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cillivnz · 1 year

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𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐜𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐮 𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬 [𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭]

A/N: refer to the sypnosis and preliminaries HERE (i’d consider it important)

PROLOGUE

NOTES:

𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐜𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐮 𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬 — 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞

“Qu'as-tu fait, fils ?” - What have you done, son?

Ange - angel

Le Décès - The Death

Rich, and direful.

If the hellhounds of the underworldly assassins were to describe to your family, they’d call you silk-stocking sinister sons of bitches. It was true to an extent, yet the kindness that still beat in your stone cold hearts, making feeble attempts to warm your blood, was unknown to the world, but they knew.

They had a fancy name, but no synonymous life to honour it. They worked under your father, yet your father honoured brotherhood when he knew it was an accord set for life, the life of the progeny, too.

That is how you first met Vincent, the older child of your favourite Uncle de Gramont. Though you were closer to his baby sister’s age, you immediately took a liking to the older boy. Could he have been your first crush? Perhaps, the absurdity lay simply in the rejecting facade the boy had on when you’d shyly offer him to play with your dolls. Either way, you’d found yourself yearning for the de Gramont’s to come over to your Parisian mansion, and moreover, bring their children along.

You had been trained to shoot and stab the minute you asked for another toy. Sinisterly enough, you had soon learned that loading-reloading and shooting with a gun was far more fun than braiding Barbie’s hair; the day you proved to your father, you were indeed his blood. You weren’t allowed fieldwork yet, however; not until you reached the age of 17, but as for your crush, it was different.

As his father’s name and fame spread like wildfire, a poison ivy climbing up a ladder of hitmen, a foe sought vengeance. You were half asleep when the colossal doors to your mansion were pounded by immature hands, threatening to break every block of wood that went into making them, had someone not opened the door. The sight you remember, still lingering like a faded photograph in your memory lane’s camera, was a little Vincent covered in blood. On your father’s questioning, he revealed his father wasn’t the man yours thought him to be. An angry drunk is worse than an absent father, for the pain of memories doesn’t taint your skin with razor deep bruises that a present one embeds.

When they found out his father laid a hand on the little girl, placing her instantaneously in death’s cradle, your own blood ran cold. When your father asked, “Qu'as-tu fait, fils ?” he just replied, “I wish I’d killed him sooner,” wiping away the blood of his father from his face.

That was the last you saw of Vincent for a while, a petrifying thought, haunting memory to reminisce about. It ached — the look on his face, etched in your brain, a whip to your soul — the bloodshot eyes, staring at your father, in anger, exhilaration, a head held high drooping at the sight of little you in your night frock, jostling down the stairs at the commotion, descending faster at the sound of his voice, only to see him saturated in the blood he slashed out of his wrongdoer. Le Décès.

“Le Décès,” were the first words that escaped your father’s knotted tongue. An initial whisper, then an affirmation, and the look of guilt and shame on Vincent’s face at the sight of you was replaced by pride, finally, acknowledgment.

Vincent soon became Vengeance, Le Décès. Replacing his father’s position in your father’s life, you finally got what little you always wanted; having him close to you. Living under the same roof, going to the same events, killing the same people.

However, little you would be saddened to see this change in him. He didn’t talk to you, doesn’t tell you scary stories, make jokes about drinking too much tea before an assignment, pay attention to your words — all he does is stare at you from afar — no matter the time or the day, you’d always catch those Turkish blue eyes fixated on you, perhaps he feared if he stopped looking, you, too, would disappear from his life, just a petrifying thought, haunting memory to reminisce about.

Still, the two of you worked closely.

The Parisian Bonnie and Clyde; you soon earned notoriety in the underworld, proving yourself to be worthy of your name. Ensorceler, bewitcher of men, playing the aortic strings of their hearts like they’re wooden harps. They labelled you a sex symbol, you could only scoff at such vulgar truth. The blood rush you felt when it flowed for you, made the kill poetic.

You weren’t some slaughtering maniac, no. This was art, you were an artist before an assassin; with blades for brushes and crimson on your canvas. A femme fatale exhibiting that it’s her world, you’re only living in it because she lets you. After all, the lioness overpowers the lion in the only animalistic instinct genetic in them; hunting.

You didn’t flee when your family was assassinated. Vincent wasn’t there to protect you, for whatever reason it may have been, he wasn’t there, out of all the days he couldn’t have been. An army of shooters was taken down by you, had it not been your family they were after, you’d have joked about being Tony Montana, and then you became him.

You wreaked enough havoc for a century of cleaning supplies to work on, but wouldn’t it have been easier to leave, altogether? That’s what you did. Packed whatever sentiment was left in your seemingly meaningless clothes, now. Shed tears on your father’s insensate corpse, clinging to his blood soaked suit. You were a devoted daughter, every kill, every drop of blood you shed, you shed in his name. Yelling, screaming, you let your tears burn your bloody face. Now, you called out for help; after slaughtering every maggot that crawled into your home thinking they could devour you, you cry for help when life detaches from your father’s soul, your mother’s; you cry for Vincent.

As if the chant-less summoning worked, a hand rested on your shoulder. Your head snapped in the source’s direction, vision still blurry from the acid running down your face. “Vince…” You cried, softly, letting those strong arms carry you. The blood, the horror sight, the ruins, none of it mattered to you once he came. He came. He was going to take the pain away, you knew it.

When you were kids, you fell off while riding your bicycle on a stony path about your house, gashing your knee. Vincent saw you fall from a distance and was immediately on his feet, running towards you. “Don’t cry, ange.” He would coo softly, even as a child he was so much taller, bigger than you. He’d wipe away your tears, pointing where you’d fallen and say, “Look how many ants you killed.” And you’d laugh, forgetting all about the blood and the scars to come.

Thankfully, surprisingly, never has your body ever been tainted, despite how close you are to death every day in your life; a finger in the beak of the Hanged Man, always. Vincent’s taken hits for you, and something tells you he’d continue to.

“Ange, I promise you, I will avenge you.” Ange, he called you that after an eternity. “I will be your vengeance.” He said, before carrying you away. “I will be your vengeance.” His words ringing into your ears, etched into your mind along with the image of him as a child, murdering his father for vengeance.

Vengeance.

Que l'enfer se déchaîne, que les ravages se fassent et que la vengeance soit délivrée.

Let hell unleashed, havoc wreaked and vengeance be delivered.

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billdecker · 3 years

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Unfortunately, it’s getting late, and your luck has run out! Do you think I’m a fool, Jackson? Hmm? The drugs, they’re fake!

#sky hitmen #hitmen sky #hitmen reloaded #mathew baynton #mat baynton #sue perkins #tomi may #tv #i made a thing #mine: mb #this is a v out of context gifset lololol #guns tw

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fckedupnerd · 3 years

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#babe #absolute babe #Mathew once again being the hottest human I can even think of #gorgeous #look at his lil collarbone #and his skinny little chest #with the buttons undone #oh my god so sexy wtf #this episode was really fun #if only for the Mat content #fucking stunning skinny man #mathew baynton #mat baynton #Hitmen #Hitmen reloaded

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gale-gentlepenguin · 4 years

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ML fic: The Hunt

(Warning, Contains Blood, and Graphic Violence)

(Happy Birthday @masked-bixch )

(I hope you enjoy the present at the end)

A man in a trench coat carrying a duffel bag walked into the sewers of Paris.

He was of a decent build and average height, not buff, not scrawny. His hair was short and jet black. He had a pencil mustache and kept most of his face hidden by the use of his hat. If needed he could likely slip into a crowd without notice.

He had heard of the bizzare events that have been occurring in Paris, a place were sad people get possessed by evil bugs and fight superheroes. It would sound insane if there wasn’t video proof.

What really was insane was the recent bounty that popped up. One that many would consider a practical joke. In fact, many thought it was done as a way to flush out greedy hitmen.

10 million Euros for Ladybug and Chat noir.

It was such a rediculous idea. Hiring an assassin to kill superheroes.

He didn’t understand why he was even bothering to check out the legitimacy of this insane bounty. Was it boredom? Perhaps hope for a challenge. He had been in this field for 20 years now, and he really wanted a way to prove himself. Not many people know it, but hitmen are arrogant egomaniacs. Reputation is as valuable as gold. If he could pull it off, then his rep would be without question.

He followed the directions to the rendezvous point, and he was shocked to see that this was legit.

In front of him stood a man in a purple suit and a silver mask, a metal briefcase in his hand. Even he knew that this was the villain of Paris, the super terrorist, Hawkmoth.

“So, it was real.” The man in the trench coat stated, an amused smile graced his face.

“I take it you are interested in the assignment.” The masked man questioned, keeping a serious face.

“I was curious about this strange bounty that popped up. Many people in my circle think it’s a set up to a sting operation.”

“Yet you came anyway?”

“I figured a cop wouldn’t be so brazen with their trap.”

Hawkmoth didn’t react to the man’s comments.

“Can I get the name of the man I’m hiring?”

“You can call me Hunter. You of all people should know the importance of a civillain identity being kept secret.” Hunter mused

Hawkmoth nodded.

“Very well. Hunter, your assignment is to get me the Miraculous of Ladybug and Chat noir, whether they are dead or alive is no concern of mine.”

Hunter looked at the villain before chuckling.

“So, your use of gloomy people has been so ineffective you needed to actually hire someone.”

Hawkmoth was not amused.

“So, if I take the job. Do I get some special equipment to deal with these freaks? Or will I be able to put a bullet in their skulls without a problem.

“The miraculous enhances their natural durability to superhuman levels. So long as their wearing the miraculous, normal weapons won’t be able to do much against them. A typical bullet would be a bug bite at worst.”

Hunter scoffed.

“Figured.”

Hawkmoth smiles.

“But, I can give you the edge you need.”

He reveals his Cane and opens the dome on top of it to reveal a black butterfly.

“A butterfly? I hope you are joking.”

“Trust me. This will be more then enough”

“Alright, show the cash. I need to make sure I aint getting stiffed.”

Hawkmoth tosses the suit case to the assassin.

He opens the case and his eyes go wide, a dark grin appears on his face.

“Let me just check to make sure its real.”

Hunter quickly pulls a bundle of bills and examines them, it was real. It was legit.

“And they say crime doesn't pay.”

“Consider that a down payment. Should you succeed, you will be receiving payments over the course of 5 years.”

Hunter closes the case.

“I want those payments in American bills. Cant exactly stick around here spending this cash.”

“Your demands will be met. Now, shall we begin?”

_______________________________________________________________________

“Another quiet Patrol. Seems that Hawkmoth might have Migrated for the winter.” The cat themed costume quipped.

“I don’t trust this. Don't you find it off Chat noir? Its been over a month since the last akuma attack.” The red clad heroine commented.

“Relax Ladybug, maybe Hawkmoth felt humiliated after the 30th akumatization of Mr.Pigeon and decided to take up stamp collecting.”

Ladybug moved to the edge of the roof they were on to get a better view of the area. The night was quite peaceful, even for the city at night. Something felt very wrong.

Chat noir’s ear twitched as he picked up on something.

“Duck!”

Chat noir tackled Ladybug out of the way just barely avoiding a small incoming projectile.

“What was that?”

Ladybug looked in the direction of where the object came from.

“Roll!”

Ladybug rolled with Chat noir avoiding the next few attacks.

“What in Plagg’s name is going on!?” Chat noir questioned. Confused by the sudden attack.

The two got up.

“We need to move.”

The two started to move across rooftops.

“Looks like Hawkmoth decided to get his lazy butt up again.”

“Chat noir Focus, this akuma is sniping at us.”

“Yea, its probably wants to capture us like with Desperada. We should avoid getting hit.”

The akuma looked away from his scope.

His clothes took the colors of the environment around him. His eyes blood red and his pupils like those of an eagle. He had a black mask cover his face, which also acted similar to his clothing. He was as stealthy as a chameleon. and as deadly as a Cobra.

“Damn, they are quicker then I expected. I guess that explains the high cost.”

He got up from his spot and stretched.

“I guess this is where the real fun begins.”

He goes into his bag to change his sniper rifle for two sleek Desert Eagle Pistols.

“Gotta admit Hawky. You really suited me up. I can just think of a weapon and bam, I can pull it right out of my bag. I am pretty damn sure these are illegal here.”

A purple butterfly outline appeared over his eyes.

“Remember Hero Hunter, these aren't just copies. Thanks to the powers I gifted you, those weapons are lethal, even to them. That includes if they are turned on you as well.”

“Yea Yea, I am well aware of the powers. I get their magic trinkets, and take them back to you. And I can kill them if I want to.”

“Just be sure you succeed.”

“Noted.”

Hero hunter Dashed along the roof tops after the two. He was planning on doing two quick shots then clean up. But perhaps he can enjoy an up close kill.

_______________________________________________________________________

“We need to find a place to regroup and think of a way to handle this akuma.”

“Agreed, I hate when the akuma hides like this. It is super annoying.” Chat noir spat.

“Good thing I am not hiding.”

The two heroes stopped to see the akuma appear in front of them.

He was wearing camouflage that seemed to shift to the correct colors of his environment at will. He looked like a mix of a soldier and a game hunter. But what caught the two heroes attention were the two pistols in his hands.

“Are those guns? Like actual guns!?” Chat noir questioned in disbelief.

The akuma smirked.

“Desert Eagle. .44 Magnum. Always buy American.” He said as he pointed his gun at the cat.

“Now, hand over the miraculous, or I turn you both in to Swiss cheese.”

“Hate to tell you this, but those won't do anything to us. Got some impressive Invulnerability. At best those will be an annoy...”

Chat noir heard the click of the barrel but was caught off guard by the bullet the went through his thigh

“AGH!!!!” Chat noir Screamed as blood spilled out of the hole. He grabbed his Thigh as he fell down on one knee, reeling from the pain.

“So much for your durability.” He mocked. “Now last chance, or next shot goes through your skull.”

Ladybug felt a chill go down her spine. This was nothing like the other akuma attacks. This was a true life or death battle. Hawkmoth was playing for keeps!

He lined up his next shot for his head but his arm was snagged by a yo-yo. The sudden movement made him release his gun.

“You get away from him you monster!” Ladybug screamed in rage.

The akuma growled and turned his other hand to her, trying to shoot her.

Ladybug quickly jumped in the air, narrowly avoiding the bullets. He cursed as he realized he needed to reload.

Ladybug took this chance to scoop up Chat noir and get him out of there.

“Sneaky bug.” He muttered angrily. He was done playing nice. He didn't care if they were kids. They were making a mockery of him, and he has a reputation to maintain.

He goes into his bag and pulls out something much bigger.

“This will be perfect for Exterminating that bug.”

______________________________________________________________________

“Ghhh.” Chat noir bit his lip to hold in his pain as Ladybug put pressure on the wound.

“Okay, so we have an akuma with weapons that ignore our durability.”Ladybug stated as she was trying to figure out a plan.

“Figured that one out. Thankfully, I can heal quick. I think the bleeding is stopping.”

Chat noir managed to stand up. He grunted in pain as he kept himself standing.

“Oh no you don't. You are staying hidden until I solve this.”

“Like hell I am! You expect me to lay back and let the woman I love get shot at?! You're crazy if you think....”

Chat noir noticed Ladybug was in tears.

“Ladybug...”

“I don't want you to die Chatton! You are injured and that wound will slow you down. There is no way you can dodge bullets in your condition!”

“Ladybug... You still have miraculous healing. Once we beat the akuma, all the damage will be undone. That can't happen if you get killed. You need me out there.” Chat noir reasoned.

Ladybug could see his logic. She hated that he was right, she hated that there was a chance they could die. She hugged him. The two managing to calm their nerves after the embrace.

“Okay, but you need to be careful. I don't want you getting hurt anymore.”

“I promise, I will be alright when this is over.”

“Come out Come out Wherever you are!!”

A voice called out from a distance.

“Seems the hunter is getting impatient.” Chat noir rolled his eyes.

“Well maybe I have something to turn the tide and make the hunter the hunted.”

“Lucky Charm.”

_____________________________________________________________________

The Akuma sits on the roof top, his camouflage active to ensure he was hiding.

He was pretending that he was getting cocky in order to draw the two heroes out. They will be expecting an outright fight. But he had something special planned.

The two peer from their hiding place, looking around to see where he was.

‘Just a little further.’

“Where did he go? I could of sworn I heard him.”

“Keep calm kitty, he might have a trick up his sleeve.”

‘Just pop right out.’

Chat Noir jumped out of the spot.

“Now!”

He presses the button in his hand.

A sting pulls chat noir back just barely avoiding the exploding mine.

“Damn it!” The akuma cursed.

“Nice try, we figured you would try something like that. And now we know where you are. So quit the chameleon act.

The akuma revealed himself and had his arms up.

“Alright. You caught me. I have been outsmarted.”

Ladybug could see that the man was clearly lying through his teeth, he was reaching for something.

“Its a trap.”

The man revealed a massive Gun and aimed it at them.

“Bye bye.”

The akuma let loose a storm of bullets from his automatic machine gun.

Chat noir began spinning his Staff as fast as he could to block the bullets. Ladybug used the opportunity to slick away.

“I never get to use these. They are so much fun!” The akuma roars with laughter. His bullets not as accurate as before with the powerful gun shooting off rapid fire.

Chat noir managed to block a majority of the bullets but he was getting knocked and hit by a few missed ones, He was starting to getting much bloodier and his baton was slowing down. He was biting his lip to avoid screaming in pain. These bullets hurt like hell.

“You’re finished you mangy mongrel.”

He felt something his his hands.

“What the heck.

“He looked up to see Ladybug.

He pointed his gun upward and began firing. A few bullets managed to connect as she was in the air.

“GHH!” She groaned in pain as she rolled from the landing.

“Nice try Bug. But now your going to be exterminated.”

He pointed the gun at her.

“Ladybug!” Chat noir cried out as he tried to move.

Click

“Out of ammo. No matter, I still have ammunition in my pistols and with how weak you two are, it will be easy pickings.” He boasted as he tried to drop his empty gun. But he couldn't.

“Wait... I can't let go of my gun!”

Ladybug smirked as she revealed the super glue she had on her person, she tossed it aside used her Yo-Yo to circle around his legs and tripped him. His pistols and duffel bag flew off of him as he was helpless to get them.

“You got to be kidding me!” He screamed in frustration.

“Chat noir, the bag!”

The cat slowly stumbled to the bag. Ladybug took notice of the dozens of holes in his body, the cat had managed to protect his vital organs, but his body was bloody and he would die from blood loss if the healing didn't happen soon.

“Hurry Chat!”

“Cata...clysm...” Chat noir called out in a weak voice as he fell forward. Touching the bag with his hand, turning it black and causing it to crumble. The black butterfly popped out.

“No!” The akuma shouted.

Ladybug untangled her yo-yo and went to snag the akuma.

“Time to de-evilize.”

She snagged the akuma with her Yo-Yo and purified it. This resulted in the akuma reverting back into his normal form.

“Chat, the akuma is down! Chat?”

She looks to see a large puddle of red liquid pooling around him.

Ladybug looked away, she couldn't freeze up right now. She needed to cast healing.

“Miraculous ladybug!”

She tossed the glue container into the air and she watched as her powers activate.

The damage to the environment vanished, and the pool of blood around chat noir vanished. Ladybug’s leg healed instantly.

“Chat!” She ran to the cat hero, who was still laying face down in the ground.

“Its alright Chat noir. I fixed everything. You are all fixed up.”

The de-akumatized hitman noticed the hero was distracted. He quietly made his way toward his bag. He had some things in there that would not give him plausible deniability over this whole mess.

“Chatton?” Ladybug touched his cheek and noticed he felt cold. She frantically began checking for a pulse.

“No... no no no... We... we won. This shouldn't.”

The assassin slicked away as the hero desperately tried to revive her partner.

“I wonder if hawkmoth will pay for half the job done?”

______________________________________________________________________

Is Chat Noir Alive? Is he dead?

As my birthday gift @masked-bixch is the one that gets the final say!

I will write the ending after I get the response from her.

It is her birthday gift, she should get to decide how it all ends.

#ml #ml angst #tw: blood #miraculous ladybug #ladynoir #does he live?#does he die #tw: Character Death?#masked-bixch #I hope you like it #miraculous angst

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reluctantjoe · 8 months

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Yonderland (2013-2016) / Hitmen: Reloaded (2021)

MATHEW BAYNTON Christopher Payne | 3.03: The Bird & The Bee Kieran Roberts | E3: Impersonation

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baynton-nation · 2 years

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Mathew Baynton and Hands

You, Me and the Apocalypse (2015) | Episode Nine

Hitmen: Reloaded (2021) | Episode Three

The Wrong Mans (2014) | Series Two, Episode Three

Inside No. 9 (2017) | Series Three, Episode Five

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ramascreen · 3 years

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Key Art And Trailer For 'HITMEN' Season 2 - Streaming Thursday, October 28 on Peacock

Key Art And Trailer For ‘HITMEN’ Season 2 – Streaming Thursday, October 28 on Peacock

Peacock reveals trailer and streaming date for season two of the Peacock Original HITMEN: RELOADED, starring British favorites Mel Giedroyc (“The Great British Bake Off”) and Sue Perkins (“The Great British Bake Off”) as misfits Jamie and Fran, two best friends who also happen to be contract killers. Season two begins streaming Thursday, October 28, with all six episodes available at once on…

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#Hitmen

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starting-now · 5 years

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What Happened? (Barry x Reader)

Request by Anonymous: hey! i was wondering if you could write a fluff/angst imagine where the reader works alongside barry and gets injured on a mission, and barry has to tend to the reader’s wounds?

(gif credit to @lousolversons)

Warnings: gun violence, cursing, stitches

Word Count: 1910

A/N: Requests are open!! Thank you so much for this request, Anon, I hope you like it!!

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

Barry stepped cautiously through the archway into the room. There were crates stacked from the floor to the ceiling, most likely loaded with gun parts and drugs judging by the file he was given before the mission. He leaned forward and did a quick scan of the grey room before turning around to you and gesturing that he was going to do a sweep and to watch his back.

You nodded, holding your MK23 pistol tightly in your grasp and checking your blind spots. This wasn’t your first time on a hit, and you and Barry had worked together a handful of times before. He was great at his job, but if you were being honest you much preferred him outside of work. You loved to compliment and flirt with him to make him blush, which was adorably easy. But here, he was stone faced and serious, so much so that he didn’t seem like someone who had ever blushed in his life.

Barry focused on sweeping the room, checking the corners and entrances expertly. As he finished his gaze wandered back to your face, which was intently focused on him and your surroundings. He really did hate this job, but he loved how determined and focused you were while doing it. He thought back to the first time you two met.

“Barry. (Y/N). (Y/N). Barry” Fuches said and gestured to you both. You held out a hand for him to shake and Barry cautiously accepted. “This is gonna be great I can just tell. You’ll be the brawn, she’ll be the brain, right buddy?” Fuches said condescendingly

“So then what exactly do you bring to the table?” you responded sarcastically. Barry smiled, and you caught a glimpse of it from the corner of your eye. Fuches stammered and you laughed to break the tension.

“Well, I guess I’ll just let you two get to know each other.” he said and gave Barry a dramatic wink and walked out of the room. He wanted to disappear into the floor.

“So,” you started, sitting down on the couch in the room, “what’s your deal?” you asked with a smile.

You stayed up almost that whole night talking about everything from how you both ended up being hitmen, to the mental and physical toll it takes, to Fuches, to Barry’s acting, which you were particularly interested in.

After you learned about his interest in acting you made it a top priority to see all of his performances, even though you knew he wasn’t very good yet. And you always brought him a flower, you loved to see the small embarrassed smile on his face and the way that his classmates gave him the side eye. He wished he could tell whether you were messing with him or not. He hoped you weren’t.

Barry smiled at the memory and glanced around the room one more time before nodding at you and standing up. You followed suit, but as soon as you stood a bullet came through the small glass pane in the door on the east side of the building and hit your side. You fell over and Barry watched in slow motion as your body hit the floor and you began to bleed.

Bullets were still flying through the room and Barry dove towards you and laid flat on the floor for cover. His brow furrowed with worry as he looked at you, and he pressed his hand to you, coming away with his hand covered in your blood. He felt tears beginning to escape his eyes, but his sadness quickly turned to rage as he turned towards the source of the bullets and began army crawling towards the door. The bullets stopped briefly, and Barry could hear the shooter fumbling with his ammunition to reload. He stood up and opened the door harshly to reveal the shooter, a low ranking member of the Bolivian mob, who stared up at Barry with wide eyes as he continued fiddling with his ammo. Barry raised his gun but the man rolled around the corner and began to run. Barry’s feet pounded the ground as he chased the man.

“I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!” he yelled and finally caught up with the shooter at a dead end in the hall.

The shooter didn’t have time to say anything in response as Barry emptied the chamber of his gun into the man’s body. Barry breathed heavily and wiped the tears from his eyes which continued to flow. He jolted quickly and began sprinting back down the hallway towards you. The blood had heavily soaked through your shirt. He grabbed yours and his gun and put them in his bag before sliding his arms underneath your body carefully.

“(Y/N)? Can you hear me? Please say you can hear me.” he stammered

You groaned in response and managed to get out a weak ‘I can hear you.’

Barry smiled as the tears still flowed freely from his eyes “Alright, okay, I’m gonna get you out of here.” he said.

He carried you outside where Fuches was waiting in the car. He flung open the car door when he saw Barry walking towards him with you in his arms.

“What the hell happened?!” he exclaimed.

Barry didn’t respond, opening the backdoor and gingerly laying you across the back seat.

“Barry! What. Happened?” Fuches repeated.

Barry turned to him with red puffy eyes and Fuches’ expression softened.

“She’s hurt real bad.” Barry said.

“Then lets get the fuck out of here.” Fuches replied and jumped back into the car. Barry sat in the backseat, holding your head in his lap and making sure you stayed conscious. Fuches drove as fast as he could back to the motel, where they slipped in the back without being seen.

Barry rushed through the door with you in his arms and carefully laid you down on the bed. Fuches gathered the supplies and handed them to Barry.

“Listen buddy, I gotta go. Someone has to clean up that pool of blood you two left behind before the cops get there. You got this right?” Fuches said hesitantly and patted Barry on the shoulder half-heartedly.

Barry simply nodded, and Fuches took a hesitant step backwards before grabbing the keys and leaving the room again.

Barry rolled up your shirt so he could assess the wound. The bullet seems to have been lodged between your third and fourth rib, which were definitely broken, but still, you were lucky to be alive. Barry felt a wave of guilt wash over him. This was all his fault. You could have died. He shook the thought from his head and began working. He cleaned the wound using alcohol, earning a pained groan from you. He hated to hurt you, but on the bright side at least that meant you were still conscious. He started on the stiches, being sure to take his time and make sure they were right. Your groans continued. A good sign. When he was done, he cleaned the wound once more and placed a large bandage over the area.

You were slowly regaining consciousness, but you needed rest. Barry grabbed a water bottle from the motel minifridge and brought it to you, helping you drink some and then setting the rest on the side table. He grabbed two pillows from the other bed and propped you up enough to slide them underneath you. You drifted off to sleep from exhaustion and pain. Barry poured himself a drink from Fuche’s scotch and sat on the bed next to yours, watching you with a pained expression on his face.

He sat there for hours, feeling guilt and shame for putting you in that kind of danger, for being so stupid. And just as he was beginning to worry if you were okay, you let loose the loudest groan of all.

“Ugh, holy fucking shit.” you heaved.

Barry rushed to your side and helped you to sit up. Your brow was furrowed tightly and your arm was holding your side. You sat there in silence for a minute trying to regain your composure and breath, as well as remember what happened. Barry returned to his spot on the bed opposite you.

“Listen, (Y/N), it was all my fault. I didn’t see that guy and it almost cost you your fucking life. I don’t think I could live with myself if…” Barry said and trailed off.

You reached out and put a hand on his knee. “Don’t beat yourself up. Neither of us saw that guy. He wasn’t even a good shot, he just got lucky.” you said and smiled, which Barry returned half heartedly before his eyes flickered back to the floor.

“Besides, I mean, you also saved my life today.” you said.

“I wouldn’t have had to save your life if I wasn’t here at all. I knew this was a bad idea. I knew it. I should go, I’m sorry. You really don’t need me, and you’d probably be better off if I-”

“If you left?” you interrupted and Barry hesitated before nodding

“Yeah” he answered.

“Barry, I had nothing before I met you. I had no friends, no family. I was depressed and angry and careless because I didn’t think there was anything left here for me. And then I meet you. Barry Block, the aspiring actor with the adorable smile. Barry Berkman, the coworker that I’m fucking in love with. And yea we’re hitmen but I finally felt some kind of normal for once. Like maybe there is something more to me than this.” you said, avoiding his gaze.

“Do you mean that?” Barry stammered quickly “I mean, do you really mean what you said about...being in love with me?”

You raised an eyebrow “Of course, Barry. I bring you flowers to every performance you do, I flirt with you all the time. What did you think?” you asked incredulously.

Barry smiled and blushed, as he so often did around you. His previous thoughts that you were making fun of him seemed so silly now. “I guess. I kinda. Thought you were, ya know, making fun of me?” he said and shook his head.

“You are ridiculous, Berkman.” you said and grinned.

“...I’m, um, in love with you too.” Barry responded and there was a short silence.

“Kiss me, Barry.” you said with a small smile on your face.

“R-really? Like right now?” he asked, looking around like a nervous schoolboy.

“Yes and my side hurts so fucking bad so I’m gonna need you to come to me.” you said, and he leaned forward. Your hand slid up to cup his cheek and you pulled his face to yours and captured his lips in a kiss. It felt just right, his calloused fingers gingerly rested on your neck and he ran his fingers through your hair. It was slow and romantic. You wanted to deepen the kiss, but when you leaned forward you let out a pained noise. Barry pulled back and you clutched your side.

“You should probably get some rest.” he said softly.

“So should you. Why don’t you join me?” you asked and he smiled down at you, helping you to lay back down. He slid his shoes off and laid down next to you. You couldn’t move much, but you managed to find his hand and intertwine your fingers with his before drifting off to sleep.

#barry x reader #barry hbo #Barry Berkman #barry block #barry berkman x reader #barry block x reader #barry block fanfiction #barry berkman fanfiction

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twistedsickopath · 4 years

Text

had the weirdest most realistic dream that there was a party at my apartment but someone was killed in the shower and so the police came and found out that there was a weird guy dressed as santa lurking in the hallway before the murder so we all went to a safehouse but on our way there three hired guys showed up to finish the job which was killing me??? but then the guy that had the gun dropped it while trying to take it out of his holster and so i grabbed it and shot them instead. then we proceeded towards the safehouse and everything got weird and i couldnt trust anyone around me anymore bc i suspected someone at the party had hired the hitmen bc of my past struggle with drug addiction, and then another hitman showed up and one of the cops gave me her gun instead of just shooting the guy herself smh but i ran out of bullets and the guy ran away while i was reloading and then i woke up

#psalms #dream post #so all this to say a gun in my hands felt absolutely right #i want an excuse to shoot someone in real life #makes me wanna go to a gun range again

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ao3feed-reed900 · 4 years

Link

by tristinai

Gavin said he’d rather die than live without Nines. What he never considered is that he may just have to live with him, for better or worse.

Set immediately after the events of Ride And Die.

Words: 17235, Chapters: 1/2, Language: English

Series: Part 12 of Bad Decisions

Fandoms: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Gavin Reed, Upgraded Connor | RK900

Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed

Additional Tags: Murder Husbands, Hitmen For Hire, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, references to murder, Psychological Trauma, References to Torture, Erectile Dysfunction, rim jobs, Blow Jobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Unhealthy Relationships, Obsession, self-blaming for abuse, reed900, Human AU, Angst and Fluff and Smut

#ao3feed #fanfic #dbh #reed900 #Detroit become human #gavin reed #rk900 #upgraded connor

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theblueinyou · 5 years

Text

L’heure entre chien et loup 06

↳ Pairing(s): Kookmin, Namgi, Yoonjin

↳ Genre(s): Noir/mafia, angst, romance

↳ Warning(s): R18. Graphic violence (blood+death), gun violence, hitmen+ assassination

↳ Words: 3,136

↳ Summary: Hoseok, Namjoon and Taehyung are NIS agents working on a mission to dissemble an organization of highly trained killers.

Chapter preview: Seokjin’s patience is tested, Jimin receives an unpleasant reminder of his past, and Namjoon, Taehyung, and Hoseok are a step closer to uncovering a well-kept secret.

↳ Notes: i realised the last time i updated was last november i’m so sorry OTL also thank you @berrycoups for beta-ing this chapter!

↳ ao3

At eight in the evening, a lean figure sits crouched on top of a thirty-story building in Gangnam. The air is crisp after the sun has set, two hours past the usual time where people finish work and return home. It’s one of busiest time during the day, but the noise from the ground below isn’t so bad up above, everything muted by the height.

Jimin holds a semi-automatic pistol as he gazes through his binocular glasses, a cigarette hanging between his lips as he watches the busy streets below him. Soon the bustling streets will freeze with terror, a microsecond of silence before chaos unfurls.

< L’heure entre chien et loup >

Chapter 6

“Jay,” a voice from his earset snaps him back to alertness. “There’s wind blowing from the west.”

Mina, a woman five years older than him, is his handler during operations and his right-hand woman in his business. She’s the only one in the tattoo parlour among his staff who carries a gun under her kimono.

“Target approaching from 12 o’Clock at 25 km/h.”

Jimin’s eyes searches the street with Mina’s instructions before he sees it. “Benz E Class?”

“Yes.”

“How many are in the car?” There’s a limit to the binocular glasses, and Jimin squints behind the lenses.

“There's one driver and two sitting in the backseat. Target will arrive in your range in 700m.”

Jimin hums in response, dropping the cigarette to the floor and crushing it beneath his boot as he loads his gun. The car carries a member of the Triad, and Jimin doesn’t breathe as he holds his aim. Revenge, he thinks as his fingers hover over the trigger, is best served cold.

“Target is now in your range.”

The bullet cuts through the air with a bang with a slight pull of the trigger, propelling itself to reach its destination within seconds. The glass shattering is piercing as a clean shot goes through the driver’s head. It all happens in a manner of seconds, there are splatters of blood everywhere and the car swerves out of control. The screeching of tires and horns blaring catches the attention of every passerby. Jimin quickly reloads his gun once more for Mina’s next orders.

“Target is 300m away. Get ready.”

It’s when Jimin’s focus suddenly shifts from the streets below to the sudden flash of a nearby digital billboard, that he freezes. The screen is filled with Jungkook’s face.

“250m. Jay, shoot!” Mina’s voice rises when Jimin doesn’t respond. The car has moved out of Jimin’s range, rendering their original plan useless.

“Jay!”

“......”

“Park Jimin!”

Mina using his real name is just as effective as splashing cold water onto his face, and Jimin snaps back to reality. His focus zooms into the car and he readjusts his aim. Someone from the back seat has reached forward to take control of the wheel, and the car barely escapes into the corner of the street and out of Jimin’s range.

“Fuck,” Jimin hisses and throws down his glasses. He shoves his pistol into his bag and pulls out a long range sniper rifle, sprinting down the stairs. When he’s half-way through the building, he pushes the nearest window open and searches for the car containing the Triad member. Jimin spots them quickly, and pulls the trigger without a clear focus. He misses and the bullet hits the front tire instead. He curses, adjusting aim again when the car skids to a full stop.

Adding onto Jimin’s frustration, the Triad member jumps out of the car and runs to hide. Jimin struggles to find a good shot as the man jumps from car to car to avoid getting killed. He’s just about to switch to another rifle when he hears a gunshot.

Mina. Jimin sighs in relief. She must have been on the other side of the road and shot him in the thigh. The Triad member is limping now, leaving a thin trail of blood behind him. Jimin acts immediately, aims for his back, and pulls the trigger.

The white cement beneath the man soaks red, but Jimin doesn’t have the time to watch the body fall to the ground. The city beneath him is in chaos, and he needs to slip into the crowd to avoid unwanted attention.

He can hear the distant sound of sirens as he packs away his gear. The sound of their gunshots have given away their locations, and Jimin moves quickly. Once he’s left the building, Mina appears behind him and pulls him into the rushing crowd, moving towards their escape route.

Jungkook’s face is still on the screen above him, and Jimin looks up once more before pulling up his hoodie over his head.

He still remembers what Seokjin has said to him two years ago, when he hadn’t shot him like Jimin had expected to.

“Live like you’re a dead man,” Seokjin had warned him, his last act of mercy. “If you ever appear in front of Jungkook again…”

Mina and Jimin slip into a car that’s been waiting for them in the alley, and Jimin closes the door just in time to see Jungkook’s face one last time before the screen blinks into an advertisement.

“...I’ll kill you both myself.”

“He’s ready to see you now.”

The secretary gestures towards the door, giving Seokjin a nod towards the office. Seokjin tugs at his jacket before he enters, smoothing out the wrinkles that aren’t there.

There are ups and downs of being used as a political puppet at the age of thirty. One of the perks is that his unofficial title allows him to move forward with the mission quietly and quickly— no one would ever expect the puppet to be working with two highly trained assassins to put a bullet through the head of their party’s presidential candidate.

And one of the downs… Seokjin suppresses a sigh before he walks in.

The office of the floor leader of the party bears a large national flag, hanging proudly above the elder. It’s a minimum effort to keep up the appearances— it was an open secret that the right wing conservatives weren’t exactly altruistic in their motives. Seokjin eyes it briefly before he bows in greeting, “You asked to see me, sir?”

The floor leader holds a golf club in his hand, hitting the ball lightly towards the hole at the end of the golf mat, missing by centimeters and rolling to a stop in front of Seokjin’s foot instead.

“There are too many people who don’t practice putting these days even when it’s the basic foundation of golf,” The man forgoes the greeting, and Seokjin obediently places the ball back for him to hit again. “They lack the basics, so that’s why they miss all the opportunities on the field, letting the ball go to the wrong places.”

Putting requires a great amount of concentration— Seokjin knows that much. He never played but watched enough games to pretend. Seokjin waits quietly as he goes back to his place, hands folded neatly in front of him. The man stares at the head of the golf club as he continues, and swings—

“No common sense. No fundamental knowledge.”

The ball flies higher than it normally should, hitting Seokjin at the center of his chest. It doesn’t hurt, but a flash of anger to spikes in him. Still, after years of practice, Seokjin doesn’t even flinch. His perfectly calm demeanour, however, seems to aggravate the older man further.

“Your face was all over the front page of the newspapers this morning. And you’re not the face I want to see these days.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“I hate apologies. If you’re going to be sorry about it, don’t do it in the first place,” he scowls briefly before shifting his attention back to the new ball in place, swinging once more to hit Seokjin again, this time on the shoulder. Seokjin doesn’t blink, keeps his head bowed as he waits for the old politician to mitigate his anger.

The incident at the charity gala was planned by the leader himself in order to divert the recent negative press about the Ruling Party to the mayor who was currently affiliated with the Opposition Party. The press however, was more concerned about Seokjin’s martyrdom as the protector of the mayor, than finding out the reason why the bag of waste was thrown towards the mayor in the first place.

“Listen, Kim. Politics is a show,” the older man growls, hitting another ball towards Seokjin. “Do you know what a puppet does?”

Thwack!

“Puppets that don’t follow orders get disposed of. You’re no different from one. Do you understand?”

Several golf balls that have hit Seokjin roll around his feet idly, and Seokjin knows better to keep quiet and let him have the last word. The mayor was one of the very few politicians Seokjin liked personally, but it wasn’t exactly out of a good hearted instinct that Seokjin had protected him— Seokjin had been alerted of the plan beforehand and made sure it would fail.

“The media and the press are vultures who do nothing helpful,” the man continues. “They can’t even get the info on the prisoner who escaped.”

Seokjin looks up from the ground at the mention of Jungkook, but the floor leader is too occupied with his grip around the golf club to notice.

“I’ve been dealing with so many unnecessary trouble ever since that rat escaped.”

Another swing, and the ball flies towards Seokjin once more, only this time Seokjin catches it with one hand. The older man freezes at the sight, his grip around his golf club tightening as Seokjin takes a threatening step closer to him.

“I apologize for the trouble I have caused last night,” Seokjin says cooly as he places the ball back into the man’s hand. “It won’t happen again.”

The man swallows. “You may leave now.”

Seokjin bows before he exits, and the man can only dumbly stare at the ball in front of him.

All of Jungkook’s attention is on the glass bowl with two goldfish inside. He taps on the glass lightly, watching them swim to the surface for the bits of fish food he had sprinkled in. Their scales glitter under the narrow beam of sunlight that peaks through the curtains, and he can’t help but to smile a little.

“Jungkook,” Yoongi calls, only to get no response from him. He waits for a while before clearing his throat, and calls him again. “Jungkook.”

“Hey,” Jungkook cooes, watching the two goldfish swim in circles under the shadow of his hand. He brought them back to his place, after killing the owner in their apartment Jungkook was in before lunch this morning. Jungkook was excited by the idea of having a pet to keep him company. “Eat up so you can grow big—”

A bullet flies past him, cutting him off as it shatters the glass into a thousand pieces, and Jungkook watches as the fish flop helplessly at his drenched feet. He stands there in silence, staring until the fish breathed their last breath and looks up to see Yoongi disassembling the silencer from his pistol.

“Was that intentional or an accident?” Jungkook asks dryly.

“Intentional.”

“That’s murder.”

“That’s rich coming from someone who was imprisoned for shooting someone in the head,” Yoongi ignores the glare thrown his way and continues. “Don’t get attached to unnecessary things.”

It’s a fucking goldfish, Jungkook thinks angrily. “Don’t take your anger out on unnecessary things,” he shoots back. “I was about to reply to you anyway after I made sure they’ve eaten everything. I didn’t even get to name them yet.”

“You’re going to get attached once you start using names,” Yoongi says flatly. “You never work properly when you’re emotionally attached to things.”

“You call me by my name,” Jungkook narrows his eyes.

“Who else will, if not me or Seokjin-hyung?” Yoongi hits him where it hurts, reminds him that there’s no one else left but them.

Seokjin arrives just in time when Jungkook is about to argue, alerting them with his presence by the sound of the door being unlocked. “Who made this mess?” He sighs when he sees a puddle in the living room with two dead goldfish on the floor.

Yoongi and Jungkook point at each other, and the three burst out laughing, all the tension from before dissipating within seconds.

“Ah, by the way, Jungkook,” Seokjin starts, reaching for a bottle of water in the fridge. “You won’t be assigned any personal operations for now.” Seokjin raises a brow when Jungkook starts to protest. “You’re a walking one million won award. I can’t have you walking around in public so freely.”

While it was true that there was an monetary reward for Jungkook’s whereabouts, Seokjin was lying about Jungkook’s activity put on halt. Whatever task was assigned to the youngest, Seokjin would do it in his place. The Triad didn’t care for Jungkook’s safety and if his true identity was exposed to the public, they’d kill him immediately.

This was Seokjin’s only way to keep him alive.

“Hyung, are you sure this will be our last mission?” Yoongi asks quietly. “Will we be free after we kill the presidential candidate?”

“Yes,” Seokjin nods. “Our last.”

“What are we going to do after this is all over?” Though Yoongi hides it well, Seokjin can sense his worry. “What’s going to happen to us?”

“We’re going to live happily.” Seokjin promises. “Together.”

“No way.”

Hoseok has a hand over his mouth, and Taehyung replays the recording once more.

“Don’t tell Jungkook.”

“He’s going to find out anyways. I’m sure there are articles up already online.”

“Jungkook doesn’t know how to use a computer.”

“He watches TV though. Most of them are cartoons but— did you hear something?”

“Well, cartoons are fun,” Taehyung agrees with a mouthful of cake. It was his birthday, and Hoseok had brought a small cake in, an office tradition that Taehyung himself had started and a tradition that only started today and that only Hoseok knew of. For someone who was older and probably had a better paycheck than he did, Taehyung had a knack for making the younger spend money on him.

Usually, Hoseok would have complained, but today was different. It was also the birthday of his dead twin, and as much as Hoseok half-hated his superior, he didn’t have enough mean bones in his body to ignore Taehyung. And Taehyung knew this and took advantage of it, and the three of them - Taehyung, Hoseok, and Namjoon- decided to have lunch out for a change. It was just a small pasta place, but thankfully, Namjoon had offered to pay.

“Isn’t this like some blockbuster movie? Who knew a popular party representative would be a Triad member?” Taehyung speaks with his mouth full, and Hoseok does his best not to make a face.

“Isn’t this all too...easy?” Hoseok asks, scratching the back of his neck. “They gave themselves away so quickly.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Namjoon shrugs, twisting his fork around several strands of spaghetti.

Still, Hoseok finds it difficult to believe it just yet. He was taught on his very first day of work that nothing is handed over to him so easily. “There’s a possibility of the tattoos just being similar in design.”

“Three times a coincidence becomes fate,” Namjoon answers. “One, I saw that tattoo on Kim Seokjin myself. Two, we heard them talking about Jungkook.”

“Now we’re waiting for the third coincidence. How exciting,” Taehyung grins, looking like he’s enjoying himself too much despite being faced with the sudden increased chance of a possible premature death.

“Do you think the man who was with Seokjin last night is part of the Triad too?” Hoseok asks.

“They all have the tattoo placed in different parts of their bodies. We just need to figure out a way for him to show some skin.”

“What are they, though?” Hoseok frowns. “They don’t sound like they’re just colleagues.”

“Lovers, maybe?” Namjoon speculates, his mind flashing back to the memory of Seokjin at the dinner table with Yoongi.

Taehyung blows a low whistle. “Looks like you’re going to have a hard time then, hyung. How are you going to make him show you his tattoo?”

“You’re making it sound like it’s me who’s going to do it.” Namjoon cocks a brow at him.

“Did I? Oi, rookie. Did I sound like that?” Taehyung shoots a smug grin at the tight-lipped Hoseok, who refuses to partake in this conversation.

“And it was a fucking metaphor. I’m not going to undress him myself,” Namjoon is quick to defend himself, only to widen Taehyung’s shit-eating grin.

“Tomato, tomato. Same thing. Have fun getting your di—”

“Please! God!” Hoseok interrupts them finally, exasperated and slightly disgusted. Taehyung seemed to have a talent for side tracking to the topic of sex during whatever conversation they were having and it drove him crazy. Thankfully, to Hoseok’s relief, Namjoon’s phone rings, and the two younger men become quiet when Namjoon answers.

“This is Kim Namjoon,” he says calmly, his voice doing a 180. “Tonight at nine? Not a problem, I’ll have the restaurant change the time right away. See you there, Mr. Kim.”

“Mr. Kim as in Kim Seokjin?” Taehyung asks once Namjoon hangs up.

Namjoon nods, and Taehyung lets out a pleased hum. “Gonna make that third coincidence happen, huh?”

“That’s the plan,” Namjoon had invited Seokjin for dinner, saying that he wanted to thank him for protecting his father when really, it was to confirm Namjoon’s suspicions.

“I have a feeling Seokjin would beat you easily if you’re ever against him one on one. Want me to give you some tips on stabbing someone?” Taehyung says in a sing-song voice.

“Funny,” Namjoon says dryly. “I’m gonna head out now. Get back to work once you’re finished eating,” he says before leaving, taking his jacket with him.

“Damn it,” Taehyung mutters when Namjoon is gone. “I should have ordered more.”

“Sunbae,” Hoseok watches Taehyung looking sadly at his plate. “Remember what you told me on the first day? About breaking traditions?”

Taehyung perks up immediately at this. “So soon? I taught you well.”

“Well,” Hoseok smiles genuinely this time. “It is your birthday.”

The Japanese restaurant that’s situated snugly in the polished streets of Cheongdam is small but it’s a high-end hotspot that needs to be booked months in advance for a table. Namjoon stops and smiles when he sees an extra pair of shoes outside the room, and feigns surprise when he sees Yoongi sitting next to Seokjin.

“My brother seemed to be bored at home so I brought him with me here. I hope you don’t mind,” Seokjin says with a sheepish smile.

“No,” Namjoon smiles back. “Of course not.”

#networkbangtan #thebtstown #btsguild #95line.net #bts fic #mafia au #angst #w.lemon

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