#it was right on the side of the road and it’s invasive

[seabeck]

I found this just down the road from me :3

[nyctoseraph]

CALL ME BACK

[Seraph’s Mixtape Event]

Yandere CEO Gojo Satoru x Fem Reader

WARNINGS: obsessive behaviors, coercion, depictions of anxiety, threats, weapons (blade and firearm), invasion of privacy, power imbalance, forced intimacy, mentions of past relationship problems. YANDERE/DARK CONTENT AHEAD, PROCEED WITH CAUTION. 2.5k words.

ALSO CONTAINS: mention of tokyo being the setting, some corporate terms that might've been switched up.

“If you get a minute call me back, I'm so lonely and you're the only one that knows me”

-Call Me Back, Chase Atlantic 

24 missed calls from *unknown* number. Block [xxx-xxxx-xxx]? Cancel / [Confirm]

You once again woke up from a barrage of phone calls. It was the sixth this week, probably somewhere in the hundreds since the past few months, and the cutesy ringtone you carefully picked and recorded from a game was starting to sound more and more irritating. Unfortunately, you reckon that this will still occur tomorrow, completing the week’s seven days.

Ever since you broke up with Gojo Satoru, he hasn't stopped calling you.

From his old burner phones, new sim cards and even the phone booth down the road, all are used in an attempt to contact you. You've changed your numbers countless times, but for some reason, he always manages to find your new ones.

So you've settled for just manually blocking each and every new number of his, despite the pounding in your chest everytime you receive these calls. Knowing Gojo’s immense wealth, he's probably capable of buying new numbers and landlines everytime, so you have to just make-do of this situation.

If you were to tell yourself that this is how your relationship would end up, your past self would've laughed at your face. 

There was a time where you're genuinely head over heels for Satoru, with his boyish grins and loving personality, he was basically the man of your dreams. He likes the same things as you do, geeked out over Digimon on your chats and is overall a sweetheart that's easy to sink into conversation with. One thing was that he's also the heir to a big corporation, something that younger you was in awe of.

Back then, the hopeless romantic soul in you did not believe that economic class affected how a person loves. You were just in love right? Doesn't matter what your background is.

But then disagreements arose. You were harshly reminded that rich people do not have the same worries as the lower class. It started small, with questions about your career choices and comments about your apartment. It became invasive next, with nudges of dropping your job and just marrying him to even buying out your old apartment complex in an attempt to make you live with him.

Something small in you wanted to just actually drop everything and run to him, but there was a nagging uneasiness that you felt way more. You tried explaining to him that you liked feeling productive, that you still have your childhood dreams to do, and that you'd prefer your relationship with the current pace it has, but the man just laughed and said ‘stupid, just let me take care of you.’

You left then, because you didn't like how it sounded, how fast and how suffocating his love feels — and how he showed you that dreaming is for the less fortunate because otherwise money would've made it real already.

★

You blocked his number again.

But Satoru just laughs, drops the phone, then presses the heels of his designer leather shoes down the screen until it cracks and gets crushed under pressure. He then looks down at the sorry state of what used to be a phone, brows furrowed like a god whose anger was incited by the thing.

The love of his life keeps pushing away his attempts of reconciliation so he hopes that the room around him would understand the chaos he'll bring, that was called for, he thinks.

You were his only love. When Satoru first met you in college, he was enamored. You are a breath of fresh air to be with, laughing at his weird side and letting him unwind his more hidden interests to you. You never chastised him for being a complete nerd over niche media or attending too many conventions, in fact you even joined along. You're the light of his boring life and he craves that shine so much.

By the time you were graduating, he was already planning your marriage and life, but then you suddenly left and he's been in shambles ever since.

His blue eyes land on a piece of paper that was brought to him two hours ago. An average startup company, nothing too special.

He has a very funny and special idea though.

★

A jarring announcement was raised on your workplace group chat when you looked at it during your breakfast.

Your company is going to have a merger with the biggest entertainment conglomerate in the country. At first you rubbed your eyes in disbelief because there is no way a startup like your workplace can simply shimmy its way to the big leagues that fast.

But to your horror, you realize just why a big name is so eager to form a deal with yours — it was the same one owned by the Gojo family, of course it's head being Satoru now.

How in the world did he know where you went after you resigned at your old job? But then again you realize that he even knows your new phone numbers so you just groaned loudly. You loathe this day coming, especially when the next announcement was about the official meeting between the two companies.

It’s impossible for him to not be there, and it’s not like he’ll miss the chance of seeing you again over anything else.

★

You were fiddling with your nails so much that you might just uproot it from your skin.

Gojo-fucking-Satoru is currently in front of a projector screen, explaining details of an investment he plans on doing.

Investment or whatever, you think, because you're having a hard time focusing now.

Not when his eyes are so laser-focused on you.

So you excuse yourself, a small ‘sorry, my vision is not doing great because of a headache’ to the secretary beside you, who understandably smiles and lets you go so easily.

You hunched down and beelined to the door. After you closed it, you breathed out a long sigh, tears threatening to fall. You continued to walk to the restrooms, where you finally sob into one of the cubicles.

Breathe in, breathe out.

You stayed in there for a few minutes, breathing in and out and plugging your earphones in to calm your senses. You didn't know why you felt so scared seeing him, you're not even sure if he's actually looking at you.

But then that was answered when you heard a fairly loud knock at your cubicle.

“You in there, sweetheart?”

You breath hitches and you let out an almost croaking sound, which makes the knocking even stronger. He actually cut that meeting out and went after you, god.

He cancelled an entire meeting over you, just to chase after you and who knows what else. The millions worth of this investment is just a tool for him to insert himself back to your life. Your eyes water when you hear the door of the restroom close.

“Go away.” 

“What's wrong first, the secretary told me you're having vision problems.”

Oh god, he sounded like he did back then, when you were so blissfully unaware of his tendencies, when everything about the two of you are still in a rose-colored tint.

“Satoru, do you seriously not have any idea what's wrong right now?”

You don't get a response from that for a while.

“Lovely, please, can we talk? You keep blocking me. I can explain.”

“Explain what? That you've been terrorizing your poor ex who clearly has cut off things with you, please don't even start.”

“I can't lose you, please”

You open your cubicle, just as he was about to reach out to you, you storm towards the door, unlocking it without sparing him a glance, with the same force you close it to his face. 

How unfortunate for you, because Gojo Satoru is too high up in his skyscrapers and too deep down in his obsession to ever see you from eye to eye. To him, he cannot lose you, and that's what only matters.

For Gojo Satoru is not used to losing what's his.

★

One minute you could be on your way home from work, then another minute the shareholder of your company is chasing you down the barren streets of Tokyo with an odachi at hand.

If you were to be very specific, the CEO that invested in your company four days ago who's also your ex-boyfriend is seemingly marching your way with a peculiar odachi blade in his hand

Compared to normal odachi, the blade of this one is pitch black, with red and blue intertwining dragons embossed in a shiny finish. It looks like something out of an anime you both loved watching and if you're not literally running for your life, you might've paused and stared at the way lights of neon signages reflect on them.

Honestly, it fits the Gojo Satoru you've known, for he is not one to settle for common things. It needs his own touch, it needs to be his alone because Gojo Satoru does not share his world with anyone.

And unfortunately for you, like that odachi — he has decided that you belong only to him, and like the colors in that blade, he will make sure that everyone who looks at you will know of the fact.

“Oh come on now, not even a hug for your dearest boyfriend?”

The man approaching you finally speaks, there's a playful tone in his voice, as if he's not currently holding a weapon and striding your way with it.

“Shut the hell up Gojo, we're over for like who knows how long now! You don't… you don't get to just come at me with a weapon and expect to be back together!” You did your best to retort at his words, but the shakiness of your voice betrays you.

“Aww, but I never agreed to that! You need the opinion of both parties to make that decision. Also it's Satoru for you, remember?” Gojo laughs, you look back at him and see his hand that carries the blade suddenly raises and you flinch.

Keep running, keep running, keep running.

“You hurt my feelings darling, I thought we had something big but you seemed to avoid me everytime, have you moved on that fast? Was everything we shared just nothing to you?” There was a sad tone to the way he speaks, if you knew better, you'd probably believe him.

But this is Gojo Satoru and you're not taking any chances at being caught back in his web.

“Just- just go away please… we're done already. Please, please just go away.” You cannot stop your emotions from getting out. All you wanted was to go home and go on with your life, but this man had decided to ruin all that just for his own whims.

“I can't.”

Your blood runs cold at his declaration. You tried running faster, but unfortunately you're against the Gojo Satoru. A loud bang ruptured in the quiet night, and in your horror, you realize it's from a firearm, possibly a sniper.

“We promised forever.” 

Gojo Satoru needs to have his own touch to things, so the maniac he is, hired snipers to scare you. It dawns on you, that only a powerful man like him can pull off something like this.

To someone like you, no less.

Stunned with the sudden sound, it gave much leeway for Satoru to catch up to you. He hugs you from behind, kissing the crown of your head while swaying both your bodies. His breaths are becoming more labored each time, as his hand — the one with the blade, slightly raises to your neck.

“We promised forever, so we'll go forever. You know I don't go back on my promises. We had so much planned and you just fucking left, you can't just do that, you cant, you can't, you can't…” Satoru sputters as he clings to you. You might be going crazy with all that's happening, but you think he's on the verge of crying.

Your mind is going blank. You have no clue how to get out of a situation where your deranged and powerful ex-boyfriend is relentlessly clinging to you while threatening you with weapons.

You don't know where things are headed, so on a last ditch effort, you whispered words that you're not sure you meant.

“Gojo… since nothing is getting through that head of yours and you're so hell-bent on threatening me like this… why not just do it? Do it, kill me, hide my body in a ditch somewhere and maybe you might be able to move on.”

You are so scared, so so scared. What could a man who's less than sane could do with those words?

Your fear increased tenfold when you felt him increase his grip on you. The hug he has you on is now painful, like he's trying to squeeze you until you spill your guts out.

And then you feel tears on your shoulder.

Tears…?

“No… nonono what went wrong? How can you say that? Is dying better than going back to me… you don't even call me Satoru anymore! Don't you love me?” He was now mindlessly prattling on. There were tears in his eyes that are now staring at you blown wide open.

“Ahh I can't kill you, I can't. I love you, I love you so much,” he said as turned his head to your ears, kissing and biting at your earlobes in between breaths. Suddenly he whispered again, “but I can kill for you.”

Your heart drops and you feel goosebumps on your skin. No way, no way he would do that right?

But then again, you knew all too well what kind of man you're involved with.

Satoru suddenly bursts out laughing, the sudden change in emotion makes you flinch. It's the kind that lasts what felt like so long, he was heaving by the time he was done.

“I only wanted them for the surprise factor, but I guess I can use them in other ways. So… darling since you're acting so stubborn, I’m gonna have to up the stakes here, each time you say no or disagree I’ll have one of my men shoot a passerby.”

Fuck.

“So, let me bring you to the car, go back to our home and we'll talk, yeah?” 

You stand there, frozen. Gojo can kill, he will kill. He's untouchable by the system and he probably owns this entire area, CCTVs included. Your quiet response has Satoru in a smile, he drags your body back to a sports car he probably bought just for this occasion, the blade still painfully close to your neck.

For all his barbaric ways earlier, he actually brings you down to the plush seats gently. You also thought that maybe there's a driver and you'll feel less alone with the blue-eyed monster but to your disappointment, he sat down at the driver’s seat.

When the door closes, instead of starting the car, Satoru suddenly lunges at you, trapping your body. His teary eyes bore into you, his entire body trembling.

“I didn't like that darling, I can't stand the thought of losing you, you're mine. Whatever the problem is we'll fix it, I'll be good, I swear! And if you say you don't love me anymore…” His lips connect with yours, the kiss is rough, almost manic. You're losing your breath when he finally stops then continues,

“We'll fix that too, okay?”

[seraph's notes]: can you guys tell i like writing chasing and yearning scenes, i hope you can tell because there will be more-

jk u didn't hear that from me... or did you?

want more? check out the [database.] for other content!

[violettwrites]

american teenagers — i.

intro | next

your curtains were yanked open, and sunlight poured into your small bedroom, a sharp assault that had you squinting before you could fully process it. the tall, lanky silhouette of your best friend standing in front of the window made it clear who was to blame for your rude awakening. 

“daryl,” you groaned, though it came out more like a whine, pulling your pillow over your head in a futile attempt to block out the light. “what the hell? it’s like six am. go away.

“it’s actually ten,” daryl drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. you didn’t have to look to know he was leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed like he hadn’t just barged into your room uninvited. “you’re wastin’ the whole day.”

“it’s not ten,” you muttered, clutching the pillow tighter. 

“it’s definitely ten,” he countered, the smirk practically audible in his voice. “c’mon, get up.” 

“no,” you said stubbornly, burrowing further into your blankets. “it’s my first day off in weeks. let me sleep.”

the silence that followed should’ve been your first warning. daryl wasn’t the type to give up easily, and quiet usually meant he was up to no good. you had barely a second to realise this before the pillow was ripped from your grasp and tossed across the room. 

“daryl dixon!” you screeched, sitting up so fast that your vision blurred for a second. if looks could kill, he’d be a pile of ashes and bone. “you’re such a jerk! why can’t you just let me sleep in?”

he shrugged his shoulders, completely unfazed, the fainted hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “you done complainin’, or do i gotta drag you outta bed?”

you glanced at the clock on your nightstand, the red numbers glaring back at you: 10:17. damn it. he was right— and that only made it worse. 

“why are you even here?” you huffed, arms crossing over your chest. “what could possibly be so important that you had to wake me up like this?”

daryl stepped back towards the window, peering out like he hadn’t already made his mind up. “figured we’d take the truck out to the creek,” he said simply, shrugging. then, as casually as if it were his own, he plucked your pack of cigarettes off the dresser and slid one between his lips. 

you rolled your eyes, but despite yourself, you felt the corners of your mouth twitch. that was daryl— gruff and infuriatingly persuasive. “and you couldn’t wait until a reasonable hour to suggest that?”

“it is a reasonable hour,” he shot back, raising an eyebrow at you. “you’re just mad i interrupted your beauty sleep.” 

“ugh,” you groaned, but swung your legs over the side of the bed anyway. “fine. but next time, maybe consider knocking instead of staging a home invasion.”

“no promises,” he replied with a smirk as he lit the cigarette and tossing the pack back onto your dresser. 

as you rummaged through your drawer for something to wear, daryl had now moved to the door frame, leaning against it as he watched you lazily. “where’s your old man, anyway?” he asked, his tone casual but curious. 

“visiting my granddad,” you replied, tugging a t-shirt over your head. “he drove out to kentucky yesterday. said he’d probably be gone for a few weeks.” 

daryl nodded, his expression unreadable. you knew he didn’t care much for your dad— probably for a good reason —but he rarely said anything outright. 

“that why you’re off today?”

“yep. first real day off in forever.” you turned to him, hands on your hips. “and i was gonna sleep in, but then you showed up.” 

“like i said,” he drawled, pushing off the doorframe, “you’re wastin’ the day.” 

the creek wasn’t far from the trailer park, just a short drive down the winding dirt roads that snaked through your small town. daryl kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting out the open window, the breeze ruddling his hair. you sat beside him, letting the warm air whip through your own as the fields blurred past in shades of beige and gold. 

once daryl had pulled the truck up under a tree, you were glad the creek was as serene as you’d hoped, the water reflecting the endless blue sky above. you kicked off your shoes and waded in up to your ankles, savouring the cool relief as the ripples lapped gently against your skin. 

daryl lingered on the bank, lighting another cigarette before settling under the shade of a tree. 

“you always pick the best spots to nap,” you called out to him teasingly, splashing a little water in his direction. 

“someone’s gotta keep an eye on you,” he shot back, smirking as smoke curled lazily from his lips. 

you rolled your eyes, but his words carried a familiar weight. daryl had always been there— steady and dependable, even when everything else in your life felt like it was constantly shifting. 

by the time the sun climbed higher in the sky, you were lying side by side on the grass, staring up at the blue sky being filtered through the leaves of the trees. the hum of summer surrounded you, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds. 

“think this summer’s gonna be different?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. 

daryl turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours. “different how?”

“i don’t know,” you murmured, shrugging. “just… different.” 

he didn’t answer right away, his expression thoughtful. finally, he said, “maybe.” 

for a moment, the world felt quiet and still, like it was holding its breath. daryl’s gaze lingered, and there was something unspoken in his eyes that made your chest ache in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. 

“c’mon,” he said eventually, standing up and offering you a hand. “let’s get back before merle gets all twisted up about us takin’ the truck.”

you took his hand, his palm rough and warm against yours. as you followed him back to the truck, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe this summer really would be different— different in was you weren’t sure you were ready for.

hi guys !! i do apologise that this chapter is so short but i promise that they will get longer as we go along ! my uploading schedule may be a bit sporadic sometimes as i am having some issues in my personal life but i hope it'll get better soon

thank you for your support! if you enjoyed, give this a like/reblog and if you'd like to be added to my tag list, comment below!

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Screenward Bound

Pairing: Twilight x Reader

Warning(s): Eventual smut and mild yandere behavior

Notes: Written for my 200 Follower Event!

Main Masterlist | Fic Masterlist | Next Chapter

You weren't quite sure what compelled you to visit the garage sale on the corner of 4th and Shirestone.

The lot was small and the yellow house inhabiting it was large, leaving very little space for the several tables of stuff in the miniscule front yard, meaning they spilled out onto the bordering sidewalk like an invasion of dusty books and even dustier boxes, which was probably what drew you to the sale in the first place.

"Do you have any Uncle Kracker?" You half-heartedly asked the old lady running the operation, idly thumbing through the CDs.

"Uncle who?" She raised a brow.

"Nevermind," you sighed, giving her a short once over before returning to your unenthusiastic perusal. You lived a few blocks away, tucked in the corner of a nearby cul-de-sac, but living alone was boring and your wallet had been crying to be drained after recovering from your car being in the shop for a few weeks. Besides, it wasn't like you couldn't drop a few dollars to pick up a half-decent CD for the radio, especially since people had a habit of dumping their unwanted shit on the side of the road.

With a huff, you flicked through the last row of CDs, all artists that you were either too old or too young to like. Sure, the Pat Benatar one was calling your name, but you already had a few of her songs on other CDs.

Just as you were about to go home and watch a couple hundred reruns of Family Feud while eating enough ice cream to make your doctor cringe, your eye caught another table, this one filled with an assortment of video games. You weren't the biggest gamer, but you had enough of a collection to put any normal ten-year-old to shame.

"You've got games?" You asked, moving past the one-armed mannequin to assess the selection.

"Do I ever," the old woman shook her head, sending a few snow-swept whisps of hair flying from the confines of her satin headband. "They belonged to my son, but the little rat couldn't keep it that way when he moved out."

You managed a sympathetic chuckle, pulling your coat a bit tighter around yourself. There was a chill in the air, despite it being sunny outside. Your fingers felt a bit numb as you flicked through the cases. Final Fantasy, Digimon, Mario Kart...

You paused as your gaze passed over a very familiar title.

"Woah, Twilight Princess?" You lifted the case, marveling at the find. It was a bit dusty, and the cover art looked like it had seen better, less faded days, but it was nonetheless a great discovery. You had always wanted to play it until school got in the way, but now...

"Oh, yeah," the old woman leaned in a bit too close for comfort, tapping a knobby finger on the plastic. You could smell her flowery perfume and the lingering scent of coffee grounds as she spoke. "This was one of my son's favorites... too bad he could never get it to cooperate."

"How so?" You asked, taking a step to the right to create a bit of distance.

She shrugged. "It worked great at first, but the controls were always a bit glitchy for his tastes. He said it was like something else was trying to take control," her tone turned conspiratorial, faded blue eyes glinting in the sunlight. "but I think he was just making excuses to get a new controller for Christmas."

This time, you laughed loudly. "Yeah, they'll do that," you glanced at the game and back at her. "How much? I've got a ten in my wallet, but I can get more if needed."

The old woman waved a hand, dismissing your words with a smile. "That won't be necessary, I should be paying you for taking this junk off my hands. Take it for free."

You opened your mouth to protest, but she sent you a stern glare and you didn't have the courage to square up with someone who didn't have any personal space awareness and looked like she could break your back over her knee. 'Thank you," you ducked your head respectfully, slipping the game into your bag and beginning the trek home. The sun was beginning to set, and you didn't want to get caught in the dark. You waved, calling over your shoulder: "Have a nice day. Stay warm!"

The woman waved back. "You too, dear! Don't let the bedbugs bite!"

You chuckled, boots crunching on the pavement as you set an easy pace, one hand slipping into your bag to feel over the faded plastic surface of your new game.

If there was any truth to the old lady's words about the game being glitchy, it didn't show.

After booting your ancient Wii-U up, you plugged the game in without hesitation, grinning when it started up with nary a twitch. The title screen looked exactly as it should have, a very familiar song emanating from your dusty speakers. It was perfect, and you almost felt bad taking it for free.

Until you tried to select 'new game' and the screen stalled, fizzling back to the menu as if you hadn't done anything at all. "What the hell?" you muttered, attempting the action once more, only to be booted back to the title screen for the second time. "Oh my god, are you serious?"

You weren't really mad, because your expectations hadn't been that high, but you hadn't expected problems before you even began playing. The 'start' button glimmered promisingly, and you reluctantly selected it.

The screen flashed, and the game started. You gaped, nearly dropping the controller in surprise. "Oh, hell yeah," you grinned, mood lifting slightly at the progress. You had already seen several gameplays, so starting later didn't bother you as much as it should have. "Now we're talking."

Link was distinctly aware of the moment his world inexplicably shifted, falling into the soft hands of another. It was as if they were meant to hold his life in their palms, smooth fingertips caressing the edges of his pixelated consciousness, shrouded by colors and numbers and a thin sheen of fantastical insanity.

There was a voice, lighter than the one of his previous guide: the gamer without sense. Link was forgiving, it was practically in his nature, but he could only take so many instances of the kind of crass, harsh language that man had employed, especially when he addressed the dreaded "chat"--whatever evil that was.

"Let's get classic," the voice spoke, tone heavy with excitement, and the world reformed before his very eyes, swirling with the familiar colors and textures that he remembered, though they seemed... brighter, somehow. It was a new start, Link realized. A new play at the game. A new life to destroy. To shape.

Ordon Spring was exactly as he remembered; a clear, rippling pool, fed by the gentle waterfall in the back of the spring, flanked by thick, verdant brush and preceded by a wonderful, sandy bank. Home, he thought.

"I hope the old lady wasn't right," said the voice, sounding a bit mournful as it caressed the tip of his pointed ear. "I'd hate to have to get rid of you... I've been looking for you for ages."

Link felt his body stiffen, the belts crisscrossing his chest feeling more suffocating that normal. You must have heard about his 'resistance' towards the previous owner, who quite deserved it after attempting to make him toss the village dogs off of various high places and herd the children into frankly dangerous areas. Hylia, he hoped you weren't like that. He didn't think he could handle that again.

"Alright, let's go save a princess," your cheer hung heavy in his mind, and Link allowed himself a small, pixelated smile.

He could work with this.

Dear lord I'm so glad this is finally out! It fought me tooth and nail, but I hope it's still up to standard <33

[alwerakoo]

''Dream about me''

ROTTMNT Leonardo & Michelangelo - centric Post-krang roadtrip AU, 5k words

After stopping an alien invasion (of the world-ending kind), a road trip across America feels like the most logical next step. A brilliant idea, as far as Mikey is concerned. His siblings still treat him like particularly fragile glass statue, Leo refuses to look at him, and there's a deep knot, constantly tightening somewhere inside of his chest. But the views are nice, at least.

(Art by @nerdy-turtle-enthusiast)

Read on AO3

------ “That's not going to close.”

Donnie, carefully trying to balance a third suitcase on top of two others, leans back to look at April.

“Maybe it would, if one of you actually tried to help.”

Raph and April, both equally invested in the task of trying to look busy, quickly avoid his gaze.

He's not looking at Leo, because it would probably cause him to say something like: 'You think this is a three-arm job?', which would make Donnie's face turn into that deeply and unexpectedly sad expression, which would make Leo feel so guilty he's shaking with it, and it's just a little too early for all that.

“You're doing great,” Mikey says, just to be encouraging.

He's not really doing anything either, but Donnie doesn't look at him.

He was supposed to paint the side of the minibus because he said he would, but the brush felt frail in his soft grip, the lines coming out shaky and uneven, and then he knocked over the paint bucket and almost started crying.

He's sat on the floor now, with a fresh, bright orange stain on the concrete next to his feet, a few ugly scribbles on the car, and a deep knot in his gut.

Which is stupid, really, because that's what he wanted to do, and getting upset over it makes him feel like an inconsolable child.

“Do we really need all this?” Leo asks.

The fact that he's responsible for at least half of their luggage seems to escape his mind at the moment.

“If we run out of food,” Donnie takes a slow step back, like he's trying not to startle the game of Tetris he created out of their bags, “we're eating you first.”

“We're not going to run out.” Leo rolls his eyes, rocking on his feet. “You know, there's this thing called 'grocery stores'? You go in there and you can exchange money for items. Crazy things that humans come up with.”

Donnie looks at him.

“Are you being annoying on purpose?”

Leo huffs, like he's taking great offense to that, but doesn't say anything else.

Mikey's not sure which of them is right. He's never been on a road trip before.

The idea was sudden and spontaneous, like a spark that quickly turned into a blaze, until it was all any of them could think about.

“I want to get out of here,” April said one evening, lying flat on the couch, her legs thrown over the armrest. “I feel like I'm going crazy.”

And that was that.

By the next Monday, Leo had drawn out a thin line in red ink over a map, cutting the country in half. On Tuesday, Mikey spend excruciating hours convincing their father that they were well equipped to deal with far worse dangers than dehydration, high gas prices, and white vans full of potential kidnappers. On Wednesday, Raph came home carrying every tourist guide he was able to hold in his arms, which was a lot.

By the next Sunday, Donnie had the car ready.

A minibus, to be precise. It was a new and shiny thing, with rows of seats, sliding doors, tinted windows and many other possibly illegal modifications. Mikey was also almost certain none of the steps his brother took in order to obtain it were quite lawful, but his excitement quickly outweighed his already brittle moral compass.

He wonders, now, if with a bit more of a foresight, Donnie would've opted for something with a bigger trunk.

Carefully, Donnie pushes the back door of the car closed.

Inside, their suitcases rattle to the floor.

He sighs, resting his forehead against the metal.

“Hey, Leo,” Mikey tries, pushing himself upwards. He's already feeling restless. “Wanna help me make lunch?”

He doesn't need help, and if he does – he doesn't want it.

But he wants Leo, the opportunity to talk to him.

“Nah, I'll help Donnie here before he pops a vein. But Raph has been reading the same page for twenty minutes now, so I'm sure he'd be happy to help.”

Quickly, Raph closes the little booklet in his hands, cheeks pink.

Leo turns to smile at Mikey, almost on instinct.

But then his gaze falls on the car, his face drops, and he turns around awkwardly, like he's not sure what to do with himself for a moment.

Mikey wants to grab and shake him until he finally tells him what's wrong.

He thinks they might be fighting, which is strange, because he has no idea why they would be.

It took him a moment to realize it at first.

The first few weeks after the Krang were spent on mending old wounds, ripping out new ones, and it felt like years and years of things held back, never spoken out loud, spilling out all at once.

Mikey can recall the one time Leo found him making pancakes at four in the morning. Or attempting to, because his hands started to bleed again, and Leo held his wrist in place under the faucet, washing his palms with cold water and screaming himself hoarse.

And then Leo yelled: 'Are you trying to hurt yourself or are you really this dumb?', and suddenly Mikey felt like it wasn't about the pancakes at all.

But it's been three months since then, and there's no longer any doubt in his mind.

Leo is avoiding him.

It's confusing and it hurts, and it feels like he just woke up to find half of the walls in his house missing. And the worst part is just that:

He doesn't know why.

“Okay,” he says, all casual, because if Leo can lie, so can he.

He watches Leo forget himself for a moment, bringing his palm to his stomach like he wants to rub his hands together. Then he freezes, just for a moment, before letting his arm fall.

Mikey stands, giving his brother one final look.

Leo can't run forever, but he knows him too well to think he won't try.

It's a good thing Mikey isn't anything but stubborn.

***

America from a passenger window, as Mikey finds out over the next few days, is a lot bigger than he expected.

It's miles and miles of fields, and forests, and fields again, and he watches all of it roll pass with the sort of squashed amazement, like he can't quite believe it's real until they stop for a break, and he can take a breath, cities and villages, and trees, and lonely gas stations stretching out before him.

Mikey managed to convince Draxum to let them borrow his old cloaking brooches, and they quickly make great use of them, stopping at every monument and museum any of them finds mildly interesting (which in Leo's case includes not one, but two ''world's largest balls of yarn'').

But Mikey's favorite moments are the nights.

They sleep on the sides of the road, in the woods, in front of someone's field; in small tents with the occasional bonfire to keep them company, away from the busiest roads and civilization.

Just a few years ago, the thought of sleeping on hard, cold ground probably would’ve made all of his siblings wince in vague disgust. But they've grown tougher over the years, rougher around the edges, and he can't decide if it's a good, or a bad thing.

The days are hot, and the cold of the night feels soothing, and Mikey spends hours with his head tilted back, watching the stars, to then promptly pass out in his seat as soon as they start up again.

“Lucky bastard,” Donnie tells him one morning, yawning. “You get to be a passenger princess.”

Mikey, one of the two passengers not allowed behind the wheel, leans out of his seat to look at Donnie in the rear-view mirror.

“I wouldn’t be, if someone agreed to teach me how to drive.”

Donnie frowns, wrinkling his snout in a funny way.

“Let you drive my cars? I don't think so.”

Mikey doesn't even take it for anything other than a joke until Donnie's eyes widen suddenly, real panic quickly flooding his face.

“I mean, not like I think you'd be a bad driver!” He turns around to look at him. “It's not because of the- It's- I was just joking.”

“Dee, eyes on the road,” April says quickly, making a weird gesture like she wants to lean over and grab the wheel herself. She always seems a little on the edge when Donnie's driving, and no one can really blame her for it.

Donnie turns back with a quiet swear under his breath.

Behind him, Leo and Raph exchange silent looks. They all fall quiet for a moment, like they're expecting Mikey to flip out, and really, that makes him want to do just that.

Instead, he says:

“It's fine. I didn't assume you meant it that way.”

He probably shouldn’t feel too offended, even if Donnie did mean it in that way. He doesn't think he'd be able to keep the wheel straight anymore.

“Hey,” Leo says suddenly. He's holding a map Mikey didn't notice him grabbing. “There's another yarn ball, like, five miles from here.”

Raph quickly grabs at the map.

“No way.”

“I'm telling, you, man. There are so many.”

“They can't all be world's biggest,” April says from her seat next to the driver. “You think they just keep building new ones every once in a while?”

Leo's good at this. At turning everyone’s attention so effortlessly, so quickly, it's hard to even realize it at times.

Mikey watches him for a moment, trying to catch his gaze.

It never happens.

***

One day, when April's 'no radio until I've had my coffee' rule keeps them all quiet for the good chunk of the morning, Mikey pulls out his sketchbook.

He hasn't touched it in a while, and the thought of doing so now feels heavy. But the road is quiet, the view behind the window nothing but grass and flat ground, and he feels warm.

It's not until he opens up the sketchbook, pencil gripped in one hand, that he feels Raph lean forward, looking over the back of his seat.

Mikey can't see his face, but he can feel the way Raph's fingers tense on the material, the slow exhale that escapes him.

Mikey feels his jaw clench, his jagged nerves already flaring up.

“I'm fine,” he states, before his brother has a chance to say anything.

He feels like his whole life is now revolving around those words.

Yes, I'm fine. No, I don't need help. Yes, I can do this on my own. Over and over again.

Mikey clenches his pencil a little tighter, the contrast of the white pages and his black compression gloves stark.

Raph makes a face, like he begs to differ, but is not sure if he's ready for that fight.

“Are you sure?” He asks despite it. “Raph doesn't want you to-”

“Raph.” Mikey turns in his seat, pushing against his seatbelt to look at him better. “I'll be fine.”

He knows that his stare tends to be intense at best and intimidating at worse. Luckily for him, that is exactly the reaction he's currently seeking.

“I know,” Raph placates. “I thought-”

He doesn't really finish. His mouth draws into a thin line, a vague hum rising in the back of his throat.

“Hey, Big Guy,” Leo says suddenly from his seat in the front (it's his third time in a row winning the paper-rock-scissors for it, and Mikey starts to suspect he's cheating, somehow). “It's okay. Leave him be.”

Raph gives him a look, one that only older brothers seem to be able to understand, until he finally sighs, falling back against his seat.

“Alright, alright, sorry.”

A flash of familiarity washes over Mikey.

In many ways, Leo's always been like this.

First to laugh, first to say 'I told you so', first to back him up, first to defend him, even when Mikey was elbows deep in teenage rebellion and barely gave him any ground to stand on.

He was funny, the coolest person ever, larger than life and it made Mikey's chest swell with pride to say: ''This is my big brother and he's my best friend''.

Leo turns to him, cheek rested against the headrest, sending him a conspiratorial smile. Then his gaze drops slightly to the sketchbook thrown over Mikey's lap.

His expression wavers, something complicated showing in his eyes, until it all collapses. He turns back, eyes on the road.

Mikey clenches his jaw, feeling his own smile fade.

***

Mikey falls in love with roadside dinners – head over heels.

The food is mediocre at best and beyond vile at worse, the floor always feels sicky, and the tables seem dirty even when he watches the waitress wipe them down.

But there's something about it.

About walking in, their cloaking brooches pined to their shirts, and piling into a booth. About laughing, arguing about the menu and anything else that comes to mind. About making everyone at the dinner give them a dirty look, because they're being obnoxious and they're being teenagers.

Moments like that make Mikey feel whole again. Better, even.

Infinite.

Like they're just normal kids on a trip to catch last breaths of freedom before college, and they're young and unburdened, they have nothing to be afraid of, and things like 'death' simply don't happen to people like them.

“I'm getting the eggs,” Raph announces finally, putting down his menu.

“How many portions? Six?” April teases.

It sounds like she's joking, but Raph seems to actually be considering that option, humming softly.

Mikey turns to look out the big window. Kansas is nothing but fields and grass, and he watches the few lonely trees sway in the wind.

Absentmindedly he rubs his hands together.

They feel dry and achy today, like something's pushing at the tight skin from underneath. It feels weird with so many fingers. He's not going to let that ruin his day.

“How come they don't have vanilla milkshakes?” Donnie huffs, turning the menu over again. “That's, like, the most basic option.”

No one questions him on why he wants a milkshake for breakfast, because he will be driving later, and having him behind the wheel in a bad mood feels like a death wish.

“How dare they,” Leo says, in that tone of his where they can never tell if he's joking or not.

The waitress, previously busy with trying to start the coffee machine (seemingly by punching it several times), finally walks up to them.

She's looking down at her notepad, and there's a vague, practiced smile on her lips. She's around their dad's age, maybe with kids of her own, because she doesn't seem all that bothered by all the noise and chaos they've been causing.

When she's standing in front of their table, she finally looks up.

“Hey, what can I-”

She goes quiet, all of the sudden.

Her eyes sweep over all of them, her mouth slightly open, like the words she's been speaking every day for so long have suddenly escaped her mind.

And this is Mikey's least favorite moment.

The moment the illusion breaks.

Because they're not normal kids, they're here because their whole world fell apart just a few months ago, and there's nothing any of them can do to change that.

Her eyes go from Raph’s eyepatch, to the scars covering April's and Donnie's faces and arms, to Mikey's palms, finally landing on the left sleeve of Leo's hoodie.

“Oh,” she says, quietly.

(Art by @nerdy-turtle-enthusiast)

Leo wouldn’t sit next to Mikey, which hurt, but it means he can see his face now, the way his expression folds in on itself, until there's nothing left but a blank slate. It's hard to tell when he barely looks like himself.

Mikey aches.

Donnie clears his throat, loudly and only a bit rudely. Carefully, he raises one eyebrow.

“Oh!” The waitress blinks, suddenly flustered. “I'm sorry, I just- I'm sorry.” She looks to the side, embarrassed. “What can I get for you?”

By the time they get their food, it all slowly rolls back to normal.

Leo's smiling and joking along, and if there's a slight downturn to his lip – they all pretend to not notice.

He finishes his portion faster than Raph, which is almost absurd, and Mikey quickly gets the feeling they'll be stopping again very soon for him to vomit it all back on the side of the road.

“I'll wait in the car, okay?” Leo says, pushing back his empty plate.

He doesn't wait for a replay, grabbing his jacket and exiting the dinner like it burned him.

Mikey watches him go.

“He just needs a moment,” Donnie says, following his brother to the car with his gaze through the window. “He'll be fine.”

Mikey wonders then, if any of them noticed what’s happening between him and Leo.

He tells himself no, because that is what he hopes for.

But that's another lie, probably.

***

They're stopped at some forgotten rest stop, and it's a quiet evening, the setting sun covering the horizon in a pink hue. It's the sort of view that makes Mikey want to step away for a moment and just watch, because there's only so much family time one can manage in one day.

He's not the only one.

He finds Leo sat on one of the covered benches, his back pressed against the plexiglass. The left sleeve of his hoodie was trimmed, and he's playing with a loose thread, eyes fixated on something in the distance.

There's a nervous feeling in Mikey's guts, like all the butterflies turned into a mush and he might throw up at any moment.

But it's a chance he has to take.

“That's coming undone,” he says, chin pointing to his sleeve.

Leo blinks slowly, turning to him, like he needs to take a moment to fully digest his words.

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah.”

“Want me to fix it for you?”

He's not sure why he says it, because it was Dad who spent hours carefully altering every piece of clothing Leo owns. But he needs to say something.

“It's fine.”

They stay in silence for a moment, and Mikey turns his eyes to the horizon.

“What's so interesting out there?” He asks, not expecting to get a real answer.

Leo opens his mouth, stops for a moment.

“I don't... Know,” he says, but it sounds different.

Because he's been different since the Krang, and all of them know this by now.

He's quiet at the most unexpected of moments, distant and hazy, like your hand would go right through if you tried to reach him.

He smiles and laughs but it's not the same, like a speaker that's been dropped one too many time – everything sounds just slightly pitched.

Mikey wonders where he goes when he disappears like this.

“Gotta remind myself the world isn't all gray,” Leo says, suddenly. “Not like...”

He stops.

He blinks, looking at Mikey once again, and there's a strange expression, like he just realized who he's speaking to.

“Like what?”

“Like New York on a cloudy day,” Leo says, an easy smile fixed onto his face. “Come on, let's get back to the car.”

Mikey wants to scream.

Because they used to tell each other things like this, and Leo knows he knows, and he can't figure out why he's being lied to. Why his brother won't talk to him.

If he's trying to protect him in some misguided, backwards way, he's being a fool. If he thinks Mikey can't hear the way he wakes up some nights with a gasp, a silent scream still lingering on his lips. If he thinks Mikey doesn't notice the way he rubs at his chest sometimes, like he can still feel a linger of old pain there. If he thinks Mikey never notices the way he goes silent at the sight of red lights, static behind his eyes.

If he thinks Mikey doesn't have nightmares of his own.

Leo stands and Mikey wants to cling to him.

He wants to grab at his arms and dig in his claws and scream at him until Leo tells him what he's done wrong. Why he doesn't want to be his friend anymore.

He doesn't, and Leo pats at his arm as he passes him.

***

Utah steals Mikey's heart in all possible ways.

It's all red sand and dry land, cold night and the echo of something old and bigger than him in the wind, and stars that look back when he tilts his head up.

They camp further away from the road, where it feels like they're the only people left on the entire earth, and all of this, every moon, every rock, every breeze, is just for them.

They set up a small campfire inside an old metal barrel and sit around it for hours, swaddled in blankets and hoodies, and sweats, because the chill is calming, but unforgiving.

Mikey wears three layers at any given moment, curls up close to Raph in his sleep, and wishes the sun would never raise up again.

He wakes up one night, the sun still far behind the horizon, and there's a small rustle outside of his tent.

He doesn't stir at first, because his general aversion to anything horror related made his mind less likely to jump to axe murders and ghosts at the first opportunity.

But the sudden familiar footsteps make him frown, and he sits up. It's a full moon, and he watches Leo's shadow pass his and Raph's tent, his movements quiet but not silent.

Slowly, Mikey rises to his knees.

By the time he manages to pull on all of his clothes and crawl out of the tent without waking up his brother, Leo's already by the car, leaning against the hood, ankles crosses.

He's wrapped in jackets and hoodies, and they almost hide the way he flinches when he finally spots Mikey out of the corner of his eye. Almost.

“Hey. Why are you awake?”

Leo looks at him for a moment, then he squints slightly, like he's trying to hide a different expression.

“Why are you?”

Mikey considers telling him the truth but then doesn't.

“I had a nightmare.”

He feels bad lying when he doesn't need to, but it's worth it for how quickly Leo's face softens. It's half a truth away. He woke up this morning with cold sweat running down his back.

“Oh. Sorry.” Leo's quiet for a moment. Then, a little shyly: “Me too.”

It's a start, a small crack between the door and the frame, and Mikey throws himself to shove his foot into it.

“What was your about?” He asks.

Maybe it's a little too forward, because Leo doesn't answer him. He stares up at the night sky.

He's holding onto what's left of his left arm awkwardly, clenching and unclenching his fingers, like he's trying to soothe it over the layers of clothes.

Mikey's gaze lands on the side of the car, on the ugly smudges of paint he left on it, before quickly deciding he doesn't want to look at it any longer.

He walks up, sliding on the hood next to his brother.

“I've never seen a sky like this,” Leo confesses.

Mikey follows his gaze up, up, up.

“Yeah.”

“Not in New York.”

He says the last part oddly, and Mikey can't decide if it's homesickness, or the exact opposite. He looks down, watching Leo move his fingers again.

“Does that hurt?” He asks, pointing to his side with his chin.

“Not really,” Leo answers far too quickly, dropping his hand.

But Mikey knows he's lying.

There's some real elegance to the way Leo lies, like watching an expert work their craft. Would've fooled anyone else. Maybe even Mikey, just a few months ago.

But he sees the slight downturn to Leo's mouth, the way his jaw shifts in place, the way his chest staggers for a moment with every breath.

He's hiding pain, and it's the kind of pain Mikey knows all too well now.

“My hands hurt, too. Sometimes.” He stretches his arms, the scars on his shaky palms stark in the dim light.

He's trying to encourage vulnerability, but it must be the wrong thing to say, because his brother's mouth turns into a thin line, and he looks away.

His hand rests on the hood, like he's ready to push himself forward and run at any moment, and something in Mikey snaps.

“Are you mad at me?” He barks, finally.

Leo blinks, turning to him again. He seems slightly panicked, like that was the last thing he expected Mikey to say. Mikey would feel bad, if he wasn't so damn angry.

“What? No.”

He sounds honest. More than usual anyway. Mikey wants to believe him.

“You're being so weird around me.” He wraps a loose string from the edge of his hoodie around his finger. He doesn't pull it loose, because that would hurt more than it's worth. “I don't know what I did.”

Leo watches his hands, like he can't bear to look him in the eye.

“Nothing,” he says. “You've done nothing.”

Mikey bristles.

“Stop lying to me, that's so annoying.” He pushes his hands inside his pockets, and that finally makes Leo meet his gaze. “I feel like you hate me. I know you don't, but it feels like that, and I don't know why.”

It's all been brewing in him for longer than he realized.

It feels unfair.

He knows he's not entitled to Leo's attention, to his love, but it feels like he is, and he's past the point of caring about all the different ways in which that makes him selfish.

“I don't- Mikey.”

He says his name like Mikey just hurt him so deeply he's lost for words.

“Just tell me what's wrong,” he pleads. “Please.”

You're not alone, he wants to say. I want to be friends again.

I miss you.

Finally, Leo sighs, and it's like the breaking of a dam, his eyes suddenly glossy and wet in the moonlight.

“Mikey,” he says. “I ruined your life.”

That makes Mikey pause. All of it – his anger, sadness, bitterness – coming to a stop.

“What?” He asks, mostly for the lack of anything better to say.

And, because, really: what?

“I know you can't do art anymore.” Leo pushes himself away from the car, pacing nervously, counting down the fingers of his one hand. “I know you struggle at training. There are eggshells in everything you cook now and I-” He stops, taking a deep breath. “It's all because I did something stupid, and you had to save my ass.”

Mikey stares at him.

He stares and stares for what feels like hours, until he finally feels his voice return to him.

“Are you being deadass right now?”

There's the start of a laugh in his voice, but Leo must realize he doesn't find any of this funny, because his face remains appropriately miserable.

“I'm sorry.”

“Leo.” For a moment, Mikey wants to walk up to him. But then he doesn't, taking a breath. “If you ever thought, even for a second, that I wouldn't die for you, you were wrong.”

Leo laughs, a hollow and hysterical thing.

“Angelo,” he says, like he doesn't really believe he's being serious.

But he is.

He'd die for all of them, his whole family, over and over again.

“Master Michelangelo died opening that portal,” Casey told him months ago.

And Mikey thought: 'Yes. I would.'

He steps forward.

“You're right. You did a stupid thing. Because you're stupid and brave, and you always want to save everyone.” He walks up closer, taking one hand out his pocket to point it at Leo's chest. “And I saved your ass, because I love you.”

Leo's face softens, a small frown forming between his eyes.

“I wish you...” For a moment, Mikey thinks he might say: 'hadn't' and almost punches him square in the face for it. “I wish you wouldn't have to.”

“Me too,” he says, honestly. “But this isn't your fault. I knew what I was doing. Sort of.”

He doesn't want to say the last part out loud, but if he's being honest, he might as well go all out.

“I- Okay.”

Leo doesn't seem too sure, but it sounds like he's been holding all of this back a lot for a long, long time.

“You saved me too, you know?” Mikey asks. Leo looks at him like he didn't know that, and that's so absurd it almost makes him laugh for real. “You saved the entire world, idiot. And it-”

“Costed me an arm and a leg?” Leo smiles, all wobbly and unsure, and Mikey giggles, honestly.

“Exactly.”

“I was scared,” Leo says, “that you were going to hate me for it. I wouldn't blame you if you did. But I didn't want to see it.”

It's like weight off his shoulders, like finally digging far enough to notice the root of the problem. Even if he doesn't know quite what to do with it - he can see it now, and that makes everything click into place. “I won't.” Mikey holds out his hand, pinky pointed out. “Promise.”

Leo wraps their fingers together, shaking their hands a little.

“Yeah. Okay.”

And for a moment, it feels like they're kids again, sharing secrets and promises in fortresses made of blankets.

Leo lets their hands drop.

“Gosh!” Mikey tilts his head back with an exaggerated sigh. “I can't believe you got me so worried over something so stupid.”

“Sorry,” Leo says, and it sounds like he's only half joking.

He holds out his arm, fingers flexing.

And Mikey doesn't hesitate to reach forward, wrapping his arms around his brother’s shoulders.

Leo holds him like he's a lifeline, like he's afraid one of them will disappear if he lets go.

“Are you going to stop avoiding me now?” Mikey asks.

He meant for it to come out as a joke, but Leo's voice sounds dangerously shaky when he responds:

“Yes. I'm sorry.”

Mikey just holds him tighter.

He doesn't think this fixes everything. He doesn't think this fixes much at all, all things considered.

But the deep knot inside his gut is gone, and when he wakes up tomorrow – his home will feel whole again. That's all he wants for now, really.

They can deal with the rest later.

Step by step.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Cornflower Blue

SPOOKTOBER SPECIAL

❥Yandere Outlaw Song Mingi x fem reader

✃The moonlight seeps in through the sheer curtains and paints your skin in a haze of blue. The bruise on your temple like a water color bloom.

♡'･ᴗ･'♡ genre: plot heavy smut, yandere, angst

♫ "You love me 'till you wear me out, then you love me more." -Cornflower Blue, Flower Face ♫"Love's never been more than pain, so Baby, show me how bad you hurt." -Dog Days, Ethel Cain ♫

➯a/n: this is my darkest fic yet imo, be sure to read the contents and take care of yourself! also im super proud of this, it took like three months tbh and i still didn't get to fit in everything i wanted to. enjoy some yandere minki 💙➯a/n 6/23/25 i finally edited this lmao

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: GOOD LORD WHAT HAVE I DONE ??? wild west au, HEAVY yandere themes, murder, reader near death experience, mingi is CRAZY, bribery, manipulation, threatening, gun violence/shoot-out, injuries, invasion of privacy, 'off-screen' death of main characters, kidnapping, NSFW; multiple sex scenes, masturbation (jorkin it), unprotected(BOO), corruption kink, virginity loss, head(reader receiving), size difference, spit, breeding kink, overstim, biiiiiig dick mingi (i'm a sucker😞), praise, dirty talk, soft sex turned rough, extreme possessiveness

♫"My Babe would never fret about what my hands and my body done- if The Lord don't forgive me, I'd still have my Baby." -Work Song, Hozier ♫"I just wanted to be yours. Can I be yours? Just tell me I'm yours." - Strangers, Ethel Cain ♫

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

"Ellis~" Your sing song tone echoes out through the alleyway, crates of stored food blocking your view. "Oh, my! Is that a corn snake?" You yell out dramatically, crouching down behind a crate.

"Where?!" The young boys voice gets closer by the second until he runs up to you and you snatch him up.

"Wraa! I got you!" He laughs loudly, an heart-full sound that rings out in the dead town.

Everyone has gone besides very few to a new market up North.

"I've caught you, and I'll eat you up!" You pull him up as he yells and laughs; swinging him around as you twirl to the main road. "I'll have ye for supper," you laugh with your best witch-like voice.

"No, I'm not tasty!"

"No? Well... I guess I shouldn't do this then!" You playfully nom at his sweatered shoulder, tickling his ribs.

"Auntie, please, I'll do it! I'll sweep!"

You stand up like nothing ever happened and smile, "great, Miss Carmen will be most pleased."

You had recruited multiple of the youngsters left behind to help you maintain the vacant homes while the market took place, and some off them were less than happy to have been roped in. "Would you like me to carry you?"

"Ye' , please!" His smile is missing a tooth, and it makes you chuckle.

You place him over your hip and begin the short walk, planning out the rest of the days chores in your head when he screams, "horsie!"

You follow the path his chubby finger points to, and find a large figure riding in past the town sign on a similarly large white horse. His face is obscured by his large droopy hat, but that isn't what makes you suspicious at first.

The man riding into town has multiple guns on his figure.

You scramble to the side of the dirt path and hold Ellis' head to your shoulder, looking up at the stranger as he slows his horse to come to a stop right infront of you.

   "Hello, Si-"

  "Auntie, I'm scared." Despite your best efforts, the young boy had caught a glimpse of the towering and dangerous-looking man, shivering in your hold.

     You crouch and set him down carefully, rubbing his back for a moment before you turn him in the direction you want him to go, "run off to the schoolhouse, tell Maria to come and cook up our guest a meal. You can do that, right?"

     He rubs his eyes and peeks at the man before looking back to you, nodding quickly. "Go on and get, then." You pat his shoulder and watch him run before turning to the man.

       "Room and board, Sir?" You ask the hidden man formally.

    "Yes." He speaks simply, swinging his leg over and jumping down from the horse.

    He's no less intimidating now that he's technically level with you. He looms over you like a shadow and places a chill in your bones. "Is this place a ghost town?"

He has an accent that you can't place, but you lock onto it anyhow because it's quite clear he isn't from around here. You look away from him, trying to hide your nerves at the fact that he's the first real stranger you've ever met.

    "No, Sir. Most are away to sell our spring crops."

He hums shortly in response, watching you closely from under the shadow his hat casts over his eyes as you grab his horses reigns. You can feel the way his eyes bore into your every move as you begin waking, "follow me, then."

    It's a silent and most awkward walk down the deserted main street, and you can still feel his gaze burning into your back as you lead his horse into the stables.

"So, where are you from, stranger?"

     "Away." Your feeble attempt at small talk is shut down by the man immediately as he stands in the large doorway, broad shoulders nearly touching its sides.

"Very well," you step back out of the horse's temporary home, and are put in the shadow his large frame casts. "Uhm, my name is (Y/n)," you extend your hand, trying to remember your manners despite the fear in your gut.

     He takes your hand, roughly. You can't tell if he means to- or if he's just that strong. "Mingi."

     His hand is cold. It shocks you. You pull away from his grip and push past him, head lowered. You've quickly found that you don't enjoy strangers.

"Miss Maria can help you get settled, show you around if you like. Nothin' much to do 'round here besides drink or play pool." You ramble on as you head to the bar, just down the road. You don't have to look behind you to know he's following. You can feel his gaze locked in on your back, that same feeling you get when men at the bar have one too many drinks or that time when a wild boar cornered you.

      The bar isn't anything special, though — nothing in the town is really. He looks around, silently. A few wooden booths and rickety tables. A pool table. A small island that separates the main floor and the bartenders area. Beyond that, he can see a kitchen.

He almost thought his luck had run out when he rode into the seemingly deserted town — and then he saw you twirling the young boy into the main road.

     He nods his head, maybe subconsciously, to say he's pleased enough to stay.

"Up this way," your voice echoes in the empty space, and you touch his arm ever so lightly to get his attention. The staircase is hidden by the corner, and he has to crouch to ascend them. When he does, he's pleasantly surprised.

     The room has a homey, lived in feel to it. Well — most of it. It's a large space, walls decorated with dried flowers and boxed in dead insects, chalk drawings of all kinds of things on the dark oak walls. There's a slanted shelf that's adorned with carved wooden trinkets and toys, most of which have a small layer of dust if he looks hard enough. A large open window is on the back wall, facing the town, and a dresser that fits perfectly under it. The bed on the left side of the dresser is messy, a large fur blanket that's bundled up to expose pristine white sheets.

     The part that doesn't look as lived in is on the right side of the dresser. An fresh lantern candle placed neatly on the made bed, dark red sheets and grey comforter.

     "I hope you don't mind a roommate... I'm not here for the most part, I won't be in your hair." You're shuffling around quickly, hiding a few things that he didn't get to inspect into the left side of the dresser. "You can," you gulp, clearly uncomfortable with the silent man, "you can put your things away in these drawers if you like."

He stands, like a scarecrow, holding his rucksack tightly. When he moves; you flinch, sliding closer to what he's now placed together is your bed. He chooses to ignore that, sitting down on the other bed and feeling the soft fabric. "You own this place?"

You're taken aback by his unprovoked speaking, gathering you thoughts as you sit across from him on your own bed. "Uh, no. A man named Louis owns this and the bar."

"Hm. And you?"

"I work down in the bar, bartending and such. So he lets me stay."

A small smirk plays at his lips, hidden by his hat as he looks around again. You've clearly lived here a long while. There's more to your story than just working downstairs. "Kind of him."

    "Very. You may be able to thank him for his hospitality, he gets back in a few days." You pause for a moment before you ask tentatively, "how long will you be staying?"

     He stands and turns his back to you as he takes off his hat, beginning to unpack his bag. "Few weeks maybe."

    "Ah," you draw quietly, anxiety growing in your gut. The very few visitors you could remember stayed for only days, if that. Even then, they weren't total strangers. They were people that others in town knew from the market or city.

    "Hope you don't mind a roommate," he turns back around and tosses a look your way as he starts to fold his clothing into the unoccupied drawers. And if the air wasn't gone from your lungs by now, it certainly is as you get a good look at his face.

This stranger, Mingi, is the most handsome being you've ever laid your eyes upon.

     His eyebrows are softly arched, beautifully curved nose and lips. And his eyes — oh, his eyes. You swear you could get lost in them.

And it seems you do, staring at the man despite the fact your intuition is telling you to look away. "Handsome, I know."

    A heat flushes your face and you force yourself to look away as he smirks at your flustered state, "w-well, you know, uh- let me go and fetch Miss Maria, you must be famished!"

     With that, you're down the stairs and out the bar. He watches as you speed walk away through the window, blissfully unaware that he's opened up your drawers to have a deeper look into his roommate.

༄

You dodged the handsome stranger until you no longer could, the sun was setting and there were no more excuses to be found to avoid going back home.

He wasn't in the room when you returned, but the bathroom door was closed and you could see the flickering of a candle from the cracks.

    You lit a few candles on the dresser before the sun fully set, taking some deep breaths as you heard him moving around. You remove your boots, a groan of relief settling behind your lips as you wiggle your toes.

    As you're unfolding your night gown, the door to the bathroom creaks open. "Hello, Miss," he greets, much warmer than his earlier aura.

     "Mingi," you greet back with a small smile, "have you found your way around well?" You shift your weight uncomfortably as he tilts his head; as if he's trying to read you.

    "Mhm, this ghost town isn't as bad as I thought," he sits down on his bed, rolling his head with a groan.

     "Very good, maybe when the other return you'll find it even better." You can't wait for the day. His presence makes you... uneasy, might be best way to put it. You know he could easily over power you and the others.

Elderly, young, and women who don't have a single idea of self defense. Maybe that was stupid on your towns part — but you needed all of the hands on deck to sell the bountiful harvest.

      You excuse yourself and lock the bathroom door behind you, double checking before you begin to remove your day clothes. As you change, you start to wonder if maybe Mingi was just uncomfortable around strangers as well. He's seemed to have warmed up quite a bit to you. You'll have to ask Maria in the morning about their encounter.

     Perhaps he won't be as bad as you expected —

"Oh, dear me!" You stumble as you re-enter the room, covering your eyes with your hands. "Uhm, Mingi?"

    "I'm just cleaning my wound," he chuckles, watching you with a glint in his eyes.

      You peek through your fingers, keeping your hands to your face to hide.

    Indeed, he's shirtless. Your eyes hadn't played a trick on you.

      You swallow the gathering wetness in your mouth as you peer at his naked torso. He's slim — toned in all the right places. His arms are something of a dream to you, and you have to force yourself to look away from them as sinful thoughts begin growing in your mind.

    Instead, you take a look at the injury he referred to.  A shallow gash going from his hip around and up to his back. The edges of it are already scarring, leaving only the middle of it as a wound.

You slowly approach the end of his bed, hands resting on the metal bed frame. "May I ask?"

"Every man his enemies. Mine happen to be good with throwing knives."

"Is that why you carry all those weapons?" The question has been nagging you. He has so many. And you don't like them. You don't like that they are in your home. He's left them on his side of the dresser.

"Perhaps." He groans as he tries to reach around and clean the part of the cut that stretches onto his back. "Would... would you be so kind, (Y/n)?"

It's your turn to be the silent type. You move to sit beside him, taking the damp rag and jar of salve with shaking hands. You haven't been this close to him until now. You haven't been this close to any man, really.

He smells shockingly good.

He shivers as you begin cleaning up his wound, and you apologize under your breath.

Unbeknownst to you — that was not a shiver of pain.

He's always been the nosy type. He couldn't help himself but try to get to know you through your belongings while you were gone. And he struck a pot of gold when he found your diary.

The entries dated back seven years. And he read through all seven of them. With every word, he became more and more infatuated with you.

And your touch on his body solidified that infatuation. It felt right. Your innocent, helping touch turned his infatuation into something more sinister.

So, no. It was not a shiver of pain.

"There you go," you can't help but stroke the large expanse of his back once you've finished; it's a work of art. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to notice.

But, oh, does he. He has to bite his lip to hold back a moan, looking down at his lap. His member is twitching from the smallest, most pure of your touches. "Thank you kindly." He forces out, breathily.

You're in your own bed much to quickly for his liking, hiding under your blanket. "Goodnight, Mingi. I shall see you in the morning."

༄

     "Hello, stranger," you smile at him as he steps out of the building, earning one back. "Slept well, I hope?"

    "Very, thank you." He takes a seat on the steps of the bar next to you and watches the sun grow higher in the sky. "May I ask you a personal question, (Y/n)?"

     "I suppose so," you shift slightly, toying with the strings on your boots. While your feet rest on the step just below your bottom, his stretch all the way off of the steps and onto the dirt.

    "Where is your family?"

    "I'm sorry?"

   "Well it's just — you're a beautiful young woman. Don't you have a husband and a couple of rug-rats?"

    "Rug-rats," you repeat with a chuckle, shaking your head. "No, no rug-rats."

"And... a husband?"

"The closest I have to a husband is Castle... my mutt." You look to him with a bigger smile, your nerves and anxiety around him unwinding. When he laughs, you feel a flutter in your stomach that makes them disappear completely.

You turn back to the sun as it rises, trying to convince yourself that the heat you feel on your cheeks is from the warmness of it. "Why do you ask?"

He hums, leaning back on his elbows and allowing his eyes to flick up and down as they observe you. "Wanted to know my chances."

"Oh!" You look back at him, his eyes shining with that glint once more, "the cow boy is a flirt? I see."

"I'm not a cowboy."

"No?" You lean back and join him, crossing your legs. Maria had told you just earlier that he was strange, that she sensed a darkness about him. But you only felt warmth and light. "What are you then, Mingi?"

"An outlaw." The smirk on his lips makes you think he's joking, and you let out a laugh.

If only you knew that Mingi was being truthful.

༄

      The wagons roll into town the next morning, bright and early. You're still asleep when the first one comes, but the happy hollering from Maria wakes you and Mingi both with a start.

    He's dazed and confused, rolling around and glaring at at ceiling above him. While you — well, you nearly jump out of your skin to run downstairs.

     Still in your nightgown and soft socks, you almost slip and fall as you jump off of the last stair and slide into the main area. "Lou!" You collide into him and sway happily as the older man lifts you up in his arms.

"There's my girl! You been holdin' us down?" He sets you down carefully and inspects you, making sure you've been kept safe in his time away.

"You know I have," you give him a wide and toothy smile, "how was the new market?"

"Oh, it was wonderful, dear! Next time I should take you both with me, so many new things," he reaches into his satchel, handing his wife something small and shiny.

Mingi, in his own sleep clothes — just a loose pair of pants, slowly descends the stairs; silent as a mouse as he watches the three of you.

Miss Maria, the older woman with a scarf permanently affixed to her head, looks down at the ring with a teary smile. "Oh, Louis, you shouldn't have."

You lift yourself up and sit on one of the tables, watching the two kiss with a small smile.

"Why shouldn't I? A man is meant to spoil his wife, isn't that what I always say? Besides, we made quite the profit this time around." His wrinkled hand cups her cheek, and you can't help but coo at their affection.

"Y'all are too stinkin' cute." Maria looks away bashfully, admiring the ring on her hand. While Louis turns to you with a smile, which fades as quickly as it came.

"And who is this?" His hand is on his belt, twitching at his pistol as he spots Mingi coming up behind you. You turn, and then back, moving his hand away from his weapon.

"That's Mingi, he got here a few days ago. A traveler." You don't know if that last part is necessarily true. Mingi never did tell you why he was passing by your isolated town. "He's quite alright."

"He's half naked — and so are you! Young lady-"

"Lou!" Maria is flabbergasted by what he seems to be implying, while you don't seem to see the innuendo.

Of course you are? You just awoke.

Mingi stays silent, and simply extends his hand to Louis. When he doesn't take it, he puts it back to his side, joining you at the table.

It seems to you that Mingi is indeed weary of strangers. He seems only comfortable with you. Yesterday, he followed you around; almost like a lost dog. Insisting that he wanted to help you with your daily chores.

His eyes flick down to your chest. Sure, he's seen you in your nightgown. But that was in the moon or candle light. The sunlight from the many bar windows exposes just how sheer it is. He can see your nipples if he looks hard enough. And have no doubt — he's looking.

And Louis notices, ears flushing red with anger as the strange traveler looks you up and down. "Alright, dear, go get dressed."

"Oh, but I wish to hear of the market! Unc-"

"Now, (Y/n)."

With a sigh, you slide off of the table, patting Mingis exposed shoulder as you pass him. He goes to follow you back upstairs when Louis grips his wrist. Hard.

Maria is fiddling with her new ring, almost cowering behind her husband as she feels Mingis aura once again. She can't seem to pinpoint why; but she doesn't like this man one bit. He's done nothing to her, to anyone for that matter. But she feels an evilness seep from his gaze.

"Have a seat, Mingi." Louis doesn't seem to like him either. Maybe because of his silent demeanor or the way he was ogling you.

He does so, with a bored expression, plopping down on one of the wooden booths. Louis slides into the long seat seat across from him, waving Maria off. She doesn't need to be told twice. She doesn't want to be near that man for one second more than necessary.

Alone in the seating area, the two men stare silently at one another. As if sizing each other up.

Louis is the first one to break, reaching into his pocket. A rusted old locket is slid across the scratched table top, and Mingi catches it before it falls into his lap.

As he opens it up, he sees a picture of two people in either of the oval locket. One, a woman with a wide smile. The other, a man looking down at the baby held to his chest. Their features seem... familiar.

"Her parents."

He looks up slowly, and sees the older man leaning back, "I'm sorry?"

"Those are her parents. My little sister and her husband. Died seven years ago, train crash. Hit a cow on the tracks. Hate those damned things. They can't slow down quick enough to avoid hittin' something."

It's silent again, save for the sounds of Maria cooking up a storm in the back.

He looks down at the pictures again. Seven years ago... that's when your diary entries start. But you never mentioned the crash. Did you just decide to forget about it? Move on?

Louis can almost see the cogs turning in his brain as he looks at the worn photo. Before Mingi can ask, Louis is answering. "I seen the way you looked at my little girl. The same way I look at my Maria. So I'mma tell you," he points to the locket, "I made a promise the day that train crashed. You know what that promise was?"

"No?"

"That I'd gut anyone who ever laid an evil finger on that girl."

"Maria!" They hear you coming back down, and Louis snatches up the locket from Mingis hands as he stands. You stop briefly and look at them, but move on when you see Louis smiling down at him. "Have you seen my vest?" Your voice grows distant as you join your aunt in the kitchen, unaware that the smile was followed by a threat.

"Don't make me gut you, boy."

༄

"You're so soft," you mutter as you brush the white mare with your fingers, stood just outside of her stable. She neighs loudly at you. "Oh, I know. So many strange horses, you must be frightened."

The once empty stable house was now filled again, everyone was back in town by high-noon. She seems like her owner; and like you. She doesn't like strangers. She nearly kicked the short door down when you approached with a handful of hay.

A few minutes later; she's letting you pet her. You're stood on a stool, bent over the edge of the door to dust the dirt off of her white coat. "You're a sweet girl, huh?" You smile at the animal, receiving more neighs in response.

"Who're you talking to?"

The abrupt interruption makes you stumble, nearly falling off of the wobbly stool. You steady yourself on the door and look back, throwing a smile his way when you see it's Mingi. "Your horse."

He joins your side at the door, holding his hand out to his mare. "You know she can't talk back, right?"

"Don't mean she can't listen."

He smiles at your response. You really are a kind soul; giving affection to an animal that can't give you anything in return.

"Busy, Miss (Y/n)?"

You shake your head. Nobody has come by the bar yet, and you don't think anyone will for a while. They're all spending time with their families.

"How about a ride, then?" He's opening up the door before you can respond, making your upper body follow it, legs outstretched to stay on the stool.

"Oh- I don't... I don't know how."

He keeps putting the saddle on the horse despite your words, a smile playing at his lips. By the way you're smiling as well, he knows you want to. "I can teach you. Are you afraid?"

     "I must admit... a bit."

    "Don't worry, I won't let you fall."

    "Really?"

    "Mhm."

      You hop down from the stool and move it out of the way as Mingi walks the mare out of her stable, following close behind him with a wide smile. You get a few strange looks from townspeople as you and the towering stranger stop in the middle of the main dirt road.

     One pair of eyes watches you even closer — Louis stands from his rocking chair on the porch of the bar, staring dumbfounded as Mingi picks you up and helps you onto the animal. Jaw dropped as he hops up and sits in the saddle right behind you, hands guiding yours to hold the reigns. Before he can even get off of the porch, the both of you are galloping out of town.

     The cool October air against your face as you slowly gain speed feels freeing, like it's washing your very soul. Your nerves are still shaking a bit, and you lean your back into Mingis chest, holding onto the reigns tightly. You jump ever so slightly when one of his hands rests over your stomach, gently holding you.

     "Don't worry," he says, "I've been riding since I was a child."

And so, you don't worry. You let the freeing feeling wash over you, relaxing into him and letting the mare take you where ever she pleases. Which just so happens to be the furthest you can ever remember being from town. You nearly forget that Mingi is even with you until you feel his hand move away from your stomach.

He grabs the reigns, his hand over yours as he pulls her head back carefully, slowing her to a stop in the middle of a field. He pulls your hands back with his and settles them in your lap, atop of your bundled up skirts.

She lowers her head and starts chewing on some of the green grass. You look up at the sky, clear and bright.

"Not so scary, right?" Mingi speaks up gently, his hands never leaving your own as he looks up at the baby blue with you.

"Not at all, though maybe it's because you did all of the work," you let out a small laugh, turning your hands palms up and letting him weave his fingers into yours, enveloping you in warmth. "Is this what your life is like?"

The endless expanse of nature staring back at you, birds chirping their lovely songs.

"For the most part." He doesn't want to tell you about the other parts of his life. The bloody and harsh parts. You don't need to hear about that. Not when you're so pure and soft in comparison.

"I like it. I can see why you don't settle, cowboy."

"I'm not a cowboy."

A grin on both your faces, a comfortable silence overcomes you for a moment. He leans and slowly, almost nervously, rests his forehead on your shoulder. When you don't make a move to lean away, he absolutely melts into you. His heart beating in his ears, he's shocked you haven't looked back to search for a marching band with how loud it is.

"I think I may stay a little while longer," he whispers tenderly into your shoulder.

"I think I may like that." You whisper right back.

You revel in each others touch for a few more moments before he moves, scooting back away from your backside. "Let's stretch our legs." Before you can complain, he's jumped off the horse and is holding out his arms for you. Deciding 'why not', you lean over and let him essentially pull you off her back.

You stretch your arms over your head as you wander, smiling back at him.

Oh, he could easily get addicted to that smile.

Directed at him — and him alone.

He watches with a flicker in his eyes as you start gathering wild flowers, folding up the rim of his hat to get a better look.

You start braiding them together, fingers working nimbly. The song of nature overcoming you as you work, and he admires from a few feet away.

You look like an angel, the sun beaming down and shining from behind you like a halo as you turn and face him. "Crouch down, big boy," you tease him softly, a heat creeping up your face as you see him blushing.

He leans down, letting you affix the flowers around his hat. When he comes back up, he does a small twirl, "how do I look?"

"Pretty!" It slips your lips before you have the chance to think, and it makes him blush all the harder.

"Let me see," he takes his hat off, short hair wild and blowing with the breeze.

He pulls the hat over your head in the next second, and the large accessory falls over your eyes. He laughs, hand over his mouth as you tilt your head up and peek at him from under the rim. "How do I look?"

"Like a doll," he exclaims breathlessly, eyes not leaving you for a single second as he takes in the sight of you in his hat. The wind blowing your loose hairs and skirts. A shy smile stretching your lips as you look away, admiring the sky as he admires you.

"Oh, hush."

"It's only true." He comes behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders loosely.

You have to remember how to breath as he looks over your shoulder at you, shit-eating-grin on his lips. "Doll~"

"We should head back!" You squeal, ducking out of his arms as warmth overwhelms your body. He only laughs, and the melodic sound echoes in the field.

"Alright then, up you get," he hoists you back onto the saddle, hands lingering on your exposed thighs as your skirt pools around your hips while he hooks his boot into the stirrup.

And you're off again, this time slowly. Like he knows that you crave to spend time with him as much as he does you.

༄

It's a few days later when he awakes in the night. The moon his only source of light. His breaths uneven and heavy.

Why did he have to wake up? That dream was ethereal, it nearly made him ascend to the heavens.

He groans as he flips onto his stomach, not a atom of shock in his being as he feels his hardness pressing into the mattress. Not after he just experienced the wettest dream of his life.

You looked like a Goddess below him, head tossed to the side and exposing all of the marks he left on your neck. The bed rocked in time with the yells of his names that left your bruised lips. Over and over. Louder and louder. Your eyes rolled back, your chest rising and falling as you tried desperately to keep up with his pace.

He's certain that's your rightful place; taking his cock and calling his name, soul intertwined with his.

"Fuck..." Just six days and you have him wrapped around your little finger. He's never felt like this. You must be the one.

    He can't help but look over at your bed across the room as his hand travels into his pants. His eyes nearly flutter shut, but he forces them open once again.

You're a restless sleeper, he's discovered. Your torso is pressed into the mattress while your hips are rotated slightly up, one leg bent and making your nightgown slip past the round of your ass.

God, your subconscious must know what he's doing.

That's the only 'reasonable' conclusion Mingis lustful mind can come to as you moan in your sleep, rolling onto your back and spreading your legs to get comfortable. It takes every fiber of self control in him not to pounce on you and take you right there.

He's content to fuck himself silly for the moment, and he's almost ashamed at how fast his release comes — but he can't help it. You look so fucking delectable and he hasn't touched himself since before he rolled into town.

He bites into his pillow with a low groan, eyes never leaving your peaceful form until he's overstimulated himself into oblivion. His arm sore and cock even sorer, he finally lets up, breathing heavily into the quiet night.

As he slinks to the bathroom and cleans himself up, he wonders what it would be like to feel your body close to him after such a release. Well —

Why not find out?

He leans over your bed with tears in his eyes, gently grabbing your arm and calling out to you.

"Min?" The nickname that you utter while half asleep almost has him ready to go again, but he pushes it away as you sit up groggily and look at him with concern written on your face.

"I don't feel too well, Doll... Can I sleep with you? Keep me warm?"

You feel his head with the back of your hand, a frown on your face as you feel his heated flesh — unknowing of the true cause.

"Mh, come on, big boy," you scoot to the wall and lift your fur blanket, a sleepy smile on your features as he dives into the bed. The metal frame creaks under both of your weight but neither of you pay it any mind.

He melts into your body heat, wrapping his arms around your waist and keeping you close.

It's so much better than he imagined.

༄

That's the best sleep you've ever had. You felt so safe and warm. And Mingi doesn't feel any different, he hasn't had a restful sleep like that since he was only a boy. You seem to have kept his reoccurring nightmares of his past away.

All the damage he's done and all the pain he's endured, wiped away as you rested your head on his shoulder.

Your legs are tangled together, arms wrapped around one another. Your head in his neck and his chin resting gently on top of it. Soft, gentle breaths as the both of you wake.

Rain beats down on the roof, creating a soft and steady melody.

Neither of you can tell how much time has elapsed, but it doesn't seem like it's ever enough. So when you finally sit up, a pout forms on his features.

You feel his forehead, smiling softly. "No fever."

"Hm, maybe a night bug." He sits up and swings his legs over the bed, facing into the room to hide his growing blush as the memories of his dream flood his mind.

He feels the bed shift under your weight as you crawl up behind him. "I had a dream last night," you whisper as you gently rub up his back.

"Mh?"

"Mhm." Your heart flutters as you muster up the courage to continue speaking, "a dream of you and I."

"Oh, do tell."

And tell, you do.

"Well... it began with you and I, sat in the bar. A few too many drinks in our bodies. A few kisses... A few touches... and then we came up here." His breath hitches in his throat, surely he's still dreaming. This is an elaborate trick of the brain. "Mingi?"

"Y-yes?" He wants to both explode with joy and collapse with embarrassment.

"Will you touch me? Will you kiss me? I'm sorry if that's wildly inappropriate — oh it is, I'm so ter-"

Your rambling is cut off as his lips collide with yours ever so softly. One of his hands cups your cheek, the other finds purchase on the small of your back.

He slowly pushes his weight onto you, laying you down on your back as you meld together. A curse falls past his lips as you ghost your fingertips over his abs.

He kisses down your jaw, savoring every inch of your skin until he reaches your covered breasts. He looks up, and the look in his eyes makes the heat in your belly grow ten-fold. "Can I see you?"

With the slightest nod of your head, he's slipped the straps of your nightgown down and tugged it down past your chest. His mind is racing. His heart is about to beat out of his chest. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He whispers, voice rough and barely heard over the storm raging outside.

His calloused hands trail down your chest, ghosting over the pebbled flesh on your breast and down to your skirt. You can't help the gasp that escapes you when he lifts it up, letting your entire nightdress rest in a bunch on your stomach. He's already panting, and he hasn't even touched you.

You're just so beautiful. You're a Goddess in his eyes.

He smiles up at you as he lowers himself, your legs spread by his wide shoulders. "I'm going to make you cum your brains out, Doll~"

Before you can even question what he means, his tongue is darting out and swiping up the length of your cunt. "Ah!" Your back is arched off the bed at the simple motion, and it solidifies his theory that you're a virgin. Your keening at the littlest bit of attention — your poor neglected pussy is begging for more.

You slap your hand over your mouth at the noise, looking shocked that it even came from you. He can't help the chuckle that vibrates in his throat — that is, before his taste buds register the most delicious, mind-blowing juice he's ever had the pleasure of putting in his mouth. "Oh, fuck..." Then he's just as flustered as you are, diving back in between your thighs like a man starved.

     The little noises that manage to slip past your hand urge him on even more than the way that your wetness just keeps coming and coming and coming as he slurps it all up. His tongue darts and licks and rolls all over you, and you can't even register all of the pleasure you're getting from it — it feels that good.

     He slips his arms under your thighs and grips them tightly to ground himself as he allows himself to drown in you. He lets his instincts do all of the work; enjoying himself more than he ever has. His nose nudges against your clit as he slurps noisily.

     The way you taste. The way you smell. The way you sound. The way you feel.

     All of it. All of you. He's going mad with lust. With love. He's going to explode — he truly believes it. And then you call his name.

      "Mingi—"

    So sweet and desperate, absolute music to his red hot ears as he sucks the bundle of nerves above your sopping wet heat. He doesn't even register that you've cum all over his chin until you're tugging at his hair roughly and forcing him away from your throbbing pussy.

     He moans out loudly as you harshly pull him away, jaw dropped as he pants. "You taste so good, Doll," he slurs drunkenly. Your arousal has gotten him drunker than any alcohol ever could.

     You're panting even heavier, chest rising and falling quickly as you tremble in the aftershocks of your first orgasm that's come from another person. 

     He rubs his finger tips over your thighs gently, luring you back down to Earth as he gawks at you. You swear that there's hearts in his shining eyes.

     "W-" your attempt at words comes out as jumbled whine, and you let yourself fall back into the pillow.

     "It's okay, baby," he coos, licking his lips as he sits up, folding his legs under him and pulling your limp hips into his lap.

     The new nickname makes your cunt twitch, and he catches it. "Oh, you like that, hm?" His index and middle finger spread your pussy lips wide, and he purses his lips — spitting directly onto your sensitive hole. "C'mon, talk to me, pretty baby."

      "G-god!" You cry out embarrassedly, forever thankful for the angry storm outside that hides your sounds from any neighbors. "Yes, I do, I really do," you draw out, grabbing the sides of his thighs as he teases your entrance. You're still hyper sensitive, twitching with every small movement he makes.

    And he absolutely revels in it.

    "Yeah? I bet no one ever made you feel that good before," he smirks, letting another wad of spit hit your hole.

     "Nuh-uh," you shake your head, peering up at him, and your next words make it hard for him to keep his composure. "Stay. Stay here and- and fuck me."

     Little do you know, after that first night, that first little touch — he lost any plans he had of ever leaving.

"I will never leave you," and he means it. He has no plans of ever letting you go. And he's about to let you know that.

       He slides you back off his lap and lays over you, holding your head with one hand as the other guides his leaking tip into you. "Oh, ngh," you whine, holding onto his shoulder tightly. He bites his lips as he feels your walls for the first time. So warm and tight around him. So soft. "M-min, be gentle," you whimper, leaning up and hiding in his chest.

     "Don't worry, Doll, we'll go slow," he strokes your head gently and slowly — oh, so slowly — sinking into your core. "Such a pretty thing, so fuckin' tight for me," he growls, and again as the noise makes you clench around him. "Gonna have to stretch your little pussy out before I can even move, you've got me in a fucking vice, baby."

       "Mingi, d-don't talk like that, it's dirty," you pant into his chest, the warm air making goosebumps form on his skin.

     "Well, look at you," he nearly purrs, pulling your head back from his chest gently, "look." You blink a few times, taking in the sinful scene.

    Your legs spread around his slowly moving hips. His thick monster of a cock gradually disappearing into your stretched folds.

     "Can't not be dirty while we're breaking in this little cunt," he says matter-of-factly, looking down at said cunt while it clenches around the half of his cock that's he's managed to sink into you. A lewd moan leaves his parted lips, looking back to you as you whimper and fidget. "Hey, hey," he coos, cupping your face in his palms. "Half way there, Doll. How's it feel?"

     "Like you're gonna split me in half," you ramble out, looking up at him with the softest eyes he's ever seen. "Please, c-can we take a break? You're jus' so big..."

     "Of course, sweet girl," he leans down, careful to keep his hips locked in place despite how badly he just wants to slam into your welcoming heat, and kisses you. Stroking your cheek bones with his thumbs. "You feel so good, like heaven." 

    The praise makes your rapidly beating heart skip a beat. "Mingi?"

    "Yes," he moans in response, looking deep into your eyes.

    "I think I'm falling in love with you." The sudden confession makes his cock twitch, his heart jumping into his throat. "Is that silly?"

     He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, which are admittedly a chaotic mess.

    "If it is, we would be silly together."

     "You mean-"

    "Yes."

    You grip his shoulders and lean up, pressing your lips to his in an act of pure desire. The both of you get lost in each other, tongues darting out and lapping at one another like a lifeline.

    Sufficiently covered in each others spit, you pull back. "Keep going, I want to take all of you." You have a newfound confidence after your short trade of admissions, demanding that he go on and fuck you.

      A few more moments of excruciating stretching pass when you suddenly feel his pelvis flush with your clit, both of you panting like wild animals as you feel each other completely.

     "Holy shit," he sneers, resting his face in the crook of your neck, taking in deep breaths of your scent to keep himself from jack hammering into you. You are truly the best thing to ever happen to him, and your cunt molding into the shape of him is just a bonus.

      There are no words that you can find in your brain. All if it is wiped away as you feel his rock hard cock stretching you out, filling you wall to wall. When he breaths out, a content sigh into your neck, you feel the veins on his length pressing into your gummy walls. "Hah~" Is all you can manage, thoughts turned into mush as he begins to slowly pull back out —just a fraction of an inch. Before sliding back in quickly. "Fuck!"

     "Doll, please, please," he whimpers, holding onto your waist tightly as he rolls his hips, "please say you're ready, I don't know how long I can take it."

    "Y-" the second the first syllable is utter from your lips, he's already pulled out half way, "yes!" He thrust back in, steady and slow at first.

Words are lost between you — minds absolutely flooding with hormones as he begins thrusting harder, faster. Moans, groans, loud whimpers. The slapping of your skin is so loud that even the rain pounding at the window can't drown it out.

He's stuffing you beyond your wildest imagination. His cock was made to stretch you so deliciously, and your pussy was made to take it.

It's his dream coming to life, quite literally, as your eyes roll back in your head and you clench around him tighter than before. It's almost impossible for him to keep thrusting, but he finds a way.

He grips your hips tight and is making you bounce on his cock effortlessly, all the while pounding his hips into yours. He's so deep inside of you — it feels like he can feel the same coil in your gut that you do. And it's about shatter.

He slips a hand down and begins swirling his fingers over your clit, pushing you off the edge roughly; making you cream over his member with a broken yell of his name. He leans in, all of his weight on you as fucks you through it harshly. His lips right next to your ear.

"You. Are. Mine."

And with that, a warmth like no other spreads inside of you.

༄

Nearly two months passed like they were nothing, days seemed to fly with you by his side.

     He felt he finally had a place where he belonged.

    He found himself work cleaning peoples guns in the bar, even selling and trading some.

    He had a bed to go to at the end of the day. After that first time together, you both rearranged the room. Pushing your beds together under the window and putting the dresser on the wall.

     He had the other half of his soul. You. He knew everything there was to know about you, and you knew everything there was to know about him. Well — all he was willing to tell.

Sometimes, there was a dark glint in his eyes that made you feel like you didn't know the full story of the man you shared your life with. But all doubt faded away when he smiled at you.

     All was well. It was more than well. It was perfect.

      Until a group of strangers rode into town. Strangers to the town. But strangers to Mingi, they were not.

     He walked into the bar and Mingis heart stopped. He saw all of his hard work to get you, to settle, to make a life — it all vanishes.

     "Fuck me," he groans, keeping his head low and cursing himself for not wearing his hat today. He hopes that he'll go unnoticed. But that hope is squashed when the man slides into the booth across from him.

     "Well, slap my ass and call me Pamela. Song Mingi!" The rowdy man immediately catches Louis' attention from behind the bar.

     "Why are you here, Buck?" Mingi keeps his tone low, hostile.

   "You know why I'm here. You want in?" The man, Buck, has a smirk playing mischievously on his lips.

     "No. You, and whoever else you drug here are leaving. This town is off limits."

     Buck lets out a shrill chuckle, "says who?"

     "Says me. This is my town. Get the fuck out before I shoot you." Mingi growls, placing his pistol on the table, finger twitching at the trigger.

      That gets Louis' full attention, his hand immediately unlocking the safety on his gun as he makes his way over. "Mingi, who's your friend?" He hates to admit, but he's grown fond of Mingi over these long winter days.

     "He's leaving. Ain't that right?" Mingi tilts his head at Buck, who takes a look around. Multiple patrons of the bar have their hands on their guns, ready to draw.

     He isn't stupid. Mingi is one of these people now and they'll protect him.

    "Yeah, that's right." He slides out of the booth, giving Mingi a seemingly innocent smile. But Mingi knows him all too well. "I'm glad you finally found yourself a nice girl to settle down with."

      With that finally threatening congratulations, he's back out the bar the way he came. Mingi watches from the window with wide eyes as he joins the posse of men outside. As soon as they start wandering away, looking into shops and other such buildings Mingi has come to be so fond of, he snaps into action.

    He runs up the stairs, nearly bumping his head. They've been casing the town, that's the only way he'd know about you.

      "Mingi!" Louis follows after him, slowed by age.

     He finds him reaching under the bed, staring bamboozled as he places gun after gun after gun into the mattress. "Mingi!"

      He ignores the panicking man, loading all of them up. "Son!" His head snaps up, tears threatening his waterline.

      "Louis, they're going to raid the town."

"What...?"

"I don't have time to explain, I have to go- go get (Y/n). You need to gather everyone who knows how to shoot. I n-"

"Boy, I don't care much for nonsense."

"Listen to me, Louis!" He clearly panicked, an expression he's never seen from him before. "What reason do I have to lie? This is my home too! This is my home and my woman, and I'll be damned if I let Buckey fuck-face and his thugs ruin it!" In his panic, Mingi doesn't notice the ring that falls from his bag as he gets out more ammunition.

Louis bends down next to Mingi and picks it up, puzzle pieces falling together in his mind.

Mingi snatches it back and shoves it in the bag.

"You're gonna propose to my little girl?"

"Not if we all die," Mingi responds shortly, shoving an armful of guns into Louis.

   They share a look.

    It seems Mingi made a similar promise to himself about you.

"Go and fetch her, don't raise any suspicion. If the townspeople know what's coming, it'll start a panic."

Mingi gives him a short nod. To say yes, sir. To say thank you.

He keeps his head down, hat covering his face as he weaves his way to the very back of the town. Trying his damnedest to avoid everyone from his past.

When he successfully makes it to the river, he spots you and is filled with relief.

    You hum quietly to yourself, bundled up in his large poncho to protect yourself from the frigid January weather as you clean both of your clothes.

    The harsh winds whip your loose hairs around, makes the clothes on the line flap loudly.

"(Y/n)!"

"Hey, darlin-" He pulls you up, holding you close to his side as he drags you away, "what're you doing?"

"Just keep your head down, when we get back to the bar, go to our room, lock yourself in the bathroom. Okay?"

"Min, you're scarin' me..."

"Do you understand?" He asks firmly, stopping at the edge of town, turning you to face him.

He looks deadly serious. You haven't seen this kind of look since the first day you met. So you nod, committing what he said to memory.

"I love you," he kisses you deeply, shortly.

And then he drags you through town, and into the bar. But he pushes you right behind him when you walk in.

Buck has Maria and Louis tied up, pushed to the floor. The few patrons are gone, and the yelling outside tells him Louis' plan to keep things calm has failed. Multiple men are rummaging around the bar, cleaning out the register. He can't hear any noise above them, and he's thankful that the entrance to your small home is so well hidden by the corner. 

     He feels you grip the back of his leather jacket, and he's about to turn and tell you to run when he feels you get ripped away.

     Your scream echos in the building as one of Bucks men tears you away, and Mingi has to stop himself from shooting the man the second he puts his hands on you. Doing that will just get you all killed.

He's deadly silent as he watches the man toss you to the floor. His gun was drawn the second you got tore away, and he's itching to use it.

You try to scramble away, but Buck comes up behind you and places his boot on your back, shoving you back down with a thud. Maria is sobbing uncontrollably into her hands, Louis' jaw is locked in anger as he looks away.

He bends down, putting more pressure on your spine. He grips your hair and turns your face to the side. "Well, well," he smirks, "you're even prettier up close, ain't you?"

Everyone stops in their tracks as you spit in his face. "Fuck you!" One of the men closest to you has a gun to your head in the next second, but you refuse to break.

"Feisty, I like that," he shoves your head to the floor, hitting it against the wood roughly. Mingi is seeing red as the world around him resumes, men ransacking the bar and chortling at your family. His family.

      "Buck."

   "Oh?" He turns, leaving you on the floor, "got something to say, pansy?"

     "Yeah." His eyes flick to yours as you push yourself up dizzily, and over to one of the booths before Buck even realizes he's looked away. "You need a key for the safe. I gonna give it to you, and you're gonna take it and leave."

     "Is that so? That's what's gonna happen?"

   "That's what's gonna happen."

   "You really lost your guts, aye? Found a nice girl and a cozy town and decided you're too good for this life, I see."

    Mingi slips his pistol back into its holster on his hip, sauntering over to the bar with all eyes on him. He stands infront of Maria and Louis, shielding them from what's about to come. "You see it how it is, then." He lifts up the pot of dying chrysanthemums in the middle of the wooden island and scoops up the key. His eyes spot you curling up under the booth he glanced at. Thank goodness you got the message.

      Because shit is about to hit the fan.

    He tosses the key to Buck, and as his hands raise up to catch it-

     Mingi puts a bullet in his brain.

     You can't help the scream that rips past your lips, covering your ears and hiding your face in your knees.

    As the men behind the bar start shooting at him, he ducks, shielding the older couple as the men infront of them begin firing. But he's too quick. Only one of them gets close, grazing his shoulder and stunning him briefly. He drops his pistol and takes the larger gun off of his back, propping it up over the island blindly and spraying the rest of the men in a hail of bullets.

     And then all is silent.

    With a heavy heart, you look up from your lap. The building is covered in blood, light seeps in from the holes in the walls caused by stray bullets. Maria is crying silently. Louis is looking at Mingi in shock as he falls onto his backside, holding his bleeding shoulder. 

     "What the hell was that, boy?"

     "That was me saving your ass."

༄

    Mingi and Louis, with the help of a few good samaritans, cleared the bodies out of the bar and drug them to the outskirts of town. Leaving them for the coyotes and bears. If it were up to him, Mingi would have hung them up as an example.

     Maria, seemingly in shock, scrubs the floor with a blank face as you fix up the register and dig out all of the bars belongings from the bandits bags.

     You feel a roll of papers at the bottom of one of the bag. A silent hum of amusement leaves you as you see what it is. They kept their own wanted posters. Proud of what they've done. You flip through them. Maybe out of morbid curiosity of who your boyfriend just gunned down.  And then you get to one who you know wasn't a victim.

     Because he was the gunner.

    Mingis face in a sketch stares up at you.

    WANTED.

    DO NOT APPROACH. ALERT THE AUTHORITIES.

 DANGEROUS FUGITIVE. SONG MINGI.

    The door to the bar swings open.

   The world spins around you as you look up from the drawing. And come face to face with it, brought to life.

    "Mingi..."

    "Are you okay, Doll?"

   You can't seem to find any words that describe the way your heart is breaking. Louis approaches you first, his own heart stopping as he sees what's held in your trembling hands. He tears it from you, glaring down like it's a hallucination.

    "Who are you?" Is all you can manage to whisper, backing away with a grip on your uncles sleeve as Mingi steps forward.

     "What is that?" He nods to the paper, although deep down he has an idea of what it is.

   Maria snaps out of her trance, joining your side, a gasp leaving her lips as she looks back and forth from the paper to Mingi.

     "You get out of here, you never show your face in this town again," Louis grips the man's collar and pulls him to his level, "You're lucky my girls are watching or I'd hold true to my promise."

     Mingi shoves him away and grabs the paper from Maria, his worst thoughts come true as he sees himself staring back at him.

     "Wh..." He trails off in a whisper, heart breaking into a million pieces as you look at him fearfully. Like you did the first time you met. He thought he'd never have to see that look again. "(Y/n), please, hear me out."

     Maria holds you to her chest as he approaches. "I knew I sensed evil in you, boy." She bares her teeth at him as she seethes, like a wild mother bear.

"Leave," your voice trembles, raw with all of the emotions that are flooding you. You lean further into your aunts arms as he reaches out for you. "You lied to me! I never want to see you again! I ought to turn you in!"

    "You have to believe me, I'm not like that anymore. Baby, listen! I only did what I had to do to survive, you don't understand. I'm not like them!" He fights against Louis as he drags him to the door. "Please, I love you!" He's thrown off the porch, only getting a glimpse of you as you crumble to the floor before the door is slammed in his face.

༄

Mingi drapes his mare's reigns over a poll, trudging through the snow until he's at a familiar door.

He doesn't bother knocking. He barges in and stares down at the man at the desk.

"Mingi, long time no s-"

"I have a job for you." He slaps down a wad of cash, "more where this came from when you're done."

The man sighs, but takes the cash, thumbing through it. "And why don't you do it?"

Mingi ignores the question. "Louis and Maria Donelley. Shoot them, make it quick. (Y/n) (L/n). Tie her up on the tracks."

He hesitates for a moment. But in the end, "More where this came from, huh?"

༄

     It's been three days since Mingi has gone away. Rather, since he was forced away by his past and your reaction to it.

     You've slept for most of that time. Cried the rest. You barely eat. Barely talk. You hardly even move off your side of the once-shared bed.

    Maria, Louis, all of your friends tried to comfort you. Telling you that he was just a fling. That the one for you will come around and make all of the pain Mingi left disappear.

     They don't know that Mingi was the one.

     He made you so happy. Happier than you'd ever been. He made everything seem... right.

     "Hey, dear," Louis knocks at the wall, slowly coming ascending into the room.

     "I don't want the soup, Uncle Lou..."

     "Auntie!" Ellis comes barreling past Louis and jumps onto the bed, hugging you tightly.

     "Ellis? Hey, buddy!" You force a smile as you hug him back, sitting up with a groan and holding the child in your lap. "How you been?"

      Ellis goes on and on about what the new teacher from the city is teaching his class, a big smile on his face. Louis sees the smile pulling at your lips in the slightest, and he excuses himself silently.

     He, admittedly, is a very good distraction from your heartache.

You spend quite a few hours playing with him, catching up on the things that are going on in town. He drops the ball onto the jacks and giggles loudly as it rolls away, under the bed. "I'll get it, set us up another round."

You bend down and feel around for it blinding, heart skipping a beat as you feel Mingis bag. You haven't found the courage to touch any of his things, even if to throw them away.

You move away from it and grip the ball, rolling it back to Ellis. "El, I'm feeling a bit tired, why don't you come back tomorrow."

"Aw... okay! I'll bring Violet and we can play outside!"

"See you then, kiddo," you ruffle his hair as he passes you to leave.

It was a nice break from your sorrows while it lasted.

You crawl back into your half of the bed as the sun sets in the window above it, pulling Mingis pillow into your arms as you sob yourself to sleep once again.

Deep into the night, you feel the bed dip. You open your eyes with the littlest inkling of hope that Mingi has returned despite your harsh words his way.

But you're only met with a stranger.

You open your mouth to scream, but only get a small squeak out before you are met with a hit on the head.

༄

You awake as your body is tossed into the air, a loud groan leaving you as you collide with something hard. Through your blurry vision, you can see the moon high above you.

You look to the side, and you put two and two together that you're in a wooden cart as you see the stranger from above your bed riding on a horse that's got you attached to it. "Hey-" You croak out, getting his attention.

"Morning!" He yells, making you wince. You have a splitting headache. "Just in time for the show," he mumbles under his breath, pulling the horse to a stop.

You can hear him shuffling around in the snow, and you try to sit up before you realize you can't. Your entire body is tied in a thick rope.

The back of the cart opens up, and you try — you try so hard — to shimmy away as he reaches in and grabs your foot. But to no avail.

      He pulls you from the cart and lets you fall into the snow. It wets the back of your nightgown and hair; soaks your thin socks and makes you shiver. You don't think you've ever been this scared. Even during the shootout, Mingi was there to protect you.

      You watch with a fresh set of tears brewing in your eyes as you watch the man double knot some ropes onto the tracks. "Oh my god..."

      He ignores as you begin to beg for your life, telling him all sorts of things about yourself to try and make him sympathetic. "- and his name is Louis, he took me in when my parents died! Uncle Lou and Aunt Maria, please! She'd die of heartbreak!" He scoffs, knowing she's already dead. So is Uncle Lou.

    He followed Mingis request and made it quick.

       He pulls you by your binds to the tracks, the metal on the tracks is the coldest thing you've ever felt and it makes you yelp. You cry out into the night as he begins tying the ropes on the tracks to the ropes on your body.

    "Please, why are you doing this?!" Your voice shakes with pure horror, tugging at the ropes that are wrapped around your entire body and tied to the tracks by the bandit. He crouches down at your feet and smirks, his simple answer making you cry all the harder.

     "Why not?"

   All of your pleas and prayers fall to deaf ears as the man turns away and to his cart, rummaging in his chest. The tracks begins to shake and you begin to except your fate. You turn your head to the side and watch the pebbles rumble, your sobs visible in puffs of air as you exhale into the harsh winter air.

    A loud thud and a groan makes you look back, and you see a tall figure on a familiar white horse.

    "Mingi!" He drops the crowbar he used to whack the man as he rode past.

    He looks back at you briefly — his face hidden by his droopy hat. But you can tell he's pissed. His jaw clenched and shoulders tense before a gunshot rings out and he ducks and rolls off of his mare, slapping her to make her run away as he draws his own gun.

    Between the rattling of the tracks and the thrumming of your heart, you can barely force yourself to watch as he approaches the man bravely, your eyes flicking from them to the horizon repeatedly. A sob of his name makes him pause for a split second before he comes back to his body.

    "Too close," Mingi scowls at the man, using his gun to smack his hand and make him drop his, kicking it away as he scrambles for it.

    "Aye, man, I did what yo-"

    "Too close."

    "Just give me my mon-"

       His gun smokes by his side in the next second as the man drops to the snow dead. He takes a moment to bask in the way the blood pools in the pure white before the steam whistle catches his attention.

      "Mingi, please!" He drops everything and runs to the tracks, crawling over your body and looking at your binds frantically. "Mingi, oh my god, please- I'm so sorry! Please untie me, hurry," you babble on in a panic as the train appears just over the horizon, sobs wracking your body under his as he tugs at the ropes.

     Your terror breaks his heart, but he knows it's necessary. He knows he has a knife strapped to his thigh, but he plays the panic card and 'forgets' as he forces a false worry onto his face. He won't let anything happen to his Doll, but you're too caught up in your fight or flight to remember that.

    "I got you, I got you," he murmurs as he pulls the ropes on one of your sides undone, taking his sweet time with the other as he watches the train grow ever closer — the conductor blaring the horn.

     Your free hand grasps at him, clawing at his leather jacket, eyes wide and soaked with tears as you stare down your death as it barrels towards you. Just a few feet away.

    Mingi yanks you up and falls to the ground besides the tracks with you on top of him, hands roughly holding you to his chest as his hat blows away with the wind that the train creates. You willingly slump into him, sobbing into his warm chest as the tracks rattle loudly besides you, drowning out your cries.

     He relishes in the way you cling to him well after the train passes, not daring move away from your savior as you cry your heart out and ramble on to him about how you're so sorry and how you never would have really turned him in and on and on until he silences you with a tender hug.

    He knows all of this. His girl would never betray him. But it's best that he get a subconscious message through your thick, naive, skull early on.

   The message being: the attempt to leave him has failed miserably. Why even try to leave when he's so clearly your fate?

༄

Mingi locks the bar door behind him as he carries you into the building. He kicks off his boots. He knows you hate the mess.

    It was silent the entire way back to town.

And it remains that way as he carries you up the stairs and to bed. He doesn't even acknowledge you as he gets you some clean, dry clothes.

"Mingi..."

He sighs, shoulders dropping.

"I'm s-"

"I thought you hated me?"

"Min... I was just- just in shock! Why didn't you tell me you were... an outlaw?"

He kneels at the bed and slips your socks off, replacing them with a warm, thick pair.

The moonlight seeps in through the sheer curtains and paints your skin in a haze of blue. The bruise on your temple like a water color bloom.

"Because I was afraid." He bites his lip as it trembles. That's the plain truth. He was afraid you'd leave if you found out all the things he'd done. But now that you know, he still doesn't plan on letting you leave. "Please forgive me, Doll."

He lowers his head into your lap and smirks as he feels your hand rest on his hair.

"Come back home, Mingi."

"Really?" He looks up with the most puppy like gaze you've ever seen.

You nod, wiping your tears away, "I don't care what the others have to say. We can leave this place if we have to, I just need to be with you, M-" His lips collide onto yours as he pounces on you, pushing you onto the bed and nipping at your lips like he's starved. And he is, because —

"I missed you so fucking much, Doll," he growls into your lips, melting into you as you wrap your arms around him. It feels like it's the first time in forever; and it is to him.

"I love you, Mingi," you whisper as you look up at him, chasing after him as he sits up on his knees.

     He lifts your ruined nightgown, looking down at you as if you're a work of art as he tosses it away. "I love you," he whispers back, cupping your breast in his big, warm hands. "I love you so much it hurts."

You lay back with a moan, arching into his touch. Your mind is so fried from this weeks events, all you want to do is disappear into him.

     And you let it be know. "Take your clothes off." You tug at his buckled belt with an utterance, licking your lips at the sight of his happy trail. "Show me how much you missed me. Show me how much you love me."

     Your sultry words have him undressing in a hurry,  slamming his pistol down on the nightstand he made and kissing you deeply as he removes his belt, heart beating rapidly as you cup his cheeks to bring him closer.

     You're the closest to heaven he's ever been. Kissing down his neck and stroking his back. He doesn't know how or why this infatuation grew into something wild and untamable. And frankly, he doesn't care.

       You work to undress his top half while he kicks his pants away, letting his larger gun clatter to the floor. You no longer care if he leaves them out. You just want him home.

      "I was so worried about you, baby," he pants, "I know I hurt you. I'm so sorry," he places kiss after kiss after kiss on your face, rubbing your thighs as he slides between them. "I love you. I adore you. I want you. I'm yours. You're mine." Every statement is accompanied by a kiss.

      "I'm so sorry, Min," you look deep into his eyes as he rubs his member on your wetness, "you're my one and only. I don't care what you've done to get here. As long as I have you in my arms. As long as I'm in yours."

     He hugs you tightly, forehead against yours as he slips inside of you. "I will never leave you," he moans out, settling deep inside of you as you pant and whine.

    You've taken him quite a few times at this point, but never like this.

    He always takes his time sinking into you, reveling in the slow stretch.

    But not tonight. Not after what you've been through. He needs to feel you, and now.

     He needs to feel your emotional connection on a physical plane. And so do you. That's why you don't stop him or push him away as he lowers into you quickly.

     You ground yourself by wrapping your arms under his and gripping his shoulders, careful of his healing wound.

     His chest against yours, heart beats drumming together as you try to disappear into each others being.

    Affectionate touches are left all over the both of your bodies. Tender kisses and promises of love.

    "You're all I ever wanted," you whisper into his chest as he starts a languid pace. "I want to be yours, tell me I'm yours."

"You're mine, Doll, all mine." He speaks ever so softly, cradling your head to his chest. He can't believe how lucky he's gotten.

"Make me believe you, show me I'm yours."

And he does.

     God knows how or why Song Mingi has so much stamina, but no amount of time passed stops him from pounding into you, he stops when he thinks you've had enough.

     He's made you cum seven times through the night, and with the sun beginning to rise out the window, he's still at it.

     It's been hours, and his pace hasn't slowed one bit. If anything, your pants and whines stir him on and he almost hammers into you. The quick in and out rhythm makes him moan. Your heat encasing him as the cold winter air seeps in through the walls makes him want to bury himself in your body and never leave.

    He knows he's big. He's so big and you're small compared to him. But he doesn't care when he's balls deep in your sore and swollen pussy. He makes you take it to the base and chuckles deeply when you try and crawl away.

    "Min- can't take it," you sob, but that doesn't stop him.

    He grips your hips roughly and pulls your clit flush to his pelvis, holding you there as you squeal out, banging your fists onto your shared bed.

     "Fuck you can't, your pussy was made for me to stretch it out." His next thrust sends your hips into the mattress, finally able to rest your exhausted body as he plunges into you from behind.

      Each rough thrust wipes away every thought from your mind until it's all Mingi.

   Mingi is so deep.

   Mingi is so thick.

   Mingi fucks you so good.

   Mingi treats you so good.

   Mingi loves you.

   Mingi.

   Mingi.

      "Mingi!" You moan out loudly into the pillows as you seize up, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you cum all over him. Vision dark and blurry, drooling all over the place, barely conscious after your eighth orgasm around his massive girth.

     He's panting and growling into your ear, continuing to thrust. He's relentless. He's really out to break you.

      "Please," you slur, wracking your slush of a brain for a way to get him to cum. You love him, and you love fucking him. But he just won't stop until he cums. And he won't cum until you essentially force him. He's so hell bent on making you get there, he forgets about himself, like he's outside of his own body. And he's extra determined after almost losing you. Your usual tricks haven't worked. So you pull out the big guns.

"Please, Min... put a baby in me." Oh, you know him all too well. He's made multiple comments about how good you are with children. How pretty you'd look with that pregnancy glow, your belly round with his baby.

    "F-fuck, Doll," it seems as if that is enough to satisfy his hunger, slamming his tip into your womb and filling you with his warm and sticky seed so much that it splashes back on him and makes a mess of his lower stomach.

Still buried deep inside of you, uncaring of the mess, he lays ontop of your back gently and wraps his arms around your shoulders, his head next to yours. Your shaking breaths and trembling legs calmed by his warmth over your entire body.

     "Holy fucking shit," you whimper, making him chuckle quietly.

     He places a gently kiss to your shoulder, "I didn't go to hard, did I?"

    "You did... but I liked it."

    He smiles as he rests his head, hands rubbing up your arms and to your hands, intertwining yours fingers. "I love you." He states. Loud and proud. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to share everything with you and I don't want to keep anything from you. I want you all to myself. Will you marry me?"

    The words almost get lost in translation on their way to your endorphin flooded mind, and your silence makes him nervous. That is until- he sees the giant smile spreading on your lips. "Yes."

"Oh, thank goodness," he sighs a breath of relief followed by a soft laugh.

    "But you'd better get me a ring," you joke, groaning out as he slowly pulls out of your abused core. There's a smirk on his lips that you can't quite place as he gently turns you on your back and helps you get comfortable.

     He reaches under the bed and grabs his bag. "You didn't-"

    "I did," he has his signature shit-eating-grin on his face as he takes it out. A dainty, pretty, thing. Much like he sees you.

      He cuddles into your side, fur blanket draped over your lower halves. Calloused and rough hands take yours. Gently and loving with you. Their past of violence is lost as he slides the ring onto your finger tenderly.

     "Mrs. Song."

༄

[shaddork]

Sweet Tea and Soulmarks - Chapter 2

Damian Wayne x Southern!Reader

Previous - Masterlist - Next

CW's: Injured animal, abandoned animal, mention of death

Summary:

Dropping an animal off to a shelter doesn't go as planned for Robin, and a chance encounter as Damian leaves him owing a stranger money

Word Count: 4,634 Words

Saturday, May 3rd, 2025

Damian eased the door open with his shoulder. The lock had been upgraded recently, no longer the rusted old thing that used to “protect” the building, it was better than it used to be, but he still managed to pick it in just a few moments.  He’d had to set the mutt down briefly in order to get the lock undone, but now it was tucked back against his chest. He was holding it close, but not tight. It was injured, the dogs’ fur was matted and blood covered. Some bastard had tossed it into the street. He had watched it happen, right as he was heading back toward the manor for the night. Caught the tail end of the heinous act as the car peeled off, leaving a shaking pup on the side of the road in its wake. 

The pup was breathing, but significantly more labored than was comforting. 

The clinic was dark inside, the blinds were drawn so that no light from the city leaked in through the windows, leaving only the red glow of the exit sign lighting up the room. Familiar territory. Even with the expansions that they’d done, it was still the same. 

The scuffed grey tile was cold and hard, the front door was still stubborn and squeaked as it opened. But the important thing wasn’t how the clinic looked, it was that they never turned an animal way. They weren’t the most popular shelter in Gotham, but they were his personal favorite because of that simple fact. 

The pup would be okay if damian left her here, but he’d stay anyways. At least until it was closer to when they opened and she was in the hands of someone who could help. 

He set the pup down gently on one of the chairs, crouching down low to adjust the towel around it. He briefly scratched the coarse fur on her head, and her eyes fluttered open momentarily to look at him. 

 This wasn’t the first time he’d dropped an animal off here as Robin, it wouldn’t be the last. He reached out to pet the pup on the head gently. 

Then something cracked across the back of his shoulder. 

It didn’t hurt, not really. There was plenty of force behind the smack, but whatever he had been hit with wasn’t very sturdy. The smack was more startling than it was painful. Even if he wasn’t wearing Kevlar, it would have stung at most. 

On instinct, he twisted around to face the assailant. The clinic was closed, lights off, doors locked, nobody should be here. But despite that, there was undeniably a woman standing a few feet away from him. 

Brandishing a broom as if it was a sword, bristles angled forward toward him. It was ridiculous, the broom wasn’t even a decent one. It was an old, shitty, plastic with fraying ends and duct tape holding it together in place. 

Her hair was tousled, sticking out in waves that suggested that she’d rolled out of bed only moments ago. The clothing only solidified that impression, oversized hoodie, pajama pants, bare feet on the tile of the clinic. This didn’t appear to be a criminal, this appeared to be someone who’d just woken up to a home invasion. 

But that didn’t make any sense. No one lived at the clinic. 

“I will hit you again, I swear to God-” Your voice was sharp with adrenaline, the kind that made people swing first instead of asking questions. But there notably was an accent in your voice, a thick southern drawl. 

Damian straightened to his full height, turning his whole body toward you slowly, cape falling into place behind him. His eyes never left your form, and as he was straightened something flickered in your eyes. Recognition, enough that your arms dropped an inch before the broom clattered to the floor. 

“I’m sorry, sugar! I thought you were robbin’ the place. I didn’t expect you to be, well-” You motioned at him vaguely, “Robin.” 

Damian narrowed his eyes at you, your demeanor had changed entirely. It wasn’t that you were threatening before, but you certainly were trying to fight off an intruder, confident. Now there was an embarrassed edge to it, a slight curling inward of your shoulders. 

You didn’t seem like a threat, especially not now, but he also couldn’t come up with a reason why you were in the clinic after hours. That demanded an answer. “Who are you and why are you here after hours?”

You straightened up, pushing the broom aside with the toe of your bare foot. “I’m the new vet,” You didn’t offer your name, “I live in the apartment upstairs. Easier to keep an eye on any critters who need round the clock care that way.” 

The accent lingered in the air like syrup, nearly the opposite of how most people in Gotham sounded, something that Damians own voice had never quite picked up. He’d heard similar accents before, normally only in brief passing and videos. He’d once called Jon southern and gotten a five minute correction on the difference between southern and midwestern. Your accent was certainly southern, and out of place in Gotham. 

“You live here?”

“I did just say that.” Your arms crossed over your chest, eyes flicking over him, slower this time. You took in his uniform, where it was plating and where it was kevlar, the utility belt, his general form. Then your gaze snagged just briefly on the hilt of his katana, it would’ve been easy to miss. Only a second before your eyes were meeting his domino mask. “Now, why exactly are you berakin’ into my clinic?”

Damian glanced back at the pup briefly, before stepping once to the left so the pup was visible to you. The pup let out a pitiful wheeze, and your whole posture changed again. Now morphed into something professional, someone working rather than someone in their own home. 

You were quickly moving to crouch in front of the pup, peeling the towel back. Each movement was quick but gentle. “Poor baby,” you murmured, “C’mon now. You carry her into that room over yonder, and I’ll look her over.” The words were spoken with a vague hand motion toward one of the new doors in the shelter, presumably leading to the clinic. 

Then you were disappearing down one of the other shadowed hallways of the clinic, not bothering to turn any lights on after yourself. You were moving like this was routine, as if this was something that happened every day. 

Damian picked the pup up again, careful to support her body while not knowing exactly what was wrong with her. The lights in the exam room flickered on automatically with the movement inside the room. The decor was similar to the older part of the building where the shelter was, blending the shelter and clinic together relatively well. 

The room smelt like antiseptic, the smell overpowering the cacophony of smells that were typically associated with an animal shelter. Actually even the shelter portion of the building smelt different than it used to, better taken care of, cleaner. Likely a new cleaning routine instituted now that there was a clinic on site. 

He laid the pup gently on the exam table, it squirmed around a bit but didn’t try to jump off or escape. Puppies were supposed to be lively squirmy things, and she was just laying there, letting him move her about with little effort. 

You appeared in the doorway less than thirty seconds after he had the pup settled, arms full of supplies and a stethoscope now looped around your neck. It was strange, seeing someone dressed in pajamas but carrying around a stethoscope and medical supplies like this was normal. He was so accustomed to scrubs that this felt shockingly foreign. 

You dropped the items you’d gathered on the countertop, it was just the basics really. Alcohol wipes, vet wrap, thermometer, that sort of thing. “We’re still workin’ on gettin’ all the rooms stocked. Clinic isn’t technically open yet.” You picked the pup up and placed her on the scale attached to the exam table, waiting for the number to pop up before moving her back onto the towel. 

Damians lack of response didn’t seem to bother you, simply continuing with the process of checking the pup out, scrawling things onto your skin with a black marker as you did. 

The exam was fluid, practiced. Enough that he didn’t feel the need to question what your qualifications were. He’d seen that sort of movement, even if this was with an animal and not a human, it was the same way that the attendings at the hospital moved. 

You checked the pups temperature, each paw was lifted and turned gently in your palm, fingers ran down the pups rubs. Ears, teeth, gums. And all the while you used the alcohol wipes to clean some of the blood out of the pups fur. You weren’t describing every movement you did to fill the space some vets felt the need to. None of this was a performance to impress him, t was just a woman doing her job. 

The exam was efficient, taking only a handful of moments before you were wrapping the pup back up in the towel. “She’s got a respiratory infection and a sprained paw, but otherwise healthy. She’s pretty exhausted though. Antibiotics, rest, and a good bath and she’ll be alright.” You rubbed the pups head before turning your attention back toward Robin. “Could be worse overall, how’d you find her?”

Your expression was soft, touched with gratitude for saving the pup. Not all stray animals needed human intervention, but this pup certainly wouldn’t have survived being on her own. 

“Saw someone toss her into the street.” Keeping the rage in his voice in check was something he’d long since mastered. It used to bleed through whether or not he liked it, but after years he finally managed to get his tone in check. 

“Jesus, did you give ‘em a good smack for it?”

He was silent for a moment, considering the best way to answer. You didn’t seem like you were new to the city, there were signs that you had experience here. Recognizing him as Robin and then the lack of panic when you did realize who he was. But there were also signs that you weren’t a Gothamite, the drawl of your accent too thick to belong to the city. Most obvious was your weapon of choice when you thought he was an intruder. A flimsy broom, not a gun or a knife. 

He finally settled on the words, “I intervened" simple enough that it wouldn’t scare off a non-gothamite, but it still would confirm that the situation was taken care of either way. 

You didn’t push for clarification. The lack of pressing on the answer also said you were a Gothamite, that you knew better than to push for information you might not like. Information that could put you in danger. No, you just nodded and started grabbing some blankets from a stack on a nearby shelf. 

There was an observation kennel in the room, and you stuffed them inside it. The kennel was clean, likely hadn’t even been used yet, “Thanks for bringin’ her here. Some folks would’ve just walked past. Pretended not to see her.” Your gaze wasn’t turned toward him now, focused on what you were doing. 

“I’m not most people.”

Your lips quirked up slightly, “No shit Sugar. I”m pretty sure most people don’t wear body armor and carry swords.” There wasn’t any bite in your voice, it was barely even teasing, more of an observation than anything else. But still not something a Gothamite would say. 

Damian chose to ignore it. “You’ll keep an eye on her?”

“Like I said. I live upstairs, I’ll make sure she’s warm and fed. I’ll be checkin’ on her every couple hours to make sure nothin’ changes. If anything happens then I’ll be close enough to handle it real quick.” You paused for a moment, wiping your hands on the front of the beaten up hoodie. “You wanna name her before you leave?”

“No.” The word was immediate, sharper than he’d intended it to be. “I’m not keeping her.”

You didn’t seem offended, just leaned your weight into one hip, a bemused look crossing your face. “Alright then Sourpuss.” she drawled, “I’ll let the girls draw names in the mornin’, see which one gets the honor of namin’ her.” She tilted her head, quiet for a beat, “Anythin’ else I can do for you?”

“No.” His voice was clipped, final. But despite that as he turned and started to walk out, he was only three steps toward the door when she spoke again. 

“Hang on.”

He stopped, but didn’t turn around, there was shuffling behind him, a drawer opening. And when he did turn around you were holding out a card between two fingers. Your nails were short, clean but a little stained from ink. 

“Call next time. This number rings through my work phone. So long as the city ain’t killed me yet, I’ll answer. An’ it’s better than breakin’ into the place anytime you find an animal that needs help.” You said it casually, a suggestion rather than an invitation. This wasn’t you flirting and giving him your number - something that happened more than he liked - but rather work related, practical. Something he could respect and understand. 

He stares at it for a beat, the cardstock was plain, just your name, a cell number, and a small sketch of a sleeping dog and cat in the corner. It wasn’t your personal number, but it wasn’t the clinics general voicemail either. Meant for things that couldn’t wait until morning. 

It didn’t seem like anyone had told you that he stopped by more often than he’d like. Always under the cover of darkness with animals nobody else would take, or ones he didn’t trust anyone else with. Even though the motion was practical, it pressed it almost pressed into being personal for him. 

He took the card, nodded, and slipped back down the hallway and through the front door. No goodbyes, no awkward lingering. Just the cool night air greeting him as he stepped back out. 

Wednesday May 7th, 2025 

Damians first mistake of the day was being too tired to care. In truth, he made this particular mistake often. The cafe was close to the hospital, and coming off a long shift running off adrenaline that wore off quickly once it was time to go home. He was basically sleepwalking by the time he made it to the cafe, even if it was only two blocks away. All he wanted was caffeine, quiet, and somewhere warm to sit for a few minutes before collapsing into the bed at his depressingly barren apartment. 

At first he had told himself the lack of decoration was practical, efficient, spartan even. Minimalism saved time, avoided clutter. But with each week he spent in the apartment the more he hated it. The more it reminded him of the hospital, sterile and barren, when it was supposed to be his haven from the hospital. But he had the manor on the weekends, no matter how complicated things were with his family, it felt like home. 

Maybe one day he’d find the time to decorate the apartment, but likely not. 

The cafe wasn’t empty at this time in the afternoon, but it wasn’t packed either. He was so tired that he barely registered the people sitting at the tables scrolling through their phones or in conversation with others, the barista chatting with one of her coworkers. He just needed caffeine. Maybe a triple shot of espresso. Enough to get home and handle a load of laundry and answer a couple of texts before bed.

He had tunnel vision, eyes fixated on the counter, the lit up sign behind the counter, where he would have to order coffee before waiting for it to be done. And because of that, 

Thud. 

His hip clipped the corner of a table he hadn’t seen - hadn’t paid attention to -  and the impact sent the paper cup sitting on the table lurching, tipping over and spilling hot coffee across a small stack of handwritten notes and printed papers splayed in front of a woman he hadn’t seen until he was already apologizing. 

“Sorry, I didn’t-” Damian muttered in Arabic before he could stop himself, dragging his hands across his face trying to rub the exhaustion away momentarily, then his eyes finally focused on her. 

Of course, it wasn’t just some stranger, but the southern vet from the shelter, staring up at him with eyes wide, trying to decide on being mad or just being startled. You were sprawled out, boots resting on the bottom rung of the chair across from you, hair braided and tucked over one shoulder. You blinked slowly, looked down at the now soggy paperwork, then back up at him. 

“You good?” You pulled the boots off the other chair, grabbing a napkin and looking down at the papers with a sigh, dropping the napkin instead of trying to dab the papers off.  If he wasn’t so exhausted maybe he would have had a chance to answer before she was talking again, then again maybe the shock that he wasn’t being cussed out by a stranger would have been enough to keep him quiet for that time. “You look like somebody done dragged you through the back end of a graveyard and forgot to apologize for it.”

Damian blinked, it was colorful language, and the fatigue was making him slow to process “Excuse me?”

“I said you look dead on your feet,” You gestured vaguely at his clothes, the wrinkled scrub top under the hoodie, matching scrub pants, dark circles under his eyes, “Just…sit down I’ll get you a coffee.”

Damian blinked again, this time slower, needing a moment to process her words. He wasn’t used to people offering him things without an agenda. Robin didn’t get offered things, and Damian Wayne was only offered things with the expectation of something in return. But something about your southern drawl was oddly relaxing, comforting. You’d make a good nurse, the thought crossed his mind briefly before remembering you were a vet. Part of your job was to comfort people when their pets were sick or had to be put down. 

You weren’t mad, anyone else would have been mad. Certainly any true Gothamite would have been mad.  The papers you’d been writing on were ruined. They’d have to be re-done. And even when you initially picked up a napkin to dab them dry, it only took a moment for you to come to the realization that it wouldn’t help. 

“I can buy my own coffee.” Despite his protest, Damian was already sagging into the chair that you’d freed from your boots. He intended to go get his own coffee, he really did, but it was like he was fighting with gravity, and unlike Grayson who moved through the world like physics were optional, gravity always won when he was this tired. 

“You can pay me back then.” You were already standing, walking away with lazy confidence. He didn’t watch you as you spoke to the barista, just stared blankly at the soaked papers sprawled across the table you’d left at the table. They were veterinary records, or something close to it. He didn’t know, and for the moment, he didn’t care. 

You came back a moment later, two cups in hand, just plain white paper cups with no frilly writing on the cups. One handed to him like it wasn’t a big deal. Almost like you knew him, or this was normal, like he wasn’t a stranger who’d just ruined what you’d been working on. 

He hesitated, not quite trusting it, not quite trusting you. “You didn’t ask what I wanted.”

“You didn’t look like you cared. It’s just black coffee. Enough to keep you alive ‘til you’re horizontal again.”

“Hn.” It wasn’t agreement, but it wasn’t protest either as he took the cup from you.  He took a sip, and it was bitter, hot enough he burnt his tongue on the first sip, but he didn’t care.

You sat back down, the chair scraping against the table, and started to look through the stack of papers, figuring out what was ruined beyond salvation and what was worth saving. Ruined papers went to the left, the salvageable ones went to the right. You didn’t say anything. 

Damian didn’t speak either. Brain so fatigued that even if he was the sort of person to fill quiet spaces with words that he wouldn’t be able to. He drank the coffee in small, scalding sips, hands curled around the cup like it was a lifeline. In a way it sort of was. 

Maybe he should just start ordering coffee to the hospital before he gets off shift. Would mean he didn’t ruin people's paperwork at the cafe again. 

“Nurse, vet, or doctor?” The question pulled his attention back to the real world and away from his quiet mind. 

“Huh?”

You were looking at him, direct eye contact, “You’re wearin’ scrubs. Only three professions I know that wear scrubs. So i’m guessin’ one of those”

Damian glanced down at himself, sure enough the scrubs were still visible beneath his hoodie. He hadn’t even registered that he’d walked out of the hospital without changing clothes today. 

“Doctor,” he muttered, "Technically."

You gave a low whistle, leaning back and tipping your chin at him, “Must’ve been a hell of a shift. Especially here in Gotham, props to you.”  You didn’t press for any further information, didn’t ask what kind of doctor, or where he worked. Even gothamites thre a thousand questions at him when they found out, but you just nodded and went back to sorting the papers. 

It was oddly grounding, to not have to explain his whole profession to a stranger for once. And a little disarming. 

It would’ve been the polite thing to ask what you did for a living, but he Damian didn’t bother. He was far too tired to care about what polite was for the moment. 

The silence stretched until you were gathering the papers - now neatly separated into two clear stacks - that you spoke again. You were standing to leave, but your movements were unhurried. “You got a name Doctor Disaster?”

“Damian.”

You offered your name in return. He already knew it. Or more accurately, Robin already knew your name. Damian Wayne didn’t. Even with the years spent mastering the separation between the two identities, this tired he wasn’t sharp enough to remember to separate them fully. Wasn’t cognizant enough to remember to ask for your name in return. 

But you didn’t seem bothered, just like you hadn’t a few nights ago standing across from him in the shelter wearing your pajamas. Your gaze flickered over him once more, almost clinically. “Well then. I’ll see you’round, Damian.”

And just like that you were gone, brushing past people in the cafe and moving toward the street. The bell above the cafe door jingled as you left, and he couldn’t help but watch you walk away. Your figure slowly disappearing down the sidewalk and toward whatever other things you had to do for the day. 

He looked back down at the cup in his hands, still warm, now mostly empty. He hadn’t given you any money to pay you back for the coffee. He took another sip of it anyway.

The next morning Damian woke up with a headache and the kind of dry mouth that made him regret every sip of coffee and skipped glass of water from the last fourty-eight hours. Though morning wasn’t an accurate descriptor for what time it was. The sun was already low in the sky, mid afternoon. He’d slept for nearly a full twenty-four hours, dead to the world. 

He barely remembered getting home, much less showering, running the laundry and then collapsing into bed. But he was in a soft pair of sweatpants and could still smell the soap lingering on his skin. At least he hadn’t collapsed straight into bed wearing dirty scrubs. 

Waking up here, in his apartment, was never something that he looked forward to. 

It wasn’t that the apartment was bad, his bed was comfortable, and everything was arranged with surgical precision, no clutter. Efficient. Spartan, he’d call it if anyone asked. The space was functional, exactly what someone like him needed. But he knew that was lie, it wasn’t home. 

Home was the manor, even despite it’s gothic architecture, dark hallways, unused rooms, it was still home. Alfred the cat was there, and Alfred the man would be there with a plate ready for him to eat. Remnants of his other siblings still lingered through the building, jackets tossed on the back of a couch, charging cables left plugged into the wall but charging nothing. 

The manor might have ghosts, but they were his ghosts. This apartment was just where he crashed between shifts, not where he lived. 

Still blinking the sleep from his eyes, Damian sat up and swung his legs over the ide of the bed. The floor was cold beneath his feet, the bathroom tile even colder. But it was just right to wake him up, the shock of the feeling comforting and welcome. 

Apparently he hadn’t bothered putting a shirt on before bed. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror and inwardly cringed. He looked like shit. Pillow crease down the side of his face, and eyebags that only fellow surgical residents could rival. He needed to shave, stubble was already forming on his jaw even though it had only been a couple days since he’d last shaved. 

He brushed his teeth on autopilot, looking down at the sink rather than the mirror in front of him. 

When he spit the toothpaste into the sink and finally looked up was when he saw it. Just barely brushing the curve of his right deltoid, another pawprint. Sometimes he wondered if, eventually, they’d wrap around his entire arm like a sleeve tattoo he hadn’t asked for. This one was still high enough that it would be hidden by most shirts, scrub tops and hoodies especially, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew one day that might be true, and then he’d get significantly more comments on them that he already did. 

Damian didn’t move, just stared, jaw tight, fingers wrapping around the porcelain edge of the sink until his knuckles turned white. This one was shaped like a dogs. Not a small one either, the pads were thick, evenly spaced. He couldn’t say what kind of dog exactly, pawprints never gave that much information, and he hadn’t seen it alive. 

Would the marks stop after he met his soulmate? Would they stop when the bond was complete? Or would they just continue on like nothing had changed. Even if they never stopped there were worse things to carry than pawprints. He could be like his father, with a soulmate mark that would never be complete. Damian wasn’t supposed to know, but he knew that his father had once found his soulmate, only to watch them die. 

He leaned back and released the sink, flipping the light off as he sighed. He didn’t need to be thinking about this right now. There wasn’t any point to it, it’s not like thinking would bring him closer to answers. It wasn’t even like he was guaranteed to meet his soulmate. And even if he did he wasn’t guaranteed to know it was his soulmate. 

Taglist: @ocean-mochi @wandaislife @amya-da-best @maymaymarch @wendee-go @mmentallyelsewhere

[sugoi-and-spice]

Taking Care, Taking What's Mine - A "Play Nice" Commission

Summary: A Play Nice AU Chapter, in which, rather than taking the high road and trying to build a real relationship with the girl he's been sextorting for weeks, Tomura Shigaraki baby-traps her instead.

CW: Quirkless!AU, Dub-Con, Smut, Extortion, Baby-Trapping, Forced Pregnancy, Love-Bombing, Manipulation, Power Play, Possessive Shigaraki, Yandere Shigaraki, Morning Sickness, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

AO3 Link

A/N: Happy fucking Father's Day readers!! Lmao! I got this AMAZING commission a while ago to write an AU of my AU (a fanfic writer's dream come true honestly), of Shigaraki baby-trapping MC and well, while it took longer then I meant it to to come out, I'm so glad that I could post it on Father' Day of all days lmao.

Anyway though, this was so much fun to write. Shigaraki has been on the journey of bettering himself for so long in Play Nice now, it was a total blast returning to form and writing him nice and scummy again.

I'd love to do more of these honestly, so as a reminder: I give discounts on Commissions that take place in my AU's.

Play Nice, Burnt Bridges, Step by Step -- all of them. They're super fun for me to write and most of the heavy-lifting of ideating and plotting has already been done for them, so I'm happy to write fics like this for cheaper. :)

Anyway, enjoy some forced parentification on this day of dads. xD

“Hey, hey— are you alright?”

She lifted her head from where she’d been resting it against her gym locker, the coolness of the metal being the first thing to even remotely ease the headache she’d been fighting for the last three days. 

“Yeah, of course,” she tried to force a weak smile as Nejire approached her, clearly concerned, “Why do you ask?

The captain was dressed in her practice suit. And she quickly realized that so were all the other girls, most of them already making their way out the doors to the pool deck. She was the lone straggler who hadn’t even managed to undo her uniform tie yet. Nejire looked over at these girls, and then back to her, wordlessly demonstrating why that should be obvious.

She laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her head, “Okay, I guess I’m feeling a bit under the weather today…”

And that was the understatement of the century. She felt like absolute shit . Piling on top of that stubborn pounding in her head were a pair of really sore tits, a lethargy that stuck with her no matter how much vending machine coffee she chugged, and cramps that had shot straight out of hell and directly into her uterus.

But to be honest, she couldn’t complain too much about these ailments. In fact, she was pretty damn relieved. These were all her tell-tale signs of PMS. They were a little worse than usual this time around sure, but if that was the tradeoff for the relief of not being pregnant, she’d take it in a heartbeat. Her period was only one day late at this point and it had all but paralyzed her with fear.

Of course in retrospect, the fear did seem a bit silly. After all, Shigaraki’s creepy family doctor had warned her there might be some changes.

“I never start patients new to birth control immediately on a Long Acting Reversible Contraception,” he explained, “Especially not teenagers.”

“Why not?” she demanded, “It’s reversible, right? It’s not like you’re tying my tubes or anything.”

“No, but you never know how your body is going to react to the hormonal shift. You could develop acne, weight gain, hair growth—”

“I don’t care about that superficial stuff.”

“... Migraines, blood clots, depression,” he continued, looking at her pointedly.

She looked away, feeling a bit stupid for interrupting him now that he’d listed the more serious side-effects.

“I’m not saying you have to stay on the pill forever. But give it a few months, see how you feel on it. It can help us better determine which long-term birth control is best for your body without any unnecessarily invasive procedures.”

She shuddered at the very thought of being stuck in this set-up with Shigaraki for months. She hoped he’d get bored of her sooner rather than later.

Well, on the brightside, at least this sketchy-ass doctor seemed to be as interested in looking under her skirt as she was having him down there. However, this still left the ever so pertinent issue of:

“Okay, but there’s still the issue of getting the pills. No pharmacy is going to give me these without signed parental consent.” She had the always convenient Japanese purity culture to thank for that.

Ujiko simply smiled and pulled out a wheel of birth control pills from his medical bag right then and there.

“Consider these the same as this appointment,” he said, cupping his hands over hers and placing the wheel firmly into her palm, “ Off the record. ”

And then the rest of the “appointment” had descended into one of extremely thinly-veiled intimidation that bizarrely enough, she’d relied on Shigaraki of all people to save her from. By that point, she’d been scared so shitless she had very little argument left in her to try and reason him into just giving her the damn IUD.

The regret of not standing her ground on the issue did hit her later that night on the train home. Particularly when she thought over the fact that the way they were keeping these pills off the record was by having her pick up her refills through Shigaraki. The idea of giving him even more power over her like that made her feel sick to her stomach. And yes, while logically she knew that he had just as much motivation to keep her from getting pregnant as she did (she had a feeling All for One would not take too kindly to his star successor knocking up a lowly commoner such as herself), she still just had a bad feeling about the whole thing.

So she’d resolved herself on her first refill day to completely lay into Shigaraki for any level of tomfoolery he may get up to in this situation. There would be no forgetting, no being too busy to pick up the pills for her, absolutely nothing. She was ready to rain full fire and brimstone on him if there was even a hint of bullshit.

But to her surprise (and relief), she hadn’t even crossed the threshold of his bedroom before he was tossing a new pack to replace her wheel with. Simple and nonchalant, and then he was just as quick as always to badger her about getting her clothes off already, get on the bed already, break up with your boyfriend already.

It was the same old, same old — for better or for worse. Even if she couldn’t trust Tomura Shigaraki himself, that action had at least ensured that she could trust his own desire for self-preservation.

And that was better than nothing she supposed.

Back in the locker room, Nejire asked her, “Do you think you’re coming down with something?”

She smiled at her friend, joking, “Nothing I don’t come down with every month.”

Nejire tilted her head in confusion for a moment before the lightbulb visibly lit up in her head.

“Ohhhhh,” Nejire nodded sympathetically, “Yeah, Aunt Flow can be a real meanie sometimes, huh?”

She laughed, then winced as the action worsened the throbbing in her head,  “Damn it— you can say that again.”

Nejire’s brows furrowed and she brought a hand to the small of her friend’s back, “Hey, why don’t you take this afternoon off?”

She looked back to her, surprised, “Oh no, I couldn’t…”

“Sure you could!” Nejire chirped, “And honestly, you probably should. We’re working on our weakest strokes today. I had you down to work on your fly.”

Visible dread filled her as she thought about doing that much undulation in her current state.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Nejire laughed, “Seriously, go home. We’ll miss you, but we love you too. So we want you to take care of yourself.”

She debated a little more internally, one other loose thread dropping into her mind’s eye.

“If I do… Do you mind—”

“I’ll let Mirio know,” she shot her a wink as she clarified, “ After practice. I’ll let him know you just need the peace and quiet.”

She smiled at Nejire, genuinely grateful. This. This right here was what made all of the bending over backwards she did to fit in and please others worth it. To be cared about by such a good person. 

The warmth of that care stayed with her all the way out to the school gates, where she was then immediately filled with dread upon realizing that she’d need to go in one of two directions depending on where she was going after school: the train station home, or the walk to Shigaraki’s.

And just which direction she was scheduled to go today.

She let out a long groan, anguished and loud enough to startle a couple members of the going home club that passed her. For once though, she didn’t care about her reputation, she was too focussed on what a goddamn nightmare she was falling into.

She pulled out her cellphone with a sigh. Yes she knew the effort was probably futile, but damn her if she didn’t at least try.

Yup. She could’ve seen that coming from a mile away. She sighed as she shoved her phone back into her bag and started the very slow trek over to Shigaraki’s. 

“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Shigaraki said as he looked her over his doorway, “You look like shit.”

She shot him a wholly unimpressed look as she shoved past him into his bedroom.

“Yeah, I fucking told you.” 

Shigaraki, surprisingly, didn't have anything to say about her tone, even with her brusqueness towards him being more than usual. He just watched her drop down face first onto his bed and curl her legs up into her chest.

She sighed at the slight relief the position gave her. While dealing with Shigaraki’s antics was about the last thing she wanted right now, she supposed that at least she could be grateful for how much closer his apartment was to her school then her own home was. It saved her a good fifty-minutes of white-knuckling a train stanchion to keep down her groans of pain. Now at least she could get the relief of laying down much sooner.

If only for a little bit.

“What’s going on?”

She bristled at Shigaraki’s voice, the unwelcome reminder that she wasn’t going to be able to truly relax right now. And while there didn’t seem to be any entendre or even impatience in his question, the fact that his voice was getting closer to her was enough to make her suspicious.

“My head aches, my back aches, my boobs ache — everything aches,” she grumbled down into his sheets, “And I feel like I’ve been donkey-kicked straight in the uterus.”

“You start your period or something?”

He didn’t sound sarcastic when he asked it, not that typical boy way of asking any time a girl did something they considered “moody”. It was a genuine question. But it irritated her all the same. 

Everything seemed to be irritating her these days.

“About to,” she answered, “It’s like a day late, but it’s definitely coming.”

She felt the bed shift a bit as he sat next to her.

“Are you nauseous at all?”

Her brows furrowed, a bit confused by the interest.

“I guess a little,” she answered, because even though it was mild, there was a certain turn in her stomach that wasn’t unlike motion sickness, “But honestly, I think it’s just from the pain. This has been going on for like three days.”

“Have you taken anything for it?”

She could’ve laughed if she wasn’t so annoyed by the reminder of all her futile attempts to alleviate this. Because of course he was looking for a quick fix so they could fuck already.

“I’ve taken everything for it,” she groaned, “Nothing’s working.”

He just hummed in response, and then she could feel the sheets behind her dip a bit as he repositioned himself. Into what orientation, she wasn’t sure. She was about to turn her head back and ask him what he was doing when she felt his hand featherlight across her hip.

And between her legs.

“No, Shigaraki please,” she whined, pulling he knees closer into her chest, “I’m not kidding, I’m seriously in a lot of pain—”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Tell that to your hand then,” she snapped as his fingers tried to wiggle their way between her clenched thighs.

“I mean I’m not doing anything for me. This is for you.”

“Oh is it now,” she deadpanned.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he insisted, more irritably this time, “Orgasms help with cramps, right?”

She stilled, sufficiently stumped by that particular statement. Because yes, she could say from experience that they absolutely did. She’d spent many a nasty period with her fingers latched to clit to chase that particular path of relief. 

…but why the hell did Shigaraki know that?

She gasped as she suddenly felt the gentle roll of her clit under three fingers. Apparently, in her moments of distracted deliberation, Shigaraki managed to push his hand past the plush lock of her thighs and under the hem of her panties.

“Sh-Shigaraki…” she whined, pushing her elbow blindly and weakly back towards him.

He caught it gently in his free palm and, rather than trying to pin or strain it in whatever which way he desired, like usual, he just held it there. Didn’t even hold it in place really, just shielded himself against its determined path towards his ribs.

“I’m serious,” he said, uncharacteristically soft, “I’m trying to help you.”

She finally mustered up the strength to — despite how much her aching abdomen hated her for it — turn and glower at Shigaraki.

“No funny business?” she pressed.

He settled his own flat expression on her, “When have I ever been funny?”

More times than she’d like to admit honestly, but she got what he was saying here. He was a pretty serious, straightforward person on principle. He didn’t bullshit, he didn’t pull cheap tricks, and, shockingly enough, he didn’t typically lie. Frustrating as it was, Tomura Shigaraki was pretty much always unapologetically himself and he always did what he wanted.

So if he said that he was doing this to help her, then she supposed that she didn't actually have a lot of reason to distrust him.

Plus, his fingers hadn’t stopped their soft, but affective ministrations between her legs, and the pleasant sparks of heated relief they were sending through her were undeniable.

She turned back onto her side with a sigh that was half-exasperation, half pleasure.

“Fine,” she said, throwing back quickly before he got too victorious, “But fuck around and I’ll kick you.”

Shigaraki just chuckled, a soft throaty sound that shouldn’t have sent the chills up her spine that it did, “Yeah, yeah…”

In one motion, careful not to jostle her too much, Shigaraki both pulled her back and scooched himself closer, until her back was nestled snug against his surprisingly firm chest and her head laid in the crux of his bicep.

With this new closeness he was able to be a bit more deliberate with the angle and pressure he used to rub at her swollen sex. And, while she hated to admit it, the increased blood flow between her legs was causing the pressure within her to build quite a bit faster than usual. Enough so that it had her letting go of the tension in her neck and joints — the automatic stress reaction she had to any of Shigaraki’s displays of intimacy — and letting the weight of her head drop fully into his embrace.

A shuddering sigh left Shigaraki at that clear relinquishing of control, of the way she truly let herself lay back and relax into him. It gave him the encouragement he needed to enjoy her to the fullest extent that he wanted her as well, burying his nose deep into her hair. 

He started to stroke wider circles around her, the flats of his fingers never leaving her clit, but now allowing the tips to dip softly into her entrance. He didn’t push them in at all past his first knuckles, just enough to catch some of that growing wetness and spread it all across her fluttering lips.

“A-Ah—” she gasped out, “Sh-shit…”

“Like that?” he rasped, hot against her ear.

She bit her lip, nodding needily, “Mm— Mm-hmm…”

He groaned at the response, doubling down on that motion as he started to stud long, hot kisses down the back of her jaw and neck. The feeling, so gentle and intimate and good in combination to the way he worked her sex, had her unconsciously rocking her hips into his touch, and back into his own.

Vaguely through the haze, she could feel the familiar outline of his stiff cock against the cleft of her ass, but shockingly he didn’t try to grind it against her for relief. If anything actually, when her own hips moved unconsciously back against it, he actually shifted his own hips away, anglind them down so his erection pushed into the bed instead. As if he didn’t want her to feel it, that he was concerned about her feeling pressured by its presence.

She didn’t have the chance to think too much into that though, not when his fingers were coaxing her closer to the edge by the second. The mess between her legs was obscene at this point, through teary eyes she could see the overflow of it spreading wide across her thighs and pooling down in the sheets. 

“God look at you, so fucking wet,” he groaned, lips having made it down to her shoulder and staying there so that he could have a better view of her writhing under his touch, “You needed this, huh? Fucking needed me…”

She buried her face into his arm to muffle her moans, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but also not wanting him to stop.

By some act of God, Shigaraki didn’t push for that answer either. She wasn’t sure why he’d abandoned his typical demands and taunts, didn’t threaten to stop until she gave him the verbal submission and begrudging praise he always wanted. Nor did she stop to think about why, she just let the gratitude course through her, spurred further and wider by the waves of heat rushing through her body, threatening — promising — to overflow.

Shigaraki could feel that axiomatic tension in her body, the boiling point it promised, and sped up his hand to stoke the flames.

“You’re close aren’t you? Oh yeah, you’re close…” his kisses turned to nips at her neck between progressively more demanding growls, “Gonna be a good girl and come for me?”

Fuck, hearing those last words spill from his mouth should not have done what it was doing to her. But it was speeding up her peak, and it was speeding it up audibly.

“Yeah, yeah that’s good, really good. Let it go. Go ahead, be a good girl and let it go.”

She cried out, her arching back forcing her face forward and mouth unmuffled as finally, finally her body went blissfully loose, the pain of the past few days overtaken by waves of heat and pleasure. One after the other, her hormone-driven sensitivity wrung out multiple orgasms, and his frantic fingers were happy to work her through each one until she was begging him to stop.

“Good girl, yeah, yeah, just like that. That’s a good girl,” he continued to praise, returning time and again to that phrase he could feel her getting unconsciously excited over, “That’s my good girl…”

It was just a few blurry moments of consciousness after that. She was pretty sure she whined something like “too much” to him at some point, and he whispered back something that she was sure was just utterly debauched right back. Or maybe it was sweet nothings, he had really favored those by the end of this escapade after all. 

Whatever it all was, she supposed it didn’t matter. All that mattered in those seconds of labored breaths and fluttering lashes was the beautiful bliss and relief that finally overtook her body. That allowed her to immediately fall asleep in his arms.

Shigaraki held her there for a long time after. He raked his eyes greedily across her body, letting himself carve every detail deep into his memory. He knew he didn’t need to, not anymore. Her boyfriend, her parents, hell, whether or not she got into Todai with him, it was all a non-issue now. There was no reason for him to lose this anymore. She wasn’t going anywhere in life without him. He was going to be able to revel in this sight for the rest of his life now. And he just couldn’t believe how lucky he was for that.

He chuckled a bit at that. Well, maybe lucky wasn’t the right word. This was all by design after all, weeks of very deliberate planning and deception. It was just like he’d always been taught. It didn’t matter what hand you’ve been dealt — and Tomura Shigaraki had certainly been dealt a shit hand in a lot of ways — a real winner made his own luck. 

Sensei would be mad, Shigaraki knew that much. Everyone would be mad in fact, but he didn’t care. He was just following the fundamental lesson Sensei himself had instilled in him the day they met. 

Take whatever you want, and fuck all the rest.

Several minutes into hearing those sweet deep breaths of unconsciousness from the beautiful girl in his arms, Shigaraki finally peeled his fingers away from her cunt.

And slid a wide hand up to cradle her tummy.

It was dark when she woke up, not a single one of Shigaraki’s many monitors or television lit the windowless room. That was odd for a couple of reasons, the first of which being that the overhead lighting had definitely been on when she’d dozed off. The second of which was that any time Shigaraki wasn’t preoccupied with helping her study or studying her, he was chronically attached to at least one screen, if not multiple, so it was more than a bit odd for him to have zero on. The reason for the lack of blue light however became quickly apparent as her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness.

Shigaraki wasn’t here.

She was totally alone in his room, alone and tucked into his bed. Had he gone to the bathroom or something? But then why would all the lights be off? It seemed like he’d probably been gone for a while. Weird…

She threw off the covers and flipped her legs around with much more ease than she’d done anything over the last three days, much to her relief. However long she’d been out, the sleep had clearly done her some good. The pounding in her head and pelvis had finally ceased, perhaps just in time for her to actually start her period. She did feel some dampness between her legs after all. Although…

Her face heated up as she remembered the much more likely cause of that.

Damn it, she thought with a groan, dropping her head into her hands. She couldn’t believe that she actually let him do that to her, for her. He was going to get entirely the wrong idea from it. The idea that she might actually like him and want to spend time with him, that there was some kind of connection between them that extended past the time she was required to spend with him to keep him satisfied. And she absolutely could not deal with that.

Being his little sex toy was one thing. A demoralizing thing, yes, but a manageable one. She’d seen the way Shigaraki treated things he objectified — games and magazines and the like. He got bored of them quickly. And if she was one of those things in his eyes, then eventually he’d get bored with her too and she’d be free.

If he was attached to her though? Had found connection in her and a desire to keep her in his life? She didn’t even want to consider that nightmare scenario.

She made her way out into the hallway, looking up and down from the empty bathroom on one end of the hall to the top of the staircase on the other. She didn’t have to contemplate the lack of presence on this floor for long though, when she heard Shigaraki’s voice echoing up from downstairs, talking emphatically to Kurogiri, she assumed. 

She couldn’t hear exactly what he was talking about, but whatever it was, he was being particular about it. “Don’t overcook” and “perfect” were a few of the words she managed to catch, so it was about food, maybe? The accompanying sounds of sizzling pans and clanking cookware would certainly support that. As would the smell that suddenly hit her.

It wasn’t an unpleasant smell by any means. In fact, it was salmon, one of her favorites. But for some reason at that moment, the smell hit her with a particular intensity that made her feel overwhelmed.

And really fucking nauseous.

She just barely made it to the toilet at the end of the hall, not even fully down to her knees by the time she was emptying her stomach into the bowl. It wasn’t just a brief moment of sickness either. The bouts were loud and long, she was sure that it echoed throughout the entire apartment. It left her red-faced, skin covered and hair clumped with sweat, not to mention still gagging long after she had nothing left to gag on.

A hand she barely even noticed came to rest on the small of her back in the midst of it all. It was only in the aftermath, spent and dry-heaving that she could process the fact that it was Shigaraki, kneeling at her side, patiently stroking small circles into her clammy skin and encouraging her softly.

“Let it out. Just let it all out.”

She groaned once she finally seemed to have a solid thirty seconds of dry, steady breath. And Shigaraki used that respite to nudge a glass of water into her hands.

“Here.”

She didn’t argue or agree, just took it from him with shaky hands, tossing half of it just into her mouth to swish around and spit the remaining bitterness from her tongue.

 “Drink some of it too.”

She nodded shakily, still too drained and disoriented to be irritated with his telling her what to do, or suspicious of the fact that he was being so nice. 

And still, as she took entirely too long to finish the rest of her water with timid little sips, he just knelt on the ground with her, moving the hand on her back to rest on her knee, thumb rubbing circles into the spot where a bruise would undoubtedly form. 

Finally, after a long, silent stretch, she managed to croak out, “W-What time is it?”

“Only seven,” he answered, “Kurogiri’s got dinner almost ready downstairs. Seared salmon, brown rice, avocado salad—”

She whined, shaking her head roughly at the very implication of food.

“Don’t like salmon?”

“I-I do… It’s just—” she gagged a little as she remembered that smell that had set this all off in the first place, “Th-The smell right now. It’s too much…”

“Oh yeah…” he nodded understandingly, muttering something to himself that she couldn’t quite make out. It sounded kind of like, “Heightened” and “Read about that…”

Her brows furrowed a bit, frustrated and confused. She was getting the feeling that he was really not telling her something.

“W-What?”

Shigaraki just waved her off, “No, that’s fine, that’s fine. Salmon’s not the only thing he made. There’s sauteed spinach, wakame tofu soup, toasted—” 

Jesus Christ, was Kurogiri cooking for an army down there or something? 

Well, whoever it was all for, and as delicious as it all sounded in theory, imagining those foods in practice right now was making her feel sick all over again.

“Mm-mm, Mm-mm!” she whined, shaking her head again.

She didn’t want to risk opening her mouth right now, lest she blow chunks all over the front of Shigaraki’s shirt. Although wouldn’t that be a nice little serving of karma for him…

“You need to eat something,” he insisted, more lecturey than she’d ever heard him, but with a strange gentleness to his voice as well, “And you need to drink some more too. You’re totally dehydrated.”

She shook her head more emphatically at that, which only resulted in her falling forward into his chest. 

He caught her before she could fall any further, scolding her not too harshly, in fact, a bit whimsically, “Is this how you’re gonna be the whole time?”

She pulled her head back to look at him, a confused furrow in her brows that brought the corners of his lips up.

“It’s not a bad look on you to be honest. All weak and petulant,” he brought a hand to pinch lightly at her cheek, “It’s kinda cute actually.”

Her eyes narrowed, finally feeling her stomach steady enough in her to be annoyed. He chuckled, just as amused and endeared by this look as the last. 

“Well how about okayu?” he offered with a patronizing little lilt, “And maybe some ginger tea?”

He clearly wasn’t going to let this go. And infuriatingly, he was right not to. She definitely was in no shape to go home on this empty stomach. 

She sighed.

“Yeah… Yeah okay.”

Going at her own shaking, snailish pace, Shigaraki helped her up onto her legs, pulling her immediately into his side as he led her back towards his bedroom. Normally she’d protest, stick an elbow right into his ribs and storm on ahead of him, but honestly she needed the help right now. So she sucked it up and let him lead her back into his bed. 

But that didn’t stop her from eying him suspiciously as he propped his pillows up behind her and tucked her back in under his comforter, the overall way he doted and fretted over her, even stopping to look back at her one more time from the doorway before he returned downstairs to give Kurogiri the new marching orders.

She dropped her head back against the pillows when finally alone, a bad feeling settling heavier and heavier in her stomach. This was beyond weird, the way he was acting. Sure, the guy was overbearing and constantly demanding of her attention, stupidly needy even. But doting? Not only willing but eager to put her needs ahead of his own? Caring deeply about her actual well-being and not just what he wanted to be her well-being? This was all way too out of character for him.

“…You can tell me. If he bothered you, I mean. N-Not just the Doctor either… If um… If anything’s bothering you.”

She sighed at the memory. Alright, maybe she wasn’t giving him enough credit. He’d shown at least some capability and even interest in her wants and well-being, he wasn’t a complete monster.

But still, all of this? The cooing and the caring and the, erm, servicing even that he’d done? It felt like too much. Like she was missing something really key about it all.

Like something was wrong .

Whether she ended up getting lost in that train of thought for long, or Kurogiri had already had some okayu whipped up downstairs, she wasn’t sure, but she was startled by how quickly it seemed that Shigaraki returned with a breakfast tray in hand. She cocked her head as he set it up over her lap, this was a lot more robust than she was expecting, and, she realized as she examined everything on the tray, a lot more stocked as well.

There was okayu, front and center for her, yes. But also on the tray was another small bowl of soup (looked like the wakame that Shigaraki had mentioned, a thing of plain yogurt (the really fancy kind that came in the glass jars), a glass of orange juice…

And a little dish of four pills. 

Painkillers or antiemetics maybe? They looked more like vitamins…

“Go ahead and start with the okayu if you want,” Shigaraki explained as he climbed up into the bed next to her, “But I want you to try and get some of the wakame and yogurt down too…”

As he settled down, his legs flush with her own, he continued to rattle off instructions and explanations for the rest of her tray, sending her mind completely spinning, faster and faster, like a goddamn Gravitron.

And she was ready to get the fuck off.

“...if nothing else though, take the vitamins. You need the folate, calcium, iron, and the omega-3 especially, since you don’t want the salmon—”

“Okay, stop, stop, stop !”

Shigaraki paused, having the audacity to look at her like she was crazy for snapping. 

“Jesus—what the hell are you even talking about Shigaraki?!” she demanded, “What’d you say, folate? What? What is all this?”

He cocked his head, clearly playing innocent. Whatever this was, he was clearly enjoying the slow unraveling of it all.

“What’re you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about!” she snapped, “All this attention and doting and food stuff! What the hell is this all about?!”

He just smiled back at her, taking in how pretty she looked, even when mad (especially when mad sometimes), God, to think that this really was his forever now. He wondered if they had a girl, how much she’d look like her. He hoped a lot…

“I just want to make sure you’re getting all the vitamins and nutrients you need…”

He reached over then, spreading his hand flat against her stomach.

“ Both of you .”

She froze.

No.

No, he couldn’t mean—

She tried to speak, tried to ask what the ever-loving- fuck he was talking about, but her mouth had seemed to go dry. She tried several times to open and wet it a bit, but every time she did, it felt like her throat was closing too. It took at least four desperate attempts for her to finally force out one rasped:

“... what? ”

Shigaraki’s grin widened, and he started to rub circles gently across her belly.

“You’re gonna look so cute, all big and round with my kid,” he giggled suddenly as he remembered something, “Oh, and your tits too. I wonder how big they’re gonna get…”

She stared at him, unblinking, unbreathing. Everything but un-fucking-existing.

He couldn’t be serious. He was fucking with her. He had to be fucking with her!

“Th-That’s not funny.”

His grin evened a little, not disappearing outright, but settling away some of its blissful excitement into something more coyly victorious.

“I said it already,” he reminded, “When have I ever been funny?”

She shook her head in disbelief.

“N-No. No, no, no this isn’t— there’s no way—”

“I’ve got the tests ready when you need to pee, but I think it’s pretty clear. These are all the symptoms I read about.”

“No!” she insisted, “N-No, no— this is, it’s my period! It’s just a day late, it’s not—!”

He chuckled, “I know the symptoms can be similar, but come on. When’s the last time you’ve hurled like that thanks to your period? And the sensitivity to smell? You know this is different.”

Crumbling, every argument she could possibly think of was crumbling to dust before she could even get the thought fully formed. And cruel, vicious reality was more than happy to take its place.

“B-But my birth control pills…”

“Fertility pills,” he explained, his splitting-grin returning in full, “I would’ve preferred to get Clomid from the doctor, but it looks like the over the counter stuff and tracking your cycle worked just fine.”

Her stomach dropped. Pieces of memories, peculiar behaviors and nagging thoughts she’d had over the last two months falling into place. How there were stretches of times where he’d cancel their sessions, only to insist they make them up a few specific days in a row. How he wanted to go multiple rounds a lot those days. How he’d stopped wanting blowjobs from her entirely. How he seemed to only want to fuck her from behind or with her knees pressed hard into her chest, positions he could fuck her the deepest in.

And how he’d have her stay still with his cock buried in her after he came. 

Back then, she just thought he was being weird and pervy. And in a way she was right.

Horribly fucking right.

Shigaraki shifted his legs away from her so that he could bring his head down to her lap, laying his cheek blissfully against her belly. 

“Was so easy,” he hummed against her skin, “Like your body was just waiting for me to knock you up. Waiting for me to make you mine…”

His hands moved across her body, one coiling behind her back so that he could pull her tighter into him, the other lacing his fingers through her own. The fingers on her trembling left hand.

“Both of you, forever,” he growled happily, a predator who had finally and definitively sunk his teeth into his prey, “All mine.”

[konigslittleliebling]

Stevie I have been having a shitty af month (broke up with my bf of 4 years because he’s aromantic right in the middle of my college thesis and I am stressed to high hell) and I was wondering if I could put a request into my favorite writer?

Could you write how König would romance his libeling? Is he the type to wine and dine and have a trail of rose petals, or does he have some fucked up way of doing it? Please and thank you you beautiful amazing stunning person

shit, i’m sorry girl 🥺 he sounds like a fuckin loser. YOUR FAVE WRITER OH EM GEE 🤭🤭

okok so i used to think he’d be really old fashioned and gentlemanly. like, he’d court you traditionally and wouldn’t bed you until he was certain you’re the one and even then he’d ✨ make love ✨. but . . . HECK NO this man is freaky ay-eff !!

MDNI 🪦🕊️ perv!könig, creepy!könig, strong yandere themes, obsessed, stalking, privacy invasion, hidden cameras, mentions of sex toys, voyeurism, masturbation, creampie. not proofread.

he stalked you at first. kept a log of the time stamps that dictated your daily routine. you leave for work every weekday at 7am sharpish, nip home at 12:50 for lunch, head back to work at 13:30, then home for the night at 17:00. rinse and repeat.

you hadn’t a notion that a pair of cerulean blues were admiring you from afar. he followed you everywhere, sometimes even arriving before you if he knew beforehand where you were headed. thank the wire he’d installed in your home for that one. oh, and the tracker he stuck to the arch of the wheel fender on your car.

soon he knew everything there was to know about you. your favourite places to eat (you don’t like spicy food), your favourite pastimes (museums bore you but you’ll happily sit through a movie), your favourite flowers are tulips as they’re not overly fragrant (you don’t like the smell of flowers), your favourite season is spring and your favourite album is californication! oh, and you really want to go on a road trip around western europe.

so when you ‘bumped’ into a mass of muscle just shy of seven feet, face concealed by an old shirt held in place by an upholstered cycling helmet whereby his sapphire eyes were all that remained visible, of course you were intrigued. and he knew you would be — he’d listened in on many a phone call. you’re into the mysterious type.

his thick austrian accent enticed you all the more. he knew it would. you wanted to visit his home country, which he also knew. your otherwise distinct personal preferences that would probably appear far-fetched to most were only working in his favour.

you were immediately swept off your feet — agreeing to go and grab some coffee within moments of meeting him. he already knew your usual from memory: caramel latte with extra foam and one of those cinnamon biscuits on the side. instead, he ordered that exact thing; supposing you’d put it down to fate or something to do with invisible string.

“that’s my order, too!” you’d beamed, completely infatuated. this man was perfect. dark, alluring, captivating and enigmatic. you could only imagine how he looked behind the hood — which enchanted you even more. you recalled a conversation with a friend whereby you’d admitted to finding masked men utterly enthralling. dark romance was absolutely a guilty pleasure. maybe he has a few scars that tell as many stories as his eyes, and a beard would be nice but a stubble would do.

it was over your matching beverages that you arranged dinner for that same night, and obviously your heart grew fonder when he suggested one of your all-time favourite restaurants. he said he wasn’t one for spicy cuisine, and god, was this bloke carved for you by god himself??

so at dinner he asked what you’d like to drink, even commented that you look like a vodka girl. he knew double tito’s with three olives would be your choice, he’d seen pictures of it all over your social pages whenever you went out with the girls or for a work do. you chuckled, enamoured by how experienced and knowledgeable he seemed. you’d gauged by the state of his hands he was an older guy — which was great. “close! i’m a tito’s girl.” you cluelessly corrected.

and of course a cover band were on stage — impersonating the red hot chilli peppers.

throughout the night he told you how he thought flowers smelled like ‘old people homes’, and you excitedly agreed with the comparison since you could never quite put your finger on what the floral scent reminded you of. what made your pulse quicken to the point of lightening velocity was the way he articulated his likes and dislikes — the fact they mirrored your own and the reasonings too. he even knew about your field of work, so you assumed he’d had a similar career himself.

when he dropped you off at your front door, of which he needed little direction to find, you’d invited him in for a nightcap before the words that left you had even registered in your brain. but he obliged, voice smooth like honey and fingers grazing your sides with nimble dexterity.

that night he somehow knew what you liked. where you yearned to be touched and what felt best. the inconspicuous camera that resided within the screw that held your wall-mounted mirror opposite your bed had captured footage of you touching yourself similarly to how he did so with expert ease, pulling those same noises he heard over the mic behind your lampshade.

his thick cock drew orgasm after orgasm from you, veiny shaft delving in and out of your little cunt just like the handheld vibrator did the night before. he’d watched you squirm with the use of it, wrist flexing to force it against the lid of your cervix. his prick ended up clenched by his fist the second spurts of thick cream spilled through the cracks of your toy in the tight gap that swallowed it, and he could almost smell the sweetness of your juices from the screen that he’d watched you from, fantasising that the grip of his rough palm was the warmth of your pussy as it milked his balls of their heavy load.

you’d never slept with a man who performed like he already knew the ins and outs of your body. he fucked you as if he’d been inside of you a million times, hitting every sweet spot and not leaving an inch of your cunny empty or untouched. he was thorough and meticulous, rutting into you with pent-up desperation.

it was almost like he’d been longing to feel your cunt surround his cock for years. as if the whole thing was planned. .?

[earthsparked]

Sparking Flames

Part Three | one two three four intermission five (AO3 link)

You never catch a glimpse of what's in the woods with you, but you can feel it the entire time. You've never been this frightened, for this long. It's wearing on you, wearing you out. Sooner or later your stumbling footsteps are going to trip you up, the bed of leaf litter becoming the last place you'll ever lie down. Just because you haven't seen the predator, doesn't mean it's not there.

The woods are still silent, deathly so, but for the rasp of your breathing and soft padding of your footsteps. You try and muffle them best you can, walking on moss, walking heel-toe, but the trail is poor and several times you end up having to cut through thorny vines that add painful, bloody scratches to your tally of wounds. You're starting to think the noise you're making just to breathe isn't quite right, either, and the stitch in your side isn't only from the road rash. Just how much dust did you inhale, and what was in that smoke?

You can only vaguely worry about it, because your worry-ometer hit redline a while back. Now there's only one thought driving you forward, the need to get to the fire watch tower. There should be people there with a first aid kit, and a radio that can call for help.

Call who, exactly, you don't even know. That feels like a question too big for your addled brain to answer. You're not precisely a fan of the military, and even less so when you imagine what's left of your little town being overrun by people in camo and – probably – threatening you all with the biggest non-disclosure agreement of all time. But someone with access to firepower ought to be involved here? You think? Though what kind of weapons would it take to cut through the thick armor you'd held onto for dear life, to bring down the giant that had towered over you? You thought of what that giant gun could do if it were turned on humans, and shuddered despite your exhaustion. Shit. You might just end up getting more people killed.

But, that robot had been kind. Humane, you'd say. And your country's military isn't all that discriminating when faced with possible threats. All those sci-fi movies about alien invasions, probably said something about humanity. Maybe the attack proved those fears correct. Or maybe not.

These heavy thoughts roiled without a good answer through your tired mind, until suddenly you became aware of a change in the light. The trees were growing thinner, more light coming through. The path you were on began to grow more evident. It was clear that someone had been maintaining it better, here. You picked up the pace with excitement, hurrying as best you could, which admittedly was a limping speed. There would be water at the tower, and humans, and help. You heaved a sigh of relief when at last you put the trees to your back, and stepped out with a crunch on the gravel spread around the base of the fire watch tower. It was still a bit of a walk, the tower perched high above and away from the trees to protect it from wildfire. But you were so close.

Strange, you thought vaguely, that nobody had called out to you on your approach. Surely they'd been able to see you coming? That was, after all, the purpose of these towers. Keeping an eye out for fires and helping hikers on occasion.

There was only perhaps fifty feet between you and the laddered stairs that would take you up to the lookout, perched high above. You groaned at the thought of having to climb it; you'd never liked heights.

Twenty feet, ten. You hands hit the stairs. You cried a little, leaning on them. And then you pulled your hands away. They were wet with blood. There was more staining the ground beneath your feet, as if it had dripped down the stairs.

Crunch.

The noise from behind you made you spin around, expecting to see a forest ranger. A metal mountain lion stepped out from the trees onto the gravel. It was far, far larger than any flesh and blood mountain lion, and unlike the robots back in town, its movements were silent but for the sound of its paws on the gravel. You couldn't hear a single noise coming from its metal body, otherwise. Its eyes were red and its armor smooth silver, with accoutrements that your panicked gaze skimmed over without a hope of identifying what they were for.

Well, well. You've reached the end of the road, little glitch-mouse.

It has a smooth, rumbling voice that's oddly even, perhaps a little amused. That it can talk at all is not even that surprising, after the day you've had, but that it hasn't instantly sprung upon you and ripped your throat out is pretty surprising, actually.

You try to stay calm. Maybe this one is friendly, too?

H-hello. I need help. I'm hurt. Where are the forest rangers? Did one of them get hurt, too? I...there's blood on the stairs, you say, your voice rough and parched.

(You'll have to forgive yourself later for the stupid question. Blame it on dehydration and exhaustion and trauma. Maybe a little on your optimistic nature.)

The metal mountain lion moves even more smoothly and slickly than a real cat, flowing like mercury. It flexes its claws as it prowls closer to you. It laughs, and it's as strange to hear a cat laugh as it is to hear it coming from a robot.

There is no help for you here.

Its ears flick to the side suddenly, and it bares its fangs in a hiss at something in the distance. It takes a second for your lesser hearing to catch up, but when it does, you recognize the sound of a roaring engine. The sound of trees cracking. A voice yelling, distant but coming closer.

Sparklet? Your planet is absolute slag! Why are there so many trees? Why are they so sticky?! Humaaan! Where are youuuu?

Something ticks over in your brain.

You lunge for the slippery rungs of the ladder stairs while the metal cat is distracted. You manage to get up the first few before sharp claws crash into the wood, splintering it. You scream hoarsely, and in the distance hear more yelling.

IS THAT YOU?! HOLD ON, I'M COMING!

You have to hold on. You scramble up a few more steps, your injuries protesting every inch. The metal cat yowls, its tail flicking angrily as it takes another leap. You see gouges in the stairs - this isn't the first time the thing had hauled itself up the tower, but the weight had damaged the structure. When it tries again, the bottom half of the stairway cracks apart just below your feet and falls, sending the metal cat crashing to the gravel with splinters of broken wood raining down on it. You make such an effort that you're sure you've just pulled both shoulders out of joint, and heave yourself to lie on the platform. You scramble back under the huge windows, panting. The setting sun paints the glass behind you a bloody golden-red.

No, you realize. It's not the sun. Shaking, you drag yourself to your feet and slam through the door to the fire watch tower. You wish you hadn't. You wish you hadn't gotten out of bed this morning. You wish you'd stayed under that brick wall.

You've found the rangers, or what's left of them. A shattered window on the rear side of the tower tells the tale, bloody pawprints marking the scene. That thing had gotten in here.

The tower shakes and you cry out, grabbing onto - oh, thank heavens. It's a radio. Or, it has to be. But it's not really like what you'd imagined it to be. It looks almost military in design. Shiny black, taking up a huge space, lots of fancy dials and digital displays. The fire service must have gotten some grant money to upgrade its equipment. Good for them, but - how are you supposed to figure this thing out?!

As the cat continues doing whatever the fuck it's doing, probably trying to tear down the tower to get to you, you mash buttons and tap the touchscreen and flip through the menus that make absolutely no sense.

Hello? Anyone! Can anyone hear me? Please, I need help, I'm at the tower on Cavern Ridge, there's a metal monster trying to get to me! I know this sounds crazy, but it chased me up here!

You repeat it over and over, babbling almost, sending it out over whatever connection the machine can find. Then you duck as one of the windows shatters, a glimpse of something flashing and red and - did that god damn metal cat just shoot a laser at you?!

But somehow, some way, for once something goes right for you today.

<Tower, we read you. Is this a civilian?> a voice demands. <What kind of metal monster? Describe it. >

You've never been so damn happy to hear another human voice in your entire life. As you stammer a response to the man on the radio, you realize the shaking has stopped.

Oh shit, you say, utter dread filling you. The tower is rocked by a massive explosion. You squeal and press yourself under the desk where the radio is located, trying not to feel sick at the blood getting on your already filthy clothes, trying not to think about the hundreds of feet of the cliffside drop that awaits should the tower tumble off its perch.

But then -

RAVAGE! Pick on someone your own size, you fragger!

It's your robot. You lean up to sneak a look at it, down in the clearing. It's covered in pine needles and sap, its gorgeous orange-and-red flaming bright armor now looking more like a greenish porcupine. Or maybe a ghillie suit. It would be very funny if you weren't simply so relieved to see it no matter what condition it's in.

Even better, it's now standing between your perch and the giant metal cat. Ravage? That's its name? Your robot's arm has turned into a gun and is smoking.

The cat, though, hisses but doesn't attack. It faces the bigger robot as if it doesn't care a single bit about being held at gunpoint.

<What is that?> the voice on the other end of the radio demands. You don't even know how to begin to explain. When it shouts to you, <Civilian?! Answer me!> You stammer out that there's another robot now, fighting the cat.

<Fucking aliens.> There's true venom in the words, and you hear a shuffle in the background. Another voice comes on the radio, calm and firm, but you don't catch his name right away because the robots are talking. Loudly.

What are you even doing here? Where's that creeper Soundwave, is he lurking too?

Ravage flicks out a paw and licks blood off it, unconcerned. Maybe. More to the point, what are the Autobots doing here? I don't suppose you're looking for the same thing we are.

Looking for something...? You remember, you think, the robot had asked you something similar. Do they not even know? Somehow the thought that this could all have been a matter of confusion makes you feel like throwing up. All this violence and bloodshed, and for what?

Something sparks inside you, pop rocks and coke, bubbling up in hurt and anger. You want to know what all of this is about. You want answers for all this suffering, damn it.

The radio makes noise again, and this time it's the calmer man. <We have your position. Stay where you are. A team is already on its way to intercept, ETA twenty minutes.>

Um, thank - thank you. Who is this? You realize you didn't even ask. What team? I'm hurt, and there's...I'm sorry, but your rangers are dead.

<Rangers?> the first voice asks, confused, and the second voice hushes him. <Stay where you are,> the man says again, and then there's nothing.

The metal cat must have unnaturally good hearing indeed, because it looks up directly at you. It heard that communication. The cat turns and begins to slink back into the woods, ignoring the other robot's demands that it stop.

You are a fool, and I will give you one warning. They are coming. Take your human and run, or they will kill them, and do far worse to you. You are incompetent enough that your loss would be a boon for the Autobots.

Then it's gone. The robot lowers its gun and scratches its helmet. Now what the frag did he mean by that -?

Um, hey? Robot? You stand up and edge carefully through the door, glad to get some fresh air. So glad to see your robot.

It turns and looks up at you and smiles, so full of relief and joy that it almost makes up for the terror of this shitshow of a day. You're not sure, actually, the last time someone was so happy to see you.

It holds its hands up to the tower, and without a second thought you climb into them. Your second ride in its hands is much less frightening than the first. And includes a lot more pine sap, to add to your filthy clothes.

I found you! it declares in wonder, bringing you close to its chest. Physically you feel warm, safe, but deep inside you're uneasy. It seems to sense it, because it frowns. Can giant robots read your mind?

What's wrong? it asks, and you shake your head and stammer, scanning the skies for the appearance of rotor blades.

I'm sorry. I called for help. But something doesn't feel right.

You expect - you're not sure what, from the robot. To not be believed, maybe. To be discounted, ignored. Instead the giant vents hot air, cups you to its chest more securely, and makes for the cliff.

None of this slag has been right. Ravage is a cryptic fragger at best, but he's less of a bastard than most of the 'Cons. He wouldn't give a turbofox's tailpipe about killing some organics out in the middle of nowhere. Something's going on here. I gotta get back to the others. These trees of yours took out my shortwave radio antenna, and something around here's blocking my comms. I can't talk to the mechs back at town.

They're not my trees, you protest, bringing a glimmer of amusement to the robot's blue..eyes?..that reminds you just how human-like its expressions are. But you have no time to ponder that.

They weren't forest rangers, you say, hurriedly, emphatically. They're dead, in the tower, but they weren't rangers. I don't know who the people I talked to are, but they told me to stay here. And they're sending a helicopter. If that cat wasn't lying, then... You let your voice trail off, feeling absolutely horrible.

They'll kill them and do far worse to you, it had said.

What have you done?

The robot shakes its head. Yeah, no. The rangers are all in town, helping with the recovery. The guys all in green? I saw 'em. Whoever you saw, it wasn't them. Which means we gotta GO.

You stammer another apology that turns to a frightened yelp as it swings around, grabs onto the rocky cliff face with one hand, and begins doing the worst parkour you've ever seen in your life. With you along for the ride. Once again there's an unknown enemy breathing down your neck, but at least this time, you're not alone.

[nancyheart11]

Hotsprings are just what the doctor ordered

Twilight always felt more at ease when they were in his era. He wasn’t sure what it was in the air, but when he was in any time other than his own; there was a feeling like he didn’t quite fit in itching at his bones. The latest doorway they followed the shadow through led them to Twilight’s time, the deep gorges surrounding Kakariko distinctive enough to give him a pretty good idea of where they were.

They made their way to the town the next morning, having to stop and camp since they arrived well past sunset. The sight of open gates and even some bustle amongst the townspeople set Twilight at ease, since it was a sign there wasn’t any immediate disaster happening. With that established, the group stopped at the Goron by the side of the road selling potion, then got more bombs before heading over to the sanctuary, hoping Renado would have information for them. 

“Link! It’s a relief to see you right now. Monsters have been gathering in numbers not seen since the invasion.” Renado’s face was shadowed with stress that hadn’t been there the last time he visited.

Twilight nodded, not surprised to hear this was happening but glad there was information to be had so he wasn’t stuck going in circles. There were three groups of monsters gathering it seemed, all about equidistant from the town. Dodongos, fire keese, chus, and strange frog-like creatures which spit fire were gathering within the Goron mines. When Sky perked up at the description of the frog-like creatures, Twilight figured it would be a long day, since monsters he wasn’t familiar with were involved. Then he heard about bokoblins, Deku babas, and a strange horse-lion-like creature gathering on Kakariko’s side of North Hyrule Field. And in the South Field, guay, kargarocks, and araflos seemed to be gathering. 

Renado asked if they had booked rooms in the Elde Inn for the night, and upon finding out they hadn’t stopped by yet, left to make arrangements, dodging any talk of payment with his calm, quiet refusal to talk about it until they gave in and went back to planning out how to deal with the monsters. Sky said the creatures new to Twilight in the mines were called froaks. Legend pulled out his ice rod and called first shot at the fire monsters, Four and Warriors both opting to join in with Legend’s group. Wild insisted he be in charge of the Lynel on the northern field portion and Hyrule was quick to join him, with Wind joining in after learning that the northern field was the biggest battlefield of the three. Twilight reminded him not to hurt vital infrastructure, but winked after to let him know he wouldn’t complain about a little burnt grass.

Which left Sky, Time and himself to tackle the southern field portion. They agreed to meet back at the town when they were finished and split off so they weren’t burning daylight. Twilight left Epona in the inn’s stable, making sure to give her a sugarcube before he left, since she clearly deserved a treat for dealing with the others in the group. They moved on past the narrow canyon opening that acted as a bottleneck into and out of the town, and soon arrived in Southern Hyrule Field.

“So, how many rupees ya wanna bet we can be done first?” Twilight threw his arms back behind his head at the words, wondering if the others would take the bait.

Time and Sky didn’t answer with words, but the sudden gleam he could see in both their eyes told him they were in on the game. With that said, they soon figured out a system where Time would use his hookshot and Twilight his boomerang to bring down airborne enemies for Sky to unleash that glowy sword beam on. With this method of taking down half a dozen in a shot, they’d finished by lunch time and were making their way back to Kakariko, Twilight being able to delightedly point out places he’d found a golden bug or two along the way to Sky, who’d gotten out a ridiculously huge bug net.They entered town and the sounds of the sacred spring gave Twilight an idea.

“Say, have either of you fellas ever been to a hot spring?” He could feel a smile trying tug at his list and stubbornly kept it at bay.

 Time’s eye lit up, and his ears perked ever so slightly, while Sky put a finger to his chin, thinking for a moment.

“Is that like a hot bath?” 

Twilight grinned at the confusion radiating from the Skyloftian knight. “You, my friend, are about to be in for a treat.”

“So Kakariko has hot springs in your time? That’s a far cry from what they had in my day, and I haven’t had a chance to visit hot springs since my return to Hyrule.”

“You’re probably thinking of old Kakariko— wait what do you mean return to Hyrule?” 

Time simply smiled in that purposefully frustrating way of his, choosing to act like a skull kid and say nothing else on the matter. But Twilight couldn’t bring himself to be angry, not when they had hot springs to enjoy!

They walked into the Elde Inn and the innkeeper perked up upon seeing Twilight, letting him know that the top floor was theirs for the night and Renado had already taken care of it. Twilight asked about towels and was told they were waiting in the rooms. He took his companions upstairs and they chose a room to drop their stuff inside, each of them stripping down to just pants and grabbing a towel on the way out. Quick rinses to get off the remaining monster blood and grime were done at the indoor bath area.They got to the dirt path outside the inn that lead to the hot spring up top and Twilight couldn’t help the grin that split his face at the prospect of getting to spend some quality time in the delightful spring, sharing the relaxing experience with his ancestor, and particularly at watching Sky’s reaction.

They finally made it to the shallow dip that made up the inn’s hot springs. The Gorons that usually spent the day in the hotspring were nowhere to be found. The stones that curved and sloped gently from years of people sitting on them looked oh so inviting, and oh there was a layer of gravel lining the bottom of the spring, that was new. He shucked his pants off, setting them in a pile by his towel, before eagerly stepping into the water, knowing it was going to be warm and yet still a little surprised at just how warm the water was. He began walking across the bottom of the pool, finding the shifting gravel under his bare feet felt strangely soft in the hot water, the sensation new and not unwelcome.

“C’mon in! The water’s perfect.” 

Time was already putting his neatly folded towel and pants off to the side, making his way into the water, closing his eye and sighing in appreciation as he did so. “Oh how I’ve missed this. Getting to soak these bones is quite the unexpected treat.”

 Twilight beamed at his ancestor though his eye was still closed, happy that his suggestion was going over well, then turned to look at Sky, who was staring at the pool with wide eyes.

“Woah! There's steam coming off the water! It’s so hard to get that at the academy. Karene always uses all the hot water.” despite his grumbles Sky now had a smile on his face as he cautiously dipped a toe in the water, letting out a little gasp of surprise at the temperature, before slowly shuffling into the water a little bit at a time, stopping between each gradual descent.

As for himself, Twilight found the spot on the ledge where the shadows from the surrounding cliffs fell juuuust so, leaving him able to lean back, with his arms on the side behind him, sunshine pooling over the bit of his chest not in the water, yet his face staying in cool shadow. He let a sigh of contentment leave him once he settled. This was a welcome change from the constant fights and stress and secrets. Here, he could simply let his worries melt away for a bit, sharing this small treat with people he couldn’t help but admire after the time they’d spent in battle together.

There was a swish next to him in the water, and he peeked from under his lashes to find Sky settling in next to him, still wiggling his hands in the water as though he could barely believe that this entire pool was delightfully warm and would continue to remain so. Time had adopted a similar position to Twilight, though he’d simply turned his head so that his good eye was facing away from the sun, his prominent nose probably helping to offer shade from the angle he was at. Twilight laughed a little internally at the thought, then shifted to be a little deeper in the water, letting the warmth and weightless feeling wash away even his thoughts.

—

The sun moved in the sky, a breeze came and went, and the sunlight was in Twilight’s face now, yet he didn’t move because his current position was so comfortable. Then a shadow crossed his vision, along with the sounds of leather tapping on stone. 

He looked up, only to meet the scowling face of Legend. Sky was snoring softly next to him, head slumped against the stone behind them. He lifted an arm that felt as though it was filled with Chu jelly, giving Legend a lazy wave.

“Really! That’s all you have to say after leaving us to do all the work, Rancher?” 

He could practically see the steam pouring out of Legend’s ears. He quirked a quizzical brow in response.

“We’ve been fighting stupid monster reinforcements all day! And we finally get back only to find out you’ve been up here relaxing for hours!”

“T’wern’t any reinforcem’ts in the group we ‘ad,” Twilight forced out past sleepy lips.

Legend got red in the face, his foot tapping faster and faster in irritation, before he seemed to deflate, and Twilight’s mind couldn’t help comparing him to a bunny who had flopped over after his stomping didn’t get him more food.

“Why don’t you shower off an’ come join us, vet?” 

Legend paused, then nearly ran back down the stone path towards the inn, and soon enough there was a fourth body sliding into the water, Legend’s hair pulled back into a small tail to keep it from touching the liquidr.

Soon enough there were nine boys in the hotspring, all too tired from a day of protecting the kingdom they held dear to talk, but enjoying the break and the presence of the others all the same.

Twilight heaved an internal sigh and pulled himself away from the sweet call of the water, toweling off and putting on pants, moving towards the inn to see about getting dinner sorted, so that Wild would be able to take a break as well.

[d0xxingcl0wn]

CHOICE - Tim Wright x Reader

CHAPTER 1

Chapter 2

----

WARNING: Home Invasion, Graphic Violence, Attempted Murder, Use of Weapons, Mild Profanity Noun: Invasion - an unwelcome intrusion into another's domain Words: 3071

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The crunch of leaves underfoot marked each step I took. Cold air bit at my exposed skin and seeped through my clothes. The sharp scent of damp earth and raw vegetation clung to me, tainted by a faint trace of cigarette ash. Overhead, the moon cast broken beams of light through the trees, illuminating my unfamiliar path in scattered fragments. The stars were hidden behind long branches heavy with lush green leaves. My crowbar dragged behind me, my grip loose on the cold metal, eyes fixed on the ground ahead.

An annoying headache mocked me, making the journey even more unbearable. If I'd known any better, I might have turned back and dug myself a grave just to escape the pounding in my skull. But I bit the inside of my cheek and kept pushing forward.

I lifted my crowbar and slung it over my shoulder. My gaze dropped to my feet, watching every root and fern I stepped on. Maybe I did it to avoid the monotonous sight of overgrown bushes and weeds—or maybe to avoid the moonlight that stabbed at my eyes. Not that I could think straight anyway; the migraine was too unbearable to form a coherent thought. I let out a low groan and brought a hand to my face, rubbing my eyes hard with both thumbs.

After what felt like hours of trudging through the dark, the distant rumble of engines began to cut through the silence. It was faint at first—just a low, rhythmic growl—but it grew steadily louder. I knew I was close to the highway. The forest thinned out around me, the trees growing sparser and more brittle, as if they, too, were retreating from civilization. Cracked pavement peeked through the underbrush, and the air started to smell faintly of rubber and exhaust.

I pushed past a final wall of bushes and stepped onto a patch of short, dew-dampened grass. In the pale moonlight, I looked left, then right—an old habit, even though the road was nearly empty.

Wasting no time, I approached the edge of the highway, slipping my free hand into my pocket. I swung one leg over the rusted railing, then the other, and stepped onto the blacktop. The road stretched out wide and silent, lit only by occasional passing headlights. Luckily, it was late—too late for much traffic. Still, I kept alert as I crossed, my pace quickening with each step. The soles of my boots scuffed against the rough surface until I finally reached the other side.

There, a tangle of side roads sprawled outward like veins, quiet and uninviting. I pulled a crumpled scrap of paper from my pocket, reading the jagged handwriting under the dim glow of a distant streetlight. Just an address—barely legible, almost like a dare. I tucked it back into the depths of my jacket and moved forward.

Mailboxes lined the roadside like sentinels, each one labeled with names I didn't recognize. I followed them down a narrow lane, my eyes scanning every driveway and house number, waiting for something—anything—to match what was written on that paper.

A worn-out mailbox stood at the edge of the driveway, leaning slightly to one side like it had been forgotten by time. The chipped paint and crooked numbers made me pause. Just to be sure, I pulled out the crumpled slip of paper again and compared the address scrawled in ink to the one printed faintly on the side of the mailbox. A perfect match.

I gave a slight nod—maybe to myself, maybe to no one. Just a small ritual of acknowledgment. I had found the place.

The mailbox creaked as I opened it. Inside, a handful of envelopes sat untouched. I flipped through them, noting the name printed on each one. Only one name. No "Mr. and Mrs." No roommates. No family initials. Just one occupant—alone.

I glanced up at the house beyond the mailbox. No bikes in the yard. No toys scattered on the porch. No leash, no dog bowl, no barking from inside. It was quiet—eerily quiet. The grass was short but patchy, the porch light flickering faintly as if it hadn't been changed in years.

A solitary life. Isolated. Predictable. Easy.

I slid the mail back in, shut the box, and stepped back onto the cracked path leading up to the door. My hand tightened around the crowbar at my side.

Tonight, would be simple.

I reached for the front door, easing the screen open without a sound. Locked. Predictable.

I scoffed under my breath and stepped off the porch, circling toward the tall wooden fence that wrapped around the backyard. The moonlight barely touched the yard, and the overgrown bushes lining the property provided decent cover. I tried the gate—unlatched. Too easy.

I slipped through and quietly shut it behind me. The curtains on the back windows were drawn tight, giving me cover. No need to crawl or crouch; the fence was tall enough to keep me hidden from curious neighbors or passing headlights.

I moved across the yard, each step deliberate. The grass was soft underfoot, slightly damp with dew. At the back door, I wrapped my fingers around the handle, already preparing to wedge the crowbar into the frame if I had to.

But to my surprise, the knob turned.

The door swung inward, just enough to throw me off balance. I stumbled, catching myself with a quiet grunt as I crossed the threshold.

I paused. Listened.

Nothing.

The house was silent.

I pulled the door shut behind me and stood there for a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the dim interior. The smell of dust and stale air hung in the space—untouched, undisturbed. I tightened my grip on the crowbar, feeling its cool weight in my hand.

I was in.

I moved through the kitchen with careful, deliberate steps, placing each foot lightly on the tile to avoid even the smallest creak. The clutter on the counters—dirty dishes, an open cereal box, an old coffee mug—meant nothing to me. I wasn't here to clean up, and I wasn't staying long enough to care.

The house was small. No second floor, no dining room—just a tight cluster of rooms wedged together like an afterthought. I stepped into the living room. Sparse furniture, outdated carpet. My eyes landed on a pair of rifles mounted in a glass case above the fireplace.

Noted.

I glanced over the back of the couch to make sure the resident wasn't there. The cushions were sunken and stained, but otherwise undisturbed. No threats. No need to linger.

A narrow hallway stretched ahead, ending in two doors. One stood wide open, revealing a plain bathroom—clean enough, nothing unusual. I walked past it, toward the second door.

The bedroom.

I turned the knob slowly, pushing the door inward with the tips of my fingers. The room was dim, the curtains drawn tight, no lamps left on. I stepped inside, quietly pulling the door shut behind me. The air was still. Heavy. A faint scent of detergent and something older—dust, maybe, or sweat—clung to the air.

My eyes adjusted slowly, pulling shapes out of the darkness. A bed sat near the center of the room. Sheets rumpled. A shape under the blanket.

I tightened my grip on the crowbar.

For a moment, I considered waiting. Just standing there in the dark, watching them breathe, letting the moment stretch until fear did half the work for me. I could wake them. Make it personal. Make it slow.

But the migraine pressing behind my eyes reminded me otherwise. I just wanted to be done. To go home.

I raised the crowbar over my shoulder, adjusting my stance. My other hand found its grip, steadying the weight.

One breath in. One breath out.

Then I swung.

The impact was... wrong. No sickening crunch. No muffled squelch. Just a soft thud. A hollow one. The resistance was all fabric and pillow stuffing.

I froze.

They weren't in the bed.

They knew I was here.

The metallic click of a gun cocking echoed behind me, freezing every muscle in my body.

I didn't move.

A bead of sweat slipped down my temple beneath the suffocating heat of the plastic mask. My breaths came slow, quiet, deliberate. I closed my eyes for a second and listened — to the silence, to the tension, to the threat breathing down my neck.

"Drop the damn crowbar," a voice said — calm, firm, and close.

Not panicked. Not trembling.

My target had a steady hand.

I hesitated, running through the options in my head. I could lunge. Maybe. Close the gap. Hope they hesitated, flinched, misfired. But judging by their tone, their stance, the fact that I hadn't heard a single shuffle from the closet until now... they were ready. I'd get a bullet before I got a chance.

Slowly, I opened my hand. The crowbar slipped from my grip and hit the floor with a sharp metallic clang. I didn't flinch.

"Turn around. Now."

That voice — still no fear. Just command. Assertive. Like someone who'd made up their mind.

I stepped back once, then pivoted on my heel.

And there they were. Standing across the room, gun pointed square at my chest.

I scanned them quickly — calm eyes, steady breathing. I followed their gaze and saw it then: the blanket shoved awkwardly against the closet door. That's where they'd hidden. They'd waited.

I clenched my jaw. I should've checked. I should've scouted the whole damn room.

They stepped forward cautiously, keeping the gun trained on me as they reached for the wall. The overhead light snapped on with a harsh click, washing the room in a sudden yellow glare.

I groaned, squinting through the brightness. My eyes took a moment to adjust, the mask only making it worse. But I forced myself to look. To focus.

I studied their face.

And for the first time at all... I saw the same thing they saw when they looked at me:

Someone prepared to kill.

1.1 - Your POV

I gripped the gun tightly; finger curled hard around the trigger. My breathing was heavy, loud in my own ears. God damn it—someone really broke into my house.

And tried to kill me.

The muzzle stayed trained on his chest. One twitch, and I could end this. A clean shot. A fast one.

"What the hell are you doing in my house?" I demanded, voice low but firm I didn't yell. I didn't need to.

Sure, my hands trembled slightly, a fine shake I couldn't control—but I was allowed that. I was standing across from a masked intruder with blood under his nails. Fear wasn't weakness. It was survival.

He didn't answer. Just stared. Eyes narrowed. That silence made my skin crawl.

I kept the gun steady and let my gaze sweep over him, taking in everything I could.

He was tall—maybe six feet, give or take. Broad-shouldered. His hair was dark and cut short, just brushing the tops of his ears, with rough sideburns framing the edge of his face. The mask covered most of his features, plastic and expressionless, making it impossible to read his intentions.

He wore a dull, orange-brown jacket—thick, utility-style, something you'd wear to keep warm on cold nights. It hung heavy on his frame, creased and worn. His jeans were either deep blue or black, hard to tell in this lighting, but there were stains near the bottom. Mud, maybe worse. His boots were black, scuffed at the toe, thick-soled.

His hands caught my attention next.

Big. Rough. Blood crusted under his fingernails. But they didn't shake.

He wasn't scared.

And that terrified me more than the gun in my own hands.

I didn't lower my weapon. Not an inch.

My arms ached, my fingers numb from how tightly I was holding the gun, but I kept my stance solid. He moved—a slow, deliberate shift—and raised one hand in a universal gesture: wait.

My finger twitched on the trigger. Then, he began to crouch. Not fast, not threatening. Just enough to keep my nerves stretched taut like piano wire. His other hand reached for the crowbar on the floor, fingers brushing the handle.

I didn't wait to see what he'd do next.

I fired.

The shot cracked through the room like a whip, and the recoil jolted up my arms. The muzzle flash lit his figure for a split second. The bullet slammed into the red metal of the crowbar just as his hand gripped it.

Sparks scattered. Metal screamed.

He jerked his hand back with a hiss, instinctively recoiling as the crowbar skidded across the wood with a harsh scrape, landing several feet away—well out of reach. Smoke curled from the barrel of my gun. I didn't speak. I didn't blink.

He looked at me then—not just a glance, but something deeper. Measuring. Reassessing. Maybe for the first time, he was second-guessing himself.

Good.

"In less than five minutes, the cops will be here to drag your sorry ass out of my house," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady, strong. I squared my shoulders, widened my stance—tried to make myself look like more than I felt.

"You better pray they don't bury you in a cell for the rest of your pathetic life."

Still, he said nothing. His silence was louder than any threat. Calculated. Controlled. Not the behavior of a panicked rookie. My brow tightened. Something felt wrong.

Then he looked. Just a quick flick of the eyes—toward the window.

My instinct betrayed me. I followed his gaze. And that was all he needed.

He lunged.

I barely had time to react before the full weight of his body slammed into mine. The air shot from my lungs in a single burst as I crashed hard onto the wooden floor. The gun flew from my hand, clattering somewhere to the side—out of reach for both of us.

I struggled, but he was already on top of me. One of his hands gripped my wrist, slamming it against the floor. The other pinned my arm at the elbow. I thrashed beneath him, legs kicking, but he hooked his knees around mine and locked us into place. Pain shot through my back—sharp, hot, blooming from where my spine met the floor. I gritted my teeth to keep from crying out.

"Get the hell off me!" I spat, voice ragged, pushing every ounce of strength into resisting.

He didn't speak. He didn't need to. His mask stared down at me—blank, emotionless, inhuman.

But his eyes...

His eyes were focused. Cold. Like this was just business to him. My heart thundered in my chest. This was turning fast. Too fast.

My heart thundered in my chest. This was turning fast. Too fast.

His knee pressed into my thigh, pinning me down with a precision that made it clear—this wasn't his first time doing something like this.

The floor was cold against the back of my arms. I could feel each grain of the wood digging into my skin as I writhed underneath him, breath coming out in sharp, ragged gasps. Sweat stung my eyes. I blinked through it, trying to shift my weight—anything to buck him off.

His grip on my wrists tightened, and I heard the faint creak of my joints under the pressure. My own hands were starting to go numb. I gritted my teeth, biting back the scream clawing its way up my throat.

Somewhere nearby, the gun lay silent and useless—too far, maybe two feet, maybe ten. Might as well have been on the moon.

I twisted, arching my back, trying to throw him off-balance. He adjusted instantly, shifting his weight like a boulder falling into place. I felt the impact of his elbow against my ribs—hard, but controlled. A warning.

"Get. Off," I growled again, more animal now than anything human.

He didn't flinch.

His eyes, just visible behind the eyeholes of that plastic mask, never left mine. They weren't wild or angry or even excited. They were empty. Calculating.

I could feel the heat radiating off him, the damp musk of sweat and something else—metallic. Like rust. Like old blood.

The house around us felt quieter than it had ever been. Like the world itself was holding its breath. No cars outside. No wind. Just the sound of us—my sharp breaths, the creak of the floor beneath our bodies, the thudding in my ears like a war drum.

I had no idea what he was waiting for.

He was just starting. No narrow in his eyes. Maybe his eyes softened ever so slightly. Maybe the pain was just too much for me.

Maybe he was deciding whether to kill me.

Maybe he just liked watching people struggle.

I tried to flip our positions—wrenched my torso, kicked at his legs—but we both knew I wasn't getting anywhere. The pain in my back blazed like fire. It stole my strength. I could barely hold myself up, let alone overpower him.

I grunted. Thrashed. Pulled at his arms. Pushed at his chest. But his grip was iron.

The sudden sound of sirens—distant, but growing—pierced through the chaos. My ears perked up. Hope cracked through the haze of panic. They were close. Close enough to matter. His head snapped toward the bedroom door. Then to the window. And then... he looked back at me.

His hands moved fast—too fast for me to react. They wrapped around my throat, fingers pressing hard. Crushing. No warning. No hesitation. My mouth opened in a desperate gasp, but no air came. The world narrowed. Everything tunneled into that pressure. I clawed at his wrists, nails digging into skin. I could feel his pulse under my fingertips. I scratched deeper, trying to draw blood, to hurt him. But he didn't flinch.

The sirens were louder now. Tires screeched somewhere outside. A car door slammed. Footsteps. Yelling.

The front door crashed open.

He moved in a blur—releasing my throat just long enough to slam my head against the floor. The impact exploded behind my eyes. Light and sound blurred. My vision splintered like broken glass. A sharp, metallic taste filled my mouth.

I barely registered him standing, grabbing something—my gun?—and shoving it into his coat.

"Fucking bastard," he muttered, low and bitter.

I heard the scrape of the window lifting. Cold air rushed in. My fingers twitched, trying to push myself upright, but my head felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. The crowbar scraped against the wood floor as he scooped it up. Then... silence. One last thump. He was gone.

Just then, the bedroom door burst open—too late.

Boots stormed in. Flashlights. Shouts. But the room was already empty of him.

I tried to speak—tried to say something, anything—but only a croak came out. The police surrounded me, one of them dropping to his knees beside me, shouting into his radio.

I blinked slowly, vision swimming.

He got away.

[nshi-ao3]

I was just scrolling through your blog, as one does, and something you had mentioned really struck me. In an off-hand comment you had referred to Ren as a war vet.

And like.. breaking down the actual events of the game it’s really like damn, the warrior of light is a certified soldier at multiple points of the story. I always contemplate over the “hero” aspect of the wol (and all the trauma that alone brings) but thinking about Joker in the context of war itself is kinda nuts.

TLDR: I love that you used that term cause LETS TALK ABOUT IT !!

Excited to see what terrifying things you have cooking up for Stormblood :3

Oh man, yeah the poor WoL ends up in SO many armed military conflicts… The initial defence of Eorzea against Garlemald, the Dragonsong War, Baelsar's Wall, the liberation of Doma, the liberation of Ala Mhigo, the Ghimlyt Dark, the Eulmoran offensive on the Crystarium… And things in Garlemald itself originally start off as a counter-invasion before shifting to a humanitarian mission! And that’s all just the MSQ, there’s even more with side content— Dalmasca and Bozja and Werlyt…. Probably some others I’m forgetting at the moment haha…

So yeah! Poor Joker, 19, never fucking learned how to read* here is very much a traumatized war vet by the end of it all... And he just wanted to go on a summer road trip!! :( But I suppose he can’t not involve himself— he’s the sort who would never forgive himself if he could help others but chose not to. “To ignore the plight of those one might conceivably save is not wisdom, it is indolence” as Louisoix would say. No wonder he fits right in with the Scions despite it all! It’s also no wonder he learns to cling so tightly to the people he loves hahaha…

(*he’s getting there! His Common has already improved a lot :P)

[blluesiide]

happy pride month!! special pride drabble with ftm!Spencer who is getting testosterone for the first time! let me know if you're interested in more :)

Spencer didn't like doctors offices. Partially due to his distain for germs, but also because they made him nervous. For years he hated being faced with the check in papers, those two boxes labeled 'male' and 'female'.

Thankfully, things were different now. The clipboards traded in for sterilized tablets, the boxes including a multitude of other identities, and pronouns. He was buzzing, nervous and excited to finally take the next step in his transition. He dreamed of days where he could walk into the office with scruff along his jaw, and could even hear Morgan's teasing voice calling him pretty boy. He smiles to himself, and blinks, bringing him back to the conversation currently happening, the discussion on how the testosterone will be administered.

The word 'needle' leaves a sour taste in his mouth, a burning in his throat and an ache in the deepest part of his arm. It's then that he feels it, your hand warm, gentle on his forearm, a guiding light pulling him out of the depths of his memory. He sees Tobias in his mind. Smells the dirt of the cemetery. Forces himself to look at you, to focus. He swallows, and before he can even open his mouth, you're right there, voice as steady as ever, "Is there another way to administer the HRT that is less invasive?"

He takes a breath, chest feeling a little lighter. The doctor concurs, discussing the logistics and side effects of pills, or a cream. Spencer knows he wants the cream.

Once you leave the office, bound for the pharmacy, Spencer feels like screaming. Maybe running a lap. He's a bundle of nerves, but he's so, so excited. He knows logistically he won't feel different the second it's applied, but he also thinks that he will. He holds your hand tight and you squeeze back, just as steady.

The first application is delicate. You ask him if he wants you in the room, and he says yes. Of course he does. It's quiet, anticipatory as he removes his shirt, applies the cream in the spot the doctor told him to. He wears gloves, pressing the gel into his skin and massaging it gently. When it's on, he catches himself in the mirror, and it hits him. He feels like himself. The realization causes tears to well in his eyes, and he removes the gloves, sniffling as he blinks hard.

It's then that he catches sight of you in the background, eyes just as glassy, a warm smile on your face. He swallows, lips parting but he doesn't even need to speak. You're at his side in an instant, crushing him in a hug that draws a soft, happy cry from his lips. You're carefully avoiding the area the cream was applied to, so the angle is a little weird, but he'll take it. He loves you, and you love him, and he's so, so happy.

You murmur against his temple "Spencer, I love you." And he lets out a wet laugh, "I know!" He replies, and it makes you laugh. "I love you!" He says, wiping at his eyes as you back up to cup his cheeks, thumbs swiping over tear streaked dimples. He knows the road might be bumpy, but he's ready to walk down it, especially with you by his side.

[impala-dreamer]

Crazy On You

A Tale from The MCU

~ On a trip up state, things get a little spicy when the rumble of Bucky's engine gets you going...~

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

2,158 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Exhibitionism (Sex in a Public Place), Oral, Fingering, Sexy Stuff. 

A/N: For @feelmyroarrrr... I pictured Bucky from FATWS, but you can put this anywhere you'd like ;) - Also, I published this in Feb 2024, before we got Bucky in the Thunderbolts trailer, so I thought it was time to bring it over here finally lol

Wind is whipping around you with hurricane force, stinging as it hits your exposed cheeks. It prickles your skin and sweeps the hair off of your neck. It’s cold and invasive, but it feels good as the summer sun beats down upon your shoulders. The wind and heat fight for dominance and your body is the battleground. 

A bump in the road jerks your spine and you lean forward, arms tightening around Bucky’s waist. He’s steering the motorcycle with expert precision, but he’s no match for the pothole-marred blacktop of New York State. Another dip makes you gasp and he cocks his head back a bit, yelling over the wind. 

“You OK back there?” 

You give him a squeeze and press your chin to his shoulder. The metal beneath his leather jacket gives you pause, but it doesn’t bother you- it’s just another reminder of how remarkable he is. 

“I’m great!” you holler back. “But this road sucks!” 

He smiles into the wind and leans slightly to the left, following the curve of the road. The Sawmill River Parkway is treacherous and exciting. 

“Well, hold on, Doll,” he warns. “It only gets worse!”

The road winds around and back again, dodging towns and skirting the edge of the Hudson River as it leads them out of the city. Skyscrapers and brownstones give way to long stretches of trees and the bright green blurs in your peripheral. 

As you drive, arms clasped around his firm body, your thoughts begin to drift. The engine is roaring and the thin seat vibrates between your legs, setting off an array of images in your mind. You clench your thighs as the Bucky revs the motor, hold your breath as you feel the strong muscles in his back tense against your chest. Slowly, you unclutch your right hand and snake it up to lay flat against his heart. His heart is pounding; his body firm and warm. You close your eyes and let your fingers glide downwards, coveting the dips of his abs. Your mouth waters as you envision running your tongue over every bump. 

The road swerves and you hang on; centrifugal force and Bucky’s strong body keeping you in place while the bike leans to the right. Your nails dig into the soft gray fabric of his tee and he shivers. You can feel it as strongly as you can feel the vibrations through your jeans. 

He picks up speed, easily overtaking the white Mazda to your left. You let out a laugh and turn to watch the darkened windshield fade into the background. There’s nothing that can catch you now. No government agency giving chase in an SUV behind you; no preternatural force pinning for your blood beyond the cliff to your right. There’s nothing but the sun and the wind and the soaking arousal between your legs. 

You pass another car and your body starts to shake. Every rev, every bump, every tiny oscillation of the engine makes your pussy throb. The bike seems connected to you- it turns, you ease to the side with it. It screams, your body aches. It creeps over the jagged road top, your blood zings.

“Fuck!”

Bucky tenses at your shout, hands tightening on the handlebars. He holds steady.

“What's going on?” His voice is drenched in concern, evident even over the howl of the traffic.

“Nothing.”

You brush him off but he doesn't believe you. Something lies hidden in your voice and the way your fingers keep curling against his stomach tells him there's trouble. 

He growls your name through a clenched jaw. “Y/N…”

As a shudder of pleasure whips down your body, you lean into his back and press your lips to his ear.

“I'm good! But we should pull over soon…”

Before he can solicit more information, you drag a hand down his stomach and cup his jeans.

The bike swings a bit to the right.

Bucky clears his throat, gives his head a little shake to clear his mind.

“Hang on!”

A sign ahead tells of a scenic overlook two miles down the road, but you’re not sure you can make it. The rumbling has taken over any bit of nervousness from racing down the parkway on the back of a bike, and all you want to do is get his hands on you. 

The bike picks up speed and passes a black Camry. 

The trees have grown more dense so far from The Bronx and the stench of a hot summer day has long ago died away. 

Your desire is so intense that it’s taking all your strength to hold on, to not nibble at his ear or reach inside his tight jeans. He needs to concentrate even if you can’t. He needs to focus on the road even if your focus is on the heartbeat pulsing in your cunt. He needs to stay sharp even if your eyes are blurry and the scenery is sliding by like thinned paint dripping down a canvas. 

Finally, he signals and takes the exit, following a giant blue sign towards the rest area. 

Black top gives way to gravel; the noisy traffic fades away. Bucky pulls into a spot cliffside and cuts the engine. There’s a momentary shock as your ears try to readjust to the quiet, and then you hear his gruff voice and all is well. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, dropping the kickstand and moving to get up. “You OK?” 

Teeth stuck in your bottom lip, you watch him dismount, dragging your gaze down over his solid frame. His shirt is terribly tight; the leather jacket formed spectacularly around his muscular arms and shoulders. The jeans are soft and bite into him in all the ways you crave to.

“Oh, I’m good…”

There’s a sparkle in your eyes that makes him smirk. “Really? Ya seem a little… worked up.” 

Your mouth waters for him and you squirm over the leather seat, ready to attack. “Very.” 

Bucky grins and presses his tongue between his front teeth. You feel the urge to taste it and carefully climb off of the ride. 

“Very, huh?” He takes a breath and looks around. The outlook is clear; prying eyes are nowhere around. “You couldn’t have waited till we got upstate? We have a room, ya know.” 

All thoughts besides getting your lips on him are gone and your vision narrows in on your target. You lunge forward and pray he’ll keep his balance and not send you both tumbling into the river. 

His footing is sure. His arms are strong and his kiss is unforgiving. 

“Fuck, I need you so bad,” you moan, sunshine hitting your face as his tongue sweeps over your pulse. His teeth scrape the delicate skin of your throat and you claw at his shoulder. “Need you now!”

A hard shove to his chest knocks him back half a step and you drop to your knees in the dusty gravel. Bucky sucks in a deep breath and turns his back to the parkway. 

“You sure about this?” he asks, shooting a glance over his shoulder. Cars speed past in the distance, no one the wiser. 

You tugged at his belt. “So sure…”

One leather end flaps to the left. 

The buckle dangles over his thick thigh.

You fumble with the zipper and there's a hiss from above as Bucky fears for his manhood. Quickly, he closes his hand over yours and takes over, saving himself as you stare, drooling and impatient.

“You’re certainly all worked up, Doll,” he teases, licking his lip as you stare up in utter submission, silently begging for his cock. 

“Aren’t you? That ride… the engine… the-” 

A gasp cuts you off when his dick appears. Bucky pulls it free of his briefs and the sun strikes his velvety skin. He pushes his hips forward slightly and your lips open automatically. Without further invitation, you lean forward and land a wet kiss over the tip. Bucky sucks in a breath and you smile, finally getting what you’ve been dying for. 

You flick your tongue over his slit and then drag it slowly down, wetting his quickly growing shaft. 

“Fuck, Y/N/N… feels so good.” 

You look up with bright eyes and bob your partially opened mouth over his swelling head. Bucky’s upper lip quivers and he sneers with escalating desire. He dips his chin and smiles softly. A delicate finger sweeps over your forehead and curls around your ear. He urges you forward and you comply, sliding your lips down his cock. You can feel him harden on your tongue, taste the salty tang of him, smell his summer musk. It drives you wild and you swallow around him, wanting to savor every drop. 

“Damn it…” Bucky rolls his hips and your eyes flutter back. “You’re a needy little cocksucker, aren’t you?” 

Your mumbled response makes him moan and you pull back with a wet pop. 

He shakes his head teasingly and lays his metal hand on the nape of your neck. “Don’t stop.” 

The cold metal makes you shiver as he guides you back down. His touch is easy but you can feel the pent up force. He holds back with you, gentle but boiling with power. There’s never any fear when you’re with him, never a reason to think, even when he’s grabbing at your tits or fucking you on the vibranium, that he’ll do you any harm. Maybe a bruise or two, but it’s never something you don’t ask for. 

He sets the pace, jerking his hips and pushing at your head in rhythmic succession. Drool spills down your chin, puddling on the gravel beneath your knees. The sun beats down, hot and wonderful. Traffic flows in the distance, clouds drift overhead. 

Bucky fists your hair and snaps his hips, burying his cock down your throat. You gag and claw at his muscular thighs as his seed floods your mouth. He groans loudly as he comes and it echoes off the cliff like a roar in the jungle.

Before you can swallow it all, he’s got you on your feet, dragging you to standing and crushing you against his chest. He paws at your tits and locks his metal arm behind your back, holding you steady. 

“Bucky…” 

He kisses away your words, driving his tongue deep between your lips. He can taste himself there and it stirs his desire again. You can feel him push against your belly and your pussy leaks for him. 

“Please…”

Again, he shoves his tongue into your mouth, silencing your cries while snaking his free hand into your jeans. He pops the button without hesitation and eases his way into your panties. You’re already soaked and he hums at the feeling as your wet heat spreads over his fingers. 

His cold fingers splay open across your back and your body goes weak, cradled by his touch, safe from falling. 

He touches you with expert precision, jabbing two fingers deep into your cunt while his thumb rubs circles over your clit. You hold your breath, afraid to scream with pleasure and alert any passersby. Bucky doesn’t seem to care if you’re found out, and does his best to pull moan after moan from your swollen lips. 

“That’s it,” he whispers, staring down into your glazed eyes. “Gonna come for me like a good girl, yeah?” 

You manage a nod as he crooks his finger against your g spot. 

“Out here in the open where anyone could see.” 

“Yes…” 

Your voice is as shaky as your legs and the pressure of his hand increases. Pleasure swells inside and he can feel your body pulsing. 

“There you go, Doll.” He rubs faster, fucks a little harder. “Let go and come for me.” 

It hits like a crack of lightning and Bucky holds you steady, fucking you through the crest of your orgasm and sucking down your cry. He licks at your lips, caresses your aching cunt, hums in amazed approval. 

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, slowly removing his hand from your jeans. 

You grab his hand, still shuddering from the bliss, and tug his fingers to your mouth. He bites his lip, watching with darkening blue eyes as you lick him clean. 

“Goddammit, we gotta get to that hotel soon.”

You laugh and let his hand fall free. “Only a little longer, right?” You blink innocently and brush a finger over his new erection. 

He shivers and pops the tip of his tongue between his teeth, counting the miles till he can get you in bed. 

“If we rush, I can get us there in thirty minutes,” he offers.

Reaching up, you cup your hand around the back of his neck and pull him down for a final kiss. He moans and holds you tighter, wanting more, wanting to rip you apart and have his way. 

You push back after a long moment and wink. 

“Better make it twenty…”

[avocado-writing]

crawling in as per your bg3 request..

astarion with a tav/reader that’s just constantly cold, like shivering a little bit all the time and their hands & feet are just. ice cold

rating: T

pairing: astarion x reader

“Good gods, you’re freezing!” Astarion complains as his hand accidentally brushes yours before it jolts back in shock. You groan. 

“I know.”

“Even more than me, and I’m practically a corpse.”

“Yes, thank you, Astarion,” you mutter through your gritted jaw. You’re having to clench your teeth together in order to prevent them from chattering, although unfortunately you’re having little success. As if in apology your paramour shifts in his cocoon of an embrace around you, bringing you against him tighter.

This is a new level of cold, even for you.

You always run on the chilly side. You can often be found scooted up close to the fire when you make camp, or tucked in the corner of your tent with extra blankets on top of your bedroll. It’s always been bearable, a bit funny, even - something to joke about with your travelling party - but that was until you got to the Shadow Lands. 

You haven’t been able to feel your fingers or toes for days. It’s torture. The sun doesn’t shine in this place so of course there’s no warmth. You can get a good night of sleep at Last Light Inn where Isobel’s magic keeps it at bay, but on the road? Well, there’s no hope. You’re reduced to a shivering wreck. 

Though Astarion complains, he has been trying to help you where he can. Right now he’s holding you in his arms, attempting to warm you up with his nonexistent body heat. Acting as if the pair of you are just normal lovers and not two weirdos thrown together by fate while attempting to stop a mindflayer invasion. 

A scant few weeks ago he’d have been offering to warm you up in a rather more physical way; with him buried inside of you, lips ghosting your neck, hands on whatever willing flesh he could find. But your relationship has changed, now. Evolved. Become something more, something solid and real. He’s not so eager to dive beneath the covers - at least like that - and you wouldn’t ask him to. You’ll give him all the time he needs. 

It’s nice, what’s happening between the two of you. But at the moment you’re turning every cuddle into a mass of shivering limbs. 

Astarion sighs again. But then he speaks and it’s gentle. 

“You know, you could ask Karlach to come and act as your hot water bottle. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Or maybe that druid, Halsin - he’s been looking at you like he wouldn’t mind cuddling up…”

Though he tries to joke you can tell there’s an undercurrent of self-doubt in there. You harrumph and settle deeper into his arms, opting for a simple retort:

“I don’t want them, I want you.”

You feel him still against you at that unexpected flash of affection. Process it. Then he slowly extricates himself from your grasp. 

A little whine slips from your throat and he pats the top of your head. 

“Now, now. Stay put, pet, and I’ll be right back.”

You grumble but do as you’re bid. He steps out of your tent and you have no choice but to remain as a frozen little ball, foetus-curled and chilled to the bone. It’s a relief when he returns with more blankets and a pot of tea, likely brewed over the fire pit outside. 

“Where did you get—?” you begin to ask, as he tucks the extra bedding around you.

“Well, Gale is fast asleep, he won’t notice he’s missing them until the morning,” Astarion reasons. You laugh, not sure if he’s joking or not, but not really wanting to know the truth - you’re holding onto this even if it was pilfered off the camp’s resident wizard. 

You watch as Astarion pours you both a cup from the little metal teapot. Steam rises soothingly from it, warming up the tent interior. It makes sense he has one for you, of course, but…

“I thought you didn’t like drinking tea,” you say. What you mean is, I thought you didn’t like drinking anything that wasn’t blood. 

“I don’t,” Astarion sighs, but brings the cup to his lips and chugs it down anyway. It must be far too hot to be comfortable, and you’re about to ask what he’s doing - but then he reaches out to untangle your hands from where you have them vice-gripping the edges of your blankets. He folds them in his own, softly and sweetly, then brings them to his mouth where he breathes out a long, slow stream of tea-warmed breath into your palms. 

“Oh, Astarion…” you whisper, finally able to feel your fingers for the first time in days. You feel him smile against your hands. 

“Mmm, I wouldn’t get used to it,” he tells you in a way which suggests he wouldn’t really mind you getting used to it at all. 

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