#besides murdering people. seriously

[supersecretmetalocalypseblog]

I thought maybe I was crazy, but I'm NOT. When Nathan sings or sometimes when he yells, he has a different set of like, mouth models, which I noticed, but didn't think much of. But did you know that they reuse this set for MMA?

I watch this show so much i say shit like "Heyyyy, those teeth look familiar!" but in my defense, I look at every frame of MMA i have every day one million times, and Nathan is the main character (more or less.) How am I not gonna see this eventually?

I guess it makes sense, they both talk in death metal growls and shit.

Alright you get the idea. There's four more below the cut, I just don't want to take up a whole bunch of space on ppl's dash. Also I rant about how MMA is just a Frankenstein's monster of other parts from the show. Because he's basically just a Klokateer with Nathan's mouth.

Despite it being the thing he does for a living, I actually found it hard to find good screenshots of Nathan singing. They do a lot of cool visuals during their shows, and it always shows weird angles of Nathan, which normally i'm all over, but I was so frustrated trying to find him looking forward with no hair in his face and like, the same mouth frame as the ones i know i had of MMA. And it preferred it be from later seasons, because the earlier ones are always so pixelated.

fun fact this face is what tipped me off to them using the same model. At first I thought it was funny that they both pouted like that, but then I started hyper analyzing it and was like "no that. that looks the exact same, actually.... hmmmm"

My favorite frames from metalocalypse are people in the middle of talking, and they do this horrible open mouth face. Charles has a really good one, and i love him a little bit more every time he does it.

THIS one was annoyingly hard to find, I knew Nathan made this face, but when i couldn't remember. Watched about 7 different episodes, scrolling through, looking for it, and then.... there he was, just, jacking off. Thanks Nate, very cool :3

Sort of related rant below.

I've been noticing a lot of weird quirks that I assume came up just because they didn't have a lot of time or maybe money to work with while making the show? When MMA was introduced in season one, it sort of came off like Charles killed him by kicking him into the river. Like, okay, that was fun, and all you nerds at home got to nudge each other and say "hey, that's the guy from the band" but like, that was just some guy, he's not gonna be like, a character.

But we see him later in season two, i think in Dethvengence is the first time he shows back up. So, i can't tell. Was he always going to be reoccurring? Why not try to put even a little more money into making his model? They have a lot of designs sketched up for him (labeled "metal mask assassin", I always thought that was a fandom name but nope, they use MMA on the sketches) and they range from basically how he looks in the show, to "Who is this man in tactical gear and why can I see his eyes?" There are six different sketches for his mask. Just his mask. And then, when the time came for him to be in the show, he's made out klokateer models.

Even when they draw the unique poses, like him fighting Charles in The Church of the Black Klok, we can see like veins on his arms they don't normally draw and stuff, and you can attribute that to trying to keep the model simple, I attribute it to "well, the klokateer arms don't have veins on them so..." Sometimes he has fingerless gloves, even though normally he has regular gloves. I can't tell which things they wanted as part of his design and which things were used because they had them lying around. MMA doesn't even have a looking right (his right, my left???? i think??) model, they just flip his head, which is technically inaccurate to his design, because his face and mask are asymmetrical. and i just wonder, if he's supposed to keep coming back, why can't they ever seem to afford to have him in the show???

I'm not blaming the production team or brendon or anyone else, i'm obviously blaming Adult Swim, like always. SO much of this show feels like "oh if they just had a little more money" that's why the movie is so phenomenal looking, it feels like the kind of shit they maybe always wanted to do with the show, but never could. sucks that MMA died before that could happen. Would've loved to see him in the AOTD style.

anyways, that's. that's my unrelated MMA design rant, i've had that one written out a couple of times just sitting in the drafts, so i figured I'd just shoehorn it into the end of this post. Have a little piece of trivia as a bonus for reading. The model they use for his body is labeled "henchman large" and it's the same one they used for his brother while he was undercover.

Henchman. Venture bros has ruined the word henchman for me, now all I can think about is Gary.

[diamondnokouzai]

song taewon is koreas normalest s-class until you remember 'the protection of an s-class may resemble violence' and his first solo interaction with yoojin was strangling him and then as soon as he realized yoojins value he tried to 'protect' yoojin by making him afraid of all s-classes....

[bluebellhairpin]

told my dad about my nightmare last night (it was a super realistic one where i thought i was home alone sleeping and someone broke in) and he proceeded to talk me though how to deal with it if it happened for real life (there's a filter in out hallway which opens into a small space in the wall which i could fit into, and if i broke though the small board i could get under the house THEN he pointed out where a loose board under the house was so i could get outside)

[cienie-isengardu]

[cleocatrablossy]

I miss the goofy sincerity of 80s movies.

[navybrat817]

Knock You Down a Peg or Two

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Someone learns the hard way that it's a bad idea to upset Bucky's wife.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Established relationship, violent threats (not against the reader), protective vibes, implied sexy times, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I'm in a mood, lovelies. We can consider this in the same universe as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and Handsome and Beautiful. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky was no longer the Winter Soldier. He told himself every day he wasn't a cold killer anymore. He did his best to make amends and worked hard to clear his name. From time to time though, people pushed his buttons and got under his skin. You helped him brush it off. Their opinions didn't matter at the end of the day, only yours.

You mattered to him more than anything else. So, if someone bothers him, yeah, he could let it go. Someone upsetting you? He wouldn't stand for it.

Bucky's eyes narrowed as he spotted the little weasel sitting at the table in the break room alone. A few hours ago, you called him to vent about how this guy repeatedly tried to make you look bad in front of your superior during a meeting. It wasn’t the first time either. Your tears of frustration were obvious by your tone on the other end, though you tried to hide them. You worked hard, harder than anyone else he knew, and you took your job seriously.

He saw red when he heard you sniffle and it was the only color he had seen since then.

“Give me his name.”

“Bucky, no,” you had argued. “The guy’s a prick and I just needed to vent, so you don’t-”

“Please, baby,” he whispered, knowing full well you could handle yourself, but you were his wife and someone took joy out of your day. Not just that, they made you cry. He took this personally and he wanted to defend you. “Just give me his name so I can take care of it.”

You softly gave him the name, and he made it a priority to find the asshole. It didn’t take him long. No one even questioned why he was asking. It must’ve been his “murder strut” and glare. You once said it could break even the strongest of people.

He headed toward the empty chair beside the agent, careful not to make a sound. His stealth assisted with that. Once he reached the chair though, he made it a point to scrap the chair across the floor to get the prick's attention. The annoyance in his eyes quickly shifted to fear when he realized who he was looking at.

Good. He hoped he pissed his pants.

He made a show of slipping off his leather jacket before taking a seat, making sure the agent got a good look at his metal arm. He also made a show of getting one of his knives out, one you gifted him. “I think we can skip the introductions since you know who I am and I really don't give a shit who you are,” he began, his voice low as he twirled the knife between his fingers. “But I understand you know my wife and, well, she’s the reason I’m here.”

The guy blinked when Bucky made eye contact, the blade still expertly weaving in his hand. “S-Sure. Everyone knows your wife.”

Bucky smiled softly, taking a second to glance at his wedding band. “I’m usually not one to brag, but I can’t help it when it comes to her. She works hard and deserves all the praise she gets, but she’s still humble. Appreciative. Loyal,” he boasted, still smiling before he glared again. “She’d never throw anyone under the bus, especially in front of a superior.”

The little weasel cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. He seemed to notice for the first time that they were the only two people there. “Look, I don’t know what your wife said, but-”

Bucky pointed the blade at him. “I would think very carefully about what comes out of your mouth next,” he snarled, his eyes as cold as ice.

There was a beat of silence as the guy squirmed in his seat and averted his gaze. Bucky wished you were there to see it. And Steve and Sam. “I may have run my mouth a bit. I just wanted to knock her down a peg or two, you know? She keeps getting promoted and…” he swallowed when Bucky’s eyes narrowed to slits. If this fucker even thought about implying that you slept your way to get where you were today, he may actually cut his throat. “Please, don't kill me.”

The silence after that statement may have been uncomfortable for some, but Bucky didn’t break a sweat. No, he was just thinking of all the different ways he could put him in the hospital for even thinking he had a right to put you down. Putting the knife away, he slowly got to his feet. “Get up,” he said quietly, flexing his hands in intimidation.

“Fuck.” The man nearly knocked his chair over as he stood. “Listen, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, putting his hands out in front of him. “I’ll apologize to her first thing tomorrow, I swear.”

“You think that makes up for it? And are you sorry for trying to make her look bad or are you sorry that you’re under my radar now?” Bucky’s stare remained steady as he knocked his chair out of the way, the piece of furniture nearly splintering when it hit the wall. “Everyone knows what I'm capable of, but do you know what happens to people who upset. My. Wife?”

Bucky refused to say that you cried. The asshole might take that as a sign of victory and he wouldn’t give him any sort of win. He didn’t deserve it. He didn't deserve to be in the same space as you.

The guy’s mouth parted as he took a few steps back on shaky legs. “I-It won’t happen again! I swear!”

“No, it won't, but how about I cut your tongue out so you can’t run your mouth again? Maybe pull out your teeth, too?” Bucky knocked the table away next as he advanced. “Or how about your eyes so you won’t look at her either. Hell, I’ll settle for taking your arm. We’ll match.”

The man let out what sounded like a whimper, his teeth nearly chattering from his fear. Scaring people had given him nightmares, haunted him, but it fueled his fire when he terrified anyone in your honor. “I won’t bother her ever again! I’ll tell my boss she deserves another promotion! I'll transfer! You have my word! I’m sorry!”

Bucky laughed after a moment, a bitter, chilling sound before he held up a hand. “I’m just fucking with you.”

His eyes were still wide with fear. “W… What?”

“I was just trying to scare you a little. You should see the look on your face,” Bucky chuckled again, lightly smacking the guy’s cheek. “Listen, you don’t have to transfer and I’m not going to torture you. Just apologize to my girl and we’re good, okay?”

“Okay.” He let out a breath and chuckled, too. “You really won’t torture me?”

“No, I won’t,” he grinned, grabbing his shoulders. “But I will knock you down a peg or two.”

The prick didn’t see the headbutt coming, but he felt it before he hit the ground. Bucky knew he’d feel it in the morning, too. He got off lucky.

“You know, after you apologize to my wife, I hope you do stay so you can see her continue to thrive,” Bucky toed the guy’s body with his boot. “And speaking of, I need to go buy her some flowers, chocolate, and wine. She deserves it.”

Grabbing his jacket from the broken chair across the room and brushing it off, he whistled as he left the room. He waited until he was a good distance away to call. You picked up on the second ring.

“Hey.” You sounded much better than you did earlier. “So, what’s the damage?”

“Hey, baby,” he smiled. “I headbutted the prick. And before you ask, my head feels great.”

The former assassin may get suspended for that and damaging the table and chair, but he doubted the asshole would have the balls to speak up about what happened.

“Bucky…” you sighed. You were probably pinching the bridge of your nose. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“You’re gonna let me eat you for dessert when I get home,” he smirked. Not that he needed an excuse to dive between your legs, but he'd take any chance he had. “Figure I'll give you at least two orgasms before dinner.”

“Is that right, Mr. Barnes?”

“That is right, Mrs. Barnes.”

The sound of your giggle spread warmth through his chest. Your happiness was his happiness. “Better not keep me waiting,” you teased, pausing for a beat. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he said. You always stuck up for him without question.

“Love you.”

His heart swelled more. “Love you, too.”

He’d have some more explaining to do once he got home and would probably have to pay for the damage he caused. He was also sure that you were plotting the demise of the man’s career and would tell him that he didn’t need to do anything, but he wanted to. He was no longer the Winter Soldier.

But he was your husband and he’d defend you with his life, no matter what.

Violence isn't the answer, but this is fanfiction and we all deserve a loving Bucky. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[vivwritesfics]

Padawan Learner

Mrs Vettel, ex Williams driver, current McLaren driver, can't drive while pregnant. Although she's contracted until 2026, she can't drive while she's with child. But she can't stay away from racing, and can't help but take the Williams rookie under her wing.

Sebastian Vettel x Reader, (Platonic) Logan Sargeant x Reader

Warnings: Brief description of smut

She wasn't supposed to retire at the same time as her husband. He felt as if he was at the end of his career and there was nothing more he could offer to the sport, so he retired. He'd had his glory years in Red Bull, moved to Ferrari, every racers dream, and ended things in Aston Martin, alongside his wife's old teammate.

She still had more race left in her. She'd been with Williams for years, racing alongside Valteri Bottas, Lance Stroll, George Russell, and, later, Alex Albon. But then she moved to McLaren, a team she felt would help her fight for wins.

Her husband very thoroughly celebrated the beginning of his retirement. She found herself stuffed full of cum almost every day of winter break.

It shouldn't have been a surprise when they got pregnant. But she wanted to murder Sebastian. For all of five seconds she wanted to drown him in their pool. But, after that five seconds passed, she was overjoyed, wrapping her arms around Sebastians neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

She told McLaren and they pulled Oscar Piastri in for the year. That was how he got his first drive in F1. All because Sebastian Vettel was incredibly horny, but he didn't need to know this.

She might not have been able to drive, but she still wanted to be trackside whenever she could. Her old team gave her this opportunity. She didn't hang around the McLaren garage, as she had half expected.

No, it was Williams and the new team Principle, James Vowles, who gave her somewhere to be during the season. Even in preseason testing, she was there, watching the Williams.

It was great to be in the garage with Lily again. She'd always liked Lily, thought she was great for Alex when they first met. After her move to McLaren she rarely got to see Lily, and as much as she hated sitting in the garage, it was nice to be sat in the garage with her.

Alex was a great driver. Any advice a veteran like her could have offered him, he already knew.

But then there was his teammate.

She watched Logan from his very first race weekend. She had known about the rookie for a couple of years now and had watched him succeed in Formula Two.

But now, in the Williams tractor, he was struggling. Week after week after week he was finishing outside of the points, or he wasn't finishing at all. She really felt for him.

"Hey," she said after the Hungarian Grand Prix.

Logan hadn't spoken to anybody since he got out of the car and did all that he needed to do. Clearly he was struggling. He didn't say anything, just looked up.

She stood beside him. At her stage of pregnancy she could have gotten down to the floor to sit with him, but she wouldn't have been able to get up without help. Her hand rested on her bump as she looked down at him.

"I still remember my first season in Formula One," she said as she looked at the retired car. "It was 2013 and Seb was set to win the championship. I was in my first year in Williams and I think I only finished maybe ten races," she said with a laugh.

"Wait, seriously?" Asked Logan as he looked up.

She nodded her head. "I crashed out of most, or the car fell apart on me. Most people wondered why I had a seat for the next year, but Williams saw potential in me. I know they see it in you, too."

Every time Logan didn't finish a race, every time he came dead last, she was there. Nobody could comfort her like she did. Sometimes Seb joked that they might as well adopt him, and Logan agreed. Most up and down paddock called Logan her padawan learner, which was very fitting.

Logan began being the person she spent the most time with when Sebastian wasn't there. He'd looked up to her for many years and having her support meant the world to him. He was there for her too, making sure she had somewhere to sit and something to drink whenever she needed it.

In September, a month before her due date, Sebastian begged her to stop travelling. Just in case he wanted her home with him, where he could take care of her. They still watched every race together and she made sure to send Logan a good luck text before every practice session, qualifying, and race.

When Logan got his first points, nobody celebrated more than Sebastian Vettels wife. She was so proud of him, even if those points were because of two disqualifications. She posted a picture of him and her from a previous race on Instagram like a proud mum. Funnily enough, Logan comments 'thanks mom' on the post.

Just two weeks after this, her water broke. Sebastian got her to the hospital. He stayed by her side, holding her hand through the hours of excruciating labour.

Leon Vettel didn't cry when he was born. He was so quiet, that it actually scared his mother. But the doctors and nurses assured the new parents that he was perfectly healthy.

He was their perfect little man.

She insisted on asking Logan to be Leons godfather. They had grown so close over the last few months that it seemed fitting.

Logan accepted. As soon as the Vettels could, they were taking Leon to races. Or, Sebastian took Leon to races, to watch his mother race. Of course he was wearing a Williams hat and McLaren shirt.

"Papa," Leon said at four years old after watching the Australian Grand Prix qualifying session.

"What is it, my little man?" Asked Sebastian as he sat Leon on his lap.

"I wanna be like mama and Uncle Logan," he said, and Sebastian couldn't stop himself from grinning.

[luveline]

hi queen 😙

could you please do one where the BAU are staying in another state for a case so they have to stay in a hotel and for some reason hotch has to come see reader in the morning or before bed or something so he knocks on the door of her room and she opens and she’s just standing there with like her hair in two braids and like matching pink pyjamas and hotch just has a little laugh because he’s never seen that side of her before?? 💕💕

this would be like season 1 or 2 hotch :D

cw reader has hair that can be put into two braids

He texts you first but you don't answer. Hotch isn't happy to encroach on your space so early but he can't remember what you said last night about the killer's motivations and he needs to know, desperately, in case this missing piece of the puzzle can stop another young man from being murdered. 

"L/N?" he asks, knocking on the door quickly. "Y/N, are you awake?" 

There's a definite sleeping groan. Hotch winces at the sound but what else can he do? You'll have to wake up in an hour anyway. 

"Y/N? I'm sorry to wake you, but I need to ask you about Cory, last night's victim? You said it seemed more like an arsonist than a murderer, what did you mean by–" 

The door swings open. "...that." Hotch stares at you. 

You have your hair braided away from your face, strands rocked free and frizzy. More amusing is the baby pink pyjamas you're wearing; adorable little slips of fabric, pants that stop mid-calf and a camisole with soft lace at the chest. Hotch immediately looks back to your face as he realises his once over, but he can't hold back a laugh. A small chuckle, harmless. 

"Are you laughing at me?" you ask tiredly, voice croaky but threaded with amusement. "You woke me up, okay? This is your fault. Did you bring me coffee, at least?" 

Hotch puts his empty hands up in defeat. 

"Come in, then, before someone else sees me." 

Hotch follows you inside. He doesn't feel any pressure or awkwardness, but he needs to make sure you aren't either, and so he takes a cross-armed position against the wall. You run your hand down a braid and pull out the elastic, absentminded as you shake out your hair. 

"I said it was more like arson because of the mess. Arsons like to ruin things. And I just don't see how it could be solely pleasure based after such a massacre," —you move to the second braid and repeat the process— "the adrenaline runs out eventually, but the blood was– it was everywhere. It would've taken effort. There are photos on my phone if you want to see." 

You gibe him your phone, open to photographs you took last night. Hotch clicks through them in disgust. Like you said, it takes a lot of effort to make a crime scene look like this. 

"We could be looking for someone with an impulse control disorder," Horch guesses. "Our pool of suspects would completely change. We've been looking for people who have untoward desires centred around teenage boys–" 

"But if we're searching for someone who can't control their impulses we could easily be looking at a teenage boy. He'd have reason to be with his victims that wouldn't cause concern." 

Hotch finds it very difficult to take you seriously in your pinks. He laughs again, and you know exactly what it is he's laughing at, waving him away as you bend down by your suitcase under the desk. "Go sharpen up, Hotchner. And get me a coffee, please." You glance at him from over your shoulder. "I'd like to see you in your pyjamas." 

"I'm sure you would, agent." 

Hotch thinks more than he should about you in your thin pyjamas, the way they hugged your thighs and the naked lengths of your arms, your ankles, he's ridiculous, but it's stuff he's not used to seeing. He's usually so focused. 

He brings you a coffee and an apology croissant, which you eat in pleased silence beside him, fully dressed, hair tamed. He can't not see you as you were that morning, eyes puffy with tiredness but a hundred times the professional he'd been. 

"I can feel you looking at me," you murmur. "Laugh again and I'm telling Gideon." 

"Ah, and he'd reprimand me."  

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" you ask, almost monotone as you drink your coffee. "Do you have the case file for Patrick Gorden? I wanna compare the blood splatter on the walls." 

[diejager]

Okay so I have kinda a prompt...and I was wondering if you could work your magic and like make it a story.. please :)

Okay so like, *reader* was at a restaurant waiting for ghost, the first date had gone so well, you were thinking of dating him seriously. However, 20 minutes had gone by and he hadn't shown up, nor was he replying to your texts. You glanced down at your phone trying to call him once more when suddenly a familiar skull mask was placed on the table. So you look up with a smile, expecting it to be ghost but it turns out to be könig, and he sits beside you and places a hand on your thigh before whispering, "I think you should be seeing someone else" or something...

Cw: DARKFIC, stalking, implied murder, implied death, obsession, possessive behaviour, tell me if I missed any.

You’d been doing so well, leaving behind the man who’d broken you, who took and took until all that was left was a dried carcass of what you used to be, a fragile version of who you once were. You cut ties with him, left him in the rubble of a shattered relationship and picked up whatever was left of your as you moved away, another city, another province and another country, as far away as you could from the monster. 

And here, you met a gentle man, as scarred and broken as you, only his were physically present, people would gawk and stare at him when yours were hidden, buried beneath your skin and sinew, chained in a spiraling mind of terror and nightmares, but you understood him and he understood you. It was a mutual understanding that you built on, stacking every moment of sorrow and agony, tearful calls and sobbing voice, making it into a tower of affection that you worked beautifully on.

You called him Simon, and he called you love. 

It was perfect, the first shards of friendship that soon became love, an intimacy you were both afraid to commit, but were willing to try, to dip your toes in shark infested waters and test your luck. It started out with subtle touches, his fingertips brushing against yours in fleeting signs of affection; then the gentle pull of his voice, calling your name whenever you were near; and the small tokens of servitude he gave away to you, spoiling you rotten with the money he has. 

It was perfect, the miracle you had always dreamed of, the beautiful thing that filled our bleak world with vibrant coloursand liveliness. You shared a kiss, your soft ones pressed against his dried ones, feeling the coarseness and curve of his lips when they moved against yours. It was a passionate one, filled with worship and love that you were both tempted with. That led to a date, lost in each other’s eyes while you swooned at him, doe-eyed and hopeful for more than what you were unafraid to give, sipping on tea and coffee for any kind of distraction for falling further into the throes of love and devotion. 

You left feeling happy, a smile shining brightly on your face until you got home and screamed out to your heart’s content, confessing to your plants and the ghosts that lived in your walls. You’d been giddy, excited for the second date, seeing the first one went so well, planning the dates and places the second day, organised half a month in advance because you were high on the pleasure. You were ecstatic, jumping to and from the walls and ceiling, like a puppy promised treats. 

And when the day arrived, you dressed up, dolled yourself up for a man your heart came to love and got to the restaurant early —too early. Seated at the reserved table and encouraging yourself with a quick monologue, unaware of the time, the ticking minutes passing in a blink until you realised Simon was twenty minutes late. You knew he wouldn’t stand you up, he was too soft with you for that, he emphasised too much with you to let you go so abruptly, but he hadn’t sent anything, no message or call. You were left wondering and worried, lost in your thoughts with no one but the screen that showed Simon’s number. You might have to-

Something was rudely dropped before you, a black fabric placed in the middle of the your table, it was familiar, but many things were black. You turned, frowning and brows pinched, ready to question the person who’d trashed your table. 

“What-” you choked back a whimper, eyes cloudy as you stared up at cold eyes, a chilling blue that would have frozen seas, “You-”

Your throat closed on itself, breath stuck at the back of it as you stammered, unable to utter a single word towards the giant in your nightmares. You could see the glee in his eyes, the squinted lids that screamed of a cruel grin, malicious yet jovial. 

“It’s time to come back home, Spotzi,” his tone was low, a deep monotone that portrayed nothing, not even a single crumb for you to decipher how he truly felt, “You’ve had your fun with him, nh?” [Sparrow]

Him? You didn’t understand what he meant. Had he meant Simon? König couldn’t be serious, you’d finally found someone who felt the same and emphasised with you, and König wanted to take it all away like he did with your life? You stared down, away from his piercing blues, the chill that ripped through you whenever you gaze at it, wandering down to his bloodied palm- They were bloody, bruised and battered. It couldn’t be, no, you couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t dare —he would, he’d always whispered promises about beating other men to a pulp if they got in the way of his affection - obsession - for you.

Your eyes fearfully strayed from his towering form, glancing at the familiar cloth, catching the faded white of a skull dirtied with streaks of red, spotty and ripped. You recognised it, being so, so familiar with the mask as you were with the man who wore it, the soft browns and fluffy blond, the heavy bags and scars. It was Simon’s mask. A tear rolled down your cheek, falling from the fluttering of your lashes, only to be brushed away by the rough thumb of your captor.

“Do not cry, it’d eventually happen,” his attempts of soothing you were flawed, it only made you cry more, lips shaky and breathlessly choking and whimpering, “If not now, then later.”

He crouched to meet your eyes, head tilted up by your chin for König to admire you, roving over your dolled up face and the clothes you decided to wear for a man that was probably dead in an alley. 

“Come, Spotzi. I have your things packed.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[luvzshy]

hey, can I ask for halloween with reader? the office matching costumes (jim and pam) with reader and fans suspicious about this “friendship”

Office Secrets

Summary: Billie and her not-so-secret “friend” (you) decide to dress as Jim and Pam from The Office for a Halloween party. Fans have already been speculating about your “friendship” for months, but the matching costumes only fuel the fire. The night is filled with playful banter, hidden moments, and just the right amount of tension—leaving fans convinced there’s more between you two than either of you are admitting.

Word Count: ~1,200 words

Warnings: Fluff, teasing tension, a bit of angst under the humor, and suggestive hints.

You tug at the headband on your head, adjusting the black cat ears for what feels like the hundredth time. “Seriously, this is your idea of a costume? I’m basically wearing what I’d wear to bed, but with ears.”

Beside you, Billie smirks, rocking the iconic three-hole punch look from The Office. “Hey, you agreed to it, Pam. Don’t act like I forced you into those cat ears.”

You shoot her a deadpan look, the kind that says “this is the worst idea ever,” but really, you’re just enjoying the way she’s grinning at you. It’s the sort of smile that makes you forget the paparazzi waiting outside and the fans who’ve been tracking your “friendship” like it’s the latest true crime documentary.

As the two of you step into the Halloween party, the energy is electric. Music blares, drinks are being poured, and a few people have gone all out with their costumes—like, full-on movie-level production. But here you are, dressed in what could easily be mistaken for office wear, though the matching costumes with Billie are already catching attention.

“You know, this is basically confirmation for everyone who thinks we’re dating, right?” you murmur as you both sidestep a group of people dancing in ridiculous inflatable dinosaur suits.

Billie leans in, her voice low enough to keep the conversation just between the two of you. “Let them think what they want. Besides, you look cute like that.” Her eyes flick over you, the smirk still playing on her lips, and you roll your eyes even though you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Yeah, nothing says ‘cute’ like a tired cat lady, right?” You nudge her with your shoulder, trying to ignore how her laugh makes you want to smile like an idiot.

The night goes on, and while you try to keep it cool, the whole “matching costume” thing doesn’t exactly help. Every time you move through the crowd, it feels like someone’s snapping a photo, capturing you and Billie in one of those perfectly-timed moments where your hands brush, or she’s leaning in a little too close.

You catch a couple of fans whispering as you pass by, their eyes darting between you and Billie like they’re solving a murder mystery. You sigh, leaning in toward Billie. “I think we’re getting investigated over here.”

She raises an eyebrow and glances over, flashing the fans a quick smile that only makes them whisper more fervently. “Let them have their fun,” she says with a shrug. “It’s Halloween. Besides, we do look good together.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words die on your tongue when she gives you that look—the one that makes you feel like she’s seeing right through your usual sarcasm. You turn away quickly, pretending to be fascinated by a cobweb decoration on the wall. Smooth, you think to yourself. Really smooth.

Later, as you’re both standing by the drink table, Billie casually drapes an arm around your shoulders, her fingers idly playing with the fabric of your “costume” shirt. It’s meant to be casual, but you can’t help the way your heart stumbles a little in your chest.

“Maybe next year we should go as something less obvious,” you suggest, keeping your tone light, even though all you can think about is how close she is. “Like, I don’t know, Batman and Robin. That would definitely throw them off.”

She chuckles softly, but there’s a weight behind it. “Or, we could just be honest and see where that takes us.” Her words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, all you can hear is the thump of the bass and the sound of your own breath catching in your throat.

Before you can respond, another fan approaches, dressed head-to-toe as Dwight Schrute. “Hey, Jim and Pam, right? This is so cute, you two look perfect together!”

Billie tightens her grip on your shoulders, leaning into the bit like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Yeah, thought it’d be funny, you know? Just two friends doing a cute, totally platonic costume.” Her eyes flick to yours, and you can see the challenge in them.

The fan’s grin only widens, clearly not buying the ��just friends” act. “Well, you two are definitely making a lot of people talk tonight.” They give you a knowing wink before sauntering off to join the dance floor.

You let out a sigh, but there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Billie smirks, her arm still wrapped around you like it belongs there. “But you wouldn’t have it any other way, right?”

And you don’t answer, because for once, the sarcastic remark dies in your throat. Maybe she’s right, maybe you wouldn’t have it any other way. But for now, you’re content to let the night play out, caught between the unspoken tension and the playful smiles, knowing that by morning, the internet will be flooded with theories—and maybe, just maybe, a few of them won’t be that far from the truth.

[fairycrackhead]

𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 | toxic fuck boy Gojo x toxic reader

pairing: toxic fuck boy.ᐟGojo x toxic.ᐟreader

summary: Halloween night is now engraved in your memory which you can only assume it will be for the rest of your lives. When you two should have been trick or treating as normal 14 year olds would do, you instead opt to take each others virginity’s. Now you two are stuck in an endless cycle of toxic bad romance.

warnings: mention of abuse, drunk people, porn, minors watching porn, minors having sexual Intercourse, slight degradation, having unprotected sex, mentions of pregnancy, hair pulling, mentions of murder, toxic relationship.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this was a random idea i thought up of when i heard the song ‘bad romance’ by lady gaga on the bus the other day! anyways this is my first fic i hope you sluts enjoy :)

⎜ 11:32 pm My Bitch (y/n) : your seriously a dick yk that?

⎜ 11:37 pm My bitch (y/n): i fuckin despise u

⎜ 11:45 pm Mr. Cock (Gojo): and your telling me again, y?

⎜ 11:47 pm My bitch (y/n): bc your w/ another girl like it’s clockwork, do you not see the problem here, Gojo? i asked you to stop the bullshit.

⎜ 11:49 pm Mr. Cock (Gojo): ur not my gf. im in for pussy that’s it. yk im not a relationship guy

⎜ 11:52 pm Mr. Cock (Gojo): and yet you continue to come back to me. pathetic honestly

⎜ 11:56 pm My bitch (y/n): fuck you

⎜ 12:00 am Mr. Cock (Gojo): already needy? 😂

You should’ve known what kind of man Satoru Gojo was when you lost your virginity to him on Halloween night, 2011. It’s not like it was forced upon you, besides the occasional talk in the middle school hallway that ‘girls who were virgins were prudes’ or ‘how pathetic is it that there’s still virgins in the 8th grade’. Looking back at it now, it sounds really stupid…like really fucking stupid. All those supposed ‘women’ they would call themselves, ‘women’ who just now learned how to correctly put a tampon into the pussy that they just mercilessly shaved, (more like butchered), were all still scrawny, pathetic little girls inside. Of course hearing all the chatter about everyone’s virginity losses, the stories that were so horrific it made you wanna vomit and change schools, made you insecure on the inside. It’s not like you hadn’t thought of sex before, it just wasn’t your current desire to have some undeveloped boy’s dick in one of those…holes down there. Which also brought up another concern for you: how to even do the act. You assumed that the other person would lead (which was a bad guess because Gojo was a fumbling inexperienced idiot as well).

And it was almost nothing like the old pornos your dad had playing on repeat on the old box tv. He’d spend all his off days (which were more than days he actually got his ass up and went to work), drinking, belching, an occasional scratch of his ass, and watching naked women dance around on the grainy tv. You guys never got the money to buy a new one, maybe if he went to his job down the street at the local corner store he could afford more than the crappy ten dollar pizza down the block.

But who knows, you’ve seen those disgusting scenes, at an age way too young to even comprehend, so did you really have any knowledge? You were a curious kid, not a dumb one, you could easily depict whether or not the porn on the screen was realistic or not. Most the time it was the latter. The overdramatized moans and screams made you wince, on more than a few occasions, but it’s not like the paper thin walls separating the living room and yours did much to help. From having no mother figure to really correct your behavior, and a father that couldn’t give a fuck less, it started your one of many issues. Discovering sex at a really young age, not the act itself but any form of porn an eight year old could get their sticky, grubby hands on. The noises from the tv haunted your mind in a chilling way, making you want to stay as far away from it as possible, yet were still so fucking intrigued.

Until it was the start of the 9th grade, and surprisingly the comments the ‘women’ made in the locker rooms were still present in your mind, not surrounding your every thought, but still there deep down in the back of your mind. ‘Girls who are virgins are lame prudes’. If only you knew that those girls were bluffing about the whole virginity loss thing, but it seemed convincing enough at the time. The way they described how their ‘mans’ bent them over countless times over their granite countertops, or on the elementary school playground. It sounds absurd now, but they had big boobs, and horny teenage boys liked big boobs, so it must of been true, right?

And now here you are, at an headache inducing party, or rave, whatever you wanna call it, watching Gojo talk to yet another girl, more like plain on flirting. She seemed like one of those girls that wouldn’t know if a forty pound dumbbell hit her right in the forehead, so just Gojo’s usual fuck of the night. All he did was stare at her boobs which were spilling out the corset of her trashy costume, and make very poor conversation. What a man whore. You could see Gojo’s shit eating smirk on his lips even from far away and in the almost completely pitch black room, only flashing lights that could cause seizures giving you any sort of seeing ability.

His eyes move from her lips to her tits. Lips—tits—lips—tits. You just wanted to knock the red solo cup out of his overly large fingers and put them somewhere useful. (Such as your aching cunt just dripping in anticipation.) You wanted to go to the nearest open bedroom, drag him by is weirdly hot silver chain, and let him have at you. But you hold back your desires, trying not to let into another spiral of emotions with this man, the same cycle that’s been happening forever now.

You practically crush your phone with your bare hand after receiving that last text, but you refrain and shove it back into your bra since your day to day purse didn’t match your outfit. You take a long deep breath, one you often had to take due to Gojo’s infuriating cocky persona. Walking over to the kitchen, a mini bar was set up in this random kids house, which wasn’t even his you assumed by the family pictures propped up on basically every flat surface.

You hated the parties your friends dragged you to, you felt too old to be in the scene of just barely legal adults blacking out and throwing up so much to the point of you having to look around before walking to avoid stepping in someone’s chunky puke. But to your surprise you actually enjoyed the noise, not making it, but watching others create it. It gave you some sort of distraction from your thoughts which seemed to consume and take over your life since the 9th grade. You wouldn’t call it trauma necessarily, it’s not like you knew you had a fucked up home life until you were fresh out of high school. People on the outside saw your drunken father, crappy rundown home, and the rotational three outfits you wore each week to school and saw it has straight abuse. On some level, the lack of care you were given could be seen as abuse by default, but you were a happy kid. Sure, you were exposed to porn by the time you were eight, but it was just normal to you…in some kinda depressing fashion.

Gojo came from a completely different background, whenever you stepped into his gated community it felt like you were in some other world, an insanely futuristic environment. He was rich, but he wasn’t cocky like those spoiled brats you see on those UK television shows like Super Nanny. At least not when you two had met. It wasn’t a close friendship necessarily, but you two enjoyed each other’s company’s to the point of having sex with each other, so maybe you were closer than you originally thought.

⎜12:08 am Mr. Cock (Gojo): don’t forget you made me like this. don’t get pissy abt what u created.

You dig your phone back out of your lace bra and scoff when you see the message, your hand threatening to go find this piece of shit and chuck your phone at his big head instead. You don’t answer, stuffing your phone back where it came from. You gently push other drunks out your way, reaching for a beer from the ice chest. Using your mouth (one Gojo would call very useful and efficacious), popping it open with your canines.

One thing you loathed about Gojo (not to mention the other 52 things written in your notes) was he thought you were the reason for his ‘fuck boy’ qualities. Yes, you both took each other’s virginity’s, it’s not like he didn’t want it, in fact he wanted it more than you, judging the throbbing of his cock when he first showed it to you. It always comes flooding into your mind every night, more so each Halloween. You came to resent the holiday since it only reminded you of that night 13 years ago. Despite it being over a decade ago, you still recall the nervousness and excitement that you felt when he finally came inside you. It makes you laugh when you remember how totally freaked you were, how you thought you’d get pregnant with his baby.

At that moment you repeated over and over again how ‘this was a terrible idea’ and ‘i hate that you let us do this’. It was an all around shit show for a good twenty minutes before Gojo finally snapped and yelled at you to get over it. Besides it not being the most calm way to handle your panic, it worked. Who could blame him, he was scared shitless too. You both ended the night by trick or treating, it was a kinda dud of a night considering typical trick or treating hours ended two hours ago during your private fun. Luckily Gojo spotted a house on your near midnight walk, a load of halloween candy left in a bowl on some old lady’s porch.

“We shouldn’t-“ but of course, he didn’t let you finish, pressing a shy brief kiss on your lips instead. He had a subtle blush on his pale cheeks, a blush you would only see now during your angry make up sex sessions. Grabbing your hand, and practically dragging you to the house. “Just grab the fuckin’ candy, ya scaredy cat.” He laughs, looking around the dark streets before snagging the candy bowl with a big orange pumpkin face plastered on the front, running off.

“Gojo! YOU FUCKIN’ THEIF!” you giggle, suddenly the porch lights flicker on like some horror movie, and your heart drops into your ass. The door swung open to have your neighbor, Mrs. Miller standing there seething, her mini chihuahua perched in her arms like it was her newborn child. Gojo stopped in his tracks, still heavily breathing like some out of shape forty year old.

“Why you little!” Mrs. Miller reached out to grab you, only for you to duck her failed attempt of dragging you back. Gojo jumped up and down with an amused smile on his face, calling out for you to run faster, which you try to comply as best as possible. You run over to Gojo as fast as your legs would carry you, locking arms and running to who knows where, you can’t quite remember each detail. After that point the rest of the night was a blur to you, still thirteen years later. The sound of Mrs. Miller’s feisty chihuahua, later identified as ‘FeFee’ chasing after you being the most exciting part of the whole ordeal. Gojo and you laughing your way home, still heaving from running so fast from the tiny animal, a ‘disgrace’ to the dog community as he called it.

You both promised that after the scare of possibly having to raise a baby at the ripe age of 14, (and almost having bloody ankles due to FeFee) that fucking each other would be a one time thing.

But it wasn’t.

“F-fuck..! mhmph—God!” He continuously rammed into you from the back, his hands gripping your waist so hard it felt like you had broken bones. Your halloween costume was now thrown somewhere in the corner of this bedroom, who’s bedroom? You had no idea, but at the moment you couldn’t give two shits.

“Yeah? You like that baby?” Gojo thrusted harder, making a broken cry fall from your lips like water. “Knew you c-couldnt…resist my cock any longer, bitch.” Possessed grunts come from him at each thrust and movement he makes. Vibrations from the music of the party travel through the walls, Gojo going deeper and faster to the sound of the horrible rave music downstairs.

If it wasn’t a party, people might of thought a murder was going on by the sounds of your wails of pleasure, but it was normal to fuck at a party, no matter the location.

Tears seep into the pillow that the side of your face was squished down onto, mascara running down your face as you sob from a mixture of pain and pleasure. “Gojo!” you sob, the pleasure becoming too much to bare, yet you couldn’t get the established safe word (which you two only made in 10th grade because you overstimulated him by riding his cock to the point of him passing out) to come out. His dick was that fucking good.

The sound of his heavy, cum filled balls coming in contact with your plush ass make you clench around his length, causing an animalistic moan from Gojo. A room echoing SMACK comes in contact with your ass, making you thrust your back into him, fucking him right back. The burning of the stinging sensation leaves you wanting more, the feeling of his hand still lingering on your left cheek.

Gojo begins going at an alarmingly hasty pace, his whole body aching for more of you, all of you, every single cell. The sound of your sloppy pussy squelching each time he pulls in and out, makes the heat in the pit of his stomach rise. By now you can’t see clearly, eyes welled up with tears and the remains of gooey eyelash glue. One of his hands leave your sore hip, grasping into your messy locks, giving it a good tug “MHMP! ….F-f—fuck!” This only causes him to yank your whole head back, you look up through your lashes, which are stuck together with a mixture of glue and sweat.

“Y-yeah,” he huffs, gripping your roots to a point of it being just downright painful. “keep looking at me….yeah mhmph—j-just like that.” The intense eye contact makes his thrusts even quicker and more efficient, his fat, squishy balls hitting your puffy clit over and over. “So fuckin’ tight for me.” Another hard spank wipes itself across both of your cheeks, the jiggle of them causing yet another guttural moan from Gojo’s throat.

Your soppy wet cunt drips all down his cock, his balls picking up the reminisce of your warm, flowing juices. Gojo’s fingers unravel themselves from your now frizzy hair, the thought of having to wash it later tonight makes you internally groan. His fingers make a slow, tantalizing path up and down your back, the contrast evident between his soft, gentle touch and his monstrous rock hard cock going in and out of your folds. Your face plants back down in the tear-drenched pillow case, the bed creaking from the force of your two bodies going at it.

His slow paced, soft finger touches come to an abrupt end when it meets your soft breasts. An aching cry sounding from your lips as his pointer and thumb mesh together around your now hard nipple. “Mhm…look at you…all whiny for m-me.“ He thrusts harder, your cervix feeling almost numb and incredibly bruised. At this point, your slobbering at the mouth like a dog with rabies, eyes rolling to the back of your brain each time his cock hits every delicious spot.

Gojo’s movements start to get sloppy, as well does the kisses he starts to place on your neck, back, and shoulders. The quick erratic pace starts to slow, forearms trembling from the strength he’s used to hold them on the side of your head all night. His thrusts are slow, long, almost like he’s grinding in slow motion, yet it’s not any less effective. Your thighs begin to shake with overwhelming pleasure, the pressure your body is holding in making you wanna scream it all out. “Mhmph g-gonna cum!” You practically scream a moan out, making Gojo’s lips turn upwards in a smug grin. His lips make their way from the left side of your neck to the middle, and then to the right, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses in their wake. Dark red and purple bruised hickeys are now spread all down your body, surely to be left there for weeks to come.

“Nuh uh…not yet,” Gojo grunts as he feels your warm cunt clench around his throbbing cock for the millionth time that night. “This is my pussy…I g-get to tell you when to cum.” You almost wanna roll your eyes at his statement but your too drunk off his cock to care. You attempt to protest, the knot in your stomach becoming too hot to handle, but you get shut up right away when his fingers twist around your sensitive nipple once more, letting out a deep moan from your soul. Your hands grip the silk sheets in desperation, needing to grab something in order to keep you stable. “Mhm, tell me baby…who’s pussy is this?”

You cry into the pillow, pain, pleasure, and the feeling of being absolutely turned on in your whines. After not answering right away, Gojo grabs you by the hair again, yanking your head back, causing your neck to stretch to lengths you didn’t even know you had the flexibility to do so. “I asked, who does…this pussy belong to?” He says through gritted teeth. You feel every 8 inches of his cock in your stretched out pussy, every inch filling you up to as much as you could take. Each vein, the pounding pulse that acts as a second heartbeat, every thick, gurthy inch. When you don’t respond for the second time, too delirious to even understand what’s going on, he throws your head roughly back into the pillow, picking up his pace again.

Everything able to clench on your body does, gripping the pillow with such force that your knuckles turn white. Drops of sweat patter onto your back from Gojo’s forehead, the warm salty liquid making you squirm. Another sudden spank lands on your fat ass cheeks, and you couldn’t help but let loose. “FUCK—GOJO!” Strings of loud breaking moans and screams escape your mouth, sounding like a real murder now.

Gojo throws his head back once he feels your warm, sticky cum surround his palpitating cock. He pumps his dick back into you, pushing your cum back into your dripping wet cunt as far as his cock would let it. He himself finally let’s go, the thin string in his body snaps as his warm liquids mix with yours, in all too familiar feeling. His deep moans rush right to your core, the thrusts becoming inconsistent and sloppy once more. You hear the big analog clock from the entry way downstairs, giving you a slight reminder where the hell you were. Some random persons house, where his parents would probably be any second, and maybe you were even fucking in their bed. You bite your lip, slightly turned on by the fact of possibly getting caught, like you were a teenager back home, sucking Gojo’s cock before his father returned from work.

You whisper moan Gojo’s name over and over like a mantra, in other words, thanking him for finally giving you what your aching pussy had needed. You can tell he’s grateful too, being more gentle as if he had not just fucked your lights out. Caressing your back, like he did the first time this toxic relationship began back in 9th grade. Any memory loss from him talking to that girl just an hour ago was completely thrown out the window, even though you knew deep down you were just like her. One of his play things, the only difference was you weren’t oblivious to his motives. In fact you played into them, driving the toxicity just as much as he did. It made it fun that way. No matter how many guys you fucked, the number of cocks you sucked, the lips you kissed, none of them compared to his, and it made you feel sick in the most pleasurable way possible.

Gojo eventually pulls out, after speaking strange sweet nothings into your ear, which you haven’t heard since he was fifteen. You hated how it made your heart feel so warm, unlike the feeling of the cool air hitting your cunt. The cold air makes you wince, missing his cock already despite still feeling it’s outline in your folds. Fingers leave your hard, tender nipples, bringing them down to your dripping cunt, wiping the access off your thighs.

You start to come back to reality from the moment, the room still filled with humid sticky air caused by the amount of hot breaths and touches made throughout. The only sounds now being your heavy breathing, reminding you of the night you two ran away from FeFee, and slurping from Gojo, licking away at his fingers coated with your sweet salty release. Your folds still leaking with a mixture of your cum, trickling down your painfully sore thighs.

Gojo looks at the syrupy goodness leaking onto the silk sheets, a liquid you would only expect to see on waffles at the local cafe down the street. He finally collapses on top of you, softly massaging your right side, face pressed into the crook of your sweating neck. Placing gentle kisses on your sticky skin, bodies molded into one by your muggy bodies. You savor the moment, knowing deep down in your heart that things would go back to how they were in just a couple hours, fighting, screwing other girls and guys, and all together, a toxic romance.

You sit on the curb, voices from the party still able to be heard as you wait for your cab. You sit there like you’ve been through hell and back, you were if it meant having the best sex you’ve had in a good long while. Sitting on one cheek, the other still too sore to have pressure applied to it, you hear a ding from your phone. You wait a minute, trying to calm your pounding headache from both the alcohol and the amazing sex you just endured. The cool fall air blowing past you as you open the text you received, a small smirk tugged up your chapped lips.

⎜1:34 am Mr. Cock (Gojo): had fun. see u next halloween baby 🫴🏻🍑

[candycandy00]

Come Find Me - A Hawks x Reader x Dabi Horror Fanfic

You’re dating your childhood friend Touya, and things are going well, until you’re kidnapped and drugged by a serial killer named Keigo. 

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Dark Content. Noncon/Rape via drugging and Dubcon. Humiliation. Voyeurism. This is a dark, disturbing fic! 

Written for the Halloween challenge in the X Reader Lovers Community! Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @benkeibear!

You step out of your parents’ house, closing the door behind you and making sure your phone is crammed into your small purse. As you step off the porch and into the driveway, you hear a familiar voice call your name. You turn to see your next door neighbor and childhood friend Touya crossing over into your yard. 

“Goin’ somewhere?” he asks, glancing at his watch. 

“Yeah, just gotta grab a few things at the store for mom,” you reply. 

He stands there awkwardly for a moment, looking around. “It’s gettin’ pretty dark. Want me to go with you?”

You smile at his concern. The two of you are both in college, but still live in your childhood homes for now. Partly because you’re hesitant to separate. You’ve been in love with him since you were children, and only recently confessed your feelings to him. In true Touya fashion, he’d scoffed, looked away, and blushed before quietly admitting that he felt the same way. 

You’re still trying to navigate this new dynamic in your relationship. You’ve only been on a couple of dates so far, and only had your first kiss three days ago as the two of you sat on your bed watching a movie. Despite being adults, you feel like teenagers sneaking around. Touya suggested taking a weekend trip just to have some privacy. You’re excited for what might happen when you’re truly alone together.

“I’ll be fine,” you tell him. “I’m just going to the convenience store down the street.”

He frowns. “Yeah, but with those rumors going around…”

“I’ll take mom’s car, okay? Seriously, I’ll be fine. We used to walk to that store all the time when we were kids, remember?”

You understand his concern. For the past few months, women around your age have been turning up dead, their bodies butchered in horrific ways. Rumors have been going around that they all had one thing in common besides being in their early twenties. 

All of them had high levels of Cupid’s Arrow in their system.

Cupid’s Arrow is a new, very dangerous drug that you had zero interest in until the rumors started. After all, you’ve never tried anything stronger than some cheap weed Touya bought from a friend when you were both teenagers. And Cupid’s Arrow is powerful, with terrifying effects. 

Anyone given Cupid’s Arrow will immediately develop an intense romantic and sexual obsession with the first person they see after taking it. The effect is so strong that the user will do literally anything to please the object of their obsession, even if it results in great harm.

Apparently, some couples who are into more extreme activities like to try using it, and some couples have used it as a way of proving their trust in each other. And of course, like with all things, there are people who use it to abuse others, basically turning people into their own brainwashed sex slaves. 

The idea of these poor women being given the drug, being abused in some disgusting way, and then murdered while still on the drug, disturbs you greatly. The poor things probably laid there and let the killer chop them up, all the while looking at him adoringly. The thought sends shivers down your spine. 

Still, the women were all found near the city, not out in the suburbs where you live. And the store is close by. What kind of life is it if a grown woman can’t go to a store by herself? 

You give Touya a kiss on the cheek and climb into your mom’s car. “I’ll be right back,” you tell him. 

He still looks worried as he watches you pull out of the driveway, throwing his hand up in somewhat awkward wave. 

The drive there is brief and uneventful, and the small store is uncrowded. You quickly gather up the items your mom needed and a couple of snacks for yourself, then start toward the front to check out. That’s when you remember Touya waiting for you, and decide to pick up something for him. 

You head back down the snack aisle again, barely noticing the other person walking down it. You stop and look over the various bags and packages until you spot the strawberry pocky Touya loves. You smile to yourself as you reach out to grab the last pack. Suddenly, another hand is reaching toward the pocky, brushing against your own. 

You draw back, looking at the man standing next to you. He’s just a few inches taller than you, with wavy dark blonde hair and sharp, golden eyes. 

“Oh, sorry!” he says, his face breaking into a friendly smile. He’s very good looking, though you think Touya is much hotter. 

“That’s okay,” you tell him, returning the smile, “you can have it.”

“Oh no, sweetheart, you take it,” he says, flashing a grin. 

You blink at the pet name, but decide to quickly make it clear that you’re taken. “I was just picking them up for my boyfriend. I can get him something else.”

If he’s deterred at all by your comment, he doesn’t show it. Instead he grabs the pack of pocky and casually tosses them into your basket. “Don’t worry about it. I think I’m hungry for something different anyway.”

You’re not sure if he’s being suggestive or nice, so you give him an uneasy smile and nod before walking to the counter to pay, leaving him to continue browsing the snacks. 

When you step out into the cool evening air, you sigh as you hear your phone chime. You hope it’s not a message from your mom, adding another item to the list. You shift your bags to one arm and then dig your phone out of your purse, pausing in the middle of the parking lot to look at the screen. 

You smile. It’s a message from Touya, asking how the shopping trip is going. He really does worry too much. 

“Just leaving the store,” you type back. “See you soon.”

Just as you start to drop your phone back into your purse, you suddenly sense movement behind you. But before you can turn to look back, a white cloth covers your mouth and nose. You smell a strange chemical odor as your body becomes weak. Your bags, phone, and purse drop to the ground. 

A familiar, friendly voice at your ear says, “Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m taking you home with me.”

You want to fight, to struggle, but all strength has left your body. You’ve gone limp in his arms, and now, darkness overtakes you. 

When you wake up, you have no idea how much time has passed, and even less idea of where you are. It looks like the living room of a nice apartment, but it’s entirely unfamiliar to you. 

Blinking rapidly to clear your vision, you begin to notice other things. You’re sitting on a couch, still fully clothed, and your arms are tied behind your back with a very thin rope. You jerk against it, trying to pull free, but the knots are too strong. Your heart is racing and your head is pounding as you try to remember how you got here, to force the grogginess from your mind. 

You remember being at the store, paying for your items, then… someone grabbed you from behind! And now you remember the voice you heard. It was the handsome stranger from the snack aisle! Did he seriously kidnap you? 

As if the thought summoned him, he appears in a doorway, walking into the living room. “Oh, hey, you’re awake,” he says in that same friendly tone, as if he’s still chatting with you about pocky. He’s wearing casual clothes, ripped jeans and a white T-shirt. He looks good in them, and it makes you wonder why someone who looks like him has to resort to kidnapping women. 

Oh yeah, stuff like this is about power. He probably has no interest in girls who want him. 

“Where am I? Why did you bring me here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice calm. If there’s even a slim chance you can convince him to let you go, it’s worth trying. 

He smiles in an easy going way as he leans back against the wall. “Come on, it has to be obvious by now.”

The words, spoken so charmingly, send a jolt of fear through your heart. You look him in the eyes. “Are you going to rape me?”

He gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “That’s such a nasty term. The idea of holding down a struggling woman just doesn’t appeal to me. I want you to enjoy it too.”

You try to keep your voice even, rational. “I can’t enjoy it though. I have a boyfriend, remember?”

He laughs. “Oh don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll forget all about him as soon as I give you this.” 

From his pocket, he pulls a small clear vial of liquid. Then he walks over to a small end table you hadn’t noticed before and picks up a syringe. You feel your heart drop to your feet as a sense of dread washes over you. 

“What is that?” you ask, already suspecting the answer but unable to process the terrible truth until he says it. 

“You’ve heard of Cupid’s Arrow, right?” he asks, still acting so friendly. 

“Please don’t do this!” you cry, jerking on the ropes again. 

He steps closer as he fills the syringe. “It’s okay! Once you take this, you’ll enjoy everything I do to you. You’ll beg for my cock. You’ll want me inside you every minute of every day,” he says, standing over you and looking down with a sultry gaze. “And I’ll make sure I keep you satisfied.”

“No!” you shout, fighting against the ropes, trying to draw back away from him. 

He presses one knee into the couch beside you and holds the syringe in front of your panicked face. “I’ll make you feel so good, I promise.”

You look up at him, tears dripping down your face. “Please… don’t! I don’t want this! I have someone I love,” you plead, your last hope being to appeal to his mercy. “I’m… I’m saving myself for him! So please…”

He pauses, a flicker of surprise on his face. Then he smiles. “In that case, I’ll be real gentle with you the first time. I’ll take good care of you.”

You’re shaking your head as he grips your shoulder, holding you steady. “Please please… don’t do this!”

As you feel the needle pierce your skin and a cold sensation flow into your body, you cry out the name of the person you wish you could see just one more time. “Touya!”

You black out again, slumping over on the couch with your hands still tied behind you. When you wake up the second time, your hands are free, but your arms are sore. You’re still wearing the same clothes you wore to the store. You try to get up from the couch, but a wave of dizziness washes over you, forcing you to sit back down. 

After giving yourself a moment for your head to clear, you slowly stand back up. You have to find a way out of here before he comes back. If you don’t look at him, the drug won’t activate. If you can just find a place to hide until it wears off, you’ll be in the clear! 

Carefully, while keeping your eyes on the floor and only occasionally glancing up at your surroundings, you navigate around the coffee table and out of the living room, to the small foyer and the front door. You try to open it, but it’s locked. Of course it is. You check the knob, but there’s some sort of electric lock device that requires you to input a code. 

Maybe there’s a back door? Or a balcony? If this is an apartment, and it’s on a low enough floor, maybe you could climb over and take your chances with a fall. A broken ankle would be better than whatever this man has planned for you. 

He’s the Cupid’s Arrow killer. You’re sure of it. You still remember the report you read about one of the women they found. She was the same age as you, in college like you. And she’d been completely gutted, all her insides on the outside, her naked, butchered body tossed by the side of a road. 

You head back through the living room, toward the back row of curtains. The balcony must be there! Just before you reach them, you feel a pair of arms wrap around your body and pull you back. 

“Where are you wandering off to?” he asks, his tone as cheerful as ever. He turns you to face him, and you slam your eyes shut. 

“Come on, sweetheart, look at me,” he says, dragging you back toward the couch. 

You shake your head, screaming “I’d rather die!” You struggle and squirm in his arms, desperate to get free, but his grip is strong. 

“Don’t say that,” he says with a light chuckle, as if your battle to escape is amusing. He pushes you down onto the couch, on your back, and you feel him climb on top of you to hold you down with his body. He smells like expensive cologne, the kind of trendy stuff Touya would never wear. 

“Open your eyes,” he says, his voice finally taking on a slightly firm tone. 

You shake your head again. “Never!”

He sighs. “I’m not so bad, right? I’m hot, I’m clean, I’m funny, and I know how to please a woman. I can make you cum until you pass out. I see the way chicks look at me. They want me. You’re pretty lucky!”

Tears are leaking out of your closed eyes. “But you’re not the man I love! I don’t care how hot you are, or any of that other stuff! I just want to be with Touya!”

He goes quiet, not speaking. Is he just waiting for you to give out and open your eyes? Or is he considering your words? Without seeing the expression on his face, you can’t tell. “Why are you even doing this? If women want you, why use the drug?”

There’s a pause, then he answers. “You’ve never seen anyone under the effects of Cupid’s Arrow, have you? Most people haven’t. It’s hard to describe how incredibly hot it is, to have someone be completely devoted to you, obsessed with you, to have someone dedicate their whole life to pleasing you. When a pretty girl is crying her eyes out because she spilled a single drop of my cum out of her cute little mouth, it just does something to me.”

You sob, realizing he’s not going to let you go, and understanding what he’s going to be doing to you. All the things you wanted to experience with Touya, you’re going to be doing them with this stranger.  

You hear him sigh again. “I really hate using force, but you’re leaving me no choice here.”

His fingers are now on your face, prying open your right eyelid. You scream and buck, trying to shake him off you, but it’s no use. He’s too strong. You’re forced to look at his handsome, friendly face. 

The effect is immediate. Your body craves him instantly, powerfully. You stare up at him with both eyes open as he climbs off you and stands up. 

You sit up, your eyes drawn to him. 

“Stand up,” he says, “and take off your clothes.”

Your body obeys, standing up from the couch and peeling off your shirt. As you strip off the rest of your clothing, you realize this nightmare is even more horrific than you thought. 

Because you’re still aware of everything. You know you’ve been drugged, you know you don’t love this man, you know you don’t want to do these things with him. You know you love Touya. 

But your body is seemingly acting on its own. It wants him, wants his touch, wants to make him happy. Even as your mind screams at the humiliation of being stark naked in front of this stranger, your body heats up with excitement. With horror, you realize you’re already dripping wet. It’s a sensation you’ve only ever felt while thinking of Touya, and it makes you feel sick now. 

When he steps closer, every cell in your body wants to reach out to him, to feel his skin. But you remain still, waiting for him to give another command. 

He reaches out one hand and brushes your hair back from your face. Just that subtle touch leaves you breathless. 

“So pretty,” he says, his golden eyes traveling up and down your body. You’ve never been more embarrassed! He takes one of your hands and leads you out of the living room, down a short hall and into a bedroom. 

You know what’s going to happen, and you’re equal parts horrified and aroused. Your mind at war with your body. You open your mouth to speak, to beg him to let you go, but instead of the words you want to say, completely different words flow out of you. 

“Please, take me,” you say, your voice a desperate plea. “I can’t wait any longer!”

He smiles, and your heart skips a beat. He’s so hot, with such beautiful eyes… no! These aren’t your thoughts! The drug is making you think these things!

“Just give me a minute,” he says, “and I’ll make you feel things you’ve never imagined.”

With that, he steps back from you and pulls off his shirt. His body is well toned, his skin smooth but for the thin trail of blonde hair leading from his navel down under the waistband of his jeans. Oh god, you want him so badly! Your juices are dripping down your thighs as you look at him. But it’s just the drug. You know that. 

He pushes you onto the bed, your back against the mattress, then climbs onto the foot of the bed, on his knees. He pushes your knees apart, spreading you open for his gleaming golden eyes to drink in. For once, the two warring sides of you have the same reaction: your heart racing wildly, but for very different reasons. 

“I said I’d make you feel good, right? So just relax,” he tells you, his warm hands sliding under your ass to lift your hips up slightly as he bends forward, licking one stripe up your drenched pussy. 

The pleasure is electric, shooting through your entire body with such a simple motion. It must be the drug. You squirm beneath him, arching your back, wanting more. And he gives you more. 

His tongue pushes in between your slick folds, quickly finding your clit and licking it with the kind of expert precision you’d expect from a guy who bragged about how much he could make you cum. You’re engulfed in pleasure, even down to your curling toes, as his lips surround the delicate nub and suck on it softly, his tongue circling the tiny tip. You’ve never felt anything so amazing in your life. 

And you hate it. Because he’s not Touya. Because he’s doing all this against your will. Because forcing you to enjoy it all with drugs only fucks up your mind even more. 

When you cum, trembling and gasping, you feel ashamed, like you betrayed the man you really love. Tears leak out of your eyes, either from being overwhelmed by pleasure or some remnant of your true feelings. The stranger raises up and brushes them away with his thumb. “It’s okay,” he tells you in a sweet voice. “Just let yourself feel it.”

His kindness makes your heart flutter. This drug is making you fall in love with him! No, that’s unbearable! He’s taking your heart as well as your body! 

He sits back on his knees in the bed, your legs still spread open before him, and unbuttons his jeans. You watch in breathless anticipation as he pulls his cock out. It’s a little longer than you expected, and much thicker. The girthy organ is already hard and glistening at the tip, ready to violate you. 

You try to will your voice to scream, your hands to shove him away, your legs to close. But your body doesn’t belong to you anymore. Cupid’s Arrow saw to that. 

The man pauses, looking down at your flushed, teary face. “Oh that’s right, I haven’t told you my name,” he says. You simultaneously have no interest in it and are dying to know. “It’s Keigo. So you know what to scream out while I’m fucking you.” 

He says the last part with a wink. As if he’s being cute, and not about to rape you. It nauseates you. “Please,” you say, your voice not belonging to you, “fuck me, Keigo!”

His eyes light up with excitement as he pulls your body down the bed, closer to him, lining himself up with your entrance. “I said this before, but I promise I’ll be gentle with you, since it’s your first time.”

You want to sob. This was supposed to happen with Touya! All you can do is close your eyes and try to block this all out as you feel him ease his way into you. As promised, he’s gentle, going very slowly and carefully. The drug is making you love it, making you want all of him inside you, filling you up completely. 

He’s stroking your hair lovingly, kissing your lips as his firm body brushes against yours. He looks so good above you, his hair falling into his eyes as he gazes down at you, his hard cock gradually pushing further into your wet, eager pussy. But you don’t want this! 

Your arms encircle his neck, pulling him closer as he finally bottoms out inside you, the stretch giving just the right amount of pleasant sting. He waits for a moment, looking into your eyes, then kisses you deeply as he begins thrusting. His tongue is in your mouth, invading it, just as his cock is invading you. His thrusts are slow and deep, intimate in a way that horrifies you. 

This isn’t a simple fucking. Even a virgin like you can tell that much. The way he’s taking his time, maintaining eye contact, caressing your body… he’s making love to you. It’s so much worse than if he’d just dragged you into an alley, fucked you, and left you behind. Because this is agonizingly slow, and it’s a violation of everything you are. 

This is going to break your mind. 

Tears are coming out again, despite your moans and cries of pleasure. Keigo pauses and wipes your tears again. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

The question makes you want to scream. Is he really this delusional? But you smile up at him against your will and say, “No, it just feels so good!”

He smiles. “I’m glad. I want you to feel good,” he murmurs between kissing you, going back to thrusting into you again, this time a bit harder. “I want you to feel nothing but good, forever.”

One of his hands slides down between your bodies, his fingers finding and stroking your swollen clit. Your body twitches, arching against him, your breaths hitching. “Ahhh… Keigo!”

You’ve never felt anything like this, nothing so incredibly powerful. Your pussy clenches around him, desperate for him to cum inside you, your arms are around his neck, clinging to him like a true lover as he draws a second orgasm from your trembling body. 

He stares at your face as you cum, and you’ve never felt more humiliated. A stranger is seeing all these intimate parts of you, when you only ever wanted to show them to Touya. 

Keigo kisses you again, then plunges in deeply and releases his load, filling you up. You want to scream again, repulsed by the possibility of being impregnated by this monster. But your body craves it, hungers for his cum, clamps down on him to milk him completely. 

True to his word, Keigo is gentle with you for the rest of the night, even as he fucks you three more times. It’s only the beginning of your nightmare. 

************************************

Touya sits at his dad’s computer, one hand sweaty on the mouse and the other gripping his own knee strong enough to bruise it. He swallowed his pride and asked his asshole father for help after his girlfriend had been missing for three days. Being the son of the police chief had its advantages. 

His father stands behind him as he clicks play on the video file. It’s security camera footage from the convenience store she went to, on the night she disappeared. Touya watches as she walks out of the store, bags in hand. She pauses and digs her phone out of her purse. Is that when he sent her a text? 

Then a blonde man emerges from the store, goes up behind her, and holds something to her face. She struggles for a few moments, dropping all her stuff, then goes limp. 

Touya feels like he’s just watched a video of his own death. 

Someone took her, the love of his life, the girl he’s adored since he was five years old. For a man to take a woman by force this way, there’s no doubt he intends to harm her. The thought makes Touya’s blood boil. 

“Who is he?” Touya asks, his voice low.  

Touya’s father hesitates for a moment, as if he’s trying to think of the best way to say something terrible. Then he sighs and answers. “We don’t know his name, but we’ve seen him before, in other security footage.”

Touya turns around in the chair to look at his father. “Other footage? He’s been involved in other crimes?”

Again, a moment of hesitation before his father delivers the devastating answer. “He’s been seen grabbing other women this way. They were all found dead later. Touya, he’s the Cupid’s Arrow killer.”

Touya feels his heart stop, feels the entire world fall away as the words sink in. This man has her. He’s pumping her full of a drug that will turn her into his sex slave, which means he’s definitely raping her. Then he’s going to kill her in some grotesque and painful way. Touya can’t think of anything more nightmarish.  

He wants to smash the computer, charge out of his house and track that blonde asshole down. But he takes a few deep breaths and tries to calm himself down. He’ll never find his girlfriend if he lets his rage blind him. She needs him now more than ever. 

He’ll find her. Even if he has to turn the world upside down. 

“No one knows who he is?” Touya asks. 

His father shakes his head. “His face is never visible in the footage. We can’t ID him based on hair and build alone. He clearly knows what he’s doing.”

Touya turns back to the computer, rewinds the footage, and watches it again. It feels like stabbing himself in the heart, but he forces himself to watch it several more times, burning the image of the man into his brain. 

For the next week, Touya sits in the parking lot of the convenience store, watching every person who goes in or out. If the killer came here once, he could come here again.

On the sixth night, Touya is beginning to lose hope when he spots him. A guy who looks just like the man in the footage parks a vehicle near the edge of the parking lot and walk into the store. Touya’s heart pounds as he watches the man come back out, carrying a couple of bags. The man is smiling to himself as he climbs into his car and pulls out onto the road. 

Touya follows him, staying back far enough to avoid detection but close enough to see any turns the car makes. Eventually the bastard pulls into a high end apartment complex just inside the city. Touya parks far away, and watches from a distance as the man gets out of his car. He’s whistling to himself, the sound echoing in the parking garage, as he gets into an elevator. 

As the doors close, Touya rushes over to see what floor the elevator stops on. Fifth floor! Touya sprints to the stairwell and hurries up the flights of stairs, hoping he’s fast enough to see which apartment the man goes into. He’s panting by the fourth floor, cursing himself for not working out more when his brothers invited him to the gym with them. But he reaches the fifth floor quickly, and carefully opens the door, peeking out around the edge, hoping to see the man without being seen himself. 

To Touya’s surprise, the hall is empty. The man is nowhere to be seen. Was Touya too slow? That would probably mean he’s in one of the apartments closer to the elevator, right? Maybe he could knock on a few doors, pretend he’s looking for a lost pet. 

Touya steps out of the stairwell and begins walking down the hall, passing several apartments and a maintenance room. Just as he gets close to the elevator, a white cloth suddenly closes over his mouth and nose. His mind races, remembering the images from the security footage, understanding that the same thing is happening to him. 

“I don’t know why you’re following me,” a voice says, “but we’ll figure that out when you wake up.”

And then, everything goes dark.

When Touya wakes up, he finds himself in a hardback chair in a living room, his arms tied securely behind his back with thin but sturdy rope. His ankles are tied to the chair legs. He squints his eyes at the brightness of the lighting, trying to force himself to focus on his surroundings. 

Before he’s fully alert, however, the blonde man walks into the room and sits on the couch, relaxing into it as if he’s entertaining a guest. He’s holding something in his hand, and it takes a moment for Touya to realize it’s his own driver’s license. 

The man smiles at him in a friendly way. “So you’re Touya,” he says, as if he’s heard all about him. “It’s nice to meet you. I can guess why you’re here.”

It looks could kill, Touya would have murdered this man in seconds. “Where is she?”

“She?” the man asks, a phony innocent expression on his smug face. 

Touya jerks against the ropes, then glares at the man again. “You know who I’m talking about.”

“Oh, you mean my new pet? She’s in the bedroom, all spread out for me, waiting for me to fuck her pretty little pussy.”

For one brief moment, Touya feels white hot rage fill every inch of his body. He yanks on the ropes so hard, it’s a miracle he doesn’t break his own bones. “Fuck you, you fucking loser! Can’t get a woman to let you fuck her without drugging her, huh?!”

The man laughs. “Before Cupid’s Arrow came along, I was fucking so many women I got bored. I wanted something more.”

“What? You think she loves you?!” Touya yells. 

“To be honest, I don’t care if she actually loves me. All I care about is feeling loved. And she definitely makes me feel loved.”

Touya looks at him with disgust. “You’re fucking sick. Why kill all the others then? Didn’t they make you feel loved?!”

The man’s smile fades. “The problem with Cupid’s Arrow is that it wears off if I don’t keep injecting it. So when I ease them off the drug and they start screaming, well, I don’t feel so loved anymore. But,” he says, his eyes gleaming, “I heard a rumor that certain people, when given the drug long enough, are permanently affected by it. It never wears off even after they stop taking it.”

“So you’re just gonna keep kidnapping and murdering women until you find someone like that?” Touya asks, his patience growing thin. 

The man grins. “Oh, I don’t have to do that anymore. I found her.”

Touya’s eyes widen. “You’re fuckin’ lying.”

“I haven’t given her the drug in three days. It should be out of her system by now, but she’s still completely obsessed with me.”

Touya gives him a murderous stare. “I don’t believe you.”

The man is still grinning. “Why don’t I show you? I’m sure she’s crying by now, thinking I’m neglecting her. She probably doesn’t even remember you at this point, but I’ll let you see her, since I’m such a nice guy.”

He turns his head toward the doorway leading to a short hall. “Sweetheart, come in here! We have a guest!”

Touya’s eyes are glued to the doorway, desperate to see her, to confirm she’s still alive, but terrified to see what’s been done to her. 

She appears like an angel, positively glowing. She’s wearing nothing but frilly pink panties and bra, something she would never choose for herself. Touya grew up with her. Of course he’s seen the plain straps of her sports bra and the occasional glimpse of her striped cotton panties.

As she steps into the room, her eyes fall upon Touya, and she seems to freeze for a moment. Touya sees it, the flicker of recognition in her eyes, the flash of relief to see him again, then the horror she must be feeling to know that he’s going to witness whatever this monster has been doing to her. 

Touya knows, because he researched Cupid’s Arrow extensively after finding out who had taken his girlfriend. He knows that many people reported still being aware of everything while under its influence. That look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. 

She walks over and sits beside the man on the couch, no longer looking at Touya. “Keigo~” she purrs, “come to bed!”

So his name is Keigo. The sick fucker. He wraps an arm around her. “But I have a guest. Why don’t we put on a little show for him?”

There it is again, a look in her eyes that Touya is sure only he would recognize. Her facial expression is cheery and excited, but her eyes show her true feelings. 

Keigo gives her arm an affectionate squeeze. “Come on, sweetheart. You know what I like when I get home.”

She giggles, and it sounds so different from her normal, genuine laugh that it makes Touya’s stomach churn. Then she slides off the couch and to her knees in front of Keigo. She doesn’t look back at Touya anymore, only focusing on opening Keigo’s pants and pushing her head forward. From this angle, Touya can’t see every detail, but it’s obvious that she’s sucking Keigo off. The wet, slurping sounds fill the room. 

Touya turns his head, unable to watch. 

“Hey,” Keigo says, “she’s working so hard to put on a show for you. It’s rude not to watch!”

“Fuck you!” Touya yells, still not looking. 

Keigo grins. “Maybe later. I have more Cupid’s Arrow on hand.”

Touya feels like gagging. The thought of being forced to be intimate with this asshole disgusts him. Then he remembers that she’s been suffering that exact fate for over a week. 

“If you don’t watch,” Keigo says, “I’ll make her do something gross or painful. If I tell her to, she’ll eat literal shit from the toilet. Or I could make her pluck out one of her own eyes.”

Feeling more enraged than ever, Touya looks at the couple, watching his girlfriend’s head bob on this monster’s cock. His eyes meet Keigo’s. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you for this.”

Keigo suddenly grips her hair. “Ahh, just a minute Touya, I’m cumming in your girl’s mouth.”

Touya jerks at the ropes again. This time, it feels like the one on his left wrist is a little looser. 

Keigo is patting her head. “Good girl, you didn’t spill a drop.”

She glances back at Touya, and her eyes are wet, but she doesn’t say anything. 

He looks straight at her. “It’s okay, baby. I know you don’t wanna do this. I know this pathetic asshole drugged you. I’ll get you out of here, I promise!”

Keigo stares at him for a moment, his eerie golden eyes sharp. Then he suddenly claps his hands once as if he just had a great idea. “I think I’ll do you both a favor, since I’m in a good mood! Sweetheart, crawl over there and suck Touya’s cock.”

Touya feels like his blood just froze in his veins. “Don’t make her do this!” he shouts. 

She looks at Touya, and though her eyes look mortified, her lips curve up into a smile. “Of course, Keigo. Anything you want!”

She crawls across the floor to Touya, looking him in the eyes. When she reaches him, her hands slide up his thighs and find his belt, unbuckling it and then opening his pants. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells her. “I’m so sorry for what he’s done to you. But it’s almost over.”

She has no reaction to his words, instead reaching into his pants and pulling out his soft cock. “Aww, it’s not hard yet,” she says. 

Touya thinks this situation is just about the least sexy thing he can imagine, but her soft hands wrap around him and begin gently stroking. This is too cruel. Touya has dreamed of being touched this way by her since he was a teenager, and now it happens in the worst way possible for both of them. 

When she begins licking his tip, his cock starts to stiffen. It’s purely a physical reaction to the stimulation of her touch, but it makes him feel ashamed. He doesn’t want her to think this clear violation of her is actually turning him on. 

She takes him into her mouth, her sweet, pillowy lips gliding up and down him, drenching him in her saliva. He can’t help thinking of that day, sitting on her bed, when she kissed him. He’d wanted to go further, and was sure she did as well, but her parents were downstairs and the thought of them walking in was too awkward. 

His idea had been to plan a weekend getaway for just the two of them. Now he wishes he’d just gone for it, because he hates for this to be their first intimate moment together. 

Regardless, his body is responding to her, even though he’s nowhere near in the mood. And after several minutes, he feels his climax approaching. She must feel it too, because her lips clamp around his base as he cums. She sucks him dry, swallowing every drop, then finally pulls away and stands up, walking back over to Keigo. 

“So who’s cum tasted better?” Keigo asks her. 

She sits down beside him and snuggles up to him. “Yours did of course!”

Touya pulls on the rope again, acting as if he’s just blindly jerking on it out of rage, but the left wrist is getting looser. If he can just work it a bit more…

“Oh, but you haven’t been satisfied yet, have you sweetheart?” Keigo asks. 

Touya knows where that question is leading, and feels his heart sink. He has to get his hand free, and fast! 

Keigo grins right at Touya as he tells her, “Why don’t you ride my cock like you usually do?”

*******************************

If you could kill Keigo, you would. But your body doesn’t belong to you. He’s already made you do suck horrifically embarrassing things in front of Touya, you could die of shame. And now he wants more? 

This is the worst possible scenario you could imagine. To have the love of your life watch you do these things with another man is nothing short of a nightmare. Any joy you felt at seeing him again was replaced with terror. Is Keigo going to kill him? 

Your body stands up and faces Keigo, but he turns you around to face Touya. He clearly wants to torment both of you. He slides your panties down and you step out of them. Touya averts his eyes. 

“Now, now, Touya,” Keigo says, “What did I say about you not watching?”

This monster is using threats to force Touya to watch. Your face burns when Touya’s beautiful blue eyes shift back to you. He has an apologetic expression. Somehow he knows you’re aware of everything. He knows you’re still in here. 

With your beloved boyfriend watching, you ease back into Keigo’s lap. You can feel his erection pressing against you. Despite your shame and horror, you rise up slightly and line him up with your entrance, then sink down onto his cock. 

Keigo’s hands are on your thighs, keeping them spread open so Touya can see his cock plunging into your dripping pussy. Touya looks horrified, but under the drug’s influence, you begin riding Keigo, bouncing up and down on his meaty cock, moaning his name as if you love him. 

Your eyes meet Touya’s, and his expression softens. “I love you,” he says. “Nothing this sick fuck does can ever change that!”

Oh, Touya! How you wish you could tell him how you feel! 

Keigo slides one hand up your thigh and uses his fingers to spread your folds, then begins rubbing circles into your clit. Your back arches as you cry out in pleasure.  

“See, Touya?” Keigo asks. “I can please her better than you ever could. She likes having her clit played with, right sweetheart?”

“Yes!” you scream, riding him harder, your traitorous body chasing its climax. You’re so close! You lock eyes with Touya again as you say, “I’m… I’m…!” Your body wants to say you’re cumming, but for just this moment, staring into the eyes of the man you truly love, your heart wins out. 

“I’m sorry, Touya!” 

The words are forced out through your unwilling mouth as tears drip down your face. Touya’s eyes widen. Keigo pulls you off him and shoves you to the floor, clearly alarmed by your tiny spark of free will. Then, all at once, chaos erupts. 

Touya’s hands snap free from behind him and he lunges across the room, dragging the chair still tied to his ankles along with him. He tackles Keigo to the floor and begins punching him with both fists. Keigo tries to block them with his arms but Touya’s unbridled fury overwhelms him, and soon Keigo’s face is a bloody mess. You watch in stunned silence. The drug is telling you to pull Touya off him, to try to help the man you’ve been forced to adore, while your heart is telling you to help Touya mangle him. 

In the end, you do neither, and Keigo eventually stops moving. You know he’s dead before Touya even stops punching him. 

The effect is immediate. Suddenly, you’re so obsessed with Touya that you want him to take you now, right next to Keigo’s bloody corpse. 

Cupid’s Arrow is still in effect, but with Keigo dead, the target of your obsession is the next person you laid eyes on. 

Touya pants for a few moments after killing Keigo, then flops over onto his ass and begins untying the ropes from his ankles. Every little movement he makes is beautiful to you. 

To be honest, it’s not so different from how you viewed him before. 

He quickly crawls over to you and wraps you in his arms. “It’s over, baby, I’ve got you!”

You look up at him with glistening eyes, then wrap your arms around his neck. “Touya! I love you so much!”

He pulls back slightly and looks at you. “It transferred to me, huh? I read about this. It’s okay, we’ll get you to a hospital and they can pump the drug out of your system! You’ll be okay!”

You try to kiss him, but he blocks you. “Touya,” you whine, “I’ve wanted you for so long! Please…”

“I want you too,” he says, “but not when you’re drugged. We’ll have plenty of time together after you’re better.”

You pout as he stands up and helps you to your feet. “Get dressed,” he tells you, and you follow his command as he searches the apartment for his phone, finding it on the kitchen counter and then calling the police. 

The next few weeks are a blur. Keigo’s death is ruled as self defense, and you go through extensive testing and treatments at the hospital. They determine that you’re one of the rare people who are permanently affected by Cupid’s Arrow after having high doses injected for several days. The doctors say there’s a chance you’ll recover someday, and recommend that you stay near Touya for your own mental health, since the two of you already had a long relationship. 

You’re not too bothered by it. Because you love Touya and you know he loves you. 

But Touya is struggling. He finds it difficult to resist your advances, but he doesn’t want to take advantage of you. Even though you’ve tried telling him you really do want to be with him, he’s afraid it’s the drug talking. For weeks, he doesn’t touch you. 

The first couple of times he wakes up to find you sucking his cock, he gently pushes you away. After seeing your distraught reaction however, he begins letting you continue until he cums in your mouth. He always looks at you with a guilty expression afterward, and it breaks your heart. 

It’s two months after your rescue before he finally eats you out, after you spend days spread out on his bed, tearfully begging him to give you release.

Gradually, his resistance crumbles more and more, until he’s fucking you into the mattress every night, his face buried in your shoulder, murmuring, “I’m sorry!” over and over like a mantra. 

You really do want him, but he doesn’t know it, and that uncertainty has him consumed by guilt. He thinks he’s doing the same thing Keigo did to you, and that haunts him, even as he thrusts into you so deeply that you see stars. Your cries of ecstasy might as well be cries of pain to him, and it eats away at his mind. 

Maybe someday the effects of the drug will wear off, and you can tell Touya how much you love him, how much you want him every day. Until then, you can only watch him spiral into self loathing as your body sings with pleasure. 

[johnpriceslamb]

hihi could u maybe do an arthur morgan x fem!reader??

i was thinkin about the reader being really upset about something and which arthur (being that kinda person) he noticed quickly, they walked to his tent for then the reader to be comforted by arthur morgan (he isnt good at comforting but he tries real hard,, take ur time ofc! we love u-🎀

𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓪𝔀𝓷,

❥ You’re sad. Arthur finds out and comes to comfort you.

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 ! ꒰ female ! reader . hyper-feminine ! reader . reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter than characters mentioned below . crybbie reader sorraiiii . Karen’s a meanie pants but she loves reader . 1.1k wrd count. ꒱

❥ Arthur Morgan x female ! reader

You’re sensitive.

You don’t mean to be, but sometimes you take what people say a bit too seriously.

It’s not a bad thing to be sensitive, but you’re in a gang. A gang filled with murderers, thieves, criminals, whatever. You’re prone to being teased and made fun of- even more likely due to your soft nature and demure figure.

Usually, you spend your time doing chores or assisting Pearson with cooking. What you lacked in strength and courage to be able to hold a gun, you made up with your skills in being able to feed the gang actual food, instead of.. the usual stews Pearson made.

From then on, you gained the honouring title of ‘Pearson’s assistant.’

Then again you’d much prefer being referred to your actual name.

“—‘n I’m just sayin’..” The woman in blonde stirs her spoon in the stew you made, mindlessly blabbering about.

Karen was a sweet girl, she really is. But sometimes, she enjoys talking. A bit too much.

“You ain’t really uh.. fit for all this.” She gestures to camp.

Ouch.

You shrink in the log you sat upon, meekly fiddling with the utensil in your hand. You get where she’s coming from, but nevertheless you still took it to heart.

“Karen!” Mary-Beth softly hits her upper arm, a scolding tone picks on, “C’mon, lay off it.”

She shrugs. “‘M just saying what everyone wants to hear. It’s like seeing a fawn amongst a pack o’ wolves.”

She’s blunt. You’ve known her for a while, considered her as a friend. And you knew well enough that she does not sugar coat things. You’re not sure if you should take what she said as a compliment or not, but regardless you still feel a bit embarrassed at the fact that you didn’t really fit in.

“H—Hey,” You feel yourself crumble at the fact that your tone took on a higher pitch as a defence mechanism and the stuttering which makes her point stand even more bolder, “I’m.. I’m trying, okay?”

Karen looks at you with a demeaning expression. That’s all it takes to shut your pretty little mouth up.

Then, she lets out a soft giggle.

“C’mon girl, y’know I was just jokin’. You just sit there and look pretty for us.”

You take this as an opportunity to leave, going on with your day but with a heavy heart.

You find yourself near the lake which is situated just right beside the camp, staring off at the distance with a long look. You know Karen was just playing around, but you still can’t help that little sharp pang in your heart.

You don’t notice the approaching steps from behind. You hear the sound of fabrics scrunching together as they squat behind you, a warm hand lays gently on your shoulder.

“Hey.”

You tilt your head upwards, eyes landing on the loyal enforcer of the gang.

“Hi,” You whisper back. Unconsciously does your head lay on his chest, and almost immediately do you feel better being in Arthur’s embrace.

His arms wrap around you, a gentle kiss is placed on the side of your head. He lovingly looks at you, cold eyes which softens at the sight of his sweetheart. It falters a bit when they see those pretty eyes glimmer in the light.

“Y’alright?” He asks with a tone of concern. His arms tighten at the sight of your vulnerability.

“Mhm.” You meekly nod, feigning your expression with a soft smile, “I’m fine.”

“Mm.” His upper eyelids cover half of his eyes. His expression was almost lazy, dog-like. “No use lying to me, sweetheart. Yer lips quiver when you do.”

You almost melt at how lovely his voice sounded.

“C’mon,” He gestures for you to stand up. He lends you a hand for you to aid yourself onto your two feet, a hand rests upon the curve of your hip to guide you to his tent.

“Where we goin’?” You ask shyly, leaning into his touch.

“My tent. We’re goin’ to talk.” He replies blankly.

You don’t say anything until you’ve reached his tent. He guided you to the edge of his bed, allowing you to sit. He sizes you up a few times, quietly admiring you for a moment before sitting next to you, knees touching.

“What’s wrong, hm? Why’s gotten my girl so down?” Your hand unconsciously grabs onto his to squeeze, fiddle around with. He wants to chuckle at your puppy-like neediness but forces himself not to.

“..Just some stuff Karen said.” You meekly explain, fiddling with his fingers, “Said ‘m not really fit for.. any of this.”

“She said that?” He says with a frown, scratching at his strong jaw.

“Mm,” You nod.

“‘Reckon she’s right.”

“Eh?” You almost pout at how immediate he was to agree.

“Hey, c’mon. I ain’t even get to finish. I mean, she’s right. You don’t fit in. You’re too good for any of this.” He explains himself, biting his lip to prevent himself from doing anything to you. Your eyes did a lot to him, unbeknownst to you.

“Way too good.” He mumbles, lovingly rubbing circles on your little palm.

“You really think so?” You ask with a shy smile.

“I know so.” He nods, leaning in to press a little kiss on your forehea. He leans back to peer at your face again.

“C’mon, I know you.” He sighs, “Don’t let Karen’s words get to your mind. Even if you don’t really fit in, yer still one of us now. Y’hear?”

You shyly nod. With just one nod down to his lap do you immediately crawl towards him, cuddling up to him like a bug in a leaf.

[lanadelnegan]

Ghost - Part 3

Negan x Glenn'sSister!Reader

Part 2 here // Part 4 here

Warnings: 18+, negan masturbating, negan being all sweet and protective

A/n: I thought this would be the last part, but it was so long I had to break it up. Part 4 will be posted soon!

Negan’s POV: 

I waited all night for her but she never came. Hopping back on my bike, I drove back to the sanctuary the next morning. I spent the next few days drinking in my room and missing her. Trying to give her space was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. 

Two of my wives came to check on me, and I rudely dismissed them. And told them to kick rocks, for good. I wouldn’t even be able to get my dick up with anyone else but her. This girl has me wrapped around her goddamn finger and I don’t even know her name. 

I sat on the couch, closed my eyes and imagined her face. Our night together. How I fucked her through her little shorts. I imagined her lips between mine and the little sounds she made as she scratched my back. Fuck. 

I rubbed myself through my pants, imagining myself between her legs before I got impatient and pulled my cock out. I spit in my hand and began stroking it, focusing extra on the tip. My head pressed against the couch and I groaned, jerking my dick faster. Fuck, fuck fuuuuck. 

"Boss, we've got a problem." Fucking Simon. 

Tucking myself back in my pants, I walked over and flung the door open, clearly annoyed with an extreme case of blue balls. We walked towards the back exit quickly while Simon filled me in on the situation. 

“Rick and the rest of them are outside." Simon explained. "He said he only wants you.” 

“Of course he does.” I chuckled before walking out onto the balcony. “Well, what a nice surprise. This better be good Rick. I was right in the middle of something.”  

Her silky black hair caught my attention almost instantly and I couldn't take my eyes off her. She stood beside Rick and my heart sank for two reasons. I couldn't let her get hurt in the middle of all this. And what the hell was she doing? She couldn't seriously want this.

I leaned next to Simon's ear and whispered. “Make sure everyone knows that one is off limits." I nodded towards my girl. "If anyone harms a hair on her pretty head, it'll be the last thing they ever do."

Your POV, earlier that day: 

“We go in quick, and we don’t leave until Negan is dead. Understood?” Rick’s voice sounded far away and I realized my mind had been wandering the entire time, not able to concentrate.. Or accept Rick’s plan for Alexandria to go after the Saviors. I couldn't lose someone I...

Care about… again. 

“Y/n?” Rick asked, tilting his head at me. 

“Yes, understood.” 

The ride over took ages it seemed like. My head rested against the window of the truck while I watched the sun slowly start to disappear. I should be thrilled. This is what I’ve wanted for so long - to get revenge. 

So why did I want to save him?

“I dunno if I can do this.” Daryl’s focus remained on the road as I spoke. “I know you don’t understand it, but there’s good in him. I’ve seen it.”

Daryl scoffed. “Unbelievable.”

“I just don’t wanna see anyone else die, Daryl.” I wiped a tear from my cheek.

“Some people deserve it.”

“And we don’t? Think about all the ones we’ve killed.”

“Not the same.” Daryl mumbled. 

“But it is. That’s the world we live in now. We do what we have to to survive. We’re all… psycho murderers, really.”  

“Listen to yourself. What do you think Glenn would think about you defending the man who killed him?” 

I sat quietly for a few moments, focusing my attention back on the clouds. “I think he’d be proud of me.” The gravel suddenly rumbling beneath the truck let us know we were getting close to the sanctuary and Daryl pulled over, parking near the others. 

“You’re either with us, or ya aint. But you need to hurry and decide.” Daryl warned before he quietly exited the truck and met up with the others ahead. 

I owe them for everything they’ve done for me. Everything they did for Glenn. I closed my eyes before hopping out of the car and quickly caught up with the rest of the group. Daryl gave me a nod and the rest of the tread was quiet. I tried focusing my mind on anything but Negan, disassociating to the best of my ability - a skill I’ve perfected over the past few months. 

“Negan needs to surrender. This has to happen now. This is the only way.” Rick’s voice rang through my ears as I stood near him, shielding myself with the metal that stood between us and the Saviors. Peeking out, I watched Negan appear behind the railing, an arrogant smirk forming on his lips.

“You’re gonna make me count?!" Rick shouted. "Okay, okay. I’m counting. 10….”

Negan eyes traveled to mine and his gaze softened. I stared at him, silently begging him to surrender while Rick counted. He studied me as if he wondered if I wanted this. 

Of course not. Surrender, goddammit. 

I watched him lean over and whisper something to Simon while his eyes were still on me. Simon nodded and took out his radio, signaling something to the others that I couldn't hear. 

The sound of Rick's gun cocking distracted me, and without thinking, I jumped in front of him, pulling the gun with with me. A bullet went straight through my foot, but I barely felt it.

I heard Negan cursing in the background amongst all the other chaos transpiring. Walkers were filing in now and everyone eventually scattered. I limped as quickly as I could, trying to escape before my feet lifted off the ground. I quickly realized it was Negan and he rushed us to an empty trailer nearby, shutting the door behind him when we made it inside.

“Oww.” I groaned, limping over to the wall and sliding down it. I pulled off my bloody sock and shoe and cringed at the bullet hole in my foot. The pain was starting to set in now.

“Shit.” Negan grabbed a first aid kit from a cabinet above and kneeled down, wrapping my foot. “The hell were you thinkin' darlin'?.”

He looked up at me, slightly grinning and I rolled my eyes. He finished wrapping it up, kissed my forehead, and sat next to me on the floor, leaning his back against the wall. His hand rested on my thigh protectively and I wanted to reach for it and hold his hand but I couldn’t. We both sat in silence for a few moments before he finally spoke.  

“You never came. I waited on you all night.” 

My heart ached at the thought of him there alone. “I told you, Negan. I don’t want to see you anymore.” 

“Yet.. you just took a bullet for me.” I could hear the cocky smile through his voice. 

“Why did you want to meet?” I asked.

“I guess I thought maybe if we went back to our place, you’d see me differently. The way you did that night, and I’d actually have a chance to win you over.”

When I looked over at him, I saw the man he was that night. Before I knew his name and all the horrible things he had done. I replayed everything in my head - the steam from his shower, our deep talks about our old high school days, his wife Lucille and how her death broke his heart, and how he read to me. And then I remembered him in between my legs, but stopping before it got too far because we were both tipsy.

How could the same man who bashed someone's skull in be the same one the had enough decency not to take advantage of a woman? I wanted so desperately to believe in the man he was that night - for that to be the only version of him. 

“Listen baby, I don’t want to hurt you anymore than I already have." His voice was lower than usual when he spoke. "I get that you don’t wanna see me anymore and I’ve gotta learn to be okay with that. I don’t want to be a constant reminder of your brother’s death.” He leaned his head against the wall. “Fuckin' stupid of me to think this could ever work, huh?” 

With every word he spoke, my heart broke into smaller pieces. If Negan would have died today, I’d hate myself for the rest of my life for not going back to the cabin and meeting him that night. As difficult as our life would be together - for so many reasons, I can’t live without him. 

“Negan..” 

“Yeah?” His hazel eyes met mine and he looked like a sad puppy that I desperately wanted to comfort.

“I don’t think I can ever forgive you.”

He nodded, clearly hurt and I watched his eyes fill with tears before he looked down. 

I sighed, hoping I wouldn’t regret what I was about to say. “But I love you. And I want to find a way to make this work.”

His eyes darted back and forth between mine before his hand cupped my face and he kissed me all in one motion. I've missed his lips so much. His mouth was gentle, like he was scared to break me, but I wanted him to, so I pulled him closer and opened my mouth slightly. His tongue slipped in and collided with mine, making me see stars. After a few moments, he pulled away, breathing heavily and resting his forehead against mine. 

“I love you so fuckin’ much, sweetheart. I’ll never disappoint you again.”

“I know.” And I did. I believed him. Gunfire in the distance quickly snapped us back to reality but we held each other, neither of us willing to let go first.

"Negan, I've gotta go back with them."

"No. Stay with me at the sanctuary until we figure out a plan? I'll take care of you and-"

"We can't. You can't stay here, Negan. It's not safe, they'll come back for you. Rick won't stop until you're dead."

"Then I'll kill him first, doll. Simple."

"No. You're not killing anyone else - none of my people. I can't lose anyone else. The only way everyone survives this is if you surrender."

Negan scoffed. "And then what? Be a goddamn prisoner and Rick's little bitch for the rest of my life? Not gonna happen, darlin'."

I sighed. This was going to be a lot harder than I thought.

"Hey, you're not giving up on me already are you?" Negan's hand rested again my cheek as he urged me to look at him.

"No.. no, I just, I dunno what to do."

"We've got all night to figure it out, doll. We don't have many options. There's no way you're going back to Alexandria on that foot. Come on." Negan stood, holding his hand out to me and I took it. "Stay close behind me, baby."

I nodded, gripping the back of Negan's shirt as he kicked the door open, flinging a few walkers in the process. I helped as much as I could, stabbing a few with my knife as Negan worked our way through the crowd.

Luckily the sanctuary itself seemed untouched. The walkers were only outside in the yard while a couple of guards secured the entry to the sanctuary doors. They opened them quickly as Negan and I tumbled in. His hand wrapped around my waist, helping me walk with my hurt foot.

We could hear Simon and the others around the corner. Turning the corner, Negan whistled his favorite tune and I watched in awe as the rest of the saviors bowed before us.

"I bet you all thought I was dead, huh?" Negan chuckled. "Here's a little refresher on who the hell I am. I wear a leather jacket, I have -“ He paused, leaning into you. "Hell’s your name darlin’? You never told me.” You whispered your name in his ear and giggled. He turned back to the saviors, finishing his speech. "I have y/n, and my nut sack? Is made of steel. I am not dyin' until I am damn good and ready."

What a dork. My dork. I thought, looking up at him as he spoke.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a honeymoon to get to. No one knocks on my door. Simon, you're in charge. Don't make me regret it."

Simon nodded and Negan lead us down the hall to a large door at the end. He held the door open for me as I walked through. A bachelor pad of the apocalypse. Exactly what I imagined. I smiled at him and he returned the gesture, flashing his white smile before he walked towards me and immediately wrapped me in his arms. My head rested against his chest and I felt his heart beat. For once, I felt safe.

Part 4 here. If you’ve read this far, thank you. 🥹💗

tag list: @loganlostitall @chaospossum @negansbabydoll66 @redqueenphoenix @n3g5nx @crustyweirdo @youngpersonaathletebear @sadgirlzluvdilfs @ilovebill-and-gustav @neganscumbucket @manipulatorpoem @im-a-goddamn-cat @raininhell @mahogany-cherry-wine @daryldixmedown @munsonslovergirl @sanctuaryforthelost @thelauraborealis @carlgrimesbbg @c3linesworld @blueheisenbergtragedy @startwinklekitty @darlingmadelinee @oceandeepthirst @jschlattsqtip @lavenderchai @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @neganswoman @n7crophiliac @cats-writing @alldevilsarehere90 @natykacenka @queermilfs @stasiaangelsinner @lupa-03 @sadgirlzluvdilfs @pamago-bb @javier-penas-wifexx420 @motelprincess444 @thatonefroggirl @myhappyplaceofstuff @darlingmadelinee @used2beee @easystreet07 @princess-23-xoxo @twdxtrevor @dilfsandmartinis @sarahhxx03 @minaxcarter @kukka-roo @rinsdesires @6kaja9 @sasiiik9174

[lovetei]

Heyyy,

I saw your toxic things the demon bros will do to keep you with them and i absolutely fell in love with. More of, my mental health issues felll in love with- ANYGAYSzz

I was wondering if you could maybe do the same for the side characters¿¿¿¿

Also did you drink water today? Cuz if thats a no here you go 💧💧💧💧

And some cookies just incase 🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪

Love anonymous 👑

I'm not actually supposed to post anything for tonight, because I don't know? I didn't get to start anything this morning so I crammed this post T_T

But love lots! Hope you enjoy this piece ^^

But seriously, I was like "Oh shit, the algorithm I don't have!" And proceed to finish this.

--------------------------------------------------

What are the most toxic thing they will do in a relationship just to make you stay with them?

Versions: Demon brothers, Side Characters

Warnings: Manipulation, yandere themes, execution, mention of torture, psychological torture, love potions, Mentions of murder, framing, alcohol

Links: Masterlist

--------------------------------------------------

DIAVOLO will use his authority

He's already so happy to have you by his side

And by staying there you already secured the position of the next ruler that will stand beside him

So, why do you have to leave..?

And the reasons

"I'm not fit enough..."

"I don't deserve this much..!"

"There are more people out there that are more worthy than me..."

Won't cut it.

He knows your worth and he's sure you do too.

So why?

Perhaps you're just nervous that you won't be able to match his grace?

You don't need to.

His grace is unmatched among the demons and yours is too among the mortals.

You both are on the same chapter, just on different pages.

So why make things hard for yourself?!

All you need to do is say yes and everything will be taken care of.

Clothes, food, money, status, security and literally anything.

He loves you and you does too so it's not going to be a marriage with no love...

SO WHY?

You're starting to drive him insane, MC.

And he might just do the same to you

So he'll invite you over for a fancy dinner and a few drinks

You accepted, despite knowing that Diavolo might try something after he got you drunk

Thinking that Diavolo forgot that you can't get drunk by just a basic demonus

Fool

That's what you are for thinking Diavolo actually misses something, anything about you

So he changed the bottle of demonus to an actual human liquor but neutralized it's taste by the help of his one, loyal servant

Barbatos

Not even two hour passed by and you're already putty in his hands

Dancing just like how he wants it on his palms

Then he'll slide a paper into the table to you, together with a beautiful pen

He then point at an empty line with his finger and said "Look at that MC, this line right here wants your signature."

"Hmm, why?~"

"Because it's such a huge fan of you and it needs you to become something, someone better, so why don't you give it a sign?" Is what he said while smirking.

And there you are, signing the papers while your mind is clouded with alcohol

Oh what is it?

Just a marriage contract

You don't want it?

Look into rules and regulations, Claus 5

It's against your human rights?

How foolish, you're not in the human world.

You will tell the whole Devildom about it?

Lèse majesté

And what's the punishment for committing that? Simple.

Death.

BARBATOS and his timeline power

He loves you

So much actually

At first, it was fun to be in a relationship with him

It's fun, slowly opening him up like a present and seeing the gift, a part of him that only you know.

He builds up trust for you and so do you for him

Then it started to get suffocating

He won't admit it openly but you know,

You know that the one who kills anyone who dared act close with you is him

And it terrifies you

You may allow it if it actually harms you, severely

But it's not for your protection anymore

He's doing it out of pure annoyance now

He doesn't like you around the brothers

The angels

Solomon

Thirteen

Or even Lord Diavolo

In fact, he doesn't want you around anyone.

And it's making you feel more unsafe

He's starting to isolate you from everyone and everything

He's trying to isolate you from the world

So you decided to end things with him

And he doesn't seem to take it lightly like how you expected...

How did you know?

Simple.

You woke up weeks before that break up happened

You know how it happened and you know who made it happen

It's none other than your boyfriend of course

You thought that maybe if you talk nicely with him he'll actually understand the problem

But he didn't

He started to get more and more aggressive with you

Then when the week end

It repeats

And repeats

And repeats

And repeats again

And again

But it will keep going on like that until you learn

Until you learn that there's no other option than him

No other ending than him

He doesn't mind driving you crazy if it means you'll continue to love him

So good luck, MC.

SIMEON might just ask Father for help

Ho doesn't understand!

Why would you want to break up with him?!

He did everything, MC!

It's not clear!

Nothing is clear!

You just belive that you two are not fit together..?

You don't want him to end up like Lilith..?

He doesn't care!

He'll burn these precious, white wings for you!

He'll kill for you!

He'd actually prefer to end up like Lilith rather than this!

Because, at least, Lilith managed to be with her love until her life ended...

He'd rather be a demon or a human rather then live like the adored angel he is without you...

...

You'll still leave huh?

Alright then.

I guess he has no choice but to ask Father for help

What do you mean it will cause him to fall? Oh dear, it won't.

It might actually even promote him into a higher rank.

Father wants you in his side.

In fact, the whole celestial realm want you on this side

So when he asked "Father, it seems that we need to take even larger measure to have MC side with us. What do you think we can do?"

...oh?

Luke?

What a brilliant plan.

Now,

Let's see if you can still leave knowing an innocent life, Luke, will be put under danger because of this tantrum,

Because of you.

SOLOMON and his hidden antics

Oh dear, angel

His little devil

His most prized possession

His favorite concubine,

You won't be leaving him anytime soon, dear.

When you told him that "I want to break up with you."

He kept himself quite for a while before answering "Let me give it some thought, MC. For now, stay with me."

And just as he expected you listened obediently.

But then, his grip around your waits became more rough

And the hand he used to playfully wrap around your neck became more tight

It's hard...

It's hard to feed you his love laced cooking

But he found out that you just loves, adored even, Luke's baked cookies...

And since you're a human, he knows that Luke creates special cookies just for you

One that don't contain exotic ingredients that will upset your stomach

And it just made the work of latching love potions easier for him

He'll just add a few drops and it will do the magic for him

So, all he has to do sit tight

And wait for you to crawl back to his lap yourself.

RAPHAEL will use spears for example

Haha...

But he loves you, MC..?

He might just start crying if you say more

"Sure... But I'll make sure you'll come back to me..!"

At first, it sounded like a joke and it's funny enough to make you giggle

The beautiful memories of peaceful separation didn't last long after you saw a dead body pinned by spears though

His spears, to be specific

It doesn't even make sense

You don't even know this guy...

He hasn't talk to you and you don't even know him

Hell, you don't even recognize his face...

So what's the catch?

Why is he killing completely random people...

That's what have been running around your mind

You haven't seen him around RAD anymore

And if you do he refuse to answer your questions

Except his face will lightly flush and he'll even smile a little before sa say "Ah~ It's nice hearing your voice..."

His tone, the way he says it, none of theme are innocent

And he made it known that he knows what he's doing

The curiosity didn't last long

Until you found out that the corpses aren't for you from him as a threat

It was for the families of the victims

You found out that each of them have high power among the nobilities of Devildom

And he killed them to make the families think that you're telling him to do so

It's not to make you feel guilty, it for them to start attacking you

Until you're pushed back to a corner where no one else can save you

Except for him.

MEPHISTOPHELES's way only

Ha...

Man he loves you so much...

But all he do is stare at you blankly after you told him you ant to break up

Staring at you like you're just some kid throwing a tantrum

It's Mephistopheles in front of you, I mean, he's rich, handsome, tall, smart and has good family background

If he's a human everybody would have gone crazy over him already

Plus he wears heels and he has a sexy cane

What more could you ask for?

But yeah...

You don't want to be with him forever?

Sure, he'll talk to Diavolo.

"I'll buy MC's contract and I'll put them under my wing." Is all the reason he needs to say and a few more to have Diavolo selling you

What about your family?

This amount will do right?

I mean...

He paid for what your worth so don't expect it to be much.

Anyways, you're his now

By the eyes of the law, money and his

He'll never let you get away?

And if you did try to?

He'll simply frame you for treason and let's see if you won't come crawling back to him

After finding out that he can choose what type of punishment, torture method, to give you.

But don't worry.

He likes the game cat and mouse

He don't like playing it for a long time though

So be careful

His patience isn't as long as the line of money and connection ahead of him

THIRTEEN basically holds your life

Break up?

"You're not." Is all she said as she holds your candle

She's grinning widely as she let your candle melt, its 's wax falling directly in her hands

"Why would you even want to?" She asked even though she knows, no reason can separate the two of you

And if you did say "I don't care." as she holds you candle

She might just accidentally extinguish one of your loved ones candles

So be careful, MC.

Among everyone

She's the only one who won't joke around.

And just so you know

Her patience is shorter than the amount of time it requires to kill someone's fire off of their candle.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

How To Adapt To Fire (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.4k

WARNINGS: Fire(s), intended harm, mentions of death, murder, crime, corruption, arsonist mystery plot, pining, protective!Johnny, flirting, intense banter, etc.

A/N: This is based off of US Firemen just because that's what I'm most familiar with!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There was an arsonist in the city, and you were going to catch them.

Getting out of your car, you slap the door closed behind you and rush out, heels clicking over the concrete as the roaring flames continue violently—orange and red going high into the air, all centered around an abandoned warehouse building. Through the darkness of night, everything was lit up like hell.

Your satchel hits against your thigh one fast step at a time, arms pumping as your eyes find the flashing lights beyond the glare, squinting. 

“MacTavish!” You shout, jogging to the line of yellow tape and slipping under it through a small crowd of locals who call to you sharply. Voices going in one ear and out the other, you only search for that familiar helmeted head and the Scottish accent that accompanies it.

“What is she doing?”

“How come she gets to go closer!?”

“Stop that woman!” 

Your white blouse does little to push back the gusts of molten heat on the roaring airwaves, and neither do your dress pants. You push on with stubborn righteousness, even as the mulling firefighters groan under their breaths when they catch sight of you, all pausing in their various duties and panic of grabbing the hoses and getting the water going. 

The iconic red trucks sit stationary, but the man beside one of the three vehicles has his head nearly snapped off when he darts it over to you in a fast instant. 

“MacTavish!” You call out again, locking onto wide blue eyes that blink rapidly at your appearance. 

An under-the-breath curse is leveled out, heard in between shouts and the spray of water, droplets hitting your hard face.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus. Not again.” Heavy boots jog over, tan and yellow uniform loose beside the places where the straps of his gear attach various items and tools to his body. “What in the hell are you doin’ here, Pencils?” 

“My job,” you call stiffly, your finger going out to tap at the small plastic card attached to your blouse. 

‘PRESS PASS’

“So be a good informant and tell me how much damage this is going to cause,” your hand is already inside of your satchel, flicking on a hand-held recorder, as your eyes scan about. “The fire was bigger here,” you begin without wasting any time, and the firefighter in front of you sighs in exasperation, clenching his jaw. “Was it because this place was abandoned unlike the last four scenes, or because there was a different accelerant used.” 

“I’ve told you, Hen,” MacTavish’s hand moves out in appeasement gestures, glancing at the fire and the rest of the teams that rush to get the rest of the hoses going. “Ya can’t be here when the fucking fire is still ongoing. Do you want to get burnt to a damn crisp?”

“I need answers,” you level, gaze darting back to stare into cerulean blues.

John MacTavish, who everyone just calls Johnny or Soap, for some reason, had been a familiar face to you for upwards of two months. In that time, there had been an alarming amount of suspected arson cases—twelve, counting this one. There was an unprecedented spark-up, most taking place in older neighborhoods and abandoned buildings barring the previous four, of which two people had been seriously injured, and three had died. 

But now, it was back to out-of-the-way properties, and you wanted to know why. You needed to. 

Such an escalation just to suddenly drop back down to no casualties? It didn’t make sense. If it wasn’t for your career as a journalist, then it was for your morbid curiosity of which Johnny was intently familiar with.

 The Scot clenches his jaw, dark eyebrows under his helmet stuck into a line. Around him, the others were getting the blaze under control the best they could—there was no need to go inside to search for anyone and all that had to be done was keep the fire from spreading. So, he had no trouble trying to get you to see sense yet again.

“Do you ever give it a rest,” he asks gruffly, accent thick. “Christ, I’ll be gray before you learn to stop sticking your hands where they don’t belong.” 

“You’re not my mother, MacTavish,” you speak, lowering the recorder. “Do you have anything for me?”

Johnny moves up a hand and runs it over his face, groaning. A smirk flickers to your lips. 

“You’re worse than a fly,” he breathes, unimpressed eyes opening to stick to you. “I can’t say much right now, most of it is left for forensics. Just from the blaze alone,” he glances over, taking it in. “I’d make a guess that an accelerant was used. Especially with how fast it popped up and the intensity of it. I’d have to get the dogs down here for a sniff, but it’s likely.”

“Do you think it’s—”

“Connected?” Johnny interrupts, lips twitching at the annotated gimmer in your eye. “Aye. This was man-made. There was nothing here that could start a blaze like this.” 

You click the recorder’s button and move back with a sigh. 

“Lovely.” 

The Scot raises a slow brow, looking you up and down, confused. “That’s it?”

“It’s all you can give me right now,” you mutter, sliding a look at him as your eyes squint at the rabid flames. Pieces of screeching metal fall into a heap, a loud boom of spreading smoke and lifeless coughing of material in the air. 

“Fucking hell,” you murmur to yourself. “This had to be one of the biggest ones so far.”

It was getting held back from the surrounding buildings—slowly but surely in the morning, the entire place would be a smoldering pile of ash and metal, only more questions left behind. 

Johnny sets his hands on the collar of his gear, sighing. “Won’t be the deadliest, though, will it? I’m just glad there won’t be bodies to drag out.”

You send a side-eye his way, feet shuffling. “That, I can agree with. But the pattern doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Well, sorry, Hen, but you’ll catch me a bit more concerned about the potential next targets than the pattern.” He grunts, rolling his shoulders. “We need to catch this prick. Soon. Resources are stretched thin.”

“It’s like the guy completely switched his M.O.,” you ignore him, eyes narrowing. “Abandoned buildings, then to taking people's lives, then right back to where he started? That doesn’t happen overnight.”

Johnny grunts. “‘Cept here.”  

You sigh, tapping your fingers against your bag. The man at your side looks over, shrugging as he takes in the firmness of your expression—the same that he usually wears to any scene he gets called to. Determination. 

“I’ll get the report to you soon as I get it,” Johnny breathes, tilting his head. “Figured with all of your connections, you’ll have a better chance at piecing it all together.” 

“Thank you,” you nod. The man hums. 

“Now, get the hell out of here, yeah? Makin’ me nervous. Tape’s there for a reason Dearie.”

Scoffing, you toss up a hand and shake your head. “I live to make people nervous, MacTavish. You don’t help bust criminals and not make people nervous.” 

You begin backing back up, studying the land one more time. Johnny’s lips are thin, and he shifts his legs to stare after you. 

“Just be careful,” he calls, fingers tightening at his collar, strong jaw moving as he fixes it. His heart stutters in its course. “Don’t stick your neck where it doesn’t belong, Hen.”

You wave a hand, and then you’re off again, disappearing into the crowd with flames rising high behind you. 

The fireman watches tightly, licking his lips before shouting, “I’m serious!”

—

Your list of enemies was seemingly endless. 

Drug busts, criminal enterprises, hitmen—there was no shortage of stories you’d broken and your name being printed into the papers; you weren’t at all unknown to the city or the various police or fire stations. Many described you as a public nuisance, but…you were viewed with a modicum of respect as well—even if it was kept under breath. 

Yet, where there was respect, there was also the less savory emotion of contempt from the related individuals of those whom you’d landed into the eyes of the law and behind bars.

Perhaps you’d taken this arsonist for a disorganized fool…but you were about to get a very violent reality shift. 

“This is the report?” You ask, Johnny sipping from his coffee cup as you both sit in the park three days later, the bench stiff as your fingers play over the manila folder you’d been passed. 

“The public one.” Soap huffs when you slide him a look, his finger pointing at you as he holds his drink. “What? Pencils, I don’t care who you think you are, I’m not about to risk my career for something I can just tell you first-hand.”

You sigh, muttering before your hand pushes open the papers. “Go on, then.” 

Johnny smugly smirks, chuckling as his free hand goes up to fix the backward ballcap on his head. Under the tight hold of his athletic shirt, gray sweatpants sharply contract your put-together and professional appearance—like night and day. He still smells of smoke and metal. 

“You’re bein’ more snappy than usual. Publisher still on your arse, Bonnie?”

“Telling me I need to drop this goose chase,” you grumble, scoffing, eyes skimming down the printed words ahead of you. “As if.”

“Ah, he’ll come round,” Johnny’s lips flicker, flesh crinkling under that stubble of his. An overgrown mohawk leaks from the sides of his hat. “C’mon, tell me what ya need. I’ve got it all up here,” he goes to tap his head, taking another gulp of his coffee. 

The morning air is cold all around you, and people pass pushing strollers or jogging—Saturday just beginning to spread over minds and wake those who’ve slept in. Johnny and you weren’t quite like that. 

“Our theory about the accelerant?”

“My theory,” Soap grumbles but nods. “Gasoline. Dogs found traces all over—there was a damn lot.” 

You tilt your head, glancing at him. “Fits the profile from the other cases except the ones involving casualties.” Your lips pull into a frown, Johnny’s face going more serious. “Weren’t those all started with matches to the curtains in the living rooms?”

“Aye,” Johnny tips his chin to you. “Couldn’t figure that out until—”

“Until you found the matchbox out in the lawn at one of the crime scenes, plus the busted locks on the front doors. All exactly the same.”

The fireman grunts, lips flickering as his face goes a bit red. “Know my job better than I do.” 

You pause, a small heat coming to your cheeks, eyes pausing in their search for new information. “I’m not the one who willingly goes into burning buildings, give yourself more credit.”

Johnny leans closer, chuckling. “Was that a compliment, Pencils?”

“No,” you slide out. 

He hums a sound of amusement, moving back as his form slouches into the bench. A bird darts past overhead, chirping. “Goin’ soft on me. ‘Bout time—I've been waiting.” 

You roll your eyes heavily, closing the manila folder and shifting it into your satchel. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” You face Soap head-on, taking in the deep blue of his eyes and the tease hidden in them. “The station? Home?” Your brow raises. “Animal shelter—I heard they take in strays.”

“Ah,” Johnny flinches, hand raising to his chest as he feigns hurt. “This how you thank your favorite public servant?” 

“You’ll live,” you grumble, standing and flattening out your long black coat. “Come on. Seeing as you’re not entirely lost to me, I’m getting breakfast today.”

Johnny’s beaming grin makes your lips pull in a low smile.

“And just like that,” he chuckles, standing up so that his boots hit the ground and his hand falls into his pocket. The empty cup in his hand is tossed into the trash. “I’m a picture-perfect specimen. Not that I wasn’t already, eh?”

“Oh, fuck off,” you breathe, voice exasperated even as your smile breeds along the lines of your face. 

The both of you take off side by side, legs mirroring the others’ pace one slow movement at a time. Throughout your meetings for information, Johnny and yourself have grown close to one another—Violet’s Dinner one of the many places that was the unfortunate hub for your intel swapping. However, it was only unfortunate for the patrons, not you.

Soap gave what he knows about the fires and the ways they were started, and you gave over potential next targets based on whatever you can piece together from your police informants as well as others. 

You hum as you both walk the trail, slowly weaving away from the bench and down to the gated entrance of the park, slipping past the black iron as John holds it open for you. 

“Besides the ol’ fire-freak, then,” Johnny begins, smiling over at you as he itches at his neck, large arm reaching up and flexing. “Any other big breaks?”

Head turning his way, you speak easily. “In which article—the multi-generational money laundering bust at Warren’s Electrical or the murders near Fifth Ave? Or even the drug smuggling near the docks?” 

Blue eyes blink. “...Eh…any of ‘em?”

You snort, turning back to the sidewalk and shrugging. 

“You asked.” You slyly begin, before getting into the mental paper that you still had to type and send into editing. “Roy Laurence committed the murders near Fifth Avenue—my informant with the SWAT team says he was arrested and booked within an hour of the green light. DNA and fingerprints found at the scene of the last victim.” You raise a hand. “Now, I just have to try and get a spot in the courtroom when a trial date is released.”

“Well,” Johnny breathes, sending you a veiled look after a moment. “Don’t mean to brag, Pencils, but I got to help an old lady cross the street yesterday.”

You laugh, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as Soap chuckles. The sidewalk continues, men and women passing at their slow paces as cars zip past; the fireman taking the chivalrous stance of the person beside the street unconsciously.

“And I’m sure she was very pleased, MacTavish,” you push out, shifting closer to him as an individual passes by, bumping your arm into his. 

“Aye, she was,” the man huffs proudly, puffing his chest. “Called me a handsome bloke and kissed my cheek. Blushed a bit.”

“Playboy,” you tease, eyes narrowed over at him. “Cheating on the mutts back at the station?”

Johnny gasps, putting on a serious face. “Don’t you call Mr. Spots a mutt, Dearie—that’s too far.”

“Christ,” you breathe, and an arm settles over your shoulders, shaking you a bit and squeezing your flesh before chuckles follow. 

Trying not to sink into the feeling of heat and the promise of fire, you live in this moment of nearly something. There was the close sensation of borderline affection—just brushing the sense of care and…pining. 

You knew the Scot was interested in you, or, at the very least, knew he had some modicum of attraction to you. Hell, the way he’d flirted with you when you’d propositioned him to be your link to the fire department was nearly laughable even today. All smirks and glinting eyes.

John was funny, no one was denying it. 

There was that firm push and pull between the two of you, a string attached to your wrists that wouldn’t snap—that had seemingly only grown stronger over the months of mystery. But the arsonist took precedence. 

Play can only come after work, and you were the picture of professionalism. Or maybe just stubbornness.

“The regular?” Johnny asks, letting you go as he pushes open the front door of Violet’s with his shoulder, keeping it there as you move inside and nod. 

“Sure. Same seats?” 

The fireman smirks. “Always.” 

You smile, walking off to the corner booth as John goes up to the front, waving down the familiar face of the waitress to let her know that the both of you are here. The two exchange pleasantries as you sigh and lean back into the red-cushioned seats, letting your satchel drop near your feet. Sending a text to your editor, you tell him that you’ll have an article written up about one of your ongoing fixations by Monday.

Johnny’s broad shadow soon graces you once more, carrying a plate of fresh bread with butter on it. 

“Lady’s a fuckin’ lifesaver,” he breathes. “Gave us free bread today.”

Your eyes dart over to Tammy, the waitress, who winks at you before disappearing to help another customer. Hiding the twitch of your lips, you raise a brow at John. 

“Don’t you usually get pancakes, too? Your stomach will explode,” you huff. 

“Ah,” his face scrunches in dismissal. “There’s always room for fresh bread.”

His large fingers are already around the body of a knife, slathering gooey butter on a steaming piece of the carb, chomping down and swallowing before he speaks—reaching for another.

 “So, spill it on me.”

Your fingers reach out, grasping some bread and bringing it to your lips. You chew, swallow, and ease out, “I think there are two arsonists.” 

Johnny pauses, wide eyes stuck on you as he stops his hand from bringing up the next piece of food. He blinks, his face tightens as he wonders over the information that you have, and then the groans out a long, “Fucking hell… one who’s doing it for kicks, the other who’s settling scores.”

“Precisely,” you shrug. “It explains the complete break in character, and we have enough fires to show that not only is the way the flames started different, but for different reasons as well. One wants to kill, the other can’t control it. Impulse.” 

“Makes sense,” Johnny grumbles, amused mood for the moment dropping to one of flashing anger. He taps his knuckles slowly on the table, thinking. “You tell the police this theory?”

“Nah,” you shake your head as your legs shift along the seat. “You know how the chief gets about me—I need to do some of my own leg-work. Get more evidence.”

The Fireman is already shaking his head with a chuckle that has no ounce of tease or jest in it. “Nah ah, no fuckin’ way am I letting you get involved with two arsonists—certainly not one that kills people, Hen.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not asking permission,” you smirk as your breakfast plates are brought over. Johnny’s is full of eggs, bacon, and pancakes, and you, your regular. You thank Tammy with a nod and take a sip of your small drink. “There has to be a connection between the victims. I’ve written about them before, my notes have the answers, I’m sure. I need to focus on one at a time—”

“Bonnie—”

“A possible Revenge-Motivated Arsonist is a far bigger threat than one that only has an impulse to light fires and not harm others. I’ll leave the ladder to you—”

A hand grabs at your own, grasping it firmly. Head snapping up to the square jaw ahead of you, which is tight, the stubble moving the scar along his chin one frown line at a time, you pause your quick rant. Face steadily heating as callouses run along your flesh like un-cut granite, your heart stutters.

“You’ll do nothing without me.” Johnny’s expression leaves no room for discussion. 

Mouth slightly parted, your eyelids blink before a squeeze is leveled out on your hand, and the Fireman shifts back. Your eyes follow, stuck on how his shirt hugs his large biceps and the gentleness of how he held you—how he always held you. 

Focus.

“You’re not getting dragged into this,” you chuckle, tilting your head seriously. “It could cost you your job.”

Johnny shrugs. “Only if I’m caught. If you're half as stubborn, as I already know you to be, Pencils,” he sighs, low smile coming to his lips. “Then I know you’ll be needing my level head.” Cobalt eyes twinkle.

You stare at him, blinking. Ignoring that skip in your pulse. As hard as you would like to try, you can’t say no to that face of his—that open expectation and firm choice.

“As level as a steep decline,” your grumble meets Soap’s ears, and the man’s face twists with an ingrained amusement that breeds the closer you are to him. It was easy to bounce jokes with you—like a pair of birds, squawking and puffing feathers, only stopping at strange intervals to preen one another before the loud chatter started anew. 

“And stop it with the dumb nickname already,” you glare. “It happened once.”

John drags his plate closer, picking up a piece of bacon and taking a bite out of it. “It isn’t every day you see a bonnie Hen with seven pencils in her breast pocket, is it? Hell of a first meeting with that serious face of yours and the sight of fabric practically ripping open.”

“I was in a rush,” your face burns, jaw rotating. “At least I was prepared, MacTavish.”

“Well, who’s sayin’ I wasn’t prepared?”

“Me!” Your fingers grab at your fork, pointing it at him. “You were practically covered head-to-toe in ashes!”

Red cheeks on his part, but always that adorning sheen to his expression.

“I was just in from a damn fire!”

Breakfast went as it usually did—good food and better company—but there was a deeper level to it now; a sharp edge of purpose. By the time the both of you were done, you’d already made up your mind to make it back to your apartment and gather the intel that you had. Find a starting point.

But, as mysteries like these always go, the good times came to a rapid cliff-drop. Johnny was muttering about his work schedule back on the sidewalk when he got the call. 

Phone to ear, you’d seen his face tighten—feet going completely still as you have to halt and look back at him, confused. A breeze goes by on the air, and your nose twitches to a sharp tang that leaves your fingers twitching.

“What do you mean, ‘fire on third street?’” Your body locks up, and Johnny’s face becomes devoid of pigment, watching yours closely. It was a strange emotion on his face; a hard and hesitant thing all at once. He was staring, brows pulled in as your lungs seemingly went to concrete inside of your ribs.

Third street? Fire? 

Soap’s voice goes even lower. Spine even more straight. “...Stillview apartments?” 

You’re already running before you can understand the severity of the revelation—dashing as Johnny yells after you to stop. 

That was your apartment building.

“Dearie!” The fireman shouts, his boots pounding after, but you had a head start, shoving through the crowds, dodging strollers and trash cans—bags and thrown curses. “Fucking hell, stop!”

Your form darts fast, heart hammering. Already your mind is running through every possibility and explanation. How could this be happening? Why? Has one of the arsonists found you out? But even then, it could only be the one intent on murder—countless others lived in your building; this was more than intent…it was a massacre.

Fires don’t just spark at a time like this to not be called connected.

Even over the air, you could hear sirens above Johnny’s loud pleas to slow down, moving as well as he could through the rush of people. 

He’s still on the phone, barking questions and the will of his legs to take him in the direction of the department building. But you. The back of your head in his black-sided vision. 

The man knows that if he doesn’t catch you, you’ll run straight into that blaze not only for the principal but your evidence. Your cork boards and their red strings—your pictures and printed articles. Johnny knew you had them, he wasn’t an idiot. 

You were too smart for your own good.

He was nearly there—just a few more steps and he could grab the back of your jacket like some stray cat, pull you back until you were in his arms. A fireman, yes, but he’d never get used to the inferno that was you; you consumed him utterly. It was an instant feeling for him, and even with the initial flirting, the immediate latching of his attention held fast. A bird to a wire. Hopeless, he was. Johnny was afraid at how much you trapped him in your ways—your looks and your…you-ness.

And you were only making him more afraid at this very instant. 

Soap was the only person ever supposed to be walking into fire.

“Hen!” The fireman barks, sharp and visceral. But you only take the next corner faster, satchel slapping against your thigh. 

“No,” you pant, legs dashing. “No, no, no. I left everything I need for this case in my filing cabinet!” 

This is what you get for trying to be organized for once.

You smell the smoke before you see it, and feel the heavy hand on your coat collar not a moment after you lock on it.

“MacTavish!” Your angered voice moves out, but it’s all strangled away in a fast moment of the screaming of sirens and the visible fire from your tall apartment building strikes you. Watching blankly, your face falls as strong arms reel you back into a chest. 

“Fuck,” Johnny growls, eyes wide as he looks on, phone clenched tightly in one hand. His jaw writhes with tension, vision darting from one fire truck to another and the men available to help. People were doing a myriad of things—screaming, running, watching—but through it all, there was the presence of fear coupled with a static anticipation. 

Panting heavily, you watch your life’s work go up in flames, and feel the tight arms of your informant keep you close.

You learn that if you don’t adapt to this fire sooner or later, it’s going to consume you. And still, you can’t understand if you’re talking about Johnny, who murmurs quick words of comfort into your ear, or the case that just locked you in with chains of commitment and rage.

The real work had just begun as ashes fell like snow to the street; the spray of the firetruck’s water flew with sure aim. Your face hardens, and you feel that worried grip tighten, bringing you into a ramshackle hug.

You have an arsonist to catch, and not a single person would stop you now.

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