#and i feel for them. i feel their pain and the emptiness of not knowing what's next or what you should do | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

salemrph · 23 hours ago

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"Let the World Burn"

Chapter 3: Prove to me that you're stronger

Previously: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

A night of celebration ends in chaos—you vanish without a trace. The ransom demand arrives, but Sylus knows this isn’t just about money.

Chapter 3 summary: Something is wrong. You feel it. A weight settling deep in your bones, a fog clouding your thoughts. Despite your injuries, you need to escape. If you can’t trust your own strength, then at least trust him. Somewhere in the facility, the twins are closing in—but will they reach you in time?

Characters: Sylus x MC/reader/you, Luke and Kieran, Zayne, Caleb

Genre/Warning: descriptions of violence and blood, hurt/comfort, injuries, grief, romantic, drama, action, slight sexual content, angst

Word count: 6,909 | Reading Time: 28 min | AO3

RECOMENDATION: There is a part with a hint to BGM, I highly recommend you to hear it while you read.

Tag list: @voidsylus @thechaoticarchivist @syluscrows @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @syluskisser @fortunekookie07 @crimsonlittlecrow @mochibunnies3 @gazelover666 @fancyhawk45 @sorryimakira @paninisstuff @deathrye @tinyweebsstuff @sxderia @yunhogrippers @sylusqt @darkesky @an-ever-angry-bi @atinymekanie @bruisedchickensoup @thatonegenderfluidwhore @certainduckanchor @the-girl-who-used-to @reika-desu @f41k47 @beezabuzz @mentaltrouble2201 @bl00dsuccker @blorbohunter @gianchan-de

You wake up again, disoriented, the dim light above flickering weakly. Your entire body aches, but the sharp, searing pain in your chest is what pulls you fully into consciousness. You clutch at it instinctively, your breath coming in shallow gasps. What have they done to you? The memory of the lab floods back—hands gripping you, cold voices, the violent sound of the cardiogram. The pain from before was unbearable, and now it holds on you so tightly, a cruel reminder of whatever experiment they’ve subjected you to. Did they mess with your Protocore Syndrome? The thought churns in your mind.

The cold of the concrete floor seeps into your bones, making every movement feel heavier, but you force yourself to move. Your fingers scrape against the rough surface as you try to push up onto your hands and knees. The effort is agonizing, your muscles trembling with the strain. Your head spins accompanied by a stabbing pain.

You focus on your breathing, forcing the pain to the edges of your mind. The room around you is nearly empty, stripped of anything that could be useful. A prison bed sits in one corner, its sheets rumpled and stained. A table and chair are pushed against the far wall. It seems that it is not the same room as before.

You’re lying in the middle of it all, sprawled on the floor like discarded trash. The realization sends a wave of anger through you. Grimacing, you plant your feet firmly against the ground and push yourself upright. The world tilts dangerously, your vision swimming as your body protests, but you grit your teeth and stay standing. Weak or not, you’re leaving this place.

You steady yourself against the table, taking a moment as your breath, every inhale a reminder of the soreness radiating from your chest. You scan the room, looking for anything, a vent, a weapon, a weak point in the door.

The walls are concrete, unyielding and blank, but the faint hum of machinery vibrates through them. The only exit appears to be the heavy steel door across the room, but there’s no handle on your side, just a small window. Maybe you could break it with the chair. Your instincts kick in, years of training fighting against the fog clouding your thoughts. Think. Act. Survive.

Your gaze lands on the chair. Breaking the window would attract a lot of attention. The legs are thin if you can get enough leverage, maybe you can break one off. You limp toward it, every step a battle, and crouch low. Then you turn the chair around, you place one foot on the base, wrapping your hands around the thin leg, muscles trembling as you pull and push. The bolt resists at first, but you dig your heels into the floor, using your weight to force it. Your hands sweat and shake, in that state, they slip on the metal.

“Come on…” you say with effort. You end up slipping and hitting your hand. “Fuck!”

Your body trembles as you curl into yourself on the cold ground. You have no strength left to fight. Tears build up in your eyes, blurring your vision but you don’t bother wiping them away. What’s the point? Can you really escape? Or is this it? A broken laugh escapes your lips, more like a sob strangled before it could fully form. Maybe it would have been easier if you had died in that explosion. Maybe it would have been kinder if Caleb had buried you instead… All this shit you've been putting through. Half-truths, dangerous missions, and yes, yes, of course you wanted to be a Hunter. Save the world, protect the people… But who protects you? Occupational hazards, you tell yourself. Good equipment, high-tech weapons, sharp instincts and grueling training. That’s what keeps you alive, day in and day out... And yet, everything can still go wrong. Like now. Especially now.

Your head pounds, a brutal, unrelenting pain that drowns out everything else. Your body is numb, the torment pressing down so heavily on you that it’s hard to even tell where the pain ends and your own thoughts begin.

Trapped in a godforsaken hole where they treat your body like an experiment, pushing you past the edge, over and over. Needles pierce your veins, flooding you with something that makes your heart race too fast, too erratic—teetering on the edge of failure. You’ve worked for this. Fought for it. With all the effort you've put in with Zayne. Training, check-ups, medication… everything to keep your heart strong enough to survive the impossible. To take on the toughest missions. To win. Your body trembles, muscles locking up as the foreign substance tears through you. You gasp, fighting to stay present. Cold sweat clings to your skin, accumulating lightly on your forehead.

How much longer can you take this? You know perfectly well that this was just the beginning. They’ll come back. A second round. Maybe a third. Your fingers twitch against the cold floor, useless, trembling. You try to move, but even breathing feels like a battle. You force your lips to move, a weak whisper.

“Sylus…” His name escapes, slipping past cracked lips like a plea. Fuck… Shouldn't he be here already? Always stalking you, having Mephisto eyes on you basically 24/7. Or even Luke and Kieran… and now he's taking his fucking time to find you. What a shitty boy— Wait. The call. Rudy was walking to him before. He knows. Just as quickly as you felt some relief, the concern for him comes at the same instant. You close your eyes for a moment, imagining Sylus' face.

The familiar sound of gloves hitting the heavy bag, the rhythmic thud and pull of the rope, that brings you back to the gym. Sweat dripping down your face, the sting of a punch still fresh in your knuckles. Sylus standing next to the pushing bag. Eyes locked on you, always serious when it comes to your workouts.

“Again.” he commands, pushing you through limits you didn’t know you had. “You can do better. You’re not here to just survive, you’re here to win. So act like it.”

You feel the burn in your muscles, the exhaustion accumulating, but his words echo in your mind, cutting through the fatigue. You’re stronger than this. You glance at him, sweat running down your body, your heart racing. His eyes don’t waver from yours. There’s no doubt in them. It’s the way he always looked at you, like you were capable of more than you ever gave yourself credit for. He holds the punching bag and gives you a sign.

“Don’t stop, prove to me that you can be stronger.”

In that moment, you let go of all of the doubts. You throw another punch, this time with purpose, with power. You do more reps, hitting the bag harder. You hear him nod, approving. “Use your whole body”. You adjust your stance, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent—stable. You exhale sharply as you throw the next punch, twisting from your core, driving the movement from your hips. Power doesn’t come from just your arms; it flows through your entire body, from the pivot of your foot to the snap of your wrist. The bag shudders with impact.

“Now kick!” Every muscle is screaming for rest, but you don’t stop. Not with him beside you. Not when he believes in you more than you believe in yourself. You grit your teeth and throw a solid kick at the bag, feeling the impact vibrate up your leg. “Harder. Come on, Kitten!” Determined, you shift your weight, pivoting on your foot. With a sharp breath, you twist your hips and launch into a spinning kick. The force sends the bag swinging, and Sylus instinctively takes a step back, his eyes gleaming with pride. He smiles. “Good job.”

With that, your training is over. You sit down on the bench, gulping down water as you struggle to catch your breath. Sylus approaches, offering you a towel.

"Your training is getting harder" you say tiredly, wiping the sweat from your face.

“Or maybe you're finally reaching my level. Took you long enough, kitten." You smile at him. Even though it is tougher than the Hunter Association training, every extra mile you take will make you stronger. You take a sip of water, smirking over the bottle.

"If this is you pushing me to the limit, I expected more. Don’t tell me you’re holding back?" Sylus smirks at your comment. You stand up stretching your sore muscles before turning away. “I will take a shower… Are you—” Before you can finish, Sylus sweeps you into his arms effortlessly, making you gasp as your feet leave the ground. You drop the water bottle and the towel around your neck finds their way to the floor. “We talked about this, Sy” you pout, swatting his chest. He only chuckles, leaning in, resting his temple against yours.

“We did. I… just love to have you in my arms.” Will you ever get used to those sweet words he always drops without warning? The way he looks at you with the purest sweetness you've ever tasted? You avoid his gaze, because you know you're turning red, and even though you wanted his attention, now you want to run away from it. He loves seeing you like that. “So, you were saying?”

“Nothing, put me down” you start to squirm but his hold tightens playfully.

“But kitten, weren't you about to invite me to take a shower with you? I’m not going to let that offer slip away.”

You groan, pushing against his shoulder. “Don't you have anything more important to do?”

“My schedule just became free” he murmurs, and before you can argue, he captures your lips in a kiss.

The sound of running water fills the bathroom, steam curling in the air. He helps you take off your sweat-soaked clothes always with overwhelming care, then after he guides you into the shower. Sylus watches you, his gaze burning even hotter than the water cascading down his skin. You stand with your back pressed against the cool tiles.

“You look tense” he muses, stepping closer and leaning casually in, one arm extended over your head. Droplets slide down his toned chest, glistening under the dim light. He reaches out, fingers tracing a slow path down your arm. “Maybe I should help you relax.” His gaze moves slowly across your face, down over your shoulders, chest to where he's touching right now. You swallow, feeling your pulse stutter as he trails lower. Your skin prickles beneath his touch, heat blooming in its wake.

“Is this your way to cool down?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. His lips brush against your temple, then your cheek, trailing down until they hover just above the corner of your mouth. The water drips down his jaw, onto your skin, and the sensation sends a shiver through you. The heat building up in your core accompanies the throbbing of your clit, a mix of pleasure and the sweet ache of being so desperately horney. You could throw yourself into his arms but you enjoy the push and pull you have. The game of who falls first.

Sylus chuckles, low and deep. “No.” His hands find your waist, thumbs stroking lazy circles against your damp skin. “You put in a lot of effort… I think you deserve a reward.”

The heat from the shower is nothing compared to the way his lips find your shoulder. He takes his time, savoring the way you gasp under his touch. He grabs one of the shower gels and pours a generous amount into his hand. The cold gel makes you whimper when he expands it over your skin.

“You enjoy spoiling me too much” you murmur, trying to sound annoyed, but the way your body leans into him betrays you. His hand is already cupping your breast, creating slight friction on your nipple. His breath ghosts against your neck before he nips at your skin, making you whimper again. Your hands press against his chest as if to push him away, but instead, you tilt your head, granting him more access. Wishing he'd bite down like he always does. His fingers slide up, tilting your chin, leaving you with no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Tell me to stop" he challenges softly. His glowing eyes are piercing you. You don't answer. Instead, your fingers curl against his skin. You want more. Sylus smirks. “That’s what I thought.” His mouth finally claims yours, slow but searing, like fire melting through every last thought you had. “Don’t worry I will give you a proper massage after.”

The steam fogs up all the glasses and the sound of your moans are drowned out by the splashing of the water. Everything else fades—until there’s only him.

You get up, slowly, painfully, but you get up. Sylus’s voice is still with you, urging you forward. And this time, you listen. You try to breathe, focus on anything but the pressure in your chest. If you don't fight, you die. And if you have to die, may it be fighting. You can hear a door closing and footsteps in the distance. They're coming back.

You need to get a weapon, and the leg of that stupid chair is the best thing you could get. So you try again. Planting your bare feet firmly on the ground, trying with all the strength you have left in your body to break the rusted metal. The first creak is faint, but it sends a rush of hope through you. You keep pulling and forcing the metal, ignoring the strain in your arms and the screaming protests of your chest.

Finally, with a sharp crack, one of the legs snaps free. You stumble backward, clutching your makeshift weapon. It’s short, blunt, and uneven, but it’s something. The sound of footsteps in the hallway makes you freeze. A shadow passes the small window in the door. Panic threatens to take over, but you force it down. This is your chance.

You drag yourself to the side of the door, pressing against the wall just as it swings open with a mechanical hiss. Someone steps in, his gaze scanning the room. He doesn’t see you at first, his attention on the empty bed. You don’t hesitate. Using every ounce of strength you have left, you lunge forward, the broken chair leg swinging with all the force you can muster. It connects with a sickening thud, and the guard crumples to the ground, unconscious.

You collapse against the wall, gasping for air. The pain in your chest flares again, but you shove it aside. You kneel and search frantically through the guard’s gear. A keycard hangs from his belt, and a small comm device is clipped to his collar. Your fingers brush over it and what follows is a sharp sting pierces the side of your neck.

A prickling sensation spreads through your veins. Your breath hitches and your vision blurs at the edges. The room tilting and spinning as your body sways. No. No, no, no—this can’t be happening. You blink rapidly, forcing yourself to move, but your limbs grow heavy, sluggish, like you’re wading through thick tar.

“…routine check in the lower levels. Lab secure…”

A shadow looms over you. A voice muffled seeps into your consciousness. The headache hits you like a sledgehammer, pounding at your skull. Everything feels wrong. The air, your own movements, even the memories clawing their way to the surface—they crash into you all at once.

“Did you really think it’d be that easy?”

Your fingers tighten around the keycard, but your grip weakens. The strength you just fought so hard to reclaim is slipping through your fingers like sand. You try to push yourself up, to resist, but your body betrays you, your limbs refusing to respond. The floor rushes up to meet you, and the last thing you register before darkness takes you is the sound of footsteps approaching and a cruel chuckle echoing through the room.

A voice echoes in your mind, high-pitched, trembling. “Gran? Granny, where are you?” It’s your voice, but younger, frightened. The sound reverberates in your mind, pulling you back to a different time, a different place.

It’s 2034, and the sky is bleeding. Rusty red rain falls in thick, viscous drops, staining the earth as the air hums with an unnatural energy. You could only see the shadow of it then—a Wanderer, towering and formless, its presence bending the very fabric of reality. Its scream pierced through you, splitting your world in two. The memory fades into another, sharper and closer.

"You must press on." His voice, calm and commanding, had echoed through your very soul.

“There is so much blood” Your chest heaves as more images flood in. A sea of blood glistens before your eyes. It coats your hands, warm and sticky, dripping from your fingers. The sight is suffocating, and the grief hits you like a wave. You don’t even know whose blood it is, but the weight of it feels unbearable. A field of red flowers stretches endlessly, glowing under the amber light of a setting sun.

"Why not? You're also mine now."

It’s familiar, tugging at something deep within, but the name, the face, the connection—it all slips away, maddeningly out of reach. A melody creeps into the back of your mind, you begin to hum along. The echo of an organ resonates far away in a cathedral.

"Our souls are bound. We will never betray each other."

The words pierce through you, the field darkening as the voice grows louder, more commanding. Who is it? The pain in your chest, the memories tearing through your mind, the disorientation, it all builds to a breaking point.

"After all, you and I—we are the same. True kindred spirits."

You want to scream. A harsh, burning sensation courses through your veins as you slowly come back, your head lolling to the side. The world around you is a blur of cold metal and dim, flickering lights. Your body sways—not of your own accord. You’re being dragged. The sound of footsteps scuffing against the floor echoes in your ears. Your sluggish mind struggles to catch up, but as the grogginess lifts, reality slams into you like a freight train.

You’re barely conscious, yet instinct takes over. You thrash, your legs kicking out wildly, hands clawing at the air. A deep, familiar chuckle rumbles above you.

Background music

“I knew you’d try to escape” the voice sneers, and the sound of it—gravelly, amused—makes your stomach turn. It’s him. The same bastard who beat you bloody in the cell. The one who took pleasure in every hit, every drop of your blood staining his knuckles. A new wave of adrenaline surges through you. You twist violently in his grasp, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Little fighter, aren’t you?" he sneers, barely flinching. He hoists you up, slamming you onto the operating table with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs. The cold surface bites into your skin. One of his hands clamps down on your wrist, shoving it toward the leather strap. You thrash, clawing at his face with your free hand. Your nails rake across his cheek, drawing blood.

“Fuck!” He jerks back, his grip faltering for a second. A second is all you need.

Using what little leverage you have, you kick out, aiming for his knee. He stumbles, just enough for you to yank yourself free. But your balance is shot. Your foot catches on the leg of the table, and before you can stop it, you’re falling.

The edge of the operating table slams into your ribs as you crash onto the floor. Dragging the tray that was nearby. The loud sound of metal hitting the ground makes you cringe. Pain explodes through your side, but you grit your teeth and push past it. You scramble to get up, but he’s already recovered, already reaching for you with murder in his eyes. And you are not going back onto that table. The room erupts into chaos.

Movement flickers at the edge of your vision—something metallic skidding across the floor. Scissors. You lunge, fingers closing around the cold steel just as heavy footsteps close in behind you. A sharp yank—your hair is wrenched back, exposing your throat. Making you stand up. The big bastard snarls, his breath hot against your ear.

“You just don’t fucking quit, do you?” He has you in his grasp, his arm around your neck, his big body pressed against your back. You drive the scissors backward. You sink the blade into his forearm, hot blood spilling between your fingers with that you tear from him a guttural scream from his throat.

He recoils with a snarl, clutching the wound, his grip on you lost. You don’t hesitate—you twist onto your feet, muscles coiled, ready to tear him apart—

Then, out of nowhere, a blur of white lunges at you. Was there anyone else in the room? You barely register the scientist before he’s on you, his face twisted in wild panic, a syringe clutched in his trembling fist. He lunges. You try to twist away, but it’s too late. The needle slams into your shoulder. Fire floods your veins. You gasp, your vision pulsing at the edges. No. No, no, no, I can’t go under, not now.

The scientist is still there, scrambling to retreat, but your rage surges past the spinning and racing feeling in your body. Snarling, you grab him by the collar and slam him into the nearest counter. Vials and instruments clatter to the floor. Glass breaks. You pull the syringe out, the vial is half empty. You throw it to the ground as far away as possible.

But the real threat is still behind you. The big man is back on his feet, blood dripping from his forearm, pure fury contorting his face. Your limbs feel sluggish, like you're fighting through quicksand. But you don’t stop. You quickly search for something to finish the bastard off. Where are the scissors you had before? No time. Your eyes dart to the floor—broken glass. You look around, and you grab a stool and throw it at him. Then you run towards the broken cupboard. You grip the glass firmly even if it makes you bleed.

“What? Are you going to scratch me again, bitch?” The guy cracks his fingers. He launches into the attack. “Come here!”

With a sharp inhale, you swing the glass, aiming straight for his throat. Just as the blade slices through the air, a deafening alarm erupts, drowning out everything. You failed. Red lights flash, painting the chaos in eerie bursts. The whole fucking facility just woke the hell up.

"You're really starting to piss me off." he growled, a fist slams into your ribs, you hear a crack while you scream. Footsteps thunder outside the lab. Reinforcements. Shit. The scientist had pressed the emergency button near the computer. Now emboldened by the incoming backup, staggers toward the console, fingers flying over the keys. The speakers crackle, a robotic voice echoing over the alarm:

"Subject breach detected. All security personnel to Lab 2."

You barely have time to process before the big guy is on you again, grabbing you by the wrist, twisting it hard until the glass clatter to the floor.

“End of the line” he sneers, shoving you back against the table.

Your heart pounds, your vision sways, but your mind screams at you—MOVE. You don’t have a damn choice. With the last burst of strength, you swing your head forward—smashing it right into the bastard’s nose. Pain explodes in your skull, but it’s nothing compared to his. The big guy stumbles back with a strangled curse, blood gushing from his broken nose.

Adrenaline drowns out everything else as you pick up the glass from the floor, finally driving the glass into his thigh. He roars, dropping to one knee. With a brutal kick to his chest, you send him sprawling to the floor. The scientist yelps, making a break for the exit, but you’re faster. You grab the metal tray from the floor and hurl it across the room. It collides with the back of his head, sending him crashing into the ground.

You don’t wait. You stagger toward the nearest workstation, grabbing whatever the hell looks useful—a scalpel, any weapon, anything that might get you out of here. The big guy groans, trying to push himself up, but you don’t give him the chance. You grab a chair and slam it down over his head. He goes limp. Wasting no time, you drop to your knees, rifling through his pockets. Your hands shake, slick with sweat and blood, but you find what you need—a keycard. Bingo! And a gun. Then you run.

The dim corridors flash in rhythmic pulses of red light, sirens blaring a relentless warning. Shouts echo from every direction, boots pounding against the floor. You run as fast as you can, trying to escape from guards crossing your way. Your breath comes in quick, panicked gasps. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline pushing you forward despite the pain. A guard rounds the corner ahead. You don't hesitate—you raise the gun and fire. A sharp cry. He drops.

The guards’ voices echo behind you. You don’t know where the exit is. You need to hide. Your eyes dart wildly, searching for anything—any way out. Then, a door. A card reader.

Please, please work.

Your hand trembles as you slide the card through the reader. The door clicks open, and you rush inside, slamming it behind you. Silence, except for your ragged breaths. You press your back against the cold metal, straining to listen. The pounding footsteps outside slow. Voices murmur, searching. You hold your breath. You might be able to get rid of a few more but it doesn't look good if you don't have any more ammo.

“I don’t plan on dying here” you remind yourself.

The footsteps grow louder, closer. You crouch behind a table, the shadows hiding you as best as you can. You load the gun, the sharp click of the bullet locking into place echoing softly in the silence. Inhaling deeply, you steady yourself. Your finger hovers over the trigger. Just a little longer. The door creaks open and a figure steps inside. You count down, ready to come out of your hiding place.

3..

2..

1..

____

Kieran moves quickly through the arsenal, his sharp gaze scanning the rows of weapons and supplies stacked in metal racks. The room is an arms dealer’s dream—a vault packed with everything from high-powered rifles to explosives, enough firepower to arm a small army. Rudy wasn’t just using this warehouse as a hideout; they were stockpiling for something big. He lets out a low whistle. Kieran isn’t the type to leave good weapons behind, especially when he’s in enemy territory. He takes a moment to scan the arsenal, eyes narrowing as he spots a row of high-end firearms.

“Would be a shame to let these go to waste.” Kieran moves down the aisles, grabbing a few throwing knives and extra flashbangs. Then he spots something even better—a sleek, custom-made sniper rifle with a silencer already attached.

“Yes, baby. You’re coming with me” he murmurs, slinging it over his shoulder.

Then he gets to work.

Pulling out the small detonators from his backpack, Kieran starts placing them in key locations—near fuel canisters, along structural support beams. He kneels beside a stack of crates, pulling out some other compact explosives from his vest. His hands move quickly, attaching them in strategic points—where the blast will cause the most destruction.

The comms crackle in his ear. "Luke? You’re there?" No answer. Kieran focused on syncing up with Luke's vision. Seems to be busy in the basement.

A sound near the doorway makes him freeze. The connection snapped. Footsteps. Kieran presses himself against the crates, fingers hovering over his knife. He doesn't breathe as the guard steps inside, scanning the room. One second. Two. Three. The guard turns away. That’s his chance. In a flash, Kieran moves. His arm hooks around the man's throat, cutting off his air before he can make a sound. The struggle is short. A final twitch followed by a crack, then stillness. Kieran lowers the body quietly, checking the hall before continuing. No need to kill the other two. Sneaking out sounds like a better option right now.

Kieran exhales sharply, already picking up the pace. The detonators are set, now he just has to make sure they don’t all die before they get to enjoy the fireworks. He is halfway to the exit when the sharp wail of an alarm slices through the air. Red emergency lights flood the hall outside the arsenal, flashing in rhythmic pulses that make his surroundings feel even more claustrophobic.

“Shit!” he breathes, pressing a hand to his earpiece. “Luke?”

He flattens against a crate just as a squad of armed guards storms past. Their voices are clipped, urgent. He’s sure he didn’t trip the alarm. He was careful. There’s no way they noticed him.

Static crackles in his ear before Luke’s voice cuts through, tight with agitation. “Did you mess up?”

Kieran exhales sharply, keeping his voice low. “No…” His eyes flick toward the exit, calculating his next move. “Was it you?”

Luke scoffs, followed by the distant sound of a scuffle—grunts, a body hitting the floor. “It’s not always my fault.”

“Sweep the lower levels! Secure the perimeter!” one of them barks. Kieran’s grip tightens around his stolen rifle.

Kieran clenches his jaw, peeking over the crate as the guards disappear around the corner. “Well, then who set off the damn alarm?”.

A loud crack comes through the earpiece, followed by Luke’s irritated grunt. “Not me, genius—I’m kinda busy.” Another muffled oof. The unmistakable sound of a punch landing.

Kieran huffs. “Oh, yeah, sounds like you’ve got it under control.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Luke deadpans, followed by another thud—presumably someone hitting the floor.

Kieran scans the area, heart pounding. “Well, it wasn’t me.”

Luke scoffs. “Right. And I’m the damn Pope.”

Kieran rolls his eyes, moving swiftly between cover. “I know how to stay hidden.”

“Uh-huh.” A grunt. A sharp snap. Someone groans in pain.

Luke exhales. “That’s debatable.”

Kieran bristles. “You got caught last time!”

“That was one time—”

“You shot a guy mid-sentence—”

“He was monologuing, Kieran! Who does that in the middle of a fight?”

“Oh, fuck you—”

Another silence. Then it hits them both at once. Neither of them tripped the alarm. Their bickering stops cold.

Kieran’s stomach twists. “Wait.”

Luke exhales sharply. “Oh, shit.”

Their eyes widen in sync. It must’ve been you. Which could only mean one thing. You got out. You’re alive. For now.

Kieran moves fast. Knifing one guard in the side before he can react. Stealing his keycard as his body crumples. By the time the others notice, Kieran’s already gunning them down. The hallway clears, but he knows more are coming. He swipes the stolen keycard at the nearest panel, overriding a security door, and sprints inside.

“I’m en route to your position,” he says into his earpiece, breath controlled despite the chaos.

Luke’s voice crackles through. “Hurry the hell up—things are getting real fun down here.”

A guard rounds the corner—too slow. Kieran’s knife is already in his ribs, slicing upward. The man chokes on a wet gasp, his body shuddering before going limp. Kieran barely spares him a glance and lets the corpse drop. The moment stretches—then another guard spots him.

"Intruder—!"

Kieran fires before the man can finish, a precise shot between the eyes. The other guards react instantly, raising their weapons. He fires as he moves, two shots to the kneecaps of the nearest enemy. The man collapses with a scream, but Kieran is already springing up, slamming the butt of his gun into another’s jaw. Bone crunches. A third guard rushes him. Kieran twists, using the momentum to drive his knife deep into the man’s throat. Blood sprays, warm against his arm. He shoves the body aside and turns just as the last remaining guard raises his rifle.

Kieran doesn’t hesitate.

He fires twice—chest, head. The guard slams back against the wall and slides down, leaving a smear of red in his wake. Kieran exhales sharply, rolls his shoulders, and keeps running.

___

You freeze, the gun still raised, your eyes wide with disbelief. Fuck... For a long moment, neither of you moves. Your grip tightens on the gun, your mind racing, muscles locked in a desperate fight-or-flight response. Then the light shifts, illuminating his face. Your breath catches. Then recognition dawns. You lower the gun, your heart still racing.

“Thank god, is you” your voice hoarse from exhaustion. The weight of your injuries catches up with you as the adrenaline fades, and your legs give out. You sink back onto the cold floor, leaning against the table, clutching your side where pain flares white-hot.

"Miss, you’re good at hide and seek, but boss is worried" Luke says, stepping closer, his tone teasing but with a hint of concern. His eyes flick around the room, scanning for threats before finally kneeling close. You look like hell—worse than he expected to find you.

“How have you found me?”

“Following a trail of blood on the wall” you nod. Right, your hand is still bleeding.

“Sylus? Is he here?” Your voice cracks slightly, a mix of fear and hope lacing your words.

"Of course.” Luke responde. “Let me see.” His hands hover near you, waiting for permission. You hesitate, then exhale shakily, letting him peel your fingers away from your side. The world tilts slightly as fresh pain ignites, but you grit your teeth.

“I think I have a broken rib” you say while you wince in pain. You reach out, showing him the cut on your hand as well.

“You look like shit.” Luke growls. You glance down at yourself, the thin hospital gown that barely covers you, is stained with blood. You begin to notice the cold, your bare and dirty feet point out the reality of your situation even more. “I’ll patch you up." His voice is firm but not unkind. You don’t argue—not like you have the strength to, anyway. Instead, you simply nod, swallowing down the mess of emotions bubbling inside you. Luke shrugs off the small backpack, rifling through its contents. He has the basics, but when they packed, they weren’t expecting broken bones. He also takes a pen out of a case and inserts a cartridge filled with liquid. Luke notices how your body tenses at the sight of the needle.

“Don’t worry, it's for the pain” With all the things you’ve already in your system, another dose won't hurt, at least if it helps relieve your aching body. He places the pen against your arm and presses the needle into your skin. You let Luke take care of everything, you didn't expect him to treat you so tactfully.

“It seems like you have a lot of practice,” you say, trying to distract yourself from the upcoming pain that the alcohol will inflict on your skin. “Argh” you yelped. The pain stinge your hand, and you feel the wound pullsing. His hands move with practiced efficiency, cleaning the cut and wrapping the bandages with just the right amount of pressure.

“Sorry...” Luke whispers as he secures the quick bandage. "I have enough knowledge for moments like these" he adds. He exhales sharply, eyes flicking back to you. "Pull up the gown. I need to see how bad it is.”

You hesitate only for a second before obeying, lifting the fabric slowly up. Every shift sends a fresh wave of pain through your ribs, forcing you to suck in a sharp breath. This is no time to be embarrassed. The moment the bruise is exposed, Luke's expression hardens under his mask. A deep, blue-purple blotch spreads across your side, angry and swollen. He reaches out, fingertips ghosting over the bruised skin before applying the lightest pressure. Even that makes you wince. Tender. Definitely bad.

His brows furrow slightly. "I’ll need more bandages."

He searches the small room you're in, lighting a small lantern he's carrying. Aside from a lot of dust, empty boxes and bottles, an old cupboard, there's not much else. On the top shelf there are expired medications, bottles with weird stuff inside, and an old first aid kit.

Without wasting time, he grabs the remaining bandages from the battered first aid kit. His hands work quickly, wrapping the fabric around your ribs. The pressure is uncomfortable, but it keeps the pain from worsening.

“You need a doctor, so we need to move.” You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to stay still as he secures the bandage in place. At least there’s no sign of internal bleeding. For now. But the bruising is severe, you need to get proper treatment soon.

Luke sits back on his heels, scanning your face before saying, “I’ll inform Boss.”

“Wait!" You tug at Luke's sleeve, your grip tight despite the weakness in your limbs. His body stiffens for a moment before he looks down at you. You know perfectly well that if you escape now, you might not be able to access the data. You know Sylus, he'll blow up the building the moment you step foot outside. It wouldn't be the first time he's done that.

He was already rising to his feet, ready to move. "We can’t stay here."

You shake your head, panic curling in your chest like a tightening vice. "No. I need to know what they’ve done with me.”

“No way! We are leaving.” His jaw clenches.

“Luke please…” Your fingers tremble as they clutch at his sleeve again, your breath uneven. “I… have the protocore syndrome.” you confess. Luke freezes. The boss never mentioned this. Never. “I need the data” you plead.

Luke sighs, and his voice softens, though his words are as blunt as ever. He can empathize with what you feel. "Fuck! Boss will kill if…” he mutters.

“I’ll talk to him after, this is on me.” The boy continues to hesitate, trying to find some way to persuade the idea. "Stick to the plan" were the instructions, clear and precise. Deviating from it could lead to multiple scenarios where no one comes out alive. Luke growls. After a long silence, the boy sighs.

“We find the data and get the hell out of here. Okay?” you nod quickly. “But first, we need clothes for you. Stay and be quiet." He approaches the door, the sirens continue howling, through a small opening, he checks if it is safe. Then, without a word, he slips through the gap and disappears into the shadows. Leaving you in the silence.

You close your eyes for a moment, what a crazy night. You feel relieved that at least they found you. You know it's risky to go get the data, but leaving without it could be a death sentence. You need to show the files to Zayne. Fuck, he’ll probably get mad at you again when you show up in the ER like that. Honestly, you'd rather he scolds you about how careless you are and get hell out of that damn lab or whatever they are keeping you in. You smile bitterly. Thinking about your favorite doctor, you're already feeling bad to drag him into this. Whatever they have done, it feels wrong.

The pounding in your head hasn’t stopped. The images you saw earlier are still a blur, impossible to fully make sense. The voices, the deep pain in your soul and that feeling that escapes from your mind. Your face contorts as you struggle to contain the pain surging through your veins. You put your hand over your mouth, stifling the scream threatening to escape. In the center of your chest, your heart slams against your ribs, each beat more violent than the last.

When Luke returns, he’s holding a guard uniform, it's dark fabric hanging loosely in his hands. He probably knocked out some random guy.

"Maybe too big, but better than being half-naked—" Luke stops mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies you. “Are you alright, Miss?” You take the uniform from his hands, gripping the fabric tightly, your fingers trembling slightly. You shift to stand, and the moment you straighten, fire shoots through your side, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs.

“Yeah, don’t worry. It’s just the pain.” you lie smoothly, forcing a weak smirk before quickly slipping into the oversized clothes. Even with the mask you know that Luke doesn’t look convinced. You force yourself to move normally, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from making a sound. “You know,” you murmur, adjusting the sleeves, “I’ve told you and Kieran plenty of times to call me by my name.”

Luke exhales through his nose, amused but noncommittal. “I’ll try next time.”

He moves to the door, his stance shifting into alertness as he scans the dim hallway beyond. The distant wail of sirens still echoes through the facility.

“We don’t have much time. Let’s go.”

<< Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 >>

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this part. I'm still working on the next one, therefore it will take me some time since it’s a section I hadn’t originally planned. I'll appreciate your patience. And a big thank you to all who wants to keep reading and or have reached out to me. Is amazing!

Released date: ~2 weeks. Chapter 4: Extraction Point

83 notes · View notes

hansolen · 22 hours ago

Text

greetings, i shall be going insane utc 🤍 also thank you for tagging me in this beautiful piece of literature that i WILL be engraving on my forehead moving forward. i’m glad this popped up in my notifs so that i didn’t miss this absolute delicacy 🫡 ALSO I FINALLY GOT TO USE THE GIF LOLL

Needless to say, Shin tries to keep you at the register as much as possible.

this made me laugh so hard 😭😭 keep the money up 🗣️ not the funny up 🗣️

SOMEONE HOLD ME IM ABOUT TO CRY AND THROW UP... the way he holds sakamoto and aoi as the benchmark GODDD THIS IS KILLING ME 😭😭😭💔💔💔 FUCKKKK AND NOW WITH THE ADDITIONAL PAIN OF HIS OWN BACKSTORY ..... MY HEART IS LITERALLY IN PIECES I HOPE YOU CAN HEAR THE CRACKS 😭😭💔💔 sakamoto truly is his real father 😭 benchmark of how love ought to be 😭

You've had explicit fantasies about deepthroating him while he works the cash. He'd die if you ever tried that, actually.

tumblrina reader at it again 🫡🫡 so very real. also love this rollercoaster that i’m riding. perfectly encapsulates their dynamic

Not that that bothers Shin. Not at all. Not one bit.

mhm. whatever you say, gorgeous.

[ alright so the ones bellow are just a compilation of my thoughts while i was reading them going at it — and since there were a lot of paragraphs, i know it would be better not to quote the whole damn thing since i’m partially sane ]

wow need me a guy like shin who can read my wants without having to say them 🫡 that’s actually so. perfect. LIKE DAMN that’s so hot

SHIN IS A CERTIFIED YEARNER look at him go 😭😭 the way he feels guilty about a quickie 😭 he’s so real for that... a true advocate of aftercare !

“but you're both punctual workers” WAGE CAGE AT IT AGAIN 💔 let my boy yearn in peace .

OMG SEE HOW I SAID ADVOCATE OF AFTERCARE EARLIER?? OMG HE CONVERTED THE READER INTO LOVING IT TOO MY HEARTTT... he might as well add a successful advocate of aftercare into his resume.

[ pertaining to their first time ] LMAO i can just imagine reader sitting there trying to choose between breakfast or blowjob like that one meme.. okay wait. pause i’ll brb

THIS ONE LOL

[ back to the present ] oh god 😭 the way the reader is so confused with her feelings 💔 the clear struggle of seperating fantasies that she uses to cope with reality from the said reality............yeah........ i fear you just hit the nail of the coffin with that one 💔

but to add onto that i’m really glad shin understands her feelings so well (i mean i know he deals with other people’s feelings very well, considering his years of experience with others and dissecting their thoughts apart. plus he’s naturally like that. very isfj coded indeed. his Fe is prevalent throughout his character growth, such a core part of him) but i digress.

i just love how he doesn’t immediately take it personally, instead he attempts to understand reader at a more fundamental level — beyond her surface thoughts.

he knows reader has a lot to address and so much to sort through. yet he also knows she’s unable to do so alone. it actually melts me how he’s so willing to help her with it and gives her hints later on so that she finds out by herself (+ he’s too embarrassed to say it himself lol bc c’mon now this is SHIN of all people) but seriously they’re so adorable it’s killing me

Eventually, you ask him to come over in the evening, and he scrambles to agree, desperate for a do-over.

MY GUYYY IS SO DOWN BAD I'M SCREAMINGGG as he should be !!!

He isn't familiar with dick appointment etiquette, especially not appointments involving a friend. Was he meant to bring a gift? A Netflix movie recommendation? It would have felt wrong to show up completely empty-handed

im actually laughing so hard A Netflix Recommendation ....... A Gift ...😭😭😭 shin the man that you are 😭😭😭😭😭 probably not the right way to use the phrase but oh well ! dick appointment etiquette.... BAHDHAHAH

ok but reader and shin discussing the quality of visuals 😭😭 reader saying she’ll adjust them next time like it’s a youtube video resolution 😭😭😭 BAHAHUAGS JDOWLE STOPPP

Some ten minutes later, you make a small noise of protest when Shin pulls out of you, and it turns into a look of outright betrayal when he gets up. Shin’s heart clenches immediately.

BOY YOU’RE IN LOVEEEEEEEEEE

“Don't be sorry. You can't help it. That'd be like if I were sorry for breathing.”

i know this broke him. he would’ve 100% gotten into his head in hands position if only an ultimate bad bitch wasn’t opening her heart to him rn. bro must’ve had tears threatening to come out for sure 😭 truly though this must’ve been like a bullet through his head .... someone really needed to say this to him 💔

Why am I nervous? Tell me, Shin.

I AM SCREAMING ON THE TOP OF MY LUNGS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA SOMEONE STOP THIS STOP STOP STOP THIS MADNESS IM DYING DROWNING EVERYTHING STOPPP

“I wouldn't know.” Except he’s got a good guess, and he'd rather die than say it out loud because it would be embarrassing for you both if he were wrong.

OH GOD oh lord. i . i just. THEM. JUST THEM!!!!!!!!

guys. im tearing up

oh god they’re doomed by the narrative aren’t they 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 i need to physically get into sakadays universe and rearrange everything so they end up together and none of that soulmate bs ever happens 💔💔💔 infact i will go fight the fates themselves and rearrange the threads myself idc idc

them possibly not being endgame might just be my final straw YOUR HONOUR FUCK YOUR SOULMATE BS LET THEM BEEEE LEAVE THEM ALONE AAAA 😭💔 they will heal each other #Trust

“Aw,” you say, “that's too bad. I bet forced orgasms with ESP would feel amazing.”

1. reader is so fucking real.... i bet it would be god tier.. thinking thots.. 2. THIS AS A RESPONSE IS FUCKING SENDING MEEEEEE i love your timing

Mr. Sakamoto sees the two of you as you make it to work just on time together and immediately figures out what's happened. Shin gets a mental reprimand for not marrying you first, and the disappointment from Mr. Sakamoto is so strong that he briefly considers resigning out of disgrace.

RESIGNING FROM DISGRACE 😭😭😭 LMAFAOAOAOAO no actually i need to stop laughing cuz ...poor guy has been going through it. not only is he dealing with an extremely complex situationship with zero previous romantic experience to look back at, but is also able to read the thoughts of disappointment his idol feels for him regarding the said situation 😭💔 poor guy .... he looks up to you sakamoto!! i swear he wishes he could marry or ATLEAST get a date before but 😔 things are not that simple!! and i really don’t think SAKAMOTO of all people should be speaking on this . like he has has no idea how to deal with complex relationships 🙄 not everyone is lucky enough to have aoi pop into their lives like an angel and stay 🙂‍↔ sakamoto would never survive in this situation ... but again, sakatmoto would never get himself in this situation. WHATEVER! shin you’re one strong guy with an even stronger stroke game. keep your head up king.

You want to kiss Shin all the time now, and it's making him feel like the horniest person alive.

OMG THE ROLES GETTING REVERSED AT THE END WAS SO CUTEEE I SEE WHAT U DID THERE MAO OMG IM DYINGGGGG theyre perfect and made for each other no one can tell me otherwise i will . i will combust.

end. thanku for coming to my ted talk

SITUATIONSHIP | asakura shin x f!reader

You are both the most diligent worker at Sakamoto's Store and the most hypersexual person that Shin knows. Overhearing your thoughts and accidentally seeing your fantasies routinely leads to profound psychic damage for him, as well as the most poorly timed boners in the world. All of this only gets worse when the two of you start hooking up.

6k words. comedy, smut. all the sex scenes are vanilla; however, the reader constantly reads and thinks about horny fanfiction tropes including: free use, omegaverse, and breeding. these are all mentioned but not discussed in detail. warning: the reader has a warped/unhealthy relationship with her sexuality, this fic is about shin fixing her with his stroke game lol. credits to @/cafekitsune for the dividers and @hansolen for the fic brainrot <3

You are the worst coworker that Shin has ever had.

This is saying a lot, given that he's worked with countless two-bit assassins who could barely a handle a gun (no one he worked with in his late teenage years could hold a candle to Mr. Sakamoto, truly), as well as Lu, who can barely orient herself within the store. You are, in contrast, brutally efficient with your work, incredible with the customers, and very cooperative with Shin. You even know how to handle a gun, and you do it with such pinpoint precision that it's always nonlethal despite being brutally debilitating. (Your skill level does hold a candle to Mr. Sakamoto in this respect, and Shin wonders if his boss has given you some kind of private training—a thought that fills him with such jealousy that it makes him want to chew on the sale stickers in his hands.) There's just one problem.

You are probably the horniest person alive, and Shin is about to lose his fucking mind listening to your thoughts.

Now, Shin is used to hearing the unfiltered stream of consciousness of the average human being. This naturally includes carnal desires here and there. He’s desensitized to most people’s erotic fantasies about their favourite gravure idol, memories of their last sexual encounter, intrusive thoughts about their friends, et cetera. He habitually tunes it out. But whereas a regular person might have these thoughts once or twice a day, you seem to have them once or twice an hour. And none of your thoughts are ever brief or underdeveloped. They usually last at least ten minutes each, with detailed internal monologuing and accompanying 8K UltraHD visuals, and you really only ever stop when you're trying to remember a code at the till or doing some quick mental math with the accounts.

Needless to say, Shin tries to keep you at the register as much as possible.

You used to tell yourself (in your head) that your mental fixation on sex was a natural consequence of your dry spell. After quitting the assassin life, you'd been celibate for the first time in at least a decade, forced to attain sexual gratification with nothing but masterfully written fanfiction and your vast collection of vibrators. (Your favourite one is hot pink, seven inches, rabbit eared. You sometimes have trouble getting it to fit, but it’s worth it for the way you cum when you do, and this knowledge makes Shin want to die.) You were convinced that getting laid would bring you enough relief to stop thinking about sex every hour of the day. You had thought that you'd go back to “normal” after that, though Shin doesn't know what “normal” entails for you. (One free-use fantasy a day instead of twelve? Daydreams strictly featuring humans rather than tentacle monsters? It's hard to say.)

Regardless, Shin had to agree: surely, there would be a limit to your sex-obsessed thoughts. It made a lot of sense that you were simply frustrated and in need of an outlet. Naturally, after sleeping with you, he'd expected your thoughts to quiet down.

(Yes—Shin slept with you. It was an accident, through and through, and he routinely feels bad about it. He'd been meaning to ask you out, treat you to dinner, maybe even get you flowers depending on the vibe. The type of thing that Mr. Sakamoto did for Aoi, when they first started dating. If everything went well, then you two could consider getting intimate. His interest in you has nothing to do with sex, after all—no, not even the fact that you've had explicit fantasies about deepthroating him while he works the cash. He'd die if you ever tried that, actually.

The plan was always to take things slow and maybe even start a relationship if the two of you really hit it off. He'd even asked Mr. Sakamoto for advice on what a civilian romance should look like! But then Shin walked you back to your apartment one night when you were feeling down, and you invited him upstairs, and one thing led to another, and, well… it turns out that you aren't the type of person to take things slow. Or think about relationships. Shin’s never overheard any thoughts from you about actually dating him, come to think of it. And no, before you ask—that doesn't bother him. Not at all. Not one bit.)

To both his surprise and yours, getting laid somehow had the opposite effect on you. Rather than being calmed, you're somehow even hornier—and now all your horny thoughts are about Shin.

It's nonstop. Shin can't believe it. Whereas you used to think about all sorts of people in your sexual fantasies (mostly your fanfiction men, but also some BL characters, occasionally Keanu Reeves, and very often that Nagumo guy), you now think solely of Shin. You're thinking about him right now, pausing as you finish restocking the onigiri.

Shin can hear every single thought from across the room, the way you feel the edges of your sanity fraying with the memory of his touch. The whole day, you've been remembering how it felt to have your pussy stretched around his cock, how it felt to have his hands on your curves, how he seemed to know exactly how to touch your body to make you keen. (Shin admits he cheated; a little ESP goes a long way in bed.) You soaked the sheets when you finally came, and he kissed you relentlessly through your orgasm. It made you so horny that you had to immediately go another round.

No other man’s ever made you cum like that, you keep thinking. You've fucked more people than you can count, but not a single person has ever felt so good inside you. The realisation is driving you crazy, and Shin feels like he's about to go crazy with you. In the absence of a cold shower, he wants to shove himself into the freezer right now. There's no other way to get rid of his raging boner.

How did it feel so fucking good?! you keep thinking, oblivious to his struggles. I need his cock inside me again. I need him to hit it raw this time. I need him to bend me over the counter and cum in my pussy right now—

It makes him want to die, listening to your thoughts. It also confuses him, somewhat: he isn't that experienced, and objectively he’s a little clumsy in bed. His performance is probably mid in the grand scheme of things, which makes him wonder why you feel like his dick is heaven-sent.

But more than anything, Shin wonders if you ever think about anything other than his dick. Sex isn't the only thing the two of you have done together. The first time you hooked up, he'd spent the night at your place. You clung to him in his sleep and you drooled on his chest and he thought it was kinda funny. He was careful not to wake you as he wiped your chin. You’d cooked him breakfast by the time he'd woken up: homemade miso, fresh rice, tamagoyaki. He made you burnt coffee after. You gave him a goodbye kiss, which somehow turned into a goodbye blowjob, which then escalated into wasting the day together in bed. You were really cuddly the whole time, and Shin could hear you think, how weird, I hate it when people hold me, and I hate it when people kiss me, but you liked it from Shin. You liked it so much that your pussy started dripping, and then what else could you do but suck him off again? (He returned the favour, of course.)

There was a lot more than just fucking, but you never think about any of that other stuff. You only ever think about his stroke game.

Not that that bothers Shin. Not at all. Not one bit.

By noon, he reaches his limit.

Shin considers himself a responsible guy and dedicated employee. He'd ordinarily never want to take off in the middle of the day to fool around with you—or anyone else—but it's his lunch break, and he has to get you to stop fantasizing. His dick is so hard that it's painful, and even with the apron it's getting tricky to cover up. As soon as the clock hits 12, he's throwing it off and making a beeline for you.

“We need to talk,” he says, grabbing you by the hand, and the face you make is so giddy that he can't help but sigh. You’re practically beaming as you take off your apron and say bye to Lu. We’ll be back in 30! you tell her in a sing-song voice, because you’re a very conscientious worker even when outrageously horny.

“You heard my thoughts?” you ask as the two of you climb the stairs to his room, and he snorts.

“How couldn't I?” He gives you a miserable look, cheeks flushing. “Were you doing that on purpose the whole morning?”

“No.” He raises a brow. “I'm serious—I wasn't trying to cause any trouble for you! It's just…” You bite your lip, and it takes all of Shin’s self-control to stop himself from staring at its glossy sheen. “I really just need to be touched again.”

“I don't believe you,” he says as he pulls you into his room.

“You're an esper! You should know I'm telling the truth!”

“I also know you like to torture me with your thoughts.”

“Well, yeah…” You smile at him, sheepish. “But I really just need a bit of relief. Want me to prove it to you?”

There's a sudden glint in your eye that makes Shin nervous, out of his depth. Sometimes he gets the feeling that you want to eat him alive, and he never knows how to handle it. He’s never gotten this level of attention before, and never in his wildest dreams did he think he'd get it from someone like you.

(Yeah—you're way out of Shin's league. For all his plans of a civilian romance, he wasn’t sure if he could actually score a date with you. He still isn't sure if he can score one. He's also not sure he’ll survive this encounter.)

He swallows. “Prove it…?”

“Uh huh.” You look so pretty right now, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Let me show you.”

You read too much hentai. Shin knows this firsthand (you read a lot of it on the clock, and all the images get blasted right into his prefrontal cortex), but he can also tell from how you act. It’s just way too fucking outrageous when you spread your legs for him, pulling up your skirt, and he's greeted not by the sight of your panties (you wore a lacy pair to work and kept bending over in hopes of flashing him—you had not been shy at all in this thought), but your bare, glistening cunt.

No fucking way.

“You’ve been working like that?!” he blurts out, mildly horrified even though his dick is jumping at the sight of you. You laugh, and you conjure up your panties from somewhere. They dangle from your fingertips, sheer and drenched.

“Took them off as we came up here. They're useless now anyway, see”—they’ve been soaked through for hours, and my thighs are all sticky—“and besides… I wanted to give you easy access.”

He thinks he's going to pass out.

“Easy access,” he repeats stiffly, bright red.

“Uh huh. Wanted to be efficient—we only have, what, twenty minutes?” Before he can even react, you're already turning around, bending over for him, ass up. From this angle, he can see just how wet you are—and how you're clenching around nothing, your cunt empty and needing to be filled. You glance over your shoulder, give him a teasing smile. “What are you waiting for?”

It’s a wonder that Shin doesn't cum on the spot, really. Like he said—he isn't an experienced guy. He's never slept with anyone so forward, or so—well. Smoking hot, for lack of better word. Half of him has a mind to just stand there and say that he can't believe you, and half of him has a mind to fuck you like you've been hoping all morning. Thankfully, this latter half of him wins out—probably for the better. If he helps you work this out of your system, you'll probably stop assaulting his mind with all your horny thoughts and his dick can exist in peace for the rest of the afternoon. Right?

Right?

(He ends up being extremely wrong.)

By the time he's pulled down his pants, put a condom on, and started pushing inside you, the two of you have seventeen minutes left. He worries briefly that it won't be enough time to get you to cum (nor him, though that isn't his goal currently), but it turns out to be a non-issue. Your pussy swallows his cock easily, stretching around him so perfectly that he nearly chokes. He always hears you talking about how sex with him feels leagues better than with any other person, but he’s not sure if you know that the same is true for him. No one's ever felt as good as you, and it takes every ounce of willpower in him not to cum immediately.

You're already close to the edge, too. Probably pent up from squeezing your thighs together all morning and thinking about his touch. You moan in a way that is obscene, like something out of an AV—but Shin knows that it isn't a performance. He can feel your body and hear your thoughts, all the genuine bliss you get from being filled up. When he starts moving, it's with intent. He fucks you like you’ve been fantasising all day, all week—with a relentless pace, focused on giving you nothing but pleasure. You tighten around him like you were made for him, and—

—apparently you feel like you're being used? Like a hole? The fuck! Shin almost stops mid-stroke to balk at you—he wouldn't do that to you!—but then you moan and he feels you getting wetter at the thought, and then he has no choice but to keep going. He's not about to kill your high.

Nine minutes left. Your clit is throbbing, neglected, and as soon as you think about touching yourself, Shin’s fingers are circling it instead and making you keen. He hits the spot inside you that has your eyes rolling back and your spine arching beautifully, and you can’t speak with your mouth, but he hears you anyway: the begging, the neediness, right there right there you're doing so good Shin you feel so good don't stop don't stop don't, don't—

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, pressing your face into the sheets, and then Shin feels you pulsing around him, drenching him. He gets dragged over the edge with you, gasping sharply as he finds his own release. You collapse as he twitches inside you, spilling himself inside the condom, and he almost snorts when he hears you thinking, wish you were cumming in my pussy instead. Do it raw next time, okay?

“You know we have to use a condom,” he says between pants.

“But I'm on birth control! Read my mind—you know I'm telling the truth!”

“And I also know that birth control is only 93% effective,” he says, rolling his eyes. He glances at the clock. “C'mon—we only have five minutes until our lunch break ends.”

It feels a little weird, rushing you. He’s never had a quickie before, but he understands that you can't exactly take your time with cleaning up afterwards. Still, he thinks about what it was like the last time the two of you did this—how slow and soft it was after, how he stayed inside you for a bit, how he kissed you long and cleaned you up carefully. It just felt like the right thing to do after sleeping with someone, especially given that that someone was you. He'd much prefer to do that right now.

But you are both punctual workers, and anyway Shin’s heard enough of your idle thoughts to know that you’re fairly apathetic to aftercare—you never expect it, and you’re never particularly sad when you don't get it. Sometimes you even fantasize about being used roughly and then discarded (a thought that he finds so unpleasant that it instantly kills his boner every time).

So it's probably fine to rush back downstairs, he figures. He throws you some wipes, lets you clean yourself up. You do it without complaint. You're not upset. He can even hear your mind humming with satisfaction, coming down from the highs of sensory pleasure.

Which is why he's confused when he hears you think, Huh. That didn't feel as good as I thought it would.

It's not like it felt bad.

This is what Shin hears all afternoon: You had a good time. You generally like being treated like a hole. You hadn't thought that Shin would have it in him to do that (neither did he, he admits), but it was kind of thrilling that he did. You want him to do it again for sure. He hit your g-spot with the kind of precision that only an esper can manage, and your vision nearly went white as you found your climax.

And that's what matters, right? You came. You had an orgasm. The little death. The ultimate goal of sex. You used to have a hard time with it, but after so many missions your body started to enjoy sex and now you cum very easily. And you came very easily with Shin, so that means you must enjoy having sex with him too, right?

But it was better the first time you had sex. Objectively better. You came way harder. You even squirted during your second round with him! Your orgasm was so intense that you felt blissed out for the rest of the night, and even the morning after. When you woke up and realised that Shin was not only still there, but also holding you, it made you so horny that you nearly woke him up with a blowjob. It was only with great self-control that you woke him up with breakfast instead.

You don’t feel like that right now, though. You don't feel horny and you don't feel like cooking and the euphoria of your orgasm melted away a while ago. You just feel sort of… empty.

You don't feel bad, though. It's a beautiful day. The char siu bao in your hand is incredibly fragrant. Piisuke is on your shoulder and chirping in your ear. Shin looks really handsome in his apron—did you know that, Shin? you ask him in your mind—and he goes bright red at this thought and looks away. You don't feel bad, you mentally reassure him. You just don't feel as good as you thought you would.

But Shin does feel bad. He feels miserable, actually. He's not a very experienced guy, but even he can tell that you’re the type of person who needs to be held after having sex. It seems like you probably don't realise it, but it's clear as day to Shin, and for the rest of the afternoon he hates himself for not having done it. It wouldn’t have had to be for very long.

Lu could have covered for an extra fifteen minutes, he keeps thinking. Fuck!

Eventually, you ask him to come over in the evening, and he scrambles to agree, desperate for a do-over.

Shin’s not really good at this hook-up business.

Now—he isn't exactly good at relationships either, but he feels exceptionally awkward about coming over to your place with the express purpose of having sex. He isn't familiar with dick appointment etiquette, especially not appointments involving a friend. Was he meant to bring a gift? A Netflix movie recommendation? It would have felt wrong to show up completely empty-handed, so he ends up bringing your favourite snacks and two bottles of Pocari Sweat. If this is anything like the first time he stayed over, you'll probably both need it.

You're delighted by the snacks and amused by the drinks. He wrestles with himself over what kind of small-talk to make—there’s a PS5 out right now, and your TV screen is paused on Leon Kennedy’s face, so maybe he can start a conversation about the horror genre? He watches a lot of films—but you're dragging him into your room before he can overthink it.

“I missed you,” you say, voice all sweet with affection as you straddle his lap.

“It's been two hours,” he points out, somehow managing not to stammer.

“Eight hours since we fucked.”

“That's not very long at all.”

“Felt like forever to me.” Your whisper is so tender in his ear, incongruent with the absolute filth you're thinking about right now. You need his cock so, so bad—you’d have it inside you 24/7 if you could have it your way, though he's also free to help himself to your body at any hour of the day. Sure, he can't smoke on the premises, but there's no rule against hiking up your skirt and pushing your panties to the side so he can—

“I wouldn't do that in the store!” he squawks, and you giggle.

“Then you should start taking me up to your room more often.”

Shin would be more than happy to host you, actually. He’s been thinking lately about having you over for dinner—Aoi’s been teaching him how to cook—and getting to know you better, in a non-Biblical way. But Shin knows that's not what you mean. You want him to carry you upstairs without asking and to throw you onto his bed and to fuck you into the mattress. You want to go back to your shift without your panties, his cum dripping out of your pussy and sliding down your—

“You really want me to finish inside you,” Shin remarks, bewildered at your sheer obsession over it, and you tilt your head.

“Don't you?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean—we shouldn't. It's, uh. Risky. I don't want to get you, y'know… pregnant…” His dick twitches in a way that makes him grateful that you don't have ESP. He's realising something about himself that he absolutely cannot think about, and which you would absolutely exploit if you figured out. He clears his throat, hoping he looks normal. “Like. You know. It's better to be on the safe side.”

You study him carefully. “I dunno, Shin.” You smile knowingly. “I don't think I'd mind it if you wanted to breed me.”

Shin is going to die.

The next twenty minutes pass in a horny blur. The two of you spend it all over each other, his cock sliding along your opening—dangerously close to pushing in. You beg him for just the tip, both verbally and mentally—pleaaase Shin please please please it'd be so easy, I'm still stretched out from before, you know it'd feel good—and he's watched enough adult films to know that this is a blatant trap. He somehow pulls away, and immediately feels bad at the crushed expression you make, so he decides he has no choice but to make it up to you by putting his head between your thighs. Within minutes he’s sucking on your clit and making you keen, his fingers curling inside you. He knows your orgasm is intense both from the way you gush all over his face and how your mind goes pleasantly, blissfully quiet for a moment.

It doesn't stay quiet for long.

The most debauched image possible comes to his mind—you, underneath him, your legs folded into a mating press as you take his cock. He’s giving you another load, pumping you full. It's filling up your womb, and you'll definitely get pregna—

“You’re fucking evil,” he groans. “And you read way too much hentai. Those visuals were so goofy.”

You laugh, unbothered. “Sorry, I'll adjust them for realism next time.”

“Please don't,” he begs, even though he knows he's going to spend the next week being mentally assaulted by your breeding kink fantasies. He just hopes they stay relatively normal and don't devolve into the weird omegaverse stuff. Or the monsterfucking stuff. Or the gangbang scenarios. Please, God, anything but the gangbang fantasies. He’ll scream if you imagine another threesome with him and that invisible asshole who kidnapped Lu. He’ll simply resign if you add Nagumo.

To your profound disappointment, Shin ends up using a condom. He doesn't give you much time to feel sad about it, settling quickly between your legs and practically knocking the breath out of you as he thrusts into you. He’s left kind of breathless too. You weren't lying—you are still stretched out from earlier in the day, wet and pliant for him, and there's hardly any resistance as he starts pumping into you. He watches you carefully, laid out underneath him—your eyes squeezing shut as you're made to take his cock. Your mind goes a little quiet again, overwhelmed by pleasure. It's simultaneously a blessing and a curse: Shin’s finally getting a break from your psychic teasing, but the knowledge that he's fucking you dumb is doing something horrible to him.

He changes his angle, and a whimper leaves you. You tighten and gush around him in a way that makes it obvious what he’s hitting; he doesn't need ESP to know to keep doing it. Still, your thoughts are going haywire, a tangle of desire, and it's impossible for him to ignore. I need, he keeps hearing as your thighs starts to twitch, as you start tearing up, I need I need I need I need—

Your eyes land on his lips, and Shin hears you.

His kiss is open-mouthed, clumsy, but you’re hungry for it anyway. You’re panting into each other’s mouths when you start pulsing around Shin’s dick, and you end up cumming so hard on his cock that it's dizzying for you both. He fucks you through your orgasm, and it's only when you're glassy-eyed and limp beneath him that he finally lets himself finish. He pulls back as he does, gasping sharply, but not for long—you draw him back in quickly, clinging to him as you seek out another kiss. The two of you stay like that for a long moment—still connected, breaths heavy with exhaustion, lips slow and lazy against each other.

“Enjoy yourself more this time?” Shin asks, and you hum sweetly against his mouth. You’re still too mindless from your orgasm to form any real thoughts, but Shin can tell that you don't really want to talk. You want to keep kissing him. And you want him to hold you while you do it, which he happily obliges.

Some ten minutes later, you make a small noise of protest when Shin pulls out of you, and it turns into a look of outright betrayal when he gets up. Shin’s heart clenches immediately.

“Just getting stuff to clean up,” he explains, and you relax visibly.

“Oh,” you say. “Right.”

You seem antsy. You feel antsy. You're antsy because you just realised how much you like kissing Shin. Specifically, you've realised that kissing him elevates your orgasms into mind-blowing experiences, and now you're questioning every other orgasm you've had. Maybe I don't actually enjoy sex that much? you wonder. Or maybe I always needed to be kissed to enjoy it more? Wait, no. I hate it when people kiss me. It's gross. Except for when it's Shin. Why Shin? Hm… that apron must really be doing something for me.

Your head hurts. Shin patiently watches you replay your past experiences in your head, comparing all those nights with this one, and he can’t help but frown. Deeply. Your eyes go wide when he gives you an alarmed look at one particular memory.

“Shit, sorry! I forgot you’d see all that.”

“No, I'm sorry,” he says, feeling—not for the first time—guilty about his powers. “If I could turn it off, I would.”

“Don't be sorry. You can't help it. That'd be like if I were sorry for breathing.” But despite your easy words, you’re watching him carefully, and your mind is stirring in an unsettling way. I'm nervous? you realise. Your heart is beating in a way that suggests a flight or fight response. It gets worse the longer you stare at him. Why am I nervous? Tell me, Shin.

“I wouldn't know.” Except he’s got a good guess, and he'd rather die than say it out loud because it would be embarrassing for you both if he were wrong. He'd have to resign. Nevertheless, he tries to guide you in a specific direction: “Have you really never liked it when people kissed you?”

“No,” you reply immediately. “I don't see the point of kissing during sex.”

He gives you a long look. “What if it’s not just sex? What if it's just a regular kiss on a regular day with, like, a partner? Someone you're really serious about.” He blinks at the confused stare you're giving him. “You mean you don't like that either?”

It's suddenly very noisy. Shin can hear your mind buzzing as you stare at the ceiling of your room, not with coherent sentences so much as shapeless confusion. His skin crawls with the echo of your discomfort; it's a wonder you aren't slipping out from the sheets to run away.

“...I don't know,” you finally decide. “I don't have much real dating experience.”

“Huh? You’ve said before that you've dated lots of guys.”

“Um.” You’re careful not to look at him. “Yeah, I guess. They all sucked though. I, like, wanted to kill every single one of my exes.”

“Like they were shitty boyfriends?”

No, like they were assassination targets, you think, and Shin has to keep a straight face as you reply, “Yeah, something like that.”

You rarely lie to Shin. You did it somewhat frequently until you figured out that he was capable of ESP, and then you stopped because you didn't see a point anymore. You only do it now when there's something you really don't want to talk about, so Shin relents. He focuses on cleaning himself up, and he interrupts the tense hum of your thoughts when he turns his attention to you. By the time he's finished and slid back into bed, your more complicated emotions have vanished, and you're back to marveling at the quality of the orgasm you just had. Apparently you like to keep things fairly simple in your inner world.

When Shin puts an arm around you, he can hear your pleasant surprise—and your immediate desire to press into him.

You're so happy just being held by him, it's shocking. And painfully endearing. Shin tries to pretend not to notice the warm glow of your thoughts, as well as your confusion over them: surely the simple act of being close to someone can't feel so good. Maybe the whole kissing thing was just a coincidence and Shin happened to be hitting it just right when your lips met. Or maybe he used his ESP on you to make you cum extra hard and he's still influencing you, and that's why you feel so tenderhearted right now.

“My powers only allow me to read minds,” he tells you. “I can't control other people.”

“Aw,” you say, “that's too bad. I bet forced orgasms with ESP would feel amazing.”

“...”

Shin realises something else about himself that he absolutely cannot let you know. Thankfully for him, you're none the wiser. Your mind’s somewhere else entirely when you climb on top of him, smiling neatly. Mind you, what you're thinking is still making him feel nervous. He's always a little out of his depth with you.

“Shin…”

You lean in, breath sweeping over his lips. His heart jumps.

“Y-yeah?”

“I'm still confused about how that felt so good.”

“I’ve noticed.”

You hold back a laugh. “Yeah, I guess you would have.” Then you give him an apologetic look. “Sorry I'm so stuck on it. I just thought I knew my body, y'know? I felt like I had tried everything worth trying. Sex was starting to feel boring, including the freaky stuff. But this is very new to me.”

This close up, Shin can feel the brush of your lashes when they flutter. See the glossy swell of your lips from all the kissing. Take in the fragrance of your hair. He starts to feel dizzy. “I-is it? I don't think we've been doing anything, uh. Crazy.”

“I didn't think so either.” Your thumb traces his lip. You're thinking about kissing him again, and you're also thinking about riding him as you do it. “I can't help but want to try it a few more times, you know? Just to make sure it wasn't a fluke.”

“A few more times,” he repeats, and you smile.

“You don't have anywhere you need to be tonight, do you?”

The two of you get two hours of sleep that night, and you end up going through both bottles of Pocari Sweat and all the snacks. There's no time for breakfast or burnt coffee the morning after; you make the executive decision to just eat something at the store instead. Shin leaves behind a toothbrush and you tell him he should also bring an extra set of clothes next time. He tries not to get too excited about the fact that there's going to be a next time. He fails.

Because, see. Now that you're regularly getting laid, your horny thoughts have finally (finally!) calmed down. You now have one free-use fantasy a day instead of twelve, and your daydreams only occasionally feature tentacle monsters. You do like to torture Shin with breeding kink scenarios, but that's only once a day, and they never involve any other guys. Shin considers this a victory, respite from the psychic agony that he was previously experiencing.

There's just one problem.

You want to kiss Shin all the time now, and it's making him feel like the horniest person alive.

He can't believe it. He doesn't have a particularly strong sex drive, and he rarely ever has sexual fantasies. But holy shit is he having them a lot now, and he can't say it's strictly your fault.

You spend most of the day now thinking about what it felt like to kiss him in bed, and what it felt like to hold his hand as he moved inside you, and what it felt like to be in his arms afterwards. What it would feel like if you were to do those things that you used to hate—kissing someone, linking fingers, embracing them—with Shin. Not just in bed, but on a regular day, out in the open. In a secluded park somewhere, or maybe at the top of a Ferris wheel, or even on a random street corner if the mood is right. All of these daydreams are usually followed by very explicit fantasies about public, unprotected sex, but the kissing is the most important part of it. The subsequent creampies are pretty significant too, but not nearly as much as the bits where you make out.

And somehow, the thought of cumming in you is not the part of the fantasy that's driving Shin crazy.

You give him a meaningful look. A week ago, this would have been a sign that you wanted him to bend you over the counter and give you backshots. Now it means you want to sneak away to kiss him and hold hands, and this makes him want to do things to you that would get him fired immediately.

Shin sighs, and he contemplates shoving himself into the freezer.

END

I wrote this with one hand and did not proofread it. my apologies if you see any errors. I just needed to be free of these thoughts asap. release me...

PS - I know the Resident Evil/Leon Kennedy mention must have felt very random, but it's set-up for potential future sequels haha.

#sorry i ... dont know what happened to me #🤍#god does this look like a crash out post ... i’m so embarrassed please do not perceive me #i just had to show my love for this thank you for birthing this wonderful idea and making this beautiful piece #sighs. head in hands #097.skds #char.shin

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judesmoonbeauty · 16 hours ago

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Lover's Contract: Jude Jazza - Premium END

This is a fan translation only. Please expect grammatical errors and translation inaccuracies. This is a full translation. Creative liberties are taken for characterization and smoother translation process. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translation elsewhere. Thank you for your support! ☾.

The steamboat’s whistle vibrates into the late night air.

Carrying the target couple, the boat leaves the harbor.

Eventually, the outline of the ship, illuminated by the lights, disappears into the foggy darkness.

Kate: The boat’s gone.

Jude: Let’s head back.

As soon as we observed the elopement, Jude flipped his coat and turned his back to the sea.

Kate: …..Was this a punishment?

I muttered as I gazed out at the sea, only for amethyst eyes to look back at me.

Jude: Dunno.

Jude: Kinda people d’ya think they are?

After observing them I noticed — How they held their glasses with sophistication, and the way they spoke and laughed with elegance.

(Even observing their confident demeanor, poise and mannerisms…..)

Kate: Those two….are likely nobles of very high social standing.

Kate: They didn't seem servile at all, and looked like people who grew up loved by their families.

Kate: I hate to say this, but there was such a sublime air about them that it’s hard to believe that they’d commit infidelity…..

Jude: Seems like yer eyes ain’t so rotten that they’re blind.

Jude: Right then, let’s suppose yer assumption’s spot-on.

Jude: Whatsit mean fer ‘em to abandon their homeland?

(If those two are who I imagine them to be —)

Abandoning their beloved families and hometowns would be an extremely heavy, and painful punishment for the two of them.

(In return for hurting their families and choosing love, they must abandon their hometowns.)

That’s the crime and punishment they committed.

Kate:….Those two only have each other now.

When I think about how they tossed away everything, and boarded the boat with only the clothes on their backs, my heart swells.

Jude: Plus, it’s easier bumpin’ people off from such respectable families abroad.

Jude: Don’t matter how they die, s’gonna be ruled an accident.

Kate: WHAT, isn’t giving up their homes the punishment?! Don’t say something so dreadful….

Jude: Huh? Weren’t ya wonderin’ if it was a punishment?

Jude: So, I just came up with the plausible endin’.

Jude: But even after I toldja, ya still complained. Yer bein’ too selfish, Princess.

Jude grumbles and starts walking.

Kate: Ah, please don’t leave me behind.

He glanced at me as I quickly stand next to him.

Jude: Ya can stay the night ‘n ponder alone.

T/l note at the bottom due to length.

Kate: I’ll go back with you.

Jude: With me, ya wanna be with me that bad?

Kate: Um, well…I like being with you.

I feel flustered hearing something like that out of the blue.

Jude: Speakin’ of, ya said “We’re together because we can’t completely fill the emptiness”.

(That’s what I said when I was consoling the woman target…!)

Kate: H-How do you know that, Jude?!

Jude: Yer so loud. Obviously, I was listenin’.

Kate: You were listening?! S-Since when?

Jude: That guy still had feelin’s fer her, so I went t’go get ‘er, he bawled ‘n begged.

Jude: Then ya were havin’ some drawn out chit chat on the balcony.

Jude: So, whose line’s that? I read all the scripts when I was investigatin’ the theater troupe fer the mission the other day.

Jude: That line, “Love is something you can’t get enough of, it’s also something you can’t give enough of.”

Jude: Don’t remember seein’ it.

(Yeahhh….that look, this means he knows everything.)

Kate: Just like you said Jude, those lines being from a play is a lie.

(If he knows, there’s no point in hiding it anymore.)

Love is something you can’t get enough of, it’s also something you can’t give enough of.

Those words -

Kate: I was just ad-libbing…..or rather, my feelings were spilling out for you, Jude.

Jude and I gaze into each other’s eyes, we touch each other, and repeatedly share our body’s heat.

Each time we do, I feel my heart filling with love.

But at the same time, my feelings for Jude grow more intense with each passing day —

(I could no longer say that loving you or receiving your love was "enough".)

Kate: I became greedy, after experiencing your love.

Kate: I want to love you even more. Jude, I lov—

The unfinished words melted between overlapping lips.

Jude: What’s this switchin’ back to bein’ a girlfriend without permission. Yer my lover ‘til the mission’s done.

Kate: But the targets are sailing on the ship, so the mission’s basically over…..

Jude: Ya don’t get it.

Jude’s eyes flicker alluringly as he gets closer.

Jude: Ain’t no way I can letcha go back lookin’ like that.

Kate: Looking like what….?

Jude: Like a woman in heat. Yer lil heads filled with unspeakable thin’s, ‘n what’s with all the questions?

Jude: If yer tryin’ to cover up yer perverseness, yer wastin’ yer time.

Jude: I know better than anyone, just how much ya want it.

The instant the whisper falls into the soft spot of my heart, it gets excited and pounds loudly…..

Kate: …..Mmn, haa.

His hand reaches the back of my head and firmly pulls me in.

— Only Jude and I are aware of the echoing sounds that lost in crashing waves.

[Event Master List] [Epilogue]

Translation Note: Jude uses "tasogare," meaning 'Twilight'. In archaic Japanese, it literally means "Who's there," and it was used back then because it was hard to tell who was who in the dusk. So, they'd say "tasogare" or "who's there". I thought the etiology was pretty cool. However, it's also a colloquial term used for those who spend the twilight/nighttime to think in depth. So, I decided to translate it this way.

It's so cute how Kate is learning to read people like Jude does, I love that so much!

Tag List: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @velisle @nateko @greatwitchsongsinger @injudescoat @aeyumicore @complexivelovely @yuoi-the-magnificent @husbandosandladders @cosmowgyral @lunaaka @rosalyne08 @8the-perfect-lie8 @voydsoul @goustmilk @kraiyne @midnightsrunaway @nawlink

If you wish to be added (and 18+ YO), or removed from my translations tag list, please let me know!

#ikevil translations #cybird translations #ikevil jude #jude jazza #jude jazza translations #ikevil #ikemen villains #ikemen villains translations #Dividers: @.natimiles

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aestariiwilderness · 2 days ago

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For Shiri, Ariel, and Kfir:

To anyone who says they are "pro-Palestinian": First off, your premise is flawed from the beginning, as there's never been a real Palestine (and the region referred to as Palestine -- the name itself a remnant of forcible Roman colonization of ancient Israel -- and the people referred to as Palestinian were, up to less than 70 years ago, the Israelis themselves, prior to Israel's refounding as a nation). Saying the Jews colonized "Palestine" and in so doing "killed Palestinians" (didn't happen, and Palestine has still never been an actual nation) and so somehow they deserve all this horror 70 years later is roughly as stupid as saying the Native Americans colonized America and killed a bunch of mermaids to do so. So there's that. Secondly: To those who say they are pro-Palestinian: To those who say "think of innocent Gazan civilians" and don't mention the innocent Israeli civilians kidnapped and murdered and raped and burned alive by those same "innocent" Gazan civilians: To those who accept anything Hamas or the mainstream media says as fact: To those who have the safety and the distance and the cushioned apathy to think they see a lovely high ground to preach their own superiority from -- stepping daintily over two terribly small corpses as they climb up there -- and to say "there's wrongs on both sides": To anyone who still thinks the "two-state solution" is any kind of a moral option, let alone a practical one: To anyone who says anything less today than "I support Israel in her fight against terrorism, genocidal hatred, and barbarity": All I have to say is this: Curl around your young children. Put your hand over their heart. Feel the beat underneath their ribs. Feel their little breaths in their little lungs. They are warm. They snuffle and snort at you. They sneeze all over your device screen. They babble incomprehensible things at you. They put their little elbows in all the worst places. You love them. Without them, life is worse than empty.

Curl around them. Feel them breathe. Listen to their hearts. See how whole and perfect they are.

Now. If you can. Close your eyes. See your precious little one in that little black coffin. Put Hamas propaganda pamphlets all over what's left of them. And imagine someone keeping your baby, your heart, in darkness for 500 days and sending it back broken, crushed, and in a casket, to music and singing and dancing in the streets. Think of your child's corpse being paraded through a jeering crowd that congratulates itself on killing a Jew who never could have fought back. Think of knowing that they were taken from you and murdered; think of knowing that they died alone, in pain, in fear, in the dark, away from you, and there was nothing you could have done about it. Now. Open your eyes. Curl around your young children. Thank God that they're alive. And have the decency to be quiet.

#shiri bibas #ariel bibas #kfir bibas #bibas family #yarden bibas #hostages #hamas #gaza #gazan civilians #terrorists #child murder #tw: child murder #tw: murder

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sunschay · 1 day ago

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The Anger of the Soul | Natasha Romanoff! x Gender Neutral Rogers Reader.

After an unsuccessful mission, the reader ends up having trouble controlling their own anger and injures their hands. Natasha takes care of their injuries and feelings, and everything ends up going beyond what she planned.

Note: This is my first oneshot so forgive me for any spelling mistakes below, I hope you enjoy this.

Warnings: None.

Fluff, soft angst.

Word count: 1,4 K

The shrill sound of ambulance sirens was too much for their ears. All that blood, that dirty earth, building debris and rubble on the ground, it was too much. The mission had failed. An excruciating pain spreading through their wrist brought them back to reality, staring at the empty gym ahead. They had failed and the guilt would consume them until it corroded their nervous system, until it drove them to the limit. But Y/n already felt at the deepest limit.

“Ugh!” They growled, landing blow after blow on the poor punching bag in front of them.

There was something deep down in Y/n's mind that told them that the failure of the mission was their own fault, that everything there had resulted from their incompetence and misery. A strong kick knocked the bag to the floor, previously hanging by a thin sports rope under the gray ceiling of the gym, and they began to remove the bandages from their hands quickly.

Their knuckles were raw, not only from the combat on their mission, but also from their little conflict with their own punching bag. Y/n sat down exhaustedly on the nearest bench, broad shoulders rising and falling along with their tired chest, their forehead sweaty and their once hopeful eyes now staring at a fixed point in the darkness of their own twisted mind. Footsteps sounded down the center hallway and they looked up furiously to see a red-haired female figure enter the gym.

“You shouldn't take this out on yourself, Rogers.” Natasha scolded seriously, approaching to help them remove the bandages and holding their wrists.

Natasha stood there, small bruises on her face, almost nonexistent. She was wearing a simple black tank top, tight uniform pants, boots, and still had her holster on, a revolver tucked into her waistband. Her red hair was impeccable as always, her green eyes worried and confused.

The cuts on their hands and knuckles were deep, dried blood marking their pale skin like some of the many battle scars they carried with them. Y/n shook her head, lowering her gaze from them and trying to avoid Romanoff's gaze on their faces, she intimidated them and she knew it.

“We could have done better. I failed at everything ” They groaned, getting up from the bench to go to the nearby bathroom and stick their hands under the cold water, trying their best to ignore the excruciating pain of every tiny cut and bruise.

“We all fail, that doesn't mean the weight of the world has to be on your shoulders alone. You are my friend. Let me help.” The redhead asked as she approached again, carefully grabbing her friend's wrists.

No words came out of Rogers' mouth. They went back to the gym and sat under the bench while they allowed Natasha to clean the rest of the dried blood with a damp cloth, using a small tweezer to catch small shards of glass lost in the mission. Her eyes were beautiful and Y/N hated to think about it, they were friends. But they felt for her, things that friends shouldn't feel, and they would suppress it as soon as possible.

“I know you hurt the rest of your body, take off your shirt so I can take a look.” Natasha asked calmly and politely, placing the blood-soaked cloth in a pot of water, watching the clear water turn bright red.

They took off their shirts, their eyes going anywhere and in any direction other than Natasha's. It seemed unusual in a way. Natasha was very respectful and skeptical, of course, but they still weren't used to simply taking off their shirts in front of her. It was somehow exposed. Romanoff noticed some bruises on Y/n's body, moving away to get some ice packs and some painkiller.

“You don't have to do this, I don't want to be a burden, Nat.” She heard them speak again, her red eyebrows arching before looking at them deeply.

“If you say you're a burden again, I'll give you a black eye myself.” The redhead whispered, her serious green eyes staring into theirs and then she sat down on the bench too.

Natasha applied some of the cold ointment to her hands, carefully working it into Rogers' skin, massaging their tense shoulders and squeezing, hearing a few exhausted sighs in response. She subtly pressed the muscle in their bicep, biting her lip to keep the unprofessional thoughts from entering her mind.

“Your hands are divine.” Natasha heard Rogers' soft whisper and smiled mentally, continuing the little massage.

“Focus, Rogers.” She teased, her fingers trailing down the middle of their back.

She felt them tense and then she quickly removed her fingers, seeing a cluster of deep scars in the middle of their spines. She already knew that S/n had those scars. War scars. Some were old, some they had earned during all their missions as the Avengers. Natasha swallowed hard, pressing the ice pack to one of the deep, violent bruises on their arm, trying to breathe calmly as she helped her friend.

“I feel so angry that even breathing feels wrong.” They whisper, their voices deep and hoarse with so much fury kept inside and stored inside themselves.

“..I don't want to feel like this anymore, but all I want most of the time is to break things. Without fear of the consequences, just break and smash anything that dares to move, Sam got hurt today because of me. ” They shook their heads, jaw clenching tightly.

“No, he didn't! He got hurt because we were too far away to catch him and you carried him to the safest spot yourself. Y/n, you saved him.” Natasha corrected them, her warm hand cupping their faces with a simple, subtle touch.

Y/n felt a small shiver at Romanoff's touch, their faces softening little by little and they slowly moistened their lips. Natasha's touch was like being on the edge of paradise. It was like a pure feeling, the purest and sweetest feeling in the world, an inevitable cliché that not even the redhead knew the power she had.

“This anger consumes you. This anger makes you sick. We need to take care of it.” Natasha slid her hand over the middle of their chests, the sound of rapid heartbeats making her eyes close quickly.

“I know exactly what destroys my anger, what calms and numbs my fury. I don't need anything else.” Rogers stated, their dark eyes flicking between Natasha's eyes and her lips.

Natasha blinked in confusion, not taking a single step away from them. She watched Rogers lean closer, their now soft breath landing on Romanoff's porcelain face. And then, with a firm, slow movement, their fingers gripped her slender waist, pulling her close before pressing their lips to hers.

Natasha's lips were full, soft as lying on a lawn full of fresh roses. The feel of her skin on theirs sent a shock through both their bodies, which were in a state of deep frenzy. Romanoff closed her eyes, her hand instinctively grabbing their shoulder, squeezing gently before returning the kiss with passion, her body starting to burn in flames.

Y/n kept one hand on her waist, the other long hand snaking down the agent's body until it sank into her red hair, her fingers getting lost in the fiery, red softness. Natasha let out a small gasp when their tongues met for the first time, the innocence of the first kiss slowly escaping between silent lines.

“You are the solution. You are the cure for my rage, Nat.” Rogers whispered, their lower lip being slowly bitten by Natasha.

“Before I thought we shouldn't rush so much... now all I need is you, no matter how long it takes.” Romanoff sighed, feeling a small trickle of saliva leave their lips.

They turned as soon as they heard footsteps, still glued to each other when a Steve entered the room, half in uniform, stained with blood and with cuts on his face. He looked suspiciously between the two, his mouth slightly open in an 'O' and then took a deep breath.

“I think I'd better come back later.” Their brother announced, his face slightly red and his blond hair completely disheveled.

“Great idea, Steve.” Y/n shook her head, hearing an embarrassed laugh from Natasha.

They felt Natasha's arms snake around their shoulders, her sweet yet mysterious scent filling their senses, their body that was once tense and completely filled with anger now softened. Calm. Tranquil. A well of tranquility, literally. All Y/n really needed was Natasha with them. They needed her, not just to control their anger. They needed her because their souls were destined for each other, and that would never change.

“Okay. You can relax now.” Natasha murmured, tightening her embrace around them.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #marvel #black widow #ucm #natasha romanoff x you #marvel heroes #steve rogers

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loves1ckmoth · 11 hours ago

Text

NEW TATTOO

Non-WLF!Abby x Reader

Warnings ♡: fem reader, they tease and argue in the beginning, reader has an attitude, they cuddle at the end, reader gives Abby a stick and poke, Abby gets her dad's birthday and name tattooed, my babies

Word count ♡: 1169 (heh)

Your day had been long, and with the storm outside, you were sure the night would be even longer. Abby sat beside you like she always did before bed. Tonight, she was sorting through everything you had gathered from the town you ran across today. She frowns as she takes out a plastic bag of ballpoint pens.

“Did you need to grab these?” She grumbles, inspecting them. “Of course I did! How else am I supposed to cover your arms with tattoos?” You say jokingly, but the way she eyes you tells you that she does not take it as such. “How the hell would you tattoo me with these? Don’t they use a different ink? And a whole gun?”

You roll your eyes and snatch the bag from her, pulling one out. “You take out all the ink from these and put it into something. I like to use those old bottle caps from sodas. Then, you take a needle or something of the sort and stab a pattern onto yourself.

She looks disturbed, shooting you a weird look. “That doesn’t sound right at all. Isn’t there ink poisoning and infections from the needles? I wouldn’t trust you within five feet of me if you were going to do that.”

You groan, leaning over and falling into her lap. You press the back of your hand to your forehead, whimpering in faux pain. “You wound me… Implying I would hurt you… You’re so awful to me.” Once you’re finished whining, you peek up at her to see her reaction. She’s not amused.

“Are you quite done?” She says snarkily, and you sit up. You roll your eyes and she wants to smack you upside the head for your attitude, but the way your mouth quirks up and she can see your smile lines after teasing her makes it bearable. “Why can’t you be fun? I’d only do something simple. I’ve done it to myself before and I turned out fine.” She raises a brow and looks you over as if to say, ‘Did you?’ “I did, dammit!” You shout.

She finally grins, grabbing her stomach as she starts to laugh. It stuns you. All you can do is watch and stare. Her eyes crinkle at the corners and her nose scrunches. Her hair flies over her shoulder as she leans back. Was it that funny? As her laughter dies down to soft heaves and she rubs tears from her eyes, she looks back at your starstruck expression.

“‘M sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll stop. I shouldn’t laugh at you.” She says as she finally manages to recuperate. You frown finally, leaning back against the wall and studying the pen that’s still in your hands. “So you won’t let me do it?” You ask softly. She leans back with you, staring up at the ceiling.

“I’m just wary. I don’t want to get sick or hurt from it. But where would you put it? What would you put?” You also take a moment to think before tilting your head to face her. You like it when it’s quiet like this. Despite your fear of the storm taking down the house you’re staying in, you like the way her nose looks against the dark, rainy window. You wanna reach out and touch it? It’s not like it’s normal for you to poke her randomly but this time would feel too intimate.

“I’d like to put something on your arms. They’re so big and bulky and empty. I don’t want to do your stomach, That hurts a lot more. As for what… I’m not sure.” She hums quietly, messing with her arms as your gaze drops down to them. They might be your favorite part of her. The way they’re so huge, the way the muscles underneath ripple when she chops them, the way they feel around your neck and you start getting lightheaded… Yeah. You like it all.

“Do you have any quotes from books you like? Or maybe a name or a date?” You ask softly. A strange haze drops over her eyes and her brows furrow. She looks concentrated. “A date and a name. On my arm. Would you do that?” Even if you weren’t over the moon about doing it, you know you wouldn’t be able to tell her no. Not when that familiar mournful look takes control of her face.

“Of course, I would. Is it him and his birthday?” She nods solemnly. You don’t need to say his name. You both know. You’re sure if you said her dad's name aloud she’d finally break down in front of you. Out of all the walls she erected, most have fallen except that one. You want to see her finally surrender it all into your hands, but you’ll wait patiently for it. It feels better like that.

“I saw a soda bottle outside earlier. I’ll clean it up in the rain. You can use that spare needle from the sewing kit in my pack.” She says as she gets up and you’re quick to follow orders. Her bag is a maze to navigate and it frustrates you every time you have to look in it. You’re convinced only she can navigate it.

Once she’s back with the bottle, you’ve managed to find the needle. She sits in front of you as you get the ink from the pens into the cap. She rolls up her sleeve for you and places it in your lap. You gently draw out the date and her father's name with one of the pens that’s still intact.

You hum quietly, offering a gentle hand as you get to work on her. She likes the way your brows furrow as you concentrate and watching you stick out your tongue manages to distract her from your arm. It begins to come out nicely and she’s pleasantly surprised.

You pull back after a while and stretch, your body trembling. She bites the inside of her cheek as your shirt rides up, barely constraining herself from grabbing your midriff. “You done?” She asks quietly. When you nod, she takes her half-asleep arm off your lap and looks it over.

You study her face, waiting for a response. “Is it any good?” She huffs, barely holding back tears. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” You smile brightly, incredibly proud of your work. You clean up the space as a bright flash floods the house. She holds up a finger to silence you as she counts the time until the thunder comes, making the house shake. She sighs in relief once it passes. “It’s a ways away. We’ll be fine for the night.”

She moves with you now, helping set up a pallet on the floor next to the dying fire. Once it’s all laid out, she grabs you by the hip and pulls you into her. “Lay down and rest. Let me help you sleep.” You let out a soft breath and melt into her, finally collapsing for the night.

Hi everyone!! Back with Abby again because I missed her ૮ ྀི◞͈ ˔ ◟͈ ྀིა ♡♡ reblogs and likes are the most appreciated ♡

#dividers by dollywons #loves1ckmoth writes ♡#abby the last of us #abby tlou #tlou abby #abby x you #abby x reader #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby x y/n #abby x fem!reader #abby angst #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x y/n

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flowery-mess · 23 hours ago

Text

nowhere to go

Pairing: frat boy Noah x female reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! / physical violence / punching / knife threat / blood, bruises and other injuries / harassment / I think that's it, let me know if there's anything else

Words: 3,1k

Author's note: grab your tissues everyone. So far the hardest one I wrote for frat Noah❤️‍🩹

frat boy Noah masterlist

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“Thanks for coming man, next time we should start earlier.” Matt said to Noah as he watched him put his shoes and jacket on.

“Yeah, I hate doing projects at the last minute.” him and Matt had a project for a finance class together, they wanted to work on it on the weekend, but Matt’s plans had changed and he needed to finish it on Friday night before he left to see his parents.

“Sorry again man, will never happen again.” Matt apologized one more time, him and Noah did their weird handshake and then Noah left.

It was Friday night, but most of the students were back home at their parents, so there was no party that night.

Noah crossed the main area of the college campus to finally get in his car, do some grocery shopping and go home. He was more than ready to eat some frozen pizza, take a shower and then go to bed.

Due to the spring break the parking lot was weirdly empty, aside from Noah’s black car there were just a few more. He didn’t pay any attention to those other cars, didn’t feel like he needed to.

When his body slid behind the steering wheel, he let out a deep groan. His back hurt from sitting on Matt’s bed the whole day and his brain was tired from all the thinking he had to do to finish the project. He let his head rest for a while, closing his eyes, but he knew if he let himself doze off he’s going to wake in the morning and that was painful to imagine.

He started the engine and made his way to the closest grocery store that wasn’t closed yet. The streets were mostly empty, probably due to the area usually being full of students. It was 10PM already, so he had to drive a bit far for his liking.

His radio was on, but he didn’t really pay any attention to the songs, he was focused on the road.

He checked his rear mirror before he changed lines and noticed only one red car behind him. His attention was back on the road, cursing himself for not using GPS, because he didn’t recognise this part of town.

He turned left, then right and was expecting the shop to already be in sight, but he could swear he got lost and was again on the same main street, changing lines again. Before he did he checked his rear mirror again, noticing the same red car still behind him. He didn’t think much of it, maybe they got lost too.

Taking a few more turns he finally saw the lights “open 24/7”, only one traffic light between him and his target. When he stopped and the red light he looked back in the mirror, nothing else to look at with the empty streets. He noticed two men sitting in the red car, talking and waiting for the light to turn green just like him. When it did, Noah started driving again, not looking back in the mirror or at the red car anymore.

He took the closest parking spot to the shop, took his wallet and left the car. The street was silent, you could only hear cars from a far.

There were two homeless men in front of the shop who didn’t waste any time asking Noah for money. He gave them some change he had in his back pockets and thought of buying them some beer for a minute.

“Hello sir.” the older cashier welcomed Noah with a smile on her face, he did the same and grabbed a cart to start his short shopping list.

Frozen pizza, eggs, bread and milk. Things for dinner and breakfast before he can go to his regular shop to do bigger weekly shopping.

The nice lady packed him the small purchase in a bag, making small talk while doing so. She looked like the type of a woman who lives alone and has a part time job to socialize and talk with people. Noah didn't mind, because he knew how spending time alone can be, so he nodded along and occasionally gave her some answer.

He wished her a safe shift and made his way back to his car. When he reached for his keys he noticed two people next to his black Range Rover. He stopped walking and scanned the parking lot. He noticed the red car still there, but left empty with no passengers.

He really wanted to go home, so he decided to just go and not think twice about it.

“Hey, can I help you?” he asked the two men he saw in his mirror earlier at the red light.

One of them had a cigarette in his hand, the smell hit Noah’s nose immediately. The other one looked at Noah and his face turned into a satisfied smirk.

“Actually yes. You’re Noah right?” the man made a step towards Noah who started feeling uneasy in their company. How the fuck did he knew his name?

“Who are you?” Noah tried to stay calm, maybe it was a misunderstanding.

“Your daddy says you owe us some money.” and then it hit him. I’ll tell them to go after you. His father’s words replayed in his head and he didn’t know what to do.

“He’s not my father, whatever he told you is a lie. I don’t know what he did or why he owes the money, fuck I don’t even know how much money it is! He’s a stranger to me.”

“That’s not what he told us. He owes us money and he told us you’ll pay. We don’t care about your sad story, we want the money and we don’t care how we’ll get it.”

“How much?”

“800 dollars.” Fuck, Noah thought. He expected more, but it was still a lot of money.

“Yeah I don’t have that, so go ask him again.” Noah thought he made it clear, but before he could unlock his car and leave, fist landed on his face. His bag of groceries fell on the ground and his hand immediately went to touch his nose. He tasted blood in his mouth.

“Listen you son of a bitch, you either give us some money or it will not end well for you.” the man pushed him on the side of his own car and his disgusting hands made it around Noah’s throat. He didn’t choke him, but added a fair amount of pressure to make breathing harder for Noah.

“I don’t have the money.” Noah whispered as loud as he could. Another punch followed, this time to his abdomen. Two against one, that couldn’t end well for him. One of them continued holding Noah by his neck while the other was ready to land another fist.

“He said you’ll pay.” of course he said that, father of the year.

Before Noah could argue with him, he felt those hands move from his neck to his shoulders, pulling him down and then knee of the stranger in his face. He gasped for air and saw blood dripping on the concrete under him. He was fucked. Who’s going to help him? That sweet lady from the shop or those two homeless guys? Sure not.

He stood back up, ready to face another hit to wherever they felt good next. He didn’t fight back, that was pointless.

Another punch, this time next to his eye, slitting his eyebrow. He hissed in pain, not sure he could take any more before colapsing on the ground under his feet.

Blood started dripping down his face, blurring his vision in his left eye. He was tired. Tired from all this beating, tired from his father’s actions.

“Do you need more or will you give us the money?” that man yelled in Noah’s face.

He understood him in a way. That man helped his father out in some way, either with drugs, alcohol or actual money and just wanted it back. The thing is, people like his father will never give the money back and that’s something people like those two strangers should know.

Noah’s mind was thinking of how he could escape this situation, but before he could think of something, he heard the sound of opening a pocket knife. The other man put the knife to Noah’s jaw and started running the blade across his cheek.

“I’ll give you everything I have on me, okay?” Noah blurted out in a rush, scared of where this would go if he let them continue.

“Now that’s something I like to hear.” the stranger said happily.

Noah took out his wallet and took out all of his cash and handed it to them. He didn’t know how much it was, but prayed to God that it was enough for him to get rid of them.

“That’s only 200 dollars.” they told him after they counted the money.

“I don’t have any more.”

He saw them look at each other, like they were silently communicating with their minds.

“Listen, we know how stuff like this works and we also know your dad is a piece of shit. We’ll take this and take care of the rest in our way. With your father, not you. But tell your old man this is his warning and he better have the money next time we see him, or he can say his goodbye to you.” Noah didn’t know how to answer that so he just kept staring at them, waiting for their next move.

When they scanned his body, obviously satisfied with the damage they'd done, they turned around, got in their car and left the parking lot.

Noah couldn’t move, he was leaning against his car and trying to stabilize his breathing.

“Are you alright?” he heard another voice and when he turned his head he saw one of the homeless men standing close to his car. He didn’t have the energy to answer, he just opened his car, started the engine and took off.

He didn’t drive in the direction of his apartment, he went back to the campus. His drive was messy and he was glad there were no other cars, because he was sure his driving would’ve caused an accident.

He sat in the parking lot for a good hour, thinking of what to do. His head was hurting and the blood finally stopped running down his face a few minutes ago. It was tears running down his cheeks now, mixing with the dried blood he could taste in his mouth.

He gave up punching the steering wheel or tugging at his hair, the physical pain couldn’t stop the hurt he felt in his heart.

Instead the car was filled with sobs and cries from a boy who just wanted peace in his life. He was better off alone, he just wanted his devil of a father out of his life.

His body worked on autopilot when he got out of his car and started walking in the direction of your dorm. He was glad no one could see him, beaten up with blood all over him. He couldn’t look in the mirror so he took the stairs instead of an elevator.

When he reached your floor he saw the big old clock on the wall and saw it was just a bit after midnight. You’re probably asleep, he should go home, he thought. He actually ran down the stairs just to turn around on the ground floor and run up again. He couldn’t be alone.

—

“Yes mom, I’ll come visit you next month, I’m just busy with school work so I wanted to stay here.” you were on the phone with your mom who just finished her glass of wine and decided it was “I miss my daughter hours.” and called you. You were two hours ahead of her, so it wasn’t unusual for her to call you this late.

“I just saw Jake come home today and felt sad that you decided to stay.” Jake was your neighbour who grew up across the road.

“I know mom, but I’ll come soon. Okay?” you didn’t hear her answer, because there was a loud knock on your door. You checked the time on your phone and furrowed your brows, who could be knocking at your door at midnight. “Wait mom.” you told her and walked to open your door.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight when you opened your door. There was Noah, covered in blood with red eyes, looking like he would collapse every second.

“I have to go mom, I’ll call you tomorrow. Bye.” you hung up on her before she could say bye, but you didn’t care.

“Noah what the fuck?” you continued to stare at him, not sure what to do. “What the hell happened?” you whispered.

“I, I-” he couldn’t finish what he wanted to say, his words got lost between his sobs and quick breathing.

“Come inside.” you pulled him in by his hand and he immediately went to wrap his arms around you, and you let him.

You continued standing there with crying Noah in your arms. You gave him all the time he needed to calm down. When you felt his breath slow down a little, you pulled away from him to look at the mess his face was.

“Oh God Noah, who did this to you?” looking at him was painful. When he didn’t answer you led him in your bathroom and sat him on the closed toilet.

“I’m gonna clean you up, okay? You don’t have to say anything until you want to, yeah?” you cupped his face in your hands to make sure he heard you. He gave you only a small nod.

You took a small towel and dipped it into warm water, then took Noah’s face in one of your hands and held the towel in the other one. You slowly and gently wiped all the dried blood from his face. Then you sprayed the disinfection on white cotton pads and said “This is gonna sting.” As you dabbed the pad over the cuts on Noah’s eyebrow and then around his bloody nose, you couldn’t miss the tears forming in his eyes again, then slowly cascading down his cheeks. You tried to wipe them all with your fingers, but there were too many of them.

You put a small butterfly plaster on his eyebrow, but that was all you could do. The rest of his face started to bruise and swell already, you noted to get him something frozen later when you’re done.

“All done.” you grabbed his chin and made him look up at you and leaned down to kiss his forehead. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” you asked, not sure if you wanted to know the answer.

Instead of answering you, Noah took off his t-shirt and you saw a red bruise on his abdomen. You had to calm yourself down so you wouldn’t swear again.

There wasn’t much you could do with that one, so you at least sprayed some disinfection on it.

“Do you want to take a shower?” you then asked Noah who still hasn’t said a word. He was communicating only in nods, but you didn’t mind.

“Here’s a towel, you can leave your clothes here, I’ll wash it for you. Call me if you need anything else, I’ll wait in my room.” you wanted to give him space and privacy, but when you turned to walk out of the small bathroom of yours, he reached for your hand and stopped you.

“Stay.” he finally spoke, it was more of a question, a plea.

You got in the shower with him, taking care of him again. You used your shampoo on his bruised body, being careful with your touch to not hurt him any more. You wanted to wash all of his pain away, if only it was possible.

You let him hug you again, only to hear his silent cries again. You had to hold your own tears at this point. Who did this to him?

After the shower you sat Noah in your bed and gave him a pack of frozen peas to stop the swelling of his pretty face.

You sat next to him, not sure what to do now. “Do you wanna talk about it?” you asked him.

There was a silence before he took a breath and started talking.

“He actually sent someone to beat me up and get money from me.” he muttered under his breath, “Who does that to their own kid?” his breath got caught in his throat, before he let out another sob. You immediately knew what he was talking about. His father was always full of promises he never managed to keep, so after that accident you both didn’t take his words seriously. What a mistake.

You laid both of you down on your bed, not big enough for both of you, but you managed. You held him and gave him time to process what he wanted to tell you.

“They followed me from here after I left Matt’s place, then they waited for me in front of a fucking grocery store. He owes them 800 dollars and sent them to get it from me. They beat me up and then pulled out a knife, so I gave them all the cash I had with me.” at the mention of the knife you had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying what was on your mind. You were thankful he got to you in one piece.

“They told me he’s a piece of shit and that beating me up was a warning for him. Only if they knew he doesn’t give a fuck about what they did to me. They said they’ll finish it with him, so I hope I’ll never see their fucking faces again.”

“That’s not okay Noah, they can’t do that.”

“Don’t you think I fucking know that?” he sat up to look at you, despair in his eyes. “What do you want me to do? Call the cops? Call him?”

“I don’t know.” you admitted. You wanted to get him out of this situation, but didn’t have a clue on how to do it.

He laid back down and continued talking after a while. “I’m gonna change my number. I was thinking about moving too. He knows where I live, I’ll never get rid of him.”

“Yeah, we can think of something tomorrow.” those weren’t bad ideas, it could help to cut his father off completely. “I’m glad you came here, hate the idea of you being alone in this state.” you admitted and planted few more kisses to his forehead and in his hair.

He laid in your arms, occasionally letting out a hiss when your fingers slid too close to his bruised face.

You felt his body grow heavier and heavier with sleep taking over him. His cries finally calmed down and his breathing became even.

“Thank you.” he whispered in the crook of your neck.

“You don’t have to thank me.” you whispered back. You thought of all the nights when he held you, because you needed it.

You held him until he fell asleep, preparing yourself for round 2 in the morning when the pain of his injuries will become worse.

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This story is a work of fiction, with the plot and characters entirely made up. The appearance and name of the main male character are inspired by Noah Sebastian Davis, but the storyline bears no connection to the real person. Please do not steal or repost this work on other platforms without permission.

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