u raise ur sisters kids, this is both a hallmark movie and me processing grief so godspeed, canon- typical violence, mentions of past childhood abuse, not beta read we die like- qunshot

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [20] - Nightclub

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Business deals are open to negotiation.  

Word Count: 2600

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

“Unbelievable,” you muttered to yourself, scratching at Alpine’s head with one hand while holding your phone with the other, your eyes skimming the lines. “Seriously…”

Bucky sipped his coffee. “Care to share with the class, Charm?”

You heaved a sigh and shot him a look, holding up the phone so that he could see the screen.

“Clint leaves the city for a couple of days and HYDRA immediately attacks his territory?” you asked and Bucky hummed.

“I mean he had his people covering it,” he said. “Just because he wasn’t here, doesn’t mean it was open to any attack.”

“Which makes it worse,” you told him with a sigh, then reached out for the jar of peanut butter to dip a spoon into it. “How many sources do these guys have?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Bucky said, reaching out to run his fingers through Alpine’s soft fur as she meowed at him. “You’re coming to the club tonight, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Your phone buzzed in your hand and you took a look at the notification, then licked your lips.

“Buck.”

“Hm?”

“So you know how our therapist said open communication is very important?”

“I don’t trust the therapist.”

“Shocking,” you deadpanned. “Anyway, I’m meeting Ethan today for lunch.”

Bucky let out a groan before he threw his head back. “Charm…”

“This is me openly communicating.”

“This is you throwing a knife at me and calling it communication,” Bucky corrected you, making your jaw drop.

“It’s not!”

“I will ask this question once again; why are you meeting your ex who wants to fuck you?”

“That’s not—I know the idea isn’t familiar to you, but some people can be friends with their exes.”

“So it’d be fine if I met up with one of my exes for lunch?” he asked and you shrugged your shoulders, trying to ignore the unpleasant flip your stomach did.

“If you can find an ex who doesn’t want to kill you?” you said. “Go ahead.”

He scoffed. “Not all of them hate me.”

“Is the ex who doesn’t hate you in the room with us right now?” you asked back and he made a face.

“I don’t know who fed you those lies, I’m guessing Becca—”

“Becca is very objective when it comes to your exes,” you pointed out. “And how terrible you are in relationships.”

“I’m not terrible in relationships.”

“Did you stay friends with any of your exes?”

“Yeah!”

“Give me a name.”

He blinked a couple of times and cleared his throat. “…Dot.”

“Dot hates your guts, Buck.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know she dumped you,” you said and Bucky clicked his tongue.

“It was a mutual decision.”

“It really wasn’t,” you said. “You do realize that I’ve been best friends with your sister since I was in kindergarten? I know everything about your terrible relationships.”

“To repeat, they’re not—don’t change the subject,” he said as you sipped your coffee. “Your ex?”

“My ex does not want to kill me like your exes or fuck me like you seem to think.”

“Oh he wants to marry you then?” he asked and even though you knew he was being sarcastic, your stomach did a flip. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, I beat him to it.”

You clicked your tongue as you dipped your spoon in the peanut butter jar again.

“As much as I enjoy you referring to me like I’m the last piece of cake,” you deadpanned. “I will make sure both your dick and you regret it the next time you do that.”

He blinked a couple of times and you gave him a bright grin, then popped the spoon into your mouth, then pulled it out to point at him with it.

“See?” you asked him. “Open communication. Therapy works wonderfully for this relationship.”

                                                  *

“Tell me I didn’t make you wait for long,” Ethan said as he rushed into the café and you let out a laugh, then stood up to kiss his cheek.

“I just got here, no worries,” you said. “Ordered your coffee though.”

“You know my coffee order?”

“Yeah,” you said and made a face at him. “Terrible order but yeah. Burned into my mind.”

That made him smile as he sat down.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I was going to come sooner but—”

“Let me guess, your boss?”

“One of these days, that man will get in an accident that I’ve been hoping and praying for,” he told you, making you laugh.

“That’s doable,” you said. “I told you before.”

He heaved a sigh. “Stop. Right now, I feel like taking you up on that offer.”

“You can.”

He frowned, then shook his head.

“No no,” he said. “I’ve watched too many movies about this.”

“I’m not going to put a horse head in your bed, Ethan.”

“No, not that!” he said, letting out a chuckle. “Power corrupts.”

You shrugged again. “Nah it doesn’t.”

“It would corrupt me,” he told you as the waitress brought your coffees. “How about you? How’s uh…how’s marriage?”

Your eyes snapped to his and you cleared your throat, shifting in your seat.

“Ethan, if it’s going to lead to yet another—”

“It won’t,” he cut you off and offered you a small smile. “Don’t worry. I got the message.”

A silence fell upon you. You could feel your stomach doing a flip at the implication of what he had said and even though you actually wanted to talk about it, you knew you couldn’t.

Now to think of it…

You weren’t sure if you could even get together with him after your divorce. The idea was tempting yes, but you weren’t sure he could handle the life the job brought with it. While you and Bucky could torture an agent of HYDRA and then get takeout afterwards, doing the same wasn’t possible with Ethan and—

Strangely enough, you found yourself wondering whether you could still do it with Bucky after you two would get a divorce.

“Y/N?”

Your head shot up and you cleared your throat, then smiled at him.

“Sorry,” you said. “Blanked out for a second. You were saying?”

                                                   *

Opening night of a club, especially if it was in Barnes, Wilson or Rogers territories, was always so much fun that even when you were teenagers, you and Becca would sneak into them, most of the time to get caught by Steve. Now that you were a grown up, you still enjoyed them but you also knew what was happening in the background.

It was the perfect time to make deals.

The crowd, the music, the alcohol, it all served its purpose to make better deals without getting the weapons or threats involved. Not to mention, getting invited to the opening night showed respect to whoever was a part of any negotiation.

You took a sip of your drink and leaned back on the sofa, keeping your eyes on Mr. Clifford. He was one of the new players in town, but powerful enough to be invited to your -well, Bucky’s- VIP booth tonight. If this deal worked, he could make the shipments to your territory much smoother but the problem was, neither you nor Bucky could decide whether you could trust him or not.

He had good references, but he was still sort of a mystery.

“I wasn’t aware you would be here as well, Mrs. Barnes,” Mr. Clifford said. “So the word on the street is true?”

“What word?” you asked and he smiled.

“That you’re…not just a guest?”

Bucky raised his brows and shot you a small grin while you shrugged your shoulders.

“No, I’m not.”

“She’s the only one I trust,” Bucky said and you smirked, reaching out to hold his hand. Mr. Clifford nodded.

“I see,” he said. “And um—if you don’t mind me ask, will it affect any deals I may make with your father?”

“You will have to ask my father that,” you said. “I hear he’s not open to any new deals but you can try your chances.”

He hummed. “And his heir, Ian?”

Your jaw clenched but you managed to keep your expression flat while Bucky squeezed your hand as if trying to assure you.

“Ian hasn’t been named yet,” he said. “And either way, if you’re making deals with heirs, I may have to rethink my decision to do business with you. Are you that much of an amateur?”

“Bucky.”

“No, I’m not going to do business with him if he’s making deals with people who can’t sit at the grown-ups table.” 

“I assure you, that’s not the case,” Mr. Clifford said. “I was just voicing my curiosity, that’s all.”

You downed your drink and leaned in to whisper into Bucky’s ear.

“I’ll be right back,” you said. “Don’t shoot him?”

“No promises,” he murmured and you tried to bite back your smile, then grabbed your purse and stood up to make your way through the dance floor to the bathroom. When you stepped out again, your eyes fell upon Ryan who was by the bar and you smiled to yourself, then approached the bar as well.

“I think you’re the only person who drinks water at a club opening,” you said, making him turn his head and he blinked a couple of times as if he was surprised to see you, then looked down at the glass in his hand.

“Ma’am,” he said, taking a sip of his water and you tilted your head.

“Let me guess,” you said. “Ian told you to be completely sober just in case?”

“It’s my idea, ma’am.”

“Where’s he?”

“In the VIP room there,” he motioned at the closest room and you pulled your brows together.

“And he sent you away?”

Ryan sipped his water in silence and you heaved a sigh.

“Does he know that keeping his right arm out of deals is a terrible idea?”

“I’m just his bodyguard ma’am, nothing more.”

You pursed your lips together and cleared your throat.

“You might as well dance with someone, you know,” you joked. “If he’s going to be there alone, no need for you to get bored.”

The look of complete terror on his face at the suggestion was almost funny. He was a huge guy, and you were pretty sure he could crush someone’s skull with his bare hands if he wanted to, but he looked absolutely terrified at the idea of dancing with someone at the club.

“I’m a great wing-woman,” you told him, making him blink a couple of times. “Anyone caught your attention?”

“Ma’am I—I wouldn’t—” he stammered and you waved a hand in the air.

“And how many times should I tell you to call me Y/N?” you asked and he licked his lips, staring at you.

“I don’t mean disrespect.”

“I don’t think it’s disrespect,” you told him and out of the corner of your eye, you saw the waiter leaving your VIP room mutter something at one of Clifford’s bodyguards by the door before walking away. You frowned.

“Excuse me,” you said as you made your way to the fire exit the waiter walked into. You looked over your shoulder and pulled the small pistol out of your purse, then pushed open the door quietly to step into the hallway.

The waiter was too busy to notice your presence as he pulled a gun out of the cleaning bucket in front of him, but he froze when he heard the sound of you cocking the gun.

“Hi,” you said and he gritted his teeth, raising his hands. “Put the gun down.”

He slowly put the gun down and you smiled.

“There you go,” you said. “Good boy.”

“What are you doing?” he asked as he turned to you and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I mean I’m trying to enjoy my night to be honest but…”

“Just walk away.”

You scoffed.

“Right,” you said. “That’s gonna happen.”

“If you walk away now, you’ll benefit from it,” he said. “Mr. Clifford says if Barnes dies, you could take over his territory, his business. It’ll be your right.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Well yeah but also if Bucky dies, I’ll have to wear black and I can’t really pull off black dresses,” you said. “Becca says it has something to do with my undertone—”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence when he lunged to throw a punch at you but you caught his hand and twisted it, making him cry out in pain. You headbutted him right in the nose, hearing the crack of the bone before you grabbed the bigger pistol on the floor to slam it against his head, causing him to drop to the floor unconscious.

“This night is getting more and more fun,” you murmured as you shook your head, then pushed your pistol back into your purse. You made your way to the door again to open it, then approached Ryan to tap him on the shoulder.

“Can I borrow you for a moment?” you asked and turned around without waiting for him to answer, but he followed you anyway until you got to the hallway and opened the door. Ryan grabbed his gun from his waistband the moment he saw the unconscious guy lying on the floor, then turned to you.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” he asked, stepping into the hallway with his gun ready, checking for any threats. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not at all,” you said. “Keep an eye on him until I get back.”

His back straightened immediately like he was a soldier and you were his commander. “Yes ma’am.”

“And if Ian says anything,” you said. “This happened in Barnes territory, he’s our hostage. No one else’s.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You nodded your head and took a step to the door, then turned around.

“And thank you, Ryan,” you said, making him pull his brows together in confusion as if he wasn’t used to hearing it. “I appreciate it.”

He swallowed thickly, then nodded.

“Ma’am,” he said and you pushed open the door, then made your way to the VIP room Bucky was in.

“As I was saying, our price isn’t…” Clifford stopped talking when he saw you walk inside. “Ah Mrs. Barnes, welcome back.”

You shot him a fake smile, then leaned in closer to Bucky so that you could whisper into his ear.

“He’s trying to kill you.”

Bucky’s gaze snapped to yours when you pulled back and he heaved a sigh as if he was exhausted, then ran a hand over his eyes.

“Great,” he muttered. “Do you want to stay and watch, sweetheart?”

You thought for a moment, then shook your head.

���I got one of his men, I’ll be by the fire exit,” you murmured. “Come there when you’re done?”

“Sure thing.”

“What’s going on?” Clifford asked and you turned to shoot him a glare before pecking Bucky on the cheek.

“Have fun!”

“I will,” Bucky said and motioned at one of the bodyguards. “Paul, escort my wife to where she’s going.”

“Yes Mr. Barnes.”

“And Hannah,” Bucky’s voice was completely calm. “Lock the room down.”

“Mr. Barnes, please—” Clifford’s voice was cut off when the door shut behind you and Bucky’s bodyguards started dragging Clifford’s men away while you turned to Paul with a sigh.

“How fucking rude, right?”

“Ma’am?”

“I mean honestly…” you muttered while you walked to the fire exit with Paul following you. “Sending an amateur to kill him? People today have no manners.”

Chapter 21

[trueebeauty]

omg i love your lookism content ◉‿◉ can i have a scenario with Gun Park, like him & us enjoy quality time together on a day off during the storm in Seoul? thank you in advance ♡

It’s a stormy afternoon in Seoul, with rain pouring down against the windows. Inside Gun’s apartment, the atmosphere is warm and inviting, a cozy refuge from the gray, wet world outside.

The kitchen is brightly lit, filled with the fresh ingredients laid out on the counter: vibrant slices of fish, crisp vegetables, seasoned rice, and nori sheets—all ready for your lunch.

Today, Gun has decided to teach you how to make sushi, blending his Japanese heritage with your Korean roots.

Gun stands beside you, his sleeves rolled up and his demeanor as calm and stoic as ever.

His serious exterior rarely cracks, but his actions have an understated warmth as he carefully arranges everything. “We’re making sushi today,” he announces, his tone steady and authoritative, as always.

“Sushi?” you ask, a playful smile spreading across your face. “You mean kimbap, right?”

Gun’s eyes meet yours, his gaze steady and patient. “No,” he corrects gently, his tone serious yet instructional.

“Kimbap and sushi may look similar, but they’re different. Kimbap uses cooked ingredients and is seasoned with sesame oil, while sushi uses raw fish and is seasoned with vinegar. It’s all about the balance and the subtlety of flavors.”

You nod, absorbing his explanation. “Got it. Sushi, not kimbap.”

“Good,” he replies, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips. “Let’s get started.”

The lesson begins with preparing the sushi rice. Gun’s hands move with practiced precision, gently mixing the rice with seasoned vinegar.

You watch closely, captivated by his skill. “The rice is the foundation,” he explains in his usual serious tone. “It has to be just right. Not too sticky, not too dry.” He offers you a taste on his finger, and you lean in to sample it, savoring the tangy flavor.

“Perfect,” you declare, your eyes lighting up. He nods slightly, a glimmer of satisfaction in his expression.

Next, Gun shows you how to slice the fish. His movements are exact, each cut clean and precise.

He guides your hands on the knife, his touch firm and steady. “Even slices,” he says, his voice a low, steady guide. “You need consistency.”

You mimic his technique, concentrating on each slice. “Even slices,” you repeat, focused on getting it right.

“Good,” he murmurs, watching you closely. “You’re doing well.”

With the ingredients ready, it’s time to assemble the sushi rolls. Gun places a nori sheet on the bamboo mat and spreads the rice evenly. “Now, choose your fillings,” he instructs. 

You pick out a variety of colorful vegetables and fresh fish, laying them on the rice. Gun demonstrates how to roll the sushi, his hands moving with the same precise grace. “It’s all about balance,” he says. “Too tight and it bursts. Too loose and it falls apart.”

You attempt your first roll, carefully following his example. It’s not perfect, but it holds together. “Not bad,” Gun comments, his voice devoid of the typical praise but with a subtle note of approval that you recognize.

As he decides to roll the rest, you can’t resist stealing kisses from him. He remains unbothered, his focus unwavering, but each time you kiss his cheek or the corner of his mouth, there’s a slight softening around his eyes. “You’re distracting me,” he says quietly, though there’s no real reproach in his voice.

“Good,” you reply with a smile, feeling a rush of affection for him. Despite his stoic facade and limited words, you know he enjoys these moments.

After what feels like both a long time and no time at all, you both sit down to enjoy your sushi. The rain outside has softened to a gentle drizzle, and the city lights shimmer through the wet glass.

You take a bite of your creation, savoring the blend of flavors. “This is amazing,” you say, your voice filled with genuine delight.

Gun watches you, his gaze steady and calm. “You did well,” he replies simply, his approval a quiet but powerful affirmation.

“Thanks to you,” you respond, your gratitude evident. You reach across the table, your hand finding his. He doesn’t pull away, his grip firm and reassuring.

As the meal ends, you linger at the table, the cozy atmosphere wrapping around you both. Gun stands and moves to your side, his presence a solid comfort.

He leans down, brushing a soft, fleeting kiss against your forehead. “You should make them by yourself next time,” he murmurs, his voice low and close to your ear.

You look up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “Thanks, Gun,” you say softly, your eyes meeting his. “But you’re way better at this than I am.”

He cups your cheek with his hand, his touch surprisingly gentle. “It tastes better when you make it,” he says simply, his gaze holding yours with a quiet intensity.

His words, delivered in his usual matter-of-fact tone, make your heart flutter.

Feeling a surge of adoration, you rise on your toes and press a tender kiss to his lips. Gun remains still, but his eyes soften slightly. “Maybe next time, I’ll surprise you,” you whisper against his lips, feeling his steady breath against your skin.

He nods slightly, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I look forward to it.” 

[mrslaflour]

summary — where no matter what he threatens you with, you never backdown.

warnings — knife, threatening, gun(mention), stabbing, blood, implied billy is bigger/stronger than the reader, wrote quickly

type — drabble with headcanon-esque vibe

billy always made sure to get what he wants. if he wants someone dead, guess what? they’re gonna be dead. if someone is trying to ruin his plans and get in his way, someone telling people that he’s ghostface, he’s going to make sure they’re not in his way. if he wants someone to quit fighting back against him, he’s going to get his way. but with you, you just made it so so difficult.

billy has a huge ego and you constantly hurt that ego. you don’t bow down to him, you don’t make it easy for him to get his way. it’s fun sometimes but he starts to lose his patience when you never let him get his way without a fight. he’s sadistic. it’s fun to see you scared. it’s fun to hear you scream. but when he threatens you to stop because he can only hear you scream for so long and you still don’t listen, he gets pissed.

“if you keep fucking screaming i’ll slit your fucking neck”

now, after saying that, he expected you to stop. most sensible people would think “hey, i don’t wanna die so let me stop” but no, not you. you just kept on going. so he decides to just push the knife closer to your throat and if he put a teeny bit more pressure on the knife, he’d cut through. if you weren’t going to stop screaming he’d just make it where it isn’t even possible for you to scream. because if you even made as much as a sound, that knife would cut straight through. sure billy doesn’t wanna kill you, but don’t think for a second that he’s going to refrain from hurting you. but you weren’t going to sit and be submissive to him and think he had all the power. i mean, he kinda does…. he has a knife, probably a gun, he’s stronger than you, bigger than you, and he has his partner in crime stu if you ever managed to get away. but you couldn’t let him think you’d give up.

you start to move your arms up to push his arms away from you and get the knife off your neck and so he quickly drops his knife to the side and grabs your arms. he’s clearly getting pissed his face is getting red and it’s honestly just starting to amuse you more than anything. since the knife is dropped now and he has your arms restrained in his hands you kick his chest as hard as you can and he almost falls off of you before calling you a stupid bitch, yelling a bunch of curse words, clearly as angry as ever. He lets go of your arms and picks up the knife and he just stabs it right into your shoulder. it went deep but even though he was angry, he knew not to let it go too far. you finally stop fighting back and just lay there in pain. it’s silent. all that can be heard is your heavy breathing and the multiple sniffles coming from your nose. you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing you cry but it’s really hard to hold in the tears. he pulls the knife out of your shoulder and he just has a toothy grin.

“it doesn’t matter how much i love you. don’t let your stupid fucking dumb bitch head think that just because i won’t kill you that i won’t hurt you. don’t think for a second you have any power over me. who’s underneath who right now bleeding? who has to depend on a killer to take care of them so they don’t bleed out and die?”

he enjoys the silence. it lets him know who won and he’ll never let you win. be careful with your defiance though. his ego is really big and although he doesn’t want to, one day he might kill you if you hurt his ego too much.

[msmk11]

What about tangerine x reader where you are newly assigned to work with Tan and Lem. Lemon takes to you faster than Tangerine. In fact Tangerine acts like you are a nuisance.

Your skills with a gun and a knife are phenomenal…But you lack skills in hand to hand combat.

You guys get many jobs that always end up with some big goon trying to throw you around in physical fights. Let’s face it, you’re smaller than the brothers, you’re kind of an easy target. So you often end up getting your ass kicked until one of the boys come to your rescue. Honestly reader should just stick to shooting and throwing.

So fed up with weak punches and incorrect clenched fists (doesn’t have to be those things specifically idk fighting terms) Tan decides to teach you and takes you to the mats. He tells you he is only doing it because he is sick of you making a fool of yourself… and him and Lemon always having to be extra aware of you. He just wants you to be able to defend yourself (also maybe it’s the only way he can think to having a closer relationship) (maybe even you teach him to throw knives?)

And then like… during one training session after building muscle and how to actually fight. You actually kick Tangerines ass. He is so proud.

Idk just something cute. Angst/comfort?

Tangerine x gn!reader

CW: mention of bruises; fake weapon; fighting

A/n: thanks for the request :)

“Again.”

You groan from your spot on the mat, your body sprawled at an awkward angle from where Tangerine has thrown you.

You look at him unimpressed, “no thanks.”

“It ain’t a fuckin’ request, sweetheart,” the brunette grumbles. He extends his hand and pulls you back up, “M’not teaching you out of kindness but to save my fucking ass. Lem and I are tired of saving yours coz you don’t know how to throw a punch.”

Your body aches from being tossed around on the daily by a man twice as strong as you. The worst part is, you know he’s only using half his strength.

“I’m never gonna get it right. Just leave me to suffer,” you moan dramatically.

He huffs, but you swear a smirk passes over his lips, “no can do. As much as you throw a lousy punch, you’re an excellent knife thrower. You’re useful…. Sometimes.”

“Oh Tan!” You swoon mockingly, “I’m useful?! You’ve basically just confessed your love for me! What’s next, a proposal? A wedding? A baby?”

Tangerine sniffles and scoffs, but his mouth only opens and closes like a fish.

You smirk and pat his shoulder, “only kidding. You’re not my type anyhow.”

His eye twitches slightly, and his jaw tightens, “really. So who is?”

“Mhmm I don’t think we’re close enough for me to disclose that,” you tease.

The brunette rolls his blue eyes and holds his hands up in surrender, “fine. I don’t want to know anyway. You probably have fuckin’ terrible taste in men.”

“If that’s an insult it’s not a very good one.”

“Was more of a bloody observation,” Tangerine answers gruffly, “anyways we’ve strayed from our task.”

“Noooo please,” you whine, “no more today.”

He stares at you momentarily, “fine. But teach me some of your knife throwing skills instead.”

You cross your arms and they bulge a little, Tangerine notes. You’re starting to gain muscle…

“And why should I do that?”

“As a fucking thank you.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, “I didn’t ask to be taught how to fight. You forced me to. I’m totally fine with not learning. I mean, look at these bruises….”

You pull your shirt up and Tangerine’s eyes widen, for more reason than one, chiefly because your skin is covered in bruises from yellow to purple and black. He knows he’s the cause of most and it makes him wince.

“Fucking ‘ell love….”

The brunette reaches his hand out absentmindedly and traces his calloused fingers gently over the trail of bruises down your side. You shiver, and Tangerine can’t deny that he likes it.

“Sorry,” you murmur, “your hands are cold.”

He’s pretty sure they’re not, but that’s not something he’ll ever acknowledge. What he can acknowledge, at least to himself, is despite the array of bruises across your skin, you look more beautiful than ever, and he can’t stop himself from ogling you a little. Heat pools in your stomach and you drop your shirt, much to Tangerine’s disappointment.

“Here’s the deal…. I’ll teach you how to throw knives once I can finally beat you on the mat,” you bargain.

The brunette ponders your suggestion but knows he won’t say no.

“Fine.”

It takes ages (three months) and many more missions (five) for you to finally do it. To beat Tangerine in a fight. After a couple of particularly rough sessions, where you were already roughed up from your most recent mission, you’d taken a few days off to rest and recover. But now it’s back to training, at your partner’s insistence.

You circle each other on the mat, fists raised and bodies tense. Instead of making the first move, like you’d done so many times before, you wait. Tangerine lurches forward first, sending a punch to the left side of your face. You anticipate it and duck, taking the chance to throw your knuckles into his stomach.

The brunette grunts but it doesn’t do much to slow him down. He throws another punch and this one you sidestep, elbowing him in the ribs. You take the momentary shock to nail him in the cheek too. He stumbles back a little and smirks at you.

“Now yer fucking getting it. Come on, show me what you got.”

You lurch forward to send a swing at his face but he grabs your wrist, sending you off balance. He flips you on the ground and you grunt. Just barely you avoid his punch and roll to the side, and then to the other side, and so forth. When his next punch comes pummeling down you throw out both hands and catch his fist. It surprises both him and you so you use it to your advantage and pull hard on his arm, sending him flipping onto his back.

Tangerine lands with a loud thud and a curse and you scramble up, grabbing your fake knife. You pin your arm to his throat and hold the fake knife to his chest. He moves and struggles against you back and forth, but you’re eventually able to pin him with your weight and fake stab him.

The brunette collapses back on the ground, defeated.

You cheer, raising your hands in the air as you celebrate. Tangerine does actually smirk and pats your thigh (which is still spread over his hips since you’re straddling him.)

Your stomach erupts into butterflies and you hope it doesn’t show on your face.

“Finally beat me, love. Congratulations, now you’re not a total fucking threat to the team,” he declares. There’s no actual malice to his tone and he looks rather proud of you.

Against your own common sense you bend down and place a quick kiss to his cheek.

His blue eyes widen and his cheeks flush, “what was that for?”

“A-a thank you, for helping me. Inadditiontoourknifelessons…. Of course.”

Tangerine chuckles lowly and his thumb absentmindedly sweeps over your pant leg, “oh there’s no need to thank me or start my lessons yet. I still have so much to teach you.”

Your brows furrow, “what?”

Before you can finish your sentence you’re interrupted as he flips you over. He pins you down with his weight and he leans in closer until your noses are inches apart.

“Lesson number two…. Don’t let your guard down… even if your assailant is a charming, handsome English bloke who’s really into you.”

Your breath catches in your chest and your eyes flicker from his to his lips, “I keep forgetting that one. I think you’re going to have to find some way for me to remember.”

Tangerine smirks darkly, “I think I have an idea or two…”

His hands cup your face and he leans in, capturing your lips roughly. You moan softly into his mouth and your hands fly to his broad back. He kisses you hungrily like a starved man and his hands are hot on your skin.

“Tan,” you murmur, panting.

He pulls away, forehead resting on yours and eyes filled with a little bit of concern, “I’m sorry did I misread that… was it too rough…I-“

“No, no! It was perfect. Just wanted to say…. You’re right, I do have terrible taste in men.”

Tangerine smirks and a low growl escapes his throat as he kisses you again.

[hope-you-brought-kneepads-bitch]

Killing Wanda Pt2

Summary: Picking up where we left off here, you’re pretty sure Wanda is going to be happy learning what you’ve done, that is until an interruption puts a stop on your plans

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI angst and suggestive language and adults themes

Words: 3,000 or so (I’m writing on my phone and can’t put everything in a word count thing)

A/n: Also reader isn’t Russian but she’s lived with Yelena and Nat all her life so she’s picked up a lot of Russian words

A/n: Any silly mistakes are my own and my own fault

You liked walking through the streets at night, just you the slight wind moving the trees and the only real noise would be through foxes and other animals coming out at night, you loved it, and right now walking back to Wanda’s house to tell her she was free from her stalker made you love it even more

Finally reaching your destination you smiled at the bedroom light still being on “awe she waited up for me, such a sweet girl”

You were great at climbing, not because you were an assassin but because when you were younger you and Nat would have races to the tops of trees, you’d always win of course, not that you’d ever let Nat forget it

You quickly swung up the trees to Wanda’s balcony like you were in some kind of weird Romeo and Juliet show “Wanda?” You knocked gently on the door seeing Wanda turn to you from the bed and getting up to open the window to let you in “you’re back” Well that wasn’t the nice sweet voice you were expecting

“Oh? Are you annoyed princess? Did I take too long?” You laughed jumping through the window and taking you jacket off flopping down onto the bed “I’m exhausted, he didn’t put up much of a fight and it went pretty smoothly, one shot to the heart, died instantly, are you happy?”

Wanda didn’t speak in fact you couldn’t even hear her anymore, you opened your eyes and sat up seeing the source of your incoming headache “why hello Natalia, why are you here? And why do you look as angry as ever?”

The woman sighed “Y/n we talked about this, I told you to stay away from Wanda”

You shrugged “yeah but you didn’t say for how long, how was I supposed to know it meant longer than 2 days?” You tried hiding your smirk but it definitely wasn’t working

“Okay my mistake I thought you had common sense but I see now that’s definitely not the case so I’ll move on, why did you kill a man?”

“Why wouldn’t you kill a man? They’re annoying and smell odd”

You heard a giggle from the other side of the room “that was funny Y/n I like it”

“Thanks Yel I knew you’d appreciate that”

Natasha stood from her seat and walked towards Wanda brandishing a knife to her throat, she’d make you take things a lot more seriously even if it was harsh

“Hey no! You pulled your gun from your waistband forcing it against the back of Nat’s head “don’t you dare Natalia, remove the knife” when she didn’t you pressed harder “I mean it!”

The woman laughed “you were given a job to kill her, a job that involves mental and physical torture too, and yet you’re here threatening me, the woman you’ve known since birth, but sure let’s protect the target”

Wanda was trembling, the knife was close enough to start cutting into her neck if she breathed a little too much “she’s not a target Natalia, step down now”

Wanda’s eyes met Natasha’s fiery ones and she sighed letting the knife down and moving out of the way for you to run to Wanda holding her tight until her breathing calmed “it’s okay detka I’ve got you I promise you’re okay”

Wanda closed her eyes just trying to calm herself down while you held her, how could an assassin be so sweet?

“We’ll see you at home Y/n, the doors will be locked until tomorrow and I’ll be at Maria’s for the night”

Nat dragged a reluctant Yelena out of the room leaving you and Wanda alone

After a few moments Wanda gently pushed you away and sat on her bed “Wanda?” You tried stepping close

“Stay there” Wanda snapped and you listened, standing back waiting for another instruction “tell me who put the hit out on me, tell me who did it then-then you can stay with me for the night but then never see me again, you’ve caused me so much stress these last few weeks and it needs to end”

You opened and closed your mouth unsure on what to say but finally coming up with something “if I tell you I want something in return”

Wanda nodded “go on”

“I want to have you for the night, if it’s truly the last night I’ll see you then I want to see you and hold you and touch you in the way I’ve always wanted” you’d sat down next to Wanda and rested your hand on her thigh “let me have that Wanda”

Wanda didn’t say anything as she looked up to your lips and kissed you, the kiss soon turning heavy with your hands in Wanda’s hair and Wanda climbing onto your lap legs on either side of your own

“ty takaya krasivaya, lyubov' Moyà” you said breathlessly moving your hands to take Wandas shirt off revealing her gorgeous lace red bra “are you going to just keep talking or are you going to fuck me like you want to”

You didn’t responded just moved Wanda from your lap reluctantly and stood up to remove your clothes

When the glass shattered behind you Wanda jumped seeing blood seep through your clothes “Y/n?”

You looked at Wanda then down at your side “get-get under the bed” you whispered

“What?” Wanda asked “get under the bed!” You screamed holding onto your side and reaching for you gurn turning to the window hiding under the window sill “if this is Natasha doing this I’m going to be royally pissed off” you glanced at bed seeing Wanda under it and her face full of concern

“I’m fine Wanda I’ve been shot before doesn’t hurt after a while just a dull ache” you were clutching your side trying to hide the clear pain written all over your face “Wanda can you see the shooter from your view? Tell me when they’re reloading”

She nodded watching the window and after the last shot they were reloading “they’ve stopped”

You leapt up leaning on the window aiming your gun to the figure and shooting off a few shots hitting them in the shoulder and chest, you fell down onto the ground and Wanda crawled over to you “Wanda no stay there I’m fine” you whispered trying to shoo her back under the bed

“They’ve gone down Y/n it’s fine you got them”

“Damn right I did…I’m a great assassin” you tried laughing but the bullet didn’t let you “fuck me that hurts”

Wanda laid your head in her lap and cradled you “I’ll call Yelena from your phone okay? But please stay here and don’t move much okay?”

You nodded letting the sleep engulf you “sleepy time then” closing your eyes you felt a heavy throb take over your head and you thought you couldn’t feel any worse and yet here it was, hopefully it will ebb away.

********************************************************

“Y/n? Y/n?! Wake up I can’t keep living with Nat on my own, she doesn’t take me for Taco Bell like you do” Your eyes fluttered open just as a harsh slap was given to you forcing you up

“Yelena what the fuck?! Why did you slap me??” You rubbed at your face and went to get up but a hand pushed you down, Wanda

“Did you see her slap me?”

Wanda giggled “yes pretty sad for you”

You groaned “god that’s embarrassing, anyway why can’t I get up?”

Yelena rolled her eyes standing up “you were shot dipshit, literally 2 hours ago, anyway the bullet is out of you, I’ve cleaned the area and numbed the area so you should be fine for 3 more hours, now come on, you and Wanda need to go to the safe house”

“A safe house? Why do I have to go?”

Yelena sighed “Wanda you’ve just been shot at, and I’m damn sure they were aiming for you, a good thing really Y/n seemed to be stood in front of you, as I think of it, why was she stood in front of you?”

You managed to stand to your feet with Wanda’s help stretching a little to loosen your limbs “we were talking and she was sat on the bed and I was stood clearly”

Yelena looked between yourself and Wanda “I see, but when I appeared and saw you on the floor, of course I was scared but Wanda just had her jeans on and a red lacy bra, and she looked disheveled, as though she had been made out with sexually”

Your smugness shone through and you couldn’t hold it in “it would’ve been more sexually but I got shot, total cockblock”

Wanda slapped you on the arm dropping you and going to pack a bag since she had to relocate due to a crazy shooter “let’s just go, since I have too move my entire life it seems”

Yelena nodded and left the room to start the car leaving you two alone “Wanda?” You asked and she looked at you “what?”

“I’m sorry about this-

Wanda held her hand up “no don’t start Y/n I’m so confused, you ask me for sex after I say you need to leave me alone after tomorrow, I agree then all of a sudden you got shot, very suspicious isn’t it” she snapped

You were shocked, what a fucking switch up and it did kinda piss you off “you think I planned this? I planned a shooting, are you dense?”

Wanda slammed the drawers closed “you know what? You’ve messed up my life for weeks! Stalked me, flirted with me, pretty much harass me every time you see me I’m sick of it!”

“Come off it Maximoff you love it! You don’t push me away, haven’t reported me to the police and always leave the door open for me, it’s your own fault!” You gritted your teeth feeling the numbing cream wearing off and the sharp pain coming back

Wanda just shook her head taking her bag and leaving the room “just leave me alone when I’m at the safe house!”

“No” she stopped at the door looking back at you “what?”

“No I won’t leave you alone, for now maybe until we both calm down but not forever, you’re mine, you belong to me and I’ll be damned if I’m letting you go” you had moved towards a surprised Wanda and clutched Wanda’s shirt in your palm “you’re forgetting who I am and what I do, do you want to know who wants you dead?”

She managed a small nod and you just laughed leaning in close to her ear “no one, no one wants you dead Wanda, no one thinks you’re that important to spend money on, even to kill, so you were right I did plan it, crazy right?”

Wanda shook her head “but the shooter…you’ve been shot-you’re lying! You made me believe someone was after me! And then made me think I was crazy for suggesting the shooter thing!”

You kissed Wanda’s neck and breathed her in, it sounded cliche but you loved it when they were scared “you are crazy Wanda, now get to the safe house before I drag you there myself”

Wanda’s voice quivered “bu-but if there’s no one after me why do I need to go?”

You pulled away and let go out of her shirt not looking her in the eyes “because now you’ve pissed me off Wanda, that safe house is to keep you safe from me now, until I calm down you need to stay there and wait for me, like a good girl”

You left the room ignoring Wanda’s quiet sob and marched past a surprised Yelena “oh what’s going on?”

You stopped “take her to the safe house don’t say a damn word to her until I get back”

“When will you be back?”

You shrugged “I’m going to stay with Nat and Maria it’ll be a few days, make sure she eats and drinks just don’t say anything to her” you stormed off leaving a still surprised Yelena

“pochemu mne vsegda prikhoditsya prismatrivat' za det'mi?”

[jar-of-maise]

incorrect quotes with my new fav trio

starring wriothesley, clorinde and neuvillette bc i said so

Wriothesley: What do you think Neuvillette will do for a distraction? Clorinde: They’ll probably, like, make a noise or throw a rock. That’s what I would do. *Building explodes and several car alarms go off* Clorinde: ... or he could do that.

...

Wriothesley: How's the sexiest person here~? Neuvillette: I don't know, how are they~? Wriothesley: I- Clorinde, from across the room: I'm doing great, thanks!

...

Clorinde: Do you ever want to talk about your emotions, Wriothesley? Wriothesley: … No. Neuvillette: I do! Clorinde: I know, Neuvillette. Neuvillette: I’m sad! Wriothesley: We know, Neuvillette

...

Neuvillette, to Wriothesley and Clorinde: *holding knife out in front of them* Are you or are you not an enemy of the people?! Wriothesley: ... Clorinde: ... Wriothesley: That is such an open-ended question. Clorinde: Yeah, it really depends on a lot of different factors-

...

Wriothesley: We need a diversion. I say Neuvillette gets naked. Neuvillette: No. Clorinde: Who are we trying to distract again?

...

Clorinde, at Neuvillette: Would you like to stay for dinner? Wriothesley, from the kitchen: Would you like to stay forever!?!

...

Clorinde: Ooh, somebody has a crush Wriothesley: Pfft, I don’t have a crush on Neuvillette I just think they’re cool, it’s not like I stay up at night thinking about them. *Later that night* Wriothesley, very much awake: Uh oh.

...

Neuvillette: There's no way they like me back. Clorinde: Wriothesley would throw himself in front of a moving car for you. Neuvillette: Wriothesley would throw himself in front of a moving car for fun.

...

Neuvillette: Why is everyone so obsessed with top or bottom? Honestly, I’d just be excited to have a bunk bed. Clorinde: Clorinde: I'm gonna tell them. Wriothesley: Don't you dare.

...

Wriothesley: Is there a cactus where your heart should be? Clorinde: What’s up your ass this morning! Neuvillette: *walks in* ...Hey. Clorinde: Hmm… nevermind. Wriothesley: WAIT NO!

...

Wriothesley: Do you cook? Neuvillette: I made a cake once. Clorinde: Yeah, it was good. Neuvillette: Really? Clorinde: Don’t make me lie twice, Neuvillette.

...

Neuvillette: Is letting someone win at chess sapiosexual bottoming? Clorinde: Can everyone in this godforsaken group please learn the skill called "Think Before You Speak"? Wriothesley: Ya know... it might be.

...

Clorinde: Did Wriothesley just tell me he loved me for the first time? Neuvillette: Yeah, he did. Clorinde: And did I just do finger guns back? Neuvillette: Yeah, you did.

...

Wriothesley: Where are my fucking keys? Clorinde: Wriothesley, Neuvillette is around, can you say it a little nicer? Wriothesley: May I ascertain the whereabouts of my FUCKING KEYS?!

...

*Neuvillette dies in a game with ships* Wriothesley: This ship is no longer a ship of love, it's a ship of vengeance, a gavel of justice against all that is wrong in the world, showing no mercy, as no mercy was shown to us. Wriothesley: The spark of love will now fuel the fires of destructive glory as I wage my war across the world with righteous fury. Clorinde: Legend has it that Neuvillette still haunts the ship, stealing my fucking drinks. Neuvillette: Of course I do.

...

Wriothesley: How do you tell someone that you wanna have sex with them in a polite way? Neuvillette: Excuse me [insert name]. Would you give me the honours of indulging in sexual activities with you? Clorinde: What the fuck is wrong with you two?

...

Clorinde: Hey, no, you stay out of this, this is between me and Wriothesley! Neuvillette: So Wriothesley knows about this? Clorinde, walking away: No, this is between me and me!

...

Neuvillette: *is wearing silk pants* How does this look? Wriothesley: Like its slips on and off really easily. Neuvillette: Wriothesley: No, I didn't mean it like that- Clorinde: We know what you meant.

...

Clorinde: What have you done with Neuvillette? Wriothesley: Nothing. Why, do you think I should?

...

Neuvillette, gardening: Hey, can you bring me the hoe? Wriothesley: Yeah, sure. *A few minutes later* Wriothesley: Here you go. Neuvillette: Wriothesley: Clorinde: Why am I here?

...

Wriothesley: I’m this close to falling in love with Neuvillette. Clorinde: Your fingertips are touching. Wriothesley: Exactly.

...

Neuvillette: Would you take a bullet for me? Wriothesley: ...yes? *Clorinde angrily burst into the room* Neuvillette: *running away* Great, thanks!

guys i love them a healthy amount i swear. NOW DIE ON THIS HILL WITH ME

PART II is now up!

[selfshippinglover2222]

Hello lovely!!! I love ur writing style sm so I wanted to try out requesting 🥹🥹 Do you take requests or asks?? If you do,, then are you fine with family stuff?? 😭 Can I request headcannons for Vox and Val being girl dads? Like, Vox/Val and Reader's bio daughter!! Ik its impossible for sinners to reproduce HEIEJOWJAO ITS TUMBLR U CAN DO ANYTHING ‼️‼️😔 tysm!!<3

Aww! Thank you! You’re literally the sweetest.

Vox: 📺

You’re daughter will never want for a thing

She likes that toy? He buys ten varieties of it.

She wants a new Vpad? You bet your ass he’s on that.

She has all the clothes she could ask for

Don’t tell anyone but he’d play dress up and tea party with her

Vox overall is very protective of his daughter, one could say he’s overprotective.

No one’s allowed to say one bad thing about her

“What are you trying to say about my daughter?”

Cue glitches and static electricity in the air.

Constantly having her on watch

Cameras and trackers everywhere

A ton of bodyguards to make sure the paparazzi or some crazed fan don’t bother her

When it comes time for your daughter to start having a partner he won’t be very happy or respectful of them

“So you’re her partner then?” He’d look them up and down unimpressed

He’d ask a million questions to see if they’re worthy

They never would be, not to him

You’d have to calm him down a few times, because he may try and make the partner go “missing”

Mans is a villian after all

If he doesn’t find the person she’s dating to be satisfactory he’ll try and “save her the heartache”

The second she cries because of them they’re gone

Sadly he’s a very busy man so he doesn’t spend a lot of quality time with her or you

But he’s always watching

Even if he’s not present he knows how she did in the school play

He’ll make sure anyone who bothers her dissapears

Bullies or cat callers-they’re gone in within a day.

He already knows each of her grades

If she’s failing a subject a private tutor was already contacted

If she’s wanting to peruse a certain job he has tons of connections

He’s trying his best to not fail her in the only ways he knows how.

Money and power

Valentino: 🦋

Valentino, on the surface, is a very doting father

He’s always cooing over her saying how cute or pretty she is

“She’s just so cute, mi amor!”

Very physically affectionate. Hugs, cheek and forehead kisses, hand holds-all of it

This doesn’t stop as she gets older, he continues saying how cute she is and touching her

You’d have to convince him not to bring her to the studio because he’d always want her with him

He gives great fashion advice!

He even helps her learn about makeup

He buys her all the trendy and expensive clothes and makeup

He does love her truely

He tries very hard to be the father she needs

But hes not always able to control his temper

He gets very angry when she starts to fight back

They get into a lot of arguments in her teenage years

Because he keeps trying to control her (it’s what he knows how to do) and she’s trying to be her own person

When she brings a partner home he’s the type to do the scary dad speech

“If you hurt her, or make her cry, you’re done for. I’ll rip your head off.”

Very protective because he knows what goes on isn’t all innocent

“Bebe, if you close this door again, I’ll rip it off the hinges.”

The type to mean it too

He would absolutely beat the shit out of the partner who made her cry

They’d be unrecognizable

He’s also a very busy man so there are times you both don’t see him often

But worry not he’s always texting or FaceTiming you guys

If your daughters worried about school he’d ask Vox to help her out

He’s worried about other things

Like her street smarts. He needs to make sure she can hold her own in hell.

So he’ll train her to fight, to use knifes and guns

By the time she’s an adult she’d know how to kill and protect herself

He’d also make sure she can see through conmen and demons who only want her soul

Tbh your daughter would be a badass

[phfenomena]

❝cowboy like me.❞ || William H. Bonney x Reader

A/N- i really loved this idea and i hope you do too!!!

William H. Bonney x Reader fluff

inspired by ‘cowboy like me’ by taylor swift

| WARNINGS - drinking, mentions of gun violence, kissing, mentions of burglary

the heat was blistering, almost as if you were walking down to the devils penthouse. you laid flat on the ground by your campfire. damn fires probably colder than i am you thought, but you needed the light. as you sat on a log carving a knife out of the bare wood you’d collected earlier, you hear a twig snap. your hand quickly pulls your pistol out of the holster and your hands settle in the direction of the sound. you cock it and tilt your head, straining your eyes trying to see.

“who’s there?” you barked through the silence. a sigh of relief? annoyance? or just plain desperation reached your ears.

“sorry, miss. i’m just out collecting fire wood for my buddies. i ain’t mean to disturb you.” a smooth and warm voice cut into the quiet and muggy air.

“come on out into the light.” you coaxed, gun still pointed. a tall and slender man, no, boy cautiously emerged from the dark wall of shadow. you scoff and set your pistol next to you on the log. “now, what is a kid doing out here?” you would’ve almost sounded annoyed if it wasn’t for the smile gracing your lips. the boy took his hat off to greet you, and nervously ran his fingers over the worn leather.

“i, uh, i’m not a kid, ma’am. i was just looking for firewood. my buddies and i set up camp a few hundred feet north, i didn’t mean to trample your site. my apologies.” he managed to stutter out.

you wave him off and point to the pile of wood to the left of your feet, cladded in red leather boots. “just take these, kid. i gathered them earlier. i won’t need the fire much longer, it’s too damn hot.” you exasperated the end and took your own hat off to fan yourself.

billy has never seen a woman like you. you were alone, first of all. the fire casted such a lovely warm glow across your complexion, his knees were getting unstable the longer the studied you. he took a few steps towards you and stuck a hand out, the other still holding onto his hat.

“i’m billy, miss. no need to call me kid, i’m probably not much younger than you.” he trailed off with a grin plastered across his face. you shook his hand, still sitting down. “it’s nice to meet you, billy. i’m y/n, and you don’t look a day over six and ten.” you teased him and he mirrored your smile.

“i’m not a kid in a lot of different attributes.” he smirked as you raise your eyebrows and you meet eyes. very blue. like very very blue. you can make out the constellations in his with just the light from the fire. he sure is a pretty boy.

you pat the log next to you “would you like a drink?” you hold out your flask of whiskey to him. the warm temperature of the liquid almost makes it easier to swallow. he nods and grabs the flask after sitting next to you. your fingers brush, it feels like pin pricks all across your hand.

after billy swallows he asks “so, what’s a lady like you doing out here alone? or are you not alone?” he has his elbows resting on his knees with his head facing you. his very presence makes you feel more warmth than any fire could ever give, you find it hard to care about the heat anymore.

you chuckle a little and turn back to the fire. “i am alone, i’m traveling a little farther west. couldn’t stay in el paso much longer, that sheriff hates my damn guts. he’d had hung me for the hell of it.” you finish your sentence with a swift from your flask. “what about you, billy? what are you and your buddies doing?” his gaze never even moved a centimeter away from your lips as you talk. his eyes rake up your face to your eyes. he smiles “we run cattle, sometimes. well i do it sometimes, they do it all the time. we’re heading to lincoln county for some business.” they run cattle, they’re definitely outlaws.

as you study his face a little more, you notice he’s familiar. “wait! i know you. you’re on all those wanted posters in el paso! what the hell did you do to get such a high bounty? i could only dream of having that high of a price on my head.” he hung his head and chuckled “just when i thought i met someone who didn’t already know me, i did a good thing. honestly. i broke my friend out of jail, had some issues along the way.” he did a good thing, that’s adorable. he’s an outlaw because he helped his friend.

your eyes soften at his short story and you tuck your hair behind your ears. “you sound like a good man. not like the stories i’ve heard. i once heard that you gunned down fifty different mean on six bullets. and all they say about me is ‘she should’ve been like her mother’” your mocking tone at the end made billy smile.

“i hate to tell you, but, i definitely didn’t do that and i am not as brave and murderous as they make me out to be. i’ve done a lot of bad things, but i’m trying to do good now. also your mother can’t be that bad, if she raised a lovely lady like you.” was he flirting? and we’re you liking it?

“she’s like a vile serpent.” you mutter as you take another swig. “now, correct me if i’m wrong. but i think i’ve seen you on one or two wanted posters yourself, y/n.” you shake your head and smile at him. you feel so warm and fuzzy. was it the whiskey or billy?

“oh, you’re not wrong. although i still uphold the belief that i was set up. some pals of mine were talking about robbing this corner store, when i got there to join them no one was there besides the sheriff! damn assholes set me up, and i didn’t even want to do it! i’m innocent in my eyes.” you gesture with your hands while you talk and billy’s just entranced. he nods, slowly. “that’s just the way things go sometimes.” he softly mutters while wanting to never look away from you again. “you can say that again, cowboy.”

billy couldn’t take it anymore. his blood felt like it was boiling. he leans over and softly pressed your lips together. shocked, you don’t kiss back for a second. terrified he just made a mistake, billy pulls back and frantically stands up. “i am so sorry, y/n. i don’t know why i did tha-“ you stand up and wrap your hands around his suspenders and pull him down for your lips to meet. rougher and slower than the last one.

his hands find purchase on your waist as he fiddles with the bottom of your vest. his knees were weak. they were jelly. “just shut up and kiss me, cowboy” you whispered against his lips. your hands snake into his hair and rake along his scalp. he pulls back and says

“you know, i think you’re a cowboy like me. but most cowboys don’t kiss me so i’d say you’re a bit better than most.” you laugh at his idiotic words and pull him back in as the fire slowly dies, barley casting an amber glow. no skeletons in either of your closets could fuck this up.

[raineandsky]

Hello! Would you write a Villain finding out that the city's bravest (Villain's favourite) Hero has an irrational fear. Domestic vibes?

...if it interests you ofcourse!

this DOES interest me i love this!!! thank you for the request, hope you enjoy :D

-

Despite what the city thinks of them, the villain is not a soulless monster.

Now, the villain always enjoyed a good scare. A knife too close to the face, or a finger on a detonator, or a good old kidnapping. Easy scares, something that would scare anyone.

The hero is facing the villain’s guard dog, though, and the villain’s starting to suspect that their usual slight scare isn’t as slight as they intended. 

The villain’s dog is a doberman, of course, with the teeth and the growl to match. They chose him because everyone’s scared of dobermans, and so far he’s done a pretty good job of keeping nosy heroes out of the villains business—because most heroes have the sense to turn on their heel upon seeing him.

This hero though, the absolute moron, does not seem to have this sense. They’re cowering on the floor and are decidedly not running away like they’re meant to.

The villain gives the hero a half-thoughtful nudge with their toe. “[Hero]?”

The hero’s gaze snaps up to them momentarily before settling back on their dog. “I-Is that yours?”

“Yeah.” The villain gives him an affectionate pat on the head. He’s too busy growling at the hero to respond. “He is.”

“Can you, uh, call it off or something?”

“He’s a guard dog, [Hero],” the villain snaps with a hint of exasperation, “I’m not meant to call him off, you’re meant to leave.”

“Okay, yeah, great, cool, yeah.” There’s a moment of silence filled with the dog’s rumbling. “I–I can’t leave.”

The villain snorts at that. “I know you probably worked very hard to get this far, but I can’t let you go any further. Nice try though, I—”

“No.” The hero’s voice is so quiet the villain barely hears it. “I can’t leave.”

Clearly there is a secret meaning in that. The villain can’t be bothered figuring it out. “It’s the, uh, it’s the dog,” the hero continues after a long moment. “I’m– I’m really afraid of dogs. I just freeze up when I see one, um…”

The villain can’t believe it. On any other hero, they would’ve struck gold with this. But this hero is one of the nicer ones, one of the ones that seems to have a sense of morality beyond the skewed moral compass the agency seems to drill into all heroes.

Long story short, this hero is one of the villain’s favourites. They can’t leave them like this—it’s embarrassing, for one.

The villain puts a hand on their dog. “Alright, calm down.”

The growling stops almost immediately. The dog sits, oddly polite, his head tilted like he’s just seeing the hero with interest for the first time. The hero looks back at him with no less horror than before.

The villain flops down next to them. “He’s harmless now, see?” They reach a hand out, and the dog snuffles his nose into their palm. “He’s well-trained. He only does things like that on my command.”

The villain gives him a scratch under the chin and his tail thumps rhythmically on the floor. The hero’s eyes don’t move from his face. “What’s, uh, what’s he called?”

The villain should’ve seen it coming. They could lie, maybe, but their dog would rat them out immediately. He’s too well-trained, goddamnit.

The silence stretches a second too long. “His name’s Tiny.”

Tiny’s ears prick up at his name. The hero blanches and accidentally catches his attention again. “You call that tiny?”

“It’s ironic.”

The hero watches in pained silence as the villain makes a show of petting him. They’re pressed into the wall like they’re hoping it’ll swallow them whole, their hands balled into anxiously white, tight fists.

Such a stupid name has clearly not done its job. The villain holds a hand out to the hero. The hero stares at it like the villain’s handing them a gun.

“I’m trying to help you here,” the villain says after another painfully long moment. “Give me your hand.”

The hero slowly—agonisingly slowly—sinks their hand into the villain’s. The villain’s grip snaps around their wrist so fast they yelp.

“Okay,” the villain says smoothly, “now you’re going to pet him.”

The hero’s eyes widen and their mouth moves in what is clearly about to be a sharp god, no.

The villain tugs them forwards before they can complain. Tiny bumps his nose against the hero’s palm hopefully. The hero’s breath hitches, their arm tense in the villain’s hold.

“Calm down,” the villain says, not unkindly. “He likes you, see?”

The hero finally shifts their hand to give Tiny a halfhearted pet. He leans into it avidly, his tail thudding joyously against the floor again.

A smile tries to break on their face, their body finally relaxing slightly. They sink into relief a little too easily, leaning into the villain a bit more than the villain’s willing to admit they like.

“He’s softer than I thought he’d be,” the hero comments. Their voice has lost that tense edge, thankfully.

“He’s a good dog.” The villain sighs and Tiny huffs back. “He’s done a great job of keeping your lot out.”

The villain finally lets go of the hero’s wrist to let them give him a scratch under the chin. “Until me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a very weird anomaly. He was probably wondering why you weren’t hightailing it out of here like everyone else.”

The hero hums thoughtfully. “He didn’t bite me.”

“I don’t teach him to bite; he’s just here to scare. Maiming people I don’t like is my job.”

The two of them fall back into silence for another moment, though this one isn’t long or uncomfortable. The villain simply watches the hero suck up to their one line of defence, their breath a lot more even than it was before.

“Speaking of maiming people,” the villain continues, “we should get to me kicking your ass at some point, shouldn’t we?”

The hero laughs brightly, and the villain tries not to feel too relieved at the sound. “Yeah, I suppose so.” They get to their feet, shaking the ache out of their limbs. “As long as you don’t use your attack dog as an unfair advantage.”

“I already told you, [Hero], he doesn’t do the biting” — The villain springs to their feet excitedly — “I do.”

[miryum]

"The Crime Scene"

Summary: Detective!Jason Todd x detective!Reader based on Jake and Amy’s relationship

Series Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of violence (but nothing descriptive), guns and other police stuff

Series Masterlist

Y/n stood by an apartment door that was blocked off by police tape, scrolling through her pictures. She and Jason had officially been dating for three weeks, and in her opinion, it was going great. Two nights ago they had another date which consisted of going to the State Fair. Y/n had insisted that they get the famous cookies (“They’re a staple of the fair, Jaybird! It wouldn’t be the State Fair without diabetes!”), ride the giant slide (“Darling, I’m an adult male with a full-time job. As much as I wanna make you happy, I’m not riding- oh my god, oh my god … Okay, can we go again?”), and go on the skyride. The day had ended with a camera roll full of Jason and Y/n pictures, Y/n’s favourite being Jason going through the children’s faux farm where kids had to collect small packages and do chores akin to farming. They followed a dirt path and collected plastic apples, packets of corn, and swaths of real sheep wool. At the end, they cashed it all in for an ice cream sandwich. Luckily, Y/n had been able to snag a picture of Jason in a tiny apron and holding a wicker basket. His mouth was downturned, but he waited patiently in line for his promised ice cream sandwich. 

“Hey. Sorry I'm late,” Cass said and Y/n looked up. “The coffee guy was…”

Y/n choked on her spit. “Assaulting your head?  What is going on up there?” She referenced Cass’ hairstyle. Instead of her loose pixie-cut, Cass’ hair was ironed straight in a tight bob.

“Is it bad?” Cass grimaced.

“Before I answer that question,” Y/n said, “do you currently have a knife on you?”

“Yes, several.” 

“Then I love it.” Y/n gave her a thumbs up. “It really... I mean, it’s hair. You look like Edna from The Incredibles. I'm sorry, don't stab me.” She shielded her face with her arms.

“My girlfriend, Harper, is going through beauty school. This week they’re doing hairstyles,” Cass explained. “She’s practising on me.”

“You’re still with Harper?!” Y/n giggled. “Geez, I love her! Uh, don’t take this the wrong way, but… is she passing?”

“Honestly, I don't know.”

“Well, let's get into this murder.” Y/n rubbed her hands together gleefully. “I'm hoping it's a dope one.” She flung open the door and ducked under the police tape. When she saw the apartment, she froze and her eyes widened in appreciation. “Mamma Mia. That's a bloody pizza pie.” She was referring to the scene before her, the floor smeared with blood in long lines, evidence markers covering every other metre, and the photographer was just finishing up. 

“Detectives,” a detective named Al Kelly greeted them. “The Roomba was running when we got here. It smeared blood across the entire apartment.”

Cass smirked and turned to Y/n. “Is this dope enough for you?”

“It's a bloody robot, Cain.” Y/n grinned. “It's clearly a good start, but it's gonna take more than that to be certified as totally dope. Who's the victim?”

“Name is Steven Carlyle,” Kelly said.

Y/n hummed and shook her head. “Kind of a boring name. Not super dope.”

“He was a psychologist,” Kelly continued. 

“Okay, a sharp turn away from dopeness, but who found the body?”

“His boss called the cops when he didn't show up to work, so he was found by Officer Fields.”

“Officer Fields?” Y/n whined. “You are seriously undoping this. Do you have anything else for me? Al?”

“The apartment was locked from the inside?” Kelly offered, wondering what Y/n wanted to hear. 

“Mysterious. Dope,” Y/n nodded along. 

“The alarm system was still armed.”

“Dope, dope, dope, dope. So hard to solve.” Y/n’s mouth dropped open appreciatively.

Cass asked, “any surveillance cameras?”

“Oh, yeah. Tons of them, but we checked them. No one was seen going in or out. Whoever did this was a ghost.” Al handed Cass a case file and she started flitting through it.

“Yes!” Y/n exclaimed. “A ghost! I officially declare this case ‘dope!’” She turned towards the apartment. “I love the first walkthrough of a crime scene. It's kind of like arriving at summer camp, except the lake is full of blood and your bunk mate is dead.” She paused before ambling through the room. “I think I may be bad at metaphors.”

Cass held up an interview transcript. “So after Carlyle comes home from work, the only person who even approaches his doorway is a delivery guy?”

“Yeah, but he never enters the apartment.”

Y/n gasped and pointed to an evidence marker. “Hey, Cass. Check it out. Triple digies!” The evidence marker displayed one-hundred and eighteen. “There's so much evidence, we hit triple digies!”

“Cool,” Cass commented.

“Very cool indeed,” Y/n agreed. “But you know what's not cool? Carlyle ordered his dinner from House of Lettuce. There's no way this guy knew he was gonna die! No one would want lettuce as their last meal. For example, my last meal... is gonna be any candy I get my hands on,” she shoved her hands in her pockets and extracted a pack of M&Ms.

“You just keep those in your pocket?” Cass pushed back a smile.

“We face death every day,” Y/n pointed out. “I gotta be prepared to go out on my own terms.”

“I can't even think about eating,” Cass gagged. “It smells like Tim’s armpits after he’s refused to go home for four days and is running on coffee.”

“When have you smelled Tim’s armpits…” Y/n trailed off.

A heavy set man with a thick moustache saddled up to them and said, “that's the heat wave. It speeds up the body decomp. I guess you could say this mystery is straight outta decomp......ton.”

“No.” Y/n rejected the attempted pun. “Who are you?”

“Angel Rojas. I'm running CSI and forensics.” The man took a sip of his coffee. 

“If the heat is causing the smell, why don't we just turn on the air conditioning?” Y/n asked.

Rojas shook his head immediately. “That kind of air flow is gonna kick up all kinds of dust particles. That AC stays off, which means the odour in here? Only gonna get worse.” He dug a small clip out of his pocket and shoved it on his nose. “Pro tip: plug your noses. Had this bad boy custom-made to fit these sweet nosters.”

“Are you trying to abbreviate ‘nostrils’?” Y/n stared at Rojas, completely bamboozled.

“In CSI, we don't try. We do, son.”

“Son? I mean, transgender people are great, but that’s not how I identify, thank you very much.” She shot Rojas a pair of finger guns before saying, “well, it's been sort of okay meeting you. We're gonna turn our backs and ignore you now.” She and Cass loyally turned their backs. 

“Hey, Y/n/n,” Cass smirked. “You know what it's time for?”

“I sure do! Y/n and Cass’ first impressions!”

Cass pointed to blood patterns on the wall. “Cast-off pattern on the far wall suggests upward knife slices. Y/n?”

Y/n knelt down next to Carlyle’s body. “Wounds on the vic's back means he didn't see the killer coming. Oof. Cass, my dearest?”

Cass shook her head and continued, “laptop, wallet, keys all in plain sight. No sign of forced entry. Doesn't connote a robbery. L/n?”

“But it does connote that our killer was waiting for Carlyle in the apartment.” She hesitated and asked, “did I just use the word ‘connote’ correctly?”

“You did.”

Y/n grinned. “Great. I’m just super smart. Please text Tim and tell him to suck it and that I am amazing and he should love me. Also, tell Jason that I’m the smarter one in the relationship and that even though he reads all the time, I am superior.”

“I’m not doing that.”

A voice frantically cried from the hallway, “I'm his mother! Let me in!”

Y/n grimaced and her jaw tensed. “Rock-paper-scissors for who has to talk to the vic's mom.”

“Deal.” The pair slammed their fists into their open palms and Y/n glared at Cass as the former held up paper and Cass showed two fingers to indicate scissors. 

“It's a game of chance. How the hell do you always win?” Y/n groaned loudly.

“You always pick paper,” Cass said.

“That is not true,” Y/n scoffed. “Here, go again.” Y/n flattened her palm as paper and Cass held up scissors. “One more time. Alright, one more time. One more time. One more time. One more time.” Y/n kept holding up paper and Cass easily beat her every time with scissors. “Alright, one more time. One more time. God, this reverse psychology is a bust!” Y/n sighed and stepped outside to the hallway. “Ma'am?” she found Carlyle’s mother and smiled softly. “I'm Detective L/n. This is Detective Cain. I'm so sorry for your loss.”

“Please tell me whatever you can. Nobody will tell me anything,” Carlyle’s mother, Amy, begged.

“I really wish that I could, but we're just starting our investigation,” Y/n explained. “Now, is there anyone you can think of that would want to hurt your son?”

“No! Everybody loved Stevie. I don't know why this happened! Please, you have to find who did this.”

“We're doing everything we can,” Y/n reassured her.

“Promise me,” Amy pleaded slowly, staring helplessly at Y/n, “you'll find who did this.”

Cass stepped in and frowned, “ma'am, we can't promise-”

“Promise me!” Amy placed a hand on Y/n’s forearm and tears started forming in her eyes. “Stevie was my whole world. I'm a single mom… or, was a single mom.” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes.

Y/n took a breath and nodded. “I promise you.”

Cass falsely grinned at Amy, who was thanking Y/n profusely, and shoved Y/n back into the rotting apartment. “You really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

“Um, exsqueeze me?” Y/n crossed her arms, offended.

“Did you really just full-on promise a victim's family member we would solve a crime? You broke the number one rule of dealing with a victim's family member. What were you thinking?”

Y/n shrugged and muttered, “I don't know. She reminded me of my mom, okay? A single mother crying in the hallway? Those are some of my frequent childhood memories.”

Cass sighed and rubbed her temples, speaking more softly, “dude, you never make a promise, because if we don't solve this, you've given her false hope, and that is way worse.”

“Normally, I would totally agree with you, but we're going to solve this case. We have so much evidence. We hit triple digies! We'll interview his friends, neighbours, and coworkers. Come on. We got this!”

“Alright, fine. But you have to deal with her if we can’t solve it.”

“Okay.”

“My goodness.” Y/n placed a hand over her heart and raised her brows in Cass’ direction. “Did Mother Gothel finally let you out of the tower?”

Cass’s hair had been lengthened significantly by hair extensions that fell down to her waist. “What?” Cass squinted at her.

“It was a Tangled burn,” Y/n explained. “Jason and I had a Disney marathon last weekend.”

“Cool, but no. Harper’s learning how to weave in hair extensions. Anyway, I talked to the neighbours. Our vic had a party three nights before the murder. I talked to everyone on the guest list. They all have alibis, so I got nothing. How did your interviews go?”

Y/n sucked in a harsh breath. “Not great. I talked to his coworkers, friends, and family. No one had a motive. Everyone loved him. The dumb jerk. RIP,” she added quickly, waving a hand around in a bad rendition of crossing herself.

“Did you promise any of them that you'd find the killer?” Cass asked, glaring at Y/n.

Y/n stared at Cass for a tense moment before admitting, “yes, his aunt. She also reminded me of my mom. Her name was Y/m/n!”

“Y/n!” Cass reprimanded. 

“Look, it's gonna be fine. This apartment is full of forensic evidence! There is no way that CSI hasn't found something. I have never been more confident in my entire-” she threw open the door and groaned as the smell immediately blasted her. “I can taste the smell. Ugh. You shouldn't be able to taste smells.”

“That's the heat cookin' the blood rot right out of the floorboards.” Rojas sauntered up to them. “Set scent to simmer. Serve over rice.”

Cass gazed uncomfortably at him before saying, “just so you know, Rojas, we're not responding positively to you as a person. Maybe just give us an update on the labs.”

“Copy that. The victim was stabbed 30 times. Coroner puts the time of death between six p.m. and seven-thirty p.m. Sunday night.”

“Okay, and how many DNA matches did you find?” Y/n asked.

“None.”

“What about hair?”

“None.”

“Fingerprints?”

“None,” Rojas repeated. “I have no matches of anything on any criminal databases whatsoever.”

Cass turned to Y/n. “Still feeling good about your promise, L/n?”

“Still feeling good about that haircut, Cousin It? I’m sorry, I’m a little frustrated right now but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I love you, Cass.” Y/n took a breath after her quick speech and said, “Rojas, how did you guys not find anything? You had fifteen people in here.”

“First of all, you sound so ignorant right now. I had fourteen guys here.” He scoffed. ”Like I'd ever get approval for fifteen guys. That's insane. Second of all, don't worry, we found something good. We tested the blood. This blood splatter belongs to the victim, this to a second individual, and that to a third.”

“Oh, hells, yes. We might have some perp blood in here. This is huge! Cass, we’re gonna solve this case!” She high-fived Cass and a couple mornings later, she stood outside the apartment, and greeted her friend, “ah, good morning, Prince Harry.” Cass’ hair was a brilliant, stark red.

“You seem particularly chipper this morning,” Cass remarked.

”Indeed I am,” Y/n agreed. “Because I finally tracked down the guy who delivered our vic his final meal and, in so doing, maybe saw the other two guys who bled all over this apartment.”

“We don't know there were three people in the apartment,” Cass reminded her friend.

“Delivery guy,” a cop introduced Y/n and Cass to a young, thin man dressed in a work uniform.

“Hello, sir,” Y/n smiled kindly and shook the delivery boy’s hand. ”We'd like to ask you a couple of questions.”

The delivery boy, who must’ve been no older than twenty-five, looked around at all the uniforms and equipment there. He nervously admitted, “okay, look, I ate a couple fries out of the bag, but everybody does that.”

Y/n shook her head, fingers tucked in belt loops. “That's not why you're here.”

“Oh, shit,” Max, the delivery boy, looked petrified. “Is this about weed?” he asked quietly, like it was a secret.

Y/n’s brows shot up and asked, “should it be?”

“No?”

“You delivered food to the guy in this apartment at six-forty p.m. on Sunday,” Cass cut in. “And within the hour, he was murdered.”

“What? How? That's horrible!” Max cried.

“Did you see anything suspicious?”

“No,” Max said. “But I didn't go inside. The guy came to the door. I just gave him the food.”

“And did you see or hear anyone else in the apartment?” Y/n crossed her arms.

“No, just that one guy. He ordered, uh, three beetroot zucchini wraps,” Max stuttered.

Y/n grimaced dramatically. “Three disgusting wraps. Three disgusting bloodstains. I knew it. There were three people in there.”

Cass stepped forward. “Would you be willing to go inside and let us know if anything looks different to you?”

“Yeah. Sure, that's fine. I don't care,” Max agreed as Y/n began to open the apartment door. Max stepped in and took one look around before screaming out, “why would you show this to me? Oh, I'm too high to see this.” He gagged and his eyes fell on the fishbowl which had bloodstains on the glass. “There's blood on the fish! On the fish!”

Y/n turned to Cass and said quietly, “I always forget how weirdly numb to horrific things we are. Do you think it affects the relationships we build with others?”

“Oh, for sure,” Cass agreed, nodding stoically as Max continued wailing.

“Oh.”

Cass placed a hand on Max’s back, who was currently bent over, retching up air. “You must have seen something. You delivered the food at six-forty, and sometime before seven-thirty, Carlyle was stabbed to death.”

“Stop saying ‘stabbed!’” Max pleaded. “What I saw here forever changed me. My heart is still pounding!”

“Wait. Carlyle was wearing a smartwatch, right?” Y/n asked, whirling around to the evidence marker that stood by Carlyle’s phone. “Those things track your heart rate. If we look at his phone, we can see the exact moment his heart stopped beating. Here we go.” She opened the phone. “Activities app. And... boom! His heart rate dropped to zero at exactly six-oh-three.”

Cass’ brows furrowed and she muttered, “the food wasn't even ordered until six-sixteen, which means…”

Both detectives exclaimed, “the killer ordered the food!”

Max, who was sitting in fetal position, yelled out, “oh, god. Did I talk to a murderer?!”

“Y/n,” Cass ignored Max. “This guy saw the perp. We have to get him in front of a sketch artist.”

“Oh, yeah. I'm feeling it now, Cass.” She bounced up on the balls of her feet. “At this time tomorrow, we're gonna know exactly what our killer looks like!”

“We have no idea what our killer looks like,” Cass said the following day, bags under eyes.

“Well, that's not totally true.” Y/n shuffled through sketch renderings. “We now know that the killer might look like Sebastian Stan, Winona Ryder, or Bilbo Baggins.”

“The delivery guy kept starting over. Apparently, he's always high.” She shook her head. “I'm sorry, man. Our big break turned into nothing.”

A voice sounded from the end of the hallway. “Detectives,” Captain Wayne strode up to them, cap under his arm.

“Ah! Captain,” Y/n plastered a grin on her face. “Did you come down here to take a look at the two best detectives you've ever worked with in action?”

“The two best detectives I've ever worked with are Prince and Pennyworth,” Wayne said immediately.

“Oh.” Y/n nodded once and stared at Wayne. “You never mentioned them before.”

“They were excellent,” Wayne replied. “I'm here because Major Crimes wants the case. I was hoping to tell them you have some leads. I overheard you mention a Bill Bo-Baggins. Should we bring him in?”

Y/n stifled a chuckle. “Well, as much as I would love to meet him, he is not a suspect.”

“Okay, so who is?”

Y/n swallowed and said, “at this time? No one. But... we are currently investigating no leads.” She drew her lips in and waited for the disappointment.

“So you have nothing,” Wayne restated.

Cass glared at Y/n. “Not nothing. L/n made a new best friend. The vic's mom. She promised her she'd solve the case.”

Wayne pursed his lips. “That's a rookie mistake.”

Y/n held up her hands defensively. “Okay. Fine. Maybe I'm not Pierce and Pennyweather.”

“Prince and Pennyworth,” Wayne corrected. “And they would've remembered your name after one mention.”

“Because we're memorable, and they're not.” Y/n held up a hand to Cass for a high-five. “Turned it around.” Cass shook her head and Y/n dropped her hand, continuing, “alright, look, Captain. Cain and I are gonna solve this case. The answer is in this room.” She gestured around to the bloody apartment. “We just have to focus and let the room speak to us.” She shouted out to the open house, “isn't that right, room?”

“When you talk to the room,” Wayne deadpanned, “I lose even more confidence in you.”

“Why?” Y/n shrugged then turned to beg her Capitan, “can you please just buy us some more time? Sir, I feel like we've earned this.”

Wayne sighed heavily and conceded, “work fast.”

Y/n shot him a thumbs up and beamed. “Got it.” She turned back to the apartment and rubbed her hands together. She said to Cass, “okay. Let's look at the scene like we're seeing it for the first time with fresh eyes.” She jumped to the floor, next to where Carlyle’s body used to lay. “Vic was face down.”

Cass stood in the kitchen, analysing the blood on the wall. “Cast-off splatter suggests upward knife slices.”

“No signs of forced entry. Laptop, wallet, keys were all there,” Y/n said, staring at the desk where all the items lay.

“Doesn't connote a robbery,” Cass finished.

“Wait a minute. Have we said this already?” Y/n looked around. “Are we having the exact same conversation?”

“Yep.”

“Cool.” Y/n’s jaw twitched. “Moving on. Windows and doors locked from the inside. Nobody in or out.” She pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Think, think, think... oh!” She snapped her fingers and her head whipped upward to focus on the ceiling. “The upstairs neighbour and his best friend drilled through the ceiling, murdered Carlyle, bled all over the apartment, then climbed back up and sealed the hole behind them!”

Rojas spoke up from behind them. “Negative, we would have found construction debris and microscopic paint fibres. The only thing that needs patching... is that theory.”

Y/n waved him away. “Okay. New idea. We're gonna get inside the mind of the killer. We eat the veggie wraps!” She opened the days old food container and unwrapped the veggie wraps. A shiver ran up her spine as she took in the disgusting looking food. “Here we go,” she hesitantly took a bite of the wrap and immediately gagged. “Oh, this sick bastard,” she groaned. “Oh, man. This is one twisted motherfucker. Oh, the beets are raw. This guy is demented, Cass!” She harshly swallowed down the food before throwing away the rest of the veggie wrap, glaring at it. “How can someone stomach that…?”

A week later, Y/n stood in the middle of the room and held her arms out wide.“Okay. All we have to do is figure out what kind of person can walk by cameras without being seen. Someone camouflaged as a wall.” She glanced around, squinting at the walls, as if she could find the person.

“Unlikely,” Cass said.

“Harry Potter and his invisibility cloak,” Y/n said proudly.

Cass pointed out, “Not a real person.”

“Well, uh, how do you know, Cain? Have you searched all of Britain for a magical castle? I didn’t think so.”

A couple days later, Y/n sat on the kitchen counter, legs crossed and wearing a tank top and pyjama shorts. She suddenly gasped loudly and waved her hands around. “My god, Cain, come here. Look at the blood spatter. Do you see what I see?”

Cass walked over from the bedroom and wondered, “Uh, blood?”

“I think I just made a connection,” Y/n said. “The number three is everywhere. Three people. Three types of blood. And guess what the tax was on the veggie wraps? Three dollars and nineteen cents, but if you ignore the nineteen, then it's three!” she cried out.

Cass shook her head. “Okay. You've officially lost your mind.”

Y/n jumped off the counter and hissed, “what? Who told you that? Was it room?”

“No. It's the fact that you think the room has a voice and also you're working in your PJs!”

“To beat the heat, Cass!” Y/n shouted. “To beat the heat! If we can't turn on the AC, this isn’t crazy, it's just smart.”

Cass took a deep breath and said quietly, “Y/n, I gave the case to Major Crimes.”

“What?” Y/n’s lips parted in disbelief. “Cass, y-you can't do that. I promised Amy.”

“Yeah, and now you can't let it go,” Cass argued. She opened the apartment door and a group of men in uniforms and windbreakers entered. “The scene's yours, guys. I'm sorry, Y/n/n,” she said softly. “It's over.”

Y/n scoffed and marched out. “Okay, fine! I'll leave. Come on, room!” she called out to the apartment.

“You left your pants,” Cass said loudly.

“I don't care!” Y/n shouted back.

Cass slid into the briefing room, noticing Y/n who was crouched on the floor. “Hey, Y/n?”

Y/n popped up and gasped. “Ah! Hello, Cassandra, my coworker and dearest friend.”

Cass shoved her hands into her pockets. “Look, I know you're mad at me, but I only gave away that case to help you. You were acting like a lunatic.”

Y/n placed a bottle of ketchup on one of the tables. “Don't even worry about it. You were totally right. I was in too deep, and honestly, I feel so free not having to work that case anymore, so thank you.” She didn’t know what to do, so she gave Cass an awkward little bow.

Cass smiled, relieved. “Cool, you're welcome. Uh, what's up with all the ketchup?”

“It's, um… for my hot dog.” Y/n nodded slowly. She began to push Cass out of the room. “Anyways, this has been a great chat, but I better get back to my hot dog.”

Cass frowned and pushed past her and froze at the sight of Stephanie who was laying on the floor, covered in ketchup. “Oh, wow.” Cass said slowly, eyes wide.

“There's nothing crazy about this, sister,” Y/n said. “It's the crime scene!” She pointed to the differently arranged tables in the briefing room. “There’s the stove, the kitchen island, blood,” she splattered some more ketchup on a table. “And of course, the body,” she flourished towards Steph.

“Hi, Cass!” Steph waved at her friend. “I'm the body.”

“You gave away my case, but guess what?” She let out a ‘boo-yah’ and held up two fingers. “I spent two months in that apartment. I can recreate it in my sleep.”

“Have you slept?” Cass crossed her arms.

“No,” Y/n said.

Dick walked into the room and looked around, shocked at the mess. “What the hell is going on here?!”

“Y/n’s gone insane because she promised the victim's mom she'd solve her son's murder,” Cass explained.

Dick placed his hands on his hips, disappointed. “Seriously? You never promise a victim's relative anything.” He took a breath and commanded, “clean it up and get out. You've lost your mind,” he decided.

“That's not true!” Y/n retorted. “I'm solving this.”

“Hey, sweetheart?” Jason placed a comforting hand on Y/n’s back. He had gotten a concerning text from Cass that had persuaded Jason to stop by Y/n’s apartment during his lunch break. He had originally knocked on the door, but when she didn’t answer, he had used the key she gave him for emergencies. 

Y/n jumped at the contact and whirled around, eyes bloodshot and the bags under her eyes were darker than ever. “Jason? When did you get here?” Before her sat the blueprints of Carlyle’s apartment.

Jason’s eyes widened at her appearance before his expression softened sadly. “Oh, darling, how much sleep have you gotten?”

“Uh… when was Monday?”

“Four days ago,” Jason answered gently. “Come on,” he gently helped her out of her chair and led her to the bedroom. “Can we get some rest?” Y/n nodded reluctantly and allowed him to tuck her into bed. “I’m just gonna stay here to make sure you get sleep well,” Jason whispered. 

“Okay…” Y/n soon fell asleep, a small smile tugging on Jason’s lips. He returned to Y/n’s living room and sat down on the couch, turning the TV on, making sure the volume was low so as to not disturb her. 

However, an hour or so later, Jason heard some rustling from Y/n’s room. Worried, he crept to Y/n’s room and peered in. When he saw what his girlfriend was doing, he sighed heavily. “Y/n, my darling, please go to sleep.” 

Y/n was using the blueprints as a blanket, reading over them intently, eyes blurry and exhausted. “Never,” she muttered. Jason took the blueprints away from her before typing a text message on his phone.

That afternoon, Cass stopped by Y/n’s apartment. She was greeted by Jason who led her inside and motioned to the bathroom. Y/n was sitting in the tub, cuddled in a blanket, and muttering to herself. Cass sighed and knelt down next to the bathtub. “L/n,” she said. “So, I can see how much this case means to you. I was thinking that maybe I could help you solve it.”

Y/n glanced up and the blanket fell off her shoulders. Jason came up behind her and rewrapped the blanket around her. “Really?” she asked. “But I thought Major Crimes just labelled it a cold case.”

“They did,” Cass confirmed. “But clearly, you’re not gonna let it go. And hey, if they’re out of the way, then we can take all the credit ourselves.” She smirked loosely and Y/n beamed.

The detective leapt out of the bath and wrapped her arms around her friend. “Thank you, Cass!” 

The following afternoon, Y/n and Cass arrived at Carlyle’s apartment. “That's weird,” Cass hummed. “The police tape's already gone.”

“Oh, yeah, Major Crimes released the scene yesterday.” The pair walked into the apartment as Y/n said, “but I'm sure they haven't had time to clean up the evidence…” she trailed off, looking at the perfectly spotless rooms.

“Oh, shit, they emptied the place out.” Cass said. “Nothing left in here. I can't believe this is how it ends.”

“Yeah. Is it weird that I miss the smell?” Y/n’s lips turned up in a reminiscing smile. “Wait a minute, do you hear that?” Her head tilted to the side as she tried to figure out if the soft humming noise was coming from the apartment, or if she really was crazy and it was all in her head. “I've spent six hundred hours in this room, and I have never heard that sound.”

“It's because the air conditioning's never been turned on. It's coming from that vent,” Cass pointed to a large vent in the wall.

Y/n immediately took out a swiss army knife and unscrewed the bolts. She faithfully got down on her hands and knees and crawled into the huge vent. “I don't see anything,” she called back to Cass. “Wait, there's a bend. Oh, my god.” She came across a pack of plastic water bottles and some empty chip bags. “There's food and water in here!”

Half an hour later, Cass and Y/n stood in the precinct, Cass’ laptop propped open in front of them. Cass said, “we never saw the killer leave this apartment because he never left. But he couldn't have survived in there for months. That's insane.”

“He wasn't back there for months,” Y/n explained. “He just waited for the body to be discovered and then snuck out sometime after that.”

“But this place was crawling with cops.”

“Which is exactly what he wanted,” Y/n scratched at her nose. “He snuck out dressed like a cop.”

“Even if he had a uniform, somebody would've recognized him,” Cass said, thinking logically. In order for them to figure this case out, there couldn’t be any holes in the story.

“Not if his face was covered.”

“By a Hazmat suit!” Cass’ mouth fell open. “The CSI guys! Rojas said he had fourteen techs, but didn't you count fifteen?”

“I did count fifteen!” Y/n exclaimed loudly. “My maths was right! Suck it, Mrs. Wilson! She was my Algebra two teacher. She was actually very sweet. She believed in me.” Cass shot her a look and Y/n remembered, “oh. Yeah. Here's the security footage. Play the tape.” Cass pressed play and Y/n narrated along to the video, “okay, so there's us arriving. Alright…. Wait. Go back.” She pointed to the one guy on the screen. “Look at this guy. All the other techs are wearing their little booties, but he's not. Follow that guy.”

“Where's the footage from the grocery across the street?” Cass muttered to herself, pulling up the camera logs.

“We have that?” Y/n asked, astonished. “That is so crazy. We’re under surveillance at all times. I'm sure it's fine and it won't backfire and ruin society.” She shook her head, ridding herself of the thoughts. “Zoom in on his face. Hm… that man isn’t CSI. But he is about to say… CS-bye.” She grinned at her pun and announced, “okay, Cass. You know what it's time for!”

The friends high-fived each other and said, “Cass and Y/n’s final impressions!”

“The dude’s a hit man. He snuck into the apartment during the party several nights earlier, hid in the vent for three days, then emerged and murdered Carlyle. Y/n?”

Y/n took over and added, “he then spilled bags of blood that he stole from a blood bank all over the floor and turned on the victim's Roomba to make the crime scene as messy as possible. Cass?”

“The messy scene meant there'd be extra crime techs, allowing the perp to sneak out in a Hazmat suit, which records show he bought online. Two weeks before the crime was committed. My only question, who was behind all this?”

Two days later, a man by the name of Warren Lawford (“Really? That’s the most ironic name ever!”) sat in the interrogation room and said, “I was hired by a depressed grocer.”

“Wow.” Y/n muttered. “Dopeness taking a late hit here, but we still got you! See you at the sentencing, peace, and we're out!” She held up a peace sign before she and Cass swept out of the room, looking smug. 

Amy waited for them outside, face contorting into relief when Cass explained that Lawford was pleading guilty. “Oh, thank god. But why did he kill Stevie? Was he doing something bad?”

“Not at all,” Y/n reassured her. “Steve dropped one of his clients that was too emotionally attached to him and the client went kinda crazy and issued a hit on him.”

“Well, is anybody going after him?”

“If they're not, then I will. I promise you,” Y/n said softly.

Amy’s eyes filled with tears and she spread her arms open. “Come here,” she sniffed, wrapping Y/n in a big hug, electing a squeak from the detective.

“Why are you promising her?” Cass mouthed to Y/n from out of Amy’s line of sight.

“I can't help myself!” Y/n whispered harshly.

“Goodbye, detectives,” Amy grinned before exiting the precinct.

“Take care,” Y/n called after the woman. 

“I gotta say,” Cass huffed a chuckle. “We would not have solved that case if you hadn't gotten involved emotionally.”

“Think we'd be better cops if we did that all the time?” Y/n asked.

“Absolutely not, never again.”

“Yeah, it was a total nightmare.”

[actualbuckybames]

Another scene from that fic I haven't posted. Excerpt of this scene under the cut

---

Bucky falls the instant he steps inside the facility. Vertigo takes hold and then he’s falling, falling away from himself and away from the howling storm trying to tear him apart. He falls and the Soldier weathers the storm, the memories hitting him like hail. It’s just pain. Pain and noise. He’s done more under worse conditions.

He takes the pain and burns it like fuel as he plunges into the depths, puts the noise where it can’t disrupt his focus. The mission is to confirm this facility’s purpose and purge it. No prisoners. As always, no survivors.

A quarter of them try to fight. They die.

A quarter of them try to run. They die.

The rest beg for their lives. They die.

The last makes a stand in the bare concrete room housing the cryo unit. He manages to separate the Soldier from his guns with a kind of stun baton that leaves the metal arm jolting and uncooperative, but on his next lunge, the Soldier grabs the baton halfway down the shaft with his right hand and crushes it.

His left arm resets and locks in for a punch that sends the man crashing into the cryo pod. Though blood streams from his nose, he fumbles at his waist and unsheathes a knife. The Soldier almost smiles. When the Soldier draws one of the tantos from his back, the man pales. He’s fast enough to dodge when the Soldier whips it at his head and just barely quick enough to catch the second tanto on his own blade when the Soldier closes the gap.

Caught up in the flurry of blows, the Soldier lets the grin twist his lips under his mask. This man is good. Very, very good. As good as anyone can get with unmodified flesh and bone.

But he is unmodified. Sweat gleams on his face and he pants with each lunge, parry, and dodge. The Soldier feels no exhaustion and gives no quarter, chasing him around the small space and ensuring he never has any delusions of reaching the door.

For a minute, the man thinks he’s holding his own. The Soldier lets him think that. It feels good to stretch these muscles, to wield a knife in a way he hasn’t since fighting Captain America—

Fighting Steve—

“Перешеек,” the man gasps, and the Soldier freezes. That is what that word means: silence and stillness. The land between shifting waters, immovable and eternal. His muscles lock. The arm’s plates lock. Everything locks and his thoughts break against his body in waves.

The man doubles over with his hands on his knees and heaves for breath. Drops of sweat splatter on the floor, joining the blood he’s shed from the dozen small cuts the Soldier has inflicted on him over the course of their fight.

They’re fighting. Right. But the man said перешеек—he’s a handler. The Soldier obeys the handler.

“Fuck,” the man straightens and glares at the Soldier, “you are fucking terrifying.”

The Soldier cannot respond, but his muscles are starting to itch with a need to move. There is a headache crawling out from the base of his skull with a sound like a scream.

“You killed all of them, didn’t you?” He peers past the Soldier, towards the door. “I don’t understand why they keep saying to bring you back alive. You’re not worth this.”

He knows: the knife in his hand belongs in the man’s eye, in his brain. But перешеек holds him fast. Can’t disobey the handler. Can’t move. Can’t do anything other than watch as the handler steps close and lines up his own knife.

“Fuck that,” the man says, face contorting in anger. “Fuck you.”

He drives the knife into the Soldier’s chest.

Pain crashes through the Soldier’s mind in a tsunami that rips away the shackles of перешеек. Clarity, as it always does even without the burn of electricity, follows in its wake: this man isn’t his handler. He doesn’t have authority to override the mission. The mission is to take no prisoners and leave no survivors and he is still alive.

The Soldier’s left hand slams into the man’s chest and throws him back. Something cracks on impact; a rib, from the man’s grunt and subsequent gasp. With his right hand, the Soldier rips the knife out of his chest. The man’s next sound of pain is cut off by that knife when Soldier drives up into his brain through the fleshy underside of his jaw. A puppet with its strings cut, the man crumples and the Soldier lets him fall. Even lets him keep the knife.

For just a moment, the room is silent, no more echoes of combat bouncing off its bare gray walls. The Soldier’s breathing is the loudest sound.

He spares the next moment to examine the tear in his jacket. The wound beneath is bleeding heavily from him pulling the knife out but, upon inspection, it shows itself to be narrow and small. At the angle he struck at, the blade must have hit bone, to be stopped from going any deeper. Or the man underestimated the Soldier’s muscle density and the force required to rip through it.

The wound requires cleaning, but he halts his steps toward the exit and the medical supplies beyond when a quiet beep reaches his ears. It’s a sound he knows, a sound deeper than anything a knife can reach. He turns and faces the cryo pod. The beep comes again. Underneath it is the soft hiss of air through narrow tubes. His left hand twitches and he crosses the room in three long strides.

There’s a man in the cryo pod. That doesn’t make sense; this is the Soldier’s pod, even if he has no intention of using it ever again.

He wipes at the fog on the small window and frowns at the pale, gaunt face framed with ice crystals that rests on the other side. That frown deepens when the face and its tousled blond hair tugs at frosted strings of memory in his mind. As the monitor beeps a soft and infrequent report on the man’s vitals, recognition gives way to vertigo and the Soldier—no, no, James, Bucky, my name is Bucky—nearly collapses against the pod. Frigid metal bites into what little exposed skin makes contact but he doesn’t feel it because his eyes are fixed on Steve. Steve, who’s stuck in the pod. Steve, who’s stripped of his serum and small and week and frozen. Steve, whose vitals are sounding off ever slower while Bucky’s own heartbeat thunders in his ears.

GET HIM OUT. The order screams through his thoughts and tears up everything else on its way. He’s slamming his fist on the emergency release before he even thinks to move. But the pod doesn’t open. Doesn’t open when he hits the release again. Doesn’t open when he tries the actual command sequence for defrosting. Doesn’t open when he slams his fist into it with a shout. And still Steve's vitals are slowing.

Static bites at his focus and black creeps in at the edges of his vision. All he can see is the cryo chamber. Steve. Steve. That cold—he wouldn’t wish it on anyone. It never leaves. It’s enough to kill Stevie. More than enough.

God, he might already be dead. When was the last beep?

“Stay with me,” he begs the silent figure while he claws at every seam in the pod, hunting for purchase. “Don’t you dare quit, you’re too stubborn to stop now, you hear me? Too stubborn by half. Stay with me, don’t leave.”

He hasn’t heard a beep in—

In—

His metal hand smashes into the side of the pod, denting the metal enough to expose a lip he can fasten his fingers around. He rips the panel away with a roar but it’s just an exterior support. There are so many more. So many.

He’s yelling at Steve, now, so Steve can hear him over the sound of Bucky tearing apart the pod. Screaming for him to stay, to wake up, to stay god please stay, because the monitor isn’t beeping anymore and—

The last hinge gives way with a shriek and the pod door goes crashing across the room. Searingly cold air blasts over him, forcing his eyes into a squint, but he reaches in blindly with his left hand and finds—

Nothing. The pod is empty. Blinking away tears, he stares at the unoccupied restraints in mute confusion, the adrenaline pumping through his veins only making that confusion spiral faster as frigid mist spreads across the floor. A blink and that mist is gone. The cold is gone.

A glance to the right: no vitals monitor. A glance back at the pod: no Steve.

There’s blood roaring in his ears, the ground is swaying under his feet, he can’t get enough air, and he's falling.

---

He comes to after a few seconds, finding himself sprawled on his right side. Another few seconds pass before he pieces together what happened and why his right shoulder and head ache. The wound in his chest is still bleeding. It’s the easiest thing to focus on with his mind fogged by confusion and pain.

Thick drops of blood pool around the fingers of his hand when he brings it near and then fall to the floor. He watches them, transfixed. And then notes how bright red his blood is. A good sign.

With a bit of effort, he gets his left hand braced against the floor in front of him and, fingers scraping on the concrete, slowly levers himself up while putting as little strain on his core as he can. He uses the cryo pod for support as he gets to his feet, leaving a bloody handprint on the metal. The front of his jacket is shiny with blood and the room spins a bit when he stands straight, but it’s manageable once he leans against the wall and takes a few measured breaths. He looks to his right; the cryo pod is empty.

Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?