I Feel Like Killing Myself Right Now !!!

Again I really don’t know why I didn’t de log this it’s perfect

Two Minds, One Body || Mafia!Bucky [pt2]

Mafia!Bucky x fem!reader

Chapter Summary: Now that you are a permanent fixture in Bucky and Winter's life they treat you as their queen. Have mercy on anyone who disrespects their queen. Warnings: 18+ only, smut, mafia typical threat of violence WC: 2864

Main Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist || Part One || Part Two || Part Three ||

When you had been asked to pack a bag for a night away, you had thought you were going somewhere further than New York City. The confusion had been clear on your face as your driver parked outside a gated brownstone, but before you could ask why you were there the front door opened to reveal Bucky. His usual business attire had been ditched in exchange for a dark blue cashmere sweater that set his eyes alight and the way it hugged his chest had you itching to run your hands over it.

The only sign that he wasn’t as relaxed as he tried to appear was the crystal tumbler of whiskey hanging from his fingertips and the way his hair tipped to one side, the result of his fingers constantly brushing through the strands. Your driver was at your side and opening the door just as Bucky cleared the gate and you stepped onto the pavement and into his waiting arms. He may have only been gone one day but it was more than enough to have missed his presence at home.

“I’m so glad to see you, doll.” Bucky whispered quietly into your ear as his eyes scanned the street. “Let’s get inside.”

Whatever timeless age the outside held was gone the moment you stepped over the threshold. High ceilings and open spaces were modernised and surprisingly minimalist compared to the decor of the mansion upstate, but it was just as stunning. Bucky’s hand was low on your back as he guided you through the foyer and down a hall to his office at the back. You were suddenly nervous as he closed the door behind you and placed his glass on the mahogany desk.

He dropped heavily into his chair and turned his attention to the wall of glass that overlooked the private backyard and shimmering pool. A tension hung in the air and you were surprised Winter wasn’t making his way to the surface as Bucky chewed on his bottom lip and twirled a pen mindlessly in his hand. Suddenly he dropped the pen back on the desk and patted his lap, your movements slower than normal as you tentatively approached him.

“I need your help.”

Whatever you thought he was going to say could not have come close and your lips parted as you took a breath and sat on his lap. “Whatever you need, baby.”

“A warehouse of mine was raided today. There was meant to be an auction tonight.” He said as he tipped his head back and sighed as your hands massaged the tight muscles on his shoulders. “We are sitting on $100 million cash and this auction was how we were going to wash it.”

You didn’t know where he was heading with it as he reached for his whiskey and swallowed the amber liquid back, sucking his teeth as the alcohol burnt down his throat. “I need to know if you were serious when we met.”

You nodded as you remembered what you said in an attempt to hopefully save your life. “You can launder money digitally without losing, I'm sure. I had a lot of time to think of business and criminal ventures when I was trapped in that marriage.”

“I need you to show me how, doll. If I can’t get rid of this cash quick we are all fucked.”

You stood up and turned around so you could sit facing his computer, already bringing up different websites. “You’re familiar with cryptocurrency, right?”

“Some of our overseas partners use it.” He nodded. “We have wallets with Ethereum, Litecoin, Cardino and a few others.”

“Good. What about NFT’s?” He shrugged and you brought up an image that looked like a child had made on Microsoft Paint. “Buying, trading and selling of unique digital media. It can be as basic as this shit or actual art but they are legitimate sales and can be almost completely anonymous with crypto.”

He leant forward to look closer at the website and scanned over the information, his mind processing it efficiently. “I’ll need a few more shell companies, but that's simple enough to do.”

“Buy a few of these cheaper ones and sell them to yourself for a few hundred thousand.” You nodded. “Crypto takes care of the rest, money washed.”

“Set it up.”

“Wait, what?” You gasped, spinning around to see if he was joking.

“This is your baby.” He reclined back with a smile, reaching into his pocket for his phone and wallet. “Get whatever you need to make it happen.”

No one had ever trusted you to do, well, anything. You had just been an item to trade and barter with and now Bucky was treating you as his equal. Sensing your hesitation, he pulled you closer and cupped your face as his lips brushed softly over yours. Your body relaxed in his embrace, moulding into him as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“If you need any help, I’ll be right here.” He reassured you as he broke away, leaving you to catch your breath.

You took a deep breath and nodded, mentally telling yourself that you could do this. You had made a million plans in your head on how to hide money on the off chance you had been able to save some up and escape your previous marriage that you knew you had the idea right, you just needed to execute it. Turning back to the computer you were stopped and Bucky shook his head.

“Start tomorrow, doll. I asked you down here so I could take you out. How does dinner and dancing sound?”

“Sounds like you are trying to court me.” You teased him as you twirled your fingers around the hairs hanging longer at his nape. “I think you are just trying to get me in your bed.”

His rich laugh sent warmth pooling between your legs and his hand trailed up your leg as if he could sense it. “Definitely. In my bed, in my shower, on my desk…everywhere.”

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Bucky’s eyes darted around the room that was far too busy for his liking, there were too many exposure points and he had precious cargo with him. Everybody that brushed too close to you had his fingers inching closer to the gun on his hip and you stepping closer under his arm.

“There something I should know?” You asked as you noticed the stiffness that was usually reserved for Winter.

“No, I just don’t particularly like it here.” He said as he continued his survey of the nightclub’s ground floor.

“You don’t like it?” Your laugh briefly pulled his attention away and your hand resting on his chest had his cock twitch. “Honey, you own it.”

“I own half this city.” He pointed out before spotting a familiar face and his eyes darkened to azure.

“Win, what’s wrong?” You asked as you noticed the switch, following his line of sight to your ex-husband. Your evening had been going so well, starting with dinner at Chef’s Table then a few cocktails at Little Branch before heading to the nightclub for some dancing. In an instant the mood was gone. “Fucking marvellous.”

“I’ll deal with him.” Winter said chillingly. “Go with Nico and order a drink while I take out the trash.”

“Don’t take too long, there’s only two names on my dance card.” You whispered as you tiptoed to reach his ear, placing a quick kiss to his racing pulse.

“Kukolka…” he groaned as he fought the urge to take you to his office upstairs and fuck you on another of his desks.

“Sorry.” You said with a soft chuckle.

“No you’re not.” He said before snapping his fingers at Nico to get his attention and leaning down into your ear. “I’ll deal with you later, now go.”

You drew your bottom lip between your teeth as you imagined just how he would deal with you and you couldn’t wait. Two drinks later you were squirming on your bar stool. Between the music and the thought of Winter you just couldn’t sit still. Climbing off, you felt the room slightly spin and decided not to finish the half full glass.

“Would you like some water, ma'am?” Nico asked as he watched you grab the bartop.

“I think that is probably a good idea.” You admitted as you tried to act sober and failed.

After a refreshing glass of water you decided to make your way into the crowd filling the dancefloor, needing something to distract you from the absence of you boyfriend. A moment of insecurity hit you as you swayed to the music and you noticed the crowd move away from you. You didn’t think you had stood on anyones toes and the dozens of bottles of perfumes Bucky had bought were mouthwatering so it wasn’t that either. Turning around though, you saw exactly what had sent them spilling to the edges of the room.

Winter’s air of dominance was almost palpable as his eyes roamed your body, your hips begging him to grip them tight as he showed every man exactly who you belonged to. He had seen the way the others had been eyeing you up, and if Nico hadn’t been there to stop their filthy fingers from getting close he would have been splitting his knuckles on another man. He had only just left your ex-husband unconscious against the dumpsters out back, he would have no problem adding more bodies to it.

Your body was burning for his touch as he continued to watch, his chest puffing from the fight he had just had and the sight before him. Holding your hand out, you curled your finger in invitation and his lips teased a hint of a smile that only you could see. To everyone else he looked cold and unfeeling and he stepped closer like he was stalking his prey, this was the deadly mob boss with a reputation of getting his hands dirty. To you, you saw the fire in his eyes and welcomed his touch, your thumb softly brushing the fresh bruises on his knuckles before they came to rest on your hips.

“You started without me, kukolka.” He murmured low into your ear just loud enough to be heard over the music.

Turning in his arms so you could roll your hips and grind your ass over his cock, you leant back into his chest to look up at him with a smirk. “You were taking too long. I had to get your attention somehow.”

You should have known he would be a good dancer, the way he held you close and rolled his body in time with yours should have been illegal. It almost was illegal some of the things his hands were doing but he just stopped short of fucking you on the dancefloor. Just. The build up was leaving you dizzy and you could feel your arousal pooling in your panties with every beat of the heavy bass playing around you. Filth fell from Winter’s mouth between the kisses and sucks he was trailing along your neck and you felt like you could almost reach bliss without a single touch to your needy cunt.

“Win, unless you want everyone here to know how I look when I cum, we need to leave.” You begged as the throbbing between your legs left your chest rising and falling rapidly with sharp breaths.

“Upstairs.”

You could barely keep up as he raced towards the stairs that led to his office above the club and his fingers almost slipped from yours twice before you made it there. His hand was just about to turn the doorknob when Nico shouted over the music. A deep groan escaped his gritted teeth as he turned to find Nico holding his hand over his phone, worry indenting lines across his face.

“Got a situation, boss.”

Winter’s barely audible curse left you hiding the disappointment you felt, knowing your night had come to a halt earlier than planned. You gave him a small smile in return for the apologetic look he was giving you and he held his phone out to accept the call of whoever was on the other line. “This might take a while, doll. Nico, call the car around.”

He was about to head into his office where it was quiet enough to take the call but you pulled him to a stop, stealing your kiss goodnight before he regrettably pulled. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

He bit his lip as your hands trailed down his abs to hover over the bulge trapped in his pants. “Then you’ll deal with me?”

“Oh, doll.” He chuckled. “I’ll do more than just deal with you, I’m going to ruin you.”

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You could hear Winter’s angry rock music leaving you a trail of aural breadcrumbs to follow and you found the sound escaping the doors to the gym. Sweat was beading along his forehead as he lay there bench pressing an insane amount of weight, his legs spread wide to balance himself. The ropes of muscles in his arms strained to push the bar back up but still he kept going, so focused on finishing his reps that he didn’t notice you slipping inside.

“I missed you last night.”

You straddled his waist and he locked the bar over the hook so his hands were free to roam your body. You were still in one of his shirts you slept in, the edge riding up your thighs as he looked down to find you weren’t wearing anything underneath. His cock was already straining against the loose shorts he wore and you rolled your hips to sate your need for friction. You had waited up but after the dawn rays broke through the gap in the curtain you gave in to your exhaustion, it must have been important if it kept him out all night.

“Had some shit to deal with.” He tone admitted he missed you too as he felt the heat of your core calling to him.

“I had to take care of myself.” You pouted, reaching up your shirt to tease your nipples. “That’s how much I missed you.”

His chest vibrated with a possessive growl and he lifted you from his lap just long enough to push his shorts over his hips, impaling you with one well aimed thrust.

“Oh fuck.” You cried at the sudden fullness, swearing that you could feel him as your hand pressed to your stomach.

“Show me.” Winter grunted as your feet lifted off the ground with each sharp rut up into you. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

Your jaw went slack with ecstasy and you ran two fingers over his full pink lips until he opened his mouth for them, tongue working around them until they were nice and wet for you. Your heavenly sigh filled the air as you teased your clit and rolled your hips, riding Winter as he laid back and enjoyed the show. Your free hand tweaked your stiff peaks and the residual feelings from the nightclub plus everything he was doing quickly had you falling into your first orgasm.

Your pleasure was like a naked flame, your body the fuse and Winter the explosive. Seeing you ignite sent Winter into action. His large hands splayed across your back and he pulled you down, chest to chest as he took the control back. His hips pistoned furiously into you and your body had no time to recover from the first orgasm, the waves continuing to ripple through you, pussy gushing around his cock and down your legs.

“Fuck, Win, oh god, too much!” You cried as your legs fell slack around the bench and you gave yourself over to him.

“Wanna feel you come around me again.” He panted as he starved off his release to feel yours first.

Your head was shaking, but you couldn’t find the words to deny him as your walls began to flutter and tighten more with every rough pound of his body ramming yours. You tried to pull away as ghostly touches of fire spread over your skin but he took your hands and pinned them behind your back.

“Fuck, fuck, Winter, please.” You begged as tears sprung to your eyes.

“Take it, kukolka, you take it so well.”

You sagged with relief as your pussy began to pulse and he groaned as your body milked his cock, the hot ropes releasing with his heavy breathes that blew cool air across the fire that consumed your body. His hands released the grip on yours and pulled the limp limbs up to his neck so you could play with his hair while you recovered.

“I always liked waking up alone, until now.” You murmured as your mind remained in a cum-clouded haze.

“I wish I could promise that it wouldn’t happen again but our line of work makes it impossible.”

You looked up to see Bucky, his softer touch running soothingly up and down your spine.

“Then I’ll be content with the nights we do have.”

Click here for next part.

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Olly, Olly, Oxen Free {Hotch x daughter!reader}

Warnings: PLEASE, be advised of the SEVERE mentions of gun violence, murder, death, etc. This is a heavy piece, so please, please, please, do not put yourself at risk to read this, if you would like to know the plot without reading let me know and I will accommodate as best as I can!

This is set in “100″, so, daughter!reader is currently trapped with foyet in her childhood home. Alright, enjoy. 

“Y/N.”

You sprung from your place on the floor, watching your brother retreat past the living room, his feet happily climbing the old route he used to take in the childhood home he was raised in. You  doubted he forgot it so soon, even with his young age. This was the house they had made home. Over the last year, you would’ve done anything to be back in this house, surrounded by the memories of your past life. The life in which you weren’t forced into the witness protection program, abandoning all of your friends due to a serial killer hellbent on destroying your father’s life.

Your hand reached out, gently grabbing the cellphone extending from the hands of your mother’s.

“Dad.”

You forced herself to sound calm, composed. Sitting only ten feet from you was a man who had previously shoved a blade into your father’s abdomen just to prove a point. You figured seeming weak wasn’t particularly a good idea.

There was the hum of an engine, one that you knew well. When you was younger- much younger- you used to wait up for you father to come home from cases. Most nights you fell asleep before he came back, but on the rare occasion you actually made it past midnight, you could hear that very same hum of his government issued SUV pulling into the driveway, subsequently causing you to dart out of  bed to jump into his waiting arms. It never mattered to you that you would receive a scolding from your mother for not going to bed at a proper time, not when you would see the smile that grew on her father’s face when you accomplished your goal.

That smile, so rare and so blinding, hardly even captured in pictures. Your father was a tired man, a hardworking man, a dedicated father, but all of his good qualities had hardened into stone from the heat of his job and sometimes you feared that eventually, even you might not be able to crack that tough exterior. It seemed silly, sure, but your mother used to be able to find the chinks in his armor, used to make him laugh and smile and love and then one day she couldn’t and who was to say that it wouldn’t happen to you too?

“Y/N/N, I love you, you know that?” He used the nickname Jack had accidentally given you. When he was just learning to talk, the boy was unable to fully pronounce your name and you had been stuck with it ever since. You used to hate it- or, at least pretend to, but you could never yell at Jack. The boy was too good at absolutely melting you.

Your father’s voice, which was typically strong and gruff, came out a bit cracked. It filled you with a sinking feeling. If your father wasn’t composed then how the hell were you supposed to be?

The man who hoisted you on his shoulders every Fourth of July to see the fireworks better, or grabbed every spider that made you scream for your life. The man who taught you how to swing a baseball bat and then immediately yelled because you whacked him right in the knee. A fearless, strong, admittedly taciturn man that was making abundantly clear the ambiguity of your future.

You swallowed down that fear, you couldn’t afford to be afraid right now. Y/E/C  eyes looked up to your mother. She was still beside you, looking at her daughter as if trying to engrain every single facet of your face in her mind, burning the image of her daughter into her memory.

“I know, I love you too.” You didn’t know how you managed to keep your voice so even but to anyone listening it sounded like a normal conversation. She could almost imagine they were sitting at a dinner table (something they hadn’t done in a year because of the Witness Protection Program).

Pass the salt. She would’ve said.

“I need you to listen to me carefully, Bug.” If you hadn’t been so worried that you might die soon you might’ve found yourself scolding the man not to use that nickname anymore. After your friends had slept over in seventh grade and heard your father use it you were teased relentlessly, but now you didn’t mind it. You didn’t mind your father using a nickname you hated. You didn’t mind a lot of things now that you were facing death, serial killer breathing the same air as you and your mother, standing in your living room, staring at you with cold, calculating eyes.  

It’s funny how little things matter when death enters the picture.

“Remember when I taught you to drive?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you glanced to your mother, trying to keep your face void of emotion.

You hadn’t learned to drive. You had begged your father, of course, but he had said no. You remembered the fight that had ensued, his words loud just to overpower your teenaged protests. “There’s no use learning to drive when your mother’s here, sometimes me, and the metro, it’s useless. It would do you better to learn something more useful, like shooting a gun.”

Oh.

The sinking feeling returned in the pit of your stomach. Or maybe it just never left. Your eyes hardened with resolve over what you knew her father was asking you to do, and you nodded.

“Yeah.”

A tiny breath of air left your parted lips, and even with the confusion laced on her mother’s features and the amusement playing on Foyet’s, your mind cleared a bit.

Frontside. Trigger press. Follow through.

“I’m a terrible driver.” You murmured to her father. Your hand began to sweat at what he was asking of you. You recalled the shooting lessons. It had been a year or so ago, the man wanting you to be prepared for anything and then he had been shot and you hadn’t seen him since. Even with the little practice, you hadn’t been too bad, but this was nothing like the shooting range. This was pointing a gun at a killer and hoping to anything that was good and holy that you didn’t miss. Even so, who said you could get to the gun before Foyet got to you?

“You’re good enough.”

Good enough. You wanted to scream.

Foyet rose from his spot on the floor, and Haley stiffened in her place.

“I think that’s good enough, right, Y/N?” The way he moved, eyes trained onto you, alight with a kind of…mischief? Yes, mischief. Like an adolescent boy who just found his father’s stash of fireworks. His body moved like a predator. Refined, sophisticated, and calculated.

And, as he moved closer, you could smell him. He didn’t smell like you thought a killer would smell. Though, to be fair, you hadn’t ever given much thought to the scent of a killer. Maybe you thought that someone capable of such dirty, heinous crimes would smell as such. Like the rotten core would seep through their pores and become a putrid scent recognizable to those surrounding him. Instead, he smelt clean. Like laundry detergent and freshly washed hair. The hand that didn’t hold the gun reached up, taking a strand of your hair into his fingers and running it through them deftly.

“Don’t touch me.” You pushed him back on instinct and, not seeming to expect such force, the man was shoved back two steps. Rather than cocking the gun right then and there, Foyet looked at you with interest and then, he did something you didn’t expect. He smiled.

A laugh fell through his lips. It bubbled and boiled and hit your ears like nails on a chalkboard.

“Wow, you’ve got a feisty one, Aaron. I think she gets that from you, the old ball and chain over here is a bit of a whiner.” He chuckled to himself like he said the world’s funniest joke, and you glared.

“Leave them alone.” Your father may as well have been on mute because the killer paid no mind to his orders.

He breathed in a deep sigh, looking at you with those same bright, calculated eyes. Then, as if coming to a consensus, tilted his head. “How about this, how about you go hide, I’ll give you a head start, and then I’ll come find you.”

You could feel her mother bristle from beside you, quiet whimpers coming from her mouth. The hum of the engine played in the background, and the wind chimes on the front porch sang a tune with the breeze. “No.” You said firmly.

Foyet pouted, going to stand closer to the two. With each step he took closer to the two of you, it felt like a nail going into her coffin. You could see the twitch in his hands, as if itching to plunge a blade into your mother’s flesh, yet, you couldn’t just leave your mother. You couldn’t leave her to die.

“Ah, come on. You’re a teenager- a teenage girl, no less, aren’t you guys supposed to be fun?” His tone was teasing and coupled with his non-imposing figure, he shouldn’t have been able to chill you with his words but the way his eyes bored into yours they did.

You felt a hand on your elbow, a nudge and you glanced back to your mother. Haley was smaller than you, it had been that way for about a year or so now. You had hit a growth spurt once you entered high school, inheriting your father’s height, and it caused you to be a couple inches taller than your mother. Her eyes were filled with tears that were streaming down her face without care. You had seen her mother cry more than most daughters should.

Haley liked to cry at night, after putting her children to bed. She didn’t think about how often you stayed up, listening to the sobbing on the other side of the wall.

A hand cupped your face, and you leaned into the warmth. How many fights had you two gotten in over the past year? You had always been a daddy’s girl. He was never home, and it left your mother to be the ‘bad guy’ in most situations. And then, you all had been forced to pack up your lives and vanish. That year had been filled with nights of yelling at each other. Fights about small things. Like, your music playing too loud, or drinking too much coffee. And big stuff too. Like, you confronting your mother about having an affair.

Your relationship had been rocky. But, she was still your mother. She still reminded you to wear a coat when it was cold out, or washed your sheets when you felt sick. She made your favorite meals when you were sad, and bought  nail polish that she thought you would like. She was your mother, and you didn’t think you would ever be able to ignore that.

“Y/N, go.” Her words were stern, and it reminded you of a scolding. But your mother’s lips were tugging at the corners, and she was caressing your cheek so softly that you thought you would collapse right there. Your heart clenched at the sight of your mother.

Would this be the last time you saw her? The thought made you want to scream, cry, and punch something all at once.

For the first time that afternoon, you let your mask slip. Your eyes welled with tears, lip trembling. “Mom, no.” it came out shaky, and you didn’t have to turn around to see Foyet smiling at the way he could make an entire family fear for their lives in a mere couple of minutes. You could simply feel it.

Haley nodded, both her hands cupping your face now, scanning it over and over again. Your eyes, a fierceness to them that mimicked her own. A button nose that sat above rosy pink lips. On your chin, a small scar. You were an adventurous child. You hadn’t been afraid to climb the monkey bars despite being far too small for them and when you had fallen off, you had busted the skin open. Haley remembered being panicked, seeing you covered in blood, rushing you to the hospital, to find that you were calmer than she was. That’s how you always were. You were never scared. You were brave and fearless and kind and even if you played awful, punk alternative music that made Haley’s ears want to bleed, you were such a sweet girl with a big heart. The mother stood on her tiptoes, kissing your forehead.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, trying to burn the memory of her mother’s lips on your forehead in your mind. And when you opened them again, you tried to burn the image of your mother as well. Even now, red eyed and sniffling, your mother was beautiful. Everyone always told you, you looked just like your mother. Haley used to have blonde hair. It had passed her shoulders and you used to beg her to play hair salon because of it. She had cut it after the divorce and you had a suspicion that it was because she craved change. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, just like yours. It made her skin pull taut when she smiled. Her nose was soft and dainty- something you had always been jealous of.

What if you never saw your mother smile again?

Haley was nodding, nodding and patting the girl’s cheek and it took you a moment to realize she was speaking once more. “Go, baby. I’ll be okay.”

No, you won’t. You wanted to say. You wanted to let your body fall into your mother’s arms and have the woman hold you like she did when you were a child. You wanted to feel your mother’s hands run through your hair and hear the woman sing you to sleep. You didn’t care how childish it seemed, you just wanted your mother.

Your shoulders shook and you fought to keep your emotions from consuming you.

“I- I love you.” It was a desperate attempt at closure but it did nothing to make you feel better. It only made your mother smile.

“I love you too.” Haley gave one final pat before a light shove and you felt numb. You couldn’t feel yourself hand the phone to your mother, nor could you feel your feet move in the desired direction. Everything in you felt like it was simultaneously being doused in cold water and burned in hot flames. Your mind kept screaming at you to go back. Turn around, grab your mother and hope for the best but you could hear Foyet talking with your mother now and she knew that your father had told you what to do next.

It was weird.

All the nights you had spent in that stupid witness protection program, closing your eyes imagining you were back in your childhood home. You would pretend you were back in your room, waiting for your father to come home. You would pretend your mother was putting Jack to sleep and you would pretend that everything was normal. Now you were back and everything was wrong.

Focus.

After teaching you how to properly use a gun, Aaron had told you where one could be found in cases of dire emergencies. Your feet stepped lightly, moving as swiftly as you could. The laces on your converse slapped against the sides of the shoes and you silently pulled open your father’s nightstand. It hadn’t been touched since you all had moved out.  It was normal upon first glance. A couple of papers, reading glasses, sleeping pills. You knew better.

You pulled at the string on the bottom, the false top giving in immediately and revealing the silver .38. You grabbed for it, cocking it as quietly as you could. The weapon was heavy, yet, familiar in your hand. You thought that in a time like this you would be more shaky, but all you could focus on was your mother’s quiet sobs from the living room a whole story down.

The sound gave you hope. If she could cry, then she was alive. You pushed on with that thought in mind, rounding the corner. Just before you could head back downstairs and possibly take down Foyet, you heard it.

Gunshots.

Your mother cried out the first time, but it was completely silent after the second two. Just the light thud of a body hitting the floor.

You bit down on your cheek to keep herself from screaming. The taste of blood followed soon after. Your hand rose to your mouth, attempting to muffle the cries that attempted to escape.

“Y/N!” A sing song-y voice called out. There was a thumping sound on the stairs and after a sickening moment, you realized it was the sound of your mother’s body hitting the wood. He was dragging her up the stairs, wanting to display her just how he liked. Your eyes burned and you let the tears fall down your cheeks without care. They dripped off your chin, falling onto your shirt. It was a band t-shirt. Your mother hated it, said that the swords were too violent, but she allowed you to wear it anyways.

You darted into the closest door- Jack’s old room- eye’s scanning your surroundings for a plan. Whatever Foyet was doing, you knew you didn’t have much time until he was coming after you.

“I just wanna play, Y/N. Come out, come out wherever you are.” He sang out. He must’ve taken your mother- your mother’s body, you corrected yourself bitterly- to your parents bedroom. With a chilling realization, you remembered you had been there only moments before. He was close to you.

Your eyes landed on the closet, overflowing with toys, even months after not being in use. Jack tended to get whatever he asked for- not that he was spoiled, he was just hard to say no to. It wasn’t difficult to squeeze into it, leaving the door open a crack. The gun sat in your hands ready and waiting.

You steadied the sound of your breathing.

How was you going to tell Jack about mom? Well that was a bit optimistic, now, wasn’t it? Presumptuous of you to think you would live through the next five minutes to be able to tell your little brother that our mother was dead, You thought bitterly.

“I think I’ll lay your body right next to your Mom. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? So you can be together?” He was in the hallway, and even with the barrier of Jack’s door and the closet door, the sound of his voice made you shiver. It was smooth, charming, even. If you hadn’t known he was a complete psychopath you wouldn’t have given the man much thought. You wouldn’t have thought him capable of doing the heinous acts he had done.

There was a creak, the door opening to the room and your arms rose slightly. Your eyes were peaking through the crack, your heart racing. You could see the man moving into the room, searching for his next prey- and that’s what he thought you were. Prey. He thought you were an easy target. Everyone did.

Everyone thought you were just some stupid kid. Some people said it outright and others just assumed. You could tell when you first met your father’s team, some of them had stereotyped you as well. They had asked her about school and about boys and gossip, because they assumed that was all you were capable of speaking about and then you had surprised them by mentioning books and Neo-noir films. You were accustomed to being underestimated. And you were betting your life that George Foyet was doing the same.

As soon as you saw the man move into the middle of the room, you sprung. The door flew open and before you could hesitate, you pulled the trigger. Pure shock could’ve been the reason, you were able to get out of the room. Or perhaps you had managed to shoot him in the head and end your family’s suffering once and for all. You weren’t sure because you were moving purely on instinct. Your feet carried you through the house, jumping over toys and broken chairs and bloodstains that weren’t there before.

“You bitch!”

Okay, so he was alive. He was chasing after you but you didn’t look back. You jumped into the linen closet, out of breath but not allowing yourself to pant as you wanted to. You could hear the slight groans of the man as he made his way through the house, though it was farther, as if he was walking in the wrong direction. You had slowed him down, that’s for sure. The gun in your hand felt warm, like a pat on the back, but the thought of your mother’s dead body lying somewhere in the house sat in the back of your mind.

Where was Jack? You thought briefly. You had to trust that he was safe. Trust and pray that whatever their dad had said to him had made sense. You hoped he couldn’t hear anything that was going on. That he didn’t hear the sound of your mother being murdered and you shooting the killer.

You  felt the towel shelf press into your back, but you didn’t dare move anymore. You were sure Foyet hadn’t died now. If anything, you might’ve made him more angry.

It smelled like fresh laundry in the small space and it reminded you of Sunday nights. Your father was usually home, cases typically being taken during the week and coming home Saturday nights. That’s why you liked Sundays so much. You liked waking up to the smell of pancakes while your father played a Beatles album. He would sing into a spatula and twirl your mother around the kitchen. And Haley would laugh and tell him to stop, but she never actually meant it. And, when he noticed you coming down the stairs, he would take you in his arms- no matter how big and tall you had gotten, he never stopped doing it. He would spin you around as well and when you was little you would dance on his feet, but when you were older, your bare feet would touch the cold hardwood floor.

Your mother would do crossword and pretend not to notice that your father was giving not-so-subtle hints every so often. Your father would have you catch him up on what you had been up to that week, and you would have to help Jack read through the comics because he didn’t really understand the jokes. Sundays were your favorite days because instead of being a separate family like they were every other day, they were all together and it felt normal.

You closed her eyes, trying to imagine it was Sunday.

A large clatter rang out, effectively snapping you from your thoughts. You could hear footsteps, fighting, yelling. It was hard to tell how long you waited in the closet, gun pressed to your chest. You could hear someone outside the door, light footsteps against hardwood.

The light on the bottom was obscured from a large shadow and you tried to prepare yourself. What would death feel like? Maybe you was selfish, or maybe you were a coward, but you didn’t want to know. You wanted to stomp your foot and say that it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that your mother was dead. It wasn’t fair that you were about to die. The door was ripped open and you extended your arms, about to shoot blindly, when you saw who was before you.

“Woah, hey, Y/N. Y/N, look at me.”

You had stopped crying long ago, but your entire body was shaking. There was so much tension in your shoulders, it felt like somebody had tied you up entirely, slowly but surely squeezing the life out of you. You hadn’t realized it before, much too focused in getting as far away from the serial killer in your house as possible, but when you had shot Foyet, some of his blood had splattered onto you. You could see it now that the light was on it. It sat on your hands, partially dried and partially wet. And you could feel some of it on your cheeks.

You wondered what you looked like.

Derek stared at you. Your eyes were wild, darting between the gun in your hands and the gun in Derek’s. Your cheeks, flushed as they were, were painted lightly with splattered blood. The only evidence of previous tears were puffy eyes, but you hardly seemed weak right now. You seemed…feral.

“Y'N, it’s me. You’re safe. it’s me, it’s Derek. Put that gun down.” It was strange. It was like you could see his lips moving, you could see that he was speaking but you couldn’t hear the words. All you could hear was the sound of your mother’s body hitting the stairs one at a time.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

“He’s dead. Y/N, he’s dead.” The sound came back all at once. Everything came back all at once.

You could see people behind Derek. There were cops and medical examiners, flooding in and out of your childhood home. They all seemed to be moving toward the same place, all in the direction where you had fled. They were heading toward the body, you realized. The body of your dead mother. There was the faint sound of sirens, and there was chatter. You wanted to yell at them, scream for them to be quiet. And then you saw someone else.

Your father was coming toward you. He was covered in blood. Who’s blood was that? Was that your mother’s? Was that Foyet’s? Movement caught your eye.

JJ was holding someone in her arms, he looked confused, pointing at his sister, eyes alarmed at the weapon in her hands and the Jaraeu woman seemed to be trying to turn him away. He was asking for you.

'Y/N/N?’ He said.

Your shoulders dropped, the weapon falling into the Morgan man’s waiting hands. You stepped forward. Despite your sudden awareness, everything felt like it was in slow motion. The world was moving with resistance, and you opened her arms, almost crumpling in relief when Jack squirmed away from the blonde agent and ran into your waiting arms. You scooped him into your arms, sitting him on your hip.

“Y/N!” Despite all the chaos around you two, you let yourself focus on your brother. He seemed fine. Confused, surely. He had looped his arms around your neck but his eyes squinted at the blood on your cheeks that hadn’t been there before. His little eyebrows furrowed, and he reached one hand to poke your cheek. “Are you okay, Y/N?”

Jack loved you. Before you two were put into witness protection program, he didn’t see you all too much. You were so busy with school and hanging out with your friends, that you hadn’t even been home very often. Then, you didn’t have much of a choice.

You  liked showing Jack your music- the clean versions, of course. He would scrunch his nose at certain metal heavy bands, but you assumed he liked most of them just because you did. He liked to play cards with you, and have your draw him funny sketches. And when he would have bad dreams, you never hesitated to let him sleep with you.

You felt multiple sets of eyes on you, your father pulling you into a hug. They all pretended not to notice you flinch. You kept your eyes on Jack.

“I’m fine.” You took a hand, running it through the boy’s ruffled hair from hiding god knows where. He giggled at the action, and you let your hand rest on his cheek for a moment. Your mother was dead somewhere in this house, her body laid across the floor, slaughtered. You swallowed down the rising bile in your throat.

“Let’s get you checked out, yeah?”

opia

Pairing: none really. more of a platonic type of vibe with a muslim reader

Summary: opia: the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable. Some moments detailing your life as an underground boxer, with the Avengers thrown into the mix.

Warnings: cursing

Word Count: 4586

A/N: I’ve been wanting to write for a Muslim reader for a while now!! Im nervous about posting this lol please let me know what you think and I’ll take any criticism, since I’m not Muslim. I tried my best looking up stuff that I wasn’t 100% sure about. 

Underground boxing wasn’t supposed to be part of your plans. You had started boxing for fun towards the end of high school, and your parents and older brother had been completely supportive of it. What wasn’t to be supportive of? You were learning how to defend yourself. You spent countless times biking over to one of the many boxing gyms in one of the many pockets of Brooklyn. 

But underground boxing- that was a whole ‘nother ball game. You hadn’t really gotten involved until college, when a friend of a friend of a friend asked if you were interested. 

The lack of rules was what intrigued you.

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I need this to be a series !

What Didn’t Kill Me (Made Me Stronger)

Imagine being kidnapped at a young age and then returned to your family some years later after being rescued. Only difference is that you’re not the same as you once were.

Words: 8.8K Author’s Note: Very brief crossover here with Marvel here and there. This is going to take place the summer before Teen Wolf’s senior year, but all the drama they went through their final year doesn’t happen. It’s a normal year. Well.. somewhat normal.

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Well hello people who can think in their heads! I can’t !

So basically I can fonction without making sentences in my head and sometimes I force myself to actually think. And also when I read or write something there are no voices in my head.

This is earth shattering, I can’t believe there are people, who don’t think in sentences??? What the fuck is an abstract non-verbal thot? Y’all hoes think in Pictionary???? What the fuck

Good To You - 4.

Muslim Reader Being Married to Anthony Mackie and Being A Part of the Original Six

Faceclaim: @shahdbatal

Warnings: Cursing I think thats it.

A/n: I decided that this would be a good Headcanon post, feel free to check out my other writings. I loved this idea and it was requested too! I wanted to make it a mix of social media and real life stuff so I hope you enjoy! Feel free to request no matter race, religion, gender or sexual orientation. You are all welcome and I want the enviroment of my blog to feel that way. I have more writings in the works too. Enjoy!

You and Anthony would be happily married for a few months, and you couldn't have been more grateful to have him as your husband.

You would have two different Wedding Ceremonies, one less traditional for his side of the family, and a more traditional wedding for your side.

He would always comment about how beautiful you looked on that day which would result in a series of eye rolls from you. Him constantly saying how he got lucky and if you decided to leave him he would sue you.

"How in the world would you sue me?" He would be walking to your room yelling back to you, "If there's a will, there's a way."

You would love to reminisce about the time you met, which was on the set of CA:TWS, you were a part of the original 6; playing, and being proud that you played, a badass female Muslim character named Faiza. She was a shield agent turned Avenger and is one of the last alive of the original 6. Anthony would always claim that he fell in love with you because you could probably kick his ass.

You would be bestfriends with Chris and Sebastian mostly. You had spent the most time filming with them and obviously got attached at the hip to them like Anthony had with Sebastian.

You would hate to admit it but at times Sebastian and Anthony looked more like a married couple than you and Anthony. That wasn't your fault though cause Anthony was relentless with complimenting Sebastian.

The only time this man would use his Instagram would be to post about you. Which obviously you didn't complain about.

You would be like a kid in a candy shop when asked about what playing your character meant to you. Whenever your eyes would light up in interviews at that question Anthony's attention would be on you right away, ready to listen to his favorite sound in the world. Your voice.

"I've said it so many times before and I'll keep saying it, I have no regrets for my decision to audition. Not only has this franchise given me my platform today and my fans today...it's given me the confidence to say I love who I am. I feel powerful as Faiza and I feel powerful as Y/n and the endless support from people has helped with that so much. And getting to know little girls that you used to be like when you were younger, scared of what people will think and or what the future will throw at you...it feels amazing being able to give them hope and the confidence that they can do anything. That there are no real boundaries because you make your own." You would finish with a beaming smile and applause, the loudest in the room obviously Anthony.

Anthony would be your main and greatest supporter. He would be anywhere for you in a heartbeat, and you vice versa. So when rude questions/statements came along he was the first line of defense...well second because you could hold your own.

There was this one interview where the question wasn't really a question but a rude and bold ass statement. "...honestly I think you would look better without that head wrap thing," That had to be the rudest shit you heard yet, hell, even Anthony recoiled. He went to lift up his mic but you were already on it.

"Thank you for your opinion, I was actually thinking about taking it into consideration for a second, then I remembered that I don't give a damn. Sadly your opinion is flawed, because I'm with a man that saw me wear it for many years, and he still put this ring on my finger. Although, you are slightly correct because I look good all the time. FYI it's called a hijab. Thank you for your question."

You never failed to remind Anthony that he married a powerful ass woman.

He would respect your religion and especially take part in Ramadan, even though you told him he didn't have to. He would always ignore you though saying, "If my baby gotta go through this I'm going through it too."

With actions like these, and love like yours, you both constantly reminded each other you loved one other. With or without words.

honey,

there is no right way

summary || when you agree to be the feared mobster Bucky Barnes’ sugar baby, you expect to get enough money to pay your bills. what you don’t expect is to fall head over heels for him.

warnings || sugar baby au, mob! Bucky Barnes, unprotected sex, a lot of kinks, violence, SMUT. ANGST. FLUFF. (the holy trinity). MINORS DNI.

I have decided to not do taglists anymore, so if you wished to be notified of my newest updates please follow @bonky-n-steeb-lib and turn on the notifications!

* Feel free to send drabbles, requests or asks about this series!

— one

— two

— three

— four

— five

— six

— seven

— eight

— nine

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DRABBLES

Bucky and reader at a wedding

Bucky and Peter before the first date

Bucky taking your photographs

Bucky with kids

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i love when i “make a mental note” of something. it’s gone within 20 seconds

We love youuuu ❤️

You deserve every single one of those followers even more !! You feed us every with content of high quality you fucking deserve all the love in this world !!

Whaaaaatttttt??? How did this happen!

Thank you to everyone of your beautiful people who follow my shit show of a blog 💕 I see you, I appreciate you, I want to kiss every single one of you on the forehead (respectfully, if you gave me permission of course)

I feel like I should do a challenge or something to celebrate but have no idea what so I’ll just keep going with requests because you all have such great ideas!

Thank you once again ❤️