Yukari Oshima and Pan Pan Yeung in Deadly Target/Fatal Target.
Yukari Oshima is an amazing woman. I just wish I had more shots of her in that. It’s part sexy and part ridiculous; black tank top, bike shorts, elbow and kneepads, with a weight-lifting belt and black hose underneath.
BLACK WIDOW #9
CHRIS SAMNEE & MARK WAID (W) • CHRIS SAMNEE (A/C)
• THE RETURN OF BUCKY BARNES!
• Natasha’s living in a world without secrets, and Bucky’s got a pretty big one…
• You can’t go home again…particularly when there’s a deadly killer targeting you!
No answer, apart from another dull thud as your knife flies through
the air and finds its home in a target, your deadly accuracy guiding it right
to the centre of the bullseye.
“Y/N, I brought you some soup.”
Once again, silence, but another knife sinks into the space right
between the target’s eyes.
“Y/N, please say something.”
He’s right beside you at this point and for the first time, you turn
to look at your boyfriend – your eyes are red-rimmed and mascara trails mar
your cheeks with charcoal stains.
“Dean, do me a favour?”
“Stand back.” You say, your voice bland and emotionless as you pick up
another knife and turn back to the target, flicking another blade deep into the
metal target. Dean winces, gingerly placing the bowl of soup down on the bench
and reaching out, touching your arm. You tear it away from him, taking a few
“Y/N, please,” He says, looking so miserable and helpless that it
breaks your heart a little more, “I know this was rough. I know how you feel.
But you can’t just hide down here forever.”
“They were kids, Dean!” You
hiss, tears building up in your eyes once more, “They were kids and they had
whole futures and now, because I wasn’t fast enough, they’re dead!”
With those words you break down, sliding down the wall and burying
your head in your hands. Dean is instantly at your side, sat on the cold concrete
floor and pulling you into his lap. You sob into his chest, taking handfuls of
his shirt while you grieve for the people you’d lost – you’d barely known them,
but you feel it just as intensely as if you had. It’s part of the reason he loves
you so much.
“I’m sorry,” You whisper, finally emerging from his chest after what
feels like a lifetime of him whispering soothing words into your ear and
rubbing your back. He scoffs, shaking his head.
“Don’t apologise. Ever.” He says, pressing a kiss to your cheek – it tastes
like salt, but he doesn’t mention it, “Your emotions are valid, Y/N. If you
need to vent and let it out, then do that – I’ll be here for all of it. I