𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐒.

𝘪. 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴

the knife was bloodied. my uncle stepped closer to my family, and held the blade that was drenched in red high in the air.

he was like a deadly cobra, ready to strike.

he had already killed my aunt; his wife.

my family and i were next.

.

i shot up from my comfortable bed, and i scanned the dark room. my ears started to ring, and my head throbbed.

danger.

what was it causing the alert this time? it was the middle of the goddamn night, the most threatening thing was clint enjoying a 3am crawl through the vents. my eyes stopped their frantic search and rested on a figure that stood beside me. he was tall, but extremely skinny.

great. first a shitty dream that was way too realistic, and now an idiot who actually thinks he's gonna rob me. might as well take care of this quickly.

much to my annoyance, i then realized he had something cold pressed against my temple.

shit, that's gotta be a gun. why does the world hate me?

a deep, rough voice came from him, "don't move. cooperate, and i won't put a bullet through your head."

oh, i'll do more than cooperate, bitch boy.

"whatever you say, dude. by the way, why is your voice so gravelly? you need a cough drop or something? or maybe, like, a collab with corpse husband!"

"listen, sweetcheeks, i don't need your comments; just your money," he snarled.

i giggled and quickly snatched the gun from his hand. i threw him to the ground by flipping his body over my shoulder. moving quickly, to keep him down, i slammed my foot between his shoulder blades. and, boom. successfully pinned.

"alright, two things. one, don't call me sweetcheeks unless you want to be missing a couple of fingers. two, what's your name?"

he grunted and struggled underneath my foot, "goodman. james goodman."

"well, that's pretty goddamn ironic. tell you what, i'm feeling merciful tonight, so i'm going to take you to the police instead of calling the other avengers in here. got it?"

he didn't reply. well, bonus points for guts. it was too bad they'd be pretty splayed out after this.

"um, hello?" i questioned impatiently. after he still didn't answer, i moved my foot off of him and grabbed his collar, lifting him up off the ground. "i said, 'got it?' what part of that don't you understand, mr. goodman?"

a sneer crossed his face as he stared at me, saying, "oh, I heard your sick little voice, don't worry. if you could do me a favor and put me down before i lose my temper, sweetcheeks, that would be great."

i chuckled darkly at him and shook my head, "bad move."

i used my knee to teach him a lesson, and as he grunted in pain I smiled, "don't call me sweetcheeks. and, by the way, i'm keeping your gun. i mean, what's a dead man to do with it?"

his eyes widened and i walked him to my open window, still holding his collar. his feet never touched the ground on the way over. a cold breeze from the window tickled my skin. my lips quirked up into a smile, practically brimming with menace.

let's see him call me sweetcheeks after this.

i yanked his body up over the ledge of my window, and slowly—loosening my grip a finger at a time— i dropped him.

"have a wonderful night, mr. goodman!" i called, as i turned away from the window.

i brushed my hands together, trying to get rid of invisible grime. i heard him scream as he fell down what had to be at least twelve stories. as expected, the screaming stopped abruptly, coupling with the sound of a thud. i shuddered at the noise, but ignored the feeling.

"amateur. if you're going to rob a place, at least pick somewhere that isn't occupied by a bunch of superheroes," i reasoned with myself.

although i wouldn't exactly call myself a superhero. maybe tossing him out of a window was a smidge too drastic. whatever, he interrupted my beauty sleep; god knows i need that shit.

my chest heaved in a sigh while i opened one of the drawers in the nightstand next to my bed, placing the gun inside it.