#and then gets pelted by water bottles

[saipng]

that mean girl x succession post you shared, i was so ready to accept as cannon that Greg said "not my fault you're in love with me" as cannon, kinda telling myself how rude he was to talk to Tom like that?? your blog has been doing things to my brain

this is an official letter of apology from me to you. also i wish greg would be ruder. he deserves it.

[francisforever2014]

whenever i want to listen to cruel summer i just put on the tomgreg video as to not give ms swift more streams

[rooolt]

the thing is I never try and like cast my ocs as actors cause I don’t know a lot of actors and don’t really care, but the fact of the matter is sometimes your struck by genius, and if asked what actor would play my dnd character I’d tell you Nicholas Braun in a heartbeat

[catcze]

CRYING OVER THE WRIO ANGST,,, A GOOD ENDING WHERE HE FINDS READER PLS I BEG OF U 😭

OKAY 😭

"The snowstorm is getting worse," says Albedo, clear disapproval in his voice as he trails after Wriothesley, a hand raised to shield his eyes from the pelting snow. "I suggest returning back to my workstation, otherwise we very well could freeze to death."

Freeze to death.

The phrase has Wriothesley's own blood chilling in his veins, as he wonders if that's the fate that had befallen you. His fists clench in his pockets, the leather of his gloves cracking from the grip. It's been two days already since he's rushed over to dragonspine ever since your disappearance— two days since he's been combing the entirety of this side of the mountain in his desperate search for you. Two days of barely fighting back against the sheer cold and the frost bite, two days of seeing no sign of you at all.

Two days of Wriothesley being in complete, abject terror at the thought that he might have to leave here never knowing what happened to you.

Albedo sighs behind him, rummaging in his pocket for some warming bottles. He slips them into the pocket of Wriothesley's coat quietly. "I have to return now," he says. "Please try not to lose yourself out here, too."

And then he is gone, leaving the Duke alone with his thoughts.

Wriothesley braves the snowstorm for several more hours, shouting your name until his voice cracks, hoping Barbatos would miraculously carry it across the wind to you. It's only when his legs are starting to give out after trekking miles and miles through the snow does he settle down in a small cave, collapsing against the wall. He groans, body practically deadweight, and rummages in his pockets for one of those warming bottles which he quickly smashes on the ground.

As the heat drives the chill from his body, Wriothesley tries to ignore the fatigue in his bones, sighing. It's just as he's about to take some rations that he hears it: someone calling his name over the roar of the snowstorm.

It doesn't take long for him to find out who it is. Within seconds, the Chief Alchemist is appearing at the entrance of his shelter, hair frazzled and coat haphazard, the most frantic Wriothesley has seen him in his short time of knowing him.

"Mister Wriothesley—" he takes a deep breath of air, "In the workshop— we found—"

And Wriothesley is on his feet before he knows it, practically running out of the cave. There's a flicker of hope in his chest as he follows Albedo's lead back to his workshop, just short of sprinting the rest of the way. From the very depths of his heart, he finds himself praying to whichever gods are bothering to listen to please, please let it be you. To let you be safe, be alright. For you to be able to envelop him in a nice, warm hug when he sees you because gods does he need one after the turmoil the past few days have put him through.

He practically tears through the snowy landscape, feet skidding to a halt only when he's at the mouth to Albedo's remote workshop, and his heart stops, then restarts, pounding like the beat of a thousand drums.

"Wrio!" You gasp, smiling widely. You're on a stool, a thick blanket wrapped around your shoulders, feet submerged in a pale of warm water, and alive.

Wriothesley rushes forward, body acting on nothing but instinct to get close to you, to hold you, to make sure that this isn't some twisted dream and he's gonna wake up any second in a snow pile, shivering like a wet dog. "Hi," you murmur quietly when your hand entwines with his, and he breaks, falling to his knees and burying his face into your lap, bathing in your warmth because this is real, this isn't a dream, and he's found you again.

[bigification]

Somethings in the Water

Being the great team captain that you are, you show up to the locker room early. You've had a reputation throughout your entire college football career of being put together, and being a good example for your team. And now, at your final game before your graduation, you feel the pressure lift off your shoulders. It's gonna be nice passing on the torch to someone else for next year.

Footsteps echo as you walk through the empty change room. The faint smell of sweat from yesterday's game feels nostalgic. A thud rings out as you drop your heavy bag on the bench.

"Huh? What's this." You say to yourself as you notice a bunch of water bottles in a holder in the middle of the change room. You investigate and see a note nearly placed on top.

"So you don't have to bring water from your university." Is written in neat handwriting on the small piece of paper.

How nice of them to provide your team with water bottles, it'll be convenient not having to carry them all the way in.

You grab one of the water bottles from the holders and hold it above your mouth. You grip tightly, shooting water down into your mouth. It feels oddly refreshing. Sure it was cold, but there was something more. It is... sweet. And it costs your teeth in a weird way. They must put something in the water to freshen it up, you think to yourself.

Though it doesn't take long for you to realize that there is in fact something wrong with the water. The coating in your mouth gets thicker and thicker, making it hard to swallow. Did they spike your water? You ask yourself, trying to make sense of it. Soon your body starts to feel weird, as if you were high. Only more intense than you've ever felt.

You drop the bottle as you stumble back into the showers. Trying to grab at the walls to stabilize yourself, but your hands feel too weak to grab anything. Though you still manage to lean against the damp tile walls of the shower. You bend down, still leaning against the wall, in an attempt to regain your balance. You've been high out of your mind at every frat party, so you can handle any drug they gave you, you tell yourself.

Little did you know, you couldn't.

As you're catching your breath, you look down in horror. There's a big lump under your jersey. Are the drugs making you bloated? You lift your shirt, and your heart sinks. A flabby stomach bounces as you pull up your shirt, this was no bloat. With every breath it swells, becoming rounder and softer until you can't see your feet anymore. But the worst is yet to come. Your strong pecs, the ones you've built throughout your entire football career, also begin to soften under an ever growing layer of fat. They kept their shape for a while, only looking a bit swollen. But they quickly grew into an undeniable pair of man tits, that pressed tight against your shirt. As your shirt rides up more and more, your nipples also swell, making you involuntarily moan as they rub against the rough texture of your jersey.

You jerk back, recoiling at the moan that just escaped your lips. In a fleeting attempt for control, you desperately tug down on your jersey, hoping it will hide your rotund midsection, but it barely reaches past the top of your gut.

And if you think it can't get worse, it can, and it will.

A pelt of brown hairs grows all over your exposed gut, making your once clean shaven body look unkept. The hair spreads up to your chest, where you can feel the rough hairs rub against your tight jersey. You also feel an intense itch spread around to your back, down your ass, and all over your legs.

Don't worry, you'll get used to the itchiness eventually. Because shaving it will only make it worse.

The defined muscles on your back disappear under a layer of pudge and your thin waist bulges out as love handles spill over your waist band. Making even your silhouette look fat. Next your arms begin to sag slightly under their own weight, making your hard earned biceps look old and flimsy. And the hair on your arms grows much thicker than everywhere else, growing even over your hands. Which are now massive, with thick calloused fingers, perfect for catching and throwing a football.

That means you can convince yourself you haven't let yourself go old man. Oh right, I forgot to mention. Your hairline has started to recede, exposing the top of your head. And the hair that's left is not fooling anyone, you've maybe got a couple of years before even that becomes too thin. The wrinkles on your forehead and around your eyes are not helping either. Maybe some moisturizer would help. But I doubt you would use that, considering you're a crusty old man. Also, don't worry about that double chin that's forming under your softened jawline, your scruffy beard totally hides it. Trust me, no one can see it.

As you can probably tell by now, you are completely out of it. You are holding onto the wall for dear life, trying to make sure your hefty body doesn't fall. Your skin feels weird, your eyesight is fucked, and there is voice in your head narrating all of the horrible, I mean wonderful changes that are happening to your body. Those aren't done by the way.

Next, your ass begins to plump up. Your cheeks start to strain the fabric in your shorts, letting out a few ripping noises. The front gets just as tight, as your dick doubles in size, begging to escape your tiny jockstrap. Your thighs continue to strain against your shorts, becoming thick and solid like tree trunks. That's at least something you never lost from your football days in college, though they're much hairier now. And your feet burst out of your tiny size 11 shoes, now only fitting in a manly size 18.

It looks like all those drugs you took in college really paid off, as the high starts to wear off. The familiar heft of your body returns in full, and your memories start to come back. You became a full time coach at your college after graduating. Of course you put on some weight over the years, but that's only natural for a man in his forties. At least that's what you tell yourself. Your team used to make fun of you for growing a spare tire, but you're the one laughing since you've got them on a new diet. Besides, a man isn't complete without a bit of meat on his bones, and your team knows that now. The pussies on the other team aren't gonna know what's gonna hit em.

You finally regain your composure, acting like nothing happened. You fold the collar on the polo tee that has appeared over your body, and you loosen the belt on your jeans to give the belly some breathing room. The water tends to leave you with a bit of a bloat, so you've gotta leave some room.

Being the great coach that you are, you stand up tall and walk out to greet your team. You first see Colin, your team captain. He's been doing great since he took over, but he's stubborn. He questioned your judgment when you wanted to put them on a new diet, but realized his mistake and followed his coach like a good captain does. He's a little behind the other boys but he's getting there. His buddy Stephen is making sure he shapes up well before this game, thanks to that diet powder you put in the team's water.

Historians would say Colin and Stephen have become 'really good friends' recently, so it's no surprise Stephen has been helping Colin with his dieting. They always seem to shower together, and you even love to join them after a long hard game just to blow off some steam.

"Stephen! I want Colin twice that size by the time we get in the field." Your voice echoes around the room.

"Yes coach!" Stephen responds as he sprays more of your water into Colin's mouth.

Next you pass George. He's been a great offensive lineman. He was always one of the bigger guys in the team, but your diet has done wonders for his waistband. Now no one can get through that wall of a man. Looks like Brenden is feeding him his pre game dose of diet powder to make sure he's nice and plump before the game. Those two are shaping up to be done real men, the thought of them growing more only makes your jock tighter than it already is.

"Don't forget to take some too Brenden, don't let George hog it all." You shout unnecessarily loud in your deep gruff voice. And just like the good player he is, Brenden takes his dose. Looks like he's ready for action.

You stop by every player, making sure they're sticking to their diet. And if you need to force feed them spiked water to make them grow into the big football players they're meant to be, then so be it. You also make sure to slap each player on their ass as you pass by.

Finally you stop at Peter. He's kind of the runt of the litter, more of a bench warmer. You've been trying to train him to be the man he could become, but all the diet has done is made him extremely fat.

He thinks that stretchy sports shirt hides anything, but everyone knows it doesn't. You grab him by the wrist and drag him into the showers with you. You press your heavy hand down on his shoulders, and he knows his job. You pull off your shirt and drop your jeans to the ground. Peter drops to his knees, his fat rippling as he does so, and he looks up at you as if to ask for further instructions.

"Coach has gotta release his stress before a tough game." You command him.

[thatacotargirl]

Shadows and Surprises (1)

This is Part 1 of an Azriel x Reader fanfic - I hope you enjoy! PS. future chapters will be longer, this is just a short introduction to the story.

This is set after A Court of Thorns and Roses but is several months after Under the Mountain. Some creative liberties are taken with timing to help the plot fit together!

Summary: Azriel meets y/n at Rita's and spends a single night of passion with you before heading your separate ways. Only, the Mother had different ideas.

Azriel POV

4 months earlier

Azriel woke with a start, and a searing headache. A night well spent at Rita's meant he had found himself scorchingly drunk and waking in the bed of an unknown female's home. He swore to himself as he rose from the bed, holding his head with his palm and pausing to breathe away the nausea. When he finally cracked his eyes open, he found the bed empty and, after laying a hand on the left side, discovered it was cold. Whoever had brought Azriel to their bed had decided to not stay for the morning. He decided not to overstay his welcome and clambered out of the bed, slowly, gathering up his clothes and pausing every so often to take big gulps of air in an attempt to not hurl on himself. After locating everything except his left shoe, he walked through the house to find the front door and make his big exit - but not before his eyes came across a glass of water, a hangover tonic, and a post-it note on the kitchen island. He picked up the post-it, which read "had to dash - thanks for a great night!", swallowed the tonic, and headed out the door before taking to the skies for a slow flight home.

Present day

"Why do I have to go?" gruffed Cassian, pushing a spoon around in his porridge, "I can barely bring myself up to the roof for training after the session I had yesterday".

"Yes, well, whose fault is that for sparring against Azriel when you knew you were still recovering from getting pelted at with arrows last week?" Mor retorted.

Cassian glared across the table, and flicked his spoon in Mor's direction, a dollop of porridge flying across the table and landing neatly on Mor's light blue top. She squealed in frustration, scooping off the porridge and hurling it back at Cassian, before stepping from the table and heading back to her room to change. Cassian laughed and continued eating his breakfast, the dollop of porridge which landed back on his side of the table included.

"I'll go", offered Azriel, making to stand from the table. "I don't mind heading into Velaris today anyway, I could do with one of those blueberry buns they sell in the little bakery on the Rainbow". Azriel thanked the House with a silent nod as his breakfast dishes vanished, and walked to the door of the dining room.

"Don't forget a chocolate marble sponge slice for me!" Cassian called from the table as he watched Azriel leave.

-

Azriel stopped by the bakery, picking up a blueberry bun, a chocolate marble sponge slice, and a small box of cupcakes to share with the rest of the Inner Circle tonight. He then made his way along to the Apothecary where he needed to pick up Rhysand's order of extra medical supplies, in the event that they ever needed them at the House. Given how prone Azriel and Cassian were to getting injured, or injuring themselves, they had gone through almost all the bandages and creams they had in just a few short weeks. Azriel shook his head, smiling to himself as he replayed memories in his mind of sparring with Cassian and taking him to the ground.

Azriel walked into the Apothecary, the bell dinging above the door, and stood to the right to let a young fae male exit - his hands gripping so tightly on his tonic Azriel thought he was likely to break the glass bottle before he got it home. He could hear Madja speaking behind the beaded curtain to someone, so waited near the door, gazing at all the bottles and vials that filled the shelves of the Apothecary from floor to ceiling. How Madja remembered what each tonic did, he would never know.

His gaze turned as he saw a female back out of the beaded curtains, still in deep conversation with Madja. Madja glanced at Azriel over the female's shoulder, a brief smile on her face, before returning the female in front of her.

"Take this tonic up to three times a day as you need it, you'll find it really helps. If you feel you need to take it more often, please pop back in and we will try to adjust the formula for you" Madja advised the female, handing over a bottle of red liquid.

"Thank you, Madja, I really appreciate it".

Azriel froze, recognising the female's voice instantly. It was the female he had met at Rita's 4 months ago whilst out with the Inner Circle, the one he had bedded and not seen again. Part of him wanted to flee, not sure how he could handle facing you again after that night and the 4 months of silence, especially in Madja's presence, but the other part of him wanted to stay rooted to the spot and see your face again, your smile, make you laugh one more time. His shadows coiled around his shoulders, making excited zigzags around his head, and he decided in that moment that he wanted nothing more than to stay, even if just to smile at you, and let you know how much that night had meant to him if only for the few hours.

The female turned to leave, eyes widening in shock when she saw Azriel standing in the Apothecary. Azriel felt your tension, your panic, and took a step forward to try and help, offer something, anything to calm you in that moment. But he stopped. His eyes roamed, following your shaking hands, and landed on your abdomen. Eyes wide, his bag of baked goods fell to the floor as he stared at you; because at your abdomen he saw a small, but unmistakable, baby bump.

[thisthatpinkvenom]

BROKEN BABE

SAN / FEM READER

⤏ Synopsis: A minute and 30-second clip of you getting railed by your boyfriend has skyrocketed to the top of a subreddit.

⤏ Genre(s): drabble*, smut smut smut

⤏ Content: cam couple!au, established relationship!au, non-idol!au

⤏ NSFW Warning(s): unprotected piv sex (use your rubbers and stay safe), choking, dacryphilia (I guess??), creampie, lewd comments

⤏ Note*: this content is completely fictional.

The slew of new subscribers rolling in from the past few days was a surprise to say the least. Having started a little over two years ago after discussing carefully with your boyfriend, you both agreed that your part-time jobs were just barely enough to get you two by as college students. And as unoriginal as it was, you agreed to open an account to post adult content, grasping onto whatever hope you had left of earning extra income. Though you hadn’t really gained much traction with a mere 2,051 subscribers, and ultimately put your little stint on the backburner.

But you were tired of consuming instant ramen every night on your incredibly stiff couch, tired of getting emails from job applications telling you that they’ve decided to move on with other candidates, and tired of sinking your body into the thin mattress you shared with your boyfriend. You loathed seeing the thumbnails of girls feigning happy-shock with titles enticing viewers with how they made 200 grand, wishing it were you. And for two years, you stayed that way: dejected, sleep-deprived and with only your beloved by your side to woe in misery with you.

But that was until your phone began to jitter and buzz constantly, begging to tell you what the fuss was all about. And that’s when you picked it up and darted to the bathroom, calling out his name and receiving a jolt of mild surprise from San. He’s in all his naked glory with his fingers tangled in his sud-blanketed hair, water pelting at his skin. If you weren’t so preoccupied with the news, you would’ve spent a good, long time taking a mental picture of him.

“You startled me,” he chided, softly.

“Look!” you said with haste, panning the screen toward him.

He smoothed his palms over his face, fanning away the drops of water before squinting his eyes. With his brows furrowed, he looked at you and asked, “Where’d all this come from?”

You didn’t have an answer for him, shrugging your shoulders with an optimistic glimmer in your eyes. And what neither of you were aware of was that this surge of growth was all thanks to a short clip of you getting fucked stupid finding its place on the top of a subreddit.

u/10_TreasureChest_24 • 5d • redgifs

A good boyfriend knows how to break his girlfriend

With your phone propped clumsily against your bottle of lotion, you stayed in frame as it recorded you in 1080p, getting fucked by your boyfriend on your good-for-nothing mattress. The bed frame croaked and squeaked under the pressure of each harsh thrust of his hips and the pathetic squirms of your pliant body. You laid flat on your tummy, fingers twisting the sheets while you helplessly accepted each force his cock imposed in your cunt. Your moans were guttural and broken, and from your neck to your face, you were flushed and burning up.

One hand of his released its firm grip on your breast and made way to your neck, fingers pressing just enough to render you putty under him. If you weren’t so fucked out, you’d swipe away the drool stringing from your lips and the tears running free down your cheeks. But how could you focus on anything other than the cock relentlessly stroking your walls? For once in a while, there were no worries in your mind because the man pinning you down gave you no chance to think straight.

You felt his lips graze your cheek before he muttered, “You okay, Baby?”

A few beats were what it took for you to register his question, before answering with a keen hum.

Warning you with a sharp smack to the side of your thigh, he ordered, “I want a yes or a no.”

“A-Ah…yes—yes, yes, yes! Please"—you swallowed, kicking your feet up behind you—"please, keep g-going!”

“That’s my good girl,” he grunted. “Gonna cum? Can you do that for me, Baby?”

You couldn’t pinpoint how many yeses you spewed from your spit-pooled mouth, while your trembling thighs sandwiched together in a piss-poor attempt to regain any bit of control you had left. Your pussy fluttered around his cock as you saw black, eyes rolling to the back of your skull when you finally reached climax. Every muscle in your body froze in time, and a shiver skimmed down your spine while you waited patiently for him to cum. It felt like hours for you, the overstimulation pushing and pulling you between pleasure and pain until he had completely hunched himself on top of you.

With a lazy smile, you happily milked his load in your cunt and cherished the way his cock throbbed with each pump of his seed. No words were spoken and none needn’t to be. This was pure bliss, and you wanted to soak it in with every selfish fiber of your being. The giggles you shared together almost made it seem like you hadn’t just been choked, plowed into and used as a cum dump. When you were left empty between your legs, you flipped onto your back with your jelly-like limbs sprawled out on the mattress.

If you weren’t so fucked out, you would’ve jumped him again when he crawled and hovered over you with his lips curled into a wolfish smirk.

“I’ll be back,” he murmured, sinking his teeth playfully into the flesh of your breast before pushing himself off.

BEST COMMENTS

fanunesven 5d

Holy fuck he really broke her

hornypoptart17_ 5d

sauce???

thisisathrowaway__21 3d

i need a man to fuck me dumb like this– and those arms 😍 she’s a lucky girl

amazingorgeouspiderman 3d

How the hell did they manage to make rough sex look so wholesome

dinoartistic 4d

Who are they? Names??

Replenish_Clever 3d

that cute little smile she makes when he cums in her tho. mmm…she likes it

interested_lucky23 5d

And that’s how she falls in love

notonmahmahway 1d

Damn, she took it like a champ

[cevansbrat0007]

Request: Andy Barber & Baby Girl having sex during a thunderstorm.

Through the Storm

Summary: Andy helps you overcome your fear of thunderstorms.

Warnings: Astraphobia, Smut, Anxious Reader, Dominant Andy, Manhandling, Fingering, Spanking, CMNF (Clothed Male, Nude Female), Safe Sex, Cuddles, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Finally finished this WIP! This request takes place early in Andy and Reader's relationship. Part of my ongoing Growing Pains Series, but can also be read as a standalone. Not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

You stare out into the backyard, watching sheets of slanted rain pelt against your boyfriend’s newly installed patio. While it wasn’t much, it was enough to give the compact enclosed space the cozy feel it had long been missing. You’d even helped him with the landscaping, much to your chagrin. 

Andy had been quick to learn that while you enjoyed gardening you were also terrified of virtually all things creepy crawly, like bees. Especially bees. Your man hadn’t known what to make of that one, which had certainly made for an entertaining afternoon. 

A loud crash of thunder suddenly booms overhead, startling you so bad that you nearly drop the bottle of water in your hands. You fucking hated thunderstorms, a fun little nugget that you had yet to share with the man who was currently waiting for you to join him upstairs. 

Truth be told, you hadn’t even planned on staying over tonight. You were supposed to be home by the time the storm rolled in, tucked away safe and sound on your couch. All the while clutching your stuffed bear, Mr. Sprinkles, for dear life and watching your favorite comfort films until Mother Nature decided she was done with her tantrum.

But dinner with friends had gone long and then the show had started late. Well, the dinner itself hadn’t actually been with friends – more like one of his work colleagues. But the guy’s wife had been nice enough. And after enjoying one last round of drinks, you four had wandered across the street to take-in a production of Aladdin on Broadway. 

Of course musicals weren’t really your thing, but since it was a childhood favorite of yours you’d been all for it. Your boyfriend didn’t know how much of a Disney fan you really were. Which was okay. Because he was older, more mature. And as such, you always tried to come off more sophisticated than what you actually were.

He’d already been married once before and had a child. One he’d lost a few years back. You two had yet to actually have a true conversation about that one but you were almost certain it was coming.

It had to be, right? Because it wasn’t like you both could skirt around the topic forever. But, at the same time, it’s also not like you could be the one to bring up. Like, how would a conversation like that even go? 

Exactly. It wouldn’t. Because you couldn’t. It wasn’t your place. 

So, you would allow that door to remain shut for as long as it took to allow him to open it and guide you through. You could be patient. 

Alright fine. You would make yourself be patient. And until then you would keep trying to demonstrate the right amount of emotional maturity needed to prove that you could be a good partner and support system. Or at least a little worldlier than you probably came off.  

But all of that would be pretty hard to do if Andrew Barber knew that you were secretly afraid of thunderstorms. He wouldn’t get it and you would only end up tripping all over yourself if you tried to explain. Which meant that you had to make a decision.

Either you could be brave and climb the stairs so you could crawl into bed – his bed – wearing nothing but a pair of panties and one of his oversized t-shirts. Or you could sneak upstairs, grab your clothes, and dash out your man’s front door into the night like a madwoman and hope that he would be too stunned to chase you down. 

“Whatcha doin’ down there, Baby Girl?” Andy bellows from up above, making you jump.

“Noth–coming!” You shout back as you pad towards the stairs, still trying your best to devise a plan. Andrew Barber was deceptively fast, which meant running was out. So you were most likely gonna have to suck it up until he fell asleep and then you would be free to tremble in peace. 

The city’s hottest attorney could not know that he was dating the world’s biggest scaredy cat. If he ever found out, you might never recover from the embarrassment.  

You find yourself holding your breath as you round the corner before stepping inside Andy’s bedroom. Your man looks up from his phone when he notices that you’ve finally joined him. A warm smile spreads across his handsome features as he leans back, allowing his big body to relax against the frame. 

“Thought I was gonna have to come looking for you.” His husky purr sends a tiny shiver coursing through you, all the way down to your toes.  

“Uh, nope. Here I am.” Your eyes stray towards your overnight bag nestled innocently in the corner. Because if you weren’t mistaken you were also beginning to sweat. “But I was thinking that maybe I ought to – nooope!” 

An loud, unexpected clap of thunder has you diving towards the bed with a shriek. You seek refuge under the blankets, ignoring the sounds of a bewildered Andy calling your name. He tries to lift up the edge of the comforter, but you refuse to let go. 

At this point, you have no desire to acknowledge just how ridiculous you were being at that very moment. Because you were scared.

And also a smidge mortified.

“Um, honey..?” Andy works to keep his tone light. “What’s going on?” He pauses briefly as one big hand comes to rest on what he assumes must be your head. “Are you okay?”

“Yep!” You squeak out, clutching the blanket even tighter around you. “But I’m also really, really sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Again he tugs at the edge of your makeshift shield, prompting you to try and roll away. “You haven’t done anything – can you at least look at me? Please.”

“Um, I…I don’t think so. No.” Your words come out slightly muffled.

You’re rewarded with a heavy sigh followed by a brief moment of silence. Although you’re not sure what you expected him to say, you’re still surprised by what comes next.

“Well, if you won’t come out, then I guess that means I’ll just have to come under there then, won’t I?”

Fine by you. Because you were pretty sure that you were only seconds away from dying of embarrassment anyhow.

“Kay.”    

“Let me in, princess.” 

Relief fills him when he sees you finally relax your grip. Seconds later he joins you under the blankets, cocooning you both within the plush softness.   

“Hey.” Andy breathes as his eyes strain to adjust to the light.

“Hey.”

As if of its own accord, one of his hands reaches over to gently brush your curls away from your face. A quiet sigh makes its way past your lips as you feel yourself melting into his touch. In a way it acted as an unspoken reminder. 

You were safe with this man. Which meant it was time to fess up. 

“Umm…” He makes an exaggerated show of looking around. “Why are we hiding?”

“Because.” You whisper, only to flinch when another crack of thunder echoes above. 

“Because?” Your man drags out the word. “Because what? Are you–?” He cuts himself off before trying again. “I’m gonna guess that all this has something to do with the storm. Am I somewhere in the ballpark?”

His question has hot tears pricking the backs of your eyes.

“I don’t like it.” You croak before giving into temptation and burying yourself in his tattoo-covered chest. “In fact, I hate it.” 

Good Lord, you sounded so pitiful right now. 

“The…storm?” 

“All of it.” You confirm as you begin to tremble ever so slightly. “The lightning, the thunder, the heavy winds, the sound of the rain. S’too much.”

“I see.” Is all he says, even as his hand goes to rest on the small of your back, rubbing in easy, soothing circles. 

“I’m sorry.” You feel even worse when the tears spill over onto Andy’s bare skin. 

“Hush.” Comes the soft-spoken command, drawing you flush against his much larger body. “There’s no need to be sorry. I just wish you would’ve said something earlier. Is that why you were so adamant about going home tonight?”

“Mmhm.”

But then your handsome ogre just had to go and be difficult.     

“And I convinced you to stay.” Andy huffs out a disappointed breath at the same time as he drags his knuckles along your spine. “I should’ve noticed something was wrong. All I could think about was how much better I sleep whenever you’re next to me.” You can tell he’s annoyed now – not with you – but with himself. “Should’ve thought to ask why you seemed so skittish.” He drops a brief kiss on the top of your head.   

“Andy…”

“I’m sorry, Baby Girl.” He grunts, pulling away so that he can get a good look at your face. “No–” He continues when you open your mouth to interrupt. “I should’ve been paying better attention. That’s on me.” He takes a moment to whisper his sensual, full lips over your own. 

“It’s okay.” You assure him before pressing a tender kiss on his left pec, just above his heart. “I probably should’ve said something earlier. It was just…I guess I was embarrassed.” You finish with a shrug. 

“Why?” He cocks his head to the side as he patiently waits for you to answer. Although it was hard to read his expression in the dark, you knew he was genuinely curious. 

“Because it’s a stupid.” You mumble a few seconds later. “It’s stupid and I’m stupid for–”

“No it’s not.” Andy swiftly interjects. “And no you’re not. So please let that be the last time I hear you refer to yourself that way.” His gruff tone leaves little room for argument, not that you were in the mood anyway. Seconds later, another clap of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning, has you diving back into the safety of his arms.

“Fuck.” Pissed at himself, he quickly wraps his arms around you before gently rocking you back and forth in an effort to calm you down. “When did it start?” More thunder booms overhead the whole house, loud enough to shake the whole house. 

Andy frowns when he hears the tiny whimper that escapes your throat. .   

“It’s silly.” You warn, even as you close your eyes and force yourself to take a deep breath. 

“Try me.”

He’d stay up all night if that’s what it took to get you to talk. The last thing he wanted was for you to shut down on him. Again.  

“Please.”

Guess that was your cue to start spilling your guts. 

“Wh–when I was a little girl, I couldn’t have been more than six or seven, there was this really bad storm. I mean later we would find out that tornadoes had touched down all over the region. But that night – I swear the rain was coming down so hard it sounded like hundreds of baseballs were being pelted against the roof. And the wind was blowing so hard that it kept rattling windows.”

“Mmhm.” The small, noncommittal sound rumbles from somewhere deep within his chest, spurring you forward. 

“So my dad woke us all up, me and my siblings, and herded us down to the basement. I guess he’d been watching the news and figured we’d be safer there. My mom had laid out blankets and sleeping bags for us. At first it seemed kinda fun – almost like we were camping out.”

Another bright flash of light briefly illuminates the bedroom, but you’re too engrossed in your story to really care. Plus, you had Andy to keep you safe. Nothing bad ever seemed to happen when you were with Andy.

At least not so far. 

“I could see that.” Your boyfriend affirms, before giving your hip a light squeeze. “Bet you probably had a cool sleeping bag.” 

“I totally did. I actually had one of those Disney character sleeping bags.” The memory makes you smile as your initial anxiety begins to lessen. “Come to think of it, we all did. But mine had Genie from Aladdin on the front of it. I remember because I got to pick it out myself.” 

“I knew I had the right idea when I invited you out tonight.” Andy muses, brushing his mouth against your curls once more. 

“Yeah, Big Man. I’m a Disney girl. And I sure did love that sleeping bag.” You take a moment to lace your fingers through his, needing the connection. “Which was why I climbed right on in and let my mother zip me up. At that point, I think my little sister started crying or something, so I let her crawl inside with me. After that she went right to sleep.”

“But I’m guessing you didn’t.”

“Nope.” Your grip on his hand tightens, but your man doesn’t pull away. Even so, you allow your thumb to sweetly caress along the ridges of his knuckles. “I stayed wide awake for what felt like hours just…listening. Listening as the wind picked up, as the thunder got louder and louder. Until it became so loud that it sounded like the storm was happening right above our house. And then suddenly there was this crash that shook the entire house – almost like a bomb went off.”    

“Listen, I know sometimes storms can seem–”

“It was a tree.” You quietly forge on. “The storm had knocked down a tree. It fell through the roof, into the room I shared with my sister. Of course nobody was hurt, but ever since then I’ve been terrified of thunderstorms.” You finish, somehow feeling even more foolish than when you’d first started. 

“Holy shit.” Andy exhales before briefly nuzzling your nose with his own. It was a simple stress touch, nothing more. But at this particular moment, it means everything. “I mean, I’m sure this probably goes without saying, but I’m so glad you weren’t in there when it happened. You or your sister.”

Wordlessly you nod, still wishing that you’d found a way to make it home tonight after all. Come tomorrow you’d finally bite the bullet and start looking for a therapist. Perhaps it was finally time you found a way to move past some of your childhood trauma. And maybe then–

Your thoughts are interrupted by the deep, rich timbre of Andrew Barber’s voice. 

“I’m afraid of clowns.” Your boyfriend grunts in a very matter of fact tone. “And spiders.” He tacks on with a slight grimace. “Can’t get near either one of them without breaking into hives.” 

“Oh.” Is all you can manage, clearly surprised by his sudden openness. You hadn’t been expecting that at all. “So I‘m guessing anything to do with Pennywise is probably – ahh shit!” You cry out when the familiar sound of thunder makes you lose your train of thought, leaving you unable to finish your small attempt at humor.

Almost immediately, you feel two strong arms band themselves around your waist, drawing you closer even as you try your damnedest to scramble away. You throw off the covers before attempting to swing your legs over the side of the bed so that you can make a mad dash in the direction of the basement.     

“Hold on, baby.” Andy growls, wincing when your elbow accidentally connects with his ribs. “Just settle down for a second, okay? We’re gonna get through this, I promise.”

“Nope – I’m good! Just let me go, please.” Instead of doing as you ask, he flips your bodies, using his considerable weight to keep you still. “I’m serious, Andrew!” You tell him, thumping his back with your fist for good measure.

“Hush.” He takes advantage of your positions long enough to glide his lips along the column of your throat, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. “Just focus on me – on us – and let everything else fade away.”

Hmph. Easier said than done, handsome.

Andy gifts you with a glimpse of his pearly white teeth before slanting his hungry mouth over your own. He moans into the kiss, gently sucking on your bottom lip and releasing it with a slight pop. When you don’t respond he does it again, this time tracing the curve of your lips with his sinful tongue. 

“But what if –.”

“Shh.” Your boyfriend pauses his sensual assault long enough to stare down at you while he braces himself on his forearms. “You have my word that nothing bad is gonna happen while I’ve got you here, with me, in this bed. We’re safe, Baby Girl.” He then angles his head to nip along your jaw. “Let me show you.”  

“Do you trust me?” Where had you heard that before?

“I…” You trail off as he continues to nip at your heated flesh, paying special attention to the sensitive shell of your ear. “Y–yes.”

“Good.”

Apparently that’s all the permission Andrew Barber needs, because the next thing you know he’s sliding one large hand up your thigh, his lightly calloused palm sending pinpricks of pleasure straight to your core. Seconds later, you both are treated to the sounds of tearing fabric. 

Well, there went your panties. They’d been shredded to hell just like every other pair that went before it. 

Next up is your shirt. He manages to whip it over your head with relative ease before resting his delicious weight on top of you once more. Clad in only his boxers, he makes a show of grinding rapidly hardening cock against your damp pussy.

“Andy.” You whine, wantonly arching your hips in time with his thrusts. “Don’t tease me right now.”

“Why not?” He purrs as a hand moves to fist itself in your hair, wrenching your head back with just enough force to make you feel dizzy with lust. 

Reaching up, you capture his face between your hands to pull him down for another kiss. The scruff of his neatly trimmed beard feels so good against your skin.

“Fuck me, please.” You hiss, seeking a much needed distraction as a flash of lightning threatens to send you running for the hills. Since this man wouldn’t let you leave, your next best option was to let him bury his thick cock inside you so hard and so deep until you no longer had the capacity to think. 

Or walk properly, for that matter.

“Your wish is my command, baby.” Your boyfriend groans as he continues to circle his hips. With that said, he then makes quick work of removing his boxers before tossing him aside in the direction of his hamper. He misses, of course. Which is why you silently vow to pick it up later.

Now freed from its confines, you watch Andy’s impressive manhood immediately spring to attention, lightly smacking his abdomen as it bobs up and down.

Good God, you’d be lying if you said the sight didn’t make your mouth water.  

His mouth curves into a roguish grin as he purposely slides himself between your slippery folds. He revels in your wetness, loving the way your slick coats his aching cock. Shit – if he wasn’t careful he risked blowing his load before it was time. 

Which absolutely would not work. You always came first. That was the rule. There were no exceptions, unless you were playing a game or something.

Reaching over you, Andy grabs a foil packet from his nightstand. Tearing it open with his teeth, you lean back on your elbows while he handles his business with the condom. Maybe next time he’d allow you to put it on for him. You’d always wanted to try…

You also weren’t quite sure of exactly when he’d gone and removed his boxers, but you also weren’t complaining either.         

“Now, sweetheart.”  Your man begins as he takes a hold of your calf, tenderly draping it over his muscled shoulder as the wheel continues to howl outside. “All you’ve gotta do is lay back and focus on how good you feel.” He leans forward so that he can trace his tongue around your nipple before sucking the delicate flesh into his waiting mouth.  

Your back bows as you thrust your chest forward in silent offering. Andy groans as continues to toy with your pouting nipple before switching to the other. You let out a sharp cry as he brings the pebbled tip in his mouth, lightly pinching it between his teeth just hard enough to make you writhe beneath him. 

That’s part of what always made this feel so good. The way he always seemed to mix pleasure with a little bit of pain. 

His mouth eventually finds yours again as your hands smooth their way over the blades of his shoulders, allowing you to run your fingers along the contour of his muscles. And when you finally reach the firm globes of his ass, you can’t help but giggle as you finally give into the temptation to smack it. Hard.    

Just the way he liked it.

“Remember, sweet brat. If I’m gonna wear your handprint then I think it’s only fair you wear mine too. Understand?” Of course he doesn’t wait for you to answer. Instead he maneuvers himself up so that he can expertly flip you over onto your stomach before pulling you up so that you’re now resting on your hands and knees before him. 

Instinctively you arch your ass in the air, inviting him to make good on his promise. This man loved spanking your ass every chance he got. And what’s more, you seemed to enjoy it almost as much as he did.

“Now be a good girl and put your hands where they’re supposed to go.” 

A small shiver of anticipation courses through as you move to obey. He chuckles softly as he watches your eager fingers grip the headboard. Later he would tell you how proud of you he was in that moment, that he was honored by your faith in his ability to distract you from the violent storm taking place right outside his window.

It meant the world that you trusted him enough to take care of you at a time like this. 

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” Andy purrs as the heavy weight of his palm comes down on your upturned rear with just enough force to make your naughty pussy gush. Unable to stop it, you can’t help the groan you emit when he does it again, loving the way he kneads and caresses your most intimate curves.  

“So are you.” 

Your body jerks when he decides to focus his attention on your greedy little cunt. Nimble fingers spear you open as they between your glistening folds to tease your throbbing clit. It’s not long before your hips begin moving in time with his ministrations. 

Soon your eyes flutter closed as you bear down, shamelessly grinding yourself against his calloused palm. At first, Andy is content to simply watch as you slowly work yourself into a frenzy.

Because this time, when the sound of thunder crackles throughout the room, you barely react. In fact, you hardly hear it. You’re too engrossed in the pleasure, too caught up in just how good your man is making you feel, to remember to be afraid. 

“Easy, greedy girl.” Andy hums after another beat goes by before finally removing his hand. The fucking bastard.

“Nooo!” You whine, hating the way your impending orgasm lingers just out of reach.

"Yeees.” There’s a slight mocking edge to his tone that has you glancing over your shoulder to shoot him a glare. 

“Swear to God you’re so fucking beautiful. Even when you’re trying to turn me into dust.” He winks at you then before allowing his hands to settle on your hips. Goosebumps pebble across your sweat-dampened flesh when you feel the head of his impressive cock nudge at your entrance.

“Please.Please.Please.” That one word is whispered over and over, like a fervent prayer. 

Just then, a stroke of lightning brightens the room, treating you to a fleeting glimpse of your man right as he thrusts himself inside of you, all the way to the hilt. Your eyes threaten to roll back in your head as he forces you to take every deliciously thick inch of his cock, stretching your tight pussy until you can’t help clench around him.     

Andy starts off slow, gradually building up the pace as your velvety walls continue to milk him for all he’s worth. His fingers dig into your curves as you rear back to match his movements. Soon, he adjusts the angle of his thrusts, allowing him to go even deeper. 

“S’good, Andy!Fuuuck!” You moan as Andy continues fucking you into oblivion. “Yes!Harder, pleeease!”

“My baby wants it harder?” He growls, adjusting his position to give you exactly what you asked for. A desperate sob bubbles up from your throat, prompting you to bury your face in a nearby pillow.

Too bad your man is having none of it.        

“Oh no.” One large hand moves to wrap itself around the delicate column of your throat, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your pulse spike. “You don’t get to hide that pretty face from me. Not tonight.” He grunts before allowing his free arm to encircle your waist to haul you against the hard wall of his chest. 

A hand soon finds its way to your breast. He lifts the tempting weight, before plucking at your nipple with his thumb and forefinger, evoking the most exquisite sensations. 

“You’re doing so good, Baby Girl.” Andy rasps, tweaking his angle so that he can find your spot. “So good. Told you I’d keep you safe.” The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echo throughout the room, creating an erotic tempo. “Would never let anything bad happen to you.” 

Your boyfriend’s Boston accent grows thicker and more pronounced with each passing second – letting you know that he’s close to losing control. That’s when you decide to push him closer to the brink by reaching behind you to pull his head down for a kiss. It’s hot, wet, and deep. And by the time you both come up for air your heart is hammering in your chest. 

“I…I know.” And you did know.

Tipping your chin back, you allow your walls to flutter around his fat cock, making him twitch. Your core begins to spasm as you feel the coil in your belly tighten even more. Andy makes sure to keep a tight hold on your sweat-slicked body as his lips continue to whisper kisses along the curve of your jaw.  

White hot pleasure dances along your skin, meanwhile Andy’s thrusts continue to grow more and more erratic with each passing minute. One of your hands slips from the headboard to help keep you upright. 

“Cum, princess. Give it to me.” He snarls through clenched teeth before reaching down to deliver a slap to your pussy. It feels so good that you beg him to do it again and again. “Be a good girl and fucking cum!”

That’s all you need to hear before you go tumbling over the edge and into bliss. “Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!” Ecstasy slices through you, making you cry out loud enough to wake the neighbors. Thank goodness there was a storm going on outside, otherwise someone might’ve taken it upon themselves to call the police.  

Chest heaving, you continue bouncing on your man’s cock. He felt so amazing it bordered on obsession. And you knew he’d feel even better once you had him in your mouth. Andy shudders behind you, his big body trembling with the force of his orgasm.  

Completely spent, you both flop down on the bed. You’re both naked and sweaty, but neither of you really cares all that much. You curl up in his arms, resting on his chest so that you can listen to the soothing sound of his heartbeat. 

“You okay?” Andy murmurs a little while later when he notices that your eyes have begun to droop. “Do you need me to–”

“Mm…” You purr, stretching your arms above your head as you stifle a lawn. “I’m thinking I need some more of that. Like tonight.” 

You grow quiet once you realize that you no longer hear the sound of the rain. Or the wind. Or the thunder. All is as it should be. Thank goodness.

“Give me ten minutes to refuel and I’m all yours.” He grunts before disposing of his used condom in a nearby garbage can.. 

“Thank you.” You mumble, feeling your cheeks heat. “For tonight, for what you did.”

“Not sure if I did much of anything.” Andy smiles down at you, his brilliant blue eyes filled with sincerity. “You’re always safe with me, princess. So just relax."

“I believe you, Andy. But the storm –"

“Is about over. We fucked right through it, baby.” You don’t have to look up at him to know that he’s got some kind of shit-eating grin plastered across his handsome features. "But most of all, thank you for trusting me with your secret.”

“Thank you for not laughing.“ Your hand reaches up to stroke your knuckles along his bearded jaw. 

“Hm.” Andy mutters. “Maybe next time we’ll have to try making love in the rain. What do you think, princess?”

“Um, baby steps, Andrew.” You counter, expertly dodging his first question. “Let’s go smaller. I’m talking waaay smaller.”

“Fine. I’ll settle for a kiss during a light drizzle.” Your boyfriend concedes, laughter and warmth suffusing his tone. 

“Consider it done, handsome.” You mumble as sleep threatens to overtake you.

Later, Andy would tell you that he let you fall asleep that night on purpose. Your earlier anxiety had really done a number on you, which is why he was content to let you rest. Instead of complaining, he holds you close, silently willing his heart to beat in time with your own. 

And when you wake in the middle of the night, cocooned in the safety of your man’s arms, you know without question that you are cherished beyond measure.

END

[castaway-clan]

CastawayClan

"You wake up suddenly, your pelt is rough from the salty water and you feel sand beneath your paws, your body is heavy as you struggle to get up, your eyes blinded by the sun rays."

"where are you ?"

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Hello and welcome to my Clangen blog ! Ran by yours truly @saturncoyote

Inspired by blogs like @/dawn-clan and @/fog-and-the-frost i have started my own little Clangen challenge ! One cat must survive the perils of a newfound land, you may ask him questions but don't expect him to give you answers.

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Asks are tagged as #answered Fanart is tagged as #message in a bottle Out of character things will be tagged as #ooc

Link to [ ToyHouse page ] All Moon updates and asks will be tagged with the respective characters in them (e.g: [goldrun]) and the moon it takes place in (e.g: moon 5) for easier searching

[colormepurplex2]

Bump In The Night | MYG

▻ Bump In The Night ↳ Bogeyman!Yoongi x f.Reader ⤜ Horror/Thriller/Demon, Nyctophobia ⤜ Monster Under The Bed AU | angst, smut ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 12,395 ⤜ Summary: The dark can be scary; full of strange, unseen things. Just when you think you’ve got a handle on your fear, the lights go out, and you face the reality that you were always right—you should fear the dark and especially what’s waiting in it. ⚠️ Crass language, fear, inciting fright, playing on emotions, teasing, kissing, fingering, biting/marking, dom tones, begging, choking, panic, unprotected v. sex, feeding on fear, dark thoughts, revealed dark intentions, predator/prey tones, chasing, claiming, serpentine tongue, oral f.receiving, monster cock/sex, metamorphosis

Written for the BTS Fantasy and Fangs Halloween collab for @minisugakoobies A/N: Sunny, I hope you enjoy this as much as I did while writing it. Happy belated birthday and hope you have a pleasant spooky holiday full of Bogeyman Yoongi delight!

A special thank you to @star-my @hisunshiine and @downbad4yoongi for their amazing beta services!

Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad

Beg For It

Nyctophobia [ nik-tuh-foh-bee-uh ] - noun Psychiatry: extreme or irrational fear of the night or of darkness.

One…

Two…

Three…

Breathe. Another few seconds, that’s all you want; just precious moments to prove yourself.

Four…

Five…

Six…

Cold chills slither down your spine despite the hot water beating against your back. Your fingers work vigorously against your cheeks and along your forehead. What feels like a thousand pounds settles along your lashes, even though you know it’s nothing more than marshmallowy-light foam.

Seven…

Eight…

Nin—

You spin around, nearly losing your footing in the shower as you angle your face under the spray from the showerhead. The heels of your palms press against your lids as you try to rid them of the foamy facial cleanser.

Air wheezes into your lungs, stray drops of water sucking between your parted lips as you try to breathe against the panic building in your chest. Jerking back from the spray, you open your eyes, wincing at the sting from the water-mixed-with-cleanser that drips from your lashes and floods the corners.

Nothing. There’s nothing there. All you see is the steam-filled space of your shower, water pelting down at your feet, a smattering of bottles arranged on the lip of the tub, and the inside of your plain shower curtain.

You sigh, irritation itching in your chest. Not even nine seconds. You were trying for at least ten. It never fails to leave a bitter taste in your mouth whenever you can’t seem to get a grip on yourself. It’s just the dark. Hell, it’s not even really the dark. It’s just having your eyes closed against the bright fluorescent lights of your bathroom; a pseudo-darkness.

The unease in your stomach refuses to dissipate as you turn off the shower, step out, wrap yourself in a towel, and go through the routine of brushing your teeth and massaging moisturizer into your skin. You hang up your damp towel, quickly pulling on the oversized t-shirt and shorts you intend to sleep in.

Steam clouds the mirror. You don’t typically care to wipe it away, not anymore. It’s one of your small, personal victories—one you intentionally remind yourself of now after your panicked stint in the shower. It used to be that you couldn’t stand not being able to see the space behind you through the reflective surface. Knowing if something lurked outside your line of sight, it couldn’t hide from being exposed through the mirror. Being able to see behind you was all that mattered. Now, you take pride in not needing to see…yet, the niggling in the back of your head won’t cease. So, you swipe a hand, collecting tiny beads of moisture on your palm as you go.

You’re unsure why the act makes your heart beat a little harder. It’s supposed to elicit the calm you so desperately need. But, once you’ve slashed a clear path across the mirror, your brow furrows as you lean in closer to it. Cold dread thunders through your veins as you jerk back, spinning on your heel to make sure what you saw through the mirror wasn’t just your mind playing a trick on you.

Nope, not a trick or even a figment of your imagination…unfortunately.

You stare in paranoid disbelief at the slender gap along the bottom of the bathroom door. The door that leads into your bedroom where you are absolutely, without a doubt, positive you left your bedside lamp on. The gap is dark, like a void threatening to suck you right into an endless nightmare of unrelenting terror. All that’s missing is a gaunt, skeletal hand sliding its too-long fingers under the door.

Shoving away those intrusive thoughts before they can take root and further fester like a dirty wound on your sanity, you try to think logically. It’s possible the bulb in your lamp could have blown, but you know you replaced it just last month. It’s far too soon for it to blow on its own, and surely, it’s not a faulty bulb. So, why is it out? Were you careless and, in truth, didn’t turn it on? A manic laugh gets caught in your throat as you silently berate yourself. That must be it. You simply forgot. So careless.

Fear is an acrid taste on your tongue as you slowly approach the door. You hate this feeling. Even though you tell yourself there’s nothing out there lurking in the dark to harm you, you simply forgot to leave the light on. The distress doesn’t subside—and it won’t. At least, not until you open the door and prove the dark to harbor no ill intent toward you.

Squaring your shoulders and taking what is supposed to be a calming and fortifying breath, though it feels more like sand slipping into your lungs, you wrap your fingers firmly around the brushed nickel handle. The metal is warm, slightly wet from the condensation formed during your shower, against your palm as you twist it.

You lick your trembling lips, taking one more moment to center yourself. Your eyes slide closed as you mentally recall the layout of your room, calculating how many steps there are to get to the nearest light switch. Your bed is angled so the foot faces the bathroom door, and the closet door to the left near the two windows you know are closed tight with the curtains drawn. The bedroom door is easily the furthest from the bathroom, leaving the overhead light out of the question. You knew, before you even began to analyze, that the bedside lamp you recall yourself leaving on is going to be the closest light source. Still, you needed to go through the motion of solidifying that information in your mind.

As you haltingly push it open, the quiet creak of the door, which sounds deafening in the silence of the bathroom, causes chills to pop up along your arms and the hairs at the nape of your neck to stand on end. Darkness ebbs as the light from the bathroom bleeds across the hardwood of your bedroom floor, slowly revealing the interior of your room.

Your heart lurches, and a scream rips from your chest when you see a dark figure sitting at the end of your bed come into focus as the bathroom door swings further open, the handle barely held in your now numb fingers. Panic barrels through you. Your muscles react instinctively, fingers tightening around the knob as you jerk back, the door closing with a harsh bang as you backpedal across the bathroom.

“Babe,” calls a playful voice from just on the other side of the door. You can barely hear it over the roaring in your ears. Nausea threatens to double you over, even as relief floods your system—such conflicting emotions that you feel suddenly off-kilter. 

There is a fine sheen of cold sweat clinging to your neck. Your hands fist into the front of your shirt as the door eases open to reveal your boyfriend standing at the threshold. His dark ensemble makes it seem like the bathroom's light bends around his form, not daring to touch him.

You’ve never liked it when someone intentionally scares you, claiming it’s a joke. It always seems more like a cruel prank than a laughing matter. Though, you note, no one is laughing right now either way. He doesn’t look smug or self-satisfied for having scared you, just simply mildly amused.

“You scared me, Yoongi,” you state flatly, crossing your arms over your chest, hoping he picks up on your discomfort.

The corners of his lips turn down, and his brow furrows as he gives you an exaggerated pout. Even with your pounding heart and the upside down in your belly, you can’t help but appreciate how cute he is when he does that. “I know. I just didn’t see the point in wasting the power if you weren’t going to be in there.” He gestures vaguely behind him to your room, which is barely lit by the light pouring out of the bathroom.

It’s on the tip of your tongue to remind him that even though you weren’t in there, he was. Though, for some reason, Yoongi sitting in the dark doesn’t strike you as out of place. In the five years you’ve been together, you’ve learned to love his odd quirks just as much as any other part of him. He’s genuine, a caring person who isn’t afraid to be vulnerable—a far cry from anyone else you’ve ever given your time to.

“How was work?” you ask, aiming to get back on track with some semblance of normalcy—anything to not dwell on the lingering discomfort that’s still beating away in your chest.

His shoulders hitch up in a nonchalant manner. “Same as always. There’s been a big break in the Hunt case. Director Park thinks we’ll have the code cracked in a few more days. I say by tomorrow night, tops, just in time for our date. It’ll be a reward for my hard work,” his eyes twinkle with mirth. “After all, I think Samhain is a pretty fitting day for dealing with evil, huh?”

You make a noncommittal sound at that last part. Yoongi might enjoy that thought, but to you, tomorrow is more so just a day…simply October 31st and is more about plastic pumpkins, like the ones you have sitting on your front porch, than dealing with evil like that. The fact that Yoongi has convinced you to go to a festival tomorrow night is so wild you’ve been forcing yourself not to think about it.

“Well, I’d put my money on you over Director Park any day,” you say instead, giving him a soft, knowing smile. Yoongi has a penchant for estimations. If he thinks it’ll only take another day to crack a code that’s been wreaking havoc on Interpol for the better part of a year, then you believe him. You don’t pretend to understand all the intricacies of what he does; just know he’s really good with computers and helps whichever government agency needs it most or something like that.

Yoongi gives you a lazy smile in return. “Mmm, that’s what I like to hear. Your confidence in me is like kindling for my fervor,” he croons, wrapping you up in his arms. It feels good to relax in his embrace, the last vestiges of your earlier panic melting away as you soak in his warmth and familiarity. “Sorry I scared you,” he murmurs into your damp hair. “Let me make it up to you.”

“What did you have in mind?” you ask, laughing softly when his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt and teasingly caress your sides—the touch is light, making your skin tighten and prickle in response.

A rumbling groan vibrates through Yoongi’s chest as he playfully nips along your jaw before planting his lips firmly over yours in a dizzying and claiming way. “We’ll start with kissing,” the words are whispered between plucks of his mouth against yours, tongue swiping sensually across your bottom lip.

“Kissing is good,” you agree, smiling against his mouth before melting into another heated tangle of tongues and stilted breaths. That fist around your heart eases, letting your chest expand fully for the first time since before you showered.

“Biting,” he murmurs, pulling away from the kiss to bury his face in your neck. The light pressure of his teeth pressing against your skin has your toes curling against the cold tile floor and your fingers fisting into the front of his shirt.

Yoongi plants his mouth right over your pulse point, his tongue flicking over your throbbing vein as his teeth clamp down gently. You swallow hard against the sensation, your heart shifting gears to thud fast in your chest for a different reason. It’s not necessarily fear that drives your senses higher now so much as it is anticipation and an increase in adrenaline—terror adjacent, something you prefer much more to the former.

You shudder against him, knees going weak as he moans, the sound sending pulsing shocks of vibrations down your spine with how his mouth fits against your neck. His fingers ghost along your shorts before finally pushing past the elastic band. The palms of his hands are warm as they slide around and grip handfuls of your ass.

Using his hold on you, Yoongi lifts you up onto the counter beside the sink. As his hands retreat, they tug your shorts with them, working them around the curve of your ass until they’re caught at your knees. You let him push them further until they slacken and fall to catch around your ankles, then onto the floor. Wincing slightly at how cold the counter is against your bare skin, you urge him to fill the space between your thighs, seeking his warmth flush against you once again.

“Yoongi,” you hiss, sucking in a sharp breath as he slides a hand between your bodies and presses the flat of his fingers against your pussy. You don’t need to look in the mirror to know his teeth have left an impression on your neck. He leans back and licks his lips in a show of appreciation, lidded eyes full of mischief and barely veiled lust. “Please.” It comes out warbled as he teases his middle finger between your lower lips.

“Beg for it,” he says. “Show me how much you want me to make you forget about the darkness.” His voice has an edge, like he’s teasing at something, but it’s lost on you to piece together what it might be.

Sucking in a deep breath, you repeat your plea, “Please.”

Your chest is rising and falling rapidly, and you can feel your erratic heartbeat pounding between your legs and under the sensitive skin of your neck that Yoongi ravaged with his teeth. Lightheadedness kisses the edges of your clarity, daring you to get lost in the delirium that Yoongi is offering.

“You can do better than that,” Yoongi taunts, his laugh low and husky as he pulls away, leaving you bereft of his touch where you want it most. “Beg. For. It.” The words are clipped, punctuated with staccato taps of his middle finger against your sensitive clit.

“Fuck—Yoongi, please! Please, I need you!”

“That’s my girl,” Yoongi smiles wickedly. Two slender fingers sliding into your wet heat are your reward. “You’re so wet already. Look at how your body is pulling me in. Fuck, that’s nice.” He angles himself so you can both look down and watch his fingers slowly pull out, glistening with your arousal before sinking back in.

Your body squeezes around his fingers, walls fluttering in anticipation and building pleasure. “Need you,” you mumble, grabbing at the button on the front of his dark wash jeans with one hand and tugging at the bottom of his black t-shirt with the other. “Fuck me, Yoongi, please. Please, fuck me. I need you to make me forget.”

A flurry of motion accompanies his answering growl of approval as he helps you strip him out of his clothes and the rest of your own. You barely feel the absence of his fingers in your cunt before he pulls your ass to the edge of the counter and shoves his cock inside with a guttural moan that echoes in the small space.

The fit of him inside your body is deliciously perfect, like he was made to please you. Your fingers press dents into his shoulders as you grip him tightly. One of his hands squeezes your hip to keep you from slipping off the counter while the other finds its way to having a light grip on your throat.

His forehead rests against yours, the back of your head pressed against the mirror behind you. The angle makes his thrusts shallow, forcing the crown of his cock to rock against a sensitive spot deep inside that has you seeing spots behind your closed lids.

Yoongi has always been a contrasting lover, hot and cold, in a way that always leaves you breathless and assuaged. The look on his face says he’s fucking you, but the sensual roll of his hips says he’s making love to you—the hand on your throat says he just wants to control you. Regardless of how he fucks, it always consumes you. From the first time to now, he wholly and utterly devours your sanity and spits it back at you two-fold. He brings you palpable lucidity while also destroying all sense of right and wrong. Some call it morally grey; you call it just another titillating facet of who he is.

Pleasure builds fast, and you know you’re about to tip over the edge when the pressure of his hand on your throat increases. It’s an infinitesimal change, but it feels like the tightening of a vice all the same.

The erratic beat of your heart stutters further, swallowing you down into a thick-headed spiral of trepidation. You know Yoongi won’t hurt you. It’s not that—not quite. It’s the idea and knowledge that he could. It’s a taboo feeling, craving that helpless flutter deep in your belly that dares you to indulge in the darkness instead of running from it.

Yoongi’s hips continue to roll against you, your body pinned in place by his hand on your throat. Your eyes flutter open just to fall shut again as the hand on your hip moves until his thumb presses against your clit, making your body jerk and hurtle back toward the precipice of pleasure from before.

With his thumb pressed against one throbbing artery in your neck and the pads of his fingers against the twin on the other side, he has complete and utter control over you. All it takes is another barely-there squeeze to have you changing your grip from his shoulders to his forearm.

The bitter taste of cowardice laces together with the cloyingly sweet, carnal flavor of lust that’s coating your insides. Yoongi rumbles, a moan low in his chest. The rhythm of his hips kicks up until they’re hammering against yours to the point that measures of pain mix with the terror, forming into a rapture of exhilaration. His thumb coaxes your orgasm through precise flicks over your swollen clit.

You can’t help the sound that rips from your throat, squeezing past his grip in a ragged mockery of a moan—bright colors spiderweb across the backs of your closed lids as you sip from his chalice of wickedness. White noise joins the rush of blood in your ears as somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, alarm begins to bleed into the hazy euphoria clouding your head. “Yes!” Yoongi groans. “That’s it, fuck!”

“Y-yoon—“ you try to choke out his name, fingers trembling from their tight grip on his forearm. Just as you’re about to try and shove him away to get a reprieve, his hand loosens its hold on your throat, and the instant rush of oxygen to your brain washes away all other thoughts as your body surrenders once again to his dominion. The orgasm tears through you, sweeping you out in a hedonistic riptide. Your walls clamp around his cock so hard he snarls and shudders with the trigger of his own release.

You must have blacked out from the overwhelming cascade that besieged your senses because the next thing you’re aware of is Yoongi tucking you into bed beside him. The sheets are cool against your heated skin, a welcome lull of relief. He presses into your sated body, chest against your back and arm possessively curling over your hip. “Get some sleep, my queen,” he murmurs. “I’ll hold the darkness back.”

The room is dark, just as it was earlier when you panicked. But, just as always, when Yoongi is around, it’s less frightening…seemingly somehow less dark and foreboding. He might have darker desires when it comes to pleasure, but right now, he’s the light that chases away your other demons.

🖤🖤🖤

Yoongi

The taste of your fear still lingers in the back of Yoongi’s throat as he pretends to sleep curled around you. He knew turning off your bedroom light would scare you. It’s why he did it. The peckish feeling that rumbled in the pit of his stomach drove him to want to play with you. Your fear instantly sated his hunger, and it made his dick hard when you screamed. You scream so prettily he just can’t help that natural, primal response. 

That is, after all, precisely why he chose you. Everything about you speaks to his needs, promising sweet and succulent fruit that’s always ripe for plucking.

He learned early on that if he could elevate your heart rate and incite a sliver of fear in you while fucking you…well, his full belly is testament enough to how much he loves that. You call it a kink, he calls it dessert. It wasn’t his intention to fuck you after he frightened you, but the irritating erection grating along his zipper had other plans. 

His mortal form isn’t his favorite. It’s far too small and has far too many baser needs and limitations. Though he does enjoy the feel of your soft, pliant flesh under his—especially when you’re ripe with the sweet smell of terror—it makes it worth the discomfort this inferior mode has.

It’s not lost on Yoongi that he could have ruined you from the start by taking too much from you. But he’s been careful over the years, molding and training your body to be the perfect vessel for him to feed from. The fact you were already experiencing high anxiety and an innate fear of the dark prior to him coming into your life helped tremendously. Nyctophobia is such a beautiful thing.

You claim he’s helped you, for the most part, get over your fears. However, he knows this is just a lie you tell him and yourself to make yourself feel and seem braver. He knows the truth, though. There is no getting over your fear, not when it lives with you…sleeps next to you, touches you, fucks you. He’s everything you’re scared of, everything you think is creeping around in the dark, waiting to pounce. He’s your worst nightmare…literally as much as figuratively—and you have absolutely no inkling of that truth. All you see is what he lets you see: just a sweet guy with a penchant for darker tastes behind closed doors.

To you, he’s just Yoongi. But he has had many names over the centuries: Demon, Baba Yaga, El Coco, Butzemann, Tikoloshe, Bogeyman, and so on. All of them are generally the same, but none are quite right. He is all these things, and yet none of these things—he’s so much more.

It’s a common misconception that he only targets people who do misdeeds. That’s not it at all, for the sweetest fruit is the unwary, the innocent, the vulnerable, and the scared. That is the pinnacle of his desire, the unctuous delight that feeds his depravity and gives him power over the darkness—darkness that calls to him now.

Being careful not to wake you, Yoongi slips out from around your soft, lush body. Feeding on your fear in the bathroom drained some of your vitality, lowering your constitution, and the best recovery for that is a good, uninterrupted eight hours. So, he’ll leave you to replenish so that he may feast once again—one last time before he executes his final, ultimate plan; the whole reason he chose you to begin with and has been periodically parading around in this limited meat suit for years.

The maw of darkness under your bed beckons him to shake off the mortal form and take his rightful place as King among the shadows. Yoongi catches his reflection in the standing mirror across the room. The only thing distinct is the brilliant red eyes staring back at him. It feels good to stretch and dissolve into his proper form, shadows snaking along his limbs and filling his every breath.

You fidget on the bed, brow furrowing as your body reacts to the nearness of his proper form. He likes watching you twitch and shift, soft mewls of fright sounding low in your chest. If he wanted, he could swallow you whole, and you’d never be the wiser, one moment existing in your nightmare and the next slithering into the ether of what comes after. But, it’s not time…not yet.

Letting one of his long, spindly shadow fingers draw back in and reform into the echo of human flesh, he presses the blunt tip against your temple. You instantly quell your movements, and the pitiful cry in your chest subsides. Yoongi can feel the subtle tremble of your body, the vibrations skittering through your flesh as your body recognizes his hellish touch. Your subconscious is as familiar with his umbral form as your conscious is with the lies he’s used to frame how you see him with your eyes.

Digging through the screen of your nightmare, he pulls back the darkness and lets in just enough light to lull you into a false sense of security—something he does nearly every night after he’s fed from you so he doesn’t accidentally drain you dry. By the time he returns, the light will have faded from your dreams, and there will be just enough unfettered distress permeating the air of your bedroom to give him a top off of delicious fear, his own personal cup of pick-me-up.

Yoongi slides under the bed and into the darkness, leaving you to your deep, lambent dreams. He melts through the barrier between your world and his. Euphoria buzzes through him as his depth of power increases. That’s the biggest downfall of walking the mortal plane. There aren’t quite enough shadows or stinking fear to fill the neverending void inside him. But here, in the Realm of Darkness, the taste of terror is thick and nectarous. It lingers in the air and is as permanent as the oxygen you breathe in your world.

Yoongi drifts through the firmament of his domain, letting the worries and stress of what’s to come fade. For a being with endless power and control, he never thought he might have the need to be concerned over something seemingly so trivial. But, the ceremony and ritual he has planned for tomorrow night is easily the most critical thing he’s ever dared to accomplish.

The Realm of Darkness might be sufficiently filled with succulent fodder for him, but there are other limitations he encounters. Constraints that involve the worlds beyond his Kingdom. He doesn’t want just to be able to thrive here on his own turf. He has aspirations of letting his darkness seep into the outer realms—including yours—and if he has his way, you will help him do just that. The barriers will crumble, and he’ll be free to bathe the distant realms in his thick ichor of destruction.

Finally feeling more like himself, he aims for the Shadow Spire, where waits the Throne of the Damned—his throne. All it takes is a simple thought, and he’s standing in the sprawling cavern of the throne room. It stretches wide in all directions, having no end or beginning, just existing as his will needs.

Pillars of malachite soar into the air at equal intervals, disappearing into the glittering cosmos expanse above his head. Silvery flecks of light cast the whole room in a mockery of the night sky of your world, something he’s grown to admire over the years spent there. Yoongi takes a deep breath, soaking in the tangy, bitter stench of brimstone and copper. Soon, he hopes, your delectable perfume of fear will join them.

“Sire,” a gruff voice says in surprise. “We weren’t expecting you back until the ritual. Welcome, is there anything we can do for you?”

Yoongi settles his shadowy form on the monstrous broken stone pillar at the top of the dais that rises from the rocky floor. His court, ever vigilant in their duty to him, wait for him to respond. “Is everything prepared for the ceremony?” he asks, eyes finally landing on the six figures seated on the smaller stone plinths arrayed in a semi-circle in front of him—the Shadow Court once again complete with his return. Hopefully, he won’t have to leave the comfort of his court but one more time. Once the ritual is done, he shouldn’t have to so much as lift a finger to reach into the overworld.

“All is well and ready, Sire.” Wicked smiles spread like wildfire across the court. They’re just as excited as Yoongi is to be finally moving forward with the plan. None of them have tasted the kind of fear that Yoongi has feasted on from you—the fresh terror of the mortal realm—but if they had more corporeal forms, he knows they’d be salivating. Soon, so very soon.

Looking around at his companions, he can’t help but think how humorous it is that you so readily believed his deceptions about working for the human government. He remembers the day he finally stepped from the shadows and made himself known to you. You were immediately drawn to him and couldn't stop yourself from indulging in your curiosities like a moth drawn to a flame.

Yoongi had already come up with an elaborate backstory and characterization for the human he wanted to portray. He knew all of your deep, dark fantasies and brought them to life. Your eyes got round with awe and reverence when he first revealed his supposed job, confirming how gullible and under his spell you were. He can’t deny it’s worked in his favor.

He’s allowed to keep odd hours and disappear as needed. When he returns to your bed before the sun rises, he’ll leave you a note on your pillow about being pulled away for work. You’ll read it and sigh a dreamy sigh as you have every other time he’s done that. You never bother to seek further explanation—your trust in him is so wholly concrete.

There is satisfaction in the freedom you’ve granted him to embrace a darker side. It’s how he can get away with fucking you so callously that your brain warps it into some deranged form of love. You’ve chalked every depraved thing he’s done to you up to him needing an outlet after dealing with such heinous stuff for work. He only had to mention a few well-known acronyms, like FBI and CIA, and you accepted it. As scared as you are of the dark, he’s aware of the collection of slasher and horror novels you keep stuffed away under your bed and that you listen with rapt attention to those silly crime shows and podcasts that tell you he’s not the one you should be scared of. Soon, he won’t have to worry about any of that, though—no more silly backstory, no more hiding, no more stuffy mortal form, no more holding back. Tomorrow signifies a change, a new beginning. It’s the time when the veil between the worlds will be thin enough that he can drag you down without it sucking your life away. Some call it Samhain, Calan Gaeaf, Mischief Night, Halloween—it holds nearly as many names as Yoongi himself does—but for him, it will be the night he calls triumph. The night his shadows will lay a claim to you wholly; the night you stop fearing what goes bump in the night and instead stand by its side and let it consume you.

Wicked Delight

Consciousness comes in fits and spurts of clarity. There is a moment where you’re asleep but aware. With this awareness, you can discern and feel the potent darkness webbing across your subconscious. You’ve seen it before, the myriad of inky tendrils that zig-zag through the light like fissures over a dried river bed. It scares you but also fills you with intrigue so rich it nearly eclipses the fear.

You know that if you could just hang on to that in-between space, the feeling of teetering on the edge of a knife, you could examine the darkness further and figure out what it is and where it comes from. But your body has other plans, sucking you away from your inspection and pushing you toward uneasy wakefulness.

Shifting under the blankets, a crinkling noise draws your eyes open to land on a rumple of white paper lying beside you on the empty side of the bed. With fumbling fingers, you grab the ripped leaf of creamy parchment and turn it so you can see the blue scrawl of words.

Got some darkness to take care of. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Don’t forget; 11 pm sharp, beginning of the corn maze. X

There is no name signed to the note, just an X, but you know who left it, regardless. You roll over, holding the thin paper above you so you can see the faded, faint print under his ink. A smile tugs at your lips when you realize it’s a corner ripped from Kinder und Hausmärchen, one of Yoongi’s favorite books. He has an original first edition that he’s let you moon over a few times. The first time you found a note and saw what it was written on, you nearly crawled out of your skin to berate him for ruining such a prize. He gently chided you for your reaction and assured you it was just a copy, scanned and printed for the whimsy of it.

Looking closer, you see the corner is from a page of the Cat and Mouse in Partnership tale. Your smile fades, turning into a mild frown as an odd feeling ghosts beneath your skin, eliciting goosebumps to pop up along your arms. Sighing, you shake your head and pull the blanket up high under your chin, chalking the sensation up to being cold. Your eyes rove around the room, taking in the early morning light filtering in through your thin curtains, showing you just enough of the inside of your room to be comfortable with not having a light on.

Finally deciding there’s no point in dallying in bed further, you toss back the covers and brace yourself against the chill in your room. Only, it’s not as cold as you were anticipating. Opening the small drawer on your nightstand to deposit the message in with the dozens of others Yoongi has left you over the years, you can help but smile. They’re sweet, little pieces of him that affirm to you why it’s okay he disappears the way he does. The reminder comforts you, especially on this day.

Halloween has never been your favorite. Well, that’s not true, exactly. You do like Halloween—just the modern and more mainstream version with candy, pumpkins, and warm, spiced drinks. Fall colors are also something you enjoy. The cooler air is nice. You’re partial to cozy sweaters and boots, too.

All in all, you enjoy this time of the year. You just don’t necessarily like the darker parts, the scarier parts. Haunted houses and scary movies are things you could do without unless it’s under very specific circumstances. Such as having Yoongi there. Which is the only reason you’ve agreed to meet him at the festival tonight. You haven’t been since you were a teen and got so scared by the fright actors that you swore never to return.

Except, now, you are returning. It’s been on the tip of your tongue for the last week to cancel on Yoongi, feigning a head or stomach ache. But, the sheer excitement in his gaze when you agreed, has been enough to make you bite your tongue every time a protest bubbles up. You can—and will—do this.

With an entire day to go before your date with Yoongi, you busy yourself with mundane tasks. A bit of cleaning, some light reading, and lastly, dumping a few bags of assorted and prepackaged candies into a bright orange bowl with a goofy jack-o-lantern face printed on the side.

You’re usually a porchlight-off kind of person. Still, this year, considering your own venture outside your proverbial Halloween box, you decided why not go the extra mile for others, too? Even if one kid dumps the entire bowl into their treat bag, you’ll at least feel somewhat accomplished in your attempt.

Setting the bowl on your doorstep, you stand back and survey it. The yellow-tinged porch light illuminates the candy and the plastic pumpkins you have arranged on either side of your door. You contemplate adding a ‘please take only one’ sign for the bowl but decide a paper warning isn’t much of a deterrent. Leaving the candy to its fate, you head back inside to finish getting ready.

Time flows in a weird, out-of-body kind of way. You’re aware of pulling on your coat and walking into your garage through the kitchen—even the process of driving to the festival registers in your mind. But, you’re genuinely not cognisant of what you’re doing until you’re staring at the large flashing sign for the festival. You have to practically put on blinders to make it through the ticketing process, ignoring the scare actors as you wait in line.

The corn maze is at the center of it all, meaning you keep your eyes glued to the ground as you skirt the edges of the food stalls and game stands until you reach it. There, you wait, standing at the start of the corn maze and stare at your watch, counting the seconds as they tick by with the small hand.

The air is cool, the crisp scent of fall heavy around you. Laughter and faint screams carry to you from the festival surrounding the maze. The giant corn labyrinth is the center of the entire two-week-long event. Thousands of people flock from near and far to venture within the husked, cream-colored stalks.

If you make it through the maze without assistance from the scare actors, then you get an entire bucket of caramel popcorn drizzled with chocolate. That’s never been enough of a reward for you to try. Even the last time you were here, you never stepped foot into the clustered embrace of the maze.

The festival is lit enough with all the twinkling lights and fair games lining the thoroughfares and the midway. Food trucks and stalls litter through the vendors with stuffed animals and cackling clowns. You try to ignore the bodies that sway and shamble through the crowd—the scare actors. They’re just people dressed up in costume and makeup, but they still elicit that flighty feeling in your belly, that little trickle of fear.

At the ticket booths, there were neon green necklaces you could purchase. You used them as a distraction while you waited in line. They’re ‘no scare’ necklaces, big bright indicators that you’re a sensitive little bitch that doesn’t want to be scared. At least, that’s how you felt looking at them, considering buying one. You know they’re an extremely valid item, a protective emblem that many people need, and that it’s perfectly fine—in fact, it’s encouraged for people to use them if they need to.

As you fingered the green nylon of the lanyard, you couldn’t help chewing your bottom lip, worrying at it until it cracked under your teeth and the coppery tang of blood danced across your tongue. You almost bought it…maybe you should have. However, the fact that you’re half-hidden by the corn maze sign and doing everything in your power not to draw unwanted attention to yourself seems to be keeping you from attracting the actors your way.

The tiny hand on your watch ticks away, drawing closer to turning over the minute, which'll turn over the hour to 11 PM. Sharp. Yoongi’s insistence. Just as the hands come together on your watch, you feel that telltale tingling feeling of eyes on you. It’s a familiar sensation, one you often associate with Yoongi. Daring to step out from behind the sign to the corn maze, you spin in a slow circle, trying to catch sight of him.

“Looking for someone?”

You have to clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle the shriek that rips from your chest as those words drift in from right behind you. So close that it’s impossible to imagine you hadn’t noticed him approaching you as you looked around.

“Yoongi,” you sigh, dropping your hand.

He's enveloping you from behind before you can turn around and give him a pouty yet stern look. His familiar musk and warmth ease your heart back from its hammering gallop. “You’re good enough to eat,” he gruffly murmurs, pressing his nose into the fabric of your coat at the juncture of your shoulder and neck. You can feel more than hear his deep inhalation, as if he’s drawing in the scent of your very soul and branding it throughout his olfactory system.

“The maze closes in an hour. Are you sure we can make it to the center before then?” you ask, voice light and airy as relief infused with drips of serotonin weaken your knees and your resolve to be upset with him for frightening you. You turn in his arms, keen to look upon his face for another kick of comfort, but it sours in your belly when you take in his pulled-up hood and the thick black gaiter covering the bottom half of his face. “What’s that for?”

Yoongi shrugs, shoulders lifting in his typical nonchalant manner. “It’s Halloween. Consider me dressed for the occasion.” He winks at you, but it does nothing to quell the unease still rolling around just beneath your surface. Feigning that stomachache is starting to sound more and more appealing, Yoongi’s excitement be damned.

“You look like a burglar.”

You can’t see his smile, but you can tell it’s there by how his eyes crinkle and lids lower mischievously. “And you look ripe for the burgling.”

“You’re insufferable,” you gripe teasingly, finally letting a smile grace your face despite the lingering anxiety. It’s easy to forget your fears and worries when you’re looking into his umber-colored gaze.

“Come on, let’s go.” Yoongi offers you his elbow, and you tuck your hand into the crook of it, leaning your shoulder against his arm.

The fleece-lined leggings you chose to wear keep you warm enough, paired with the knit sweater and thick tweed coat covering your top half. Your chunky boots are comfortable and practical for the slightly uneven terrain of the cornfield-turned-maze. Yoongi is far more casual in just jeans, the hoodie, and a pair of dusty and worn sneakers.

You study his face the best you can past the edge of his hood and out of the corner of your eye. He’s just as handsome as always. Even the black fabric covering the bottom half of his face doesn’t detract from his allure, which seems to be intensified by the deepening darkness around you as he leads you through the maze entrance.

A festival worker stands off to the side in full-on farmer-gore. Their overalls are covered in faux viscera, and there is a bloodied sling blade dangling from their off-hand as they beckon you and Yoongi forward with their other.

“Tonight's savior phrase is ‘Pumpkin Guts’, yell it out if you need assistance navigating the maze, and a helper will assist you,” he offers before turning to the next patron approaching a few feet behind you and Yoongi and giving them the same information.

“Pumpkin Guts,” Yoongi scoffs with a quiet laugh. “Surely they could have come up with something far more fitting than that.”

“I find it kind of nice. The childish charm of it helps make a situation like getting lost in the maze less scary, don’t you think?”

His eyes look more onyx now that you’re within the maze, the only illumination coming from tiny, sparse fairy lights. They catch your gaze, and you see a smile tilt up the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. “That’s adorable.”

“What?” you laugh, feeling heat crawl into your cheeks.

Yoongi shakes his head, his smile growing. “You always find the good in everything. It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

All the residual anxiety from earlier bleeds away with just that singular statement. You press in closer to Yoongi and angle your face up in silent request, to which he immediately obliges. He hooks a finger in the lip of his gaiter and pulls it down so he can slant his mouth over yours. His lips are warmer than usual, his breath carrying faint hints of bourbon as he teasingly slips his tongue through the seam of your lips. All too soon, he’s pulling away, leaving you with just that small taste of him. The gaiter slides back into place, and he nods ahead of you. “The quicker we make it to the center, the quicker you get the surprise I have waiting for you.”

“A surprise?” you ask, thoroughly intrigued. 

His affirming hum in response turns into a soft chuckle as you eagerly quicken your steps, tugging him along beside you. As someone who isn’t partial to being shocked or scared, it’s perhaps a bit ironic that you love surprises of the unknown. They just have to be the right kind—like one from Yoongi; er, well, at least the ones that don’t involve him sitting on your bed in the dark as you open the bathroom door or so you tell yourself—but you digress.

Though, perhaps there is a bit of enjoyment from those kinds of surprises, too. In a twisted, semi-fucked up way, the surge of adrenaline is like a counterweight to the dopamine response from your amygdala that follows any time you get frightened. The perfect balance of emotions. The fight or flight reflex makes your body feel like it’s keyed up with extra energy, leaving you feeling like you’ve just run a mile or fucked for an hour. It’s maybe a little unhinged to salivate over those small sips of terror secretly. Does that make you a masochist?

You’d almost think Yoongi picks up on your inner thoughts with the way he makes an amused sound in the back of his throat and gives you a sidelong, knowing look. Something tingles beneath your skin, an electric feeling akin to loose ambitions. It seems tonight won’t be so bad after all.

The crunch of dried corn husks and hay accompanies the occasional scream or laugh echoing from various points in the maze. You’ve only led Yoongi to a dead-end a handful of times so far, but the anxiety at not having found the center of the maze yet is starting to mount.

“I can feel your stress in the tension in your hand,” Yoongi muses softly. “Relax, you’ll get your surprise.”

“What if they close the maze before we make it to the center, though?”

“They won’t.”

You cut a quick glance at him. He looks smug. “You seem so sure, but from my count,” you shift your attention to your watch, “we only have fifteen minutes before the festival closes, and I’d guess we’re nowhere near the center yet.”

Yoongi shrugs. “I may have paid the vendor to let us stay as long as we need.”

“You did what?”

“Tonight’s special,” Yoongi tugs you to a stop, his hands engulfing yours, and gives you a pointed look. “Very special.” The thumb of his right hand grazes over the expanse of skin above the knuckle on your left ring finger. “Now, let’s go find the center…and your surprise.”

A new sensation trickles in–excitement. Your heart patters faster as you turn and haul Yoongi on with renewed vigor. Gone is any trepidation; in its place, nothing but giddy and barely veiled anticipation. And to think, you’d almost been silly and canceled on him.

🖤🖤🖤

Yoongi

Yoongi wasn’t exaggerating when he said you look good enough to eat tonight. If only you knew how close to an accurate statement that was. He’s had a constant flow of moisture seeping into his mouth since he laid eyes on you standing behind the wooden sign for the maze. He had just finished setting up the surprise for you in the center, utilizing his natural form in order to move quickly without being seen.

All the implements he needs await him at the maze's center. The theatrics of it all are only for fun. He could have simply taken you without them. But he’s always been partial to playing with his food before devouring it. The pungency of your anxiety as you waited was a delightful appetizer to what is sure to be a satiating main course.

Every time you make a wrong turn in the maze, Yoongi can feel the tension in your muscles and the momentary disappointment that flavors your scent. It’s amusing watching you shuffle your feet and grumble under your breath before turning and backtracking.

It’s not lost to him the amount of uncertainty you’ve had ever since he asked you to go with him tonight. Not that he would have given you a choice in the end; he’d have taken you by force if needed. But he’s a passive creature at best, so the less work he has to do, the better.

Using the ruse of there being a surprise waiting for you isn’t entirely untrue. Though, the treat he’s confident that he’s planted the idea of in your head is far different from what’s actually going to happen. He’s spent enough time in the mortal realm to know what you’d have interpreted from him stroking that particular finger with the right look in his eye. Your heart had gone into a frenzy of thick, heavy beats, and your eyes had lit up with wonder.

Yeah, he’s pretty sure he knows what’s driving your feet to move as quickly as they are now. It’ll just make the disappointment taste that much sweeter. Over the five years he’s been administering to you, molding you into the perfect vessel, he’s learned the small nuances that make you tick. Whether it’s for eliciting fear or excitement, desire or anguish, he knows exactly how to produce the results he wants.

“Ugh,” you grumble for the dozenth time when you turn a corner and come to another dead end. “This is impossible. How can you find enjoyment in these things?”

Yoongi smirks. “It’s quite analytical if you really want me to answer that.” The way your nose wrinkles when he says that is positively adorable. “Come on, I’ll help you out.”

You gleefully cede the lead, letting him guide you back and toward a different direction entirely. You’re still excited, bubbling with positive anticipation, even though you’re no longer playing the game, per se. It’s interesting how you so quickly relinquish the hunt—he’d never.

The noise of the festival and maze has long since fizzled away. He didn’t actually pay the attendant. He’s just using some of his ability to mask your presence from anyone who might get in the way. Some of the lights from the midway are still going, and a few rides are lit up. However, the deeper Yoongi leads you into the labyrinth, the darker it becomes. He’s confident you’re so wound up that you don’t even notice how his shadows grow and stretch along the narrow walkway around you.

“Oh, look!” You excitedly point at the opening that comes into view at the end of the row. “I can smell the popcorn. Did that bribe include a bucket waiting for us, too?”

Yoongi has no idea if there is popcorn waiting, but he imagines you’re only smelling the lingering scent. He can’t detect anyone else within a hundred-meter radius around the maze. If the prospect of popcorn makes you happy, then sure. “Of course it did. We’ll need a snack once I’m done with you.” Which mostly isn’t true, though he can’t be sure. Yoongi has never shadow-turned a human before, much less taken a mate in the process. You might be ravenous by the time he’s done; though, he’d bet it won’t be popcorn you’ll be craving.

There is a distinct moment where Yoongi can feel the shift in your demeanor. Your excitement dips into confusion as you take in the finish line area that’s deserted of anyone and anything other than the large 10 ft square structure he erected in the middle. The raw malachite plinths are so dark the lindworm-colored stone seems to absorb the illuminance around them, turning the gateway into a giant pit of darkness that devours the faint twinkling lights. Shadows bleed from the open space between the pillars, reaching for their master.

Yoongi’s blood sings with desire as fear trickles in with the confusion. “Yoongi,” you whisper his name, and it warbles from your lips oh so beautifully. “What’s that?”

“That’s your future, my love.” He untangles himself from your grip, circling you like a predator. “Now, run!” he snarls from right behind you.

You don’t even scream when he shoves you forward, your arms windmilling and boots tripping over the scatter of dried corn husks before you topple headlong between the pillars. The last thing he sees before the waiting shadows swallow you is the whites of your eyes as you throw a panicked look over your shoulder at him.

It’s mildly disappointing that you didn’t even so much as grunt or give him any sort of satisfaction that you’re petrified other than the cloying perfume of your terror that settles on his tongue when he huffs in irritation. Hopefully, when he follows you through the gateway, you’ll already be on the run because he’s in the mood to play a while longer before he shatters the world as you know it.

Yoongi wants you to recognize him, so he only casts off some of his mortal form, choosing to keep his face and most of his body intact. What changes is his size; he grows larger, arms and legs longer, fingers more like talons, and eyes the dark red of fresh blood.

He knows he looks monstrous, even more so with the cloth still covering the lower half of his face and the hoodie now ripped and hanging from his physique. As soon as he slides through the barrier of the gateway, he’s met with that euphoric sound he hoped for earlier. Your scream rends through the thick, stale air of the Realm of Darkness, music to his ears.

“That’s my girl,” Yoongi crows, his voice gravelly and distorted by his natural form. He inhales deeply, sucking in your dismay's succulent and divine fragrance. “Fuck.”

You scream again as he steps toward you, which spurs you into gaining your feet, not even caring to look at the soot-like substance caking your hands and knees. Yoongi can only imagine the thoughts warring inside your pretty little head right now. Wild fear makes your eyes flick frantically around before you choose a direction and sprint at breakneck speed between the skeletal trees surrounding this side of the gateway.

He chose the Forest of Decay specifically because it provides the perfect environment for a chase. It allows him to easily keep up with you while giving the illusion of protection. There’s also not a single nook or cranny Yoongi isn’t intimately familiar with; after all, he can’t have you finding some unknown hole to burrow into.

The flash and flicker of your coat draws his attention as it zigs and zags through the petrified sentinels of the forest. Their long, gnarled branches reach far, entwining overhead like a macabre endless bird's nest. It creates a dim atmosphere, with the faintest hint of light bleeding through the limbs. Each tree is about a foot wide and twenty feet high, the ground covered in sooty ash; it’s an ideal playground.

“Leave me alone!” you sob when Yoongi lets you catch another glimpse of him.

Yoongi shudders as a fresh, new wave of terror undulates from you and washes over him. “No can do, my queen.”

The thrill of the chase adds kindling to Yoongi’s need to consume you whole. Every step you take is reckless. You throw yourself around trees so fast you nearly hit the next. The spacing between the trees is relatively narrow, just a few feet at most. Still, with the way you’re barreling through them, you’ve already accumulated a few scratches and minor lacerations from the dried bark, feet kicking up small puffs of ash with every frantic step. The tangy, sweet scent of your blood makes him salivate. The thick, viscous drool coating his tongue will make it all that easier to fuck you with it once he catches you.

Lumbering on behind you, Yoongi intentionally stomps and makes as much noise as possible. Every crack and thump he makes has a whimper shivering from your throat. The thick appendage between his monstrous thighs swells with each terrified sound you make. Fucking you in his proper form will be such a treat. Surely, it’ll be far better than any sex he’s had with the limits of his human body, even if he does love the way your softness compliments his.

But there is nothing soft about Yoongi now—not when he has such a tasty morsel running and screaming so prettily for him. He’s all hard edges and thick muscle. A manic chuckle bubbles in his chest as he leaps ahead, hounding your heels.

It’s comical, ironic even, when he watches your foot catch on a high root hidden by a pile of ash, and you go sprawling on the ground before him. He’s seen enough of those cheesy horror films so fervently worshiped in your world to know how funny this is.

“Please, no! Leave me alone!” you beg through ragged breaths. Your face and hair are marked with scratches, flecks of dried bark, and the pewter-colored ash covering the ground.

An appreciative moan works its way free of Yoongi as he stands over you, swaying like he’s drunk. Which, maybe he is. There is a faint buzzing in his ears, and if he opens his eyes too wide, your image doubles. Two of you; he grins wickedly at the prospect. Now, that would be a definite treat.

As it is, there’s only you; that will be sufficient for what Yoongi has planned. He looms over you, and the backward-bending joints of his knees give slightly as he towers across your prone form. Your eyes pan over his arched body, perhaps for the first time, taking it in with true clarity. Yoongi lets his skin ripple between human and proper form, coalescing and whirling with shadows.

With a flex of darkness, he rends the remnants of his clothes. The ripping of the seams and subsequent soft plop of the ruined fabrics echo through the suddenly silent space. You’re barely even breathing as you take him in, eyes landing on the swinging cock that nearly brushes your belly as he places a gnarled hand beside your head in the ash.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, though it comes out more like sand in a grinder. Lowering further, Yoongi nudges your chin with his nose, guiding your head sideways to give him unfettered access to your throat. Pressing into the crook of your neck, he huffs hot breath over your skin, rejoicing in the instinctive reaction. Your skin prickles and flushes with goosebumps, and a thick cloud of potent fear wafts up as your pulse hammers away beneath his lips.

“P-please,” you whimper through trembling lips. Tears stream down your cheek and drip off the bridge of your nose. Their salty tang mixes with the sweetness of terror pervading the air.

That word, spoken in that way…it does something to Yoongi. He groans, nipping at the skin of your neck with his blunted teeth before letting them elongate so he can adequately graze your papery-thin flesh. You cry out when they slice through, leaving behind thin blood trickles and shallow scratches.

Your blood is laced with fear, blooming on his tongue like an ambrosia of the gods. “You’ve always begged so prettily, my queen. You’re a treasure, and I’m so glad I found you all those years ago, so innocent and unsuspecting—my perfect mate.”

The next scream that leaves your lips is guttural, full of panic and delirium as Yoongi takes his first pull from your body. Thin wisps of black shadow thread from his lips to yours. They pulse with every drag he takes. He’s fed from you thousands of times, but never like this—never so profoundly.

Fear, terror, horror, fright…it’s all the same, and yet Yoongi is almost sure he can taste the distinction. Like a fine wine, you have tasting notes that vary with every sip. By the fifth breath, your body has grown slack, your eyes wide and glassy. Tears still stream down your face but in silence.

Yoongi watches your pallor grow sickly, waxy as sweat pearls along your hairline and temples. Draining you is a delicate affair, something he’s both dreaded and looked forward to for so long. Watching the fire that he loves so much bleed from your eyes and the vigor leech from your skin pangs him with a foreign sensation, something akin to mourning? He realizes now he will mourn the loss of your human form, even if it’s far inferior to what he will turn you into.

With one final shuddering gasp, the darkest, thickest tendril of shadow snakes its way between your parted lips. Your fingers and limbs spasm as the inky darkness roots in deep, tethering itself to you like the strings of a marionette. It pulls tight in Yoongi’s own chest, cementing his essence to yours. As a barbed ring of shadow settles on the ring finger of your left hand, the bond snaps into place, and chaos ensues.

🖤🖤🖤

You’ve never experienced such visceral fear before. It’s consumed every fiber of your being. You’re no longer who you once were and will never be the same again. You are simply fear incarnate.

A boiling starts beneath your skin, beginning at the tips of your fingers and toes before rolling through to the center of your chest, where it pops and sizzles like dry ice in tepid water, so cold it burns.

It’s like flipping a coin. One minute, you are experiencing insurmountable terror, and the next, you exude it. Nothing can scare you now, not even the monster sitting a few feet away watching you with calculated eyes—familiar eyes, eyes you’ve lost yourself in more times than you can count.

They’re not as cold as they were a moment ago. You distinctly remember how those red eyes softened right before you felt yourself float away. It’s Yoongi, you know this, but it’s also not. He’s different, and it’s not even the deformed, gangly shadow form that makes up his body, either. There’s something more, something that draws you in, like an anchor dragging you into his deepest, darkest depths. He’s a vast ocean, and you’re pretty sure what he just did was akin to drowning you—killing you.

Only you don’t feel dead.

Quite the opposite, in fact. For the first time in your existence, you feel truly alive; and not in the living sense but in the eternal sense. You have no ending or beginning; you exist as you will yourself to be.

With that thought, your body urges you to change, to morph into a far more comfortable form. Darkness seeps from your pores, cascading out of your skin until it becomes a mockery of its former self, and it feels good—so good.

“What have you done to me?” Your voice sounds different, soft yet sultry. It reminds you of black silk and lace, devious and coy, with the perfect mix of husk and drawl.

Yoongi lets out a slow breath, the sound like dry leaves crackling. “Made you mine.”

“What…what are we?”

The soft ash sifts between your now exposed toes, the boots you once wore laying in peeled strips along with tattered remnants of your clothes. Nudity has never been an issue for you, but it’s as if you have no inhibitions at all now. The shadows around your body contort to form curves and perfect swells.

“We have many names. Demons, bogeymen…it’s all very fitting, yet doesn’t quite capture the truth. What I am—what we are—is darkness, fear, terror, and shadow. We are infinite, endless, and everything all at once.”

“Why me?” you whisper. That tether inside of you pulses, pulling tight as you shift and try to put distance between yourself and Yoongi. It’s like a rope around your throat, pulling you up short.

Yoongi narrows his eyes, lips quirking in amusement. “This is the Realm of Darkness—my domain,” he gestures broadly with a clawed hand, “and it was all I had access to until I found a way to enter yours. Once I tasted the sweet nectar of fear it provided and the power it allowed me access to, I couldn’t stop my curiosity and need for more. Then I found you, and I knew you would be the perfect compliment to my aspirations, just the thing I needed to break the barriers completely.”

He straightens up, and the way his body catches your attention has a heat flaring somewhere deep in your being. Your eyes lock on the dark sinews and plump muscles that stretch and contract as Yoongi moves to crouch in front of you. The ribbed and notched cock swaying between his thighs dribbles a thick, viscous line of lavender-colored arousal.

Tearing your eyes from the sight of it, you force yourself to look into his feral, red eyes. His explanation is both confusing and clear at the same time. You understand it, but know that you should be railing against it because it’s morally incomprehensible. You’ve essentially been kidnapped and forced into what this is. Yet…yet—“I feel…” you trail off, trying to find the right word to describe it.

“Powerful,” Yoongi offers with a knowing, pointed-tooth grin.

“Powerful,” you repeat, letting the word roll around your tongue before nodding. Perhaps that’s why you are shrugging off your cares and the moral compass that has seemingly forgotten how to point north.

The subtle smell of burnt wood and sulfur hits you as Yoongi raises a hand to fit across the front of your throat. Those too-long fingers engulf it, sending a shiver down your new body. Instead of your belly filling up with fear, it fills with desire and need. You no longer need to battle the terror, letting it drip away from you instead.

“Look at you. You’re so perfect. You don’t feel scared, but that’s only because this realm leeches it away and devours it before it can poison your mind, leaving behind nothing but how you truly feel.”

You know there has always been a darkness inside you, something that even you feared to face head-on. After all, it must take some kind of crazy to be both scared of the dark and want to embrace it. It’s not just the way Yoongi plied your body and made you forget to care about being proper and good. Is this what you were made for—all the fright and terror you’ve experienced and secretly sought out leading you to this very moment here?

All it takes is one look at Yoongi to know the truth.

You were created for this, crafted to be precisely what Yoongi needed, just as he said.

With that moment of clarity and acceptance, a new sensation slithers down your spine. A lasciviousness that has you moaning in surprise. 

“Fuck,” you grind out between clenched teeth.

“Gladly,” Yoongi chuckles, his red eyes taking on a lecherous gleam. “Let’s unleash your darkness on the realms, my queen.”

Between one breath and the next, your knees are splayed wide, and Yoongi has his face buried between your thighs. All it takes is one languid swipe of his long, broad tongue to have you cursing again. Caustic words fall from your mouth, laced with vitriol as it’s unfair how good it feels. It’s like every inch of contact between your body and his writes itself across what was once your soul.

“Mmmph,” you moan incoherently as the beginning of an orgasm lashes against your insides. Yoongi greedily sucks and licks, tongue laving over your throbbing clit before sliding between your contracting walls.

A tsunami of darkness crashes out from within you, blanketing the surrounding forest in shadow. Wisps of clarity ebb and flow, drifting along with the gloom until Yoongi grounds you with an exceptionally sharp pinch to one of your nipples.

“Almost there,” he announces gleefully, licking his lips before launching forward and forcing you onto your back.

Yoongi feels like fire against you, his body scorching everywhere it touches. You expect to feel the soft ash against your back but the only sensation that ebbs in is a cool aeration against the exposed skin between your shoulder blades.

Monstrous arms wrap around you as Yoongi slots his too-big mouth over yours, invading you with his slick, serpentine tongue. Your eyes flutter open, and you catch a glimpse of a pewter sky beyond the scraggy branches that are suddenly closer overhead.

You try to pull away from his devouring kiss to alert him to the jagged web of dry wood about to scrape his back, but he growls and renews his effort to shove his tongue as far into your mouth as possible. Snaps and cracks fill the air, and wood explodes around you.

Realization dawns as more should-be-fear-turned-lust pours through your body and expands beyond it, filling the sky around you with a murky darkness. The power of that emotion propels you further, sending you and Yoongi far above the landscape to suspend over the entirety of the Realm of Darkness, leaving a streamer of smoke-like essence in your wake.

Yoongi throws his head back, finally relenting from the kiss. His broad chest heaves against yours, and his red eyes are wild as they roll manically before landing on you. “How is this possible?” you pant, hands gripping the muscles of his shoulders tightly.

“Anything is possible here,” he whispers fervently before spinning you so fast your vision blurs. The horizon spans as far as you can see around you. You and Yoongi are hundreds of feet higher than even the tallest mountain peak. Everything is a monochrome grey, black, or in-between. A jagged line of mountains rear to your right while inky streams and rivers zig zag to your left. It’s a hideously beautiful display that contradicts all scenic views you’ve ever seen, yet is better than all of them combined.

“Oh, God,” you whimper when Yoongi forces your legs wide and slots his hips between them from behind. Shadows billow around you, charged with energy that crackles and sizzles, barely restrained from being unleashed to wreak untold havoc.

Thin fingers slide around to cup the front of your throat, giving a none too gentle squeeze. Yoongi snarls, “There is no God here. We are the gods!” His declaration is punctuated by the head of his cock prodding against your sopping cunt. This new body is already eager to pleasure Yoongi and receive pleasure in kind.

His hips kick forward, and you feel every delicious ridge and ripple along his thick shaft. It feels like he invades the pit of your stomach, filling you to the brink. It’s a rush of wicked delight, pure erotic rapture.

You moan again, this time invoking the only name left on your tongue, “Yoongi!”

“I’ve been looking forward to fucking you like this for five years,” he grunts, emphasizing the words with his hips pumping against your ass in brutal strokes. “Claiming you wholly, decorating the world with our combined shadows. Look how they writhe for you, waiting for you to command them. Let go.”

Your eyes roll from side to side, taking in the dark, undulating forms stretching wide around you. With each prick of pleasure Yoongi insights in your body, they branch and roil further out, creating the foundation for your own personal bedlam. 

Like a bounty won at the end of a hunt, Yoongi ravishes your body with his. He’s brutal, unrelenting and wanton. The hand on your throat tugs with every slam of his hips, bowing your back and forcing you to peer out at the Kingdom begging for your rule. Darkness beseeches you, screaming for your glory and power as it pours out and blankets the sky.

Your world narrows to one pin point of coherency. Yoongi. He is nothing and everything all at once. He is the beginning and the end—fear, loathing, lust, and madness…through it all, he is infinite. And he’s yours.

With one final, shuddering breath you let go; welcoming the darkness once and for all.

“Yes.” The word, whispered from your parted lips, is sucked away with the maelstrom that detonates around and within you.

You barely hear the guttural, primal roar that emits from Yoongi as he buries himself to the hilt and fills you with his terrible darkness. You shatter into a multitude of shards, a glittering storm that dances through the ether, sparking and catching on the thin membrane that stretches between the realms. All it takes is one weak point, a small breach in the barrier, and everything falls apart.

It’s glorious, feeling yourself everywhere all at once. Your body is still fluttering around Yoongi, sucking and welcoming his release into your soul. But, your consciousness is spread wide, bleeding through the nexus of this realm and the one you once called home.

The mortal realm bows to your will. You can feel the beings of the Realm of Darkness funneling toward the broken gateways, pouring through to consume and conquer with the whisper of your glory on their tongues. Fear reigns supreme, consuming everything in its path as you expand your hold on the darkness.

“My Queen of Darkness,” the ephemeral coo caresses your ear, phantom lips brushing along your shadows. Yoongi’s darkness blends with yours, adding to the pulse that seeps to all corners of existence. “No longer will you fear, as you are fear itself…glorious, neverending fear.”

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️   2023-10-23 ColorMePurplex2

[hero-hoe]

For the #1 Captain MacTavish enthusiast @brewed-pangolin after talking about that bubble butt 🥵🥵 I had a brain worm

MDNI 18+ ONLY. Vague smut, marriage kink, body and chest hair worship. PiV. Fem!Reader.

Captain John MacTavish who knows exactly what his body looks like, heavy muscles with a healthy layer of fat and even warmer layer of hair all over his body. The man is damn near furry, and he knows exactly how it makes you feel. You, the bonnie lass he met after retirement who he immediately had to wife up.

You, the sweet little thing he loves waking up to long after sunrise on lazy Sunday mornings Cuddled together in bed with you wearing his shirt, your soft thighs thrown over his thick ones, knees cradling his defined waist. One hand behind his head, tucked up under the pillow for extra comfort while the other guides your rocking hips. Letting your delicate hands grope at his chest, knowing you love his "hairy tits" as you once called them.

"That's it, hen. Doin' so good fer me." He groaned, eyes half lidded yet so full of love as he watched you grind yourself on his shaft so lazily. You'd both been at it all morning, the dark brown hair of his thighs now slicked to his skin with your juices. He loved seeing himself covered in you nearly as much as you loved toying with his hair.

Your deft fingers were carded under the loosely curled hairs on his chest, groping at his pecs for balance with every motion, tugging on the pelt of your warrior.

"Atta girl. Can feel ye gettin' close again." The hand comes out from behind his head, moving to cradle yours instead and push your face into his chest. A low moan left his throat when your teeth bit into his flesh, just hard enough to leave an indentation on the side of his breast. "C'mon, lass, be jus' let go fer me." He insists, moaning as you tug the hair on his chest once again in desperation. "Shh, ah ken is a lot, hen, but ma wife can take it, yeh? Ma perfect girl can give me one more."

He finished after you did, a few lazy bucks of his hips into your wet warmth while you bit and drooled into his chest, making a mess of the hair you had so neatly finger combed earlier that morning. He kept you on his lap once you were both done, reaching onto the nightstand for the water bottle you had left on his nightstand and encouraging you to drink.

A scarred hand smoothed down his frazzled chest hair once you were both adequately hydrated, letting out a disapproving tut. "Look at the mess ye made, love. Ma gorgeous wife had me all groomed and ready, and ye fuffed it up. How about ye fix that, hmm?" He teased, knowing just how much you loved getting his hair in order. Be that his mohawk, now musch longer than it was in his service days, or the hair adorning every inch of his powerful body.

Your fingers worked with expert care, straightening out the tangles you had made, arranging the hair of his chest to point inward and downwards towards his stomach. You smoothed out what you could of his comfort-softened tummy, but his grip on your waist wouldn't let you go far enough to reach below his navel.

"Much better, love. Ah'm lucky to have such a caring wife, no?"

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Isn't The Same Without You

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1k

Warnings: angst, major character death, fluff

Summary: Ever since you started dating Spencer, you hate sleeping alone. You always try to find a way to bring him into bed with you, even if he can't be there physically.

Square Filled: breaking a promise for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

One thing you hate doing ever since meeting Spencer is sleeping alone. He has provided such a safe space in bed for you that it’s hard to sleep away from him. Thankfully, you have the same job so if he’s away on a case, so are you. Plus, he’s so warm which makes for comforting cuddles.

You startle awake with a gasp, disgusted at how dry your mouth is. You look to the right and see Spencer lying peacefully next to you. You have to get water. You’re known for sleeping with your mouth open so that’s why your throat is always so dry. You usually keep a water bottle by your bed but this time, you didn’t.

You carefully sneak out of bed so as not to wake him up. You walk through the darkened apartment expertly. If a robber ever broke in, you’d know how to escape easily with the lights off.

You get to the kitchen and open the fridge, squinting at the fridge light. You grab an ice-cold water bottle and close the fridge to drink in darkness. The ice-cold water does wonders for your dry throat and it cools your insides. You’re about halfway through the bottle when you feel arms around you.

“The bed isn’t the same without you,” Spencer mutters and kisses your neck lightly.

“I needed water,” you chuckle. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay. Come back to bed.”

You take the water bottle to bed and cuddle with Spencer until dawn.

Even when you’re on cases, you always find a way to make it into each other’s beds. Hotch has a rule where the men are separated from the women even though he knows that rule is broken most of the time.

Hotch has made it clear that the women were going to bunk with each other and the men were going to be on opposite sides of the hotel. You and JJ took up one room while Emily and Penelope had the other. Derek and Spencer shared one room while Rossi and Hotch were in another.

JJ went to bed nearly two hours ago but you can’t seem to sleep. Spencer isn’t next to you to provide that safe space, and you’re not sure if you’ll ever find sleep tonight. That is until you heard someone knocking softly on your door.

You smile knowing who it is.

You make sure to be quiet as you make your way to the door. You don’t even have to look through the peephole to check who it is. Spencer’s tired face smiles when you open the door.

“Hi,” you whisper with a smile.

“The bed isn’t the same without you in it.”

“Come in. Be quiet. JJ is a light sleeper.”

You bring Spencer inside and quietly lock the door. You make sure not to make too much noise as you two shuffle into bed. Spencer pulls you close and breathes in your scent by your hair. There, this is more like it. Exhaustion catches up to you now that your safety net has returned to you.

Spencer kisses your head and the two of you fall asleep with ease.

Even when you and Spencer can’t be together, like if you got sick or he had to stay back because his mom needed him, you two still find a way to sleep in the same bed.

You’re sick with either the stomach flu or bad food poisoning because you can’t leave the bed without vomiting everywhere. Spencer offered to stay back and take care of you but the team needs him more than you do. It sucks but it’s only for a couple of days, and you can handle being away from him for that long.

He and the team flew to California for a serial rapist who has yet to be caught while you’re stuck in bed trying not to puke up your insides.

It’s storming outside so the rain is pelting your window hard. It’s not the noise that is keeping you up, you quite like the sound of rain. No, it’s the fact that  Spencer isn’t here to help you sleep. You two have become so dependent on each other that you can’t sleep without him next to you. If you can sleep, it’s because you’re sick and your body is forcing you to.

Your phone rings, illuminating the dark room. The sound almost makes you jump ten feet out of your body but you grab it and smile when you see Spencer is trying to FaceTime you.

“Hey,” you smile when you answer.

“The bed isn’t the same without you in it,” he mumbles against the pillows.

“I know.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit but I’ll live,” you chuckle. “I’m so tired. Stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“Of course,” he smiles.

It’s not ideal but knowing he is right there next to you is enough to send you into a dreamless sleep.

No one ever told you how hard this part would be. No one gave you a rule book to study beforehand. You thought the worst part was over but you’re just now realizing the worst part has just barely begun.

It’s raining hard outside so the water is just smashing against the window as hard as it can. The curtains are open so you can see the rain fall from the clouds above with the occasional lightning storm that lights up the whole sky.

You turn away from the window and let the tears fall freely onto the pillow you’re clutching. You’ll never be able to sleep the same ever again knowing Spencer won't be there next to you to comfort you. He promised to come home. He promised he’d make it back to you but he never did. 

An unsub got the better of him and now you’re left to pick up the pieces he left behind. You touch his side of the bed and refrain from screaming out in pain.

“The bed isn’t the same without you in it,” you cry.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[jmdbjk]

It's got that VIBE baby... like the friend-zone vibe.

WARNING: POSSIBLE SPOILER ALERT! Are You Sure? Episode 3...

I had trouble with the title of this post...

Jungkook's savage era

Jungkook: Tae, get off my lawn! (he means Jimin)

Puppy playdate!

But I went with the one I did because wow... what a difference between Episode 3 and the first two.

So here we are in Jeju and it's really gorgeous there. The villa they rented looked amazing.

My first impression after watching the entire episode: a whole different vibe than when Jimin and Jungkook were in Connecticut.

Examples:

Episode two, Jimin wants to jump in the shopping cart at Walmart and Jungkook says no, stop playing around, let's shop for ingredients "so I can cook you the best carbonara that ever passed between your lips."

Episode three, Jungkook and Tae run around like 5-year olds shooting a water pistol at Jimin's ass.

What was the difference? Tae's presence changed the dynamic and everyone went into friend mode. Episode 3 was less adulting and more silliness.

In no particular order...

This sequence sets the tone:

Was this staged or spontaneous? The crew were seated at the restaurant when Jimin and Tae took off running with Jungkook close behind...but the drone was already in the air ready to catch it all.

The drone camera man was ready!

Locals minding their own business when the biggest celebs in all of Korea run past them, one cussing the other out ... probably thinking rich celebs got no sense, running through the streets of Jeju trying to feed each other... they'd be right I guess.

They are back on the road to the accommodations and singing the explicit version of Seven while Jungkook is on the Harley behind them:

🎶 Fucking you right 🎶 (in front of the church):

Gratuitous shot of JK on the bike:

Another...and he's wearing the same pants from the yacht in Connecticut.

If Tuesday, Sept. 26 is the day they arrived in Jeju, Jungkook had just come back from NYC the day before. The man had to be tired.

Jimin wanted Jungkook to be hydrated and caffeinated. They drive thru Starbucks.

Tae never having gone through a drive thru before. What?!?

They get to the villa, show us around... its stocked with everything, even JK's Mikrokosmos lamp...

Except no Twinkies...

I'm not sure what Jimin is telling Tae to do here... script says go lay down so we can stage you having a bonding moment with JK? Or what? (just kidding).

A moment of relaxing for Tae and JK... cuddle me dammit! Or was this a prank Jimin and Jungkook schemed so Jimin could get revenge on Tae with the water pistol? Really, I want to know. The chronology of the editing is giving me a headache.

Nice. Swim trunks, nice...

Which leads to swimming... and water pistols...and nakedness.

That being said, what's up with Jimin having stomach issues so much? Back in April 2023, he said he wasn't well the day when he came on Weverse live at 3 a.m. when Like Crazy hit #1 on the BBHot100. This is getting concerning.

Again, a few people watching the hilarity...

They were laughing SO hard. Jimin was laughing hard too even though he was the one being pelted with water!

Jimin got out of his soaked pants and then took a nap... on the hard floor, in front of the camera crew...

What is this? Recycling wine bottles? Party party yeah? What?

Then they went to the climbing wall/go kart place... Jungkook was IN HEAVEN!

Jimin busts his lip while making Tae do the sandbag grab in mid air. Jimin can't catch a break.

At the go kart track, first thing we see is Jimin with a band aid on his face... what the fuck?

Then the bandaid is gone:

Jimin with a bandaid on his face at the beginning of the racing karts segment and then it disappearing at the end. In post-production they did not edit it chronologically. STOP REARRANGING THE TIMELINE!

iT mAkEs A bEtTeR StOrY... ok whatever. How about just tell us wtf happened instead? Or will we find out in the behinds?

Tae and Jimin race...JK has something to say about it...

Mr. I'm-Fastest-To-The-Top-No-One-Can-Beat-Me-Wall-Climber isn't shading them because of a friendly race is he?

But the exchange after (I'm assuming this is after, but hell, who knows) ... Jungkook was a bit pissed. He really is jealous when Tae monopolizes Jimin. All is fine when he's playing around but let Tae take Jimin away from him and its time to throw hands!

And Tae understood this hahahahhaaa omg.

Episode 3 ends at the go kart track.

It was fun and funny. It was good to see them having fun. We all miss our Tannies all together and having three of them together is a treat. It WAS fun and I laughed a lot! But.

But this travel show series has been highly anticipated because we want to see Jimin and Jungkook together. We know they are close and we've been waiting so long to see them be themselves. So having Tae there, while it is great to see them together, he did change the dynamic. Definitely not the same vibe as the first two episodes.

We use words like very close, domestic, intimate, boyfriends, husbands, depending on how far each of us want to take it to describe Jimin and Jungkook. But we rarely say soulmates with these two.

The definition of soulmate is a close friend or romantic partner with whom one has a unique deep connection based on mutual understanding and acceptance, according to Merriam-Webster.

That describes Jimin and Jungkook perfectly. We always use the term soulmates about Jimin and Tae. Its true they have a level of friendship that is already automatic because of their culture and we know the history between them.

Yet, no matter what we describe Jimin and Jungkook's relationship, it is very clear that these two men are soulmates too. They take care of each other, they care about the well-being of each other. They are in tune with each other even if they disagree on something. They are vocal about all of this. They are very close. We need to start using soulmates more often with Jimin and Jungkook.

It does not describe Jungkook and Tae's relationship. At all.

At the start of this travel vlog business, JK wasn't sure what they were doing but by the end of their trip in the U.S. he was fully on board.

When I saw the first Jeju promo it was obvious to me he had taken co-ownership of this franchise too. I could tell by that attitude in his tone in the promo. Here was Tae... adamant to tag along after finding out two days before that he was being left out of a trip to Jeju. Never mind respecting that this was Jimin and Jungkook's project.

We felt the first two episodes were more "intimate" because we saw the little things... touches, tone of voice, the way they behave with each other, just their natural chemistry. Did they butt heads a little? Yes, but not the same way as what happens between Jungkook and Tae.

Jungkook knew what would happen.

Understandable he’d be taken off guard. Jungkook had to pivot. He did well with it ... until Tae monopolized Jimin.

I am looking forward to next week!

[angellurgy2]

Pull The Trigger

your favourite freak's writing agaain! you ever wanted to read a story about a homophobic gamer boy getting doxxed and raped? well here u go! ^-^ part two coming soon

cw: noncon, forced gay, slurs, shit like that

sandstone brick, towering ahead. trapped in a corner, waiting, ak-47 comfortable in hand. listening, watching, pixel-perfect gaze. the soft pitter patter of booted footsteps approaching on sand. spin, shoot before you see. three shots of triple-round burst to centre mass. dead. 

multiple pings hit the wall ahead of him, pelted at while his back was turned. losing health rapidly. he flicks and sends his barrel spinning 180 in the opposite direction, blind trading fire. 

he screams into his bulky turtle beach headphones as the body in front of him ragdolls, screen blurring with bloody low health warnings. “YEAAAH FAGGOT, YOU LIKE THAT?”

he’s swiftly popped into the win screen, all chat and winner microphones switched on to offer a chance to flaunt or whine. 

[ALL] TriggerFinger: get GUD fags i’ll wipe u in the next one 2 lmao

[ALL] XxxGr1mR3eaperxxX: dude you suck u just got lucky

[ALL] TriggerFinger: i bet u kno a lot about sucking huh?

[ALL] TriggerFinger: just like your MOM

trigger clicks on to queue for the next game, a satisfied gleam plastering his face as everyone else is gone to the aether.

in the top left of his screen as loading screens trawl pops a message from an unfamiliar user. not on his friends list, rather it looks like they’re in the ‘recently played with’ section. probably just another noob coming to rage.

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: that was pretty rude, you know.

‘ThAt WaS pReTtY rUde-’ what a beta.

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: why shld i care? get a life faggot. lmao

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: you really shouldn’t talk to people like that.

this guy’s clearly got some form of retardation keeping him from getting the hint. but trigger’s got better shit to do. the loading screen for this game always takes so long. he grabs a pack of shrimp tempura cup ramen off the nearby shelf and fills it with day-old water from his water bottle, shoving it in the microwave for a couple minutes. he numbly trawls through social media feeds, doomscrolling the beautiful faces on instagram before that gets boring, then the stale porn on twitter, then the ragebait on 4chan. nothing satisfying his appetite except this one clip of some guy eating shit on his first try skateboarding, which too is ethereal in the drips of serotonin it gives.

ding!

he grabs his soppy steaming meal and brings it back over to his computer, stirring it with a stray fork before moving back into the screen. the first thing he sees is another message from the same person as before. he rolls his eye and opens the notification.

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: this you? 78.222.0.13

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: TF?? 

he thinks he’s so cool. trigger quickly tabs over to chrome, typing into the address bar ‘whats my ip ad-’ before it autofills. he clicks in, praying for the release of the little ball of stress slowing spreading in his chest. only to have it implode. IPv4… 78.222.0.13

ok. well, he’s probably just trying to scare you. theres not much you can do with a few numbers. he remembers the streamers he’s watched being ddos’ed and how freaked out they’d always get. he can’t find that humour in the angered horror on their faces now, though.

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: thats not my fuckin IP asshole. ur not funny

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: i think it’s pretty funny.

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: see you soon :)

trigger looks around his surroundings. nothing around, just the same open bland studio basement. mattress on the floor, check. couch, check. tv, check. tiny window that shows literally nothing but a foot of grass? check. its hard for him to hide the scowl of hatred at this empty rotting enclosure. shit, did you lock the door? he runs up and flicks it locked like how a child runs up the stairs when they’re scared a monsters behind them. not because of this ‘specter’ though. just normal precaution. he wouldn’t let another man take up space in his mind like that.

trigger sits. unable to pull his focus enough to start another game, or to divest himself entirely. stuck in a limbotic resting space. he grabs the monster can sitting on his desk - one of many - and pours it down his throat with anxious franticity. after staring at the screen for long enough, with nothing else he can see to do, he types.

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: What r u talking about? fuckin weirdo

10 minutes pass.

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: hello?

nothing at all. empty threats and childish games. who puts in that much effort just to cause a little scare? freak, probably a faggot too.

he sighs and switches over to spotify, plugging his favourite XXXtentacion album into his grindy bluetooth speaker and grabbing a pre-roll from his weed drawer. a rusted old lighter folds between his fingers. flick, flick. hot choking mist fills his mouth and then suffuses his screen as he blows it back into the stale air. he lies idly spinning in his gaming chair, puffing until its gone and until the words leave his head. empty.

but not for long, apparently.

a resoundingly loud knocking thuds at his door. earthquaking enough to shake him out of his seatlock. but the tremors remain, rocking through his veins. he gingerly lowers his eye to the peephole. a short man looks up from a foot away, holding some sort of black bag. this is it trigger, time to man up. he paces back with soft steps, pulling a steak knife from the block and holding it behind his back. no more games, this is real life. no more being harassed by that bitch landlord, no more bad looks when mom and dad visit. when the police find him beaten and you on top you won’t have to feel bad anymore.

he opens the door.

“Hello. uber for trig?”

he doesn’t remember ordering any food, was he really that faded?

“it’s… trigger. but that’s me, yeah.”

the man passes trigger an unlabelled brown bag from the bigger unlabelled black bag. something liquid seeps out of the corner.

“have a great night, sir!” 

trigger tosses the bag onto the table already scattered with trash. throwing the knife onto the counter along with it. being paranoid is the sign of a weak mind, you need energy. he thinks about the shrooms his bro gave him a couple weeks back, saved for a special occasion in a box under his bed. the devil and angel on his shoulders scream.

he examines the food. taco bell crunchwrap and spilled soda, amazing. he begins to clean it up right as a CLFBKGBNJ clanging from the kitchenette behind his back rings out. he turns to see a tall, muscley imposing man already towering over him from there. backing up slowly, like hes a blind animal that’ll pounce at any moment. 

“hey there.”

“hi???” his words spit out with a spiteful acidity, tantrumic. 

“you must be trigger.” his monotone face twists upwards into a cruel mockery of a smile. he examines trigger up and down, who shivers at being ogled like meat.

he hears his dad in his head. puff up your chest, faggot. you can’t let people walk over you like a little bitch all the time. he straightens his back, stops retreating. his voice mimics a tough deepness.

“you need to g-get the fuck out of my house.” 

specter tilts his head with curiosity. trigger can feel the aftershocks of monster and adrenaline crumpling his heart as he looks into the intruders eyes. a dark jade gazes back, blank. empty. like null space inside his skull, giving off only the aesthetic of a watching being. beyond the entrancing holes, partially hidden behind curtains of frayed brown locks, a jagged scar cuts through his face, curved and serrated with the impression of its assailant. 

“it’s not really your house though, is it?” 

trigger stares back dumbly. specter lifts up a chiseled arm and knocks on the roof, indicating where the landlord resides. “it’s theirs, really.” he takes a step forward.

“what’s your fucking problem man?”

another step back. guarding facade broken as quickly as it was put up. you’re weak. pathetic. he can smell it on you, just like they all can.

“here to give you an attitude adjustment.” he says it so monotone, like reading a script. as if you should know what that means. specter gives a wide scan of the interior. sizing up your crime scene? this won’t be going the way you think it will, buddy. “this is a pretty shit place you got here”

“not any more shit than the goon cave you probably got, bitch” 

the molded smile on specter’s face drops in a second. in 3 sudden steps forward he closes most of the gap between them, the air between the two grows cold. trigger has no choice but to back up more to keep the feeling of safety. the distance between handler and beast, but there’s no leash here. and there’s no medic to save him.

“listen.. s-specter? right?” he looks into those dead eyes with a quiver hes kept hidden for so long.  “i'm sorry i insulted you or- or whatever i didn��t mean it okay? that’s just online shit, this isn’t real.”

specter takes another wordless step, and trigger hits the wall. this isn’t real.

“why so quiet all of a sudden?” his hand reaches out and cups triggers chin, his face too frozen with animalistic chemicals to react. forcing trigger’s weak inebriated gaze to meet his, dead yet malevolent. “are you scared of me?”

trigger spits in his face. “you- couldn’t. scare me.”

untrimmed nails dig sharply into the base of his skull. “i will.”

“my dads the chief of police. you don’t wanna do this.” he tries to put on monotone the best he can, head as swirly with emotions as it is.

specter chortles. “no he’s not”

the music emanating from trigger’s desk scratches hard as it changes into a fast-paced track. specter’s eyes and ears twitch in its direction like a bat.

“this is what you listen to?” his smile almost looks genuine this time. he gestures at the ground below them. “stay here.”

he turns and moves to walk past trigger, when he jumps into action, leaping at the man with a guttural yell.  “AA-”

immediately cut off by searing blunt force ripping through his gut, sending him crumpling to the floor with the force of extraneous gravity. so you’re a warlock, subclassed into gravitational magic, is that it? he gets up onto his hands and knees, a trail of saliva connecting his lips to the dirty linoleum floors. he chokes on each breath he tries to take in. the pain is unlike anything his soft and unexplored body has experienced before. 

specter walks away to the booming speaker, pulling out a black rectangle from the pocket of the black jeans sticking to his legs.. the speakers switch to a new track, unfamiliar to his ears. some kind of aggressive rapping, underscored by a metallic sharp noise groove. he tries to listen for words, analyzing the rhythm and slotting it with memories of other songs to try and figure out what it is. but before he can comprehend the first words to come out, a rigid boot crashes into the side of his ribs.

dazed on the ground, heaving for the little pieces of air that’ll fit through his trachea, cartoons birds twirling over his head as he stares up into the ceiling. 

a sharp sound cuts through his stupor. “you’re funny” says specter, “i really thought you’d have more fight in you.”

PHWACK. the sound of some elastic material slapping against skin, a black glove clinging to specter’s boney hand.

trigger’s shocked by the feeling of cold on his bare stomach, face twisting with rage but the rest of the body betrays him with frozen fear. specter begins to slowly lift triggers shirt, feeling up his concave flesh with rubber digits.

specter flinches back as a red handprint manifests on his cheek. i wasnt even thinking i didnt mean to i just-

a vice grip takes hold of his windpipe, holding it hostage. the hand begins to rise upwards, holding him against a wall that wasnt there two seconds ago, and then he has to fight with his noodlish body to stand up before it rips his throat right out. “you’re so weak. how did you make it so long, bullying people like that?” his other hand then puts itself to use. the cold rises up triggers body slow and nerve-wracking. he tries not to feel it and to just keep his eyes on him. the tangible, hurtable, beast. 

his mind lags from his body, not realizing he’s on the ground before he already is. terrifyingly strong knees spreading his legs apart ever so slightly, invading hand-shaped ghosts pinning him into the dirty floor face-first. months of uncaring habitation coming back to bite him in the ass all at once. his eyes jump from little pieces of dust and crumbs, filling his vision more than their existence is intended for. brought low with the trash. maybe you should’ve listened to mom.

a bottle squirts loudly out of his sight. he tries to spin his head around but he’s just met with increased pressure on his neck, pinning him down like meat on a butcher’s table. fuck this. thrashing out with all the strength in his limbs- it forces specter to change up his positioning, but even then you can’t make a single scratch, slapping at this very real intruder like a whiney little girl. 

“stop it.” he says it like he’s talking to a petulant child, dry and tired.

“fuck you! get off me!” 

a rubbery object shoves itself down his throat as he opens his mouth to yell more obscenities. fingers ripping open his jaw, dispelling his pleas into inhuman garbling.  

“reht rre throo!” 

he looks around, there has to be something he can do. everything is dark blobs because of his eyes wetting from the fingers assault of his uvula. heavy whispers assault the back of his neck, venom in his blurred ears. “i could take out a tooth. how about that?”

he shakes his head, as much as he can crushed between these manly hands. 

water trickles down from the corners of his eyes. fuck, don’t let him see you crying, that’s the ultimate defeat. man card revoked. the only benefit of this positioning is that only the tile can see your face’s treason.

the hand abruptly leaves and moves back to the rest of his body. not preferable, but at least now his eyes will stop coating themselves in water. there has to be something on this floor somewhere if he can look. 

blood coats his vision. bloody floor, bloody nose, face shoved into a pool of it. he can feel his nose contort under the hard material, head bouncing off it with a loud crack.

‘look’, you shouldve known better. thousands of hours of experience watching torture scenes in COD, and you think he’s gonna give you a break? you’re not the shooter like you thought you were, you’re just the dead russian snitch. 

slender hands dip under the waistband of his sweatpants, threatening with slow dragging downwards. fuck, he is a fag. so much screaming in his head, be a man be strong fight back faggot stop being a fucking BETA. but the weak trembling in every inch of his nervous system won’t let go. the part that knows what you are. weak little soyboy. shit, was it the burger king? he looks at the softness of his tiny arms splayed out in front of him, thinking back to all those impossible whoppers he had during that first (and last) year of college. sure there were the conspiracies but- he had to lose some weight and it was right next to his dorm and surely a little bit of hormonal meat couldn’t hurt anyone. well, apparently not. he shudders at the thought of all those tiny little girl particles running around in his bloodstream.

coldcoldcoldcoldcold fuck. something cold and wet drips down his ass, sending rippling twitches through his body. something small pokes and prods, forcing the wet inside, already he feels speared through, he has to purposefully hold his face together to not burst into open sobbing. 

“shhh sh sh. it’s okay. you’ll take it.” 

it pulls out, a hot emptiness filling all feeling. another squirt, and more wetness shoved so deep he cant handle in the choking cries. “please. please don’t. i don’t- i’m not-” cut off by the finger pulling out again, leaving his hole gaped. “Fuck stop im not gay pleasepleasepleasepl”

a sweaty palm wraps over his mouth.

something warm and hard and fleshy begins to rub circles around his hole. pressing up so close his breath hitches in fear it might go in and then pulling back and then repeating.

“be a good boy and stay quiet, trig.”

pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing

“HEEEEELPP WAIT PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE HELP NONONONONONONO STOPP#&$*%9

&$#%^#^%)#!($#$^%

##&% %%#(% %$$*$#&

*#$&$THELP

* * *

specters hard chest presses up close and warm against trigger’s back. hot, heavy breathing forces its way into his ear. they stay there for a moment, frozen in time. a breaking point cut, getting a cinematic view of his own ruination. what a shitty fucking movie this is. 

“mmhng-” specter pulls back, breaking the trance, almost making trigger wish he would’ve just stayed inside. he grunts at the feeling of trembling boyflesh seizing on his cock, shaking with each inch moved in either direction, clenching for dear life. he grips a handful of trigger’s hair and pulls it back, forcing his limp and drooling expression into specter’s vision.

 “so, what was it?” the burning rod of pressure starts to move faster, thrusting with detached force, muscular hips bouncing off trigger’s ass. “dad beat you?” another assault forward, enunciating each bit of words with the slapping of their flesh. “mom molest you?” it hurts sososososososososo bad but he cant feel anything other than the pain nothing but searing waves of some long-forbidden feeling. “or- fuck- you just get bullied too much in those squishy formative years?”

boiling hot rain streams down his face, terror burning his eyes blind. choking sobs spit out little bits of snot and saliva pooling with his tears below him in a sad filth soup. 

“oh c’mon-” specter reaches in closer, thoughtlessly pushing his cock into a switch that turns triggers legs to jelly. a waterfall of tears overlaid with shameful noises, the kind he’d before only ever heard through the speakers of a computer. each one abrading his will even more. he was supposed to be on the other side, not this. anything but this. 

“please stop”

“it’s too late.” his hand brushes triggers cheek, mimicking a comforting motion with uncomfortable skin, “you can never take back what’s already happened… and what’s about to.”

[tortillamastersblog]

♕ No Matter What - Part 12 | Lena Luthor ♕

Pairing: Lena Luthor x reader

Warnings: violence

Summary: The dinner with Lena doesn’t exactly go as planned. . .

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

________________________________________________

A permanent smile is etched on my face as I hurry to the convenience store. Not even the rain, or the cold can dampen my mood right now.

A gust of wind whips some rain in my face, so I pull my hood even further over my head and look down, focusing on not stepping into puddles.

I’ve always liked the rain, especially the sound of it against the pavement or a window, but I don’t like the cold that is starting to set in.

It’s the beginning of October and as I keep walking I think of everything that’s going to happen from now on.

Will Lena and I spend Halloween together? Is she one for dressing up?

What about Thanksgiving? Would she be up to celebrate with me, Sam, and Ruby, or does she want to keep what we have between just the two of us for a while?

And what about Christmas? And New Year’s?

What about my contract? When do I sign my resignation letter? When will I officially no longer be Lena’s bodyguard?

All those questions fill my head as I keep walking with my head down.

When I get to the store, I make quick work of getting everything we need before heading back out with a spring in my step.

I can’t wait to get back and see where the rest of the night goes. We’ll probably cook together, listening to music, then eat on the couch, watching a movie.

I’m not so sure about our sleeping arrangements from now on, but I’ll just wait and see how the night goes.

I grin like an idiot and think of Lena and how her lips tasted on mine. They were warm and soft and the kiss was more than I could have ever dreamed of.

She is incredible and I can’t believe she actually likes me even after I told her about Noah.

I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice a figure stepping out of a dark alley to my left until it’s already too late.

With a sickening thud, a baseball bat makes contact with my back and I yelp, dropping to the ground. The groceries I just bought spill out of the paper bag and the bottle of Lena’s favorite wine I had enough afterthought to buy breaks on the curb. My whole back stings and my arms and legs tingle as a numb feeling spreads through them.

I writhe in pain and gasp for air like a fish out of water as the rain pelts down on me.

The guy that attacked me, bends down beside me. He has his hood pulled over his head and I can’t make out his face, but I do see the sickening smile that pulls at his lips.

“Tell Ms. Luthor her brother sends his regards.”

That’s all the he says before stalking off, his long coat billowing behind him as he vanishes around a corner.

I continue to try and catch my breath, whimpering every time I move because a blinding pain shoots up my spine and into my head.

I close my eyes and focus on breathing, partly aware of my now wet sweatpants sticking to my skin.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

Who was that guy? And what does Lex want from Lena? Have they been in contact? If so, why hasn’t she told me about it?

Minutes go by and I continue to stay on the ground, shaking. I haven’t been in this much pain since being shot in the shoulder.

A tear trickles down my cheek, mixing with the rain on my skin and I let out an involuntary sob.

Just a few minutes ago everything was perfect and the prospect of cooking dinner with Lena made me feel warm all over.

Now, I’m just cold.

After what feels like forever the sharp pain in my back finally subsides, leaving behind a dull ache.

It hurts when I breathe and I assume it’s because my spine and ribs are injured, but I have to get home somehow and because there’s not a single soul around to help me, I drag myself to my feet with a groan after gathering all the groceries off the ground.

The paper bag they were in is wet and falling apart, so I leave it along with the broken bottle of wine and carry everything else scooped up against my stomach.

I stumble back home, my back throbbing painfully in time with my racing heart and my uneven breaths and open the door to the apartment with trembling hands.

The warmth from inside does little to comfort me in my soaked clothes and I shudder, putting the groceries down by the door before slipping off my shoes.

Just then, Lena comes walking out of the bedroom, running a brush through her damp hair. She looks cozy in my shirt and sweatpants and for a split second I forget about what just happened.

“You sure did take your time,” she jokes, not really looking at me as she heads to her phone on the kitchen island.

I chuckle softly and slump back against the door. My eyes flutter shut and I lift a shaky hand to unzip my drenched jacket.

“You know, I was thinking we could watch that movie you told me about last week. What was it again? The Imitation Game?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, wincing when I peel my jacket off my body. It lands on the ground with a wet thud and I slump back against the door to catch my breath.

“Great. Now, did you get everything we need or— Oh my God ?!” I feel hands on my face within the next few seconds and I revel in the way the simple touch makes my skin tingle.

My eyes open slowly to find Lena watching me with wide and worry-filled eyes. Her hands rund down my neck and over my shoulders and I wince when the light pressure makes my back sting.

She immediately moves her hands back up and cups my cheeks again. “What happened? Where does it hurt?”

“M-my back. . .” Is all I manage to get out and Lena is quick to grab the hem of my hoodie.

Her eyes meet mine in silent question and I just nod, letting her guide the fabric up and over my head. I choke back a whimper when my arms drop back down to my side and don’t object when Lena’s hands land on my hips to turn me around.

Under different circumstances I’d be swooning, feeling her hands on me like this, but right now I just feel miserable.

“Oh my God, Y/N. . . Who did this to you?” she asks quietly, her voice breaking. Her warm hands travel up the side of my waist, but stop below where the bat struck.

She doesn’t dare to touch what I’m assuming is an already angry looking bruise and I’m thankful for it.

“We have to get you to a hospital,” she says. “Your spleen could have ruptured, or your lungs could be bruised. I’ll call Alfred to come and pick us up. Just wait here.”

“No, Lena we can’t. It’s too public,” I object, turning back around to face her.

Her eyebrows are pulled together in disbelief and she takes my hand, squeezing it. “It doesn’t matter. You’re hurt and—“

“No,” I say sternly. “We can’t.”

She pulls her hand back and clenches her jaw. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?! This isn’t about me! This is about you. You’re hurt and I’m not just going to stand here and do nothing about it. You need to see a doctor, Y/N!”

“It is about you!” I snap. “The guy who did this told me to tell you that Lex sends his regards!”

Lena’s whole face drops and she pales visibly. “What?”

I nod and hang my head shamefully, feeling bad for having snapped at her. I made it sound like she’s the reason this happened, so I step forward and take her hand, lacing our fingers together.

“I’m sorry. That came out wrong,” I say softly. “It’s not your fault this happened.”

Lena shakes her head with watery eyes and her chin begins to wobble. “No, no it is. I can’t believe this. I’m so sorry.”

“Stop, this is not your fault,” I say, closing the distance between us to wrap my arms around her in a hug. My back protests when she reciprocates the embrace, but I do my best to ignore it and focus on her. “Your brother is a grade A asshole and you have nothing to apologize for. Got it?”

Lena stays silent and I lean back to meet her eyes with raised eyebrows. “Got it?”

She sighs and blinks back her tears before nodding. I hum, satisfied, and press a lingering kiss to her forehead.

“You should still get your back looked at,” she argues weakly, one of her hands moving to lay flat against the small of my back.

“Lena, I can’t—“

“Yes you can,” she interrupts, her eyes widening when an idea comes to her. She pulls away completely and grabs her phone from the kitchen island. “Kara’s sister, Alex, is a doctor at a nearby government research facility. I’m sure she’ll be able help.”

I want to object but Lena’s already on the phone with Alex, explaining the situation and nodding along to whatever the woman on the other end is saying.

I shiver, still soaking wet, and head to the bedroom to change into a new set of comfortable clothes.

It’s a bit of a struggle to get a sweatshirt over my head, so I opt for a zip-up hoodie, sighing when the soft fabric makes contact with my tender back.

I sit on the edge of my bed and rub my eyes with a tired sigh.

“You ready?” Lena asks a few minutes later, appearing in the doorway with her phone in her hand.

“I guess,” I say quietly. “But what about dinner?”

Her eyes soften. “Let’s postpone it until you’re feeling better.”

I pout and hang my head. I was really looking forward to cooking with her but she’s right. I really need to get checked out to make sure I don’t have any internal bleeding.

“Okay, let’s go,” I say, getting up and following Lena out of the apartment after we both put on some shoes and a jacket.

Alfred’s already waiting for us and ushers us into the car before driving off.

The radio is turned off and the only sound I can focus on is the rain against the windshield and Lena’s soft breathing next to me.

I can feel her watching me, especially when we drive over a bump in the road and I wince, but I don’t acknowledge it. I’m still trying to process what happened and I’m not in the mood to talk right now.

So, instead, I move my hand to the space between us and turn it so my palm is facing up.

Lena’s eyes drop down and she gets what I want immediately, sliding her hand into mine and intertwining our fingers with a soft squeeze.

I lean my head against the window and close my eyes.

I must have drifted off for a few minutes because when Lena squeezes my hand and I open my eyes, I notice that we’re parked outside a huge glass skyscraper with two towers.

Lena gives me an encouraging nod and disconnects our hands so we can get out after Alfred opens the door from outside.

It’s still raining, so we hurry toward the dimly-lit lobby where I noticed a dark figure already waiting for us.

As we come closer I recognize her as Kara’s sister and she wordlessly leads us inside, past two security guards who eye us with some curiosity.

We take a glass elevator up a couple of floors and when we step out, I’m blinded by fluorescent lights.

The lobby was mostly dark and deserted, but up here the place is bustling with people. We get a few weird looks here and there, but no one actually seems to mind our presence.

Alex leads us down a hallway before turning right and entering a spacious room. Theres an examination table right in the middle of it and it’s surrounded by a heart rate monitor and other medical equipment I can’t put a name to.

“So, Lena told me what happened and I think it’s best if we do an ultrasound first,” Alex says, gesturing for me to get on the examination table.

I nod wordlessly and get on the table, looking up to find Lena standing by the door, anxiously chewing on her thumb. She hasn’t said a word since we left the apartment and I have the feeling it’s because she feels guilty for what happened.

“Could you maybe take off your hoodie?” Alex asks, pulling my attention away from the young CEO and I nod, taking it off with a wince.

I don’t know her all that well, but I have met her a couple of times because she sometimes joins Kara and Lena’s lunch get-togethers.

“Alright, now just lie back and try to relax,” she says, smiling softly when she senses my ever growing anxiety.

What if I’m actually seriously injured? Will I need surgery? Where will I stay? More importantly, where will Lena stay?

I swallow thickly and do as I’m told, lying down with a poorly suppressed whimper. It seems to snap Lena out of her trance and she wordlessly joins my side, tentatively placing her hand on my shoulder.

Alex glances between the two of us with an unreadable expression before squirting some ultrasound gel onto the transducer.

She turns off the light and takes a seat next to the examination table before getting to work.

The gel is cold on my skin and I suck in a breath, feeling Lena tense beside me.

Alex raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

I nod sheepishly and ball my hands into fists. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s just a little cold.”

She smiles softly and gets back to doing whatever it is she’s doing, running the transducer all over my abdomen.

I look at the screen of the ultrasound machine even though I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking for. Everything looks blurry, a mix of grays, blacks and whites, but it must mean something to Alex because after a while she stops and hands me some paper towels to wipe off the excess gel.

“Well, you don’t have any internal bleeding as far as I can tell. You’re kidneys and your spleen are both in tact,” she says, getting up to turn the lights back on.

Lena lets out a barely audible breath of relief and helps me sit up.

“Thank you, Alex.” I say. “For doing this, I mean.”

“Of course,” she says softly, gesturing for me to stand up and turn around so she can examine my back and ribs.

Her hands carefully run down the length of my spine and I gasp, biting my tongue to stop myself from crying out in pain. Then, she moves her hands to press on either side of my ribcage and again I squeeze my eyes shut to will away the tears pooling in the corner of my eyes.

When she finally stops touching me, I start shaking and I stumble sideways. Lena is quick to put her hands on my shoulders and guides me to lean against the examination table.

Her eyes are filled with worry, raking up and down my body before they meet mine. Her eyebrows are furrowed and the look she’s giving me is heartbreaking, so I try to reassure her with a small smile.

It has the exact opposite effect though because it’s more of a grimace than a smile, and Lena bites the inside of her cheek and averts her eyes.

“Alright, as far as I can tell nothing is broken, but we should get an x-Ray of your back just to make sure,” Alex says, scribbling something down on a notepad.

I nod and let her lead me into a small, adjacent room, leaving Lena behind.

The room is equipped with an x-ray machine and Alex makes quick work of getting all the shots she needs before taking me back to the other room.

“You can put your clothes back on,” she says, taking a seat by one of the computers.

Lena grabs my hoodie and holds it up so I can slip it on without straining my back too much. I thank her quietly and go to stand next to Alex who while I got dressed, pulled up the images of my x-rays on the computer.

She zooms in on my spine and ribs, looking for fractures while explaining what exactly she’s looking for.

Lena joins my side, her shoulder brushing against my arms as she leans forward to get a better look herself.

Her eyebrows are furrowed in concentration and her eyes shine with interest as Alex goes on talking and I can’t help but watch her rather than listen to what Alex is saying.

Only when she sighs in relief do I direct my attention back to Alex who’s smiling softly, having obviously noticed my distraction.

“So?” I asks, feeling slightly embarrassed that I didn’t hear what she ultimately said.

“You’re going to be okay,” she says. “Just take it easy for a couple of days and put ice on your back if necessary.”

I smile, relieved, and thank her with a heartfelt handshake.

“No problem,” she says, turning off all the lights and leading us back to the elevator.

When we get to the lobby, Lena hugs her tightly, something I didn’t dare to do because I don’t know her that well.

They exchange a few hushed pleasantries and after Alex assures her she’ll say hi to Kara from her, we part ways.

Alfred, who hasn’t moved the car, gets out of it and opens the door for us with a polite nod.

The drive home is silent just like the way over and I close my eyes, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over me.

I noticed Lena keeping somewhat of a distance between the two of us while Alex was around, probably because this thing between us, whatever it is, is still brand new, but now she’s basically glued to my side.

She’s sitting in the middle seat, one of her hands in mine while the other is curled around my arm.

She looks at our intertwined hands, lost in thought, but I don’t ask her about it until we’re back at the apartment.

“Are you alright?” I ask when we settle down on the couch after ordering some takeout. “You’re awfully quiet. . .”

Lena cuddles into my side, mindful of my back, and takes my hand to run her fingers over my knuckles. “I just. . . I’m scared, Y/N. I knew Lex wanted to get back at me for testifying against him during his trial, but I never thought he’d target you.”

“I get it,” I say, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You have a right to be scared, but you need to know that it’s not your fault. This scares me, too, I’m not going to lie, but my number one priority— no matter what happens between us— is to keep you safe.”

Lena hums and rests her head against my chest, her eyes focused on the black screen of the turned-off TV.

I know I’m not getting through to her, but I don’t want to push her, so I close my eyes and rest my cheek against the top of her head.

Tomorrow’s a new day and we can talk more then. For now I just want to eat dinner and go to bed.

________________________________________________

Hi! Sorry for the delay, but like I said I’m super busy at the moment, so updates will be a little slow.

Tag list: @nerethos @orange15quote @nuianced-tck-enby @autorasexy @unexpected-character @nothisismax @wandatasha

[cntoesussie]

Mercs in the snow (team snowfort 2)

Scout:

goes out in shorts

regrets everything

comes back within 5 seconds

cries when he finds out there's no hot cocoa

Soldier:

my guy's making a snowman

then 2

then 5

then 50

and then a snow raccoon

despite his destructive nature, he's really good at building snowpeople

oh and now he's killing them all

except for the raccoon

Pyro

does not like the snow

water is their only weakness

stays inside and watches with a camera

they're uploading it to youtube

Demoman:

left a couple bottles outside last night for this very occasion

making snowmen with Soldier except they get progressively worse because he's drinking the snow scrumpy

passes out in the snow

wAIT HE'S GONNA FREEZE-

they almost forget about him and bring him back inside nearly 30 minutes after they first went in

Heavy:

nothing special to him

he does what needs to be done (like shoveling the driveway)

but SOMEONE does the unthinkable and hits him with a snowball

oh man they messed up

he's going to pelt them with snowballs relentlessly

Engineer:

building the best snow fort known to man

hehe team snowfort 2

it has all the works (including heating somehow)

he's drinking hot cocoa in there and chilling

when Scout finds out he's gonna be pissed

Medic:

testing how long he can survive in the snow with nothing but long undies on him

he finds out that it's not very long

goes into the team snowfort 2 with Engie to warm up and think about his life decisions

Sniper:

he's not used to snow being in the early months of the year

so this is odd to him

he's been hitting people with snow from afar

he's literally jamming one of his low-quality rifles with snow and shooting people with it

god bless

Spy:

he somehow disguised himself as a snowball and threw himself at Heavy

After getting absolutely decimated, he decided to grab an icicle and sneak into team snowfort 2

1 dead (Spy)