#i want to spin him in my brain violently | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eccentricallygothic · 1 year ago

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Hey lovely, I just want to say I love your bucky fics and especially dark bucky fics, it just hits the spot and it's so good so keep up the great work love. Now i'm not sure if you're still taking requests if so could you please do one of reader wearing absolutely nothing but bucky's army dog tag and him seeing reader like this makes him go feral.

And if you don't want to that's perfectly fine and i hope you have a great day/night and keep up the great work love 💕

Thank you so much! I am so happy that you like them and I know it's been a hot minute but the way this ask short circuited my brain omg!!!

Warning(s): Dark!Bucky, stockholm syndrome, sir kink, use of makeshift leash, choking, rough p-in-v, power imbalance, m!dom, f!sub, puppy kink, humping, dumbification, cock riding, mention of somnophilia. Browse at your own discretion. Contains dark and mature 18+ content. Minors do not interact.

Bucky was honestly skeptical at first.

As you were still getting used to your new home he knew better than to fully trust you.

But you were just so fucking irresistible and adorable.

Sometimes he didn't know just what to do with you.

"Just trust me, sir!" Your tone was determined but demeanor shy when you had hurriedly pecked his lips and scurried off into the walk-in wardrobe after prying his hands off you.

The night was quite silver with the moon on full display, the inside of your room dimly lit as Bucky took a swig of his chilled after dinner beer.

When you took longer than was comfortable for him doing whatever it was that you were doing, he called out to you.

"Puppy? What's taking so–"

The older man's voice locked in his throat and he had to do a double take when you did appear.

Your cheeks were a bright red as you nibbled on your bottom lip, hips swaying but posture stiff as you came into his view.

Bucky's hand reached for his neck in realization when he noticed the article– the only article on your otherwise nude body.

You sneaky little thing.

He had been so busy and stressed because of his recent mission that he hadn't noticed when you had slipped his dog tags off him.

A small smirk made its way on his face as he felt his cock harden instantly, feeling his head spin a little at the seductive way you leaned against the doorframe of the wardrobe, toying with the chain in as much a sexy manner as you could muster.

Just like that, Bucky made his resolve.

Even if you had been sneaky (and he would definitely have to do something about it to nip it in the bud), it had been to give him a show.

And who was Bucky to refuse you finally coming around and doing something out of your own free will.

Or, at least, as free as it could get given your rather coercive circumstances.

"Come here, puppy" his voice was dark and strained as he held back pouncing on you with all the force in his body and crushing you with the violent passion that was surging like electric currents within his being right now.

He always held back on you for he knew you were far too fragile to take his raw might.

"Y- Yes sir…" You obediently answered like you had been trained to do so as you made your way to your captor and owner.

Bucky bit his lip as he sipped on his drink again, reaching out towards you before he twirled the dog tags around the index finger of his metal arm and gently pulled you in, resuming his earlier position on the bed.

Your breath hitched in your throat as your lips brushed against his. He had brought you in until you were bending over his form. Your heart was starting to thrum.

Excitement. Anxiety. Need.

"Puppy, you naughty, naughty fucking thing" Bucky rasped after making out with you a little.

The older man didn't speak before he pressed his lips onto yours and when he transferred the beer in his mouth to yours, you knew why he hadn't praised you yet.

The drink burnt its way down your throat.

Your nose scrunched a bit at the strong taste of his beer.

You weren't really allowed any adult beverages so they were almost foreign to your taste buds at this point.

"N- Need you, sir~" you were becoming more and more hormonal by the day and the man wasn't complaining.

"Is that why you put up this cute little show, huh? To seduce sir into playing with that sweet little pussy that's always so needy for him?" You couldn't help but lower your head and nod sheepishly, blushing under his dark and hungry gaze. "Aren't you becoming a cute little horndog?"

He couldn't help but smirk at the way you whined under your breath, both aroused and embarrassed.

"Aw, you don't like that, puppy?" He gently tugged at the makeshift leash. "Don't want sir to tease you?" You softly pouted as you shook your head and avoided his gaze. "Awww…" Now his hand wrapped around the rest of the chain and he jerked your head closer. "Then what do you want, puppy?"

"Y- You, sir…" You shyly looked up at him through your lashes although just for a second. "Want– need you… so, so bad."

"How bad, puppy?"

"Very bad, sir…"

He loosened up his grip but didn't let go of the silver chain.

"Get on up here and show me." You didn't need to be told twice.

"Yes sir!" You were eager as you scrambled onto his built thighs, whimpering out a shaky moan when your wet sex exposed itself due to your position and grazed against the material of his pants. "Oh…" A sound too vile for your personal comfort escaped you as you settled yourself on his lap, the upper half of your body being forced to bend towards him due to his hold on the chain.

"You like that, my little baby puppy?" Your mouth was agape as you could only nod, your own thighs trembling as you begin to slowly rub yourself against the grainy fabric of Bucky's pants.

"Love that, sir. Love it so much…" Your hand shakily grasped his metal one that was holding the chain for support, hips increasing their speed with this newfound stability and balance.

"Good puppy… good girl… good fucking girl" Bucky praised as he wrapped his hand around the chain once more, toying with one of your boobs with his other hand. "That's it, babygirl. Just like that… rub that slutty pussy all over my jeans like the desperate little toy that you are."

Fuck, he was too good with his soft, breathy praises as he stared up at you, mouth agape.

Your heavy breaths were restricted next and you could cum right there and then. As the oxygen slowly dissipated from your lungs, your eyes rolled to the back of your head and back arched when he suddenly twisted one of your nipples, eliciting a loud squeak from you.

When he finally let go of your windpipe and eased his hold on the chain, you whined upon coming to your senses when you realized that he'd lifted you off his lap.

You needed him so bad.

He was way too good at fucking you.

Though Bucky quickly shut you up with a wet kiss as he lowered you onto his cock next, remaining his hold on the dog tags all the while.

Your hands were removed from his bicep and metal arm and bound behind your back with his free hand that wasn't guiding you with your makeshift leash.

Bucky loved to restrain you; there was just something so hot seeing you tied up completely helpless at his mercy.

"That's right, fuck yourself on my cock. You look so fucking pretty when you're all dumbed out like a silly little puppy slut up on my cock…" His words had you clenching as you rocked your hips, moaning as loud as you could, shame forgotten and disposed of.

"P- Please…" You begged, too weak and sensitive to increase your pace but in desperate need to do so. "Please, sir… please… Need you… so bad… please…" Bucky tightened the chain one more time, this time not letting go until your flushed face had turned red, veins bulging out against the skin of your temples. "Th- Thank you, sir…" You whispered out like you'd been taught to do so. You were so close. Your head was about to split with emotion and anticipation of what was coming. "... L- Love you so much…" The man froze for a few moments.

He had not taught you that yet.

As oxygen was allowed back in to your brain, you almost halted when you realized that Bucky was quietly staring up at you now and had let go of both the chain as well as your hands.

Your brows furrowed, since you hadn't even realized what you had just confessed. "W- What's–"

But the man beat you to it.

Before you could ponder over it and possibly change your mind.

Bucky had tackled you onto your back.

The movement caused his thick cock to bang all the way inside your cavern, causing stars to appear in your vision.

"I love you more, puppy." Trapping both your hands above your head like he had done you -mind and body-, he resumed his hold on the dog tags and began pounding into you like an actual animal.

You best believe he did not stop for the rest of the night.

So what if you passed out a couple times?

You loved him, so he was sure you didn't mind.

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dioslesbianwife · 4 months ago

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Hi!! I hope you're well!! Can I request the jofoes reactions to reader coming up behind them and kissing the back of their necks💖💖🥴 (with p1 and p3 Dio pls).

Thank you!

sure! thank you for requesting and i hope u enjoy 🩷

Dio Brando (Part 1)

Immediate pause.

This man does not get surprised easily, yet here he is frozen.

Slowly turns his head to look at you over his shoulder. Eyes sharp, unreadable.

Then, a low chuckle. "My, my… bold, aren’t you?"

Grabs your wrist and pulls you in front of him, tilting your chin up.

"If you wanted my attention, you only had to ask."

DIO (Part 3)

Instant smirk.

"Hmph. That was a mistake, my dear."

Turns around immediately and cages you in.

"Do you think you can toy with me like that?" His voice is low, almost teasing.

Will get revenge. He grabs your chin and presses a slow kiss to your lips, just to one-up you.

You started this game. Now deal with it.

Kars

Doesn’t even flinch.

He just lets out a deep, amused hum.

"Hmm… You dare approach me from behind?"

Turns around at an agonizingly slow pace. His stare? Deadly intense.

"I suppose you are feeling brave today."

Absolutely takes control of the situation. Pins you against something and returns the favor but worse.

Wamuu

Shivers. His body reacts before his mind does.

Immediately tenses. It’s not out of dislike, he just wasn’t expecting it.

"What was that for?" His tone is more curious than upset.

When you tease him about it, he narrows his eyes but doesn’t stop you from doing it again.

If you keep it up, he will eventually return the favor. Maybe not with a kiss, but he will find a way.

Esidisi

Oh? Oh? OH?

This man is dramatic as hell. Expect an audible reaction.

"What a daring little thing you are!"

Immediately spins around and traps you in a hug. You are not escaping.

"Did you think I would let you get away with that?"

Teases you relentlessly. Probably peppers your entire neck with kisses just to make you squirm.

Yoshikage Kira

Internally panicking.

He wants to act composed, but his brain short-circuits.

"Hoh… That was… unexpected."

Coughs into his fist. His ears? Bright pink.

Pretends he isn’t affected. But the next time you do it he subtly leans into it.

Gets attached to the feeling but would never admit it.

Diavolo

Immediately on edge.

This man is paranoid as hell, so he almost reacts violently until he realizes it’s you.

Deep exhale. "You shouldn’t do that."

But his low voice betrays him. He liked it.

Grabs your wrist before you can leave.

"…Do it again."

Doppio

Chokes on air.

"H-Hey???"

Face = bright red.

Hands fly to his neck.

Spins around and stares at you, flustered beyond belief.

If you tease him, he’ll get defensive.

If you do it again, he literally melts. Like, his brain stops working.

Enrico Pucci

Sharp inhale.

Body tenses completely. You can feel it.

"What… do you think you’re doing?"

Glares at you- but he’s also trying to hide his reaction.

If you try to play it off, he narrows his eyes.

"I expect an explanation." (But he doesn’t actually stop you from doing it again.)

Funny Valentine

Visibly pauses.

Then a slow, deep chuckle.

"How unexpected… and yet…"

Turns around and gazes at you intensely. His hand cups your cheek.

"If you insist on playing these games, I might as well indulge you…"

He kisses the corner of your lips, just to tease you back.

Diego Brando

Immediate sharp inhale.

He tenses, but only for a second.

Then, he smirks.

"Oh? Feeling affectionate today?"

Turns around and leans in dangerously close. "If you wanted my attention, you could’ve just asked."

He absolutely retaliates. Pulls you into his lap and runs his lips over your throat just to get even.

Tooru

Smug little shit.

"Oh? What’s this?"

Turns around with the raised brows. He is absolutely loving this.

"I didn’t know you were so bold."

Immediately kisses your forehead like it’s some kind of trade-off.

You just fueled his ego. He will now expect you to do this all the time.

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beloveds-embrace · 5 months ago

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Sometimes I wish my brain would shut the fuck up and then it comes up with things like this and I apologise if this doesn't make sense or isnt the best bevause Im at work bit need to get the thought down ; You and rhe boys are together, have been for years. You're another SAS soldier, one of the very best specialising in stealth and sniper shots, but you come from a dodgy background your family having ties to the mafia but you ran away when you were 14 to get away from them and that life, joining the military the minute you turned 18. The boys adore you and would do anything for you and they know all about your family, taking every precaution they can to keep you safe and away from them. Until you're sent on a mission to take down a cartel, one your family has started working with in recent years but you obviously dont know that until you see your brother while doing recon and he sees you and recognises you right away. When taking down rhe cartel, you get seperated from the boys and your brother grabs you determined to take you home and make you pay for leaving your family behind. When the boys finish the mission, their distraught thinking the worst has happened to you until John finds a note you slipped into his pocket before starting the mission the only words on it are 'they found me' and suddenly they have a new, unsanctioned, mission, get you back by any means necessary

The mission had been planned down to the last detail- covert infiltration, silent takedowns, precise shots. You had done this a hundred times before, slipped into the dark and pulled the trigger before anyone even knew you were there. It was what made you one of the best. It was why they trusted you to take point on the most delicate operations. But no amount of training could have prepared you for the moment you turned the corner and saw him.

(Even if you’d had a bad feeling about this mission from the start. Something in your gut twisted and turned, a slow-boiling alarm).

Your brother stood among the cartel men, older, harder, but unmistakable. The years had sharpened him, carved cruelty into his features like a sculptor’s chisel, but the recognition in his eyes was instant. You had once been a ghost to your past, slipping from its grip the moment you turned fourteen, but now it had found you again. His lips curled into something between a sneer and a smirk as he took a slow step forward.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice familiar in a way that made your stomach churn. You need to leave (bitch). “Look what we have here.”

Your body reacted before your mind caught up, gun raising to fire, but you had hesitated. Just a second, barely even a breath- but it was enough. Rough hands grabbed you from behind, yanking your arms back, disarming you in one swift movement. You struggled, twisting violently, but there were too many. You knew, even before the butt of a rifle cracked against your temple and sent your vision spinning, that this wasn’t going to be a simple hostage situation. You knew how your family worked, how your brother worked-

They weren’t going to kill you outright.

No, your brother wanted to make you pay.

The operation had gone exactly as planned- until it hadn’t. The cartel was eliminated, network dismantled, compound set ablaze. But when the dust settled and the smoke rose into the sky, you were nowhere to be found. The moment they realized you were missing, panic set in. Ghost and Soap combed through the wreckage, calling your name through gritted teeth. Gaz scoured the perimeter again and again, checking every fallen body, every possible hiding spot, every scrap of evidence that might tell them where the hell you had gone.

And Price stood still, breath steady, forcing himself to think through the roaring storm in his head. His hand dipped into his pocket on instinct, searching for his lighter, and instead, his fingers brushed against something small and unfamiliar.

He pulled it out, unfolding the scrap of paper, and the world narrowed to the words scrawled in your handwriting.

“They found me.”

His hands clenched around the note so tightly the edges crumpled beneath his fingers. The area fell into silence as the others turned to him, faces drawn tight with anger.

Gaz swore under his breath, throwing his cap aside. “No way in hell this is a coincidence. It’s them, isn’t it? Her family.”

Price exhaled slowly, his grip on the note unwavering. He had been waiting for this day, dreading it from the moment you first told them about the people you had left behind. You had always known they would come looking. That they would never truly let you go. And now, after all these years, they had finally caught up.

The mission was over. The orders were clear- they were to extract, regroup, and report back.

But fuck orders.

This had just become personal.

They weren’t going back without you. Even if they had to tear through every criminal syndicate between here and hell to get you back, they would.

No matter the cost.

#noona.asks #noona.writes #i love this #protective men <33

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baby-yongbok · 1 year ago

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Mine - Kim Seungmin x afab!Reader

Genre: Smut Drabble/ Hard Thought - MDNI Word Count: 672

Warnings: Degradation, cursing A/N: My head is spinning right now, I found out that there are BDSM muzzles. (I'm buying one immediately) and then I thought about Seungmin saying that he should muzzle you and it all went down hill from there. I might turn this into a longer fic eventually idk but my brain was rotting with this thought. ✧ Masterlist ✧

Thinking about how Seungmin would act when he finds out that you, his best friend, has a Twitter account dedicated to posting lewd photos and videos of yourself. You told him about it on a whim while the two of you were watching a movie on your couch and before you knew it he was scrolling down your shared media. A small grin on his face as he watches a video of you fucking some guy you hooked up with on a random night out.

"You think this was good?" He'd look over at you with an expression so serious that you couldn't tell if he really wanted an answer to his question "I could fuck you way better than this"

That's how you ended up with your back against his chest as the two of you sat on your couch. Your legs spread open and your exposed pussy on display to your best friend. "You must really be a slut, huh?" His fingers would trail light circles around your clit, teasing you so slowly that it made your head spin. You whine for more, bucking your hips up into his hand.

"Do you just let any guy have access to this pretty pussy? And you're so fucking needy too. You want more?" He was inside of you in an instant, filling you up mercilessly and fucking into you like you belonged to him. He was right when he said that he could fuck you better, you could feel that delicious knot in your stomach as soon as he started fucking into your g-spot at the perfect angle.

“Look at you, my dumb mutt is drooling. Is my cock so good that you need to make a fucking mess?” Yes, it is that good, you find yourself babbling as he fucks you harder. It’s so much but you keep asking for more and he keeps giving. His new favorite thing is watching you fall apart on his cock. He never would’ve thought that his sweet and innocent best friend could be so lewd. It was all an act.

He’d laugh when you beg him to fuck you harder, landing a bruising slap on your ass as he rams into you. “You want more? Don’t run from it, pup you just asked for this.” He’d pull out right when you announce that you’re close and turn you around, propping your legs up over his shoulders so that he can reach spots that he couldn’t before. Your moans and cries drown out the sound of skin slapping and Seungmin’s own grunts of pleasure. He’d rub your clit to edge you a bit then stick those arousal covered digits in your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Shut the fuck up, such a noisy bitch. I should muzzle you.” He smiles when you clench around him, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’d fucking like that wouldn’t you? You want me to fucking gag you? Such a slut.”

He’d get a bit sweeter when he gets close to finishing, he’d praise you with each sloppy thrust. Kissing your calves and sucking and nipping bruises into your ankle. You unravel as soon as his fingers brush against your clit, shaking underneath him and chanting his name like he created your entire universe. “Oh fuck oh fuck you’re so pretty when you cum, baby. That’s it.”

He’d fall apart shortly after, the image of your eyes rolling back as you came around him throws him over the edge. He covers you in his sticky release with his head thrown back and his chest rising and falling violently. “So perfect, so fucking perfect.” He can’t get the image of you out of his head as he empties his balls. He’s going to need more of you immediately. He leans over and gives you a quick peck on the lips. He looks you in the eye with a sweet yet serious expression.

“Mine, okay?” You nod your head with a fucked out smile and he kisses you again. “That’s my girl.”

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newkatzkafe2023 · 6 months ago

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How about y/n as like Aphrodite or athena?( if you chose athena she's like the goddess of war, pretty much the strategy and if you chose Aphrodite, she's like the goddess of beauty and the most beautiful woman, no matter her appearence?, chubby, skinny or any!, but you chose)

Ok then

(Lmk Wukong)(Monkey Athena Y/n) You guys have been together for centuries, I mean were do you think he got his war plans from. You have met when you fought in a mini war against some heaven Soldiers, and he's been interested in you ever since. You quickly became his lover in arms, as you would fight together on the battlefield. In battle is where you also shared your first kiss as well.

(HIB Wukong)(Aphorodite Monkey Y/n) MY My Myyyyyyy his face and whole body would be red when he meets you. You would flirt, cuddle and snuggle with him as you purred into his muscular chest. Wukong head would be spinning as he's never had pretty monkey woman be so affectionate with him. God forbid if you dare to call him something hot like beefcake or stud muffin, he would be on his back at the end of it all.

(NR Wukong)(Aphorodite Monkey Y/N) God you were so hot when he first met you, you were an tall adorable monkey with a.....very curvy thick body. Wukong purr and drool over you as he flirts with you, while you would giggle at his antics. You to would flirt and scratch his chin making his brain melt out his ears, as you would even smother him with kisses. Wukong's never felt so lucky in his immortal life.

(MKR Wukong)(Monkey Athena Y/n) He trust you with everything he's got, especially during combat. You were highly intelligent and strategic as you had no problem thinking on your feet. Wukong also loved how Violent you sometimes get especially when the Opponent had crossed you horribly, and you would give in to your vengeful side. Wukong had a boner of fear and arousal as it was so sexy covered in blood.

(Netflix Wukong)(Athena Monkey Y/n) Oh my god a match made in heaven especially on the battlefield, Wukong was wrapped around your finger from the start. You were rubbing his chest Praising him so sweetly, giving him all your attention. Wukong would melt in your hands especially with the chin Scratches making him purr and chirp, Wukong had never felt so turned on in his life. Wukong would for once try to control himself but it's not working out.

(BMW Wukong)(Aphorodite/Athena Monkey Y/n) You were a so beautiful and powerful and ever so deadly, you were everything he wants in a woman. Wukong would purr and chirp when you had threatened his life, having a blush on his face. Wukong would do everything he could come up with, just to woe you over wanting badly for you to be your mate. He would do anything for you even KILL along with you.

(Destined one)(Aphorodite/Athena Monkey Y/n) The destined one had your attention for a long time, and it's you who come over to him and woe him. You cooed over him giving him your undivided attention on him, the destined one face was priceless. You couldn't keep your claws to yourself especially with how strong you actually are. The Destined one fell hard for you especially with the combined Head and chin Scratches, His brain activity is non Existent at the moment.

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG

#monkey king netflix #monkey king reborn #monkey king x reader #nezha reborn #lmk monkey king #monkey king hero is back #x female y/n #black myth wukong #the destined one x reader #greek mythology #aphrodite #athena

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revelboo · 8 months ago

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I love your writing and I love that you’re having fun with it even more! It baffles me how good you are with coming up with different dynamics for each of your storylines and they all work so well. My favorite has to be tfp megs. Maybe it’s a guilty pleasure but something about the fake hating or the taboo codependency really scratches a specific itch on my brain.

I know it’s a very satisfying dynamic to write. This one is a bit earlier than I’d planned, but I wanted to get it down while it was in my head.

And you guys crack me up sometimes. I’ve seen one of y’all call Optimus ‘Pee Paw’ in reblog tags and now TFP Megs is ‘Space Crack Grandpa.’

Broken Arrow Pt 9

TFP Megatron x Reader

• You’re frozen against him, body arching into his where his denta are gripping you. He’s shocked you so badly you don’t know how to respond apparently. There’s a faint unease at your stillness, that maybe he finally pushed a bit too hard. It’s only when he bites just a tiny bit harder that you snap out of it and smack a palm against the side of his helm. “Get off, you jerk. Who bites someone?” And there’s the anger he enjoys so much. Laughing again as you try to shove his head away and he lets you, aware of your soft, warm hands gripping his helm, your face red and furious.

• And he’s laughing again, so messed up he finds your frustration hilarious as you keep your grip on his helm to keep him from trying to bite you again. That bare prick of his denta on you had broken through the shock of the not entirely unpleasant feel of that bite. “You shouldn’t do that crap,” you mutter, trying to maintain that frustrated anger, but worry creeping in to your tone. “At this rate, the Autobots won’t have to do anything. You’re so messed up, you’ll probably fall out of the ship and do it for them.”

• Those hands are unbelievably soft on him, fingers gripping his helm to try and keep his face out of biting range as you scowl up at him. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me,” he asks, grinning as he catches one of your wrists and feels you immediately try to tug loose as he considers nipping those little fingers. Wanting to just because he can, just to feel you shudder against him again.

• Trying to get your hand back, you plant the other one in the center of his chest. “Don’t flatter yourself,”you mutter. “I’d shove you myself if I could.” He’s not letting go, but there’s a new, calculating gleam in his optics that makes your skin prickle all over. Because on that stuff? There’s no telling where his processor just went or what he might do. Like rasp the claws of his other hand down his chest, those armor panels shifting to reveal something pulsing with light, something alive that pulls at you and you realize it’s his bare spark. ‘That’s how you end a Cybertronian,’ his words come back to you and you suddenly want loose. Want him to close those panels up, because seeing this is uncomfortably intimate. “Cut it out.”

• “Don’t tell me you’ve had a change of heart, pet?” Servos tightening on your wrist to force your hand closer to his spark, you suck in a sharp breath and try to lean away, eyes widening in alarm. “Don’t you still want to end me?” Knows he should stop, let go. Because you’re not playing along, there’s something very much like real panic in your eyes as you struggle against him, then shudder violently when his spark reacts. Reaching out a tendril of energy to meet your shaking fingers and now he’s frozen.

• Warmth spins through you at that contact, you can feel him as those tendrils of spark energy curl about your fingers. And you’re not fighting to get away anymore, you’re surrendering to that feeling of falling into him like plunging into deep, still waters that are churning violently just under the surface. Fractured sensations and memories spin you about, too chaotic and alive for you make any sense of. Just knowing that this is him, all of him. Drowning in him, feeling your heart struggling, missing beats. Hurting.

• That contact runs electric through him until he’s jerking you closer to strengthen it without even thinking. He’d only meant to make you angry, to provoke you, but as awareness washes over him in a warm fall like summer rain, he’s suddenly painfully sober. You’re only a human, but he can sense something there that’s not a spark, but close. Something even more achingly fragile than you are as your head falls forward against his shoulder and he can’t move even though he needs to break that contact, shove you away to save himself. You’re just a sparkless organic. And what he feels isn’t a spark, but something that might as well be one entangling with him, slipping soft as a sigh through him as his servos tighten against you. Realizing just how bad a mistake he’d just made.

#transformers x reader #tfp megatron #megatron x reader

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doomgurlfics · 6 days ago

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SOMEBODY

©doomgurlfics .ೃ࿐

Synopsis: After graduation, you treat yourself to a solo getaway in Hawaii. Just you, the ocean breeze, and zero drama. That is, until a flight seatmate from hell, Taehyung, somehow ends up being your next-door neighbor at the luxury resort. Thanks to a reservation mix-up, your private suite dreams crash and burn, leaving you and Taehyung in separate rooms… with a shared connecting door.

What starts as petty arguments and awkward run-ins quickly escalates into teasing, tension, and heat you can’t ignore. And when the line between enemies and something much more finally snaps? Let’s just say, paradise gets a whole lot hotter.

Pairing: Non Idol Taehyung x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, Suggestive Language, Eventual Smut, Possible slow uploads

Word Count: 4,554

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (soon!)

A/N: Hi beautiful people!🪼⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ I’m so exited to share part 2 with you all. I feel like the story is progressing well. This part is also way longer than the first. I planned for this fic to only be three parts but we will see how it goes! I hope you guys enjoy!!

PART TWO

A bright stream of sunlight slips through the blinds, warming your face and gently waking you from your sleep. You stretch, arms overhead, muscles loose and relaxed in a way they haven’t been in weeks. For a moment, everything is still.

You sit up slowly, taking a deep breath as the remnants of your dreams melt away. Padding across the room, you wince at the chill of the floor under your feet, then pull open the blinds.

And there it is. Hawaii in all its glory. The ocean sparkles under the early sun, waves curling lazily onto the shore. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

This is why you came.

Today’s plan is simple: sunbathe on the beach until your skin feels kissed by the sun, crack open that new book you’ve been meaning to read, and maybe check out a few of the beach shops just outside the resort, if you’re up for it.

You begin your morning routine, brushing your teeth and pinning your hair back as you mentally map out the hours ahead. But no matter how hard you try to focus on the present, your mind keeps drifting… back to last night.

Back to him.

The two of you blink at each other, frozen in disbelief, until your brain catches up and you spin around so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash.

“I’m so sorry!” you blurt, one hand flying up to cover your eyes as you fumble your way back toward your side of the suite. “Oh my god—I didn’t know anyone was— I thought—!”

You don’t wait for a response. You stumble through the connecting door and slam it shut behind you like you’re sealing off a crime scene. Then you lock it.

Your heart’s racing. Your face is on fire.

And worst of all… you can still see everything in your head.

The print beneath the towel was so… big.

Your face heats all over again as the image burns itself into your memory. You shake your head violently.

It’s just the champagne, you tell yourself. Nothing more.

But before you can fully collect your thoughts a sharp knock rattles the connecting door.

“Fuck,” you whisper, eyes wide, contemplating every life decision that led to this moment.

You scan the room like there might be hidden cameras. Maybe this was all a prank. A secret episode of one of those cheesy sitcoms your mom used to binge. Because stuff like this? This doesn’t happen in real life.

Another knock, louder this time, snaps you out of your spiral.

You groan softly, then march to the door and swing it open.

He stands there, clothes haphazardly thrown on, shirt inside out, damp hair sticking to his forehead.

“So,” he says, deadpan, phone in hand. “You want to explain why you’re stalking me, or should I skip the convo and call the cops?”

You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. So you just blink at him, eyes wide, hand still clutching the doorframe like it might steady your pride.

“I—I wasn’t stalking you,” you finally manage, voice about two octaves higher than usual. “The rooms are connected. Your room is connected to mine.”

He raises a brow, completely unimpressed. “And you just…walked in?”

“I thought it was a closet!” you snap, heat rising to your face. “God, believe me, if I knew you were on the other side, I would’ve bricked it shut.”

His lips twitch, just barely, but it’s enough. He’s enjoying this.

“Oh, so you accidentally wandered into a half-naked man’s room?” he muses, glancing down at his still-damp torso. “Right. Happens all the time.”

“You had a towel on!” you argue.

“Now that sounds like an admission.”

You throw your hands up. “Okay, you know what? Let’s just go to the front desk. Maybe they can explain why the hell our rooms are connected.”

He shrugs, stepping back. “Lead the way, Peeping Jane.”

You glare at him but grab your keycard anyway, tossing on a hoodie before storming toward the elevator. He follows, annoyingly relaxed for someone who just accused you of stalking.

—

Ten minutes later, the two of you are standing at the front desk, facing a too-perky resort employee who’s somehow still chipper despite it being past 10 p.m.

“I’m really sorry,” she says after tapping away on her keyboard. “It looks like the previous guests were a large family split between both suites. The connecting door was supposed to be sealed after their checkout, but… housekeeping must’ve missed it.��

You blink. “So the door just… stayed unlocked?”

She winces. “It happens sometimes, unfortunately. But since we’re currently at full capacity, we can’t offer a room change. What we can do is send someone up to lock the door from both sides tonight.”

“Please do,” you say flatly.

“And the name on the reservation?” she asks, glancing between the two of you.

“Kim Taehyung,” he says smoothly.

“And yours, miss?”

“Y/N.”

She types a few more things, then smiles brightly. “Alright, someone from maintenance will be up shortly to seal the door properly.”

Taehyung leans on the counter, glancing your way. “Nice to officially meet you,

Neighbor.”

You don’t reply.

You just walk away, praying this is the last time the universe throws the two of you into the same room.

As you think back on the whole incident, all you can do is shake your head.

It doesn’t matter. It’s over. You’ve locked the door, literally and figuratively.

Today is a new day and you are not going to let anyone ruin your plans.

This morning is for peace, sunshine, and uninterrupted tanning.

You made it out to the beach a little past eleven. It felt borderline criminal to tan on an empty stomach, so you stopped for breakfast first.

Now, you’re perched on a lounge chair, sunglasses on, sunscreen applied, and book in hand. The waves crash in a steady rhythm nearby, the sound serving as white noise as you immerse yourself in your book.

This is exactly what you came for.

Surprisingly, you make it halfway through your book before deciding to call it quits. The sun is high, your skin is warm, and the thought of wandering the beach shops feels too tempting to pass up, especially with the hope of finding a cute cover-up or two.

Back in your room, you shower quickly, throw on a fresh outfit, and head downstairs. You reach the resort shuttle just in time, thanking the driver as you hop on.

It’s crowded, just as you expected. There’s only one open seat near the back.

You start down the narrow aisle, scanning for your spot, then pause mid-step.

Taehyung, oblivious to your presence, sits in the seat right beside the empty one. He’s leaned slightly toward the window, earbuds in, expression unreadable as he stares out at the scenery like he belongs in a travel ad.

For a split second, you consider turning around. Maybe the cover-up can wait.

But then you remember who the hell you are.

You’re that bitch.

So you keep walking, head high, and slide into the seat beside him without hesitation. He glances over briefly, then does a full double take.

Ripping an earbud out of his ear, he smirks.

“Well, Y/N, it seems the universe keeps finding ways to bring us together,” he says, tone light but eyes locked on you.

You pointedly look forward, pretending not to notice the way your stomach flutters at the sound of your name on his lips.

“Or maybe the universe just has a sick sense of humor,” you mutter.

He laughs under his breath, deep and unbothered. “Could be both.”

You don’t answer. You’re too focused on keeping your expression neutral.

“Have you been enjoying your day so far?” he asks, attempting small talk.

“Yes,” you reply curtly, hoping that ends the conversation.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him start to say something, but then stop himself.

A small pang of guilt tugs at your chest. You weren’t raised to be rude.

You sigh softly, then shift to face him a little more. “What about you?”

He leans back slightly, eyes squinting against the sun pouring through the shuttle windows. “I slept in, then wandered down to the bar for a drink—”

“At what, noon?” you interrupt, raising a brow.

“Eleven-thirty,” he corrects, unbothered. “It’s vacation. Time’s fake.”

You shake your head, lips twitching despite yourself.

“Then I realized I completely forgot sunscreen,” he continues, lifting the collar of his shirt. “Pretty sure my shoulders are halfway to medium-rare.”

You glance at him, tan skin, a hint of sunburn already starting to peek through, and shake your head again. “That’s what happens when you dress like a tourist cliché.”

He gasps in mock offense. “This shirt has personality.”

“It’s loud.”

“So am I.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now, just a little.

“What are you getting from the shops?” he asks, eyes locking onto yours with casual curiosity, or maybe something more.

You blink, caught off guard by how direct his gaze is.

“A cover-up,” you say simply, shifting your attention back to the front. “Something light I can wear over my swimsuit.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Let me guess, neutral tones, maybe a pop of color. Practical but still cute.”

You glance at him, surprised. “That’s… oddly specific.”

He shrugs, smirking. “You just seem like the type who packs logically, but still wants to turn heads.”

You narrow your eyes, unsure whether to be flattered or annoyed. “And what exactly do you need from the shops? A new dad shirt?”

He grins. “Nope. Aloe. Lots of it.”

That earns a small, genuine laugh from you, quick, but real.

And when you glance over again, he’s already looking at you, like he’s cataloging every shift in your mood.

And for the first time, you don’t immediately look away.

The bus lurches to a stop, jolting you out of the moment. You’ve arrived.

As you step off, you and Taehyung naturally part ways, each heading off in search of your respective shopping missions.

You’ve got a two-hour window before the shuttle leaves, which means you’re browsing at double speed. Light work, really. A few shops, a couple impulse buys, and by the end of it, you’ve got way more than a cover-up in your bag.

But whatever. You’ve decided every bad financial decision you make on this trip is in good taste. It’s a graduation gift.

Girl Math.

As you board the shuttle for the ride back, your eyes instinctively flick toward your previous seat.

And there he is—Taehyung, sitting by the window again.

But this time, not alone.

A pretty brunette sits beside him, the two of them deep in conversation, heads tilted close. Laughing.

A small, unwelcome pang tugs at your chest. Annoyance? Disappointment? You frown.

Seriously?

You just met him. And he was kind of an ass at first. There is absolutely no reason for you to feel anything right now.

You brush it off and keep walking, choosing a random empty seat toward the front without so much as a second glance.

Back to reality. No distractions.

Especially not ones wearing pineapple shirts.

The next time you see your neighbor is at the luau the following night.

You’d taken your time getting ready, slipping into a flowy dress that sways with every step. Gold accessories catch the light just right, and your hair—fluffy, soft curls you managed with a no-heat method and a lot of prayer—actually held up, despite the humidity.

You were worried your bundles would betray you in this weather, but they’ve shown out. You mentally make a note to reorder the brand once you’ve returned home.

You’re seated at a round table near the stage, sharing space with a young family, two parents, a squirmy toddler boy, and their daughter, who’s maybe five and dangerously cute. Full cheeks, curious eyes, and a sparkly flower clip in her hair.

You spend the first few minutes cooing over her, asking her name and complimenting her clip, which earns you a shy smile and a handful of goldfish crackers in return.

Honestly? It’s peaceful.

Until you feel that familiar prickle on the back of your neck. That tiny shift in the air that says you’re being watched.

You glance behind you, and there he is.

Taehyung, dressed in all white linen, standing across the lawn with a drink in hand.

His eyes are already on you.

You turn around, not wanting to give the impression that you were staring first. You hated to admit it, but the man looked good in everything.

You refocus on the menu in front of you, trying to decide between the grilled mahi-mahi and the kalua pork, when a familiar hand lands on the chair beside you.

“Good evening. Is anyone sitting here?” he asks the table, voice smooth and polite.

You open your mouth to answer, but the mother beside you beats you to it.

“No! You’re welcome to sit,” she says brightly.

You smile along, tight but polite, while Taehyung slides into the empty seat without hesitation.

His cologne hits you immediately. Warm. Clean. Expensive.

For the moment, the two of you sit in silence, pretending to study the menu like it holds the secrets of the universe.

The family chatters around you, laughing, passing around crayons and wet wipes, existing in their own little bubble that you don’t dare interrupt.

You sneak a glance at him from the corner of your eye.

He’s calm. Too calm. Like he’s waiting you out.

Eventually, you break the silence.

“So,” you say before you can stop yourself, “how did the aloe turn out for you?”

The words leave your mouth, and you instantly regret them. Really? That’s what you went with?

Taehyung glances over, clearly amused. “Worked like magic. Turns out, I’m not as indestructible as I thought.”

You hum, nodding like that somehow justifies your comment. “Good. I’d hate to see you burst into flames.”

“Really!” he exclaims, hand to his chest in mock shock. “My, how the tables have turned. At first, I was sure you wanted to be the one to set me on fire, with your stare alone.”

You give him a dry look. “I’m not into arson.”

He leans in slightly, eyes twinkling. “Shame. I think you’d look great with a lighter.”

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. “That’s deeply concerning.”

“Is it?” he grins. “Or is it just… chemistry?”

You shake your head, fighting a laugh at his corny joke just as the waiter appears beside your table.

He takes everyone’s orders, kalua pork for you, something grilled and spicy for Taehyung, then disappears with a practiced smile.

The lights around the stage begin to dim, a soft hush settling over the crowd as island drums echo faintly in the distance.

Palm fronds sway under the warm night breeze, tiki torches flickering to life as the emcee welcomes everyone to the luau.

You relax into your seat, ready to enjoy the show.

Beside you, Taehyung leans back as well, his arm resting casually along the back of your chair, not touching you, but close enough that you’re suddenly very aware of how warm the night has become.

Neither of you says anything.

But for once, the silence doesn’t feel awkward.

It feels… easy.

Your food arrives midway through the show, and as expected, it’s heavenly. Rich, savory, and exactly what you needed after a long day in the sun.

You’re just finishing the last few bites when one of the hosts begins circling the audience, microphone in hand, scanning for their next “lucky” guest.

They’ve been calling people up to the stage all night for an impromptu hula lesson, and while it’s made for great entertainment, it’s also your personal nightmare.

As the host inches closer, you immediately avert your gaze. You straighten your silverware. Check your napkin. Pretend to be deeply interested in the dessert menu, even though you already know you’re getting the pineapple cake.

Taehyung notices, of course.

“Wow,” he murmurs, amused. “That’s some real elite-level avoiding-eye-contact going on.”

“Don’t,” you mutter through your teeth, eyes still focused on your lap.

He laughs softly. “What, afraid you’ll get picked?”

“Afraid I’ll embarrass myself in front of the entire resort, yeah.”

The host is getting closer. Too close.

Then you hear it.

“Oh, this one looks like she has the rhythm!” she says into the mic, stepping closer. “And, oh my goodness, look at her partner! What a beautiful couple!”

You practically choke on air.

“Oh, we’re not—” you begin, shaking your head rapidly, holding up your hands.

But before you can finish the sentence, Taehyung is already standing, flashing that easy, charming smile of his like this is the best thing that’s happened to him all night.

“Thank you,” he says smoothly, reaching down to grab your hand. “We try.”

You glare at him. “Taehyung—”

“Come on,” he whispers, already tugging you up from your seat. “Can’t let our fans down.”

And just like that, you’re being led to the stage under flickering tiki lights, the host clapping delightedly as the crowd cheers.

You want to be mad. You should be mad.

But you can’t help it, you laugh. The whole thing is ridiculous.

Within minutes, you and Taehyung are both up on stage, swaying side by side in matching grass skirts. A flower crown rests slightly crooked on your head, and someone’s auntie from the audience has already yelled out, “Shake it, girl!”

The instructor stands in front of the group, hips moving effortlessly, her voice cheerful and upbeat as she guides everyone through the steps.

“Right foot out… sway… and smile!” she sings.

You try your best to follow, your hips slightly out of sync, your laugh bubbling up every time you glance at Taehyung, who somehow, is not half bad at this.

“You’ve done this before,” you accuse, shooting him a look.

He grins. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

“You mean a man of no shame.”

“Tomato, to-mah-to.”

The crowd cheers as everyone on stage gives their final pose, hands in the air, hips popped to the side.

You’re still catching your breath when the host thanks the volunteers and ushers you back down to your seats, but the warmth in your chest lingers.

You’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline, the tiki torches, or the hand that still casually brushes against yours, but for a moment, it’s easy to forget why you ever found him annoying at all.

Just for a moment.

Later that night, you’re jolted out of your sleep by a loud banging, followed by laughter.

You sit up, way too fast, immediately regretting it as a wave of dizziness hits. What the hell is that?

Another boom echoes through the wall, followed by more laughter. Male voices. One of them unmistakably Taehyung’s.

You grab your phone and squint at the screen. 3:02 a.m.

You scowl.

The laughter crescendos into another thud, like someone just fell into a wall, or onto furniture. You can practically feel the bass of their bad decisions vibrating through the floorboards.

You throw the covers off and stomp to the connecting door, half-asleep and all the way annoyed. You’re just about to knock when you remember it’s been locked.

Which means if you want to deal with this, you’ll have to go to his actual front door.

You pause, debating it. Is this really worth getting out of bed for?

You almost turn back.

But then another thud rattles the wall, followed by a high-pitched burst of female laughter that grates on your last nerve.

Nope. Not sleeping through that.

Sliding into your slippers and snatching your keycard off the nightstand, you storm out of your room, padding down the hall until you reach his door.

You knock. Firm. Twice.

Then wait.

The music lowers, and the door creaks open a moment later, revealing Taehyung, lit by the soft glow of the hallway light.

He looks… surprised. His shirt is gone, this time replaced by a low-hanging chain and a pair of joggers. He blinks, clearly not expecting to see you.

A beat passes before his mouth tugs into a lazy smirk. “Couldn’t sleep without me?”

Your jaw clenches. “It’s three in the morning, and it sounds like you’re filming an episode of Love Island in here.”

Taehyung scratches the back of his neck, still leaning lazily against the doorframe. “Never seen it. But sorry, we were just dancing. Got a little tipsy and decided to see who’s the better breakdancer.”

You stare at him, unimpressed. “At 3 a.m.?”

He shrugs. “It doesn’t sound like the brightest idea now that I say it out loud, but that’s what the tequila does to you.”

You don’t even dignify that with a response. Just keep glaring.

He stares back, lips twitching like he’s fighting a smirk, until his eyes drop slightly, casually scanning over your form.

It’s subtle, but you catch it.

And suddenly you’re hyper-aware of your outfit: a silky camisole and shorts set that felt cute and breezy in your room. But now, with the cool hallway air and your nipples pressing against the fabric, you wish you had on ten more layers.

You cross your arms on instinct.

Glancing through the crack in the door, you spot two women and another man lounging inside. One of the girls exactly like the one from the bus.

“You can come in, if you want,” Taehyung says, pulling the door open wider. That signature smirk tugs at his mouth again. “Show us some of those hula moves you did earlier.”

You can’t tell if he’s teasing or flirting. Maybe both. Either way, you’re not biting.

“No thanks,” you say flatly, voice laced with dry sarcasm. “I left my grass skirt and shame at the luau.”

That earns a low laugh from him, and one of the girls inside turns toward the door, eyeing you curiously.

You don’t wait for a follow-up.

“Goodnight, Taehyung.”

You turn on your heel and walk away, ignoring the amused “Night, neighbor,” that follows behind you.

You don’t look back. You don’t have to look back.

Because you know he’s watching.

And damn it, your skin is still buzzing like he touched you.

Today was excursion day and you were beyond excited. You were going snorkeling in the Hanauma Bay and you could not wait!

Checking, once more to confirm, everything is in your bag, you head out the door. Simultaneously as Taehyung apparently.

“Morning. I’m surprised to see you up this early after all the partying last night,” you say, smirking as check to make sure your door is locked.

Taehyung lets out a soft laugh, adjusting the strap of his small backpack. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

You glance over at him as the two of you fall into step down the hall. He looks ridiculously good for someone who hosted a 3 a.m. breakdancing competition. A crisp white linen shirt, swim trunks, and that damn straw hat that makes him look like a K-drama lead on vacation.

He catches you looking and raises a brow. “Don’t tell me you’re checking me out, again.”

You scoff. “Please. I’m just trying to figure out how someone with such terrible sleep habits still manages to function.”

“Natural charm and electrolytes,” he replies, flashing a grin. “Where you headed, anyway?”

“Hanauma Bay. I’m doing the snorkeling excursion today.”

His eyes light up a little. “No way. Me too.”

You blink. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” he says, pressing the elevator button. “I guess fate really doesn’t want to give you a break from me.”

You roll your eyes as the doors open. “Or maybe it’s trying to test me.”

As you step inside, the playful tension between you sizzles just a little stronger.

The space feels smaller than usual. Or maybe it’s just the way Taehyung leans casually against the mirrored wall, arms crossed, watching you with a grin that’s far too amused for this early in the morning.

“You sure you’re ready for snorkeling?” he asks. “Water’s pretty unforgiving to people who talk as much trash as you do.”

You raise a brow. “Please. I’ve got better lung capacity than you think.”

“Is that so?” he teases, stepping a little closer. “Wanna bet?”

Your breath catches slightly at the proximity, but you don’t flinch. Instead, you smirk, lifting your chin just enough to meet his gaze.

“Tempting,” you murmur, “but I’ve got a full day ahead of me. Don’t want to embarrass you too early.”

The elevator dings before he can reply, but his quiet laugh follows you out into the lobby.

The lobby is packed, filled with a mix of excited families and tipsy retirees. There’s a chorus of voices, clattering flip-flops, and the scent of sunscreen lingering in the air.

It takes a few minutes to locate the right shuttle, everyone’s buzzing about luaus, hikes, or boat tours, but eventually you and Taehyung find your group.

Once aboard, the two of you settle into a pair of side-by-side seats near the back. The windows are slightly fogged from the humid morning air, but the ocean view as you drive along the coast is more than enough to distract you.

The ride goes smoothly. You trade light conversation and occasional laughs, both of you surprisingly at ease. Somewhere between teasing him about his floral dad shirt and him asking if your snorkel mask would ruin your lashes, it starts to feel… natural.

When you arrive at Hanauma Bay, the real excitement kicks in. You grab your gear and follow the group down to the shoreline. The water is impossibly blue, the kind of postcard-perfect scene that makes you feel like you’re inside a dream.

You and Taehyung drift toward the edge of the group as the guide gives a brief safety talk. Afterward, you both wade into the water together, slipping on your fins and masks.

“Last chance to back out,” Taehyung says, flashing you a grin as he pulls his goggles down.

You roll your eyes. “Try to keep up, rookie.”

Then you both dive in.

Beneath the surface, everything feels surreal. The ocean cradles you in silence, broken only by the bubbles from your breath and the flick of fins slicing through water. You and Taehyung move in rhythm, weaving through schools of fish and coral beds like you’ve been doing it for years.

It’s peaceful—until it isn’t.

You surface for air, adjusting your mask, but something feels… off. You can’t get a full breath. You try again, inhaling sharply, but it’s like sipping through a clogged straw.

A flutter of panic builds in your chest.

You rip your snorkel out of your mouth and gasp, but instead of relief, it only brings on more confusion. You cough, but it feels like the air just won’t come. Your vision swims as you try to stay afloat, but your limbs are heavy.

“Y/N?” Taehyung’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp with concern. He’s treading water beside you now, reaching out.

“I—” you start, but the word doesn’t make it out. The world tilts, blurring around the edges.

And then everything goes black.

Read Part 3 Here!

A/N: And we reach the end of part 2!! If you made it this far, thank you so much!! I truly appreciate all the love on part 1 and I will try to get part three up by early next week. But I do have work so that make get in the way… Anyway I love chatting with you all so please share your thoughts!!

©doomgurlfics .ೃ࿐

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kagiura-akira · 15 days ago

Note

You know I GOTTA know about something called "Desperate Kisses"!

What kind of desperation?

Is there angst?

*grabs popcorn*

Are you familiar with @dirtbra1n 's "Kagi is made of love" heritage post?

Well. Kagi in ch 23b made it very clear to us that it does, in fact, hurt to hold back.

And I am close to exploding so I needed a one shot to write and I chose desperate kisses but I think the prompt doesn't quiteeee fit??? It's more like. An explosion. There's pain though not necessarily angst.

Anyway I opened this draft just yesterday and it's not a full length fic, but rather an essay.

I think I'll move it out of the "kghr kisses challenge" project into its own document titled, "Entropy"

Spoilers for Hirano to Kagiura chapter 30

At times, Kagi is plagued by a small list of impossibilities spinning around his head. It taunts him. Now, his senpai wouldn't agree that there are such things for him (“Nothing is impossible for you, Kagi-kun!”), but he knows it's true. For example, coming in first place in his class in the end of term exams, or getting Muroi to stop texting him in weird code.

But the winner of the top spot in the list of impossibilities he thinks about is keeping his self control in line.

What happens when you take galaxies worth of love and super compact it into a smaller form?

Why, Kagiura Akira is born, of course.

With the entropy of billions of star systems and nebulae, any reasonable person would find it hard to contain.

Kagi likes to think he's reasonable.

The issue is, unfortunately, the would-be recipient of his affections is also a reasonable person. He can't burden him with this love as big as the sun itself, let alone millions and billions of galaxies worth affection.

Kagi is made of love—a love so great is puts his physical pain tolerance to the test. It wrenches his heart, stabs him in the lungs, knocks him off his feet like a sucker punch from the gods themselves. Stranded alone in the vast sea of his love, the waves crash violently over his head. Sinking, suffocating, he reaches for the surface like a man who can’t swim.

Kagi is made of love, and it hurts.

In his daily life, it manifests itself as a physical energy, which is exhilarating when put to good use (thank you, basketball) but exhausting when it festers. Such an entropic force brews exponentially in the physical embodiment of love that is Kagiura Akira. It can't be contained in a mere 17 year old human boy’s brain, let alone his heart. When Hirano smiles at him, when he quietly works away at his own homework alongside him, when he touches him—it’s so overwhelming, his brain overclocks and his heart stutters for a second or (or 500) too long.

So now, as he’s standing here at their door, he can still feel the heat from the sports festival. The memory of ten seconds stolen in secret sends a flush up the back of his neck and his ears, quite possibly almost as vivid as Hirano’s scarlet hue which reaches from his head to his toes.

“After this, I want to give you my answer,” he mutters. His mouth is turned downward in an embarrassed frown that only he ever makes. (Bless the boy, only knowing how to express two emotions)

Wait, embarrassment? Why is he embarrassed? Kagi’s heart is the one doing backflips like a trained gymnast. So why is it that when he closes the door behind him and turns the lock, he looks like he’s about to be the most vulnerable he’s ever been in his entire life? A flood of imagery of recent moments rattle against Kagi’s skull like a pinball machine as he recognizes the signs. That is to say, the exact signs that plagued himself a mere three or four months ago.

Another surging tide sends a wave of emotion crashing over his head. It rattles him from the center-most part of his being all the way to his extremities. There are no words to adequately describe the enormous pressure building from within. It’s warm and light. Are his feet even touching the ground? Moreover, is he vibrating? The urge to reach out is overwhelming. After all, he hasn’t had his ten seconds today.

Not that it would be enough.

He’s certain that if he initiated his ten seconds now, he’d never be able to let go. His hand twitches, and he digs his fingernails into the skin of his palm for grounding. The way Hirano looks down and away showcases his neck, makes Kagi grit his teeth. The monster within has been tied down with a mere shoelace - the right words could very well strip him of his sanity, replacing Kagiura Akira with what Kagi will only refer to as the devil.

There’s no way he can let that happen.

His bottom lip quivers, and he tightens the grip so hard that his fingernails break his skin. The seams holding together his three ethereal souls together are made of paper, and this monster, his desire, demolishes it into confetti with a single glance from those beautiful, ocean blue eyes.

“Look, I—”

From the moment the words, “my answer” left Hirano’s lips, Kagi knew he was fighting a losing battle. The ache in his chest that started as a dull thud months ago has grown into a piercing, concentrated stabbing sensation, and he’s ignored it for far too long.

He takes a step forward.

For too long, he’s been ignoring the aching pain clawing away at his insides. It hurts, and if he has to go a moment longer living on like this, he doesn’t know that he can withstand the storm of emotions bubbling up at the back of his throat.

He catches Hirano’s hand and spins him to face him, cups his face, and dives in head-first into the wave. It’s sink or swim, and so he clings to Hirano’s lips like a life vest. It all happens so quickly that he doesn’t think about the force with which his head dives in for the kiss. Was he too rough? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that Hirano’s thin lips taste like a cherry sports drink, and he smells like sweat and the fresh outdoors.

Kagi doesn’t know how long the kiss is. All he knows is that the ache hasn’t gone and won’t go away, but the intensity of the pain is nothing next to the thought of being without him.

#wip ask game #hirano to kagiura #kagihira #hirano to kagiura spoilers #chapter 30 spoilers

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endofthelinegang · 3 months ago

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OMG CAN U PLEASE MAKE A MEGA ANGSTY FINAL BOSS BUCKY BARNES FICTION? One that’ll leave me digging my own grave wanting to rip out my sore and red eyes.

SO BASICALLY, Bucky and reader had a misunderstanding, and there’s this random ass woman who’s feeding more into Bucky’s brain which makes reader look like the bad person and they have these arguments and stuff like that and its TOTALLY UP TO U how u wanna finish it

(im rlly sry if this doesnt make any sense english isnt my first language so😭😭)

this is a marvel blog so i guess we all cry in the club

The first time Bucky raises his voice at you, it feels like the earth cracking open beneath your feet.

"You lied to me."

The accusation slices through the air, sharp as a blade. Your breath stutters and the world tilts slightly. "Bucky, I didn’t—"

"Don’t." His voice is raw, frayed at the edges, and it hurts—because it’s him, because there was a time when that voice never held anything but warmth for you. He paces the dimly lit apartment, his fingers raking through his hair, his shoulders coiled so tight you think he might snap in two. "Victoria told me everything."

Victoria.

You feel sick. Your stomach churns violently, nausea clawing up your throat. Of course, her. The woman who has been poisoning him against you, one drop at a time, until doubt seeped into his very bones. You had felt the shift, subtle at first—small hesitations, a slight pullback when he used to press closer. The way he started questioning your words, looking at you just a little too long, like he was searching for something he never used to doubt.

"And you believe her?" you ask, quiet but firm, though your voice trembles at the edges.

Bucky scoffs a humorless, broken sound. "She has no reason to lie."

A sharp, bitter laugh forces its way out of you. "Are you serious? She has every reason to lie. She wants—"

"You." His voice is lower this time, almost a whisper, but it crashes over you like a thunderclap. "She says you’re the one lying. That you’ve been working against me this entire time. That you were seen—"

He hesitates like the words physically pain him.

"That you were seen meeting with people who want me dead. That you’ve been feeding them information."

You stare at him, stunned into silence. The sheer absurdity of it makes your head spin.

"Bucky, listen to yourself!" you plead, stepping forward, but he takes a step back as if your touch might burn him. "That’s insane. You know I would never—"

"I don’t know," he cuts you off, voice splintering under the weight of it all. "Because she had proof."

The words knock the air from your lungs. "What proof?"

He swallows hard. "Pictures. Of you. In places, you shouldn't have been. With people who should be our enemies."

A cold, sinking realization slams into you. Altered. Doctored. Staged.

"You think I would betray you? Me?" Your voice cracks, because it isn’t just about his doubt—it’s about the fact that it took so little for him to believe it.

His silence is louder than any response he could have given.

Tears sting your eyes, blurring his face, but you refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not now. Not in front of him.

"You don’t trust me," you whisper, and it’s not a question. It’s the truth, ugly and brutal.

Bucky exhales sharply, his lips parting like he wants to say something, anything, but no words come. His silence is your answer.

And it destroys you.

Because what do you have, if not trust? Bucky was never the man with a safety net, never the man who had a home to return to. He had you. You were the one who sat with him through the worst nights when the ghosts of his past curled around his throat like a noose. You were the one who washed the blood from his hands, who touched him like he was more than just a weapon. You were the one who reminded him he was human.

And now, he looks at you like you’re just another ghost haunting him.

You think back to the first time you saw Victoria lingering too close, the way she smiled just a little too sweetly, the way her hand would linger on Bucky’s arm for a second too long. You had tried to push down the unease and told yourself that Bucky wouldn’t be so easily swayed. That he knew you.

But now, standing here in the wreckage of what was once unshakable, you realize how foolish you had been.

"You don’t even realize what she’s doing to you," you murmur, voice hoarse. "She’s manipulating you, Bucky. This isn’t you talking. This is—"

"Don’t." His voice is sharp, cutting through your plea like a blade. "Just stop."

"You don’t even see it, do you?" Your frustration boils over, spilling out in raw, desperate words. "I was the one who stayed. I was the one who picked up your pieces every time you fell apart. I stood by you when you couldn’t even stand by yourself, and the second someone whispers in your ear that I might not be perfect, you throw me away?"

Bucky's jaw clenches, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "It’s not that simple."

"Yes, it is!" you cry. "You were supposed to know me. You were supposed to believe in me! If you ever really loved me, even for a second, you’d know—"

"Don’t." His voice breaks, and for a moment, you see it—the war inside him, the battle between the man he wants to be and the fear that’s consuming him whole. "Don’t say that."

But it’s too late.

The words are already there between you, heavy and suffocating.

"I don’t know what she told you," you say, voice shaking despite your best efforts, "but if you can’t see me—really see me—after everything, then I don’t know what else to say."

Bucky looks like he wants to reach for you. Like he wants to take it all back. But he doesn’t. And that’s worse than if he had just let you walk away without a second glance.

The space between you stretches impossibly wide, an ocean of unspoken words and shattered trust. It’s drowning you both, but only one of you is trying to swim.

Finally, he exhales, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me the truth."

You lift your chin, forcing yourself to meet his gaze even though it hurts. "I already did. But you don’t believe me."

And then, before he can say anything else—before he can break you more—you turn and walk away.

And this time, you don’t look back.

Because if you do, you won’t survive it.

#bucky barnes imagine #buckybarnesedit #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #james bucky barnes #james barnes x reader #james barnes x you #james barnes x y/n

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siddyyyyyyyy · 9 months ago

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Hi! Just learned about you blog and whatnot and had a request. Jason Todd x Reader where Reader has been kidnapped? Maybe by Joker or Black Mask or someone else from his past?

Safe Again

Jason Todd x Raeder

wc: 1.9 K summary: Jason saves you from being captured from Black Mask warnings: kidnapping, injuries, standard Gotham violence, blood a/n: SUCH A COOL REQUEST!!11!!!1!!1 thank you for the request, it was so much fun writing about it

You feel your head pounding aggressively, making it hard for your eyes to focus on anything in the small room. It‘s cold and weird, you can‘t really remember how you got here. The sounds of chains being dragged on a cement floor made your breath hitch, finally starting to feel the aches in your limbs. You must‘ve been hurt badly in several places, especially in your knees for some reason.

»Awake?« A deep rumbling comes from the gates, looking up from the already bloodied floor. The smell just makes you sick, already feeling worse than you already are.

»Don‘t worry, he‘ll be here in a while. But not to come and save you,« what seems to be Black Mask circles your chair, hands behind his back, »but to fall into my trap. You‘re just a distraction, sweet girl. He should have known better than to fall in love. How foolish.«

You can‘t exactly focus on his words, fighting against the dizziness. The room feels incredibly cold but you are sure it isn‘t really that chilly. First, your legs start to tremble before it builds up from there, becoming a shivering mess.

»Oh, poor thing. Scared? Don‘t you worry.«

He stands in front of you, some bigger figures standing in the back and possibly watching.

»It‘s just for a little longer.« A creepy face comes in your view, never having seen him up close or in person before. The mask brings another wave of danger into your brain, holding in your breath. Your body is all tense but you can‘t stay still, trembling everywhere.

Finally, the room spins and you process his words. Before you fall into unconsciousness you realise… Jason will die when he gets here.

He should have seen it coming. All the terror attacks on innocent civilians before, now getting to his loved one. Bruce and Dick told him he should keep a clear head and not blame himself, but he can‘t afford listening to them when he knows that it‘s all his fault.

It seems like too much, he can‘t catch a break. He won‘t allow himself to do so. Once he got into the abandoned warehouse, he can hear the distinct sounds of voices. Jason stays stealthy on his feet and keeps Oracle and the rest updated as best as he can. Through all the thoughts racing in his head, he can only focus on one thing. Getting you to safety and killing Black Mask. He had enough of his antics.

»Stay low, we are guarding from outside. Three guards approaching the entrance.« Nightwing calls into the communications, alerting Red Hood of any activity.

The three guards walk in, oblivious to the vigilante watching them in a vent from above. Once they are close enough, he jumps out of it and attacks them violently, but quietly. The three men are down in a matter of few seconds, Red Hood updating Nightwing afterwards.

He lets the guards rest on the floor and makes his way down the hallway, following the distinct chatter. A few sounds of metal clanking together are heard, which only makes Jason‘s blood run colder than before. He doesn‘t want to imagine what they‘d done to you already or what they are about to do. Either way, they won‘t get to have you for any longer.

»Red, be careful. If they see you, this will bow up.«

»I know.« Jason almost interrupts Oracle. He doesn‘t know why he decided to tell them in the first place. Of course, he needs their help because he can‘t risk fighting against Black Mask on his own. He can‘t risk dying for you. He has made a promise to you, that he will be more careful in the future. But clearly, he wasn‘t careful enough. Getting you captured was something he thought was possible but he didn‘t think it would happen. Now, being so close to just snatching you away and killing everyone who blocks his path, he couldn‘t just leave and wait for the rest to be ready.

Making sure he won‘t get into the view of the enemy, he catches a peek at you in the cell. His breath hitches. Fists clenching. All the sounds are drowning out from around him, but he has to keep himself together.

Eventually, he manages to pull himself out of his thoughts and hides.

»I‘m in my spot, where‘s the rest?«

Jason speaks almost speaks in panic into the comms, trying to calm himself down one last time.

»We are ready. Waiting for Oracle‘s signal.«

Batman answers back almost immediately.

Jason‘s never been this impatient before, but he knows he can‘t afford being sloppy. This is your life being at risk. No one knows what Black Mask‘s actual motive is, but he is sure he wants revenge for Red Hood‘s earlier mistakes and actions. A typical man who still lives in the past and can‘t move past mistakes or memories. So he has to take it out on others.

Once Oracle announces that they can launch their attack, no one wastes their time on doing so. Batman and Nightwing are storming in from the outside while Jason focuses on securing the area and getting Black Mask. They locate you in a dingy cell, bloodied and unconscious. Chains around your wrists and tied to the chair. It‘s a stark contrast from how you usually are. Soft, kind, the total opposite of Jason. But now is not a time to grieve or get distracted.

With quick hands, Nightwing secures you while Batman joins Red Hood on getting Black Mask. He finds him beating up the bad guy. Hovering over Black Mask, the punches only getting more powerful and deadly. Batman gets to his side and tears him away, afraid he will kill him out of pure rage.

»Stop! We need to find out what happened and why.« Bruce tries to get some sense into him, only with a little success. He manages to get him to stop punching, but not from going mad. His head is a complete mess. You can see it from the way his breathing is ragged and body trembles with fury.

»Can you stand?« A familiar voice rings through your senses as you‘re slowly awaking, the loud sounds from outside the cell bringing you back to earth. You shake your head in response, the dull ache in your knees becoming worse in waves.

Even when you can‘t properly respond, Nightwing knows what to do. One thing he promised his brother is to keep you safe. And he won‘t let anything hurt you now, not when his brother is in such a bad state.

He picks you up swiftly and gets a safe route from Oracle, getting outside before you know it. You keep fighting your consciouness. Constantly dizzy and in pain. It‘s hard to tell wether you‘ll stay awake or faint again, but Nightwing gets you quickly to the clocktower and sets you down onto a soft surface.

Damian is already there, ready to assess any damage taken on you, thanks to his medical skills. Your eyes have difficulty focusing again, but you can feel everything around you. At least you can feel how bad your legs and head are hurting.

Turns out you have deep bruises around your knees, most likely for the case you'll try to escape the cell. It wouldn‘t even be possible, considering the heavy chains that were keeping you seated on the chair.

As if that wasn‘t enough, Damian realises you got a pretty serious concussion as well. That explains your constant dizziness and sluggish state. It‘s almost impossible to talk to you, only getting a few random words from you before you fall back into unconsciousness.

Oracle keeps the two other men in the warehouse updated, telling them you are in a stable condition and that the area they‘re in seems to be empty. It‘s strange, Batman knows something is wrong. It shouldn‘t be empty. Black Mask shouldn‘t be so weak at the moment, he would at least fight back or start some monologue that‘s suppposed to upset them and get under their skin. But no, none of that is happening right now.

Jason is still not in the right headspace, mind clouded with pure rage and fury. But luckily, Batman notices someting strange in the Mask of the enemy.

»Wait,« He crouches down in front of him and gently takes the mask off of the villian, »this is a decoy.«

They managed to get you into a peaceful nap while Oracle is busy controlling the situation and getting Batman and Red Hood out of the building as fast as possible. The moment they found out that Black Mask was actually some goon working for him, Oracle also found out about a bomb located inside the building. Now it was only a matter of time when it will explode and the clocktower is filled with heavy tension.

Waking up was probably the hardest part. Every of your limbs feel heavy and numb, peeling you eyelids open. You are still in the clocktower, knees bandaged up and clearly still under some heavy meds. The sun is just rising outside, it being quiet besides the light ringing in your ears. It‘s a moment later you realise the hand in yours, recognising it shortly after. The comforting weight and warmth rests in your palm, making you look down at it.

The couch you are laying on feels way better now after that rough cell, shifting lightly to adjust on it. Even with the light movements, Jason stirs awake by your side and tightens his grip on your hand.

»Sweetheart?«

»What happened?«

You ask back, fosucing on the several bruises littered across his face and dried blood on on his suit, his hands still gentle but rougher.

He sighs out and doesn‘t respond yet, carefully hugging you as he kneels next to the couch, his arms enveloping you safely.

»Black Mask captured you. We got you now. Batman is making sure he doesn't escape.« He whispers back after a moment while he keeps you in his arms. It feels safe again. You can‘t really remember what exactly happened in there, but you are more than grateful that everyone seems to be safe.

He doesn‘t talk much about what happened as well, just savouring the moment of being safe. Once you got into a safe house, he made sure to take care of you as best as he could. A warm bath, patching up your knees and some cuts across you body again. Being as careful as possible, he lets you rest on the bed as he cooks something up in the kitchen.

Somehow, it still feels a little strange. Not able to move your legs much is something you‘ve started to hate only a few moments later.

But at least there‘s always an excuse to be carried around by Jason. He walks in with two plates of steaming soup, setting one of them down onto your lap with a spoon. A small TV plays a random soap opera in front of the bed as you both start to eat together. It‘s warm and filling, having missed his cooking skills and presence.

You end up craddled in his arms as he reads you from some book he still had in the safe house, falling asleep to the familiar lull of his voice. The sleep you get is peaceful and full of rest, getting the perfect amount of rest and comfort in his arms. He also rests plenty, although he mostly looks over you during the night.

←MASTERLIST

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mrcaffeinatedisopod · 4 months ago

Text

Statistical Improbability ♡ DonBot x Reader 《 Part 1 》

Summary: You are a lone human survivor in this apocaliptic wasteland. You've made it this far by avoiding any unnecessary conflict with the mutant savages of the desert. Slowly, your drive to survive, the idea that things might get better - more bearable - gets more distant every day as you continue to search for your lost family members.

Just as it seems barely getting through each day is the only thing left for you in this world, your radar picks up a strange reading in the middle of the desert.

Context: This takes place in the wasteland warrior alternative reality/arc. Reader is the last human in the wasteland, and she survived all these years in her futuristic trailer, which she calls Big Bertha.

For some reason, the reader was aware of the Kraang before the mutagen bomb went off. She's repurposed some of their tech for her prothestic arm as well as her trailer.

I have also taken some creative liberties with how DonBot came to be, in the show he is essentially a copy of Donnie's consciousness after his body was destroyed, which is a super dark SOMA-looking plot-point. But I wanted a different flavor of existential angst, so instead DonBot has Donnie's actual brain inside of him! How does that work? Science *jazz hands*

Warnings: Be warned, this is my first TMNT fanfic ever, read at our your discretion. Mixed POVs. Slowburn? Mentions of blood, mentions of a brain in a glass tank, alcohol, a whole bunch of swearing, strangers to reluctant friends trope ( to eventual lovers ), mentions of reader's mysterious backstory, filled with some general trauma and angst.

Word Count: Some 8k+ words

Reader's POV:

"Come back here, I'll turn you into my next leather jacket!" The shrill voice taunted you through a speaker, and you gritted your teeth, grabbing the wheel until your knuckles turned white.

From your rearview mirror you could see the savages closing in from all sides, until your mirror was blown away by a shotgun blast. You grit your teeth and turn the wheel sharply, Big Bertha buckled and groaned as you went off road.

"You want a piece of me?" You pull a speaker from your panel, answering the taunt with one of your own. "Gonna have to catch me first, jerks!"

A savage lunges onto the side of your trailer. He elbows your window, and pieces of glass rain down as the maniac cuts and slashes at your neck.

You dodge just in time for the machete to imbed itself in the leather of your chair. With a primal growl, you kick the door open full force, slamming it into the mutant's face. He staggers and claws at the door, but with a swift boot to the face, he crashes onto the harsh desert sand.

"Maybe taunting the people you stole from was not such a good idea." Bertha's sweet voice hums through the speakers.

"NOT NOW!" You slam your working fist on the middle of the steering wheel. A hidden emergeswith a mechanical *click*. You punch it with all your might, your trailer creaks and shakes as just outside a hidden compartment opens up, a minigun sliding into place, it's barrel spin with a deafening whine.

With near perfect precision it blasts round after round of high powers lasers at the brutes chasing you down. Motorcycles explode and are torn apart in a violent scene. Riders are blasted off from their bikes in a shower of metal parts and flying blood, until the minigun starts to fail, sputtering in a pathetical whirring.

"Bertha, the spike strips!" You scream.

"On it." Beneath your license plate the spike traps are deployed. The spikes cover the ground of the desert, puncturing the tires of the mutants closest to the trailer. You can hear the sickening sounds of screams and screeching as the bikes are torn apart, but the tribe of savages is still hot on your tail, even after most of your tricks.

The rythmic thuds of bullets hit your trailer like rainfall. Were it not for your bulletproof plating you would be swiss cheese laying on the side of the road by now.

A honey badger mutant in an impossibly large motorbike closes in to you, giggling maniacally as it fires a bunch of crossbolts through your door.

A sharp thwack pierces your window, missing the target, but the second dart flies through the window and pierces you through your prosthetic arm and onto your side. The crossbow bolt embeds itself deep as you let out a painful cry.

Your robotic arm glitches and spasms against your will, and the steering wheel jerks out of control. Gritting your teeth, you hold the steering wheel with all of your willpower and force yourself to keep the vehicle on the road.

Out of frustration, you let out a strangled wail and slam the trailer on the motorcycle, sending the mutant flying through the air and tumbling through the rocks and dirt.

"There's too many of them." Bertha warns as her scanners show at least a dozen more savages and you're out of surprises. Despite their persistence, backing down wasn't an option.

"And you've got bigger problems." A warning flashes on your screen and Bertha shows a simulation of a rapidly approaching abyss. "We're approaching a deep chasm in 500 meters, at least a mile deep. You should turn around and find an alternate route."

"And get captured by those losers instead?" You lick your dry lips. "Ain't no way, Bertha."

You suck in a sharp breath, spitting blood and dust out of your broken window. Staring down at the rapidly approaching abyss.

"Give up, girl, and we'll make your end shift!"

Furrowing your brows in concentration, you awkwardly grab the crossbow bolt with your metal hand, snapping the end of the dart to free your arm. You pull down your helmet over your head and buckle your seatbelt.

"I'm gonna jump." You state flatly.

"Wait, that's too dangerous!" Bertha protested through the speakers. "Based on the previous damaged I've sustained, there is less than a 62% chance that-"

"Good enough for me! You got any other bright ideas?" You scream out, but before you get any answers you're cranking the gear shift. "Didn't think so!"

You grab the steering wheel like your life depends on it and hit the pedal. You open another compartment in the panel and smash the turbo button with your malfunctioning hand. The trailer rushes at an impossible velocity, pushing you back into your seat as you approach the edge of the abyss.

The trailer groans as you jump over a well angled rock, going airbone. You let out a strangled scream as you almost hit your head on the ceiling and can hear everything that wasn't chained down falling and hitting the walls of the trailer behind you.

Everything slows down to a stop. People weren't lying when they said you could see things in slow motion when you were about to die.

This is it. This is the end.

You close your eyes as tight as you can, your heart skips a beat or two as your life flashes before your eyes. Every single failure, every single mistake. Oh god, you'll never get to see them again, say sorry for everything that happened, how you wish you could go back. You forget to breathe as you embrace for impact.

The trailer lands harshly on the ground, and everything that wasn’t neatly tied to a wall falls and clatters to the ground. Bertha herself blows a tire from the impact and the fall almost crushes the hull completely on the front, she slides through the ground, creating a cloud of dust as the trailer hits a big rock that turns it on it's side.

The world spins around you as you push your door open, struggling to breathe not just from the dust in the air but your own near death experience.

You try to leave, but your seatbelt pulls you back. You groan in frustration and almost rip the fabric off of you, crawling through your window, away from the near totaled trailer. Gasping for air and struggling to swallow with your dry mouth, you fall to the ground, breathing heavily. You spit some blood and saliva on the rocks, and then out comes whatever’s left of your lunch.

Slowly, you stick your head up. Your double vision still allows you to see one of the savages tried to follow you, only to plunge into the depths of the earth bellow. The rest of the gang stops just at the edge of the abyss, staring daggers at you.

"We'll get you yet, you filthy human!" The tribe of savages shouted obscenities at you from the other side, blaring their horns at you, shaking their weapons and shooting at the sky. Tires screech horrible against the rocky ground before they ride away.

You let yourself fall into the ground, exhausted. On the bright side, the heist paid off. Fuck, who knew getting water could be so life threatening?

-----

Thankfully, the bolt didn't hit you too badly, as your metallic arm took most of the damage, but it still hurt like hell. You winced every time you had to move, and with the amount of repairs you had to make to Bertha, it meant you were wincing a lot.

"Okay, Bertha, prepare yourself." You say as you finished putting the last hydraulic jack into place, you scootch back and stand up slowly, holding your side to ease the pain. Once you're at a safe enough distance, you take a device from your pants and push a button.

The jacks groan loudly as the trailer is slowly pushed back onto it's wheels, for a second it seems like it might slip and crash back into the sand, but at the end the futuristic looking jacks push it with enough force to push the van back upright.

The door to the trailer creaks loudly as you open it up, almost falling off its hinges as you walk inside. It takes a lot of effort from you to get the spare tires from the back and change them.

You sigh, looking back at the abyss you jumped over to escape your mutant pursuers just hours ago. Getting Bertha functional took the better part of the evening, and you were still completely exposed underneath the desert heat.

From far away, you could already see a monstrosity forming on the horizon. Growing at an alarming rate, threatening to engulf everything in its path, a gluttonous entity that would destroy anything that didn't find proper shelter when it finally arrived. A sandstorm, and one of the bigger ones you'd seen.

You hit your clothes to clean them off, but it doesn't do much.

"Bertha?" You asked, using the side of your truck as leverage to get yourself back on your feet.

"Yes?" Her voice sputtered and glitched, the outer speaker damaged from the fall.

"How long until the sandstorm hits us?" You point towards the horizon, as if Bertha could really see you.

"By my calculations," She stays quiet for a couple of seconds. "We've got roughly 12 hours and 23 minutes before it reaches our current location."

With the sandstorm approaching quicker than you anticipated, it wouldn't be enough time to fully repair Bertha. Thankfully, the upgrades you’ve made over the years held up well, but this brilliant escape maneuver certainly put Bertha on her last legs. It didn’t help that the sandstorm brewing might tear her apart before you can make any further repairs.

Defeated, you threw a small wrench into it's toolbox. Getting back to your hideout was of the upmost importance in order to fix Bertha completely, but with the savages and the sandstorm looming on the horizon, you were one crash away from your end. The risk was too great, you needed to wait out this storm somewhere safe.

"Bertha, remember those big rock things we passed by years ago?" You ask as you start to recollect your tools.

"Oh yes, I remember. It was quite a lovely scenario." She chirped.

"Make a route for them," You clap your hands to get rid of the dirty in them and take your tools back to the trailer after getting Bertha functional. "They should only be a couple of hours away. It should shelter us from the worst part of the storm."

----

You struggle to keep your eyes open as you lay in bed. Tossing and turning you grunt every time you put too much pressure on your side and decide to lay on your back, one hand behind your head and another holding your gun close to your chest.

Just as you're about to doze off, you're suddenly thrown a couple inches in the air and fall from the bed, faceplanting onto the ground.

You groan, annoyed. Kicking your legs, you throw off the sheets away from the bed and fall completely to the ground, holding onto the bed to catch yourself as Bertha drives over a bumpy rock and you hit your knees onto the steel floor.

"What's going on, Bertha?" You scream out, "I'm trying to sleep over here."

"The radar's picking up some interesting energy readings."

"Interesting how?" You throw the covers back onto the bed and walk to the front of the trailer, putting a hand on your chin and analyzing some of the bullet holes in Bertha.

"I think you should check it out." You stop in your tracks and frown.

Walking up to the front of the trailer in nothing your pants and a dirty t-shirt, you sneak your head into the passenger's seat. "What?"

"It's some kind of unidentified energy reading about a mile north," The radar shows a small dot in your map, close to the caverns and mountain ranges you were headed off to. "Could be dangerous, should we avoid it?"

You look behind you to the mess of wiring on the ground. You hop onto the passenger's seat, and through the rearview mirror, you can see the sandstorm is coming closer. "How far away is this reading?"

"About a 30 minutes drive."

"No, let's go check it out," You walk to the back of the trailer, slipping into your boots and grabbing your gear. "Could be useful."

After a short drive you finally reach your destination, which seems to be an old town's ruins, bleached under the unforgiving desert sun, battered by the repeated harsh winds of the sandstorms, its once-sturdy walls crumbling into dust and mixing with the desert.

There was nearly nothing left of the decaying buildings. The main street couldn't even be seen, several years without care had cracked it beyond repair, and it was covered in dirt and sand. In the distance, a surviving windmill creaks, what's left of it's blades spin aimlessly in the hot breeze.

The whole trailer shakes and groans as it slowly comes to a stop, just close enough to the ruins that you could see a strange object reflecting the sun from far away, your curiosity peaks, and you tell Bertha to keep what's left of the guns ready.

You swing the doors open, and your heavy boots land on the rocky ground. You huff irritated as the sunlight hits your eyes. The annoying light seems to be coming just further up through the ruins.

Even though the evening draws near, the desert heat immediately hits you full force, it feels like the very sun is trying to cook you alive then and there. You open your waterskin and chug down a generous gulp of the water you stole from the savages. It was all the more refreshing in this scorching heat.

You walk through the ruins of the town, the silence is eery. Reaching what's left of a small house a small object in the sand picks your interest, kneeling down you swipe away the sand and debris, pulling what seems to be a girl's doll from the wreck. You grip it tight in your hand, what was once a bubbling town full of laughter and noise is now a ghost town, the only noise being the whisper of the wind and the occasional scurry of a mutant cockroach or bug beneath the wreckage.

You put the doll inside of your bag and carefully make your way to the strange object laying against a far away crumbling wall. It's metal reflecting the light of the evening sun. You keep your blaster ready to shoot.

As you get closer to the target, you see something that makes you stop in your tracks. A low, sickly hue of purple and pink that glows from the strange object. It was unmistakable.

The telltale sign of Kraang tech.

You dash behind a low wall and grab your blaster. Despite your calculated movements, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you sneak a peak, but the thing doesn't move an inch. A million thoughts race through your mind.

Were they really back? Why would they be back? Would it even matter if they came back to finish the job?

You stole a glance up from your cover, analyzing it more intently. It seemed like the strange object was a humanoid figure, laying on the ground close to the wall. Perhaps a broken droid? No. There's no way such a thing could have been made by the Kraang.

You could never forget it, the last time they came through their giant portal and brought their spaceships and guns and weapons of war. All of their machinery was sleek and polished, industrial, shiny to a sickly degree. From what you could see through your cover, this thing looked like it was made out of scrap and garbage, battered and worn down with time.

Crouching down from a safe distance, you start to pull the wrappings from your left arm until it is bare. Your prosthetic. It’s a crude thing, cobbled together from scraps and scavenged parts, far from sleek or efficient. You run your hand over the alien metal that you slapped together with iron and titanium, a makeshift arm that got the job done but constantly reminded you of your failures.

Trailing the slight glow of pink and purple markings in your hand, you almost lose yourself in thought. You breathe in deeply and struggle to close a malfunctioning hand before glancing back at the same faint glow in the machine that stood just a few feet from you.

If you could have found a way to utilize this technology years ago, perhaps others probably found a way as well.

Slowly, you grab a small rock close to your feet, throwing it over the wall. The rock hit the robot's back with an undignified "clunk" and fell to the ground in between its legs, unceremoniously.

"Huh," you think, standing up from behind the wall and making your way to the strange object. Now you could finally see it more clearly. It looked like some sort of robot... No, it was a robot of a humanoid looking turtle... man?

The metal was dark green and weathered by the harsh desert, battered and rough, but weirdly well taken care of considering the circumstances. There were several scratches and imperfections. It looked like it had seen quite the story, but the most curious aspect of the robot's anatomy was its shell, where the letters NYC still read clearly.

NYC. Ground zero.

That was a place you hadn't heard of in years, and now it stared back at you from the top of the manhole cover turned robo-turtle shell.

"Who would build something like this?" Your brows slowly furrowed in confusion.

Gently, you poke the robot on its side with your boot, not really expecting anything, but you keep your good hand on your gun.

Nothing.

You place your boot on its shell and press harder. "Yo, you good?" You tilted your head to get a better look. You prod it beneath its arm - then its face, but the hunk of metal remained motionless.

You wipe the sweat off your brow with a leathery hand.

"Yep, it's dead." Figures.

"If someone abandoned this thing by the road it was probably for a good reason," You say out loud to yourself. "Perhaps it is best to just use it for scrap."

There was just the slighest chance you could get it back online, reprogram it, and you could use a hand or two with big Bertha. An AI assistant was great but a full-on robot?

You hum as you run over the pros and cons through your head. If you leave it here, it'll definitely be torn apart by the sandstorm. The thought of getting mauled by a rogue robot you fixed was something out of a blockbuster horror movie, but the thought of such a fascinating piece of tech being abandoned ate you up inside. What was the saying again? Curiosity killed the cat?

You bit your lower lip, mulling it over.

Kneeling next to the robot, you touch its arm. The intense heat has made the metal so hot you could fry an egg on it. It must have been there for at least a couple of hours. Were it not for your glove, you could have burned yourself. You turn it over carefully, inspecting the indents of the metal and texture. It doesn't seem too badly damaged—nothing you couldn't fix inside big Bertha.

"Looks like we've got ourselves some company, Bertha." Standing up, you hit your pants to get rid of the sand and grab the robot by its legs, taking in a deep breath.

"This is going to hurt." You say to yourself as you start to pull the thing back to your trailer, your side flaring up in excruciating pain with each additional pull.

-----

You haul the robot into your trailer, feeling light headed from the effort. It's heavy body falls to the ground with a thud as you shove it inside.

Slumping against the wall, you press a hand to your side, wincing as it burns and warmth seeps through your fingers. You exhaled, ragged, trying to control your breathing.

"What did you find out there?" Bertha asks as the robot hits the ground, lifeless.

"Just... just a..." You struggle to breathe. "Robot... fuck." Grunting you push yourself back from the wall and close the door.

"Are you okay?" Bertha asks concerned, noticing your labored breathing.

"Damn stitches came undone. I'll be right back." You leave the robot to cool down inside your trailer while you head to your room to fix the stitches.

Bertha rumbles beneath you accelarating, so you can actually reach your shelter before sundown.

You throw your leather gloves and googles on the table. Turning on the trailer's dim lights, they flicker, struggling to keep on as you dig out your supplies -needle, thread, an old bottle of whiskey. You take a swig first, wincing at the bitter taste that burns your throat before dousing a rag and cleaning your wound.

The pain hits sharp, and your side burns as you grit your teeth and start stitching. By the time you're finished, you throw on a cleaner t-shirt before coming back to check on your guest.

Kneeling next to the robot, you brush the back of your hand against its metal plating, noticing it has already cooled down enough for you to fix it up.

With a grunt, you push it into a sitting position on the floor, then crawl behind it, inspecting the faint glow pulsating from its markings. Thing's still got some juice, apparently, but clearly not enough to be functional.

Taking out your notepad, you take your time with the machine. Rough coal sketches take shape in your pages, its segmented shell, the way the kraang technology seems to have been integrated in its sides, and the delicate mechanics of the three-fingered hands. Your calloused fingers trail the edges of its shell and each scratch and bump from the years of use.

"Man, I really would like to meet whoever built this thing." You mutter, jotting down quick notes.

Bertha hums through the speakers, guiding you into the mouth of a cave that's just big enough to shelter you two. Well, all three of you. "Do you think it still works?"

"I guess we'll have to figure it out."

You take a look at its left hand. Some of the screws had become loose. You tighten them up with a few quick turns of your screwdriver. The joints creak as you oil them, and you clean the excess that trails down with an old rag.

With your curiosity peaking, you sit down behind the robot again and carefully take it's head in your hands.

"Time to see what hardware this thing's packing." You tap the back of the robot's head with your screwdriver lightly, but Bertha groans loudly. "Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, Bertha."

Slowly, you remove all of the screws from the head, carefully you peel the plating back-

It slips from your hands, hitting the floor with a hollow *clang.*

Your breath catches in your throath.

"What? Is everything okay?" Bertha asks, voice sharp with concern.

Your feet scramble and scootch backswards quickly until your back hits the wall. A trembling hand covers your mouth.

"Hey, are you okay?" When you struggle to respond, Bertha calls your name loudly, snapping you out of your shock.

You swallow hard, pointing at the robot. "It's got a brain."

Silence.

"What?"

"It has a brain, Bertha!" You push your damp hair back, trying to make sense of the scene in front of you.

The brain sat in a glass-like tank, suspended on a thick, yellowed fluid. Wires snaked inside and hooked it up to a strange spine-line mechanism at the back of what would be its skull. It seemed damaged, some faulty wiring, almost as if he had been hit over the head.

The whole scene looked like something straight out of a science fiction book, and it makes your already empty stomach churn.

Slowly, you push yourself up against the wall, staring at the robot - no, at *him* - slumped lifelessly in front of you.

Is it a person? Some kind of cyborg? Could it have been human?

This thing looked like it was at least two decades old, could it be from the time when the bomb hit?

You gulp, considering your next options. *If it has a brain, it's a person.* Right? And you don't deal with people - if you could even call the savage mutants of the desert people - not since you got tired of pulling knives out of your back.

"Is it a person?" Bertha asks, a tinge of curiosity in her robotic voice.

"I don't know, I mean..." You close your eyes. "Probably?"

"Is he alive?" She questions.

"Maybe?" You laugh nervously, throath dry. "I don’t know what to do." And then you admit.

"Remember your number one rule?" She murmurs.

You nod slowly. "People are trouble."

Bertha hums in agreement. "We can still throw him back into the desert."

Bertha was right, throwing him back into the desert was still an option, but that would probably count as murder, not that you were a saint, but the idea of throwing a helpless person into the wasteland didn't sit right with you. You huff and push yourself off the wall, walking back to the robot and avoiding your mess of tools.

You walk closer to the robot, your legs feeling unsteady with each step you take closer to him. Kneeling, you study his exposed brain, reaching out to touch the glass tank with your metal hand and inspect the damage he'd sustained.

The sandstorm was already coming in strong, the force of the winds outside could be heard from inside the trailer and a cloud of dust started to form through the window.

Your eyebrows furrow as you look at the brain in the glass tank, wondering what kind of person would end up inside a humanoid turtle robot.

You suck in a shaky breath.

Maybe...

Running to your mountain of tools, metal, and other thingamabobs laying on your floor, you rummage through the pile of scrap, throwing useless pieces to your side as your frustration mounts. "Where is it?"

"What are you doing?" Bertha asks, confused at your sudden movements.

"I'm thinking!" You hit your hands in frustration on the floor.

"C'mon, c'mon, tell me I didn't throw it away..." You throw some old pieces of metal and tools around as you frantically search for it, letting out a loud "aha!" Once you finally find it.

From the disorganized pile of tools, you yank out an old dusty kraang charger. It was the same kind they used for their kraang droids, you never even knew what you'd use it for when you found it in the ruins of a building in New York, but you were glad you didn't throw it away now.

"Are you going to turn it on?" Bertha questions. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Maybe, I just..." Scootching closer to the robot. Cyborg. Thing sitting in the middle of your trailer, your fingers fumble, you pick up your tools and put the wires back in its place, being careful not to mess with anything important. "I want to see what kind of person he is."

"And if he's a crazy robot on the loose?"

"Then it's a good thing I've got you here." Once you're sure everything seems to be fixed, you put the metal plating back on its head, and then hook up the spare charger, securing the connection with a quiet click.

Nothing happens.

Your hands tremble in anticipation in your lap, but when nothing changes after a couple of seconds, your shoulders slump. You assume it would take the thing at least a couple of hours to charge up, or maybe you were too late to find it. It might be braindead by this point.

"Great." You close your eyes and push yourself up, rubbing a metal hand down your face. The stupid thing is probably already too far gone to

A sudden jolt. You barely register the whirring hum before it stands up suddenly.

"As- As I was saying, we need to find-" The robot stood up suddenly with enough force to hit you with it's flailing arms. You stagger back, tripping over your toolbox. You let out a sharp yell as you hit your side.

The robot looks around startled at your sudden noise, head snapping to look at you on the floor. A low, electronic hum cuts through the air as his systems kick back online. Glowing markings flickering to life with full power, illuminating the dim trailer in its eerie pulses of purple.

You stare up at it, unmoving.

"What the fuck." You breath out.

The machine shudders, its body humming as systems power up, the robot's limbs twich and readjust after being powered down for so long.

A pause.

Then, in a voice more human than you anticipated:

"Oh."

-----

DonBot's POV:

"As- As I was saying, we need-" A loud electric voice stutters as the robot comes back to life.

Suddenly, his systems kick back on, and his body jerks. He was just in the middle of finishing his sentence when everything went dark. It took a split-second before he readjusted and started to take in his surroundings. He wasn't in the desert, and Raph was nowhere to be seen.

Donatello has been left with his own thoughts for hours as his body powered down, unsure of what had happened, if Raph was even safe.

Alarms flare in his head. His sensors scan his surroundings, locking onto something fascinating and impossible.

A statiscal improbability staring right at him.

A human.

She stares at him with intense eyes, pale as a sheet, as if she'd just seen a ghost. Slowly, she rises to her feet stood slowly, one hand clutching her side, eyes narrowed.

"Uhm." She hesitates. "Hey. Robot, uhm thing, what are you talking about?"

He moves switfly. Before she can even notice it, the woman is being held against the wall with his tech-staff pressed against her throat. She gasps, eyes flashing with fear and anger.

"Who are you? Where am I?" Donatello's voice cuts through the air, synthetic but sharp. Human or not, this girl has just taken him into her trailer, and she might be a threat.

She scoffs.

"Who am I? The girl that pulled your ass from the sun before your circuits melted out there." She nods to the door. "And the girl with the automatic laser guns."

Bertha takes the hint. The walls whiropen, revealing a row of small but deadly laser turrets, all of them simultaneously locking onto the robot's forehead and shell.

"Please disengage from any further attacks." Bertha asks in a sweet voice.

He glances at the guns, then back at the girl's face. The odds were not in his favor.

"So," She starts. "I suggest you back off. And then, we can talk about this." Hands raised in front of her, she raises an eyebrow in question.

He hesitates for a second, but wagers she wasn't one of his attackers from earlier, or he wouldn't be talking right now.

He lets her go. She stumbles forward, coughing and rubbing her throat. That was going to leave a bruise.

She glares up at him. "Damn, some way to say thanks."

"What am I doing here?" His robotic voice demanded.

"Chill out, I found you in an old town's ruins and took you in." She rubbed her collarbone from where he hit her with the bo-staff. Ouch, damn thing came out of nowhere.

"I thought you were scrap or something, then I opened up your plating." She taps the side of her own head. "What the heck even are you?"

Donatello stiffens.

"I'm a person!" He stammers. "Well, turtle. Well, okay, turtle mind in a robot body. But, I-"

She furrowed her brows the longer he kept rambling, but it didn't make it any easier for Donatello to find the words to explain his current predicament.

"My body was destroyed, but I was cybenetically wired to Metalhead Mark II, a robot I designed. So, I transferred my consciousness into this machine." He gestures at himself.

She looked at him up and down, never did he feel so comscious about his new robotic body. The girl blinks slowly. It takes her a moment to process.

"Okay..." She rubs her temple. "So, you're not like an AI or something."

"No." He shakes his head.

"You're a person." She stated.

"Mutant turtle," He correct, "But well. Yes."

"Mutant turtle." She repeats and lets out a snicker. "Fine. What were you doing cooking out there in the sun, turtle man?"

Oh, that's right.

"Raph!" He lets out a scream, suddenly remembered what got him into this mess.

"What?"

"He's my brother, I need to find him!" He ran off to the door, but the girl grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back.

"Did your circuits get fried out there!?" She pushed him against the wall and pointed a finger to the window. "We're in the middle of a sandstorm!"

Outside, the sandstorm rages - thick, churning clouds of dust outside the mouth of the cave.

He pushes her hand off of him. "But I—"

“Fine,” She snarls, shaking her head and gesturing to the door. “You wanna kill yourself out there? Be my guest, but I'm not driving out there in this storm."

He clenches his fists, scanning the storm while she walks away, throwing her hands into the air before sitting down at her table and grabbing some tools nearby.

Defeated, he lets out a robotic sigh, unfortunately this stranger was right, the winds howled outside, even though it seemed that they had taken shelter inside some sort of cave, the wind that made it into the cave was still strong enough to thrash against the walls of the trailer.

The sandstorm is picking up intensity—howling gusts of dirt and debris hammer against the thin metal and glass. Inside, it's dim, save for the flickering lights and a lantern, as well as the faint glow of the old Kraang charger that was still connected to his body. His systems were still blinking to life slowly, his power had run way too low, he wouldn't make it far.

Donnie just hoped his brother could take care of himself a little bit longer until he got back.

Curiosity peaks again, and he looks at the human woman in front of him, she sat at the table with all sorts of tools, fiddling with her mechanical arm.

----

Reader's POV:

You try to ignore him, but your nerves are wrecking you. Having someone in your personal space was a bit unnerving after so long. Sure, you had Bertha, but she wasn't really a person.

You can feel his sensors scanning you, even though you’re not looking at him. You half contemplated shutting him down again, if that would even be possible. After all, he did attack you.

The storm outside thickens, the sand’s beginning to coat the glass, blurring everything outside into a hazy mess. The atmosphere feels thick—suffocating.

You glance back when you can feel his gaze hasn't shifted in a couple of long seconds. When your eyes meet his sensors, he averts his gaze. You let out a huff and go back to meddling with your still damaged prothesis.

He finally breaks the silence.

"So, how did a human end up in the wasteland? When the mutagen bomb hit, there was nobody left."

You sigh, turning back into your chair to look at him.

"A brilliant observation, I hadn't noticed." You reply sarcastically and snap your real fingers. "I just did, that's it." There's a bitter tone that you don't even attempt to hide.

In a way, you envy the mutants of the desert, your lonely life fit you, of course, but it also meant always looking over your shoulder, patching your own wounds, rescuing yourself all the time.

"That's not a real answer." He presses, snapping you away from your train of thought.

"That wasn’t a real question." You snap back. "What's with the interrogation?"

He shakes his head.

"Just trying to make conversation since you saved my life and all, and we're going to be stuck together until this sandstorm passes."

She glances up at him, narrowing your eyes. "Since when do robots make small talk?"

"I told you - I'm not a robot."

"Fine." You grumble, focusing on the upper end of your arm, where it connected to your shoulder. "Ever since the world turned into, well, shit. End of story."

He watches you, silent for a long moment, sat in a makeshift seat across the room. "Are there any others?"

"I've got no idea," you growl, but your voice lacks conviction. "If I knew you were this chatty, I'd have thought twice about hauling you into my trailer."

He flinches just slightly, and you feel a pnag of regret into your chest.

The silence stretched again.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. You tried to pay it no mind as you attempted to get your arm fully operational again. You swore underneath your breath as the screwdriver slipped from your grasp, clattering to the floor. Scooting over to the edge of your seat so you could pick it up.

Before you reach it, the robot beat you to it.

"Looks like you could use a hand or two." He offers you the screwdriver. "You know, I'd say I've got quite the experience."

You ponder it for a second, before rolling your eyes and nodding to the seat in front of you.

He almost seems excited when he sits down. Slowly, he starts to inspect your prosthetic with careful precision.

"Who built this?" He asks, turning your arm in his oversized three-fingered hand.

"I did." You answer flatly.

His eyes, or sensors brighten - literally. "Oh woah." He turns your hand around in his own. It was almost comical how small your fingers looked in comparison to his. "This is amazing! I've never seen technology integrated in a prosthetic like this before."

You blink.

"Thanks."

He inspects the faint purple glow in your prosthetic.

"Where did you get this tech from?" He questions as he starts to loosen some screws.

"This? I could ask you the same thing." She raises an eyebrow with a smirk, looking at the same purple glow in his mechanisms.

"Well, does saying it comes from aliens from another dimension make sense to you?"

You chuckle. "Uhm, yeah."

He starts to adjust some of the internal wiring, his movements swift and precise. You watch with interest at how much control he seems to have over his hands, even though he only has 6 fingers in total.

"I'm sorry, by the way. For earlier, for attacking you. And for the questions, I didn't mean to offend," it says softly. "It's just fascinating! I- I mean," he stutters as he tries to find the best way to put his thoughts into words, rolling the screwdriver in his hand as he explains.

You tense, caught in between shutting his next question down or brushing it off.

"You might be the only human left in the wasteland."

Your jaw clenches.

"Hooray for me." You say bitterly and ball up your real fist.

The robot’s silence is palpable, a weight in the air. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, but you feel the intensity of its observation.

"Sorry." He apologizes softly.

You bite back your sharp tongue.

"Look. " You hesitate, "It was pure luck. When the bomb hit, I happened to be in a makeshift lab of mine. It was enough to get me to survive the bomb and then the, well, fallout."

"But enough about me, you're a person, right? What's your name, turtle-man?" You change the topic of the conversation before he could prod any further into your personal life.

"Donatello" He answers. "But you can just call me Donnie."

'"Donatello." You tilt your head. "You're italian?"

That gets a chuckle out of him. "No, my father just really admired the great artists of the Renaissance." He takes away a damaged piece and replaces it with a new one.

"What's your name?"

You hesitate, but it's not like this nugget of information would tell him much else about yourself, so you tell him.

You watch as he repeats it slowly in a low voice, testing how it feels in his voicebox.

"That's a nice name."

"Psst. Maybe," You say, "But nobody really calls me that anymore. These days, when I meet someone they usually just call me something like 'Ghost'."

"The Ghost?" He asks, confused.

"Yep, you know." You sigh. "Last human on the wasteland and all." He thinks for a moment, then nods in understanding.

"So you're the one who built this robot body you're in right now?" You question him, looking back in his eyes, sensors? It felt weirdly personal, so you averted your gaze.

"I built this battle robot once, his name was Metalhead" He nods and hums as he explains, "But he got destroyed, so I made another one. I would never have thought it'd end up saving my life but, here we are."

"Cool." You say. "Not the your body getting destroyed part but, erhm, you know..." You rub the back of your neck with your good hand, cringing at the way your own voice sounded. Who knew spending years only talking to an AI assistant would put such a damper on your social skills.

"What about the voice that came through the speakers early?" He points at the speakers. Seaking of the devil...

"It's rude to talk about someone that's listening." Bertha chirps in, Donnie looks flustered for a second and starts to stutter out an apology.

"That's Bertha,sdon't mind her. She's my AI assistant." You answer. "I programmed her so she could be my lookout and auto-pilot."

"Just your lookout and auto-pilot?" She feigns hurt. "And here I thought we were actual friends." You roll your eyes and smile at Bertha's dramatics. Donatello watches the exchange in amusement.

"That's resourceful. No wonder you survived so long in the desert." He points out.

You give him a small smile.

"You know," Donatello says after a moment, "It's been a long time since I've had a conversation with anyone other than my brother."

"What happened to him?"

His hands still.

"Oh brother, we were ambushed by a gang of savages, then I lost consciousness." He admits. "When I came back online I was, well, here. I hope he's okay out there."

You grunt, shifting in your chair. "Seems like you two have made it pretty far. Can he take care of himself?"

"It's not that," Donnie says, his voice is quieter this time "He's lost most of his memories before the bomb. I'm worried about what could happen to him... but mostly, what could happen to anybody in his way."

Stealing a look at your own wall, your eyes find the lonely picture frame of you back in high school, surrounded by your father and friends, the only spec of your old life you had left at this point. You sigh, letting your gaze fall on the ground as you reflect.

"Do you have any idea where to start searching?" You finally look at him as he inspects your fingers in his own.

"Once the winds die down I could try to triangulate his location." He puts your hand down, inspecting his work.

"Sounds like a good start." You answer, wanting to add that you would help, you before you could speak again, he had already finished.

"And there you have it!" He spins the screwdriver in his hands before placing it in your toolbox. "A not so brand new robotic arm, but completely functional nonetheless."

You flex your fingers. The movement feels smoother than before, as if you had never even been shot.

You glance at him. "Thank you, Donatello."

His head tilts slightly, almost as if he's smiling. "You're welcome."

He looks at you, waiting for you to add anything else. The moment lingers longer than it should as you don'treally know what else to say.

He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his head. "So, how did this even happen?" He looks at your prosthetic arm, but you can also see him glance at the bullet marks in Bertha's plating.

"Savages." You say, keeping your voice even. "Had a run-in with them, too."

He waits expectantly. You rub your neck.

"Are you going to elaborate?" Donatello asks, more confused than annoyed.

"Hmm. Nope." You shake your head.

"Oh, okay." You chuckle at his response, half expecting him to press, but glad he took the hint.

You get up, popping your joints and gathering your tools.

"Well, it's getting late, and I've had a full day, so..." You let out a yawn and point towards your room.

"Oh, right! Seems like this storm isn't going to die down anytime soon."

"Do you need anything?" You cross your arms, and shift your weight from one foot to the other.

"I'll be fine, you've already done enough for me. Thanks." Donatello replies.

"Right." A long silence stretches between you, filled only by the howling wind outside and the occasional scrape of debris against the trailer. The storm rages on, the moment feels awkward, but for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel so alone. "Aight, imma head off now."

"Good night."

"Good night, Donatello." You close the door to your room behind you.

#tmnt x reader #tmnt x you #tmnt donnie #tmnt donnie x reader #tmnt donatello #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2012 future #donnie x reader #donatello x reader #mrisopodramblings #tmnt au #tmnt fanfiction #statistical Improbability

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enemiestolovershoe · 3 months ago

Text

Grief Wears Many Faces

Matt Dierkes x bsf!reader

Summary: After Y/N’s sister is lost in a tragic accident, Matt becomes her anchor in the storm. But as grief threatens to drown her, she crosses a line—one she can’t take back. Was it really a mistake… or something she’s (and Matt) needed all along?

Words: 4.3k

Warnings: Sibling Loss, Death, Mentions of Brain Death and Organ Donor, everybody griefs different, Best Friends to Lovers

A/N: Here’s another sad story to hold you over while I work up the nerve to finally post that dark fic collecting dust in my drafts. 😭

Disclaimer: While the characters in this story are inspired by real people, the events and interactions are purely fictional and not reflective of reality.

You met Matt Dierkes at a time in your life when you didn’t even know you needed someone like him. It was during your internship as a sound engineer. Something you had chased more out of instinct than direction. You were just another intern to the world, carrying cables and nodding through instructions until the day Matt showed you how to balance a soundcheck properly.

He was leaning over the console, explaining compression like it was poetry, and when you repeated it back, the grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth was the first real one you’d seen all day.

From that moment on, it was easy. Natural. No awkward first impressions, no forced friendship. You fit into his world like you were always supposed to be there. And for Matt, the decision had been instant.

“She’s my new assistant,” he’d told the guys one night after rehearsal like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And from then on, you were.

Two years later, the label on your friendship didn’t matter. “Assistant,” “best friend,” “ride or die.” You were simply his person. He was yours. The kind of bond that was so tight, so unshakable, that even the guys from Bad Omens couldn’t resist teasing you for it. Every smirk, every shared look, every casual touch. It was like you existed in your own orbit. And you’d been through everything together. When Matt’s ex left him shattered, when your parents sat you down with matching stone faces and announced the divorce, when the world tilted sideways — he was there. Always. And you were always there for him, without question.

You didn’t know it at the time, but that’s why you called him. That’s why your hands moved before your mind caught up.

You were standing in the middle of your favorite collectible shop, holding a Funko Pop you didn’t even want when the call came through. Your mom’s name flashing on the screen. You almost didn’t answer.

But you did.

The moment her voice hit your ear, you knew something was wrong. The words barely made sense, broken by sobs, but three of them carved themselves into your chest like stone.

“Your sister. Accident. Hospital.”

You couldn’t even hang up properly. The phone slipped from your hand, and for a moment, the world was spinning without sound, without gravity. But muscle memory kicked in, faster than your thoughts. You called Matt.

The phone rang once. Twice. And then his voice.

“Hey, where are you?” His tone was light, relaxed. But you couldn’t answer. The moment you heard him, everything shattered.

“Matt...” Your voice cracked so violently you almost couldn’t speak. “It’s— it’s my sister, she— she was in an accident.”

He went silent, but not for long.

“Where are you? Tell me where you are.”

You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “The shop. On 8th.”

“I’m coming. Stay there. I’m on my way.”

You didn’t even realize you were walking out of the store, the phone still pressed to your ear, your feet carrying you to the sidewalk without direction. The world felt stretched thin like the space between seconds had doubled. You couldn’t tell how much time passed. Seconds, minutes, before arms wrapped around you from behind.

It was him.

“I got you,” Matt whispered into your hair. His voice was tight but steady. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other pulling you in close, holding you like you were about to slip away.

You buried your face into his chest, choking on sobs. His hoodie smelled like home. You barely noticed the four other figures standing a few feet away until you lifted your head.

Noah. Jolly. Nicholas. Folio.

They had been at rehearsal. All four of them stared at you, their usual playful teasing gone, replaced by quiet concern. “Let’s go,” Matt said gently, guiding you toward his car.

The drive to the hospital was mostly silent, but not the kind that felt empty. His hand never left yours, squeezing every time your breath hitched or the tears started again.

“Hey,” he murmured once, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand, “She’s strong. Just like you. She’s gonna be okay.”

But even as he said it, his voice wavered at the end. Neither of you believed it.

The hospital loomed in front of you, sterile and bright. You walked in side by side. At the front desk, your voice faltered when you tried to explain.

“My sister was brought in. Car accident.”

Matt, steady as ever, filled the silence when you couldn’t. “Her name’s [Sister’s Name]. Can you tell us where she is?”

The woman behind the desk softened as soon as she saw your face. “She was taken into emergency surgery. Your family is upstairs, third floor. I’ll take you.”

You barely felt the elevator ride. The hallway stretched on endlessly until the waiting room door opened. And there they were. Your parents, sitting side by side. A sight so foreign it stole the air from your lungs. They looked like strangers. You hadn’t seen them in the same room since the divorce.

Your mother stood and crossed the room the second she saw you, pulling you into her arms, her whole body trembling.

“She’s in surgery,” your father said, his voice low, raw. “They’re doing everything they can. She’s... she’s critical.”

The hours blurred. Nurses came and went. Each time the door creaked open, your heart stopped, only to start again when it wasn’t the doctor.

At some point, Matt came back from the vending machine, pressing a paper cup into your hands.

“It’s not the best coffee, but it might help a little,” he said with a soft smile, trying to lift your spirits. As he stood up, his fingers gently brushed your cheek. A quiet gesture of comfort and care.

You held the cup like it was an anchor, the heat seeping into your palms, though you couldn’t taste the coffee at all.

A little later, Folio sat next to you, holding out a half-melted chocolate bar. The one he knew was your favorite.

“Here,” he said, voice soft. “Figured it might help. Even if it’s just for a minute.”

You managed a smile, and for a split second, you almost believed the world could go back to normal. But it only lasted until the next wave of tears came, sudden and sharp.

Matt didn’t even hesitate. He wrapped his arms around you again, pressing his forehead lightly to yours.

“You don’t have to hold it in,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Your mom watched the two of you from across the room. Even through her grief, you saw it. That soft, bittersweet smile. She’d always loved Matt. The way he looked out for you, the way his whole world stopped the second you needed him.

Then the door opened.

The doctor stepped in. Scrubs still stained. His face told you everything before his mouth could.

You stood, legs stiff and shaky, walking toward your parents, your heart hammering in your ears.

“I’m Dr. Richardson,” he began, his voice steady but kind. “I was the surgeon overseeing your sister’s case.”

He paused, glancing from you to your parents, then back again.

“Your sister was in a severe car accident. The impact caused multiple internal injuries — broken ribs, a punctured lung, extensive internal bleeding. The most serious was a traumatic brain injury. A subdural hematoma formed almost immediately, causing significant swelling. We did everything we could to relieve the pressure. We operated. We tried every measure.”

Your mother’s breath hitched, her hands flying to her mouth. Your father’s knuckles turned white as he clenched his hands.

The doctor’s voice softened even more.

“But the injury was too severe. There was no brain activity. She is... brain-dead.”

The world caved in. Your mother crumpled to the floor, sobbing. Your father knelt beside her, whispering broken words that couldn’t fix anything. You stood there, frozen, staring at the doctor like you hadn’t heard him right.

Matt’s hand was still in yours, squeezing so tightly it almost hurt, grounding you.

The doctor gave you space, his words careful.

“She’s on life support,” Dr. Richardson began gently. “Is she, by any chance, an organ donor?”

“No,” you rasped, a bitter edge in your voice as you tried to mask the pain with a weak attempt at humor. “She never wanted that.”

The doctor gave a small nod, acknowledging your words. “In that case, we would recommend taking her off life support.”

“Is there… is there any chance she could wake up?” your dad asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Richardson shook his head. “No. There’s zero brain activity. Her heart is still beating, but her brain is no longer functioning.”

Your dad exhaled slowly, then nodded. “Okay.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay with her for as long as you need,” the doctor added softly.

Matt noticed the way your knees trembled and didn’t hesitate. He pulled you into a tight, comforting hug.

“I can’t do this, Matt,” you choked out between sobs, your voice barely holding together. Matt’s voice, thick with emotion but steady, was the only thing that broke through the silence. “I’ll go with you.”

Noah put a hand on Matt’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “We’ll head back to the house. Get the guest room ready. She shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

You could only nod, too numb to speak.

And then you stepped inside her room.

There she was. Your sister. Pale, still, wires and tubes draped over her like fragile lifelines. Machines breathed for her. The rhythmic hiss of the ventilator, the steady beep of the heart monitor. It sounded so normal like she was just sleeping.But you knew.

Your knees buckled, and you stumbled to her bedside, clutching her hand, resting your forehead on her shoulder, sobbing so hard it felt like you’d never breathe right again.

Matt stood behind you, hand resting on your back, his own tears building, but he stayed strong. For you.

The nurses placed four chairs around her bed. The doctor spoke gently.

“When you’re ready, we’ll begin. We’ll remove the ventilator, and her heart will slow down naturally. You can stay until the end if you’d like.”

You nodded, brushing hair from your sister’s face, whispering to her like she could still hear you.

“I’m so sorry. I love you. You don’t have to be scared.”

Your parents did the same, hands never leaving her skin, talking to her like she could answer. Matt sat silently at your side, his hand still wrapped around yours.

The nurses began the procedure. Slowly, carefully. Tubes were disconnected. Machines went quiet.

The room filled with the sounds of whispered goodbyes. The hours stretched, but none of you left her side. Until finally, her chest stilled. The monitor’s steady beeping flatlined.

The nurse stepped out. The doctor returned.

With quiet finality, he said:

“Time of death: 9:12 PM.”

The world went silent again.

You’d said your goodbyes to your parents on shaky legs, your voice barely making it past your lips, and when Matt wrapped an arm around your shoulders and guided you toward the waiting Uber, you didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

The guys had taken the car earlier. They'd offered to wait, but the thought of going back to your childhood home, to the walls that held all your sister's laughter, her posters, her old perfume still lingering in the air. It was too much. You just couldn’t. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

The ride to the Bad Omens house was silent, your head resting against the cool glass of the car window, watching the city roll by in a blur of taillights and dark skies. Matt didn’t push you to talk. He just let his shoulder brush against yours, occasionally glancing at you like he was making sure you were still breathing.

When the car pulled up outside the house, the porch light was already on, casting soft, warm light across the driveway like a lighthouse waiting for a ship to come home. The front door creaked open before you even stepped out, and there they were. Noah, Jolly, Folio, and Nicholas, waiting for you.

Noah stepped forward first, pulling you into a quiet hug, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered. No teasing, no sharp wit, just genuine sadness. “She didn’t deserve this.”

Jolly followed, his hug firmer, solid like a wall you could lean on if you needed. “We’re here, alright? Whenever you need.”

Nicholas offered a soft squeeze on your arm, and Folio, ever the gentle one, just wrapped his arms around you and whispered, “You don’t have to say anything. Just know... we’ve got you.”

You nodded, too overwhelmed to speak, tears prickling again at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t deserve friends this good. Matt gently placed a hand on your lower back. “Let’s go to the guest room, yeah?”

You followed him upstairs, the house creaking beneath your feet, the air heavy but safe. The room was dim, the bed neatly made. The same bed you’d crashed on after long nights with the guys, after shows, after parties, but never like this.

Matt sat down on the edge of the bed, patting the spot beside him. You sat. Silence wrapped around both of you like a second skin.

“You holding up?” he asked softly, though he already knew the answer.

You shook your head, staring at your hands in your lap. “It doesn’t feel real.”

Matt leaned back against the headboard, pulling one leg up. “I know. I keep thinking about when my ex left me. I thought that was the worst pain I could feel, but this... this is different, huh?”

You nodded. “It’s like my chest is too tight like there’s no space to breathe.”

Matt tilted his head, watching you. “I hate that I can’t fix it for you.”

“You are fixing it, just by being here,” you whispered.

A moment passed, the quiet stretching long before you spoke again. “I keep thinking about all the dumb fights we had, me and her. All the times I told her to leave me alone, or hung up on her just because I was in a bad mood. I didn’t even say goodbye.”

Matt leaned over, gently brushing his hand against your shoulder. “She knew you loved her. You don’t have to doubt that. And if she was anything like you, she’d forgive every single moment.”

You looked up at him, your eyes tired and red. “I just want her back.”

His voice was soft, breaking slightly. “I know.”

When he finally stood, brushing his hands against his jeans, you thought he was about to leave the room. And that was when the fear gripped you.

Your fingers wrapped around the sleeve of his hoodie, holding tight. Your voice came out small, cracked. “Don’t go. Please.”

Matt paused, looking down at you, and a sad, knowing smile pulled at his lips. He climbed back into bed without hesitation, lying down beside you, pulling you gently into his chest. His arms wrapped around you like a shield.

You were close like this sometimes. Long nights on tour buses, backstage at shows, during storms when the world felt too big. But this was different. He’d never held you like this in a bed before. You’d never needed it this much.

His voice was soft against your ear. “You remember when my dog got stuck in the fence when she was a puppy?”

A small sound, half a laugh and half a sob, left you. “Yeah.”

“She chewed through my favorite sneakers that day too. I couldn’t even be mad. I just sat on the floor with her, waiting for her to stop shaking.” He gave a short chuckle. “I didn’t know it was possible to love something that much until then.”

You didn’t answer. You were already drifting off, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

The day of the funeral came, and you were a mess long before you even put on your black dress. You hadn’t gone back to your childhood home once. Your mother had understood. Without judgment, without guilt. You couldn’t walk those halls right now. You had spent every hour since that awful night at the Bad Omens house.

The guys had been your lifeboat. They kept you distracted with old movies, dumb card games, even new music ideas, each one more ridiculous than the last. Anything to make you smile, even for a second. But no matter how hard they tried, you knew you couldn’t have survived the week without Matt.

You sat on the bathroom counter, trying to apply makeup through trembling hands. The tears came before the brush even touched your face.

When Matt knocked lightly on the half-open door, he didn’t even wait for you to answer. He saw you there, hunched, eyes swollen, mascara smudged from endless crying. And his heart broke all over again.

“Hey,” he whispered, stepping in and placing a hand on your back. His warmth grounded you for a second. “You don’t need the makeup, Y/N.”

He reached into the cabinet, pulling out the pack of makeup wipes. The ones he’d bought months ago and stocked for you, because you always forgot yours.

You let out a broken laugh through the tears. “My sister always said I looked like a corpse without makeup. Guess the joke’s on her, huh? What a plot twist.”

His breath hitched, but he stayed steady for you. “Hey, look at me.” His fingers brushed under your chin, tilting your tear-stained face up. “You are beautiful. With or without it. But today... you’ll be prettier without it, believe me, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t do anything but nod. Another wave of sobs shook your chest, and Matt pulled you into him, arms wrapping tight around your frame like he could glue the broken pieces back together.

A soft knock at the door broke the moment.

It was Noah.

His voice was gentle, but heavy with emotion. “It’s time.”

Matt rested his forehead against yours for a second before whispering, “Come on. I’ve got you.”

The funeral was beautiful in the way that only something impossibly sad could be. White flowers lined the chapel, soft music played from a string quartet your sister would’ve found too fancy. Photos of her life framed the room. As a child, as a teenager, as the bright-eyed, sarcastic girl who filled every space she walked into.

But the weight of it all crushed you. The endless line of people offering condolences, faces you hadn’t seen in years, some of whom barely knew her. Some who didn’t even care. Their words felt empty, rehearsed.

Matt, always one step behind you, had seen the shift in your expression long before you spoke. Your jaw clenched, your hands shaking with bottled rage.

“You wanna go?” he asked softly, brushing his fingers against yours.

You just nodded. You didn’t have the strength for words.

Your family lingered, hugging you tightly, your mom whispering, “Take your time, honey. We’ll stay a little longer.”

The guys had your back the second you walked away from the crowd, herding you quietly to the car. The drive home was silent, the kind of silence that doesn’t ask for music or conversation. Just a shared understanding.

Matt’s hand rested on your thigh as the car moved through the streets, his thumb drawing small circles. A silent reminder: I’m here.

When you got back to the house, the others gave you space. They scattered through the house, letting you breathe.

Matt stayed.

He guided you to the couch and gently pushed you to sit.

“Stay here,” he said softly, disappearing into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, he returned with two glasses of your favorite summer drink. The one he remembered you making on long, hot nights months ago, before the world had gone to hell.

He settled beside you, pulling you against his side, remote in hand. Your comfort movie flickered onto the screen. You didn’t even need to ask.

He held you, tracing lazy patterns on your back. But halfway through the film, you couldn’t hold the tears anymore.

“Hey,” Matt whispered, turning to face you. “What’s wrong?”

Your voice cracked like glass. “I miss her so fucking much, Matt. How am I supposed to do anything without her? She was supposed to be my bridesmaid. The godmother to my future kids. My best friend.”

You were sobbing by now, the words tumbling out faster than your heart could keep up. “She was supposed to be here. She was supposed to be everything.”

Matt reached for you, wrapping his arms around you again, but before he could pull you into another embrace, your lips found his.

It was desperate. Confused. Raw.

The second it happened, you both froze. Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs.

Matt pulled back just slightly, his hands still holding your face. His voice was soft, but firm.

“Y/N... believe me when I say this is everything I’ve ever wanted,” he whispered, brushing your tears away with his thumbs. “But not like this. Not today. I don’t want you to regret it later.”

But your hands tightened around his, your voice barely holding together.

“Please, Matty. Make it stop. I need this.”

Matt’s hands were still cradling your face, his thumbs brushing away the wet tracks your tears had left. He looked at you, really looked, and the world outside the two of you just… slipped away.

“Okay,” he whispered, barely more than breath, but the word held a weight. A promise.

Then he leaned in, slow and careful, like he was afraid you’d break. His lips met yours again, and this time, the kiss wasn’t rushed or messy. It was soft, tender, almost hesitant. Your lips moved against his as if both of you were trying to memorize the shape of this moment.

But grief has a strange way of burning through you, and that soft kiss quickly deepened. Your hands threaded through his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for something real, something solid, something that wasn’t loss.

His mouth opened against yours, and your tongues met. Slow at first, then hungrier, like you were both trying to fill the void that grief had carved out. The tears kept coming, hot and endless, slipping from your eyes and mixing into the kiss, but neither of you pulled away. You couldn’t.

Matt’s hands moved to your waist, steady and strong, pulling you onto his lap without even thinking. You straddled him, your arms locking around his neck, clinging like he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. His hands slid up and down your back, holding you impossibly close, and for a few stolen minutes, the only thing that existed was the heat between you.

Your hips moved on their own. Slowly seeking friction against him. You couldn’t ignore the hard press between you, the quiet but undeniable truth of it. His breath stuttered, a soft groan slipping from his lips as you rolled your hips down into him. His hands tightened on your waist, fingers digging into your sides like he was trying to ground himself.

The kiss turned messy, all tangled tongues and gasps, your breathing syncing and breaking apart, both of you drunk on the moment, on the need for something other than sadness.

But then Matt pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, your tears still falling, his hands still firm on your waist. His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion, but steady.

“Y/N...” he whispered, his thumbs brushing gently over your damp cheeks. “I love you.” He paused, letting the words settle between you. His chest rose and fell against yours, still out of rhythm from the way your bodies had tangled just seconds before.

“But we’re gonna wait on that one, okay?” he said softly, eyes locked onto yours. “I want you to be one hundred percent there. Yourself, when we take that step.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, tears making it hard to breathe, but you nodded.

“I love you too, Matty,” you whispered back, the words tasting both foreign and perfect on your tongue.

You leaned in again, pressing one last soft kiss to his lips, this one slower, gentler. No desperation, just quiet certainty. His hands rubbed slow, comforting circles on your back, and for the first time in what felt like forever, your chest didn’t feel so heavy.

The room stayed silent, wrapped in that bittersweet bubble, until the sudden sound of a voice shattered it.

“Okay…” Noah’s voice cut through the air, sharp with shock but also laced with that familiar teasing tone.

You and Matt both jumped apart like guilty teenagers, wide-eyed, breathing uneven. Your heart raced in your chest as you looked over your shoulder at Noah standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

“I wasn’t exactly prepared for that to happen today,” he added, stepping further into the room, a crooked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “but honestly, I’m not surprised either.”

You buried your burning face into your hands, a wet laugh mixing with your leftover tears, while Matt rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish but also strangely peaceful.

Noah turned his head toward the hallway and shouted, “FOLIO! YOU OWE ME TWENTY BUCKS!”

You heard a groan from somewhere down the hall.

Noah shook his head, looking back at the two of you. The way you sat tangled on the couch, the grief still hanging thick in the air but softened by something new, something unspoken.

His voice gentled. “I’m glad you’ve got each other.”

And with that, he slipped out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar, as if he didn’t want to fully intrude on whatever this was. Or whatever it was becoming.

You looked back at Matt, your fingers brushing his. The tears still lingered, but the ache didn’t feel as lonely. His hand found yours and squeezed gently, eyes soft and steady.

“We’ll get through this,” he whispered. “I promise.”

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