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ctrlhope · 2 months ago

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Red Carnations (m)

synopsis: District 11-- your home. Your fields to run through. Your flowers. Your everything before your name was called on that fateful day. Before you were forced into the arena. Before you fought to save your life. Before you knew you were never going to see it again. Because even a victor is never truly free, are they? Even victors are forced to fall to the will of the capitol. And you-- you especially have no choice in the matter. Not when he has fallen for you. When you've become his petal in a much-too grey world. When you're already his everything. As long as you're with him, you're still in the games, aren't you?

p.jimin x f.reader (ft. implied m.yoongi x reader)

⚘ ࣪ ˖ ┊: wc: 9.5k

⚘ ࣪ ˖ ┊: genre: hunger games au, yandere, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort,

⚘ ࣪ ˖ ┊: content: capitol!jimin, victor!reader, yandere!jimin, obsession, kidnapping, toxic relationship, forced relationship, forced affection, manipulation, implied isolation, kisses mwah, reader has trauma, unreliable narrators, hunger games typical violence (though it's only at the beginning, fic begins after reader has won), jimin swears yall are soulmates frfr, future smut

⚘ ࣪ ˖ ┊: notes: HIII!!! surprise!!! this is my love letter to the hunger games lol <33 requests are coming soon I prommie!!! :33 they are in my drafts as we speak!! planning on this becoming a series too, so stay tuned if you guys are interested!!

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

The world is spinning– everything is shaking. Air is passing through your lungs, the sound panting through your teeth, yet you’re not entirely sure anything is happening at all. Not cognizant of anything around you, of yourself as you struggle. As you fight. As you move to grasp a single straw from the man pinning you to the ground, baring his teeth in your face.

You remember his hand, the way it reaches down almost as if in slow motion. Coming closer. Ready to grab your forehead. Ready to raise it and bash it into the ground below. Over and over again until you’re no more. Until the crops drop and weep to a shade of grey. To finally kill you. To put you out of this misery.

Allow you to leave painfully, yet with all the grace a man starved from another district could allow. Gracefully. Right.

You knew you fought your hardest until the end. Really, you do.

You hope your parents will be proud of you when you arrive home in those little metal boxes filled with ash. Hope they know how hard you fought to come back to them– to be with them once again. Hopefully your big sister will remember all the ways you tried to fight flowers in her hair when you were meant to be working. Hope your mom and dad remember the way you made sure to dye all your white clothes bright with colours of nature.

Maybe if you were more of a singer you’d comfort yourself with a tune, but you don’t know many songs. Your brother was always more creative. He made sure you knew it. You– you were just a girl of the buds. Nothing more, nothing less. Only glad to be the last child your family had of reaping age. At least they wouldn’t incur anymore loss, would they?

They’ve already watched you go mad. Nothing can be worse than watching their own daughter do what she needs to survive. Only a pity it had to be the last drawing before she was safe, too.

No, the fate before you is one that had been told too many times before. You were never a victor, you knew that. You were meant to be another pitying girl swept away by the slaughter. And that’s okay. You’re okay.

So, the question remains. How did that knife end up in his neck?

Did you do it? You don’t remember doing it. You don’t remember the movement your arm had to have made, or the way it must’ve felt to sink the knife in. You don’t remember much of anything to be honest but oh– oh, he’s fallen off of you. You can move. You can move!!

The shock remains present within you, though. You barely haggard a quick shuffle back, a hand clutching the skin where your heart lies. Your eyes are jittering, frantic. Looking. Trying to see, to make sense of what is happening around you.

Is anyone else coming? Wait– no, that wouldn’t make sense. No, it wouldn’t. You’re the last two alive. Alive? Are you? Wait, hold on. What is happening. What is happening. What is happening. You were going to die– he was going to kill you. But you moved, or maybe, you guess, he let up? But did you, did you really just stab him? Did you just–

There’s blood on your hand.

Bang.

That's the sound. That’s the sound!

You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive.

You won.

Trumpets are playing, maybe the capitol anthem. You can’t seem to hear it, not really at least.

No, all you hear is your lungs finally filling with air for the first time in a long time. For the first time since your name was called at the reaping. For the first time since you turned 12.

The next thing you hear is the breeze. Maybe the whole arena is taking a breath since these games started, too.

You look around, try to take in your surroundings. Feel the way the world inhales and exhales along with you. Make yourself finally feel one again after the days that all seem to morph together.

Huh.

Strange shapes crest over the horizon, the ground underneath your scraped limbs feels foreign. The scents that travel are a mystery and the skyline is nothing you’ve ever seen before. You don’t recognise anything. Almost as if you haven’t been here the last 6 days. As if nothing is real.

But it is. You know it is. The pain shooting through every inch of your being tells you as much– tells you everything of the stories you can’t seem to remember. Right along with the loudspeakers, the voice of Octavia Flickerman reigning supreme.

“Everyone, please give a warm welcome to the winner of the One-Hundred Eleventh Hunger Games! (Y/n) (L/n) of District 11!”

You won!! Oh!!! You won!!!!

Jimin practically squeals, jumps from his seat as he watches the screen. His arms flying into the air, brain spinning as adrenaline from the entire event courses through him. Finally settles into a gentle lull as he knows for certain that you’re alive.

He knew you would!! Of course he did! He would never want you to think otherwise, no. He knew from the second he saw your face projected into his apartment on reaping day that you would. Was sure of it when he sat front and centre at the parade, waving to you and only you.

Knew for certain (as if he wasn’t before, duh!) during the interviews when he first heard you speak. The cadence of your voice as you spoke into the microphone– your quipped yet nervous replies as the latest Flickerman worked you into a more relaxed state.

Your shy smiles, the flattery of your dress. Just!! Everything!!

Oh– how enchanting you were!! He knew the rest of the capitol thought so, too. He made sure of it. He knew to make you the star because of course you would be coming back alive.

He knew you would win.

You would be a fool not to with all the gifts he sent you, silly!! They may have cost anyone else a small fortune, but it was nothing for him, so you shouldn’t worry! He’d be sure to remind you of that the next time you meet. He knows you’re kind. He knows you’d feel some sort of guilt.

Oh!! But that doesn’t matter! He much rather thinks about how cute you were on your first day in the arena. How confused and bewildered you looked when his gifts started floating down from the sky. You ran from the center right away, of course you would, because you’re just so smart! But that meant you had nothing.

He didn’t want you to have nothing!!

Blah blah blah, your mentor wanted to wait a bit. Save any money pooled your way. But with Jimin funding everything, why did that even matter?

Soon, you were caked in more weapons than you knew what to do with. It was just too. Fucking. Cute.

You should only be covered in things from him from now on. He was sure of it when you stood there in the arena, trying to figure out how to tote around a spear, bow, sword, knife, club, and a pack full of food, and he’s even more sure of it now. You used his knife to win the games.

His gift he watched you take care of, cherish over the last 6 days.

It’s almost like he was right in there with you! Supporting you, helping you! He couldn’t even sleep the last days, knowing you were in there, scared.

My, he understands now why the skies saved you for him. You two truly are a match made for everyone to bear witness to you.

And now!! Now that you won he knows your fates were set out for in the stars.

He’s just so proud!! So– so proud of you!!

Soon!! Soon he can be with you! He promises, okay?

He knows Namjoon and Taehyung– the former more than the latter, will make him wait a bit before he actually can have you. There are duties you have to attend to, after all! Responsibilities! And he knows you wouldn’t want to neglect those. You’re very accountable like that, he knows it.

But that’s okay! He can be patient. He’s waited his whole life for you– 23 years to be exact! He can wait a little more. Wait for the right moment.

He knows you’ll be hurting from having to wait, too. It’s been so long since you last spoke! You really should have kept up better with your letters, you know!! You’re lucky he even remembered your name!!

He’ll have to scold you for that later– his cheeks puffed out in that way he just knows you’ll find adorable~

Ah!! But he’ll get to see you at the capitol parties!! Won’t that be fun? He’s sure of it! You two will get to dance and fall in love all over again. Taehyung will swoon and wonder when it’ll be his chance at love while Namjoon– well, Namjoon will probably be doting after his latest project or networking with politicians. But he’ll definitely want to hear all about everything from Jimin later!

Oh, he knows you’ll just look so sweet then.

Uhg. But now he just has to wait.

Disgusting it is, being without you for even a second longer.

Disgusting it is, that the eyes of the rest of the world get to bear witness to your beauty, as well.

Fucking peasants.

Namjoon should just let him have you. This whole thing is just ridiculous. Why should he have to wait when you’re soulmates? Why should you be kept from him? All of it is moronic and Namjoon wouldn’t understand the meaning of such love if it slapped him across the face.

Annoying.

Whatever.

…

Oh!! He can rewatch your pre-games interviews again!! Or your reaping– ooo.. He does love watching your reaping.

Or maybe!! Maybe the chariot ride when you wave at him– because he’s sure for a moment then you two locked eyes. And he knows you felt the spark then, too.

Or maybe he should rewatch his favourite scenes from the last 6 days, no matter how fresh in his mind they are. Watch as you become the perfect victor.

Or maybe he should go to the salon again! Get his pink hair fluffed up to perfection! Maybe the shops to get more new clothes for you! Oh, you probably wouldn’t know the renaissance is back in fashion, would you? Hmm, do you know what the renaissance is? What do they teach you in district schools?

Well!! It doesn’t matter! He can ask you soon, and he’s willing to teach you anything, regardless!!

Hmm hmm hmm…

Oh! Oh! Oh! Or maybe he should go around and clean his home again– make sure the apartment is just perfect for you! He knows you’ll love it already, but you know, it never hurts to do a little extra for the one you love!

Oh! He’s so excited to have you home! So, so excited! He just can’t wait! He can’t!

Solid memories, you realise, are hard to come by these days. There are things you think you know, of course. But nothing you can really wire down. Firm up into reality that isn’t mistied by some hazy expanse in the distance.

You remember the capitol– there were parties in your honor, an exit interview. You think you can see yourself rewatching a few clips of the games but… to be honest, it all feels as if you’re looking back in third person. The ghost of yourself watching a shell without a face. Maybe reacting, maybe sitting there in silence. You’re not really sure.

Though, you know all of it happened regardless of what your brain may distance from you. You know it did. But again, memories are… tricky. To say the least.

The next solid one you have after your games, you’re still at the capitol. Still at the world filled with glimmer and gleam. You remember sitting in the shower, water pounding against your skin as the world all to suddenly feels whole again. For the first time in weeks it feels as if you’re wearing your own skin, seeing things through your own eyes.

You remember your eyes casting down upon your hands. Droplets congregate on your palms as you have your first conscious thought since the night those games ended. Since the world became a mist no one would be able to see through.

You’re going home.

The realization is awe-inspiring. Stuttering, really. You know, then, that soon– in just a few days– you’ll be returning to District 11. You’ll be with your flowers and your bees. You’ll be able to walk through the tall grasses that fill your heart. Be able to see the sunset against the horizon and pretend as if you’re a bird dancing among those clouds.

You’ll be able to see your family again. To feel their hugs and listen to their stories. You’ll be their daughter again. Not a box of ash on the mantle, not a tale to avoid especially on the most harrowing nights. You’ll be free from the games. Your family will be free from the games.

You’ll see him.

You’ll see Yoongi.

He gave you a book on the old language of flowers— one of the last few standing after the history of before was erased from the public's eye. The original meaning of petals bound in worn leather, pages dried with colours of pressed flowers in their wake. In their entire glory for only you and him to see. To have together. Antiquities of a time you’ve never known, would never know save for the stories that were hushed in whispers of your attic walls between your voices alone.

The new language of flowers was something you didn’t like as much, not after learning the true words they spoke. Highly published novels depicting a different tale then the ones they murmured to you out in the fields. A language that was a lot more angry, spiteful. Filled with resentment of a darker time that bled into even the most beautiful, innocent things.

The book he gave you now held more meaning than ever before. While you don’t know much, you know that for certain.

You’ll have that book in your hands again soon. Him in your grasp again— soon.

Tears are in your eyes faster than you can blink them away. Sobs of a simple babe leaving your mouth for no one in the capitol to see. Just for yourself. Just for you, in your shower. Pathetic hands moving to try and wipe them away, yet there really is no hope. Tears will continue to flow, just as the sun will rise.

You needed this more than you could ever know. More than anyone would ever know.

Because then the thought is in your head again– about what you had to do to live. To survive. And for some strange reason, when you pull your hands away from your eyes, they look like they’re covered in red again. That boy in the arenas’ red. Your allies’ red. Strangers you didn’t know in the slightest’ red. The pasts’ red.

Tears continue to fall, but for a different reason now.

You’re out of your body again, and you think you might just stay there for a while. Until all of it just stops.

Fuck whatever the hell Namjoon says, actually. Jimin doesn’t give a shit anymore. Jimin doesn’t care about waiting for the “right time” or when you’re more “susceptible” (as if you even need to be!). You need to come home now. You have to.

He can’t just– he can’t just watch you destroy yourself like this in isolation! Especially when you have a warm, loving home to come home to. When he can support you.

Fuck that. He can’t watch this any longer.

This is all his fault, for going out earlier that day. Arriving home later than normal– missing your dinner together entirely. Oh, you’re probably so lonely without knowing he’s watching through the security cameras. Oh-so lonely.

That’s why you’re crying in the bathroom, that’s why you’re hurting inside. Because you’re so alone. Because you have no one when you need him.

You haven’t cried this entire time! There’s no other explanation as to why you’d be breaking down now! On the one day he didn’t have time to spend watching the cameras every waking second!

He always wakes up with you, falls asleep with you. Eats with you, showers with you. Does everything with you! Fuck! How could he be so stupid! How could he be so neglectful! He’s an awful boyfriend! Awful! Awful! Awful!

He can’t just watch you like this anymore. He doesn’t care if you’re more distressed, distraught– whatever. He’ll deal with that then. But you’re crying and it hurts him just as harshly as it does you.

He doesn’t even realise the tears that well in his own eyes. The stinging pain of his nails digging into his palm.

Fuck Namjoon. This is his fault! It is! He’s the one that kept you from him! He’s the one that’s been insisting on your isolation until the “right time”-- whatever the hell that is!

This is all his fault!

You’re so scared. So lonely. So heartbroken.

He’s going to save you. To help you. To bring you home.

Namjoon and Taehyung– they’ll understand, right..? He’s sure they will. They would do the same thing for their soulmates. He knows they would. Taehyung would do it in a second for his fletchling that got away! He could never be mad at Jimin! Never ever!

And Namjoon, Jimin knows that he was just doing what he thought was best– trying to help. But Jimin knows best when it comes to you.

He knows it's time for you to come home, even if it is a little more difficult. He can take it, he knows he can.

Jimin sniffles, wiping the underside of his nose as he mops up his lousy expression. Reminding himself that all of this is okay– at least it will be soon. When you’re with him. When you’re in his arms. Safe from the rest of the world.

Safe because of him.

The scent of sweet linen fills your nostrils to the very brim. Gentle fabrics twist in your palms, head leavered to the side, shoving your face even deeper into the too-soft sheets.

It smells almost like home. Like the fresh flowers you’d pick every morning to put on the table– the lilac, sweet pea, and babies breath mixture you made most often for the neighbours.

Something… Something is off. Something… artificial. But you choose to ignore that fact for the simple instance of staying sane. For the ability to lull your mind into a simpler place– a simpler time. A place before the games. A place so wonderful you don’t even allow yourself to dream of it anymore. Home.

Maybe that was your first mistake, thinking you might return to that place for even a moment.

Maybe it was a lot of things. It could have been imagining you just missed the entire train ride home– that you didn’t fall asleep in your stupid capitol apartment last night. Maybe it was thinking your mom’s bed could even afford such soft cottons to warm the lonely nights. Maybe it was letting your guard down for even a second, missing the footsteps that travel through the door.

Maybe it was missing a whole slew of other signs.

You’re too tired to know. Too tired to care.

Well, that is until a sing-song pitch feels like it breaks the sound barrier. Feels like it shatters your disillusioned peaceful world into a disarray of shards you can’t glue back together. Sends you tumbling from the bed, startling you. Making you remember exactly how you felt in those games all over again.

“Petal~ Are you awake yet, my love? Oh my–” He seems just as shaken as you as he watches you bolt from the bed. Startling back a few steps as you roll to the floor assuming a crouched, almost predatory position. Your hair messy, lips puffy from sleep. Eyes wide, almost unnerving as you try to take him in.

“Ah~” He resumes his original state, the one he had before you spooked him. One more relaxed– more carefree than you would ever be able to hold. A tray of food in his grip, filled to the brim with foods that used to be your favourites.

Food has tasted dull for awhile now.

“My, I must’ve scared you. I’m sorry, little petal.” He hums quietly, ignoring your flighty state instead focusing his path to the end of the bed– a bed you don’t recognise in the slightest. You’re not in any home that you’ve ever known. “I know, it must be pretty startling, hmm? I wanted to wake up in bed with you, but I didn’t think that would be the best idea.”

He lends a giggle to himself, though you can’t understand the humour in his words. Not when you’re reeling. Eyes darting around, taking in the scenery around you. The grandiose bedroom piled high with the most comfort the capitol can offer. A large bed in the center of the room– the bed you were just in. A large window taking space of the entire wall, giving view of the city down below.

How did you get here? What is going on? Who the actual fuck is this guy? How does he know you?

Well, the last question is easy enough to answer. How does anyone know you? The games of course. Your new victor status lends the title of celebrity.

You miss the days you were no one now more than ever. You need to get out.

Your eyes dart between his figure, now perched on the end of the bed next to the tray of food and the door. Could you make it past him? Beat him in a race? Sure, he looks taller than you. But from your position on the floor– practically in a runners start already, you’re sure you could beat anyone in the capitol who’s never had to work a day in their life.

What would you do after you make it out that door? You’re not sure. But you need to put more distance between yourself and this– this psychopath.

“I wouldn’t recommend that if I were you, love.” His voice is light, airy. Your mother would say he sounds like a songbird, however, you know that isn’t true. Only the capitol-created mutts would observe you as he is now. Close, pointnet. “The doorway has a sensor. I go through it, I’m fine. You— bzzt!!”

He grabs his collar, shaking a little to give off the appearance of being electrocuted, giving a light laugh at the end to show humour. What part of this is meant to be fucking funny?! You– you!! He kidnapped you!! What part of that is fucking funny!!

You feel heat in your face, air exhaling a notch faster than before as anger rises higher in your being. Who the fuck does he think he is?! You would be a fool not to go for it anyway. An idiot to just trust this man's words without a second thought.

“Not enough to kill you but–” You bolt for the doorway, running as fast and as hard as you can. Though, it doesn’t last long. The man did not lie, and you are frozen in place the second an inch of your frame has made it through the passage. A current shooting through your being, freezing you in place. Causing you to crumple to the floor without even a second's notice.

The pain is burning, though not as strong as you expected such a force to be. You don’t understand capitol technology, and you don’t want to. You don’t want to know how it could hurt so bad yet not hurt at all at the same time. How it could completely immobilise you yet feel as though it didn’t do any real damage.

A simple shock to your system, as he presumed this whole thing would be.

He tuts out a soft sigh as he watches you fall, standing from his place on the bed and allowing his legs to carry him to your form. “I told you petal, I wouldn’t recommend trying. It’s okay though– I expected this.”

He hums, easily scooping your body into his arms. And as much as you want to run, to push him away, to strangle him– you can’t move a muscle. Limp in his arms, useless to him moving you into bed, tucking you back under the sheets. All save for your face, and maybe your voice. Though, you haven’t tried to use that yet.

“Oh– don’t look at me like that!” He giggles, placing your body upright in bed. Back against the headboard, blankets pulled to your hips. You think you hate the smell of them now more than anything else. “You’ll be able to move again soon, I promise. 10-15 minutes max? I’m not sure the details– Joon set it up for me. I didn’t want to!”

He looks at you seriously now, almost a complete change in his demeanour. His hands moving to clench your unmoving ones, his eyes staring straight into your own still set in a glare. “I knew you would love me right away, petal. I promise. I didn’t think you would run. But Joon said it would be better to be safe than sorry, you know? And I didn’t want you to get hurt with all the shock this change would be! You understand, right?”

You don’t know what the fuck a Joon is or the bullshit the man in front of you is spewing. You don’t even know why he’s spitting it!! You don’t even know him!! You’ve never seen him before in your life!! A thousand words well up in your throat at once, yet you’re not sure which ones want to leave first. Hatred, as well as that puppy-dog look you already have come to despise forces your hand. You want him off of you– away from you. To give you a moment to think and to figure out all of his nonsense!!

“Fuck you.” Is all you can manage between your teeth, though you want to will so much more. Want to let loose every stupid, horrible thing you’ve thought since you first arrived in the capitol. The words you wanted to say during all of your interviews– the words that wouldn’t gain you sponsors or support.

Maybe you should have said them back then, maybe then you wouldn’t be in this position now.

Oh, you hate that he only smiles at your words. Moves, instead, to grab the tray of food abandoned at the edge of the bed. “They’ll be plenty of time for that later, petal.”

You know it’s meant to be a tease– the way he says it puts no real meaning behind his words. But their simple utterance leaves you wanting to spasm. To will your body to move– to make him not threaten you like that again. To yell, to scream, to throw fists his way. To throw him out that giant window. The one that taunts you of your freedom.

“No! No–! There won’t be!” You almost shout, attempting to force your body to move. To twist any part of it. To gain back any level of control. Slap that giggle that spills from his lips. “Who the– Who the fuck are you?!”

Your voice is practically a growl, but he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. In fact he's– he’s jovial? His shoulders shake with amusement while his eyes crest with joy. And you, you hate every second of it.

“Ah~ There’s the petal I know!” He hums, cutting away at the pancakes below. Plucking a few pieces onto a fork, bringing it closer to your lips, “Though, if I’m being honest, I’m a little hurt you don’t remember me, my love! We’ve had so much fun together!!”

His expression softens now, almost appearing wounded. Like you had stabbed him somewhere you couldn’t even begin to explain. It only enrages you further, to be honest. Though, nothing to do about that now. You’ve already boiled over.

“What the fuck are you talking about?! I don’t know you!! We’ve never–” He takes that moment to shove the fluffy bread between your lips, knowing otherwise he would not have the chance. He takes his other hand, placing it on your lower jaw before you have the chance to spit it out. You hate how he seems to know your actions before you know them yourself. You hate everything about him.

“You need to eat.” His tone is harsh again. It switches so easily– everything about him does, honestly. It confuses you, but there isn’t much time to spend on that thought at the moment, is there? Not with a psycho in the room. Not with everything happening.

You still don’t follow his direction. Instead just hold it between your lips, not chewing. It gives you some sense of control you otherwise lacked in every other way. Gives you an ounce of strength.

“Chew. Or else you’ll be on a liquid diet. Neither of us want that.” The way he looks at you now sends a chill down your spine. Eyes half lidded, almost in a glare. Jaw set harshly in place, puffy lips pulled in slightly.

You feel like you’re in the arena again.

Maybe you never left.

“Eat. And I’ll answer your questions.” Begrudgingly, you oblige. Though it doesn’t come without some force, humiliation burns through as you actually listen to what he tells you. As you follow his command.

You want to die, maybe.

Or that could just be the shame that runs through your veins.

You’ve never been a strong person, you don’t think. And the thought feels even more apparent now. Your ally in the games– she would’ve never done what he said. You know that. She was strong. She always listened to her own conscience above all else. She would’ve never given in over a threat and a promise, while you, at least on the inside, feel as if that’s all it ever takes.

A threat and a promise.

You hate it. Even more so when his personality does a complete 180 once again. When he starts praising you. When he hops up next to you on the bed and nestles you into his side. Especially when he plants a kiss on the top of your head, telling you how good you are. How he just knew you wanted to please him and that there's no reason to pretend.

“See, baby? I just knew you could do it. I knew our little rough patch wouldn’t last long, would it? See, you’re already so good for me. Just the perfect little thing like I knew you would be, yeah? Wow~” His lips against your head feel like the first soft thing you’ve felt in the last month. You hate it. “What a perfect little Victor for me baby, you know that? C’mon! Let's eat up lots! I hate how much weight you’ve been losing since you got here from the districts. It’s so sad.”

You want to sob, actually. Burning humiliation feels unbridled in your core. You hate that you can’t push him away. That you can’t get away. Why does such a simple action of chewing food feel like so much more? Why does everything feel like so much more?

You want to go home. You want to be among your flowers and your best friend.

The fork is in front of your mouth again.

This time, you take it without a fight. Already knowing it will be going in your mouth, regardless. Especially in this new, feeble position. His arm around your shoulder, your legs soon tugged onto his lap the same.

“Who are you.” You ask again, hatred in your tone. Though he ignores it completely, instead favouring to focus on the way you took his offering without much physical fight. He could tell the mental one was burdensome, though there will be time to deal with that later.

He smiles at you, though you choose to focus on a spot through the window in the far distance. Hoping against all hope it is the glimmer of the sun rather than a hologram pasted on the glass.

“Jimin. My name is Jimin. Remember it this time, okay petal?” He says softly, as though it was just for you to hear.

You wish it wasn’t.

You wish it was at some sort of public hanging for the world to hear for kidnapping the Capitol’s much favoured victor. You wish he was being hung while you were in the arms of your best friend instead, far away from the entire mess. Far away from everything.

Why hasn’t your mind locked you away again? Made you incapacitated– a drop among the flowing river? Why did it have to make you so aware, now, when it was all you had ever hoped for before? Why couldn’t it lock away these memories like it did for those in the games?

The answer is obvious.

You’re still in them. Maybe not physically, but mentally, now more than ever, you’re in those games. Except now, the only enemy is one and if you make it out, there would be no trumpets signalling your victory.

There is no victory in these games, is there?

“Hmm, you’ve had a hard morning, haven’t you?” He’s still being soft. Still slowly feeding you bites of food you want nothing to do with while his other hand gently traces circles on your ankle. At least you’re still wearing the clothes you fell asleep in. You have that to be thankful for. “I’m sorry for scaring you so badly, I hoped the scents would calm you down but I guess I was wrong.”

You finally spare a glance his way, noticing his lips in a pout. He has nothing to be sad for, you know it to be true. So why is he acting like the burden of the world is on his shoulders? You have not a clue, nor a care. Though you keep yourself quiet all the same, knowing any words you say might set him off– especially the unkind ones you think.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get used to it soon.” He smiles again, eyes cresting into half circles. His lips finding your hair once again, leaving a soft kiss in its wake. It makes you want to gag– want to cry in the way it mimics your mothers. But there's nothing you can do. Absolutely nothing for at least another 3 minutes. But where will you go– what will you do once that time does pass? You need to be smart about this.

You can’t run. You can’t leave this room without being paralyzed. You could grab a fork, you could stab–

Your eyes automatically trail down to your hands, as if they expect the red to still be there. As if you didn’t scrub it away countless times, a new red in its place. Raw and irritated, painful.

…

What will you do when the time passes?

The urge to scratch at your hands once again is insurmountable. An itch pulling behind your eyes as a meager way to force away the visions of that career in your face. Of his expression as blood dribbled from the side of his lips, eyes becoming hollow against the sandy ground.

You force your eyelids closed. Pressing them together. Willing away the picture of at least 12 other tributes– the slaughters you witnessed first hand. The colour draining from their skin from where you hid. The emptiness where there once held life.

You watched them smiling in training. You ate with a few. They were real people with real lives and now they are dead and you’re alive.

You want it to go away. You want it all to go away.

…

You’re not sure what you can do once the time passes. The wails in your ears at the mere thought of stabbing him are evidence of that enough.

You need more time to think.

“Why?” The question hangs heavy in their air, almost so quietly you’re not sure it left your own lips. You don’t remember it leaving them, surely. Nevertheless, willing them to move– but the question found its way out on its own.

You don’t know if you want an answer, but you can’t force it back in.

“Why?” Jimin, your captor, hums. His thumb tapping gently against your ankle bone in a way that you assume is meant to soothe. He takes a moment– thinking, contemplating, before a smile so bright it could be the sun itself takes over his expression. One filled with care, with such soft admiration you’ve only ever seen on one person before.

“Because I love you, of course. You love me too. You promised.”

The days– no, weeks, that follow are, disappointingly, similar to your first. An almost-routine forming between you and Jimin. Horrible, unnerving Jimin. Wake up every morning all-too aware, force yourself from his too-tight grip he’s managed to pull you into while you slept. Check the exits to see if they’re still locked or shocked. Eat breakfast with Jimin, deal with his mood-swings and tantrums.

Eventually he leaves for work– not before he clings to you again, whining about how he doesn’t want to go. You lash out, yell at him to stop touching you– you hate when he touches you– after which he either cries or gets mad. Whimpers about how he doesn’t understand why you’re being so mean. Why you hate him.

A little kid being refused their favourite toy, maybe. The same way your little brother might’ve done the same.

He’s got some sort of twisted reality, that's all you know. Has convinced himself you’ve loved each other for years, that you two are meant to be some sort of fairytale. That it’s fate you were drawn that day– something about letters. You have no clue how he’s come to that conclusion, nor find yourself wanting to delve into it. All you do know is that it’s tiring, too tiring.

To be honest, when he cries like that in the mornings, it almost makes you feel bad. Almost, because you’re not stupid. You know what’s real. You know that before he took you, you had never seen him in your life. You made no promises like he swears, you never showed him any sort of inclination otherwise.

On the other hand, it's clear he’s sick in the head. Clear that something in the capitol deluded him into believing whatever… this is. Maybe he’s never known what actual love is– you doubt the capitol knows anything about that. Maybe it was his friends you’ve been forced to hear about, maybe it’s just, everything else.

Either way, you wouldn’t know. He doesn’t talk much about himself– nor his family. He doesn’t talk about visiting them or introducing them to you the same way he does his best friends.Two people you’ve never met yet already hate. An already-assumed air to the presidency and the head gamemaker– Taehyung, Namjoon.

You really did get lucky with your captor, huh? Well, you knew he had to be in high places for the wealth he assumes. The wealth he practically forced on you in the arena.

Oh, the realization he had been the one to dump food and weapons on you was a sobering one indeed.

You often wonder where it comes from. What he had to do to become so rich when back home, all your family had to their name was a small two bedroom cottage in the far-reaches of town. When your father would become so skinny during the winter months that you found yourself sleeping next to his bed, afraid he might not wake up in the morning.

It had been worse when your parents were little, or so you were told. The capitol used to be worse– more vicious. Something about an almost uprising. An agreement made when a mockingjay flew. You’re not sure, it sounded like some sort of strange symbolism when your teacher spoke the words. And back then, when you were young, you didn’t care about the symbolism of birds. Flowers were much more your heart.

What did the capitol kids learn in school? Did they have it? Or were they already assumed geniuses. A silver spoon born into the mouths of the wealthy, their paths laid out by birthright alone. Never having to worry, never having to struggle. Jimin is most definitely the same, regardless.

Spite is an emotion often had, along with too many others.

You have too much time to think here. Too much time to reflect on your inability to act. Why you’re cursed with visions whenever you so much as have a passing thought about killing Jimin to get away.

Though, maybe it’s a blessing, in a way. What would you do if you did manage such a feat? Run with his friends tailing behind you? Find some way out of the capitol? Risk the lives of everyone you love by somehow returning home with nothing to your name? How would you even leave the apartment? Sure, he normally turns the bedroom shocks off during the day so you can roam, but you know the same device stands at the front door.

The windows are too tall to leap from, no fire escapes in sight. You would be stupid to not assume he already planned for you to try and kill him. Maybe if he dies the entire apartment explodes. Maybe he’s got some sort of medical implant that could patch all wounds instantly. You have no clue what kind of technology the capitol holds, much less one of its most important citizens.

What you can assume? He dies, you die with him.

You’re not sure if you could kill him anyway.

So there you are left, planning. Forced to listen to him. His day, his life. His friends. You. The people he deems actually important to his life, you presume.

Then there are his plans– what he wants to do with you that day, dates he hopes to take you on after you finally accept him. Proposals. Marriage. All things that twist your stomach– make it ache.

Of course, he asks questions, too. Makes it appear as though he actually wants to get to know you better. What a joke. This whole thing feels like one. Like some type of dream you won't be able to escape no matter how hard you thrash under the covers.

Most of the time, you find it easier not to answer. If you say nothing, he can’t use it against you. Can’t turn it into a tantrum from a wrong answer or stare at you with those warm-brown eyes while you open your soul. Can’t take a mile when you only bare him an inch.

You never can tell what he is thinking.

What you do know? He looks so pathetic when he cries during those times you decide to let hate fill your heart. When the band inside finally snaps and you just can’t take anymore of this. The demon clawing out from your abdomen, spewing vile from your lips before you can even think of what you’re truly saying.

Oh, how clings to your legs, looks up at you with tears streaming down his face. His perfectly styled pink hair a wreck, his puffy cheeks flushed red. Veins in his neck straining. Begging, pleading for you to just love him. For you to come to him like he does you, to crave him like he does you. For you to just say you didn’t mean it. To please, please just not hate him. He just can’t take it. You’re soulmates. You’re meant to be. You can’t hate him, you can’t.

Maybe sometimes you feel a small ounce of sympathy when he gets like that, knowing that you caused it. Humanity thriving within you when, at this point, in most it would be squandered away.

You feel too much lately, to be honest.

Though, that little bit of pity, small and waning, is wiped away all the same when he forces you to sit in bed with him at night. Most nights he’s able to hold you due to the same zap you receive every time you try to run out that door– still believing it would be stupid to not try. Others, it's because you’re simply too tired to fight him. Because it’s easier not to.

Either way, the result of your compliance forced or not is the same. Your frame tucked into his side, legs across his lap. His arm pulling you close, tucking the top of your head into his neck. All the while he plays reruns of your games, your interviews, your reaping.

He smiles watching them, eyes casting a fond glow on the projection of your nightmare. The things you wish you didn’t have to do.

You hate that you can see the fondness in his expression, especially. Makes his words seem even more true, that he wholeheartedly believes them. Whenever you appear on screen, his expression lights. His lips quirking whenever he urges you to watch– that his favourite part is coming.

He seems to have a lot of favourite parts.

At least it fills in a lot of gaps in your memory– maybe that’s one good that comes of it. Or maybe it’s another negative. Something that should be forgotten for your own sanity. That’s what your brain thought at least but now… You’re not really sure anymore, to be honest. It’s hard to keep things straight when you’re stuck in this apartment. When everything else your head is doing to protect you is oh-so-tiring.

You remember him showing you your reaping a month after arriving at his apartment– one of the projections you seem to have forgotten completely. A day entirely forgotten returned to you all-too quick. A shot straight to the heart.

You were standing there in line, waiting to have your face and fingerprints scanned for attendance. Hair a little wild, dress bustling in the wind. You watched as you walked forward, as they took you into the system. Corralled you into the area reserved for the oldest age group.

You feel like you look so young then, or at least felt a million years younger than you do now. So happy, so carefree. Waiting for the whole drawing to just be over so you could be free of it. Finally free of it. Of everything.

Fuck, your final reaping, too. How pathetic.

“You looked so pretty for me then, petal. That’s when I recognised your name.” Jimin whispered to you, nuzzling his face in your hair. Yet you paid little mind– eyes glued to the screen as the scenes shifted, bringing you directly to the drawing.

Hearing your name called, your face displayed on the screen was entirely mind-altering, to say the least. The girl on the screen is no longer you– maybe a body double, maybe a secret twin. It doesn’t matter which, because that girl, no. She doesn’t feel like you in the slightest. You don’t remember any of it happening at all.

Back then, you remember how your legs stumbled as they carried you. How they shook with terror. The world was ending, you were sure of it. You knew it was. But the girl on screen is confident. She’s bold. She bares an expression of neutrality– posture held high, chin up against the winds with a red carnation tucked behind her ear.

He tucked that flower behind your ear that morning, you know that for sure. It was tradition that he would. Petals tucked in your tresses, the promise of researching their meaning when you two departed.

Maybe you should have done so before the reaping that day– maybe that was another mistake.

Either way, it doesn’t matter now. Now you’re tucked in the arm of a deluded capitol boy who bought you from the president, being forced to watch the screen as it changes to something you were never meant to witness.

The camera cuts to a scene in the crowd. A group of 6 standing together, holding each other. Mother, Father, Sister, Brother-in-Law, Brother, Sister-in-Law-to-be all joined together to watch their last family members very last reaping.

Your heart shatters as you hear the syllables of your name called once again.

The shock, the horror. The terror. The tears. The realization that you were going into the games. You watched from your seat in the capitol as your mother crumpled in on herself– as your brother fell right alongside her. Trying to hold her, trying to console her while your father just stood in utter shock. Frozen in place from his daughter being taken from him.

He always did say your family was too lucky, to prepare for the worst. When you were young, it was a joke. But on that day it wasn’t, no. It was every nightmare a reality.

Your family’s realization they would never see you run amongst the fields again. Hope already mist in the wind. That’s what it was.

Then, then the weight of ten-thousand bodies feels as though it has fallen onto your shoulders.

The camera cut to him. Your best friend. Your Yoongi. The man who tucked the flower in your hair, who made you promise to come back to him. The man who said he would do anything for you facing the one thing he couldn’t do anything against.

You don’t even know how the cameramen knew to film him in that moment, but you wish they didn’t. You wish against all else that you would’ve never had to see his face like that.

This is the worst thing you could have seen. That Jimin is making you see. Worse than making you rewatch your games with that sickening smile on his face. Worse than making you relive the other lives you had to take in that arena with the weapons Jimin provided through sponsorship. Worse than finding out he had been privy to all the cameras in your capitol apartment.

No, seeing Yoongi again was worse than anything else. Especially knowing you would never see him again.

At least during the games you knew you had a chance. Now, it feels like you have none.

He’s gone.

You can’t stop the tears, from forcing your gaze away from the screen and hiding your face in Jimin’s neck. From breaking down against him– your captor, yet at the same time your only source of comfort.

Maybe that's what he wanted. Maybe that was the point of all of this. You don’t know anything other than the pounding of your head and the burn of your lungs as it tries to pull in air. The static that runs through the wires of your brain as it shuts down, succumbing to the pain. The hurt of just– everything.

“Hey, hey. Baby, it’s okay. It’s okay~” He tries to calm you, yet it does nothing. Your wails only grow louder. Nails scratching, grabbing for anything in their reach. Finding home in his loose linen shirt.

If you were any more sane, maybe you would know he was panicked in that moment too. Scrambling with what to do, how to console you. Eyes darting as he manages your form, tries to discern what to do or say. “That’s enough for today, I think…”

He turns off the tv, you know that. You thank the skies for it. You don’t think you could listen to your supposedly private goodbyes with your family and Yoongi at that moment. You think that might just break you entirely.

The actions that follow are foreign. Too consumed in your grief, you’re not sure how you wound up on his lap. How your body found itself clinging to him entirely. You’re sure of the sound of his voice, though. The way it gently shushes your cries with a smooth hum. Trying to comfort, to soothe while he strokes the top of your head with one hand. The other rubbing circles into your hip as you cry.

The terrible part? You let him.

You let him mumble into your hair. You let him be your support when he was the very thing keeping you away from them. The very being holding you hostage when you should be in the victory village with them. When you should be with Yoongi.

It’s too bad, but you really can’t help it. Honestly. Everything inside of you that you’ve been holding onto for so very long is flushing from your system all at once. Waves of emotion from the reaping, the games, the kidnapping have overflowed, and without something solid, you might have drowned. May have been washed away in a haze of memories you’re unable to come back from.

Can you really be blamed for letting the fire of hatred be quelled for only a night when a tsunami is about to pull you under?

“It’s okay petal, let it out. You needed all of this, hmm? I’m so sorry for upsetting you, baby. I had no clue it would, I swear. I’ll never do something like that again, okay? I don’t want you to hate me, baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know your heart was still all the way back there, okay?”

During the entire time you’ve been in the capitol, not a sole has offered you a single ounce of comfort. Maybe that’s why it was so easy to just let him. To let him comfort you. To let him take care of you. No matter how humiliating or awful it will feel tomorrow, you’re too tired to care.

You’re so tired of fighting. Why do you have to keep fighting? Why you?

“Worked so hard on being so strong. I’m proud of you. I’ve got you now, petal.” He whispered into your hair so softly. As if he could break you, as if he ever even conserved doing such a thing.

Maybe he could feel it then– the way you had given up. Even if it was just for the hour. Maybe he knew to use it to his advantage. That’s what you would have done in the arena. Or maybe he did actually care. Did actually want to be there. Wasn’t planning on using your vulnerability for his own gain.

You would never really know, would you?

You’re just so tired. And the way he gently pulls your face from his neck, tucks your face into his palm sure makes it feel like he cares. You don’t know. You don’t want to care. You just want to be free from thinking for a little while.

Maybe that’s why you don’t look away when his eyes search to find your own. To make a connection– to try and convey that he can be solid for you, despite how he acts most of the time. Maybe it’s the tears that fall onto his cheeks, fooling you into believing his pain is your own. Your head feels so screwy anyway– unable or unwilling to function any longer than it has to.

Maybe that's why you don’t pull away when he glances towards your lips. When his tongue darts out to wet his pretty pink pair. When he leans closer, his lips pressing against your own in a way that is utterly consuming, yet so soft at the same time. Dual worlds colliding together. The very definition of who Jimin seems to be.

The kiss is a short, gentle thing. Something meant to soothe, to help you relax more than anything else. One that you neither respond to, nor push away from. But the fact it happens remains. The fact you didn’t hate it remains a thing to ponder on another day.

His thumbs move up to gently swipe at your cheeks, collecting the last of your tears on his fingertips. Your head choosing to ignore the way he pops the digits in his mouth, tasting the salty tang.

You're too tired– too confused right now, to care anyway.

“Let's go to bed now, okay? You must be tired, baby.” He lifts you, placing you on your side of his massive bed. Tucking your frame in, moving your hair to the side before placing a gentle kiss on your temple.

That night, he doesn’t force you to cuddle him. He doesn’t touch you at all, something you’re grateful for. But it’s clear something– maybe everything has changed. The repercussions, unclear.

Yet the next morning, when you’re shocked awake by a gentle kiss to the lips and the floppy, too-happy face of Jimin in the morning, the memories of the night prior return. Then and there, for the first time, you’re sure you’ve made a mistake.

⋆𐙚 part ii -> coming soon to a theatre near you <33 and as always, feel free to ask hunger games!jimin anything you want along with all my other guys!! MWAH!! ily and i hope you enjoyed <33

#💿 ctrl.queue #icymi <3

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ctrlhope · 2 months ago

Text

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.

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.

#I MISS THEM TERRIBLY ACTUALLY #🥹🥹🥹#whenever I’m in an angst mood I come back to them

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