#but at least one of em catches both the dark hair gene and the dark coloured eyes gene]

[heavenly-mireille]

Diantha is the result of a cryptic pregnancy.

Martha didn't even know she was pregnant until she took herself to A&E at five am for a possible burst appendix. And now Diantha exists, completely unprompted. Cassandra and Diantha were the first names that came to her mind, from a magazine she'd been reading in the waiting area.

Diantha's father wasn't in Kalos at all- and for a good few years was actively convinced Diantha wasn't his child for ... reasons. Her sister bears a closer resemblance to him; Diantha and Constantine are both black haired, fair skinned and blue eyed, where Verity is brown haired and green eyed.

[mythicalgemwrites]

Selkie x F! Reader (Linn) Part 1

Sorry for not posting earlier guys! I've been very busy with online classes.

Warnings: mentions of drowning. Pics are not mine, all credits go to the owner!

M! Selkie X F! Reader

Living on an island your whole life has its perks. From the fresh scent of the salty ocean air to the calming sounds of the waves crashing lazily, it never failed to wake you up with a serenity that could be found nowhere else. You had lived alone with your Toller pup for the past couple years, in the house that your grandparents had left for you. You grew up with them, as your parents always had to move from town to town due to their profession. They were both marine biologists and had taken up a job at a top secret research facility when you were 12, so they decided to let you stay with your beloved grandparents. However, on a stormy day a couple years ago, when you were 19, both your grandparents got caught in a storm while they were out fishing, and they never came back. During the funeral, you had found out that in their will, they had stated that you should get the house, in the event of something tragically happening to them.

And that’s how you got the house three years ago. When it became too lonely, you decided to adopt a Toller puppy for company, and you had named him Sam, which was your grandpa’s nickname. He provided good company and unconditional love, which is important in every home. The house had its own dock leading to the beach, so every morning, after your walk, you’d put Sam’s retriever genes to good use and play fetch with him, fetching the ball from the ocean was one of his favorite past times. Whenever you brought him to the beach, you sometimes feared he was going to be the reason why someone almost drowned. To date, you were grateful nothing like that had ever happened, but you sometimes couldn’t brush off that fear. You were a writer, and sometimes, you couldn’t control how far your imagination went, and sometimes, the words you put on paper would be some of your worst fears, if they were to come alive.

As the days go by, and the weather gets chilly, you would often take Sam on a walk to the nearby cove, usually in the warmer months it would be filled with children playing by the beach and in the waters, but as the weather got cooler, it was mostly couples going on romantic walks, or some who preferred the solitude, just came to enjoy the sunset. On this particular day, there weren’t many people by the cove, just a couple strangers. It was around 6:15 when you threw the ball the last time, and waited for Sam to retrieve it. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, fully inhaling the chill autumn air, when you heard a whelp coming from the water. Opening your eyes, you saw Sam caught on a wave, and struggling to get back to you. In a panicked state, you took off into the water, not worrying about the growing current, but more worried about your faithful companion, struggling in grasps of strong waves, at least for a dog his size. As you grab him by his collar, attempting to pull him out, another wave comes crashing into the two of you, causing you to go under. Trying to call for help, and failing, as the water fills your lungs, you stop struggling, knowing it might make your situation worse, however, Sam starts barking, with his head barely above the water.

Suddenly, you could feel yourself being pulled out of the water, and being held against a broad chest by strong arms. Once you reached the water, you looked at your savior, beautiful greenish-blue grey eyes met yours, and you saw a cute familiar face looking back at you. It was Linn, the barista in the cute local café. You had to admit, you’ve always had a crush on him, but from afar. You didn’t know anything about him, except that people claimed that his family had lived on the island for years, centuries even.

He had shaggy brown hair, and small freckles were scattered along his face. With his help, you got up from the ground and called out to Sam. “Are you alright? I saw you getting pulled under and saw your dog barking. Do you want me to call someone?” he asked , in a boyishly deep smooth voice. Gaping like a goldfish out of the water, it took you a few seconds to process what was said. Coughing, you rasped out “ Yes… I’m fine, thank you! My dog , Sam, got caught in the waves, and I tried to get him out.” you started babbling like a lost child. “ Can I call someone to come get you?” He asked again, a hint of concern in his eyes. “ oh, no… no it’s okay, I live alone, well with Sam. There’s no one to call.” you said, trying not to act like a 15 year old who just couldn't help but be nervous around her crush. “I’ll be fine, really, I just need to walk home and dry out. Thanks again for helping!” you exclaimed. Calling Sam to you, the both of you started to walk home. “ Hey! Wait!” you heard Linn calling from behind, “ I’ll walk you home, if that’s okay. It’s getting dark anyway. I’ll see to it that you both get home safe,”. Before you could say anything, you felt him putting his jacket over you, helping with the chill. You didn’t realize you were freezing until he wrapped his jacket around you.

When the three of you reached your home, Sam was happy to be back in the warm embrace of his bed. Standing by the door “ Would you like to come in? Maybe a cup of coffee… or tea or anything else, if you prefer?” quickly giving him the option of whatever he preferred, to make sure you didn't seem ignorant. Sure, he worked as a barista in the local café, but that doesn't mean he loved coffee, right? “ Um, sure! Anything will do,” he said, as he followed you in. Looking around, you kicked yourself in your head, not keeping up to the schedule you set yourself for cleaning up around the cottage. Sure, it was decent, but paper everywhere? A heaping amount of mugs were strewn around your coffee table, as you sat there working on your next work.

Quickly picking them up and moving them to the sink, you filled up the kettle and turned it on to boil. “ There’s tea and coffee in the cabinet above the kettle, feel free to help yourself. I’ll go get dried up,” the words left you, as if you were telling them to an old friend, hoping to not make a fool of yourself anymore, you gave him a sheepish smile and made your way upstairs to your bedroom.

(Linn pov)

I made my way to the cabinet, looking through the various tea blends. Something which would help with the cold temperature would be nice. There in the right corner of the cabinet, was a box of peppermint tea. It would definitely help make her feel better, since she was soaked to the bone. I can’t help but feel a sense of concern for her. This beautiful strong woman that I always encounter in the café I worked in, and possibly have a crush on, I can’t believe I never spoke to her. I’ve always seen her writing in the corner of the café, in her spot, as my coworkers and I have labeled it. She always seems so sure of herself, and always seems ready for anything, but today, out in the water when I saw her struggling, something came over me. I had to save her, felt a sense of protectiveness for her, hence why I offered to walk her home. Taking two bigger than average mugs from the cabinet, I filled them up with the boiling water, after placing a tea bag in each and placing them on the coffee table before the couch. Her dog was in front of the heater, longing for some warmth and hoping to dry off. I heard soft footsteps coming down the stairs.

As I got to the bottom of the stairs, I saw Sam laying before the heater, trying to get warm. Making my way to the tiny laundry room, I picked up Sam’s towel. Making my way to him, from the corner of my eye I saw Linn, sitting on the couch, two steaming mugs of what seemed to be one of my teas in front of him.

“ I made some peppermint tea, it helps with colds, we don’t want you to catch one now do we?” grinned Linn.

Thanking him, and taking the mug he held one, I sat next to him on the couch. Keeping some distance between us, I asked him if he wanted to use the bathroom to clean up.

“ If you have any spare clothing that might fit, I’d like that! It’s okay if you don’t though!” he nervously exclaimed. “ I do have some spare clothing that belonged to my grandpa, they should fit. Gimme a sec! I’ll go grab ‘em, and a towel too!” I exclaimed, leaving the cozy embrace of the couch.

Making my way to my room, where I kept a spare drawer full of my grandparent’s clothes, I dug out a jumper and a pair of pajama pants which belonged to my grandpa.

When I went down, I saw Linn drying Sam with the towel that I had left by his dog bed, and Sam being the belly rub loving dog he is, happily accepted Linn drying him with the towel, belly rubs being a necessity. Letting out a chuckle at the scene before my eyes, I held out the spare clothes and a fresh towel to Linn.

“ There’s a bathroom two doors left from the stairs upstairs,” I exclaimed, reaching for the doggy towel he left by the couch and chucking it in the laundry room. “Thank you,” he exclaimed, leaving to go to the bathroom.

Once Sam was dry enough, I picked up my mug of tea, making myself comfortable on the couch. Looking out the living room window, rain droplets trickling down the class, I sip on my tea, waiting for my guest to arrive from the bathroom. A couple minutes passed, looking up when I heard soft footsteps heading towards me, I offered Linn a smile and patted down the space next to me on the couch. “ Here, you can leave once the storm stops,” I handed him the mug.

We both sat beside each other, talking about what we remember about my grandparents and how we never spoke to each other when we were younger. Sam sitting at our feet. The dying fire casted a warm allure on his face, illuminating the soft scattered freckles. Hours passed as we enjoyed each other's company over another mug of tea, laughing at all the brief mutual moments that were shared between us. He mentioned that he would always get excited to see me whenever I visited my grandparents by the docks. I didn’t want to admit it, but I always loved to catch a few glimpses of him, whenever he wasn't looking as well.

I laughed at his words, tired but somehow feeling rejuvenated. It had been a long time since I last laughed with someone. It felt good to let go.

His expression of awe paused me mid laughter. He was gazing into my eyes, as I his. For a brief moment, his gaze averted to my lips. Moving his gaze up to my eyes, as soft as a whisper “ May I kiss you?” he asked, a foreign emotion lingered behind his now soft eyes.

Giving him a gentle nod, I felt him place his hand at the nape of my neck. Inhaling a deep breath, his scent which reminded me of the sea with a hint of musky peppermint enveloped my senses.

Linn leaned in, gently bringing my face towards his. He closed his eyes, and for a brief few seconds I admired him until mine shut involuntarily as I felt his lips on mine. After a few seconds, he pulled away, still gazing into my eyes, “ I’ve been wanting to do that for quite a while now,” he said, with a sheepish grin, before kissing me again.

He deepened the kiss a little, giving my bottom lip a light lick before pulling away. “ I regretted not telling you how I felt about you earlier… I did ask permission from your grandpa before he passed. The last thing he said to me was, he’d be happy if you chose me,” he paused for a second, a hint of sadness and regret casting a shadow on his blue eyes. “ I… I need to tell you something. I might … might not be who you expect. And I understand if I’m not who you want,” he stammered. Grunting, “ The rain’s about to stop. I should probably get going,” he said as he started to get up.

Grabbing onto his hand, “ No...don’t! Please… It’s late, you should stay!” I stopped him. “And I’ve had a silly little crush on you too… I just never knew how to tell you” I whispered. He sat next to me, slowly, as if I were made of fine china. That, at any moment, I might crumble. “ You did?” he breathed, his breath close enough that I could feel it on my face.

“ I also know what you are. Grandpa made sure to educate me on myths, and he said some were not myths. I’ve seen you carry your pelt around sometimes,” I closed his hand between mine. “I know you’re a selkie, Linn. I don’t want you to hide that from me.” I breathed, gazing into his eyes. I could catch a glimpse of adoration in them. “Thank you… for not running away, even when you knew what I was,” he sighed. I gazed at his lips, before catching them with mine, a soft peck, to let him know I accepted him for who he is.

[flowerfan2]

Bound To Be Together - Ch. 9

McDanno, M, A03 A continuous story of Season 9 codas exploring the bond between Steve and Danny as they grow even closer.

(Author’s note... I had no idea that this story would turn out to be so smutty, but what can I do... for this chapter I added the tag “a touch of superhero kink?” on A03...)

Chapter 9: 9.09

Danny is a little disappointed that he had to bring Charlie back to Rachel’s after the release party at Other Realms, but the view as he walks through Steve’s house and out onto the lanai does a lot to cheer him up.  Steve is kicking back in a chair, eyes closed, late afternoon sun turning his skin bronze.

There’s a flutter in Danny’s chest at the sight.  He and Steve haven’t had any time alone together to speak of since Danny got back from Jersey, since he’s had the kids with him all week.   Danny is hoping that tonight he might finally get a chance to see up close and personal what he experienced over the phone.

Steve barely twitches as Danny approaches, however.  Whether he’s tired, blissed out in the sun, or just teasing, Danny figures he’ll play it cool for now.  Unless they catch a very poorly timed case, there’s no rush.

A copy of “The Mysterious Night Sentinel” is lying on the ground by Steve’s feet, open to the “Book ‘em, Danno” page.  Danny grins. Leave it to Jerry to immortalize their catch phrase.  Danny looks from the comic book to Steve, still pretending to sleep, and wonders if there’s any connection.

“Hey, babe,” Danny leans over and presses a quick kiss to Steve’s forehead.  Steve blinks his eyes open, and Danny shifts so that he blocks the sun shining in Steve’s eyes.

“Hey,” Steve says, hands coming up to rub his face.

“You okay?”

“What?  Yeah, I’m fine.”

This isn’t exactly the reception Danny was hoping to get tonight, but he knows Steve well enough not to be offended.  When something is bothering him, Steve doesn’t cover it up in front of Danny, and that’s worth more than a roll in the hay.

 Danny sits down in the chair next to Steve and stretches his feet out in front of him.  “Any chance you wanna talk about this Batman thing?”

 Steve grunts. “Nothing to talk about.”  He turns to Danny and raises an eyebrow.  “Where’s the beer?”

 Steve’s playing the Neanderthal card, but Danny can play along if that’s what he needs.  “You said you had plenty.”

 “Well, maybe I wanted you to get some more.  Or at least, you know, bring me one.”

 Danny pushes out of the chair and heads back into the house.  He could really use a beer. “You’re deflecting,” he calls over his shoulder. “Think about what you’ve done, and I’ll be right back.”

 In the kitchen Danny loads up a bucket with ice and a six-pack’s worth of cold Longboards, and snags a bag of pretzels and a pack of oreos for good measure.  They’ll probably order a pizza soon, but it isn’t healthy to drink on an empty stomach.

 “You’re actually a lot like Batman, you know,” Danny comments when he returns, handing Steve a beer.  The idea has been haunting Danny ever since their conversation in the car about superheroes.  Danny isn’t sure how Steve thought he could avoid the obvious comparison between himself and Bruce Wayne, or between himself and the Night Sentinel, for that matter – parents dead, father investigating dastardly deeds, son out to avenge his father’s death.

 “Nah, I’m just a regular guy,” Steve says flatly.

 “One who trains for years to bring himself to the height of physical perfection, in order to seek out justice.”

 Steve smirks.  “You think I’m the height of physical perfection? Thank you, Danno.”

 “Okay, you’ve got me there,” Danny admits, enjoying the brief look of surprise on Steve’s face when Danny doesn’t brush it off as a joke.  Steve may not be as young as he once was, but he’s perfect in Danny’s book. “But seriously, now that this fascinating chapter in Oahu history has come to a close, are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

 “What’s with this sudden need to deconstruct superheroes, Danny?  Can’t we just let poor Gene Wahale  be?”

 “You’re saying it didn’t feel weird to you, maybe bring up some… difficult thoughts, looking into Gene’s investigation into his father’s murder?”

 Steve pauses, finishing off his beer and taking another one from the bucket.  “If I got all worked up about every case involving a father and son, I wouldn’t get much work done.”

 “This isn’t exactly your ordinary case.”

 Steve scowls.  “Fine, I’m a messed up little kid just trying to be a superhero so I can catch the bad guys who killed my parents.  Now can we just relax and enjoy the evening?”

 “That’s not what I meant-”

 “No?  Then what did you mean?”  There’s an edge of anger in Steve’s voice, and Danny isn’t sure how it happened.

 “Hey, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Danny holds up his hands.  “I didn’t mean to piss you off, or insult you, or whatever’s going on here.”  Maybe his superpower really is irritating people.  “I just wanted to let you know that…” He trails off.  It’s hard to speak all of a sudden, especially with Steve glaring at him.

 “Let me know what?”

 “I think you are kind of like Batman. Your parents’ deaths’ did mess you up, and look what you did in response – you trained to be one of the most elite soldiers on the planet, and now you fight crime.  You save the world – or at least the island – on a regular basis.  You’re one up on Batman, too, because you don’t have a fortune to use to build your crazy tech, you’ve got to go through all the red tape and requisition it from the government.  You are a superhero, Steve, a real one.  Making a difference and saving people’s lives.”

 Steve looks away, biting at his lip.  “There are plenty of people I haven’t saved.”

 Danny knows this all too well, it’s part of the job.  “We try to save as many people as we can. Sometimes that doesn't mean everybody, but we have to find a way to live with that, or next time maybe nobody gets saved.”

 Steve starts to grumble something in response, and then turns sharply towards Danny.  “Did you just quote Captain America at me?”

 Danny grins.  “If you’re Batman, I get to be Cap.”  

 “That makes no sense,” Steve protests.  “They’re not even in the same universe.”

 “So, we’ll do a crossover.”

 Steve shakes his head at Danny and pulls his phone of out his pocket.  “It’s clearly time to order dinner.  I think the beer is going to your head.”

 *****

It’s hours later, after dinner and beer and getting progressively closer together on the couch as they watch a movie (of course Danny had argued for something with Captain America, while Steve voted for one of Christopher Nolan’s Batman movies, just to keep the debate going; they finally settled on Deadpool 2, because it’s hilarious).  Steve grabs the remote and turns off the television, the strains of Pat Benetar’s “We Belong” still echoing in Danny’s head.

 Steve doesn’t move to get up, keeping his arm over Danny’s shoulders where it’s been for most of the past hour.  It’s dark in the room, a trickle of light coming in through the windows, and it’s pretty clear what might happen next.  Suddenly Danny feels almost shy.

 “Do you, um,” he starts, but then Steve shifts and presses him back against the couch with a fierce kiss, big hands pushing hard against his shoulders.  It goes on until Danny’s breathless, and then Steve lets up. Danny can feel Steve’s smile against his cheek, and his breath hot on his skin.

 “Oh,” he says gracelessly, and Steve chuckles.  

 “Want to go upstairs?”

 There’s only one answer to that.  “Sure.”

 For all Danny’s anticipation, it turns out that sex with Steve is a lot like other things he does with Steve – mostly they move together easily, they laugh when things get awkward, and they can’t seem to decide who’s in charge.  They clunk heads as they each attempt to get into position to blow the other, and then Danny’s foot gets caught in the sheets and he swears until Steve yanks the sheet off the bed, almost taking Danny with it.  

 Finally they’re both naked and lying facing each other, Steve’s hands running up and down Danny’s sides and Danny exploring every inch of tanned and inked skin on Steve’s body.  Steve grabs Danny’s ass and pulls them close, and damn, it’s good.

 “Just like this for now?” Steve stutters out, questioning. He’s gotten a handful of lube from somewhere and is stroking Danny’s dick with it, his own, too, and thrusting them together.

 Danny’s on board, sucking kisses into Steve’s neck.  No need to make this complicated.  Steve’s leg comes over Danny and pulls them closer, coarse hair rubbing against Danny’s skin.  Danny tries to get his hand in the mix, wanting to feel  Steve’s heavy weight, and Steve kind of elbows him out of the way, finally flipping them so that Danny’s on his back and Steve is looming over him.

 “Stop it, just let me-” Steve pants.

 “I just wanted to-” Danny doesn’t have the breath to explain, and he doesn’t really care, because now Steve has got one hand on his dick and another pulling at a sensitive nipple, and his whole body is on fire.

 “You can’t even stop arguing during sex, can you?” Steve says, and lets Danny take a hold of his dick, moaning low as Danny gets a rhythm going.  Soon there’s no more arguing, just heat and fantastic friction.  

 Danny is teetering on the brink, and he hears himself letting out a stream of pleas, “oh yes oh god Steve yes…”  Steve’s doing much the same, his “that’s it, there, Danny, right there” the hottest thing Danny has ever heard.  

 Not letting up for a minute, Steve drags a hand over Danny’s body, up and down and back again, then landing at the jut of his hip and holding tight as they grind into each other until there’s nowhere left to go.  Danny feels Steve come first with a shout, shuddering above him, and it pushes Danny right over the precipice, white-hot pleasure shooting through his body.

 As they come down, Steve flops over the edge of the bed and comes back with the discarded sheet, using it to wipe up the mess on Danny’s stomach.  Then he gathers Danny under his arm, and Danny lets him, cuddling up close on his chest and not even caring about how ridiculously sappy he feels.

 Steve trails a finger along Danny’s side, then spans his palm across Danny’s waist, possessively.

 “You’re right, you are like Captain America,” Steve says, his voice soft.

 Danny hums, pleased, brain still too fuzzy to parse this.  “Okay. Thanks for the compliment.”

 “I mean, you know, maybe pre-serum Steve Rogers.  Tiny, can’t walk away from an argument-”

 “Tiny?”  Danny jerks the pillow out from under Steve’s head and swats him with it.  “I’m gonna kill you.”

 “Well, not everywhere…” Steve drawls, giving Danny’s cock a pointed look.  “But I like it.”  Steve drags Danny back down into his embrace, arms going all the way around his shoulders. “I like that I can wrap myself around you, hold you like this.”  Steve’s voice trails off.  When he speaks again, there’s a trace of uncertainty in his tone.  “That’s okay, right?”

 Danny pulls away enough to look at Steve.  “Is there anything about what just happened that makes you think it wouldn’t be okay? Anything that makes you think I’m not one hundred percent, head over heels into you, mister superhero Seal?”

 “I dunno,” Steve says. “We’ve never exactly done this before. It’s different, in bed…”

 “It’s not.  It’s not different.  It’s just right, just like always.”

 Steve’s face lights up. “Yeah?”

 “Yeah.  I’ll even play Robin for you sometime, if that’s what turns you on.”

 Steve freezes, and Danny laughs, Steve quickly joining in.  “You’ve got a dirty mind, Williams.”

 “Holy kink, Batman,” Danny teases, loving the blush on Steve’s face.  

 “Stop it,” Steve protests. “I’m too old to go another round, it’ll have to wait ‘til morning.”

 “Fine.  But settle down, you make a lousy pillow when you’re squirming.”

 “Sir, yes sir,” Steve says, his voice light and happy as he gathers Danny against him once again. Danny feels him press kisses into his hair, and he lets himself drift off, secure in the knowledge that tonight all is well in Gotham.

[not-a-perfect-metaphor]

One Summer Day (weecest) pt.1

This is a 4-part story, with parts 1 & 2 being posted right now, one after the other, and the last 2 parts being posted soon. Sam is 16, and the story as a whole is VERY explicit, but parts 1 and 2 work as a stand-alone if you only enjoy moderately explicit weecest, so...yeah! Tagged with “one summer day” if you ever need to search for parts.

Off we ride!

————————

One Summer Day, pt.1

The sand was hot and scratchy against Sam’s back as he stared up into the part of the sky where dark-blue turns to lighter-blue, squinting his eyes against the glare of the sun and tapping his heel to the beat of the song playing too loudly through his headphones.

Dean suddenly loomed over him, shadowing out the light as he bent to a crouch next to Sam with the curl of one of his charming smiles playing around the corners of his mouth, saying something that Sam couldn’t hear and looking like sheer God silhouetted against the sun, all bare muscle and jaw-line and flashing eyes that always made Sam feel a bit like collapsing at the center.

Sam tugged his headphones out of one ear, propping himself up onto his elbows and grinning at his big brother in return, his mouth too-dry in that way it usually was these days when Dean was so solidly in his personal space, and of course this afternoon he was shirtless, too...which was just…

Not fair.

“Wha-what was that?” Sam finally asked, remembering that Dean was still waiting for him to respond to something, “I didn’t, uh, headphones-“

He gestured toward the CD player resting on his bare stomach, and Dean chuckled, grabbing the freed earbud and holding it up to listen while Sam protested in annoyance.

“Huh, looks like I rubbed off on you, after all, Sammy,” he murmured, bobbing his head playfully to The Unforgiven II before tossing the bud back onto Sam’s chest and tousling his hair, “Come on. I met some people. They invited us over for the afternoon, and since Dad won’t be back until tonight, I figured why not, right?”

Sam threw him a small frown at this news, averting his eyes and fumbling aimlessly with the tie on his shorts, his stomach clenching up in what had become an all-too familiar way during the past couple of years.

“What people?” he asked, sounding more sullen than he would have liked and quickly adding, “I mean…whoever they are, they invited you, not me, so it doesn’t really matter, anyway. Why don’t you just go? I’ll walk back to the motel later.”

Dean scoffed at that, rolling his eyes and easing himself down into a cross-legged sit, glancing over his shoulder and signaling something to someone before turning back to Sam.

“Hey, they invited both of us,” he said softly, tacking on another one of his dazzling smiles and pressing the back of his hand to Sam’s heated forehead, “Wouldn’t it be nice to get out ‘a this damn sun somewhere besides that grimy motel room? There’s air-conditioning!”

He winked, flip-flopping Sam’s stomach, heaving himself to his feet again and reaching for Sam’s hand after brushing the loose sand from the backs of his thighs.

“Come on. It’ll be fun. You’ll like ‘em!”

Sam pretended to sigh in exasperation, despite having immediately known that he was going to go with his brother, gathering his player and his sunglasses together under one arm before accepting Dean’s haul to a stand and narrowing his eyes at the small crowd of people waving excitedly at Dean from about fifty yards away.

“Yeah, yeah…I guess. Alright, let’s go.”

—————————

“You want a toke?” Mandy asked, pulling a loosely-rolled joint from her shorts pocket and giving it a little shake in Dean’s direction.

Dean quickly glanced at Sam, nervous and unsure, and Sam huffed in real frustration this time, crossing his arms indignantly over his chest.

“Jesus! I’m sixteen, not ten,” he shot back with another eye roll, drawing a tinkling little laugh from one of the other girls on the porch and causing Dean to throw up his arms in defeat before plucking the joint from Mandy’s fingers.

“Christ, ‘course you are, touchy touchy. I mean, uh, what-you…you want some?”

Sam mulled it over for a few seconds, finally deciding that saying no might directly clash with his declaration about not being a kid anymore and giving Dean a little nod, shifting his weight in his chair and feeling anxious about it despite the fact that Dean had smoked for the first time long before sixteen.

“I’ll help him,” Hannah chimed in, hopping up from her rocker and practically skipping across the porch, “He’s a cutie, huh? Good genes, boys. How old you say you were again, cutie?”

Sam coughed, resenting nearly everything Hannah had said (nearly), but before he could reply either way, Dean stepped in front of Hannah dauntingly, widening his stance and bringing one hand down to rest pointedly on her shoulder.

“Sixteen,” he said loudly, overemphasizing both syllables and reddening Sam’s face with embarrassment, “So hands off. Besides, I’LL help him. He’s my brother.”

Sam groaned, palming his face and kicking out at the backs of Dean’s legs with the toe of his sneaker.

“Oh my god!” he protested, half-wanting to disappear and half focusing still on the fact that Hannah, presumably at least an eighteen year old very attractive girl had called him cute, “Dean! I don’t need anyone’s help. It’s not rocket science…jesus.”

Dean laughed at that, patting down over Hannah’s shoulder, now, to ease any tension that might have briefly arisen and giving his head a little shake.

“Suppose you ain’t wrong about that,” he quipped, flicking at his lighter and inhaling a deep drag off the joint, tapping his heel while he held in the smoke before finally breathing it out in Sam’s direction, perfectly O-ing with his mouth to the “oooh”s and “aaah”s of the four girls and privately winking once again at Sam, extending the joint between two fingers and tossing his lighter into Sam’s lap, “your turn, hurry up though and you won’t have to re-light it.”

“I know how to do it, Dean,” Sam lied through another mild glare, too fuzzy from Dean’s second ‘just-for-him’ wink in an hour to really care too much about anything else and sucking in a heavy lungful of harsh smoke that he coughed out immediately in violent fits and starts, much to Dean’s obvious delight.

“Don’t even think it!” Sam warned ominously as soon as he could breathe again, but Dean just crinkled his face into another low chuckle, grabbing the joint delicately from Sam’s fingers and walking it over to Mandy without a word of teasing.

As soon as he was back, though, he leaned down slightly, shielding his mouth with the back of one hand and sprawling against the wall while the girls passed the joint between them through high-pitched giggles.

“I would have been pissed anyway if you’d smoked with someone else for the first time,” he murmured, heating up Sam’s blood in his veins and quickening his pulse while Hannah shrieked out a laugh at something on the other side of the porch, “So…yeah, I dunno-“

He trailed off, his gaze landing on Mandy as she sauntered back in their direction, wriggling her hips provocatively with each step in a way that made Sam suddenly want to hit her.

“Yoo-hoo, no secret telling, boys!” she chimed, sidling in right next to Dean and offering him the joint again, her other hand snaking eagerly around his shoulders, “How you feeling, Sam, huh? Fun, isn’t it?”

She had her head turned toward him, smiling warmly, and he forced himself to smile back, wondering if she could still tell anyway how much he hated her and finding it very difficult to care as a thick, happy, dulling fog crept in around the edges of his mind, brightening all the colors and slowing down his thoughts to an inching crawl that somehow still felt like a lot more than usual happening all at once inside his head.

Well this was…interesting.

Fuck.

It was going to be a very…very interesting afternoon.

——————————

“What’cha lookin’ at?”

Sam startled from his reverie, glancing up from his spot on the couch to lock eyes with Dean, who was SO close…so close…

How had he gotten that close?

“Wha…I…nothing, the, uh, nothing,” Sam stammered, giving his head a little shake and trying to keep his gaze in the appropriate place as it kept trying, instantly and insistently, to pull down to Dean’s mouth.

Dean grinned brightly, sliding in swiftly next to Sam so thoroughly that their legs were pressed flush together from calf to thigh, his arm looping around Sam’s shoulders and his foot actually weaving over to twine together with Sam’s at the ankle in a way he hadn’t done for at least two years.

Sam wondered if Dean even realized he had done it.

“You’re totally hammered, huh?” Dean teased, his face less than two inches away, nudging with his hip and catching Sam’s breath in his throat alarmingly as he tried desperately to remember any tiny segment of the English language.

Settling for just a weak nod and a laugh that sounded far too…something, Sam mentally willed his pulse to quiet, suddenly terrified that…parts of him…might get overexcited in his highly inebriated state and hastily grabbing a throw pillow to shove unceremoniously over his lap, raising Dean’s eyebrows sky-high.

Goddammit…

He hadn’t even considered what covering his crotch with a pillow would connotate.

Fucking weed.

“I…was…”

He broke off, utterly panicked, his forehead sheening over with a light sweat and his thoughts freezing in place uselessly until Dean offered a tentative-

“The girls, huh?” lowering his voice to a barely audible whisper and fixing Sam with an unreadable expression that Sam would have to interpret later, because right now, a response was needed to save this moment from rapidly spiraling out of control.

He tried to laugh again, swallowing thickly afterward and clearing his staticky, dry throat two-too-many times before finally managing to say, “mhm, ye-yeah, uh-huh,” while Dean continued to intently watch him to a degree that seemed unusual.

Was it?

Damn it…he was too high to even keep the question in his head, let alone answer it.

“One in particular?” Dean pressed, glancing around the room swiftly before honing back in on Sam, his thigh seeming to press even more solidly close and his fingers playing with the sleeve of Sam’s t-shirt in a way that drew all of Sam’s nerves together into a tight bundle directly under the touch.

As if on cue, Hannah chose that moment of all moments to pad over to them across the room with Mandy linked to her elbow, and Sam was certain that Dean would ease away from him…would put at least a small crack of space between their bodies, but…he didn’t.

Smiling casually up at the girls and then back down at Sam, he gestured for them to sit, leaning back into the cushion behind him and continuing to twirl the fabric of Sam’s shirt, his fingertips actually pushing slightly beneath the cotton to brush against the bare skin of Sam’s upper arm.

Sam forced air into his lungs, shivering uncontrollably in a way that absolutely couldn’t have gone unnoticed, but Dean just continued talking smoothly to Mandy and didn’t even skip a beat, now blatantly petting at Sam’s skin while asking the girls what kind of music they had, and Sam just…floundered silently…wondering almost hysterically at this point if maybe he was losing his mind.

“Sound good, Sammy?” Dean purred in his direction, about…fuck…something? and Sam, to his horror, couldn’t even seem to muster out a half-assed response this time, just gaping dumbly at Dean like he’d suddenly gone deaf (which he might as well have) and opening his lips around a nonexistent word, his expression somewhere, he knew, between confused and aroused…and glued to his face no matter how intently he tried to scrub it away.

Dean amazingly still didn’t falter, remaining seemingly unphased and segwaying effortlessly back into exchanging light words with both girls despite their curious, stolen glances at Sam…which only further cemented the fact that Dean not acknowledging his sudden inability to function was…weird. It was weird.

But what the hell did it mean?

“-got the hots for my brother, huh? I guess I can live with it.”

Sam bridled, having at least picked up on that particular snippet of the conversation, and Hannah giggled, actually giggled, turning to wink at him behind Dean’s back and spinning more heavy fog through his head like numbing, tingling cotton candy while Dean continued to coo out suggestive little flirts on his behalf.

What was happening??

Suddenly, before Sam could get through even half of one single thought, Dean was moving his arm, pushing between their bodies and behind Sam to curl around his waist, hauling him in toward the center of the couch like he did things like that every day and cocking his head in Hannah’s direction.

“Made you some room over there, babe.”

Sam’s chest constricted around too many confusing neurons firing up all at once in his brain, realizing with certainty now that Dean was trying to set him up with Hannah…right here, right now, and it made no sense, it made fucking negative sense, because this was Dean, and he wouldn’t-…he never-

“Well hi there, cutie.”

Hannah squeezed in on his left, keening toward him immediately with a hazy-eyed smile and draping a warm hand over the back of his neck.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest? Feeling a bit over the moon, so to speak, huh? Mandy’s got the good stuff, that’s for sure.”

She inched even closer while Sam struggled to process, a big part of him urging his logical mind to just shut up and go with it but the other part of him turning his head toward Dean again, who was…who was...fucking god...palming down Mandy’s chest and side-glancing Sam with an expression that made Sam instantaneously hard…achingly hard, his muscles nearly seizing around the unfathomable hottness of being flush against his brother while he was…while he was…while they were-

Jesus…fuck.

“Go ahead, Sammy,” Dean murmured, his voice low and practically dripping with sex, dragging Sam’s stomach nearly into his throat and pulsing his cock painfully under his shorts, “the other two girls just left, have a little fun, yeah?”

Sam actually groaned out loud, trying too late to swallow it down, his arms pricking wildly with goosebumps as he watched Dean’s eyelids flutter undeniably at the sound.

How they had transitioned from Dean practically locking him in an untouchable box and throwing away the key as far as Hannah was concerned to…to this…was utterly beyond all reason, but Sam stopped even trying to work through it all when Hannah moved up against him with a sexy little moan to kiss his neck, sliding him further into Dean and searing him white hot all the way through to his core.

“Fuck,” he managed to grit out, pawing at Hannah’s back and bucking the pillow from his lap to the floor, “fucking…fuck-“

Hannah made pretty little sounds at Sam’s sudden responsiveness, pressing into him from everywhere and sliding her lips up his jaw-line to finally connect with his mouth, her fingers trailing down his arms and one of her thighs moving to drape across his lap, rubbing against the outline of his cock and dragging a deep, rough sound from his chest that he barely even recognized as his own voice.

Sliding his gaze sideways again while Hannah shifted her weight to half-straddle his lap, his breath hitched almost violently to see that Dean was watching him, blatantly, over Mandy’s head…watching him with blown pupils and heavy lids, his mouth actually curled into a silent growl that spiked immediate daggers of lust through Sam’s insides, his cock leaking and straining through a dizzying rush of blood and his teeth clenching around a frantic groan that seemed to drag up and out from his center...primal and hungry and utterly beyond his control to hold back.

There was a sudden flurry of noise from upstairs that Sam could only barely focus on, still reaching for Hannah, reveling in it, trying to touch her everywhere while sneaking glances at Dean, but Mandy was…hushing them, now, practically leaping from Dean’s lap to grab Hannah by her shoulders and signaling in a haze of panic to Dean.

“Shit! It’s my Dad. He’s home early,” she half-mouthed, half-whispered, jerking her head toward the back door leading up to the porch and scrambling to straighten her shirt while Hannah giggled silently.

“You guys gotta go, out that way, c’mon, hurry up, just-shut it, Hannah! Seriously Dean, I can’t get in more trouble and my dad’ll kick your ass if he finds you down here.”

Dean just stared, open-mouthed, for a long moment, presumably trying to re-access the rest of his brain before finally understanding what was being asked of him and jumping up, hiking Sam to a stand by the front of his shirt and herding him toward the door before tossing a loopy grin behind him in Mandy’s direction.

“To be continued,” he murmured, pushing Sam by the small of his back and steering him breathlessly up the stairs and onto the porch.

“Let’s make a run for it, Sammy, come on!”

[perpetually-jungshook]

Without You: Bloodstone (Part 24)

Genre: AU, bts!werewolf, fantasy, angst

Warnings: language, violence, suggestive content

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: Werewolves, contrary to popular belief, are usually gentle creatures. Except for a very specific set of circumstances, they would never hurt a human (on purpose). The few unfortunate times when mistakes were made put a permanent dark mark on the beasts and people began labeling them as monsters. What the human population failed to recognize was the fact that they were protecting us from something much more sinister. Luckily, a few survived and the gene was passed down hereditarily until one day finding its way to me… in the form of my best friend.

Link to: Storyboard (reference pictures) | General lore post | Intimacy lore post Prologue | Previous | Masterlist | Next

Loyalty is often as blind as justice should be, as unstable as a lightning storm ought to be, and as misplaced as an opinion in the truth.

Chapter 24:

No matter how suspicious I am of Munhee, I can’t help but feel sorry for her. She’d probably just sealed a demon inside a body (which takes a lot of energy) or had banished one (whatever that entails). Now, on top of that and almost directly afterward, she has to exorcise or cleanse the traces Halsahm had left inside me.

I have so many questions, about my friends, about Jimin, about the “good spirit” that’s apparently enabling magic within me, at least according to the demon; but as Munhee leads me to one of the few unused rooms, I come to realize that even if I somehow found the words to ask, I wouldn’t retain any of the information anyway.

We make it to the nearest door that isn’t Jimin’s and she asks me to lie down. Perching on the edge of the bed, Munhee’s whole body sags in what I can only assume is exhaustion. I don’t press her for information, though the anxiety that someone is hurt beyond repair is an ever present gnawing in my brain. The fact that she says nothing is simultaneously reassuring, yet foreboding.

Hoseok walks through the open door a few minutes later, holding a book and a bucket. He sets them down, then backs away.

“I hope you don’t mind if I stay over here,” he whispers.

Munhee shakes her head, “She’s conscious this time. Hopefully she’ll be able to control herself.”

That doesn’t bode well for me.

The next few hours are excruciating. Munhee doesn’t have enough energy to do the exorcism all in one go. This leads to a cycle of incantations, convulsions, and vomiting. Obviously, Munhee only participates in one out of three of those activities. I partake in the other two.

It’s strange though, despite the full body spasms and the incredible pain that claws at me like hooks being dragged across my insides, I somehow manage to recognize a few things. The bright piercing green in Munhee’s eyes is similar in intensity to the amber color for the wolves’ and just as bright as the crimson in the demons’. I’m assuming in this case it’s a dissipative type of magic, to get rid of the evil spirit. I’m proud of myself, seeing how much my knowledge base and understanding of magic have expanded.

By the time Munhee sits back, declaring she’s finished, panting hard, Hoseok has long since gone, Namjoon stopped by to check on us and brought water, and Seokjin placed a tray at the door with food for both of us. She weakly pats my shoulder as the last of the foamy white bile expels itself from my stomach. As I look into the bucket, finding a blood laced mess, dried and crusty in some parts, highly viscous to runny in others, it almost makes me vomit again.

“I’ll get that for you,” she gently takes the bucket after closing the book. “Try to drink some water and eat what you can. I’ll have someone bring you dinner. You and I both need to get our energy back.”

Munhee stands and stiffly makes her way toward the door, book under one arm, half full bottle of water in hand, and bucket handle in the other. She scoots the empty tray into the hall with her foot before closing the door. I don’t hear her lock it.

After a small sip of water, I allow myself to collapse on the bare mattress. I feel like I’ve just run a marathon. No, realistically, more like two miles. My body aches, but the throbbing seems to have stopped. Any progress is good progress, right?

Sleep comes too quickly.

The next few days pass in a blur, a fluid state of wake and sleep. Certain things stick out to me, but they’re like events in a movie montage, only less cohesive and clean cut. One moment flows into, then tangles with the next. I remember Namjoon, Hoseok, Munhee, even Jungkook, but they’re all as tangible as ghosts. I remember food, water, moving to a bed that’s made with soft sheets and pleasantly heavy blankets.

Between these moments of lucidity, all I see are the piercing blood red eyes of demons and all I hear is the uncannily whimsical laugh of the little girl, accompanied by the whispered phrase:

You’re mine.

The first sight I truly wake up to see is Jimin. I want to recoil, but he’s not doing anything wrong. In fact, he’s sleeping, curled into a ball next to the bed, head resting on the mattress beside me. I try to keep still as I slowly regain awareness, not wanting to wake him up out of common human decency. The details of his face fade in and out of focus, but it’s more like a soft blur than the nightmare I’d been slipping in and out of.

His hair has fallen across his forehead and eyes, making them hard to see, but they are definitely closed. His breathing is peaceful and even, lips slightly parted, a little chapped. He’s not bruised anymore, but his cheeks are a bit paler than normal. Still, if he’d treated me differently, maybe I would think he’s beautiful- no, he is beautiful. If he had treated me differently, been a decent person, maybe I might have actually grown to love him.

But he took away Jungkook. He took away my freedom to choose Jungkook and for that it would take a miracle for me to even consider him as a friend.

Jimin stirs, his sleep blurred eyes opening slowly. For some reason, I don’t look away, but neither does he. This leads to a few seconds of awkward staring before his eyebrows knit, “What the fuck are you looking at?”

I scoff and try to sit up, but when that fails, I settle for turning onto my other side and facing the wall, making sure to passive aggressively bump his head. I can hear him stand, his voice a bit hoarse, “I didn’t mean that.”

“Right.”

“I’m just not used to people-”

“I don’t care what you are or aren’t used to. What are you even doing in here?”

“Well this is my room so…”

This time, I do manage to sit up. Jimin’s room? I look around, finding the space pristinely clean. I’m not sure what type I originally pinned him as, but it definitely wasn’t this type. The only evidence that the room has been lived in at all is a bookcase that I haven’t seen in any of the other rooms, which is odd considering the uniformity of the furniture in the bunker. On these shelves is a collection of knick knacks- small figurines, a frame filled with pressed flowers, a couple books with titles and authors that I’ve never seen before.

On one of the middle shelves, all by itself, suspended by a hook drilled in the backing, is a necklace. It looks like real silver.

“Why am I in your room?” I ask quietly, taking the malice out of my voice.

Jimin shrugs, crossing his arms, “Would you rather be with the dead body?”

I would rather be in Jungkook’s room, but I guess I should be thankful I’m still alive and in relative comfort. I decide not to reply, running my fingers through my hair as if it’ll clear my thoughts. I’m hungry.

“That’s what I thought,” he huffs.

Taking a calming breath, I swing my legs sideways, out from under the covers before slowly pushing myself up and deciding not to directly respond to that either, “I’m getting food.”

“Let me get it for you.”

“Don’t try to keep me in here, I’m not-”

“Do you really think I’m going out of the goodness of my heart? Because I love you?” he scoffs, upper lip twitching. “You can’t walk.”

“What are you talking about? I can walk no problem.”

As soon as I stand, I fall flat on my side. Jimin hadn’t even moved in an attempt to catch me, but I didn’t expect him to. This appears to be his preferred method of teaching.

He smirks, “So what do you want to eat?”

Fifteen minutes later, Jimin and I sit on his bed, each of us eating a cup of instant noodles, not speaking. He brought a small CD player and soft classical music or traditional folk songs trickle quietly from the speakers. It’s almost pleasant.

“Jimin, why do you hate Munhee?” I don’t look up from my noodles when I ask this, knowing it may provoke him. He hates questions, but I hate sitting here feeling idle.

“I don’t hate her.”

“But-?”

“She irritates me. There’s a difference.”

“Okay,” I relent, scooping noodles into my mouth to give me an excuse not to speak.

Jimin surprises me by continuing, “Among various other reasons, I don’t like her because she treats me like a child. Me and everyone else. I think it’s ridiculous and disgusting.”

I shrug, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, though his words do have a bit of truth to them, even if he acts unfairly or rudely. She’s clearly babied Jungkook and me on several occasions, when our limits could’ve been pushed for further productivity.

“She treats us like pets. With the others, I can understand. They need her, rely on her, have imprinted on her- whatever. They don’t mind being her puppets. But us? You, me, Jungkook… we’re different. We don’t need her.”

I finish chewing and swallowing just in time to reply, “So there’s a ‘we’ now?”

“Touché.”

“Besides, without her, I wouldn’t know what I’m doing- with Jungkook or magic.”

Jimin lets out a dissatisfied huff, “You and I both know I’ve helped you more with training Jungkook than she did.”

“That’s a very vain assumption to make.”

He rolls his eyes, “If I hadn’t said anything his progress would’ve plateaued.”

“Do you have a complaint for my magic training too?”

“No.”

“I’m surprised.”

He sets his empty cup aside, frowning, “I’m not an entirely terrible person.”

“That’s an opinion.”

I don’t know what’s making me so snarky with him. Maybe the fact that I’m tired. Maybe the fact that I’m tired of him.

Jimin sighs, his gaze dropping to the bed, “Another reason I dislike her? She was his tutor, you know.”

“Who?”

“Munhee tutored Namjoon. I’m not sure how they met or what she’d been ‘teaching’ him, but don’t you think it’s a bit suspicious that she can use magic and he’s the first one that transformed in the pack?”

A queasy feeling bubbles in my stomach, but I’m not about to start making conspiracy theories again- not until I see some solid, irrefutable evidence. As I’ve concluded before, most of my misgivings toward Munhee are based on suspicion alone and she’s quite frank and honest with me. I have no reason to distrust her. Yet I have every reason to distrust Jimin…

“What if it’s a coincidence?”

“Seriously? You don’t see the connection?” he leans forward, taking the empty cup out of my hands to set it beside his own. For some irrational reason, having nothing in my hands makes me feel alone, vulnerable. His stare pierces through me, as if his eyes were amber, but they’re not. “Wolves transform early only when there are evil spirits around. She knew Namjoon. Namjoon transformed early. She’s summoning demons, Eun.”

I’d thought about it before, especially after seeing the strange pit in the center of the workshop, but at the end of the day correlation is not causation.

“What’s your proof?”

“Namjoon being pack leader is proof enough.”

“No, it’s not.”

The conversation stagnates in a momentary lull, despite the dense amount of information he’s attempting to relay. The classical music makes the room feel oddly stuffy.

“Look, I’m not trying to make you hate her, or prefer me over her or anything. But I’m telling you, that’s what she’s doing.”

“Why would she though?” I can’t help but question him. Summoning demons? It doesn’t make sense.

Would she do it to collect the pack? For what end? She raised them, trained them. She couldn’t mean them any harm. She wouldn’t bring them together like this just to satisfy some vendetta against werewolves. Otherwise why not kill them after they’d imprinted on her, when they’re at their most vulnerable?

Of course, there’s always the possibility that Munhee would try to corrupt the wolf pack so that they eventually wouldn’t hurt demons, but who in their right mind would do that? Who would side with evil spirits? Someone threatened? She has an entire pack to protect her now. Thus the theory circles back, contradicts itself, and I can’t find a motive.

Jimin takes a while to answer, also giving me time to mull it over. I’m not sure if he’s legitimately thinking about it, or if he’s just trying to add suspense; yet when he does speak, the least I can do is appreciate his honesty.

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out, but you have to admit that something seems wrong.”

Jungkook had expressed the same thing to me a while ago. He had been uneasy, but I’d eventually chalked it up to the fact that they had been trapping and containing demons in the bunker. What if…? I shake my head subtly to clear it. No. I’m not going to judge her based on someone else’s gut feelings, whether I trust that person or not. If this whole bite experience has taught me anything, it’s that I need to start making decisions for myself… in the areas that I am able to.

Jimin closes his eyes for a moment before he looks away, over at the shelves, amber tendrils curling into his irises, but never fully consuming them. I follow his gaze to the silver necklace and by the time I look back at him, the piercing yellow is gone.

“Can I ask you something?” his voice is unusually quiet, almost soft.

I can’t say no. I ask him strange questions all the time, so I nod.

“Do you really think… we aren’t monsters?”

“Werewolves?”

“Yeah.”

I let out a small sigh, using it to buy time as I formulate an answer, “Werewolves fight evil spirits, so they aren’t bad in theory. But I think whether or not they are considered ‘monsters’ is up to each person individually.”

Jimin lets out a humorless laugh, “You’re saying I’m a terrible person.”

“I never said that.”

“It was implied.”

Here we go again. Can’t we ever just have one nice conversation? The classical music in the background is noticeably out of place, while at the same time contributes substantially to the overall discord.

“I’m not implying you’re terrible. I’m implying that you’re an asshole.”

“But I saved your life.”

And this is the crux of my problem with Jimin.

“You can save my life dozens of times and I still won’t forgive you for what you did.”

He stands, walking away from the bed so that his back is to me, “Is this about me biting you still?”

“Yes.”

“When are you going to let that go?”

The fact that I’d thought we might have been having a decent talk, even bonding or simply creating mutual respect… it makes his comment hurt all the more. I finally realize that the disparity between our reactions doesn’t stem from a lack of understanding about what happened, but rather from a lack of understanding about how the incident affects me.

“You’re smart, Jimin. I can tell. So why do you insist on being so oblivious?”

He turns around and for the first time, I can see the regret in his eyes, “And you’re a nice person, Eun. So why can’t you understand me? Why can’t you like me?”

“Because you refuse to-”

Before I can finish, he continues, his words clipped, “It’s not my fault. None of this is. I didn’t ask to be attacked. I didn’t ask to have that bastard’s blood shoved down my throat. And I certainly didn’t ask to be abandoned by him afterward. It’s not my fault…”

“No, but it is your fault what you say and do to me,” I remain seated, watching him carefully. “I don’t want to be mean, but it’s the truth. Whatever happened, I’m sorry, but it’s not an excuse.”

Jimin, much to my surprise, slowly lowers himself to his knees beside the bed, resting his cheek on the mattress, mirroring the position he’d been in when I woken up, except now his eyes are fixated on the silver necklace.

“You’re right.”

We don’t say anything to each other after that and I’m almost relieved when there’s a knock at the door. It’s Munhee, checking up on us. She immediately hands me a bottle of water and a silver knife, then tells me she has to do a checkup on my body and mind. Jimin doesn’t protest, whether it’s because he thinks my health is important or because I now have a weapon that is effective against him, I’m not sure. He doesn’t even look as I leave.

She leads the way to her room, asks me a bunch of questions about how I feel and how Jimin treated me. I answer all of them to the best of my ability and as honestly as possible, though remain a little vague about the topic of our “argument.” Munhee lets me go after an hour or so and I return to Jimin’s room, not knowing where else to go. I don’t want to be in “my” new room due to recent gore and Jungkook’s is apparently off limits. A comfortable bed sounds better than anything right now and that means I’m not sleeping on a bare mattress, so even if I have to negotiate and put up with…

Jimin is gone. A little relief floods through me. He’s probably off doing whatever he does when he disappears for days at a time. Hopefully he won’t be mad about me staying here. Maybe it’ll play into the whole instinct thing and soothe him, like how I started staying close to Jungkook originally.

I sigh as I settle beneath the blankets, pulling them up to my nose to shield myself from the cold air flowing out of the air vent. The classical music had been turned off, allowing my mind to wander.

Jimin had relented in the end. Maybe… he can change. It’s a bold assumption and something I’ll probably regret considering later. Still, he has been slightly different since I woke up, since the whole demon incident, and even after the bite. Maybe if I just try a little more, he’ll see that the world isn’t all bad… that the man who “abandoned him” doesn’t matter because as long as Jimin tries to change, tries to become a better person, he’ll have people to support him. I will support him.

But then a month passes, and Jimin has yet to return.

✩✩✩♔✩✩✩

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[himbowelsh]

i don’t mind (AO3)

When Gene stumbles through the door, he's pretty sure he's only half-awake.

Maybe half is stretching it -- a quarter awake’s more like it, if the way his vision is blurring every few minutes says anything. Any neighbors looking out their windows must think he's drunk, because that's the only other reason anyone would be staggering home at two in the morning. Fourteen hour hospital shifts aren't kind to anyone, but today has been exceptionally brutal. Gene is sure he hasn't sat down since he left the house this morning.

He toes off his shoes as soon as he's in the doorway (one of them always trips over them, so he'll be sure to move them in the morning) and takes just a moment to use the bathroom before he gets in bed. He scrubs at his face and then his hands, rubbing the skin until it is red and sore. The hospital clings to him, even when he is not there -- he can see blood staining latex gloves, creeping beneath to dye his skin red. No amount of scrubbing can banish what is in his mind. Being tired only makes it worse, he knows, and scrubbing his hands raw won't help anyone tonight. Reluctantly, he shuts off the tap and shuffles into the bedroom.

By the time he collapses down on the bed his shirt and pants are already off. In nothing but his underwear, his bare skin yearns for warmth, and he eagerly seeks out the body next to him. Babe is a large lump beneath the blankets, shoulders rising and falling with each breath, so Gene doesn't waste a second wrapping his arms around him.

This is the moment he realizes that something is very wrong.

He doesn't know who’s besides him right now, but he does know Babe. Babe isn't covered with a layer of dark hair so thick and matted that Gene may as well be hugging a rug. Babe doesn't breathe like a rusty radiator, bone-deep pants for breath. He doesn’t smell like he just rolled through a garbage heap (usually -- sometimes he forgets to shower) and he definitely has never sniffed Gene’s hand before. Whatever is in bed next to Gene, it is not Babe.

The hallway light flickers on, casting yellow glow into the bedroom. Gene doesn't move. Instead he simply raises his eyes, very slowly, until they land on the doorway. There is a familiar figure standing there, eyes wide and hair mussed from sleep.

"Heffron," says Gene in a very calm voice, "who the hell is in bed with me?" "Uhh... that's Buddy." "Buddy." "Yeah." Babe's voice is worryingly high-pitched. "Can I ask what Buddy is doin’ in bed with me right now? Or why he's in this house at all?" "Well..." The floor creaks as Babe takes a step forward -- or backwards, if he's smart. Buddy's gigantic body heaves as he lets out a huff, and Gene feels something furry against his bare thigh. He really hopes it's a leg and not a tail. "Babe," he says in a warning tone. "Please at least tell me this is a dog and not a goddamn bear." "It's not a bear," Babe says immediately, but the way he cuts off abruptly has Gene worried. "I mean, I'm pretty sure."

“Pretty sure.”

“He makes dog noises, sorta.” Babe is doing that thing where he talks about details instead of addressing the immediate problem -- the elephant, or in this case, potential bear in the room. “And he really likes hamburger meat. And he's got these big brown eyes, ah god Gene, you should see ‘em --”

“I'm seein’ a lot, and I don't like any of it,” Gene says, and Babe falls into defeated silence. As carefully as possible, Gene begins to ease himself away from Buddy. His arm retracts from around the furry torso; he slips out from under the covers; and as soon as there's enough distance between them he jumps out of bed, reeling back until he stumbles into the closet behind him. A pair of Babe’s discarded sneakers nearly sends him to the ground, but he catches himself. Nonetheless, Buddy the bear-dog has taken enough of an interest to sit up in bed and regard Gene with dark eyes.

Babe wasn't lying -- he does have dark eyes, along with dark everything else. The animal is a mess of matted black fur; his ears flop on both sides of his head, like twin bees nest. He's the color of mud after a summer storm; and when he lifts his head, Gene is alarmed to realize their starched pillows are now stained the same way.

“He's filthy,” Gene says weakly. A layer of grime now coats his chest. He needs a shower. He’ll need to burn the sheets. “Babe, you let a filthy dog in our bed?”

“He was tired!”

“I'm tired too! Buddy don't need a bed, he needs a bath! Or a groomer, because that dog is eighty percent fur right now and for some reason it's all in our bed. Our bed, Babe!”

Maybe he's taken aback by Gene’s uncharacteristic burst of temper, or maybe he's just using his brain, but Babe wisely says nothing more.

Instead he leads Gene into the kitchen, leaving Buddy to his own devices. Babe quickly throws together a cup of tea for his boyfriend, and then starts a pot of coffee (after Gene tells him, “Heffron, if you don't get me somethin’ stronger I'm gonna go into a coma, and then Buddy can try kissin’ me awake.”).

“Explain,” says Gene, as soon as he has enough caffeine in him to be aware of most of the world around him. Across the table, Babe shrinks in his seat.

Really, Gene doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Stray dogs aren’t everywhere in Philly, but it’s a city with a lot of weird stuff, and if there’s weird stuff to be found then Babe is very good at finding it. It helps that animals seem to be naturally drawn to him, and he’s a dog person to begin with. Gene has seen the way Babe pouts at those lost dog posters in the post office; he doesn’t know why he’s shocked that his boyfriend picked up a stray for himself.

Maybe that isn’t what’s surprising him, but the fact that Babe let it into the house. Buddy the dog is a ball of matted filth, and his second stop should have been to the groomers before coming home with them.

“First stop should be the vet’s,” says Gene, between chugging coffee like a lifeline. “You don’t know what kinda stuff that dog could have. I’ll bet anything he hasn’t had his shots yet.”

Babe nods, recognizing the logic in this. He doesn’t look half as dejected as he did at the beginning of this conversation, though, and Gene doesn’t have to be wide awake to know why.

“The dog is as big as you,” he says, and Babe nods like this is the greatest thing in the world. It probably is, to him -- he still talks about the giant dog he used to have as a kid, which apparently was twice the size of Babe’s little sister and used to give the kids rides around the backyard like a pony. Babe likes dogs, but he loves big dogs.

Gene loves Babe, and he thinks he could learn to like big dogs.

“Now, I’m gonna go take a shower,” he says, “and then I’m gonna pass out on the couch. First thing in the morning, you and I are takin’ that dog to the vet’s, and then to the groomers. Then, you’re the one who’s gonna clean the bed up, cuz you’re the one who let him in there in the first place. While you do that, I’ll go to the pet store and pick up some food…”

Babe is grinning bright enough to light up the whole room, and Gene doesn’t get to finish before his boyfriend has lunged across the kitchen table and kissed him square on the mouth. It’s not really romantic -- Gene is covered in grime and tastes like coffee, while the edge of the table is digging into Babe’s stomach -- but at three in the morning, with loud snores echoing from their bedroom and both of them bone-tired, it’s perfect.

“You’re the best,” Babe says when he pulls away, still grinning. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“You’d better keep that dog out of our bed from now on,” is all Gene says, and he leaves Babe in the kitchen with a sunshine grin and an empty coffee mug pressed into his hands.

[piratekenway]

For the Softer World prompts, either 31 for Anakin or 34 for Anakin/Padme?

for this AU. also, the long-awaited appearance of Padmé Amidala!

34: When you’re around I don’t know how to hide my feelings. I count in binary, in my head. zero one one zero one one and you count clouds (while you count clouds)

title: and you count clouds

–

Say there are over seven billion people in the world, at this moment. Say that there are three hundred twenty five million people in the United States of America alone, and that there are eight million people in New York City alone, all minding their own business, not counting the ones only passing by.

Now say there’s a woman out there, with warm brown eyes and a smile like the sun. Her hair’s pinned back, her touch is light, and her breath comes easy and tickles against tanned skin.

Now say she still loves him.

Anakin knows he can’t. Not for sure. It’s an untested hypothesis, or so he’ll claim, and it doesn’t bear testing because he knows, for a fact, that Padmé died because of him. And she knows that, he’s sure. And–

And most days he can’t even look himself in the mirror. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to look her in the eye, doesn’t want to think about what he might find there–anger, hatred, fear.

He hadn’t. He hadn’t meant to.

But he’d done it anyway.

Love won’t save you, he thinks, viciously, looking up from the sink and at his reflection in the mirror.

Except it had. Except he can listen to Darcy pontificate about some movie he happens to be in all day and even she’ll return to the point that Luke had saved him, because he’d loved him. He’d seen something worth loving, in the ruined creature Anakin Skywalker had become, and pulled it out into the light.

He looks down again.

He doesn’t know if Padmé will see the same thing. He doesn’t think so, but a treacherous little part of him thinks, she might, she might, she might.

But it’s a pipe dream.

“Stop thinking about it,” he tells himself. His voice reverberates in the bathroom. “Get to work. There’s eight million people in this city, you’re not going to run into her on the street.”

He’ll run into a number of other things on the street, first. Not her. Never her.

He’s not sure if he should be grateful for that.

–

He doesn’t run into her on the street.

–

One of the fun things about being a Respected Scientist, with many frequently-cited (and frequently-plagiarized, you’re welcome desperate college students) papers to his name and a number of schools clamoring for his attention, is that sometimes, he’s asked to come judge entries at a science fair. For example: Columbia University, his alma mater, is holding a science fair.

Okay, they’re calling it a science and engineering expo, not a fair, but it’s definitely a fair. He knows it from the second he steps onto the grounds and smells food, the scent of it beckoning him closer.

“Wait up,” Darcy complains behind him. Anakin chuckles, slows his stride down to let her catch up. “Why do you have to be freakishly tall? Jerk.”

“You don’t complain when it’s Ahsoka,” he says.

“Because she’s my girlfriend,” says Darcy. Duh, she doesn’t add, but Anakin sees it when she rolls her eyes skyward. “Ooh, what’re they cooking? Do you know?”

“Flavored fries,” says Anakin.

“Jedi stuff?” says Darcy.

“No,” says Anakin, pointing at a slightly pitiful banner that’s hanging on to the stand by a thread, flapping sadly in the wind. “They’ve got a banner.”

Darcy glares up at him, but follows anyway. “So Ahsoka and Selvig are busy setting up the table and arguing with the other judges,” she starts, and Anakin lets her chatter at him while he orders their food, breaking into her rant only to ask her what she’ll be having.

She keeps it up even once they find a table, and just in time too, because there’s just the one left. Fries are popular, apparently.

“You hoping to see anything this year?” says Darcy, sitting down as Anakin pulls his notebook out from his bag.

“A working hyperdrive,” he shoots back, sitting down as well and opening the notebook. “Barring that, an EM drive. I know NASA’s working on one right now, I keep hearing people talking about that.”

“Good luck with that,” Darcy snorts. “What else?”

“Maybe a chocolate volcano,” says Anakin, dryly, scribbling equations in his notebook. “Like a high schooler’s volcano project, except with more chocolate.”

“That’d be the day,” says Darcy, dreamily.

Anakin hums in answer. “Anyway, a few years back Dr. Connors came up with splicing animal genes onto humans as a cure for whatever disease you might think of, and got Oscorp to pick him up for it.” He looks up from his notebook, twirls his pen in between his fingers. “I know there’s a few other entries going that route, now that he’s kind of gone off the deep end, I figure maybe one of them will get picked.”

“Why’d they ask you to judge, then?” says Darcy, propping her chin up on her hand. “Genetics isn’t your thing.”

“Because technically this is a general science fair,” says Anakin, “and they at least need to give off the appearance of being fair.” He shrugs. “Anyway, I get a free lunch, a plaque with my name on it, and a chance to show Richards up, so really, I’m not complaining.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Darcy says, with a snort of laughter.

Anakin looks back down at his notebook with a smile, and starts absently writing another equation, P = 2πr / v, solve for the value of v if r is 10 and P is–

“Excuse me, is anyone else sitting here?”

Anakin looks up.

His pen clatters to the table.

Padmé. Padmé is standing in front of him, holding a Coke can, asking if he’s willing to let her sit at his table, and her eyes grow wide when their gazes lock, and his throat goes dry. She’s changed, he thinks, there’s a streak of grey in her hair, almost permanent dark circles under her eyes, but she’s as radiant as she ever was, and all he can think of is her warm brown eyes and her soft skin and her laugh like bells and the diameter of the sun, 139100 kilometers 1.3914 billion meters–

“Sure, you can definitely sit here!” Darcy chirps, unmindful of Anakin’s inner crisis. “And–holy shit! Kirsten fucking McDuffie, is that you?”

“Hey, Darcy,” chirps another girl, with light brown skin, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. “I got out of the publishing business, thanks to Ms. Avery here.”

“Congrats,” says Darcy. “Hi, Miss–”

“Patricia Avery,” says Padmé, still staring at him.

Darcy pauses, looks between the two of them. “Um,” she says, realization dawning on her face.

“Um,” McDuffie echoes. “Uh. I guess we’ll leave the both of you to it?”

“Please do,” says Anakin.

–

The girls leave, chattering all the while about each other’s lives–Thor and Greenwich, the rumors of a black-clad vigilante emerging from Hell’s Kitchen.

Padmé sits down at the table and says, to her long-lost husband, “You look well, Anakin.”

He doesn’t quite flinch, but she sees him tugging self-consciously on his bracelet anyway. “You too,” he says, at last. “Um. You’ve. You look good. Distinguished, even. Like an angel.” He pauses, winces. “God, no, that was bad.”

Padmé ducks her head, hides her smile by taking a quick sip of Coke, and says, “No, no, it’s fine,” she says. “Distinguished is–fine.” She absently swirls the soda around in its can, and says, “So, uh–Ahsoka mentioned you’d come back.”

Anakin blinks at her. “She’s been in touch with you?” he asks, and there’s a flash of hurt in his tone. Hurt that she put there, she thinks, and something twinges painfully in her chest at the thought.

“I asked her not to mention me,” she says. “You were amnesiac, and then–” She shrugs. “I had to get my head together.”

“Been doing that since Greenwich,” Anakin mutters, looking down at his notebook and writing something. Padmé looks up, watches the clouds pass overhead before she looks back down at him. “I, um. I didn’t think. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Otherwise I might’ve avoided you, he doesn’t say.

Honestly, she’s pretty sure she would’ve done the same.

“I’m a lawyer,” she says. “Usually this isn’t my scene.”

“So why make an exception this year?” says Anakin.

“Kirsten,” says Padmé, with a long-suffering sigh. There’s a giant bantha in the room, and it smells like the pits of Mustafar, sounds like Anakin snarling liar, liar. “I’m technically here as a legal consultant on patent laws. I have a booth and everything. You?”

“I’m a judge,” says Anakin. “They wanted a space guy to round out their panel, I guess.”

“Neat,” says Padmé, and she mentally slaps herself. Neat! For fuck’s sake–one of the first things she says to him in decades, and it’s just neat. God, how long has it been since she dated anyone? “Oh, god, that was just–”

“I know,” says Anakin. “Can we start over? I mean. No, I–”

“God, yes, I mean–only if you’re offering–”

They stop, and stare at each other.

Then Padmé bursts into a fit of laughter, and says, “Goddammit, and here I had a speech planned.”

“At least you had a speech planned,” says Anakin, with a shaky laugh, “I was sort of thinking I’d just never see you again. I mean,” he waves a hand at the stall, at the college, at the grounds, “eight million people in New York, give or take. I figured I had good odds.”

He smiles at her, brittle and scared, so much like the boy she had once known and not at the same time.

She lets out a breath, reaches across the table to brush her fingers over his.

He breathes out and says, quiet, “I’m--sorry. I know it’s not. I know it’s not enough to just say sorry for everything I’ve done, especially to you and to--to our children. I know I’ve been a terrible husband, a worse father, and if you never forgive me or never want to see me again--” He swallows, continues, “I’d be okay with that. It’d be what I deserve. I just--I want you to know that I’m sorry. And I loved you, I love you, truly, deeply.”

Enough to let her go, she realizes, when he pulls his hand away, reaches up to wipe at his eyes.

She reaches out again, and takes his hand, slender and slightly-calloused fingers settling over his gloved hand. “I love you,” she says, “truly and deeply. I can’t forget what you did to me, or to our children, or to the galaxy, no, but I always knew there was a little bit of light still inside you.” She rubs her fingers absently along his knuckles, and says, “I want to see you again, Anakin. And--well, last time we didn’t exactly work out all that well.”

“Yeah,” says Anakin, ducking his head, almost shy. “Yeah, I mean, Darcy has opinions about that, she won’t stop talking my ear off about how the beginning of a war was a stupid time to get married.”

“Neither will Kirsten,” says Padmé. “So, I guess--this time we’ll try and. Take it a little slower. What do you think?”

Anakin sets his pen down and rests his other hand over hers. “A little slower,” he says, softly. “Yeah. That’s a good plan.” He smiles again, and this time she thinks of bright blue eyes, a sunset on Naboo. “I have a Starbucks gift card and some free time for lunch tomorrow before I have to start going around the expo. You?”

“Well,” says Padmé, with a snort of laughter, “fine, then.” She grins at him, and says, “I have to say, I’ve never been wooed with Starbucks before.”

She expects the jealousy that flashes across his face in that moment, but she doesn’t expect him to let out a sigh and say, “Well, my favorite diner got torn up in the Chitauri attack, so my options are pretty limited.”

“I could take you out,” she says. “I know a place or two.”

“You really don’t have to,” says Anakin, his expression softening. “It’s the first date, and besides, I actually do like Starbucks. They make amazing frappuccinos.”

“There is no way your favorite chain café is better than a five-star restaurant, Ani,” huffs Padmé.

“I am so glad you proposed this taking it slow plan,” says Anakin, with a growing smirk, “because it absolutely could.”

--

Darcy stops in her tracks, squints at the two.

Kirsten says, dryly, “I think we’d better leave them to it.”

“Yeah, probably,” Darcy decides, taking a fry from the bag that she’s designated as Anakin’s. “So when did you find out?” she asks.

“She walked in on me watching Attack of the Clones and said, ‘oh, that’s the one with me in it,’ and I’ve never been the same since,” says Kirsten. “You?”

“It’s a very long story,” says Darcy. “Hey, come on, I wanna see your booth and crow about how much more awesome ours is.”

--

end.