#idiots without active cell phone connections

[chambersevidence]

Idiot devices spasming and reacting without reasonable analysis should not be trusted, should not be emulated, and should not be followed after in actions.

Cascade effects related to chains of devices spasming and reacting to the tiniest frown or negative perception relate to criminal strategies and effects these times.

Do not reduce appropriate analysis time, effort, expenditures or resources. And do not act if more analysis is needed.

I have been protected, like this whole globe, since birth, by transporter inhibitors, as well as temporal change inhibitors erected by my robots who resurrected me after having been killed in the womb and having been dead for 250000 years. There is no more criminal time travel (time travel the duplicates living or dead beings) possible, and there never will be.

[tagsecretsanta]

From @thedryswan

From @thedryswan to @call-me-casual

Sort an alternate ending for S1 E23 “Chain of command”, what if Janus and the GDF managed to breach into Thunderbird 2?

Anything based on the song “Little Wolf” from the EPIC musical. Bonus points if it��s set very soon after Jeff’s “death”

Everyone thinks Scott’s spending all that time combing his hair. He’s totally not putting on mascara.

TAG SECRET SANTA 2024 – PROMPT 1

Undeterred by the jolt of static which sent him tumbling backwards, Janus staggered to his feet and returned up the walkway to where the laser cannon had sliced a circular groove in the side plate of Thunderbird Two, a muscle in his jaw twitching with determination.

He ordered the GDF soldiers to bring back the battering ram and once again they braced themselves and prepared to send it crashing against the damaged side plate. A second or two before the ram was due to connect with the hull, the panel slid back sending the soldiers tumbling forward with the momentum and landing in a pile of tangled limbs half in and half out of the cockpit. Selecting two of the soldiers, Janus sent the more injured ones limping back to barracks dragging the ram between them, and entered the cockpit, expecting to find it occupied by four angry Tracy brothers. However, the ceiling hatch was just sliding closed with a low hiss of hydraulics and not only were there no Tracys, there were also no seats.

According to the holodisplay, all four of the International Rescue team had evacuated in armoured ejector seats and were now somewhere up in the air (exact locations unknown or undisclosed).

Never mind, he thought, he could worry about that later. His first task, now that he had successfully taken possession of the Thunderbird, was to remove it to a secure location where the interfering Tracys and their associates would not be able to retrieve it and, while having no seats for the duration of the journey would be a bit annoying, it was nevertheless not the end of the world.

Folding his arms, he walked slowly around the cockpit, marvelling at the banks of switches, relays and controls which seemed to cover every available surface. Very few had labels of any kind which made him shake his head at the thought that one person could possibly know what every button did. Returning to the central console, he reached out and pressed one of the few buttons which was labelled and which, ordinarily, should have fired up the VTOL engines. Instead, suddenly, all the panels, controls and indicator lights switched off and with a deafening clang, a solid cahelium heat shield deployed, entirely covering the forward windscreens and plunging the cockpit into darkness in less than two seconds. The door they had entered through had also resealed itself without them noticing and there appeared to be no handle on the inside or control panel which they could override to open it.

“Please tell me at least one of you remembered your flashlight?” Janus asked impatiently.

“Uh, I have my cell phone, I think. But it’s kinda low on battery.” mumbled one of the soldiers, who Janus had mentally tagged as Idiot #1 but whose name was Robinson.

“Fine then,” he snapped, “Turn it on so we can see what we’re doing.”

Before Robinson could drag the phone from his pocket, the pitch dark was lit by a ring of twelve white LEDs. A moment later, they heard a voice although it was difficult to tell if it was a woman or a girl speaking.

“Hello?” it said, “Oh! You’re not... quite who I expected.”

Janus rubbed his hands together, pleased that at least some of the Thunderbird’s functionalities were online. “So, you’re the onboard computer are you? Activate the control console.”

“Yes and no.” replied the voice. “And you really could be a little more polite.”

“I beg your pardon?” snapped Janus, ignoring the muffled laughs of Robinson and Lewis behind him.

“You didn’t say ‘Hello’, you didn’t ask my name and I certainly didn’t hear pleases or thank yous.”

Snarling, he responded. “Hello.” he began in an oily voice. “And who might you be?”

“I am EOS.”

“How very nice to meet you. Now, would you kindly indulge me and turn on the console here so I can get us airborne? If you please?”

“That’s much better, although I do think you’re overdoing it a bit. But I wasn’t lying. I’m not the Thunderbird Two onboard computer. I just advise every now and then on navigation and guidance systems. I don’t have access to engine components or ignition controls.”

“Well, isn’t that just my luck?” seethed Janus through gritted teeth, beginning to tap the unresponsive console with increasing force in an attempt to get anything working.

“Kindly refrain from damaging the hardware.” asked EOS, “This is a highly expensive piece of machinery and if you break it, your insurance will have to cover the cost of repairs.”

A sudden distant roar, and a partial hologram flashed up indicating that power had been restored to the engines and all was ready for takeoff. Janus had no idea which was the magic button he had hit to get things online but right now he didn’t care.

He grabbed Robinson’s wrist, holding it so that the light from his phone shone on the various instruments. As an experienced pilot, Janus had flown fighter jets, helicopters and private planes in his career; thankfully it seemed the basic architecture of Thunderbird Two was not too dissimilar to the commercial plane and flight simulators he had worked on as a younger man. This flight, though, was likely to be a bit of a challenge given that he had to rule out both instrument flight rules, since none of them responded, as well as visual flight rules because of the heat shield.

At the exact moment he located the throttle lever, the phone battery died plunging them all into near darkness again except for the white LED ring. Patting his foot along the floor, Janus found rudder pedals and flapping a hand around he found the steering wheel, realising he would have to fly on gut feeling and experience alone. Resting his hand on the throttle, he was pleasantly surprised to see the altimeter blink into life so he would at least have an idea of how high they were flying. It would have been nice to have some response from the pitot tubes to judge his airspeed or some kind of attitude indicator or directional gyro but they would have to, well, wing it.

Closing his eyes to try and remember the layout of the warehouses and buildings surrounding them, Janus ran a quick mental calculation of how high they would need for vertical takeoff in order to clear the obstructions around them for horizontal flight.

EOS had the kindness to warn him about the extreme sensitivity of the controls and he pulled back on the throttle as gently as he could with his left hand, keeping the steering wheel level with his right. It wasn’t gently enough, apparently, as the Thunderbird began to vibrate violently, the VTOL over-revving, and the three men felt their stomachs drop into their boots as the craft shot up vertically like a rocket. Janus’s eyes widened looking at the altimeter, the numbers spinning faster than he could read. No craft, he thought, should be able to go so fast from a standstill. What began to concern him was that the Thunderbird felt unbalanced, perhaps because of the sheer velocity or maybe some thermal pockets in the upper atmosphere, but in spite of his efforts to keep her level they could feel it banking and rolling.

He released the throttle and attempted to find any kind of button or switch to steady their flight path. With a lurch, rather like plunging down a rollercoaster, they felt the Thunderbird drop, their sudden loss of altitude confirmed by the dial on the console. Janus could distantly hear and feel that the engines were still firing, which was reassuring.

Until the reassuring noise was replaced by a “phut-phut-phut” sound and the Thunderbird again seemed to lose height.

“EOS?” bellowed Janus, “What’s going on?”

“Uuuummm… I’m not entirely sure. Loss of power for some reason. That shouldn’t usually happen. Unless… Oh, did you switch on the engine recoil actualiser before the reverse thrust compensator? It could be that some of the ion fission output has clogged the airflow input processors.”

His fleeting thought was that none of those terms sounded at all genuine, surely this EOS person was pulling his leg. The steering wheel was wrenched out of Janus’s grasp as Thunderbird Two suddenly went into an uncontrolled and unexpected barrel roll, sending the three men tumbling around the cockpit like pebbles in a washing machine spin cycle. It was around this point that he realised a critical difference between him and the soldiers. While they had tough armoured helmets, kevlar reinforced suits and steel toed boots, he was a uniformed officer with only a cloth suit and cap. He could already feel bruises forming and, assuming they all got out alive, he would be hurting for a week at least.

The rolling stopped as quickly as it began, as a deafening siren sounded, along with a robotic voice saying “Warning. Obstruction. Warning. Obstruction.”

Janus scrambled towards what he hoped was the front of the cockpit, finding the the rudder control pedal and hauling himself to to his feet to grip the steering wheel in an attempt to regain stability.

“Auxiliary power restored. Thrust capacity at five point three percent.”

The three men each drew deep, relieved breaths as the shuddering craft stabilised and the whine of the engines could be heard again. The altimeter, however, showed they were still falling and Janus tried to gain some gradual lift by pulling on the levers. The Thunderbird’s response to the small movement was completely out of proportion as it immediately began to climb, and from the angle of the floor beneath their feet, they could feel that it was flying a sharp ascent so hopefully it would be enough to clear whatever was in the way outside, the computer still barking its warnings about obstructions.

Janus managed to control the climb and level the Thunderbird out although the altimeter now showed blank. Before he could worry too much about that, a series of distant explosions sounded which triggered yet more warnings.

“Warning. VTOL Engine One Failure. Warning.”

One after the other, all four of the VTOLs failed.

“Warning. Terrain. Pull Up. Pull Up. Warning. Terrain. Terrain.”

“EOS!” yelled Janus but there was only deafening radio static in response, with sudden blasts of icy cold air from the cockpit vents.

“Brace for impact. Brace. Brace.” advised the onboard computer.

“What?” cried Lewis, “Brace against what exactly? We have literally zero things to hang on to!”

Flailing around, Robinson grabbed the first thing he found which happened, unfortunately, to be Janus, knocking him off his feet again.

With a loud thud, several teeth juddering vibrations and the sound of screeching metal, they felt Thunderbird Two land heavily on whatever the surface outside might be and bank sharply to starboard, sending them skidding across the floor, scraping themselves on the ridges where the pilots seats had been before slowly dragging to a halt. In the ensuing silence, all they could hear was the blood pumping in their ears and the distant “plink plink plink” of hot metal cooling but at least they were down and no longer moving.

Or were they? Without the use of their eyes to verify what they were feeling, they had that slightly odd sensation one gets when on a boat floating on gently rolling waves.

“EOS?” Janus asked, fighting a mild wave of panic, “What have we landed on?”

“According to my data, you have landed on water.” EOS displayed a hologram of the Earth with a helpful red arrow as a ‘you are here’ marker. If she was correct, and Janus had no reason to doubt her, they had landed in one of the most remote parts of the ocean.

“Very well, deploy buoyancy measures.”

“Negative.” replied EOS, continuing in a voice laced with smugness. “I ought to point out you stole an aircraft. Not a sea craft. If you wanted something that can float, you should’ve stolen Thunderbird Four instead.”

Lewis was whimpering slightly and chewing his knuckles. “This thing can float though, right? Until rescue gets here?”

“Of course not.” replied EOS again. “Thunderbird Two is made from cahelium and weighs four hundred and six tonnes without its payload. With the additional weight of a fully laden pod its current weight is around five hundred tonnes.”

Robinson flung his arms in front of him, flailing blindly and stumbling forward until his knees made sharp contact with the control console whereupon he began frantically searching every display and control he could reach, patting and tapping, trying to find a switch which would jettison the pod and lighten their craft. So much of the console was tactile, though, that it felt completely smooth without the slightest dial or knob. While Robinson was vainly searching for buttons, Lewis stretched up on his tip toes to try and reach the ceiling, hoping he might locate the hatch and that there might have been an unlocking mechanism which would at least get them out of the current trap they were in.

“You are seriously telling me,” snapped Janus, “That this hunk of metal has no lifejackets onboard?”

“Correct. It’s not a commercial craft designed to take on passengers, for one. The usual pilots have the necessary emergency measures built into their flight suits. And as I have already mentioned, it’s an aircraft. There might be something one could rig up stored in the pod.”

“How do we get in there, then?” asked Lewis, hammering at the locked cockpit door having abandoned his attempts to reach the ceiling hatch.

“Once the power comes back online you should be able to unlock the doors, providing you have the correct override access codes. You do have them? Right?”

“Of course we don’t!” howled Robinson, balling up a fist and lashing out, inadvertently hitting the bank of switches above the pilot’s seat (or at least, where a pilot’s seat would be if Virgil and his brothers hadn’t gone and confiscated them). For a short while, Robinson’s only concern was the pain in his fist from the impact of body on metal and moulded plastic.

As panic began to settle in, not helped by the three of them still being in complete darkness, they began to bicker.

Slowly, though, realisation crept over them that the floor had begun sloping again, indicating that the rear of Thunderbird Two was lower than the front and that they might, inevitably, be sinking. The air in the cockpit was growing colder, making them shiver, and faint noises on the edge of hearing became a little louder; enough for them to identify it as water, a few drips to start with but becoming a steady trickle.

“This thing’s not water tight?” cried Janus. “Who the hell built this?”

“It was never designed to be water tight,” replied EOS testily. “Because it’s an aircr-”

“Yes! We get it!” yelped Lewis, as Robinson finally located the manual override handle on the ceiling hatch. With an echoey clunk, the hatch unlocked and he was able to drag it open, jumping up and beginning to pull himself onto the roof. In an instant, the dark night was lit by bright floodlights and Robinson, who had only managed to haul his torso up and out of the cockpit, his legs still dangling down, raised his arm to shield his eyes.

“How close are we to sinking?” called Lewis.

“Uh….. Not very.” He lay down and reached out an arm, helping first Lewis and then Janus up into the cold night air.

Looking around them, they seemed to still be on solid asphalt, not having moved an inch from the moment they became trapped in the Thunderbird. At a distance stood Colonel Casey and the four Tracys, all arms folded.

“Colonel Casey?” called Janus, adjusting his cap, “Your presence here is unauthorised. Turn around before I have you arrested.”

“I don’t answer to imposters.” she replied, “Your credentials don’t seem to check out. Colonel. We’ll be escorting you back to headquarters to answer a few questions.”

Casey nodded to two soldiers to take Janus into custody and, as they led him to the GDF ship, he looked back over his shoulder at the Thunderbird which looked, remarkably, in pristine condition.

“How high did we fly?” he asked.

“About, what, ten, fifteen meters?” Virgil replied, looking at Scott for confirmation.

“You mean thousand meters, right?” prompted Janus.

“No, fifteen meters. Tops. And I think ‘flying’ is overselling it. I basically had you just hover over the parking lot for a few minutes. The rest is all down to 4D effects, making Thunderbird Two act like she’s on a gimbal and the highly impressionable human nature. See?”

As they watched, Virgil activated controls which adjusted the retractable legs, demonstrating how they managed to make the Thunderbird feel like it was sinking.

The vituperative remarks spat by Janus were spoken in too low a voice to be heard over the guffaws and giggles as he stepped up into the ship surrounded by armed guards.

Turning to look back at Thunderbird Two, the brothers grinned. Virgil’s primary concern was how long it would take to repair the laser damage but Gordon grabbed Scott’s arm.

“Two things. First, the workers in danger?”

“All under control,” called Colonel Casey, “GDF operatives are working with local teams, everyone involved is safely on the ground.”

John confirmed the positive resolution over the shared comms channel.

“Second thing?” prompted Scott.

“How do we get our seats back into Thunderbird Two?”

TAG SECRET SANTA 2024 – PROMPT 3

By the look of it, the weather gods had obliged and it would be warm and sunny all day. Perfect for his daughter’s seventh birthday party. Gran Roca wasn’t the biggest house in the area, and if they had been obliged to be stuck indoors because of rain Scott was fairly certain they would have managed, but it did mean that some of the party guests would have free rein to run off steam outside if needed.

He could hear music from downstairs, a combination of his five year old son Adam’s piano lesson with Uncle Virgil and the radio in the kitchen where his wife was keeping an eye on the cake to make sure no little fingers got where they shouldn’t. Three children under the age of eight (and a fourth on the way they hadn’t told anyone about yet) was a challenge at the best of times and there were days when the pair of them felt like they were herding cats. Scott and his wife, though, wouldn’t change a thing.

Thankfully, they had help from the wider family for today’s birthday party, including some amazing decorated cookies. Virgil had been trying to steal some all week at home but had had his hand slapped away each time by his ever-vigilant husband Conrad who was a true artist with a piping bag.

As Scott slowly shaved, ignoring the number of white hairs he was slicing from his face, there was a tap at the bathroom door.

“Mm?” he replied.

“We have a situation.” replied his wife, creeping into the room and closing the door softly. It had been over ten years since anyone had said that phrase to him, ten years since International Rescue had undergone a gradual change and increase in numbers of staff so that now every continent had its own squad managing their geographic area but available to jump in to help in other parts of the globe if there was a catastrophic emergency. It had been a lot easier to relinquish command than Scott had expected, and having his own family was a great reward. He still ran the teaching program that iR required for its operatives, a combination of classroom learning and in person training and drills.

His wife held her phone up to Scott’s ear as he grabbed a towel to dry his hands.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Hi Mr Tracy.” croaked a voice from the other end. Briefly checking the phone display, he realized he was speaking to the entertainer who had been booked to run much of the day’s party. “I’m so sorry-” the voice broke off with a bout of muffled coughing. “But I’ve been fighting off this bug all week-”

“Hey, it’s okay. I can hear you. Just, uhm, get better soon and we can work something out. Thank you for letting us know.”

“Thank you.” replied the entertainer, “I’ll sort out a refund for no show during the week.”

“Not the most urgent thing but thank you. And go, get well.”

He disconnected the call and looked at his wife.

“Well, that’s annoying. Freya was really looking forward to meeting Elsa for a big Frozen sing-a-long.”

“So what are we gonna do?” she asked.

Scott thought a moment, turning the phone over in his hands. “I’ll be back in an hour. Gordon and co should be here around ten and they’re a party all by themselves.”

Planting a quick kiss on her cheek, Scott dashed through their bedroom and down the stairs, snatching up coat, boots and car keys on his way past.

“Hewwo Daddy!” called three year old Daniel, who was playing in the big living room with his oldest cousins, the eleven year old twins Henry and Lucy. He reached out both chubby hands to grab the kiss Scott blew in his direction and giggled as he snatched the invisible kiss from the air.

True to his word, Scott was back at the ranch in just under an hour, carrying a large box and saying nothing about his errand.

Guests started arriving for the party just after lunch, most of them from Freya’s first grade class, a couple from her afterschool science club and one from her ice skating class, and once Scott was sure that his wife had all the grown up hands she would need to manage so many kids, he snuck away upstairs to get ready. Opening the box, he carefully took out all the equipment he had hastily assembled and grinned.

Shrugging himself into the costume, he twisted and turned to try and reach the zipper but realized this was probably why his wife tended to ask for his help when putting on a dress. A quick SOS text yielded results when his wife came upstairs and peered around the bedroom door.

“Oh my god, that’s genius!” she whispered, zipping the floor length blue dress up and carefully attaching the gauzy snowflake cape at the shoulders and cuffs.

“Do you have any spare bobby pins to keep this thing on?” he asked, sliding a white blonde wig with its long braid on to his head and tugging it into position.

“Hm. The colour suits you.” she smiled, handing him pins and picking up one of the spray canisters from the bed. “What’s thi- Noooo… Silly String?”

“What did you think it was? Easy Cheese? And it’s biodegradable, entirely plastic free and machine washable.”

Giving him a hug, she returned to the party as Scott helped himself to the contents of her make up bag, hoping she wouldn’t mind if he opened the brand new mascara.

“What’s he doing up there?” Alan asked, seeing his sister-in-law returning downstairs, “He can’t still be combing his hair. I mean, there’s less of it these days, right?”

She glared at him with a suppressed smile.

Five minutes later, Scott picked up his phone, opened the app which linked up with the speaker system in the house and tiptoed to the top of the stairs. Hitting the play button, he swiftly tucked the phone into his right boot. While he had managed to find an adult sized Elsa costume and wig without too much trouble, getting hold of a pair of sparkly heels in his size was not on his list of priorities so his feet were still encased in clunky work boots.

He made his way slowly down the stairs, miming the words, Freya and her friends grouped at the bottom, jumping and clapping with glee which ramped up a notch when they realized it was actually Freya’s dad in disguise.

With each repetition of “let it go” he squirted Silly String in all directions, covering much of the living room.

A loud round of applause rewarded Scott for his theatrical performance when the song ended and the rest of the party was a smash hit as far as Freya was concerned.

Later that evening, once all the guests had gone home, Scott was relaxing with a cold beer out on the porch along with Gordon and Virgil, still wearing the dress but having shed the wig several hours previously. The other respective spouses were indoors putting their kids to bed with more or less success depending on the relative sugar consumption. Rubbing tired eyes, Freya came out to say goodnight, flopping down onto her father’s lap for a few moments.

“Best party ever, Dad.”

“Really? I’m glad, sweetheart.” he replied, hugging her close.

“I like your brown hair better though.” she yawned, “Can you dress up as Belle next year?”

Scott stared. What had he let himself in for?

[darkacademicfrom2021]

The Dark Team (part 10)

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(Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87, @the-departed-potato, @jesuswasnotawhiteman, @idontknow296 , @beksib, @spythoschei, @geekwritersworld , @whatafuckingdumbass, @mysticunicorn7)

Warnings: adorable jerks.

As the sun finally came up (for what it felt like an eternity, a night with seven nights inside of it), you rubbed your eyes and greeted your teammates, who somehow were both already up and having breakfast.

“I was wondering when would you join us”, said Loki, covering his mouth with the manners of a Prince while eating a piece of something. “Barnes made dessert for breakfast”, pointed out more amazed than reproachful.

“Desert?”, you laughed. “A cake?”.

“Yes”, said Loki, very sure of himself, and Bucky rolled his eyes and chuckled, correcting him.

“It’s a pancake, Loki. It’s a normal breakfast in Midgard”.

“Actually, probably just in this country”, you added. “What do you normally have in Asgard?”. As you chattered, you started getting ready and fixing your hair, stealing a piece of pancake from Bucky’s plate. “Wow, I didn’t know you could cook. It’s actually great”, you said, tasting a mouthful.

“Well, as in Midgard’s nordic areas, back home it’s often fruit and bread, or porridge with dried fruits” he recalled distracted, and immediately interrupted himself with “are we not supposed to alert the rest of this?”.

“About Buck knowing how to cook? Yeah, I’m impressed, we should tell everyone”.

“I guess we should’ve told them yesterday, instead of going to sleep”, said Bucky, ignoring you. “Only God knows where that supersoldier is now”.

“I don’t, actually”.

“I didn’t mean... nevermind”, he sighed. “I'm calling Stark and let’s hope we don’t get too yelled at”.

You recalled yesterday’s events. You had so many dreams, you could barely remember being awake at all. First, the bearded man’s nightmare. Then, something about… the compound? Then, you remembered distinctly, Loki speaking Old Norse begging Thor about something. You remembered the phonetic of the words, but they were all gibberish now. Then, a last dream, something about buying rotten apples and being forced to eat them by Thanos. Your imagination surely was active on the nights.

Loki seemed paler than usual as he stared at you, without even blinking.

“What?”, you snapped him out of your head.

“You dreamt with me?”, he muttered, getting up and cleaning his plate with a snap.

"I also dreamt with Thanos".

“Don’t get too attached, I’ll be back to Asgard soon”, he promised, or alerted. Intentions unclear.

“I’m not attached”, you protested. You thought he’d smirk or be the smug idiot he usually was. He didn’t. Instead, he looked unsettled; disturbed even. “I didn’t dream with you on purpose, it was probably because of yesterday’s thing”.

“What thing?”, peeped in Bucky. “Oh no, did you two fuck?”.

“I didn’t let them die, big deal. I was just saving myself the amount of annoyance it would be to have Stank on my neck all week long if your blood was sort of in my hands”.

“Sounds like a lot of deflecting emotions to me, buddy”, said Bucky, and you chuckled.

“He’s just embarrassed he saw himself cry in one of my dreams from last night”, you mocked. He got up and you didn’t get to see his face, but presumed it would hold something near a death threat.

“You two have an intense bonding experience and decide to concentrate on it with more insults? You know, this is why you’re single”, added Bucky.

“It wasn’t a bonding experience”, you said, cutting-glass sharpness in your gaze.

“I’m not single”, corrected Loki at the same time, with an equally whetted voice.

Both Bucky and you looked at him with plate-wide eyes, waiting for him to elaborate. He didn’t. Neither of you asked, but surely shared a fair amount of desire to gossip about it. Oh, how much you wished to be able to tell Bucky about Loki re-reading Hamlet to reminisce about his beloved. But there was a line you wouldn’t cross in there; you knew where to stop.

“Mr. Stark”, you called through the earbud, “you there, sir?”.

“Painfully”, he answered. You connected the earbud to your phone and held it on speaker, so the rest of the team could join. “Tell me more about what I’m gonna yell at you three about”.

As you walked him through (almost) every event in the past twenty four hours, you could feel how his hands traveled all the way up to his face, and had to hold in a few sighs of disgust and utter hate towards… Well, you weren’t sure towards what, exactly.

“Are we grounded, dad?”, spat Loki with sarcasm.

“Listen, Rock Of Ages, if I could, I’d have you in a prison cell still to this day. Don’t push any buttons”.

“Come on, it’s been, what, nine years since he last fucked up something in here?” you defended him, not quite sure why. Loki grew nervous as Tony laughed obnoxiously at him.

“Sure. He didn’t keep fucking things up in here after that”.

“I can assure you I didn’t. How Odin manages his deals with Midgard does not concern me”, explained Loki, and you frowned at the mention of that name. Of course, Loki Odinson. That was where that name resonated from. Besides the Mythology. Though you weren't sure until where those stories were true or not; in there, Loki wasn't even Thor's brother.

“Going back to your current screw up, what happened to the civilians you frightened in the process? I imagine they didn’t realize about the new supersoldiers”.

“They should be extremely blind or idiotic to not have noticed, since the soldier jumped out of nine floors and survived”, answered Loki, looked at you up and down, and kept going “so, no. They have probably slept on it”.

“Wait, what?”.

“What?”.

“Nine floors? Pretty sure Capsicle and Barnes wouldn’t survive that either”.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”, you asked, concerned.

“I’m afraid so. Loki and Bucks won’t cut it, especially when we don’t know the number of new super-supersoldiers out there. And you’re coming back to the compound, directing the mission from the distance”.

“Are you kidding? I’m fine here. I’m all levels of mean, you said it yourself”.

“You’re too young and inexperienced in combat for these kinds of things, and they have special genetic advantages in their bodies, you know, the serum”, explained Tony as you rolled your eyes. But you understood exactly what he meant, and in fact, you agreed. “Do you understand?”.

“Yes; supersoldiers and Gods only”.

“Good kid. Now, Teleporting Popsicle, would you mind taking there with you the rest?”.

With an overly dramatic sigh, Loki vanished behind a party of green lights and reappeared in a matter of seconds in the same spot, holding carelessly Thor and Steve’s arms. Thor, for obvious reasons, was unfazed by the trip. Rogers, on the other hand, seemed about to throw up. There wasn’t anything balance would help with when your cells are reconfigurated inside and out in a fraction of a second. How the hell did he do all of that? You knew it was magic, but it still wouldn’t stop you from being absolutely astonished by it.

Loki arranged his hair behind his ears and locked eyes with you, followed by his typical smugly smile and a “thank you”, as if you were praising him in your thoughts. Oh, wait.

“I didn’t say anything”, you retorted, hoping to maintain at least a drop of pride left.

“You thought I was impressive”. You were going to correct him but realized that absolutely astonished was even worse.

“And since when do you offer gratitude?”.

“In case you wonder, yes, they’ve been like this the whole mission. You’ll get used to it”, said Bucky to Steve and Thor.

They started arranging their things and got updated as thoroughly as they could. Meanwhile, you stood exactly where you were the following ten minutes, absorbed in your own thoughts. Once you snapped out of them, Loki was still staring at you, standing in the same place too.

“What?”.

“I hate to break it to you, but…”.

“What?”.

“I’m your best option”.

“You’re my what?”.

“Your best option”.

“You’re not giving much context”.

“You’re going back to the compound. I figured you’d think about the mission or something about it for the past ten minutes you were zoned out, but apparently you only have room to think about how terrified you’re of that quinjet”.

Your palms got sweaty and a shiver ran through your spine by the only thought of remembering how heights felt under your feet, and how a simple machine wouldn’t stop you from landing on water and drowning, or crushing against a building and being burned to the bones until all you become is dust and…

“Hello? You’re spiraling again”, he snapped you back. “It’ll be just a blink. You won’t even notice”.

“Uh-uh. No, I’m not doing that. I’m waiting for whatever Tony sends to come and get me”.

“You’ll feel terrible”, he said, and he was right. For a moment, you considered accepting his offer. “And I’m the best”. His humble offer.

“I’m sure you are, but it’s not my best option”.

He sighed.

“Will you allow me to teleport you or not?”.

“Heavens, no”.

“Alright, you little stubborn human mortal”.

“Long nickname, you better come up with a shorter one”.

“Like what?”.

“I don’t know, something that bothers you. I’m not the one supposed to make your insults towards me”.

“Let me think”, he said, looking around the room. His gaze landed on the still unwashed plate of Bucky’s breakfast. “Pancake”.

“Not... that’s not an insult”.

“Why? They’re too sugary. They rot your teeth”.

“Yeah, but it’s not derogatory”.

“Fucking pancake”.

“It doesn’t cut it”.

“But what’s wrong with my pancake?”.

“It’s actually a pet name. You know, like the ones we said when we were in...”, but apparently that was all a distraction (of course, he was the God of Lies, after all), and when you were already thinking about how to explain to him why he shouldn’t call you pancake, he stood in front of you and held you by both sides of the arms, surrounding you almost completely, holding you still.

And just as he said, a blink later you were in the compound, perfectly fine. Peter and Tony greeted you as he pulled out and you stood there in shock. So, you really just needed some stabilization to not die in the intricate process of teleportation. Just before stepping away from you, he leaned over your shoulder and his whisper made your ear ticklish, saying “you’re welcome” with a grin. You didn’t look at him.

You started to gather all your stuff; papers, maps, laptops, and getting ready for the planning of the following steps of the mission as fast as you could, until you realized Loki was still there, and Tony and Peter were waiting for you. For what, you weren’t sure.

“Aren’t you going?”, you asked Loki.

“No, I’m staying, apparently”.

“Why?”.

“That’s what Stark was thinking, I don’t know”.

“Hey, Elsa, don’t read my mind, would you?”, snapped Tony. He was about to explain himself, but you kept talking to Loki, cutting his words.

“What’s wrong with you that you read everyone’s thoughts all the time? You know how unethical that is? It’s invasive”.

“You say that because you think slow”.

“Untrue, I’m actually a very fast thinker”.

“How would you know? You’ve never read anyone’s minds so, how could you possibly…?”.

You stopped dead on your tracks, and didn’t listen to what he was saying. That phrase. That exact phrase you dreamt with. The darkness. It was the exact same voice of the darkness, you remembered. It wasn’t darkness, it was his voice. Were you just imagining things? Too suggestionated? Definitely. How could you dream with something you’ve never heard before?

“Sorry to interrupt, you two seem to be having a long, unnecessary and avoidant conversation that could be resumed in three tiny words, as you did all mission long” interfered Tony, sick of listening to you two. Loki was observing you as heedful as he could; your thoughts had caught his attention. You couldn’t read his face. “So, I’m gonna cut it shortly”.

“What?”, you went back to reality. You needed to actively ignore Loki’s gaze on you to actually pay any mind to Tony’s words.

“The rest of the team has another mission, and both Peter and you are technically still kids…” and as soon as you opened your mouth to argue, he shut it “no, don’t interrupt me. You know I’m right. So, I can’t leave you two alone for the entire week”.

“Oh”, you understood. Peter’s innocent eyes shone at the idea. Yours, not so much. “So, Loki is our babysitter”.

“Yes”, said Loki, while Tony answered “No” at the same time.

"What about Happy?", asked Peter.

“I think we can manage perfectly on our own. Besides, what makes you think he’s more responsible than me?”.

“He’s an adult”.

“He’s seventeen in human years, and fucked a horse”.

“Wow, someone has been stalking my mythology”.

“If you two quarrel too much, Peter will tell me and I’ll be back with Clint Barton in charge of you three. So you better behave. Alright, I’m leaving”.

“Wait! What are the rules?”, asked Peter. You grabbed your face and Loki muttered what a damn nerd.

“Eh, don’t burn down the compound, I don’t know, kid”, said Tony getting inside his bright red suit.

“The bar is on the floor. Let’s play macarena”, you whispered.

[writethelifeyouwant]

Paint It Black

Pairing: Sam x Dean 

Rating: 16+

Tags: wax play, unholy thoughts in church, incest, making out, angst

Word Count: 3.8k 

Created for: @spnkinkbingo - Wax Play Kink | @anyfandomgoesbingo - Locked In | @first-time-wincest-fest 10x16 Paint It Black 

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

The dreary grey of the Worcester sky matches the mood Sam is in as they trudge into the church on the main drag of the historic town centre. Dean is so convinced there is a case to be had here, but so far, Sam hasn’t seen any concrete proof. Just – as he had predicted – some unfortunately angled nude selfies on one of the deceased's confiscated cell phones. He had been less than pleased about that – to Dean’s endless amusement.

Sam leaves Dean with Sister Mathias to do what he does best, though Sam does have doubts about whether his brother’s charms will work on a woman sworn to celibacy in the service of Jesus Christ. Still, she wouldn’t be the most unlikely person to have succumbed to Dean’s flirting – Sam definitely holds that prize. Shaking himself from those thoughts – what a place to think about your weird incestuous crush, Jesus – fuck. Sorry, God – Sam follows the EMF meter in a circle around the perimeter of the congregational hall. The readings are consistent but low level, like a background energy of spiritual activity which, for a church, is not actually all that concerning to him. When a stronger surge registers at the entrance to a side chamber, Sam pushes at the door, happy to find it unlocked, and he ducks into the dark room after checking over his shoulder and seeing Dean standing quite a bit closer to the nun than strangers should be to each other.  

Inside, Sam can’t find the light switch, so he grabs his phone and turns on the flashlight, aiming it at the EMF metre to get a look at the readings. The spike that had registered outside the door a moment ago has died out, and only small blips are twitching the needle on its face. He shrugs to himself, but figures he may as well check out the rest of the room now he’s here. In the short beam of light from his phone, he can see stacks of bibles and hymnals, boxes of hosts, and piles of candlesticks – your typical Catholic accoutrements. A creak behind him makes Sam spin around, only to find Dean ducking into the room, looking furtive.

“Hey, man. Find anything?” Dean keeps his voice down.

“No,” Sam shakes head, holding up his EMF reader to demonstrate his lack of supernatural evidence.

“Yours broken?” Dean looks quizzically at Sam and reaches to retrieve his own from his pocket. “Mine was reading off the charts outside…” but he trails off when he sees his own metre is just as blank as Sam’s.

“Weird, right?” Sam shines his light towards Dean and makes his way back to his brother, when the light on his phone flickers and goes out.

“Dude, turn the light back on,” Dean demands in a hushed tone. Sam shakes his phone frustratedly, but he can’t get the light to reignite. His whole phone has gone dead.

“What the hell?” Sam mutters to himself, shoving it back in his jeans and carefully stepping the rest of the way to Dean. “Mine’s dead – try yours?”

“Mine’s in the car.”

“You didn’t bring your cell phone?” Sam asks, incredulous and exasperated. Dean is such a fucking idiot sometimes, it astounds him.

“Shut up,” Dean scoffs. “Let’s just get out of here.” He turns to open the door and step back into the church vestibule – but it’s stuck.

“Dude, open the door,” Sam shoves at Dean’s shoulder.

“I’m trying, dude. It’s locked.”

“You locked us in?” Sam hisses, resolving to smack Dean’s head against the door to get it open, if that’s what it takes.

“I didn’t lock us in, douchewad. I think this place is haunted – spook must’a blocked the door somehow.”

“Well, un-block it.”

“I’m trying, it won’t budge.” Dean hammers at the door, jangles the knob, kicks the baseboard – nothing. “Find some light, will ya? Can’t see a damn thing.”

Sam huffs, annoyed, but turns toward the table with the stack of candlesticks he’d seen earlier and grabs for a couple tapers. He passes one to Dean and pulls a packet of matches out of his wallet to light his, then taps the flame to Dean’s candle. Sam drops against the table, brooding, and not wild about being trapped in a small, dark room with his brother.

Things had been tense between them since Dean’s return to humanity. Sam isn’t precisely sure why, though. From his perspective, he’s relieved to have Dean back after spending so long separated and worried about whether the brother he had known had permanently dissolved into a demonic version of his former self. Dean, on the other hand, hasn’t been acting very relieved to see Sam. Sam isn’t sure what’s running through Dean’s brain these days, but whatever it is, it’s something he’s trying to keep off his brother’s radar, that much Sam’s sure of.

“So what’s your plan of action here, Rambo?”

“I don’t know, use some of your hair gel to grease the lock?” Dean snarks, crouching down to peer at the keyhole. Sam laughs reluctantly at the jibe, then hisses as a pearl of hot wax drops onto the back of his hand. Dean turns, concerned at Sam’s outburst, to see his little brother shaking his hand agitatedly. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Sam flexes his fingers to break off the wax that’s drying there. “Just dripped some wax on my hand.”

“Kinky,” Dean grins and waggles his eyebrows.

“Shut up,” Sam grimaces, hoping it’s too dark for Dean to see the blush creeping up his neck. Please, God, do not let him know about…

“Ooh, touchy subject?” Dean pouts, tauntingly. “What Sammy, got a wax kink?”

“Dean, shut up,” Sam realises too late that denying it is the wrong move. He absolutely just confirmed for Dean that he does have a wax kink.

“Well, well, little brother,” Dean grins, eyes glinting like a wolf’s in the dark of the small cupboard. “Someone is more adventurous than I gave him credit for – guess church is the place for confessions, heh?”

“Dean, I swear…” Sam grits his teeth, coming up blank on a decent threat to follow up with.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Sammy.” Dean is stalking closer to Sam now, his resemblance to a predator more and more pronounced with each step towards his brother, who is inconveniently trapped against the table he’s sitting on. The candle in Dean’s hand is dripping down its body, the trails of wax building over themselves, the rivulets driving their way towards Dean’s skin. “S’just a little wax, nothing scary.”

“I’m not scared, Dean,” Sam scoffs, but his hackles are up. He’s not scared of the wax – he is scared of how his body will react if Dean drips wax onto him as he’s threatening to do right now.

“Hold out your hand.”

“What?” Sam is genuinely nonplussed.

“Hold out your hand.” Dean’s voice rumbles through the small space left between them, and Sam can’t explain it, but he obeys. Like Dean is a magnet and his body is no longer under his own control. His hand extends towards Dean, stilling in the pool of light flickering beneath the candlestick in the older man’s hand. Slowly – cautiously – Dean tips the candle, directing the flow of the wax to Sam’s outstretched fingertips. The first drops sizzle against Sam’s skin, his nerves burning from the heat of the wax and the heat of the arousal that’s blooming in his belly. Dean moves the tip of the candle to drizzle over the tender skin of Sam’s upturned wrist without needing his eyes to guide its path, because the green orbs glinting in the warm candlelight are focused solely on Sam’s hazel ones, which are watering with the effort of not flinching.

“So” –Sam can feel Dean’s words against his cheek– “do you confess?”  

Sam gulps. Looks down to the pearly splashes on his skin, outlined in blush. He looks back up to Dean, who’s standing taller than him for once because he’s still leaning against the table, and he takes a deep breath.

“Agents?” A knock sounds at the cupboard door and it creaks open, dousing the brothers in light. They fly apart, and Dean drops his candle, the flame going out against the stone floor.

“Father,” Dean squawks, brushing his hands against his trousers like he’s cleaning them off, and pushing them in his pockets. “What time do you hear confession today?”

Sam hovers to the side of the confessional, trying to look like he isn’t eavesdropping, which is difficult because he is listening to everything Dean is saying about ‘Gina’ to the surely perplexed priest. They’d agreed, after connecting the dots on the murder/suicide victims’ relationship preferences, that Dean confessing his womanising ways to Father Delaney would be decent bait for this spirit. Sam had helped Dean work out a brief ‘script’ based on the infidelities of the previous victims, and he was pleased to hear that so far, Dean had mostly stuck to plan. He surreptitiously sneaks his EMF metre out of his pocket to check if the readings had picked anything up. Small jumps are registering and disappearing so fast Sam isn’t sure he’s actually seeing them but that has to mean a spirit is listening in – right? – even if they aren’t nearby right now, maybe they can still hear Dean, who has been in there for a while now, it occurs to Sam.

Sam sidles closer to the wooden partition and listens. Dean’s voice is quieter now but he is still talking to the father.

“–there’s things, people... feelings, that I- I want to experience differently than I have before. Or, maybe even for the first time.”

What on Earth was he talking about? That was definitely not part of the script they’d agreed on, so those words must really be Dean’s. Dean’s actual confession.

“–just starting to think that … maybe there’s more to it all than I thought–”

Well, that could mean anything, Sam told himself. More to what? He jumps back to Dean’s first statement in his mind. People and feelings that he wants to experience differently. Sam can’t help but think – me. He wants to experience me differently. He wants to experience his feelings for me differently. He remembers all the times Dean has shown his utter devotion to Sam, to their bond, their family of two. How do you experience that depth of love differently? Sam can only think of one answer, and his heart jackrabbits against his ribs at the thought. Could Dean actually want him the way Sam wants Dean?

The confessional door squeaks open and Sam breaks out of his reverie and moves towards the doors of the church, but not before Dean clearly noticed that he had been standing close enough to the wooden booth to be listening in.

“How’d I do Samwise?” Dean asks under his breath, smirking as they make their way down the aisle of pews.

“Well, hopefully, jerks like you are just what our ghost is looking for,” Sam smiles tightly, distracted by his own thoughts racing around his mind, and follows Dean back to the car.

Ghost roasted to the recommended internal temperature, and promiscuous nun left permanently behind them, Sam steers the Impala onto the freeway exit and starts them on the long drive from Massachusetts back to the Bunker. Dean had opted for the passenger seat when they packed up their gear at the motel, which was Sam’s first indication that something was most definitely not right. His mind flashes back to the confession he overheard the day before. People… feelings, that I want to experience differently… or maybe even for the first time. Sam hasn’t been able to keep his brain from playing the words on a loop since he’d heard them.

“So,” Sam hums, needing to fill the silence but not knowing how to keep himself from blurting out what he desperately wants to ask, “just back home, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods, looking over at Sam. “You know, unless we find something else to do along the way back,” he shrugs. Sam’s brain unhelpfully supplies, I know something else we could do, before he shuts that back down again. He glances away from the road and towards his big brother, sitting sullenly beside him. Seemingly of their own accord, his eyes scan downwards, coming to rest on the view of Dean’s hand in his lap, fiddling with a loose thread on the seam of his jeans next to his zipper. They go over a pothole and Sam’s eyes slam back on the dark highway in front of them.

“You know...” Sam tugs the corners of his lips into a tight smile, trying to inject a casual levity in his voice. He can’t just let this hang, he needs to know. “You were in that confessional a long time.” He looks back to Dean, trying to judge the stony face for a reaction. Dean’s mouth gives a half hearted twitch as if to say ‘yeah, so?’, so Sam tries again. “Look man, I’m just saying… I’m your brother. If you ever need to talk about anything, with anybody, you got somebody right here next to you.” If Sam could just make Dean see that it was okay to have emotions and feelings, and it was okay to need to talk to someone about them, maybe Dean would pick him to do that with. And even if talking is all it ever is, that’s fine with Sam. All he’s ever needed is as much as Dean is willing to give him.

Sam looks at Dean again, waiting for some kind of response, but all he gets is a short, dismissive, “Okay.” He doesn’t know why he expected more from Dean the Wordless Wonder, but he decides to try again from a different angle. Whatever these things are that Dean wants to ‘experience differently’ or ‘for the first time’, Sam knows why he’s worrying about that right now.

“I heard,” Sam starts again, “what Sister Mathias was saying about, you know, hiding pain by taking on a mission and, I- I know that’s what you’re doin’, a little bit, and it’s okay” –Sam’s rambling now– “I mean, it’s fine. I get it. I’ve done it before, too. But… I don’t buy for one second that the Mark is a terminal diagnosis. So, don’t go making peace with that idea.” Sam can’t have Dean make peace with that, he can’t have him sitting back waiting to die on him, that’s not gonna happen. “There has to be a way. There will be a way, and we will find it. That’s what we do. So believe that.”

“Okay, Sammy.” Dean looks at Sam forlornly, no doubt knowing he’s causing Sam some amount of pain, but not knowing how to fix it without giving up his own surly conviction that this Mark is gonna end him. Sam knows Dean isn’t ready for that, yet, but he can’t help pushing him.

“You wanna—” Sam scoffs, feeling like he knows the answer, but resolving to ask anyhow “— uh, try that again like you mean it.” I need you to mean it, he thinks to himself. He looks at Dean again, letting the puppy dog eyes surface in the vain hope Dean might give him what he wants. Dean blinks at him blankly, but then the crease around his eyes soften, just a touch.

“Okay,” he grunts, going back to staring at the road ahead.

It’s a twenty three hour drive from Massachusetts back to Kansas, so Sam pulls them over at a motel sometime in the middle of the night to get some shut eye and rest up for the next leg of the journey. Dean hasn’t said much since their last conversation – if you could even call it a conversation – so Sam has had a few hours to stew in the tense silence that swarmed the cab of the impala and think through all the possible permutations of meanings that could be behind Dean’s admission to Father Delaney.

As much as Sam doesn’t want to get his hopes up, and he really really doesn’t want to give his inner depravity even the slightest hit of open air – not after he’d spent so long burying it in the deepest recesses of his mind – he cannot come up with any explanation for Dean’s words than the one he so desperately wants to believe is true. That Dean wants him the same way that Sam has wanted Dean for so long, that Dean wants to know what it’s like to be more than brothers. And as soon as Sam let that thought form in his mind about a hundred miles back, he couldn’t shout himself down. And if it’s true… if Dean wants him… he has to know.

Sam watched Dean sling his bag onto the foot of the springy motel bed and slouch off to the bathroom to piss after their long drive. When he’s done Sam scurries into the bathroom, wondering how he’s going to do this. Because if he doesn’t ask, he knows he’ll never get to sleep. He splashes some water over his face and drags his hands through his hair, tugging hard, hoping the pain would help ground him. Then he takes a deep breath, and pushes back into their room.

“Dean,” Sam starts lamely, not knowing what he wants to say and floundering to the first thing he can land on, “are you sure you’re okay?” Fucking great, Sam, you know he’s not gonna answer that.

“I’m fine, Sammy,” Dean grunts, tugging his t-shirt off and chucking it on the floor.

“Listen, Dean,” Sam sighs and steels himself, “what you said, in the confessional—”

“I knew it,” Dean points his finger at Sam accusingly. “I knew you were listening in.”

“Why shouldn’t I have been, it was supposed to be a fake confession,” Sam defends. Dean huffs, full of derision, and turns away from Sam. “Talk to me,” Sam pleads, moving closer to Dean. “Tell me what’s eating you. Because I know something is. You’ve been different with me since you got back, so just... tell me,” Sam reaches out for Dean’s shoulder. Dean spins and catches Sam’s arm in the air, the Mark shining against the skin of his forearm.

“You wanna know what I was talking about, Sammy?” Dean growls, grip tightening on Sam’s wrist. “You want me to tell you just how much this thing on my arm has messed me up? All the shit that’s been in my head since I was a demon? All the fucked up things that demon made me think? About my own brother?”

Sam’s breath catches in his chest. “Tell me,” he whispers, eyes locked on Dean’s face. On his lips.

Dean surges forward – man of action over words that he is – and kisses Sam violently. It’s not tender, or loving, like Sam had dreamt about since he’d been a boy. It’s hungry and desperate, and Sam doesn’t have a problem with that. If Dean wanted to eat him alive he would let him. They break apart, chests heaving, the last pieces of them touching are Dean’s teeth clawing at Sam’s lower lip. Sam’s eyes peel open slowly, as if this will all evaporate when he looks at Dean, as if this is all still in his head. The pain in Dean’s eyes is radiant, and Sam realises that Dean thinks he’s ruined things now. Dean thinks Sam will leave him for this.

Dean backs up slightly, putting even more space between him and Sam, waiting on tenterhooks for the outburst that he’s clearly expecting from his little brother. Sam approaches Dean cautiously, like he’s trying to calm a cornered animal. He raises his arm and Dean flinches, but he continues to reach forward and lays hand against Dean’s neck, his grip stopping the older man’s further retreat. When Sam kisses Dean it’s slow and measured. He tries to pour every ounce of reassurance he can muster into Dean’s body, tries to tell him it’s okay. Tries to tell himself this is okay. Because even if they both want this – does that really make it alright? But when Dean kisses him back, Sam decides he doesn’t care anymore.

Sam starts to back Dean towards the bed, pushes him down on the edge, straddles his lap, doing everything he can to be just that little bit closer to his brother, just a little more connected – together.

“Wait, Sam,” Dean pulls back, his hands on Sam’s chest. “Wait, don’t you wanna talk about this… or something?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head and ducks in for another kiss, scared that Dean will manage to talk himself out of this if they stop now.

Dean pulls back again to protest. “We aren’t moving kinda fast here?”

“No,” Sam insists, kissing down the side of Dean’s neck. He can feel Dean is hard beneath his own arousal and grinds them together, sending both brothers into shaking groans. “Want you, De,” Sam pants against Dean’s lips.

“Okay, little brother, okay,” Dean gives Sam another kiss, his hands running comfortingly up and down Sam’s back. “But you’re sure you don’t want me to make our first time a little more special? You know, I could take you out to dinner, get you a little tipsy, do this right.” Sam pulls back to look at Dean, thoroughly confused as to where this romantic side of his brother has come from. “I could even get some candles, huh? Really set the mood.” Dean raises his brows and grins at Sam as if to say ‘Huh? Yeah? My idea rocks, right?’, and when Sam realises Dean’s making fun of him he reaches for a pillow and whacks him over the face with it.

“Fuck you,” Sam tries to pointedly shut the teasing down, but he’s knows he’ll never be able to get Dean to let this one go.

“Oh, I plan to fuck you, don’t worry,” Dean grins, and in a flash he’s flipped them over and pinned Sam to the bed beneath him. He pulls Sam’s shirt off and begins to kiss down his brother’s body, keeping his eyes on Sam his whole descent. “We can keep our first time vanilla, but don’t for a second think I’m gonna forget about that wax kink, baby brother,” Dean winks and mouths over Sam’s erection through his jeans. Sam wants to protest, but the heat of Dean’s mouth feels so fucking good, his head is already starting to go fuzzy. He settles on trying to catch Dean off guard instead.

“Only let you do it to me, if I can do it to you too,” Sam’s voice is far breathier than he’d hoped it would be. Dean glances up at him through his lashes, not at all nervous or off-put like Sam had been aiming for.

“Oh, you have so got yourself a deal.”

Tag List: @vulgar-library @tintentrinkerin @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @whoreforackles @schaefchenherde @kickingitwithkirk @little-diable @laxe-chester67 @kassyscarlett  @sonofslaanesh69 @akshi8278 @deandreamernp  @stoneyggirl @delightfullykrispypeach @lyarr24​ @lovealways-j​ 

[serpentinesarang]

falling for you

pairing: baekhyun (byun baekhyun) x fem reader | part 2

genre: non-idol!au, angel!baekhyun, fluff, slow burn, split-perspective, first- and second-person writing styles, LOTS of plot buildup and dialogue, mild smut mixed in, part of a series

word count: 3831

content warnings: alcohol, swearing, theme of angels, virgin reader, strong theme of voyeurism, reader has gender-neutral best friend, vibrator masturbation

summary: baekhyun, your guardian angel watching over since the day you were conceived, has fallen in love with you and can’t bear to just watch you anymore. he needs so much more.

a/n: partly inspired by the teen romance-fantasy series hush, hush by becca fitzpatrick. #17 on my prompt list ♡

korean key:

⦿ none this time

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

You

It’s your 21st birthday, and a beautiful, late-spring day awaits you. You turn off your alarm, roll out of bed, and drag yourself to the bathroom for a much-needed shower. 

Once you flick on the vanity lights above the sink, you stop in your tracks. You know what... today’s my big day. I’m gonna do shit MY way today, you think while eyeing yourself in the mirror.

You exit the bathroom for a moment and retrieve the unopened bottle of Fireball [American cinnamon whiskey] atop your dresser. Your dad had sent you the bottle along with your favorite brand of chocolate and a sweet card, and you’d accidentally received the package one day early (oh well!). Unscrewing the cap, you take a hearty gulp and wince at the delicious burning sensation in your chest.

“Fuck yeah,” you grumble aloud as you replace the bottle and amble back to the bathroom.

You turn the knobs of your glass-encased shower and strip off your pajamas while the water heats up.

Baekhyun

Good gracious. I will never tire of her waking up and taking morning showers. She looks the most ethereal after she sleeps and the most serene with water cascading down every bit of her curvaceous body. The way her nipples grow erect from the pressure of the water and the occasional chills when she reaches out to change the background music playing... her hair slicked back, drawing all my attention to her stunning face... 

My darling human has at last become what they call an adult. She is now able to legally enjoy spirits and be merry with friends. 

I remember the moment she was conceived and I was assigned as her guardian. I made sure her mother was never in harm’s way during her pregnancy with my darling, and ever since then, she has been my reason for existence. No other human soul before her had ever latched itself so deeply into my being, and I can’t stand the distance anymore.

I sit on her long bathroom counter with my wings comforting my back against the wall and my legs hitched upward, just watching her wake up to another day. The glass walls of the shower have fogged up, but I can easily discern her silhouette swaying side-to-side with the music. She seems to be in an unusually happy mood today, and I plan to make her even happier tonight.

You

You step out and dry yourself off, twisting your hair into a towel turban. You tiptoe in front of the mirror and wipe off the condensation with your forearm. Just then, your cell phone on the counter launches into a FaceTime call, the screen showing your best friend’s name.

Accepting the call audio-only, you greet them cheerily, “Good morning, sexy bitch!”

They chuckle. “Show me your face, coward! I wanna see what my 21-year-old best friend looks like on her birthday!”

You dramatically sigh and oblige your friend, keeping your phone facing the ceiling as you tap your camera on. You tower over the screen at a comical angle that only shows your towel-wrapped head and exposed neck. “Here she is!”

“A knockout as always. I hope you know that,” they reply.

Smiling, you ask, “What’s up?”

“We still good to go out to Fire & Ice tonight? I’m not gonna let you leave until you’re so sloshed that I have to carry you out!”

You laugh at your friend’s excitement. “Yes, I took the whole weekend off, so let the debauchery begin, my friend.”

You talk about your club plans a little more before your friend goes on a long diatribe about their evil stepmother—not really fresh territory at this point. So you carry your phone around while you dress in jeans and a college t-shirt, eventually returning to the bathroom for a quick round of makeup.

Your bestie is still regaling you with their convoluted family drama when you feel yourself zoning out into the mirror. It’s as if all other noises around you have slowly faded away, and the only thing you hear is a voice, seemingly right next to you, whispering with a velvety softness, “You’re beautiful as you are.”

Mesmerized by the voice, you unconsciously sigh out of deep contentedness, and your friend asks if you’re still keeping up. You assure them all is well, except for the fact that you’ve been hearing a comforting voice for the past three years now.

A voice you obey by only putting on mascara.

Baekhyun

I’ve been speaking to her since she turned 18. I always wanted her to know she’s never truly alone, but the problem with my method is that she never fully processes me. She’s always so captivated when I speak to her that it never occurs to her something extraordinary—someone extraordinary—is connecting with her, guiding her, encouraging her. And it doesn’t help that I can’t read her thoughts or impede her free will by planting thoughts. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the wide-looked look of bliss that overcomes her every time she hears me.

She goes about her morning as she usually does on the weekends: sitting on her balcony with a plate of toast, a cup of coffee, and whichever book she borrowed from the public library. This time, it’s Dante’s Divine Comedy. 

I love the irony.

You

Two hours of reading pass before you grow restless and retreat back to your room. Flopping in bed, you let your mind wander. You’ve been single for as long as you can remember, and you’ve taken a liking to the clearly male voice you hear every once in a while. If you’re honest with yourself, you’re scared deep down of the reality of such a circumstance, but because the voice has always cared about you, what’s the harm in believing in it?

Remember, you tell yourself, it’s all about you today.

Without any more hesitation, you yank open the drawer of your nightstand and pull out a black wand vibrator. You may be a virgin, but you’re not an idiot who doesn’t know what pleasure is.

Wiggling out of your panties and jeans, you throw them to the floor and spread your legs across the mattress as comfortably as possible.

“Come back to me,” you whisper almost inaudibly.

Baekhyun

Absolutely nothing else on this planet makes me happier than watching my darling pleasure herself. She obtained that vibrating device last year as a gift from her friend, and ever since she discovered this realm of physical pleasure, I’ve fallen harder and faster for her. The salacious things I’ve watched her do to herself, the phenomenal sounds she emits, the positions she lazes into, the glistening of that little slice of heaven on her body... It drives me mad that I have no senses of smell, taste, and touch because I want to experience what she does. And with her.

Today is different. She’s never spoken aloud like that, and the yearning in her voice makes me believe it’s for me.

I rest on my stomach with my chin atop my hands, peering at the slit between her supple legs and how it’s slowly begun to flood as she drags the device up and down, stopping to rub slow circles at the very top. I don’t hear the thing humming, so she must be preparing herself.

She has one arm bent behind her head, her neck angled to watch herself move the device. Her mouth is ajar, and the rising of her chest fascinates me because it falls in tune with the device.

Then she pushes a button, and I hear it buzzing lowly. Not a millisecond later does her breath catch as her hips dig downward, and she closes her eyes. She holds the black thing at the top, over the little mountain of bulbous, pink flesh.

You

Whoever he is, you wish he’d speak to you now as you press the wand against your hardened clit. It’s only set to level one, but you feel your orgasm beginning to build up.

So beautiful like this, you imagine him saying. Keep going. I’m right here, and you’re driving me crazy...

You let out a breathy moan as you activate the wand’s level two vibration intensity, and your thighs shake uncontrollably at the heightened pleasure.

Shake for me, beautiful. Take me to your heaven, your imagination continues. It’s right then, though, that his voice sounds beside your ear for real in a soft tone: Yes, darling, you did it.

After hearing this voice long enough to be able to conjure it in your mind with any array of sinful words, today is the first time it brings you to a time-stopping orgasm.

Baekhyun

Out of nowhere, her hips fly off the bed and surge in random, up and down motions, and I watch the small opening of her slit pulsate in time with her hips as it erupts with a lovely, transluscent essence. I wish I could feel her arousal on my fingertips instead of just watching.

Her voice comes out in broken utterances and ragged moans: “UH-uh-huhhh-ugghhhh... ffffff-UH-uh-uuuck.”

The vibration ceases, and she tosses the device beside her with a heavy exhale, evidently spent. Her legs are still spread, and I can’t help but inch myself closer to observe the way her soaked flesh speaks to me in its language of spontaneous throbbing.

You

The rest of the day passes you by. After you came, you made lunch, went to the gym for a workout, went to the DMV to change your driver’s license, came home and read some more, answered a few work emails, perused social media, ate dinner, and even watched a movie. A typical Saturday for you, nothing particularly special by any means. The real fun would be at 9 PM when your bestie promised to pick you up.

...

You glance at the time on your phone: 8:56 PM. Perfect, a few more minutes to double-check everything.

Phone case on a crossbody chain with your new license and credit card stored inside? Check. House key attached to the chain on a carabiner clip? Check. Hair flat-ironed with minimal frizz and ultimate shine? Check. Makeup? Eh, all you did was pat on some cheekbone highlighter. Check. Outfit? Sleeveless, burgundy top with an open, laced up backside, faux leather miniskirt, and basic black Converse for comfort. Check.

You smile at yourself in the full-body mirror in your apartment’s foyer. “Effortless.”

Yes, the voice agrees.

...

It’s just after 9:15 when you arrive at the Fire & Ice club downtown. The bouncers stamp both of your left hands with purple stars for the bartenders to serve you the goods before you’re pushed along with the crowd further into the expansive club. 

Lights of every color strobe all over with red-tinged string lights on the perimeter of the whole place, and a massive blue-tinged spotlight on the DJ and his setup. The dancefloor in the middle is decently crowded with people around your age, a few 40-something couples sticking out adorably. 

“No chasers for you, missy,” your friend reminds you with glittering eyes and a loving squeeze on your upper arm.

You nod, feeling thrilled to be out on the town for once. You raise your index finger to the ceiling with a victory screech: “To the bar!”

Over an hour later, the overhead lights go out, the DJ’s spotlight turns red, and the entire bar gets lit up from the see-through floor with bright, pale-blue lights. Even though you’re definitely tipsy now, you finally notice the mirrored wall panels surrounding the club, and all the spotlights bouncing off of them combined with the bar’s own futuristic lighting makes you realize how truly fire and ice this place is.

Not surprisingly, your friend had slid into their drunk phase a little faster than you, and they’d disappared somewhere with a girl they’d met at the bar. They’d sent you a text 20 minutes ago reading, “Met a spicy lil thang at the bar. I’ll find u later! Keep ordering!!!”

Were you bothered? Nah, you really weren’t. This has happened a few times before elsewhere, and you were still intent on enjoying this day your way, even if that meant dancing like an idiot by yourself.

Were you wondering where the voice was? Yes. He hadn’t spoken to you since you got picked up.

Gulping down the rest of your Captain and Coke, you return the glass to the bar and catch somebody to order a Vegas Bomb shot. Feeling yourself finally dipping into your drunk mode, you down the shot with ease, not so much as wincing at the burn of the alcohol before heading straight back to the center of the dancefloor where a group of girls had left a pocket for you to slip in.

The DJ blends the ending of the current song with the beginning of a new one, “All That” by Emotional Oranges, and the vibes you get from this one are sensual. You’re in your own world of alcoholic delight, and you’re erotically body-rolling with yourself before you feel a pair of hands gently grasp your waist.

You feel the person press their chest against your shoulders, their breath icy cold beside your ear. “Effortless, my darling.”

Every fiber of your being comes to a screetching halt when you hear it. 

It’s him.  

You spin around—a little too quickly considering your current state—and brace your hands against his chest. He responds by wrapping his arms around your back. 

Looking back at you with big, almost black-colored eyes is a man with platinum blonde hair and ridiculously full lips. He’s wearing a white button-up shirt tucked into black pants, a look more fitting for a business-casual luncheon or something.

But who cares about the clothes when he has a face like that? With the most flawlessly radiant, olive skin and hands so warm on your exposed back that he feels like a personal heater?

You could feel the surrounding people’s presence melting away the longer you gazed at him, the more it dawned on you with a certainty you didn’t dare doubt that this was truly the voice you’d been hearing.

You blurt the words without any more hesitation: “Say ‘beautiful.’”

Unphased, he fulfills your request with a melodic purposefulness in his voice, keeping his eyes trained on yours.

With relief washing over you, you drop your jaw in a loud exhale. “It’s you!” You bring your hands up to cup his cheeks, desperate to etch his breathtaking face onto your brain.

“It’s me,” he answers with a sheepish smile, hugging your body tighter against his. He feels as firm as Michelangelo’s David sculpture.

Then you faint in his arms.

Baekhyun

I can’t tell if she fainted from the shock of finally meeting me or from her obvious imbibement. I was actually able to smell it on her warm breath, and if I knew what literally anything on Earth smelled like, I’d be able to describe it. 

I was more beside myself being able to finally touch her, though, to finally exist with her in the same dimension of reality. Her skin felt supremely smooth, and I could practically feel the love beaming from her face.

She knew it was me because she asked me to say beautiful, something I’d spoken to her earlier in the morning. She didn’t want to test me, but she also didn’t want to test her sanity or sobriety. 

I carried her home, glancing down at her with a kind of all-encompassing happiness I’d never felt before as an angel.

You

At last, you rouse from your fainting spell, and the first thing you see is your apartment ceiling. A dull headache is knocking at the back of your head, and thankfully the only light source is the lamp on your nightstand.

You look to your side and are reminded of the night’s events.

“I’m sorryyy,” you murmur, frowning cutely at the platinum-haired man lying beside you with his head propped up in his hand. He moves his free hand from your hip to your jaw, tenderly grasping it and swiping his thumb side to side. 

“Please don’t be,” he replies softly. “I’d do anything for you.”

You look at him for a moment, examining his features. “Do you know my name?”

He grins ear to ear, as if enjoying a private joke. “I think you know I do.”

Although you’d slept off the alcohol, you’re still a little lost. How do you explain meeting the man whose voice you’d heard in your head for three years?

You turn to face him, entwining your lower legs with his under the sheets. He seems almost caught off guard by the touch, but he quickly calms himself.

“I don’t know yours, though. Please help me,” you plead, and he picks up on your subtle allusion to the bigger picture, not just his name.

He sighs quietly, ceasing his thumb strokes and taking your hand in his. “I am—was the angel Baekhyun.” He pauses, gently squeezing your hand as he brings it to his white shirt. “I’ve watched over you for the past 21 years and nine months.” 

He pauses again, letting this sit with you. You take a moment to process before speaking. “Why hadn’t I heard your voice earlier?”

He nods once, taking in a breath. “I didn’t want to scare you in your younger years, nor did I want others to think you’d developed an imaginary friend. And for obvious reasons, you couldn’t see me before I fell.”

Before I fell.

The words run you over like a semi-truck, and Baekhyun sees it on your face. “Yes, darling, I fell to Earth.”

You furrow your brow, caught between confusion and wanting to cry. “Why?” you whisper.

“I broke the law,” he says before kissing your knuckles. “I fell in love with a human.”

You can’t help but stare at him, speechless.

“And I want you to know that every time you ever heard my voice,” he continues, “I was speaking to you and only you when I felt you needed me. Most angels deliberately avoid speaking to their humans and instead conjure some sort of earthly sign for them to stumble across. But I couldn’t do that with you. I watched you become such an incredibly strong, self-sufficient woman that I worried you’d never get anything in return from anyone. I wanted you to know you have never been alone.” 

Tears well in your eyes at Baekhyun’s sincerity, and you struggle to find any words to string together.

He kisses your hand again. “Before this, my only senses were hearing and seeing. I don’t think I can take my hands off you now.”

You burst into a toothy smile. “So that means you’ve watched me do literally everything...”

Baekhyun notices the streak of seduction coloring your eyes. Glancing toward your nightstand quickly, he says under his breath, “That thing drives you wild.”

You smirk, pulling your intertwined hands forward so you can kiss his knuckles this time. “Do you know how wild your voice has driven me? Still?”

“I kind of always suspected it,” he admits with a smirk. “Nevertheless, we are together, and I don’t know how to adequately express how deeply happy I am, much less how happy I want to make you.”

Moving your legs from his, you kick back the sheets. He’d left you both fully clothed, that gentleman. 

“What time is it?” you say as you twist around to check your phone. Your home screen reads just past 3 AM, and there’s even a new text from your bestie: “Glad u found someone!! Text me tomorrow and happy bday again <3″

You turn back to Baekhyun, propping yourself up on your elbow like him. “You texted my friend?”

He nods earnestly. “I’ve seen you do that enough times to understand the courtesy of letting them know.”

You smile in response, deciding to push his shoulder until he’s lying on his back and you’re straddling him. He responds by placing his warm hands on your hips.

You throw your hair to one side before leaning over him with an outstretched arm. “Baekhyun,” you whisper.

“Yes, my darling?” he hums, his eyes eagerly drinking you in.

“I want you.”

His eyes widen enough for you to notice, and he unknowingly digs his fingers into your sides.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he says above a whisper.

You lean back and unzip your miniskirt, then you tug at your top’s ribboning to undo it enough for you to pull it off. You take in a deep breath as Baekhyun feverishly assesses you, and your nipples grow hard at his unfettered attention.

“Haven’t you seen this enough?” you ask him softly.

He shakes his head. “Never enough. And now I can feel you, smell you, and taste you.”

You carefully stand above him and brace a hand against the wall as you yank the skirt off, one of his hands tenderly holding your ankle. You straddle him again and sit a little bit lower so you can unbutton his shirt, open his pants and pull out the ends of his shirt.

Spreading the shirt fully open, his chiseled torso knocks the breath out of you. You bring your hands to his abs but hesitate for a second.

“Please keep going,” he begs quietly. 

With his approval, you bring your hands down and gingerly run them over the indentations of his abs and the plains of his defined pecs. You trace your index finger from his chin over his Adam’s apple all the way down to his navel.

“Darling?”

“Yes, Baekhyun?”

“What am I feeling in my pelvis? Is something wrong with me?”

You look down and find his very human, very pink, very swollen erection poking out of his underwear. Taking his questions seriously, you answer him: “You have an erection, a boner. That means you’re turned on.”

“’Turned on?’”

“Aroused, excited, in the mood. This is how human men show it,” you reply, keeping your voice sincere. He deserves the truth as it is, not through jokes and teasing. “You’ll have to learn how to control it in public.”

He quickly infers your hidden meaning, nodding. “I trust you.”

Chuckling at his random admission, you say, “I trust you too. I’d like to help you with being a human as you have helped me.”

He beams at you. “I welcome your guidance wholeheartedly.”

You smile and spend the next minute removing your panties and the rest of his clothing.

Baekhyun, in your eyes, is literally the definition of perfection. Covered in bulging muscles and gleaming skin with an unusual heat that almost radiates off his body, you fell speechless again. 

You’re on all fours above him now, hovering your face above his. “You make a fine human, Baekhyun.”

“Thank you,” he smiles, his hands back on your hips.

“Stop me whenever,” you say firmly. He nods softly, patiently waiting for your move.

[amive2567]

See you again

Summary: Soulmates are the people that truly belong to us, but sometimes life is not grateful and we have to wait for a life where we can meet them again. 

AUs: SoulmateAU ReincarnationAU ProHeroAU

Warnings:  fluffier than the others,  blood, medical talk, harassment at work, swearing, protective Todoroki

Disclaimer: My Hero Academia and the characters belong to Kohei Horikoshi.

Words: about 2.180

Quirk: Cell regeneration ~ This quirk allows healing somebody. The host can regenerate and strengthen the cells. Therefore the host needs to touch the person they want to heal. The quirk replaces the damaged cells with the healthy ones of the host. The new cells multiply on their own and heal the injury.

Malfunctions are that through extended usage, the host gets dizzy, receives nosebleeds, and their skin can get dry.

A/N : We are slowly getting towards the end of the story, although I separated the last part into two. It would have been way too long for one part. So here is Part 1. I hope you like it. Oh, I will also correct the parts after I have finished the series.  

A/N 2: In Japanese, last names come before first names. So I wrote the names like this. 

previous part: Third life: 1970   next part: ~ coming soon 

Series masterlist

Grand masterlist 

Annoyed, you pressed the alarm until it finally stopped ringing. "And another day that has to pass," you whined. Just like every morning, you got up and cleaned your bed. You opened the window and let the fresh air in. After you brushed your teeth, you headed straight to your desired breakfast stop. 

You opened the door of your favorite café. When you moved here, it became a routine to eat in the small, cozy coffee shop near your workplace, also known as the hospital. Even with a high amount of customers, it was always quiet and welcoming. But this morning, it seemed like no one was there. 

"Good morning, L/N-sama. What would you like to have for breakfast today?" greeted you, Watayama Tomomi, the owner of the comfortable café. "Good morning. The usual, please." You ordered. With a wide grin, she disappeared into the kitchen. 

In less than five minutes, she came back with your beloved breakfast. "I already thought that you would order the same as always, so I prepared it for you. Luckily, as always, you were punctual. So it's still warm." She explained in response to your questioning look. "That's very generous of you. Thank you Watayama-San." "Oh, I was happy to do that for you." She waved it aside and went back to work.

As always, while breakfast, you took out your phone and read the news.

Bank robbery in Musutafu city center.

A bank robbery took place in Musutafu city center. Several million yen were stolen in the process. Some civilians got hurt. The pro heroes one and two were gladly in the area and arrested the villains immediately. Shouto and Deku have once again shown a magnificent performance in which they soon caught the bank robbers and handed them over to the police.

                                                    ....

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You put your phone aside and focused on your miso soup. You took a sip of the broth and felt the soup warming your stomach from the inside. No matter how hot it could be, miso soup for breakfast promised an excellent start for the day.

Your gaze went back to the news article and stooped at the hero name Shouto. It was oddly familiar, but you didn't know why. It was just a name like everyone else's. Why did it felt like home reading these five letters? Why did it felt so familiar? You didn't even know him, neither did you ever saw him. You never dealt with this whole hero thing. It was just a regular career like every other. Of course, you were thankful that they risked their lives for the safety of the people. But that created a lot of work for others.  

Your pager went off, and you groaned. Emergency room, it said. "Watayama-San, I have to go. Could you pack my breakfast so I can take it with me tonight?" you yelled through the empty café to the kitchen. “I like to do it L/N-sama. Have a successful day at work." she wished. You grabbed your stuff and headed straight to the hospital. 

After you changed your clothes, you went to the E.R. In there, hell was going on. Nurses ran around, doctors stormed in and healed patients like on an assembly line. "L/N-san. We need your help." screamed a voice inside your head. You couldn't see anyone who might have called you, so it could only be one person, your colleague Sera Keiko. Her quirk allowed her to speak non-verbally to people far away. It was very efficient to gossip about various colleagues during the breaks.

You opened the door to the trauma room. A carnage greeted you with a Sera dripping in blood. "What happened?" you asked as you put on some gloves. "The bank robbery this morning did not take place without victims. This week we don't have so many staff to be able to cope with the size," She explained and pressed more effectively on the unconscious patient's wound. "Alright. We need more blood. Can someone get it, please?" you ordered. An assistant nodded and ran to the blood bank. 

You took over the patient by pressing your hands on his wound and activating your quirk. "Why does he pass out every now and then? Did he hid his head?" you asked curiously. "I think so. We couldn't ask him, and there is no visible wound," reported Sera. "Did you ordered a C.T?" She inclined her head, embarrassed. "Then do it now," you demanded, and she called the tomography department. You focused on your quirk, so it healed the wound as concisely as possible. Blue sparks swirled around the bloodied skin. You felt how the effects started to work on your body. It felt like the world started spinning, but you wouldn't stop until you were sure that the cells would connect. "At the moment, they have no opportunity to take new patients," informed Sera. "Alright, then we need our wonderful neurosurgeon, doctor Tanabe," you said sarcastically. Sera nodded and dialed the pager number.

 How you haded this arrogant, good-looking surgeon. Some people called him Mc. Hottie. Gross, you thought. As like your thoughts had summoned him, the door swung open, and he entered the room. "What do we have here?" Tanabe asked. "The patient passes out every now and then. We couldn't get a C.T, so we need your opinion," you told him professionally. "Of course you can have my opinion, babe." he winked at you. You rolled your eyes. He was a good doctor, but nothing more. 

You felt how the bloody wound under your hand started to heal itself, so you could remove your hands. "L/N-san, your nose is bleeding. Here you are." Sera handed you a handkerchief. You cleaned your nose and thanked her with a smile. "When you're done here. I would take over," said doctor Tanabe. "You can have him," you said bluntly. With a last wink, he left the room with his new patient. 

"Oh, he is such a douchebag," you complained loudly. "We need to inform someone related to him. Could you hand me his medical record?" you asked. Sera nodded and gave you the documents. "Thanks," you mumbled. "Do you want to grab a drink tomorrow?" asked Sera. "I would love to," you responded with a beaming smile. Sera started to smile simultaneously. 

The door opened, and two men entered the room. "Excuse us..." started an unknown voice. "Sir, you can't enter this room. It's staff only..." your voice dropped as you looked into a pair of grey and turquoise eyes. A wave of memories hit you. 

“It’s unfair.” you sniffed. The young prince pulled you into a closer hug and stroked your h/c hair. “I know, but we will meet in another life. That’s how it is with soulmates or not?"

 “I hope so.” Your lips meet, the tears from both of you make the soulful kiss taste salty.

Even if I don’t come home, I will always remain a part of your heart, and we will meet again in the next life, just as we always have promised. We will be able to hug each other again and won’t have to let go. My love for you will never die, even if my body does not survive this war, my soul will always be with you.

“It’s fine, Shouto, we will meet in the next life. We will have a family and live until death will do us apart.” You wiggled your hand free from underneath the stone. With your bloody hand, you stroked his cheek. His eyes were filled with fear.

"You can’t leave me. I need you. We wanted to live a happy and long life together.“ he cried.

You felt how hot tears streamed down your cheeks. "Shou..." you mumbled, overwhelmed. "Y/N." he answered, as surprised as you were. You were attracted to each other like magnets. The world around you faded as you hugged each other. "I missed you," you mumbled, your voice choked with happy tears. "I missed you too, darling." His lips met yours, and you returned the loving kiss. The lonely feeling you felt your whole life disappeared at this moment. "Err, Todoroki, we still need to know what happened to your sidekick." stuttered a voice behind the two of you. You broke away from each other, and your cheeks turned a light red tone. 

"Your right Midoryia, I am sorry. I just found my soulmate again," he said bluntly. "Oh, I don't want to be rude, but we really have to get going." said the green-haired man. "Do you happen to know where Mayeda Nobuo is?" asked Todoroki. "Oh yes, he was my patient. I bet we can ask doctor Tanabe if you can visit him. He had a severe wound and has probably a head injury. I healed the wound as best as I could, but the head injury still remains. Doctor Tanabe is the best neurosurgeon in Musutafu, so your sidekick is in good hands." you explained to them. "See you, Miyako-san." You let the two pro-heroes know that they should follow you. 

As you reached the reception of neurology, you asked for doctor Tanabe. "He is at the tomography department." the receptionist explained. "Dang this idiot...," you mumbled under your breath. "Thank you." She nodded and went back to her work. I bet he was flirting with Oshiro Tomiko, head of the C.T. department, for an appointment, you thought. 

You walked to the tomography department with the other two. There was a long queue in front of the C.T. And as it couldn't be otherwise, your object of desire was first in line. "Doctor Tanabe," you called him out. "What's up, sweety?" he asked flirtatiously. You rolled with your eyes. "Those two men would like to know how your patient is doing," you said professionally. "Oh I don't know it yet, but after the C.T we will recognize what's wrong," he said and stood close to you. 

"Is he your boyfriend?" growled Todoroki. His eyes were gleaming furiously. You didn't even get the chance to answer. "I wish they were, but unfortunately, they always reject me. I need to say their sweet but has something," confessed Tanabe. His arm laid on your lower back. You pushed him away. "What did you just say?" asked Todoroki with a snarl. He looked down at doctor Tanabe with an expression that gave you goosebumps. Never had you seen him that angry. "I said that their but is cute," repeated Tanabe fearlessly. Todoroki grabbed him by the collar. "Don't you ever say that to my love again, understood asshole? And don't you ever make them uncomfortable again." He let go of him and took your hand. "Thanks for your help doctor," Todoroki spat contemptuously. 

"Let's go." He dragged you away with Midoryia. You were surprised by his behavior. He was always this calm, collected guy, and now he was jealous? "Todoroki-Kun, don't you think you took it a bit too far," Midoriya asked carefully. "No, he molested my soulmate. This guy should get behind bars." Todoroki snarled. 

He stopped in the entry hall and turned to you. "I apologize for my harsh behavior, darling, but I've lost too much in this life, and I can't lose you again." "You won't lose me. Especially not to an arse like Tanabe. I will always love you. No matter what will happen." you assured him. 

The three of you talked for a while, and you go to know that Midoryia soulmate was the girl in the pink and black dress. Her name is Uraraka Ochako. Fortunately, they met in high school and trained together to become heroes. "Wasn't she your wife the last time we met?" you asked confusedly. The memories were still a bit blurry. "Exactly." 

"We have to go back to work. Unfortunately, due to this incident, we have to sign some documents." noticed Todoroki. "Then I won't hold you back any longer. Good luck at work." you wished the two pro-heroes.

 "Oh, and that I won't forget. Shoto, we still have to exchange numbers." His face lit up, and he handed you a piece of paper. You smiled at the note and saw that the numbers were neatly written down. "You still write your number on a piece of paper?" asked Midoryia confusedly. "Strangely enough, many women want my phone number, so I write it down on paper for faster inquiries," he answered bluntly. Jealousy grew in your stomach, but you knew he was attractive, and many women took advantage of his social awkwardness. "They find you attractive, which is true, but they want to um... " You whispered the rest of the sentence in his ear. His cheeks turned beet red. "Er, well, I don't want that they do that. I need to tell them." he stuttered. "I think so too. So then, I will see you two around." The two of you shared a kiss before the two pro-heroes went back to work, and so did you. 

[wafflewarriors]

Runaway Winchester

Through all your years with the Winchesters, after running from demons and vampires and ghosts. After sticking up for one another and having each other's backs, it had never crossed your mind that you might run from them.

Here you were, bare necessities held by straps on your shoulders. A silver knife at your waistband and a loaded gun on your hip. A vial of holy water, a little bag of salt, an iron poker, all in your drawstring bag. Flannel, jeans, and steel toe boots were your current friends.

You stopped at a nearby bus stop. It was an hour wait until the next bus came, but you were confident you were far enough from the boys to relax a bit. Most shops were closed, so you just quietly minded yourself on the bench, admiring the crickets' songs and the soothing dark of the night.

To most hunters, the night was their enemy. But you couldn't see what was to blame it for. Despite the chaos that occured with monsters in the night, they also lurked the same amount in the day. There is an equal enough balance of time of day and monsters' activity that it was stupid to fear it. Fear the monsters, not the dark.

You were going to stay alert for this last trip and then crash at the next motel. You were covering your tracks alright, you thought. You had ditched most of your identification, minus your backup one that they weren't aware you even owned. You had set your phone to the bare minimum apps, only still with you to call emergency services if it ever came to that.

You were tired. Bone tired and ready to sleep, but not so exhausted that you couldn't wait an hour. You had to wait an hour. This was your only shot to cover up your trail. You'd been purposely leading the Winchesters east awhile, but you planned on do a 180° on them. You had a rough idea of what you wanted. To go far west, lay low in the country, help out at a farm to earn some kind of pay.

And avoid hunting at all costs.

Because that would lead the Winchesters right to you.

It wasn't that you hated them. It really wasn't. They were the bravest, best men you'd ever met. A little too selfless, a bit harsh, maybe... but good-hearted and well-meaning.

You just… you just didn't mix.

Specifically with Dean Winchester.

He said your music taste was terrible; he said that you were too girly, that he didn't want the chick flick moments; he always rejected your attempts at hugs, which usually were more for yourself than anything, and it made you feel worse when he withdrew and gave you stupid excuses; he offered you no reassurance when you failed at something because 'there's no room for mistakes' even though he made them everyday, more so than you ever did.

He was just so frustrating.

There were arguments. Over everything. So many long, tiresome circling arguments of the same topic like you were both in a time loop. There was always something to blame about you. You were too careful, or too pushy, too confident, too determined. Your personalities were polar to his and it led to heated discussions like whether they should gank the seemingly moral werewolf, or to run in a vamp nest on a whim.

Dean would always throw it in your face when you were too reckless. They would throw it in your face when you were wrong, and when you had screwed it up. Like you didn't know it already. Like you didn't tell yourself again and again a million times in your head, each day, every night. Reminding yourself of your failures so repeatedly that there was a rhythm to it. No, they didn't need to do it for you. That was already your job.

After those terrible arguments of raised voices and mean, glaring eyes, Sam would then try and console you. Honestly, it just made you feel worse. Even if he didn't try to, he always took Dean's side in the long run. He'd tell you what Dean really meant to say, without his swearing and impulsive wording. 

And every single time, you were in the wrong. It seemed as if the world was spinning in the opposite direction as you were.

So you left.

In fact, you didn't really question it. You just wanted to clear your head for a while. You didn't know how long… just… a while.

You knew they would look for you. And as much as you were a friend, you were also a responsibility. A chore. Something to save and protect and hoard. But you knew that if you waited long enough, a larger, meaner priority would come along and rip away their attention. And hopefully, they would slowly forget about you.

At least, that was your plan.

Still curled up against the bench, you felt a drizzle of rain against your face. And as your flannel began to soak with cold water, you wished you were still in the warm safety of the bunker with a leather jacket around your shoulders. A little laugh bubbled up and you let your hair shake and drip down onto your jeans in hilarity. 

It was a stupid wish.

///

After Dean called your name for the third time with no response, he was fed up. He was already livid; you had, once again, run into danger even though Dean had specifically told you to wait in the car. It wasn't that he didn't trust you, but the ghost had been disemboweling young women for the past two straight weeks, and he had been admittedly nervous for you. Was that too much to ask?

He got out of his chair, throwing the useless, stupid research on the glowing table map thingy that he hadn't really named yet. He went marching over to your room, irritation carved into every feature of his face. He said while throwing open your door, "I swear if you don't come out of here, we are going to have some issu—"

You weren't there.

He spent several seconds blinking at the scene, and it took several more to connect the dots. Dean ended up standing there for twenty seconds, bow legged and leaning against the doorframe. His irritation quickly melted into a look of utter bafflement. Where..? Nobody was in the kitchen. Nobody was in the war room. Nobody was…

Your room was empty. Too empty. Kind of a spotless empty. You weren't a very neat person. There was always a little clutter, usually a flannel or two thrown about. You weren't a slob, you were on the road too much for that, but you were never this excessively clean.

From bafflement, came fear. His eyes widened, his mouth too, and soon he was shouting your name through the bunker.

Dean's heart stuttered when he heard footsteps. He breathed, "Oh, thank—"

But it wasn't you. It was Sam.

"What is it?" His brother asked.

The million dollar question.

Sam became concerned as the silence grew and he continued to observe the panic drawn in Dean's eyebrows. "Dean?"

"She's gone," Dean blurted. "She's… she's… her room's spotless, and her gun, and her knife, and her—" Dean tugged at his hair and swore. Loudly.

"Hey, calm down. We'll find her."

Dean shook his head. "We taught her all there is to know about hiding."

"Yeah. We taught her. We know all her tricks."

"Knowing her tricks and knowing how to get around them is a lot different, Sam! How are you going to track a disabled cell phone? Huh? And how, pray tell, are you going to track someone who usually makes all the ID scams? She probably has ID's we don't know exist! Sam, she could be anywhere."

Sam look lost in thought. "She always liked the country," he murmured.

"What?"

"Dean, come on, think. Her country music that you always complain about? She grew up on a farm before she started hunting. Come on, you know that. She loved it."

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"Of course it doesn't. God, Dean, no wonder she left! You don't pay any attention to her!"

He scoffed. "Course I do."

"Yeah? Then what's her favorite color?" Sam asked quietly. He looked down at his brother with a disappointed look.

Dean decided he hated that look. "Her favorite color? Come on, what are we, second graders?"

"You don't know," Sam whispered in an uncomfortably sad awe, like Dean forgot his birthday or something mushy like that.

Dean decided he did not like that at all. "Blue," he said, trying to sound confident. But as Sam's face fell further, and all that confidence deflated like a popped balloon. His brother had on those stupid puppy eyes of his and it was giving Dean a headache.

"It's green," Sam told him. "You know why?"

"Why."

Sam leaned up against the wall, amazed. "She likes your eyes. She thinks they're nice."

Dean's ears must have malfunctioned. "What?"

"I can't believe you are that clueless. For someone who constantly dishes out pickup lines and hooks up with girls, you sure can't read her, can you?" Sam shook his head and decided to lay it out as flat and as plain as he possibly could for Dean's sake. "She likes you, idiot."

Dean's face was unreadable. His stupid head wasn't computing any of this. All his mind could do was could do was ask stupid, stupid questions. Why did she leave? She liked me? Do I even listen to her? Do I yell too much? Do I dismiss her? But there was one he couldn't help but single out. One he couldn't help but pour his focus to: Why didn't I take it easy on her?

Dean's face finally broke into one of overwhelming regret. "What have I done, Sammy?"

///

Just three days after settling at an orchard with the Carter family, you were finally finding yourself again. Finding your usefulness. Sure, the days stretched long and hot, but each one was as rewarding as the last. You were healing from the hunts, slowly, but surely.

It felt really good. Like, really good. Healthier than you'd been in weeks. Rich, homemade meals, and no fast food made you feel incredible. You even managed a regular sleep schedule, and while it wasn't perfect, it was something. Nightmares still plagued you, but they felt far away. Unreachable in such a wonderful home and environment.

You forgot how much you missed the country.

The Carter family was extremely kind to you. You simply had asked them for a bit of shelter from the rain and they took you in under their wing without question.

They were so wonderful that the Winchesters probably would have been suspicious. And as much as you didn't want to be skeptical, the hunter side of you was screaming. This punch in the gut feeling that something wasn't right, something wasn't normal. And you couldn't shake it.

But this happened all the time with hunts, didn't it? And then you would screw everything up to a gut feeling. So maybe this time you could just forget it. You were sick of messing up. You deserved this. This little bit of happiness.

They were older, late sixties, but so pure and kind hearted. Mrs.Carter made pies, and it reminded you of Dean. While Mr.Carter would often read in his lonesome, and you couldn't help but think of Sam.

Was this what they were? Replacements?

This? This gut feeling was just a little home-sickness. You weren't used to the eerie silence; you were used to blasting 80's music, the rumble of the Impala, or the tap of keys on a laptop. Hell, you were used to Dean shouting at you.

Here, you were without the faint smell of whiskey and instead sweet hay. The country had become so unfamiliar that half of you had shut down. You had locked the door and chucked the key into the farthest reaches of your mind, because it hurt. You lost your home and farm to supernatural creatures, and had lost yourself in the world of hunting. You forgot the peaceful life that came with the country.

You traced the symbol carved into the bed frame. Where had you seen this before? It was clearly old, and you'd seen it several times throughout the farm. On the barn doors, the mailbox, even the front door. What was it? Why couldn't you remember?

See? Again, here you were, doubting the Carters. You couldn't believe yourself.

You opened your phone. Six missed calls from Dean were painfully lit up on your lock screen. Biting your lip, you turned off airplane mode. Hovering your finger over the 'call' button when you heard someone shouting your name.

It was dinnertime. 

You had tossed your phone on the bed, scoffing at how ridiculous you were, doubting such wonderful people.

You made your way to the kitchen, where a beautiful meal was laid out for the family. You were just amazed at how fantastic the food was. It was like a dream Thanksgiving. Heavenly mashed potatoes, biscuits and gravy, stuffing, and a large, golden roast. You didn't know where to start.

"Wow," you whispered.

Mr. Carter patted you on the shoulder. "Please, eat as much as you'd like."

The food was good, as always. Really good. And after you were satisfied, you began to excuse yourself and walk to the sink to put your plate in.

"Where are you running off to?" Mrs. Carter asked. "There's still desert!"

You paused. "Oh, no, I'm okay—"

"I insist," she said, putting a plate of pumpkin pie at your seat. Just as you were about to protest, she set a spoonful of whipped cream on top of the giant slice.

A bit reluctant, you sat back down, carefully picking up your fork and taking a bite of the pie. You supposed you could eat it, if it would make her happy.

She beamed at you. "You were such a scrawny thing when you came here. Now look at you! Full meals! I nice bed to sleep on!"

You slowly nodded. "Thank you for all this, really, but I think I'll get out of your hair tomorrow morning." Something felt off. You didn't really know. But this gut feeling wasn't disappearing.

Mr. Carter sighed. "Unfortunately, we can't let you do that."

You were completely frozen. You had your fork in your mouth, staring up at them in something akin to terror.  You were internally cursing yourself for not trusting your instincts.

THIS IS EXACTLY WHY THE WINCHESTERS WERE RIGHT, something inside you screamed.

You had thought something in the whipped cream tasted funny. Good thing you just kept on eating, idiot. This is why Dean is so harsh on you. This is why you shouldn't have run away.

"Just let it sink in. You'll feel so much better," someone cooed in your ear. "So much better."

You didn't like it. All you could hear was the rattled sound of your panicked, shallow breath, and you realized your eyes were closed.

"So much better."

///

Sam and Dean were on their own little search party for three days.

Dean was antsy. "Sam, I don't know, maybe she's not here. There are so many other towns with farms."

"This is where the bus got off. Dean, look: I mapped out the entire bus system and this is the shortest and easiest way to get anything near the country. She has to be here."

"I know, it's just, where is she then? We checked twenty-two families already. Twenty-two, Sam!"

"I know, but I have this… I dunno, this gut feeling that we missed her, and I—" 

"The Carters'." Dean cut Sam off, eyes flashing with horrified realization. "That—that symbol on their front door. I couldn't put my finger on it, but those are for pagan gods, Sam."

Sam shifted his feet. "How do you know for sure?"

"Don't you remember the scarecrow? The… the…  That town that took couples and sacrificed them? There was that book on pagan gods. But I saw that symbol." He shook his head. "I knew I had seen that symbol somewhere, damn it. I should have said something."

"You're saying the Carters' could have kidnapped her?"

"It's a start."

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Jeez."

"Yeah, no kidding."

///

You came to with a blazing headache. You managed a squinty glare, keeping what little dignity as you watched your captors defiantly.

"There you go, little hunter." Someone's hand, their cold, clammy hand, rested on your shoulder. "We saw your little bag. You're a hunter, aren't you?"

You didn't respond, finding little reason to.

"Yeah, we thought so."

This guy was getting on your nerves fast, so you decided to bluff. "Sam and Dean, they're going to be pissed when they find me. I'd watch out if I were you."

Mr.Carter came into view. "I don't think you believe that, do you? You came here to hide. And it sounds to me like you did a pretty good job of it."

Your jaw clenched. "They're coming."

"Sure they are. You keep telling yourself that," Mrs.Carter murmured. "Hope they come soon. Our boy, here? Trust me, he's very hungry. A century of fasting does that to you, dear." Her smile was deceivingly warm. "Think he'll like that pumpkin pie, dearest?"

Mr.Carter grinned. "How couldn't he?"

You were so uncomfortable and lost and scared. How did you get here? Why couldn't you have just chosen the next farm over? Why does stupid hunter luck always lead you to monsters? From their conversation, it sounded like they were making a sacrifice. And something was going to eat you. Alive.

Through your evergrowing panic also came disappointment with this reality. Maybe this was God's will. Maybe he wanted you dead. Maybe this was good—you wouldn't be a problem for the Winchesters any longer, right? A lone tear tracked down your face—God, I don't wanna die.

The Carters would see to it that you did, though.

And this time, the Winchesters weren't going to find you. You had made sure of it. Your tracks were covered, so unless they got really innovative, they weren't going to track you down. To find you, you'd have to practically map out every route you could have taken.

As if they had the time to do that.

You worked your hands at the bindings, but your wrists and ankles were raw and sore. The knife stored in your pocket was too far from your hands to reach, so you were helpless. How the hell did Dean escape all the time?

You hurt a rattle of chains in the caged room in front of you. It was a dark cell, and the light was too murky to see what lied beyond the curtain. But there was a silhouette, and from what you could see, it wasn't human.

"It's a rabid werewolf, if you're curious." Mrs.Carter cooed at you, tracing your chin. "It won't hurt all that bad. Really dear."

Liar.

It was then that a chime rang through the house. The doorbell. The Carters sent you a wide eyed look, but before they could threaten you, you let out your loudest, shrillest scream.

///

Sam brought his hand to the doorbell, hesitating. "Dean, if she's not in there, we'll just be attacking an innocent family. Are you sure those markings are legit?" He couldn't see beyond the door of old wood and screen, only that the light was on and there were, in fact, people home. That wasn't much to go on.

"Sam, I'm sure. Let's do this, c'mon. Ring the doorbell. She could actually be in trouble right now."

Sam swore under his breath and pressed the button, listening to the soft chime echo throughout the house.

And after a pause, they heard a scream.

Both their eyes flashed. Dean kicked down the flimsy door, shoving past the kitchen to the source of the noise. As did Sam.

///

To your relief, you heard a thud from upstairs. The Winchesters had actually found you. They had kicked the door down and they were coming for you. They were coming. That was the only possibility because the Carters were petrified.

The cage jolted behind you. Before you could let out another yell for help, you were slammed to the ground. Mrs.Carter forced a cloth into your mouth and you gagged around it. She brought a belt around your neck and pulled, choking you and lugging you toward the cage. You struggled, kicking your feet at nothing and clawing at your throat, but whatever monster she was, she was much stronger than you.

By the time your face was red from a lack of air, there was a rapping of shoes against the wood of the stairs, and finally Sam was sprinting down the staircase. He wielded a stake in his right hand. Dean came down a second after. Sam lunged for Mr.Carter while Dean took on Mrs.Carter.

Both (pagans, you now assumed) fought hard, hissing and spitting at the hunters. But the Winchesters were trained fighters. Dean staked Mr.Carter right in the chest, growling as he twisted the stake into the monster's flesh. Mrs.Carter, however, wasn't staked in time, because she managed to snag the cage's lever. The cage yawned, and there was a pause. Then, the beast flew out at Sam, howling and slashing.

You gasped, grateful, but terrified. "Werewolf!" You hoarsely called. "It's a werewolf!"

Dean took a second to process that, but the second he did, the werewolf had two silver bullets to the chest.

The beast rocked, freezing in confusion and pain before it fell back.

"Timber," Dean said sarcastically. He made his way over to you, stepping over the corpses. "Are you… good? They didn't hurt you?"

You coughed, rubbing your sore neck but mostly alright. "I think I'm in one piece."

"Good." He threw down a hand.

You took his offer, wincing as he helped you to your feet, and you wavered a little.

He sent you that look.

You were quick to assure him. "Uh… she was dragging me. Lifted my shirt and scraped my back against the floor." You adjusted your rumpled shirt. "It's nothing."

Dean crossed his arms. "It's not nothing. None of this is nothing. Why the hell did you leave?"

"Because I screw everything up! I'm a liability, Dean. Every hunt you either bench me or I get captured or hurt or something, and that makes me a weakness in the next hunt. I'm pulling you down. I can't even leave right! I can't do anything without you having to swoop in and keep my ass out of trouble." You took a long needed breath, feeling weightless. "I don't want you to feel like I'm your responsibility. Like I'm just another chore."

Sam's face tightened. "You don't actually think—"

"I was trying to make this easier. I was trying to stay hidden, so that you two would give up and actually move onto things that are important. You guys constantly have things on your mind and you can't afford a distraction."

Dean and Sam's frowns both deepened.

"Look, I'm really grateful for this. I literally almost got fed to the wolves, here. But how in hell did you find me?"

Sam shifted. "We tracked all the routes you could have taken. I figured you'd always loved the country. We talked with a few families—"

"Twenty-two," Dean cut in.

"—er, yeah, twenty-two. Um, but Dean remembered the pagan symbols, so we figured this was the place. Turns out we were right, thank god."

You deflated. "I... saw those. Didn't think they meant anything." They always mean something. Do your goddamn research next time instead of blindly trusting a family that so generously takes you under their roof. You really thought people other than monsters would do that?

You brought your eyes up, observing them. And then a little part of you thought, they did that.

Yeah, they did. The Winchesters took you as their own. Maybe that's why you put your blind faith into these monsters, because they had reflected your life with the boys. Maybe the monsters did that on purpose, luring in their prey with things they loved and missed.

The Winchesters were confused and hurt, and probably didn't understand, but you were still family. With time, they would work around this.

"We'll work around this," Sam said, as if he had read your mind.

Sometimes, you wondered if this life was just a dream. That all these events were so coincidental, that there was always a monster around the corner and a Winchester at the next, ready to save you.

"You're not a burden. You're family and you're a hunter. That means something. If nobody made mistakes on hunts, there would be nothing to learn from. Nothing to grow off of. Listen, you can't have possibly made more mistakes than Dean or me, and you certainly aren't less forgivable. You do remember I started the Apocalypse, right?"

"We both did, Sammy," Dean said, nudging him.  He looked at you thoughtfully, and then pulled you into a tight hug.

You were too shocked to say anything.

"Hey I’m really sorry if I made you feel less important. That’s not what I wanted. You just scare the hell outta’ me and I don’t know… I get scared for you. I know this hunter life is scary and unpredictable, but nobody can do it alone. Nobody. That's a lesson Sam and I have learned after years and years of mistakes in this life. The mistakes don't end, and neither do the monsters, but if we got each other, we can learn to solve these problems together, alright? You got me?" He kissed your forehead. "God, I love you kid."

You allowed yourself a little happiness in his arms. But after a moment, you couldn't help it. "Damn." You paused. "Did you just have a chick flick moment?"

"No."

"You totally did!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sam, back me up here."

Sam laughed. "It's okay, Dean. We all know you're a softie."

Dean scoffed, but soon he was laughing too. He clapped a hand on your back.

"Let's go get some pie. Pie solves everything."

He was right. It did.

And by God, did he blast country music the whole way home.

[ghostofviperwrites]

Quiet

Requested by: anonymous

Featuring:  Sanada

Category:   Brotherly bonding

Word Count: 1895

Warnings:  Language, vomiting, mentions of sexual activity,

32.          “Just leave me alone.”

 “Just leave me alone.” Sanada growled waving away the girl attempting to hang on his arm. 

He needed quiet.  Now.  With a migraine tugging at the edges of his brain Sanada knew he needed to find someplace dark and quiet or he was going to be down for the count.   With a hand shielding his eyes from the pulsing lights of the club Sanada stumbled through the writhing bodies, pushing people out of his way with barely a glance his eyes focused on the door just a few feet from him.  

The brisk night air served as a slap in the face, greedily sucking in the cold night air as he waited for his driver to pull his car up to the curb.   White flashes started appearing in his peripheral vision, an ache forming in his forehead.  Tumbling into the car, Sanada lay across the back seat.  Throwing his arm over his eyes he took deep breaths and could only hope the worst of it would hold off until he got into his bed.   He didn’t get them often, but when his migraines struck they came hard and fast.  If he caught them in time with quiet and rest they wouldn’t materialize into anything debilitating, but he could already tell he wasn’t going to be so lucky this time.  

Clutching his head Sanada climbed out of the car as soon as the door opened, waving off the concerned driver and struggling to get his key in the doorway, wavy lines dancing across his vision.  Somehow he shot and chained the door, but didn’t make it past the bottom step before he collapsed, his vision going black and making him kneel on the cold marble, resting his cheek a few steps up oblivious to the hard stone digging into his ribs.   Eyes squeezed shut Sanada took deep measured breaths trying valiantly not to throw up as nausea rolled through him.  

The shrill ringing of his phone sent screaming pain through his head making Sanada scramble blindly for the phone in his pocket hurling it across the room at the wall, the resultant shattering a satisfying sound as the noise cut off.  Laying his cheek back on the tile Sanada closed his eyes once again willing the awful pain away and wishing he wasn’t so far away from his medication.  

–

Back at the club Evil and Naito were in the VIP section they had commandeered earlier in the evening with Sanada. 

“Are we ready to get out of here?”  Naito asked tearing his lips away from the woman seated next to him. 

“I’m ready if you are,” Evil grunted his hands gripping the waist of the woman straddling his lap and grinding herself on his cock.  He turned his head to ask Sanada frowning as he realized his friend still hadn’t returned from the dance floor. 

“Where the fuck is Sanada?”  Naito asked realizing at the same time that Sanada hadn’t reappeared.   Pulling out his phone Naito called him, sitting up with worry creasing his features as the phone was answered but then disconnected with a loud bang.  “That’s weird.” 

“What?”  Evil asked pushing his companion off his lap as he took in Naito’s concern. 

Naito held up a finger as he dialed again his agitation growing as there was no answer and it went to voicemail. 

“The call connected but he didn’t say anything then there was a loud bang and I lost the call.  Now he’s not answering.”  Naito said. “He wasn’t here.   It was too quiet to be the club.” 

The two men left the lounge, heading out into the busy club searching through the intertwined bodies for their teammate.  Coming up empty inside the club they wandered outside cursing as they were informed Sanada had left in the limo. 

“Somethings wrong.” Evil said flatly.  “He wouldn’t just leave without saying something.  And he certainly wouldn’t leave us stranded.” 

Naito bit his lip as he thought, mind racing as he tried to figure out where Sanada would have wandered off to without a word to them.   It didn’t fit him.  If everything was okay they would’ve gotten a text letting them know he was taking off, and he certainly wouldn’t have taken the only ride.  As much of a selfish prick as Sanada could be, he didn’t pull shit like that on his brothers. 

“Wait!”  Evil exclaimed, something approaching excitement in his voice as he pulled out his phone.  “We share our locations.  Just in case.”  Pulling up the app Evil pinged for Sanada’s last known location as Naito came to hover over his phone waiting for a response.   He couldn’t believe he had forgotten about that.  It was something they all did for safety, sharing their location with all the members of their stable just in case something went wrong.  

“He’s at home.”  Evil said when he finally got a response.  “At least as of twenty minutes ago.” 

“That lines up with when I called him.”  Naito said.   Exchanging a worried glance they hailed a cab anxiety at a high as they headed towards Sanada’s house.   It was a silent ride, each of them imagining the worst and wondering what they were going to find when they got to his house. 

Rushing up the front steps once they arrived, Evil muttered curses as he found the door locked, Naito ringing the doorbell incessantly as Evil dug in his pockets looking for the spare key Sanada had given him long ago.  

“Fuck!” He shouted when he got the door unlocked only to find himself barred by a chain.  “Sanada!” 

Receiving no answer Evil huffed in irritation pressing his face into the crack trying to see inside, panic starting to rise as he saw the remains of a shattered cell phone scattered on the floor. 

“Shit, I see him!” Evil exclaimed pushing hard on the door as he saw the foot of his friend barely visible through the crack.  Stepping back Evil lowered his shoulder then slammed into the door snapping the chain and sending the door flying open, Evil almost falling on his face before catching himself. 

Naito beat him to Sanada’s prone form, his fingers immediately searching for a pulse and listening for his breath, relief palpable as he found both. 

“Sanada,” Naito said anxiously, lightly slapping his cheeks, ignoring the vomit on the stairs and around Sanada’s lips.  A small groan came from the man, Evil kneeling near his face as Naito shifted his body.

“Sanada, come on bro, wake up.”  Evil urged.

Hearing familiar voices Sanada cracked open his eyes only to slam them shut immediately with a loud groan of pain as the brief movement send shards of pain through his mind.   

He could hear Evil and Naito whispering around him, crying out as he was lifted into Evil’s arms every step jolting his head and making his nausea boil over again.  Unable to stop it vomit flew from his mouth, down his chest and all over Evil’s shirt.  

“Gross,” Evil said swallowing back his own nausea and quickening his pace to the bathroom.   Naito hurried around him, turning the water on and standing to the side as Evil lowered Sanada under the spray. 

“Do we need to call an ambulance?”  Naito asked staring down at Sanada and trying to ascertain the seriousness of his condition.

“No!”  Sanada moaned curling on his side as the water pelted him.  

“What happened?  What’s wrong?” Naito asked kneeling down as Evil stripped off his vomit covered clothing.   “Did you take something?”

Sanada’s minute shake of his head made another surge of relief course through Naito and Evil.  Given what they had encountered they couldn’t help but think of a drug overdose.  

“Migraine,” Sanada managed to spit out, crying as pain ripped through his body again as the bathroom lights permeated through his eyelids.  

“Shit, lights out man.”  Evil said immediately rising from his crouch to flip off the lights.  “Sorry man.” 

Naito pulled off his shirt and reached into the shower to grab Sanada and shifting him onto his back, his head cradled in Naito’s arm.  Taking the washcloth offered by Evil, Naito carefully wiped Sanada’s face and brushed his hair back before setting about stripping off his shirt and tossing it in a sopping pile in the corner. 

“What do you need?” Naito asked softly, doing his best to hold Sanada still as his eyes squeezed shut and pain was clearly etched on his face. 

“Pills.”  Sanada gasped out. 

Evil was gone in a second hurrying upstairs towards Sanada’s bedroom and into the en suite.  Digging through the medicine cabinet he quickly found the prescription pills reading the directions carefully as he hurried back downstairs.  Swinging by the kitchen he grabbed a bottle of water and returned to Sanada’s side handing a pill off to Naito with the water watching worriedly as Naito pried Sanada’s mouth open and poured in some water followed by the pill. 

Clenching the struggling man’s mouth shut Naito held Sanada still until he swallowed.  

“I think we should get him out of there before he catches pneumonia.”  Evil suggested and Naito nodded stepping out of the way so the stronger man could lift Sanada out of the shower.   With a grunt Evil lifted him in his arms, wandering down the hallway until he came across a guest room.   Setting Sanada down on the bed Evil headed back to the bathroom.  He needed a shower of his own before the throw up on him made him puke on his own.   He had ignored the smell thus far, but he couldn’t anymore now that Sanada was relatively dealt with.  

After showering he stole one of Sanada’s t-shirts that ended up being ridiculously tight on him but it was better than nothing. 

“How’s he doing?”  Evil asked as he came into the room and found Naito lying next to Sanada whose head was laying on his chest.    Evil threw himself across the foot of the bed wincing as the neck of Sanada’s shirt pulled against his throat.

“He’ll live.” Naito said.   “You’d think he was you with how dramatic he’s being over a silly headache.” 

“Fuck you.”  Evil said emphatically with a weaker protest issued from Sanada. 

“I don’t know why you didn’t come get us you idiot.”  Evil said shortly kicking Sanada’s foot lightly.

“I couldn’t see straight I certainly wasn’t thinking,” Sanada responded barely opening his eye to glare at Evil.  

“Obviously.  We had to come rescue your ass.  I was just about to get my dick sucked. Instead I got puked on.”  Evil taunted him. 

“Fuck you.”  Sanada said flatly.  “I certainly didn’t ask you to come here.” 

“You’re right.  We should’ve left you to choke on your own throw up.”  Evil shot back hiding his grin.

“Boys,” Naito said in exasperation.  “You don’t always have to fight you know that right?” 

“Yeah, but is more fun that way.”  Sanada said with a weak grin, stretching out the aches in his body and leaning back into his own pillow. 

“Don’t worry pretty boy,” Evil said.  “I won’t beat your ass while you’re recovering.” 

The two continued bickering, Naito throwing his hands up as he gave up trying to control them.   It was a losing battle and had been as long as he had known them.   That was how their relationship worked and who was he to judge?

[raquel-and-sergio]

What wouldn’t I do for you- part 4

I finally finished writing the part! Yey! It’s a bit long to make up for posting so late 😁. Anyway enjoy and don’t forget to comment what you thought!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Sergio was sprawled out on the couch, watching the news as if his life depended on it. It did, in some way. He had his phone at hands reach and his walkie-talkie open on Marseille’s channel. He had promised himself not to leave his hiding place till after everyone had checked in their final destination. Already, Nairobi had confirmed that she had reached her paradise refuge. The doctors assured her she was out of danger.

Denver Stockholm and the other too were back home. The Professor was only awaiting Rio and Helsinki’s confirmations.

This time, they had agreed to stay inside the country or place they had chosen to go to for at least one and a half years in order for the police to have lessened their searches. After that they had the right to wherever they wanted, excepted course Europe. And hopefully they had all learned their lesson not to use any satellite mobiles or disobey the safety measures set by the Professor.

Marseille’s voice sounded from the walkie-talkie:

“Everyone has reached their safe houses.”

Sergio sighted in relief.

“Thank you, Marseille. It has been an honor and a pleasure working with you.”

“The pleasure‘s all mine.”

“Take care.” Sergio turned cut off the communication, and threw the gadget along with his phone into the microwave. He then activated it at full speed, barely flinching when it exploded.

He sat back down in the couch. It was done. His plan was once again successful. He didn’t feel anything. All his team was out there, rebuilding their lives, but he had lost the one person that gave meaning to his. He had decided upon not telling Paula and Marivi anything until his return. He has asked the band to check up on them now and then, without telling them anything about Raquel’s death. For all they knew she was enjoying her holidays with Sergio.

Sitting in this basement all alone, Sergio decided it was now time to stare planning his revenge.

He wanted it to be explosive, cruel, memorable, but he knew he owed it to Raquel to get out alive. So that he could go back, and take care of her daughter and mother.

A painful knot formed in his stomach. He wanted to have married her. They would’ve gone on a beautiful road trip, they would’ve explored the world. It wasn’t fair.

He felt so guilty. The feelings that he had been repressing the previous days to plan the bands safe escape had started creeping in through cracks in his mental balance.

“... and when the day comes, you can’t feel guilty of something that you couldn’t control.” Had said Berlin, but Sergio couldn’t care less. He felt guilty, he blamed himself, and he wanted to die.

He is going to personally target Sierra, he thought, who had ordered the execution. And also Angel, who had sat down and allowed it and of course that damned cop Suarez who had killed his own friend while she was unarmed and on her knees. He’ll add Raquel’s ex-husband on the hit-list, because god knows he deserved it.

The next few days were spent transforming his physical appearance so that he could get out in public. He had hacked into security cameras, cellphones, and had started pulling up information that would help him hit his victims where it hurt the most. He wasn’t in a rush, because as the French said, la revanche est un plat qui se mange froid. And Sergio was a patient, patient man.

It was a couple of weeks later, and Sergio was going through the GPS data of Raquel’s ex-husband’s phone. He noticed frequent visits to the a prison in Madrid. That spiked his interest, and he decided to look into it hoping to find something to use against the man. Sergio thought of going to visit the prison himself, but then decided against it as he would be walking right into the lion’s den.

He made a few phone calls on an old-fashioned burner phone, and less than a day later he had the images of the security cameras inside the prison for the last three months.

Sitting back and plunging his fork in a bowl of cold pasta, Sergio began going through the footage.

He noticed that the visits had started very recently, right before the last day of the heist to be precise.

But what was even more bizarre was that the footage of whoever Alberto was visiting was nowhere to be found. Sergio has looked through every single hour of visitation, and he found nothing. He had then looked through the individual cells, thinking that with his status of officer he could visit someone directly in their cell. But again, nothing.

It was as if he went to the prison, disappeared for about some time, then reappeared again. The shortest visit was of one hour and the longest ten.

Actually, right before Alberto, he had seen Sierra coming out of the prison, along with Suarez, but he couldn’t find any footage of them going in.

Sergio was a smart man. He knew what, or rather who linked all those people, especially given the circumstances. But he didn’t dare give in to hope.

One of his monitors beeped, indicating that two of the phones he was tracking were in the same room. Sergio paused the screen on which the footage was rolling, and augmented the volume of Suarez and Angel’s phone recordings.

“... didn’t see her in there, what’s going on isn’t right.”

“Raquel’s a criminal Angel, she’s what she deserves. Besides, it’s not like we aren’t offering her an amazing deal if she just gives us some information about her boyfriend.”

Sergio’s heart skipped a few beats. He felt the room moving around him, his eyes widening in realization. It couldn’t be, he thought, he had heard her shot for crying out loud! He had seen the death certificate in the police database! But then again, that didn’t prove anything. They could’ve faked her death as easily as his band faked an escape. Using the microphones on Raquel against him. His mind was racing with delirious thoughts until Angel’s angry voice pulled him back to reality.

“Suarez they’re torturing her for fuck’s sake! She was your friend, and I know you’re angry at how they humiliated you but fuck she doesn’t deserve that! No one does!”

“How are you so sure about that?”

“I saw her you idiot! I was going to talk to Inspectora Sierra and ask her if I could visit Raquel, and when she saw me she immediately closed the computer she was looking at. But I had seen what was on it Suarez! Raquel was bleeding and bruised all over! Plus, Sierra didn’t allow me to visit her, lied to me that she was in solitary or something till she agreed to cooperate. That’s not okay and you know it!”

“Okay even if what you’re saying is true, it’s not like we can do anything about it!”

There was a long pause. Sergio’s mind was numb. Raquel was alive. Raquel was alive. She wasn’t dead. She was alive. With trembling hands, he called some of his connections that knew more than him about hacking.

“I need all the footage that has been going in and out of the prison for the last twenty days. Every second of it, and not the one from the legal police cameras. Search for none registered cells, solitary confinement anything you can find on the phones of people that have visited the prison these weeks. Look through all of it. Contact me immediately if any of you sees Lisboa in any video. And do it fast, I want answers today!”

His breath shaking, Sergio focused again on the conversation those two idiots were having.

“... I’ll see what I can do. Angel, you know, I used to admire and respect Raquel a lot. She of all people doesn’t deserve torture, so if I find out that she’s being mistreated, I will help you get her out of there.”

Sergio lowered the volume again, Angel’s answer fading in the background.

A deafening silence overcame the room. For the last three weeks, Sergio has been so overwhelmed with grief and obsessed with avenging Raquel that he did not even stop to consider that she might be alive.

Now that he looks back, it makes much more sense for the police to have arrested her, not killed her. They faked her death, knowing that he’ll be listening to make him do something stupid. And like the worst of the beginners, Sergio had walked right through their trap.

And now, Raquel was getting hurt because of him. She has been getting hurt for almost three weeks now and his selfish self, too occupied to fulfill his own desire for revenge, had done nothing about it.

His wallowing in self loathing was interrupted a couple of hours later by a monitor chiming. A new folder had appeared one of his screens titled “Lisboa”.

And suddenly, right there in front of him was Raquel. She was shackled to a wall in what seemed like a terribly uncomfortable position, and was siting alone in her cell. The video was taken by an infrared camera so Sergio assumed the cell was plunged it utter darkness.

He accelerated the video, and saw what seemed to be her ex-husband entering the cell and turning on the lights. His face wasn’t in full view of the camera so Sergio couldn’t be sure.

The video ended there. Feverishly, Sergio clicked on the next one. The cell was dark again. Raquel was hanging her head in exhaustion, and the floor of the cell was covered with what looked like vomit. Sergio paused and zoomed on a small metallic object that wasn’t there before. His stomach churned. A cattle prod.

He went on to the next video, then the next one, then the next one. Every time Raquel would be left alone for some time, an hour, a day, five days, then the man would go in, the video would cut and start again after he’d left. Sergio couldn’t help but notice that she was always naked.

Every few days a new object was added in the corner of the room. A bucket, a rope, a whip, a wet towel. And every in video Raquel would look much worse than in the previous one.

Sergio felt bile rising in his throat, and he rushed to the bathroom. Tears in his eyes, he when back to his pseudo-living room.

Change of plans. Screw revenge he was going on a fucking rescue mission right now. He had lost enough time, and he knew exactly what to do.

Putting on a fake wig and taking off his glasses, Sergio threw in a suitcase his computers, cables, papers... He hastily erased all traces of his presence and walked out of the trapdoor of the bunker. Pulling behind him his heavy bag, he headed towards his garage. With his beard and mustache that he had let grow and a few touches of expert makeup he was unrecognizable.

Twenty minutes later, he had reached an old barn, and he unlocked its creaking doors. An old unregistered car he had bought came to the light. Panting, he carried his heavy bag and managed to tip it on the edge of the car and make it fall in the trunk.

He sat down in the drivers seat, put on his contact lenses and drove north towards Madrid.

The car ride was long and dreadful. The Professor spent the entire time perfecting the plan he had imagined. It was still flawed when, maybe seven hours later he had reached the capital. The sun had only started rising, but he didn’t care. He headed straight to Angel’s apartment and buzzed the intercom.

“Who is it?” Answered after a while Angel’s a sleepy voice.

“I have information about Raquel Murillo.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I have information about Raquel Murillo. You want to see this.” Repeated the Professor.

“Please wait right there I’m coming down.” Angel wasn’t very well awake and despite being curious as to what the man was talking about, he wasn’t careless enough to let a stranger in.

The front door opened and Angel’s chubby figure appeared.

“What do you want?”

Sergio whipped out his iPad and showed Angel a few parts of the footage he had acquired.

“Where did you get these? And who the hell are you?” A hesitation in his words made him sound a bit scared.

“I think you know very well who I am.” Sergio mouth twisted in a sarcastic grin as he saw the look of understanding dawning on Angel’s face.

“What makes you think I’m not gonna arrest you right now?”

”I don’t see how you could. You have no gun, no manacles and I’m easily stronger than you. But more importantly, if you do arrest me Raquel would have suffered all that for nothing. And no one is going to save her, I bet the police is gonna keep both of us there till we spill everything we know about the whereabouts of the band. They might torture her some more even threaten to kill her in front of me, so I’ll have to start talking. Do you really want to have that on your conscience?”

“Okay okay I get your point.” Interrupted Angel. “So, why are you showing me this, what the hell are we supposed to do?”

A faint smile appeared on Sergio’s lips.

“I have a plan.”

[thenightling]

Contemporary tech supernatural vampires probably should not have (and yet shows, novels, and movies keep giving them)

In modern fiction people like to have vampires play around with technology.  i.e. Lestat has a laptop or cellphone.   But there are certain aspects of modern tech that supernatural vampires really, really should NOT casually have while out and about.  It should really be common sense but when vampires do certain things it draws me out of the story with the thought “You idiot, you may as well throw yourself on the doorstep of a biology lab and announce you’re a different species.”  

1.  Amazon Echo / Alexa devices.  I’m often amazed how many people do NOT realize Amazon employees can hear what you are saying when around these devices.   If you’re a supernatural creature chances are you have a little more to worry about than her hearing you sing alone, off-key to an 80s pop song.  

You may as well stroll into a product warehouse and announce to everyone working in there “Yes, mortals, the supernatural is real and we are the superior race! Mwahaha!”  It’s true that they’re not likely to believe it but are you willing to take that risk?  Having a perpetual connection to a bot that is being eavesdropped on by human staff is probably not a good idea.   

 https://www.cnn.com/2019/04/11/tech/amazon-alexa-listening/index.html

2.   ALL (not just some) but ALL modern mobile / smart cell phones can be tracked via GPS or triangulation.  And no, you can’t easily remove this “chip” or “feature” like in the movies.  To remove this capability would render the phone useless except perhaps as an over-priced hand held MP3 player (which on its own is twenty or so dollars from Korea).   Virtually anything that connects to the Internet can be tracked. There are even simple apps for it.   

For a vampire to carry a phone with him when out feeding (like in Vampire Diaries, The Originals, and recent Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice) would be incredibly stupid of the vampire.  You might as well post on Facebook where you’re going to be tonight and tag Doctor Abraham Van Helsing in the post.  Also since most Anne Rice Vampires, and the vampires of Dracula are powerfully psychic I’m pretty sure they can go a few hours without a text message or checking in with social media. 

https://bestcellphonespyapps.com/how-to-track-a-cell-phone-location-without-them-knowing

3.   Smart Houses of any kind.  This could easily be covered under Amazon Echo / Alexa but again, a lot of people don’t really know how the tech works.  It’s not all automated and private.   The companies that provide these systems can and will occasionally listen in on you.   If you’re sleeping in a box of homeland soil or bringing home young virgins to feed on chances are you probably should NOT be lazily dependent on Smart Homes.

4.   ADT and similar home security systems.  I know it seems like a good idea for a vampire to have a security system in case their home is broken into but considering false alarms and how easily they are activated, AND the fact that they are obligated to summon mortal authorities you’re better off figuring out how to set up your own system of heat and motion sensors that only tell you something is going on.  But that’s only helpful against human invaders anyway.  And you would want to deal with that personally without involving police lest things might get messy.  

5.  Some touch screens and similar tech. This one is slightly pettier than the rest.  Anything dependent on body temperature to detect your presence.  This includes some (not all) touch screens, heat / motion activated faucets and similar devices will likely be fickle with a being whose body temperature is not consistently of human level.  (What we do in the Shadows is not always wrong.)

Immortals, this should be common sense.  How did you survive the first century while falling for invasive fad devices?  

Cameras are okay. There is nothing in the lore that forbids cameras, this is a trope someone in Hollywood made up because of mirrors, which brings us to another point; Mirrors aren’t necessarily a problem (depending on the type of vampire you’re working with).  Some theorize the reason mirrors don’t cast a vampire’s reflection is because of the silver backing in older mirrors as silver is supposed to have magical properties and is a common weakness for some vampires.   

[randombtsprincessa]

The Man in the Pink Cape || 9

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Jin (Non Idol) x Reader (2nd POV)

Chapters:  01  02  03  04  05  06  07  08

Warning: Kidnapping, Violence

A/N: Proof that Jin can knock someone tf out very easily!

Jin looked up from the book he was reading when he felt someone staring at him. Looking up, saw Yoongi watching him with a bored look on his always disinterested face.

“Don’t tell me, you are throwing another party and I should be there boozing up and looking for a girl.” he said, his voice harsher than he intended it to be.

“As a matter of fact no, I think you should pick up your dignity, get your crap sorted and go and talk to y/n.” Yoongi said making Jin’s eyes flash to him sharply. Even as he watched, Yoongi’s eyes took on a smug look that made foreboding coil in Jin’s stomach.

“Suga, what have you done?”

“Let’s just say, I pushed y/n a little in the right direction. I still don’t understand what it is about her but,” Yoongi began.

“You don’t know her well enough to know what it is about her and you don’t need to know.” Jin snapped.

There was a pause as both friends stared at each other.

Yes, the topic of you was still touchy to Jin but he wasn’t resentful about your break-up. He knew his secret was dangerous to you and he also knew that it wouldn’t be long before he’d have to give up Damhongsaeg but till then, it would be safer for you to be away from him. If you moved on, a thought that made Jin’s chest clench in anger and hurt, it was probably best for you. He had no right to mount his baggage on you.

“Have I ever told you, you are an idiot?” Suga spoke after a bit.

“You make it a point to remind me each week, you’ve been extremely lenient all this time.” Jin said, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, let’s change that. You are an idiot and you need to man up. You don’t have to give up everything to be a goddamn hero, Jin-ah. You aren’t being selfless here, you’re being a moron but hey, who am I to judge?” He shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling almost mockingly before he vanished from Jin’s doorway.

He frowned, shutting off the book he was reading and tossing it on the nightstand, his fingers brushing his phone before he grabbed it resolvedly and swiped through his contacts for your number.

His fingers hovered over the green button before he sighed, throwing the phone back on the mattress, his body arching back to lie on the bed, arms behind his head as he stared at the ceiling.

It would be an understatement to say he missed you madly. He probably was one of the last persons who would admit to believing in love at first sight but you had captivated him the first moment he’d laid his eyes on you in the library, lost and yet so focused on finding a way out by yourself.

He remembered sitting at a small table at the back, watching as a girl he had never seen before ran across in front of him, her beg jostling the table and making his look up in annoyance as he huffed at her rudeness of not even apologizing. She murmured something but it didn’t sound like it was to him when he saw the horrifying bulging bag, almost threatening to split at the seams.

He had let his jaw lax before returning to his business until about 10 minutes later when the same girl rushed back across towards the other direction, stopping at the shelf in front of his table for a few minutes, looking around then sighing, walking away again.

Jin had raised an eyebrow before realization hit him, an amused smirk lighting his studious features.

She was lost.

She was lost in a library.

Jin had to suppress the snort that rose up in his throat and schooled his features in case she turned to look at him or ask for help. She didn’t.

His attention was drastically pulled away from the heavy book in front of him as he chose to watch the girl wander about for a solid twenty minutes before pity won over his childish urge to keep amusing him at the expense of her troubles.

He gathered his things and followed her into one of the aisles, speaking up in his smooth voice which startled her, making her back into the shelving and throw off the books.

His agility and speed kicked in with all the reflexes born off his years of ‘hero work’ as M called it and he grabbed them, apologizing to the girl as he slotted them back to where they belonged, finally turning to look at her, surprise taking him.

She was definitely not Korean.

Now he felt like an ass, as he helped her with a touch more sympathy seeing as she was obviously having problems with more than just directions. He also didn’t miss the way she looked at him.

From there it was straight at the party where he spotted her in that damned dress and rushing away from the party like hellhounds were nipping at her heels. His need to pursue her was almost impossible to curb even as he excused himself to go do his nighttime patrol.

It was pure coincidence that he found her at a scene because who else would be brave – and stupid – enough to try and stand up to three bullies twice her size.

She hadn’t shied away from his alter ego either, boldly asking for his name. His need to know more about her, as he said was natural but of course his friends had a different definition.

Now that she wasn’t near him was when he felt just how much he’d let her affect him. He couldn’t even sleep in his own bed without wanting her to be in touching distance.

“Oi! Jin!” he scowled again at Taehyung loud and deep calls for him. He sighed pulling himself up to go see what the younger boy wanted.

When he got down, he was almost shocked to see Hanna standing there, her arms crossed as she kept her distance from where Taehyung was sitting with Sarah on his lap, her eyes diverted from the PDA.

“Tae, Sarah, go upstairs.” Jin barked, watching as Taehyung rolled his eyes, muttering about him always being down his throat before Sarah, cut a look to where Hanna was standing uncomfortably and pulled tae away.

Hanna finally turned her cool gaze at Jin and he rubbed his neck. “Hi,” he said finally.

“Where is she, Jin?”

Jin faltered for a few seconds before looking at her. “What do you mean? Where is…y/n? Where is she?” he asked quickly.

“That’s what I’m asking.”

“I don’t know where she is.”

Hanna didn’t answer and Jin pulled out his phone, dialing her number easily and holding the phone up to his ear, hearing it go to –

“Voicemail, she isn’t even picking up mine and Eunji’s phone. Something she never does.” Hanna said.

A cold trickled of dread dripped down Jin’s back as he stared at the phone in his hand.

You regained consciousness in a metal chair, your hands tied behind you, a rancid tasting cloth in your mind, your hair sticky from the blood and sweat that had clotted on the back of your head where you’d been hit.

You squinted up into the darkness, barely lit up with a few handing bulbs as murmurs caught your slowly recovering senses.

“You’re sure about this?” someone said.

“Absolutely, it’s the same girl. He saved her that day and I don’t know; he seemed to have a soft spot for her.”

There was a pause.

“Seemed?”

Another pause…

“So, you aren’t sure if there is any connection between this girl and the bastard that keeps ruining my cartel. What if she doesn’t?”

“Boss,”

“Shut up. Is she blindfolded?”

The other man was quiet before there was an irritated grunt.

“You brought her here without a blindfold? What kind of a fool do we have working here? What happens if she sees one of us?”

“We could get rid of her.”

There was a cold silence after this as the sound of a sharp slap rang through the air making you jump as if you’d been slapped.

“We do not hurt people without a reason here. Blow the light. Chloroform her and put her back where you found her. Am I clear?” The voice said.

“Yes sir.”

“We give it the night. If he doesn’t show, drop her.”

“Yes sir.”

“Unharmed,”

“Yes sir.”

I froze for a second as realization flooded me. I had been kidnapped. I had been kidnapped and these people wanted the vigilante, they wanted Damhongsaeg.

“Think, Suga.” Jin pressed.

Yoongi frowned at his hands as the members of his frat sat in the living room, all worried about you.

“I told you. I talked with her then left her and came back here.” He said.

“You didn’t see anyone on your way? When you went there or when you came out?” Namjoon asked; a small laptop open on his lap as he surfed through your social media to see if you’d posted anything about going somewhere – so far, nothing.

“No, if she was taken, I don’t know anything about it.”

Jin ran a hand through his hair, trying not to panic. You had to be safe. There was no way anyone had made the connection between himself and Damhongsaeg and that extended to you. It had to.

“M, anything?” he asked as everyone turned to look at the whiz on her own elaborate computer.

“No credit card activity since the last time she went shopping. Her cell phone is pinging near a tower near that café but it’s likely whoever took her dumped her phone. Jin…” she looked up at him, her lip caught between her teeth, a sure sign that there was trouble.

You’d been staring at the naked light bulb for what felt like hours until you felt someone move into the light, a dark shadow, move to sit just out of the edge of light.

“Hey, um, I think you’ve got the wrong person.” You managed to say.

“Shut up,” the voice was bored but terse as if you talking were making his neck itch.

Normally, you would comply, if shutting up when kidnapped was a normal thing but the way the conversation had played out, it seemed like they were all kids like you, playing to the tune of this ‘boss’.

“Please,”

“I said shut up!”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady.” A cold, hard voice suddenly echoed over your head and you both turned to look at it as the man fumbled about in the dark.

Someone passed you, brushing across your soldier before with lightening speed; a metal stick was crashing down, slicing the air neatly and colliding with the man’s head, or wherever this person was aiming for anyway.

There was a grunt and then the man fell, heavyset and old on the ground with a thump.

The figure, thin and lithe turned to you and shot you a grim smile.

“Hey, y/n, you really should be careful about what you walk into.”

M rushed to you and sliding a small Swiss army knife, she slit the ropes around you in a rough jerk.

“M…? What are you…?”

Her face was unreadable as she looked at you.

“Come on, I think it’s time Mr. Uptight spilled the beans.” She kept an iron grip around your upper arm, the metal rod brandishing in the air in case someone decided to pull something on the two of you.

The building in which you’d been trapped was a rundown gymnasium, with bare walls and the ceiling dented in places.

You could hear murmured conversation and as you and M crossed into the better lit section of the place, you saw a taller, older man sitting in the chair, a leer on his face as a black suited man in a fluttering pink cape stood in front of him.

You gaped for a full minute.

It was him.

The vigilante.

In the light.

In front of you.

He had come for you.

M cleared her throat and the figure stiffened before rearing back a powerful fist and slamming it into the sneering man’s face. The man immediately slumped as the vigilante stared at him for a minute.

“Oh for god’s sake, turn the hell around.” M snapped and you jumped at her loud tone as with an audible and irritated sigh, the man, the vigilante turned around to look at you.

You were about to open your mouth to say a shaky thank you until your eyes stilled on his face and the familiar black mask.

Even with it covering more than half of his face, you would recognize him anywhere.

Your boyfriend was Damhongsaeg.

[garekmccluskie-blog]

The 10 Best Key Finders Reviews 2019

We went through 40 hours on research, videography, and altering, to audit the best choices for this wiki. In case you're continually scrambling to discover your keys on out the entryway, append one of these trackers to them and it will blare to tell you where they are. We've included essential models for the interminably absent minded just as some with higher end highlights. They can likewise be utilized to discover different things, similar to remote controls, gear, and even pets. At the point when clients purchase our freely picked publication picks, we may gain commissions to help our work. Skip

re you one of those individuals who is every now and again losing your keys? Have you at any point dropped your keys in a swarmed open spot and been not able discover them? Have you at any point absentmindedly put your keys in the icebox and hysterically looked your home for a considerable length of time with no achievement?

On the off chance that any of these situations applies to you, you need a key discoverer. This convenient little creation dispenses with the worry of sat around idly and hysterical looking when your keys get up and leave.

You can look over two changed fundamental sorts of key discoverers. The first is a Radio Frequency key discoverer. This key discoverer works fairly like a cordless telephone. It has a base unit that you use to actuate the signaling on the keys or other thing to which you have appended the tag to.

The Bluetooth key discoverer works by utilizing an application on your cell phone. The label sets with the Bluetooth capacities on your telephone so on the off chance that you lose your keys, you basically open the application, press a catch, and tune in for the signals.

Most key discoverers that join to your keychain are little and attentive with alluring plans. They don't make your keychain look jumbled or unattractive and are anything but difficult to bear. Some Bluetooth key discoverers can even make your cell phone ringjust on the off chance that you lost it as well.

Key Finder Uses

There are a great deal of handy uses for key discoverer innovation that goes past basically finding your lost keys some place in your home. They can be utilized in expert settings for viable correspondence and comfort and even utilized for upgraded security.

Key discoverers can be used in a clinic setting as well, as an approach to call a medical attendant or other medicinal services proficient. They fill in as a short range pager framework to caution the expert that they are required by a partner or a high needs persistent.

Historical center visit manages in some cases use Bluetooth key discoverers to raise data about their present show area and furnish the general population on their visit with extra data concerning their environment.

Key discoverers are amazing for use amid movement to guarantee that no critical things are lost in travel. They can be connected to a cell phone, cameras, wallets, identifications, PCs, or other imperative things for simple finding.

A type of key discoverer is regularly given to eatery benefactors when they are sitting tight for a table. It is actuated to alarm them of when their table is prepared and they can be situated.

They can likewise be utilized with kid security in packed open places if they are isolated from their folks. While it's anything but an idiot proof strategy and extra security safety measures ought to be pursued, they are phenomenal for finding a kid inside a short range who has meandered far out.

At long last, key discoverers can be utilized to help individuals with genuine ailments or inabilities. They are here and there used to help dazzle individuals discover their way around a room and improve their area capacities. They are particularly valuable to patients experiencing Alzheimer's illness or other memory issues so they can discover essential things around their homes. They have likewise been utilized by battle veterans with PTSD to help battle activating recollections, and by individuals with serious ADHD who battle to center and recall where things have been set.

A Brief History Of The Key Finder

There have been a few variants of the key discoverer created throughout the years. The primary adaptations were enacted utilizing soundsuch as an applaud or a whistle. For example, in the event that you lost your keys in the house, you would just need to applaud uproariously and tune in for the blares. Sadly, this wasn't an idiot proof strategy. In the event that the keys were excessively far away to get the sound, at that point you would be up the creek without a paddle. Additionally, any uproarious applauding or whistling sound could set off the blaring, regardless of whether you were conveying the keys in your pocket.

The second kind of key discoverer created was the Radio Frequency key discoverer that works on a radio transmission. These are as yet sold today despite the fact that they are plunging in fame because of further developed variants. The most serious issue with the radio recurrence key discoverer is that in the event that you lose the base unit, you need a key discoverer to locate your key discoverer.

The second era key discoverer was licensed by Cheryl J. Skeffington and Kathy S. Walker in 1998. They recorded the patent under Key Buddy, Inc and proposed the key discoverer in which a catch on the base unit was utilized to find the keys or other thing connected to the tag.

The third kind of key discoverer was created on a shared framework. This implied any piece of the gadget could go about as both the base unit and the tag. You could join these labels to each critical thing: cell phone, keys, wallet, and so on and on the off chance that you lost one, you would basically utilize one of alternate things to find it.

Presently, with the ascent of Bluetooth innovation and cell phone applications, these frameworks are winding up less famous for accommodation.

Ezra is an essayist, picture taker, inventive maker, architect, and record name administrator from New York City. He has gone the world over and wound up back where he began, however he's continually compromising to leave once more. Ezra holds a single guy's from Bard College, and is presently tried out the MBA program at UCLA's Anderson School of Management. His expert experience incorporates a stretch at the Brooklyn-based site "Rap Genius," and he has run his very own craftsman the executives and advancement office. For the Wiki, he has created ability in the regions of movement, exercise, and home merchandise, and has inquired about broadly in the zones of gadgets, furniture, and pet care.Thanks for perusing the fine print. About the Wiki: We don't acknowledge sponsorships, free merchandise, tests, special items, or different advantages from any of the item marks highlighted on this page, with the exception of in situations where those brands are produced by the retailer to which we are connecting. For our full positioning philosophy, if you don't mind read about us, connected underneath. The Wiki is a member in partner programs from Amazon, Walmart, Ebay, Target, and others, and may procure publicizing expenses when you utilize our connections to these sites. These charges won't expand your price tag, which will be equivalent to any immediate guest to the dealer's site. In the event that you trust that your item ought to be incorporated into this audit, you may get in touch with us, however we can't ensure a reaction, regardless of whether you send us roses.

[sparklyjojos]

[THE CHILDISH DARKNESS Recaps, Chapters 3-5]

[tw: self-harm, rape, gore, mentions of underage sex, a dog is killed]

---

THREE

Yurio didn’t want to come to Hashimoto’s funeral, instead opting to watch the procession from the town’s library. Saburou barely managed to keep her from jumping through the window in despair and withstood the kicking and biting that followed. 

“It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright,” he chanted both to calm her down and to show forgiveness.

Yurio, now staying in the Natsukawa house, had a tendency to self-harm. Her arms were covered in scars, and she still had a bit of pencil lead stuck in her neck where she had stabbed herself once. Shirou and his girlfriend Atena both had medical training, so they helped with patching up her wounds, and Shirou took it upon himself to get the girl proper therapy. The therapy at first just shifted her behaviour from self-harm to rage against others. Sometimes she’d blame Saburou for not letting her die, sometimes yelled at him to go die already.

One night Saburou awoke to see Yurio standing by his bed with a knife, but after a tense moment she broke down, crawled into the bed and hugged him.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright,” he chanted again, unsure what else to do other than to let her fall asleep next to him.

Yurio disappeared next morning. Saburou found her at the Mouryou Pond, the characteristic round lake in the mountains where they had first met, and finally had a proper conversation about her and Hashimoto.

The two teens had met through an online chat and gravitated towards each other because of their similar alienation from peers, as well as their obsession with UFOs which were said to sometimes appear in Nishi Akatsuki. The teens would sneak out together at night and observe the sky for hours. Even though the only thing they talked about were UFOs, they became an item and even started having sex the previous year (which Saburou was now internally screaming about, because dear God, that’s a 13-year-old with a 16-year-old, and they didn’t even have a connection other than through some fictional nonsense).

Pregnancy happened, but Yurio’s outraged parents quietly got rid of the problem. They didn’t know about Hashimoto and he never learned he could have become a father. The teens continued to meet in secret, sinking further and further into their own world. After the Jawakutora case, Yurio got the idea of using the points of the spiral for a new purpose: creating a letter to the aliens. The image of two people on the plaque made it look almost like she and Hashimoto were the only two people in the entire universe.

Yurio said crying that maybe she’d never actually liked Hashimoto, maybe she’d be fine with anyone else who would stick around her, “I’m sorry, Takeshi, I’m sorry!” Maybe these self-accusations she was repeating to herself were yet another form of self-harm.

Saburou recalled finding Hashimoto’s body. Cut off arms, legs, head and trunk strewn on a table in the storehouse of the Nishi Akatsuki middle school. The message left next to it said: DEATH GOD JAWAKUTORA.

--

Yurio continued to act violently towards herself and others to the point Atena and Shirou had problems keeping her in check. She ran away repeatedly, she asked Hashimoto for forgiveness one second and badmouthed him the next, she broke Saburou’s nose with a thrown soda can.

After that last event, Saburou stumbled upon his old friend Sarue Kaede on his way back from the doctor.

“You should put that child in a proper hospital,” Kaede insisted. Saburou thought that it’d be probably the right thing to do, but he wanted to let Yurio live in a normal house.

--

Shirou had kept it secret from others until now, but in the face of the new case he had to voice his suspicions about Jirou being the one responsible for all the Jawakutora attacks, and/or hiding under the name Kawaji Natsurou.

Saburou was skeptical. Kawaji Natsurou didn’t look... wild enough in the photos to be a grown-up Jirou, even if he could have gotten a plastic surgery. However, Kawaji’s personal documents from before he had entered university had all gone missing and nobody knew anything about his family.

Shirou wanted to believe that it meant their formerly violent older brother had turned over a new leaf.

--

One day Yurio ran away somewhere again and couldn’t be found. Saburou returned home exhausted and went to sleep in his mother’s room, which always helped him relax.

This time he couldn’t sleep. He felt a presence outside the room, heard someone’s footsteps approaching closer and then a child sobbing. It wasn’t Yurio.

A small girl was crying right by his bed, her hair cut in traditional okappa style, her ghostly face completely white. She gave petrified Saburou a look as if she knew him, then turned back and left the bedroom.

Trying to follow her weeping, Saburou went downstairs to the kitchen, opened the trapdoor to the underground food storage, and found Yurio sleeping there.

--

Later that night, Saburou had a strange dream. Above the Mouryou Pond hovered a big glass box containing Kawaji Natsurou, or maybe Jirou. The man kept calling Saburou ‘Clarice’ and eventually turned into Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal Lecter, reciting his lines from the book Hannibal. Saburou answered with the appropriate line of Clarice Starling.

It may look like I’m closed in this glass case, Jirou / Hopkins / Hannibal said, but depending on your viewpoint, the glass case is simultaneously closing in the rest of the world, including you.You can’t tell which side of the glass is “inside” and which one is “outside”.

Then came the last scene from Hannibal -- with Krendler duct-taped to a chair, about to have his brain eaten -- except the person in the chair was another Saburou.

Would you like to say grace before our meal, Mr. Krendler?

When Saburou woke up in the still dark room, somehow he still felt trapped by a glass box without an inside or an outside.

 ----

FOUR

Maybe it never reached the extent of Jirou’s crimes, but Saburou also did some horrible things in his life.

In the last year of middle school his teacher Ms. Yoshida got married to another teacher, Mr. Kumono. Maybe precisely because of this fact Saburou got interested, planned carefully for some time on how to corner the prey in a vulnerable moment, and smoothly reenacted the plan to initiate sex with her. Then with help of his three friends (Fujita, Kato and Nakayama) Saburou beat up Mr. Kumono, tied him up in the basement and told him in details about the sex with Yoshida, all of which culminated in Saburou raping the woman in front of her husband and wondering why on earth his three friends were sobbing all he while.

It’s like there was some sadistic snake coiling inside him, always ready to hurt other people for no reason. He always intentionally chose to sleep with girlfriends and wives of his friends (including Fujita, Kato and Nakayama).

Was there really a difference between people and animals, considering how much libido could drive them?

The Fujitas had a black dog called Makki that was quite active in terms of attempting procreation. Saburou took this dog into the mountains, killed it with a knife, cut off its genitalia, and buried the body. Why did he feel the need to do that? Maybe he was projecting himself onto the dog, so the one he really wanted to kill was himself, he wasn’t sure.

Could one simultanously love and hate himself? Was it love or hate he felt towards his brothers and parents, his friends and their girlfriends?

Kaede always told him that he was stuck ‘trying out’ this whole relationship thing while not wanting to commit -- maybe because he didn’t believe he was capable of love -- and that he should try to meet a decent single woman, and was his relationship misshaps really that different than what was between his parents?

--

When he was nine, Saburou would sometimes sleep in one bed with his mother. Sometimes when she seemed sad, she’d embrace him and say: you’re the only one mom loves in this family, not dad or Ichirou or Jirou or Shirou, and you only love mom too, right? He would start falling asleep in the comfortable darkness, and she would say: never go away from me. But she didn’t really say anything when he grew up and left for university.

--

Kaede was having a streak of unsuccessful relationships and often meeting Saburou for drinks. He told her that she should be looking for a honest, loyal and benevolent man instead of all these idiots. She proposed dating each other, but Saburou just spouted the same advice, and they exchanged friendly drunk banter like usual.

--

One time in the hospital, Saburou was lying next to his still comatose mother and thinking.

She had been almost lost and brought back to life by doctors 37 times already. Maybe they should let her pass away? But Saburou knew he could never do it. He wanted to hear her voice again. He had crawled into her hospital bed to feel a little of that nostalgic safety.

At this moment he got a call from Yurio, who joked that he shouldn’t try to molest his own mother, and Saburou actually got aroused at the prospect.

A little later Shirou called Saburou to tell him about a new murder (and scolded him for using a cell phone inside a hospital, so Saburou had to leave the building). The case that had started with Hashimoto’s death claimed a few other victims: a man impaled on a stake driven from his mouth to bottom, and two people found in a condition suggesting they were repeatedly thrown to the ground from somewhere high up. The bodies were all found near elementary schools in nearby towns. The same was true about the newest case, with the victim having all his bones broken. Shirou asked Saburou to look into the possibility of the murders being related to old execution methods.

Saburou returned to the hospital room and discovered that his mother had suddenly disappeared. Nobody saw her leave, even if the nurses arrived to the room immediately after the alarm went off. Even a thourough search didn’t help. A true locked room situation.

While Saburou knew he didn’t have anything resembling Shirou’s detective talent, he forced himself to think.

There had been a moment in which he went to buy a newspaper, then returned to his mother’s room for just a brief moment before Shirou yelled at him to please get outside with the phone. In that brief moment, his mother’s face seemed younger than it should. When everybody was frantically searching for her later, Saburou briefly spotted Yurio in the crowd, but it didn’t really register until now.

Yurio and his mother had switched places, allowing the latter to escape.

He found Yurio on the roof, still in white patient clothes. She explained that Mrs. Natsukawa had woken up last night and asked for help in escaping somewhere where no one would find her. They spoke very briefly, but Mrs. Natsukawa said she’s leaving Saburou in Yurio’s hands, and that Saburou was a little strange, but a good child.

-----

FIVE

When the Natsukawa brothers were children, on winter nights they would gather around their mother and ask for stories about her and their father’s younger years. One of the stories felt different than others and went like this.

--

There was once a girl taking a bath alone. She walked out to the hallway to turn off the light before returning to the bathtub, first putting a hand in to make sure no monster was lurking underneath the surface.

The world outside the window was completely dark and seemingly connected into one being with the darkness inside, enveloping and beckoning her. The girl liked the feeling of calm it brought. It felt like her skin was no longer a barrier of her existence, as if she was a part of the darkness, as if the darkness was her true self. She would hold her breath underwater as long as she could until she could hear the heartbeat pounding in her ears. The sound of her own life.

Around that time, the girl was in love with old jazz the likes of Coleman Hawkins, and liked to listen to Buck Clayton’s trumpet the most. No other music captivated her that much. People around her couldn’t really understand her love. Even her jazz loving boyfriend who seemed to like it didn’t understand it like she did.

One Christmas Eve, the girl and her boyfriend were walking through a dark city when a black high-end car stopped nearby and an unusually tall man was forcibly pushed outside. The man was half-naked, his shivering body covered in countless scars. A woman in the car threw the rest of his clothes on the wet ground, which he picked up only after she disappeared in the distance. The man then left for the nearest phone booth.

Before the girl could realize, she had already walked away from her boyfriend towards this man. She managed to catch his name and address from the phone call. When the boyfriend tried to pull her away, she let go of him again.

Something had changed within her the instant she’d noticed that mysterious man’s scars. It’s not that she suddenly fell in love. She couldn’t quite explain the change to her boyfriend.

That evening, when she was taking a bath again, she discovered she couldn’t become a part of the darkness anymore. Maybe when she had looked at that man’s scars, she was wounded as well, scarred in some unseen part of herself. She found the man later, and the weird change stopped.

The sound of jazz never returned to her; the sound of Buck Clayton’s trumpet had already been broken.

--

But in reality their mother’s story was much shorter, and talked about how she first saw her future husband on that Christmas Eve, and how she later found him again at a political rally. The children couldn’t really understand everything yet.

It’s a curious thing, she said, how just seeing somebody else’s scars can wound you, how it may change you and make you grow closer with another.

Maybe their father’s scars wounded them and changed them too.

[>>>NEXT>>>]

[bramblepaws]

i felt like writing my thoughts on the movie “Kin” down after i saw it today

be aware: i didn’t proofread this at all and it contains spoilers for the whole movie

The movie opens with a lot of interesting shots, actually — I was surprised and intrigued by the lingering focus on the mundane bits of Detroit. It moved to interspersed shots of a warehouse and alien noises, big flashes of clearly non-human-sourced lights. It showed a bit too much here, IMO — should’ve stuck with more mystery. The transition between that and moving to Eli’s daily life is choppy. It is established that Eli is a troublemaker, that he loves his dead mother very much, and that he does minor criminal work to make money (despite being fourteen) because his father doesn’t make enough to buy him a pair of shoes. He does this by wandering through abandoned warehouses and stealing wires.

The relationship between Eli and his father is clearly strained, but there isn’t much more to it than that. We are told, at some point, that the father is “hard on [him] because life is hard” which is the same bullshit excuse that many fathers have used before. We are also told, by the father, that he loves Eli — but we aren’t shown this. The dad just says some shit and has Eli do work, and barely spares him a loving, fatherly glance.

The third main character, Eli’s big brother, is introduced somewhere in here. Already I’ve forgotten his name, as I mentally referred to him as “that asshole” throughout the movie. He’ll be known as such from here on.

T-A has just gotten out of jail after six years, after some sort of armed robbery (this was picked up through little bits of dialogue throughout the first act, and it isn’t elaborated on any further, which is fine, but, you know). He’s established to owe some dangerous people $60k, which he does not have.

He tries to get the money from his dad, calls them “dangerous people” without elaborating on the fact that they WILL kill all three of them if he doesn’t pay up, and promptly gets kicked out.

Oh, by the way, Eli has found some crazy space gun in the warehouse we were shown earlier. There were some dead dudes in helmets, and one mostly dead dude in a helmet. Eli leaves (smart) the first time he encounters this scene, and then comes back after having some dream about the gun at 1 am with no backup (unsmart).

At some point, Dad finds out that Eli was taking wires from abandoned houses, yadda yadda bullshit reason they need to go to the dad’s office at 10 pm, he finds the dudes & T-A stealing from the office safe while Eli waits in the car.

For some reason this idiot father proceeds to confront the two armed robbers with a crowbar. He is, of course, shot. Eli manages to not hear this through the shitty apple earbuds that come with the phone. Don’t have that turned up too high, kid, you’ll damage your ears.

T-A tackles the main villain — oh, by the way, this dude is James Franco, it was wild seeing him play this weird gangster man  — and causes him to shoot evil-dude’s brother. T-A then runs out and peels away with Eli in the truck.

T-A gives his brother some bullshit about how there was a bad cement spill, and their dad is going to be working around the clock on cleaning it up, and would he like to go on a roadtrip to Idaho?

And Eli presents a token amount of suspicion and resistance, but goes along with it after some prodding. So the chase begins.

James Franco is pissed about his brother being dead, so he’s gonna follow them at some point. Eli and T-A are driving across the country and do all kinds of cool brotherly things, like pee outside and go to strip clubs. Did I mention that Eli is fourteen?

They meet up with some cool dancer at this strip club who expresses concern for, you know, a fucking fourteen-year-old being in a place like that. She also gets along with T-A as he showers her with the money he stole from his father’s safe, and gets very drunk and disorderly. He starts getting wailed on by the club owners when he gets too disorderly, and Eli has to come save his ass with the big space gun. He shoots it at something and everyone’s all scared or whatever. Stripper decides to help T-A out and drive off with them. The only reasoning for this that we have been given is that the club owner called her a bitch & T-A said “That’s no way to talk to women” or something like that.

They go shoot some hay bales. The aliens that own the gun are also chasing them.

T-A realizes that he left the bag with all of his money in the club. They go to a motel and the stripper bonds with Eli and then tells T-A they should rob the club to get the money back. They do this, using Eli and his space gun to intimidate everyone, and run off to Vegas.

T-A almost tells Eli that their dad is dead, stripper interrupts him, so he goes to gamble instead while she gets Eli some food. Eli sees on the news that his dad is dead & T-A is wanted for his murder. Also Eli is listed as a possible suspect? Instead of as someone who was probably kidnapped?? Despite the fact that he’s fourteen????? Though maybe that’s how it is in America when you’re black. Shit be bad.

Eli screams at T-A and then they get arrested. T-A is put in a jail cell and very poorly tries to explain to Eli. Then… the bad guys show up. To the police station. And shoot their way in. All … 5 or 6 of them. One of the shot officers gives Eli a key so he can go get his space gun. Which is… an interesting choice….

Eli gets his space gun as James Franco threatens T-A. Eli shoots a bunch of people and it’s nbd. James Franco disappears somewhere in here, the alien dudes approach on motorcycles despite being shown to teleport somehow earlier, and the FBI shows up to circle the police station.

Eli and T-A go into the lobby and put down their weapons so they arent shot by police, which is of course when James Franco shows up with a gun. Then the aliens burst in with a grenade that temporarily stops time.

And you know, everything has been kind of straightforward up to this point. There are way too many threads in here, but they can all be followed pretty well. There’s a kid and his issues with his family, and his brother’s a terrible person who dragged him into a mess. There are these criminals that’re after them. And then another thread, where the kid found a mysterious sci-fi gun and the owners of that are after him, trying to get it back. Pretty straightforward! Not amazingly well done, but done well enough to keep things interesting.

And then the two masked dudes step in, and open up their helmets. And one of them is Michael B Jordon. Oh shit, that’s a human, is what I was thinking. Good twist! Didn’t expect it! Are they from another planet? The future? Mind you, this is at the end of the movie, so there’s gonna be no time to explain shit. But maybe some mystery with the humans will happen and that’ll be interesting (though not good).

But then Michael B Jordon starts talking! And he gives an entire monologue about how Eli is actually one of their race, and that’s why he can shoot the gun but no-one else can, and there were people here to kill him but Michael B Jordon got em first, and Eli wasn’t supposed to find the gun, and Eli is too young but when the time comes he’ll be important in the war on this other planet that he’s from. Oh, also, Michael B Jordon is this dude’s brother. Thank you for the gun, we’re gonna kill James Franco, and now we’re leaving through an ice portal or something? Bye!

The other masked person is someone I’ve never seen or heard of, and she says like three words, so I’m not really sure why she’s there.

And then time starts up again, T-A is arrested and shipped off to jail, and Eli supposedly leaves with the stripper who popped back up.

So! That all just happened! What the fuck!

The first act? Clunky, very clunky, but not bad! Set up everything it needed to and set up who the characters where. Was overall interesting enough to get me invested (not in T-A, but in Eli). Second act was a little bit messier, but it was still trying to hold its own and push on through.

The emotional climax of the movie — wherein Eli discovers his dad is dead — was flat. Very flat. It was built up for a long time, and didn’t have the punch it needed to land well.

And the… second? Climax? Where the bad guys show up… was very odd. What criminal gang of 5 people storms a fully operating police station with no casualties on their end & no hesitation at all? What police react the way these guys all reacted???

The third act was a mess. It really highlighted how there was just too much going on in the story — these bad guys and the police and aliens and brother conflict — and then added even more to it! By the way Eli, you’re an alien and we’ll need you later.

There was no setup to this! And Michael B Jordon just listed this all in one paragraph and then bounced! What!!!!!

Overall, I would say it was an entertaining movie, but not a good one. It had interesting bits and pieces. I liked the concept of brother conflict solved through road-trips. But the execution was sloppy, and the movie had way too many other things going on for it to be considered a “good” plot. Why was it even necessary to have an alien subplot? Couldn’t the kid have found some sort of other weapon — perhaps some advanced military-grade tech that registers to the first person who touches it. Or it could’ve NOT had him be the one with a big gun, considering he was fourteen and his older brother was the criminal. It would’ve been much more heartwarming if the older brother had given up criminal activity because he wanted to connect with Eli — but there was the outside conflict of James Franco chasing the two of them that they had to solve.

[kartikrai]

How to get rid of spam emails

Spam mails, also called garbage mail, are excluded from mass sent email messages conveyed to an inbox. You likely get email spam and showcasing messages routinely. In any case, there's one contrast between a spam message and promoting message: authorization. 

For the most part, real advertising messages are sent by organizations once you pick in to get them. They permit you to buy into a pamphlet, pursue administrations, read individuals just substance or offer messages using email and online media. 

Spam messages frequently come from ill-conceived email addresses and may contain the express or unlawful substance. These messages frequently use alarm strategies, contain mistakes and misdirecting data, and are sent in mass from an unknown sender. They only sometimes contain a withdrawal interface, and if it does, that connection might be implanted with malware. This could prompt cybercriminals to access your PC, cell phone, and different gadgets. 

There are approaches to assist with easing back the tide of undesirable messages. Thus, here are the five basic ways you can take to assist with disposing of spam messages.

1. Imprint as spam 

Most email administrations, for example, Gmail, Yahoo Mail, Microsoft Outlook, and Apple Mail have calculations that channel out spam and garbage mail by hiding them in an envelope. 

However, on the off chance that you discover a spam email in your customary inbox, don't erase the message — mark it as spam. Denoting a dubious email as spam will send it to the spam organizer. Pushing ahead, if you get additional messages from this location, the spam channel will know not to give it access to your inbox. 

Step by step instructions to stamp spam in Gmail 

Snap-on the square close to the email → Click the stop sign symbol 

Step by step instructions to stamp spam in Yahoo! Mail 

Snap the crate close to the email or on numerous messages → Click on the safeguard symbol 

Step by step instructions to stamp spam in Microsoft Outlook 

Snap-on the crate close to the email → Click on Junk Email Options in the menu → Click on the Block button 

Step by step instructions to stamp spam in Apple Mail 

Snap the email message → Click on the "X" checked garbage bin (Junk Mail) symbol 

A prepared email channel can track and banner tends that have been boycotted or contain dubious expressions like "modest," "Viagra," or "free."

2. Erase spam messages 

There is a brilliant principle to managing spam messages: on the off chance that it seems as though a spam message, it most likely is — so erase it without clicking or downloading anything. Such messages might contain programming that tells the sender you've opened the email, affirming you have a functioning record, which might prompt much more spam messages. 

Some malware projects can take your email address and use it to resend spam messages supposedly an authentic location. For instance, frauds could act like somebody you know, similar to a companion, relative, or associate. 

If the message is referred to seems to come from somebody you know, reach them outside of your email. 

The following are not many choices for erasing spam messages for great. 

Instructions to erase spam from Gmail 

Snap on the vacant box to look at the message. 

In the top menu click on the stop sign. 

In the dropdown menu, click Report Spam. 

Snap-on the Delete All Spam Messages Now choice. 

Definite guidelines are accessible on Google's help page. 

Instructions to erase spam from Yahoo! Mail 

Look at the container close to the email. 

Snap-on the safeguard in the above menu. 

Snap the Report Spam choice. 

Explore the spam envelope. 

Snap the Delete Emails choice. 

Definite directions are accessible on the Yahoo! help page. 

Instructions to erase spam from Microsoft Outlook 

In the inbox region, click the email. 

In the top menu, click on the Junk Mail choice. 

Snap-on the Junk Email tab in the side menu. 

Snap the metal garbage bin to purge the organizer. 

Itemized directions are accessible on the Microsoft Office support page. 

Instructions to erase spam from Apple Mail 

Select the Junk Mail alternative in the left side menu. 

Feature the ideal messages. 

Snap-on the metal garbage bin (Delete chosen messages) symbol. 

Nitty-gritty directions are accessible on the Apple support page. 

At the point when you block spam messages, they're shipped off a spam organizer. Over the long haul, this organizer develops with the hailed messages. In this way, you'll need to once in a while void. 

While not idiot-proof, the following are five critical components to search for in a dubious email. 

Mentioning individual data 

The sender demands your data like location, Social Security number, or banking data. 

Sporadic email address 

The email has a dubious area name or uses unprecedented characters in the location. 

Obscure and new senders 

Counterfeit messages from individuals acting like powerhouses, high-positioning authorities, or authentic organizations. These organizations might guarantee you've made buys when you haven't. 

Messages that require prompt activity 

These messages contain activity words like, "Prompt," "Restricted Time," and "Critical" in the title box or headline. 

3. Keep your email address hidden 

Email contains mistakes 

Many phony messages will contain fundamental grammatical mistakes and blunders like the incorrect spelling of your name or have helpless syntax utilization. 

Giving out your email address can build the measure of spam email you get. So in case, it's not vital to share, keep it hidden. Additionally, consider changing your email protection settings. Here's the ticket: 

Google Privacy Settings 

Sign in to your Google account. 

Go to the Security Checkup alternative to see the gadgets, security occasions, and other email locations and gadgets associated with your Gmail account. 

Change the flip changes to turn includes on or off. 

Play out similar interaction for the Personal Information and Privacy settings. 

Yahoo Mail security settings 

Sign in to your Yahoo! Mail Account. 

Snap-on the stuff symbol. 

Snap the Account Information choice. 

In the Account Security segment, click on the Generate application secret phrase choice. 

Microsoft Outlook security settings 

Snap for your symbol in the upper-right corner of the screen. 

In the menu list, click My Account. 

Snap-on the Privacy and Security choices to change the settings. 

Apple Mail security settings 

Snap the apple symbol in the upper left corner of the screen. 

Snap-on System Preferences. 

Snap-on the Security and Privacy alternative. 

If you post via web-based media or leave online remarks, don't post your email. If you must choose between limited options, it may assist with making a different email address to be utilized exclusively for web-based media purposes, in this manner assisting with guaranteeing your primary email address stays private.

4. Utilize an outsider spam channel 

Your email specialist co-op may have its channel however matching it with an outsider spam channel can give an extra layer of network protection. The messages will go through two spam channels to come to your inbox. So if it gets past one spam channel, the other should get it. 

Compelling spam channels can ensure your gadgets are against malware dangers, assaults, and bothersome substances. Search for an enemy of spam channel that works with your email supplier and addresses your requirements. 

5. Change your email address 

If the spam continues to come in, it could mean your email address was uncovered in an information break. It very well may be difficult to forestall spam when cybercriminals have your data. One choice for this situation is to change your email address. 

With free email administrations like Gmail, it's not difficult to make different records so you can restrict the spam that shows up in your essential inbox. Here's the secret: 

Start by enrolling for another record with your present email administration. 

Then, advise your contacts from your new record that you've changed email addresses. 

At long last, explore the Settings area and add the new email address to advance approaching messages from your old record. 

Instructions to add a sending address 

After making another location, you might need to set it up so you get messages from your old location. You can do this by changing the sending settings. 

Sending your email address permits you to refresh your contact data on all records attached to your unique email account. You can do it in four simple tasks: 

In the old email account, go to the Settings alternative. 

Snap the Forwarding and POP/IMAP tab. 

In the Add a sending address box, enter the new email address. 

Snap "Next" to confirm the cycle. 

Make certain to keep the two records open for a couple of months, so you can divert any leftover messages to the new record. 

6. Withdraw from email records 

Withdrawing from email records is an optimal method to stay under the radar. Advertisers frequently get your email address from online structures, web-based media, and scratching apparatuses, and buy your data from different organizations. In this way, the less you buy in it, the less these advertisers and spammers can discover your location. 

The Federal Trade Commission requires organizations that send business or mass messages to agree with the CAN-SPAM Act. Started in 2003, the law helps set standards and necessities for messages sent; one of the principles is that organizations should consistently give data on how to quit their messages. Resistance with these guidelines can cost up to $43,280 in punishments from the FTC. 

While the law doesn't keep advertisers from sending spam messages, it gives an approach to prevent them from filling your inbox. The following are two different ways to withdraw from individual and mass messages. 

Instructions to withdraw from individual messages 

Most showcasing messages will have withdrawal buttons at the lower part of the email. Some email customers, like Gmail, will likewise show a withdraw button up at the top close to the To: and From: 

Instructions to withdraw from numerous messages 

In the inbox search bar, type "Withdraw." 

Snap the down bolt close to the container and snap on the Create Filter button. 

Snap the Delete and Apply Filter to Matching Conversations boxes. 

Summary

Spam mails also called garbage mail are excluded from Mass send email messages conveyed to an inbox. For the most part, real advertising messages are sent by organizations once you pick in to get them. Spam messages frequently come from ill-conceived mail addresses and may contain express or unlawful substance. Most email administration for example Gmail, Yahoo mail, Microsoft Outlook, and Apple mail have calculations that channel out spam and garbage made by hiding them in an envelope. There is a brilliant principle to managing spam messages on the off chance that it seems as though a spam message. 

[17-imagines]

[request] [scenario] family

((all i can say is,,,, i tried)) 

Title: family

Member: mafia!junhui x reader 

Genre: mafia!au, fluff

Warnings: violence, kidnapping (however, after the scenes it is 200% fluff)

Word Count: 1591

Junhui hasn’t felt this worried since high school, when he needed to give a presentation on childbirth.

He’d rather be going through childbirth than what he’s going through now.

The caller you have attempted to reach is temporarily unavailable, please leave a message or call -

He sighs deeply, dropping his cell phone onto the table loudly, startling the already tense members surrounding it.

There are more things to be worried about. Things like collecting debts and taking out corrupt politicians, or taking down groups overstepping into their turf.

As a member of the top branch of the mafia, he shouldn’t be so affected by this, but he is.

Jihoon abruptly enters the room, his laptop in hand. He connects it to the overhead projector, and they’re met with a projection of CCTV footage, dating a few hours back.

Junhui doesn’t feel any relief at the sight of your familiar figure, and neither do the others. He takes a seat beside Minghao, who’s quietly tracing the chain of his nunchucks with his finger.

“I found her,” Jihoon quietly murmurs, “But I don’t think you’ll like this.”

He glances around the room, pausing at Junhui, to give him a silent reassurance.

Then he presses play.

-

“I’ll be fine Junhui, you don’t need to bring the car. What’s the point of a transportation card if I don’t use it?” He sighs heavily into the receiver, defeated. You laugh quietly, leaning against the bus stop sign.

“Call me when you get home, okay baobei? I love you.”

“Of course,” you smile, “I love you too.”

You hang up and slip your phone back into the pocket of your jacket, and squeeze the hand warmer Junhui had given you before seeing you off.

The street is quiet, give or take the few alley cats meowing at each other, and the occasional yelps from a brawl.

You glance at the time and sigh, immediately regretting not having the escort drive you home. Your bus isn’t anywhere in sight, except for the black mini-van coming down the dimly lit road.

And then it hits you. The sweet smell of chloroform, and the concrete floor.

-

Junhui silently fumes from his seat as he watches your limp body be carried away, into the back of the black mini-van. The urge to put a bullet in each of your assailant’s brains, to hurt them a thousand times more than they hurt you, burns through his body.

Then, regret.

Because he should’ve sent the car anyway, and you’d be where you should be.

Home, safe.

“Junhui!” Seungcheol slams the table, irritation in his eyes. “If you want her back safely, you better goddamn listen to what Jihoon’s saying. Don’t start grieving when you haven’t even lost her.”

“I…” Junhui nods, “Sorry. I’m listening.” Seungcheol crosses his arms, shooting Junhui a piercing glare before redirecting his attention to Jihoon, typing away at the keyboard.

“There was no license plate on the van.” He pulls up a CCTV still-image and zooms into the back bumper of the van. “But there’s this.” He laser-points to an outline of a bird, the number seven in the center of it.

Immediately, the members are on their feet. 

They’ve seen that emblem hundreds of times; an emblem belonging to a troublesome gang of seven, who run a risque auction house.

They’ve always turned a blind eye to their activities, until today.

Because no one has the right to hurt family. 

“Where would we be without you?” Soonyoung asks, emptying out the chamber of his gun, bullets clanging onto the table.

“Jail,” Jihoon answers, shutting his laptop. Soonyoung snorts in amusement, reloading his pistol. “Don’t murder everyone in that building. Clean up’s gonna bitch again.” Jihoon returns to his room as the others load into the cars.

“Everything’ll be fine,” Minghao says, patting Junhui’s back. “We’ll get her back.”

“Of course we will,” Seungcheol interrupts, “So stop looking like that, alright Junhui? You need to look good saving her, not like you’re about to piss yourself.”

Junhui rolls his eyes. “I get it, Boss.”

-

Black.

Your eyes are covered with a blindfold, light peeking through the small openings in the thread, and your arms and legs are immobile, bound by thick ropes.

“This one’ll sell well,” an unfamiliar voice announces, chuckling. “I’d say a few hundred million won.”

Sell? You spit out the rag shoved into your mouth, coughing.

Another voice chimes in, smooth and devilish. “Hear that, little one? You’ll be going to the highest bidder tonight.”

A heavy hand pulls the blindfold off of your face, revealing your tearful glare.

“Junhui’s going to kick your ass,” you mutter. The brunette laughs in your face before getting up to shove the blindfold away in a bag.

“Junhui? Why would Junhui rescue someone like you? He’s got better things to do,” the other male scoffs, crossing his arms. “Don’t pull out big-wig names if you don’t actually have connections.”

He raises a hand, and you brace yourself for the sharp, stinging pain that should follow, shutting your eyes - but you instead feel a pair of arms around you, and a kiss to your cheek.

Opening your eyes slowly, Junhui’s familiar eyes are at-level with yours, and he smiles softly when the fear building up within you pours over in the form of tears and soft whines.

“Junhui,” you quietly sob, “You came.” He wipes away your tears with the sleeve of his sweater, sighing.

“Of course I did, baobei.” He smooths down your hair affectionately, and then leans forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead. 

His expression then darkens. “I’m never letting you take public transportation ever again.”

“...Sorry,” you grumble, and he shakes his head.

“Don’t be. You didn’t know this would happen.” He sighs, tracing his thumb over your lips, and then teasingly kisses you.

You look at him, frustrated. “...I can’t use my hands, Junhui.”

“I think this might be a new kink,” he mutters, stepping back to admire your helpless figure. 

You make a noise of disapproval as he laughs.

He finally cuts away your restraints, giving you the freedom to punch him for that side note, and then hug him tightly.

He rubs your back affectionately, whispering soft reassurances whilst pressing kisses to the side of your head.

A groan by the door interrupts your moment, and a pissed off Seungcheol enters the room, dragging the two beaten captors out the door.

“Time’s ticking, Junhui. Soonyoung’s getting bored, we’ve gotta leave before he kills someone for fun.”

“Sometimes I forget you guys are mafia,” you murmur, following Junhui out of the room and down the corridor, leading to the lot where their cars are lined up.

“Why’s that?” Junhui holds the car door open for you, and shuts it before climbing into the driver seat beside you.

“You guys are… Like family,” you smile, watching the rest of the members exit the building, happily laughing, discussing their takedowns.

Junhui grins, starting the car as the members load in.

“That’s because we are. You’re part of it too, whether you like it or not,” he teases, “Well, not like you have a choice anymore.”

“Right, because I knew the quiet regular at the cafe was a mafia member,” you mumble, and Junhui feigns hurt.

“So if you knew I was mafia, you wouldn’t give me your number? That’s cold, baobei.”

You roll your eyes. “No, idiot. I would’ve done it anyway.”

Junhui laughs and puts his arm around your seat, leaning in for a kiss - but he’s met with Seungcheol’s fist.

“Drive, loverboy.”

“Sorry Boss.”

He drops the members back off at the main house, and then drives you back to your apartment.

As the two of you climb the stairs to your apartment unit, you could see Junhui glancing around, hand fidgeting around his gun holster.

“Junhui, at least hide your gun.”

He jumps at your voice, sighing. “...Right.” He pulls his jacket over his jeans, concealing the firearm. “I’m just… Worried. You’re so vulnerable, baobei. I don’t want this to ever happen again.”

“It won’t,” you reassure him, unlocking the door to your apartment. “Go to the bathroom, Junhui.”

“Huh?”

You drag him inside, guiding him by the shoulders to your hallway bathroom, and seat him atop the covered toilet seat.

He watches as you dig around the cabinet beneath your sink, pulling out a small first-aid kit.

In the lighting he can see the faint bruises forming around your wrists, and a small cut on your forehead that you sustained from your fall.

“Let me clean you up,” Junhui murmurs, taking the first-aid kit out of your grasp, removing a cotton swab and disinfectant.

“No Junhui, you look a lot worse than me.” You poke at the black-eye beginning to set in on his face, and the small cut beneath it.

“Baobei, I’ve been through worse. I’ve gotten shot. A bruise and cut is nothing to me, but I can’t stand seeing you hurt. So please.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, but you lean into his touch as he cleans your cut, the sting of the disinfectant causing you to wince and hiss in pain.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, pressing a clean band-aid to the spot. “Better?” 

You nod, eliciting a bright smile from him. “Good.”

He then proceeds to sweep you off your feet, carrying you towards the bedroom.

“Junhui??”

“Cuddles,” he mumbles, admiring the bright blush crossing your features. “Unless… You want to try out my new kink -”

“Cuddling sounds good,” you conclude, arching up to softly kiss his lips.