#outlaw midas x reader

[defectivevillain]

run run blood

pairing: Outlaw Midas/Reader

the reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: “So,” Midas drawls, “do we have a deal?” “…Fine,” you relent, against your better judgment. This is such a bad idea. And the foreboding in your chest only grows when Midas holds out a golden hand for you to shake. You return the gesture. His grip is firm, but not painful. Unfortunately, his grasp is also insistent—he doesn’t seem keen to release your hand any time soon.

You suppose it's inevitable that you meet the legendary outlaw Midas, after your nearly countless heists across the island of Oninoshima.

word count: 5.6k | ao3 version | midas playlist

warnings: canon-typical violence and weaponry, spoilers to Chapter 6 Season 2 of Fortnite; drugging, kidnapping, fainting

author's notes: I’m a relatively new Fortnite player, so I’m pretending Midas is a new Chapter 6 character since I don’t know his lore. This is decently canon compliant for Ch6S2, I think. I will say, I literally forgot that, y’know, everything he touches turns to gold… and I wrote this entire thing before realizing… So… Yeah… 😔 Explain that however you want. I couldn’t think of a creative enough way to make him actually able to touch the reader with the curse. Just pretend he found a way around it or something, idk. (I can’t lie, I didn’t realize he actually had the whole Midas curse… I thought he was a cyborg until I read the wiki, LOL.) Also, I beefed up the Midas/Fletcher vibes to make their past a bit more impactful. I made them exes, pretty much. I took creative liberties. Ah well.

As usual, I couldn’t come up with a title so I took it from a song: Run Run Blood by Phantogram.

After the island of Oninoshima is successfully purged of demon influence, you find yourself… bored. You can only go through the motions so long before you burn yourself out. In hindsight, this ennui likely triggered your recent activities. But, it’s too late to contemplate the reasoning behind it. You’ve crossed a line you can’t come back from. 

In the absence of an adversary, you meet new friends and soon find a common enemy: Fletcher Kane. He has a tight grip on the entire island, with his mansion overtaking a sprawling section of the island’s map. His brick driveway weaves through the grass, a luxurious eyesore for all to see. He coats practically every surface in gold. He has more wealth than he knows what to do with, yet he still doesn’t seem satisfied. Fletcher is somewhat of a tyrant around here, with his staggeringly high taxes on weapons and imports making daily life nearly unliveable for everyone except him. 

So, you don’t feel very guilty robbing him. It certainly doesn’t help that his gold almost seems to regenerate overnight, leaving you with endless opportunities to just steal and steal and steal. And, hey, if he didn’t want you to take his money, maybe he should be guarding it better. His guards are almost incompetent, and they seem to think that appearing in staggered waves is better than using their numbers to their advantage. It’s really all too easy to break into the vaults scattered across Oninoshima, especially as you start getting better weapons and gear. 

Your first few heists draw the attention of Cassidy Quinn, a criminal who harbors a similar hatred for Fletcher. Through Cassidy, you meet Keisha, Joss, Valentina, and a host of other personalities who are eager to take Fletcher down. As time passes and you start to hone your craft, you unknowingly draw the attention of a vital piece in the puzzle: Midas. 

Midas is… well. You’re not sure how to describe him, based on what you’ve heard. He’s enigmatic and egotistical, apparently. It’s abundantly clear he isn’t in it for the greater good—he just wants Fletcher out of the way. That kind of selfishness isn’t one of your favorite traits, so you decide it’s a better idea to avoid him altogether. But, as your heists evolve to be quicker and faster, you unwittingly draw his attention. (And once Midas’s attention is captured, he is unstoppable.)

One uneventful day, you’re rifling through a chest for a better weapon when the sound of footsteps reaches your ears. You immediately whip around and point your gun at the sudden presence. There’s a dark laugh and the intruder steps out of the shadows. 

“I’ve heard about you,” Midas says, a dangerous smirk hinting at his lips. He looks about the same as he’s been described to you: shoulder-length black hair, a scar ripping through his right eye, a vicious grin. Despite the gun pointed at his head, he looks entirely nonchalant—only raising his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. You swallow an irritated sound and let your gun rest at your side. 

“You must be the one who’s been working with Valentina and Cassidy,” Midas analyzes, before enunciating your name carefully. Something lurches in your chest as you realize he knows exactly who you are. Damn it. You had a bad feeling you could only stay under the radar for so long. 

“That’s me,” you respond eventually. 

“Their work did seem far less sloppy than usual,” Midas notes. He studies you for a minute. “And I suppose you’re also the one riding the motorcycle and creating all that ruckus.”

Oh shit. Oops. “…Yeah,” you respond after a moment, a slightly sheepish smile breaking through your blank expression. Truthfully, you hadn’t quite considered just how loud the motorcycle can be. You’re resisting the urge to laugh now. “Keisha’s teaching me,” you remember to say, when you see his arched brow. 

“Teaching you what, exactly?” Midas scrutinizes. “How to draw the attention of everyone on the island… all at once?” 

“No,” you say, ignoring the dig. Truthfully, this is a bit funny. He’s almost acting like an annoyed neighbor. “Stunts and stuff,” you remember to answer noncommittally. 

“On a motorcycle?” he hums, his brows furrowing for a moment as he contemplates the thought. “Interesting.”

It’s quiet. You don’t decide to break through the silence, instead just staring at Midas and waiting for him to speak. He meets your gaze for a while, before sighing and shaking his head. “We have more important things to discuss,” he declares. You weren’t aware you had anything to discuss with Midas. You don’t even really want to speak to him in the first place. And those sentiments must be obvious, because he smirks knowingly. “I could use your skill,” he then says. 

“I’m sure you could,” you acknowledge. “But I’m not joining you.”

“I don’t expect you to,” he answers, to your surprise. 

“...Good,” you nod after a moment. 

“But I do want you to do something for me,” Midas continues. 

Of course he does. “Why should I?” you frown. 

“I’ll compensate you, of course,” he answers. “Call it a test.”

A test. You grit your teeth, resisting the urge to point your gun at his head again. That sounds like a waste of your time. But the sum of gold he offers you is too good to pass up, and he knows it. 

“So,” Midas drawls, “do we have a deal?”

“…Fine,” you relent, against your better judgment. This is such a bad idea. And the foreboding in your chest only grows when Midas holds out a golden hand for you to shake. 

You return the gesture. His grip is firm, but not painful. Unfortunately, his grasp is also insistent—he doesn’t seem keen to release your hand any time soon.

Midas is slippery. Evasive. Dangerous. 

A smirk rises on the outlaw’s lips when his hand finally slips away.

…And you immediately regret your decision. 

Despite your misgivings about the whole Midas deal, you follow through. Because you may be a lot of things, but you’re not a liar. You gave him your word—that was your mistake to make. 

Fortunately, his tasks don’t take as long as you expect them to. You manage to scan for mysterious energy sources on Predator’s Peak and sneak into Daigo’s underground laboratory to take his book on mask-making, per Midas’s requests. 

When you return to the Rogue Repairs Black Market, you amble around a bit before heading to the door near the back and swiping your Outlaw Keycard. Midas seems to be getting a bit more detailed with his security measures. You enter the room to find Midas sitting at his desk. Without so much as a greeting, you just toss the Mask-Making Book towards him and let it skitter across the desk. Midas looks up at you and hums, before taking the book in hand and inspecting it. 

“You’re quick,” he nods, rifling through the pages before placing the book down. “I wasn’t expecting you for a few more days, at least.” His gaze is heated and unyielding. 

Gritting your teeth, you throw him a gold bar and his eyebrows climb up his forehead for a second. “From Kane’s personal vaults,” you explain, upon sensing his confusion. Maybe this will convince him to trust you.

He whistles. “Not bad at all,” Midas acquiesces. He taps his fingers against the desk, a hollow rhythm echoing throughout the room. “He did seem a bit riled up. I see I have you to thank for that.”

You just nod. 

A pause. “You don’t talk much,” Midas observes after a moment. He doesn’t seem bothered by it. 

“I don’t have much to say,” you answer eventually. And of one thing, you’re certain: you need to watch your words in front of this guy. He’s volatile. 

“Well, I can hardly complain when my benefactor bestows such fortune unto me,” Midas says, making a somewhat grand gesture with his arms before resting them on his desk once more. The intensity of his gaze is unnerving you a little. 

“I’m not your benefactor,” you remember to correct him.

“Of course,” he smiles. “Now, onto the real work.” You resist an eye roll, instead keeping quiet and allowing him to monologue about this and that. At some point, he starts actually talking about important things and you tune back in. 

“You know what to do,” Midas concludes, finally freeing you from that one-sided conversation. With a slight nod, you’re effectively dismissed. “Feel free to grab some weapons on your way out.” He’s evidently referencing the exotic rifles scattered across the space. You’ve never been quite fond of them. They can do a lot of damage, but they’re a bit… finicky. 

“Thanks,” you say somewhat flatly, knowing you won’t take him up on the offer. Midas seems to recognize that too, because he just smiles that damn smile. It never fails to send a shiver down your spine.

“Be careful,” Midas hums. If he were anyone else, the remark would be genuine. But this is Midas. 

“Fuck off,” you mutter under your breath, turning your back and walking away. 

Midas’s laugh seems to reverberate in your ears long after you leave. 

As promised, these new tasks from Midas are a bit more difficult—but ultimately nothing crazy. At some point, you stop asking questions and just keep quiet. If Midas senses this shift, he doesn’t comment on it. The two of you continue your unplanned meetings, with you visiting whenever you finish a task for him. They’re nothing more than business, and neither of you bother with small talk. They’re transactional and nothing more. 

Sometimes, though, you have to wonder if Midas doesn’t understand that. It’s strange. You’ve heard so many rumors about him and his sharp tongue. And while you’ve certainly seen and heard evidence of his scathing commentary, he’s never quite lived up to the untouchable and prickly individual everyone thinks him to be. 

It’s a small change, but you’re perceptive enough to notice it. Somewhere along the way, Midas almost seems to start anticipating your visits. His gaze will snap up to you the moment he hears your footsteps. He’ll try to keep you there longer, drawing out conversation and asking you questions that he doesn’t seem to even need the answers to. You’re not quite sure what his motivation is. 

For a while, you can at least take solace in the fact that he hasn’t visited you outside of the Black Market since you first met. Of course, the universe doesn’t let you have that comfort for long. You’re in the process of breaking into a vault one morning when you hear a far too familiar voice behind you. “Impressive.”

Your soul nearly jumps out of your body when a hand lands on your shoulder. “What the hell—?” you immediately flinch and whip around, backing away.

“Relax,” Midas says flippantly, as if he hadn’t just appeared out of nowhere. He takes a step closer to you, and then another. You pretend not to notice, instead looking at him warily. 

“What are you doing here?” you remember to ask, after busying yourself with reloading your gun and looking around for more guards.

“Just checking in on your progress,” he answers, idly nudging the dead guard on the ground with a boot. The guard doesn’t budge and Midas just hums disinterestedly. 

“More like distracting me,” you mutter under your breath. 

“You think I’m distracting?” he asks, a twisted smile on his face. “I’m flattered.” 

“Of course you are,” you mutter again. This guy is relentless. You shake your head in an attempt to clear your thoughts, and study your surroundings. The thermite you placed on the door of the vault is making steady progress. You probably have about half of the time left. More guards will appear soon, you think to yourself. 

A burning feeling on your arm captures your attention, and you look down to find a gash on your forearm. Frowning, you turn the corner to grab some bandages.

“Careless,” Midas notes, referencing the wound. He must’ve followed you over here. 

“Shut up,” you snap, rolling the bandages around your forearm somewhat awkwardly. You barely manage to get it done in time before guards are emerging from the rooms upstairs. You quickly run up the nearby stairs to eliminate them. 

You return to the ground floor to find that Midas… isn’t helping at all. He’s just standing there, his hands shoved in his pockets as he watches the scene unfold. You want to be surprised, but you’re not. He thinks everything is a game. 

Two more guards approach and you switch to a pistol. You think Midas is saying something, but his voice is nothing more than warped background noise to you. Once you’ve taken them down, you turn to find Midas looking at you. There’s a strange expression on his face. You have no idea what emotion could be gleaming in his eyes, but it looks to be a relatively profound one. 

Before you can contemplate that any longer, there’s the sound of footsteps in front of you. You squint and watch as a guard heads through the door behind Midas. For a moment, you just watch as the guard gets closer—and you wait for Midas to whip around and shoot him. But Midas doesn’t make a move. Has he even noticed? You don’t have much time to wonder, as the guard promptly raises their gun.

That split second almost seems to take a few minutes, as you come to the conclusion that you’ll have to be the one to act. You manage to get close enough to Midas to push him out of the way, not even bothering to be gentle as you practically shove him off to the side. The guard fires a bullet where Midas was standing mere moments ago and you make quick work of defeating him, before turning back to the outlaw. 

“Idiot,” you admonish him. 

He’s on the ground, staring up at you with a slightly shocked expression on his face. It’s quickly replaced by indifference as he brushes his clothes off and gets to his feet. “Not so rough next time,” Midas says pointedly. And of course he doesn’t thank you for saving his life, or even acknowledge it. Of course. 

“There won’t be a next time,” you promise. 

“True,” Midas agrees, evidently not catching onto the implications you just made. (Because you won’t save him next time. At least, that’s what you’re telling yourself.) Then the outlaw looks at you pensively. “I was… distracted.” Inexplicably, he’s staring at you as he says that. 

“Maybe you should pay better attention, then,” you say flatly, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Maybe,” he says flippantly. Midas is still staring at you intently. His gaze turns scrutinizing as he looks you up and down, his eyes quickly landing on your forearm. “Your bandaging skills could use some work.”

“Yeah, well,” you sigh. “It’s hard to do with one hand. Besides, this gets the job done.” You reach down to the tattered bandage, attempting to wrap it around your arm again. 

Midas extends a hand, and it lingers in mid-air for a few seconds. There’s a strange tension settling in the air now. It almost looks as if he’s going to reach out to fix your bandaging. 

Then the vault door explodes, promptly breaking the moment apart. You’re the first to regain your composure, turning your back and making your way into the vault. Your departure is too quick for you to notice Midas staring after you, an inscrutable expression on his face. 

“Midas?” you hum after a moment, peeking your head out and looking up the stairs. He’s lingering awkwardly at the top, seemingly lost in thought. You hold up a gold bar and move it back and forth before his eyes. Still nothing. That’s pretty strange. He must be pretty preoccupied. 

“You good?” you ask after you’ve finished looting. The outlaw didn’t even enter the vault. Very weird. You’re not so deluded as to think he trusts you to know what’s valuable down there—he’d want to check himself. So why didn’t he? 

Midas blinks, as if thrown from a stupor. “Of course I am,” he responds smoothly. It’s probably not as convincing as he wants it to be, but you can sense he won’t elaborate. You settle for walking out of the building with him, occasionally sneaking glances at the outlaw who’s always been rumored to be emotionless.

In hindsight… maybe you got too confident, sneaking around Fletcher Kane’s mansion for a fifth time.  

But in your defense, you weren’t expecting to get jumped. Well and truly jumped—as in, ambushed with a needle to the neck before you could even raise your gun. And besides, you had broken into his mansion four times before—this heist shouldn’t have been different. Fletcher’s security has been laughably lax. It seems he was expecting you this time, though. 

You come to these thoughts within a few minutes of your return to consciousness. You’re not blindfolded, thankfully—but you are tied to a chair in a nondescript location. After a few moments of thought, you recognize it to be Kappa Kappa Factory at the edge of the island. Dread stews in your chest. It could be a while before you’re found. 

You experimentally pull at your bonds, unsurprised to find they’re incredibly tight. All of your weapons are gone—including the dagger you keep in your boot for situations like this, which is really a shame. You’re well and truly captured. 

You’re not at all surprised to see Fletcher Kane walk into the room within moments, his cane thudding against the ground. You watch his approach, taking in the luxurious coat around his shoulders and gilded gold detailing on his cane. This is someone who has more than enough money to burn. 

“I finally have you,” he says. The remark is ominous enough to send an ugly nausea climbing up your throat. You take a slow breath, struggling to keep your composure. 

“Couldn’t even take me in a fair fight?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. Damn it. “I guess you did get your ass kicked last time.” 

That gets you a punch in the face. The blow is hard enough to make you see stars, and you have to tilt your head to spit blood out of your mouth. It seems he didn’t appreciate that reminder. 

“You’ve been an incredible nuisance,” Fletcher frowns, cracking his knuckles exaggeratedly. You resist an eye roll at the gesture.  

“...Thanks?” you say after a moment. 

The wolf rolls his eyes. After considering you for a second, he continues. “I’m willing to compromise,” he says. There’s a dramatic pause. “I could give you more gold than you would ever know what to do with.”

“Maybe,” you acquiesce, despite already knowing you’ll deny his offer. It won’t hurt to keep him talking, though. “But what would I have to give you?” you reason. 

“Your service,” Fletcher responds. At your perplexed look, he specifies. “Your skill.”

“Um… that’s okay,” you eventually remark, looking around the room to avoid his eyes. Besides, how exactly would you benefit him? What is he even after? You’re still not quite sure. 

Fletcher doesn’t exactly seem surprised, but he does seem annoyed. He takes a step closer and your gaze unwittingly snaps back to him. You’ve stared him down before, but that was when you had fully loaded weapons. Right now, you’re uncomfortably vulnerable—with no weapons, no ability to move, and no safety. 

“You think you’re safe with him,” Fletcher says. He doesn’t need to specify exactly who he’s talking about—you both know. “But you’re not. Midas will discard you at a moment’s notice. The second you lose your utility, you’ll be dead to him.”

It seems like he’s speaking from experience (and also projecting). You don’t really know what to say, so you just keep quiet. Fletcher doesn’t even seem to notice—he almost looks lost in memories, in betrayal and anger and grief.

At some point, he seems to remember your presence and his eyes narrow. Suddenly, Fletcher crosses the room in a swift movement and yanks your head back, forcing you to look up at him. His nails are almost as sharp as claws, digging into your skin. You choke on a breath as you see the pure fury in his eyes. “You’re nothing.” 

He releases his grip with a pronounced shove. Your vision spins at the movement. You’re starting to get the feeling that this really isn’t about you—it’s about Midas. Fletcher just grabbed you to use as bait. But, you have a sneaking suspicion you’re not good enough bait. You wouldn’t be at all surprised if Midas never showed. You’re not that important to him. The outlaw doesn’t do friends, or acquaintances, or whatever the fuck the two of you are. 

“He’s not coming.” The remark crawls its way out of your throat before you can stop it. Fletcher’s eyes are back on you. 

“Oh, he is,” Fletcher laughs, a gesture entirely devoid of amusement. It sounds empty, bitter, almost defeated. There’s clearly a rich history between the two criminals—one you’re entirely unknowing of. You only know what little Midas has told you: that they’ve known each other for a while, that Fletcher has always been like this. Clearly, there’s a lot more between them than what you previously thought. 

“I don’t think so,” you continue. Your voice sounds a bit raspy, which is strange—considering you likely haven’t been here for too long. 

“When I first heard,” Fletcher says, entirely uncaring of your objections, “I thought it to be just another rumor. I dismissed it time and time again, each time I heard it.” Is it fair to say you have no idea what he’s talking about? He’s being frustratingly vague. It seems like the wolf is alluding to something between Midas and you. What exactly that something is… you haven’t the faintest idea. 

“But I’ve seen it for myself,” Fletcher continues. You blink in disbelief. What exactly has he seen, and how has he seen it? You don’t think the three of you have ever been in a room together. “Midas sees you as an equal. Values you, cares for you. And because of that, he is weak.” The statement’s punctuated by a harsh thud from his cane. 

With that, the air falls quiet once more. You’re not sure how much time passes: it could be minutes, it could be hours. Hell, you could’ve been here for days. In this windowless room, it’s impossible to know for sure. All you know is that Fletcher is quickly turning impatient. 

“Midas is taking his time,” Fletcher announces, beginning to pace around the room. He seems restless. 

“He’s not coming,” you repeat. 

“You seem certain,” Fletcher notes. 

“I… am,” you say carefully. A mere moment’s reflection on Midas’s character could tell you that. The two of you aren’t even friends. In your absence, he’ll just move to find another weapon (benefactor, you remember him saying).

Something changes in his expression. Kane takes a step closer. Your heart thuds against your ribs. “You’re smart,” he says begrudgingly, crossing his arms across his chest. “Why have you remained at his side?” 

“I don’t think he lets anyone stand at his side,” you reason. This is Midas you’re talking about, after all. He comes and goes when he pleases. “I just… complete the tasks he gives me.”

“You underestimate yourself,” Fletcher argues, seemingly strangely passionate about the topic. You still can’t shake the feeling that you’re missing a huge piece of this puzzle. There’s something neither of these criminals are telling you. “Or, I suppose, what you’ve uttered is what you do. But he isn’t content with that. He wants more.” 

The distance between you is virtually nonexistent now. A claw traces the space under your eye, a hollow reflection of where the scar cuts through Midas’s face. You choke on your next breath. “He’ll take everything from you,” Fletcher continues, dragging his finger down, down, down. “Make you forget who you are, what you’re fighting for. Your purpose.” 

You just swallow. Distracted by the movement, Fletcher’s hand flexes and finds your throat. There’s a contemplative expression on his face now. “I could end this,” the wolf muses. “Ensure you never disrespect me again.” His hand tightens for a second, a warning. You are not the one in control. 

“He would never forgive me,” Fletcher says.  It’s murmured so quietly that you almost don’t even hear it at all. “But I don’t think I need his forgiveness,” he then concludes. “Just his attention.”

Your heart drops to your stomach. He’s going to kill you. He’s going to rip your throat out. His grip on your throat tightens, moving past discomfort and quickly ripping your breath from your chest. You can barely budge in your current position. All you can do is stare up into those empty eyes. 

Your vision’s starting to blacken. You’re going to die. Fletcher’s vicious smirk blurs and sharpens before your eyes. His hand digs into your skin with far too much force. You’re going to die, you’re going to—

In a blur of motion, Fletcher reels back, blood spurting from his wrist as a bullet carves a neat path through it. You flinch as blood spatters across your face. What follows eludes your comprehension: blurs of movement, gunshots, blades. You feel dizzy even as you just sit there. 

At some point, Midas returns. The only sign of his fight with Fletcher is his slightly labored breathing—otherwise, he looks unscathed. He studies you for a moment before crouching down to untie your bonds in eerie silence. Even when he’s finished, he remains standing before you. Something like annoyance passes over his face and he reaches out to wipe the blood off your face, before finally stepping back and giving you some breathing room.

You get to your feet slowly, your knees protesting the movement. You’re not sure just how long you spent here, but you know whatever you were drugged with is still running through your system. Your balance is a bit unsteady and you almost feel like a baby deer learning to walk. 

“Can’t even take a punch?” Midas huffs judgmentally. You’re too dazed to notice the concern hidden behind his remark or the way he steps closer, as if ready to reach out and support you if needed. 

“I think he drugged me with something,” you say instead, your tongue feeling thick in your mouth. It was kind of hard to notice before, since you were forced to be stationary. But now that you’ve tried to move, your exhaustion and vertigo are rather persistent. There’s sweat collecting at the back of your neck. You don’t feel right; something doesn’t feel right. “Sorry, I—” you try to say, only for the world to twist around you. It feels like every bone in your body just turns to mush, as you crumple to the ground and surrender to unconsciousness. 

You wake up to find yourself settled on a couch, a somewhat scratchy blanket draped over you. Your muscles ache with even the smallest of movements, as you push yourself up to a half-seated position and clear your throat to get rid of the dryness. There are new bandages around your forearms, far less clumsy than your own handiwork. 

“You’re awake,” Midas states. You glance to the side and find him sitting in an armchair nearby, leveling you with a scrutinizing gaze. 

You nod ever so slightly, not trusting yourself to speak. “...Thanks,” you say. You don’t need to elaborate for him to know what you’re thanking him for. If he hadn’t arrived, you might’ve been dead. And, if Midas really wanted, he could’ve just left you there. He didn’t have to bring you back here—wherever this is—and patch you up.

“I should’ve been there sooner,” Midas responds. 

You just shake your head. You don’t blame him, but you sense that speaking on those thoughts will just throw you into an argument. You don’t have the energy, so you instead remain quiet. After a few more minutes spent in awkward silence, you try to push yourself up slowly. 

“Don’t push it,” Midas warns you, making you freeze in place. “I found traces of the drugs in your system. Or, I suppose, Joss did. Not exactly her forte, as she was keen to remind me several times.” He rolls his eyes slightly. 

“Everyone seemed quite worried for you,” he continues. “You have quite the little family now, whether you wanted one or not.” 

He’s speaking a bit too quickly for you to comprehend everything. “Sorry, I’m—” you choke out, bringing a hand to your temple. It’s difficult to process what’s happening, especially in this conversation. You still can’t quite understand the whole interaction with Fletcher, let alone what’s happening right now. 

“You apologize far too much,” he notes clinically. “You should work on that.” 

You huff, unsurprised by his scrutiny. When you move to push yourself up again, you find the movement a bit easier—and realize Midas has a hand on your back, guiding you up. You murmur a word of gratitude quietly, feeling slightly less winded now that you’re in a seated position. 

Midas looks to be contemplating something. “In truth, I’m the one who should be apologizing,” he eventually says. “I got you caught up in this mess.”

You just shake your head. “You couldn’t have known that would happen.”

“I should’ve expected it,” he argues, shaking his head. 

“And I should’ve expected the ambush,” you add with a sigh. 

Midas’s face darkens at the reminder. “That seemed… unnecessary,” he says. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was frowning. “Even for Kane.”

“He seemed to think I was disrespectful,” you explain, “for all the robberies.” 

“I’d venture to guess there was more reason than that,” Midas analyzes, looking at you pointedly. He’s inviting you to explain. This is his way of asking what Fletcher said to you. He’ll never outright say it, but he wants to know.

“He did say…” you trail off hesitantly, tangling your fingers in the blanket thrown over you. “He seemed to think that you would show up, because he had captured me.”

Midas just clasps his hands, before looking at you and waiting for you to continue. 

“He, um,” you stammer awkwardly. This is embarrassing, somehow. You’re not the most perceptive when it comes to ambiguity and implication, but Fletcher had really hammered the point home. “He said you want more from me.”

“More,” Midas repeats, evidently seeking elaboration.

“More than just completing tasks,” you continue. “He was… Um.”

Midas looks at you imploringly. “Say it; I can take it.”

That’s… not really what you’re worried about. But it doesn’t seem like you’re going to get out of this one. 

“He said,” you eventually manage to say, “that you value me and care about me.” There’s that familiar tension you always seem to feel in his presence, sinking through the air and making you question everything you say. “I told him he was wrong,” you maintain, after giving Midas a moment to process. 

“...You did,” he says. “A fierce defender.” There’s a note of some detached emotion in his voice. It sounds unnatural, hollow. 

“I mean,” you justify, “It was just instinctual. Because it’s not true.” You search his face. 

You’re expecting a hum, a nod, or, hell, no reaction at all. But you aren’t expecting Midas to sigh and bring a hand to his temple, before dragging his eyes up to meet yours. “It’s true,” he admits. 

“It is?” you blink. 

He nods ever so slightly. “You didn’t show,” Midas then recalls slowly. It looks like each word he utters is taking more energy from him. This is clearly difficult for him. “I was skeptical. You’re usually… quite quick. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, told myself it was an arduous task when it wasn’t.”

“It wasn’t until Keisha visited, that I let myself believe it,” he continues. “That you were missing.” 

“I felt strange,” he frowns, his hand twitching. “Sick.”

“I thought my years of good health had finally caught up to me. But I persisted. I thought nothing of it—of how it cleared the moment we locked eyes earlier.”

“It’s true,” Midas concludes. “You are… very important to me.”

“You’re important to me too,” you confess after a few moments. 

“As Midas,” he recites, something bitter in his voice. “As an outlaw.”

“What?” you say. “No, I mean… Just—” you take a slow breath. “You’re important… as you. Just you. None of that other stuff.” As far as confessions go, it’s almost pathetic. You barely get the words out, and they sound absolutely nonsensical to your ears. 

But Midas seems to understand regardless. His hand finds yours where it’s resting on the bed. It’s a seemingly small gesture, but both of you can sense the meaning behind it. You squeeze his hand in what you hope to be a sign of reassurance. His grip tightens in response. 

Midas proceeds to keep you company throughout your entire recovery. He admits, one night when he thinks you’re asleep, that he’s never quite done this before—caring for a person like this. Caring about a person like this. 

You’ll admit something similar in the coming days, once you’re fully recovered. You’ll admit you feel as if you don’t deserve to be cared for, that you’ve taken too many lives to feel deserving of anything. And Midas will laugh under his breath quietly, bringing a hand to your cheek. His thumb will glide across your cheekbone. 

“Maybe neither of us deserve this,” Midas will admit, “but, we deserve each other.”

And you’ll look at him, meet his eyes, and find yourself unable to hide a smile.

Until then, you drift off to sleep knowing you’ll have his company when you wake.

©2025, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

endnotes: Heeheeheeeee!

Imagining Midas sitting in an armchair across the room but near your bedside…. Imagining him literally never leaving… Imagining him falling asleep there… spending all his time there, because he just wants to be near you… GRAHHHHH!

also WHEW. Midas is difficult to write for. But I think I pulled it off, and I’m pretty proud of it.

I fr almost wrote “deerling” instead of baby deer… and then I looked it up and remembered that Deerling is a Pokémon. Bahahaha.

huge shoutout to my fortnite bestie @connorhasabigtip we’re so tilted at the towers. can’t wait to run ppl over with u again!!! i mean. uh. play the game how it’s supposed to be played. yeah.

thanks for reading! <3

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general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat @always-lying-to-you @moss4ev3r @hottskull

friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

[luvlyypiee]

PLEASE more midas with puppygirl stuff I'm buegging

a / n : ofcsies ! <3 (this is outlaw midas btw cs hes so <3)

your tongue splays across his cheek, and he cringes-- arm hooking around your waist nonetheless. your thighs splay across his, your tail wagging so much that your butt moves along with it.

you whimper in his ear as he works, your lips nibbling at his ear despite him pulling away a bit.

"what do you want, my love? hm?"

you move in front of his papers, eyes wide as you press your forehead against his, "attention." you huff out, and he sighs, setting his papers down.

"come on then." he picks you up in his arms, one of his hands going to place his cowboy hat atop your head as he carries you on over to your shared bed.

he lays you flat on your back, sitting next to you. he rubs your ears first, then your head, petting you and running his fingers through your hair. his lips curl into a smile as he places a kiss on your temple, chuckling at the wag of your tail and the way your ears go back.

he taps your nose before using his other hand to caress your body, "so pretty. my pretty puppy." he hums as your body curls around his hand, your eyes wide as you smile up at him.