#surrender my everything / ( povs ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

onceinablueberrymoon · 4 months ago

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stick to the plan | husband!salesman x mom!reader

the final parts are up! there are two possible endings: swan lake and nocturne no. 2. take your pick -- it's a 50-50 chance :) scenario: gi-hun and the loan shark group have been searching for the salesman for almost two years now. you and your son had occasionally come to help them in their search, but to no avail. one day, your husband gets an order to get rid of gi-hun because of his incessant probing. you have no choice but to obey, even against your will. setting: during the events of season 2, episode 1! ; set one year after the name game; you can find the other parts to the series in my masterlist! warnings: fem!reader; mom!reader; dad!salesman; deception; lots of guilt; is this angst? it’s definitely guilt tho; recruiter is called salesman; no use of y/n; second person POV word count: 3.9k notes: thank you all for waiting! this took me much longer than expected, but it’s definitely my longest chapter for this series so far! as this takes place almost entirely within season 2, episode 1, i pulled quite a bit of dialogue from the show. however, this is all in second person POV, so it’s only what reader sees. i really enjoyed writing this part, and i sincerely hope you enjoy reading it! also, there will be two endings (and possibly a third) for this series. one which remains canon, and the other which… doesn’t, lol. i hope to release them at the same time, so please stay tuned! ik i don't post gifs usually but doesn't he look so soft in this gif i just had to use it (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥) borders by @enchanthings-a and the gif is from @lenoirexv!

One year later.

“All packed?”

You asked your husband as you zipped up your purse.

“Almost.” He called from across the bedroom. He was in front of his safe, grabbing piles of ddakji tiles and money and carefully placing them in a suitcase. The last few tiles and stacks of money went into his briefcase.

Once you were finished organizing your belongings, you walked over to the crib in the corner of the room. Min-seok looked up at you, a shy smile on his face. You lifted him up, mentally checking off your list: he had already been fed, changed, and dressed. Looking around the bedroom, you saw all the packed suitcases and bags scattered on the floor and on the bed. Everything was ready.

A sigh escaped your lips. You had been planning this day for a while now.

According to your husband, the Frontman had been somewhat concerned with Gi-hun’s persistent actions. As recruitment for the Games was almost finished, he had ordered your husband to eliminate Gi-hun. What “eliminate” meant, you weren’t exactly sure, but you knew it couldn’t be good. While you were close to Gi-hun, you knew this friendship couldn’t last forever, especially since it was built on lies. You were loyal to your job, your husband, and now your son too. You couldn’t throw that away for a friendship. Even so, the gnawing feeling of guilt clawed at your insides.

You kissed the top of your son’s head before tucking him in his stroller. He let out a small giggle.

“Mini, have fun with your dad today, alright?” You said sweetly.

Walking over to your husband, you patted him lightly on the chest.

“Be safe. If you put my baby in danger, I’ll kill you.” You narrowed your eyes and your husband put his hands up in surrender. “I believe you.”

Your husband wrapped his arms around you before pecking you on the lips.

“I’ll start loading the bags.” He turned to pick up his briefcase.

“Wait,” you stopped him. “You’re sure there’ll be someone that can take us to the island?”

Your husband gave you a soft smile, placing the briefcase down before taking your hands in his. “We’ve been over this. Captain Park will meet us at the pier to escort us to the island.” He played with the wedding ring on your finger. “We’ll only be there for a short while. Just until the Frontman deems it safe to return.”

You bit your lip. Even though you reviewed the plan dozens of times before, you couldn’t shake your anxiety.

“What if…” You paused, your voice choking suddenly. “What if something goes wrong? What if something happens to you? Or me? Or-” Your husband grabbed the sides of your arms roughly, almost making your body shake.

“Nothing will go wrong.” His tone was harsh. “I won’t allow it.” He let go of you and rubbed his hands up and down your arms as if to apologize for hurting you.

He sighed and ran his hand through his neatly styled hair. “Everything will go according to plan. Play your role correctly and everything will return to normal soon.” He picked up his briefcase and one of the suitcases and left the bedroom.

You stood there in silence, your mind racing. You took a few deep breaths to steady yourself.

‘This will all be over soon,’ you thought. ‘Everything will return to normal soon...’

The problem: you didn’t even know what ‘normal’ looked like anymore.

"Jonggak. Jonggak Station."

The voiceover announced the name of the subway station. Checking your phone, you realized this was your stop.

You stepped off the train onto the platform, where you spotted two familiar figures.

“Hey!” You called, waving to Mr. Kim and Woo-seok who were seated on a bench.

Upon seeing you, they waved back. As you approached them, you noticed them eating sandwiches and kimbap. You sat down next to Woo-seok and he held a sandwich out for you to take.

“Thank you, I’m starving,” you said as you unwrapped the packaging.

“No Min-seok?” Woo-seok asked, looking for any sign of your son who sometimes accompanied you.

“His father’s taking care of him today,” you replied with a smile.

Gi-hun and the others had fallen in love with your little boy from the moment they met him. While your husband was skeptical of you introducing your son to literal loan sharks, you had assured him that everything would be fine. You and Min-seok had quickly befriended Mr. Kim after visiting Gi-hun at his hotel the day he happened to be visiting. Everyone was smitten once they saw your son, and Mr. Kim and Woo-seok were no exception. Min-seok was a sweetheart who loved to be held by everyone, and his laughter was infectious.

You volunteered to help in the search for the salesman, which Gi-hun initially declined for your safety. But as the search continued for months with no progress, Gi-hun suggested you go with Mr. Kim and Woo-seok who could protect you if things went awry.

“Anything exciting today?” You asked as you dug into your sandwich. Mr. Kim and Woo-seok shook their heads.

“I know Mr. Seong is your friend,” Woo-seok said, “But how much of his story do you actually believe?” He turned to Mr. Kim. “We’ve been searching every subway station in the city all summer, but no one’s ever seen the guy.”

Mr. Kim nodded his head. “Seong Gi-hun may be crazy, but he wouldn’t waste billions on looking for someone who doesn’t exist. He’s onto something.”

Woo-seok ran his hand over his face. “Boss, we’ve been searching these stations for the past two years. Not days, years! Two whole years.” He laughed, “My wife says I should find that salesman, go play those games myself, and win 45.6 billion won. If someone were playing ddakji down here, we would’ve found hi-”

Smack.

All three of you turned to look across the platform.

Stunned, the two men stood up in confusion. There the salesman was, playing ddakji against a man wearing a bucket hat. Next to them, away from the playing area, was Min-seok’s stroller. Once the salesman slapped the other man, Mr. Kim and Woo-seok looked at each other, eyes wide. All you could do was watch the spectacle as you ate your sandwich quietly. The man with the bucket hat won two rounds in a row. Before he forgot, Mr. Kim pulled out his phone to call Gi-hun.

“We’ve found the guy. It’s him,” Mr. Kim spoke. You couldn’t hear what Gi-hun said, but you were sure he was shocked too.

“The ddakji, slapping, and money. Just like you said.” You saw the salesman give the man with the bucket hat a business card. “He’s handing over the card now.”

A beat, then Mr. Kim said, “We’re at Jonggak Station.” He paused. “By the way, you never said the guy had a kid?”

You could faintly hear Gi-hun’s sound of confusion from your spot on the bench.

“He has a stroller with him. I’m not su- He’s leaving. Please hurry.” Mr. Kim hung up and gestured for you and Woo-seok to follow him.

Even though the salesman took the elevator because of the stroller, he was still faster than you. You followed him out of the subway station and to a couple stores before finally arriving at Tapgol Park.

‘Ah,’ you thought. ‘One of his favourites.’

It was no surprise to you that your husband needed to release some pent-up stress from time-to-time. He liked to go to parks frequented by the homeless and play a game of bread or lottery. On the rare occasion that the majority of the people chose the buns, he would be satisfied, telling you that maybe there was some hope left in the world after all.

As the salesman started his rounds, you, Mr. Kim, and Woo-seok settled on a bench near the main gazebo, hiding your faces behind pages of a random newspaper you found. You laughed in your mind. Mr. Kim and Woo-seok were horrible stalkers. Even if you weren’t there, there’s no way your husband wouldn’t notice them. They stuck out like a sore thumb.

You noticed that some people were attracted to the stroller the salesman was pushing, peering into the bassinet to have a look at the baby. You supposed it made your husband seem more trustworthy. He had his usual smiling expression on his face. He moved from one person to the next, offering them a bun or a lottery scratcher.

“What do you think he’s doing?” Mr. Kim asked. “Maybe he’s a good guy.” Woo-seok said, confused.

You all continued to watch the salesman as he went around and offered the same options to all the homeless people in the park. Once he had completed his rounds, he went to the centre of the park in front of the gazebo and placed his bags down.

“How come he’s not giving us one?” Mr. Kim looked slightly offended.

‘Maybe cause you look so suspicious,’ you thought, but said nothing.

Everyone turned to look at the salesman as he dumped both bags of buns onto the ground.

‘Here we go,’ you thought, bracing for people’s reactions.

Just as one man was about to pick up a bun, the salesman stepped on it, digging his heel in to squish the bread. Everyone’s faces dropped, including Mr. Kim and Woo-seok’s. Then, he started jumping and stomping on all the buns. You had to stifle your laughter — sometimes your husband was just so funny! Everyone was too stunned to move. Mr. Kim whipped out his phone to record the incident, probably to show Gi-hun later. The salesman truly looked like a madman, slipping and sliding over the crushed packages of bread before kicking them. After he had finished his tantrum, he straightened his jacket and ran his hands over his face, before finally tucking his tie into his jacket like nothing had happened.

Everyone was still reeling from what they had just witnessed when a whine emerged from the stroller next to the salesman. Your heart sank. Min-seok started fussing, his whines quickly becoming cries. You tried to mask the pained look on your face as a pang of guilt hit you for not being able to soothe your baby.

The salesman picked Min-seok up from the bassinet and started rocking him gently, much to the shock of everyone watching. With the exception of your son’s crying, the park was silent. You turned to look at Mr. Kim and Woo-seok who looked utterly dumbfounded at what they were witnessing. Thankfully, you were seated far away enough that they couldn’t tell that the baby was your son.

After being comforted by his father, Min-seok’s cries quieted down and the salesman placed him back in his stroller. Wearing a polite smile on his face, the salesman picked up his briefcase and pushed the stroller out of the park. Mr. Kim and Woo-seok broke out of their trance and scrambled to follow him, with you not far behind.

Ahead of you, the salesman hailed a taxi. Mr. Kim and Woo-seok hid behind one of the pillars of the park entrance, watching him as he carefully detached Min-seok’s bassinet from the stroller before loading the rest of the stroller in the trunk.

As the taxi drove off, Woo-seok hurriedly ran out to the street to hail your own taxi. Jumping into the car, he gestured for the driver to follow the taxi the salesman took, even offering to pay him double. You sped away, the car weaving in and out of traffic.

Mr. Kim took out his phone to call Gi-hun.

“Where are you? Are you coming?” He asked once Gi-hun picked up. “This guy’s a total nutcase! He’s in a cab now, we’re following him. Hurry!” He hung up.

“Is he on his way?” You asked Mr. Kim. He nodded, “I’m not sure where he is, but he should catch up soon.”

After driving for some time, the car turned onto a road in an industrial area. Woo-seok noticed that the salesman was getting out of his taxi, the driver helping him unload the stroller from the trunk.

“I’ll send Seong the address,” Mr. Kim told you as he keyed in the location. “Please drop us off here,” Woo-seok instructed your taxi driver. He took some money out of his wallet and handed it to the driver. You all jumped out of the taxi, moving to hide around the corner of the alleyway the salesman had gone down.

“Where is Mr. Seong?” Woo-seok whispered. “He’ll be here in 10 minutes,” Mr. Kim replied. You all watched the salesman walk down the alley at a leisurely pace. He didn’t seem to notice that he was being trailed.

Mr. Kim seemed impatient. “We might lose him if we wait. Let’s just get him ourselves.” Woo-seok became nervous. Mr. Kim scoffed, “Are you scared? It’s three against one.”

You bit your lip. “Shouldn’t we wait for Gi-hun? He could be dangerous.” You suggested, fully knowing they wouldn’t be able to wait that long.

Woo-seok didn’t seem entirely convinced. “It’s just… Something seems off with that guy…”

Mr. Kim turned to face Woo-seok. “But what if we lose him? What if Seong doesn’t give us the money? It’s a billion won!” Mr. Kim sighed, “Don’t you trust me? I officiated your wedding! Besides, he’s got a baby, he won’t be able to take us all.”

Woo-seok nodded in agreement. You looked unsure as the two men prepared to chase after the salesman, who had just turned a corner.

“Come on, let’s go,” Mr. Kim gestured to you both to follow. You trailed behind the two men as they scampered down the alleyway.

“Gi-hun told us to wait here!” You whisper-yelled, but the two were long gone. They turned the corner, and you heard them yelling, “Hey, you! Stop!”

Just as you turned the corner, you heard thumps and saw Mr. Kim get launched into a nearby pile of trash. Woo-seok went to help him but was clearly at a disadvantage as he struggled to pull out his pocket knife to defend himself. The salesman entered your view, easily disarming him before using his briefcase to knock both men out.

Once you were sure both men were unconscious, you stepped towards your husband, slowly clapping your hands in applause. He turned in your direction, a smirk forming on his lips.

“I told them to wait for Gi-hun, but they wouldn’t listen.” You shook your head, looking down at the unconscious men. “We can’t just leave them here…” You sighed, then turning to your husband, you raised your eyebrows. “I admit I thought Min-seok would slow you down, but clearly I was mistaken.”

Your husband rested his hands on your hips, pulling you in for a deep kiss. After breaking away, you walked over to the stroller to see your son fast asleep, completely unaware of the commotion that just took place.

Turning back to your husband, you saw him lift Mr. Kim’s body from the pile of trash. He gestured for you to enter the rundown building in front of you. You picked up his briefcase and started pushing the stroller towards the entrance.

“We should get moving,” you said. “Gi-hun’s on his way.”

A cry shook you from your light snooze.

You stood up from the armchair you were resting in to soothe your son. Picking him up from the stroller’s bassinet, you rocked him gently, but he continued to whine.

“What’s wrong? Are you hungry?” You tried to nurse him but he refused to latch. Sighing, you realized that he probably just wanted his father. Ironically, the man who frightened most people was the most comforting person to your son.

You left your room and started making your way down to the other end of the hallway where your husband and the two men were.

Once outside the room, you heard muffled gasps and screams from behind the door. Mr. Kim and Woo-seok must have finally regained consciousness.

Pressing Min-seok closer to your chest in an attempt to block out the sounds, you took a deep breath and slowly opened the door. There the two men were, bound and tied to two chairs facing each other. They had even been gagged with bone-shaped gags. Your husband and the two men turned to face you at the doorway. Mr. Kim and Woo-seok’s eyes widened in shock at seeing you, while your husband seemed puzzled, his eyes softening upon seeing his son.

“Mini needed his dad.” You passed the fussy baby to his father. You avoided eye contact with Mr. Kim and Woo-seok, ignoring their muffled complaints. Looking down at the table in front of you, you saw a revolver and 5 bullets lined in a row. Your breath hitched, your mind suddenly dizzy. It was only then that you realized what game was about to begin. A game that would surely result in death.

“Min-seok-ah, what’s wrong?” Your husband brought his son up to stare into his eyes, a playful expression on his face. “Did you miss me? Did you miss appa?”

The baby erupted into a fit of giggles. For a split second, you could see a crack in your husband’s façade — a trace of the gentle, loving smile that was only reserved for you and your son.

Even though you knew that Mr. Kim and Woo-seok couldn’t escape their bounds, you suddenly became nervous. They now knew your husband’s weakness: his son. Although there was a slim chance they would leave this room alive, you didn’t want to take any chances.

“I’ll take him back now, he needs to eat.” You opened your arms to receive your son. Before passing him back, your husband kissed the top of your son’s head. He picked up the revolver from the table. Your heart dropped. Soon, Mr. Kim and Woo-seok would be dead.

“Be gentle with them,” you whispered to your husband. “They’ve been good to me and Min-seok.” You kissed his cheek, knowing your words wouldn’t make a difference.

As you turned to leave, your husband sent a small wave towards your son, his smiling expression betraying the act he was about to commit. You closed the door and retreated to your room.

You sat back on the armchair and unfastened the buttons of your shirt in preparation to nurse your son. Distantly, you heard classical music and grimaced. Your husband loved to put on a show.

As you fed Min-seok, you gazed down at him lovingly. His eyes were closed as he suckled, a peaceful look on his face. For a moment, all felt right in the world.

Bang!

You tensed at the sound of a gunshot, your grip on Min-seok tightening slightly. Even though the men were at the other end of the hallway, the muffled noise was loud enough to make you flinch.

Unsurprisingly, Min-seok unlatched himself from your breast and started crying. You let out a heavy sigh, lifting him up to soothe him and rub soft circles on his back. You wished things didn’t have to be this way.

After Min-seok had settled down, you buttoned your shirt up and began organizing your things to leave for Gi-hun’s motel.

The door of the room opened and your husband entered, specks of blood staining his cheek and the collar of his white shirt.

“Ready?” He asked nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just killed a man.

You nodded, holding Min-seok in one arm and your purse in the other. Your husband helped you pack the stroller and Min-seok’s bag into the car. While your husband went back into the building, you settled Min-seok into his car seat and got in the driver’s seat. To your surprise, your husband returned with a blindfolded and bound Woo-seok, who looked as if he was unconscious. Your husband threw him in the trunk before getting in the back seat with Min-seok to hide. If you somehow passed Gi-hun on the road, he would be looking for your husband, not you.

“Did you get any new information?” You asked as you started the car, hands clutching the steering wheel.

“We knew most of it already,” your husband replied, “It was quite the exciting game, however. Almost as exciting as the games we play at home.” You groaned. Of course, nothing got him going like the fear of others.

Once you arrived at the motel, you noticed it was starting to rain. You and your husband quickly unloaded Min-seok and Woo-seok from the car. Your husband broke the shabby lock and you all shuffled into the hotel through the back exit.

Your husband dropped Woo-seok off in a random room while you and Min-seok settled into a room near the back exit.

It was a drafty old motel, with broken furniture and faded wallpaper. You found a table that seemed sturdy enough and placed the bassinet on it. Min-seok stared at you with his big, round eyes that reminded you so much of your husband. At this point, he was truly what kept you going. You lifted him up and began rocking him against your chest.

“We’re almost done here.” You said more to yourself than to the baby. “Then, we can go somewhere safe and relax.”

Your husband soon entered the room and went to wrap his arms around you. You buried your face in his chest, careful not to crush Min-seok. He rested his head on top of yours.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” you whispered, “I don’t think I can face Gi-hun. Now that Mr. Kim is dead, I...” You trailed off.

Your husband lifted your chin to make you look into his eyes, which showed no trace of fear or remorse. “It had to be done,” he stated plainly. “Unfortunate, yes, but we have to follow the plan. I will deal with 456.”

Tears welled in your eyes, your breathing becoming uneven. “But that game…” Your voice shook. “P-please give him a fair chance. I can’t lose you, but at the same time…” You paused, taking a breath. “…He’s a good man. They all were.” Your eyes fell to rest on your son. “They treated us well.”

Your husband tutted, bringing his lips to graze your ear. “I thought you said you were cut out for this?” You stayed silent, unable to speak.

Noticing your apprehension, he whispered, “No matter what happens, know that I love you.” You looked back up at his face, the specks of blood adding to your feelings of uneasiness.

For the first time in years, you were afraid. Afraid for your husband, your future, and yes, somehow even for Gi-hun.

Letting out a shaky sigh, you swallowed the lump in your throat. You had to trust in your husband’s confidence. He believed in you, so you should believe in him. If Gi-hun had to die, so be it.

“Go get ready. Gi-hun should be here soon,” you said, turning to fish something out of your purse. You handed your husband a yakult drink.

“You haven’t had much today, right? Drink this before he gets here.” He nodded.

He took your son from you and whispered a few words to him before kissing the top of his head. After handing Min-seok back to you, he pulled you in for a kiss. Not as intense as they usually were, but one that reminded you of the man you fell in love with.

He turned to leave, shooting you a soft smile before clicking the door shut. You let out a sigh before returning your attention to your son.

It was only a matter of time before Gi-hun arrived, and your lie would finally be revealed.

tags: @muchwita; @beebeechaos; @preppyfella; @buckitostan

also i didn't say this before but the way gong yoo says appa in the show gets me every time, so i just had to include it😔

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deesseshesca · 3 months ago

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PAC : First time feeling *that* chemistry with him. (Dual POV)

(SINGLE SINCE BIRTH - ERA ~2 )

My soul craves some slow love song...

PILE 1

Is actually not going to be the first time you feel this chemistry.

You always felt it but always find a away to resist. Fighting the connection on both side.

His mom died. Maybe one of he challenges you will be facing together before you both commit to surrender to this love after months of playing cat and mouse is the death of his mother.

Both of you have a fear of being vulnerable which dramatically slowed this relationship.

Her POV The air was thick with the scent of roses, heady and intoxicating, blooming wildly around the edges of the garden. Evening had settled, painting the sky in dusky shades of lavender and gold, and the world felt quieter here softer. I stood by the fountain, my fingertips brushing the cool marble edge as I stared at the rippling water. Reflections danced on the surface, fractured and shifting, much like the emotions stirring inside me.

<>

Not after everything. Not after the walls I built so carefully, protecting the parts of me that once gave too much and received too little. I had walked away from him before more than once not because I didn’t care, but because I needed to know who I was without him. I needed to find the version of myself that wouldn’t settle for half-hearted promises and restless nights filled with questions.

But I wasn’t that woman anymore.

<>

His edges have softened, the fire that once burned too hot, tempered now with something richer, something steadier. His ego no longer fills the space between us, and I know deep in my bones that he’s ready. His family knows it too. I see it in their eyes when they look at me. Acceptance. Warmth. They see me as his future, even before I’ve fully allowed myself to step into that role.

But the truth was I had been fighting this. Fighting us.

<<And I’m so tired of running.>>

The moon hung low in the sky, her quiet light washing over the garden, whispering secrets only I could hear. I wasn’t afraid anymore. The unknown didn’t scare me the way it once had. Because this time, I wasn’t standing on shaky ground. I was standing on the edge of something solid.

And when I turned to look at him, standing a few feet away, watching me with that quiet intensity I had come to know so well…

<>

His Mother’s POV The evening air carried the faintest breeze, enough to rustle the leaves but not disturb the peace that had settled over the garden. I stood near the patio, half-listening to the murmured conversations behind me, but my eyes were fixed on them.

My son. And her.

<<I’ve seen this look before.>>

Not on him. Never on him. But I’ve seen it in the eyes of men who have found something rare something worth holding onto.

He’s watching her like he’s afraid to blink, like she might disappear if he does. But it’s not desperation in his eyes. It’s reverence.

<<My boy learned the hard way.>>

I remember how stubborn he used to be so caught up in his pride, in proving himself. He didn’t know how to bend, and love requires a man who can bend without breaking. But something changed. I see it in the way his shoulders aren’t as rigid, in how he stands beside her, not in front of her.

He’s quiet now. Not because he’s holding back, but because he’s listening.

And her?

<<She’s not running anymore.>>

I’ve watched her for a long time, watched the way her guard would rise and fall depending on his mood. But tonight? I don’t see the woman who once held herself apart, protecting what was left of her heart. I see a woman who’s ready. Her eyes don’t hold doubt anymore. There’s only knowing.

She’s fought this love. I could feel it every time she stepped back, every time she hesitated, weighing her heart against her fears. But now…

<<She’s choosing him.>>

And he knows it.

The way they move unconsciously mirroring each other, as if their souls had already learned the steps to a dance they hadn’t even realized they were performing it’s breathtaking.

He’s ready to give her everything. And for once, he’s not afraid to show it.

<<This is love.>>

Not the easy kind. The kind forged through fire and time. The kind that bends but never breaks.

And as I watched them standing in the glow of a fading sun, their future stretched out before them I knew.

<<They’ve found their way.>>

PREVIOUS READING

2. PAC (FREE) : What's your kinky archetype ?

3. POP SHOP : 30 MINUTES FOR 15$ (TIP KO-FI) RECORDED AUDIO READING ABOUT ANYTHING.

PILE 2

Her POV The air smelled of jasmine and warm spice, the kind that lingers long after the sun dips beneath the horizon. The soft hum of conversation filled the courtyard, where fairy lights twisted through ivy-covered trellises, casting a golden glow on the polished stone beneath my heels. I felt the heat of the summer night cling to my skin, a sensual reminder that life was ripe and full of promise.

I stood with ease, spine straight, head high but not from pride. I was light in a way that only comes after shedding burdens I once thought were stitched into my bones. I was whole now, and love no longer felt like a battlefield. It felt like home waiting to be built. And as my eyes landed on him, across the crowded space, something shifted.

<> He looked unsure, though. A flicker of tension in the line of his jaw, a restless energy in the way his fingers grazed the edge of his glass. I could feel it that uncertainty, that hesitation and it only made me more aware of how steady I had become.

When his eyes finally found mine, I didn’t look away. I let him see. All of it. The woman who had rebuilt herself. The woman who no longer needed to be saved but was ready to be chosen. His gaze sharpened, and I felt the heat coil low in my belly.

<> The spark. The unspoken question hanging between us, thick and sweet as the summer air. I took a step forward, feeling a quiet power hum through me.

I was ready.

His POV The night was too still. Too perfect. The kind of night where everything feels suspended in time where decisions can’t be undone once made. The courtyard was a masterpiece of intimacy, tucked away from the noise of the city. Lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, throwing patterns across the stone floor, but my focus was caught elsewhere.

<> And the world narrows.

She moved like certainty, her presence cutting through the crowd like silk through air. I had been restless all night, the weight of everything I carried pressing against my ribs, but when her gaze caught mine I forgot how to breathe.

She was unreadable, and that terrified me. I could feel the space she had carved for herself, the freedom she had fought for. I had laid everything out, no walls, no illusions. Just me. Wanting her.

<> I had seen it in her eyes, the quiet acknowledgment that she wasn’t bound by anyone’s expectations. She could walk away and not look back. But damn, I didn’t want her to.

My heart pounded, each beat a plea I couldn’t voice. The fear gnawed at me, but beneath it was something else. Something stronger.

<> And I wasn’t sure if that would be enough.

But as she stepped toward me, I felt the ground shift beneath my feet. She wasn’t walking away. She was walking toward me. And in that moment, I knew...

I was ready to risk it all.

PREVIOUS READING

2. PAC (FREE) : What's your kinky archetype ?

3. POP SHOP : 30 MINUTES FOR 15$ (TIP KO-FI) RECORDED AUDIO READING ABOUT ANYTHING.

PILE 3

Her POV The night was alive, pulsing with an undercurrent of something electric. Music drifted through the crowded rooftop bar, a low bass that thrummed beneath my skin. City lights stretched out around us, glittering like promises that never quite delivered. But I wasn’t thinking about promises.

<>

He stood across the room, effortlessly charming as always, his laughter spilling into the air like a melody I couldn’t escape. My pulse quickened not with nerves, but with something far more dangerous. Obsession.

<<And I wasn’t even trying to hide it.>>

My eyes found him without meaning to, drawn like a magnet, and I knew he felt it. Felt me. Even when he wasn’t looking, he knew. It was in the way his body angled slightly toward mine, like gravity itself was conspiring to pull us together. But beneath all that wanting, there was a quiet war raging in me.

I didn’t trust this feeling.

<<I’ve played this game before.>>

The spark. The pull. The endless chase that left me burned when I finally caught what I thought I wanted. He was different, though. Too different. And that scared me more than anything. Because if I let myself believe he was the one, I’d be giving him a power I swore I’d never hand over again.

But damn…

<<He makes it so easy to forget my own rules.>>

Every glance, every touch, every low murmur of my name lured me deeper into this mess I swore I wouldn’t make. And yet here I was. Caught in the web. The worst part?

<>

His POV The night stretched out like a canvas, painted with the warm glow of city lights and the buzz of possibility. Laughter echoed around us, but my world had narrowed to one point of focus.

Her.

<>

Even when she thought she was subtle, her gaze was a weight I carried like a secret. And I liked it. No I loved it. There was no hiding how she felt. The way her lips parted slightly when she looked at me. The way her body leaned in, even when her mind tried to pull her back.

<<She was obsessed, and I knew it.>>

But she was fighting it. Fighting me. And I didn’t blame her. I wasn’t some polished dream I was chaos wrapped in charm, adventure wrapped in uncertainty. And she… she liked control.

But love? Love didn’t play by her rules.

<>

I wasn’t looking for guarantees or carefully laid plans. I wanted the ride the messy, unpredictable, breathtaking ride that came with loving a woman who didn’t know how to surrender. And damn, was she worth the risk.

Her fear didn’t scare me. If anything, it made me want her more. She was standing at the edge, and I could feel her heart pounding just as loudly as mine. She was so close to giving in, to letting go of all the walls she’d built around herself.

<<And I wasn’t going to push her.>>

No. I was going to let her come to me.

Because I knew, deep down, she couldn’t resist this.

<<Not me.>>

I wasn’t a destination. I was the journey. And I could feel her soul even if her mind was fighting it ready to take that leap.

So, I stood there, steady and sure, letting her chase her own thoughts, knowing they’d always lead back to me.

<<This wasn’t about winning.>>

It was about us. About feeling every twist and turn, every high and low. I wasn’t offering her a perfect ending. I was offering her a story worth living.

And when her eyes met mine again wide, hungry, and just a little afraid I knew.

<<She was already falling.>>

And I was ready to catch her.

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marvelstan0905 · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you could a kenji x female reader where we've both not been very intimate in a long time because kenji's career and ultraman has kept him really busy and one night reader confronts him about it and then they argue and then reader gives him silent treatment and he ends up eating her out

"Let me make it up to you"

BF!Kenji Sato X GF!Reader [Oneshot :Angst-Smut-Fluff]

TW:arguement/silent treatment/smut/eating out/oral(f!receiving)/afab reader/female bodied reader/fingering/petnames/shouting/mixed POV/not proofread yet/angst to smut/swearing

"God! Why can't you just give me a break Y/n!? I'm so overwhelmed and so busy!" Kenji snapped exasperated. The two of you had been fighting for a few minutes now. You just offered to cuddle for a little bit, just hoping that Kenji could let off some steam since getting really liked cuddles and his life's been so hectic. As the good girlfriend you were, you were just worried and concerned. You couldn't do much and that helpless feeling just didn't sit well for you. The least you could is be there for your boyfriend and offer him some comfort. "I just need space! Lots of it!"

"Kenji I'm just trying to give you comfort-"

"I don't want your comfort! You're so damn clingy! God. Can you just leave me alone?"Kenji sighed in annoyance. My heart pangs feeling a tightening feeling within your chest. It hurt. Raising my hands in surrender, I sighed. Those words stung. Is that really what he thought of me? I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt and excuse it as the overwhelming and frustration he was feeling.

"I'll leave you alone." Was all you said before grabbing a hold of your jacket, purse and phone. With a harsh wipe of your cheeks, you left the house.

Kenji who was sitting on the couch with his back turned to the door sighed and ran a hand through his , already disheveled, raven hair. Kenji felt a heat and heaviness through his chest. He felt really guilty and bad. God what had he done?

"Way to go, Ken. Losing everybody and everything left and right. As always" Kenji exhaled before sliding his long calloused hands down his face.

Few Days Later

Silent treatment. No texts. No calls.

Just you like you promised, you would leave Kenji alone. Even when he did call and text, you wouldn't answer. As you made dinner in your cold, lonely apartment you heard the sound of keys jiggle in the door way. With a raised eyebrow, you grabbed the bat which Kenji gifted you and waited for the perpetrator to come through the hallway. As soon as I saw a shadow I swung with all my might.

"Baby! Wait! Y/n! It's me!" Kenji exclaimed raising his hands in surrender as he luckily dodged the powerful swing. God, he was glad he taught you how to swing but if he wasn't careful, he would've lost his head. With a sigh of relief and groan, you dropped the bat and turned to go back to making dinner with not a word. Kenji exhaled before following you into the kitchen. "H..How have you been, babe? I've called and texted you..alot."

Silence.

Kenji leaned against the counted adjacent to you and gently took a hold of your hand. With a scoff,you pulled your hand away. Kenji's frown deepened. His eyes had deep bags and he truly looked as if he hadn't slept in days. It didn't seem like he had eaten considering the dullness of his slightly sunken cheeks.

"Sweetie. Please? Can we talk? I'm so sorry. I really need to hear your voice. Even if you're gonna curse me out or whatever..just please"Kenji pleaded. Nothing. With a turn of a knob, you turned off the stove. Kenji couldn't stand the silence anymore. God, he couldn't. With a gentle grasp of your forearms , Kenji turned you to look at him. With a blank expression you turned to face him with eyes void of emotions. Even if you were still upset, you did love the bastard and would hear him out.

"Honey. I know I have no excuse for how I treated you, how I spoke to you, the horrible horrible words I said to you. I truly am sorry. I didn't know how good I had it till I didn't hear your voice or saw you anymore. You're everything to me and you just wanted my time and love but I was stupid and took my frustrations out on you. The only person who i truly have right now. Please...Please forgive me. Even if it's not now..I'm just begging to hear your voice" Kenji spoke sincerely. I sighed and crossed my arms. Those goddamn sad eyes. The man looked like a kicked puppy. Sad and lost.

With a gentle flick of his forehead, you mumbled out "Fine..I forgive you. Doesn't mean I'll forget it...atleast not yet. You really hurt my feelings. I was really just trying to help and spend time with you. You're really mean you know that right?"

Kenji felt like he finally take a breath of fresh air as he pulled you into his strong arms and placed a kiss onto your forehead. He felt so relieved to hear your voice. That beautiful voice. The voice that soothed all the storms in his heart. "I know. I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you. I promise. Just..please don't leave. I love you so much"

"You're kinda stuck with me, idiot. Even if your behavior says otherwise. I love you too" I grumbled out whiles laying my head against his chest. Kenji felt the relieve wash over his body. With a grasp of your soft thighs in his large hands, Kenji picked you up and placed me onto the edge of the counter.

Kenji looked deep into my eyes and pressed his forehead against mine "I'm really sorry. Please forgive me. I'll make it up. I swear it. All the cuddles and kisses. I won't neglect you again, okay?"

The couple shared kisses and cute nuzzles. They still hadn't properly talked it out but this was definetly the start of talking it out and sorting it out. Kenju nestled his head into his girlfriend's neck and breathed in her scent. God, he missed her feel, touch, smell and taste. Now, probably was the most ideal but the man was hungry and he hadn't had a proper meal in a few days. With a teasing nibble to his girlfriend's neck, Kenji slid his hands down and underneath the oversized t-shirt his girlfriend wore.

"You know..I missed you so much. So so much " Kenji whispered mischievously whiles sliding his large fingers up her thighs, sliding his fingers in between her legs whiles caressing her inner thighs. You raised a brow, but didn't protest. You did miss his touch and..talents.

⚠️SMUT STARTS BELOW HERE⚠️

"Mhmm. I missed you too, baby but what are you up to?" I questioned skeptically his hands inched closer to my clothed heat. Kenji pulled me closer and spread my legs wider.

"I'm making it up to you. I have to start somewhere, right? I really wanna show how sorry I am, baby."Kenji breathed lowly, with faux innocence. His methodic and skilled habds, ripped your thin panties off and disregarded them somewhere on the floor. With a yelp, you closed your thighs feeling the cool air against your core.

"B-Babe! H-Hey! Thats the 20th pair you've ripped up! C'mon!" I whined whiles shakily holding my thighs together. I was shaking from anticipation and slight frustration.

"Oh I'm sorry,baby. Guess I don't know my own strength. Guess you'll need something to warm you up. I know the perfect thing" Your boyfriend rasped, 'apologetically' as he forced open those soft thighs, plush legs of yours and held them open. His beautiful mauve eyes had darkened, completely dilating as his eyes laid on your glistening lips. "Aww, how cute. You missed me that much? You're so wet already"

With a denying scoff, you looked away with a sheepish flush on your cheeks. "S-Shut up. Put that tongue and mouth to good use"

"Okay. Okay. I'm getting to it. Let's get something straight though.. I'm in charge" Kenji whispered firmly into your ear before nibbling onto your earlobe. My breath hitched and my blood ran hot. God, he was so hot. Your boyfriend gently but firmly pushed you onto your back on the kitchen counter before holding your legs open by the knees. "Mhmm you smell so good. I missed you, my love. So much"

Kenji uttered as he took a deep inhale of the scent of your arousal. With a small whimper, you could only nod. He's already got you tongue tied. My breath hitched.

"W-Will you be gentle?" I breathed whiles leaning into the kisses that he peppered my neck. It had been a while since we made love. His hands teased at my entrance.

Kenji smirks against your skin, his breath hot against your ear. "Gentle? I don't make promises like that, darling. But I'll make sure you feel every inch of my cock as I fill you up." His fingers tease your entrance, circling the sensitive bud before pushing inside.

"T-Thought you always keep promises?" I gasped feeling his long fingers stretching my velvelty walls open. He gives a low chuckle, his fingers curling inside of you.

"I do try to keep my promises. But I also like to keep things interesting. Plus I'm making up to you, babe" His thumb begins to circle your clit as he continues to thrust his fingers in and out of you, stretching you wide.

"I-Im not gonna be able to walk tomorrow, huh?" I mewled whiles spreading my legs. I gasped as I felt his long, warm tongue at my entrance. Kenji smirks up at you, his tongue sliding up to your clit, teasing it with every flick.

"Oh, I hope not. I want you to feel me inside of you for days." His fingers continue to fuck you hard and fast, driving you closer and closer to the edge. That's it. All Kenji wanted and needed. To make you feel good, to be with you, to hear you.

"D-Dear christ..K-Kenji that's vulgar" I moaned as my walls convulsed around his fingers. I flushed feeling the tip of his tongue slide through my pussy lips.

Kenji chuckled, his fingers thrusting deep inside you as he begins to fuck you harder. "I never claimed I was gonna be a gentleman today, my love. I like it dirty and rough. You know that? I wanna make you feel so good and make up for the time we missed"

His tongue laps at your entrance, licking up your juices as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

"C-Clearly" I moaned. My moans rose in volume and pitch as my hands tugged at his hair "H-How dirty can that m-mouth get?" He smirks against you, his tongue flicking against your clit. God, Kenji was enjoying this. He missed his your taste and scent.

"I'll show you just how dirty this mouth can get. Im gonna make a mess of you"Kenji promises as he begins to suck on your clit, his fingers thrusting hard and fast inside of you.

"God...mhm!" I moaned as my body began to wirthe and squirm beneath him. It felt so good. God I could feel his long fingers stretching me out and brushing against my sensitive walls."G-God I m-missed you!"

His voice is husky and rough as he continues to suck and lick at your clit, his fingers pistoning in and out at a punishing pace. "I know, baby. I missed you more. Let me hear that voice of yours" Kenji demands as he smirks up at you, his hand still working you hard. That beautiful voice of yours. Those days without hearing you, without feeling you, without tasting you were PURE torture. "Oh, I'm just getting started."

"K-Kenji..i-im uh..close" I purred as my eyes rolled to the back of my head. I was so close. So close to that euphoric finish line. His fingers curl up, hitting that sweet spot inside of you.He chuckles against you, his tongue continuing to swirl around your clit. I moaned.

Eventually I ended up screaming as I climaxed. I was in heaven seeing literal stars. I cursed making a mess all over his fingers as I screamed"O-Oh God! F-Fuxk! K-Kenji!"

Kenji's fingers continue to move inside of you, slowing down now that you've climaxed, though he doesn't remove them just yet. "Good girl. Now for round 2" His voice is husky with desire, his tongue coming out to lick at your juices still dripping from you. I squirmed beneath him as I felt my body calming down from the high. I was so sensitive.

"I love you so much. Now let me make it up to you"

#ken sato #kenji sato #kenji sato x reader #ken sato x reader #ultraman 2024 #emi ultraman #ultraman rising #ultraman #kenji sato masterlist #ultraman masterlist #kenji sato x you #kenji sato x chubby reader #kenji sato smut #ken sato smut #kenji sato x plus size reader

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theseh00perscanh00p · 7 days ago

Text

Coaching Violation: Part 4

paige x azzi

a/n: i'm sorry for leaving y'all hanging last time...

word count: 5.1k

Bellagio Hotel – Hallway, Outside Room 1125

Paige’s POV

She’d been standing there too long.

Long enough for the hallway’s patterned carpet to start spinning under her sneakers. Long enough to memorize every chip in the faux-gold trim of the room number plaque.

Room 1125.

She should’ve turned around.

Should’ve walked the strip, gone back to her room, counted the ceiling tiles, anything other than this. But her legs had moved before her logic caught up. And now her knuckles had already touched the door.

Twice.

It was too late to run without looking ridiculous.

So she stood there—

Heart thudding.

Throat tight.

Eyes closed.

Until the latch turned.

And a voice said—

“Coach?”

Her stomach dropped straight through the floor.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

Paige’s eyes flew open, already mid-rehearsed apology—

But it wasn’t Azzi.

It was KK.

Standing there with one sock half-off her foot, hair messy, and the world’s most suspicious eyebrow climbing up her forehead.

“…KK?”

KK didn’t move. “So… you knocking on every door tonight, or just the one that used to belong to Fudd?”

Paige’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“I—no. I thought—this was—Shit.” She coughed, tried to pull herself upright, posture tight like a soldier. “Sorry. Wrong room. I was—uh—just checking in. On something.”

KK leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirk sharp enough to slice through Paige’s panic.

“You were checking in… on the door?”

Paige winced. “Just—yeah, I’m gonna go. Sorry to—bother you. It’s late. I’ll just—”

She was already retreating, hands up in surrender, halfway down the hall.

KK didn’t say anything at first.

Just watched her walk like she was studying a film clip in slow motion.

Then, just before the door closed—

“Azzi asked to switch rooms,” she said, voice light but layered. “Told me at the front desk something about 1125 being a bad luck number.”

That stopped Paige in her tracks.

“Oh,” she said. “Gotcha. Makes sense.”

She kept walking.

One foot in front of the other.

Keep it together.

Don’t turn around.

But just as she reached the corner, KK’s voice chased her again—casual, sweet, and absolutely intentional.

“My original room was 1333.”

Paige didn’t respond.

Didn’t need to.

The door shut behind her with a soft click.

And all she could hear now was the blood in her ears… and the echo of the number 1125 ringing like a bell she couldn’t unring.

Bellagio Hotel – Hallway, Just After 1 AM

Azzi’s POV

She hadn’t been able to sleep. Not really.

Even after changing rooms. Even after throwing every pillow off the bed and burying herself beneath the duvet. Her body still hummed with restlessness — too sore to sleep, too wired to lie still, too aware of where she almost had to sleep tonight.

Room 1125.

If she hadn’t caught herself at the check-in desk… if she hadn’t insisted on switching—

She would’ve been back in the same room where everything had changed.

The same sheets. The same walls. The same view of the Strip through a half-closed curtain.

Alone this time. Again.

Azzi pressed her palms to her eyes, exhaled sharp through her nose.

The past few days had already run her raw — physically, emotionally, in ways she couldn’t name. The week had chewed her up and spit her out and now here she was, icing her knees at 1am because she couldn’t figure out how else to feel okay.

She shoved her arms through the sleeves of her hoodie, grabbed the hotel ice bucket, and padded into the hallway barefoot in hotel slippers.

It took her three tries to find a working machine.

She finally filled the bucket, wincing as the chill hit her hands. She shook it off, turned the corner toward her room—

—and froze.

Paige.

Standing in front of the door to her room.

Hair down, hoodie loose, hands shoved in the front pocket like she was trying to hide the fact they were shaking.

Azzi ducked slightly, stayed behind the corner. Watched her.

Paige looked like she was mid-argument — not with anyone, just herself. Her body shifted slightly. She stepped toward the door. Then back. Then leaned her forehead against the wall like she hated herself for even being there.

Azzi’s stomach twisted.

She waited. And waited. Until Paige finally turned, ready to walk away.

And then Azzi stepped forward.

“Uhhh…” her voice broke the silence like a dropped pin. “If you’re looking for Coach KK, she’s not gonna be in there.”

Paige jolted.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide — caught in the act. Like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar. Except the cookies were heartbreak and old feelings and a hotel room full of memories she clearly hadn’t buried as deep as she thought.

“I, uh…” Paige started, blinking. “I thought—this was—”

Azzi just raised an eyebrow, ice bucket still in hand. “You sure you’re a head coach? ‘Cause your recon sucks.”

That earned her a very reluctant, very crooked smile from Paige. The kind that only came out when she was completely thrown off.

Azzi’s heart shouldn’t have leapt. But it did.

And now they were standing there again — just the two of them — in what felt like the same hallway, the same hotel, the same goddamn story they never finished.

And neither of them moved.

The ice began to melt, drip by drip, onto Azzi’s wrist.

Still, she didn’t move.

Paige’s eyes dropped to the ice bucket in Azzi’s hands, then flicked back to her face.

“I already checked 1125,” she said quietly. “KK opened the door.”

Azzi’s brow furrowed. “Wait… you went to—?”

“I was looking for you,” Paige said before she could think better of it. The words left her mouth like an exhale she’d been holding all week. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Azzi stood there, stunned into silence for a second too long.

“You were looking for me?” Her voice was small, caught somewhere between disbelief and hope.

Paige nodded.

“I was,” she said, and then softer — barely audible — “I am.”

Azzi didn’t speak. Just stepped past Paige toward her door and slid the key card through the lock.

The light turned green.

She pushed it open, stood in the doorway, then turned her head just enough to look at Paige again.

“You coming in?”

Paige hesitated. One heartbeat. Two.

Then she stepped inside.

Paige’s POV

The room was dim and quiet — too quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the soft clink of ice in the bucket Azzi set down.

Paige stepped inside like she didn’t quite trust the floor to hold her. Her eyes moved cautiously, taking in everything — the slightly rumpled bed, the duffel bag half-zipped on the chair, Azzi’s hoodie draped over the desk chair like it lived there.

Then her eyes landed on her.

Azzi moved toward the bed, a small wince tugging at her brow as she shifted her leg. She didn’t say anything at first, just reached for the ice like this was routine.

“Wait,” Paige said, voice a little too sharp, a little too nervous. “Can I… help?”

Azzi looked at her, surprised.

But she nodded.

Paige crossed the room slowly, every step more uncertain than the last. She grabbed the towel from the bathroom counter, returned to kneel at the edge of the bed, gently took the bag of ice from Azzi’s hand, and wrapped it.

“You’ve gotta elevate it,” she mumbled, like she was trying to justify why she was here at all. She grabbed one of the pillows and tucked it carefully under Azzi’s calf, adjusting until it looked comfortable. Her fingers brushed skin once — the barest touch — but it lit her up from the inside.

“There,” Paige said softly. “So it doesn’t swell overnight.”

Azzi leaned back, exhaling, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly.

Paige sat on the edge of the bed, not too close but not far either. Her hands found each other in her lap. Fidgeting.

Azzi broke the silence first.

“So… why were you looking for me?”

Paige looked down at her hands. Swallowed.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said after a beat. “Not after seeing your name… and that room number. It just… it felt like the universe was trying to screw with us.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh — just one breathy note — but it was enough to make Paige look up.

That sound did something to her. Made her chest loosen just a little. Gave her the courage to keep going.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I guess I couldn’t stop thinking about how it must’ve felt for you. Being assigned that room. And I didn’t… I didn’t want you to feel alone in that.”

Azzi tilted her head, studying her.

“That it?” she asked. “Or was there something else you were hoping to say?”

Paige didn’t answer right away.

Her breath caught.

Her hands stopped fidgeting.

And for the first time all night, she let herself really look at Azzi.

Like maybe this was the moment she had to stop pretending.

Paige drew in a shaky breath, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor like it might anchor her. Her voice was low when she finally spoke.

“I’ve been trying to convince myself for the last ten months that what happened between us didn’t mean anything. That it was just a moment. Just… a night.”

She looked up, just enough to meet Azzi’s eyes.

“But the truth is — it meant everything. And that terrified me more than I’ve ever admitted to anyone. Because you made me feel something I didn’t know I was capable of feeling. It was different with you. It is different.”

Paige let the silence sit for a beat, the weight of her words still catching in her throat.

“I’ve never been good at feelings. I’m guessing that’s not exactly news to you.”

A soft, bitter laugh escaped her.

“And then the injury happened. My entire world flipped. One minute I was still trying to process what you meant to me… and the next, I was being told I’d never play again. I was angry. I still am. But more than anything — I was lost. And instead of reaching out, instead of saying something… I shut down. I disappeared.”

Her voice cracked.

“I wanted to text you. I wanted to call. A thousand times. But I didn’t know how. And now? Now I see you every day. And it hurts. I’m still scared. And I’m still mad at myself. Because I don’t know how to fix what I broke… and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all of this.”

She finally looked at Azzi again.

Eyes soft. Unarmored.

“And I’m sorry. For all of it.”

Azzi’s POV

Azzi sat still, barely breathing.

Her leg was propped up on the pillow Paige had placed, the ice numbing everything but the thrum in her chest. Paige’s words still echoed in the quiet — words Azzi had once begged for in her head, long after the messages stopped and the silence became routine.

She wanted to pinch herself. Honestly, she considered it. Maybe she’d fallen asleep with the ice on and this was just her brain playing some cruel, perfect fantasy.

But then Paige’s hand settled gently on her leg — not possessive, not hesitant. Just… there. Steady. Real.

It made Azzi blink hard.

Because somehow, Paige always knew. She always saw her — even in the moments Azzi wasn’t sure she was visible. That touch said, I’m here. It said, Believe me.

Azzi looked at her. Paige, in all her mess and fear and softness. The same Paige who once left her with no explanation… was now the one showing up.

She didn’t know what to say. Her throat felt too tight.

All she could manage was a quiet breath and a softer look.

She’s scared too, Azzi thought. But she’s here.

And right now, all Azzi knew — more than anything — was that she didn’t want her to leave.

Not again.

Azzi shifted slightly, careful not to jostle the ice. Her voice came out quieter than she meant, but there was no mistaking the truth in it.

“I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do either,” she said, eyes never leaving Paige’s. “But ignoring whatever this is… definitely isn’t working.”

Paige didn’t speak at first, just nodded — slow, heavy, like the weight of that admission was something she’d been carrying too.

Azzi drew in a shaky breath. “I’m not gonna beg you,” she added, eyes dipping down to where Paige’s hand still rested on her leg. “But I really… I really wish you’d stay.”

She looked back up, a flicker of something raw in her eyes. “Please don’t pull away. Not this time.”

That silence between them thickened again, but this time it didn’t feel like avoidance — it felt like recognition. Like finally being on the same page, even if neither of them knew how to read it yet.

Paige’s thumb brushed absently against Azzi’s knee, her voice low, “We can’t do what we did again… not now anyway.”

Azzi nods, eyes soft. “I know. But… can we just talk? Like it’s just us again? Like nothing else matters?”

Paige hesitates.

Then: “Yeah. We can talk.”

Azzi shifts, patting the spot next to her against the headboard. “You don’t have to sit all stiff like that.”

It takes Paige a second, but eventually, she moves — slow and careful — settling beside Azzi, backs pressed against the pillows, legs stretched out over the blanket.

The silence between them isn’t sharp anymore. It starts awkward, a few stilted jokes and questions, but gradually it softens. The rhythm of them finds its way back.

They talk about old college memories. Road games. Dumb locker room dares. Paige tells a story about her rookie year in the league, how she got hazed with glitter and a karaoke mic in the middle of a team dinner. Azzi shares how she once fell asleep mid-ice bath and got locked in the training room.

Laughter bubbles up between them like it used to — quiet but real. Comfortable. Familiar.

Then somewhere between a memory and a sigh, Paige shakes her head. “I still think it’s wild you eat Hot Cheetos before tip-off.”

Azzi grins. “You’re just mad it worked.”

Paige chuckles. “I’m mad it didn’t wreck your stomach.”

Azzi turns toward her. “You remember everything I say, huh?”

Paige’s smile falters slightly. “Only the important stuff.”

Azzi studies her for a beat too long. “So you remember what I said that night?”

The air stills again — quieter this time, heavier.

Paige meets her eyes. “Every word.”

Azzi’s voice lowers. “Even the part where I said… I wasn’t used to someone staying?”

Paige doesn’t blink. “That’s the part that’s haunted me the most.”

For a long moment, neither of them says anything.

Then Azzi, soft: “So stay.”

Paige doesn’t respond out loud. But she does. She stays.

And by the time the clock reads 4:47 a.m., Paige shifts slightly. “You need to get some sleep if you’re gonna survive practice.”

Azzi nods, but doesn’t move. “Just… will you hold me? Just until you have to go. Please don’t pull away. Not tonight.”

Paige swallows hard. Her instinct is to run again. But this time she doesn’t say anything.

She just opens her arms.

Azzi folds into them like muscle memory, like the pause between heartbeats. They lie there, tangled in silence — no kissing, no urgency — just the ache of two people who aren’t ready to admit how badly they still want to be held.

When the sun starts to creep in under the curtains, Paige finally shifts.

Azzi doesn’t ask her to stay again.

She doesn’t need to.

Because when Paige gets up, they both share a look. A quiet nod.

A shared truth that says:

I don’t know what we’re doing… but I’m willing to find out.

Team Breakfast – Hotel Restaurant, 8:03 AM

Paige’s POV

The restaurant buzzed with the usual morning chaos — trays clattering, half-asleep players in mismatched sweats, a line snaking around the coffee station like it was the only thing keeping them alive.

Paige had already claimed her seat at the end of the long table. Black coffee sat untouched in front of her, cooling fast.

She told herself it was strategic — arriving early, getting settled before the noise hit. But really, she just couldn’t sleep. And the silence of her hotel room felt louder than any dining room ever could.

Then Azzi walked in.

Hair still damp from her shower, hoodie sleeves shoved to her elbows, a slight limp betraying the toll of yesterday’s late-night grind. Paige felt it like a static charge — that unspoken pull.

She didn’t look. Not directly. But she felt her.

Azzi scanned the table, paused. The only open seat near Paige was one spot over — separated by a single empty chair.

Azzi didn’t hesitate. She took it.

Not directly next to her. But close enough to make Paige’s pulse rise.

And then — the moment. Quiet. Blink-and-you’d-miss-it.

Azzi leaned forward to grab a napkin just as Paige reached for her coffee, their hands brushing for half a second.

Skin. Heat. Stillness.

They both froze.

Paige’s fingers grazed Azzi’s knuckles. Not intentional. Not technically inappropriate. But when Azzi looked up, Paige was already staring.

Their eyes locked. Just a beat too long.

It was Azzi who broke the silence — voice low, barely audible over the hum of the room.

“You okay?”

Paige blinked, caught off guard. She nodded once. “Yeah. You?”

Azzi gave a half-smile. “Didn’t sleep much.”

“Me neither,” Paige admitted before she could stop herself.

Azzi’s expression shifted — softer, more searching — like she wanted to say something else. Like she might.

But then KK’s voice cut in, smooth and sharp from across the table.

“You sleep okay, Coach?”

Paige stiffened. Looked over slowly. KK had her orange juice in one hand and that familiar I-know-something-I’m-not-supposed-too smirk on her face.

“Fine,” Paige said tightly.

KK tilted her head. “Mm. That so?”

Paige glanced at her. “You got something to say?”

KK leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low. “Only that it’s funny how two people can sit a breath away from each other and still pretend they’re on opposite sides of the world.”

Azzi, now focused on peeling an orange, didn’t look up.

Paige’s jaw flexed. “Drop it.”

KK raised her brows in mock surrender. “Hey. Just admiring the tension. Impressive stuff.”

Paige stabbed at her eggs. “Admire quieter.”

Azzi finally let out the tiniest laugh — not at the food, not at Rickea’s joke. At them.

And Paige…

She didn’t smile.

But she didn’t look away this time, either.

Las Vegas Practice Facility – Late Morning

The bounce of basketballs echoed through the facility like a steady drumbeat. Sharp. Controlled. Comforting, almost — if it weren’t for the way Paige’s nerves felt like they were held together by fishing line.

The team was running shooting drills. Clean lines. Sharp cuts. Nothing fancy.

“Footwork!” Paige called out from the sideline, clipboard in hand. “You don’t get a second look in this league. Make it right the first time.”

She was trying to keep her voice even. Sharp, not harsh. Focused, not frazzled.

But every time Azzi touched the ball, Paige felt her grip tighten on the clipboard. Not because she was messing up — she wasn’t. She looked good. Efficient. Composed.

Too composed.

No teasing. No talking. No spark.

Like something inside her had folded in on itself overnight.

KK sidled up beside her near the half-court line, arms crossed, watching the same player Paige was pretending not to track with every blink.

“She’s locked in,” KK said under her breath. “Scary focused.”

“Good,” Paige said without flinching.

“Or,” KK added, “she’s burying something. Real deep.”

Paige didn’t respond.

“She’s not the only one,” KK muttered.

Paige snapped her eyes toward her, warning sharp. “What do you want me to say, KK?”

“Something honest might be nice.”

“I’m coaching,” Paige replied. “That’s what I’m here to do.”

KK leaned closer, voice low and clipped. “Yeah, well, maybe try doing it without looking like your chest’s about to cave in every time she breathes near you.”

Paige blinked once, hard.

“Keep your eyes on the court,” she said finally, and walked down the sideline before KK could say anything else.

She made herself stop near the rack of spare balls by the baseline. Scribbled something pointless on the clipboard just to feel in control again. But then she heard a ball clatter off the rim, bounce wide, roll out toward her.

Without thinking, she stepped forward to grab it at the same time Azzi did.

Their hands collided — again.

Not grazing. Not brief. Full contact. Palm to palm.

Azzi flinched first. Paige didn’t move.

For half a second, they both froze, fingertips still pressed into the seams of the same ball.

Azzi didn’t look up. “Sorry.”

Paige did look up. Watched her jaw tighten, watched the mask slip just slightly — enough to catch a flash of something raw in Azzi’s eyes before she yanked her hand back and walked away.

Azzi caught the next pass without missing a beat. Drained another three from the corner. No celebration. No glance toward the sideline.

Paige turned back toward the ball rack, heart thudding, clipboard limp in her grip.

She stared at the court like it might unwrite everything she felt.

It didn’t.

Locker Room – Post-Practice

Azzi’s POV

The locker room was quiet in that heavy, damp kind of way it always was after a hard practice — sweat clinging to the air, jerseys peeled halfway down, music faint and low from someone’s speaker in the corner.

Azzi sat on the bench in front of her locker, towel draped over her head, elbows on her knees, staring down at her laces like they held answers.

She had gone full autopilot today. Shot when she was supposed to. Passed clean. Hit her marks.

No mistakes.

No spark either.

And still, it was like her skin couldn’t forget Paige.

The shoulder brush during warmups. The brief hand graze during water break when Paige passed her a towel. The stupid, charged moment when they both reached for the same marker at the whiteboard and their fingers touched — just long enough to freeze her breath.

Every one of those moments, tiny as they were, still pulled her back into that hotel room.

Into the sound of Paige whispering her name in the dark.

Into the weight of her staying.

Azzi thought she’d feel better after their talk. And she did. In a way.

The silence was gone. The unknown wasn’t quite so sharp.

But the weight of it? The want of it? That hadn’t gone anywhere.

“You good?”

Azzi blinked. Rickea was sliding down the bench beside her, halfway through a protein bar, sweat still clinging to her curls.

“Yeah,” Azzi lied. “Just tired.”

Rickea gave her a long look. “You’ve been tired all week.”

Azzi shrugged, wiping her face with the towel again to stall. “Long camp. You know how it is.”

Rickea didn’t press. Just nodded slowly and stood to grab her slides. “If you say so. Just don’t forget how to breathe, Fudd. You’re allowed to.”

Azzi gave her a tired smile. “Thanks.”

When Rickea left, Azzi stayed seated a moment longer. The towel dropped to the floor. She leaned back, the cool of the locker pressing against her spine, and stared at the inside of the door like it might spell out what to do next.

Her phone sat facedown in her locker. She didn’t check it.

She didn’t have to.

No message.

Not even a bubble.

Just the echo of Paige’s hands on hers. And the silence that always came after.

Last night had meant something.

This morning had meant something.

But every accidental touch since then felt like a haunting — like her body was remembering all the things her mind wasn’t allowed to say out loud.

Media Room – Minutes Before the Presser

Private Hallway, Just Outside the Doors

The hallway was too quiet. A sterile stretch of beige carpet and echoing footsteps, with the low murmur of media setting up just beyond the doors.

Azzi stood by the water cooler, arms crossed, trying to steady her breath. Her heart thudded loud in her ears, and it had nothing to do with tipoff.

Then she heard it — the unmistakable rhythm of Paige’s steps.

She turned before Paige could pretend not to see her.

Paige stopped, tension bracing her shoulders, clipboard tucked tight to her chest.

“Hey,” Azzi said quietly.

Paige gave a small nod. “Hey.”

They stood there for a moment. Just like always — too close to ignore, too far to reach.

Azzi tilted her head, voice soft but edged. “Yesterday didn’t mean nothing… right?”

That landed like a direct hit.

Paige exhaled, slow, hands fidgeting with the corners of the clipboard. “No. It didn’t mean nothing.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet Azzi’s, clear and serious now. “I don’t regret it. Not any of it.”

Azzi swallowed hard. “Then what are we doing?”

Paige’s voice dipped low — barely above a whisper. “Trying not to ruin everything.”

A silence stretched between them, thick with everything they weren’t allowed to say.

Then Paige added, almost like a plea: “If we can just get through this first game… together… maybe things will start to make sense.”

Azzi held her gaze, searching for cracks — but there was only sincerity there. And fear.

She nodded once. “Okay.”

The media handler’s voice echoed from down the hall. “We’re ready for you.”

Azzi stepped toward the door. So did Paige.

They didn’t speak again.

Didn’t touch — not intentionally.

But for one second, their shoulders brushed.

And this time, neither of them pulled away.

Media Room – Pre-Game Presser

Paige’s POV

The lights were bright. Cameras flashing. Reporters half-listening, already typing.

Paige sat at the mic with the poise of someone who’d done this a thousand times — because she had. But today, her collar felt tighter than usual. Every breath felt choreographed.

Azzi slid into the seat next to her, setting her water bottle down with just enough force to earn a look from KK across the room.

They hadn’t been scheduled to speak together. But media assignments changed last minute. Of course they did.

The moderator adjusted their headset. “Coach Bueckers, Azzi — welcome. First question?”

A reporter in the second row leaned in. “Coach, how do you feel about opening the season in Vegas — the lights, the pressure, the history of the venue?”

Paige didn’t flinch. “We’re focused on the court, not the zip code.”

Next question.

“Azzi, this will be your first game back since the trade. How are you adjusting to the Sparks system?”

Azzi’s voice was steady, cool. “It’s been an intense camp. But I’m excited to compete. This team has a vision. We’re here to win.”

She didn’t look at Paige. Not directly. But her fingers tapped once against her knee — that subtle, nervous rhythm Paige recognized from nights where everything felt unspoken and still somehow safe.

Another question. Then another. Paige deflected them like usual — cool, clipped, practiced.

Then came the one they should’ve seen coming.

“Coach, what’s it been like coaching someone you once competed against — and now, you know, someone you clearly respect in Azzi?”

Paige’s gaze flicked to Azzi without meaning to. Just for a second.

Respect. Was that all it read as?

She cleared her throat. “Azzi’s one of the most disciplined players I’ve ever coached. High IQ. High intensity. She raises the bar for everyone.”

Azzi looked over, just slightly. And for a flash — the smallest shift in her expression. Gratitude. Pain. Something in between.

“And Azzi,” the reporter continued, “same question — what’s it like playing under someone who used to be on the other side of the ball?”

Azzi didn’t hesitate. “It’s… surreal. But earned. Paige has always been someone who is trusted on the court — that hasn’t changed.”

A longer pause than necessary.

“I listen when she talks.”

Something flickered in Paige’s chest. Something warm. Something sharp.

The moderator glanced at the time. “One final question.”

But Paige wasn’t listening anymore. Not really.

She was too busy trying not to read into the way Azzi’s leg had just barely brushed hers under the table.

Too busy trying to ignore how much that last line — I listen when she talks — sounded like something that meant more than it was allowed to.

And Azzi?

Azzi was still tapping her fingers against her knee. Like she didn’t know what else to do with her hands.

Like she was waiting for the game to start just to stop thinking.

Moments Before Tip — Tunnel Outside the Court

Azzi’s POV

The tunnel throbbed with anticipation — the muffled roar of the crowd beyond the curtain, the sharp scent of sweat and floor polish, the distant clang of warmup drills wrapping up on the court.

Azzi stood just inside the shadows, bouncing lightly on her toes, stretching out her shoulder with one hand, the other gripping the hem of her warmup jacket.

She should’ve been calm.

She’d done this a hundred times.

But her heartbeat wouldn’t settle. Not tonight. Not here.

Vegas always did too much.

She stared ahead at the edge of the light, where the tunnel opened to the court. It glowed like something holy. Or dangerous.

And then — she felt it before she heard it — the presence behind her.

She didn’t have to turn to know.

Paige.

Azzi held still, breath caught somewhere in the back of her throat.

Paige didn’t speak.

Instead, a steady hand settled on her shoulder — firm, grounding — and her thumb pressed in just slightly. Not rough. Not possessive. Just present. Like she was trying to say I’m here. Like she was still choosing her, even now.

To the world, it was nothing. Just a coach offering last-second reassurance to her star guard.

But Azzi’s knees almost buckled under it.

She glanced sideways, just enough to meet Paige’s eyes. They didn’t say much. But the weight of that look — the intensity of it — told her everything she needed to know.

No one else could hear it.

But Azzi did.

I see you. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere this time.

The announcer’s voice thundered through the tunnel:

“And starting at guard… number thirty-five… AZZI FUDD!”

Paige’s hand lifted — slow, careful — like she didn’t want to let go, but knew she had to.

Azzi swallowed hard, turned toward the light, and jogged out onto the court.

She didn’t smile.

She didn’t look back.

But her skin still burned from Paige’s touch.

And for the first time in days… her chest didn’t feel quite so heavy.

#pazzi fics #paige x azzi #pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd

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redvexillum · 8 months ago

Text

Hot damn, I can't believe it took me this long to finally get around to answering this ask. I would like to dedicate this story to @todash-darkness and Ms. 🍑. Thank you for being my friends and always cheering me on even when I get whiny and say "writing too hard!"

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, p in v, rough s♡x, possessive!alastor, alastor is bad at feelings, dual pov, reader is a sweetheart, established relationship, alastor is allergic to feelings, rough ♡ral s♡x, finger♡ng, miscommunication, one sided (alastor) denial of feelings

In the vast, unfathomable uncertainties of Hell, Alastor’s mind was a sanctum guarded by his own design, his kingdom of carefully orchestrated chaos. He adored unpredictability, yes – but only when it danced to his tune, his rhythm, his control. Anything else, anything beyond his boundaries, was sacrilege.

There was no greater agony, no venom deeper, than the sensation of his world teetering beyond his grasp. His order, his routine ...demolishing right before his eyes.

One such certainty he held with unwavering conviction was this: your soul belonged to him, irrevocably. He had claimed you in ways that transcended mere words. Every part of you – your thoughts, your desires, your body, and even the delicate cadence of your laugh – was woven into his web, bound and stitched to his very being.

So why, then, were you here, laughing with that cur, the very embodiment of mediocrity beside you? Why did the melodic lilt of your voice drift toward that miserable fool’s ears instead of his? The sight of you smiling at such filth was an affront to everything he held sacred, and yet you persisted. You continued to share laughter with that loser, indulging his vapid words, his feeble presence.

From his seat on the single couch, Alastor’s grin cleaved his face, a mask of delight that undercut the roiling fury within. Around him, other souls babbled, meaningless, and insipid, but he paid them no heed. His gaze was fixed solely on you – typically nestled by his side, hanging on his every word as if he held the keys to your reality.

You, who would meet his stories with wide-eyed fascination, as if his very words spun magic into existence. You, who would follow him, entranced, into his realm.

But now, now...his hand dug into the flesh of the couch, claws piercing through its plush surface as he fought to restrain himself, to keep from dragging you to his side where you belonged. In his mind, he could feel the invisible chains around your neck, the ones you had so naively accepted, binding you to him to the moment you surrendered your soul – for a little of wretched Hellmutts, no less.

You were naive. Weak. Ridiculously innocent.

But you were his.

His eyes tracked every move you made, his gaze darkening with each soft smile that graced your lips for someone else, each glimmer in your eye cast in that foul creature’s direction. And then – then that trash, that waste of a soul, had the audacity to touch your shoulder.

Alastor’s heart stilled, a visceral freeze rippling through him as he watched your fingers lift, as if in slow motion, to meet that filthy hand.

And within him, something snapped.

An uncontrollable twitch seized his left eye, a slight tremor echoed in the clench of his jaw. Rage coursed through him, an intense, molten fury tightening every muscle until he vibrated with it. A violent energy was held back only by a grin that split his face, frozen, even as his eyes bore into you, unblinking.

Come to me, he thought, his voice a dark whisper in his mind, willing you to hear, to obey, Come here, darling. Come...

Yet, you didn’t hear him. Not a single glance in his direction, as if the tether binding you to him had snapped. You, with those disgustingly bright eyes, filled to the brim with such boundless, grating cheer – those eyes that never strayed from his, were now fixed on someone else. They were facing the wrong way.

The ownership he held over you was absolute, and he was certain there was nothing of value in this world next to your name – nothing but your soul. And that? Well, that belonged to him. You were his in every sense, a fact as unshakeable as death itself.

The thought simmered, rolling over in his mind like a storm. He’d planned to speak with you tonight, to remind you of the boundaries that came with selling your soul to him. A gentle “discussion” about your arrangement, perhaps a reminder of the dangers of your reckless naivety, especially around others’ wandering intentions. After all, what did you understand of the hunger that prowled in the depths of Hell?

But then you laughed. That joyous sound, brimming with warmth and energy – the very light he’d basked in so possessively – spilled from you for someone else. In that instant, something dark clawed up from within him, overriding every fragment of patience he thought he’d possessed.

The lights flickered; sinners looked up and whispered, confused, looking up as the room dipped into pitch-black darkness. And in that instant, Alastor’s hand seized you, pulling you into the shadows before anyone would notice.

The darkness folded around him, dragging you both from their prying eyes, and when he materialized in his room, any pretense of control shattered entirely.

You’d been talking to a gentleman about butcher shops in Cannibal Town, a respectable topic considering he was a proud consumer of sinner flesh. Though you yourself didn’t indulge, you knew Alastor had a certain...fondness for the taste. This stranger, to his credit, offered genuine recommendations – shops known for prime, fresh meat. You listened attentively, committing every word to memory, already imagining the gleam in Alastor’s eyes when you surprised him with a choice cut of fresh deer sinner’s flesh.

The best part? Each piece came with the sinner’s full consent. Nothing could be more natural, organic, and you supposed, humane in a macabre way, than that.

Your smile grew brighter as you pictured his reaction, and out of courtesy, you kept the conversation flowing. After all, Alastor had always instilled in you the importance of politeness, of maintaining grace, especially in the realms of Hell. When the man touched your shoulder and praised your kindness, you felt a warmth spread through you. Kindness was a rarity down here, and it was refreshing to be in the company of someone who appreciated it without ulterior motives.

But then the lights flickered, and instantly, the room plunged into darkness. Panic flared, voices rising in confusion, and before you could fully process what was happening, a cold hand clamped around your wrist. A sensation, chilling and immediate, enveloped you, and the world melted away.

When you blinked, you were in Alastor’s room.

The sudden brightness left you blinking against the light, your vision adjusting. But when you finally looked up, you were met with a sight that sent a shiver down your spine.

Alastor stood there; his eyes ablaze with a crimson fury that bordered on madness. His grin stretched wider than you’d ever seen, jagged and vicious, as if it had been carved from his very rage. His gaze cut through you like a knife, every muscle in his frame taut with anger. Twin streams of red trickled from the corners of his mouth, and in that silence, you could swear you heard the crackling of something deep within him breaking.

Before you could even form the words to ask why he seemed so upset, Alastor summoned the soul chain. A sickly green chain flickered into existence, snaking around his wrist, and in the next, you felt a sudden, brutal tug around your neck. Your teeth gritted at the sharp pull, and he yanked you forward until you were barely an inch away from him, his nose almost brushing yours as he bent down to meet your gaze.

The dial in his chest swung wildly, ticking back and forth like a metronome set to a frenzied beat.

“Uhm, Alast-” you started, confusion clouding your mind. You knew he was eccentric, yes, prone to outbursts and fits of emotion, but they always carried some purpose, a hidden logic that only he could fully understand.

“Who do you belong to?” he demanded, his voice frigid and sharp. The chain clinked as he pulled you even closer, the heat of his body blazing through the air between you.

“Y-you,” you stammered, searching his eyes, your hand trembling as you gently touched his sleeve. “It’s you.”

For a fleeting second, your answer seemed to calm the storm raging in his gaze, his crimson eyes softening back to their usual dark slits. “That’s right,” he whispered, his voice low and deceptively soft. “You belong to me.” His hand slid to your waist, his fingers digging in possessively. “And yet,” his voice dropped to a hiss, “you had the gall to let another sinner touch you.”

A wave of bewilderment washed over you, leaving you scrambling to make sense of his anger. Physical contact was far from uncommon in the hotel – just yesterday, Angel Dust had clapped you on the back after you told him a joke. Surely, Alastor wouldn’t be so enraged over something so trivial?

But Alastor pressed himself against you, his body taut and seething with an intensity that left you breathless. “My, my,” he murmured, voice pitched with a mocking chill, “thinking about that wretched sinner already? Right here, in my presence?”

“That’s not-” you started to protest, realizing with a sinking dread that you’d indeed just thought of Angel Dust. But surely, that alone wouldn’t justify this terrifying fury, this raw possessiveness radiating from Alastor?

He let out a bark of laughter, sharp and scathing, before pressing his forehead to yours, his lips grazing dangerously close to your own. “I own your soul, darling,” he whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous, velvety edge. You felt his claws inching up your skirt, his fingers scraping against your bare thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “I don’t share what is rightfully mine.”

Unexpectedly, his mouth crashed onto yours, urgent and bruising, teeth grazing with a hunger so fierce it stole the breath from your lungs. You whimpered against him as his sharp tooth nicked your lower lip, the sting mingling with the taste of blood as his hot tongue lapped over the wound, a low groan reverberating from his chest.

When he finally pulled back, his lips stained crimson with your blood, he gripped the front of your dress, his eyes blazing. “Who do you belong to?” he demanded again, his tone laced with desperation, as if even your words might not be enough to satisfy him.

“You. It’s always you, Alastor,” you whispered, your hands gently cupping his face, placing a soft, tender kiss on his lips – a striking contrast to the bruising passion he’d unleashed moments before. “The contract says forever, remember?” You tried a slight, playful grin, but his gaze held none of his usual amusement, his eyes fixated on yours with an almost haunted intensity.

“The contract,” he repeated slowly, his fingers loosening their grip on your dress. “Yes...that’s right.” His hands trembled for a fleeting moment before he forced them behind his back, his posture rigid. “I own your soul,” he said, voice hollow, “your servitude, I suppose.”

It was as if he were no longer fully present with you, his gaze dark and distant, a hint of revelation in his eyes that seemed to tear him apart even as he chased it. You could see it, how this realization – this twisted revelation – pained him, even though he seemed oblivious to its source.

You’d been here before, watched him spiral from bursts of passion to bitterness and then back to his lonely solitude. So, as always, you took that first step forward, drawing closer until your arms circled his waist. You smiled up at him, that bright, open smile he so often brushed off with sharp words, though you knew it softened him beneath the mask.

He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, a breath escaping as he murmured, “My, you're suddenly so clingy.” But you caught the waver in his voice, hiding behind his usual teasing edge.

“Because it’s you,” you replied simply, hands trailing up his back until they slid into his hair, guiding him down to meet you. “Besides, you haven’t kicked me to the curb yet, Alastor.” You giggled, only for the sound to be cut off as his lips claimed yours.

His movement slowed, each kiss lingering, his fingers finding the front of your shirt, hesitating there. “I don’t share,” he murmured against your mouth, his claws grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “This chain,” he whispered, tracing it with reverence, “it binds you to me. I own you.” With each word, he deftly unbuttoned your dress, his gaze smouldering as the fabric fell open.

“I know,” you answered softly, sinking beneath him as he lowered you to the hard floor, his arms and legs caging you in. “I haven’t forgotten,” you murmured, your fingers trailing down the front of his red-pinstriped suit, savouring the rough texture beneath your touch.

He stiffened, a flash of raw anger crossing his features. “Then why,” he snarled, his voice dripping with possessiveness, “why let that waste of breath near you? Why laugh, why smile, why seek his company when I was right there?” His words tumbled out, unbidden, raw and unrestrained.

At that moment, as his heated words filled the space between you, you caught a flicker of shame and horror in his eyes, as if he hadn’t meant to reveal this part of himself. But before he could pull away, you wrapped your arms around his neck, anchoring him to you.

“No one touches me like you do,” you whispered, pressing soft kisses along his cheek, to the corner of his mouth, until you kissed him fully. And I don’t think anyone else can make me smile until my cheeks hurt.” You laughed softly, fingers combing through his hair, each touch soft and grounding.

His response was immediate, his lips pressed against yours, his hips grinding against you with desperate fervour. His soft groans mixed with your sighs, and he gently took your wrists, guiding your hands back to the front of his pants. His lips never left yours, his hands tracing a slow, searing path as you undid his pants, feeling the heated weight of him pressing against your stomach as you freed him.

“Darling,” he hissed as our fingers wrapped around him, stroking from his tip down the length of his hardened cock, slow and tantalizing. The fire in his eyes darkened, his pupils widening to pools of obsidian as he shuddered beneath your touch. “How should I make you remember,” he murmured, voice a low growl, “that you belong to me always?”

His lips traced down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as his hands slid up your thighs, pushing your skirt to your waist with a deliberate slowness that made you ache. “Perhaps,” he breathed, his fingers pressing against the damp cloth covering you, feeling your desire seeping through, “I’ll make your body remember.”

Without hesitation, he tore your underwear away, his fingers grazing the slick curve of your inner thighs, drawing a gasp from you as his touch lingered there. “Enough times,” he muttered, his voice thick with want, “That you never forget who I am to you.”

Two fingers slipped inside, filling you in one firm stroke. The sensation sent a sharp tremor through you, and your breath hitched as your walls clenched around him. “Alastor...” His name fell from your lips in a shiver, and his eyes darkened at the sound, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Shh, darling,” he cooed, his voice a velvet command. His fingers moved slowly, plunging into you with an unhurried intensity, dragging your slice over every sensitive spot before plunging them back in. His head dropped to your shoulder, lips brushing over your skin as he pumped his fingers, his own arousal pressing hot and hard against your thigh. “Tonight, I’ll make certain you’ll never consider anyone else.”

Pleasure flooded through you, erasing everything except the feel of him, each pump of his fingers building heat within you. You wanted to tell him he was always in your mind, to confess that you’d never once thought of leaving his side. But words tangled and dissolved into moans, as if even trying to say them would break the spell.

Things like, I like you.

Things like, I cherish you.

Things like...

A gasp tore from you as his mouth latched onto your breast, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak as he hummed in satisfaction, the wet sound of his fingers moving within you intensifying with each movement. You arched against him, hips moving of their own accord, desperate for more, clinging to every sensation.

And just as you teetered on the edge, his fingers slipped free, leaving you throbbing, gasping from the loss of him. He rose above you, his cock fully erect, tip glistening. He lifted his fingers, coated in your desire, to his face, watching with fascination as he pressed them together. A glistening thread stretching between them before he spread too far apart, breaking it with a hungry grin.

Then, without looking away, he brought them to his lips, sucking each finger clean with slow, deliberate motions, a satisfied groan slipping from his throat as he tasted you.

“Who do you belong to, darling?” he murmured, eyes heavy-lidded as he gazed down at you. His hands moved to pin your wrists above your head, pressing his hips forward, his cock nudging against your slick entrance, sending a shiver of pure heat coursing through you.

Your breath caught as he began to push in, the head of him stretching you with a slow, delicious pressure. Instinctively, you tried to shift your hips, to take him deeper, but his grip tightened, keeping you firmly in place. “Say it,” he whispered, his voice edged with a fierce tenderness, his eyes locked onto yours, demanding.

“You,” you whimpered, voice trembling, and Alastor rewarded you by sliding himself just a bit deeper, the stretch trying to accommodate him making you gasp.

“That’s right,” he crooned, his grin sharp, eyes narrowed to slivers of wicked delight. “Tell me,” he murmured, his lips brushing hot against your ear, the words like fire igniting every nerve, “tell me how much you want me. Go on.”

When you hesitated, struggling for breath, he drew his hips back, leaving you painfully empty. Every nerve in your body was alight, humming, craving more. Embarrassment coloured your cheeks, but the heat, the need, drove the words from you. “Please,” you whispered, voice soft and fragile, “please Alastor, I-I want you.” Your eyes closed, the vulnerability tightening in your chest, sending waves of desire flooding your veins.

The moment the words escaped your lips, Alastor surged forward, filling you to the hilt, his hips flush against yours, a shuddering groan escaping him. His length throbbed inside, stretching and filling you perfectly, leaving you breathless as he began a steady rhythm, each thrust pulling a whimper from your lips.

“That’s right,” he rasped, finally finding his pace as he withdrew and slammed back into you, your breasts bouncing with every relentless stroke. “Say you want me,” he breathed, his voice rough, almost breaking, with the intensity of his need.

One hand pinned your wrists above your head, firm and unyielding, while the other squeezed your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, sending electric shocks of pleasure through you. His hips moved in a hypnotic rhythm, the wet, smacking sound of skin on skin mingling with the sharp cries and moans filling the air. Each one tore through you as you clung to him, helpless against the power of his thrusts.

“I want you,” you cried, voice trembling, head tilted back, your body limp and yielding beneath his strength. Every nerve was alive with a searing stretch, his cock grinding into your most sensitive spot as he drove deeper, forcing pleasure to crest higher and higher. His name fell from your lips in broken cries, each syllable dripping with the intensity of your desire.

With a raw groan, Alastor shifted, grasping your hips firmly as he rose onto his knees, lifting you with him. Your body arched upward, shoulders and head the only parts still anchored to the floor as he drove into you harder, faster, every thrust meeting no resistance. He slammed his hips against yours, the force of it stealing your breath, pushing you to the brink, an overwhelming spike of pleasure building with every powerful relentless motion.

Your lips parted, gasping, as his grunts filled your ears, his low, primal sounds mixing with the wet, sinful noises of your bodies colliding. The world around you faded to nothing but the feeling of him, the ecstasy of his touch, and the unstoppable climb toward a blinding, shattering release.

His eyes locked on the place where your bodies joined, a hunger darkening his gaze as he thrust into you, each movement hitting that perfect spot, dragging every pulse of pleasure from deep within you. Your stomach tightened, thighs shaking, and as he drove in again, the pressure burst.

You came with a shattering cry, your fingers scraping at the wooden floor, desperate for anything to hold as your walls clenched around him, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing through you.

He pulled out suddenly, letting your body drop as he rose to his knees, his cock slick and throbbing against your parted lips. His hand wrapped around his length, pumping himself with frenzied strokes as he looked down, his gaze fierce and covetous.

“I should mark you,” he rasped, his voice thick with need, his cock grazing your lips as he leaned forward. “Make sure my colour stains that smile.” His grin was wild as his hand moved faster, his muscles tense, his breaths shallow and ragged.

You lifted your head, mouth open to take him in, your lips wrapping around the tip as your tongue swirled, savouring the mingling taste of him and your own desire. A moan tore from him, and he let his head drop back, his hands cradling the sides of your head, guiding himself deeper as his hips moved in slow, deliberate thrusts. His length stretched your lips as he pressed to the back of your throat, the guttural sound of his groans and the slick noises filling the air.

Your own moans vibrated around him, spurring him on. His hips moved faster, his hands clinging tighter as his moans grew sharper, each thrust sending him closer. With one last hard thrust, he shuddered, and the first hot pulse of his release spilled down your throat. He withdrew, letting the rest spill over your lips, dripping down your chin in thick streams as he marked you. His eyes locked on your face, a wild satisfaction softening his gaze as he watched.

The warmth of his release lingered on your skin, drying as your breaths filled the space between you. Your tongue darted out, tasting the lingering saltiness on your lips, and he groaned, his cock twitching in his hand as he watched, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours.

As if coming back to himself, he gently cupped your face, wiping his release from your skin with his sleeve, his expression caught between wonder and something deeper. His touch was unexpectedly soft, eyes holding a vulnerability he rarely let surface, the unspoken question hanging between you as his gaze searched yours.

“We could be more,” you whispered, heart pounding as his fingers tilled on your skin, “if you want, Alastor.”

His movements halted, his gaze slowly focusing on yours, a flicker of confusion slipping beneath his usual veneer of confidence. “I already own your soul,” he murmured, his voice edged with something darker, guarded. “There is nothing more you could give me.” His words were resolute, as if trying to cling onto their simplicity, yet the way his brows furrowed, and his head tilted betrayed a hesitation – a lack of understanding for the weight of what you meant.

For all his power, Alastor had taken your heart without ever offering his own in return. The notion of “more” was something he danced around, something he coveted without daring to hold. He wanted you fiercely, hungrily even, but in ways he could still control – never in ways that would strip him bare and vulnerable.

You placed a gentle hand on his thigh, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. With a soft sigh, you felt the truth of it settle heavy between you; until he could meet you on level ground, until he was ready to open himself as wholly as he demanded of you, this fragile back-and-forth was all you’d have. This quiet ache, this unspoken ache, would remain hidden, cloaked in omissions and denials.

It wasn’t entirely his fault, either, this painful standoff. After all, there were things you held back too – things that lingered on the edge of every kiss, every touch, words that clung desperately to the walls of your heart, refusing to release themselves. The word that waited to change everything.

Things like, I like you.

Things like, I cherish you.

Things like...

I love you.

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kashedelic · 6 months ago

Text

FORGOTTEN - sylus x reader

SUMMARY: Don't expect a lot from someone who hasn't explained a lot about how they don't want a lot from you.

NOTES: sylus x reader, first person pov, question marks for the relationship, angst, girl u got side-chicked, reader is NOT mc, not as angsty as I could make it icl.

wc: 2497

a/n: i got a boat load of things to be doing, but sometimes sylus needs to come first. someone please tag me in a good Sylus fic that'll heal btw, even if this wasn't angsty as I could have made it I still need to be giggling over something

Be sure to like, reblog, or even follow! Your support means everything to me and helps more people to find this story! Thank you for reading!

Love is a simple yet complex thing. It makes days feel like waltzes, despite the darkness itching at the seams and cracks of the world. It tells a tale of mellow, warm days, where the sun doesn’t burn but heals. That’s how it felt to be in love

That’s why, when I awoke each morning with darkness still pooling in my apartment - the billowy shadows, albeit smaller now with the faint morning light of the N109 Zone, dancing against the walls - and the sound of a crow at my window, I was okay. The ebony feathers and gleaming ruby eyes visible through the glass were my proof. I was not forgotten.

Opening the window, the crow cocked its head inquisitively, as though asking, Let me in, please!

“Come in,” I said, sliding the window open. The crow swooped in and perched on my bed frame.

“Running errands already, huh, Mephisto?” I chuckled dryly, rubbing the remnants of sleep from my eyes. I gently scratched beneath its beak, earning a positive response from the bird.

With a sigh, I gathered my strength and moved to my closet, pulling out low-waisted baggy cargos and a fitted ribbed top. Glancing over my shoulder, I added, “Tell Sylus he better be working when I get there - not passed out at his desk again.”

The image of Sylus asleep, cheek pressed against his knuckles, with soft snores escaping his lips, tugged my mouth into a smile. He could try to be inconspicuous, but on mornings when work demanded an early rise, his stoic demeanor softened into vulnerability. To others, it might not have seemed like much, but to me, it was enough to get moving.

When I reached the estate, Luke and Kieran waved me in, clearly still settling into the morning. Kieran was slumped on a couch while Luke mumbled something about not getting enough sleep and missing cereal. Familiar with their antics, I proceeded, leaving them to their misery.

“Sylus,” I called, a smile spreading across my face as I found him awake and working. “G’morning, boss.” The title slipped off my tongue easily - a term that had lost its seriousness, now laced with humor between us. Though our interactions were often work-related, there was a growing sense of familiarity. Shared jokes and casual banter hinted at something deeper.

He glanced up, a corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Good morning to you, too. Has the allure of work coffee dragged you in early?” His voice carried that low timbre that always caught me off guard.

I dropped into a leather armchair, resting my head in my hand. “Tempting, but no. I had a visitor this morning - a certain crow who seems to think I’m slacking.”

His smirk grew more pronounced. “Oh, is that so?”

“Don’t act coy,” I huffed.

“Caught red-handed,” he admitted with a chuckle, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Waking up early is one thing, but I should have a reason to wake up too, don’t you think?”

“Sylus, you’ve got a mountain of work to do,” I said, flustered, waving off his teasing.

“Work always waits for the boss, doesn’t it?” he quipped back.

After a bit more banter, I decided coffee was in order. Rising from the armchair, I motioned toward the door. “I’m craving that cafe in Linkon. Knowing you, you probably want something. So, are you coming with me, or should I grab something for the both of us?”

“Don’t leave without me,” Sylus replied quickly. “I could use a side adventure with you.”

Rolling my eyes to mask my nerves, I snorted. “Then hurry up. And by the way, the twins are out of commission, so we’ll probably have to take the car ourselves.”

As we drove toward Linkon, the air felt lighter, the stark contrast between N109’s industrial shadows and the bustling streets beyond. Yet Sylus’s words lingered in my mind, as his often did, planting seeds of thought that stayed with me, unshaken.

When we entered the coffee shop, I noticed his gaze linger. His face fell, not in fear, but in shock.

“Sylus, did you see something?” I asked, my voice soft, laced with earnest concern.

He didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed before he blinked and turned to me. “I… No, it was nothing.”

“Are you sure?” I pressed gently.

He nodded, but the weight in his tone betrayed him. Something was wrong.

“You’d tell me if something was wrong, right? As your… assistant, you know at the very least?” The word was humbling on my tongue. Would saying "friend" be more appropriate? It would definitely be plausible, but friends don't necessarily pick and prod the way we have. To say "friends" undermines everything else that was bubbling, and I don’t want that.

Sighing at his hum, I let our outing continue. There was less banter, but it was a manageable experience.

The next morning, something felt off. Sylus’s usual sharp wit was dulled, his attention drifting elsewhere. Even the crow, who had become my constant visitor in the mornings, was absent. Days passed, and our exchanges grew quieter, the once effortless banter replaced by an unspoken tension.

It was clear as day: Sylus was scheming and plotting on his own, or at the very least, I wasn’t looped in. Kieran and Luke had no issue with Sylus's behavior, but there was something amiss. It seemed as though his attention had been pulled from me to focus on whatever was troubling him. Sure, I had no issue allowing for space - I mean, it wasn’t like we were together - but I was worried. There wasn’t any animosity between us, yet the trifling silence between us seemed to be a little more than that.

Days passed on and on, and it seemed that his stressed attitudes were lifting for more elated moods. It seemed as though a recovery was bound, but perhaps not for me. It seemed as though his ride was coming to an end, and mine? It was only beginning.

The burst of a gunshot, followed by its sharp echo, jolted me upright from my chair. My pulse quickened as I glanced toward the source of the sound, the commotion carrying through the otherwise quiet estate. I was used to the sound of bullets firing, close-range or far-range, but to hear it inside the estate, let alone where Sylus was? What for?

“Luke, Kieran? The hell was that?” I shouted from where I stood, concern pinching my eyebrows together. Luke and Kieran immediately appeared in the doorway, both uncharacteristically composed but clearly aware of my concern.

"Relax," Luke said, hands raised in an almost placating gesture. "It was nothing - you know boss, if he was shooting himself, he’d be able to heal himself back up. Lickity split."

"Nothing to worry about," Kieran chimed in, his tone steady, though the glance he exchanged with his brother was enough to prick at my nerves. Dolts.

“Yeah, but neither of you are answering my question. Who’s shooting right now?” Sylus was way capable of managing himself; heck, to say he couldn't would be lying straight through my teeth. He was the esteemed leader of Onychinus, who could miraculously (and freakishly, of course) mend himself back together. He feared nothing. He feared no one. He was the one feared.

Finally putting a brain cell to use, Luke placed a hand on his hip while another scratched his chin. “Not sure, but… could be something with that Hunter Association girl.”

My face morphed from concern and annoyance to confusion. Hunter Association girl? I couldn’t help but wonder, “Who?”

“You don’t know? Boss found the Hunter Association girl he was looking for?” Luke scratched his hood, creating a party of confusion between him and me. Kieran was also slowly joining the group as the conversation ensued. No, I wasn’t heartbroken right away. No, I wasn’t jealous. Yes, I was perplexed.

He was looking for someone, and he didn’t tell me?

Surely, he had a reason for doing so, but I could only pray that maybe, as an assistant, I would be informed of operations Onychinus was leading. Unless, of course, they were personal feats. Then, there would be a clear boundary that would make it evident I didn’t need to meddle in whatever Sylus was orchestrating.

Friend, but wasn’t I at least a friend? Could he not confide in me there? I mean, there was a part of him that I had unlocked over the previous years. Surely those bits and pieces of Sylus I got to learn through my own very eyes would at least trust me enough to tell me what the hell he was doing? Right?

Be levelled.

There is always more than what meets the eye.

Be levelled.

I slowly nodded, but the tension in my chest didn’t dissipate. “I did not know of her, but if you say it’s alright, I’ll take your word. You two better pray that I won’t be having to clean blood later, otherwise, you two…” I trailed a clenched fist with a thumb out at my neck with a menacing hiss imitating a knife at a throat. I knew better than to be vulnerable, let alone in front of the twins, and the best way to handle hurt in this moment was to pretend it didn’t exist with humor. The twins frantically saluted with an incoherent plea for their lives before dashing out. I returned to my work, but my thoughts were elsewhere.

I had to clean up, and it was worse than I thought.

Despite my weak attempts at swallowing the questions gnawing at my chest, every passing second listed another question to my list. I was a student of heartache and worry, and my summative was to understand where I would lay with Sylus in the coming days.

After I had finished my reading, the silence was deafening, and I could hear it alluring me to see what had developed since the shot. It had been hours since the initial bullet, and the assistant part (definitely not the confused, aching part) of me wanted to know if there was anything for me to take care of or, you know, any answers for those questions.

I noted that both the mystery girl and Sylus weren’t in the estate anymore, but I saw the blood. This line of work built up a tolerance for gore and grim, but it still wasn’t pleasant. It seemed as if someone had haphazardly tried to clean it up, but I wished I had never overheard the conversations between them as they returned.

As the days pursued, I noticed a shift in Sylus’s routine. A woman I hadn’t seen before appeared in the halls, a faint shadow following Sylus’s movements. Truly, it would have been easier if she wasn’t prancing around the estate, because then I wouldn’t have to be a first-hand witness to seeing how he looked at her. It takes no fool to see that he looked at her with a warm gleam in his eye. A gleam that wasn’t his evol, but a look that drank her whole, his eyebrows raised and only furrowing at her witty remarks. I never meant to notice, but it seemed like he was breathing easier, yet his muscles were itching to grab her.

To crave someone.

My heart was slowly revolting in my chest, plotting an anarchy against my mind. A loud demand that I seek closure. My story was over, but I begged, “Let me be broken,” my pitiful mind whispering in surrender.

Sylus, who usually moved like a lone wolf through the estate, now seemed tethered to her. She occupied the guest room, accompanied him on errands, and their dynamic seemed effortless - something I would never relate to. Under the assumption that all that is sweet takes time, I patiently waited for him; supported him; cared for him. The banter I had once shared with him now played out between them, and my tongue was left scratchy from the lack of words falling off it.

It wasn’t jealousy I felt, not exactly. It was the quiet unease of witnessing something intimate from the outside, knowing I was no longer the one who fit into the empty spaces. I was a puzzle piece to replace; a hastily drawn picture on a piece of paper, cut out to only fill in for the missing piece.

Still, I couldn’t deny how easily they seemed to get along. She wasn’t intrusive or overbearing; she blended into the environment, a piece that completed the puzzle of Sylus’s world. Watching her settle into the rhythm of things only served to emphasize my growing sense of distance, and it was vividly clear to me that she was the puzzle piece he was hunting for.

When the announcement came that Sylus and Ms. Hunter - as he would call her - would be attending an auction together, an event critical to our operations, it wasn’t a surprise. But Lord, did it sting. I had been by his side countless times for situations like this, yet now I was relegated to the periphery.

The day of the auction was oddly quiet. He was enamored by her. She was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. The dress he had tailored for her, the jewels that hung on her skin - they made her look stunning. If the case was different, I would have complimented her myself, but the depth of pain hurting within me begged me to stay back. As they left together, I busied myself with the tasks left behind, avoiding the gnawing thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me. The image of them - so perfect for one another - haunted my mind. Hours stretched on, and by the time they returned, their closeness was undeniable.

It hurt.

I promised myself to be level-headed, but all that had occurred was the feelings I had so helplessly grasped onto being sent to the gullies. I could neither leave nor stay. A sickening game where I would run in circles by myself. Since when did I become so dependent on him? I thought my individuality was what brought me here.

There’s a single pitch that no soul dares to experience. A sound so sharp it rips your heart out - not to serve it on a silver platter, but to hurl it onto a pile of others, drowning in the same feeling: sorrow. It’s the cacophony of thoughts rattling your chest, keeping it pumping with blood, yet leaving it aching. Sorrow doesn’t only break; it strengthens, but it’s through love that one nurtures.