#i just noticed a stain on my coffee table and now i want to murder someone

[laceratedlamiaceae]

Izzy is the kind of guy who would demand that you put a coaster down for everything and Ed is the kind of guy who wouldn't even notice the carefully stacked coasters on the side table until someone nagged him to use one and that's why their relationship is Like That

[topsyturvy-turtely]

OTP challenge - day 17

[link to day 16]

17: washing something

"Sherlock?", the name sounded from the laundry room, formed as a question by John Watson.

Sherlock hummed, doubting his flatmate would hear him but not caring. But said man kept going anyways, "Do you have any idea where my jumper is?"

"The hideous one?"

"You find all my jumpers hideous, I mean the grey one! I need to wash it!"

Sherlock eyed his bedroom door. "No idea."

*one week later*

"Where the hell is it?", John asked, kneeling on the floor, looking under the couch. Sherlock rather enjoyed the view.

"Where's what?", Sherlock asked, while continuing to eye John's arse.

"My jumper!", with that John stood up and flapped his arms, frustrated.

"I'm sure it's somewhere, you just gotta look better."

John grunted. "Thanks for your help, Sherlock." Annoyed sarcasm was floating from his voice.

*two weeks later*

"I don't get it!", a very grumpy John Watson stomped through the flat. Almost aggressively searching for the one jumper. The jumper! The John Watson jumper! He had to find it!

Out of a sudden spur, John marched into Sherlock's room without knocking. Sherlock, who was sitting on his bed, looked at him, startled. With John's jumper in his hands.

"Is that... my jumper?", John asked surprised.

Sherlock - looking caught - stared up at John. Looked at the jumper in his hands... and at John again. "It... might?"

"I'm... confused... Did you... keep it?"

"I... might have.", Sherlock said, visibly uncomfortable.

"But, why?"

"It doesn't matter!", Sherlock said, suddenly all of the awkwardness gone. He stood up and moved as if to exit the room.

"Oh, no. You're not leaving-" John stood in front of the door. "-until you've told me why you kept my favorite jumper for over three weeks!"

"It's for-", the smallest pause, almost unnoticeable, but John did notice. "-an experiment."

"Yeah? What kinda experiment is that? Why would you need a sheep wool jumper for it? Hell, the last time I had it I spilled freaking tomatoe-sauce on it!"

"I washed it out."

"You washed what out?"

"The tomato stain, obviously, John. Do keep up. Now will you let me-", Sherlock wanted to push by John, but the doctor wasn't having it.

"The whole reason why I was looking for my jumper in the first place, was, because I needed to wash it, so-", a realization hit John. "For god's sake- did you wash it by hand?"

With two big steps he was at his jumper. The red-brown stain still faintly visible. With an incredulous look he held the jumper up towards- nothing.

Sherlock was gone.

He had fled the scene.

When John quickly walked into the living room, he faintly heard the outside door close.

With an exhausted sigh, his jumper in his hands, John sat down in his armchair. What has Sherlock's mission been? Confused, John glared at his jumper. Then he picked it up, grabbed more laundry and turned the washing machine on. He had missed this piece of clothing. A lot. Maybe... if he looked into Sherlock's room...?

***

Sherlock called a cab as soon as he was outside of the flat.

He couldn't believe he had been caught like that. John is suspecting something for sure. He didn't lie however - he actually had needed the jumper for an experiment. He wouldn't waste his thoughts on this right now, though. He was dropped off at Bart's and immediately started working on some poor guy that had already been half-eaten by chrysalises before Scotland Yard had found him. The murderer was the husband of course - it is always the husband.

Sherlock lost himself in documenting the stage of decay of the corpse and for an hour or two he almost forgot about John Watson and his jumper. Almost, never all the way.

When Sherlock returned home, he found John in his armchair calmly typing away on his laptop. A relieved sigh escaped- and immediately got stuck in his throat when he saw his journal on the coffee table next to his flatmate. It was where he had kept track of all the different smells of John, and how it had been impacted by keeping it in his room. (He would never admit he sometimes would sleep with it. Well- It was for the experiment!) The jumper was the John-est thing he could find. John wore this article of clothing the most. Therefore it was the best sample for his research.

"Why are you still standing there like you've seen a ghost? Sit down!", John asked him. Slowly, like he was approaching a wild animal, Sherlock did as he was told.

The doctor then looked up, smiled, put his laptop away, leaned forward. Sherlock gulped and considered running away again. He was not ready for the conversation that was about to be held.

"So." John started, and Sherlock eyed the door. "Don't run away I am not mad, I promise.", John saw through his flatmate immediately.

Sherlock nodded.

But when he saw, John still had that assuring, patient smile on his face, it somehow put Sherlock off. He was just considering jumping up and running away again when John spoke up, "I'm gonna make a deduction."

Sherlock opened his mouth but John continued before Sherlock could say anything.

"You love-", John began too loudly. He cleared his throat. "You love... my jumper."

Alarmed, Sherlock immediately started to find an excuse. "Look, John. The only reason I took that-"

"Actually, I think you love... me."

Sherlock was dumbfounded. "No. No, John, you're misinterpreting this. I-"

"And I...", John took a deep breath. "...love you, too." John apparently wasn't gonna let Sherlock finish one sentence.

"-never meant to make our friendship... Wait. what did you just say?"

John looked at him, eyes intense. "You love me. And I love you, too.", he said matter-of-factly. A statement - a deduction - in John-Watson-style: Not a long monologue, only the hard facts.

"Did I seduce you, Mr. Holmes?"

"I'm certain you meant 'dedu-'" an abrupt ending. "Oh.", Sherlock said.

A smirk crept on John's face. Slowly, he inched closer towards Sherlock. He was sitting on the edge of his armchair now.

"I'm gonna kiss you now, are you okay with that?"

"John, what-"

"That was a simple yes-no question. So, what is your answer? Yes or no?"

Sherlock gulped and looked at John. "Y-Yes."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

And just like that, something, Sherlock never even dared to dream of, came true.

---

hi!

i, originally, wanted to update Human Urges but i have the biggest fucking writer's block with that fic. every time i open that doc i am immediately mad because i dislike it SO MUCH and do not know how to fix it. and then i just close it, because WHAT. if any of you are reading it - i apologize for the extremely slow updates. please know i will manage eventually and i hope it will be worth the wait!

anygays. decided to finally publish this silly little thing at least. hope you like it! lmk! thanks for reading and reblogging, babes! -🐢

btw i will probably join @fluffbruary - sounds like a cool challenge. maybe i can actually pull through with it :D

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @7arantellgrrl @ssmeowl123 @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @almosttinycowboy @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @psychosociogentleman

[batmanie]

One bloody Sunday

The door to Doctor Quinzel’s apartment was unlocked which worried Jonathan a little. In this shady neighborhood, a girl might need more than just a baseball bat and two hungry hyenas to defend herself, he thought as he entered without invitation. He was not big on knocking – one of his many quirks, along with fear-gassing people – it was always more fun to spook someone by suddenly appearing behind their back than to announce his presence like a decent person.

He didn’t mean any harm, not to a sweet, innocent child like Harleen. He just wanted to see a surprised look on her face.

He certainly did not expect to see a horror movie scene!

Everything in Harleen’s single bedroom apartment seemed to be smeared with blood. Scarecrow had seen his fair share of crime scene footage during his studies in hematophobia, but even he was a bit grossed out by the disturbing sight.

There were red stains on the carpet, long smudges on the countertop, and a small pool of blood in the kitchen sink. Even Harley’s favorite yellow couch looked like a prop straight from a slasher movie.

Harleen herself was nowhere to be seen but the bloody handprints on the wall seemed to be leading to the half-open bedroom door.

“What in the seven hells happened in here?”

As soon as he voiced his concern, a shadowy female figure emerged from the darkness of Harleen’s bedroom, and leaned against the doorway, staring at him judgmentally.

“Would you look at that? The infamous Scarecrow has decided to pay a visit…,” a familiar voice greeted him with undeserved mockery and poorly hidden hostility. “Is it Halloween already?”

“Doctor Isley…” Jonathan’s facial expression turned sour, he was not on good terms with Poison Ivy after causing a panicked human stampede that had destroyed the flower beds in Robinson Park last month. “What a pleasant surprise....”

“I wish I could say the same,” the plant-lady crossed her arms, her green, angry eyes focused on his mask-less face, examining his intentions. “What do you want with Harley, Straw-man?”

“Where is Doctor Quinzel?” Jon ignored Ivy’s previous question.

He was not an easy to read type, but the woman must have noticed he was gazing at the bloody couch with suspicion.

“Oh, please!” Pamela rolled her eyes. “I’m not falling for your ‘concerned work colleague’ act, Crane! You think I don’t know what you really are?” She took a few steps toward Scarecrow, confidence and inner strength in her every move. “You may act like you’re a big, scary monster but it won’t work on me, ‘cause I know, deep down, you’re just a scared little weirdo who...”

“Red? Who are you talking to?”

It was Harleen’s voice coming from inside the bedroom. It cut Ivy off halfway through, making her take a step back from Crane and forget that she was in the middle of threatening him.

“It’s just me, child,” Jonathan called out, taking the opportunity. “Are you alright in there?”

“Professor?” Harley sounded surprised, but not as if she was in pain, nor stressed, or otherwise injured. She sounded normal, and Jonathan was confused. “Yeah, I’m fine now. Why?”

“Your room…”

“Oh, thaat... Please ignore the mess. I had a little ...accident… fell asleep on the couch, forgot to put on my pads… ”

“Your ...pads?” Crane repeated, slowly beginning to understand, and oh boy, did he really regret having been given that last bit of information! It suddenly made the whole situation extremely uncomfortable, and quite frankly, on the verge of being disgusting. He could handle a gruesome murder but... “All that blood is…?”

“Yeah, menstrual blood,” Ivy finished for him and shrugged, completely unfazed. “Women bleed regularly, you genius. Now, if you excuse me…”

She walked past him and into the living room, searching for her purse. “I will get her something for her cramps. Poor thing is a little grumpy today.”

She fished a small plastic bag out of her black, leather purse and placed it on the coffee table, next to the empty glass. As she opened the bag, a familiar, strong and quite unpleasant smell filled the small room. Jonathan recognized it immediately, and he knew exactly what kind of ‘medicine’ it was.

“Your herbs are ready, Sweetheart! You will feel better in just a moment,” Pamela announced with a knowing grin, as she walked back into the bedroom – a joint in her hand.

Before she disappeared to the other side of the door, she turned to Crane one last time. “If you want to be useful, you could go get her some more pads, you know. And something to get those blood stains off the couch.”

Scarecrow sighed inwardly and said nothing as he left to find the nearest pharmacy he could rob.

“And don’t forget to bring me some chocolate cookies!” Harleen called after him.

[deadqueenz]

Eddie Gluskin x Female Reader: My Everything

Part One: Monster

Love was, is a fickle thing. Always forever changing, never the same. For good and for bad and for the worse. You never know what life has in store for you, but you can choose what to do with the cards you are dealt.

At least, that's what you always heard. You never could figure out what it meant to be truly in love and to be loved back, and when life came into play, it confused you even more. Were you destined, to be this way? Murdering those that betray you and hurt you?

Was there another option or choice you didn't take to escape this route? What awaits you at the end, your own death? At this point you would welcome it with an all knowing smile, and let it take you away in it's cold embrace.

Yet, here you kneeled; beside the damaged corpse of your latest lover, holding the pocket knife they gifted you for Christmas. The pocket knife and your hands were coated with dark blood, their heart cut from their chest and laid in clear view for anyone to see if they got close enough to the living room window.

Calmly, you get to your feet, picking up the heart and placing it in the gift box that was filled with broken glass. You wanted to hurt them, but in the end, you killed them. What else were you supposed to do? They cheated on you and on top of that a child was soon to be brought into the picture due to their infidelity.

You tried with this one, you really did. Ignoring the constant texts, phone calls and abruptly leaving at early and late hours to "go to work" or "help a friend". Closing the medium sized gift box, you turn to the stabbed corpse, the song 'I'll be home for Christmas' playing softly in the background. Blood stained Christmas cookies and glasses of milk now tainted pink from blood sat on the coffee table beside the body.

Sighing softly, you state. "What a mess." In a soft tone before walking away to clean yourself up and plan how to get rid of your late lover this time. The last one you fed them to their dogs alive, the one before died after you poisoned their food. And the one before.....You release a heavy sigh, walking to the bathroom to take a long well-deserved shower.

This was starting to become tiring, but you know where you got it from; your guardian. The person who raised you. They taught you how to properly clean up after a crime. Checking to make sure, you left no traces behind. As you step into the shower, the clear water changing to red as it swirls down the drain.

If you had siblings, you didn't know. You were separated from everyone except your guardian due to being different from the others, but the same as them(your guardian). You never knew what that meant till you saw them cleaning up their latest body at sixteen.

They didn't get mad, only smiled at you as they drop parts of the body in the fireplace as logs. The smell of burning flesh wafted to your nose, yet you held no reaction. "So they were right," they begin as they get to their feet. "You are like us."

"Us?" You questioned. "Those before me and you, my dear. You are special, different. Just by the fact you haven't showed any emotions these past nine years, tells me everything I need to know." With a smile, they walk towards a door and motion for you to follow. It's then, that you notice blood sticking to their clothes.

"Come, let me show you something. First you will learn how to properly clean up blood...."

Emotionless most of the time, but when you find 'The One' it's as if you had them the entire time. Your heart races, and you can't help but stare at them and watch them when they are in your sight. You try to be normal, wanting to patiently wait to see them again. But you would feel uneasy, restless and mind filled with thoughts of them.

What do they like? What were their dislikes? Favorite foods and drinks? Movies? Hobbies?

You wanted to know, you wanted to know everything about them so they would only focus on you. And you did, you found out by stalking them, watching their moves almost 24/7 and when you couldn't you snuck into the place and put in a microphone and camera.

It wasn't weird at all, you only wanted to make sure they were safe, okay, and living well. Anyone that made them upset, well, they were never seen again. How tragic. Where did you put the bodies?

You thought you did everything right, up to when they finally came to you themselves and asked out on a date, you had the same interest, the same taste, likes and dislikes. Strange.... But the two of you didn't mind.

Everything was great, until....

Slowly closing your eyes, you turn your back to the shower head, letting the scalding hot water cascade over you. You sigh, feeling the tension and stress leave your body and relax your mind. Exes are exes for a reason, buried memories are buried for a reason. Why open up the corpse filled closet?

Wait for them to turn to skeletons before you even consider those thoughts. You had to get rid of the corpse in the living room first, and on Christmas Eve for goodness sake.

And what about their lover?

"Be quiet." You murmur aloud as the voice spoken with humor in their usually emotionless tone.

"Come now, don't tell me your gonna let them go free? After all, they ruined our happiness."

"Leave me alone, I don't need you in my head right now." You wince pressing a hand to your temple as the familiar headache came about.

"'Right now'?" They smile, leaning against the shower wall in front of you with a cold sneer. "I see-" "You don't see anything, leave me alone." The last thing you wanted to do, was deal with them. "Aww, you can't get rid of me."

In a blink of an eye, they were standing in front of you, a crazed look in their e/c eyes a wide smile that left you feeling like killing them, wiping that damned grin from their face. Everytime you saw it. Even though they were you,- are you- identical from head to toe, you felt annoyed and irritated all the same.

As if knowing what you were thinking, they smile, leaning in to whisper in your ear. "Monster." In a low growl, as they slowly pull away, they chuckle as you turn your back on them and continue your shower in mild peace.

Monster, huh? How so? Are you a monster for killing your exes? All you wanted was to be happy.

You find yourself asking once more, can someone like you ever truly be happy? Why did you always have to be betrayed, played with, taken for a fool. You did everything you could to make your lovers happy, and yet, someway somehow they were still unsatisfied.

And in return, instead of letting them go, you killed them. Letting them feel half the pain you felt. If that was so wrong, then yes, you will be a monster.

[fandxmslxt69]

Excerpts of Fics I'll Never Finish - Part 1

So this is basically just a thing for fics I never got to finish but parts of them I'm super proud of and don't want to let them go to waste. If anyone likes a piece, maybe it could turn into a full story? Who knows :)

Excerpt #1 - Jason Todd x reader, birthday edition

Warnings: Foul languages, mentions of sex and violence, he's Jason Todd, he's cheeky and a warning on his own

He walks to the kitchen, freezing when he notices the table already set with his favorite breakfasts. “..what’s this?” You wiggle out of his arms, hopping back on the floor. “Oh. I um, I made you breakfast-”  He couldn’t stop the smile that grew on his face. “Have I ever told you I love you?” You hug him tightly from the side. “A few thousand times, yeah,” He smiles widely, hugging you back and dragging you over to the table. He didn’t hesitate a second, taking his seat and devouring the food you had put out. You laugh, taking a seat beside him and digging into your food. He finishes his in a matter of minutes, and you try hard not to choke on your coffee while laughing. “I swear it’s like I’m feeding an army,” “Hey!” He points his fork at you, mouth full of food, his words mumbled together. “I’m a crime lord, it takes a lot of work being sexy and bad. Besides, I spent all my energy fucking you last night, so I’m exhausted,” You laugh loudly, throwing your head back in joy. “Oh, oh so this is my fault now?”  “Uh, duh,” You shake your head, hiccuping from laughter. “Okay well, you were just as horny and needy so actually, it’s not my fault. You came home angry and furious and apparently shoving your dick repeatedly into me until you’ve fucked out every thought from my mind and making me your fucktoy is a better anger release option than murder.” “Okay stop that,” He finishes his food and gets up, putting the plates in the sink. “You enjoy it way too much. You didn’t even bother putting up a fight!” “Because you needed it and I wasn’t gonna say no!” He pauses, turning to look at you. “Did..did you not want to, last night? Because if you didn’t you should have said something! I would’ve stopped, you know that,” He looks panicked, worrying that he’d stepped into a territory he never even wanted to touch. “No no no!” You get up, going over to him and taking his hand, kissing his knuckles softly. “No, you know I would have said something if I wasn’t up for sex. I enjoyed it, and I really wanted it, really,” You smile innocently. “Being the Red Hood’s personal cocksleeve is an honor,”  He laughs, pressing you flush to his body. “An honor, huh?”  “A very big honor,” You wrap your arms around his waist. “And yknow, being your girlfriend is also a really great thing,” “Wow,” He rolls his eyes. “Now it sounds like you’re in it for the sex and not the love,” “Maybe I am,” He looks at you with his big gorgeous eyes. “Liar,” But there was doubt beginning to cloud them. You giggle, untangling yourself from him and cupping his face with your hands. “Of course I’m lying. I fell in love with you because you were one of the kindest, most adoring and loving people that can ever walk this Earth. Sure, you’re a crime lord, and you commit the occasional murder, but, you’re amazing, and caring and absolutely the best person ever. And I love everything about you. Your fluffy hair and beautiful eyes. Your scars and calloused, blood stained hands. The way you get way too excited over reading books, or how you scrunch up your nose when you're in deep thinking. I love every small detail about you. The sex is an amazing edition, I will admit, but it’s not the first on my list,” 

He tries so hard to keep his face from crumbling. “I murder people you know, I come home every night with blood stained hands. I spread chaos and crime.” You place a kiss on his nose. “I know.” 

He looks ready to break down. 

“See you’re doing the thing,” “What thing?” He says, voice cracking. 

“Whenever you try not to cry, you bite your lip and scrunch up your forehead,” You kiss his forehead, then his nose, his cheeks, and every spot you can find. “No crying, you understand? It’s your birthday, tears are forbidden,” “What if they’re happy tears?” He asked, his voice strained, tears welling up in his eyes from the amount of love you had for him. 

“Hmm. I don’t think I can make an exception for that,” You rest your forehead against his. He was bending over given how short you were (or he was just a giant). His eyes shine from tears, wide and overflowing with joy. 

“I love you,” He says, coming out barely as a whisper, as if afraid if he said it out loud, someone would come and take you from him. 

“I love you too,” You whisper back, brushing your lips against his lightly. 

[yunhowifeu]

Christmas blues

Yoongi x fem!reader

Word Count: 780+

Warnings: murder and depression

About: Y/N spending Christmas alone at a coffee shop and yoongi working a shift that exact day.

Yoongi’s pov:

My cousin owns a coffee shop but he is spending it with his wife, so he asked me if I could work until 7pm at least. I agreed even tho I’m supposed to meet with bts at 7:10pm. We agreed we were going to spend our Christmas together.

I started at 8am. I already know how to work everything because I come to help my cousin every now and then. Around 5pm, a girl comes in and sighs before ordering her coffee. I made her coffee and she paid. She sat down on a table in a corner, sat her coffee down and laid her head down.

It’s been a while since she has been sitting there. She would look up to take a sip of her coffee every now and then but that’s it. How could someone spend their Christmas all alone in a coffee shop, Christmas is for family and friends.

It’s 6:57pm and I need to start cleaning up. The girl didn’t seem like she was going to move any time soon. She was done with her coffee half a hour ago and didn’t even bother standing to throw the cup away, she just laid her head back down. 

I’m done cleaning up and it’s 7pm. I didn’t want to be rude and kick her out but I had to go. I tapped her shoulder. I noticed she hesitated on lifting her head but still did. I saw her tear stained face. What happened for her to be crying here and right now? I felt bad, I can’t just leave her. I just sat down next to her.

Yoongi: you shouldn’t be crying by yourself on Christmas and go be happy with friends or family

Y/N: What if I don’t have any family or friends?

Yoongi; Are you joking or serious?

She sighed which indicated me that she was serious

Yoongi: i’m sorry

Y/N: don't be

Yoongi: i'm here if you want to talk about it

Y/N: earlier you said I should be with family and friends right?

Yoongi: mhm

Y/N: I don't want to keep you here just so you can hear a strangers problems

Yoongi: I was going out with my group but i'm fine with staying here with you if you need to vent because I know it can be hard keeping it all in but if you don't want to, you don't need to

Y/N: I do

Yoogi: i'm listening

She sighed once again

Y/N: I usually don't tell people but you seem trustworthy, when I was 7 I watched as my mom beat my older brother to death, I tried pushing her away or yelling but I was little and didn't know I could have called the police and he was the sweetest most caring brother ever so I felt guilty. My mom said “I never wanted you guys in this world and your dad is a pathetic brainless and careless man, I'm leaving for good, I would kill you too but Your father is on his way”, then pushed me to the ground and ran out the door with her purse and phone. The police were never able to find her somehow and didn't care much about the case either. When my dad came home he almost fainted. We went to the hospital but it was no use, they just told us we lost him. A few years later and I'm a teenager, my dad was driving us to a light show on christmas when I saw my mom in a car with a different man and saw they had a gun. I tried telling my dad but he was busy on the phone and he got shot. Then they sped out of there. I took the wheel quickly and parked. I called the cops and they came with an ambulance. They still haven't found her and she is definitely coming for me next. 

Yoongi: Wow, I'm so sorry, that's a lot. Would you like to spend these next Christmas hours with me? We can go anywhere you'd like.

Y/N: yes please

Yoongi: if needed I can contact my group’s company ask them to give my friend a bodyguard

Y/N: I don't think it's necessary but if you'd like to do that then i'm up for it

I've gone through alot myself but I felt bad so I texted bts and told them I couldn't make it to the hangout. I would have told her to join us but she has gone through enough and I don't want her stressing over meeting 6 more new people in one day. I also contacted our manager and requested a bodyguard. Later on she met bts. We became really close really quick

 I hope you guys enjoyed it! My inbox is empty so be free to request or ask for anything <3

[westanthewaterman]

After the Hunt - Murdock x F!Reader

Rating: NSFW

Word count: 2400+

Contents: age difference, cmnf, knife play, blood play, unsafe sex, severely under-negotiated kink, Murdock and reader are serial killers

Summary: After another successful hunt, you and Murdock return to the safe house to regroup. Blood pumping, adrenaline in your veins, what else are you to do but fuck each other’s brains out?

AN: Please, please, please read all the tw’s before reading this. This is filthy and I have no excuses. 

AO3 - MASTERLIST - M!READER VERSION

You shut the door with a relieved sigh, dropping your bag on the bed. It’s late, the darkness outside the windows suggests that it’s past midnight. You draw the blinds swiftly and make your way into the bathroom.

Leaning over the sink, you splash water onto your face before lathering your hands in soap, scrubbing at the blood stains on your fingers. It had been a messy kill, but you were learning quickly that Murdock had been right, those were the most fun.

Murdock Killinheim. You’re not really sure if that’s his real name or just an alias, but you think if your parents had given you a name like that you’d probably become a serial killer too. He’s an odd man, dangerous and secretive, but you’ve grown to really enjoy his company.

You’re not sure why he chose you to take on as an apprentice of sorts. When you had asked him once, he told you that the day the two of you met, he saw a darkness in you, a bloodlust. You can’t disagree, of course, you know it’s always been there, just under the surface. Most of your life has been spent trying to be the perfect child, attempting to live up to your parents’ ridiculous expectations. Living like that can drive a person to do…bad things.

And now here you are. The two of you have been on the run together for almost a year, like Bonnie and Clyde without the bank robbing and a lot more murdering. There’s something about Murdock that draws you to him. You’re not sure what but you know giving in to it is a bad idea. Not only is he almost ten years your senior, he’s a dangerous man, a man with a dark past, and that never bodes well.

You’re not sure if it’s love or lust, but, honestly, you don’t really care either way. Seeing him just after a kill, adrenaline pumping, blood all over, makes you hot in all the right ways.

The door to the motel room opens and Murdock steps in, shutting and locking it behind him. He peers through the blinds, scanning the darkness outside.

“You weren’t followed, were you?”

“Of course not.” You dry your hands and walk out into the main room. “I’m always careful.”

“I know you are.”

He’s wearing his usual get-up - a turtle neck, long peacoat, pair of leather gloves, and his signature dark glasses. Murdock slips the glasses and his coat off and sets them on the small coffee table. He’d cleaned up the best he could before fleeing the scene but there is still blood spattered across his cheeks.

“Another successful hunt. You did well tonight.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“We’ll lay low here for a few days. When we pack up and hit the road, I’m thinking we drive west.”

“It’d be nice to see the coast.”

“My thoughts exactly. The ocean certainly makes for a good burial ground.”

A smirk spreads across his face and he gets a dark look in his eyes, the same one he gets whenever he talks about a potential kill. It sends a jolt of electricity up your spine.

Murdock keeps talking about plans and ideas, new weapons he’d like to try, techniques he wants to teach you. You’re trying to listen but he pulls the knife out of its holster on his thigh, twirling it in his fingers, and you’re finding it very hard to focus. There’s still blood on the blade and seeing it makes your mouth dry. Murdock pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and beings to wipe it clean but stops when he notices your gaze.

“Something the matter?”

You blink, flicking your eyes up to look at him but they quickly fall back to the knife. “N-No, nothing. What were you saying?”

He follows your gaze to the blade in his hand, running a fingertip over the sharp metal. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Small but deadly.”

“Yeah.”

“I suppose I could say the same about you.” Murdock takes a step forward, looking over you with dark eyes. “It’s truly something to watch you work. It’s…beautiful.”

You duck your head, feeling heat rising to your face. Slowly, with a practiced hand, he slides the knife down your jaw and under your chin, tilting your head up. Your eyes meet and he’s looking at you with such intensity you feel like you can’t breathe. You know this is a bad idea, that you should step away, tell him you’re going to bed, but you can’t make yourself move.

“I have been captivated by you since the day we met, little flower. It’s been so much fun watching you bloom.”

One of his hands reaches out to cup the side of your face. The leather of his glove is cool against your heated skin.

“Murdock,” you say softly.

“We both know what you want, I want it too, so stop fighting yourself.”

A whimper escapes your throat and he smirks, putting his blade back in its holster. Murdock closes the distance between the two of you, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. It’s everything you’d imagined and so much more. You loop your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against you. One of his hands slips into your hair and the other gets a hold of your waist, fingers digging into your skin but not enough to bruise.

Your body is on fire and you feel like you can’t get enough of him. His tongue presses against the seam of your lips, slipping into your mouth, tasting you. You’re not sure what compels you to do it, but you bite down on his lower lip, just enough to draw blood. Murdock groans and pulls away, touching his lip.

“Bloodthirsty, aren’t you?”

You smirk. “You could say that.”

He gives you a devilish smile and pushes you onto your back on the bed, leaning over you. “This is how it’s going to go, little flower. You’re going to undress for me and I’m going to give you everything you want, call it a reward for a successful kill.”

“How do you know what I want?” You push yourself up onto your elbows.

“Oh trust me, I know exactly what it is you want. I can see it in those beautiful eyes of yours. You want to be wrecked.”

Murdock whispers the last word in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and you can’t help but rub your thighs together in hope of getting some kind of relief for the ache that has started between your legs.

“So you’re going to be good and do what I tell you, aren’t you?”

You nod, looking up at him with wide eyes. When you don’t move, however, he slaps your thigh lightly.

“Go on. I’m waiting.”

You remember that he told you to undress and you swallow the lump in your throat, feeling suddenly shy. Slowly, you pull your shirt off over your head and drop it to the floor. He gestures for you to continue, his eyes roaming over your skin. You undo the button on your jeans and lift your hips, sliding them down your thighs and to the floor.

Murdock’s hands, still clad in the leather gloves, plant themselves on your thighs, running up and down the length of them slowly.

“God,” he groans, “such soft skin. I would love to mark it up.”

You’re not sure if he means with his mouth or with his knife and, honestly, you can’t decide which one you like more. The thought alone pulls a moan from your lips.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Having my mark all over you.” (I'd love to have a mark all over me wink wink wink)

“God yes.”

You return to undressing, moving a hand to your back and undoing your bra, slipping the straps off your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Murdock’s eyes are glued to your breasts and the way they rise and fall with each heavy breath you take.

“Aren’t these lovely.” He cups them in his hands, running his thumbs over your nipples.

The simple touch sends a shock of pleasure through you and you fall back against the bed.

“Just one thing left, little flower. Would you like some help getting them off?”

You bite your lip and nod frantically. He chuckles and pulls out his knife once again. Carefully, he slips the blade under the waist of your underwear and yanks it towards himself, cutting the fabric and repeating the motion on the other side. He pulls them off you, balling them up and throwing them over his shoulder.

Now fully bear under his gaze, the cool air hitting your heated skin, you squirm nervously as he looks over you.

“So beautiful. Let me look at you.”

Murdock runs his hands from your breasts down to your thighs, spreading your legs open. You’re wet already, practically dripping for him, and he licks his lips. One of his hands leaves its spot on your thigh to slip between your legs. The cold leather of his gloves is a shock against your cunt but it feels so good. His finger dip between your folds, stopping on your clit, just barely applying pressure.

“So wet already. Tell me what you want.”

You open your mouth to speak but all you can let out is a choked moan as he starts to rub slow circles over your clit.

“Go on.”

“I-I want you to fuck me.”

“Yes, I know that already. Tell me what you want.”

You throw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut, and speak before you can stop yourself. “I want you to wreck me. I want you to fuck me with your knife against my throat.”

He groans. “Oh little flower, what fun we’re going to have.”

Murdock slips off his shoes and climbs onto the bed, reaching down and pressing two fingers inside you. You moan, gripping the sheets and rolling your hips up into his touch. He uses his free hand to trace the tip of his knife up and down your thigh, leaving behind thin, red lines in its wake.

“M-Murdock, please, I don’t want to wait anymore.”

“Inpatient, are we? Well alright, I suppose we can speed things up. Turn over, hands and knees.”

You do as you’re told, flipping onto your stomach and raising up onto your hands and knees. Murdock looks over you for a moment, admiring the curve of your ass and the arch of your back. He uses the hand that was just touching you to undo his belt and pull out his cock. He gives it a few slow strokes before positioning himself behind you. He sets the knife on the bed, one hand grabbing your hip and the other guiding the head of his cock to your entrance. Slowly, so slowly, he slips inside you inch by inch until his hips are flush with yours.

You both groan. He’s just the right size to stretch you open without causing any pain. Murdock reaches around and presses a hand to your sternum, pushing you up against his chest.

“How does it feel?” He whispers in your ear.

“F-Full.”

He pulls back slowly then rocks his hips forwards, forcing a moan from your lips. Murdock starts at a slow pace, rocking into you with languid but powerful thrusts, each one pressing his cock into that spot that makes you see stars. He trails kisses down the side of your neck, stopping at the crook of your neck where he sucks a dark mark into your skin.

You don’t think it can get any better until one of his hands reaches down between your legs to rub your clit and the other picks up the knife again, pressing the blade loosely against your throat. You gasp, terrified of moving but loving every second.

Murdock picks up his pace, hips slamming into yours. He breathes heavily in your ear, letting you hear every grunt and moan that escapes his lips.

“You’ve wanted this since the day we met, haven’t you? Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you look at me after a fresh kill. Filthy girl, it turns you on, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” you moan helplessly, grabbing his wrist in an effort to ground yourself.

“And now here you are, helpless and completely at my mercy, my fucking knife against your throat. Just a little more pressure and I could sever your jugular, watch you bleed out all over the sheets. You’d look so good covered in crimson, the color draining from your face.”

You let out a high-pitched whine. His words should scare you, they should terrify you, but all you can feel is your climax inching closer and closer.

“But no, no, this is so much more fun. Are you going to cum for me?”

You nod frantically. “Please, please, please!”

“So desperate for it and it’s so close, isn’t it? You can practically taste it, can’t you? Just a little more.”

He picks up his pace, pistoning his cock in and out of you. Murdock presses the knife into your neck with more pressure and you can feel your skin splitting beneath the blade, not enough to do any real damage, but enough to send rivulets of blood dripping down your neck and over your breasts.

“Fuck, look at you.” He groans, out of breath. “Little flower, I want you to cum for me. Cum all over my fucking cock.”

The sharp edge to his voice is all you need to throw you over the edge. You clamp down around him, throwing your head back against his shoulder as you call out his name. He fucks you through it, not slowing down until he’s cumming inside you, filling you with warmth.

He stills and the two of you fight to catch your breath. Slowly, Murdock pulls out of you with a groan and you flop down onto your back. You look up and watch as he licks your blood off his knife before slipping it back into his holster.

“Fuck,” you sigh, closing your eyes.

Murdock chuckles, tucking himself back into his pants and sitting down on the edge of the bed, finally slipping off his gloves. He traces his thumb over the cut on your neck gently. “Exquisite.”

“I need a shower and like a full day of sleep now.”

“Well, we are going to be here for a few days. I’m sure we’ll have time for…everything we want to do.”

[summercourtship]

Hey! Can you write something for Amanda Young x female reader where r finds out Amanda is working with Jigsaw and is kinda afraid of her for a while. Like trying not to get her mad, tensing for a few seconds when she touches r, and Amanda reassures us she won't hurt us. Happy ending please.

!!

This fic is brought to you by my hatred of Hoffman uwu. Takes place post Saw 3 in which Amanda doesn’t kill Lynn, even though Hoffman was blackmailing her into doing it. While it was clear that John would be told of her involvement in Gideon’s death, it was not clear that Amanda’s S/O would be informed of her involvement in the Jigsaw murders. Hoffman sux.

revelations.

amanda x reader | warnings: none :0 | word count: 908

It started with a manila envelope, sandwiched in between pages of coupons and offers for free credit score checks. You didn’t pay it any mind as you walked up the stairs to your apartment, figuring that everything in your hands was junk and going to be thrown out immediately after a quick glance.

And it almost was, until you actually looked at it. No return address. No stamps. Just your name, scrawled over its surface in thick black lettering.

You only think of anthrax once the envelope has been torn open. But there is no bioweapon hidden inside the letter, just a page with a very brief note.

But the note doesn’t make any sense. And yet, it makes all the sense in the world.

Amanda Young is an accomplice of the Jigsaw killer.

There is no evidence presented with the claim, no pictures or damning statements. Just a sentence that, by all intents and purposes, you should feel completely justified in discarding. But something is holding you back, some shred of clarity that had been revealed.

Her odd behavior sometimes, the strange hours that she worked. The callouses and scars littering her hands, a new one seemingly added every day. The odd stains on her clothing, oil and… blood, you shuddered to realize.

You had no reason to believe the note. Maybe you were just connecting disjointed events to rationalize it all, but why would you do that if you didn’t know, deep down inside, that it was true?

But even with all of this, you knew that the only way to confirm it was to ask her. And you were suddenly terribly afraid of her, but you had to know.

So you waited. Sitting stiffly on your couch, the room growing dark around you. You didn’t bother turning the lights on, too lost in your thoughts to even notice it. You were only broken out of this stupor when you heard the door click shut, and shuffling footsteps approach you.

“Is it true?” Your voice was quiet in the darkened apartment, staring at the crumpled manila envelope you’d thrown on the coffee table. Your name was scrawled on its surface, with no return address or stamps. You could feel Amanda’s presence behind you, but you couldn’t make yourself turn around.

“What are you talking about?” You couldn't tell from her voice if she was in a good mood or not- either way, she wouldn’t be in a couple seconds.

“Are you working with… with Jigsaw?” You barely squeaked out the title, fear gripping your heart.

“Why would you think that?”

You snatched the envelope off the table, whirling around to face her. “This was in the mailbox. It says that you… you work with him. That you help him murder people!”

Her eyes fixate on the envelope, face pale. “Who gave you that?”

“I don’t know- it doesn’t matter! I just want to know if it’s right.”

Her reluctance to give you an immediate answer told you all you needed to know. She was not the type to typically beat around the bush, at least not when it mattered. But she wasn’t even trying to lie right now, too stunned by your questions to figure out what to do.

“Please.” You were quiet now, heart beating wildly in your chest.

“...Yes.” She reaches for you, but you jerk backwards out of her way. The word echoes in your head, her quiet yes filling your head with it’s finality.

“Don’t touch me.” You gasp out. Her hand falters in its place before dropping to her side. She looks lost, her eyes searching around the room as if the answer would be written on one of the walls. After a minute of this, her face hardens as she looks at you again, moving towards you.

Reasonably, at least in your eyes, you think she is going to kill you. You cry out, scrambling backwards but tripping over the coffee table in your attempt to get away from her. You land on the floor with a harsh thud, groaning at the pain from the fall. She gasps, rushing towards you.

Amanda quickly props you into a sitting position, brushing your hair away from your face. You flinch away from her, avoiding eye contact. Her touch stalls for a moment before moving down your face, turning it in her direction. Her deep brown eyes search your own, and she suddenly surges forward, holding your head against her own as she touches her forehead to yours. She never looks away from your eyes.

“I would never hurt you. These people, they aren’t like you. They’re greedy, selfish, uncaring people, they don’t think before they hurt others and they don’t feel guilt afterwards.”

“Do you?”

“I- yes.” She moves her face away from yours, still intimately close, keeping her hand on your cheek.

“Then why do you do it?”

“He saved me. I have to repay him, somehow.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t expect you to. But I just need you to know that I won’t hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Okay?”

You nod, leaning into her hand. Her palm is so warm, and the callouses don’t bother you, knowing they are indicative of how hard she works.

“I love you, you know that right?” She continues. You nod again, feeling her thumb stroke your skin with more tenderness than you thought was humanly possible.

“I love you too.”

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (3)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 5.2k warnings: none 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

Bucky stared down at the fresh coffee stained on the sidewalk; a caramel puddle nestling into the cracks and stretching along the lines until it spilled out into the street. He could smell the bitterness and the sweetness in the cream, the steam of it still warm as it filtered up into the cold, autumn air. He cursed at himself under his breath.  

You’d looked so beautiful, even with your eyes wide in shock and lips parted in a gasp as coffee spilled to your shoes. Dressed under an army green overcoat, a sliver of a burnt orange sweater peaked out from underneath. He’d seen that particular shade before, cast over a forest of evergreens and reflecting into the clouds, just above the sun as it set over the tree line.  

But he’d made a fool of himself in front of you and he could still feel the burning in his ears. He felt hot under his jacket and he found himself glancing down the street, wondering if he could make a run for it. Only, you were waiting for him inside and Bucky couldn’t stand the idea of disappointing you.

Gathering what remained of his courage, Bucky parted the double doors and stepped inside. It took a minute to let his eyes adjust, but when the dim lighting came into view, he noticed you were standing by the entrance waiting for him like you’d known he’d decide to follow. You beamed as he caught sight of you and his stomach twisted straight to knots. You were still clutching the donut box to your chest, almost as if you were afraid he’d knock that out of your hands, too.  

“Come on, you can help me set up.” You gestured down the hall to the room he met you in a few days prior. The library with no books on the shelves and cobwebs in the corners. “We’ve got to get you a book before the others show up.”

Bucky nodded, though he didn’t say anything as he followed you. It was pretty quiet without so many people lingering around, but everyone seemed to smile as you approached; perking up from under their clouds and called out your name until you waved back at them. It was like you carried sunshine in your pockets and comfort in your presence, breaking away stormy skies as you passed by.  

Before you could reach the library door, Bucky rushed out ahead of you and grabbed a hold of the knob. You paused, eyes catching his for a moment and a pink filtered into his cheeks. He cleared his throat.  

“Figured I could do one decent thing today after I ruined your shoes,” he explained, pulling open the door for you.  

“You showed up, didn’t you?” you added with a wink. “I count two decent things today, James Barnes.”

He chuckled at that, nodding. “Y-Yeah, okay.”  

You set the donuts on the coffee table and began to push the furniture around into a circle. You shouldered most of your weight into the couch to get it to budge and Bucky couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips just watching you. Concentrated frown on your face, determination in your eyes, staring down the couch as if it were your sworn enemy.  

“You need help with that?” Bucky asked, gesturing to the couch that barely moved a few inches while you were out of breath.  

You glanced up at him over the spine of the couch, nodding gratefully. “This one always gives me trouble.”

“I’m sure if you waited for the others to show up, they’d help you move these around,” Bucky said as he placed his right hand on the back of the armrest, his knee digging into the center of the back. You stood next to him, hands on the frame to help push despite the fact that Bucky was strong enough, even without his left arm, to move the couch on his own. But he liked the idea of you beside him, so he didn’t say anything.  

“Oh, I’m sure they would,” you exhaled as they couch slid perfectly into place within the circle. “They all work so hard though, you know? It’s nice to have them just walk in and sit down for a change. Don’t need them thinking I’m expecting work out of them, too.”

“Ah, so that's why I’m here, then...”  

He was surprised by the teasing in his own voice. When was the last time he made a joke? He couldn’t even remember. But you started to smile, that brightness shining right up into your eyes, and it didn’t matter anymore. He’d make a thousand jokes if you would keep looking at him like that.  

“Careful now,” you warned, a glimmer in your eye. “I might need you to help move this couch every week...”

“Wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it?”  

He didn’t know where this was coming from or how it slipped off his tongue so easily, but he liked the way it seemed to catch your off guard. You stilled for a second, a nervous laugh under your breath as you quickly tucked away a few strands of fallen hair. You were flustered. Shit. He was done for.  

“Haven't even seen one meeting and you’re offering to move couches for me on a weekly basis? Consider me eternally grateful, James Barnes.” You plopped down on the couch, reaching for the strap of your bag, though it was a few inches out of reach.  

Bucky leaned down and picked up the bag, surprised to find it as heavy as it was, and gently set it in your lap. He took a seat on the couch on your left, though he left considerable room between you. You started digging through the bag, pulling out book after book and setting them on the table.  

“We’ve got to pick your book of choice,” you explained, smiling at him and clearly eager to see what he would select. “Anything you want. I can get something else from the library for next week if you’re not interested in these. I’ve got some guys reading Harry Potter for the first time. Lang’s on the second Twilight book. Romanoff is halfway through The Odyssey. Barton’s about a few pages to the end of a murder mystery he guessed the plot twist of within the first ten pages, which is just downright infuriating...”

Your nose was all scrunched up and it was the damn near cutest thing Bucky had ever seen. He must have been staring for too long though, because you raised a brow at him.  

Bucky cleared this throat, quickly looking away. He scratched nervously at the back of his neck and tried to steer the conversation strictly away from how adorable he found you.  

“Isn’t the point of a book club to read the same book?”

“I suppose,” you shrugged, “but not my book club. The whole point is just to help these guys feel comfortable, give them a moment of peace, even if it’s for an hour once a week. Sometimes we’ll sit around the circle and talk about what we’re reading. Lang’s working really hard to sell the Twilight books to the rest of the group despite being about a decade late to the game. Most times though, we just read, listen to some music. It’s quite nice, actually.”

So that was what Sam meant by unconventional.

“I don’t know the last time I read anything,” Bucky admitted slowly. He could barely get himself to concentrate on a single newspaper article these days, let alone an entire book. He often caught himself staring at the TV and realizing an episode later that he didn’t have a clue what had happened.  

“A lot of the guys take breaks,” you offered, seemingly reading his mind. “That’s what the donuts are for. Oh, and the coffee, of course.”

You jumped up, making your way over to the pots sitting on the table lining the wall. The pots were already filled and he wondered who took the time to do that for you before you even arrived. You were so well liked around here, Bucky found himself wondering if he wasn’t the only one who felt like you could tell him to do just about anything and he’d oblige without question.

“You want some?” you asked, holding up an empty cup, but Bucky shook his head. He was already starting to get warm and adding coffee to the mix wouldn’t help things.  

You didn’t seem to mind as you shrugged off your jacket and draped it by the door. The orange sweater he’d caught a glimpse of under your jacket turned out to be a cardigan. It flowed long down by your thighs, draped over a simple, white tank top and black jeans. Gold jewelry sat over your collarbone and you had a sudden glow about you, like that hour just before sunset.

Golden hour, he realized. That’s what you reminded him of.  

“It’s warm in here, isn’t it?” you asked, fanning yourself as you set the coffee on the table. “It’s not just me?”

It’s definitely you, Bucky thought. He’d never met anyone who carried such a presence as to melt the icy cold shards planted defensively around his chest. You were the epitome of warmth and kindness and the sweetest damn thing he’d ever seen... but a trail of sweat lined his hairline and he could feel the heat trapped under his jacket.  

“Not you,” Bucky confirmed, brushing at his brow. “It’s hot.”

“Here,” you stood up, holding out a hand to him, “I can take your jacket for you.”

Bucky froze, jaw clenched. He became painfully aware of the empty sleeve on his left side. He wasn’t a complete fool. He knew you must have noticed by now, but taking the jacket off made it obvious that a piece of him was missing, the stub at his shoulder the only thing left in place of an arm he could still feel most days.  

“I’m, uh, I’m okay,” he stuttered out, his eyes falling to the ground, hoping you didn’t notice the flush in his cheeks. He could feel your eyes on him and he was almost certain that if he dared to look up at you, you’d be fixated on his empty sleeve.  

Shame started to burn hot in his chest when suddenly he felt a cool breeze on the back of his neck. When he looked in search of you, he found you setting up a fan at the edge of the room, angling it just enough so that it was sure to reach him on every rotation.  

He swallowed as he watched you. You didn’t ask questions or push him to take the jacket off despite being clearly too warm to keep it on. Instead, you offered him a short smile as you sat back on the couch beside him, a little closer this time.  

“Any better?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s, uh, that's really nice. Thanks.”

You smiled for him and he wondered if he could stay inside that moment forever.  

***

Bucky selected The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Gilman from the stack of books on the table. It surprised you as his hand ghosted over the cover before flipping it over in his palm, a curious look on his features. It was one of your favorites, one not many would choose to pick up in fear of the publishing date in the late 1800s, but it was a short story, one he could finish within the span of the meeting today.  

As he stared down at the unusual yellow pattern on the cover, a frown pushed at his lips as he started to see the strange images hidden under the surface. You found yourself struggling to tear your gaze away from him. With such a reaction to the cover, you couldn’t wait for the end of the meeting just to hear what he thought of the story.  

Soon, the usuals started filtering into the room and you noticed that Bucky had barely said a word as the low hum of small talk and chatter filled the empty space. He kept to himself, perched on the very edge of the couch cushion like he might run at any second as you talked with one of the oldest VA members by the door.  

Upon sensing his discomfort, you quickly made your way back to the couch and you were surprised when you felt the cushion dip a little as he leaned in your direction as if he was using you as anchor; something familiar amongst an unknown. You tried to suppress a smile when he looked at you, but you really liked the idea of being something familiar to him.  

“I’m glad you decided to stay,” you told him quietly, nudging his side playfully with your shoulder. It drew a soft laugh from under his breath and he nodded, gripping tight to the book.  

“Yeah, me too.” He sank back into the couch and relaxed the tension in his body.  

Six on the dot. You turned to the group.  

Tony Stark sat in his usual throne, legs draped over the arm rest, sitting sprawled out over the single chair. Heir to Stark Industries, he’d enlisted himself in rebellion against his own father. He’d ended up in the Air Force for three tours and prided himself on the tattoo on his chest he’d gotten drunkenly off base in his early twenties.  

Natasha Romanoff found her place sitting cross legged on the floor, leaning up against the seat of Tony’s chair. She was a sort of a mystery to you, never spoke a word about her position within the military and how long she served, but she was exceptionally perceptive. Part of you wondered if she was some sort of super spy. Despite becoming a close friend, there was still so little you knew about her history. She rested a pillow in her lap.

Then, there was Scott Lang. He’d found himself in some trouble after his discharge, but he was turning his life around. He had a little girl to stick around for and he was trying desperately to find a job. You suspected his fascination with the Twilight books stemmed more from an unbreakable bond with his daughter than anything else. He took his place on the bean bag chair.  

Clint Barton sat on the table outside the circle. He was a sharp shooter in his time and found more comfort in the distance. He kept to himself and had an exceptionally entertaining habit of making quick remarks under his breath few were fortunate to hear. You were determined to hand him a book with a plot twist not even he could see coming. You resided to put Defending Jacob by William Landay on hold.  

A few others filled out the circle; familiar faces of men and women most would look past on the streets. Dark circles under their eyes, a hardened look about them. Some with tattoos and long beards, other’s draped in leather. Some, you could see the ghost of their former selves in their eyes, but they all seemed to lighten as they sat around the circle.  

A moment of peace. It’s all you could offer and they took it gladly.  

“Hey everyone. We’ve got a newbie in today.” You gestured to Bucky and he slowly lifted his hand in an awkward wave. “This is Bucky. Bucky, this is the group. Play nice.”

“What’s your rank, soldier?” Tony quipped from his chair; legs kicked out over the side. He never had much of a filter, or a sense of restraint. You shot him a glare he didn’t seem to notice, or rather he didn’t care.  

“Sergeant,” Bucky clarified, though you could hear the strain in his voice. He said it as though it burned him, like the very act of the title was painful just to speak.  

“Where’d you serve?”

“Tony, we’re not grilling the new kid today,” you warned, but Bucky cleared his throat.

“Afghanistan mostly.” He curled his hand into a fist, pinching at the pages of The Yellow Wallpaper in his grip. A hardness had swept over most of his features, almost in a protective layer, and you wanted to whack Tony upside the head for stealing the soft undertones in his expression.  

“And the rest?”

Bucky paused, releasing his fist. “Classified.”  

Tony pursed his lips, staring Bucky down over the top lens of his thick rimmed glasses. A testament of wills. A challenge. Then, he nodded, satisfied.  

“Great,” you groaned, rolling your eyes playfully. “Now that Tony here has finished interrogating our newest member, we can get started.”

“Hey, consider it my welcome to the group!” Tony hands thrown defensively in the air. Scott nodded from his couch, remembering his own initiation the day Tony demanded to know the extent of his robbery charges following his discharge.  

You shook your head, smiling spreading back to your lips and you were thankful to find that Bucky had sat back into the couch, relaxing as the attention moved back to you.  

“I think we’ll just spend today reading,” you said. “I’ll put on the playlist Tony recommended – and don’t worry, I did browse through to make sure he didn’t slip any rock anthems in again. We don’t need to give Dr. Selvig down the hall another heart attack when Back in Black starts blaring directly after Yiruma.”

The room laughed and you were purposeful in glancing over at Bucky to see if a smile caught on his lips. It was small, a little uncomfortable as his eyes flickered around the room at the other group members, but he seemed to soften as he landed on you again. You nodded at him.  

“Alright kids, hush up now.” You pressed play and the gentle strokes of a piano began to fill the room. “I’ll wake you in an hour.”

You waited until everyone settled in and opened their books. One of the older gentlemen in the back with a long and burly white beard and a leather vest draped over his shoulders set the open novel on his chest and promptly closed his eyes for his weekly nap. You smiled to yourself as you watched the heavy rise and fall of his chest – the man deserved one decent hour of rest a week, anyway.  

By the time you made your way back to the couch, you noticed Bucky had tensed up again. He was staring down at the book, harsh breaths pressing through his nose as he tried to keep the book propped open with on hand, losing his place as he tried to turn the page. His jaw was clenched so tight you wondered if he’d bite it clean off.  

He didn’t dare ask for help or so much as look in your direction, but it was a determination you’d come to expect from the people you met in these halls. It didn’t mean you couldn’t offer it anyway.  

You quietly opened a drawer at the edge of the room, pushing aside knick knacks and old ketchup packets until you came across a small wooden clip. One of the older members had used it when he was going through extensive PT for his hand and couldn’t pinch his fingers enough to grip the thin slip of the page. You pulled it from the drawer and quickly skirted your way back to the couch beside Bucky.

“Here,” you offered, extending the clip to him as the book fell closed on his lap for the fourth time. He looked up at you, confused. You wondered if he realized how cute he looked when his brows pinched together like that; made him look about ten years younger and wiped the evidence of the war clean off his face.  

You smiled at him. “It holds the pages down for you. Look.”

Gently pulling the book from his lip, you opened to the first page and set the clip at the bottom of the binding. When you released it, the pages stayed open, giving him free range of motion to turn the page without losing his place.  

He blinked a few times as he stared down at the book. It was clear he’d never considered a tool like this and you wondered how many times he had sat down with the intention of reading only to find he couldn’t even turn past the first page. He might have been able to figure out the skill in it if he’d had the patience, but you imagined his own frustration got in the way of that. He seemed to have little patience for himself, as soldiers returning home often did. 

There was a brief moment when the tips of his fingers brushed over yours as you pulled away. His hands were warm, almost feverish in comparison to the chill in your own. A blush warmed his cheeks and his eyes quickly darted down to the pages. Your stomach was in pleasant knots.  

“Thanks,” he replied quietly, a soft semblance of a smile rising sweetly at the edges of his lips.  

You nodded, settling in on the couch beside him and pulling your own book up into your lap. You listened to the gentle strokes of the piano carrying softly through the room until a page turned on your left and then, you let yourself sink into the bindings of the book perched upon your lap.  

***

“So! What did you think?!”

It was the first thing you said as the final group member exited the room. Barely even a footstep out the door and you were already anxiously awaiting his reaction. Bucky was busy pushing the couch back into its original position and he glanced back at you to see you biting nervously on your lip, hands wringing out in front of you. You were swaying onto your tip toes like a kid hyped up on sugar. It was the cutest damn thing he’d ever seen.  

“It was... a little creepy at the end?” Bucky chuckled, glancing down at The Yellow Wallpaper as it sat on the coffee table. “The woman went completely mad.”

You nodded vigorously, the smile on your face beaming and he had to watch himself to keep from mirroring your excitement.  

"It’s a critique on how women’s mental health was perceived in the nineteenth century!” you explained with that giddy look on your face, reaching down for the book and flipping the pages through your fingers, the soft brush of wrinkled paper touching over each thumbprint. “Women were believed to be weak minded and frail, unable to handle more than two hours of mental stimulation. The woman in the story was prescribed ‘rest’ by her physician to treat her depression, essentially restricting her to little more than staring at the walls.”  

You rolled your eyes, groaning dramatically, and drawing a smile to Bucky’s face that ached into his cheeks. “Slowly, it drove her to seek stimulation in impossible places, like the image of a woman she saw in the wallpaper! By the end of the story, that’s who she became. Wild, right?”

You shook your head, seemingly lost in astonishment. There was a slight crinkle in your nose when you smiled that wide, Bucky realized, like even the features on your face couldn’t hope to contain the joy bursting from your smile. Radiated like the fucking sun. Bucky was helpless in his stance, frozen, as he listened to you.  

“You know the author once said, ‘it’s not intended to drive people crazy, but to save people from being driven crazy,’” you continued, setting the book down with such a gentle touch, almost as if it were a living, breathing thing. You handled it with such care and Bucky began to wonder if you’d ever touch him like that – if he was worth such tenderness.  

The thought startled him and he quickly swallowed it back. Jaw clenched, right hand pressed to a fist in the pocket of his jacket. Stone cold expression. And yet – you were still talking about that book, all starry eyed and adorable, and a smile managed to crack through his lips. It was his new favorite book, he decided. Whatever could make you smile like that was his favorite. He’d sit there and read the fucking phone book if you asked him to.  

“She wrote it in retaliation of her own experience of a physician disregarding her depression. It's actually quite remarkable when you think about it. It's one of the earliest American Feminist works of it’s– ” You froze suddenly, hand clamping over your mouth. You winced at him, slowly pealing your palm away. “Oh God, I’m rambling. I tend to get a little excited about these things... You must be so bored right now.”

Bucky couldn’t help the smile as it rose in his cheeks. He liked seeing you so flustered, caught up in a passion he so rarely saw these days. He didn’t know the last time he cared about anything as much as you cared for books. He could have easily listened to you talk like that for hours without interruption.  

“No, no, not bored at all,” he reassured you and you visibly relaxed, relief sweeping through your shoulders. You started to fold up the chairs when Bucky cleared his throat, drawing your attention back. “I, uh, I did like the story, though. Has a lot of relevance today. I see why you like it.”

If he thought you were going to burst before, he should have waited to see how you were looking at him now. Chewing on the inside of your cheek in hopes of suppressing it, though it clearly did little use.  You planted your hands on your hips.  

“Watch what you say, Barnes. I’ll talk your ear off.”

Bucky shrugged. “I’m already down an arm, what’s an ear, too?”

The second the words left his lips, it felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head; drenching his clothes, goosebumps on his ice, sinking into his veins and freezing him to stone. He woken up from a pleasant dream by the harsh ringing of an alarm. He'd been pushed off a cliff, stomach churning in the freefall.  

You knew. Obviously, you knew.  

You weren’t blind and he was certain you could tell there was a startling absence where his left arm should be, even with the poorly camouflaged sleeve hanging off his side. It wasn’t fooling strangers on the street and it certainly didn’t fool you either, even if it gave him an ounce of peace, like maybe he could pretend he was whole again.

But you’d brought him that book clip for a reason.  

You knew.  

At yet, this was the first time he mentioned it aloud. Actually said the words. Drew attention to the fact that he was a broken mess of who he used to be and now he was waiting for you to flinch, for the familiar shades of pity and embarrassment to cloud over your starry eyes, but he waited and waited and – it never came.  

Instead, you started to laugh.  

It filled the room and washed away whatever panic was surging inside of him within a matter of seconds. The most beautiful sound he’d ever heard and he wished you didn’t shield your hand over your lips in an effort to contain it because – God – he could have spent his whole life sitting in that moment. Tears in your eyes, a smile on your face, looking at him like he was the man he was before the war, like he was something worth looking at.  

“You’re funny, James Barnes,” you said after you caught your breath again, a whisper of a laugh still lingering in your voice. You brushed the tears from your eyes.  

Bucky’s chest felt instantly lighter. His right hand was swinging down at his side and he brought it up to his hair to brush it from his face.  

“I could use a new book for next week,” he started, a little surprised at himself, and judging by the look in your eyes, it surprised you too. But you were smiling at him and it gave him the courage to continue. “Thought maybe you could help me find something?”

“Really?” you asked, practically glowing. “You’ll come back next week?”

He’d do anything if you kept looking at him like that.  

“Yeah,” was all he said, but you looked as though he told you he’d just told you he won the lottery. Maybe he had.  

“Well then, I’d be happy to! Just, um, hold on a second,” you scrambled around the room, looking for a pen and paper. You clicked a pen a few times before doodling in the corner to get the ink moving. When you were finished, you handed it to him. “These are my hours at the library. Come by anytime, okay? If I’m not up front, ask Mrs. Jefferson to page me. She’ll know who you are.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, staring down at the scribbled numbers. Did you talk about him at work? Butterflies swarmed in his stomach at the thought. He wondered what kinds of things you would say about him.  

“Walk me out?” you asked, grabbing your coat from the rack and gesturing to the door. Bucky looked up, not even realizing the room was already set back in its original formation, the empty box of donuts discarded.  

He nodded, following you to the door.  

“You know, I’m really happy you decided to come today,” you said as you passed into the hallway. Bucky kept an even pace at your side and tried not to let the butterflies in his stomach escape to where you could see.  

“Almost didn’t,” he admitted with a tired chuckle.  

“Figured by the staring contest you were having with the building before the coffee incident.”

Bucky winced, but you were smiling as he looked over at you and he felt the tension slip from his muscles instantly. “I am sorry about that...”

“Maybe you can just owe me a coffee,” you suggested casually, as if the prospect of spending time together, just the two of you didn’t make the butterflies crawl a little further up into his chest. “A real one. Not the shitty stuff we serve at the VA.”

Bucky swallowed, pushing the creatures back into his stomach. His throat was dry. “I can do that.”  

He pictured sitting across from you at a café, watching your hands curl around the outside of a mug, the steam of it brushing on your nose. Glistening in the reflection of the sunlight peaking through the windows, draped in the glow of the sunset. He’d buy you a thousand coffees.  

“Okay, well, I’ll see you soon then?”

Bucky looked around and realized suddenly that he was standing outside. The cold breeze had turned into a frigid autumn chill with the sun nearly set behind the skyline. Peaks of orange remained at the horizon, mimicking the colors in your sweater. When he looked down, he could still see the stain of coffee on the sidewalk.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, determined to push past whatever doubt etched into his way. It faded in an instant as he saw your lips curve up high into your cheeks. “I’ll see you soon.”

[kyberphilosopher]

Cerise

Those are people who died, died Those are people who died, died They were all my friends and just died.

Word Count: 5736 Warnings: Crime, Weapons, Mentioned Murder of a R/pist, Crude humor.

Jason’s friend and roommate, another Gotham villain, is ordered to return to Task Force X.

ce·rise/səˈrēs,səˈrēz/ [noun] a bright or deep red color.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Let’s open up our story on a colorful note: Fuck Amanda Waller. 

Nobody likes her. You don’t like her. Jason doesn’t like her. None of the characters in this story like her. Arguably, none of the characters in your present universe like her, either. There’s a reason why people call her “The Wall”. It’s because that’s what it’s like talking to her. And that’s what it would be like trying to deny the request she’d passed on to you in her letter. 

It weighed on your mind briefly as you walk up the stairs of your apartment building. By the third flight, the weight’s pretty much disappeared. Sure, there’s anger at Waller for violating your agreement, but it’s so useless being annoyed with her that it washes away fast. So by the fourth flight, the whole thing is settled in your head to completion. You’ll go back to your Suicide Squad- or a Suicide Squad, considering most people Waller selects are idiots. Then you’ll do the job, and walk away bing, bang, boom. 

You tip your head politely as if in salute to the older woman, Mallorca, who occupies the apartment across from you. She returns a warm smile that raises her prominent and wrinkled jowls, igniting the fire in her warm brown eyes. “You need me to do your laundry again?” 

Of course an angel such as Mallorca would make such an offer. It’s not a bad offer, either. Your dark, silver lined chest plate is splattered with blood all over the front. It’s nobodies blood that doesn’t deserve it, as per your agreement with Waller. Just some perverted little prick who thought with his dick instead of his brain with the wrong girl. She looked frightened, and you saved her, and since the prick had just hit 18 (a fact you learned after rummaging around his wallet after), you had permission to bash his brain in. Hence the blood splattered vigilante armor. 

The first time Mallorca had seen such a sight, she had no reaction whatsoever. You weren’t sure what else you were expecting from an old woman living in a back alley apartment building, but it certainly wasn’t that. She offered no shock to your red masked, blood stained roommate either. Mallorca is simply an otherworldly being. And is that cocaine you see on the collar of her shirt?

“I got it,” you throw in return, rounding the corner so she’s at your back, and nearing the climb up the next and last flight of stairs. “Hey, is Jason home?” But when you turn around fully, Mallorca shows no intention of responding and has disappeared down your previous staircase. You clasp your hands against the sides of your thighs, “Oh, okay.”

You make your way up the final steps and stick a hand in a secret back pocket to fish around for your keys. You wince when you begin the rigorous task of tugging the lanyard free from the depths, which unfortunately fell near to your back hole. Then you slip the key into the lock and twist. 

Inside your apartment is near emptiness. There’s a couch, a rug, some windows, a TV, and to your immediate right is a small kitchen beside a hallway that leads to a bathroom and two bedrooms. You see the large plant you’d stuck in the corner is wilted and tinged brown, and the TV is playing some movie with the sound muted. No sign of your roommate, however. 

You toss your helmet and keys onto the couch. Then you make your way to the kitchen to search the fridge for a snack (that you know is not there) or perhaps some water. You bend down to peek an eye in, only to stand back up and close the thing. Then you pass over to the counter, and reach up to now peek an eye in the overhead cabinet. 

“You’re home early.”

You let out a short-but cathartic- scream, jumping as you turn around. You relax quickly. It’s only Jason, and your face changes from shocked and panicked to simply annoyed. 

The man at the other side of the room pulls his infamous red helmet from atop his face. Underneath is a classically masculine, handsome face with eyes that blend between green and blue. Black hair falls free in messy strands, accented by the one white tuft that you’ve claimed reminds you of a skunk. You tilt your head lazily in defeat. “How many times have I told you not to do that?”

Jason shrugs in his red hoodie and jeans, walking across the room to set the helmet on the coffee table. “Four. Any particular reason you’re home so early?” he flops himself onto the couch and kicks his feet up, crossing them tastefully next to the Red Hood helmet. 

You turn back around to continue the task of grabbing a cup from the top cabinet. “It’s been five, and I apologize for assuming I could do what I wanted in my own home.”

“If you have to ask me to stop sneaking up on you five times, you’re probably a really bad vigilante.”

“Fuck,” you mutter as you fill the cup with tap water. “That’s true.”

You turn around to face Jason. His eyes are already on you, illuminated by the blue glow from the television. They linger purely on your form for a moment, then they dip down to narrow at your armor. “Were you the one who killed that guy on the back of main?”

You furrow your brows and look up with pursed lips in thought. “Are you talking about the main diner or the main records shop?”

“Main diner on main street.”

“No, that was Azrael. This was by the records shop.” You raise the glass to your lips.

Jason snaps his fingers. “Oh, that guy. The kid?”

You nod and take another sip of the water. “He just turned eighteen, so you know. Free game. So, what do you want for dinner? Pick something good. I’m going back to the squad so I won’t be here for a few weeks.”

Jason’s brows furrow for a split second, then he perks up attentively. “You’re going back to the task force?” he repeats, though it sounds defeated and disbelieving. Distraught- is that the word you’re looking for?

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I got the letter-” you set the cup of water down and reach a hand into your pocket. Then you pull the crumpled envelope free of its confines and toss it onto the counter, “-today.”

Jason’s eyebrows furrow again. This time the movement is quick and curved and almost offended. “So, that’s it then?”

“What’s wrong, Jason?” you smirk. “Did you finally fall in love with your roommate turned friend? I always knew this day would come.”

“Uh, no?”

“Suit yourself.”

You turn back around and begin rinsing the cup out. Jason watches your back, something in his chest sinking. You weren’t his best friend. Besides living together, you weren’t really all that close. You were living a life a lot like his, running around at night as some antihero vigilante. The only difference was that you’d crossed paths with Waller and had managed to make it out of her system alive. Most antihero vigilante’s weren’t so lucky. Most of them died. But now you’re telling Jason right to his face that you’re going back. That you think you’ll only be gone a few weeks when it could just be forever. Sprayed with dark blood all over... what if it was yours?

“Actually,” Jason leans forward. His legs drop from the table and spread open, elbows resting against his knees with a hunched back. “Why don’t you pick dinner tonight?”

The glass clinks against the metal of the sink as you set it inside. Jason almost always picks dinner. Most of the time he chooses burgers or Chinese. Your apartments stove isn’t working, so eating from home really just means a BLT sandwich for the both of you. 

“Are you offering because you’re hoping I’ll choose that new steakhouse?” you smile.

“I’ll get you anything you want,” the man replies. “It’s on me.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Jason meets you on the roof of the building about an hour and a half later. You wanted to go with him, since you’d say his behavior is different from usual, but he was very adamant about you staying in. Jason even encouraged you to go ahead and pick your favorite movie to watch while he’s gone. 

When you told him you’d decided on the steakhouse option, you meant it ironically. Between the two of you, money could be described as ‘tight’. Going to a new place like that would mean saving for a while. Furthermore, you hadn’t even given him your order before Red Hood was gone. 

To his credit, looking at him now, you wouldn’t change a thing. The first bite of the food is phenomenal. The second bite is just perfect. Jason must have mind reading powers to be so aware of your taste in food- you’d thought he never noticed. 

He gets a steak, as predicted. Jason loves steak. 

Gotham looks most like itself at night, a view shared between the two of you. Two sets of legs dangle over the side of your building, both of which are clad in heavy boots and armored knees. Jason had decided to go out as his alter ego- a fact he thought he could keep from you by putting his hoodie under his leather jacket. 

“I saw you put your helmet by the door,” you tell him. “I know what’s under that sweatshirt.”

“No you didn’t,” is all he says back. 

The wind tickles the back of your neck. It ripples through the air in lazy waves, making Jason’s hair ruffle. The white skunk streak disappears and reappears between the darker-than-midnight-sky strands. Behind Jason, the moon is full and lonely. Its only company is the two of you. 

“Oh my god,” you stuff your mouth. “This is so good.”

“Hm,” Jason hums in agreement, stabbing his steak once again with a fork in his black to-go box. It’s the next movement of his shoulder that catches your eye. 

“Jason, is that cocaine, or powder donut dust?” 

Jason glances over at you. 

Your eyes linger on the white splotch of something in the wrinkles of red fabric. “Because I asked you not to eat them since there’s only two left.”

Your face slowly falls to one of horror as Jason stays still. With a face of steel, he finally says, “It’s cocaine then.”

“Then?”

“Look what I got you.”

Jason sets his box to the ledge beside him and leans down. 

“Worst subject change ever.” You take an angry bite of your meal in an attempt to both silence yourself and to make you feel better. Unfortunately as you pull away from the bite, crumbs attach themselves to your chest plate and stick to your fingers. “Crap. Jason, your dumb food is getting shit all over my stuff!”

When you look over, Jason’s orbs are already on you. His eyes pierce yours, almost unintentionally daring them to look away. The skunk strands glow this close. He holds two things in his hands. The first is a small, brown pot you could balance in the palm of your hand, filled with miniature yellow and red flowers. Scarlet tulips, golden sunflowers, and blonde alstroemerias. In the other hand is a Blu-ray copy of your favorite film. 

“Oh,” is all you can muster out. 

When was the last time the two of you had actually exchanged gifts? You weren’t lovers, or best friends. You were just friends. It had to have been last Christmas, when you had gotten him a TV subscription for South Park and a pair of socks. Jason had gifted you a new bedframe that he later helped you put together. 

A big smile reaches your eyes and makes your cheeks sore. “I haven’t been able to find this anywhere,” you say, taking the movie from his fingers. Your voice comes out pure and genuine. “Thank you.” Your smile grows even larger when you cup the pot of flowers with both hands. 

“All of the flower shops were closed,” Jason explains. “Those are plastic. They won’t die anytime soon.”

At that moment, you swear you could’ve kissed him. He’s looking at you like this is all nothing, like he didn’t just drop big money on dinner and flowers for you. Jason knew what food you wanted before you did. He knew your favorite movie when you can’t even remember saying a thing about it. When had any other man or woman been so thoughtful? So romantic? So caring?

You glance down to the film in your lap. “I didn’t think you payed attention this well.”

Jason’s brow quirks upwards. Something flashes in his eyes as he adjusts his position, seven stories up from the ground. “What kind of roomie would I be if I didn’t?” he asks. Something tells you there’s a shyness blooming in that broad chest of his. Jason’s eyes flit downward to the blood on you, before his head dips back upwards to lock a stare with you once more. “You smell nice,” he states.

You look up at him simply. You know your eyes are filled with pure adoration, and that it’s showing all over your face, but you don’t care. Your red hooded, drug pedaling, bat wrangling, gun toting equal roommate is your favorite person in all of Gotham at this exact moment. 

Behind Jason, a small bird flits overhead with a flash of crimson. “Hey, look,” you pat Jason’s shoulder. His eyes follow yours until they land on the floor of the roof behind you. “I think it’s a robin.”

“I know that bird,” Jason scowls. “That’s the son of the bitch that keeps waking me up in the morning.”

“Hm?”

You watch as Jason swings his legs over the side and pushes himself from the ledge. One hand reaches into the back of his pants while the other searches his leather jacket pocket for something. After a few seconds, he produces both a clip of ammo and a gun, which connect with a click. 

“Ah!” you yelp, placing both the flowers and movie on the brick before copying your friends actions and standing on the roof. Jason hasn’t shot yet, but the gun in his hand is aimed right at the little birdie. He’s got a clean shot. His face remains neutral and unmoving as you take your place beside him. 

It’s a full minute, and the robin is still alive and intact. He nibbles on a little crumb of bread. “He looks happy,” you think out loud. The air of Gotham goes quiet up on that roof, despite the distant sirens, music, and people throughout the city. “Are you gonna shoot?”

Jason’s finger lingers over the trigger. Even the slightest of a squeeze would set the weapon off at this point. The balls of your feet move to and froe, anticipating the bang you’re so familiar with. But then Jason lowers the gun completely, and the robin flies away at the movement. “Nah. He’ll feel the pain I dish out in the morning.”

“Don’t be sad,” you nudge Jason. “He’ll be back at six AM tomorrow to wake you up.” You turn to return to your beckoning food on the ledge. “Thanks for all this, anyway.”

“You’re welcome,” you hear Jason respond. “Hey Y/N?”

Jason watches you spin until you’re completely facing him. He can see the blood again. How it’s completely standing out against the darkness of your outfit. You look powerful, yeah. And you look like the antihero you’re labeled as. But all Jason sees is a corpse of a... of a friend. “Yeah?”

“You’re sure about this Waller thing?”

“Yeah?” you reply, as if it were obvious. The stain on you is so haunting it’s easy to think otherwise. “It’s not like I have much of a choice. It’ll only be a few weeks. I’ll be back before you know it. Then I can show you this sick ass movie.”

Then you go back to walking towards the ledge to retake your seat. But Jason remains standing. He watches as you, the person he thinks of naked so often, get comfortable, your back facing him. And, despite your word, Jason has the sinking feeling that some Suicide Squad mission isn’t the only place Amanda Waller will send you to. 

This time, Amanda Waller will send you to your grave.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

This was supposed to be out on August 16th, for Jason’s birthday. But the concept came to me too late and I spent too long on it. Anyway, here’s some symbolism for ya.

Tulips symbolize unconditional love. Sunflowers symbolize adoration. Alstroemeria’s symbolize devotion. The reader describes the plant in their apartment as turning brown, suggesting it may share a similar fate as the reader as plants go brown when about to die. Robin’s symbolize optimism, a trait the reader displays towards the idea of returning to the Suicide Squad. Robin was also a former identity of Red Hood. Both of which could be why Jason decides to spare the bird. 

I’ll go back and proof read this in the morning.

[constancelaufeydottir]

𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝

Pairing: Neighbour!Bucky x reader

Warnings: Mentions of knife, blood, cursing, murder, mention of cannibalism, dark!Bucky(?), major character death, slight smut, fluff.

Summary: Bucky set his eyes on his sweet and cute neighbour who had suffered from a loss recently, determined to make her his.

Word count: 4.3k

a/n: This is my entry for @ambrosiase hotel indigo writing challenge. It’s my first ever writing challenge, and I had a lot of fun writing this! Honestly, I'm really grateful for this challenge because it motivates me to finish this wip that has been sitting in the draft for too long. Thank you for this lovely challenge mae ♡♡

Not beta’d, all mistakes are my own. If you see any mistakes, do let me know!

Room ⥤ Modern muse

Room service ⥤ neighbour + criminal

“Oh that poor thing.”

Bucky whipped his head in the direction of the voice. It was Mrs. Lockwood, his neighbour on the right.

“Huh?” He didn’t mean to voice out his confusion, but his brain was somewhat short-circuited, barely able to function when his sight was filled with you, and you only.

“That sweet girl over there,” Mrs. Lockwood was referring to you, his sweet neighbour to the left he was staring at, before the old lady came interrupting.

He had been staring for 5, 10 minutes maybe? He swore he wasn’t a pervert, you were just a sight for sore eyes, the healer of the wounds in his soul.

“What about y/n?” He asked, curious to listen to what his neighbour would say about the other neighbour. Also, he was fairly new to the neighbourhood, having just moved in last month, he ought to catch up with the gossip.

“Her boyfriend went missing a few months back, poor girl was devastated. Police suspected it was murder, even suspected y/n!” The old lady shook her head, casting pitying glances at the oblivious girl in the sundress, bathing under the sun with a book in her hand. “She’s such a sweet girl, how could they have suspected her?”

Bucky glanced at you, heart racing when you caught him looking. You shyly waved at him, a small smile plastered on your face hiding the underlying sadness of the loss of your loved one. His hand felt clammy when he raised one of them to wave back, his usual flirty self vanished whenever you were involved in the equation.

“Boy, you are in love aren’t ya,” Mrs. Lockwood teased, “I say go for it. Our lovely y/n definitely needs some lovin’ after what she’d been through and young man, I think you are the right person.” Her eyes crinkled as she patted Bucky encouragingly on the shoulder, like a loving mother cheering up her son.

Bucky, who was usually composed, blushed furiously. That big brain of his still hadn’t regained its functions thus he found himself unable to stop Mrs. Lockwood when she hollered at you.

Clearly immersed in your book, you jumped a little when you heard your name being called.

“Y/n, this young man would love to take you out on a date, what d’ya say?” His eyes widened at the accusation, though it was true that he wanted to date you, he just needed time to gather the guts to ask you out.

He saw you put down your book, walking towards him and Mrs. Lockwood. You were a front yard away from him, shielding the harsh sunlight from your eyes with your hands while leaning onto the fence.

“I’d love to,” you had to speak louder, and Bucky loved your voice as he only heard it only a handful of times now, often you were shy and quiet when you saw him.

“U-uhm, how about Saturday then,” He stuttered like a teenage boy who first received a love letter, suddenly forgetting how to speak, speech lost in the sea of disbelief and excitement, and affection.

You said nothing, only nodding and smiling at him, flashing those pearly whites.

“Great. 6pm. I’ll pick you up,”

“See you soon, James.” He watched as you walked away, a teasing smile on your face before you disappeared into the door. Gosh how he loved the way his name sounded on your lips, and he’d give anything to hear it again, and again.

Saturday came too soon, Bucky was not prepared at all. Well, he had done the reservations for the restaurant he’d planned to bring you to tonight, ironed out the creases and wiped off the non-existent dust on the dress shirt he would be wearing, so why was he nervous?

5:50 pm.

Call him old-fashioned or whatever, he’d prefer early to late and would love to escort you to his car. He stood in front of your porch, palm sweating and if his metal arm could secrete sweats, he was pretty sure it would end up like its counterpart.

You opened the door as soon as he rapped his knuckles on the wooden door, seeming eagerly waiting for him as he was for you.

He took in your outfit, the moderately revealing dress he liked, the one he saw you undress from, through his window countless times.

If it was possible to fall into a deeper love, he would.

The date couldn’t possibly be better than he imagined, it was perfect. Everything was great; the atmosphere of the restaurant, the quality of the food, and most importantly, you.

You were shy at first but opened up fairly quickly, telling him stories about you, and vice versa. You sympathized with him when he told you how he got the metal arm, your fingers grazing the delicate and intricate loops and lines on the metal surface.

His fingers were woven into yours halfway into the dinner, the cool metal fingers of his absently caressing your knuckles as you shared the story about your family, who disappeared mysteriously, then your ex-boyfriend, who went missing 5 months ago, like your family.

It was hard, talking about missing loved ones. Bucky could tell, by the way your hand unconsciously tightened, the lingering sadness in your eyes as you mentioned how happy you were before him. The way your tears were brimming in your eyes, threatening to glide down your face, it wrenched his heart, seeing how broken you were. He would try to pick up every broken piece of you in a heartbeat, mending them back together, fixing you until you were happy again if you would let him in.

He was kind of glad your ex-boyfriend was out of the picture, though it was a selfish thing to say. He desperately wanted to claim you, wanted to be your last and only boyfriend.

He’d been going on dates with you for a few months now. You were perfect, almost too perfect if he would say. You were practically his dream girl, so kind and generous. So sweet and loving. Pretty much everybody in this neighbourhood would agree with him and he sometimes wondered if he really deserved you. A beauty mingling with a beast. No one would ever want to see that, after all, even the beast turned into a handsome prince at the end of the fairytale.

Bucky wondered, if you found out what he did every night after you were asleep or what he took from your closet when you were away, would you still want him? If you found out the beast within him, would you still love him the same?

His thoughts were occupied and it wasn’t until the sharp pain in his fingers that he snapped out of his trance.

“Fuck!” You heard him cursing and went to him, gasping when you saw the streams of blood flowing from the deep cut from two of his fingers.

Hastily reaching out for the clean cloth from one of the drawers, you placed it over the wound, applying pressure on them.

The red quickly seeped through the pristine white cloth, two colours clashing as the red engulfed the white.

Bucky noticed you wincing at the red, gulping at the sight, head slightly turned away. It was obvious you were uncomfortable at the sight of blood, so he took the cloth himself and nudged you to wash the faint hint of blood on your palms.

“Sorry, now you might have to do this alone,” Bucky gestured at the ingredients on the counter, “and sorry for the cloth, blood stains are quite hard to get rid off.”

“Don’t you worry, a little hydrogen peroxide and the cloth will be as good as new,” Bucky let you tend to his wounds and pushed him towards the living room where he would sit at the couch for the next hour while you were busy at the kitchen preparing dinner.

While he was in the living room, he took in the interior of your house. He never got to take a close look, as he always had to sneak in when it was dark. The beige colour walls, cream coloured furnitures, books arranged perfectly on the floating shelves. The pictures and art hung on the clean walls, not one of them is crooked. The square coffee table with only the remote and a display plant on it, and when he shifted himself to sit at the center of the couch, did he realize the coffee table was lined up perfectly in the middle of the TV and the couch.

Bucky’s eyebrows raised, he didn’t depict you as a meticulous person. No wait, whenever he went out with you, you’d arrange the plates to sit between the utensils perfectly. When you get boba, the straws must precisely be in the center of the cup, and if you missed it, your eyebrows would furrow in annoyance subconsciously.

His eyes wandered over to your figure in the kitchen and was not surprised to find you wiping and hanging the cutting board on the ceramic wall, adjusting it with your fingers so it wouldn’t be crooked while waiting for the stew to simmer.

You caught him looking at you and threw a smile at him in which he reciprocated, then continued to let his eyes wander through your living room. This could easily be an IKEA showroom, he thought.

Another week went by, Bucky found himself more and more in love with you, if that was possible in the first place as if he didn’t already dedicate all the space in his heart for you.

You were both in the kitchen again. This time however, he was busy mixing the sugar, flour, and cocoa powder mixture, with you snuggling behind him, arms circling his waist as you watched him do the magic.

He felt sorry for not helping last time so he was making up to you by baking some brownies.

As you both were cleaning up, brownies baking in the oven, Bucky turned to you.

“Hey, I never asked, but what do you do for a living?” He questioned nonchalantly while wiping the huge plastic bowl.

The wet spatula fell from your grip, dropping into the sink of water, droplets of soapy liquid flecked on your shirt.

“O-oh, i’m an artist!” You let out a laugh to conceal your flustered state, “Aspiring artist to be exact.”

“An artist,” he hummed, as if chewing onto the meaning of the word, “could you show me your works?”

Your head whipped towards his direction, mouth parted in surprise. Nobody has ever appreciated your dream. Your family, your friends, your ex-boyfriends, all of them claimed that being an artist would lead you to being unsuccessful, and you deemed to prove them wrong.

“Yes, yes, of course,” you were overjoyed. Abandoning the half-washed utensils, you clasped your hand around his wrist and dragged him to follow you towards the second floor, into a room hidden behind another beige coloured door, where you kept all your works.

Rows of headless mannequins clothed in white dresses painted with red blossoms appeared before him as you pushed open the door.

He was utterly mesmerized. He trailed his gaze across the display, a smile painted his lips as he deduced that every piece of them was unique. No two dresses had the same pattern.

Some had plain red blossoms splattered on it, some had dark red waves littering on the bottom hem; some with brush strokes of red. There was also a different tone of red, bright and dark or somewhat in between.

“Wow, this is just … amazing!” He found himself at a loss for words, “are those blood?”

“Yes, they are.”

“I thought you don’t like blood?” Bucky teased.

“These are animal blood. I’m fine with it as long as it’s not coming out from a human,” you retorted.

He chuckled. Once again admiring the intricate patterns of your works, marvelling at how talented and perfect you were. His heart sank at the thought of the question he frequently found himself asking, how can someone so perfect like you end up with someone less than perfect like him.

You apparently noticed his changed demeanor as you inched yourself closer to pull him into an embrace, placing your chin on his chest, eyes searching for his sad blue ones.

“Are you okay?” He hugged you tighter, sighing.

“I’m fine. I just … I think you’re perfect and you’re everything I've ever wanted. But I'm not sure if I'm perfect enough for you.”

“Oh James, you’re more than enough. I assure you, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted too.”

Bucky felt like his heart was filled to the brim with adoration, butterflies erupted from his stomach. Your assurance was everything to him, keeping his wandering soul anchored and he was grateful for it, grateful for your existence. The more the reason to cage you by his side so you couldn’t ever leave him.

His lips were on yours the next second, his grip on your waist tightened as you deepened the kiss, tongue finding his; busy hands sliding from his stomach to his shoulder.

Both of you were drowning in this ecstasy, unwilling to part away from each other’s touch.

The loud ding of the oven startled the both of you. Momentarily parting from each other, you stared at him with a heated glance. His eyes were hooded, filled with lust, desire.

“Fuck the brownies,” you whispered, molding your soft lips on him once again, the hunger for each other far greater than the stupid brownies, “need you now.”

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice, large hands cupping your bottom as you hopped and hooked your legs behind him, arms instinctively went to his shoulders for support.

He brought the both of you to your room, the one he was all too familiar with, the one with the same cream coloured theme which could definitely pass as another IKEA showroom judging by how perfect the layout was.

The only odd thing that stood out in this far too perfect room was the trail of scratch marks extending from the door frame to the wall outside of the room.

The deep scratch marks were somehow etched deep in his brain, he couldn’t let it go. It felt as if there was a dot of blank ink on a piece of white paper, and even though there was more white than black, you’d only be fixated on the dot of black.

He would ask you about the haunting marks on the wall and your fingers that were tracing patterns on his skin would falter, you’d give him the warm smile he loved while brushing it off saying it was the huge Dobermann your aunt owned which did that.

Even when he was balls deep in you, the vivid image of the scratch marks were there in his head, though you were quick to draw back his attention with a grind on his hips, both of your bodies covered with sheen of perspiration. Strands of your hair sticking to your body, but you pay no care to them as you rocked your hips, chanting his name over and over again like a mantra, like a prayer.

His eyes were on your fucked out state, his grip on you like steel. The cool surface of his metal arm contrasted with your hot flushed body as you chase your high like a traveller chasing the oasis in a desert, desperate for a quench of thirst.

Even when he was chasing the same high, vision blinding with bliss, the marks were still there and this time they were accompanied by the white dresses painted with red, and red only.

Bucky was always a doubtful person. Doubting every single decision he’d ever made. Doubting himself, doubting others. But there was one thing he was certain of, there was something less than innocent lurking underneath your skin. Of course, he was still head over heels for you but he was pretty adamant to find out the sinister in you, hoping it would answer his questions, mainly the recurring image of a certain mark.

Bucky was a lot of things, dumbass , dork, clumsy(per sam), but he was not stupid. Hell, he was far from stupid. Those scratch marks, definitely not the Dobermann.

You were a perfectionist, you couldn’t possibly leave the mark there and acted like nothing happened in the first place. He’d imagine if it was the dog, you’d probably have someone fix the dent the same day, unwilling to allow even a speck of blemish in your flawless house.

Bucky was a lot of things, and being a dumbass was definitely one of them as he was showing up on your porch in the evening unannounced.

He’d considered sneaking in like he used to do but he knew, he saw that you were still in the house. He couldn’t and wouldn’t jeopardize your relationship with him knowing he’d get caught.

He knocked on your door, hearing footsteps paddling, rushing to him.

As you opened the door, your eyes widened at the sight of an awkward Bucky. Although you were quick to throw him an unalarming smile, he still caught the nervousness in you.

There was something off with you. The disheveled hair, thin layer of sweat adorning the crown of your head, unknown wet liquid staining your shirt.

He caught a whiff of the strong smell of chemicals wafting through the door, it smelled a lot like bleach.

“I’m sorry,” he scratched at the back of his neck, “is this not a good time?”

“It’s fine, come on in.”

The smell of bleach invaded his nose the moment he stepped into your house, flooding and overwhelming his senses causing him to wince.

“Were you deep cleaning?”

“Yeah, I accidentally spilled some of the animal blood this morning. Had to use hell lots of hydrogen peroxide to get rid of them. Sorry for the smell.”

“No no, it’s okay. Let me just open the windows and door, okay?” He was getting a little light-headed now, desperately needing some fresh air. “Doll, you need to ventilate every time you use bleach, it’s harmful for your health to inhale all these fumes.”

You blushed at the term of endearment, yet wanting to blame him for not calling you that earlier.

He went over to open the windows, sighing contentedly at the waves of fresh air hitting his face as the wind blew in.

He felt your arms snaking around him, head leaning against his broad back.

“I love you, James. Wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

“I love you too.” He turned around and hugged you, his chin propped on your head, not knowing you had a solemn expression on your face.

He’d spent the evening with you, watching TV on the couch with you in his lap. It was so mundane yet he’d never got bored of this, wanting to do this with you for the rest of his life.

Outside the window, the orange and yellow sky faded into darkness.

“Let’s order take out, how about Thai food?”

“I’ll cook,” you kissed him on the lips and got up from his lap before he could reply anything.

“Ok, you need help?” He heard a faint ‘no, it’s fine’ coming out of the kitchen followed by the clanking of pots and utensils.

His neck stretched to peek at your figure in the kitchen, too busy chopping up ingredients to notice he was no longer at the living room.

He made his way down the basement, where the pungent smell of the bleach was still lingering.

The wood creaked as he stepped on the stairs, announcing his arrival to the darkness surrounding the basement. The soft glow of light illuminated the large space, a wall of tins stacking on each other revealed to him. A few easels of different sizes were propped on the wall with several grey aprons hanging beside them.

He walked closer to examine the insane amount of tins. A small label that said Pig blood was stickered on the body of the white tin.

His eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. Do people really sell animal blood in metal tins, wouldn’t they go bad?

There were loads of questions in Bucky’s head, questions with answers only you could provide.

He noticed a chest freezer sitting in the corner of the basement and his legs brought him to it before he came to realize. The whole basement was so quiet he could hear the soft ringing in his ears, the racing of his heartbeat amplified as his hand inched towards the lid.

There was nothing in the freezer, to his surprise.

The empty freezer stared back at him, as if mocking his fruitless attempt. He was relieved, or disappointed, he couldn’t tell the difference and there was no point in distinguishing them now since you had nothing to hide. He wasn’t even sure what he was expecting to find in the freezer.

“Babe?” You stood behind him with an apron on, a knife in your hand, a second after he closed the door to the basement.

He leaned against the door frame, hand went to his head, eyes squeezed shut as he pretended he was having a headache.

“Felt dizzy all of a sudden, I was just making my way to the bathroom.”

“Oh, okay. I was just about to tell you dinner's almost ready,” a tooth-rotting smile was plastered on your face.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he watched as you walked away, letting out the breath he’d been holding. His palm was clammy, heart beating rapidly.

“I love you,” You placed your hand on his arm, eyes meeting his.

“I know, doll. I love you too.”

This was seconds before dinner.

“James, I love you.” You whispered, watching him giving you a grin before he stuffed the meatball into his mouth.

“Wow, I'm so loved today. It’s the secon- no, third time you’ve said ‘I love you’ to me today.” He grinned, heart bursting with love. “You know I love you too.”

This was mid-dinner.

“I love you so much, James.”

Bucky was getting suspicious of you. Were you hiding something, perhaps cheating on him? For there were no reasons for you to keep telling him you loved him even though he knew how much you loved him and vice versa.

“I love you,” you kissed his knuckles, “this might be the last time I get to say I love you, James.”

His eyebrows furrowed at your statement, mouth parting to question what you meant. Before he could voice out something, the world faded into nothingness.

A thin film of blurriness clouded his eyes when he opened them, Bucky had this feeling like he was drowning in a swamp and his whole body was bound.

Blinking furiously, he regained his vision. You were sitting on a chair leaning forwards while looking at him endearingly, your elbows propped on your knees, palms supporting your chin.

“Hello, my love,” you were smiling oh so sweetly. The same smile that got him mesmerized and head over heels, except this time he didn’t feel the warm fuzzy feeling exploding in his chest, this time it was the goosebumps crawling on his arms and the chill creeping up his spine.

Now everything made sense, every single of his questions was answered.

You looked down at his body, the one that was once full of life, full of love. You watched as his glassy blue eyes etched with fear quickly reduced into this grey lifeless orbs, still pretty but lacking the element of a beautiful soul.

You weep for him, mourn for him. Mourning the short duration of love shared between the both of you. Mourning for yourself, for falling too hard. Mourning for him who kept you always in his heart.

To be honest, you were a little hesitant to end his life, he was better than the last one. He was perfect, warm, kind, loving, gentle, but not perfect enough. He simply did not reach your expectations, and you, could not bear imperfections, even the slightest. The answer to his downfall was pretty easy, he was too close to the ugly truth. And despite you knowing his love for you outweighs his doubt and fear in you, you simply couldn’t risk it.

Your love for perfection exceeds your love for him.

The melodious music of your ringtone echoed in the ample space of the basement, you brought up your phone to your ears as you answered the call.

“Mrs. Lockwood? Yes. Of course. I did. No no no, I’ll do it for you this time. He would definitely taste delicious I assure you.”

Time to get to work, you sighed as you stood there with a white dress splattered with blood. How artistic, you thought.

You always loved this part of the process, you’d wear the whitest piece of dress you own whenever you work with your projects.

You loved how the blood peppered your clothes, forming blossoms of dark red flowers on the fabric.

You kept every single piece of them, because no two are the same. Every one of them tells a story, of men and women who loved you and who you loved, of those who were once a body with a soul.

Wiping away the tears rolling down your cheeks, you gave Bucky one last loving look and the blade of your butcher knife came in contact with his once pink but now pale skin as you hummed, the sound bouncing off the walls of the basement, forming echoes.

A few blocks away, a baby cried, body covered in mucus. The tiny infant cried, each time louder than the previous, wailing his lungs out, as if mourning. For one soul born, another reaped.

[modern-vellichor]

Heyyy! I really like your writing!! Can i maybe suggest an idea? 👉🏻👈🏻

So it’s buckyxf!reader. She is an ex-avenger, and his closest friend left after Steve’s gone. She checks up on him every once in a while to make sure he’s fine. And he’s absolutely in love with her: no one knows him like she does, no one understands him like she does, no one makes him feel the way she does. But he thinks that she’s too good for him and she spends time with him just because she’s kind or she feels like she has to and the last thing he wants is to lose her as a friend. Anyway, eventually he accidentally says sth like how beautiful or amazing she is and he thinks he royally fucked up but she’s being super sweet about it and everything turns out really well

Bonus points if a reader is very confident badass type rather than classical ray-of-sunshine-type :))))

I love writing stuff like this

“Barnes!” 

You pounded on the door to Bucky’s apartment. Bucky shot up, suddenly awake. He rushed to the door, checking through the peephole before letting you in. You smirked at him, eyes raking up and down his figure unashamedly. 

“Woah, it’s my lucky day,” you pushed past Bucky into his apartment.

Bucky had been asleep of the floor. He rushed to throw a pair of sweatpants on, stumbling into his kitchen after you. You packed groceries into his fridge.

“You been eating?”

You always did this, asking constant questions during your visits. Checking up on him once a week. You were the only person Bucky ever called, other than his therapist. You were no longer an avenger. You had always been friendly and kind, and Bucky appreciated having civilian friends. You made him feel normal.

“Yeah.”

“And drinking enough water?” Bucky nodded, and you spotted the blankets on the floor next to the couch. “Nightmares?”

“Yeah.”

“That sucks. Anyway,” Bucky liked how you never dwelled on his issues. “Ever considered getting a harder mattress? Maybe you can find one of those prison beds, like the ones that are made of steel and hang from walls.”

Your soft laugh lifted all the weight from Bucky’s shoulders. You understood him. You knew that Bucky liked you because you were ‘regular’. He liked you because you acted normal around him. You never addressed the face that he was a serial murderer, or his past. You never asked about therapy, or if he was talking to Sam.

You waltzed into his apartment, made yourself at home and began to rant about Helen from HR, or Zack who sat across from you at work. The two of you went on walks, and for coffee dates. You made jokes and laughed, and made Bucky feel alright.

It was during one of your visits that you and Bucky spent the night in. Your jacket - an old leather jacket of Steve’s, one that you wore everywhere - was flung over the back of a chair. Bucky’s dog tags clinked around your neck as you danced around the kitchen. You and Bucky were cooking dinner, the both of you already a little wine drunk. You had swapped dog tags after the first glass, your own tags swinging from Bucky’s neck.

Dinner had been eaten already, the dishes washed, dried, and packed away. Old rock music played through the radio on the windowsill, and the two of you danced. 

Bucky stopped to watch you. God, he was smitten. You invaded his every sense, his every thought. He loved you, you were engraved in his bones. His heart swelled, seeing his name hang from your chest. 

“What are you staring at Barnes?”

You were so independent, Bucky had never known you to be otherwise. He had watched you crush men’s heads between your thighs. He had seen you smile with blood stained teeth, despite the fact that you were bloody and bruised. He had been on the receiving end of your not-so-empty threats.

“You,” he muttered slowly, adoration seeping in his voice.

“Why? There are nicer things to stare at,” you scoffed playfully.

“You’re just so pretty,” the words fell from his lips before he could stop himself. Bucky’s eyes went wide.

You were silent for a moment. And then you laughed, loud and free. Bucky breathed a sigh of relief.

“I think it’s time for bed. Will I take the couch?”

“No,” Bucky sighed. “Take the bed.”

Bucky woke to the smell of fresh coffee and bacon. You were leaning against his table, coffee in hand, watching him sleep.

“Creep,” he mumbled.

Bucky stumbled into the kitchen, pouring his own coffee. Bucky noticed his tags still around your neck. He reached out to grab them, they were his. The shirt you were wearing was his too.

“You sleep with these on?” He mumbled. You nodded. “Jesus, wearing my tags, and my shirt. Sleeping in my bed, might as well be a couple,” he joked halfheartedly. 

“Mhmm,” you hummed, staring intently at Bucky.

“Listen, about last night-”

“Did you mean it?” You sipped your coffee nonchalantly. Bucky sighed.

“Yes.”

You laughed gently. You lifted your hand to caress Bucky’s cheek softly. Bucky blushed but made no move to hide it.

“Darling, I know I’m pretty.”

You stood up on your toes, placing your mug onto the table. Your hands fisted in Bucky’s shirt, pulling him down so you could ghost your lips over the shell of his ear. You chuckled sultrily.

“We’d make one hell of a couple,” you whispered. 

Bucky finally pulled away as you both howled out laughing. You clutched your stomach and Bucky shook as you both chuckled. Bucky was just as in love as he was before, if not more. But now, with a new glint in his eye, he thought maybe you loved him too.

[xoxo-teddybear]

His Home - Bakugou Katsuki

Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Injury, Blood, Sexual harassment, implied rape, murder, NOT SPELL CHECKED

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

Request: So could you write a husbandbakugo x wifereader where when bakugou is away on a mission or anything, there's a villain who break into his house and kidnapped her (the reader is not a hero). And please be a happy ending :) but the rest is up to you💕

It’s been 2 weeks. 2 weeks too long for Katsuki and his family. Pro Hero Dynamight had been recruited on a mission to stop a drug dealing case out in the states, leaving his beloved son and loving wife behind. Even though Y/N wasn’t a pro herself, she could still take care of herself really well, including their baby boy. After constant reassurance that they’d be fine, Katsuki was okay with leaving for a few days.

A few days. A few days, NOT WEEKS. He had been gone for too long. Of course he trusted his wife to protect herself and their son, but he didn’t want her to have to protect them. After arguing with the chief of the mission, coming to a conclusion, and stopping the entire case himself in desperation of getting home, Dynamight could finally return home to his family. At least....that’s what he thought.

Bakugou drove home quite quickly in hopes of being smothered with love and affection from his son and wife, but as he pulled in, he noticed something was...... off. The porch light wasn’t on, it was too early for the lights in the house to be off, and even the cold chilly air stilled in silence gave him all the indications of something being in distraught. He quickly exited his car and slammed the door shut, forgetting to lock the vehicle as he hurriedly jammed the house key into the lock and busted the door wide open.

“Y/N!....Y/N?!....Katsuo??!” The blonde cried out. When his eyes finally settled to the dark atmosphere, he noticed how the bright moon lighted the house to show the terror that lay in. Glass and plates smashed on the grown, shelves and book cases thrown around, the T.V fallen from above the fireplace that had soot, ash, and stray wood surrounding it. He looked over and saw the couch out of place and on it, his unconscious child covered in scratches. Katsuki quickly ran to him to check on his poor boy.

“Katsuo,” the older blonde exclaimed as he shook his double awake, “please, wake up! Katsuo!” With a final shake, the child finally began to open his eyes and adjust to what he saw. A shadow of a man shaking him.

“Ahhh! Please, please don’t hurt me! Please! I didn’t do anything!” The younger blonde cried out and hugged himself in fear. Katsuki’s heart broke seeing his son in such fear. Who the hell did this to his poor boy.

“Katsuo! No, no, no, no, no. It’s me, it’s dad.” Katsuki reassured his son as he rubbed his back to calm him down. Katsuo turned to the man with teary eyes in shock and relief.

“Dad?” The boy questioned as he got a better look. Once he confirmed it was his father, he jumped into his arms.

“Dad! It’s you!” The boy sobbed into his father’s chest. Katsuki grabbed onto the boy, hugging him tighter as if the world was going to end, as he whispered reassurance into his ear.

“It’s me buddy, it’s me. Are you okay? Are you hurt? Who did this to you?” Bakugou asked as he examined his son’s body. The young blonde had his gray sweats teared, his white socks covered in soot and stains of blood along with his white tee.

As the child wiped his eyes, and looked at his father, he apologized.

“I’m sorry, dad.” The boy looked down in shame. Bakugou was so confused. What could his child be apologizing for at a time like this?

“I wasn’t strong enough.”

Oh, why did his son have to be exactly like him. Katsuki had to hold him once more to tell him it was all okay.

“Katsuo, none of this is your fault.” Bakugou said while holding onto his precious child.

“...These 3 men..they came in with a briefcase and said they wanted to “get something to trade.” They broke open the door as me and mom were watching T.V and told us to go with them. Mom put up a good fight, and I tried to help. I used my quirk to blow up the case they brought with them. After that though, the knocked me out. I see mom is gone, so they must’ve taken her and left me behind. I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything else.” The younger blonde said in shame once more.

“Katsuo....I’m so proud of you.” With those words, Katsuo looked up to his father in confusion.

“You’re 5 years old and you took great action to protect yourself and your mom. Not a lot of kids could do what you just did. I’m proud of you, and I’m so glad you’re okay son.” Bakugou said. His child finally showing a smile with a face identical to Katsuki’s and E/C eyes that replicated yours.

“Thanks dad.” The young boy said as his father picked him up.

“Of course. You’ll be an incredible hero in the future. The best of the best. I know it.” Bakugou said as he carried his son to the bathroom. “Let’s wash you up, change your clothes and get you to bed. You had a long night.”

“But what about mom? Shouldnt we go look for her.” Katsuo said in worry.

“Of course we will son. I will do everything in my power to bring her home to us as quickly as possible. That’s a promise, but right now, my priority is making sure everything is straight here at home. You’re mother is the strongest person I know, she will be okay, but I have to take care of you first. Okay?” Bakugou explained.

“Okay dad.”

——————————————————————————

When Katsuo was washed up and tucked in bed, Katsuki went downstairs to clean up and fix whatever he could. When he finally saw the horrible sight, terrible thoughts came to mind of what could’ve went down. The longer he thought about it, the closer he was to tears. Y/N and Katsuo are his entire life. If one of them were gone, it would throw his entire being all out of wack. But he had faith in his powerful wife. She can withstand anything they throw at her....but he wasn’t sure how long. Bakugou began to sweep the glass and soot, throw away the broken wood, mop the floors of blood, put the couch and coffee table back into place, and moved the T.V to the side. That could be fixed in the morning. Once he was done, he took a shower and headed to his room for bed.

The Alaskan king sized bed was huge. It was giant, especially for just 2 people and the occasional child, but the love of his life was always right next to him to make the cold, empty bed feel warm and full of love and happiness. Now she’s not here. As Bakugou lays with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling, he realized he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He journied out of his bed and to his son’s room. As he opened the door, he saw his child right in front of it as he seemed to have opened it as well.

“Whatcha’ doing bud?” Bakugou asked as he looked down to his mini me.

“Couldn’t sleep. Too cold..... Too scared..... Too lonely.” He son replied. Bakugou internally smiled at how his son and him were so similar. He really was a carbon copy of Bakugou Katsuki, that’s for sure.

“C’mon son,” Bakugou said as he lifted his boy up and walked towards the full sized bed. “We’re gonna need some sleep.” As the two blondes lay side by side, still staring at the ceiling, the younger one spoke up.

“.......Everything’s gonna be okay....right dad?” His son said with a break in his voice and teary eyes. “Mom will come back, and we’ll go back to being the awesome family we always are...right?” The boy said while looking at his father.

Bakugou stared at him for a bit, before pulling him into his chest and rubbing his back.

“I promise, Katsuo.”

The young child quietly sobbed into his fathers chest once more, after holding in all these tears for so long, and held a firm grip on Katsuki’s shirt. As Katsuki held onto his sad son, he too let a few silent tears shed as he hid his face atop of his son’s head.

‘I promise.’ The loving father thought to himself as he kissed the top of the boy’s head and held him a little tighter than before.

——————————————————————————

It’s been 3 days. 3 days too long for Katsuki and his worried son. They’ve been apart from Y/N for 3 days and are worried sick. After the two woke up from that sad night, Bakugou called in the Bakusquad to help find Y/N. The squad was lucky enough to be able to find DNA evidence and find out exactly who was in the house. Through the power of the internet and high tech power, they were able to track the villains and gather intel. Where they stay, what they do, their quirks, and where their base is. They’ve taken a very knowledgeable guess and estimate to find out where Y/N was, and now it was time to come up with a plan. They’ve been working for a few days and Bakugou was starting to get frustrated.

“AGH! WE’RE NOT GETTING ANYWHERE!” Bakugou exclaimed.

“Hey man, don’t you think it’s time we go to the agency and get their help and permission on this?” His best friend asked.

“I would love to get more help, especially from the agency, but there’s too many rules with them for a case like this. We have to go off the books to find Y/N, because when we do, nobody and no rules are gonna stop me from killing the idiots who thought it was okay to touch my wife!” Bakugou screamed out.

“Well you do realize how illegal this is right? We’re heroes, we’re supposed to abide by the law, stop those who break it, and kinda enforce it too.” Mina said.

“We were Y/N’s friends and family before we were pro heroes. If you’re too scared to go on, I won’t force you to continue, but nothing is going to stop me.” Bakugou calmly said.

As the silence filled the room, everyone bowed their heads. They were all confused and scared and worried for their dear Y/N.

“......How’s Katsuo taking this?” Kaminari asked.

“For a 5 year old, really well. Since I dropped him off with Deku and Round Face, he’s had other things to do but I’m sure his mom is all he could think about....I made my son a promise and I’m going to keep it. I’m gonna get her back.” Bakugou said.

With that, another silence fell upon the room. The squad came up with multiple plans but they all had major flaws. The one with the biggest risk however, would be the most efficient one. After thinking about it and having it in the backs of their minds, Kirishima spoke.

“Bakugou, let’s go with your plan.” The entire group looked up at the faux red in shock.

“Kirishima are you crazy?!” Mina asked.

“People will die if we go through with it. People who don’t deserve death as a final punishment!” Sero added on.

“Well Y/N is gonna die if we don’t do something about it right now. We have the best option right now, and yeah, it’s not the most holy, but it’s what we got! Do we wanna save our friend or not?!” Kirishima exclaimed.

After exchanging some looks and nods of agreement, the group was in. They were so lucky they weren’t doing this by the books.

“Okay then. Cover our tracks, don’t leave behind any evidence, and nobody get caught. We keep a steady flow and waste no movements. Get in, save Y/N, get out.” Bakugou explained while standing up.

“Let’s go save my wife.”

——————————————————————————

Here we are. The Bakusquad right infront of the warehouse they were keeping Y/N in. How did they get here? Bakugou’s plan of course. Go in to the HQ, demand answers, kill when getting no answers, kill when you got the answers. Kill, Kill, Kill. Blood now stained the hands of the Bakusquad both literally and figuratively. Whatever it takes to save her.

As Bakugou blew down the door with an explosion, multiple men came attacking the 5 heroes. Each henchman and goon getting killed in the process. When the crowd of people was left to just the pros, they looked around and saw Y/N right in the middle of the room. Her arms were being held up to suspend her and she was barely moving. Her body left in nothing but her panties and bra, her torso covered in blood and gashes, her arms littered with tears in the skin, her body covered in bruises, and her legs filled with cuts. The sight was torture to Bakugou as he attempted to run out to her.

“Y/NNN!!!” The blonde said as he sprinted towards his hurt wife, however, he was stopped.

“Come any closer and I’ll slash her pretty little throat.” Said a man as he showed up behind Y/N, coming out of the shadows and keeping Bakugou at bay.

Bakugou growled in frustration before speaking. “Let her go! Please! I’ll give you anything!” He bargained.

“Oh I know you will. That’s the whole reason why we took this gorgeous thing right here,” the man said while tilting your head to make you face him. Bakugou saw your blurred eyes stare right at the man in a dull manner. You were almost gone. “We want......well....we just want nothing to be honest. What we really want is you gone, but we’re aware we can’t kill you. None of us stand a chance against Dynamight BUT, there’s more than one way to destroy a person. When I kill your wife, your heart and soul, I’d be destroying you. Dynamight wouldn’t be able to function without his precious girl, and would be a shit hero because of it. More crime to the villains.”

Bakugou grunted at the whole thing, shaking in his boots. His dear wife, right there infront of him and he couldn’t do shit. Bakugou really got ticked on when the man spoke of what they did to Y/N.

“Don’t her scars look beautiful? She had the most melodious screams. It made the lot of my men wonder how she would sound in bed,” the smirked at he went to grab at Y/N’s breast.

“You bastard! Get your hands off my wife!” Bakugou screamed.

“That’s fine, I, along with others, have already had our fun with Y/N. Her pussy is completely stretched out now.” The man said with a smirk.

Bakugou saw red. “You fuckers RAPED MY Y/N?!???!!!!” The villain only smirked towards Bakugou before holding silence for a few seconds.

“Her cries were quite lovely,” the man said as he licked Y/N’s lips and kissed her. Everyone could see Y/N flinch and struggle to get away from the nasty attack. And they couldn’t do anything about it.

As the villain went on, Chargebolt noticed something. Rubber boots! How could he forget! After being on so many missions together, the Bakusquad all agreed the bottoms of their hero costumes should consist of rubber, so Denki could do his attack through the floor without hurting them. So with the villain distracted and back to talking, Denki shot 4 million volts into the floor, shocking the man, hearing him scream in pain. When Denki stopped the attack, the man was left there standing, still alive of course, but weak enough for Bakugou to take his anger out on him. Denki is such a good friend.

Bakugou blasted off and went straight to the man, grabbing his throat and beating him. He littered his with bruises and let the man experience all types of pain. It was a brutal murder and Bakugou ended it with grabbing the man’s neck and blasting him right then and there. It was over. It was done.

As Katsuki ran towards Y/N, he told the squad to clear the place of any proof they were there. Once he reached his wife and got her down and held her close and cried.

“K-Katsuki..” Y/N said weakly. Bakugou held her closer in his lap as he cried into her hair.

“I-...I’m here Y/N. I-it’s ok, I’m here. I got you....it’s over now.” Bakugou felt Y/N snuggle into him as she let a sigh of relief and comfort. Bakugou was too busy crying and saying his apologies. He couldn’t hear his sweet wife utter the most important phrase she had to say at the moment.

“Thank you.” She softly whimpered out.

——————————————————————————

It took a few days for Y/N to be fixed up again. The rape was hard on Y/N, but that’s okay because Bakugou was willing to wait for her whenever she felt ready. He was just happy to have his family back together....well..almost. After having multiple appointments with recorvery girl and extra TLC at home, Y/N was ready to get her son back. The drive to Deku’s house would be excruciating. Y/N just wanted to hold her baby boy in her arms and feel his love.

“You ready?” Bakugou asked with a smile as he saw Y/N looking at herself in the mirror. She returned the smile and walked up to her husband, embracing him in a loving hug, which he gladly returned.

“Thank you....for everything, hero.” Y/N smiled with the side of her face pressed against his chest. Bakugou kissed the top of her head before speaking.

“I love you, Teddy Bear.” Bakugou smiled.

“....Yeah...well not as much as I love you.” She said back with sass.

Bakugou’s eyes shot open at that comment.

“Is that a challenge shitty woman?!” Bakugou said while shaking her at her shoulders. Y/N only giggled before speaking.

“Nope, a challenge would be who gets to drive the new car to pick up Katsuo!” Y/N said while taking the keys out of Katsuki’s hand and running off.

“Wha- but-.....BUT I WANNA DRIVE IT!” He said like a child. The two tussled for the right to drive and laughed as they finally got to be together as the loving couple they are.

——————————————————————————

As Bakugou drove, Y/N held onto his hand. They were both smiling and couldn’t wait to be a happy family again.

“I’ve missed him so much..” Y/N said aloud.

Bakugou looked at her with content before speaking.

“And he’s missed you, Teddy Bear. We both did. It didn’t feel right with you gone.” He said while picking up your hand and giving it a kiss.

“Well I’m back now.” You said while smiling.

“And everything is almost perfect, we just need to get one more thing.” Katsuki said as he pulled into Deku’s driveway.

When the green haired hero opened the door for the couple, his eyes sparkled with joy and relief.

“Y/N! You’re safe!” The young pro said while embracing you.

“Safe and ready to see my son!” You said with excitement.

“He’s upstairs in his room. I don’t think he woke up yet, oh and I’m sorry Ochako isn’t here. She would’ve loved to see you back home, safe.” Deku said with a smile as he made way for you both.

“No worries, I’ll give her a call,” you said as you dragged Bakugou’s hand up the stairs. Before you continued, you turned to look at Deku.

“Thank you for taking care of Katsuo while we were gone, Izuku. It means a lot to us.” You said with appreciation and friendly love.

Deku nodded with a smile as he gestured for you to continue your journey to your son. As you walked into the room, you saw him with messy bed hair, a little drool on his mouth, and covered in blankets. The sight of him almost brought you to tears. As Bakugou closed the door, you sat in his bed just petting his head, waiting for Bakugou to join you. With Katsuki now by your side, you shook the little boy gently until he stirred awake.

“Katsuo...I missed you, love.” You whispered.

“Wha...huh?” Katsuo said, while looking around. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw an Angel. His mother right next to him, giving him the kindest smile he’s ever seen. With tears in his eyes, he jumped on her, giving her the biggest hug.

“MOM!!!” The boy loudly sobbed as he held onto you tight. The moment was perfect. The light shining in on the room, a mother and son embracing each other, and tears of joy all around.

“Hi baby. I’m home.” You sighed as you held him tighter. “I’m so sorry if I worried you, Katsuo.”

“N-no, it’s okay. Dad p-romised me you’d be back. H-he promised he would bring you b-back and dad always keeps hi-s promises.” Katsuo said while trying to fight the little hiccups coming his way.

“He really does, doesn’t he?” You said while looking over at your husband. His eyes were filled with tears and he was smiling so much his cheeks were turning red.

“I-I love you both, so damn much.” Katsuki said with breaks in his voice. He leaned into to hold the two in his arms as he teared up along side with them. The family all together again, the love for one another stronger than ever before.

Bakugou thought they should be getting home soon, but that word seemed to mess with him. Home. It wasn’t a big mansion or the buildings that could be considered a house. His home was all right here in his arms. His home consisted of his wife and his son. His home are the two people in his life that mattered most to him. His home is right here, with them. No matter where they are, where they go, or what happens, Y/N Bakugou and Katsuo Bakugou will always be his home.

A/N: y’all I’m sorry if this sucked😭 I started this about a week ago, and took a minor break and wasn’t able to finish it. I finally did, and it’s kinda sloppy but I hope you enjoyed it none the less. I really just wanted to get it out bc the person that requested it was waiting for awhile so I felt so bad but HERE IT ISSS!! I hope you enjoy it. I’m sorry for the delay. See you soon Bear Cubs! 💗🧸

[quackyana]

You Smell like love || 🥀:01 || JJK fanfic 🔞

🥀 "Feelings that come back are feelings that never left."

⚘ Pairing: Criminal jungkook X Lawyer reader.

⚘ Warning: 🔞The following content might be disturbing and not appropriate for some readers. Mention of blood, knife, killing etc could be found .

Summary: A young famous RJ found lifeless during her live show. Everyone heard her scream, including the RJ Jungkook; who was the only person present in that closed room. When every famous lawyers refused to take Jungkook's case then... Hwan YN aka his ex wife came forward To prove him innocent.

--------------------------------------------

Replacing a blood stained knife to his blue pen, he started writing down with his shaky hand.

May 10,

My father caught me cutting myself again, he took his hockey stick and he hit me 7 times, I counted. I screamed seven times and then groaned in pain for hours.

His room was dark, a black pitch dark. He didn't even bother to switch on the lights, didn't want to face the lifeless body lying on the floor, ruining his mattress with his blood, leaving a permanent mark on the floor and on his brain. The pale crescent moon shone like a silvery claw in the night sky. Moon was the witness of this night and his terrified look on his face.

For a good second he looked at the direction of his dad's dead body and then continued.

Diary, a little bird ruined my morning sleep. I wanted to sleep for a few more minutes but she woke me up with her annoying sound.

Suddenly his expressions changed to anger. He clenched his jaws, his heartbeat increased, tightening his grip on his pen he wrote next.

I took a fork lying on my table and stabbed that little annoying creature 7 seven times, I counted. Later served food to my dad with that same fork. He praised my cooking skills today :)

Turning his head to his father's lifeless body he murmured "You smell bad."

Dear Dairy, a small little kitten came inside my room through my window and started running away from me as soon as she saw me. She was scared of me and was the reason for my today's smile.

I smiled at her and cutted down her legs, now she can't run away from me.

Slowly a small smile formed on his dry pale lips as he recalled the feeling of 'power' he felt.

____________

//Present day//

You were looking boringly at the prosecutor, mentally thinking 'That's the sperm that won?'

She repeated herself again and again. Dedicated to prove your client guilty.

Prosecutor: "Suspect had keys, he knew where the money was, everyone trusted him. But he broke the trust and the lock too. He stole the money and killed the eye witness."

She stated to the judge and lifted her corner of the lip when her 'I already won' look eyes met yours. You ignored her and stood up from your seat professionally.

YN: "And why would someone break the lock if he has keys?"

Your one simple question crushed her 'I already won' look.

YN: "About murder, it happened in the afternoon and stealing took place in the midnight."

Looking directly in the prosecutor's eyes you continued.

"He stole the money in the night and killed the witness at noon? Why?"

Prosecutor: "About the keys he might have lost them somewhere, about the delay in murder he might scared at the moment--."

YN: "The keys, cops found from the key hanger, hanging perfectly as it should."

You showed the picture to the judge. He looked at your client for a good second after looking at the hanging key's picture."

Judge: "Do you have any other evidence against him?"

The Prosecutor shook her head but still protested "He is the 'only' suspect."

YN: "That's the cop's mistake not his."

*****

Jaemin: "You have twenty minutes."

A young boy with black jet hair and light brown eyes reminded him as soon as he saw him entering the studio.

Jungkook flashed his energetic smile and nodded his head.

Jaemin: Want coffee before the show?

He asked in his friendly tone.

Jungkook: I'll get it by myself.

After checking the time he slightly opened the radio studio, peeking inside he saw the female RJ hosting her live show with enthusiasm.

She was sitting on the big chair, bigger than her size. Only her back of the head was visible.

Slowly entered the room he sat on the sofa placed in the corner of the room. Without making any sound he took out his phone and started scrolling his SNS.

He still had a few minutes left when suddenly....

He heard a high pitched scream of the lady, sitting in the car.

He flinched and dropped her phone.

Sprinted towards her, he saw that lady's body...motionless.

"Crystle..." He called her name but no response.

Soon his expression changed into a panicked one.

He touched her arms and started shaking it.

But no response...

Soon he heard his and that girl's name from the group of people. All were panicked, tensed, confused but not more than him.

He placed her finger on her wrist..

He slowly looked at them and mouthed...

"She is no more..."

***

YN: "Honey I'm home."

You threw your bag in a random direction as soon as you entered.

You scoffed just after a second and murmured "Mf YN you are single now."

You chuckled at your own little drunk state while placing your heels neatly in the rack.

Looking at your heels lovingly you complimented

"You hurt me but still i can't walk without you."

YN: Pfftt sounds like my ex husband.

You didn't even change your clothes, just drop yourself on your fluffy bed.

Slowly taking out your phone you laid straight.

Your eyes widened when you saw the notification.

YN: "JUNGKOOK LIKED MY 3 MONTHS OLD PIC?"

YN: "Woah! YN he must be regretting right now."

Proud smile formed on your lips in the thought of your ex husband still misses you.

You took a screenshot and thought of framing it.

Slowly you drifted into a deep sleep.

That's the moment he was waiting for.

Without making any sound he opened your room's window and jumped in with an evil smile on his face covered with bruises and cut.

Indicative he is not a good man to invite at midnight through the room's window.

Cold breeze entered your room, squeezed your arms slightly in your sleep you murmured 'kook cuddles.'

The man didn't hear you. He injected the injection he always does. You hissed in sharp pain but didn't open your eyes.

His smile became creepier when he noticed you are in deep sleep now.

He bent towards you and sniffed your fragrance.

He whispered...

"You smell like love."

To Be Continued...

[mrs-march-ahs]

Kai Helps You Find a Purpose

Summary- A blue-haired stranger helps you overcome the feeling of being lost after you quit your job. He seems fascinated by the rage in your body and shows you how to use it in an unconventional way.

Warnings- Murder, rape, knifes, blood, Kai Anderson. Words- 1.8k shorty:)

I’ve had this idea in my head for the longest time, so I really appreciate any feedback! I love doing my own ideas but if you prefer when I write requests then I wanna know! Enjoy! :)

---

You slam the glass door behind you as you exit your job. Well, old job. No matter how hard you work, your boss refused to see your potential and when you asked him for a raise for the final time and he said no, you gave him an ultimatum. And now you are left to walk out of your old job to the carpark with a backpack full of your belongings. To be honest, you hated that job anyway, and despised the sexist boss. He crossed a line by underappreciating your hard work, even after hours and constantly giving praise to the other fuckers who could barely make a cup of coffee. You walk over straight to his white Mercedes and pull out your pocketknife, hoping that in the dark of the evening nobody will witness your crime. As you squat down to the level of the front right tire and stab it powerfully with your knife, you can feel the feminist rage in your body deflate. After you do the front left and go towards the back one, you see a figure of a broad man standing at the front of the car, watching you. Although you saw him, his voice catches you off guard. And frankly, pisses you off too.

“If you slash all four tires then insurance will pay for it”, he states, assuming that you didn’t know that already. “Slash three”. The mansplaining makes you groan.

“Do I look like I need advice, asshole?”, you reply, rolling your eyes. Contrary to what you expected, the man stays stood watching you and laughs at your remark. When you push the blade from your knife particularly deep, you sigh in satisfaction, but fail to pull it out. You wriggle it around a little before looking up at the man.

“Are you gonna just watch me or at least are you gonna help?”, you ask, tugging at the knife.

“You don’t need my help”, he says quietly and ominously. “Use your strength, work smarter not harder”. The useless advice made you sigh in anger and push the knife in deeper, before practically ripping it out of the tire. He stands leaned over the hood of the car to watch you slash the tire, and smiles widely when you manage to do it by yourself. You stand up and look at him, and he stays smiling, and compliments you on your work.

“See? You don’t need help, you’re strong”, he whispers at you. You can’t help but smile back at the support and at the relief that he won’t snitch on your vandalism. When you take a step towards the curb to walk home, he puts his arm out to stop you and unexpectedly offers to buy you a coffee. You timidly say yes, but when he walks towards his car and opens the door for you, a red blinking alarm goes off in your mind and you kindly refuse to get in a stranger’s car. Although he laughs, he understands, and the two of you walk a mere 2 streets to a restaurant that he claims is owned by his friends. When the two of you walk through the front door of the packed restaurant and he asks for a table and instantly gets it, you have no reason to not believe his connections. You sit awkwardly across from the stranger who introduces himself to you, before praising you on your inexcusable actions.

“It takes a lot of strength to notice when you’re not being appreciated, it takes even more strength to just slash his tires instead of slashing his fucking throat”. His words are so serious that you don’t question how he knows what happened. “What do you want to achieve?”

“I want to make the world a better place in any way I can… I volunteer at soup kitchens all the time… dog shelters… I know it sounds horrible but no matter what I do, it doesn’t feel satisfying or like I’m achieving anything”. He exhales in amusement and you defensively expand.

“It’s like I’m waiting for some good karma to come to me, but all I feel is guilt because I’m doing good things for the wrong reasons”. You look down and swirl around your coffee with a spoon as you wait for him to judge you. All you felt was guilt, you wanted to be a good person and you knew you shouldn’t wait for good things to happen to you just because you’re volunteering. He puts a finger under your chin and makes you look at him. His big black eyes hypnotize you and you wait anxiously for him to speak.

“You need to put your rage towards something good. Anger doesn’t help anybody, but I saw today that you are capable of rage”, he coaxes you quietly. “A strong rage can be used as unlimited energy and shouldn’t be wasted, but put towards something useful… what fills you with rage?”

“The sexism at my work”, you immediately respond. “None of my male co-workers get harassed on the job. They don’t get told to smile or unbutton their shirts for tips. They get raises that they don’t deserve. As long as that keeps happening, I will always be filled with rage”.

The blue haired man hums in agreement and smiles at you. “That’s a solid source”. He drinks the end of his coffee and offers to drive you home.

When the two of you sit in his car, he proposes that instead of going back to the motel you lived at, you come over to his and the two of you could share a drink.

“No, I’m sorry. I need to go home and scream into my pillow”. Although you laugh after saying that, Kai doesn’t.

“What are you achieving with that? That’s like working hard to get money for gas, just to pour it down the drain”, he scolds you and raises his voice with every word. “You have this rage; we’re going to use it for something good!”, he shouts.

“Yes, but how!”, you reply, and watch Kai take a few turns before driving around the same couple of blocks a few times. You sit silently and hope he’ll explain the plan, but he doesn’t, instead he slowly drives down the streets, carefully inspecting the alleyways. Finally, when a short hum escapes his lips, he pulls his car over and points towards an alleyway on the other side of the street.

“Look what’s happening”.

You narrow your eyes trying to see down the dark alleyway and unbuckle your seatbelt to lean over closer to Kai. A man down the side of a building is stumbling slightly with a gun in his hand, pinning a woman against the wall and forcibly pulling her clothes off, only for her to try to push him away.

“Wait… is he uh-”

“What is your feminism fuelled rage telling you to do?”

You look Kai dead in the eye and his black eyes and clenched jaw silently ask you whether you’re willing to do what it takes. Saying that you want the world to be a better place means jack shit if you’re not ready to singlehandedly protect your sisters and put your rage towards making the world cleaner and safer. Not tomorrow, not in years to come, but now.

Without another second of thought, you jump out of the car and run to the alley, Kai following closely behind. Kai grabs the drunk man by the shoulders and rips him off the wall, allowing you access to push the woman out of the alleyway and onto the street, letting her immediately start running. The drunk attempts to fight Kai, throwing hard punches that all miss. Not wanting to steal your spotlight, Kai throws the man into the wall, letting you take out your feminist rage on his face. You put your hands in his hair and grip tightly, repeatedly smashing his face into the brick wall, leaving instant blood stains and scratches. Hopefully, a lifetime reminder of the scum he is. In order to save him the disgust of having to look at himself in the mirror, you drag his face along the wall, hoping that the cracks in the wall will be enough to leave his face bleeding.

“Work smarter; not harder”, Kai reminds you.

You release the man from your grip and watch him stumble and lean against the wall for support, giving you enough time to take your pocketknife back out and plunge in straight into the mans crotch. As he sloppily yells in pain, Kai grabs the gun out of his hand and throws it over a fence, just in case he gets any ideas. The intoxicating high of seeing this rapist bleed and cry in pain gives you one last kick of confidence, which you use to twist the knife in his ball sack before ripping it out. Kai stands watching you, smirking and almost hard, listening to the beaten-up motherfucker pant and sob. Kai pushes you out of the way and shoves him to the ground one last time, before grabbing your hand and legging it to the car.

When you sink to the car seat, trying to catch your breath, not a single thought coming to your mind for the first few seconds. The adrenaline of assault makes your heart want to jump out of your chest. But when you look over at Kai, expecting him to mirror you, he sits calmly, waiting for you to calm down. Your head is blurred with disbelief at what you just did, but despite knowing in your mind that violence isn’t the answer, you sit there as Kai starts driving and wait for the guilt to overpower your body. But it just…doesn’t.

“I’m so proud of you”, Kai says and puts his hand on your thigh giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m waiting for the guilt to kick in”

“It won’t”, Kai informs you. “You don’t care about the homeless or animals”

“What?! Of course, I do-”

“No, you don’t. You care about sexism. That’s what powers you. How many statistics do you know about rape? How much do you know about rape prevention? Feminism? Malala and Michelle fucking Obama?!”, he yells.

“That’s what fills you with rage, and that’s what begins the unlimited cycle”. Although his words sounded so sure and factual, you just couldn’t accept it.

“I don’t want to do it with violence”. Your voice weakens which makes Kai huff in amusement. He parks his car outside your motel and turns to you.

“You just made the world a better place. You saved that woman. That scum will never be able to reproduce. If you weren’t doing the right thing, you’d feel guilty”. You look up at him with worried eyebrows and he gives you a warm reassuring smile. You can’t deny his words, and the adrenaline and sense of accomplishment overshadow any speck of guilt you’re meant to feel. Just as you’re about to open the car door to get out, he puts his hand on your shoulder and looks at you once more.

“I’ll come by and get you tomorrow, I want you to meet my friends”

[asset35-maya]

CALYPSO 🐚 ☕️

Part 1/3

Part 2/3:

“You call this shit an espresso machine?”

“I wouldn’t, but Fowler does. The department’s on a tight budget.”

“Hmmpff.”

Gavin watched Nines tinker with the cheap coffee maker in the break room. The whole thing was so absurd it felt like an out of body experience. He hadn’t had a partner in years and was now suddenly stuck with a military-grade android who bitterly resented every second spent by his side. It was also the first time he’d met someone as temperamental, as foul-mouthed and as coffee-loving as him.

Nines smacked the machine. It produced a pitiful whine and a stream of muddy brown liquid. Gavin cleared his throat.

“We should head to the scene now. Two victims in a warehouse. One human, one android. Battered beyond recognition. I’d go by myself but I need you to scan their identities for me.”

Nines turned around with disgust and something that looked a lot like fear written across his features.

“That sounds awful. Why would I want to come see such a thing?”

“It’s… your job…?”

“No. I’m not a detective. I’m a café owner. Markus and Connor might have forced me to sign a contract with the DPD but they can’t force me to do things I don’t want to.”

“And what am I supposed to do with an uncooperative partner?”

“That is not my problem.”

Gavin was stumped. He wasn’t used to people talking back to him, especially not civilians… not that Nines was really one any more.

“Come on, man. I don’t wanna tell on you. Let’s just make this work. Getting you in trouble is only gonna push you and all your fellow tincans into more hot water. Then you’d have lost your little café for nothing.”

Strangely, he found himself appealing to reason and logic. Nines’ aggressive demeanour was so similar to his own that Gavin had been forced to switch alignment entirely. His colleagues were pleasantly surprised by the change… though now there was a new rabid dog in the station they had to avoid angering.

“Fine. But tell me where exactly to scan. I don’t wanna be looking at those poor bastards any longer than I have to.

And don’t expect me to lick any blood like Connor the great. That’s fucking disgusting.”

“Of course.”

//

\\

“Oh god. Oh RA9. Oh my…”

Nines took a shaky sip of his blue latte and dropped the cup back onto its saucer. Ralph hovered anxiously above him.

“How on earth do you look at things like that everyday? You barely batted an eye. And they call us androids inhuman.”

“Fifteen years on the job will dull your senses.”

“When did you stop getting queasy?”

Gavin lifted his own cup to his lips, not answering until he finally got a taste of the specialty coffee Nines kept raving about. He sipped and sighed in satisfaction. Calypso was everything it was talked up by the press to be.

“Right after a triple homicide by this dude I went to school with. He grew up exactly the same way I did. He had a nice family, nice job. There was nothing wrong with him. He could have been me, I could have been him. But how did the universe decide who’d be the cop and who’d be the killer? No phcking clue. No rhyme or reason for the way things turned out. And that realisation chilled me to the phcking bone, dude. There’s things scarier than blood and guts and that’s the workings of our own minds.”

Nines considered that for a moment and shuddered. Ralph hastily walked away, muttering to himself.

“Ralph does not like these talks. Murders and killings and bloody, bloody things. It reminds Ralph of the old days.”

Gavin watched him retreat behind the store counter with a raised eyebrow.

“Where on earth did you find that specimen?”

“In a haunted house.”

Gavin blinked uncertainly, not sure if he was being serious. Nines barked a laugh.

“Both of us were living rough after the Revolution. He’d been squatting in different buildings since he deviated and I was one of the new units Connor brought onto the streets from Cyberlife Tower. Didn’t have any clothes on. Didn’t have anywhere to go. I just ducked into the first abandoned building I saw. Needless to say I got the scare of my life, just as the poster outside promised.”

Nines’ eyes flicked over fondly to Ralph. The WR600 was now dealing rather enthusiastically with a customer. Gavin followed Nines’ gaze, sipping the heavenly coffee while his perception of the world went through another sea change.

//

\\

“I’m proud of you, son. You didn’t want to join us at first but you went above and beyond for this mission.”

Captain Fowler pinned a medal of honour to the front of Nines’ dress uniform as the audience clapped. Nines inclined his head but remained expressionless. He glanced sideways and Gavin couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, scarcely noticing the matching medal that joined the other ribbons and distinguished service awards on his chest.

Connor and Markus were waiting for them as they got off the stage. Nines shoved past both of them, ignoring Markus’ outstretched hand and the camera flashes from the media.

Irony of ironies, Gavin felt the need to save face. He stopped to shake hands and pose for pictures with the leader of Jericho and new Mayor of Detroit.

“He’s served well. He’s done his part. When can he go back to his little café?”

Markus smiled wistfully.

“Securing Nines’ public service was not just a bargaining chip in passing the Android Equality bill, Detective. It was a key instrument.”

“What do you mean?”

“We don’t just need to guarantee public safety from advanced androids, we need to recuperate the development costs. Cyberlife received countless government grants for RK R&D activities. I need to show tax payers that their money didn’t go down the drain.”

“What the hell kind of freedom is this?”

Markus dipped his head and Connor swiftly motioned for a journalist to join them.

//

\\

“Turn the car around! Turn the fuck around!”

“Okay okay! Hang on!”

Gavin was used to Nines’ temper but he was now seeing it accompanied by anxiety for the first time. His hands were splayed out across the dashboard and his eyes were as wide as dinner plates. The LED on his temple sparked red in between its rapid cycles of yellow.

Weaving expertly through the traffic, Gavin pulled up outside Calypso Café. Nines leapt out of the police car before it fully stopped.

Gavin saw the source of trouble instantly. Two burly men tossing chairs and kicking tables. A third was berating terrified patrons and a fourth jeered at Ralph, plucking at his apron and smacking his damaged cheek. Gavin knew that anti-android sentiment still simmered beneath the surface of their society, but it had been a while since he’d seen it rear its ugly head… and so violently at that.

Nines barged into his beloved café and bodily flung the men out. They flew through the air and hit the pavement as if they weighed nothing. Gavin watched with muted horror, realising why exactly anyone would want the government to keep an eye on the RK900.

There was a sickening crunch as Nines broke the nose of the man who’d been bullying Ralph. But it didn’t end there. He kicked him down the entrance steps and leapt onto the man’s torso, pummelling his brutish face into the concrete.

Gavin could barely hear himself yelling for Nines to stop above the cacophony of screams from the vicinity. Seconds flew by and spatters of blood turned into veritable rivulets running down the pavement.

Not daring to intervene physically, Gavin pulled out his service revolver.

“Nines, get off him! Nines, it’s not worth it! If you kill him, everything ends! Nines! Stop! I’ll shoot if you don’t let go! Don’t make me do this, man! Please!”

He counted down and cursed when Nines showed no indication of having heard him. He fired a warning shot. Then two more. And then he pointed his weapon directly at Nines.

One bullet to the android’s midsection.

A burst of blue.

A staticky cry of surprise.

And Nines dropped to the side.

The other aggressors scrambled to scrape their unconscious ringleader off the ground and hurried away. Gavin made no effort to stop them. He flipped Nines onto his back and looked into the angry blue eyes.

“Wipe all the security cameras on the street.”

“Already did.”

Ralph helped him carry Nines into the vandalised café. Gavin ripped open the stained shirt and felt up the chassis for the embedded bullet. He took the toolbox from Ralph and began to work, guided by a lifesaving instinct that somehow applied to androids too.

“I should have been there.”

“What?”

“Ralph. I should have been there with you. I’d have never let those bastards into the store. I’d have never let them put their hands on you.”

“Ralph is okay. Completely fine! There is no need to worry about Ralph. Ralph is worried about you. So much thirium…”

“This should have never happened. You were there for me when I didn’t even have a stitch of clothing on my chassis, but I abandoned you to run Calypso on your own. You could have gotten hurt badly today. I’m so sorry, Ralph.”

Gavin plucked the bullet out and began working to stem the flow of blue blood. His hands shook with empathetic rage, and Nines noticed.

//

\\

“I honestly think falling back on your core programming is the right thing to do. It’s the same thing as humans playing to their strengths. It doesn’t mean we’re still trapped by our software instructions. It doesn’t mean we’re not deviant. It just means that we’re choosing to do something we’re indisputably good at.”

Nines’ grip on his thirium beer was so tight that his knuckles had turned white. The synth skin was stretched to breaking point, exposing the plastic chassis beneath. Gavin swallowed uncomfortably. He found himself wishing that he was an android too and could telepathically ask Connor to shut the phck up.

As usual, he was the only one who noticed Nines’ tension. Hank and Fowler and all their other insensitive colleagues were nodding sagely at the bullshit the RK800 was spewing.

“I mean, sure, there’s plenty of androids who choose alternative career paths, but I think that’s just an unnecessary hill to climb. If you’re up for the challenge, go for it by all means, but why? It’s never made sense to me. I can’t imagine being anything other than a detective.”

Gavin’s eyes flitted between both ends of Hank’s backyard as if he were watching a tennis match. Connor continued to babble and Nines grip on his drink became increasingly vice-like.

Then there was a splintering sound.

A spray of blue beer.

A scatter of broken glass.

Time seemed to slow down as Nines pushed himself off the fence he was leaning on and made his way across the yard.

And then Gavin had a fleeting vision of Connor being tackled to the ground and having his jaw ripped off. He’d heard plenty about preconstructions but he’d never expected to have one himself as a human. Or was that just what they called a premonition?

Gavin moved quickly.

He actually ran.

He paid no heed to the irritated murmurs and cries of alarm.

He pushed a hapless colleague out of the way and inserted himself directly in Nines’ path…

deftly avoided the attempt to shove him aside…

wrapped his arms around Nines’ neck…

and kissed him.

//

Part 3/3