#sorry for being long winded lol

[hollandorks]

Do you have any advice for someone who’s attempting to foray into writing but already has other obligations? Any suggestions for balancing work and other aspects of your life with writing? Also have you encountered any issues with creating an original work based on a your own fanfiction such as toeing the line with being original and paying homage? You seem successful with all of your writing and so getting your thoughts would be so great!

*cracks knuckles* had to get on desktop for this to be sure I answered thoroughly! First of all, thank you!! I don't necessarily feel succcessful with my writing but it's really nice to hear.

I actually asked a lot of favorite authors about this (especially when I was in college!) during their Q&A on social media etc and the #1 response I got was: you have to make time. And it's so true. Obligations suck, work sucks, school sucks. Those things unfortunately have to come first just because, yknow, life!

So you have to carve out time to write and be purposeful about it. For motn I wrote a ton on my lunch break at work on my phone but I also like....gave up on laundry and keeping my house clean as often as I needed to in order to write more after work.

Even if it's only 15-30 minutes a day, you have to just purposely make time, which sucks. But also, prioritize it if it's really important to you. Like I said, I decided laundry and a clean bathroom were a lot less important (lol) when writing motn. Just decide what's most important and focus on that, even if only a little at a time.

On to the next part of the question: an original work from a fan work. Listen, you have to get rid of copyright stuff. For motn, I got rid of anything even remotely related to Batman. Symbols, names, etc. I renamed the vigilante, the city, revamped the backgrounds and such. And when I paid for a beta reader, I let her know that it was based on the Batman movie and she purposely looked out for stuff that was too similar! (Like a couple of lines she noted that it sounded "too Batman-y" so I changed it accordingly)

I can't answer about legal stuff (like if I'll have to delete the original motn) because I'm not there yet! I do know Ali Hazelwood wrote the Love Hypothesis, a hugely popular romance book, that was based on her own fanfiction, but it also isn't set in the same kind of world of the movie if that makes sense! (As in, it was a Star Wars AU fic I think, and the book is set in the "real world" so she likely didn't have to change much other than names!)

I definitely toed the line in a lot of places. I mean, I set it in a gritty, corrupt city that has a vigilante who is a billionaire with cool gadgets and an armored car and dead parents....but still altered enough to not be copyrighted. Again, I'm not really into the publishing process yet so I may get notes back (if I get any) saying it's still too close to the source material! But my goal is for 1) anyone familiar with Batman at all to get the gist and 2) OG readers of motn to still be able to recognize it!

Last but not least, it's super important to realize that every person is different and every story is different. What worked for motn might not work for my next project! And what worked for me, personally, might not work for you. It's just a matter of keeping at it and being persistent until you find what works.

Idk if any of this makes sense so feel free to send any other questions and stuff! I'm happy to answer them, I love writing and am passionate about it and love to talk about it!

[layraket]

I really like your art.. and you're really cool ajajaas bueno este yo estoy hoy aqui para preguntar si podrías dibujar a Wind y Vio jugando jenga encima de Wolfie.. AJAJSJSJAJS D PERSONA POR LA IDEA CRACK ESQ NO ME LA SACO DE LA CABEZAAAAA

vio is testing how much patience has twilight how much time can wolfie stay still

wind is there for emotional support

enfin se la estan pasando de bomba

[dancedance-resolution]

Pwp jingled your bells… what the FUCK-

OKAY SO WHAT HAPPENED WAS i was born a baltimore catholic and guess who else was born a baltimore catholic? jacksfilms. (i am not doxxing him, this is public information on his wikipedia and videos lol). and because all baltimore catholics know each other to some degree, i closely knew some of his close family members and as such watched his videos regularly for a hot minute. NOW. for years he's been making dumb little royalty free christmas songs every holiday season, and one of said royalty free christmas songs consists of just one repeated lyric: "jingle my bells, baby"

so camera cuts to me, a horny little freak obsessed with supercorp who has also been mentally workshopping how well christmas string lights could work as cuffs in a pinch (for unrelated reasons), and the second i hear this lyric one fateful day in december 2021 i'm like oh. this is so fucking kara danvers.

and thus this fic was born. the working title was/is "jingle your bells" and i fear that may be the finished title if i ever finish this work lol </3. it was initially intended to be a 2021 holiday gift to coffeeshiib [if you're reading this, hi, i hope you're doing well, friend :)] but alas, here we are.

beneath the cut is an excerpt of the outline (CONTAINS SPOILERS bc i'm afraid i may never finish it oops) (also yes oops x2 i've been working on this fic for 3 years and still only have an outline):

Lena 3rd person POV

SC are visiting Sam's house for the holidays - Dansen are there + Sam is dating Sloane from Happiest Season??

Everyone is a little tipsy and somehow Lena ends up tits out (menopause hot flash + fireplace + alcohol flush -> leads to shedding of clothing??)

Blah blah blah they're horny and Alex bullies Kara for being too touchy, they are relegated to the guest room.

Kara's fucking her but Lena's not keeping her hands to herself as instructed (??). Kara spots string of Christmas lights. Cuffs ensue.

[redacted outline but the gist is they bump uglies]

As she comes down from her orgasm, Kara kisses her way up Lena's abdomen and makes a bad pun -> "okay but I'm pretty good at this Christmas spirit thing for a Jew, eh? jingling your bells while you're all tied up like a pretty little presen-- Lena groans and end fic question mark?

[itsallwearecalledtodo]

why did you convert to catholicism, what drew you to it? which denomination did you convert from?

hi anon!

this is a bit of a complicated question! thus requiring a long and complicated answer lol.

honestly, initially, the outward aesthetic of church traditions got me drew me to catholicism. i appreciated the art and liturgical aspects for a long time before i decided to convert. my family, although we were officially presbyterian (pca), was going to a nondenominational church when i was in middle and high school, and i really disliked the music and lack of structure, so high church tradition was inherently more appealing to me.

however, i didn't feel a push to convert until i came across an argument about one of the five solas, here on tumblr actually. i wish i could find the original post, but it was almost a decade ago. anyways, the post brought up that if sola scriptura is true, then the Bible would actually have to support it. that shocked me, as i never really thought about it before. it was one of those things so fundamental to my worldview that anything else seemed stupid, i guess? so i looked at the evidence people brought up for and against it, and realized "hey yeah the Bible never actually says anything about sola scriptura. have i been wrong about other things?"

from there, i did some more reading and research. i read a lot of catholic answers posts lol. eventually, i read some early church fathers, particularly st polycarp and st iraneus. eventually, the catholic church became the option that just made the most epistemological sense.

my readings also drew me to the eucharist in a special way. growing up, i'd struggled a lot with the question of true worship. the churches i'd attended seemed to suggest worship was singing religious songs and praying. but oftentimes, it didn't feel genuine, i guess? more like an emotional reaction. this connects to the earlier paragraph about liturgical structures – high church liturgy felt more reverent to me, but was it actually more reverent? and the eucharist answered that question, to me, because the eucharist (and the mass, more broadly), is the worship God demands. it is the fulfillment of all the ceremonial laws of the old testament, the ultimate sacrifice, and the greatest gift, and doesn't depend on how i feel during mass.

so, tldr, i converted from the pca denomination to the catholic church because it allows me to know what i know is true and because it gives me the opportunity to participate in true worship.

[lacomandante]

im sure you explained it somewhere, but how did you end up getting the chance to stay and work with assumpta? that is just amazing!

It's a really weird story, but I made a post (I forget which site it was, maybe insta) about how much I liked Teresa and the Sharpe series, and Assumpta's husband, Scott, ended up finding it LOL. He was really kind and sent me her email to reach out to her...which took me about 8 months to write (and Sam of course edited the email so I wouldn't sound cringe :P). Assumpta got it and from there added me and followed me and naturally I was freaking out LOL. I would always be so nervous and have no idea what to say, or if what I wanted to send was fine (and it literally was completely normal I was just freaking out over getting the chance to talk to her LOL). She wanted to meet for coffee when I came to Spain, we planned for it in the spring of 2020.

Which...did not happen. It wasn't until last year I got to go. I had been saving up since 2018 so that was like 5 years of waiting. Since 2018 though I had been collecting a lot of her films because I was rping Teresa (this is technically an rp blog for those who've recently followed me and don't know LOL). I wanted to find new films for icons, and I was learning Spanish, so it was really helpful and immersive for me. So that's how I started collecting her really hard to find films. I sent a few to her and she hadn't seen them since they premiered in the 90's, and she was so happy I made it my goal to find as many as I could!

Over the years she kept asking me when I was coming, and my voucher for my airline ticket was expiring soon, so Sam and I made plans to go in spring of 2023 :) The offer of coffee changed to dinner at their place. I ended up giving her a big hard drive of all the films I had found (and other gifts), in chronological order, which amounted to like, 80+ films and television shows, from 1976-1995. Instead of shock, she held the checklist I made for her and noticed the one's that were missing. She was like "Oh, I have that one. And that one. And that one too." They led me to their bedroom office and to a giant treasure trove of shelves filled with nothing but boxes and boxes full of her works, her call sheets, headshots, etc, soooo much stuff. It turns out she really did have those missing films, but they're in formats that are so old now there's not many places that can convert them into a watchable format :(

But there was so much to go through, and we had dinner with them twice, that they offered to let me come back in the fall of 2023 to organize and archive a lot of it, so that's what I did! I was there for about two and a half weeks in their apartment, working day and night essentially to try and organize and scan things. But with film negatives and slides it's difficult to get the technology to digitalize those things, so it was a slow process. But yeah! It was really fun, even though we were working most of the time (she's a super busy person) we got to go out and do things and have a lot of fun. I'm going back in the spring to help out some more cuz there's still so much work to do!

I just think it's very funny to see my transition from "omggg she's FOLLOWING ME she called me a FRIEND!" to "we have a groupchat and i am completely normal about it now and we work together" LOL.

[crybaby-bkg]

why every time I get an angsty yandere idea it always applies to gojo the best :(((

[captainswan618]

This is true, except for the part about multi-word tags:

/tagged/my-croissant will pull up posts tagged with #my-croissant. (Although, if you've used the tag #my croissant, but never the tag #my-croissant, it will suggest the former instead.)

/tagged/my+croissant will pull up posts tagged with #my croissant.

/tagged/my croissant depends on the browser and platform:

In the desktop versions of Firefox and Chrome and the mobile* version of Chrome, it will automatically treat it as /tagged/my%20croissant, which pulls up posts tagged with #my croissant.

However, in the desktop version of Safari, and the mobile* versions of Firefox and Safari, it will just do a search for the URL with the space in it.

You can also type /tagged/my%20croissant manually to get posts tagged with #my croissant, but obviously that's more annoying.

(If you actually want posts tagged with #my+croissant, you can type /tagged/my%2Bcroissant, since %2B is the URL encoding for +, just as %20 is the URL encoding for a space.)

*at least on iOS, I can't definitively vouch for Androids.

how to find literally any post on a blog in seconds (on desktop)

there are so many posts about ~tumblr is so broken, you can’t find any post on your own blog, it’s impossible, bluhrblub~

I am here to tell you otherwise! it is in fact INCREDIBLY easy to find a post on a blog if you’re on desktop/browser and you know what you’re doing:

url.tumblr.com/tagged/croissant will bring up EVERY post on the blog tagged with the specific and exact phrase #croissant. every single post, every single time. in chronological order starting with the most recent post. note: it will not find #croissants or that time you made the typo #croidnssants. for a tag with multiple words, it’s just /tagged/my-croissant and it will show you everything with the exact phrase #my croissant

url.tumblr.com/tagged/croissant/chrono will bring up EVERY post on the blog tagged with the exact phrase #croissant, but it will show them in reverse order with the oldest first 

url.tumblr.com/search/croissant isn’t as perfect at finding everything, but it’s generally loads better than the search on mobile. it will find a good array of posts that have the word croissant in them somewhere. could be in the body of the post (op captioned it “look at my croissant”) or in the tags (#man I want a croissant). it won’t necessarily find EVERYTHING like /tagged/ does, but I find it’s still more reliable than search on mobile. you can sometimes even find posts by a specific user by searching their url. also, unlike whatever random assortment tumblr mobile pulls up, it will still show them in a more logically chronological order

url.tumblr.com/day/2020/11/05 will show you every post on the blog from november 5th, 2020, in case you’re taking a break from croissants to look for destiel election memes 

url.tumblr.com/archive/ is search paradise. easily go to a particular month and see all posts as thumbnails! search by post type! search by tags but as thumbnails now

url.tumblr.com/archive/filter-by/audio will show you every audio post on your blog (you can also filter by other post types). sometimes a little imperfect if you’re looking for a video when the op embedded the video in a text post instead of posting as a video post, etc

url.tumblr.com/archive/tagged/croissant will show you EVERY post on the blog tagged with the specific and exact phrase #croissant, but it will show you them in the archive thumbnail view divided by months. very useful if you’re looking for a specific picture of a croissant that was reblogged 6 months ago and want to be able to scan for it quickly 

url.tumblr.com/archive/filter-by/audio/tagged/croissant will show you every audio post tagged with the specific phrase #croissant (you can also filter by photo or text instead, because I don’t know why you have audio posts tagged croissant) 

the tag system on desktop tumblr is GENUINELY amazing for searching within a specific blog! 

caveat: this assumes a person HAS a desktop theme (or “custom theme”) enabled. a “custom theme” is url.tumblr.com, as opposed to tumblr.com/url. I’ve heard you have to opt-into the former now, when it used to be the default, so not everyone HAS a custom theme where you can use all those neat url tricks. 

if the person doesn’t have a “custom theme” enabled, you’re beholden to the search bar. still, I’ve found the search bar on tumblr.com/url is WAY more reliable than search on mobile. for starters, it tends to bring posts up in a sensible order, instead of dredging up random posts from 2013 before anything else

if you’re on mobile, I’m sorry. godspeed and good luck finding anything. (my one tip is that if you’re able to click ON a tag rather than go through the search bar, you’ll have better luck. if your mutual has recently reblogged a post tagged #croissant, you can click #croissant and it’ll bring up everything tagged #croissant just like /tagged/croissant. but if there’s no readily available tag to click on, you have to rely on the mobile search bar and its weird bizarre whims) 

[fict1onallyobsessed]

OKAY OKAY COULD YOU PLEASE WRITE SMTH ABOUT SEVIKA PROTECING READER BECAUSE OF SOMETHING LIKE HERE ON THIS PIC SHE PROTECTS JINX AND ISHA??

im sorry if i wrote something wrong but english is not my first language😭🙏

OF COURSE !!!!!!! I have an idea for this...

I got a little carried away and gave you more LOL sorry

Sevika x Fem!Reader

She grabbed you before you could process the fan being turned on. Thankfully, you weren't too far from the table that protected you both, otherwise you would have been swept with the air flow violently.

Your side hurt. The shot Caitlyn took must have not only pierced your skin but the force broke your rib too. Whatever the gun was made of was strong enough to go through the stone pillar behind you partially as well.

Safe to say it hurt as fuck.

You clutched your side and winced as Sevika crouched with you in front of her, the stone table keeping you sat up, but barely. Sevika's new metal arm grabbed onto the table and kept her put, the other going to hold your side with you.

You weren't sure whether your adrenaline was keeping you lucid or if the shot wasn't truly that bad. Regardless, you didn't want to hang around much longer.

You looked up at your girlfriend, head slightly bouncing off the stone behind you as you rested it. She looked worried, and although nothing but pain was filling your sense, you found the energy to sigh and show her a small smile.

Her hair was flying around with the wind, her face showing slight worry and mostly focus as she tried to keep you both behind the table.

"You'll be fine." She mouthed, and you couldn't do much more but nod. You trusted her. You believed her...but the blood slowly seeping through the cracks of your fingers, and onto her hand covering yours, it was looking more like you were not going to be fine.

The wind seemed everlasting and the longer you sat there, waiting for it to stop, the dizzier you became.

You wanted to see Sevika's face for as long as you could. Taking in her scowl of concentration, the barely noticeable glint of nervousness in her eye when she met yours, the shiny scar across her cheek.

You thought she was leaning down to get out of the wind more, but instead she leaned down to your ear and spoke through the loud fan.

"Don't look at me like that." She spoke it as a command as her hand squeezed your bleeding side.

"Like what?" You scoffed quietly, immediately feeling the burn in your rib.

"Like you're about to say goodbye. You're fine."

You hummed and looked back up at her when she pulled away, leaving no room for discussion.

She was so gorgeous, holding you, protecting you, as if you were about to disappear any minute.

Your head spun so much you didn't even notice the fan turn off. Sevika lifted you off the ground and instructed Jinx, who was also carrying a girl, where to go. It all came out as muffled to you though, as the blood loss slowly stared winning, and you passed out.

When you woke up, the first thing you saw was two heads looking down at you. Jinx's braids tickled your nose, while the other girls hair wasn't even long enough to reach her eyebrows. You groaned, immediately going in to hold your side as a reflex to find it bandaged.

"I told you to let her rest." Sevika's voice rung out in a disappointed tone as she walked in with a bunch of fresh bandages in her hand. Presumably for you.

You were in Silco's office, laid down on his sofa. The table was covered with medical supplies, alcohol bottles and jinx's crafts, but your eyes ended up laying upon Sevika. Her worried expression had you worried.

"How are you feeling?" Sevika asked, looking down at you as she put the obnoxious amount of wraps on the table.

"Trust you to get shot." Jinx scoffed playfully as she stared down at you, knowing damn well that bullet was meant for her. "Took it like a champ though!"

You chuckled back and attempted to sit up, but Sevika was faster and pushed you back down, shaking her head.

"I'm fine." You spoke, but Sevika wouldn't relent. She kept you laying down as she changed your bandages carefully. Your eyes fell from Sevika onto the little girl who was still staring down at you. "Who would have thought Jinx took in a stray. What's your name?"

"Her name is Isha. She's sticking around." Jinx replied matter-of-factly, a small smirk on her face as she said it. It made you giggle a bit.

"Alright, out." Sevika stood up from crouching beside you as she finished your bandages. Jinx took Isha and left, excited to show her some of her trinkets to get her mind off of...recent events. "She needs to rest."

"I'm alright." You spoke, reaching out for Sevika's hand to help you up. "How bad was it?"

"Bad enough to have me worried." She sighed, sitting beside you and letting you lean on her.

"Sorry." You sighed back, almost identically. "And you know, thank you."

She wrapped her hand around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head.

"Anytime."

[citricacidprince]

Could you draw that "I trust you" scene with Mabel and Stan but with the relativity AU? (The stan twins and pine twins swap ages au)

OF COURSE, I WILL GLADLY DRAW THEM!!! 💥💥💥

I’m gonna post a long winded thesis about my thoughts on this AU, my take on the AU, and two additional arts under the cut because ooooh boy it’s a tad bit long lol. Also, please please forgive the formatting, I’m writing this all on the fly and it’s extremely disjointed, sorry- 💥

I know there’s the ‘canon’ Relativity AU designs and character dynamics, however I don’t really like them that much ngl. I feel like it mostly just ends up with ‘Mabel and Dipper get switched with Stan and Ford with no nuances once so ever’ and that BLOWS!!! There’s so much potential there and no one is playing with it!! YOU GUYS DON’T EVEN HAVE MABEL PRETENDING TO BE DIPPER, WHATS THE POINT????

Not only that but I feel like making Dipper and Mabel’s dynamic just Ford and Stan’s when they’re adults is a HUGE simplification of their characters. Like, Mabel and Dipper fight, but they don’t fight like Stan and Ford, they’re not as hard headed and stubborn. Mabel would commit some crimes yes, but I don’t believe she would get into some of the heavy shit Stan had in his past. I refuse to believe Mr. Dipper ‘Undiagnosed Anxiety Disorder’ Pines would fall for Bill’s flattery as easily as Ford did.

The Pines Twins are very different from the Mystery Twins. Mabel and Dipper didn’t grow up with a father constantly comparing the two and pinning them against each other, outright telling one kid they’ll always be a failure while the other is going to have the burden of making their family rich. They never had that tension. They wouldn’t be walking on eggshells around eachother as adults.

I know that makes the concept sound boring to some, ‘Where’s the fun in the AU if you take away the sibling fighting’. You cowards, you can still have it, young Stan and Ford are RIGHT THERE. During the second half of the show when Dipper comes back through the portal, instead of having the older set of twins, something that doesn’t male sense with their characters, have a building tension that’s going to explode soon and keep it between Stan and Ford, don’t take it away from them. If anything, I think taking away the resentment and anger growing between the two and giving it to Mabel and Dipped is a butchering of all the characters.

Sure that means some of the episodes would have to change or be completely erased, but that’s fine!!! Make up some new ones!!! Get silly with it!!!

Mabel and Dipper talk about feelings, Stan and Ford don’t. Mabel and Dipper can’t stay mad at each other, Stan and Ford will try and stay mad for decades because being angry is easier than being upset.

In my idea of this AU that fight at the end of Weirdmageddon HAS to be between Stan and Ford, and Stan HAS to still be the one getting his memories erased.

💥 Post Not-What-He-Seems Relativity AU Rambling Below 💥

Dipper is a paranoid man, fool him once you’re never going to fool him again. He would never in a million years ever work with Bill again. Ford however is an extremely lonely child, both he and his brother are desperate for any type of positive attention. I think Bill would see him as a potential protege, especially since Ford is a ‘freak’ like he is and the kid is extremely smart for his age. He’s malleable, Bill probably thinks he could shape him uo to be the perfect lackey.

Ford, being the lonely kid he is, probably does fall for the praise initially. He craves attention and Bill pushes all the right buttons and says all the right words, tries and gains his trust even if time has proven again and again that he shouldn’t be trusting the demon.

The tension between the Stan Twins would grow after Grunkle Dipper comes back because Ford is upset that Stan didn’t listen to him (even if it was for the best that he did) and that Grunkle Dipper forgave Graunty Mabel so easily because if Ford was in those shoes he wouldn’t have. It grows more and more as Ford becomes distant and Stan tries to connect with his brother to no avail. Which, of course, comes to a boiling point when Ford says he’s going to stay in Gravity Falls and learn under Grunkle Dipper. Stan is rightfully upset. He can’t go back to New Jersey by himself. It’s always just been the two of them, he needed Ford, he couldn’t handle school or their father by himself. He can’t be alone.

Unlike Mabel who just wanted one more day of summer, Stan wishes that he wouldn’t be alone, which indirectly causes Weirdmaggendon.

Stan’s prison bubble would probably be a fake New Jersey-esc town full of a bunch of little Stans running around. Town O’ Stan. A place where no Stan is left behind.

Ford says some nice words to Stan there to get him outta there but there is still this intense tension between the two.

During the Cipher Wheel Ford is the one who tackles Stan. The two fight, whining out hurtful words neither of them mean and only stop when Bill shows up and captures them. Graunty Mabel and Grunkle Dipper run off and distract Cipher in hopes that they can keep the attention on themselves long enough that their great nephews could come up with a plan to escape.

The younger twins don’t find a way out and instead, finally, have an actual talk about their feelings, one that definitely ends up in tears as the two talk about the pressure that’s put on them or how worthless they feel. After that the boys get a rush of determination to escape when Stanley has a plan. Ford immediately hates the plan but Stan insists that they do it, in his own words, ‘Let me prove I can do something right for once.’

When Bill comes back and threatens to kill either Mabel or Dipper just for the hell of it, Ford calls out that he’d like to make a deal.

He wants to work with Bill, let Bill into his mind willingly. Bill immediately jumps on that offer. Ford is a promising young kid, perfect henchmaniac potential, not to mention it would absolutely devastate Dipper is his great nephew willingly turned to Bill’s side.

He goes into Ford’s head, revealing Stanley just in time to reveal that he was trapped, panicking as he was erased with a swift left-hook along with a kid who was happy to prove he was good for something after all.

Everyone was devastated after Weirdmaggedon of course, a child had his mind completely wiped. Stanford took it the worst, he just managed to finally break down those words that others built in his head, that he was too good for Stanley or that he didn’t need a knucklehead like him dumbing down his brain, and now his brother was gone. Just like that.

We all know what happens after this, Stan gets his memory back, everyone celebrates and the Stan twins are sent home, promising each other that they’ll never let anyone try and tear them apart ever again. Dipper and Mabel stay at the shack, after all, all they could ever want is there, where else could they possibly go?

Sorry this was… extremely rambly and long, I am extremely tired and can’t think straight I have a bunch more ideas and concepts so if anyone’s desperately wants to hear them just ask I guess, sorry you read this dumb of ass essay haha 💥

[indecisivemuch]

Look at me

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: Being oblivious to Luke’s feelings, you tried to get over him by getting a boyfriend, who just does not know how to treat you right. Inspired by the song ‘Boyfriend’ by Dove Cameron ~ “I could be a better boyfriend than him.” (jealous luke, friends-to-lovers, fluff, angst, pining, happy ending.)

Warning: Just the boyfriend being an asshole and unwanted physical touch for a split second, but nothing serious. Sorry if your name is Cole. Violence (physical fighting)

Note: I’m sorry if there are a lot of errors, I haven’t had the chance to edit this thoroughly so if it feels like a train wreck, then I'm sorry. I just needed to write this out, get it out there, so I can go back to revising for my exams in peace lol, cause this plot/idea has been at the back of my head, I could not stop thinking about it or study properly. Lowkey hated how this one turned out, but whoops.

Word count: 4.8k

“People say that eyes are the windows to one's soul,” you once told him. You two have been best friends for a very long time: five years of being attached to the hip. Yet, you were completely oblivious to the way he looked at you. Even everybody at camp noticed and thought it was bound to happen. They were so sure that Luke and you would end up together. So imagine everybody’s surprise when something else occurred.

It happened right in front of Luke: Cole - a boy from Cabin 5 and son of Ares - asked you out, and you said yes.

It has been two months since that day. All Luke could do was sulk as he watched his best friend slip away. Of course, you still tried to spend as much time as possible with him. But even then, things have changed. There were no more of those content silences between the two of you. There were no more carefree laughs that made Luke feel like you two were the only ones that existed in this place. He used to walk you back to your cabin every night, hugging you good night or kissing your forehead close to your hairline if he felt brave enough. Moments like those convinced him you two would be like that forever. But his solace was taken in a split second. Now, you were so near, yet so out of reach. 

It didn’t help that he saw you every day, like right now, as you sat in the middle of a gathering hosted by your cabin. Gods, even the wind seems to be in love with you, judging by the way it was blowing through your hair as if it was trying to twirl itself around those lovely locks that Luke himself used to always tug behind your ears. The sight of you always bathed him in this warm feeling, like the morning sun. Hence his nickname for you: sunshine. 

Then his brown eyes landed on the figure next to you, and they hardened. He has witnessed it all: Cole’s backhanded compliments, ignoring you on your birthday, leaving you alone to talk to his friends, occasionally flirting back with girls who batted an eyelash at him, and then blatantly telling you that you were overthinking it. Luke knew he could treat you so much better. 

You were sitting with your boyfriend and his group of friends, who often gave you weird looks or snickers. Gods, if it was him you were with, he’d never make you feel excluded. He would have his arms around you and defend you if his friends ever made snarky remarks. Not that that would ever happen anyway; you were well-loved at camp, and all his friends loved you. But he would treat you well, nevertheless, not like that dumbass sitting next to you.

One of your favorite songs started playing, and Luke watched as you genuinely smiled for once tonight. You touched your boyfriend’s arm, muttering something to him. Luke knew exactly what you were saying to Cole because you and Luke used to do this together. Except, you never had to ask Luke. 

Whenever your favorite tunes were on, Luke would immediately pull you out of your seat and dance with you, laughing as if nothing mattered at all. Nights like those, he liked to imagine that the stars above envied them and what the two of you had. Now? He felt like one of them, watching from the outside. 

Luke’s jaw clenched as he saw Cole shrugging off your hand on his arm. Gods, Luke felt like that idiot was taking you for granted, and his blood boiled. Before Cole, Luke used to always orchestrated some excuse to have you touch him - getting injured on purpose sometimes just to watch you frantically panic over his wounds and take care of him, volunteering to help you out with swords training just to touch your hand and pretend to adjust the way you were holding it, hugging you every time he greeted you and so on.

For a second, your mask slipped, and you had that look on your face, like something had left you emotionally wounded. It was the kind of look Luke would kill to never see again, and oh, the things he would do to get rid of Cole. Luke had to wrestle with the thought of marching up to Cole and beating him to a pulp. However, he did stand up to approach you.

You felt a hand touch your shoulder. When you peered at the person standing, your eyes immediately glimmered as they caught Luke’s. However, something foreign was gleaming in his eyes. The Hermes boy has always looked at you sweetly. But the way he was looking at you right now was filled with something much more intense - borderline fervent, like an obsession. 

Cole finally glanced over at you for the first time the entire night. Unlike you, he instantly recognized the look in Luke’s eyes: hunger and longing. It was clear as day to everybody but you.

Luke extended his hand out for you to take and you understood right away. For the first time in two months, your hand touched his. Luke’s chest sunk and his breathing lost its usual rhythm for a second as your skin made contact with his. The Hermes boy finally looked over to Cole, and the Ares boy saw an immediate shift in his eyes. Now, they were filled with animosity and - the most obvious of all - heated jealousy. 

Luke led you away from Cole and started twirling you around. You let out a laugh - the kind that was infectious and has always brought a smile to Luke’s lips. You both sang along to the lyrics. For once, your relationship felt restored, just like the good old days. Was it wrong that this was the happiest you have felt since you got together with Cole? You shrugged away the thought as the song slowly ended. Luke settled with both hands on your waist while yours were around his neck. Usually, you would put your head on his chest as you both slightly swayed around. But now that you were in a relationship, you kept a bit of distance between the two of you. You gaze up at Luke, who was already staring at you sweetly. The moment was perfect. Gods, you almost wished to stay in it forever.

Meanwhile, Luke hoped he could convey his thoughts through his eyes - the unspoken words he wished he had told you sooner. Could you not see the infatuation coursing through his veins whenever he was with you? Could you not see that you got him at your beck and call? 

The look you gave him almost convinced him that you heard his thoughts. You leaned your head on his chest, caught off-guard by the speed of his heartbeat as it soothed you along with the music in the background. Feeling a heated look over his way, Luke glanced around and locked eyes with your boyfriend. Cole narrowed his eyes while Luke gave Cole a look of resentment and immense loathing. 

Gods, he could be a much better boyfriend than Cole.

“Hey, man,” when you heard your boyfriend’s voice, you lifted your head from Luke’s chest and withdrew your hands around his neck. “I’ll take over from here,” Cole practically pulled you away from Luke and started swaying with you. Instead of feeling happy that Cole finally danced with you after two months of dating, you felt wrong. Cole's hands were on your waist, but they felt sluggish like his heart was not in it at all. Your ear was against Cole’s chest, so you caught the sound of his heartbeat. It sounded…too calm, almost cold and shallow, causing you to twist your lips into a frown.

You glanced up at your boyfriend but saw him staring behind you instead. So you glanced back and caught a glimpse of Luke before getting pulled around by Cole, who roughly yanked your face towards him. He kissed you almost aggressively. There was something cynical and bitter about the way he was kissing you. 

Cole opened his eyes and conceitedly made eye contact with Luke. The Hermes boy glared at the sight of Cole handling you so roughly, claiming your lips so smugly. If it was him, he would be kissing you for you; he would be kissing you to show you how much he worshiped you and the ground you walk on, not to prove an empty point.

You finally managed to pull away when Cole let go of your chin. “All right, we’re done for the night, don’t you think?” your boyfriend muttered, quickly leaving you to return to his friends as if nothing had happened. Despite feeling slightly aggravated at Cole, you hated that you couldn't care less of his words at that moment, and the first thing you did was look in the direction Luke had been before. 

Yet, he was not there anymore.

~~~

Your cabin was not on the same side as Luke’s cabin for this match of capture the flag. You were fighting off some people who were on the blue team. Years of training with Luke paid off because you managed to point your sword at the person’s neck and grinned when they put their hands up in surrender. You continued perusing through the area, trying to regroup with your team or take down another blue team member. However, you almost tripped as you witnessed Cole on the ground with Luke on top of him, repeatedly punching his face..

“Luke!” you called out, watching as Luke’s action faltered, and his eyes darted around frantically around like a lost wild animal. However, Cole took advantage of Luke’s momentary distraction to land a hit on Luke’s face. The Ares boy got off the ground as Luke stumbled and went for another punch. However, Luke dodged it effortlessly and rammed Cole against a tree instead.

“Hey, knock it off,” you yelled, standing between the boys to stop their flight. Luke immediately backed off, afraid he would accidentally hurt you if he didn’t. But Cole, in the middle of his blind rage, still swung for Luke and ended up striking you across the face instead. Right when that happened, Luke pushed Cole again and rushed to your side to assess your injury. At that very moment, Chiron approached the scene with one of Cole’s friends next to him, who promptly told the man:

“It was him. Luke initiated the fight.” 

~~~

Luke wished for somebody to put him out of this misery as he stared at you from afar helplessly. He was so dotted that it hurt. Somebody must have answered his prayers because your eyes met his from across the field. There was a bit of sadness behind them, perhaps regret from how things ended yesterday. You whispered something to your boyfriend, but Cole did not even spare you a glance and waved his hand as if dismissing you from the discussion. Luke’s hand once again curled into a fist. He bit the inside of his cheek from the pain induced by his injury. The Hermes cabin counselor felt no bit of guilt in his body about his physical altercation with Cole. He felt smug at the sight of Cole with one black eye, busted lip, swollen cheek and a body sporting way more bruises than him. 

You deserved better. 

“Hey, stranger,” you greeted, sitting beside Luke. Almost immediately, he hooked one finger under your chin, tilting your head lightly as if he was afraid he might break you. The boy scanned over your injury, sighing at the sight of purple forming under your skin, indicating an emerging bruise. Even so, under the moonlight, you still looked heavenly to him.

“Devon said you initiated the fight. Is that true, Luke?” Luke frowned at the mention of Cole’s friend. Great, now he knew another idiot’s name. Meanwhile, you have asked this because you knew him. There was no way the boy you knew would lose control like this and swing his hands first. 

“No, but what’s the point of telling Chiron that? It’s two against one,” he breathed out.

“Luke, you’re literally the friendliest and nicest counselor here. Of course, he would believe you,” you reasoned. You sighed disappointingly as Luke only shook his head in response as if asking you to drop it.

Now, you two sat in silence. It felt the same as the comforting ones you have had with him before - the ones that made you feel like you were at home in front of your fireplace, curled up with a book. 

“Why are you with him?” and with that, the comfort evaporated as the air thickened. You and Luke rarely argued or even disagreed, so it felt like an unfamiliar territory every time it felt relatively tense between you two. 

“I know you, which is why I know that you’re absolutely miserable with him, so I don’t understand why you’re still with Cole,” Luke commented, though his voice was quiet because he was considerate of drawing this type of attention to you. He had seen it before - Cole causing public altercations and storming off and you running after him with tears emerging from your eyes. He did not want to put you in the same position.

“Y/N, please, as your best friend…” there it was again, the word that used to make you smile brightly, was now the same one that brought you pain. You wanted more. “...You deserve better,” he uttered, his eyebrows slightly scrunched as he looked at you with those eyes. There it was again, the look so intense that you were convinced they could swallow you whole. Yet, you could not interpret them. So, you looked away.

“Luke…” you said his name almost like a warning sign. The boy sighed at this. 

His fingers gently tilted your chin towards him, urging you to face him. There was so much contrast in the way he touches you and the way Cole does. You knew precisely why Luke wanted you to look at him: your eyes were your tell for him. Years ago, after you told him that eyes were the windows to one's soul, he told you that he knew this already because he had learned that your eyes will always tell the truth for you. That’s how, in so many instances, he would be the first to notice whenever you're upset. 

“Y/N, does he make you happy?” you stiffened at the question. Words choked up in your throat as your mouth opened to answer. You wanted to say yes so you both could get over this conversation. But you knew he would be able to tell you were lying. The way he looked at you right now, as if you were the only thing that mattered. He seemed so vulnerable. Little did you right at this moment, Luke was willing to surrender and let you go if you said yes.

“Oh, this is who you left me to talk to?” Cole's voice broke you both out of the trance. “The person who beat your boyfriend?” Cole passive-aggressively spat, sneering from above as he looked down at the two of you. You called out to your boyfriend, but he quickly cut you off with a quick “Unbelievable,” before walking away. But Cole did this on purpose. He liked the attention he drew, even if they were at your expense, especially because he knew you would chase after him.

“I’m so sorry,” you muttered to Luke on your boyfriend's behalf as you stood up to run after him. Luke frowned as he shook his head. If you were his, he would never allow you to apologize on his behalf, nor would he give a reason for you to ever do that.

“Uhm, what are you waiting for?” Annabeth’s voice broke Luke from his irritated state. “Go after her,” the young girl nudged.

“I doubt I should do that, Annabeth. Last time I was with him, he ended up in the infirmary.”

“Yes, but you need to go after her before it’s too late.”

“It’s already too late.”

“No, it’s not,” the girl stated sternly, and when Luke peered over at her, he recognized the look on her face. From experience, he knew better than to doubt when Annabeth was right. So, he stood up and walked in the direction where you disappeared after your boyfriend.

“Stop it, Cole. I don’t want to…” Your voice grabbed Luke’s attention as he started walking in that direction, eyebrows furrowed.

“Come on, this is the least you could do to make it up to me,” Cole replied. 

When Luke reached the scene, he almost went into an uncontrollable wrath when he saw Cole trying to take off your shirt as you objected and struggled out of his grip. 

“I said ‘let go,’ Cole,” you yelled this time, pushing him back. Upon finally doing so successfully, a figure stormed past you and immediately flung at Cole’s cheek, right at the spot that was already bruising. The impact knocked Cole to the ground as he wailed from the pain. Averting your gaze to the person, you saw Luke. Like a deranged bull, Luke grabbed Cole by the collar and lifted him up, going in for another hit, but you quickly stopped him, calling out his name.

Cole, who did not learn his lesson, spoke again, “Gods, of course! He runs to your aid again. You must be a good fuck for him to get this attached. How many times have you fucked him, huh? Gods, you’re such a whore, you know that?” If it were not for your hands stopping Luke and removing his grip from Cole’ shirt, Luke would have ensured Cole no longer had a face. 

“Cole, stay the fuck away from me. We are over.” Your words seemed to affect Luke more than Cole. It was as if Luke could feel an immense weight being lifted from his shoulders. “Let’s go, this is not worth it,” you told Luke. Cole barked a laugh at this.

“Man, you’re more trouble than it's worth. Do you know why no guys ever asked you out? You’re fucking difficult and clingy, that’s why. If it was not for that fucking bet, I would not have either.” Luke was about to launch at Cole but was caught off guard because you had already done it yourself. You punched him, aiming for his nose and teeth, making sure to break a few.

“You fucking bitch!” Cole spoke after he howled in agony. He spat out blood as his nose started bleeding, “Gods, you’re gonna pay for this.”

“Oh yeah? Come on!” you challenged him, motioning him to come over. Any sense of calm or restraint you had was long gone. “I’ll be the one sending you to the fucking infirmary this time,” right when you started approaching Cole again, you were quickly stopped by Luke. He stood behind you, one of his hands soothingly rubbing your back in an attempt to calm you down. Luke averted his gaze to Cole.

“If you know any better, then leave, Cole. And don’t come near any of us again, or I promise you…” Luke trailed off, shaking his head as his eyes bore the weight of the promise he left unsaid, leaving it to Cole’s imagination as to what Luke would ever do to him if he ever saw the boy again. Something seemed to dawn on Cole as he saw the dark look on Luke’s face. Cole finally decided to leave the scene, limping away from the area as he muttered some insults under his breath.

You turned around and inspected Luke’s hand, which started bleeding again through the bandage. Taking his non-injured hand in yours, you wordlessly dragged the boy to the infirmary. Despite the excruciating pain spreading through his injured hand, Luke blushed at your action and followed you like a lost puppy.

The Apollo person on shift was someone you knew, so you managed to convince them to let you do the work on the Hermes boy. You observed his hand again, peeling off the dirty bandage from it. As you went to grab disinfectant, Luke softly held you back by flipped over his hand that was in yours so that he could take a look at your hand instead.

“Are you okay?” His words made you swiftly look over at him instead. There was a sad look on his face as he sat on the infirmary bed. You haven’t seen him this hurt and dejected in a long time.

“Am I okay? You’re the one with the bleeding hand.”

“You punched him quite hard.”

“He deserved it,” you settled on answering, hesitantly pulling your hand out of his so you could grab the things you needed. 

“You know I had that handled, right?” you asked mindlessly, trying to fill the silence as you disinfected his hand and wrapped a new bandage over it. “I don’t need you to defend my honor or anything, Luke. I can hold my own ground,” you tried joking.

“No, I know you can hold your own ground. Besides, I wasn’t defending your honor,” he spoke softly, watching as you delicately held his hand with so much care. He wished you could hold him like that as well. A quivering sigh escaped his soft lips, his voice much less firm than he wanted it to be: 

“I was defending the girl I’m in love with.”

You immediately looked at him, only to see him already gazing up at you. It was as if a blindfold had been taken off, you finally understood what your other friends were referring to when they said that Luke had always “looked” at you. His eyes were filled with adoration. However, this time, they were also decorated with pain.

“I could be a better boyfriend than him,” he stated, almost like it was a fact, and your gut knew it was true, too. 

“So….Why not me? I watched you give Cole - a complete asshole - a chance with you. I watched him give you so much less than what you deserve. It pains me, but I still sit here and wait for you to look in my direction for even one second in the way I have always looked at you. I could be so good to you, Y/N. I waited for you to realize I could be the one who loves you so endlessly and treats you way better than all these guys combined. So…why? Please tell me why and put me out of my misery. Why is it not me?”

“Luke…” you rasped out his name. Despite the pain he was in, his heart could not help but throb for a second as it yearned for the sound of your voice calling out to him again. He almost scowled at himself for the way he was reacting to you. Gods, you managed to unravel him through the sound of his name from your lips. He hesitated for a second, wondering if he would even be able to take it at all - if he was given a chance with you. Would he be able to handle the way your skin felt against his, or would his heart burst into unstoppable flames? Would he ever be able to move on if you ended up breaking his heart, or would it remain in scattered pieces of you?

“I love you,” he uttered so effortlessly, which almost convinced you he had said it a thousand times before. In a way, he did, but only in his mind after every time he bid you goodnight. Gods, never did you think he’d say it out loud and put it out there. You almost said it before as well - out loud to the universe, but never brave enough.

“Luke, I never knew,” Luke wanted to sigh as he looked away from you. For the first time ever, he did not want to be vulnerable and let you see his eyes. The same ones that had been looking longingly at you for the past five years, and you were too blinded to see.

He could have sworn that he had been laying it on thick for the past years - all the touches, the looks, his actions. Luke would always linger near you and select you first every time he had to go on a quest. And if he ever were selected to go on one without you, the first thing he would do after returning is wrap his arms around your waist as he pulled you into a hug, breathing in your presence like it would bring him back to life from the gruesome battles he had to go through while out of camp. Did all those actions throughout five years not show you enough that he was infatuated with you? He wanted to reassure you that what Cole said previously was not true. Many guys wanted you but never asked you out because they knew he would be first in line no matter what. 

"Luke, please, look at me," Of course he obeyed. His eyes met yours - the ones he always tried to find in a crowd of demigods.

“I never knew that you were an option. I did not know that I could choose you. I thought that even attempting to tell you about my feelings would break our friendship forever. I didn’t know you felt this way, too. In fact,” you dryly chuckled. “I was giving Cole a chance because I was trying to move on from you.” Luke tugged you closer to him, his fingers lingering on your hips. Thousands of thoughts speared through him as he tried to collect himself. A glimmer of hope presented itself as his mind toyed with the idea of you wanting him too.There was no way he was letting you move on now, not when you both have mutual feelings. 

“I thought I was deep in the friend zone. Did you not see all the moves I pulled on you?” he asked.

“What moves?”

“Uhm—the physical contact?”

“I thought you were just touchy.”

“I walked you back to your cabin every night!”

“Well, I thought it was just a best friend thing?”

“The first thing I do after every quest is search for you, you’re always the first one I want to see.”

“I really, really thought it was because you were my best friend.” He groaned at all of your responses.

“But do know, Luke. You have always been my first option in everything. And I would have chosen you again and again, the first pick every round…if I knew you were up for it.” He groaned again, but this time out of temptation and satisfaction. He didn’t think the metaphorical butterflies were real. He slowly but surely stood up from the infirmary’s bed and wrapped his arms around your waist. You reciprocated, your hands around his neck. He leaned closer to you and gulped. He wanted to say the right words, do the right things and not mess this up. He took a deep breath and finally settled on what to say next.

“Can I kiss you?” He muttered in a low, raspy voice with a restrained manner, as if he was holding himself back. Five years of pining led him to this point. You almost melted at the sound of his voice.

“Kiss me, Luke.”

And he did. He pulled you up and arched down, connecting your lips together. He dove in as if he had been waiting for this day his whole life. He felt every breath knocked out of his lungs. He sunk himself into this moment like he was living for it rather than in it. He kissed you as if it was the only time he could and as if you would evaporate if he stopped. His hands moved to your face to embrace your cheeks in his palm.

You started moving your hands up his head and played with his curly hair. You tugged it slightly, and the action drew a moan from Luke. The sound caused you to break away. It made you flustered that you had evoked such an alluring sound from the Hermes boy. 

“I wanna go slow for you, I really do. But it feels like I’ve been waiting for so long. I want to be a gentleman and not skip steps. But I can’t wait anymore,” he whispered before whimpering against your lips, “please be mine.”

He went in for another kiss again, but you pulled away. His heart clenched at this. The boy bit his lip and wanted to scowl at himself for attempting to speed things up. He was too greedy and wanted things too quickly for you. He almost whined at the thought of losing the chance he barely had.

“That was not a question, Luke. Ask me, and I’ll give you an answer,” he stared into your eyes, and it almost set him on fire. He never saw that much passion in them before. It almost matched his, and that made his heart fasten again.

“Will you be mine, sunshine?”

“Yes, Luke. As long as you’re mine too.”

“I have always been yours.”

——————————

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[sophie-looks-at-stuff]

A Wolf in the Dragon's Den

Pairing: Aemond x Stark reader

Summary: The Greens have won The Dance of Dragons, and your family has offered your hand to Prince Aemond as a means of forgiveness for your part in the war. But what shall happen when a wolf meets a dragon in its den?

Warnings: SMUT, mdni 18+, p in v, kind of mean Aemond? but he gets better lol, Aegon being Aegon, use of pet names like Little Wolf or My Dragon, fingering, soft to rough sex, uhhh language for sure haha if I missed anything let me know y'all!! It's also not proof read so forgive any mistakes haha

AN: Well ... sorry this took me so long y'all! I guess my summer classes caught up to me a bit but that's ok cause after long last here it is!! A good old-fashioned Aemond x Stark reader fic. I hope you guys enjoy haha, I'm working on a request next, but let me know if there's anything else y'all wanna see! :)

King’s Landing was a hot, humid, fish-smelling shit hole. The warm temperatures were much too hot for your usual furs, heavy cloaks, and skirts. Even your horses were succumbing to the heat, panting more than usual, the poor things. You could have rode in the carriage, along with your mother and younger siblings. But you preferred horseback, the wind in your hair, and the breeze on your skin. Although, the air here was salty and thick. 

Your father and brother, Cregan, rode beside you. “Hells, could it be any hotter,” your father murmured under his breath, sweat beading on his brow.

“Those vapid Targaryen’s couldn’t bear it any other way, something about the ‘dragon’s blood–” 

“Careful brother, they could have your head for that–” You chuckled a bit, but you all knew there was truth to the statement. The Dance of Dragons had proved as much, the Greens' force and display of violence was wide and plentiful. “Rash and brash” as your father had put it once. Especially that of your betrothed, Prince Aemond One-eye Targaryen. Or “the one-eyed cunt” as many northerners took to calling him. The betrothal, much to your dismay, had been arranged by your father, in a weak attempt to repair your house's relationship with the monarch. 

“Hmph, well if I had my way we wouldn’t even be here at all. Those ‘dragons’ wouldn’t survive a damn minute in the North. Their blood would freeze, and then maybe we’d all be rid of their problems.” Cregan said the word “dragons” with a mocking tone, a scoff in his voice. 

“That’s enough, your sister is right boy, they would have your head for that. Or perhaps feed you to one of their dragon’s” And with that, your father put an end to that potentially treasonous conversation. Cregan however, had muttered something under his breath about “told you to stop calling me boy”. 

Having had enough of the bickering, you tapped the sides of your horse, trotting ahead by several paces. Your dire wolf, Snowcap, had evidently decided to part temporarily from the group, to hunt or to shade herself you didn’t know. But you couldn’t blame her either way, the journey from the Winterfell to King’s Landing was a long one, and not a particularly comfortable one.

The gates to the Red Keep came into site ahead of you, the streets leading up to it peppered with Gold Cloaks and guards. The people of King’s Landing pay little mind to your small party, too busy with their buying and selling. You had chosen to travel light, there were no copious amounts of banners flying, or any regalia at all really. You would be surrounded by plenty of that kind of thing soon enough. 

To say that your greeting was lackluster, would be an understatement. Ser Criston Cole stood beside the Dowager Queen Alicent atop the Red Keep’s stairs. Besides another dozen or so Gold Cloaks, that was what there was. Cregan scoffs in annoyance from beside you, he must have caught up to you somewhere along the way. 

“He cannot even come to meet his bride-to-be, what a disrespect, pathetic,” You made a bit of a noise beside him, urging him to keep his mouth shut. You were in the dragon’s den now, who knows who could be listening in? Another glance around the unfamiliar faces does confirm your brother’s statement. Your betrothed was nowhere to be found. Even the training yard remained empty, and from what you’d heard, Prince Aemond could often be found there. 

As you dismount your horse, Queen Alicent begins to make her way down the steps, towards you and the rest of your family. Your father and eldest brother move to stand to your left and right. Your mother and younger siblings finally join you, to your left. Your mother gives you a warm smile and a pat on the shoulder as she moves to stand beside your father. You curtsey as the Queen approaches, she takes your hand in hers. Her palms are soft and warm, gentleness radiates from her person. 

“My Lady Stark, how nice it is to finally see you arrive. I hope the journey south wasn’t too unpleasant” She gives you a small smile, not as lovely as your mother’s, but kind nonetheless. 

“It was alright, long, very long, but alright,” You say, matching her smile. Queen Alicent releases your hand and carries on to greet the rest of your family, Ser Criston following closely behind her. Still no sign of your betrothed, nor his elder brother, the King. Although you supposed he must be occupied with his duties on the Small Council. You know you will hear an earful from your brother later on the matter. Had Creagn been born a Lady, he would indeed circulate most of the gossip around Court.  

— — — — — 

The Red Keep was massive in comparison to your expectations of its size. The halls appear more like an intricate intertwining of mazes rather than passageways. Your footsteps echo and reverberate off of the stones. Tapestries depicting great moments in Targaryen history line the walls. Lit torches line the halls, the windows, and the arches looking out onto bustling the city below. Servants, guards, and other nobles wondered about, gossiping, rushing to and fro. Ladies, lords, and servants alike whispered to one another as you and your family walked by, being led by Ser Cristin and the Queen. 

It was no secret that your brother had sent Northeners and Graybeards to fight in Rhaenyra’s name. “Fight like Northerners they will,” your brother had said once. And they did indeed, the bitter cold and long winters having hardened them into mighty soldiers and fighters. Barbarians, some called them. Your father had handed over the duties of Winterfell to Cregan as he grew older. Your father had hardly left the North in all his years of life, but he had become confused and temperamental in his older age. It had ultimately been Cregan’s choice to join the Blacks, a decision he is now trying to repair. Or it would be more accurate to say you were trying to repair. Since you were a wolf being offered up to the dragons for slaughter. Perhaps the only reason that the Greens hadn’t burned down Winterfell, and your family around with it, is because they know the importance of your family to Westeros. And if the North falls, we all fall, and no one knew the North better than the Starks. 

As you continue on your walk through the winding halls of the Red Keep, you finally come to stand before a set of doors. Modest in comparison to some of the others you’ve passed by. Metal filigree winds its way up from the handles like vines, the rest of the door was rather lackluster. Ser Cristin steps forward, dutifully opening the doors for your party.

There in the middle of the small council room, stood your betrothed. After long last you finally laid eyes on your betrothed. Aemond stood proud and tall, his long silver hair pulled back into one thick braid, tied together at the bottom with a strip of black leather. His back was turned towards you, hands clasped behind him. He was dressed in what appeared to be his riding gear, perhaps he had just come back from a flight with Vhagar.

“Aemond, there you are. You missed the arrival of your betrothed,” Alicent chided her son, who could not be less interested in the conversation at hand. 

“Mhm,” He hummed, “I was–” He paused thinking, “ –busy”. From beside you, you can hear Cregan scoff a bit. Your mother puts a warning hand against his back, he was never one for formalities. But then again, most Northerners weren’t. The Prince finally turned towards your party. The famous leather eye patch covering the sapphire in his socket. The faint pink lines of his scar peeked out on either end of the patch. He’s beautiful, you think, in a macabre sort of way, but beautiful nonetheless. He looked ethereal standing there, backlight from the evening sun shining through the windows. 

His lavender eye rakes itself over your form, as your mother pushes you forward a bit, to better meet his gaze. He lets out another hum, of approval, or disapproval, you cannot tell. A cord of annoyance strikes through you, not having the wherewithal to be subjected to such petty scrutiny. 

Alicent places a guiding hand on your waist, walking you forward, closer to the One-eyed Prince. You curtsey once you reach him, the lessons your mother taught you as a girl kicking in and taking over.

“I did not know you Northerners were capable of such manners,” Aemond scoffed as he said this as if he was telling a bad joke. Your teeth grind together, hands clenching into fists in your skirts. Behind you you can hear the scuffle of footsteps, and then a halt. Presumably, your brother acting out again, or perhaps your father this time. Typically, your family wouldn’t care much about appearances, but you were all treading on thin ice, and you knew it. 

Rising back up to your full height, which annoyingly still made you have to look up at him, you say: “We are rather steeped in our traditions in the North my Prince. We value honor decency, and the truth of one's word,” You glare at him through your lashes as you say this last bit. If it were not for the threat upon your entire house and bannermen then you would not be here, wolves were not creatures made to bow, even in the face of a dragon. 

Surprisingly, Aemond lets out a hardy laugh. You chance a glance over at his mother, she looks to be just as stunned as the rest of you. Silence befalls the room. 

“Smart mouth you have, huh, my Lady Stark?” He chuckles some more, then leans closer, intending his next words to only be for you. “Watch your tongue in my court, or I shall have it served to you on a platter at our wedding feast,” and with that, he straightens, and walks away. Yelling something over his shoulder about the training yard, and Ser Cole come with. 

“I–” Alicent begins to say, but you cut her off, rather impolitely, “ It’s quite alright Your Grace,” You offer her a smile. You liked Alicent, the poor woman had been through enough as it is, and the arrogance of her son wasn’t any help. “I am just pleased to finally have arrived here at court, and to settle in at my new home,” It was most certainly a half-truth, but there was no need to make tensions rise any higher. 

— — — — —

The following next few days were spent quite the same. Your little party with the guidance of Alicent took tours of the Red Keep as well as its many gardens and docks. One afternoon Alicent and Queen Helaena accompanied your mother and yourself down to one of the traveling markets of King’s Landing. It was rather grand, merchants coming from all across Westeros to sell their wares. Helaena had shown you a favorite merchant of hers, a man who made intricate gold and silver jewelry in the shapes of little bugs and small creatures. You had purchased a ring depicting the head of a dire wolf.

Aemond had remained illusive, he only graced everyone with his presence at meals. Choosing to sit far away from you, his brother, the King, talking about who knows what was next to him, but all the while his lavender eye remained fixed on you. It made you squirm a bit, being under his heavy gaze. Overthinking how you raised your fork to your lips, or where you held your cup of wine, on the stem or the rim as you’d always done. 

With your wedding on the morrow, your nerves became more frayed than usual. Your mind is plagued with silly thoughts like: Will he think I’m pretty? Will he learn to love me? But as soon as those thoughts enter they are replaced with others such as: Why should I care? He’s been nothing but unpleasant and rude. But the younger, little girl in you still hopes to have a fruitful marriage, one filled with respect and love. Much like that of your mother and father’s. Although you know now that that is an anomaly in this world. 

Your night is filled with restless sleep. Your body follows a pattern of waking for an hour and then sleeping for another. The heat of King’s Landing did not aid in this, the covers bunched down by your feet as you tossed and turned. Shortly after the sun had risen, maids had burst into your room, wedding gown in hand. You spent the next couple of hours being dotted upon like the princess you were about to become. 

It wasn’t a large service by any means, not that you minded. Something smaller and more intimate was more to your liking. Your father walked you up the long aisle to meet your soon-to-be husband. Aemond stood at the altar in the sept, his house cloak in his hands to drape around your shoulders. The closer you got to him the more you could see his eye attempt to devour your appearance. Surprisingly, he gently held your small hands in his. His fingers and palms were calloused from many hours of training with a sword, and flights upon Vhagar. He was a handsome man you thought, too bad his arrogance made him ugly. Perhaps a bit naively you thought, I can change that. But maybe it was just wishful thinking. Your mind already trying to fix something potentially broken. 

Aemond’s lips touched yours, forever sealing your vows to one another. Unlike his hands, they were smooth and soft, and uncharacteristically gentle. He was a good kisser you think, but then again the only other boy you’d kissed was a farm hand back at Winterfell when you were much younger. 

Aemond thought you were beautiful, the moment he laid eyes upon his Little Wolf he thought perhaps this union will not be one of suffering and strife. At least she will be pretty to fuck. As his lips touched yours in the sept in front of the Gods, he tasted honey and black tea. You smell like vanilla, spices, and what Aemond assumed fire to smell like. His hand came to fist in your hair, possessively anchoring you to him.

When you part you suck in a breath of air, cheeks red. Such a sultry kiss in front of your family and the Gods caused a rush of embarrassment to course through you. Aemond however, gave you a wicked smirk in response to the color in your cheeks. Still clutching your hand tightly in his, he guides his new bride down and out of the sept, to return to the Red Keep for the evening's festivities. 

— — — — —

The great hall was filled with the aroma of cooked meats, potatoes, wine, and the heavy laughter of your party guests. Your mother and father sat with you and your new family at the head table, looking down slightly upon the rest of the partygoers. Where the ceremony may have been smaller, the feast after it was not. Several more houses and bannermen of your brother’s came to celebrate the historic union. Boltons, Lannisters, Freys, Greyjoys, Hightowers, and the like filled the hall. You chose to remain seated beside your new husband, the ever-dutiful wife. You knew and had seen many times how rowdy Northmen could become at such a venue. You preferred to keep your distance, although it was not unusual to find you dancing with your younger siblings back home at Winterfell. 

By the looks of it, your brother had loosened up a bit, a tanker of ale clutched in one hand.

The king had joined him and the others closer in age for what looked to be some kind of drinking game. Meanwhile, Aemond’s hand absent-mindedly made its home on your thigh, stroking up and down. The gesture was a stark contrast to his previous words and actions. 

“You have barely eaten wife,” He noted as he glanced at you, “You must be well full and ready for what I have planned for you.” The same small smirk crosses his lips once again. Leaving you with a funny feeling in your stomach. But you can’t help the small wave of heat that strikes your core. Your mother once told you that men can become rather possessive of their women, and it can be quite cumbersome most of the time. Restricting one's freedom, constantly wanting you in their presence, she had said to expect this with someone like Aemond. But she mentioned that sometimes, in the confines of your marital chambers, it can be very — riveting to lay with such a man. It wasn’t until now that you began to understand what she had meant.

“I am afraid I have no appetite, my lord husband. My nerves do not allow me to eat it seems,” Aemond’s gaze darkened at the use of the word “husband”. Prince Aemond was not a man who did anything halfway, if he were to do anything, it was to be done fully without exception. A wave of dark possession seeps into his gut. He had already claimed a dragon but now he wishes to claim a wolf too. 

From across the hall, his thoughts are abruptly interrupted by his brother's drunken yelling. 

“ – the bedding ceremony! Come now little brother it is time for the bedding ceremony,” Aemond’s fists clenched, the hand on your skirts bunching in the fabric. “Will you fuck her like a hound brother? Woof Woof hahaha,” The hall had fallen eerily silent. Aemond’s chair clatters to the ground from the force of his standing. From beside Aegon, you see your brother place his cup of ale on the table, hand reaching for his sword. Your father is already a step ahead of him, hand on the hilt of his dagger. Your mother goes to stand in front of your younger siblings, shielding them. If you had no appetite before you certainly don’t have one now, your hands had gone cold and clammy, your head feeling light at the insults thrown your way. From beside you, Alicent stands, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. 

“That is enough Aegon,” She begins to say.

“Oh come now Mother it was only a jest. Can I not be proud of my little brother?” Alicent opens her mouth to respond but Aemond beats her to it.

“You can take your ‘jests’ down to your whores on the Steer of Silk but you will not speak in such a way in front of my wife, let alone her family.” His voice is dangerously calm, ready to snap, and bubble over into pure rage at any given moment. 

“Always so uptight little brother, as if someone has shoved a stick up your ass–” It is your turn to stand now, the feet of your chair scrapping the stone floor beneath you. 

“I am quite tired, husband will you escort me back to our chambers?” You look at Aemond, a stern, silent plea evident on your features. 

“Certainly wife,” He responds with the same tantalizing calmness. Offering you his hand, which you take, grasping on tighter than perhaps necessary, you both make your way out of the great hall. Leaving the mess that is Aegon behind for someone else to clean up. It was your wedding day after all and you needn’t worry yourself with such matters. 

The walk to your marital chambers is quiet and tense. Your hand still firmly grasping Aemond’s, although he now squeezes yours back. The heels of your shoes echo off of the palace walls in an attempt to keep up with Aemond’s long strides. After an eternity of uncertainty at what was to come next, you reach Aemond’s, and now your, chambers. The room is large and furnished quite cozily. A large four-poster bed makes its home in the center back wall of the room. A table of what looks like chess pieces and a map sits by the open windows.

Aemond however reaches for the pitcher of wine on another small side table, pouring a cup for himself and downing it in one go. He pours a second, and a third for you. He offers it to you, you shake your head, afraid you cannot stomach the drink after what had just happened. 

“I am sorry–” You break the silence. Aemond raises a hand to silence you. 

“It is I who should apologize. My brother is a foul and evil creature who feeds off of the discomfort of others. But never had he dared to do so so boldly before,” He pauses, taking a sip of wine. “I have been absent since you arrived at the Keep and I believe I owe you an explanation,” 

You cross your arms over your chest, the air coming in from the harbor seeming chilly now. “Yes I do believe you do,” you say.

Aemond quirks an eyebrow at your sass, a small smile spreading across his lips. “They told me women of the North have sharp tongues and poor manners,” You scoff, his smile widens, “but I must say I’m rather enjoying that thus far.”  He moves toward you, one hand still holding his cup of wine, the other reaching up to cup your chin, turning your face to meet his eye. 

“I must admit that when I learned that your treacherous brother’s offered your hand to me I was quite – unnerved. I had no desire to marry, let alone marry a traitor,” A cord of anger courses through you, and Aemond notices this. He sets his cup down on the table next to you, the one with the chess pieces. Your eyes follow the movement, better taking in the contents of the table, a war game perhaps, you think. 

“I didn’t want to be chained to a dull, meek little pup for the rest of my life,” His now free hand comes to rest on your hip, and his thumb and forefinger move from your chin, to trace the shape of your lips, then your jaw, and down the column of your neck. “But I must say, that you have certainly exceeded my expectations. I shall enjoy breeding you,” His alkaline nose moves to smell your hair, and you inhale a sharp gasp at the vulgarity of his words. You feel him smile into your neck as he continues his ministrations, placing the whisper of a kiss here and there.  

“I do not understand you. You show me kindness, even apologizing for the acts of your brother, but then you insult me and my heritage. What is it that you want from me, Prince Aemond Targaryen?” You question him, hoping your voice comes out as steady as you command it. Aemond pulls back laughing, both hands now finding purchase on your hips, he begins to guide you backward towards the bed. The backs of your knees hit the wooden frame. 

“Perhaps I wish to see how far I can push you Little Wolf. I enjoy your banter and wish to hear more of it. It pleases me that I’ve been matched to a woman who is not afraid to speak to me in such a way. People so quickly cower and whisper when I am near, it is refreshing to be met head-on.” His blunt statement surprises you, you had not expected such a confession from the Prince.

“Perhaps–” You pause, choosing your next words carefully, “ – perhaps then we can learn to love one another in this marriage.” You almost whisper the last bit, uncertainty in your voice. 

“Yes, I think perhaps we can,” Aemond whispers back to you, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. The tension in the air is palpable, maybe he was waiting for you to make the first move. To see how far he could push you as he had said a moment ago. Deciding to test this hypothesis you stand on your tiptoes, slotting your lips against his, just as you did in the sept. A hungry growl leaves Aemond’s throat using his grip on your waist to pull you flush against his chest. He kisses you back with ferocity. 

A hand grapes your throat, guiding you down towards the bed, your back hitting the feather mattress. You gasp against Aemond’s lips, swallowing the sound, he continues his assault. His hand against your throat tightened, although not unpleasantly, heat rushing to your core. His lips begin to retrace their path down your jaw and the column of your neck, biting and sucking red marks in their wake. 

“Aemond– someone will see–” He parts from you only for a second, looking into your eyes. 

“Let them, after all, isn’t that what my imputant brother wanted proof of our coupling? Perhaps it will give him something to pleasure himself to–” The thought makes Aemond’s cock harden impossibly more in his trousers. The fact that he could pleasure his wife to a level that his brother could only imagine, was nearly enough to drive him over the edge. 

“Husband that is not reason enough to leave –” You're interrupted by a particularly sharp bite to the collarbone. A moan of pain and pleasure escapes past your lips, spurring your new husband onwards. With a sharp tug, Aemond pulls the bodice of your dress down, exposing your chest to him. He murmurs a simple “beautiful” under his breath before latching onto one of your nipples, sucking and nibbling at the flesh. Your back arches slightly in response, desperate to bring yourself closer to his touch. 

As he continues his ministrations he begins to unlace the remainders of your gown, shimmying them down your body, to pool at his feet. You feel his calloused hands roam up and down your body. Sketching your shape into his memory. His fingers knead the flesh of your breasts, your thighs, your ass. Finally, he swipes his fingers between your folds, you emit a soft whine at the contact. 

He raises an eyebrow, “I’ve barely even touched you yet Little Wolf, and you're already soaking my fingers. I can’t wait to feel you around my cock–” He trails off, mesmerized as he begins to pump two fingers in and out of your core. Your cheeks flush a deep scarlet at his words. Your hands find purchase in the sheets of your new bed. 

“Oh– oh Aemond –” You whisper in between breaths. 

“Say it again, say my name again,” It’s almost a plea, begging to hear it again.

“Husband– Aemond– My Dragon –” Aemond harshly withdraws his fingers from you. You nearly scream at the loss of the delicious contact. Discarding the remainder of his clothes, tossing them haphazardly to the side, Aemond grabs you by the ankles pulling you down towards the end of the bed where he stands. You catch site of his cock as he gives it a few tugs in preparation. The tip angry and red, glazed in his arousal for you. Your eyes widen a bit, your mother never prepared you for what might happen should your lord husband be too – big. 

Aemond sees your moment of concern, he positions himself over you, cock aligned at your entrance. His hand carresses your cheek, as he says “I shall be gentle, if you ask me to.Give you time to adjust –” 

“No,” Your answer surprises the both of you. “I want you, I am not some small flower, I can take what you give me. I want whatever you shall give me Husband.” You lean up to kiss the tip of his nose, as if to reassure him that what you say is true.

“Seven fucking Hells, you are something did you know that?” He rests his forehead agaisnt yours, as he ever so slowly begins to sheath himself inside of you. 

You let out a small giggle, whispering back “I know–” 

Aemond bottoms out inside of you, his cock fully enclosed by the walls of your cunt. He could die like this, he thinks. Cock sheathed in the cunt of his gorgeous Little Wolf. Your walls squeeze him perfectly, he needs to take a moment to catch his breath. He had fucked women before, whores in the Street of Silk. His brother having dragged him there once, and to seek some kind of perverted comfort there during The Dance. But none of them compared to this moment, none of them –

“Husband, Gods move please,” Aemond is brought out of his thoughts by your pleas, you voice hoarse with want and need. 

“With pleasure Little Wolf.” He begins to thrust, moving his hips at a slow and steady pace. It’s for his own sake as much as it is yours. He’s afraid that should he move to fast he won’t be able to carry on for very long. Beneath him your hands clutch the sheets of his bed, your cheeks are flushed the most lovely red, your hair played out in a halo around you on the pillow. If he could burn the image into his mind forever, then he certainly would. 

Aemond’s cock stretches you out perfectly, boardering on pain and pleasure, but only for the first moments. His thrusts are steady and calculated, but never the less delicious. The movement causes friction on your clit, sending a wave of pleasure to your core. It’s lovely, you think, but you want more. Moving from their place in the sheets, your hands settle on his hips, urging him to move faster.

“Aemond– more,” His lilac eye flits up to your face, asking for silent reassurance that that is indeed what you want. “For Gods sake Husband, move faster please I–” Not needing to be told twice, Aemond picks up speed. Where his thrusts were slow and sensual, now they are fast and hard. He fucks you like a man starved, as if he was told this is the last woman he will ever lay with. Which in his case, was true, since you were married after all. 

Your tits bounce at the force of his movement, your hands that were previously on his hips, begin to rake down his back. Your legs come up to circle his waist, drawing him impossibly closer. 

“You like this then, huh, Little Wolf. Treated like my own personal whore, to fuck how I please?” The sounds that fill the room are egregious, skin against skin, moans, whimpers, and screams. 

“Louder Little Wolf, howl for me, let the whole Keep hear how I pleasure you so,” Perhaps that same small part of him wanted his brother to hear. As if Aemond had something to prove to him, that he made a better husband, a better lover than Aegon ever will. 

“Aemond, Aemond, oh Aemond–” You chant his name like a mantra. His cock hits that sweet spot inside of you, you gasp eyes widening at the feeling. 

“Seems I’ve found where you feel pleasure best. Is that right Little Wolf?” 

“Yes, Gods Aemond, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna –” Hearing that was all the motivation he needed to pick up his pace even more. To fuck you even harder than before. He grips your hips pulling you closer to him at the end of the bed, from this angle he has full control over your body, and can fuck you as you so desire him to.

The force of his thrusts, and the friction against your clit cause you to see stars behind your eyes. With one last scream of his name, you cum around his cock. Your walls pulling him in, attempting to root him to you. Aemond however, does not let up, chasing afer his own release. 

“Just a moment more, my sweet, perfect Little Wolf. I’m going to breed you, and watch you swell with my pups. Wouldn’t you love that huh?” Aemond continues to piston in and out of you, the feeling almost too much, but still just as lovely as before. Nonsensical moans leave your lips, and Aemond laughs at you babbling, although not rudely. 

His hips begin to stutter as he nears his end, his heavy balls slapping against your cunt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” He mutters under his breath as you feel his seed coat your walls. The feeling warm, and full and lovely. Aemond remains seated inside of you as he rests his forehead once more to yours. You kiss his nose again, a new favorite spor perhaps. He offers you a small smile in return.

You both groan as he pulls out. Your cunt perfectly overstimulated and happy. Wordlessly Aemond leaves the bed, and begins to rummage around some drawers in one of the many pieces of furniture in the room. You worry for a brief moment that he will leave, and that he meant none of what he said. But as he brings a damp cloth between your thighs to clean you, your worries wash away. He tosses the rag aside, to be dealt with on the morrow. For now, all he wanted was to lay with his wife in his arms as he drifts off to sleep. 

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you move to covers to lie beneath them. Aemond pulls you to him, tucking the top of your head under his chin, he kisses your hair. You both think that perhaps this marriage will be fruitful, that over time you will learn to love one another. It seems as if you both are on a lovely start for that though as is. 

“Good night ñuha jorrāeliarzy (my beloved),” Aemond mutters into your hair. 

“Sleep well, My Dragon,” you say in response. You both drift off into a peaceful sleep, held comfortably in each other's arms. No one knew what the morrow would bring, let alone a fortnight from now. But you both knew you would see it through together as equals, husband and wife, dragon and wolf.

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@helaenaluvr @anukulee @darylandbethfanforever9 @stuckinaf4nfiction

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Chasing Tornados (m)

synopsis: Ever since you were young, you found solstice in the clouds. Found haven in their winding winds, their chilling storms. Monsters of the air meant to destroy became your love— your safety. You know everything about the skies, yet you only want to know more about him. Wish for him to love you just as much as you do him. Your best friend. Your scorpion. Your impossible. Your Yoongi. -> part of the rest, relax, reserve series

m.yoongi x f.reader

⛆ ﾟ ⋆ : wc: 21.0k+

⛆ ﾟ ⋆ : genre: hybrid au, storm chasers au, soulmate au, friends/coworkers to lovers, idiots to lovers, angst, smut, fluff

⛆ ﾟ ⋆ : content: scorpion hybrid!yoongi x human!reader, storm chaser!yoongi+reader, angst, semi-public sex (bathroom), fingering, p in v, dom!yoongi, sub!reader, bratty!reader a lil, rough sex, thigh riding, sex under the influence (alcohol), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, one mention of a breeding kink, yoongi has a tail, mates, misunderstandings, fights, jealousy, non-linear storytelling, reader and yoongi are both kinda stupid idk, but also v cute, angst but a happy ending <33

⛆ ﾟ ⋆ : notes: heyyyyy it’s ur girl, back with another mc let’s play video!! kidding lol, sorry this took so long to write, life has been really hectic. trust me on this fic lol. but i rlly fell in love with these two nd I hope you do too <33 and i hope u enjoy my attempts at comedy! remember!! my requests are always open nd you can always feel free to send asks to characters <33

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

Wind wraps in your hair, blowing it– making it form into some beastly, monstrous thing around your head. Tangling your face, your eyes falling askew as it finds itself messing around your very being. The howls of gusts form in your ears, sounding of ghosts that would haunt any normal person. 

But you, no. Not you. You live for this. Live for the rain that beats into your skin. Live for the cracks of thunder roaring above your head. Find serenity in the dark clouds that hang overhead, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. In the knowledge that it's coming. That it’s coming soon. 

The world acts as something greater- something more than yourself. A collective that has not a care for you or the people in it. A system acting for its own desires. A storm that takes and takes and takes until there's nothing left to give. 

You love it. Love every second of it. 

Even if you should be scared, even if you should be terrified– look for cover just like everyone else. To hide and cower away from the winding beast that destroys homes, takes down power lines. That kills. You can’t. Not when you feel this– this calling deep in your bones. This calling to know more. This calling to conquer a monster. 

To chase the impossible. 

You have always lived for that very thing. Have constructed your entire life around finding answers for beasts that are beyond reason, to construct something real from what can only be construed as fake. To look the storm in the eye, to live within it rather than to be consumed.

And that is exactly why you stand where you find yourself now. Tornado Alley. A storm brewing just in front of you. Warm air meeting cold, finding breath, coming to life. 

Maybe you should be scared. Maybe you should let panic set you alight and carry you far, far away from the death spirals. Maybe you should do a lot of things, yet you can't. You can only stare in wonder as rain hits your flesh. As the wind tries to take your clothes, battering them in the breeze. As electricity cracks above your head, light debris flying past your form to entertain the forming tornadoes fury.  

Bang, Bang, Bang. 

Now that sound isn't from the storm, it can’t be. Sounds too much like metal, like a fist hitting it. Oh right, the car. 

“(Y/n) get your ass in here, now!” His voice is loud, forced to so you could hear him above the storm. He would never yell otherwise. Never raise his voice a single decibel against you. 

Your body turns to face him, a smile breaking across your cheeks without a second thought. Eyes turning to crescents, rain dripping down your cheeks. 

Right, Yoongi. 

The impossible. 

You don’t know when it happened. It shouldn’t have happened. But you knew it did. Felt the shift in your soul whenever you looked at him, felt your blood pumping just a fraction faster whenever he was close. Felt yourself yearn to smell his signature Yoongi scent whenever you sat in his car, whenever he drove you around on one of your little escapades. 

Maybe it was a year ago. Maybe less. Maybe more. You could never be sure– emotions never were your strong suit. But he knew that, and he didn’t care. Never pressured or pried, always just let the two of you be. Act in co-existence in a way you doubt two people could. 

Your partner in crime, your solace among the disarray perpetuating every second of your job– your life. The only person you knew crazy enough to chase the storms with you. To risk their life driving you into the eye. Your right hand man. Your friend. 

None of it should have happened. But it did anyway. Isn’t that always the way life goes? The same way the storms control the skies, he found himself controlling your heart with no will of his own. No knowledge of the underlying flutter that found its way into your guts the second he looked at you, nor any knowledge of the way your eyes fell into adoration when they fell on him. 

Why did you have to fall in love with the storm? 

You weren’t sure– never cared to look deeper into the fact. Never cared to think about why you couldn’t fathom a future without him. Never dared to dip into why the scrawny kid from your college has suddenly become a man before you. Never even thought to challenge the pre-disposed ideologies that held your friendship by its core.

No. You would never do anything as stupid as that. 

Yes, you were a creature of impulse. Never the type to take into account the consequences your actions disclosed. But you like to chase the impossible. You would never think to actually attempt to change it. Especially when you could lose everything in the process. Lose him.

In more ways than one.

Plus, you know where he stands. Know he could never see you as anything more than a friend– a little sister. The hair ruffles, the slight glares he gives when men talk to you in the bars, the way he puts up with your ‘overly affectionate’ cuddles– as much as you wish the simple actions meant more, you knew they simply didn’t.

A big brother. Unfortunately for you, he knows that’s the role he plays in your life too well. 

But he’s not your big brother. He's a man, you’re a woman. It’s not like you ever asked to get caught up in the stringers that tangled you together. Not like you ever asked for this crush to form. 

“For fucks sake! (Y/n)!” His voice is louder now, a harsh yell pulling you from the thoughts that sunk you under the waves. His body forcing itself through the wind to get to you, arm raising to shield his face. “We have to fucking go!!” 

He would admonish you later for getting too caught up in your own thoughts again– something you knew all too well. But when the storm was raging around you, it was almost easier to think. To get lost in the recesses of your brain until you drew the conclusion you had been looking for all along. 

His hand grips your wrist now, dragging you back to the safety of your company truck all while scolding you harshly with words he never actually meant. Just his salt-coated concern peaking through the surface. And well, his concern about getting swallowed up by the storm. Yeah, most people worry about that kind of stuff. At least that’s what you suppose. 

“Are you that fucking stupid?” He shouts roughly at you, forcing you to get in the passenger seat. His touch is gentle even if his words are strong. He always has been strong. “You’re going to get yourself killed!” 

He slams the door closed before you can say anything back– frustrated but not mad. Never mad at you. And for that you can’t help the giddy feeling on your lips. Your eyes watching him as he quickly walks to his side of the car, tail curled close to his back almost as if to protect himself. 

Right, his tail. You forget about it a lot of the time– but at the same, you are so very fond of it. Smile whenever it moves in response to his emotions, giggle whenever he forgets about it himself, tripping over the thing. 

You often forget Yoongi isn’t a full human. But it’s never played much of a role in your life, in your friendship. So you don’t really see the point to care. Choose to ignore the scorpion blood that runs through his veins and view him as any other person walking the face of the earth. It’s never bothered you. 

Most people around you call you a fool anyway, it’s not much to add another reason to it. 

“Ah~ Don’t worry, King Yoongi. I don’t plan on getting myself killed anytime soon.” You let out a gentle giggle as he finds his way into the car, pressing on the gas almost immediately and driving as fast as he can away.

His body is so rigid, so stressed. Yet you can’t be further from it. Your legs propped haphazardly on the dashboard, your body sinking deeper into the seat. You trust him. He always gets you out. Something about his special senses, probably. Maybe. 

Actually, you don’t know. You should ask him about it later– how he can see in such horrid conditions. 

“You will if I just leave you there.” He rolls his eyes, glancing over to you for only a second before managing back to the road, “Don’t think I won’t.” 

“You won’t though.” He only scoffs, but you can see the smile at the corner of his mouth. It warms you almost as much as the sound of the rain– or maybe it's hail now, pelting the roof of the car.  

“I could and I will.” 

“But you won’t.” 

“Just put your fucking seat belt on.” He grumbles, his voice getting a fraction louder as he turns the wheel harshly, a last second manoeuvre. A stick flying through the air past your window. A narrow avoidance. 

The car bumps harshly as it drives, the roads narrow and in disarray. Swerving to avoid debris that litters the ground and jumping as it dips into potholes. It feels like a race. Makes you feel alive even as you click the belt into place– as he moves his tail across your frame to act as a second one. 

You should be scared. Should be terrified of getting caught in the storm. But you trust Yoongi. You know he’ll always protect you. 

“Did the other teams drop their equipment on time?” You ask, reaching below your seat and grabbing the computer. He sends you a pointed glance. 

“According to the sensors we were the last ones.” 

“Well we always are~” You mumble back, a little sing-song in your voice while your head tilts towards your chin. Eyes scanning the array of measurements that pop up on the screen– reading them, taking in their meaning. 

It is your job, anyway. 

“Who’s fault is that?” His words don’t perfectly cross your ears, never do when you're trying to focus. An input of too much information at once and a computer might explode! Aka your brain, aka he’s known for years you have selective hearing when trying to understand complicated things. 

“Mhmm…” You quietly mumble out, fingers moving quickly to type as he finally drags the car out of the storm. Slows down to a more human speed as you type out a few observations, input pieces of code to make your readings more sensible. 

You completely miss the small smile he sends your way, the tilt of his head trying to check. “Anything interesting?”

“Mmm… Nothing we haven’t seen before. Got a couple of cool 3D models of the storm your screen, though…” You tilt the laptop in his direction, showing him the model of the storm. Exactly how big it was, how fast it was moving. “Just an E2, but still pretty.” 

“Yeah, had to’ve been to almost let it eat you.” 

You roll your eyes, shutting the laptop as he pulls over to the side of the road, “Of course, I’d let anything as pretty as that take me out.” 

He scoffs, “Anything, really?”

“Yeah, you know that guy on Attack on Titan that's like ‘oh i’d let a pretty female titan eat’-- Wait a second it is not my fault!” You suddenly announce, his words before finally registering in your mind, “You’re always tinkering with the the the bits!! That’s why it takes so long!”

You grump, crossing your arms. A fond smile finding its way to his lips. 

“Yeah, cause the ‘bits’ are the real issue, aren’t they? Not you playing out music videos in your head while a tornado is hurrdaling at us?”

“Okay! That was one time! And totally not my fault!” You huff, not in any real annoyance, just simply banter. Yoongi always seemed to like your over-dramatic reactions anyway. “You said we could play Hurrcane!! By my girl Bridget Mendler! You know what that song does to me!” 

He can only laugh in response, the gums of his mouth showing as he tilts his head back. Long black hair falling lower against his shoulders. Tail falling lax for the first time in forever. Crests shown in his eyes. 

You like giving Yoongi your reactions if it means he can smile like this. 

When he looks in your direction for a breef second, you can’t help but puff out your cheeks and stick out your tounge in pestilence. The action only causing him to shake his head, eyes returning to the road a little brighter than before.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. How could I possibly forget.” A thousand words are said behind his tone that you could never pick up on. Never notice. “You get so excited, like a kid. It’s funny.”

Your head jerks to look at him, a pointed glare in your eye, “She makes me feel things you can’t even hope to understand, Min.”

He rolls his own, “Uh huh. I’m sure.” 

College. Senior Year. The perfect hell it bestows on all of its captors. 

The combined effort of senior thesis’s, grad school searches, advanced level course work, and the unyielding need for money after graduation, as it turns out, is the best possible combination for stress any one person can find! How wonderful. Especially for you, with a stupid gpa you need to upkeep to keep your stupid scholarships, so you can get your stupid degree and get your stupid job–

Well, okay. Now you’re just spiralling. 

Annoyed and tired has never been a good combination for everyday dreamers. Especially those that have been working their entire lives for a single goal. To chase their every last dying hope since they were a child. To become the very person they could only wish to be in their youth. 

But in all fairness, your ass has been handed to you on a silver platter after your last exam grade was horribly, terribly slid to you face down against the table. A quiet note of “see me after class” listed on the top without reverie. Your thoughts a sudden cyclone vortexing you inward and onward, wishing you could tell the sweet summer child of your adolescence that you had failed her. That you were never going to be able to live inside a tornado as she had wished. 

Oh. The monster that you were. 

That was, at least, until you did meet with your professor. And, apparently, he wasn’t going to drop you from the class and (somehow) get you removed from the college like you had thought! Even better, he saw how hard you worked– how much you truly care. Deciding to lend a hand rather than pull it back. Giving you a building and a time to meet with a tutor he specifically picked out. 

Someone he would apparently trust his life to. Your life– okay, academic career, to as well. 

That’s how you found yourself now. Walking through a library that had to be older than your great grandparents– the scent of mildew filling your nose as you moved farther and farther into the recesses of the building. 

Why, exactly, you had to meet in the deepest, darkest corner of the library at an absurd hour of the day confuses you even now. Annoys you a little, quite frankly. Leaving your dorm past 8pm feels like a nightmare.

But you trust your professor, you trust that he wouldn’t steer you wrong. Well, hope is probably a better term. One that more accurately portrays your inner conflicts as you make your way to the back conference table nestled deep within walls of encyclopaedias. Dust entrapping the air you sit in– age and memories baked in the walls. 

At worst, that’s all you shall make. Memories. Call the whole thing a bust and look online for some tutors or go to a used bookstore and buy a few more outdated textbooks. At best, you’ll pass the class and become one of the best meteorologists the world has seen. No pressure on Mr. Mystery Tutor or anything. Obviously. 

None at all. 

Your fingers find themselves tapping against the table as you think; seat already taken, items already spread out as you wait. Just your ring finger over and over in a repeated motion– the beat of wind speeds picking up on a desert plane. The bubbling of magma under the surface of the earth. The–

“(Y/n)?” A husk of a voice breaks your almost monotonous silence, your tapping suddenly ceased as a chill travels down your spine. A chill from the tone of someone's voice alone– can you believe that? 

Somewhere, once, when you were little, you heard that a chill runs down your spine whenever a serial killer passes by. But this isn't that. No, this is something entirely different. More familiar. More recognizant. 

Your eyes shoot pitifully fast up at him, almost tilting your head as you take in the features. Black hair– maybe brown, baggy hoodie, slouched shoulders. One hand supporting the shrap of his bag that hangs over his shoulder. 

No, you don’t know him. Maybe a future you does– one where a timeline passes over this exact spot. Where you’re friends already, maybe something more. Something safe. Though, that isn’t a very scientific explanation. One colleagues and professors may make fun of you for. You disregard the notion, only nodding your head to confirm. 

He only mirrors the motion in return, seemingly not one for conversation himself. Finding himself pulling out the chair across from yours, setting himself inside of it. Wasting no time in pulling out his own belongings. 

Laptop, textbook, notebook. 

“The professor said you were having trouble with qualitative analysis of…” His voice trails off, and you can’t help but wonder how someone's voice can almost sound like a well-loved record. A tune that can’t quite find its sink– almost too rigid to hope itself melodic. 

You listen to the same voice as it sings out the songs of your lessons. As he goes over the failed exam beat by beat. Explaining the first few questions in such simple terms anyone could understand them. Not in a way that felt condescending, no. Again, it just felt so warm that you couldn’t do anything but listen to him quietly. Absorbing everything without a single interruption. 

Well, until question 7 at least. That is when you feel two synapses connecting in your brain reminding you of an ultra-important task that absolutely cannot be forgotten. A handshake. Your small hand cutting him off, reaching across the table without a second thought.

He stares at the pervasive hand as if it is something he’s never seen before. Never been offered in the first place. Something offensive to hurt rather than anything else.

Interesting. 

“My dad always said you have to shake hands when you’re meeting someone. Or else it’s bad luck down the road. So…” You explain away simply, like it should be obvious to every person on the Earth. It should, honestly. But you’ve been told you have issues with thinking that way– that things obvious to you should be obvious to everyone else. That everyone else lives within the same bubble you’ve found yourself residing in your whole life. 

You know it isn't true– that the bubble you’ve created is something you simply live in alone. Periphery finding itself resident to everyone else. But that’s awfully lonely, isn't it? You choose to think the former. 

His shoulders slowly unfurl, defences slowly lowering as he meets your hand in the middle. Rough palm meeting yours, shaking slowly up and down before both sides pull away. A magnet short of attraction of two bodies as you pull away. 

“Good.” You nod, pulling your knees up to hover off of the ground. Resting them against the edge of the table instead. “I don’t like bad luck either.” 

There's a beat of silence, one that you don’t mind. 

“Do you not like black cats then either?” His tone has an edge of pessimism to it. His defences considering a raise. 

You, on the other hand, feel immediate offence. How dare he! “What?! Are you crazy! Or course I like them.” 

You miss the crook of his lip into a light smirk, defences gone once more, “Well, normally they’re seen as bad luck…” 

“That’s just a stereotype!” You instantly defend. Your body leaning over, moving your face closer to his. 

He holds his arms up in defence, pencil still wedged between his fingers, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. My bad completely.” He lets out a quiet chuckle at the end, you only puff out your cheeks.

“Entirely.” You huff quietly, almost sounding like a petulant child, “I would never judge something just off of how they’re born.” At that, he almost perks an ear. 

“Really?” He asks, his eyebrows slowly raising, “Not even hybrids?” 

Ah, hybrids. A common discussion other people find themselves having, one that you never really found the purpose of. Arguments on their rights, the ethics of keeping them as pets, on if they should even be classified as intelligent life. You hated all of them. Didn’t understand for a second why people kept themselves concerned with class divisions or keeping others subservient at all. 

As far as you care, they’re the same as humans. Think like humans, act like humans. Another creature just as deserving the right to live and exist as all others. You don’t concern yourself with the difference in their existence– seeing them, treating them the same as you would any other person. 

You can’t stand that others find different opinions than yourself. Cutting them off entirely for treating another living, breathing creature with the capacity to think for itself as less. Reminding you desperately that you live on the periphery. 

“No, why should I care.”  You scrunch your nose up at the notion you’d think otherwise. He takes the action differently. “They’re the same as everyone else.” 

You surmise your ideologies simply, though you’re never sure if your words construe correctly. His results are inconclusive as well, letting out a quiet grunt. Dropping the subject. Keeping his words from revealing what is true. 

“What else is bad luck then?” 

You don’t notice the quick subject change, “Walking under ladders, whistling in the woods, doing your laundry on a sunday. …I can’t imagine saying Bloody Mary in a mirror 3 times is much help either.” 

He pauses for a second, his eyes just looking at you. They’re sharp things– knives against a grinder maybe. Could even be too sharp to be human, if you cared to look a little closer. Cared to notice the differences between you and him. 

But you don’t, nor will you probably ever. Just allow him to shake his head simply, let him return to your test questions without a single other thought leaking into that brain of yours. Only this time, you feel comfortable enough to ask a few more questions. Let him delve more deeply into the work without the threat of your mind wandering off to useless things. Allow the clock to tick later, later, later into the night– moving from your exam, to the most recent concept your class has been working on. Carefully treading the water, staying afloat as you finally begin to understand. 

You hate to admit it, you really do for the sake of your pride alone, but he really is a good teacher. He doesn’t seem upset when you ask questions– no matter how stupid you are. He stays calm whenever you start to get frustrated, carefully talking you through it instead of getting upset himself. He seems so peaceful you almost want to hate him for it. 

Almost, because between the gentle instructions and messy handwriting as the hours tick late into the night, jokes begin to crack freely between both of your tongues. Gentle jabs that mean nothing, topics construing into obscurity flowing into something more entertaining to discuss. 

Though– he did seem to have pause when you told him you don't trust fish. Something about them thinking they’re better than you– of which he agreed. Not that they’re better than you, of course not. But that yeah… they do seem to have that kind of look in their eyes. 

He feels the same way about birds, you learned. Interesting. 

It isn’t until midnight that he calls it, a time you didn’t even think was plausible. You thought it was 9:30, 10 at the latest! There’s no way midnight could have come so soon! Just the idea of it sounded fake. But then you checked the clock in the library, then your phone, and now you don’t know what to think. 

Time has never flown so simply with another person. 

“I told you I wasn’t lying.” He has that stupid smirk on his face, the one you’ve decided means he’s feeling cocky and amused. 

“You could… you could have changed all of them when I wasn’t looking! To trick me?”

“Yeah.. mhmm.. And what would that do.. For either of us..?”

“. . . I haven’t gotten there yet.”

“Right.” He smiles, a real smile that shows off his gums. You can’t help but reflect a smaller one back at him. 

Once again he moves first, standing after he’s collected all his belongings. Tossing his bag over his shoulder while you hurry to catch up. Sliding your laptop inside before making sure your pens know their correct homes in the case–

What was that?

It was something so subtle anyone could have missed it. A mouse scurrying between cases, a piece of trash floating by. Something brown moving quickly in the corner of your eye. Something you neglected to notice. How could you not notice something so obvious?

When you look up at him– finally take the man you’ve spent the night with in his entirety, you see it. You missed it while he was sitting down, obviously trying to keep the thing from view, but now there was no hiding it. It was impossible to hide the thick brown tail that hung behind him in such a relaxed posture you wonder if he forgot about it, too. 

You couldn’t help the instant fascination as you took the form of it in. The pretty segments it appeared to be broken into– 5 if you counted them correctly, all stacked neatly upon one another. All leading to a stinger resting at the end, gently curled inward rather than held in defence. 

The gentleness of the man himself contrasted so nicely with the firmness of the tail. 

So pretty.

It was only then that he must’ve realised his mistake. Must’ve noticed your silence, followed your eye line to see exactly where it was laying. Realised that he let his guard down too quickly– understood too quickly that you didn’t already know about his… condition. His state of existence. 

The professor must’ve not told you. Probably thought it was a negligible factor even though it never is. Maybe when he came in you missed it, you didn’t actually look up at him until he sat down anyway. Until his tail was already tucked deep under the chair for protection. 

Without realising it, his tail raises. Curing behind his back, the tip looking even sharper than it normally does. Meanwhile his body tenses up entirely. Defence utterly encasing his form.

Fuck, and then your eyebrows are raising– and next you’re gonna start screaming and he’ll have to run so he doesn’t get taken in by hybrid services and–

“Can I touch it?” Your voice brings him back to reality, back from the ‘end-of times’ it found itself careening towards. Now he’s just, he’s just confused. Did you just ask him if you could touch it? Why aren’t you acting like he’s suddenly the scum of the earth? That’s how hybrids are treated anyway. 

Even if you said otherwise earlier, that doesn’t mean much to someone who's never experienced otherwise. 

“. . . oh… or maybe that’s rude. Forget it. Sorry.” You rush out instead, taking his appearance softly. Honestly, you don’t know much about what could be considered ‘rude’ to hybrids… you don’t have much experience with them at all, actually. 

“You’re not…” He fumbles with himself, his tail remaining raised like a predator. He forces himself taller, forces himself to appear more together. More ready to ‘strike’-- figuratively. He clears his throat, “What, you have something you want to say?”

You cock your head back sharply, rising to your feet, “No, why would I?” You feel just as confused as him. Maybe asking to touch a hybrid’s parts is more taboo than you thought… 

“Look I didn't mean any offence it was just pretty and–”

“Just fucking run off and report me if you’re going to–”

Both sentences are said at the same time from each party, the response mirroring exactly as well. Both faces twist into that of almost confusion and offence, upset that the other would dare say something like that for entirely different reasons. 

“What are you talking about?” Your question comes from annoyance, almost anger that he would think you would do something as nasty as reporting him when he was just trying to live his life. 

His comes from the simple word pretty. Why would you think his appendage was anything of the sort? The one thing his entire life that’s set him back– the very blood in his veins betraying him. The reason he can’t be accepted by normal people. The reason he has to take stupid night classes at this university with any professor that is actually willing to accept him. To accept his under the table payments. 

The very reason he’ll never get a real job– just hope to be adopted by someone who will let him do what he wants. Just hope that the authorities don’t find him, or that his own landlord won’t turn him in before he can do that. 

And you think it’s pretty? No fucking sane person would. 

“Why would you think I’d report you?” Your tone is hurt, the pang in his heart hurting just as much. He hates that he feels it, and he hates that he wants to comfort you more than anything else. Stupid fucking scorpion genes. 

“What else would you do?” He scoffs, crossing his arms.

“Literally nothing. I would do nothing.” You glare at him slightly, “I don’t care that you’re a hybrid, why would I?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” His tone is accusatory, but he doesn’t quite know what else to make it. 

“Okay, let’s go down the list, yeah?” The spite in your tone lets the both of you know this night is taking a sour turn, “You can think, you can feel, oh right, you’re your own fucking person.”

You roll your eyes, “I know words don’t mean much, probably, but I view literally every creature as equal.” He still stands firm, your words and his life experiences battling in his mind. You sigh, this isn’t going anywhere. “Listen, I know it probably doesn’t mean much, and like, we both just met so I know it doesn’t hold much value. But I’m really sorry for whatever you’ve gone through in your life. It couldn’t have been easy. But I really, truly don’t care about whatever laws are in place. As far as I’m concerned, you’re equal to me.”

Your tone had gone soft, more gentle. Trying to dispel the hostility that hung fragrant in the air. But it looks like he can’t move. Doesn’t really know how after all of that. You probably wouldn’t either– though you’re not sure, you’ve never been good at putting yourself in other people's shoes. You just hope he believes you… that’s all you can do. 

“I’ll head out first. You have my number, text me if you want to meet again.” You start towards the door, the ball left in the other man’s court. You wish you could’ve at least got his name first but.. He never introduced himself. Hmm, maybe you did the handshake too late, that’s why the bad luck kicked in. 

“You think it’s pretty?” You almost don’t hear his words, too far away. 

You turn your body back to face him, a gentle smile crocheted onto your lips, “Of course I do. Exquisite.” 

The two of you stand in silence for a minute longer, trying to navigate the confusing energy moving between both of your forms. It’s only when you turn back around again to leave that he finally speaks. The simple word of his name. 

“Yoongi.” 

“Well, it was very nice to meet you, Yoongi.” You say softly, tilting your head to look at him once again, “I really do hope we can be friends.”

But that was years ago. Friends came and went; now you want so much more. More than you could ever quite articulate. You know it now as you sit with him, an after-chase ritual in whatever cheap roadside bar you can find. Never finding yourselves regulars, always on the move– save for the presence of each other. 

“I don’t think luck is real, you know.” Yoongi drawls into your ear, the scent of alcohol heavy on his tongue. His body leaning against yours in the crowded bar, hair dancing against the side of your neck all while his tail finds itself curled around your back. A simple motion that could only be described as protective, possessive. 

“What?!” You dramatically slap your hand against your mouth, an action you picked up from him. Alcohol inhibiting both of your minds only slightly, letting words flow a little easier than they otherwise might. Letting touch feel a little more commonplace. 

An afterwork tradition, if you will. 

“You’re insane!” You announce, slapping his shoulder playfully, “You’re gonna make bad luck get us Yoongi!! Take it back!” 

Your voice is almost a whine, and he wants to fold because of it. 

“You say that like you aren’t a stem major!” He laughs, his eyes shining like crescent moons you want to live on. Wait, does that even make sense?

“That doesn’t matter! We're like– the least scienc-y!! Our whole job is practically based on luck! Oh my god!” Now you’re stopping your foot a little, and his tail finds itself pulling you closer.

“Yeah, but you have no idea how many ladder’s I’ve walked under and you still say I have the best luck.” He giggles– fucking giggles!! Can you believe the audacity of this man?! 

“Yoongi!! How dare you!! Do you know how many E5s’ you’ve cost us?! Probably like.. Like 20!” 

“Mm, maybe yours just keeps it up for the both of us. Huh?” You humph, you fucking humph, and maybe– just maybe, Yoongi feels himself going a little insane. Forgetting himself– what you are meant to be to him.

“That’s the only plausible explanation… obviously…” 

He hums, “Obviously.” 

There’s a brief moment, a flicker in the air of something indescribable. Something that makes your skin feel a quiet, humble flame strumming under the surface. That makes you feel as if there's electricity pulsing through the space left between your noses. That makes you feel almost invincible as your eyes meet his warm brown tones. 

You’ve come to love earthy hues since meeting Yoongi. He’s full of them, after all. 

But, the flame of the match is blown out far too quick for you to truly comprehend what that moment was. Why it felt the way it did. Instead, your left sputtering with the absence of Yoongi, the slow withdrawal of his form. 

“I’ll go get us more drinks.” His gravelly voice mutters just loud enough to hear over the music. You can only nod along, already missing the security of the tail curled around your back. 

At least he isn’t so shy about it’s presence anymore. At least not like he was back then– trying to hide it, trying to make the rest of the world forget about it. You never understood why, no, how could you when you love it so much? Find it just another integral part of Yoongi for you to love. 

You can even smile now, thinking back to how cute he got the first time he let you touch it. How he turned red to his ears, the chill that travelled down his spine. The flick of it as it chased after your hand when you retreated. It was too fucking cute back then… mm. Maybe that’s when you first started to grow a crush on the man. 

Or maybe it was always how struck he was when you complimented him. Pushed it aside like it meant nothing, yet he always seemed a little out of it for the rest of your time spent together. You suppose Yoongi has always been reticent to your gaze; but then again, he was always aloof when it came to his feelings as it was. Nothing to dwell on, honestly. 

You’ve never tried to hide your feelings– have never wanted to, really. You don’t think you even know how. But you’re not going to force them on him either. If he wants to act, the door has always been open. And it will remain open to him, probably forever. 

“How’d the chase go this time?” A voice carries you from your head, your feet returning to the solid ground. Jisung, a fellow chaser finds himself in the seat next to yours– the seat Yoongi used to fill. A friend in the industry, you could say. Though, you take to thinking he probably wants more. 

“Mmm… ‘bout as good as any other this late into the season…” You hum, taking a sip from your half-full glass, “Never as good around this time of year.” 

Your sigh makes a gentle smile grow onto his plush lips, “Really? I thought you fell in love with every storm.” He lets out a quiet snort, swirling his own cup. His eyes seem to remain focused on you, though. 

“Of course I do. Everyone is perfect and special!” You declare a smile stretching back, “However, like every caring mother, I do have favourites.” 

“I don’t think– that’s not–” He laughs, “Aren’t parents not supposed to have favourites?”

“You really believe that Lie, Sung? Bold of you.”

“Well, do you have favourite pets?”

“Of course not!! How dare– okay, yeah. It’s the goldfish. His name is Guppie and he is my pride and joy. Named after my first love in elementary school~ imagine I let out a dreamy sigh here.”

His laugh makes your own come out as well, “Your first love was a… fish?”

“What, no?”

“They were named Guppie? … Like a fish…”

“Nickname, of course.” You giggle, girlish and cute. 

“Do you give nicknames to everyone then?” He moves his face closer in wonder, excitement, “What’s mine? You have to tell me.”

You hum, tapping your chin in contemplation, “I don’t know ‘Sung, nicknames are reserved for extra special people in my life…”

“Ah!” He clutches his chest, looking down before popping his head up. Puppy dog eyes, “I’m not extra special? You wound me (Y/n)! You really do! And I really thought we had something, I can’t believe this.” 

You laugh loudly at the dramatic act– emotions on the sleeve are so much more fun to display. You know he probably means none of it, but it’s still adorable. You can’t help but lean in closer, slapping his chest gently. 

“Shh! Shh! You’re too loud! Too loud! You’re extra special!” The conversation is easy, just as it always is with Jisung. Though it isn’t the same– you can’t help but notice that fact. It feels easy, smooth… though like there is a wall in the way of true connection. Like there is a way you are meant to act. Just like there always is. 

Always is with everyone but Yoongi. 

It’s strange. But something you’ve grown attached to. Fond of. 

He clears his throat behind you– think of the devil and he shall appear. Or however the saying goes. You’ve never been good with them, anyway. Your strengths and your faults, the simple facts have become all too aware of over time. Not that you mind them, of course. You just accept them as a fact of ‘you’. Just like your bubble, just like your impossible.

“Oh, hey!” Jisung is bright as always, giving a gentle wave to the man behind you. 

“Poongie!” You smile, your inebriated mind already attempting to wrap itself around his torso. It’s not your fault you already missed him!

Jisung erupts in a fit of giggles, “Poongie?! That’s his?!”

“Yep! Mixture of Pookie and Yoongi. He loves it.” He certainly does, but he would never admit it. Actually, he feels kind of odd right now. More… stiff than he was before he left. Like something… darker? Is radiating off of him. Though, it’s not actually dark. Just kind of… displeased. You can't seem to find the right word. 

“I can tell.” Jisung rolls his eyes, “He looks thrilled.” 

That only seems to further upset the man, his tail slowly curling around itself on instinct. Moving to find purchase on your waist. To pull you closer. To claim you. Sober thoughts slipping into a drunk mind, his actions freer than he normally allows them to be. 

Jealousy. That’s all he feels. Jealous that you just called someone who’s been openly hitting on you the entire season ‘extra special’. How fucking childish of him. He knows that even now, but he doesn’t want to stop. Everything that normally does feels as though they’ve gone into hibernation at this very moment.  

He just wants you. 

The next thing the Scorpion knows, he’s setting the drinks on the counter while you gaff away. Lifting you by your hips, sliding his form underneath yours with a grunt. Placing you on his lap and finally, making sure you’re secure to him with a hug of his tail around your midsection. 

He almost feels proud at your little squeal of surprise. At the blush on your cheeks. That’s right. He’s the only special one to you. This other man– other predator should know it. 

He knows he’ll regret this display in the morning. That he’ll feel utterly embarrassed by the whole thing. But right now Min Yoongi feels on top of the world. 

“Yoongi! What are you doing!” You hiccup out in surprise, trying to turn to face him. But he holds you still, holds you secure. Holds you safe just like he always makes sure you are. Gives you a response only by the shrug of his shoulders, his chin finding purchase in the crook of your neck. 

“W-well.. Fine then!” You huff, puffing out your cheeks just a little, “I’ll stay, but… just for a little! I’ll stay here for a little…” You grow a little quiet near the end, a little nervous. But you couldn’t feel more warm than in this moment. So heavenly. 

Jisung only laughs, what else is he meant to do anyway? A small, petulant part of Yoongi was hoping he’d run for the hills– he would with such aggressive scent marking. But then again, the other man is a human, probably doesn’t know anything about such a thing. 

The other part of Yoongi almost wants him to watch. Wants the other man to watch you drown in your own blush, watch as you learn more and more into the firm chest behind you. Feel the connection you two have that–

Oh, you’re laughing again too, what a pretty sound. The conversation picking up once again– Jisung is a conversationalist isn’t he. Yoongi almost wishes he was the same. Jealousy is an ugly emotion. It makes people do drastic things. It makes Yoongi want to do even more drastic things. 

If only he was human. 

If he was human he'd do so much more. Would have already done so much more. But now, in his current state of being, he couldn’t handle it. He wouldn’t be able to handle the rejection. He knows it. Knows it in the way mother’s comfort their children after one look at his tail, and knows it in the way you look at storms. 

Yoongi isn’t a tornado. You would never look at him the same way you look at them. With such love and light in your eyes. 

But god he wants you to, he wants you to more than anything. He wants to be an option. He wants to be the center of your universe just like those dumb fuck storms are. He wants to be the wind that plays with your hair, the rain that kisses your skin. He wants to be the very thing that envelopes your entire consciousness just like those storms do. 

And maybe, just maybe if he presses himself close enough to you he can. He can pretend with the poison in his blood that you like him. He can be yours, even if it's only for a night.

He would always be yours. You never his’. 

And as the night ticks on, venom bubbling up every second that ticks, he feels himself becoming looser. Feels you melting into his grip as pretty drinks and florals fill your mind. Feels your scent starting to overpower his nose as his mind blurs with thoughts of you. Almost feels the tangle of souls joining in the way he’s always wished them to.  

“Yoonie..” You hum, fingers coming up loosely to move through his hair in a way they only do when the two of you are alone, “He went to get a drink, can let me go now…seats open.” 

He almost feels annoyed at your words, and you can’t help but let the disappointment of them bubble, too. You don’t want him to let you go. In fact, you’d be happy staying like this forever. But you know Yoongi, you know he doesn’t like to be so… affectionate in public. He’s one to show his love quietly, something else you’ve come to find endearing over the years you’ve spent by his side. 

Only, you don’t feel relieved movements like you expected to, no. While his arms go lax, his tail almost pulls tighter. The two sides of him fighting, arguing over what to do next. And next, next you feel something so warm. So soft against your neck that you don’t know what to do. 

Lips. His lips are against your neck. A gentle press to the side of the column robbing you of your ability to breath, ability to think. Normal affectionate pecks are common, sure, when the two of you have spent too long reaserching and analysing the your brains are working a little slower than they normally do, they might even be seen as common. But this kiss, this kiss was slow. It was languid. It was so much more. Everything you’ve ever wanted. 

“Have to?” His words are quiet, gruff. Lips moving against your neck as he talks. Spoken to you alone in the world, emboldened by the alluring mix of jealousy and alcohol. 

You shake your head, much emboldened by the same. He never has to let you go. 

“Good.” You feel your heart in your ears, ready to explode as he moves his arm back around you, back to your hip to hold you steady, “Mine.” 

Neither of you ever expected that single, life altering word to ever leave his lips.

“Y-Yours?” You can’t help yourself, you need to make sure you heard him right. Needed to make sure this whole thing wasn’t a dream. That his lips, slowly kissing along the ridge of your shoulder are real and not a figment of your imagination. 

Though he doesn’t say it again, doesn’t will himself to. Instead the sound you hear is something low, one you’ve never heard him use against you. A gentle growl lodged in the back of his throat, confirming it. Confirming everything for your head and your heart to hear. 

“Yours…” You try again, tilting your head to the side, giving him more room. He hums in assurance, in want. 

You think you could die happy. 

The impossible. The impossible is claiming you for himself. Is holding the heart of the love struck college student, the nervous new-hire, the assured scientist all in the palm of his hand. Is confirming your affections. Confirming the fire brewing deep in your belly. The coals that have been slowly and tenderly cared for over time. 

Yoongi and the storms– they’re both your impossible, your fate finding reality. 

“Y-Yoongi I—” He tilts your chin, cutting you off mid sentence. Passion alight beneath the subtle glow of amber that robs you of your words. Lets you know exactly what you need to. Makes the fire burst into flames as his fingers gently dig into your hip, makes your entire body heat as he rubs in gentle circles. 

“I don’t like him.” He grunts, letting his forehead rest against yours, “Keeps you from me.” 

“No one can keep me from you.” The reply is instant, your lips barely missing his. “You’re for me.”

God, and at that moment you know that the prettiest noise in the world is Yoongi’s quiet groan. The way his eyes close, the way he practically pulls you down into his lap sends you into overdrive. The way he slowly rolls his own up is enough to send you into a puddle of your former being. 

The rest of the world is gone, entirely melted away from reality. Now, now it’s just you and Yoongi. Cornered away from the rest of the bar, out of sight. Out of mind. Just his hands slowly moving your hips to be seated on just one of his thighs, his tail making sure you’re secure. Just your scent driving him crazy.

He can tell how wet you already are. He can tell how much you want him, just as he wants you. 

The contact is rough, a little maddening. His jeans pressing up against yours, the thin cotton of your panties not doing much to stop the harsh heat. But you don’t want it to stop. You want him to do whatever he wants. 

“You’re wet.” He isn't shy to admit it. Isn’t shy to admit the smell invading his nose. Isn’t shy to let you know exactly what it’s doing to him with the rock of your hips. Letting you feel something hard pressed right against your back. 

“Shut up…” You instantly complain, whining as you lean your back against his chest, further into his touch. He cracks a soft smile at your words, rocking you back and forth so slowly, so carefully. Letting you feel every flex of the muscle, every rough movement of the jean against your clit. Savouring every second now that the threat of the other man has dissipated. Taking his time in case all of this is a dream and he will have to give you up tomorrow. 

“Why? Not cute when I say it?” He chuckles, jumping his leg slightly off the ground, sending a wave through your body. A shock of pleasure to the system that has a gentle moan tumbling from your lips. That has your hips sending a gentle buck back. That has your brain feeling as though it might become mush.

Yoongi is going to be the death of you, you’re sure of it. 

“Hey guys I…” Yoongi’s eyes find Jisung before your own do. Before the flushed expression on your face can quell and certainly before you can find a coherent thought. And suddenly the lazy foreplay in the corner of the bar is gone. Suddenly Yoongi is no more than an animal once again. 

“O-Oh! Jisung! S-sorry let me just–” You try, but there isn’t any use. No, Yoongi is pissed you even said his name. Pissed you tried to move away from him. Why would you try to move away from him? A predator with his m– prey being stolen right out from under him. A predator that has everything to gain and everything to lose. 

Yoongi isn’t thinking anymore as he stands, just barely keeping you upright as he pulls you away. Grabs your hand and leads you to the bathroom, locks the door once you’re both inside. 

Sanity is no longer present. Only the jealousy he feels inside. Only annoyance at the other man for trying to take you away from him. You said he was yours, that he was made for you. And the other predator dared try to take you? Take you from him when you were about to share something so sweet?

Yoongi knows he isn’t thinking right. Knows he might regret it in the morning– but he also knows if he doesn’t do something now he’ll regret it even more. For once, for once in his life he wants to be selfish. For once in his life he wants to forget he can’t ever have you because he’s a hybrid. For once he just wants you. 

You’d let him have you. Over and over again. For the rest of your lives. 

“Yoongi what are you–” He cuts you off with his lips against your own for he doesn’t know the answer. He’s letting himself just exist for once. Exist in the way he wants to without care. And all he wants right now is to kiss you. 

You couldn’t want anything more. Have been waiting your entire life to feel the press of his lips against your own. Kiss him back without a second thought– without reprieve. Let your mouth slip open easily for him, let everything get as messy as he wants. 

The time for gentle foreplay is over. No, now is the time to consume. 

Without a second thought he lifts you by your hips, your hands falling into place against his shoulder. Letting him lead, letting him take control as he fits his body against yours with such perfect harmony. Nobody would doubt you’re two pieces of the same puzzle, ready to fit together for the rest of eternity. 

He groans when he feels your hips press against his, as he feels your heat seep through layers of clothing. Cusses when he finally pulls back, sees the saliva collected at the corner of your lips. The hazy look in your eye that tells him you need him just as much as he needs you. That you want him so terribly you can’t help but fall against him for love, for safety. 

It’s just the alcohol.

Yoongi practically growls at his own thoughts, his tail rising in defence, in defiance against his own brain. Forcing the thoughts away, forcing everything away other than your body in the room. Other than your desire in the room. 

When his mind is no longer clouded he can come to terms with all of this, come to terms with his feelings and shove them so far back down they’ll never see the light of day– but now, right now he needs this. Needs it more than anything. 

“Want you.” He grunts, his knees falling onto the dirty bathroom floor. His hands splay against your thighs, feeling them. Worshipping the skin as if it is an altar. As if you’re his religion. “Can I?”

He doesn’t have to ask, he doesn’t need to. He would never have to ask you. Every single time you’d fall for the storm that is Min Yoongi. Over and over again. As if it’s as easy as breathing, as easy as thinking. 

The answer is even easier now– as your heart beats in your ears, as arousal pools in your gut. As his blunt fingernails dig themselves ever so slightly into your flesh, begging for entry. Begging for you to just give in. His cheeks a flush, his hair already a wreck. His chest rising and falling and thinking just for you. 

He looks like a god. 

“W-want you.” Your stutter makes you feel meak, but his groan of approval makes you feel strong. Makes you feel like your bubble has been popped, like the world finally has meaning past tornados and cataclysms. 

He takes your approval without any grace. Without a second to even think before he’s pulling your pants down with such hunger, such carnal need. His throat releases a groan of desire as your scent hits him at full force, as you give yourself to him. 

He can’t help himself as he presses his face against your panties, his nose right against your clit as he inhales. Takes in all of you for himself. Lets himself be greedy. 

“Y-Yoongi!” You squeak in surprise, the noise tapering into a whine. How could he do something so embarrassing! What is wrong with–

You can’t even finish the thought before his fingers pull your panties to the side, his eyes focused directly on your wet, needy cunt. “Smell good.” 

If you weren’t entirely red before, you certainly are now. There is no way you couldn’t be. Not with the hunger in his eyes. The fire in your belly. 

His tongue darts out, licking your pussy directly without a second thought. Parting your lips, collecting your arousal on his tongue. Tasting you, basking in everything you. Listening to the pretty little moan that comes from your parted lips. Falling apart without a second thought. 

And suddenly he’s hungry. Hungrier than he’s ever been in his entire life. Hungry in a way that he’s sure can only be satiated by you. By making you his. 

“Fuck, (Y/n)...” He almost sounds more affected than you are, like he could cum from your taste alone. But he can’t, he won’t let himself. He wants, needs to be inside of you more than everything. Needs to fuck you, consume every part of you like he so selfishly craves. 

“Gotta get you ready…” He’s talking to himself more than to you as he stands again, trying to keep himself from succumbing to the scorpion screaming at him to just claim you as his. He can only be selfish for tonight. This night. “You gonna be quiet for me? Can’t get caught.”

“Please…” Your voice is practically a whimper, practically begging him to just do something, anything. And who is he to deny you of such simple pleasures? Especially when you whine just for him, moan just for him. Jut your hips out ever so slightly to present yourself just to him. 

His thumb finds your clit almost instantly as you call out to him. Rubbing circles into the bundle of nerves with quick, fast precision while another digit presses against your leaking hole. Preparing you, getting you ready for the intrusion. 

Your voice is a siren’s song, and Yoongi then knows why pirates used to get lost at sea. Used to become entrapped by the mermaids that sang for them. He feels himself going crazy now, as your head tilts back. As your cunt flutters around nothing, begging him to slide his finger inside just as you both desperately crave. 

A buck of your hips is all he needs to fuck the digit inside, trusting it in and out slowly. Making sure it goes as deep as it can before curling and slowly retracting. Increasing pace with the volume of your sounds, with the circle of your clit. Combining sensation, driving you further and further into the clouds with every movement. 

It is then you know that his hands are a deadly poison, one you know you will fall apart to. Especially with the gentle sounds of his grunts, with the push of a second finger into your hole. With his heated gaze focused on nothing but how well you’re taking him, how you’re stretching so prettily around his fingers. 

You place your hand over your mouth, try to keep your moans to a minimum. Try to suppress every little sound that threatens to spill past your lips. Yet you can’t help it, how could you when he knows exactly where to curl his fingers? When they press right against that little bundle of nerves inside. When they rub against you so perfectly. 

“Y-Yoongi!” You accidentally shout, your hips bucking in surprise. The band growing tighter and tighter in your lower abdomen. Your eyes clouding with pleasure as your head feels lighter and lighter. 

He only smirks, gentle and sinful. “Found it.” 

He thrusts his fingers back in the exact same way, their pace hurried. Concise. Locating that exact same spot over and over again, curling his fingers up just right. Timing the strokes perfectly with a roll of your clit. You feel like you could scream, you’re going to scream.

“Y-You’re so mean!” You whimper, the hand on your clit moving to hold your thighs down. To resist your messy bucking. Resist your adorable begging for more. This other thumb moving to press against your clit instead. 

Then you see it, see the pretty brown thing that had you so enamoured to begin with. Remember just how sensitive it was when you touched it first, and just how mean he’s being to you now. 

With all the clarity you have left in your little brain you reach for his tail, hold it in your tiny hands. Whimper at how big it is, how strong it feels. How much it protects you. And without a second thought, you wrap your lips around the tip of it and moan. Using it as a gag, using it to stop your cries. 

Yoongi suddenly tenses below you, his entire frame shifting as your mouth sucks on the tip. Your eyes closed in concentration, little tears bubbling up in the corners as you whine around him. Fully focused on your pleasure, the feeling of his fingers inside of you– so close to falling apart. 

He thinks he could cum at that second. He’s sure of it. 

A choked groan leaves his own lips as his fingers resume their pace, his senses going into overdrive. No longer thinking, no longer able to do anything but act. But take and take and give and give until there's nothing left.

And god he wants to burn this picture into his brain. Wants to cement it into the rest of his thoughts, his very being. His movements are messier, faster as he fucks his fingers into your cunt. Doesn’t care about the noise as his tail moves on its own, slowly thrusting in and out of your mouth. Your g-spot battered, you clit burning with pleasure. 

Sounds that resemble words fall deaf on your tongue as the band finally breaks, as the world around you spins. As you find euphoria from Yoongi’s fingers. The eye of the storm befalling your very being as electricity moves down your spine as the winds subside. 

You’re left panting in front of him, your walls tightening as he slowly coaxes you through it. Helps you feel every ounce of pleasure that you deserve. Kisses your shoulder gently, softly, watching you come down from your high. 

You can only whine at the affection, the fog lifting for a brief second as he slowly pulls his fingers out of you. You feel so empty– too empty. You still want him. You still want so much more. 

You try to say his name, try to vocalise but it only sends vibrations down his tail. A groan leaving his lips, heat still heavy in his eyes. You realise his tail is still moving, still slowly moving in and out of your mouth. You know he isn’t finished.

You know you never want him to be. 

You raise your leg up, kicking, trying to push his pants down. Begging them to just drop a little lower. To get his cock out so he can fuck you properly. So he can make you feel so much more full of everything him. 

He lets out a chuckle of a scoff, his bangs falling in front of his eyes as he shakes his head, “Needy.” He grunts, yet he feels the exact same way. Removing his tail from your mouth, finally letting you speak. Ignoring the way his heart hammers at the sight of your puffy, glossed lips. 

“Shut up.” Is the only reply you can muster, hands quickly moving to try and shove his pants down. To try and get him inside of you. He just smiles, the predatory glint never leaving his eyes. The dig of his nails never leaving your thigh. 

Finally, with your messy attempts you urge them down, force the annoying material down his thighs, his boxers moving right along with it. And fuck, you can’t help but gawk. Can’t help but whine because shit, you’ve never seen a cock so pretty! What the hell! That isn’t fair! None of this is fair and he hates you!

“You hate me.” You whimper, letting him take the lead once again. Following as he slowly leans you back, manoeuvres your hips in exactly the way he wants. Presents your puffy, fluttering cunt just for him. Messy and aching, desperate for more. 

“Maybe.” He smiles, teasing you. He’s teasing you! Can you believe that! You certainly can’t, a whine and a gentle smack to his chest telling him everything he needs to hear. Yet you’re forgetting about it all too quickly as you feel the head of something hard gently press against your lips.

In your hazed stupor, you completely missed the action. The way he gripped his cock in his hands, the languid strokes he’s made up and down the length. The way he flicked his thumb over the head just before he decided to so sinfully trace it along your slit. Teasing himself, tracing around your hole with the head. You think he might kill you. 

He thinks much of the same. 

“I’m on birth control.” You messily squeak out of the blue, eyes trained between your bodies where he’s so close. So very close to fucking himself inside. Into being exactly where you want him. Snapping that final line you two could never come back from. 

His eyes dart up to your face, something dark in the iris. Something neither of you address as he finally lets go of his last bit of reserve. As his lips slam into yours, consuming your very being. 

His hand finds your leg, pulling it up, resting it against his hip to draw you closer. In one single thrust drawing all the air out of your lungs, removing all thoughts from your head as he thrusts his entire length inside. Filling you, stretching you in the most perfect way. In a way you never imagined another person could do.

Your cries are drowned by his lips, his own curses lost in the same. The stretch, the burn is subtle, yet you could never want anything less. Anything more than the euphoric feeling of Yoongi feeling your ever being. 

“Shit…” He finally lets himself breathe, let himself have a moment to feel you. Feel your plush walls wrapped around his length, feel you fluttering around him so perfectly. You’re going to make him insane. 

He pants softly, trying to wait– trying to hold himself back from fucking you so hard you can’t walk. So hard he’ll have to carry you out of this shitty bar. So that everyone will know what the two of you did. Just who you belong to. 

You give an experimental wiggle of your hips, a signal to move. A signal to stop holding back. The only signal that he needs. 

“Yoongi!” The cry is loud, but he can’t seem to care anymore. The pace he takes is anything but slow. It's fast, hard. Rushed. Like he can’t wait a single second longer. Can’t waist a fucking millisecond doing anything else other than laying claim to your soul. 

His hips snap against your own, his cock practically hitting your cervix with every thrust. His cock pressed against that same bundle inside every time he draws back, every time he fills you again and again. It’s messy– messy and so wet. So perfect. 

“Fuck, fuck.” He mutters to himself, damp hair falling into his eyes, “Have to be quick, gonna fuck you hard, okay?” 

He drawls, scratchy. Rough. Pressing his hips fully against yours, fully feeling your slick heat. The lewd noises bouncing against the walls, filling the space. Sending a symphony into your strumming ears. Into your already worn out frame. 

You nod in agreement quickly, almost dumbly as you try to fall into a rhythm. Try to meet his movements the best you can. It feels pointless, all of it does. Trying to do anything feels so pointless when he’s fucking you so relentlessly. Like he’s waited his entire life for this moment and he’d rather die than waste another second.

Fucking you like it means something. Like you mean everything.

“Shit, (Y/n). So fucking wet.” He groans, his head rolling back, no longer able to look at the mess between your legs, “So needy.” 

You whine, shaking your head. Trying to gain a semblance of reality when it feels like it has been shattered in the most beautiful way.

“Sh-Shut up!” You whine, your walls clenching around his cock, “A-Am! Am not!” 

Your denial sends a wave of something through Yoongi. Something that makes him growl, that makes his sight darken just a bit more. 

“You’re not?” He scoffs, his eyes finding your own, reading you like an open book, “Little fucking liar.” 

His pace changes, taking shape into a different beast entirely. Something new. His thrusts turn from messy, hurried to sharp and precise– the pace never changing. Every single thrust knocking the wind from your lungs, changing the very shape of your DNA to scream for him and only him.

“Y-Yoongi what the fuck?!” You whine, your head knocking back, hitting the glass behind you. Even more of your brain cells scrambling, trying to stay in reality. Trying not to float off in the great beyond where Yoongi wants you to stay. 

“Hmm?” He grunts, his eyes focused back downwards. Right to where your slick coats him, to where a pretty white ring has formed around the base. He won’t last long. Even if he wants to keep fucking you forever, he knows he’s done for. “Thought you weren’t needy.”

You whine, unable to stop the band from pulling tight in your gut once again. Unable to stop the pleasure from coursing through your veins. Already a wreck– your body warm with sweat and your hole fluttering uselessly around him. Trying to draw him back in over and over.

Never get him to leave. 

His voice is suddenly in your ear, far closer than you remember him being. Far closer than you can manage him being. Fuck, and now his thumb is pressing against your clit again. You don’t know what you can do, what to do. 

“You can cum if you just admit it, human.” You’re going insane. “Tell me how fucking needy you are for me. C’mon, do it. I know you can.” 

It’s over for you. You had no clue Yoongi could ever be like this, no clue just how much you’d want it. How much you’d love it. Even as tears bubble in the corners of your eyes from the pleasure, even as your hips buck up weakly to meet his thrusts. As his cock makes you feel like you’re about to enter the pearly gates. 

You know you love it. 

“Y-Yoongi!” You whimper, your hands gripping his shoulders with so much strength you think they might bruise. Hell, you’re sure he’s bruised your hips. There isn’t much difference. “I-I!” 

“Mhmm..” He hums, sounding entirely unaffected on the surface, yet it’s clear he’s falling apart just as much as you. Clear in the way his hips stutter so slightly, losing their pace. Clear in the way he holds you tighter and tighter. The way his tail curls possessively around your leg. “You can do it. Say it, human.”

“I-I’m needy!” You whine, forgetting your volume, “I-I need you, Yoongi!” 

Just like that, he’s tumbling off the edge. Your words acting as an anchor, as the very thing he’s wanted to hear for years. His hips stuttering inside of you, filling your cunt with his cum without a second thought. 

“Cum, pretty thing.” His voice is guttural. A command as your legs lock around him. His thumb never giving your clit reprise.  while he doesn’t stop the movement of his thumb. Your own release finding you the second you feel his cock twitch inside of you, the moment you feel his cum leak inside. 

Winds swirl at your very being. Lifting you higher and higher into the clouds as your walls clench around him. Milking him for everything, for all he’s worth. Making sure every drop lands inside, making sure you stay nice and full of him while your head wanders into the clouds. While every bit of your being feels fireworks. 

Your legs don’t even let go as the two of you slowly begin to calm down. As your heart rates try to return to normal and air returns to your lungs. As Yoongi’s length slowly begins to soften inside of your cute, worn little cunt. 

You don’t want to let go. You never want to let go. 

His grip slowly softens on your hip. Thumb working to rub slow, gentle circles in their place. His lips finding the column of your throat once more– gentle, nipping kisses find home over the marks he left while sitting at the bar. Not any real bonding  marks like his scorpion may have wanted, but pretty red things that claim your skin in a human way. 

Your fingers find his strands, knotting themselves in them. Keeping his head where it belongs. You’ve never felt more loved, more wanted in this moment. 

You never want it to end. 

“Needy…” He smiles to himself, shaking his head softly. His hair tickles your ear. “Can’t believe you actually said it.” 

“Y-you!” You try, realising how severely you’re still out of breath. You hate how quickly he’s bounced back. “You made me! You ass!” 

He only smiles, shaking his head. Still in complete and utter disbelief that this is real, “I wanted to hear it. You were cute.” 

Your legs finally relax when you whine. They easily fall on either side of him, kicking slightly in petulance as he pulls away from your cunt. Removing himself from you, smiling as his cum starts to collect at your opening. 

This still all has to be a dream for him, it has to be. 

“You hate me!” You repeat again, warmth coming to your cheeks once more as his hands find your cunt. One thump pulling your lip open, letting him see just how much of a mess he’s made you. Letting him watch as his cum drips from your core. 

“Maybe.” He can’t help the fond glow in his eyes as he kisses your cheek. A thought coming to the forefront of his brain that he forces back. Another thought he could never let surface, not even now as you’re stuffed with his cum. 

His scorpion still preens all the same, though. Filled with thoughts of kids. Thoughts Yoongi, the human, not the scorpion, would never say aloud. Drunk, tipsy, or sober. 

He reaches for the dispenser, grabbing a few paper towels before turning on the sink and running them under. Not the best tool, but it will do. 

“Well, I don’t hate you…” You’re blushing as you say the words, almost embarrassed without real reason to be. What you just did, it was so much more than ‘I don’t hate you.’ At least, it wasn’t to you. You hope it wasn’t for him either. 

You help him with his pants, reaching your hands down and pulling them up slowly for him, “I don’t hate you either.” He rolls his eyes, gently cleaning the space between your legs. 

“Awkward if you did.” You huff, lifting your hips as he moves your underwear back in place. Stay hovering as he slides your jeans back up as well. 

He leaves a gentle press against your temple, offering you a hand as you hop off the counter. Hips and legs already entirely too sore, a whine shedding your throat as you let him know the pain. All while he only laughs, patting your butt as he helps you walk.

The picture of domesticity. 

Neither of you address the elephant in the room, both for entirely different reasons. For radically different realities. The morning would be better anyway, you surmise. With fluid thoughts and no liquor in your system. 

You assume Yoongi feels the same way as you both walk home. Gentle shoulders and banter thrown around as casually as ever. The only solid thing the both of you know: you can never go back to that bar again.

God, your fucking head hurts. Maybe?? Maybe everything hurts? When the hell did the sun get so loud?! Since when did light feel like fucking screaming, man?! This isn’t fair! Nothing is fair and the world hates you! Exclusively you, and no one but you!

No, that’s not true. That’s completely illogical, actually. But you can’t find it in yourself to care. Especially when your head is buzzing and your stomach is already growling for some kind of food. 

Oh god, food would be so good right now. Warm steamy pancakes, eggs, some kind of potato with a dash of Yoongi to eat it with like you do every morning. 

Suddenly, the other side of the bed feels entirely too cold. Freezing. A void empty where the warmth you felt last night should reside.

He fell asleep there, you're sure of it. You remember the feeling of his arms around you, the soft snores that left his lips after you both stumbled into bed. Barely getting undressed before falling into your bed. You remember everything about last night. So much so that you can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks at the memory. The thought of everything done in that dingy bathroom, all the words spoken, the care professed. 

Even if you were tipsy, you would never forget it. You would never regret it. Were waiting to wake up in his arms to make everything official– a long overdue conversation that would finally set in motion your lives together. 

So where the hell is he?

A pout forms on your lips as you stretch, your body too tight for the morning and even more so for your search. The soreness in your hips, the bruises he left from his grip a brutal reminder of his absence as you sit up, your eyes squinting as you scope the scene.

You don’t think you like what you see– it’s a weird feeling, honestly. His bag is gone, his shoes are gone, his clothes are gone. For the first time in all the years you’ve known him, he feels utterly gone. Not a speck of him in your room, not a single sign he was even on this trip with you. 

Does he regret…

The frown pulls deeper as you reach for your phone. You definitely don’t like this feeling. Like he wasn’t even there to begin with after everything that just happened. 

“Ah, stop it.” You say to yourself, one of your hands coming up to gently pat your cheek. You hate where your brain is going so quickly. Maybe you’re just a sop that needed more aftercare than he knew about– yeah, that's probably it. He probably just wanted to go back to his own room and shower before you had to work today. See, that makes much more sense, doesn’t it? You nod your head, almost in agreement with your thoughts. Set on your decision, on the most-likely-possible solution. 

[9:27am] To: Poongie

> Goodmorning :> I hope you slept well 

> Did you wanna go get breakfast at the diner? I think I’m dying and only hashbrowns can fix me unfortunately 

You wish you could say you weren’t affected– wish you could say you weren’t sitting there, waiting for a response. Heart beating out of your chest like a schoolgirl in love. It’s silly, isn’t it? What emotions can make you feel inside and out. How they can seem to affect every part of your being without even trying. 

You suppose storms are the same way. Suppose all natural forces are– the sun, the moon, the stars. They all have their own cosmic power that distils someone at their very core. Leaving them waiting, abating in agony over a simple text back from the man you like. 

You toss your phone to the side, choosing to get ready instead of imagining anymore fantasies. You live in reality, a woman of science. There’s no sense in trying to explain everything you feel, only accepting that you feel it. 

Mmm. As you get dressed, you wonder how long you’ll be able to go on like that for. 

[10:02] From: Poongie

> gm

> i already ate

Oh. You don’t like that. In fact, you hate it so much you want to start making a powerpoint presentation on how to text just for him. But, you give him the benefit of the doubt once more. Yoongi has never been a good texter, anyway. You’re lucky if you can get more than a two word reply from him. He prefers phone calls. 

[10:03] To: Poongie

> So u hate me okay

> Come sit with me tho, I don’t want to look like a loser

> Meet me down there in 5 ;P

You give a soft smile as he reacts to your final text with a thumbs up. It doesn’t leave you feeling the best, but he’s not avoiding you entirely. And he never has been a morning person. Plus, he’s probably hungover too and doesn’t wanna look at his phone screen. You two are fine and last night was amazing. And soon you could make everything official. 

Your smile grows. Yeah. Yeah, that all makes perfect sense. 

You know what doesn’t? A lot of things, actually. Too many to count, but you try anyway. 

One. 

Yoongi walking in 10 minutes late acting like nothing happened. Like you didn’t happen. Just sliding into the seat across from yours, the thick plastic of the booth squeaking while he does so. His hands stuffed in his pants, nothing but a nod in your direction to acknowledge your existence. His face utterly blank, entirely neutral. 

Never once has Yoongi greeted you with less than a gummy smile. A ruffle of your hair. A jab at your tired appearance. But you ignore it– ignore the sense of unease, of dread already building inside. He must really have a bad hangover, poor guy. 

“Goodmorning!” You chirp brightly, a smile of a thousand suns cast in only his direction. Your usual greeting, of course. Maybe just a little extra chipper to balance him out. To try and prepare yourself, maybe to get a little excited for the conversation to come. Pull him out of any awkward tension he may be feeling. 

“Goodmorning.” He simply replies back, his eyes following the waitress as she places a cup of coffee, extra sweet, in front of him. His usual order. Something you’d never forget. Something he knows you’d never forget, but the way he stares into the warm liquid says otherwise. 

His eyes never stray from the cup, like he's thinking. Like he wants to say something but doesn’t quite know how. Like he isn’t sure whether to ignore it or bring it to light. 

You know that look well, and you don’t want to ignore it. 

Two. 

He calls the waitress back and orders another coffee. Black. 

He hates his coffee black. You know this. Everyone does. He hasn’t had the stuff since before he met you. You opened him to the world of how delicious sweet drinks can be. So why the hell is he planning on pretending to like something he doesn’t? It makes no sense to you– your expression shows it all. Eyebrows quirking together, lips pushing outwards slightly. 

“Wow, the great Min Yoongi is changing up his order?” A creature of habit never does, you would know yourself, “Hangover that bad?” 

You try to lighten the mood, raise the cloud that hangs above the booth. Or maybe it’s a cloud only you feel, you’re not sure. It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? 

“Mmm, you could say that.” He grunts, his chin tucking ever so slightly to his chest. His tail curling closer. Almost defensive. Almost.

“God yeah,” The conversation feels stunted, and you hate that even more. “My head has been throbbing since I woke up. I don’t know if I drank too much or not enough.” The banter isn’t flowing as easily, and he curls in on himself even more. Almost like the mere mention of last night rings alarm bells in his mind. 

Oh! Okay, yeah. Maybe he’s just nervous about everything that happened, you know? Maybe he’s worried that you don’t remember, or that you’re having different feelings about it. Maybe his brain is playing the same tricks on him that trickled into your consciousness that morning! 

Yeah, okay. That makes so much more sense now that you think about it. You have to stop beating around the bush, just come out and say everything you think. Everything you feel and you can talk about it. You’ll just bring it up– he obviously isn’t going to, but then you’ll be in a relationship by the time your pancakes come out! Perfect! 

Yet as you look up at him, find his face utterly void of anything, your confidence wanes. 

Three.

He’s refusing to look at you. Another thing he never does. You’re always the one to avoid eye contact, never him. You’re always the one to stare out the window, not him. He normally looks at you. Normally basks in you. 

You feel your mouth drying, all words becoming lost on your tongue the longer you stare at his disposition. You don’t break it as the silence becomes awkward, as he doesn’t try to do anything to fix it. Simply sips at his coffee. His disgusting coffee. 

Drinks it until it empties. Until the pancakes now in front of you remain nearly untouched and cold. Until the world stops spinning and time freezes. As the comet hits and the world ends. As society descends into chaos yet you can’t do anything but look at him. 

Okay, maybe you’re exaggerating. But that’s exactly how it feels for some strange reason. How it feels to be unable to reach him. 

It isn’t until he grabs his coat, sliding $30 across the table that you finally gain the courage to speak. Finally blurt out the words sitting on the tip of your tongue for the last 20 minutes. 

“We should talk about last night.” You didn’t expect to say anything honestly, shocked at the air leaving your lungs. 

And finally, finally he looks at you. The diner is still frozen, yes, but now he’s looking at you and for some reason that’s all that matters.

A deep drag of air fills his lungs as he sags his shoulders, rigid disposition weakening in attempt to show signs of aloof. His tail gives everything away. Sharp and pointed. Unnerved. 

“What is there to talk about?” 

Oh. 

“What?” You feel blood leave your face, “Everything. There’s everything to talk about.” 

He sighs, his eyes almost rolling at your words. Everything he does is ten times louder. Ten times greater than any storm, any power in the entire universe. 

Four. 

“Listen, (Y/n). Last night was a mistake, okay?”

Oh.

Is it possible for the Earth to stop rotating around the sun? For the moon to find home in another planet? Is it possible for the rings of Saturn to disband, to crack and shatter, leaving the planet feeling hollow? No more than a gaseous ball floating around an unyielding core forcing it to stay together?

It has to be. Because if it’s possible for Yoongi to say those very words, say the very words that are able to rip your soul from your body, you think anything is. 

You feel something in you crack. Something so fragile and innocent that you want to protect it with your everything. Run far and hide. Nurse it alone until it stops kicking and screaming for its unending pain to yield. For it to have rest in a world that only seems to take and take and take. 

“What?” You don’t even care that your voice cracks. 

He sighs again, his gaze dropping to the table. “I just don’t think there’s anything to talk about, okay?”

“There’s a lot to talk about.” Your eyebrows crinkle, your mouth moving into a frustrated frown. Red isn’t a colour you feel often, but your walls are up. Your bubble now a sphere frozen in time– a place with room for no one but you. Your body curled around that innocent glow. Protecting it. Keeping it warm. “For one, calling it a mistake.” 

He’s rigid again too, maybe red glowing around his form as well. But you can’t seem to care. Not right now. Maybe not ever. Not able to sense the danger. The tail pointed in your direction. Venom dripping from his lips.

“Wasn’t it? We’re friends (Y/n). One stupid night shouldn’t change that shit.” It changes fucking everything. Especially with your pining. Especially with your heart on your sleeve. With your affections for him always oh-so-fucking obvious. 

“Like hell it–” He cuts you off. 

“We’re done with this conversation. Just forget last night ever happened.” He stands, not planning on waiting around anymore. Not waiting for you anymore. “Just act like it never did. Nothing has to change. We’re not talking about this anymore.” 

With that he leaves without letting you speak. Without letting you talk. Shutting you down entirely in a way he never has before. In a way he promised he would never do to you. And for the first time since you discovered your crush on him, you feel something negative simmering for Min Yoongi. 

Q/Hybrids_Humans 

U/YGS_Min  •  posted 5y ago

Can Hybrids and Humans actually fall in love? -> Advice

> Hi. I’m new to this page so I might get things wrong with this post. Sorry in advance if I do. 

> I am a Hybrid and I recently met a girl who I think is my mate. I get all the classic mate feelings someone does when I’m around her. When we first met, a few days ago in the library, I automatically felt a pull towards her. Like I needed to be close to her. Everything in my body, my hybrid side especially, was begging for me to make her my mate right away. She even complimented my tail. Does she even know what that means? What it did to me?

> After that, she gave me her number (I’m helping her with a few things) (we're both ‘in’ college) and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. Whenever I open my phone my brain automatically fries and moves to open her contact so I can text or call her. It actually feels a little crazy. 

> She said she wants to be friends and I don’t know what my brain is going to do if we actually get closer. 

>The issue is that she's human, though. So I already know she doesn’t feel the same way about me. She doesn’t feel the bond or the pull to get closer. And she already knows I’m a hybrid so there’s no way to avoid it. 

> I’m also not the most friendly Hybrid, I guess. People don’t like my species. My mom doesn’t even like the way I was born. And I’m lucky enough to get away from where I was before and am living my own life now. Trying to do good things with it. Maybe be human with it, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway. 

> Point is, I’ve looked online and while I know legally it is possible to be mates with a human, I haven’t found anything about Human’s with more odd species. And I really just want to know if this could be possible, or if I should give up before things even start. She’s the prettiest person I’ve ever seen. Her mannerisms kill me– I love them. She’s so cute. And she acted like I was just like everyone else. 

> I don’t know. I want her to be my mate. But I just want to know other peoples experiences. I know she’d never be able to love me in the way I automatically do her, but if I told her she was my mate would she feel forced into it? Would she feel like I actually care? Could she ever actually care? Should I do anything about it or just pretend that it was never there in the first place? 

> I never thought my mate might be human. I never thought I'd find my mate. Any advice would be appreciated. Thanks. 

6 am. 

Yoongi isn’t sure if he’s slept. He’s not sure he’s ever slept with the exhaustion weighing on his bones. His consciousness. His very being. In fact, all he’s had is his thoughts as the hours have ticked by, unrelenting. Unwavering. As the sun starts to shine through the curtains and the reality of everything that transpired rushes to the surface. Past the alcohol. Past your adorable soft snores. 

He had you. He fucked you. For one night, you belonged to him. 

The first thing he felt after he held you in bed was peace. Complete and utter satisfaction with life, with you. Everything itching at him, pulling him towards you was, for once, content. He no longer felt the burning in his heart or the pulling at his skin to get you closer. The fuzziness in his brain whenever you smiled. All of it was gone. There was nothing but happiness in his being. 

Nothing but the ideas of his dream being true. Of getting to hold you like this every night. Getting you to smile for him, only him. Getting to belong to you in ways humans could never understand. 

In ways you could never understand. 

Something else starts creeping into his consciousness, then. Something starting in the pit of his stomach, rising until it feels like he's choking. Until not even the scent of your shampoo can calm the race of his heart. Not even the pull of his tail drawing you closer to his body– his hybrid side trying to calm him down in ways it only knows how. 

How could Yoongi let himself live in such a sick dream? 

You’re a human. He’s a hybrid. You would never actually love him. 

Your words were drunk– of course they were. Influenced by the alcohol and the idea of a warm body next to your own. Maybe you didn’t even realise it was him, maybe it could have been anyone and you would have been satisfied. 

It’s such an ugly thing, the words he thinks. The ideas that form behind his skull, twisting and turning. Forming an amalgamation of tangles and death defying drops to nothingness. Of the reality of things, his reality that is. One where he’s worthless. One where you are the sun and he is nothing but an asteroid following the orbit of someone else. 

Hybrids are never meant to be with humans. 

He knows that for a fact. Has read all the history books, looked at all the articles, scoured for any sign that the two of you could be together in a society that hates him only to be left with mockery. Left with anonymous strangers telling him that scorpions are meant to kill. Meant to destroy. How could a human ever care about him when his entire life he’s been told it’s the worst parts of himself? How could you care about him?

Well, he knows that isn’t all true. He knows you care in some ways. But they aren’t mate ways and–

Fuck. Fuck Yoongi, he knows he’s not supposed to think of those things. He’s never allowed to think of you and that word together. He forbade himself of it. Promised himself it couldn’t be true. That he would never admit it to you or anyone else. 

You are not his mate. 

But you are. 

But–

He wishes he could get his head to shut the fuck up for a fucking second so he could think. Think about anything other than those two words together, even if he knew them to be true from the moment he met you in the library. When he agreed to be your tutor. When he fell in love the moment you looked his way. 

And even then he thought that maybe, just maybe if you didn’t know he was a hybrid he would have a chance. That if he could keep it hidden for long enough, if you saw him as a human and not a terrifying creature bred only to kill, that you could fall for him. That he could be your mate– boyfriend. That he could be your boyfriend. 

But then you saw it. Saw the fucking thing he wishes he never had, wishes he could live without. The very thing he has been hated for his entire life. His genetic abnormality, originally bred to be used for attack, used by the government to kill. The very piece of his being he rejects time and time again to try and just feel a little more normal, a little more human. And you… you said you liked it. 

And no, you didn’t have any clue what those words meant at the time. Of course you didn’t. Didn’t know what they implied– didn’t know the true meaning they held. The acceptance of courtship behind their very tone. 

A nice tail to a human? Nothing. A nice tail to a scorpion? The very thing used by the hybrid to attract mates? To show their viability and strength as a partner? Everything. 

In that moment, you were everything. 

But you didn’t know the meaning behind those words. You didn’t love him the way he so implicitly did you. And while you accepted him as a friend, you would never accept him as more. He would never let you. 

That night was the night he promised himself you weren’t his mate. Promised himself he had no mate. 

Last night was the first time he ever broke it. 

Last night he could have killed you. 

You had his tail in your mouth. His tail. The tail that carries his venom. The venom bred into his cells meant to kill others. If he let any of it out by accident… if he…

Fuck. 

The heaviness that realisation brings is what finally makes him get out of bed. Finally set in motion reality. Stop himself from living in whatever dream he was playing with. Stop playing house with a girl that would never be his. That would probably think the entirety of last night was a mistake. 

Who gives a shit what you thought. He could’ve killed you. He could’ve killed his fucking mate.

Societally, he could’ve never had you. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if you had to face the same things he did on the daily. What others thought of you. What they would say about you if they saw you two together. What would happen with your kids. How much hate and fear you would receive by being with him. 

He could sacrifice his own life for you a thousand times, but he would never let you do the same for him.

And last night. Last night his venom could’ve been your end. 

He doesn’t need to think anymore. He knows what he’s going to do. Even if it hurts him. Even if the grenade is set to go off and destroy his very being, it’s worth it to keep you safe. To keep you content. To keep you away from him.

Best case, you don’t remember last night or don’t bring it up. Worst…

Yoongi knows the ship he’s boarding is bound to sink– that he’s destined to drown. But if it means your happiness, he’d do anything.

The car feels cold. The heat is blasting, but it still feels frozen. Decrepit. All fireplace memories hazing into ice as you ride next to him. 

Him.

Fucking him.

Fucking Min Yoongi. The fucking asshole that tore your heart out and stomped on it. The fucking asshole that didn’t even have the decency to talk to you. To explain why the fuck he was being so cold. The fucking asshole that made you feel loved. Like you weren’t alone in the entire universe, only to make you realise you were trapped in a metal box– steaming. Bubbling.

Maybe you aren’t cold. No, you definitely aren’t. You’re steaming. Burning up– ready to explode at the slightest thing. Still a burning blaze because he didn’t fucking let you talk. Just shut you down without a second thought. Without fucking anything.

Not that he owes you anything– he doesn’t owe you a relationship. He doesn’t owe you love, of course not. You’re not dumb enough to think that. But you do know he owes you an explanation. A chance to speak. Years of friendship tell you that much. 

Promises tell you that much. 

And you can’t fucking stand broken promises. Can’t stand acting like strangers after years of friendship. After all the time spent together. After all of the memories formed, all the bonds created. You don’t deserve to be treated like nothing. 

Hell, he probably wouldn’t have even come with you today if you hadn’t texted him. Probably assumed you’d rather go alone or with one of the other people on the crew. Probably– shut up, you decide in that moment to stop making excuses for him. To stop giving him the benefit of the doubt when he treated you as no less than a one-night-stand. A fuck that meant nothing. 

Were fucking years of friendship just for that? Just so he could fuck you? This fucking–

You scoff to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest. Shaking your head. An outloud reaction to the continued spiral that started this morning, that will continue to brew until it inevitably boils over. Until the pot filled with too much water gets too hot and just boils over. 

You never have been able to keep your opinions in. Open book pages laid out for the world to see. Another reason you’ve always been alone– should have stayed alone in your bubble. 

“What?” Oh, he wants to talk to you now? 

Your eyes shoot over to his figure from the corner of your eye. You can’t believe that yesterday you were smiling at him. You hate that today a piece of you still frets at the trapping of his fingers against the wheel. At his apparent aloof demeanour is automatically disillusioned by the simple movement indicating his nerves. 

He always does that when he knows a big storm is coming– when he’s worried about safety, your safety. When he's concerned about whatever events are going to follow. A tick tick tick, fingers tapping delicately one after the other. Not a harsh grab against the wheel, not an unease of temperament. Yoongi, even when nervous or agitated, has always been gentle. 

Well, every time except for this morning. 

You roll your eyes. 

As much as you hate how self destructive you become in times like these, you hate the bubbling feeling even more. Hate the strong emotion that floods your veins, the same one that makes you feel oh-so weak. The same one that makes you need to be strong. Need to be more.

Maybe you wish you could be more like Yoongi– be entirely unaffected by the strong feelings that permeate your being. Maybe you wish you could act as ‘chill’ as him. To separate how you feel from who you are. To be calm even if you want to be brash. 

But you can’t. Not when it's about him. Never when it’s about him. Almost like a piece of you continues and will always pull you towards Min Yoongi. 

You turn away from him, back to the laptop resting in your lap. “The PAR says a tornado is forming north-east. Head North so we can drop the doppler in the right position.”

“Mm.” He grunts. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t do anything. 

You don’t know what you expect him to do anyway. You didn’t give him anything to work with. Yet it doesn’t seem thinking logically is on the table, and you can’t help but get more mad, more frustrated by the second.

“Are we really not going to talk about this?” You’re quiet, almost vulnerable when you ask the question. So quiet he might not even hear. Hanging on the precipice, two winds twisting against each other in equal strength. 

Never have you felt this way about another person before. Dejection and anger weigh equally on the soul. You don’t quite know how to handle it. Don’t know how to combat what you’re feeling inside, just knowing the kettle is set to boil. 

He doesn’t answer your question. 

It was probably a bad idea to text him. Probably equally bad for him to answer and take you. An even worse idea to let the words slip out of your mouth without holding them back.

“Asshole.” The wind starts to pick up speed around the car, sucking you in. Pulling you deeping into the void. It’ll be no time at all before the tornado hits. 

“What?” His head jerks backwards, chin tucking ever so slightly to his chest. His tail coiled firmly behind him, acting like it isn’t even there. Trying to pretend he isn't there, maybe. 

“I said you’re a fucking asshole.” You can’t help the rumble that forms in your heart, the twisted words that spew from your mouth. The subtle ache from every insult you fling. 

Almost like you’re attached to him. Like you’re attempting to sever a chain never meant to come undone. 

“What the fuck?” Why he’s acting so scandalised, flinching at every word, leaves you almost confused. Almost. Because he has no reason to be confused, at least not in your eyes. Not in the storm's eyes either. 

The rumble of thunder hammers outside, deeper into the freeze. Deeper into ash. 

“I thought we were going to move past this, (Y/n). We need to be adults here.” He sighs that stupid fucking sigh that you hate. The same one he used in the diner. The same one he used to brush off your feelings. Your chance to speak. 

Maybe later you would reflect on how selfish you’re being. Maybe later you would realise how childish you actually are acting. But right now all you can see is red. Right now all you can feel is a part of yourself trying to rip away. 

Maybe later you would find out Yoongi is feeling the exact same thing. 

But right now, right now all you see is red. All you hear is the beating of hail against the car roof, the image that it is your own heartbeat set in your own mind. Right now all you know is the soul crushing weight of the only man you ever loved pulling away.

Your soulmate– if such things were real, breaking the bond. 

“Are you serious? I’m the one that needs to be the adult here? Me?” You scoff, indignant. “You’re the one playing pretend, acting like nothing happened!” 

“I told you that we shouldn’t talk about it.” 

“You said it was a mistake.” Your eyes are set firm in a glare pointed at him and no one but him. Petty and Spite are your new best friends. Congratulations! “Just tell me if you fucking regret it Yoongi, just tell me.”

“(Y/n).” 

“Was it a drunk accident? Did you think I was someone else? Please! I rather you say fucking something than nothing at all! Please just let me be selfish for once! I’m begging for something! Anything!”

…

“We have a job to do. Focus on it rather than us.” You hate that he paused before he spoke, that it gave you some sort of hope. You hate even more that his tone has not once changed– settling from incredulous to neutral. Almost like he exists as nothing but a robot reciting lines. You hate it. You hate it. You hate it. 

He makes you feel like a child throwing a tantrum. He makes it feel like your feelings mean nothing. Like everything you trusted him with was all for naught. Are you not expressing yourself well enough? Are you a complete idiot? What the fuck are you doing wrong?! What's wrong?!

“You’re serious?” The logical side of you says he’s right, your job is more important than anything else. But the piece of you falling apart, pulling away and leaving an empty hole inside feels otherwise. You’re convinced you’ve never felt any emotion other than frustration and annoyance. 

The car rolls to a stop as a clearing hits– hail ceasing, wind slowing even if it's just a fraction.  A calm before the storm. Where you’re meant to ‘dO yOuR jOb’-- fucking asshole. Does he really think you don’t know that? Does he really think that little of you?

“Fucking joke.” You can’t help the dry laugh that exits your lungs as you step out of the car. Your peace, the time you love to spend most in the world set askew, your feelings anything but. You love your time in the storms, but the tornado brewing inside casts a much larger shadow than the one overhead. 

Your hands fumble as they move the DOW out of the trunk– an action you’ve done time and time again feeling entirely foreign. Your body clumsy as it carries it to the front, your mouth spewing annoyed half thoughts all the way. 

“What?” Yoongi’s window is rolled down, his head leaning out of the front as he asks. 

Your eyes circle your skull again, “Fucking joke!” You call, trying to set up the radar. Your body only half in the moment. Half in the clouds. 

“This whole thing is one big joke!” You shout, foot kicking the dirt beneath your feet. The storm beginning to dissipate, a swell of rain forming behind your eyelids instead. 

“(Y/n) are you serious?!” You hate that his own frustration feels like a punch to the gut. 

“I have been this whole time!” You shout, brain finally working to kick the last pieces of the radar in place. In good time too, the wind is picking up again. The tornado will be coming soon. 

“Are you?! Are we seriously not going to talk about this?!” Your voice doesn’t feel like your own. It feels foreign, like something deeper inside is speaking for you– like it’s taking control. “Am I seriously just a cheap fuck to you?! Was I really a mistake, Yoongi?! Please, please just tell me.” 

“(Y/n), don’t do this to me…” Don’t do this to him? Don’t do this to him?! Does he realise what he’s doing to you? Does he even fucking care? You told him you want him! That nothing could keep you from him– and he doesn’t even have the decency to reject you properly. 

Maybe you're the bad guy– the villain for forcing this. For the path of destruction it might cause. But you truly can’t stand this. And maybe, just for once, the consequences mean as little to you as getting swallowed by the storms you’ve always cared for.

Yoongi is your impossible, remember? “But it’s always been about you! Don’t you get that, Yoongi?! It’s always! Always been about you from the second I met you!” You yell, not holding back your shouts. Letting them echo with the thunder coursing through the skies, coursing through your veins. “I’m not asking you to love me! I’m not asking for any of that shit! I just want a rejection!” 

What? What the hell are you saying? Why are you asking him to do that? Why are you asking him to do the one thing he can’t do?

He loves you. He loves you so much it keeps him up at night. That it infests his days like a parasite. You’re not asking him to love you? Are you crazy? Do you not see how he looks at you? Do you not see that you’re the person that’s hung all the stars in the night sky?

He can’t reject you. He can’t. His brain won’t let him form the words– his lips never to curl in the right shape to let them out. He can’t reject you because he doesn’t want to– because it would practically kill him to. 

He loves you. You’re his mate.

Why couldn’t you just make this easy? Why couldn’t you reject him? Why did you have to look so broken this morning? Why did you like him back? What does it mean? What is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to keep fighting when he knows he could have you for himself, for real? 

How is he supposed to protect you from him when it feels like he’s ripping a part of himself out when he tries to? He doesn’t want to hurt you. He never wanted to hurt you. He just wants to keep you safe. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you understand that? Why can’t he just have you?

‘No one can keep me from you. You’re for me.’

Your words from last night ring in his ears. Existing as the only thing he can hear, the only thing that matters. Maybe it is. Maybe he’s wrong, maybe– 

A sharp beeping suddenly penetrates his ears, a sound resonating from your laptop. A map laid out of the tornado's path.

It's formed– its body barrelling straight for you. 

Yoongi looks scared, nervous. His tail uncurling from behind him. Reaching out the window, reaching out to you. “(Y/n)! Get in the car!” 

“Shut up!” You’re not listening to him, not listening to a word he says, “I’m not even worth a rejection?! Our friendship means nothing, huh?”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” His breathing is accelerating, his heart rate going crazy. He needs to get to you. He needs to protect you. To get in the car and drive as fast and as far as he can so nothing bad happens. “Get in the car!”

“Why does it even matter if I do or not?!” You yell over the sounds of rushed winds, ignoring debris that begin to fly past. Ignoring everything but the man in front of you, just like you’ve done time and time again. “If I get in, you’re just going to pretend nothing happened! You’re going to– you’re going to–” 

Tears begin to clog your vision, your words welling up in your throat. Scratching the inside, making you feel like you can’t breathe. Can’t think. Where you want to be strong, you are weak. And where you want to be weak, you feel strong. It’s a strange sort of feeling. 

“I can’t just fucking pretend like nothing happened last night, Yoongi!” A sense of peace washes over you, a complete contrast to the storm surrounding, enveloping the world. Acting as a monster, not caring about your feelings, swallowing everything whole. You finally feel at peace, oddly enough.

“I can’t– I can’t just act like everything’s fine! I’ve always been so fucking shit at that, you know that!” You throw your arms up in defeat, standing right in the path of the storm. Almost ready to watch the tornado come into view, to become the storm yourself. “But it feels like– it feels like you’re killing a part of me! Like you’re, you’re pulling out a piece of my very being and I don’t know why! It doesn’t feel real! And I don’t know if I can live without it!” 

What? It feels like– it feels like that for you? 

Yoongi steps out of the car, his tail curling almost too pleased at his human side’s actions. If it was anyone else, they would think you’re crazy. They would think you’re just being manipulative without a care in the world– but to Yoongi, to hybrids, he knows exactly what you're talking about. He knows the exact same thing. Has felt it every day of his life since he decided he couldn’t have you. 

The mate bond. The soulmate tie that will always lead two halves of a conjoined soul together over and over again. 

You feel it. Humans aren’t meant to feel it but you do. You feel the same pull, the same bone crushing heartbreak upon rejection from your mate. The same– the same everything Yoongi feels. 

He’s the one that's been hurting you like this, the one hurting himself by acting the same. In his bid for protection, he did the opposite. What kind of fucking mate is he? Why didn’t he just listen to the bond? Why didn’t he just let himself follow his heart?

Everything he’s dealt with in his past no longer carries any point. The comments under his stupid post to that stupid forum mean nothing. The words of his “family” are jack shit. The societal implications of him being less than human mean even less– you never saw him as less. His mate cares. His mate sees him.

This is what having a mate feels like? Yoongi thought he would never know. Never understand. But the warmth that feels him now, the subtle yearning he’s suppressed rises to the surface. His feet carrying him automatically, urging him to find you. To take care of you. To keep his mate safe. 

“We have to go!” He rushes, his legs moving quickly to try and meet your form. To try and find you. 

“No! No!” You shout, your foot stomping into the Earth. In any other scenario, he’d be shaking his head. Laugh at your antics. But right now, all he cares about is getting you to safety, and working on both of your communication skills. “I need you to tell me I’m a mistake! I need you to say I meant nothing!”

There you stand, arms open. Wind rushing past you, eyes closed yet looking straight ahead. You could never mean nothing, you mean everything. It’s his own stupid fault he ever let you think otherwise. 

“I just said what I needed to say!” He shouts, his body finally meeting yours in the open field. His hands land on your shoulders, trying to ground you. Hair  blowing around him, sticks flying past but never hitting the two of you. Almost like this needed to happen, like fate was set in stone for this very moment. 

Your eyes slowly open, and Yoongi thinks the world freezes around him. Misty watersheds sit in your tearline, your eyebrows forming together in confusion with his words. Your lungs raising and falling quickly, chest panting with effort held back. Emotions yet to be unraveled. 

If you feel the bond now, how long have you felt it? How confused you must’ve been. Yoongi feels awful. 

“Wh-what?” Your voice cracks, cheeks warm and irises searching for an answer. What is he doing? Why is he saying this now? Why does some part of you feel whole again? 

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t quite know how to articulate his words. But his body does. His body does what it’s been begging to do since he met you in that library. That he’s been holding back from every day of his stupid, (Y/n)-lacking life. 

He leans in, his lips pressing against yours roughly. Trying to tell you all the words he never said, trying to put everything, all of him into one measly kiss. One that means something. One that tells the story of the two of you. 

You, you can’t do anything but listen. Your eyes closing, your body returned whole. The piece of you pulling away settling back into your heart like stone. Warmth flooding your veins, home filling your very being. Making you feel safe, making you feel cared for. 

And when he finally pulls away, you hear the words you’ve always longed to know, “I love you and I’m sorry.” 

Yoongi feels free upon their utterance. A ball chain holding him back breaking– reality setting the world into motion once again. The earth that needs to keep spinning, that needs to keep the two of you afloat. 

You should feel mad, but you can’t feel anything but peace. But feel like your soulmate has returned home from a voyage you would never understand.

Before anything else can be said, Yoongi snaps his head to the left. His eyes going wide as the winds begins to form in front of him. Looking as if they’re not moving. As if nothing is moving. “Fuck, fuck.” 

He grabs your hand, pulling you back to the car as it starts to take focus in front of your mind, too. Fuzzy feeling fading, eyes going wide as you scramble from his door into your seat. He follows in quickly after you, not even thinking to buckle before taking off. Driving as if his life depends on it– your life depends on it, too. 

Sticks flying past the windshield, hitting against the body. Thunderous roars of the world being consumed outside. A tail pressing against your frame, holding you steady. Keeping you in place.

It’s only when you come to safety that all the words needing to be said finally spill out from both of your mouths. When everything is set ‘right’ again instead of feeling oh-so-wrong. It’s only then that he explains everything. That he explains his logic, that he explains how hybrids have soulmates. Don’t forget the scolding he gave– the promises made to each other that the other would never do something so stupid again.

He knows you meant them.

He’ll never forget the way you smiled at him then. When the heaviness left the air and the freedom surrounding the car became almost overbearing. He wishes he could tattoo the places you playfully slapped into his arm. Where you scolded him for keeping this from you. When you told him you would never have a second thought about rejecting him.

When you told him you could never think of a life where he isn’t your mate. 

“...Or boyfriend. Or partner. Whatever you wanna call it.”

You’ll never forget his gummy smile in that moment, when he has a possessive hand on your thigh. 

“I don’t care. I just want to be yours.” 

Wind wraps at your hair, blowing it– making it form into some beastly, monstrous thing around your head. Tangling your face, your eyes falling askew as it finds itself a messing around your very being. The howls of gusts form in his ears, sounding of ghosts that would haunt any normal person. 

But you, no. Not you. You live for this. Live for the rain that beats into your skin. Live for the cracks of thunder roaring above your head. Find serenity in the dark clouds that hang overhead, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. In the knowledge that it's coming. That it’s coming soon. 

And Yoongi? He can’t help but think you look like an angel enthralled in the storm. One that came to earth. One that was meant to find him. One that was created just for him. 

He can’t help but bask in you– bask in his mate as you live in your freedom, your happiness. Gets to be one of the lucky few finding sanctuary in your world. In your bubble made just for you. 

He smiles to himself as he watches. Shakes his head like a stupid boy in stupid love that couldn’t be happier. He’s so happy. 

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, opening a familiar app that he once looked to for advice all those years ago. Going to the same post he read the replies to over and over again– convincing himself that his impossible couldn’t be reality. He shakes his head as he reads them now, almost feeling foolish for believing him in the first place. Why should he have asked on a human forum anyway? It’s like he was asking to be let down. 

As he scrolls, his thumb comes to a stop above a comment he’s never seen before— a recent one. Posted just a few months ago. 

RMB_Joon

> Hey! This post is being talked about a lot on another forum specifically for hybrids! :-) I left the link for you as I think it would be a lot more helpful getting perspectives over there! :-) PM me if you ever want to talk.

Yoongi feels a curl of interest grow in his gut. Other hybrids? Interest in his post? He almost wants to know more. Almost wants to follow the inkling leading him to delve deeper into the world of others. 

“Yoongi!!” You shout, waving his attention over to where you stand. And suddenly, he doesn’t care about anything else anymore. How could he when he has the whole world in front of him? 

He chuckles to himself, marking his post as ‘resolved’ before tucking the device into his pocket. His legs catching into a jog, joining you at your side. Exactly where he should be. Where he’s meant to be.

⋆𐙚 WAHH THERE IT IS!!! I hope you all enjoyed <\\33 pls let me know any of your thoughts!! this is officially the longest fic I’ve ever written, and I put a lot of myself into this piece so I hope u all love it and it isn’t too skdhsksks yk?? MWAH ily © all rights reserved to ctrlhope 2019-2024 ; do not copy, plagiarise, or translate. 

[sun-kissy]

Hi my love!!

I’d LOVE a scarf for Christmas.

Can I do James Potter and “please forget all the times where i complained about you being a hugger.”

Maybe where reader is not really a touchy person most of the time (cuz I’m not either lol).

Thank you! Love you!!!

here’s your scarf, lovely mk!!🧣thank you for the request, love you loads <333

phone | j.p.

— “Please forget all the times where I complained about you being a hugger.”

james potter x reader

summary: there’s a creep, and it’s cold outside. fortunately, james lives nearby

tw: creepy guy, protective james <3, sorry i know i said that most of the sleepover drabbles would be christmas themed but the only christmasy thing about this is that the weather’s cold 😭

“Make sure she gets home safe!” you yell to Mary over the din of the club, steering a very drunk Lily into her arms. She grins and flashes you a thumbs-up as you turn around to leave.

Your tipsy friend’s high-pitched giggles can be heard as you make your way out, your heart jumping on beat to the music. It’s not just loud, it’s booming, and paired with the blinding disco lights, acutely overstimulating.

When Mary had first suggested this place, you definitely had your reservations — more often than not, you spotted drunkards stumbling out with either bruises on their faces or girls on their arms. But you decided to tag along. Admittedly, it had been fun. Now you were more than ready to go home to the warmth of your bed.

You’re about to push the door open when you realise you’ve left your coat back at the table. You swivel back around to find Lily swaying side to side, bent over.

She lets out a bulky groan, and your lips curve into a slight grimace in anticipation. You open your mouth to warn somebody but it’s too late; she hurtles forward, throwing up over everything in a one metre radius — your coat included.

You turn back to the front door and swing it open with a barely concealed sigh, heels clicking against the pavement as you step outside.

Cold wind hits you like a slap in the face. You’re pretty sure that your shudder is audible, rows of teeth clacking against one another as you curl into yourself. 

The mini dress your friends had picked out for you does nothing to help. You tug the ends of it downwards, squeezing your thighs together and wrapping your arms around yourself in a desperate attempt to keep warm.

You glance at the road, frustration starting to nip at you. There seem to be no taxis in sight, demand raging high on a Friday night. Walking home wasn’t an option — it was way too far away and freezing was an understatement for how you felt right now. 

James’ house was nearby, but you had been pulling out all the stops to avoid him for the past few days. Not that you didn’t like him — on the contrary, you really, really liked him. A friend from high school had introduced you to him at a party and you were immediately smitten. He asked you out, and you’d been seeing each other for a couple of weeks. He was everything you could’ve wanted in a man, more than what you’d ever hoped for. You just spent a lot of time worrying you were going to screw it all up — hence never called when he asked you to, made up excuses not to meet when he wanted to. James deserved better.

“Darling!”

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the sudden voice, rough and sultry from behind you. You whip around, instinctively taking a step back as your eyes land on the long-haired man staggering around in front of the club. His face is tilted downwards, staring into his empty liquor bottle almost… sadly.

But then he looks up at you. His eyes are dark with desire, mouth curving into something vile. It scares you. “Come here, darling. Come here.”

“Go away.” You try to sound unafraid. It comes out on a shaky breath, betraying the anxiety clogging up your throat. You take a few more cautious steps backwards, eyes darting between the man in front of you and the path behind you.

Your hand is already reaching for your phone in your pocket as soon as he starts stumbling towards you. Your fingers feel heavy, turned to smudge as you switch it on and desperately click on James’ contact.

“I asked you,” the man growls, “to come here!” He takes bigger, unsteady steps towards you, liquor bottle smashed to the ground without a care in the world.

Your heart feels like it’s being roped out of your throat, mind turned to mush in your head. You press your phone to your ear, turning around and mustering the quickest steps possible in your 6-inch heels. The cold is all-consuming now, tearing at your skin like wild dogs to prey. But all that’s on your mind is getting home safe. 

You’re barely a few rings in when James’ voice cuts through. “Hello? Y/n, is that you?”

“James!”

“Y/n, sweetheart. God, have you been ignoring me? I was so worried, and thought you hated me, and — “

“James.” The panic in your voice must be really palpable, because he shuts up immediately. “Yeah?”

You glance backwards for a split second as you walk ahead, seeing that the man has sped up. His arms are outreached towards you, and he’s spewing dirty lines you’d kill never to hear again. The smirk on his face widens by the second.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” James’ concerned voice comes through again, and you snap your head forwards and exhale shakily.

“You know that club really close to your place, the one with the um… the huge statue of a horse outside? I’m near there. Could you please walk over and fetch me? There’s a creep, and it’s cold, and —“

“Hold on, there’s a creep?” His worry is obvious. You hear the rustling of fabric and the flipping of switches on his end. “Are you safe?”

“Not really,” you croak honestly, sparing another look behind you to find your stalker doubled over, spilling his guts out onto the side of the road. You fasten your pace.

You can almost hear the frown in James’ voice. “Be careful, sweetheart. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

You hang up and pocket your phone. Your nose is running, you can’t feel your fingers where they touch your cheek. You’re numbed.

You force yourself to keep walking, chanting James’ name like a desperate prayer in your mind. Your train of thought is interrupted by the creep once again. You squeeze your eyes shut as his voice hovers by, dangerously close, bracing yourself for what’s to come.

“You stupid girl, you better turn around or else I’ll —“

“You’ll what?”

Your eyes crack open immediately to find James jogging over to you, eyes locked on the figure behind you. It’s like your prayers have been answered. His gaze drifts to you, and in a second he’s got his arm wrapped around your back as he pulls you into his chest. 

“I’m asking you again, jerk. What do you think you’re gonna do to my girl?” You feel yourself melting into him with relief, letting your eyes flutter shut as you absorb the vibrations of his chest with each word he pushes out. His voice is hard, strained. A tone you’d never associate with the sweet boy holding you, but love does silly things to people sometimes. Maybe he loved you.

Your stalker mutters something unintelligible, along with a very loud, “Fuck you!” before staggering away.

James’ attention is on you instantly. He pulls away slightly to grip you by the shoulders, looking you over with a worried frown. “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

You shake your head, teeth chattering too rapidly to give a straight answer. Your shivering doesn’t go unnoticed. He conjures up a jacket from seemingly nowhere, draping it over the back of your shoulders.

You can tell he’s trying to hold back for your sake, one hand rubbing circles into your shoulder while the other brushes strands of hair off your face. You’ve never been the type to want to be touched. But it’s exactly what you need right now, the gentle warmth of a hug that’s been wanting to be given, waiting to be received.

You lean forward and make your intent clear, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face into his chest. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, immediately pulling you in and tightening his hold around you.

“You good, hon?” he says into your hair, face tilting downward to rest on the top of your head.

“Yeah,” you mumble, feeling the tension start to dissipate from your joints. You cling to him like a vice. “Please forget all the times where I complained about you being a hugger. Boy, did I need this.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle and starts to gently draw his hand up and down your spine. “You did? Well, I’m always glad to provide it.”

“Mhm,” you murmur, legs curling around his like you’re trying to hug him with every part of you. He stamps a kiss to the top of your head before slipping his hands under your thighs, hoisting you up till you’re wrapped around his waist. 

It earns a soft grunt from you before you’re relaxing into him, warmth seeping into your skin. He holds you with all the tenderness he would a baby.

“Your dress is lovely, by the way,” he mutters as he readjusts the jacket to cover your exposed ass. “You look absolutely lovely.”

“Thank you,” you mumble with a shy smile, tilting your face to rest it in the crook of his neck. 

He carries you back to his apartment, telling you all the things he’d wanted to say these past couple of days when you weren’t here for him to say it to. You decide that James is too lovely to let anxiety push away. You’ll probably phone him again sometime soon.

san’s christmas sleepover

[cyberm4n]

OK, I NEED SO BAD Adam,Alastor and Husk smut hc's with a hypersexual fem!Reader 😭. Maybe after both finished a round (One of all they had lol), a few seconds pass and she says smiling "can we do it again?" But they have already crossed their own limit.

Sorry for my Bad English 😿

BAHAHA I LOVE THIS IDEA

i had to do a little research on being hypersexual to make sure i was doing this right but if i got anything wrong/inaccurate please let me know!!

cw: smut, reader gets eaten out, reference to rough sex?

alastor —

■ looks im imagining this to be so funny cause alastor is big on rough sex so like moments after fucking you senseless only for you to be like "again? :D" REALLY MESSES WITH HIM

■ like especially cause he feels spent, like he put a lot of effort in there and like??? you're just straight back to normal?? you want more??? how?

■ i think if he's completely spent he'll summon his like shadow self and then it becomes a mental thing

■ cause he's still controlling that but he's not having to do the physical work

■ but otherwise i think he'd probably have a toy for after in the future

■ hear me out but like he's JUST filled you up with his cum and hes immediately pushing a vibrator into you that's on max, making sure you stay all marked up and too stupid to beg for more

■ he'd adjust just fine

adam —

■ this is even more funny to me cause like he's 100% the type to slump over on you after hes cum, still sheathed in you.

■ he seems the type to want multiple rounds so let's say this is like round 3 just finished

■ so when you're like "again please?" literally less than a minute later his eyes snap open

■ like, he knows women typically come back faster than men from this shit but like he's pretty certain he's gonna start shooting blanks if he goes any more

■ there's a beat of silence before he's like "are you fucking serious" and you pout a little, assuming he's making fun of you

■ but like it's adam, this man LOVES sex so the fact you're like so down all the time is great

■ i dont see him being the type to have toys for you (he definitely owns one of those men's masturbaters tho) so he'd find other solutions

■ it's 50/50 he either has you cock warm him until he's ready to go again or he's eating you out like there's no tomorrow

husk —

■ okay he'd be so confused

■ he's a 1 round kind of man but like, he's barely even pulled out and you're like "can we do it again?" with a smile

■ and he's shocked to hear you mean like, right now

■ he'd adjust fine to it though

■ again, don't think he'd have toys but he's cool to go down on you

■ his favorite is rubbing your clit though, just his fingers

■ maybe he'd eventually get a little vibrator or something for you

■ just wanting to make sure you're happy <3

■ i think husk would be the only one to really ask questions abt it, yknow kinda figure out your preferences and stuff

■ he knows he doesn't work the same so he wants to make sure he's treating you well

■ but if you let him eat you out it's like a perfect wind down activity he definitely gets sucked into

■ eyes closed, going to town in making you moan and quiver. like he'd get soo pussy drunk

■ and he's ripping orgasms out of you with no problem, you'll probably have to tell him to stop.

long story short, all 3 absolutely love the fact you're hypersexual and they embrace it :)

[zepskies]

Hey could I please request headcanons for how Dean would react to reader texting him "she's busy" as a joke, yk kind of like

Dean: Hey baby

Reader: She's busy

I really hope this makes sense and isn't so confusing 😭😭

Ooh I think I know what you mean. 😏

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader Word Count: 850

Imagine: Texting Dean when he's on a hunt.

Once again, Dean sighed while he waited on his brother.

They were stopped at a 7-Eleven gas station after a hunt, but Dean had long ago filled up Baby's tank. Sam was inside, grabbing a few snacks for the road tomorrow. Supposedly.

Dean fished out his phone from his pocket and texted him.

Hey, Driving Miss Daisy. You good in there?

A couple of minutes later, Sam responded.

Yeah, just getting a few things.

Dean rolled his eyes. Right.

For half an hour? What, you taking a shit or something?

Sam's response was testy, just as Dean predicted.

Dean, give me a minute. Jesus.

Dean sighed, with a roll of his eyes. He scrolled back into his texts and found your name. He was a couple of states over from Lebanon, but still within the same timezone. You should still be awake back at the bunker.

He decided he wanted to hear your voice, let you know that he and Sam were going to catch one more night of rest here at the motel before they made the long drive back home.

But...you didn't answer when he called.

Weird. You were typically a night owl, either watching something or plugging away at your laptop. He tried texting you instead.

Hey, baby. You up?

He eventually saw the three gray dots pop up. You were typing...

She's busy.

Dean frowned. What the hell?

Had you invited someone over? Like Jody or Donna?

But neither of them would've replied like that...so he texted back.

Stop messing around.

Dean tried calling you again, but it went directly to voicemail this time. In came another text from "you."

She'll call you back, dude.

Dean's jaw ticked with annoyance. And despite himself, unease began to creep in and churn his stomach.

What the fuck is this?

She's in the shower. I'll tell her to call you back, no worries.

All right. WHO is this?

Ooh, are you the boyfriend? Yikes lol.

A deep, slow breath made it through Dean's nose. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, reminded himself that he did, in fact, love you.

Then he responded.

Babe, if you don't call me in the next 30 seconds, there's gonna be hell to pay when I get home.

Dean checked his watch and actually counted. About ten seconds passed before his phone rang with an incoming call...from you. He answered.

"Promise?" came your teasing voice. When it ended on a giggle, Dean rolled his eyes and rested his head back on the seat. He blew out a frustrated breath.

"Oh, trust and believe. You're gonna fuckin' get it this time," he said, though his lips curved on a reluctant smirk. You full on laughed at him then.

"You make it too easy," you replied.

He knew this. It wasn't the first time you'd teased him, and he knew it wouldn't be the last.

Still, he couldn't help being a bit irritated this time.

"You know, how would you like it if I did that to you?" he asked. "Wouldn't be so fucking funny then, would it?"

"...Okay. You're right. I'm sorry, baby," came your more contrite voice. But he could still hear your smile. Could imagine the way you might soothe a hand along his arm, if you were here.

"How about I make it up to you?" you offered.

That worked a slow smirk onto his face. "Yeah? What did you have in mind?"

For the next few minutes, you purred into his ear about all the things you'd been thinking of while he was gone. Daydreaming about the talents of his hands, lips, and tongue.

In particular, you reminded him about a certain birthday wish that he still hadn't claimed from a couple weeks ago, when he and Sam got wind of this hunt.

Two weeks really was too damn long, in your opinion. (He agreed with you.)

Now with a half-straining bulge in his jeans, Dean licked his lips and tightened his hand on the leather wheel of the car.

"All right. Sounds like a plan to me, sweetheart," he said, deceptively breezy. As if you'd just told him you planned to make tacos for dinner.

"When are you getting home?" you asked.

He heard the tone of your voice, like black silk. It sent a tendril of heat down his spine, raising the hairs on his forearms.

"Tonight," Dean said. Deeper, a note of gravel in his words. "I'll see you tonight."

"Good." Once again, he heard the smile in your voice. "I love you."

He sighed, and raised a hand to card through his hair.

"Love you too...even though you play too fucking much," he muttered the latter bit.

Your laughter once again reached his ears, reluctantly making him smile.

He hung up with you just before Sam finally opened the passenger seat door and climbed in with two hefty grocery bags. Did he do a whole damn shopping spree in there?

...Whatever. Dean shook his head and started the car.

"Change of plan," he said. "We're heading home."

"What? Thought we were gonna catch a few hours of sleep. It's a long drive, Dean," Sam said, earning his brother's gaze.

"Yeah, well, you'll live," Dean snarked. A more devious grin spread across his face. "I've got a date."

And she's about to get punished.

The Impala's tires screeched as Dean pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

AN: Ha! This one was fun. 😘 Thanks for the prompt!

Dean Winchester Imagines

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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[slashbitch2]

The Proposal AU! (part three)

Summary: when your boss Agatha faces the threat of deportation, she convinces you to marry her in return for a promotion- and things only get more complicated with a trip to Salem, an eccentric tarot-card-reading aunt, and a homophobic mother to convince.

Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

TW: deportation (which I admit I know very little about I'm not American lol) suggestive themes, sort of arranged marriage

W.C: roughly 1.4k words

PARTS: ONE, TWO

As soon as you left Hayward’s office, Agatha started furiously typing on her phone, the crease between her brows growing deeper with each step out the building. You simply followed; uncertain of what else you were meant to be doing right now. Packing, you supposed. But your first priority was to get some information out of the woman, who was currently on a mission to remove herself from the building, striding at least three steps ahead of you at all times.

It wasn’t until you were both sitting in the taxi that you finally had the chance to speak. “So…” You started, paused, then realised she wasn’t going to put her phone down anytime soon. You sighed. “We’re going to Salem?”

“Unfortunately,” Agatha murmured. “If I can get in contact with my mother, that is.” She spat, resuming her frantic typing.

You scowled, leant closer to peak at the phone screen and tried desperately to ignore the way her perfume pleasantly filled your nostrils. Something about being in close proximity with Agatha was mesmerising. It always had been, but it seemed this latest situation was worsening your complex feelings towards her. If someone asked you to label it, you would say admiration, but deep down you knew it was something greater than that. You simply refused to acknowledge it.

“So, you weren’t originally going to visit?”

Despite having to be involved in Agatha’s life, you had never heard her talk about her family. Not once. It didn’t surprise you. It was near impossible to picture the woman in any scenario other than sitting behind a desk, winding up one of your coworkers for their incompetence, or shmoozing a business deal. Although you imagined her prickly personality had to come from somewhere, and shuddered to think what her mother might be like.

“No.” Agatha scoffed. “I try my best to stay as far away from family gatherings as possible.”

“I’m guessing you’re not close…?” You questioned, slow and cautious.

“God no.” She shook her head, strands of hair coming loose from the vehement movement. “I want nothing to do with my mother and her coven of freaks.”

You tutted, suppressing a smirk at her colourful choice of language. But instead of pursuing the topic further, you turned to look at the scenery flying past the window. “Shouldn’t have mentioned it to Hayward then…”

“Well, with your parents ever so conveniently out of the country, it did appear suspicious that we wouldn’t tell a single soul.”

“Could’ve eloped.” You murmured.

“Sorry, darling.”  Agatha droned; her tone petulant. “Next time I’ll set us up a nice horse-drawn carriage down to the registry office.”

You took in a deep breath, ignoring the surge of irritation at her smarminess, something you recognised you would have to learn to cope with for the next painful while. You had no idea how long this whole process would take, and realised with a sudden stab of guilt that you would have to eventually inform your parents of this decision.

If you explained it was to keep your boss’ position at the company, rather than any dumb, spontaneous act of love, they would surely understand, right?   

“Agatha?” You called, met by a hum of acknowledgement. “Are you telling your family the real reason for this marriage, or are we going to have to keep faking it?”

“Oh, my mother’s a raging homophobe.” Agatha chuckled bitterly, refusing to meet your eyes. “If she doesn’t immediately kick you out, I’m going to enjoy riling her up.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

At last, Agatha’s focus was diverted from her phone as she looked briefly over to you, mildly intrigued by your perseverance. “I was just going to see how it went when we get there.” She replied, shrugging.

“Great…”

“And until then, don’t mention this to a single soul.” Agatha jabbed an accusatory finger in your direction. “We continue as normal for the next day and a half, with me singlehandedly driving this company to success, and you following me about all dazed and heart-eyed.”

“What!” You protested. “I do not follow you about, nor do I have heart eyes!”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” She smirked, radiating an irritating charm that had you forgetting how to breathe for a second. You wrung your hands about anxiously in your lap, willing yourself to relax.

“Our flight leaves at 6pm on Friday, so we’ll have to go straight from work,” Agatha said, changing the subject. “You can hide your luggage in my office, and we’ll have my driver pick us up so that saves that hassle…”

She trailed off suddenly, and despite your insistence on not getting too caught up in the intricacies of your boss’ behaviour, you peaked over at her. Just like earlier in the immigration office, she was chewing at her lip, this time with a faraway expression. You frowned, sensing she was nervous about something. It set you slightly on edge to see her this way. Agatha was never nervous. Big meetings didn’t faze her, important deadlines never stressed her out and public speaking was like a second nature to her. Where once this bravery had been sickeningly envious, its disappearance now gave you concern.

Agatha was a mystery to you, one you were reluctant to address, yet desperate to understand.

---

Agatha flopped down onto her desk chair with a huff, allowing her head to fall backwards and feeling her neck crack with the movement. The tension that racked her body seemed to grudgingly resist lessening, and she considered whether she ought to just take the remainder of the day off. But that would be suspicious...

She loathed the idea that her every decision was being monitored but dreaded to imagine the other option: moving back home, back in her mother’s grasp. She hadn’t seen the woman in over ten years, and to think now that she would spend the weekend in her company… Agatha groaned, letting her face crash forward into her hands. She squeezed her eyes shut, and in the darkness saw only her mother, pictured how she would be reacting to the news that Agatha would be joining them for part of the trip.

As per usual, her attempt to reach out to her mother had been met by silence. She was starting to suspect her number was blocked, and thus Agatha had instead chosen to inform Lilia Calderu about this impromptu reunion. The woman was cooky, but kind. She had always been Agatha’s one ally within the family, and since her emancipation, was the only one who had bothered to stay in contact.

As if abruptly summoned from her thoughts, Agatha’s phone buzzed across the table, likely holding more information from Lilia. With a sigh, she reached forward to raise the lit screen into her eye line, yet was surprised to be met by another’s name

[4:10pm] Jennifer Kale: you’re coming to Salem????

Agatha chuckled, though not out of humour. Jen was one of the many people her mother seemed to just acquire. It was a terrible feature of Evanore Harkness: that the crazy gravitated towards her, became involved in their family and never left.

The word ‘family’ didn’t quite sit right with Agatha. It was more like a cult.

[4:11pm] Agatha Harkness: I am. I take it you’re still hanging about?

[4:12pm] Jennifer Kale: well when you abandoned ship someone had to replace you.

Agatha scoffed, ignoring the wave of irritation at Jen’s phrasing. She was irreplaceable. Though the idea that her own mother should even try to swap one daughter out for another didn’t exactly come as a surprise. Nonetheless, it still hurt. Agatha crossed her arms over her chest, deciding to pursue the conversation no further.

[4:15pm] Jennifer Kale: Lilia mentioned you were bringing a plus-one. who is she?

At this, Agatha’s loathing softened ever so slightly. Jen was one of the few that had supported her coming out, had even attempted to defend her from Evanora’s outrage. She picked the phone back up, feeling a smile grace her lips as she started to type.

[4:15pm] Agatha Harkness: someone I’ve been seeing for a while. She’s nice. You’ll like her.

The message was a simple lie, but it did the job.

Still, reading it back Agatha found she had a lot more to say about you…

NEXT PART