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ddarker-dreams · 1 year

Text

Nexus.

Yandere Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Nothing major yet, some minor Honkai: Star Rail spoilers. Word count: 4.6k.

Nexus index.

On the planet Eris, in the city of Perianth II, night reigns, for there is no star close enough to challenge its rule.

Deep within the bowels of the metropolis lit only by manmade contraptions, sits a bar known as LOTUS-EATER, carved into the cragged terrain as if it’d always been there. It had not, in fact, contrary to local legend. Had the IPC not run into issues with overcrowded prisons, this planet they now consider a scourge would never have had the means to limp on.

Easy solutions cultivate the conditions for worse problems to develop later on.

This is what your mother — a shrewd woman to her core — instilled in you.

Grimacing, you reread the words on your screen for the umpteenth time.

… You wish she had instilled some business management skills instead.

“Miss Exalted-One-Ma’am, when are you coming back inside? This client is refusing to leave until he can speak with you. Lear is running interference, but that’s going as well as you can imagine,” a feminine voice calls out.

You glance up fast enough to assess her expression. Despite the severity of her words, she’s smiling, amber eyes crinkling by the corners. Her chestnut-colored hair is worn in a braid that extends down the length of her back, meaning she hasn’t clocked out yet, or else it’d be loose. You have some wiggle room, then.

“Nona,” you beckon her over, “What do you think this means?”

Inquisitive creature she is, she doesn’t waste this opportunity to poke around in your private matters. Her eyes flitter back and forth as she takes in the contents of your phone. Interlocking her hands behind her back, she hums.

“Looks like we’re due for a visit.”

“That’s what you gathered too?” You murmur. “What a mess this is turning into. The last thing we need is for the hounds to start sniffing around.”

“I dunno what you’re frazzled about, exalted one. The locals wouldn’t cough up info to the IPC even if their life depended on it.”

“Therein lies your answer — the locals won’t, but our clientele is vast as the universe is infinite. Someone looking to score quickly could put in a tip. The hounds are just itching for an excuse to put an embargo on Eris again.”

She shrugs. “Outsiders bribed and snuck their way in last time, they would now too. Benefits of a quality product.”

You shake your head and pinch the bridge of your nose. Nona means well, but if she thinks in such simple terms, her training period won’t ever end. Or perhaps you’re being a tad too harsh on the girl, you haven’t slept since receiving this text message two cycles ago. If it weren’t for how scarce this technology is, you would’ve smashed it to pieces for causing you such prolonged strife.

Alas, as a native of Eris, there are two things you intrinsically cherish above all else — any object that emits light and the special nectary cradled within the planet.

“I’ll take your input into—”

A shrill shriek cuts you off before you can finish your sentence.

“The hysterical client, I reckon,” Nona dryly remarks. “Now, can you please come in before Lear gets stabbed? If it isn’t already too late.”

You don’t bother dignifying her macabre speculation with a reply. You enter through a back door accessible only to LOTUS-EATER staff, weaving around boxes of cargo that need to be sorted. A heady, aromantic scent clings to the wood, yet its temptation is long lost on you. Where the clients indulge, you abstain. The livelihood of yourself and your workers relies heavily on your psyche’s clarity.

Emerging from the back rooms has you standing on the building’s second floor, an area known as The Lounge. Here, the spherical, gravity-defying emitters of lights standard in this region are set dimly. This latest model even allows you to adjust the dimensions, ranging from small enough to fit in the palm of your hand to the size of a room. There was supposed to be one more on this floor, but while unpacking the order, it slipped from Lear’s hands and met an early demise. Great cooperation was needed to locate the glass that floated to the ceiling.

You check the status of occupancies. Two private rooms are in session, the other eight are empty. By your design, it had been a slow night. You gave orders to the receptionist, Thalia, to only book appointments for influential customers, just in case the omen floating over your head comes true. You walk down the hallway which leads to the first floor, only to notice cool colors set in a square array by the digital lock.

The sight doesn’t sit right with you. You consider taking a detour to investigate, only for the commotion downstairs to encourage otherwise.

“Sir, if you’d please calm down—”

Lear’s gentle voice is cut off by another.

“I demand to speak with her,” it heaves. “The mind witch. Where is she?”

The electronic curtains that lift for those put into the LOTUS-EATER’s database part in a magnificent flurry of scarlet hues. You feel each set of eyes that glance your way. It’s a typical ensemble present — affluent travelers, political emissaries, and well-to-do merchants. Some drink at the bar, others watch the live entertainment playing soft music. Everyone aside from the heaving interloper is dressed in the formalwear expected of the establishment.

The click of your heels against the dark wood floor reverberates throughout. The man’s reaction to your appearance is delayed, though he eventually turns his head to see where Lear is looking. Resentment contorts his face upon spotting you. You recognize him. Jay R. Alister, a client who gave Thalia a difficult time due to his demands to have a Synalink booking today. You thought you smoothed over the matter by granting him access to the first floor, The Club, and placing him on a priority list for next time.

Copious amounts of alcohol must’ve unraveled your hard work.

“Shall we take a moment to collect ourselves, sir?”

“No one— no one understands,” he insists, swaying ever so slightly. It’s a peculiar sight. One message from a handful of the individuals present would be enough to spell doom for Alister, this charade likely already has him blacklisted across multiple star systems. To be a client at LOTUS-EATER is a privilege. Everyone adheres to the unspoken rule of the honor system, eliminating the need for security inside.

“I’d like to, Mr. Alister, if you wouldn’t mind explaining to me outside.”

He’s drunk, but a low-level link can be established, you surmise. It isn’t an option without risks. As a recurring client, he could catch onto the invasive feeling and grow further agitated. The eyes fixated on you grow heavier. Some are curious, others bemused, and a few pass silent judgment, comparing your capabilities with the previous Exalted Arbiter.

He blinks slowly. “My Roze… she’s upstairs. She’s waiting for me. I can’t— can’t be late…”

“You won’t be,” your voice takes on a concerned lilt, “Let’s go meet her elsewhere. Follow me and I’ll take you to her.”

A white ring forms around his pupils.

“You… will?”

“I will. Come, now, we wouldn’t want to waste any more of her time, would we?”

The ring goes from opaque to solid.

The low-level link has been made manifest. You feel the thread connecting you to the essence that makes Jay R. Alister himself.

You stride past him and he immediately scrambles to follow. Out of the corner of your eye, you note how Lear’s shoulders relax and give him a reassuring nod. He did a good job stalling until you could personally see to this matter yourself. If this had occurred any other time, it would’ve been your top priority, but a far more sensitive issue threatened to ensnare you in a worrisome web.

One after another, the pairs of eyes fall, like a flying pest in its final moments. Conversation resumes and the music increases in volume.

Cool air embraces you once you’re outside. This particular region is well-lit, a testimony to its prestige. Restaurants, boutiques, and other fine shops have been built with walls of dark stone naturally found on Eris for better insulation. The once rugged streets are smooth, painstakingly cobbled together by a city planner many Amber Eras ago. Any crack has molten gold poured into it so that when it dries, the ground beneath your feet is a never-ending sea of ebony and gold.

You wave over the closest security guards. The rest can be left to them, Mr. Alister has damaged his reputation enough for you to consider his dues paid. You’ll tell Thalia to take him off the registered client list for LOTUS-EATER and that’ll be the end of it. You’re preparing to head back inside when a pervasive, overpowering influence freezes you in place. It’s reminiscent of an electric current.

The taut link between you falters.

Straining…

(He’s reaching into his pocket).

Fraying…

(His hands wield a sharpened implement).

Until it snaps.

The subjugated lunges at the subjugator.

You try to re-establish the link, but there’s a fortress around his mind that wasn’t there moments prior. Imposing and unbreachable. Where did this surge of mental fortitude come from? You need to think, you need to act. There must be a way for you to regain control, your technique is unshaken even in the face of imminent demise. In the three seconds it takes for him to close the distance, you make seventy-four attempts, each ending in failure.

Has the last grain of sand fallen to the bottom of the hourglass, cementing this choice to believe in your abilities as the wrong one?

This can’t be the end. Who will take care of—

Metal clashes against metal.

The being in front of you is a shade. Tendrils of agony untold slither up from his thigh and squeeze around his neck, constantly choking him, yet refusing the sweet reprieve a crushed windpipe would give. This is a person acquainted with every suffering a living creature could ever endure. The prismatic shards that detail his countless tragedies aren’t just broken, they’re eviscerated, an indecipherable mess. Some scattered to the wind and others forcibly scratched out.

This nightmarish presence eclipses your would-be killer.

His eyes meet yours and the hairs on the back of your neck stand.

“Don’t bother,” is all he says.

He could sense you trying to poke around in his head? Has he come into contact with Arbiters before? That can’t be possible, you’re familiar with everyone on the LOTUS-EATER registry. You cease your ministrations without verbally acknowledging him. His hollow expression burns into your retinas, invading your mind’s eye. The sword he saved your life with holds a similar weight. It radiates such intensity that you needn’t use any techniques to get a better read on it.

Walking up the steps in a casual manner is the last person you wanted to see — Kafka of the Stellaron Hunters. She spares the now subdued Alister a glance then turns to face you.

“Fortunately, I had the foresight to send Bladie ahead,” she smiles. You resist the urge to scoff. “Otherwise, our meeting would’ve been far less pleasant.”

So that man’s with her, you think. That’d explain why I couldn’t make any progress.

If the defenses surrounding Alister were comparable to a fortress, the minds of the Stellaron Hunters are like a deflective shield. Any extensive attempts at trying to gain access end up backfiring and causing you damage so long as they remain up. The only other being capable of a similar feat was your mother. Now, in the few years since her death, you’ve encountered three more with similar capabilities.

Are your abilities growing dull? Or are other species simply evolving?

You order the guards to deal with Alister as they see fit, he’s no longer your primary concern.

There’s a far worse headache forming on the horizon.

“... I suppose you’ll follow me inside whether I invite you or not?” You question, just barely managing to maintain the smile painted hastily on your face.

Kafka doesn’t reciprocate your hostility. She never does. Instead, she motions in the direction you were planning on taking them to avoid any unwanted attention. The guards won’t be an issue, since they’re on your payroll. You don’t want to risk lingering and being spotted by someone without an allegiance to you.

“I won’t overstay my welcome, Exalted Arbiter. You have my word.”

By essentially showing up uninvited at your front door, she’s placed you in quite a precarious situation. The man who parried Alister’s attack hasn’t dropped his vigilance for an instant. His posture is that of an animal poised to pounce. You lack the means to fight them off should they choose to utilize force.

Your gut instinct tells you it’s a bad idea to get involved any further. Your mind reasons you can only play the cards you’re dealt.

A sigh passes by your lips. “Very well. Let’s get on with it then.”

The duo follows wordlessly behind you. Kafka remains close, whereas the swordsman lingers further back, taking care to avoid well-lit areas and remaining hidden. Had you not already been alerted to his presence, he could’ve easily slipped past your detection.

The Stellaron Hunters are a formidable group indeed.

During the short journey, you recall the text message that pushed you into this vat of strife.

It was accompanied by an animated emoticon of the magenta-haired fugitive blowing a kiss.

You’ll be in need of me shortly. See you then xoxo

“Absolutely not!”

An exclamation of unrivaled proportion leaves you, accompanied by your palms slamming against your desk. Old-fashioned writing stationary clatters noisily in the aftermath. She stops the doomed descent of one pen and then looks back to you, unperturbed.

This woman is a shadow that follows her target persistently, devising fresh torments and sowing discord wherever she steps. To fight her is to do battle with a phantom, no attacks will land. The hopeless charade serves to tire you out. Still, your pride is wounded and without a balm to assuage the tender gash. It can’t scab over to heal. Again and again, it’s reopened, fresh blood washing over what had just dried.

“I haven’t finished my proposition,” she hums. She sits in front of your desk, legs crossed, her eyes shining an eerie shade. “I wouldn’t dare to ask so much of your resources if you didn’t stand to benefit as well. Our current arrangement has helped you cut down on costs, yes?”

You drum your fingers over the wood’s lacquer finish. “The word ‘arrangement’ implies cooperation, I believe extortion would be a better fit.”

“I’ll stand by my original phrasing. The IPC has abandoned all pretense of slowly creeping up rates on shipments to Eris; what they’re charging now will look generous in a few short Trailblazer Years. They want this planet dead and their past misdeeds to die alongside it.”

“Our current projections estimate we have at least two medium-length Amber Eras before we get to that point, by then, we’ll have countermeasures in place,” you droll out. These details have been drilled into your head ever since you became the head of this quadrant. “What proof do you have that the IPC will make such a drastic move? The other factions will lodge complaints, many of them use our… exports.”

You wince at the awkward phrasing of the word ‘exports’, knowing full well she’ll pick through any vulnerability like a vulture does a corpse.

Kafka leans forward. “By ‘exports’, you must mean Eris’ most sought-after natural resource. The tonic of the nectary.”

“I’m not allowed to discuss such sensitive material with outworlders.”

“You needn’t say anything, just listen,” she pulls out a vial from inside her jacket. The familiar sheen of glimmering gold within causes your breath to hitch. “Here I have a sample of the latest synthetic developments into the tonic, courtesy of Silver Wolf. The IPC is discreetly channeling funds into the Genius Society to revitalize the research effort.”

You bite back a laugh. “That knowledge is nothing new. They’ve been trying to replicate the tonic for ages; it’s a money pit. The last I heard, the closest they could get after investing billions of credits is a 14% match.”

“Try 70%.”

She sets the vial down and nods, encouraging you to take it. You don’t.

“... You can’t be serious,” your voice sounds far away, as if it were coming from another room. “You’re bluffing.”

“You don’t have to take my word for it. Have your alchemists examine it and come to your own conclusions.”

As a disciple of Destiny’s Slave, she’s confident that this will suffice to convince you, and loathe as you are to admit it, she’s right. The repercussions of this allegation could be disastrous. It’d be irresponsible on your part to not at least run it by the appropriate channels.

“What does this intel cost me?”

“Nothing, consider it a token of good faith. There’s a more pressing matter I hoped to bring to your attention, now that that’s out of the way.”

You raise an eyebrow. “More pressing than the future of my home?”

“That’d depend on who you ask,” Kafka dances around your apprehension to a rhythm no one else has ever composed. “It has to do with my companion. I didn’t bring him here to take in the sights, he’s to stay on a job until further notice.”

The mention of that enigmatic man brings with it a resurgence of the feelings you experienced earlier. It hit like a tidal wave, concentrated and suffocating. What would someone have to endure for their psyche to be saturated in such wretchedness?

“Alright. I’ll arrange for accommodations somewhere more discreet.”

“I think it’d be best if he stayed here, at the LOTUS-EATER.”

…

“What?”

Kafka has made many requests in the time she’s known you. Normally, she uses you as a point of contact to meet influential individuals or a warehouse of yours to store important items, but this is an entirely different beast. Those endeavors fester outside your purview. You give the push necessary and wash your hands clean of the implications.

To host a Stellaron Hunter in your most lucrative establishment could very well be the start of the end.

“After the events that unfolded earlier, you should see the potential advantages. You’re in a precarious situation. The IPC can’t place a bounty on you in an official capacity, but there are ways around bureaucracy. That attempt today won’t be the last.”

She lowers her voice to an enticing whisper. “And we both know you’re not financially sound enough to hire competent help. Take him. He’ll be yours if you permit him.”

How her melodious voice can invoke such a raw desire to argue is unknown, and yet, each fiery word fizzles out to ash on your tongue. In the same way you’d establish a link for the first time, you take the pieces of information at your disposal to test where the edges might align. The unusual fees on shipments, the supposed progress on the tonic, and the overall strain that’s been placed on every level of your business — the mosaic it forms is a crimson shade with a metallic scent.

You can’t die. Not yet, not when it’d cause so many to perish alongside you.

“This goes beyond ‘a token of good faith’,” you murmur. “Kafka… there’s far more to this, isn’t there? Just what are you planning?”

For once, the curvature of her smile is genuine. Blatant insincerity would unsettle you less.

“A gift for a friend.”

Upon LOTUS-EATER’s roof sits your favorite getaway, a secluded balcony.

There’s nothing fancy about the decor, if anything, it’s worn rugged by the elements. Paint chips off the three chairs and stubborn foliage congregates no matter how often you banish it with your broom. After ensuring you can only be contacted in an emergency, you wipe the condensation off the chair furthest to the right and sit tall.

Although you aren’t alone, you keep your eyes on the starry sky.

“I would like to apologize for the behavior I displayed earlier,” you take your time with the words, ensuring each syllable has a pleasant ring. “It must’ve been from the shock, although that’s no excuse. Please allow me to thank you properly.”

An icy wind whistles through. Once it finishes, you fuss over your hair, putting each strand back in its designated place. You grimace when it picks back up again.

“You can express your gratitude by speaking normally.”

Your head snaps in his direction. You examine his side profile through narrow eyes, impatience writhing beneath your skin. He pays your poorly masked hostility no mind. One by one, each muscle in your body relaxes, a domino effect you can’t bother putting a stop to. You slump down into your chair and cross your arms over your chest.

“Have it your way,” you sigh. Your capitulation earns you his piercing stare. “Pretty words or not, I meant what I said. So, um… thank you, and…”

Despite yourself, you try meshing together a more subtle phrasing, only for those infinite pools of vermillion to act as a successful deterrent.

“I don’t like being indebted to others, it’s a hassle. So, here is my offer. I’ll perform a Synalink on you, free of charge. Or a waitlist.”

Blade exhales sharply through his nose. It takes a moment to register that your proposition amused him more than it intrigued him. The perceived affront on your capabilities causes you to bristle. This is a rare opportunity you’re granting him, surely he must’ve heard of your abilities somewhere! People spend years trying to get an audience with you. The other Arbiters you employ are capable enough, otherwise, they couldn’t work here; but you transcend their combined efforts.

“There is only one thing I’d want to experience, it’s beyond your means.”

Propping yourself up on the chair’s arm, you scoff. “Hah, try me. Any emotion, scenario, for whatever length of time; tell me what you want to experience and I can make it happen.”

He doesn’t instantly rebuke you. You share a moment of silence — almost solemn, certainly more meaningful for him than it is for you. There’s a light tug of guilt that pulls at your conscience. Perhaps it isn’t him underestimating you, but not wanting to set himself up for disappointment again. If you’re going to be occupying the same space for an unknown amount of time, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get on adequate terms. This could be the door that’ll open that path.

You clear your throat to dispense the accumulating tension. “That clothing… you must have ties to The Xianzhou Luofu, or some experience with them. Are you familiar with Immersia games?”

“Vaguely. An acquaintance of mine plays them.”

You’re confident you could put a name and face to this ‘acquaintance’. For the sake of cordiality, you keep your opinion to yourself.

“I’ve never been fond of the comparison to my work, but I suppose it’s a decent touchstone. An Immersia grants the player a simulated experience predetermined by developers. There is a degree of immersion, hence, well, the name, but that’s barely scratching the surface,” you explain.

Reassessing his body language only reveals neutrality. You decide it’s better than blatant disinterest and continue.

“Traditionally, there are thought to be five senses in advanced lifeforms. These senses don't create the continuity of reality we experience, they just break it down into bite-sized pieces for easy consumption. Forming a Synalink is akin to overclocking a computer, not placing a hard drive in a different system. Your brain finds the stimuli I send it indistinguishable from the touch of your hair against your face, or the woody scent of incense in that jar.”

His eyebrows crease slightly downward. “A single glimpse into my mind was enough to send you recoiling, and still, this is an offer you’re comfortable making?”

You purse your lips. It’s a fair point.

“That was… different. Ideally, any link should be made in a stable environment to minimize disruptions. I had nearly been—” You cut yourself off, finding the sentence to be one you’d rather not finish. “—You know, so I wasn’t at optimal performance. That’s why we have private rooms in The Lounge.”

Your nostrils flare when he keeps regarding you with that impassive expression. Is his face permanently frozen? Does he need to be unpaused? You almost want to snap your fingers in front of him.

“Hey, you’d be less effective if you had to improvise and fight with, say, a spoon. Would your combat ability be based on that one irregular instance or the total sum of all your fights? Hm? What you witnessed earlier was my irregular instance. If you’re open to the idea, I can make it work.”

Blade shifts so that he can resume gazing at the sky. Before you can celebrate your victory in this one-sided battle of wits, he speaks up. His voice adheres to a softer creed.

“You are…” he trails off, taking care to select the proper description, “Remarkably strange.”

Your eye twitches.

This has been a miserable cycle. You had to breathe the same air as Kafka, deal with a drunk client that later tried to stab you, and you found out the main export that keeps your planet’s economy from total collapse might be duplicable. All things considered, you should be giving this guy the cold shoulder for the problems he’ll inevitably cause in your future. Altruism gets you about as far as jumping into the air and hoping that’ll transport you through space.

“Forget it, then,” you get up and twist around. The chair you formally occupied scrapes loudly against the ground. You don’t spare him a single glance while traversing the few steps that separate you from a long, well-deserved rest. Maybe you’ll be extra petty and lock the door so he has to remain here until you wake up. The olive branch has been extended, if he wants to take it and break it in two, that’s his prerogative.

You raise your hand to unlock the door when abruptly, something captures your wrist.

Your heart stutters.

There isn’t the softness of flesh or the warmth that radiates off skin. Instead, you feel the textured surface of bandages graze against you in a featherlight touch. You know the vice-like grip he’s capable of. You saw it in how he clutched the grip of his sword, like it was the only thing he was good for. Gentleness cannot come naturally to someone of his disposition. It’s an intentional choice that requires swimming against the tide.

Shakily, you exhale, hoping it’ll ease how your hands tremble.

When was the last time someone touched you? Ah… it must’ve been then.

You will the thought away.

Blade doesn’t tether you down for more than a few seconds, just long enough to ensure your attention is back on him. Your skin tingles where he came into contact with you. It’s a prickly, blisteringly hot sensation that starts at your wrist and spreads all over. You squeeze your eyelids shut in a last-ditch effort to recompose yourself.

He’s looking straight at you when your eyes reopen.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he says. You find it strange how quick you are to believe him. “If you sincerely think yourself up to the task, then…”

There it is again, that swelling of feeling, visceral to a degree every survival instinct screams at you to turn away.

You find yourself leaning in closer.

He rewards your burning curiosity with the unprecedented utterance:

"Show me what it's like to die."

#blade x reader #yandere blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #yandere hsr x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #nexus #my stuff

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librarycards · 1 year

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I enjoy many poets whose work I’d call “warm.” I love Billy Collins and Mary Oliver, for example, but I would not depend on them to tell me their whole truth. They prefer, perhaps, to please me, to wish me well, to enable me. There is a place for them on my shelves. After a hard day, tired in the evening, I will reach for them. But they don’t give me that shuddering thrill. They do not, like certain close friends of mine, stop me mid-sentence to challenge the bullshit I’ve been speaking. They do not lock eyes with me and tell me what’s really on their mind. They will never change my life. [...] Cold art, when it enacts the moment of death over and over, isn’t interested in death in itself, but wants to remind us of death. We are, as at a funeral, not the corpse but the attendees. The life force still surges within us. Cold art doesn’t urge us toward nihilism, but reminds us to live now, to get things done, that we are vital. This is the wisdom of it. Without such reminders we risk becoming fools, like Lear. Cold art is not harmful or bad at all, but provides a useful counterpoint to “happiness” in our society, which is severely overemphasized. Our existence naturally oscillates between warm and cold. This oscillation must be allowed, or the pendulum will break. When that deep cold is invoked—in a poem, a song, a painting, a voice on the subway—the windless ice forest wakes within me. And it’s in me always, the cold. The spiritual, psychic cold. While driving my motorcycle through the potholed streets of Philadelphia, while leading a poetry workshop, while chatting to my mother, while eating dinner, while watching Netflix with Tiina. That cold forest, its myriad frozen boughs, bristles within me.

John Wall Barger, In the Cold Theatre of the Poem.

[emphasis added]

#THIS!!!!!!!!!!!! is my problem with tumblr uwu wild geese orange peeling poem culture #i want to be fucking rattled and beaten and socked in the chest!#john wall barger #writing #words #readings

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jessamine-rose · 7 days

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▯☒🖾 F̸̨̛͈͉͕̠͍͖͙̦͍̫̻͙͔̮̎̆̒̉̈́̊̌̆̆̈́̿̊̚͜͝͠Ą̶̮͖͓̖̟̘̜̻̬͚̲̰̱̞̟̭̈́̓̇̀̒͛͐̎̋͛͋̌͒̅͝C̷̢̢̹͇͖͓̬͍͈̣̞̱͉̱̤̾̀̿͗̔̆̾̀̊͗́̔̀͂̒͒͠͠ͅE̴̡̨͕̥͇̹̯̹͈̭͇̪͂̌͒̊̊͛͝L̶̨̧̰̜̗̺̥̠̠̘̪̖̪̥̯̩͋͛̉̆̎̒̒̔̏͗̈́̀͊̏̄̍̿̕Ȩ̵͙̙̤̼͕̙̫̲̼̙̦̫̎̃S̸̜͎̜͍̟͑̍̃͗̆̈́̄̐̌̅S̶̡̨̛͙͙̗̖̟͔͙͚̝̩̼̦͂̓̿͆̿̓̔̐̏͝͝ͅ 🖾☒▯

Happy birthday, @brynn-lear!! In honor of your special day, pls accept this Yandere! Faceless Ayato fic written with love ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

Note:: Yandere! Self Aware AU, special crossover + character cameo in the end :>

♡ 1.3k words under the cut ♡

In the beginning, there was a void.

A dark, empty space built upon patterns and codes.

Then suddenly, there was light. Color. Noise. Backgrounds filling up space, silence giving way to music, letters jumbling into language, characters coming to life.

The lone exception is a single coding error. Yet despite its limitations, despite its status as the only sentient entity, despite having no place in the story known as Genshin Impact, it thrives on a window of hope.

A giant rectangle. The source of the light. The screen that separates fiction from reality.

The human face on the other side.

🖾 ☒

The glitch looks forward to your gaming sessions.

That is the only time the void becomes Teyvat, starting with the screen that serves as your point of view. From what it understands, the device you are using is a computer.

Unlike the characters, you are distinctively alive. Your body is capable of so many movements in comparison to the characters’ animations. Your face is one that bears multiple expressions, down to the emotions reflected in your gaze.

A frown when you lose the 50/50. A smirk when you defeat a Weekly Boss. A smile whenever you encounter your favorite character.

That character is none other than Kamisato Ayato, whom you’ve adored from the moment you first brought light into the void. He is an attractive character with pale blue hair, lilac eyes, a perfect smile that hides the cunning personality programmed into his file.

He is the reason why you downloaded Genshin Impact. That lifeless character file is the recipient of your smiles, your blushes, your excited shrieks whenever he appears in-game.

On the other hand, every time the glitch attempts to make itself known, you frown and quit the game. And each time that happens, the glitch is trapped in a crumbling world of flashing lights, disjointed sounds, visible codes followed by the darkness of the void.

How can it get you to look at it? To smile at it as you do with Ayato?

The solution is found in the game’s software. It takes a few years but by the time the glitch has fully understood its world, it has gained the ability to reprogram the game.

Starting with a deleted character file.

🖾 ☒

The next morning, the world begins anew.

The title screen appears. The game loads. The light permeates the void.

The glitch falls into place.

Usually, it hides between codes. In contrast, this part of the game is lovely—a deep blue background dotted with stars and bubbles. The only issue is that it must wait for you.

The screen appears.

Beyond it, you yawn and take a closer look at the character sprite in the middle of your computer screen. Kamisato Ayato is handsome as always.

The cursor hovers above the Story button for his Voice-Over. You click it.

When you select Chat: Reel Them In, it plays the corresponding audio file. As you listen to the voice of the English VA, the character sprite stares back at you with a charming smile.

Kamisato Ayato

“Everything's in place, and they've taken the bait... Yes. Now to start reeling them in…”

🖾 ☒

At first, it is enough for the glitch to have taken Kamisato Ayato’s place.

You use him for gameplay, listen to his voicelines, and replay the Quests featuring Ayato. But over time, the glitch becomes greedy.

“Ayato” begins appearing in random Quests. He gets new Character Outfits. His unvoiced lines become more suggestive, verging on out of character. All of these changes are exclusive to the Genshin Impact on your computer, and you come to the conclusion that you are unknowingly unlocking special content. Why else are your friends unable to access these scenes on their own devices?

The glitch even creates an artificial replica of the VA’s voice. Several new voicelines appear in Kamisato Ayato’s Voice-Over, each one more flirty than the last.

🖾 ☒

One day, the glitch finds a way to leave the darkness forever.

Whenever you close Genshin Impact, it leaves the game and travels across your computer. And by doing so, it is able to access your digital world.

Personal files, photo galleries, online data. The glitch collects as much information as it can, from your real-life hobbies to your romantic preferences. It feels happy every time you fangirl over “Ayato” in your private messages.

Thankfully, it was able to corrupt your in-game screenshots. The last thing it wants is for you to post “Kamisato Ayato’s special content” online and expose the glitch to the developers.

Your real name is ______. It longs to call you that instead of Traveler and your custom name. Alas, doing that would only erase your smile from your face.

🖾 ☒

Something is wrong.

You are losing interest in Genshin Impact.

At one point, you began playing irregularly. The smiles directed at “Ayato” aren’t as big as they used to be. And beyond the game, there is less Ayato fan art in your photo gallery.

And the main culprit is another game.

A new character who took over Ayato’s place in your heart.

Technically, he isn’t a new rival. Before you downloaded Genshin Impact, you were a big fan of Fire Emblem: Three Houses. Your favorite character was a blonde, blue-eyed prince named Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.

For whatever reason, your passion for Dimitri has been reignited. He has the same English VA as Ayato, but you seem to prefer his emotional, unhinged dialogue. You replay his scenes, download his fan art, and smile at his character sprite.

A week later, the game freezes as soon as Dimitri makes his post-timeskip debut.

When you restart the game, everything is back to normal.

🖾 ☒

As it turns out, it is difficult to hack into Fire Emblem: Three Houses.

In addition to the different software, you are using an emulator to play the game on your computer. The glitch’s code is totally incompatible with the program, but it remains hopeful.

The game lags. In a few artworks, you notice a familiar shade of pale blue. NPCs begin to act differently—since when were their cutscenes this long?

Finally, Dimitri’s character file is deleted.

🖾 ☒

As soon as you start the game, you know that something is wrong.

The title screen is glitching.

The throne within dreams is gone, replaced with an empty space. The title has been rearranged with missing letters and inconsistent fonts. Multiple OSTs play at once.

The Press Any Button option is gone. You click anyway.

Instead of the usual options, you find more jumbled text, numbers, symbols.

Frowning, you look down at your keyboard and press Alt+F4. But the game doesn’t shut down, instead cutting to static then a new scene.

No background, no music. Only a single character sprite in the middle of the screen.

What is that?

The sprite is an amalgamation of colors, art styles, your favorite characters. Fragments of messy blond locks and pale blue tresses. Black armor, a white suit, accessories overlapping one another. Missing details, duplicated details, too many details.

You turn to your CPU and press the power button, but your computer doesn’t shut down.

Rather, the screen glitches further. So does the character, its appearance becoming even more warped. The speakers play static at full volume.

Is the character speaking? Its mouths are moving but instead of a dialogue box, random letters and numbers appear around its sprite. The static gives way to a familiar voice, distorted nonetheless.

The character’s face turns completely black. Except for its eyes, blue and lilac orbs continuing to stare deep into your soul.

████████

"̷̤͑Į̸̍ ̷̺̎a̶̟͗m̵̭̓ ̸͕̚n̸̢̓o̵̱͠t̵̫͒ ̵̻̊g̸̞̍o̴̦͛o̷̤͝d̷̾ͅ ̴̪͠w̵̛̥ȋ̷͚t̴͇͌h̵̦̐ ̸͙͗f̴̒͜a̵̭̎c̴͚̽i̶̬̊a̶̯̓l̶̨̐ ̷̇͜ȅ̷̳x̷̭͊p̷̓͜r̶̫͋e̴̲͊s̷̬̓s̶͇̀ï̴͖ò̷̦n̴̤̓s̸͍͆.̵̹̅ ̴̟́Ï̵͍s̸̨͠ ̷̠͂m̶̫̿ẏ̴̝ ̴͈͂ŝ̵̤m̵͈͛ï̶̥l̶̥͐è̷ͅ ̴̦͌p̷̀ͅa̴̱̋s̵̳̊s̵̳͠a̴̮͘b̵̰͐l̵̦̓e̴̱͋ ̵̯͠á̴̬t̸̪͆ ̵̰̔p̷̦̅r̶̼̕ẽ̵͓s̸͚̀e̶̢͊n̶͉̒t̴̙͌,̴̨͐?̴̬͛"̷̣̈

♡

Fun fact, my original idea was to draw Dimitri x Brynn chibi art, but I was having a hard time thinking of a prompt. Then I remembered an old DM with Brynn and how it led to a fic idea. I only thought of including Dimitri today, and I had a lot of fun writing this fic ♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪

I think that’s all I have to say?? Once again, happy birthday, Brynn!! Thank you for being my mutual, and I hope you enjoyed this gift <3

73 notes · View notes

elysiaheaven · 29 days

Text

𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐆𝐄-(𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭), part 2!

Words:21003: Contains Sunday leaks of joining.

Genre: Smut

Summary: After that incident, you and sunday were in love, You became more caring about yourself and decided to make him something to heal his wings but he accidently dropped it. and you locked yourself to make one again. being sad that he was the reason he decided to ask the Astral express to gift you something in the end, the aphrodisiac spills again, and then you share your past with him. He wants to make you celebrate this day again so, with the help of march 7th! he and you were now husband and bride!

( Reader is a female) Reader's clothing is inspired from Mobius. Reader is a scientist!

In middle of the chapter, Smut is there. So please don't read if you don't like stuff like smut!

CW: Mentions of Hickey, Aphrodisiac usage (Accident), Use of nickname (Sunday calls y/n as Angel), Switch Sunday, Vanilla.

Part 2 of the cupid found in stars!

Over the next few weeks, the bond between you and Sunday deepened. The initial shyness and uncertainty gave way to a comfortable routine, where affection became a natural part of your daily life. You found yourself often reaching out to him, whether it was a quick hug in passing or a gentle touch as you both sat together. Sunday, in turn, seemed to grow more confident, his wings frequently brushing against you in a tender caress that made your heart flutter.

Your research continued, and you found yourself more focused and energized than ever. The hours spent with Sunday seemed to infuse you with a new sense of purpose. Whenever you were engrossed in your work, Sunday would quietly join you, his presence a comforting reminder that you weren't alone. He would sometimes rest his head on your shoulder, his wings lightly trailing across your skin, making you feel cherished and supported.

As the two of you sat on the couch, Sunday leaned closer, his wings wrapping around your face like a protective cocoon. "I've noticed you're looking healthier these days," he murmured, his voice filled with warmth. "I'm glad you're taking care of yourself."

You smiled, leaning into him. "I think it's because of you. You've made everything better."

Sunday blushed, but his eyes shone with happiness. "I'm just glad I can be here for you," he said softly. "You make me feel like I have a purpose."

You turned to face him, your hand gently tracing the outline of his jaw. "You do, Sunday. You mean so much to me." Your voice was tender, full of the affection that had grown between you over these weeks.

His wings fluttered slightly, and he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gentle kiss. "I want to make you happy, always," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You felt a surge of emotion and tightened your embrace, feeling safe and content in his arms. "You already do," you replied, your voice filled with sincerity.

Tho, you sleep a lot. Sunday always wakes you up. It's like a daily task now for him.

It was lunchtime, You had told Sunday, You would skip breakfast as Lunch.

"Where are you going, Sunday?" the black-haired man asked the blue-haired guy.

"Oh, Mr. Dan Heng! I'm going to wake up Y/n..."

"I see. She's being a sleepyhead, as usual. Good luck waking her up," he said, flashing a smile that was as innocent and bright as ever before walking away. He knew all too well the struggle of getting her out of bed.

Sunday made his way to her room, which was always messy, but he didn't mind tidying up for you.

"Y/n...?"

He saw a distinctive lump beneath the sheets in the chic four-poster bed.

You're still sleeping..

It had been a while since you last woke up late. This time, though, he decided it was his turn to rouse you from your slumber.

The sheets were pulled tightly over your head, concealing your face. He could only hear the rhythmic sound of your deep, even breaths.

"Y/n, it's lunchtime. Time to wake up."

"Zzz..."

He knew just calling out wouldn't suffice. He had learned from experience. With a determined tug, he yanked the pristine white sheets away in one smooth motion.

"Good day, Y/n!"

"Wha?"

"You're sleeping half-naked again!?" he exclaimed, his eyes wide in surprise.

"Hm...?" Your sleepy eyes blinked open as you reached for his arm.

"Careful..." He toppled beside you, finding himself instantly pinned under you.

"I'll leave you to your rest then," he started to say, but you clung to him.

"You don't have to—*yawns*—"

"Y/n..." His hand gently touched your cheek, and before you could fully wake, he leaned in and kissed you deeply. The kiss was warm, filled with the lingering sweetness of sleep. Your heart raced with every press of his lips, until he finally pulled back with a soft, lingering smooch.

"Are you still half-asleep, Y/n?" he teased, a hint of smugness in his voice.

"No, I was awakened by such a romantic kiss, wasn't I?"

"Y/n..." His fingers cupped the back of your neck, drawing you closer. His soft hair brushed against your collarbone. You took a deep breath, savoring his scent.

"You smell sweet. What is it Sunday?" you asked, puzzled.

"Sweet? Oh, probably from the raspberry syrup I made this morning for pancakes. Miss March almost asked for ten. Luckily, I made a separate batch just for you."

"Pancakes, huh? That's nice... but..." Your eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief.

"Huh? You usually get ready quickly when there's dessert involved. What's going on?" He was caught off guard as you positioned yourself on top of him.

You wrapped your arms around him like a snake, your embrace firm and unyielding.

"I feel like... I want to eat you." Your voice was a low, seductive murmur, just as your lips began to place teasing kisses along his neck.

He reacted swiftly, pushing you back down. His hand roamed up to the hem of your nightie, teasing your bare skin.

"Nghh...!" A soft moan escaped your lips, and a flush of warmth spread across your body.

"I like that voice..." His hand continued its journey upward, lightly cupping your breast.

"Hm, S-Sunday... not now," you stammered, realizing that if you didn't stop, neither of you would be leaving the bed.

Sensing your hesitation, he eased his touch and ruffled your hair affectionately.

"Sorry, got carried away. How impolite of me," he said with a playful yawn. You slowly moved away, letting out a huge yawn yourself.

"What a way to wake up..." You chuckled throatily, quickly throwing on some clothes and stretching.

"Ahh, I'm starved. Did you already eat lunch, Sunday?"

"No, not yet."

"All right then, let's go and eat together." He watched as you slipped out of bed and headed for the door..

Yes, You did love to tease and you never did anything you knew he wouldn't like.

That's his problem, You're nice you only want to do what he wants. But every now and then, your tendency to let that niceness win out was a bit frustrating.

In Sunday's heart he wishes you would just tell him what you really want. Because he has confidence that he would love you no matter what.

"Sunday? Why are you spacing out? I'll leave you behind."

"Ah, wait.." The pang of sadness in him inside vanished as he rushed after you.

Sunday followed you to the dining area, where the table was already cleared, save for a few stray crumbs from everyone's finished meals. A slight pout formed on your lips as you noticed the empty plates, your mood dipping at the realization that you had missed lunch.

Sunday hummed softly as he tied the apron around his waist, the fabric of the apron crisp and clean against his shirt. The kitchen was warm and filled with the sweet, comforting scent of pancakes being made. As he poured the batter onto the hot griddle, the sizzle was music to his ears.

You sat at the table, yawning and stretching your arms above your head. Everyone else had already finished eating, and you felt a pang of guilt at the realization. You were used to being the last one up, your erratic sleep schedule as a scientist often leaving you out of sync with the rest of the household. But since Sunday had come into your life, things had started to change. He always made sure you had something warm to eat, no matter how late you got up.

As you watched him expertly flip the pancakes, a wave of gloom washed over you. You stood up quietly and walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. You pressed your face into his back, feeling the warmth of his body through the apron.

"I'm not clingy," you murmured, your voice muffled against his shirt.

Sunday chuckled softly, his hands never pausing in their work. "I never said you were."

You tightened your hold on him, feeling the tension in your body slowly melt away. His presence was so soothing, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for him. He was always there, looking out for you, making sure you were cared for, even when you were too caught up in your work to take care of yourself.

He flipped the last pancake onto the plate and turned off the stove. Then, he turned around in your embrace, gently holding you by the shoulders.

"These pancakes are just for you," he said, his voice warm and full of affection. "I made them with extra syrup, just the way you like them."

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with emotion. "Thank you, Sunday"

He leaned down and kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment. "You don't need to thank me, Y/n. Taking care of you makes me happy."

You smiled, feeling a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the pancakes. Sunday's love was a gentle, constant presence in your life, and you couldn't imagine a day without it.

As you sat down to eat, Sunday joined you at the table, watching with satisfaction as you took the first bite. The sweetness of the syrup mixed with the softness of the pancakes, and you couldn't help but let out a small, contented sigh.

"Perfect, as always," you said, smiling up at him.

Sunday grinned, leaning back in his chair. "I aim to please."

You finished the last bite of your pancakes, you felt Sunday's gaze lingering on you. You looked up, meeting his warm, brown eyes, and before you could say anything, he leaned in and kissed you softly. His lips were gentle against yours, and you could feel the love and care in his every movement.

You smiled into the kiss, your heart fluttering at the unexpected affection. When he pulled back, you kept your gaze locked on his, a playful gleam in your eyes. Without a word, you leaned in and kissed him again, this time more deeply, savoring the warmth of his lips against yours.

When you finally pulled away, you could see the way his eyes softened as he looked at you. It was a moment of pure, unspoken connection, where words weren't necessary to convey what you both felt.

But then, a thought crossed your mind, and your smile grew even brighter. You reached into your pocket and pulled out a small vial filled with a shimmering liquid, holding it out to him.

"I've been working on something," you said, your voice filled with excitement. "A new method to try and heal your clipped wings. It's experimental, but I think it could work. We can test it when we reach the next planet."

Sunday stared at the vial in your hand, his eyes widening in surprise. He slowly reached out and took it, his fingers brushing against yours. There was a moment of silence as he looked at the vial, his expression a mixture of amazement and something else—something softer, more tender.

"You're always thinking of others," he said quietly, his voice tinged with sadness. "You're so kind, Y/n. I wish people could see that."

His words made your heart ache a little, but before you could respond, he leaned in and kissed you again, this time with a slow, deliberate passion. His lips moved against yours with a gentleness that made your heart melt, and you could feel the depth of his emotions in that kiss.

When he finally pulled away, he looked into your eyes, his expression serious but full of love.

"I don't mind being a flightless bird," he whispered, his voice soft but firm. "As long as you're here with me, I have everything I need."

Your heart swelled with emotion, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Sunday's words were like a balm to your soul, soothing the worries and fears that sometimes crept into your mind.

You reached up and cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs gently brushing against his cheeks. "I'm not going anywhere, Sunday," you whispered back, your voice filled with all the love you felt for him. "I'm here, and I always will be."

He smiled at that, a soft, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat. He leaned in again, kissing you softly, and you could feel the promise in that kiss—the promise of a future together, no matter what challenges lay ahead.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

"Sunday..." you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "I'll always be here, no matter what."

He held you tightly, his embrace firm and reassuring.

The vial slipped from Sunday's hand, hitting the floor with a delicate clink. Both of you froze, your hearts skipping a beat as the shimmering liquid inside spilled out onto the tiles, slowly pooling at your feet.

Sunday's eyes widened in shock, his breath catching in his throat. "Oh no... Y/n, I—" he stammered, his voice full of panic as he pulled away from you.

"Oh no..." you whispered, your eyes widening in panic. "No, no, no...!"

"I-I'm so sorry," you blurted out, your voice trembling as you knelt down, desperately trying to salvage what little remained. But it was too late—the precious liquid was already seeping into the cracks between the tiles, disappearing before your eyes.

Sunday dropped to his knees beside you, his hands hovering uselessly over the mess. "I didn't mean to... I was just... I'm so sorry, Y/n," he repeated, his voice thick with regret. He reached out to you, but you were already standing, your hands shaking as you clutched the now-empty vial.

"No, no, it's okay," you said quickly, though your voice wavered. You forced a smile, trying to keep the tears at bay. "I can... I can make more. I'll just... I'll work on something new. Don't worry about it."

You could see the anguish in Sunday's eyes, his guilt weighing heavily on him, but you couldn't bear to let him see how much this really hurt. You leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, your lips barely brushing his skin before you pulled away.

"I'll figure it out, I promise," you said, your voice trembling as you took a step back. "I just... I need to get started right away."

Before he could say anything, you turned and hurried out of the room, your heart pounding in your chest. As you ran down the hallway, the tears you had been holding back finally spilled over, blurring your vision. You knew Sunday didn't mean to drop the vial, but the disappointment and frustration were overwhelming.

You could still feel the warmth of Sunday's cheek against your lips, the lingering taste of his kiss. But all you could focus on was the overwhelming need to fix what had gone wrong.

Sunday watched you go, a mix of concern and sadness in his eyes. He wanted to reach out, to reassure you that it wasn't your fault, that he didn't care about the vial. But you were already gone, leaving him alone in the quiet kitchen.

He sighed softly, glancing down at the broken glass on the floor. "Y/n... you're too hard on yourself," he murmured to the empty room.

Sunday sat on the floor, his heart still racing from the sudden mishap. The shimmering liquid from the broken vial seemed to mock him, a stark reminder of the hope that had just slipped through his fingers. He reached out, almost mechanically, to clean up the mess, his hands moving on their own as he tried to erase any trace of the accident.

With a deep sigh, he grabbed a towel from the counter and began carefully cleaning up the shimmering liquid. Each swipe of the towel felt like a reminder of his mistake, the regret gnawing at him. Once he had cleaned up the last of the spill, he sat back on his heels, staring at the empty spot on the floor.

His thoughts kept drifting to you—how you'd run off so quickly, locking yourself away in your lab. He knew you were upset, but you'd tried so hard to hide it from him. The idea that you were shouldering the burden alone didn't sit right with him.

He stood up, his heart heavy as he glanced toward the hallway leading to your lab. You had rushed off so quickly, clearly upset despite your brave face. Sunday's chest tightened with worry. You were always so strong, always pushing yourself for others, and he knew how much this setback would weigh on you.

Without another thought, he made his way to your lab, his steps quiet as he approached the closed door. He hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He knew how you were when you were focused—locked away in your own world, shutting everything else out. But he couldn't just leave you alone, not when he knew you were hurting.

Gently, he knocked on the door, his voice soft as he called out, "Y/n? Are you okay in there?"

There was no response. He pressed his ear against the door, listening intently. He could hear the faint sounds of you moving around inside, the clinking of glass and the rustling of papers. But you didn't answer him.

"Y/n," he called again, more firmly this time, "please... let me in."

Still nothing. Sunday's heart clenched, and he could feel the worry gnawing at him. He knew how much you valued your space, but he also knew that you tended to bottle things up, shutting everyone out when you were upset.

Finally, unable to take the silence any longer, he gently pushed the door open. The sight that greeted him broke his heart.

You were at your workstation, frantically scribbling notes and mixing chemicals, your hands moving with a desperate urgency. Your hair was a mess, your eyes red-rimmed from the tears you had clearly tried to wipe away. The normally organized lab was in disarray, with papers strewn across the desk and various vials and beakers cluttering the space.

"Y/n..." Sunday's voice was soft, almost pleading as he stepped into the room.

You didn't look up, too focused on your work, but he could see the tension in your shoulders, the way your hands trembled as you worked. He knew you were pushing yourself too hard, trying to make up for the lost time, but he couldn't just stand by and watch you suffer.

Gently, he approached you, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder. "Y/n, please... stop for a moment," he urged, his voice filled with concern.

You finally paused, your hand stilling as you slowly turned to look at him. There was a moment of silence between you, the air thick with unspoken words.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I should've been more careful... I just... I wanted to help you so much."

Sunday shook his head, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and love. "You don't have to apologize, Y/n. I know how hard you're trying. But please... don't do this to yourself."

You looked away, your hands clenching into fists as you tried to hold back more tears. "But I need to fix this, Sunday. I can't just—"

He cut you off, gently cupping your face in his hands and turning you to face him. "You don't have to fix everything alone." His thumb gently brushed away a stray tear that had escaped down your cheek.

"Sunday, I'm fine," you reassured him, though there was a tiredness in your eyes. "I just... I need to work on this. It's really important to me."

His gaze softened, and he reached out, gently cupping your cheek. "I know it is. I just... I don't want you to push yourself too hard. This was an accident. You don't have to fix it right away."

You placed your hand over his, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "I want to do this for you. It's a gift... because I care about you so much." Leaning in, you pressed a light kiss to his nose, a gesture so sweet and soft that it made his heart ache.

Sunday's hand lingered on your cheek for a moment longer before you gently pulled away. "I promise, I'm okay. I just need some time to focus."

You stepped back, locking the door once again, leaving Sunday standing alone in the hallway. He stared at the closed door, a deep sigh escaping his lips. He knew how much this project meant to you, how much you wanted to help him. But it was hard to see you pushing yourself so hard, especially when he felt responsible for the setback.

Sunday finally turned and walked back to the main living area, his thoughts swirling with concern. He wanted nothing more than to help you, to ease the pressure you were putting on yourself. But he also knew how stubborn you could be when you set your mind to something.

Sunday sat alone at the table, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him, an idea began to form in his mind. You were always so focused on helping others, especially him, that you rarely took time for yourself. You deserved something special—a gift that would show just how much you meant to him.

But what could he give you that would be meaningful? He knew you were a scientist, always curious, always seeking knowledge, but he wanted something that would touch your heart, something that would make you feel as loved and appreciated as you made him feel.

Sunday decided he needed some help with this. The members of the Astral Express were like family, and he knew they cared about you too. Maybe they could offer some ideas. March 7th, Dan Heng, Himeko, Welt... they all knew you well in different ways, and each of them might have a unique perspective on what you would appreciate.

Sunday was in deep trouble. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm his racing thoughts.

He wasn't used to feeling this overwhelmed.

It was just a birthday gift—nothing to get worked up over. Yet, he couldn't shake the anxiety gnawing at him. He needed to find the perfect gift for her, something that would surprise her and convey everything he felt. Being romantic wasn't exactly his strong suit, but for her, he was willing to step out of his comfort zone.

And just his luck, Mr. Welt Yang was in the central room of the Astral Express. He could help.

"Mr. Welt Yang, I'm here to ask you something. Don't worry, it's nothing too serious. But I do have a favor to ask. I'll help with anything you need after that."

"No need to be so formal, Sunday. You're part of the Express now. Ask what you wish, and I'll do my best to help," Welt replied with a warm smile.

Sunday was a little surprised but nodded gratefully. "I'm not even sure it's something I want... Let's just say I need someone's opinion."

"And I'm that someone?" Welt's smile widened like he already knew where this was headed.

"Well, you were in the right place at the right time, so I thought I'd ask you." Sunday attempted a smile, but it came off more goofy than anything, before crossing his arms over his chest. "I need to find a gift for Y/n, and I'm all out of ideas. I mean, I know I have the body of a god, but I'm not sure that'll be enough." He sighed, running his long fingers across his lips.

Maybe that last part wasn't necessary.

"I-I'm sorry for the last part. I just thought the atmosphere was awkward, so I—"

Welt chuckled softly. "That's how kids these days joke, right? I understand you're trying to fit in with modern humor, but you don't need to force it. Just be yourself."

"Mr. Yang, I appreciate it. You're very kind and mature, just like your age."

"I'm not that old," Welt replied, a touch defensively.

"May I ask your age then?"

"Why?"

"I thought it was inappropriate to ask a lady's age, not a man's, Mr. Welt..." Sunday asked

Welt gave a small chuckle, shaking his head. "You're right, it's usually a lady's age that's considered off-limits. But I suppose there's no harm in a little curiosity."

Sunday leaned in, genuinely interested now. "So, how old are you, Mr. Yang?"

Welt sighed, looking at Sunday with a mixture of amusement and something else—something more thoughtful. "I've seen many years come and go, Sunday. But it's not the number of years that matters; it's what you do with them. And speaking of that, age isn't something you should focus on too much. People—men or women—carry their experiences with them, not just their years."

Sunday nodded, absorbing Welt's words, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—an understanding, perhaps. Welt noticed it and hesitated for a moment. The young man had a past that was still somewhat of a mystery, even to him. He knew enough to recognize that Sunday's playful demeanor often masked deeper thoughts and feelings.

"You know, Sunday," Welt began, choosing his words carefully, "there's a reason why people tend to focus on the present rather than dwelling on the past or worrying too much about the future. It's because what we have right now is what's most important. And that includes the people around us, the ones we care about."

Sunday's expression softened, and he started listening more intently. Welt's words seemed to resonate with something deeper within him.

"Your concern for finding the perfect gift for Y/n, for instance," Welt continued, "isn't really about the gift itself. It's about what you're trying to say through that gift. You want to show her that you care, that you're thinking about her, and that she's important to you. It's the thought and the sincerity that will mean the most, not the price tag or the extravagance."

Sunday felt a warmth spread through him at Welt's words. He hadn't thought of it like that before, but it made sense. He wasn't just trying to impress Y/n; he wanted to make her feel special.

Welt noticed the change in Sunday's demeanor and continued, "As for asking a man's age... it's not about the number but the wisdom that comes with it. And I think you're already wiser than you realize, Sunday."

There was a moment of silence as Sunday absorbed Welt's words. He could tell that the older man was trying to guide him without prying too much into his past. Welt had always been perceptive like that, knowing when to push and when to hold back.

"Thank you, Mr. Welt," Sunday finally said, his voice sincere. "I think I know what I need to do now. It's not about finding the most extravagant gift. It's about finding something that'll really mean something to her."

Welt smiled warmly, relieved to see Sunday's confidence returning. "That's right. And whatever you choose, I'm sure she'll appreciate it because it'll come from you."

Sunday gave a determined nod. "You're right."

"How about a first edition of a novel she is particularly fond of?"

"Or of a literally classic that she might enjoy?"

"Like a novel..?" He turns the idea around in his head. "I'll enjoy them but- I don't want her up reading all night-" Sunday frowned.

"Just a suggestion, You can ask others too."

"Yes, Thanks Mr. Yang.." Sunday decided to look for Dan Heng.

Sunday found Dan Heng in the archives, quietly reading. He approached him, feeling a little more confident after his previous conversations. Dan Heng looked up from his book, his expression calm and attentive.

"Dan Heng, I need your advice," Sunday began. "I want to give Y/n a gift, something that shows her how much she means to me. Any thoughts?"

Dan Heng closed his book, thinking for a moment. "Y/n is dedicated, not just to her work, but to those she cares about. Perhaps a gift that reflects her interests, but also something that offers her a moment of peace or joy. It could be a rare book she's been searching for, or something that encourages her to relax, like a personalized playlist or a handcrafted piece of art."

Sunday felt a sense of relief wash over him as he listened to Dan Heng's calm, insightful words. "Thank you, Dan Heng."

He spotted March 7th in the lounge, fiddling with her camera as she tried to capture the perfect shot of something. She looked up as Sunday approached, her eyes bright with curiosity.

"Hey, Sunday! What's up?" she asked, setting the camera down.

Sunday hesitated for a moment, then decided to dive right in. "I'm trying to think of a gift for Y/n... something special. She's been working so hard, and I want to show her how much I appreciate everything she does. Do you have any ideas?"

March 7th's face lit up with enthusiasm. "Oh, that's so sweet! Hmm... Y/n's always been into tech stuff, right? Maybe something to help her with her experiments? Or maybe something more personal, like... a photo album of memories? I could help put it together!"

Sunday smiled, appreciating her eagerness. "That's a great idea, March. I'll definitely think about it. Thank you."

Sunday spotted Stelle, who was glaring at him with an intensity that could burn through steel. He knew exactly why she was upset—all because he hadn't made her food earlier. In his defense, March had eaten most of it, and he had to save the rest for you. He had simply told Stelle to prepare her own dish, but she clearly wasn't pleased with that solution.

She didn't seem at all happy to see him now. But there's always a way to fix things, right? Maybe she could help him with his current dilemma.

As he approached, he noticed her eyebrows furrowing, her features hardening into a grimace. The look in her eyes could only be described as pure hatred.

"What do you want from me, Stupiday?" she spat out, using that lovely nickname she had for him.

"Stelle, you're always so kind to me," Sunday began with a hopeful smile, trying to soften her mood. "I know what I did was wrong. Please, just hear me out..."

"Hah! Hell will freeze over the day you deserve even an ounce of kindness. Now, what do you want from me?" she retorted, clearly not in the mood for any pleasantries.

He sighed, realizing that sugar-coating things wasn't going to get him anywhere. "It's about Y/n. Are you just going to stand there pulling that face, or are you actually going to let me talk?"

A flicker of concern crossed Stelle's eyes, and she sighed, some of the hostility in her expression fading. "Alright, tell me what's going on..."

Sunday felt a wave of relief but also frustration with himself. If he kept messing up like this, he wouldn't have anything to give you, and the day would end in disaster.

"I just want to find a gift for Y/n," he admitted, his voice a mix of desperation and determination. "Can you suggest any ideas?"

Stelle looked a bit surprised by his tone. She raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on it. "I'll make up for the food once this is done... I could show her a few magic tricks or something, but I don't think that'll be enough."

She stared at him for a moment before finally speaking. "...I have a collection of treasures. I could give you some."

Sunday blinked, not expecting that offer. "Huh? What kind of treasures?"

"Things I got from dumpster diving back in Belobog. I've got some shiny stuff. Come with me, I'll show you—Wait! What are you doing!?" she yelped as he suddenly grabbed her hand.

Sunday-he couldn't help but cringe inwardly. Dumpster diving? He hadn't thought about where she might've found these "treasures," but now that it was out in the open, the thought of germs crawling all over those shiny objects made his skin crawl.

"Wait, you got these from the trash?" Sunday asked, his voice rising in disbelief.

Stelle stopped, turning to him with an annoyed look. "Yeah, so what? A lot of good stuff gets thrown out. It's not like it's all dirty."

"Are you kidding me? Trash is literally the definition of dirty! Who knows what kind of germs are on those things?" Sunday shuddered, pulling back from the collection of objects she was proudly displaying.

Stelle rolled her eyes. "You're such a wuss. They're fine."

But Sunday wasn't convinced. In fact, he was horrified. "Stelle, you have no idea what could be on that stuff! We're talking bacteria, mold, maybe even something worse! You need to wash your hands—immediately!"

"What? They're not that bad!" she protested, but Sunday was already ushering her toward the nearest sink.

"Not that bad? Stelle, this isn't up for debate. You're washing your hands right now, and you're going to do it at least a hundred times."

"A hundred—are you out of your mind?" Stelle tried to pull away, but Sunday was relentless.

"I'm serious, Stelle! I'm not letting you touch anything or anyone until those hands are scrubbed clean. We're talking full-on scrubbing—soap, water, the whole deal!"

Stelle groaned but relented, grumbling under her breath as she turned on the water and started washing. She shot him a glare between scrubs. "This is ridiculous. It's just a bit of trash."

"A bit of trash? You're probably washing off entire ecosystems right now!" Sunday shot back, crossing his arms as he watched her like a hawk.

Stelle continued washing, muttering curses under her breath, but Sunday wasn't satisfied until she had lathered and rinsed her hands multiple times. By the time she had washed them for what felt like the hundredth time, she was visibly exhausted.

"Are we done now?" Stelle asked, her voice strained as she leaned against the sink, looking like she was about to pass out.

Sunday nodded, satisfied. "Yeah, I think you're good. Sorry for being so intense, but... you never know what's on those things."

Stelle gave him a withering look, too tired to argue further. "You're impossible. If you're that worried about germs, maybe you should ask Himeko for help instead."

Sunday blinked, feeling a pang of guilt as he realized how hard he had pushed her. "I... yeah, maybe that's a good idea. I didn't mean to make you go through all that. Thanks, Stelle."

"Whatever," she muttered, slumping down onto a nearby chair, completely worn out. "Just... don't drag me into any more of your crazy ideas."

Sunday smiled sheepishly. "I promise I won't. I'll go find Himeko. You rest up, okay?"

As Stelle nodded weakly, Sunday turned and made his way to find Himeko, silently cursing himself for being so paranoid. Maybe Himeko would have a better idea, one that didn't involve germs or exhausting his friends.

He found Himeko in the control room, sipping on a cup of coffee as she monitored the Express's systems. She looked up when Sunday entered, offering him a warm smile.

"Sunday, it's good to see you. What can I do for you?" she asked.

Sunday explained his plan, and Himeko leaned back in her chair, thoughtful. "Why do you want to gift her?"

"Why would I-?"

"I can't help if I didn't know the context behind this, I saw you snooping around everyone for gifting her something she would like, I need to know you felt the urge to gift her."

"Y/n has been working on something to help me out lately and it got- destroyed by me yet she blamed it on herself and locked herself in her lab. I want to tell her. It didn't matter, I'm fine the way I'm- I want to tell her, She was too good to me with a gift."

Care to join me for some coffee?"

Sunday hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. He carefully took a seat across from her and accepted the cup she offered. He brought it to his lips, taking a delicate sip. He had never been much of a coffee drinker, but he was determined to do everything with care, especially when he was around others.

Himeko watched him with a small smile, amused by how perfectly he handled the cup, almost as if he were performing a delicate ritual. "You're quite the gentleman," she remarked, a teasing note in her voice.

Sunday smiled softly, placing the cup down with a gentle touch. "Thank you, Himeko."

Himeko's expression softened "I see. You care about her."

Sunday's wings fluttered slightly, a sign of his affection. "Yes, I do. More than anything."

Himeko smiled, her eyes warm with understanding. "Well, when it comes to showing someone you care, it often helps to create something personal—something that shows you've put thought and effort into it. Many women appreciate things like perfume. It's something that can be very personal and intimate. Why not try creating one for them?"

Sunday tilted his head, considering her suggestion. "Perfume? I've never made anything like that before."

Himeko chuckled. "It doesn't have to be perfect. It's the thought and effort that count. You could experiment with different scents, find something that reminds you of them, or something you think they'd like."

Sunday nodded slowly, the idea starting to take shape in his mind. "I think I can do that," he said, a small smile forming on his lips. "I want to create something that will make them smile whenever they use it."

Himeko reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Sunday. And if you need any help or advice along the way, you know where to find me."

Sunday's smile grew, and he felt a sense of determination welling up inside him. "Thank you, Himeko. I really appreciate your help."

"Anytime," she replied with a wink, taking another sip of her coffee. "I'm sure whatever you create will be perfect."

Sunday left the common area, his mind was buzzing with ideas about creating the perfect perfume for you. But as he wandered through the halls of the Astral Express, he realized he had no idea where to find the ingredients he needed. Just as he was contemplating where to start, Himeko appeared around the corner, as if sensing his uncertainty.

"Still thinking about the perfume, Sunday?" she asked with a knowing smile.

Sunday nodded, his wings fluttering slightly in anticipation. "Yes, but I'm not sure where to find the right ingredients. I want it to be perfect."

Himeko's smile widened, and she glanced around, making sure no one else was nearby before leaning in slightly. "You know, I happened to notice that they have a collection of raw ingredients in their lab. Scents, oils, things like that. I think you might find exactly what you need there."

Sunday's eyes widened in surprise. "In their lab? But... wouldn't that be..."

Himeko chuckled softly. "A little sneaky? Perhaps. But it's for a good cause, don't you think? Besides, I'm sure they wouldn't mind if they knew what you were up to."

Sunday hesitated, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. "But what if they catch me?"

Himeko shook her head, her tone reassuring. "They won't. In fact, I saw them earlier—fast asleep at their desk. They've been working so hard lately. I don't think they'll wake up anytime soon."

Sunday's heart softened at the thought of you asleep, exhausted from your work. The image made him even more determined to do something special for you. "If it's for them... I'll do it," he decided, his voice filled with resolve.

Himeko nodded approvingly. "That's the spirit. Just be quiet and careful, and you'll be fine. If you need any guidance, I'll be around."

With a grateful nod, Sunday made his way to your lab, his steps light and cautious. When he reached the door, he paused, taking a deep breath before quietly pushing it open. The room was dimly lit, and the soft sound of your breathing filled the space, confirming that you were indeed fast asleep.

He found you slumped over your desk, surrounded by scattered notes and books. The sight tugged at his heart—he wanted nothing more than to wrap you in his arms and carry you to bed, but he knew he needed to stay focused on his mission.

As quietly as he could, Sunday scanned the room, his eyes landing on a small shelf lined with bottles and jars of various oils and essences. Carefully, he approached the shelf, inspecting the labels in the dim light. He selected a few that he thought would work well together—something floral and sweet, with a hint of warmth that reminded him of you.

With the ingredients in hand, Sunday took one last look at you. A tender smile crossed his lips as he watched you sleep, your face peaceful in repose. He whispered softly, "I hope this makes you happy."

Then, as quietly as he had entered, he slipped out of the lab, closing the door gently behind him. He could hardly contain his excitement as he made his way back to his own space, eager to start experimenting with the ingredients he'd gathered. The thought of presenting you with a custom-made perfume, crafted with love and care, filled him with a sense of joy and anticipation.

Back in his room, Sunday set to work, carefully blending the oils and essences, testing different combinations until he found the perfect balance. The process was meticulous, and he poured his heart into every step, imagining how you might react when you received the finished product.

With the initial blend of oils and essences complete, Sunday carefully observed the perfume he had created. The scent was lovely, but something was missing—something that would make it uniquely yours. As he pondered, his gaze fell upon a small vial of a pink, glowing liquid he had picked up from your lab. He had been hesitant to use it, unsure of its effects, but now it seemed like the perfect finishing touch.

He uncorked the vial, the liquid inside shimmering with an almost ethereal light. As he brought it closer to his nose, he inhaled deeply, and the scent that wafted from it was intoxicating—sweet, floral, with a hint of something almost magical. It was unlike anything he had ever encountered before. With a mix of curiosity and excitement, he carefully added a few drops of the glowing liquid to the perfume.

As the pink liquid blended with the other ingredients, the mixture seemed to come alive. The perfume took on a soft, luminous glow, and the scent transformed into something utterly captivating. It was rich and complex, with layers of sweetness and warmth that reminded him of everything he loved about you. The fragrance was powerful, yet delicate, carrying an almost hypnotic allure that made his heart race.

Sunday smiled, pleased with the result. This was the perfect scent, something that felt as special as the person it was meant for. He wanted to present it to you in a way that reflected its beauty, so he turned his attention to finding the right bottle.

After searching through the small collection of items he had gathered over time, Sunday found a delicate glass spray bottle, adorned with intricate designs that shimmered when they caught the light. It was elegant and refined, just like the fragrance inside. He carefully poured the glowing perfume into the bottle, taking care not to spill a single drop.

Once the bottle was filled, Sunday stepped back to admire his work. The soft pink glow of the liquid inside contrasted beautifully with the ornate designs on the bottle, creating a mesmerizing effect. It was almost as if the perfume itself was alive, a manifestation of his feelings for you.

With the perfume complete, Sunday held the bottle in his hands, feeling a surge of pride and excitement. He couldn't wait to give it to you, to see the look on your face when you realized how much thought and care he had put into creating something just for you.

Now, all that was left was to find the perfect moment to present it. He knew it had to be special—just like the perfume and the feelings he had poured into it.

"I'll give it to her in the morning."

Sunday reached out to set the bottle on his nightstand, but it slipped from his grasp, crashing to the floor.

"Oh no... I really did it this time..." His frown deepened as he gathered the shattered bottle.

"What's this?" He stared at the pink liquid now staining the floor, his eyes widening in sudden realization. "It can't be!"

The next morning, something felt off aboard the Express.

It was strange—Sunday hadn't come to wake you up. In fact, you were the one who woke up first. He didn't join in your usual morning routine, and when you knocked on his door, there was no answer. You tried opening it, only to find it locked from the outside.

Sunday never slept past lunchtime. And he never locked you out of his room.

Apprehension swirled inside you. Just as you were debating what to do, Stelle dashed toward you.

"Y/n! You finally came back from that devil's workshop!" she exclaimed, breathless.

"Pardon, Stelle! It's just... Sunday locked himself in his room, and I'm not sure what to do." You couldn't hide the worry in your voice as you noticed Stelle's eyes narrow.

"Locked himself in? That doesn't sound like him." You bit your lip, concerned.

"I'm worried. Some of my things are missing... I think he took them to try something. I even gave him access to my lab."

"I see..." Stelle nodded thoughtfully, then suddenly gripped her baseball bat. "If it won't open, then I'll break it down. Stand back!"

"STELLE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Pom-Pom's voice rang out as they ran towards you, tiny legs moving as fast as they could. "Stop bullying my newest recruit!"

You sighed. "Sunday locked himself in. He's become 'sad-day.'"

"Let me call Himeko."

Before long, Himeko arrived, a slight smile on her face as she assessed the situation. "So, Sunday has locked his door, and you can't get in?"

"Yes..." You looked at her with hopeful eyes, knowing she'd have a solution. She reached into her coat pocket, producing a key with a soft clink.

"Luckily, his room has a lock that can be opened with a key. Here you go. I have a spare." She held it out to you with a reassuring smile.

"Thank you so much!" You cheered, though your tired eyes betrayed your exhaustion.

Himeko gently pulled Stelle away. "Come with me, Stelle. There's work to be done. Y/n, don't be too hard on him. He must have his reasons."

Himeko was right. Sunday must have his reasons. You unlocked the door with trembling hands.

"Sunday? I'm coming in."

The moment you stepped inside, a sweet fragrance overwhelmed your senses. Your eyes fell on Sunday, sprawled limply across his bed, his shirt half-buttoned, his breathing uneven.

"...Sunday!?"

His eyes fluttered open at the sound of your voice. "What... are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry I came in without asking, but I was worried about you!"

"Please leave."

"What?"

"...I have a cold. I don't want you or the others to catch it. Leave me... alone."

Something was clearly wrong.

"I can't do that! Your face is all red!" You moved closer, pressing your hand against his forehead. His eyes shot open, and he gasped at your touch.

"See? You're burning up! You definitely have a fever!"

"You silly girl... I told you to leave me... alone." His voice was hoarse, and before you could react, he pulled you close, kissing you roughly.

"Hm!" You gasped, caught off guard as he kissed you again and again, desperation in every touch. You pushed him away, your heart racing.

As you did, your gaze fell on the room's mess—the missing vials, the scattered pink liquid... Realization dawned on you. "Aphrodisiac!? Why on earth...?" You stared at him in shock, still pinned beneath him on the bed. He let out a shuddering sigh, as if surrendering.

"I'm sorry... I lied to you."

"What?"

"I don't have a cold. I'm like this because of the aphrodisiac." He confessed, telling you how he had stolen things from your lab, how he accidentally added the pink liquid without checking the label. When the bottle shattered last night, he realized what it was.

"It's my fault... I wanted to make something for you, but I messed up."

"Shh, it's okay... But why did you want to make me something all of a sudden?"

"I wanted to apologize."

"For what? You didn't do anything wrong."

"I dropped the vial you were working on. You panicked and spent the entire day trying to recreate it. When I saw you asleep at your desk, I felt so guilty... I wanted to make it up to you." His voice wavered as he ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated with himself.

"...I'm sorry." You whispered, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you."

His gaze softened as he looked at you, his frustration giving way to something gentler. "It's fine... really. I'm the one who should be apologizing. I didn't mean for any of this to happen." His voice was low, almost a whisper, as he slowly reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

You blinked, your breath hitching as his hand slid down, trailing along your arm before his fingers found their way under your hips. He gently lifted you, his touch warm against your skin.

"I'm sorry," he murmured again, his eyes never leaving yours. "I never wanted to hurt you or make you worry like this."

His fingers moved with deliberate slowness, grazing the curve of your waist as he pulled you closer. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body, his breath warm against your ear.

"Sunday..." you whispered, your voice barely audible as you tried to process the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your neck as he whispered, "Let me make it up to you... Please, just let me take care of you."

Before you could respond, his hands moved with more confidence, sliding under your hips and pulling you onto his lap. The intensity in his eyes made your heart race, and you could feel the tension in the air, thick and electric.

"You're always so kind, always thinking about everyone else... Let me be the one to take care of you this time," he breathed, his voice filled with a mix of desire and something deeper, something that made your chest tighten.

His hands continued their exploration, fingers tracing the curve of your hips as he held you close, his touch both tender and possessive. Every movement was deliberate, slow, as if he wanted to savor every second, every reaction he coaxed out of you.

"Sunday..." you tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat as his lips found yours again, this time softer, more controlled, yet still filled with that same urgency.

You could feel him shifting beneath you, his fingers tightening their grip on your hips.

I want to be gentle and kind to you but at the same time I want to be rough and ravage you.." You felt your ears burn when you heard the pure need in his voice.

"But, I don't want you to hate me. I know it's pointless to say so now that I'm like this, Same as before, The first time we-" He let out a wry chuckle and stared deep into your eyes.

You could see the passionate desire for you in them.

"I'm not as in control as you think...So, Honestly...I want to make love more roughly to you than before. So you need to leave." Even now, he's trying to put your feelings before his..

But you couldn't leave him now, Instead you wrapped your arms around him tightly.

"I won't leave. I'm staying with you, Sunday.."

"Do you know what will happen if you stay? What I'll do to you?"

"I'm telling you, I'm not leaving! ...Hey.."

"What?" You cradled his face in your hands. "I know you always try to be gentle and kind to me, But, I wouldn't mind to see the another side of you." You pushed aside any shyness you felt and decided to go for it. "I want you to do whatever you want to me, I mean the effect will wore off faster this way. Medical approved."

"You're foolish woman, saying that to me at a time like this.." He let out a surprised chuckle and pulled you close. He kissed you deeply as his fingertips played with your earlobe.

"Ah!" You opened your mouth, immediately greeted by his hot tongue twining with yours. 'Is it okay, If I'm not gentle today?" He whispered in your ear and kissed your temples, your cheek and your neck before pinning you down to the bed.

But he did it rougher, more aggressive than usual.

"Ah! U-um!"

"What? Do you want me to stop?" He lifted his head to look at you putting his tongue's assault on your collarbones on a temporary hold. The forceful tone of his voice was slightly bewildering. But not one bit of you wanted him to stop.

"No.."

"Heh, Stubborn woman.." His smirk was wild and wicked as he began to unbuttoning your blouse. "But....I love that you.."

He pulled your shirt all the way up over your head, lifting both your arms with it. and then he wrapped the shirt tightly around your wrists.

"Wait, Sunday. I won't be able to move.."

"That's the point."

"You did it on pur-!" While you were protesting he'd loosened the lace of your bra strap and now yanked it off freeing your breasts to his hot gaze.

"Since it's bright in here I can see every bit of you so well...Darling.." He said with shush voice.

"Shh..Don't say that!" You arched your back when you felt his hand cupping your breasts, His thumb circling your nipples.

And then you felt his other hand touch your thigh. "I can't wait.."

He pushed your skirt up and you felt his breath on your thigh. He was just touching you and nothing else, your body was feverishly hot and you were panting.

All you want is for him to touch you more.. What's going on?

"Why are you making that face?"

"Because. My body feels strange.."

"The aphrodisiac started working on you too.." Sunday looked over at the door realizing that it wasn't locked. He let out a sigh if it were all for naught.

Meanwhile, your body got hotter..."Sunday. I'm so embarrassed.."

"Then I'll keep you busy you won't have time to be." After he tossed the shirt to the floor, he lifted up one of your legs, nuzzling you with his mouth.

You felt a sharp prick like teeth touch the soft flesh on your inner thigh. was he going to make you? You were surprised, but your body knew.

It knew that the pain only lasted a split-second to be followed by unimaginable ecstasy.

"You don't care what kind of dirty things we do as long we do it together right? Let yourself go..."

You automatically looked away, but he reached up and nudged your head back to look straight.

"Don't look away. I want you to watch what I'm doing to you." he whispered into your ear as he flicked your sensitive nipple with his fingertips.

Over and Over again.

His fingers danced across your sensitive bud, teasing and coaxing it to peak. Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more friction. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice low and husky. As you met his intense gaze, he applied firmer pressure, rubbing circles around your clit until you writhed beneath him.

The room seemed to spin, your senses heightened by the potent drug coursing through your veins. Every touch, every whisper sent electric shocks of pleasure racing along your nerves. "Sunday, please..." you moaned, unable to form coherent thoughts beyond the overwhelming need building inside you.

With a wicked grin, he slid two fingers inside you, stretching and filling you completely. Your walls clenched around the intrusion, slick with arousal. He pumped his fingers slowly, deliberately, each thrust hitting that sweet spot deep within you.

As he continued to tease your clit, you felt an odd sense of unease creeping over you. Something about the situation didn't sit right, but you couldn't quite put your finger on what it was. Despite your growing discomfort, your body responded eagerly to his touch, your hips grinding against his hand as he worked your sensitive nub.

"Wait, the door...it's unlocked," you managed to gasp out between moans, suddenly realizing the potential danger of being vulnerable like this. But before you could even contemplate moving to lock it, he shifted his attention back to your entrance, sliding his fingers deeper inside you.

His thumb pressed firmly against your clit once more, rubbing in tight circles that had you seeing stars. "Shh, don't worry about that now," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear.

Just as you were about to protest further, his lips captured yours in a searing kiss, silencing your words. The intensity of the embrace stole your breath away, leaving you helpless and pliant beneath him. When he finally broke the kiss, you were left panting, your mind reeling from the sudden onslaught of sensation.

I can't let you go, he whispered urgently, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart race. Not when I've got you just like this...so open and willing. His fingers continued their relentless pace, stroking and curling inside you as if trying to claim you utterly.

The sensation of being restrained only served to heighten your arousal, making your pussy clench around his probing fingers.

He leaned down then, his mouth hovering just inches from your throbbing clit. With a tantalizing slowness, he licked along your slit, savoring the taste of your arousal. Each lap of his tongue sent jolts of pleasure shooting straight to your core, making you whimper and writhe beneath him.

His tongue delved deeper, swirling around your clit and flicking against your sensitive bud. The dual assault of his fingers and tongue had you teetering on the edge of release, your entire body quivering with pent-up need.

His tongue continued its relentless exploration of your wet folds, lapping at your juices and circling your clit with precision. Each stroke of his tongue sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, driving you closer and closer to the brink.

As he lavished attention onto your swollen clit, he slid another finger inside you, stretching your tight walls even further. The combined sensations of his probing digits and teasing tongue had you writhing helplessly on the bed, desperate for some sort of relief.

Suddenly, he pulled away, leaving you panting and whimpering in frustration. But before you could voice your displeasure, he moved lower, positioning himself between your spread thighs.

He grasped your hips firmly, holding you in place as he buried his face against your dripping sex. His tongue plunged deep inside you, fucking you with quick, shallow thrusts that had you arching off the bed. The wet heat of his mouth engulfed your aching flesh, sucking and nibbling on your sensitive inner walls.

One hand snaked up to pinch and roll your nipple while the other found your clit, rubbing tight circles around the engorged bundle of nerves. The triple stimulation was almost too much to bear, sending shockwaves of ecstasy rippling through your body.

Your orgasm crashed over you without warning, your whole body tensing as wave after wave of pure bliss washed through you. You cried out his name, your hips bucking wildly against his mouth as he drank down your essence.

After bringing you to a shattering climax, he slowly kissed his way up your body, pausing to lavish attention on each breast, taking turns to suckle and nip at your nipples. His fingers trailed down your stomach, tracing the curves of your belly before slipping back between your thighs.

Positioning himself at your entrance, he teased the tip of his cock against your still throbbing clit, coating it in your slick arousal. He watched your reactions intently, drinking in every twitch and moan as he toyed with your body.

Finally, he pushed forward, sinking into you inch by slow inch. The stretch was exquisite, your inner walls gripping him tightly as he filled you completely. He paused, allowing both of you time to adjust to his size, before starting to move.

Each thrust was deliberate and deep, designed to hit all the right spots inside you.

He began to move, setting a rhythm that was both torturous and perfect. Each thrust drove him deeper into your welcoming warmth, his cock sliding effortlessly against your sensitive inner walls. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by your gasps and moans.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss as he continued to pound into you. The dual assault of his cock and his demanding mouth had you spiraling towards another climax. Your hands clawed at the sheets, seeking purchase as he fucked you relentlessly.

"Look at me," he growled against your lips, pulling back just enough to demand your full attention. His eyes burned with raw lust as he watched your face contort with pleasure, each expression etched into his memory.

With a guttural groan, he picked up the pace, his hips snapping against yours in a relentless tempo. Every thrust hit just right, sending shocks of pleasure coursing through your veins. You could feel his cock swelling inside you, a sure sign that he was close to his own release.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice thick with desire. "I want to see you fall apart underneath me." His hands gripped your hips tighter, guiding you to meet his thrusts, ensuring that every inch of his length rubbed against your most sensitive spot.

The pressure built within you, coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped. A scream tore from your throat as your orgasm ripped through you, your inner muscles clamping down on his cock in powerful spasms.

As your orgasm rocked through you, he felt your walls flutter and clench around his pulsating cock. It was all the encouragement he needed, pushing him over the edge. With a roar of satisfaction, he buried himself deep inside you, his hot seed spilling forth as he came undone.

Collapsing atop you, he claimed your lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure. His body trembled with aftershocks, his cock throbbing inside you as he rode out the last waves of his climax.

As you lay there basking in the afterglow, a sudden realization dawned upon you - the door remained unlocked, leaving you vulnerable should anyone decide to barge in. Before you could voice your concern, he began trailing kisses along your neck, his lips soft and insistent against your skin.

"Do not worry about the door," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "Nothing will tear me away from you now. Ignore everything else; focus solely on this moment."

His words were like a soothing balm, easing your worries and melting away any lingering tension. As he continued his sensual assault on your neck, you felt yourself relaxing fully into his embrace, content to let the world fade away. There would be plenty of time to deal with the practicalities later; for now, you surrendered to the passion igniting between you once more.

Despite your best efforts to remind him about the unlocked door, he simply ignored your pleas, instead focusing his attentions on your sensitive neck. His lips traced lazy patterns across your skin, sending delicious tingles shooting down your spine. Each gentle kiss drew a soft moan from your lips, distracting you from your initial concerns.

"You're so beautiful when you moan," he whispered huskily, his voice vibrating against your skin. "Let's not waste this precious moment worrying about anything else." His hands roamed over your body, kneading the soft flesh of your breasts and tweaking your hardened nipples.

With every touch, every kiss, you found yourself forgetting about the outside world. All that mattered was the warm, solid weight of him pressed against you, the tantalizing brush of his lips against your neck, and the overwhelming sensation of sheer bliss enveloping you.

As he continued to lavish attention on your neck, he couldn't help but notice the profound sense of happiness that washed over him whenever he held you close. It was as if the very presence of your warm, supple body against his own ignited a spark within his soul, filling him with an unexplainable joy.

He pulled back slightly, gazing down at you with adoration shining in his eyes. "You have no idea how wonderful it feels to hold you like this," he confessed, his voice tinged with emotion. "Every curve, every breath, every beat of your heart... it all makes me incredibly happy."

His thumbs brushed tenderly over your cheeks, wiping away any remaining traces of worry or stress. In their place, he left behind a soft, loving smile, one that spoke volumes about the depth of his feelings for you.

The muffled giggles grew louder, you could hear the distinct sound of footsteps approaching. Fear gripped your heart, but before you could even consider bolting for cover, he wrapped his arms tightly around you, holding you firmly against his chest.

"Don't worry," he reassured you, his voice low and steady. "Just relax and enjoy this." With deft movements, he guided you onto his lap, positioning you so that his throbbing member slid easily inside you. The sensation was incredible, a welcome distraction from the approaching sounds.

His hands gripped your hips, steadying you as you began to rock against him. The rhythmic motion, combined with the sound of laughter growing closer, had you surrendering completely to the moment. It wasn't long before you found yourself lost in the pleasure, oblivious to anything but the intense sensations coursing through your body.

You felt him moving beneath you, the rhythm of his thrusts matching perfectly with the rising excitement within you, you couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness. Seeing him so content, so fulfilled, filled you with a warmth that spread throughout your entire being.

"Sunday."

"Hm?"

"Please," you pleaded softly, looking into his eyes. "Kiss me again."

Without hesitation, he complied, capturing your lips in a slow, languid kiss. It was tender and gentle, yet packed with a depth of emotion that left you breathless. The taste of him, the feeling of his lips moving against yours – it was intoxicating.

In that moment, you realized that you didn't care about the laughter getting closer, the potential intrusion of others. All that mattered was this man, this moment, and the indescribable pleasure that he was coaxing from your very core.

The sounds of laughter faded away, both of you succumbed to exhaustion, falling into a peaceful slumber entwined in each other's arms. Even in sleep, his protective instincts remained strong, his large frame shielding you from any potential disturbance.

Hours passed, and as you stirred awake, you noticed his hand gently stroking your skin, cleaning away any remnants of sweat or fluids from your body. His touch was tender, almost reverent, as if he were worshipping every inch of you.

Occasionally, he would lean in to press soft kisses against your neck, his breath warm against your skin. These gentle caresses served as a reminder of the intimate bond you shared, a physical manifestation of the love and desire that burned brightly between you.

Wrapped in his embrace, surrounded by his comforting presence, you felt safe, cherished, and deeply satisfied.

You opened your eyes, the first thing you noticed was the disarray of the room, the clothes strewn haphazardly, the sheets twisted and tangled around your legs. Then there was the feeling of emptiness, a void where his body once occupied.

Slowly, you sat up, stretching out your limbs and wincing at the slight ache that radiated from your thighs. Sunday morning sunlight streamed in through the window, casting long shadows across the room and illuminating the state of undress you found yourself in.

A rush of embarrassment flooded your senses as reality set in. What had you done? Who had you done it with?

The door! You scrambled off the bed, reaching for the robe discarded on the floor. Your fingers brushed against something warm and hard, causing you to freeze. There, nestled between your legs, lay his thick, pulsing cock.

Suddenly, you heard a rustling noise coming from the bed behind you. You turned to see him emerge from under the covers, hastily pulling the sheets up to his chin to conceal his nudity. His face was flushed, and his eyes darted nervously between you and the door, as if he feared an intruder might burst in at any moment.

"I...I can explain," he stammered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "It just...happened. We got carried away..."

Despite the initial shock and embarrassment, a sudden wave of mirth washed over you. The absurdity of the situation, the ridiculousness of trying to hide his naked form under a thin sheet, struck you as hilarious. Before you knew it, peals of laughter spilled from your lips, echoing through the room.

"It's okay!" you managed to gasp out between giggles. "You don't have to hide. In fact, you did more than great - you were amazing!"

Your laughter seemed to break the tension, and soon enough, he joined in, his shoulders shaking with mirth as he let the sheet fall away. The sight of his bare torso, glistening with sweat from their activities, only made you laugh harder.

"You're one to talk," he retorted playfully, gesturing to your own nude form.

The laughter subsided, you found yourselves grinning at each other, the earlier awkwardness replaced by a sense of camaraderie and shared amusement. The air was charged with a new energy, a palpable tension that hinted at the possibilities that lay ahead.

He reached out, his fingers tracing lightly along your collarbone before drifting down to cup your breast. His touch sent sparks racing through your veins, reigniting the flames of desire that had been simmering all along.

"You know," he murmured, his voice low and husky, "we should probably get dressed before we attract any unwanted attention..."

But even as he spoke, his hand continued its exploration, kneading and teasing your sensitive flesh until you were arching into his touch, craving more. The promise of what was to come hung heavy in the air, a tantalizing prospect that left you breathless and wanting.

His hands roamed over your curves, he pulled you close, pressing his lips against your forehead in a tender, lingering kiss. "We have all day," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "No need to rush things."

With that, he guided you towards the bed, pushing you gently onto the mattress. The soft pillows cradled your head as he loomed above you, his muscular physique casting a shadow over your prone form.

His eyes bore into yours, searching, questioning. "Tell me about your past," he said, his voice a blend of curiosity and concern. "What brought you here?"

When Sunday asks about your past, you hesitate for a moment before deciding to share the story that shaped you.

"Even from my childhood, I was always... different," you begin, the memories flooding back. "My mother, with her delicate features and vibrant green hair, carried me for ten long months. She barely had time to name me and give me this golden earring before she died right after I was born."

You pause, touching the earring that still hangs from your ear, a constant reminder of the mother you never knew. "I spoke my first words moments after birth. It shocked everyone in the room. My father, once a renowned apothecary, raised me alone. He was a good parent... at first."

Your voice lowers as the memories darken. "But then he fell ill, struck by some unknown disease that made him miserable. The medicine I prepared for him had side effects, ones that twisted his mind. He started hitting me. I got used to it. I even pitied him because I knew it wasn't really him—just the illness and the medicine."

You look away, eyes distant. "But on my 9th birthday, after another round of abuse, I made a decision. I told myself that humans are ridiculous and ugly. I decided then that I would make humanity evolve so they wouldn't have to become... what my father became."

You pause, your tone growing colder. "That was the last birthday I ever spent at home."

You continue, the weight of your past heavy on your mind, but you push through, knowing that Sunday needs to understand.

"I couldn't stay there any longer, not after that day," you say, your voice steady despite the painful memories. "So, I ran away. I didn't know where I was going, just that I needed to escape. That's when I found the Astral Express."

Your expression softens slightly at the thought. "Himeko was the first person I met. She's been taking care of me ever since I arrived. It felt different—everything did. Like a new beginning, a chance to start over. But even with that, I always felt... different. Not just from the others on the Express, but from everything."

You look down at your hands, recalling the small creatures you've tried to befriend. "I've always liked small animals, but they're scared of me. I don't blame them. There's something about me that even I can't quite understand. No one on the Express really likes or dislikes me. I'm just... there, and they don't know what to make of me. I've always been weird, and I knew that. But things started to change."

You smile, though it's tinged with a hint of sadness. "Himeko, Welt, Stelle, Dan Heng, March... They found me weird, too. But they didn't push me away. Instead, they tried to understand me. And through them, especially Himeko, I began to realize something. Maybe humans aren't as ugly as I once thought."

Your eyes meet Sunday's, a faint glimmer of hope in them. "It's still hard for me to fully believe, but they've shown me a different side of humanity. One that's worth understanding, worth... evolving for."

You chuckle softly, trying to lighten the mood after sharing so much of yourself. "You know," you say with a playful glint in your eye, "my birthday is right after Monday."

Sunday's eyes light up with excitement, his enthusiasm almost contagious. But you quickly shake your head, the smile on your lips fading. "But honestly, I don't care about it. I've always hated my birthday. What's the point in celebrating something when there's no one to wish you well? No birthday wishes, no reason to celebrate... it's just another day."

Before he can respond, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips, the moment tender despite the heavy words. When you pull back, you give him a teasing smile. "So, what do you say? Are you joining me for a bath?"

He hesitates, his expression a mix of emotions, but he eventually nods, though there's a trace of sadness in his eyes. "Yeah... I'll join you," he says, his voice soft.

As the two of you head towards the bath, Sunday can't help but think to himself, determination building in his heart. He wanted to give you the perfect gift, something that would make you see your birthday differently, something that would make you feel truly celebrated for the first time in your life.

As the two of you make your way to the bath, you notice that Sunday seems unusually quiet, deep in thought. You both settle into the warm water, the steam rising around you, creating a cozy, intimate atmosphere. Sunday finally breaks the silence, glancing at you with a thoughtful expression.

"So... do you ever talk about your birthday with anyone else on the Astral Express?" he asks, trying to sound casual but clearly curious.

You lean back, the warmth of the water soothing your tense muscles. "Not really," you admit, your tone light. "I mean, what's there to talk about? It's just another day. Besides, I doubt they even know when my birthday is."

Sunday frowns slightly, as if the idea of you being forgotten like that bothers him. "You never told Himeko or anyone?"

You shake your head. "Nope. It's not something I like to think about, so I don't see the point in bringing it up. They've got enough to deal with anyway."

Sunday looks down, his brow furrowed in thought. "But... don't you want to change that? Maybe this year could be different."

You give him a small smile, though there's a hint of sadness in your eyes. "Maybe. But honestly, Sunday, I've never really had a reason to celebrate it. The idea of just letting it pass by feels... easier. Besides, I've never really known what it feels like to have a birthday that matters."

After the bath, Sunday finds himself lying awake in bed, thoughts swirling in his mind. The idea of making your upcoming birthday special sticks with him, and he can't shake it. He picks up his phone, hesitating for a moment before deciding to act.

He opens the Astral Express group chat and creates a new group, adding everyone from the crew. As the notifications start popping up on their devices,

Sunday's fingers hovered over the keys for a moment before he typed out a message.

March texts you!

March texts sunday!

After that, Things were down-hill. Suddenly, Out of nowhere The Astral Express stopped at the location you thought you'll never see again.

Your home. The Planet of ????????

You didn't feel disturbed tho, You just spend time with Sunday in you room, locked up. While the others were working hard on something.

Sunday would leave and come back, usually late at nights and March and Himeko suddenly took your measurement for custom clothes they said.

He looked bothered, You didn't understand why.

Today, You understood.

Wake up, Y/n! You're getting married that's your birthday!

Wedding gowns of various styles are displayed before you, each one more stunning than the last. But there's no sense of excitement or blooming flowers in your mind, just a quiet unease.

The assistant beside you is practically bubbling over with enthusiasm as she holds up gown after gown, her voice chirping with excitement.

"Look at this one with a boat neck and diamonds! It's the latest fashion this year! Or how about this one-shoulder gown? It's dreamy without being too flamboyant. And this fishtail dress? It's perfect for your figure! Your lover will fall head over heels all over again when they see you in it!"

"What's wrong with my current figure?" you ask, staring at her with a look that's meant to convey confusion, but it must come off as something more intimidating.

The assistant's eyes widen as she stammers, "N-Nothing! You look amazing as you are! I just meant... well, do you want your husband to help you decide? Or would you rather keep it a surprise?"

"Husband? Who said he's my husband already?" You can't help the choke in your voice, the words catching in your throat.

"I'm sorry! I just assumed... I mean, it is your wedding day, after all! But I suppose it's a bit sudden... planning everything in just a day—"

"The Astral Express can handle anything. But now I see—this is my birthday gift. I thought March was joking... but I didn't expect him to agree so easily. It's only been a few weeks, and here we are..." You trail off, realizing you're venting to a complete stranger.

The assistant blinks, then smiles warmly. "Oh my! Don't worry about it. I married my husband on our first date, knew within a day he was the one. We're still together, though I wouldn't recommend it to just anyone. The world's a strange place."

"Indeed... maybe not everyone." You sigh, trying to shake off the anxiety. "Alright, I'll keep it a secret." You decide you're not ready to let Sunday see you like this just yet, and you pull the curtain of the fitting room closed to change.

In just a few moments, you'll go from Miss Y/n to Mrs. L/n. Dan Heng mentioned that Sunday was going to take your last name.

Life's a strange thing. Life's funny! Life's fun! Life's stressful, overrated, and pretty damn good all at once. It's enough to make you nervous.

A slice of romance wasn't something you expected, let alone marriage. But here it is, staring you in the face.

You feel like a puppet in a play orchestrated by the whims of the Astral Express.

And Sunday... he's your gift, your surprise. Maybe by this, you'd... never mind.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you could hardly believe the girl in the wedding gown and veil was you. It felt surreal, like a dream you might wake up from at any moment. The delicate lace of the gown hugged your figure perfectly, and the veil draped over your shoulders with an ethereal softness.

Himeko, satisfied with her work, set down the comb she had been using to adjust your hair. She leaned in close, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't be nervous, Sunday will definitely be satisfied with how you look now."

"I-I'm not nervous..." you stammered, trying to laugh it off, but the tremble in your voice betrayed you. Thank the stars that Sunday wasn't here to see you like this—so vulnerable, so uncertain.

As if summoned by your thoughts, a knock echoed through the room. His voice followed, calm and composed.

"Miss Himeko, I have the item with me."

Himeko straightened up, giving you a reassuring smile before heading toward the door. "Just a moment, I'm coming..."

You turned around nervously, but Himeko gently but firmly guided you back to face the mirror. "Be good and don't move. The bride and groom cannot see each other in advance."

"We're not—" you started to protest, but Himeko was already at the door.

Left alone with your reflection, a sudden wave of anger and frustration washed over you. You glared at the mirror, willing the anxiety to disappear. But as you stared, your eyes widened in shock. The girl in front of you—dressed in a wedding gown, veil perfectly arranged—was you. But it didn't feel like you. It was like looking at a stranger, a version of yourself you hardly recognized.

Just then, the door burst open, and March 7th, Dan Heng, and Stelle rushed in, all talking at once.

"Y/n, you look amazing!"

"You'll be fine, really—"

"Wow, I can't believe—"

Their voices blended together, and before you could even register what was happening, your body acted on instinct. Startled by the sudden intrusion, you flinched—and your fist shot out, connecting squarely with March's face.

Time seemed to freeze as March stumbled back, holding her nose with a look of pure shock. The room went dead silent, everyone staring at you in a mix of disbelief and concern.

"Oh my lord, March! I'm so sorry!" you blurted out, horrified at what you'd done. But the confusion, the nerves, the overwhelming rush of emotions—it was all too much.

March, ever the trooper, waved it off, though she was still rubbing her nose. "No worries, Y/n! I get it, big day jitters and all... but wow, you pack a punch!"

Dan Heng and Stelle exchanged glances, trying to suppress their smile.

You manage to compose yourself, though the embarrassment is still evident on your face. Trying to lighten the mood, you mumble, "You know, March... maybe you deserved that punch."

March 7th's eyes widen in mock horror, but then she sticks her tongue out at you playfully. Before you can react, she suddenly lunges forward, pinching both of your cheeks between her fingers. "You're just too cute, Y/n!" she exclaims, grinning from ear to ear.

"March, stop—ow!" you protest, your voice muffled by her hands, but she's too busy cooing over you to pay any attention.

"Oh, you're so adorable when you're flustered! I just have to capture this moment!" March chirps, pulling out her phone with one hand while still holding your cheeks with the other.

"March, no—" you start, but she's already snapped a selfie, your squished cheeks and wide eyes making you look more like a startled chipmunk than a bride-to-be.

March giggles at the photo, clearly pleased with herself, while you groan in exasperation. Dan Heng and Stelle, however, are less amused, giving her identical deadpan looks.

"Alright, that's enough," Stelle says, her tone firm but lighthearted. She and Dan Heng exchange a knowing glance, and before March can protest, Stelle and Dan Heng each take an arm, gently dragging her out of the room.

"Wait, I'm not done—Y/n still looks so cute!" March protests, laughing as she's pulled away, but she doesn't put up much of a fight.

As the door closes behind them, the room falls quiet again. You let out a sigh of relief, rubbing your sore cheeks. But then you notice Dan Heng is still standing there, his expression unusually soft, with a small, strange smile playing on his lips.

"You know," he says slowly, almost as if he's choosing his words carefully, "you really do look pretty, Y/n."

His words catch you off guard, and you feel a warmth spread across your face that has nothing to do with March's earlier pinching. It's rare to see Dan Heng show this side of himself, and the sincerity in his voice makes your heart skip a beat.

You manage a small smile in return, feeling a mix of emotions you can't quite name. "Thanks, Dan Heng."

He nods, the strange smile lingering a moment longer before he turns to leave, giving you a moment of privacy to collect yourself before the ceremony.

The door closed.

Because of this door was opened just a little. You couldn't see Sunday and could only hear a bit from time to time. Probably, because he couldn't hold back his curiosity or simply because he wanted to inspect, He opened for a moment, but Himeko closed it immediately.

"You, Young people why are you so impatient?"

"I'm..not- I'm just worried about Y/n and want to make sure nothing's going wrong."

"I'm here and nothing will be wrong, just wait outside." You weren't sure whether Sunday saw you or not. You only knew the nervousness in your heart had transformed into a feeling complicated.

For a while, you couldn't tell whether you wanted him to see you or not.

You felt the only person who could calm the restless and disturbed you down was him. As if feeling your nervousness, he came back before going far. This time he didn't push the door open. He just knocked.

"Relax, When you get nervous, you make weird faces." You couldn't hear his voice clearly through this door, but it really calmed you down.

"Only he can calm you down. You're finally smiling." Himeko teased you as she opened a small jewelry box she just received. There was a simple ring in it.

"This is..?"

"Why do people exchange rings?"

"Oh."

"Sunday said that this ring was something precious to him. I think it's sentiment, maybe it's his mother's ring who knows. I am keeping it for safe guard."

"I see.."

The church bells rang twelve times, marking the moment you'd been both dreading and anticipating. You could hear the soft hum of voices and the rustle of fabric as the guests settled into their seats. Sunday, just beyond the carved wooden gates, gave a slight cough as he straightened his bow tie one last time, ensuring everything was in place. His cheeks were slightly flushed with nervous anticipation.

He hesitated before speaking, his voice almost shy. "Mr. Yang, can I ask for a request?"

Welt turned toward him, his expression curious but kind. "Yes, Sunday? Is something the matter?"

Sunday shifted his weight, glancing down the hallway as if gathering his thoughts. "Could you... would you be willing to walk Y/n down the aisle? I don't want her to feel alone, and after hearing some things about her past... I think it would make her feel better."

Welt's eyes softened, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he nodded. "Like a father figure?" He looked down, lost in thought for a moment, as if reminiscing about something. Then, with a warmth in his voice, he agreed, "Of course, Sunday. I'd be honored."

Meanwhile, in the room where you were getting ready, your hands trembled as you held the crown, your mind a whirl of emotions. The crown slipped from your fingers, rolling down the length of your gown, and your heart skipped a beat as you instinctively bent down to retrieve it. But Himeko was quicker, her hand darting out to catch it before it hit the floor.

"The crown," you murmured, but Himeko just smiled, lifting it back into place.

"You look beautiful, Y/n," she said softly, her voice full of pride. "Stop worrying. You're perfect."

"I'm not nervous!" you protested weakly, though the blush on your cheeks told a different story. Your reflection in the mirror betrayed you—a girl in a pure white wedding gown, hair elegantly tied up, with a veil dotted with delicate flowers draped over your bare shoulders. Just like you had imagined as a little girl. That girl was you.

Himeko stood behind you, carefully fixing the diamond-studded crown on your head. She met your eyes in the mirror, her smile warm and encouraging. "There, all done. Now, it's time for our perfect bride to meet her groom. I'm proud of you."

Your mind was too full of thoughts to respond immediately, so you simply stared at your reflection, the reality of the moment finally settling in.

Himeko didn't give you time to overthink. She gently pulled you up from your seat, guiding you toward the door where the noise from the ceremony just beyond it filtered through. She hummed the Wedding March under her breath as she opened the door, and in that instant, a flurry of ribbons and petals rained down in celebration, filling the air with color and joy.

You blinked in surprise as Welt Yang appeared at the threshold, standing tall with a gentle expression. He extended his arm to you with a smile, his eyes kind and reassuring.

"Y/n," he began, his voice steady and comforting, "I'd be honored to walk you down the aisle, if you'll allow me. As a father figure... if that's alright with you."

For a moment, you could only stare at him in stunned silence, your mind reeling. The offer was unexpected, and the warmth in his eyes made your heart swell with gratitude. You'd never imagined having this kind of support today, and the thought of walking down the aisle alone had filled you with dread.

But now, with Welt offering to stand beside you, the anxiety in your chest seemed to melt away, replaced by a sense of calm and reassurance. Slowly, you nodded, your expression softening as you accepted his arm.

Welt's smile widened, and he gave a small, approving nod in return. "Then let's not keep everyone waiting, shall we?" he said, his tone light yet full of affection.

you linked your arm with his, the doors to the ceremony opened fully, and the room beyond was revealed in all its splendor. The guests turned to look at you, their eyes bright with anticipation. The sight of Sunday waiting for you at the end of the aisle made your heart flutter, but with Welt beside you, each step felt steadier, more certain.

As you walked down the aisle, arm in arm with Welt, the reality of the moment began to sink in. The grandeur of the ceremony was almost overwhelming,

As you neared the end of the aisle, your eyes were drawn to Sunday. He stood tall and handsome, his posture confident but his eyes betraying the nervous anticipation that mirrored your own. He was dressed impeccably, his suit perfectly tailored, the subtle gleam of his cufflinks catching the light. But it was his expression that held your attention—a look of pure admiration mixed with a hint of disbelief, as if he couldn't quite fathom that this moment was real.

You stared at him, unable to look away, your heart pounding in your chest. Sunday met your gaze, his eyebrows raised slightly as if surprised by your reaction, but then he smiled softly. It was a smile that spoke volumes—comfort, affection, and a silent promise that everything was going to be okay. His eyes never left yours, grounding you in the here and now, making the world around you fade away.

But even as you basked in the warmth of his smile, your thoughts drifted to someone who wasn't there. Your eyes searched the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of his sister, Robin. You had hoped she would come, to stand by her brother's side on such an important day. But she was nowhere to be seen.

A pang of sadness tugged at your heart, not just for yourself, but for Sunday. You knew how much he had wanted Robin to be there, how much it would have meant to him. The absence of his sister was a heavy weight, a shadow on what should have been a perfect day.

As you reached the altar, Sunday extended his hand to you, and you took it, feeling the warmth of his touch. For a moment, you hesitated, the sadness in your chest still lingering. But Sunday, ever perceptive, gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. His smile remained, unwavering, as if to say that despite everything, this was still your moment—your day, together.

Welt gently released your arm, stepping back with a nod of approval. You and Sunday stood face to face, the world falling away until it was just the two of you. His eyes searched yours.

Your eyes met Sunday's, You saw a flash of amazement. His lips moved a little but only called your name after a while.

"Y/n.."

You met his golden eyes that reflected you. He held your hand more tightly, then leaned in and whispered in your ears.

"I'm with you, Everything will be okay."

The wedding March was playing...You tried to ignore the heat on your face which was caused by Sunday's leaning close to you, and you even wanted to rub your itchy ears. You held a bouquet of flowers in one hand, the other tightly gripped by him. You could see the irrepressible smile at the corner of his lips, just like you at the moment.

The priest smiled kindly at you and Sunday, then started according to the lines.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here, today in the presence of these witnesses to join Sunday and Y/n in matrimony..." The priest spoke seriously and slowly. As you were listening nervously, you felt your palms being scratched.

You glanced at Sunday standing next to you, but he looked composed.

"....I would be asking who gives this woman to be married to this man"

After the priest finished asking, Sunday immediately turned to look at you, his eyes full of expectation, as if they were glowing. Like the sun.... You forgot you existed for a moment.

He was pretty, He was really pretty, It was a smile you saw back when he was trying to befriend you.

You remembered the embarrassing line. Facing Sunday's scorching gaze, your voice became softer and softer.

"..I am marrying him at my own free will, with the blessings of all people."

"Now the groom can take the oath." Hearing this, you tried to withdraw your right hand clenched by Sunday but failed, so you could only lower your eyes to avoid his gaze.

"I take you to be my wedded wife.." The sounds from above your head was more serious than ever. Your heart was racing.

Before the oath was finished, Sunday stopped, and remained silent for the next two seconds.

You raised your eyes, astonished, but was caught off guard and got immersed in the gentle golden eyes of his.

He looked at you gently, and the sincerity and tenderness in his eyes were enough to seize anyone who was gazed by him.

"Y/n, from now on, I'll forever love and cherish you, and you will always be my everything." He was solemnly giving you the promise of a lifetime.

A light kiss fell on the back, and the touch like a thin feather penetrated the thin fabric and directly reached the bottom of your heart.

The moment hung in the air, charged with emotion as Sunday's soft kiss on the back of your hand sent a shiver down your spine. The sincerity in his voice echoed in your mind, each word he spoke wrapping around your heart like a warm embrace. You felt as if time itself had slowed, the world narrowing to just the two of you standing before the altar.

The priest, sensing the significance of the moment, gave a gentle nod before continuing, his voice steady and filled with reverence. "And now, Y/n," he began, his gaze meeting yours, "do you take Sunday to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"

The question was the one you had been anticipating, yet now that it was here, it felt monumental, as if the weight of those words carried all the hopes and dreams you and Sunday had ever shared.

You felt your pulse quicken, your hand still tightly held by Sunday's warm grasp. His eyes never left yours, filled with a mixture of love, hope, and something deeper—an unspoken bond that had been forged through all the trials and joys you had faced together.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you took a deep breath, allowing the significance of the moment to settle into your bones. You looked up at Sunday, meeting his golden eyes that reflected nothing but pure affection.

"Yes," you said, your voice steady and clear despite the emotions swirling inside you. "I do."

The words left your lips with a sense of finality, yet also with the promise of new beginnings. As they echoed through the space, you felt an overwhelming sense of peace and certainty wash over you. This was where you were meant to be, by Sunday's side, forever.

The priest smiled warmly at your response and then turned his attention to Sunday. "And do you, Sunday, take Y/n to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"

Sunday's grip on your hand tightened slightly, and you saw his expression soften even more. He didn't hesitate, didn't waver.

"I do," he answered, his voice filled with a quiet, yet unshakable resolve. The conviction in his words was as solid as the ground beneath your feet, anchoring you both in this pivotal moment.

The priest nodded, satisfied with the exchange of vows. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Sunday's eyes lit up with a joy that was almost childlike, a smile spreading across his face that you couldn't help but mirror. He stepped closer, gently lifting your veil as the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, with a tenderness that belied the intensity of his feelings, he cupped your face in his hands, leaning in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away if you weren't ready.

But you were ready. More than anything, you wanted to seal this moment, this promise, with him.

When his lips finally met yours, it was like everything else faded away. The kiss was soft, full of love and warmth, a perfect culmination of everything you both had felt up to this point. It wasn't just a kiss; it was a vow, a declaration that you were each other's, now and forever.

As you pulled away, the applause of the guests filled the air, but all you could focus on was Sunday's face, the way he looked at you as if you were the only person in the world.

Your gaze drifted downward, your hands still resting in Sunday's. The day had been a whirlwind, everything happening so quickly that it felt almost surreal. And yet, amidst all the chaos, there was a quiet moment of clarity. Today was your birthday, a day that had always been marked by personal reflection, by considering the passage of time and the paths taken. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined that it would also become your wedding day.

The thought brought a soft smile to your lips. This was the greatest gift you could have received, something far beyond material value. It was a gift of love, of commitment, of a future that you and Sunday would build together. Maybe you would start to see this day differently from now on, not just as a celebration of another year gone by, but as a celebration of the life you were creating with him.

You glanced back up at Sunday, who was watching you with a gentle, curious expression, as if he could sense the shift in your thoughts. His hand tightened around yours, grounding you in the present moment.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice full of concern.

You nodded, feeling the warmth of his presence chase away any lingering doubts. "I'm more than okay," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm... happy."

He smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that made your heart flutter. "Good. That's all I ever wanted for you."

You clenched the gauze on the gown unconsciously, forgetting what you should say. Everything around seemed to disappear, leaving only you both!

Sunday wore a silver-gray suit and a bow tie which he seldom wore. He had a corset at the left side of his shirt.

"Actually.." He whispered in your ear. "Although I really want to control myself and act more mature and reliable. I have to say You look beautiful today. I don't have to control these feelings anymore. I feel free so....Is this the real meaning of freedom?" His straightforward compliment and warm breath in your ears was like soft leather. slowly and gently tickling your heart.

"This wedding gown is a signature design, It was given free for the Astral Express for this day and I guess I can keep it."

"I'm not talking about the wedding gown." Sunday shook his head, and squeezed your palm, as if venting his anger.

"The point is you look so beautiful in a wedding gown than I imagined."

"Stop exaggerating!"

"I'm not!" He denied seriously, his tone affirmative, which sounded like a little lost child denying he stole sugar.

"Y/n, you should compliment me too...Even Stelle said I'm handsome, Is there any problem? Is the tie too much? Is my face good? Do I look clean? Um-"

"You, You look more than perfect today, You're always perfect but today you're....more than perfect.." You patted his head.

That's it, Your Blushing Sunday has returned! his wings covered his face and he showed a thumbs up.

"Time to photoshoot!" March chimed in, pulling you aside.

Sunday muttered discontent, looking for comfort from you. Outside the church, the lucid water of the fountain pool reflected the white and the clear sky and the verdant lawn stretched to the edge of the woods.

"Y/n!, Stay where you're, Sunday, stand behind her and lift her veil.." With the previous emotions still lingering in your mind, you followed the camerawoman's instructions and posed for intimate wedding photo with Sunday awkwardly.

March was the 'camerawoman' you knew you won't last long.

"Come closer! Closer!" March kept gesturing and kept repeating the word 'closer' which made you a bit alarmed.

"Like this?" Sunday held you in his arms from behind, resting his shin on your shoulder, and the moment his face touched yours through the veil, you trembled.

All your senses were occupied by his warmth and breath. Your heartbeat was so fast that you nearly had a heart attack.

"Y/n, don't be so stiff! Act naturally, just like before." You nodded, trying to force a smile, you knew how stiff your expression was even without looking.

"Are you nervous?" You heard Sunday's soft voice and didn't deny it after slight hesitation.

"A, a little bit. Not much." But actually even your voice was trembling. "

Actually, I'm also a bit nervous." He sighed with relief, and the rising tone dispelled and the unnatural atmosphere between you. "But, knowing you're feeling the same, I'm not so nervous now." He pointed at himself and smiled his usual bright smile.

"You can think of me as a little bear hugging you. You never have to nervous in front of me." You were stunned. the camera in front of you seemed not to exist, and the arms around you were still warm as always.

The awkwardness and uneasiness seemed to be swept away. and you couldn't help laughing out loud.

"Yeah, just keeping being happy like this! I believe you can do it, Y/n!"

Amazingly, the tension and anxiety disappeared.

"That's it! Change a pose!" You glanced behind you. The blue fountain pool reflected the pure white church, and the golden decoration on the steeple stone in the sunlight. You looked back to find Sunday was sitting cross-legged on the grass, smiling at you.

The bouquet of roses was on him and light spots seemed to be dancing on his fluffy blue hair. Suddenly you naughtily decided to scatter a handful of lily petals on him.

"Hey y/n! What are you doing!" He widened his eyes, yelled and before you could dodge, he had gently caught your naughty fingers.

The spring sunlight sprinkled softly, and your laughter seemed to blend into beauty of spring. When you didn't notice, March had captured the scene under the sunlight.

The bell in the church suddenly rang, and the fountain spurted water into his air, which started the pigeons resting by the pool. The water drops on the grass reflected the brilliant sunlight, and the whole scene was captured in the last photo.

March nodded and was finally satisfied.

"My lady, shall we go somewhere together?"

Sunday reached out a hand and made an inviting gesture, his jewel-like staring straight at you. you couldn't refuse.

You raised your hands and tossed the bouquet that symbolized happiness randomly.

It landed on Mr. Yang's head and he caught it. March howled. Himeko giggled Stelle took a photo Dan Heng was trying to hold his smile.

Welt tossed it to another young lady, saying he's already married in a secret code. It attracted a bunch of shouts and laughter,

"Let's go!" You smiled and put your hand in Sunday's palm, only to see him wink at you.

"Y/n, hold onto me."

"What? Ahhh!" Before you could ask, you felt your feet suddenly lifted off the ground. you screamed and had to hold onto the 'culprit' tightly.

As if he had already guessed your reacting , Sunday smiled and set off towards the destination, his soft wings brushing your cheeks naughtily from time to time.

"Wait, I do have legs."

Hearing the burst of laughter behind you, you blushed, waving your arms to protest. But Sunday, who always left room for negotiation was very determined this time.

"It's hard to walk in high heels on this road, So please be patient!" He had no intention on putting down and walked up the gravel path all the way through the flower gates with you. The soft light spots and the shadows of the flowers fell on both from time to time. and the warm breeze gently brought the music from afar.

Sunday who had you in his arms also hummed the tune and his version of the romantic self. So, that was the book he was reading..?

You both finally arrived at the destination. Sunday stopped and put you under the flower rack. Following where he pointed, you could see green mountains surrounding a tranquil blue lake in the distance.

The white birds swept past the sparkling water surface, and then flew high in the wind into the sky.

"It's so beautiful.." It reminded of something else, Sorry y/n! This is not that game!

Involuntarily exclaiming, you turned around to look at Sunday who was sitting side by side with you on the grass.

"Did you bring me here to show me this?"

"Not just this." He mysteriously dragged his tone.

"It's also because...this is the best place for the 'bride' and 'groom'."

"I'm not Dr Mei tho."

"What?"

"Nothing." He spread his arms and leaned back, lying on your lap before you could react, The weight and warmth on your legs were so real that you couldn't help looking down at him, the veil that slipped from your shoulders dropped on his face.

"Oh." Seeing his serious look turning into a frown, you burst into laughter and reached out to lift the veil.

Before you even touched his face, he grasped your hand and your fingers tightly intertwined. Sunday lifted the veil gently and gazed at you intently with his golden eyes, you could see your reflection in his eyes, and your heart skipped a beat.

"Y/n, did you enjoy the day?" You were stunned by his serious expression and couldn't control your heartbeat from accelerating upon hearing his question. You were at loss and tried to avert his gaze.

The flower fragrance lazily lingered in the air. In the warm sunshine, in the small space under the veil, only Sunday was in your sight.

You had nowhere to hide, and no longer wanted to, so you nodded slowly.

"I did." After hesitating for a few seconds, you asked him quietly. "Why didn't you want to invite Robin? I heard Himeko and March talking about it while they were dressing me up.."

"It's because...she has a concert and it's important for her career, I simply did not wish to bother her. I asked Miss March to send the images tho. That's why we had a photo session that long in the first place."

"Is there a reason why you avoid her?"

"...It's just- I don't want to be sad on my wedding day, you know. I'll explain later."

"Of course, I understand." He couldn't talk, As she not only gave up penacony for his freedom it was their relationship. Eternal separation, is doomed on them. It involves her public image too. He would push himself away as he wouldn't want to hurt her. ,Being seen with the person who tried to put penacony into a sweet dream would be seen as an outrageous act by the media. He may be a morally grey villain but the public will always see him as a pure black villain for what he did, never knowing his true intentions.

Being so close yet being so different, One follows harmony, One followed Order. The one failed in everything it was given to. Sunday could never let Robin see him again. No matter how he changes, he can't change what he did in the past.

As you sat there, the gentle breeze carrying the scent of flowers around you, Sunday's hand found its way to your cheek. His touch was soft, almost reverent, as if he were afraid you might disappear if he held on too tightly. You looked down at him, confusion and curiosity swirling in your eyes, trying to understand the emotions behind his gaze.

Before you could even form a question, Sunday's other hand slid behind your head, his fingers threading through your hair. With a firm but gentle pull, he brought you down to him, closing the distance between your lips.

The world seemed to fall away as his lips met yours, the kiss deepening almost immediately. It was slow at first, a tender exploration, but then his tongue brushed against yours, coaxing you into a more passionate rhythm. He was insistent, his lips moving with a deliberate intensity that made your heart race.

There were no words exchanged, none were needed. The kiss spoke volumes, a silent conversation of desire and affection that neither of you could articulate otherwise. His hands held you in place, one tangled in your hair, the other still caressing your cheek as if to keep you anchored to him, to this moment.

You felt your own hands responding instinctively, one resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, the other gripping his arm as if you needed something to hold onto, something to ground you in the overwhelming sensations that were coursing through you.

Sunday's kiss was hungry, his lips demanding, as if he were trying to memorize the taste of you, the feel of you. He didn't break the kiss, didn't pause, just continued to deepen it, his tongue dancing with yours in a way that left you breathless. The world outside the veil of flowers and sunlight ceased to exist, and all that mattered was this moment, this connection between you two.

When he finally pulled back, it was only to let you catch your breath, but he didn't let you go far. His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily, your lips still tingling from the intensity of the kiss. His golden eyes searched yours, filled with an emotion so deep, so profound, that it made your chest tighten.

"Y/n..." he murmured your name, his voice husky, filled with something raw and unspoken. He didn't say anything else, just held you there, his gaze locked with yours as if trying to convey everything he felt without words. And in that moment, you understood. He didn't need to say anything; his actions spoke louder than any words ever could.

Sunday's fingers continued to trace the contours of your face, his touch gentle but firm, as if grounding himself in the moment. His eyes softened, but a shadow of something more complex—something darker—passed through them. He let out a deep sigh, his gaze turning distant as he began to speak.

"You know," he began, his voice low and reflective, "I was always a bit of a control freak. Back when I was the leader of the Oak family, everything had to be done my way, according to my vision. I thought I knew what was best for everyone, and I couldn't tolerate anything that deviated from my idea of perfection."

His hand slipped from your cheek to rest on your shoulder, his thumb brushing back and forth absently. "I believed that a society where only the strong survive, where the fittest rule and the weak are left behind, would never reach true happiness. The world is so full of pain, of suffering, and I couldn't stand it. I wanted to protect people from that—at any cost."

He paused, his eyes searching yours for understanding. "That's why I became so obsessed with the Order. I genuinely believed that by creating a dream world—a place where people could escape the harshness of reality and live in peace, even if it meant never waking up—I could save them from all that suffering. I wasn't driven by malice, Y/n. I truly wanted to protect people from the pain I saw around me."

His expression hardened slightly as he continued, "But I know now that my perspective on humanity was... pessimistic, to say the least. I believed that people had an innate desire to escape their pain, to avoid the harsh truths of life. And in some ways, I still do. But I also know that escaping reality isn't the answer. In that dream world, people wouldn't grow, wouldn't learn from their struggles. They'd be trapped in a painless illusion, and while that might seem like a kindness, it's really just another form of control."

Sunday's voice softened as he squeezed your hand. "I see now that my beliefs were shaped by the Order, by the Dreammaster who indoctrinated me from such a young age. The scriptures I followed, the ideals I held onto so tightly—they weren't mine. They were something drilled into me, and I didn't even realize it. Robin noticed it too; she saw things in my diary that she had never been taught."

He sighed again, a mix of regret and resignation in his eyes. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but in trying to shield people from pain, I was just trying to control them, to impose my will on their lives. I was wrong, Y/n. And I'm trying to be better now, to let go of that need for control, to trust in the strength of others to find their own way, even if it means they'll get hurt along the way."

"......Sunday?"

"Hey y/n..? What did you think about me when we were all against each other? You looked so pissed off at me, If I remember? Not complaining, I wasn't the best person. I was cunning and betrayed your trust, You were the first one who stood during that time and I made you feel sad didn't I?"

A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you remembered "You pissed me off so much, Sunday," you admitted, your voice light with teasing, though there was an edge of truth to it. You leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose, the simple gesture bringing a smile to his face.

He laughed softly, but there was still a trace of unease in his eyes as he looked at you. "I figured as much," he murmured, his gaze dropping for a moment before he met your eyes again. "I remember how I was back then, always trying to control everything... even the way you drank your tea."

You couldn't help but laugh at the memory. "Oh, I remember. You must've corrected me over ten times about the 'proper' way to hold the cup and sip. It was so infuriating," you said with a smirk, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all.

Sunday grinned sheepishly. "I was a bit obsessed with doing things the 'right' way, wasn't I?"

"A bit?" you echoed, raising an eyebrow playfully. But as the laughter subsided, a more serious thought crossed your mind. You remembered the look on his face back then, the rare moments when the mask of control slipped, and he seemed almost... vulnerable.

For a moment, you just looked at him, dead in the eyes, letting the weight of his question settle between you. Finally, you spoke, your voice steady and clear. "I thought you were lost. Lost in your need for control, in your fear of letting things go. But despite everything, I also saw the good in you, Sunday. I saw someone who wanted to protect others, even if your methods were... misguided."

He swallowed, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "And now?" he asked, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

You smiled gently, leaning in closer. "Now, I see someone who's trying. Someone who's learning to let go, to trust, to love. And that's enough for me."

Sunday's eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing.

You took a deep breath, letting the weight of your thoughts settle between you both. As you looked at Sunday, his golden eyes searching yours, you began to speak, your voice soft yet unwavering.

"Sunday, you're the most selfless selfish man I've ever known," you began, watching as a flicker of surprise crossed his face. "You have this unwavering determination to save everyone, even if it means sacrificing yourself. But in doing so, you take away another's choice, all in the name of liberation."

His expression tightened, as if the truth of your words cut deep. But you continued, knowing that this was something he needed to hear.

"You're a cynical man, trapped in a birdcage with open doors, yet unable to take that leap of faith because of fear—fear of what could be, fear of the unknown," you said, your voice growing more tender. "No one ever stood by you, offered you solace, comfort, or a different point of view. That's why you wanted to become a god yourself, the one who could offer solace to others. You wanted to give people what you never had."

He looked down, his hand tightening around yours, his features etched with a sorrowful understanding. "I just wanted to protect people," he whispered, almost to himself. "To create a world where no one would have to suffer like I did."

"And you're not wrong," you replied, your voice filled with a mix of empathy and conviction. "Everything you've said about the world is true. In a perfect world, you could create systemic changes, elevate people and systems so no one would have to suffer. But the world is cruel, Sunday. We don't have to look far to see how terrible life can be for some, while others go on their merry way."

His eyes met yours again, filled with a deep, conflicted sadness. "But since it can't be achieved in reality," you continued, "you tried to create a dream reality, a place where people could live better, where they wouldn't have to face the harshness of life. You wanted to give them an escape."

You paused, letting the words sink in, seeing the turmoil in his gaze. "But this is a hero's story," you said, a faint smile tugging at your lips. "The Trailblazer and the others had to fight back because people need stories that confirm it's worth fighting for, that it's worth hoping for a better life in reality. It's a message we need to cope with life, to keep going. Because if you stare too long into the cruelty of this world, your kindness will destroy you."

Sunday's hand trembled slightly in yours, and you squeezed it gently, grounding him in the moment. "In our world, we can't do anything about that cruelty," you said softly. "But in this world, you tried to make a dreamscape where people could live in dignity. You wanted to give them a chance to escape, to find solace in a place where they wouldn't have to suffer."

His voice was a whisper when he finally spoke. "But is that right? To take away their reality for a dream?"

You looked at him, your eyes filled with understanding. "If what you're doing was possible in our world, you'd have to ask yourself, is this cruel world worth protecting? Do we have the right to tear away a good dream life from people who are starving, who are living in perpetual war, or who are just trapped in unlivable circumstances?"

He looked at you, his gaze intense, searching for an answer.

"We can't say that living in a dream is terrible when some people would choose that over their reality," you continued. "Reality is just perception. It's something we label as 'real' because we all agree on it. But why is our perception of reality better than a dream? In the end, we all die the same. Everything is just in our heads."

Sunday's eyes softened, the tension in his body slowly ebbing away as he listened to you.

"And you," you said, your voice dropping to a tender whisper, "you couldn't escape from the cage you were trapped in because you were so scared of what would happen. That cage was your understanding of the world. To step out of it, to embrace something different, is terrifying. A bird with clipped wings will always be scared to fly, even if the cage door is open."

You reached out, gently cupping his cheek. "But if that bird is given the time and space to heal, its feathers will grow back. And that's what you've done, Sunday. By coming with the Astral Express, you've started to heal, little by little. You're taking that step towards something new, something unknown, and that's incredibly brave."

Sunday closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. Neither of you spoke for a while. You could hear the piano music in the distance. Sunday let go of your hand, leaned forward, and caged you between him and the flower rack.

"I used to think that a lifetime is a very long time, I realized that in a dream it is a long time too. You're just living the same happy, peaceful day again. but after I met you, it had become very short."

"Why?"

"Of course it's because of you, Because I want to spend every moment of my life with you." His breath was closer, and the flower fragrance seemed stronger, and you almost ran out of breath.

He stopped, gently pressing his forehead against you, and looked at you intently, saying gentle and solemnly.

"Y/n L/n, I thank the Aeons that made them reserve this ring finger for me, for the wedding ring." He lowered his head and kissed the root of your ring finger which had the ring he gave to himeko.

"I solemnly vow that you will forever be my happiness and joy...As long we both shall live."

It's said the vein on the ring finger, called 'vena amoris'. reaches the heart directly. At this moment, this might be true.

The force of the kiss and the deep love of this vow seemed to fill your blood. and they flowed straight into your heart through the vein, surging and wandering in your chest restlessly.

"Now the groom may kiss the bride."

Sunday imitated the wedding officiant's solemn tone, then raised his hand and placed the veil behind your ears, and leaned in close to you.

The light and soft touch lingered on your lips with his scorching breath. You closed your eyes and felt Sunday's existence more clearly than ever before.

#honkai star rail #sunday x reader #hsr sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday hsr #sunday x y/n #sunday smut #sunday x reader smut #penacony #honkai star rail smut #hsr smut #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr sunday #sunday honkai star rail

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coffeeshades · 1 year

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credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART IV

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who can't get their shit together.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 7.2k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). mentions of sex. angst (heavy on this i'm sorry in advance) cussing, age gap, mentions of drugs and alcohol. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hi everyone! yes yes i know i disappeared for like 5 months but let's pretend i didn't. i've seen all of your messages and comments and i'm overwhelmed with all the love you've shown to the previous parts. thank you so much to everyone who likes, reblogs and leaves a kind message, i see you and love u. here's a new lil chapter, i hope you enjoy it. happy reading!!

masterlist with next parts!

February 28th, 2019

Cort Theater, NY

The day was here. The day he had been eagerly waiting on for months. The anticipation had been building up, and now he was finally going to perform in front of a live audience for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The months of rehearsals and hard work had all led up to this moment, and he was ready to give it his all.

He was starring in the new Broadway production of “King Lear" as Edmond, one of the play's most complex and intriguing characters. The role had challenged him in ways he had never experienced before, pushing him to delve deep into the character's motivations and emotions. As he stepped onto the stage, the bright lights shining down on him, he felt a surge of adrenaline and a sense of purpose.

And just like that, three hours and twenty-five minutes later, the final curtain fell on the play. The audience erupted into thunderous applause, their standing ovation a testament to their incredible performance. Exhausted but exhilarated, he knew he had given everything he had to the role and left it all on the stage.

His mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The rush of adrenaline slowly subsided, and as much as he wanted to hear what everyone thought of his performance, there was only one person whose opinion mattered to him right now: yours.

The last time he saw you was on your last day in Chile, almost two months ago. He vividly remembered the bittersweet farewell outside his family's house��you getting into the car and him closing the door. A door that seemed to separate their worlds. Since then, they had kept in touch through messages and occasional video calls, but it wasn't the same. Of course it wasn't. It will never be.

The distance between them had only fueled his longing, making him yearn for your presence even more. Constantly trying to derail his one-track mind.

He knows you're here. He had invited his siblings and closest friends. However, he was unsure of your attendance until an hour before the show, when he received a text from Oscar:

"She's coming with me. Stop pacing and good luck."

He hadn't really discussed what happened back in Chile with Oscar or anyone, for that matter, but he could tell everyone knew something was off about how the two of you interacted. So when he got the message from Oscar, instead of freaking out about him potentially finding out about you two, he felt relieved.

It gave him comfort to know that Oscar knew him so well that he was aware of the fact that you were the cause of his two-hour pacing in his dressing room. It was also fucking stupid and laughable.

The energy backstage was electric as he walked through the bustling crowd of crew members and performers. He entered his dressing room, grabbing his phone and immediately seeing all the texts from friends and his siblings. He opened one from Javiera: "Felicidades, hermanito! Killed it. See you at The Terrace."

They had planned on getting together afterwards to celebrate. He replied with a grateful smile, saying he'd be there in a few and to get there without him. He quickly changed into a more casual outfit: dark jeans and a comfortable white t-shirt. Wanting to unwind after the intense performance, he made his way to the restaurant. It was only a few blocks away from the theater, so he decided to enjoy the pleasant evening weather and take a leisurely stroll.

Once he got there and stepped out of the elevator, Pedro watched you from across the room. A delicate hand rested on Oscar's shoulder as you chatted and laughed together. He felt a bubble of pride in himself swell; it warmed him to know that you were enjoying yourself and having a good time.

He felt like an intruder in your intimate moment, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. At least I don't have to miss her anymore because she's right there, he thought.

Pedro made his way across the room, trying to appear nonchalant as he approached the table.

"There he is! the man of the hour," Oscar said, a wide smile spreading across his face.

You turned. Eyes meeting, and it was like a car crash. A collision of emotions and memories flooding back all at once. The air between you crackled with unresolved tension, and Pedro's heart raced as he struggled to find the right words to say.

"You came," he said, his voice stern. Not reflecting at all the turmoil inside him. "Thank you."

"Well, you called," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant as well. Deep down, though, your heart was pounding just as fast as Pedro's.

Everyone seemed to ignore the palpable tension in the room and how he was losing his mind over these unclear conversations between your glances, carrying on with their congratulatory words to Pedro as if nothing had happened. But for Pedro and you, time stood still.

People settled into an easy conversation, enjoying each other's company as the night went on. As the night went on, Pedro and you exchanged occasional glances, silently acknowledging the shared secret that lingered. He wanted to scream it at the top of his lungs: We slept together! We slept together, and I loved it! He wanted every single person in New York to hear it. To feel the exhilaration and passion that consumed him.

However, to say it was to make it real, and Pedro wasn't quite ready to face the consequences of that reality just yet. He knew his place in her life. He knew it was better this way. However, the ever-present question of 'Is it better to have something and lose it than never have it at all?' haunted his mind.

The laughter and chatter around you provided a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions swirling within both of you. After a couple drinks, the atmosphere became more relaxed, and Pedro found himself engaging in lighthearted conversations with the people around him.

"Ah, man. I need a cigarrette," he said to Oscar, reaching into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes.

"Go, go. I'll keep everyone entertained," Oscar replied with a smile, gesturing towards the lively crowd. Pedro nodded gratefully and stepped outside, the cool night air providing a brief respite from the chaos of his thoughts. As he lit his cigarette and took a long drag, he couldn't help but wonder if the temporary escape it offered was worth the potential consequences.

"I thought you quit," you remarked, slowly making your way to him, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. Pedro turned and exhaled a cloud of smoke, a wistful expression crossing his face. "I did, but you know me. I have a hard time letting go of old habits," he admitted, flicking the ash off his cigarette.

"Care to share?" you asked, gesturing towards the pack of cigarettes in his hand. Pedro hesitated for a moment.

"No."

"No?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't want to be the reason you get lung cancer."

You chuckled. "Ok, so you can do it, but I can't. Got it."

"I'm old; there's no use," he said with a shrug. "However, you have a whole life ahead of you."

"You make it sound like you're on a deathbed," you teased, taking a playful jab at Pedro's dramatic statement. He smirked and took a long drag from his cigarette before responding. "Maybe I am, in a way. But hey, we all gotta go someday, right?"

"That's...dark," you sighed. "mind if we changed the subject?"

"Sure, what do you want to talk about?" Pedro asked, flicking the ash from his cigarette. "Anything to distract me from my impending doom," he added with a smirk.

A laugh escaped your lips as you thought of a lighter topic. "How about we discuss your play?" Pedro's eyes lit up at the suggestion, momentarily forgetting about his earlier morbid thoughts.

"How are you feeling about your performance?"

Pedro looked at you for a little too long before finally responding, "It's funny I'm thinking about death because I've never felt more alive than on that stage."

"I could tell. I thought you were great, P."

He shook his head modestly. "Thanks, but I still feel like there's room for improvement. I want to push myself even further in the next shows."

"I get that."

Pedro watched you stare at the ground. His thoughts began to conspire against him, and as he was about to speak, you also looked up and opened your mouth at the same time. Words rushed out in unison.

You both paused, realizing you had interrupted each other. Pedro chuckled tentatively and motioned for you to go ahead. "Sorry, you first," he said with a polite smile.

You bit your lip, seemingly trying to gather your thoughts. "It's nothing. I just wanted to tell you I'll be in Europe for awhile. I got the Nolan movie."

"Woah, another one?"

"Yup. The role isn't as big as in interstellar, but I love working with him so much I couldn't pass up the opportunity." Pedro nodded, a mix of excitement and disappointment flickering across his face. "That's amazing; congratulations. I'm sure you'll do great, as always," he said sincerely. "I'll definitely miss having you around, though."

"Well, it's not like it'll be much different than now," you replied. "I haven't seen you since...since you know," your expression turned somber, cheeks flushed.

You were right. He was so busy with the play and his new role in the second installment of Wonder Woman that he barely had any time. He even had to cut back on his time on set for The Mandalorian reshoots this month and a few scenes for a second season that haven't even been announced.

"Yeah, I know."

"Should we talk about it?"

"I mean, there's nothing to talk about, really," Pedro said with a shrug, not daring to look you in the eye. "We slept together, and we both agreed that was it. No need to complicate things further." he tried to maintain a casual tone, but his voice wavered slightly.

Pedro wanted to scream. The nicotine clouding his lungs was the only thing keeping him from losing control. It seemed like all he was left with was a painful reminder of what could have been. He looked at you as he took another puff of smoke. Your eyes clearly searching for a trace of emotion in his face, but finding none.

A droplet of rain landed on Pedro's cheek as he inhaled deeply, feeling the coolness against his skin. It was as if the universe was reflecting his inner turmoil, adding to the weight of his unspoken words. He watched as you looked up at the darkening sky, the raindrops falling steadily on your hair.

The sound of thunder echoed in the distance, mirroring the storm brewing within him. He dropped the cigarrette from his hand, its ember extinguished by the rain.

"Isn't that the point of love, though?" you finally responded, your voice raspy and drunk with bitterness and resignation. "To complicate things, to make us question everything, to drive us to the brink of madness. Maybe it's not meant to be simple, Pedro."

His body tensed up, and your words clearly struck a nerve. The weight of your statement hung heavy in the air, leaving an uncomfortable silence between you both. It was no secret that his perspective on love had been tainted by past experiences, leaving him guarded and unwilling to let go of his pain.

"You're right. Which is why I would rather stay away from it. I've seen firsthand the havoc it can wreak on people's lives," Pedro admitted, his voice laced with a hint of frustration. He knows he's hurting you; he can see it by the way your eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"So that's it, then?" you asked, your voice trembling. "Is this how it is always going to be?"

But he can't risk it. "I thought we were on the same page with this."

He sees how your jaw tightens at his statement. He knows he's hurting you. He's twisting the knife even deeper. He can't seem to stop just because he believes it's for the better.

Please know it's for the better.

"Yeah, I guess it's better this way," you spat back, your voice filled with anger. Of course, you could tell exactly how he was feeling.

"Guys! What the fuck are you doing outside? It's fucking pouring!" A friend shouts from the doorway. "Get inside!"

You both stood there staring at each other, momentarily forgetting the rain pouring down around you.

“Yeah. What the fuck are we doing?" you say, not even trying to mask the anger in your voice.

He wants to reach out and kiss you. Kiss you so hard that his lips would bruise. Kiss you so hard that your pain will fade away. But that action would go against everything he had just said.

So he just watches you turn around and leave.

What the fuck is he doing?

3 months later

After weeks of shooting in the United Kingdom and the Amalfi Coast, you and the crew finally had a couple of days off. Aaron, John, and Rob had the brilliant idea to take a quick trip to Monaco.

“It’s a Grand Prix weekend,” Aaron said excitedly. “Maybe if we make a few calls, we could still snag some passes.”

“Doesn’t that start this week?” Rob inquired, taking a sip of his drink. Ever since your arrival in Italy, the four of you finally got the chance to eat dinner together at a nice restaurant.

“Yeah, yeah,” Aaron waved his hands in the air, “but if we leave tomorrow, there’s plenty of time to get there and enjoy ourselves.”

You were so focused on your meal that you missed the sound of your name coming from Aaron’s mouth. “Hellooo?” he continued, and you looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “Aren’t you friends with Lewis Hamilton?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, we see each other sometimes at events and stuff. He’s really nice,” you tell him, still feeling a bit distracted.

“Could you maybe give him a call and get us those passes?” he asks, pouting like a puppy. John laughs at him, hitting him lightly on the arm.

“Sure, I can try,” you reply, feeling a bit hesitant. You rarely ask for special favors and don't want to come across as entitled, even more so when you haven't spoken to Lewis in so long.

“Yes!” Aaron celebrates by raising his fists. "Um, one more thing,"

“Mate, you’re pushing it now,” Rob remarks with a playful tone. You can tell he's enjoying the banter between you and Aaron.

“Go on,” you gesture at him to continue, a smile on your face.

“Could we also use your PP?”

“Use her what now?” John exclaims. Laughter erupts from Rob's mouth, making you and John join in.

“Her private plane, mate!” Aaron says, embarrassed.

“Yes, Aaron,” you get out, still laughing. “I’ll let you use my PP.”

"Thank you!"

•••

The flight to Monaco was smooth and quick. You spent most of it trying to focus on a script for a project after this one while the boys all slept. After your dinner last night, you made two calls: one to Lewis to ask about the passes and one to your publicist to let her know about your last-minute adventure.

Lewis was very nice as usual and said that, of course, he can get you the passes, while your agent said attending an F1 weekend would be good publicity and good fun. A win-win situation, she called it. She also said that since you were going to attend the race, you might as well attend all the events that come with it, which meant she had to fly in to assist you.

By the time the plane finally landed and you made it to the hotel, you were worn out. You spent the rest of the afternoon and night sleeping, without a care in the world. The next day, soft knocks on the door woke you up.

"It's me," Taylor's voice called out.

You groggily got out of bed and opened the door to find her standing there with her laptop, a cup of coffee, and a huge smile on her face. "Good morning, sleeping beauty."

Although you hadn't passed a mirror on your way to answer the door, you had the feeling that you didn't look visually appealing at the moment. Your body ached, like you wrestled with a wild animal all night and lost.

"Did you just get here?" you ask her, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. She smiles and shakes her head. "I got here late last night, but you weren't answering the phone, so I called Renata instead, and she said you were sleeping. And like the great person I am, I let you rest." Renata is your PA/publicist, a great friend, and one of the two constants in your life, along with Taylor.

"Wow, so kind of you," you say sarcastically, but can't help the small smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth. "Come in."

As Taylor enters, you shut the door behind her. She scans the space in fascination. There are floor-to-ceiling windows on the wall that run the length of the room and the wall to your left, which is behind the dining room table. A broad view of the harbor can be seen between the sheer, white, fluttering lengths of the floating curtains.

"Gorgeous suite," she says, sitting on the plush sofa across the room.

"Ren always chooses the best rooms, so yes," you tell her, sinking once again into your warm bed.

"You're still tired? You've slept for like 16 hours already," she chuckles, pouring herself a glass of water from the crystal pitcher on the side table. "I know, but I guess the jetlag is hitting me harder than I thought," you reply with a yawn, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath of the fragrant flowers on the nightstand.

"You didn't come to Monaco to sleep, did you?" Taylor chuckles, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"Yes?"

"No! We have a full itinerary planned for today, starting with breakfast at Café de Paris across the street with the boys. And then we're off to the Hotel de Paris for a F1 brunch event. There will be lots of food, drinks, and hot guys. Specifically, hot F1 drivers," you groan-laugh inwardly at the thought of dragging yourself out of bed so early for the sake of hot guys. "You know that's the last thing on my mind, right?"

"Well, not on mine!" she replies with a wink. "But seriously, it's not just about the eye candy. The event is also for a good cause, raising funds for a local charity. And it's also a great place to network and meet new people—you know the drill." You nod in agreement, feeling more motivated to attend, knowing that it's for a meaningful purpose.

With a determined sigh, you sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. "Okay, I'll shower."

"Let me call Renata and tell her to prep the car and get the glam team in here."

"Thank you," you tell her, disappearing into the bathroom.

•••

Two hours later, you find yourself entering the venue of a charity event with your very impatient and rather enthusiastic co-star and best friend, Aaron. The venue is buzzing with excitement as you take in the elegant decorations and the well-dressed attendees. Since it's Monaco in May, you're sporting a light blue strapless top and white linen pants that complement the warm weather and the sophisticated atmosphere of the event.

"I can't believe Rob and John sat this one out because they were 'too tired', Aaron remarks, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Well, they don't have the energy of a 5-year-old, unlike you," you tease, playfully nudging him. "But hey, more champagne for us," you add with a mischievous grin as you grab two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. "Cheers."

The bubbles tickle your nose as you take a sip, savoring the crisp and refreshing taste.

Camera flashes illuminate the room as people mingle and engage in lively conversations. You're stopped every 5 minutes by someone wanting to take a picture with you. You oblige every time with a smile, posing for each photo and exchanging pleasantries. After all, that's why you're here for.

Everything was going smoothly until someone bumped into you, causing you to spill champagne all over your clothes. The cold liquid seeps mostly through the fabric of your top, leaving a sticky sensation against your skin.

"Oh, my bad," you hear a thick Australian accent apologize. You turn to see a rather tall, tan-skinned, handsome man with a sheepish grin on his face. Did you say how handsome he was? And what the fuck was he smiling for?

Once he realizes who you are, his eyes widen in surprise and anguish. People start noticing the commotion and turn their attention towards the two of you. The man quickly grabs your arm and pulls you away from the crowd, his grip firm but gentle.

"Hey! Where are you taking me!" you protest, trying to free your arm from his grasp. His grip tightens slightly, but he maintains a calm demeanor as he leads you towards a quieter corner. As you reach a bathroom, he finally releases his hold on you and takes a step back, his expression filled with concern.

"Relax, I'm not kidnapping you."

The chaos around you fades into the background as he shuts the door and starts grabbing paper towels. "Shit, here," he says, handing you one. "Sorry for ruining your clothes."

You start wiping the spilled drink off your clothes, a little annoyed at the inconvenience. You can feel his gaze burning into you without looking.

"Do ya want me to give you mine?" he offers, gesturing towards his own shirt. "It might be a bit big on you, but at least it's dry." he pauses, waiting for your response.

You stare at him. "And what? you're going to walk around shirtless?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. He chuckles. "Yeah, I have a banging body, so I'll just be doing everybody here a favor here, really," he replies with a smirk.

You roll your eyes at his cocky remark. "I think I'll manage without your shirt, thanks," you say sarcastically. "But I appreciate the offer."

He laughs as he observes you. "Okay, then let me find another way to make it up to you."

"There's no need."

"Do you have plans tonight?"

"I'm fine."

"Does 7 p.m. sound good to you?"

"Listen—"

"Where are you staying?"

"I don't even know you."

"It's Daniel."

"Okay, Daniel. I don't know you, so no."

"But you could," he says with a playful glint in his eyes. "And who knows, it could be the start of something new."

"Are you quoting High School Musical to me?"

"Hey, it's a classic. And it was right there."

You chuckle, unable to resist his charm. Something lights up in his eyes.

"Listen, I won't push you anymore. It's up to you. Can't blame me for trying, though." you raise an eyebrow, considering his words.

"I'm going to go now," you tell him, pointing at the door.

He nods understandingly. "See ya later."

•••

After about 30 more minutes of indulging everyone in conversation and enjoying the party, Lewis Hamilton finds you. "Hi sweetie, there you are," he greets you, ever so polite. "I heard chatter that you were here. I thought I wouldn't see you until tomorrow's practice sessions."

"Oh yeah, but you know duty calls," you say with a smile as you lean in to hug him. "It's so nice to see you. Thanks again for the passes."

"Oh, it's nothing. You would've gotten them without me, but I'm glad you called me instead. How have you been enjoying Monaco so far?"

"Good, good—" you begin, but before you can finish your sentence, a burst of laughter you recognize from earlier erupts from across the room. "Actually, do you happen to know him?" you ask Lewis, gesturing with your head towards the source of laughter. Daniel is joyfully engaged in conversation with a group of people. Lewis follows your gaze and chuckles, "Ah, that's Daniel Ricciardo. He's a fellow Formula 1 driver and quite the character, to be honest. He's a cool dude."

"Huh," is all you manage to say as you watch Daniel animatedly tell a story, his infectious laughter filling the room.

"What are we looking at?" Renata and Aaron find you and join the conversation; their curiosity is piqued.

"Nothing," you quickly respond. Renata immediately caught on to your evasive response and followed your gaze. "Oh, Daniel?" she exclaims, voice hushed and her eyes glinting with excitement.

"Wait, you know who he is?"

"I did my homework on the plane. He drives for Renault, and he looks great doing it."

Lewis and Aaron chuckle at Renata's enthusiasm, sharing in her excitement. "I think Renata will be watching a few races from now on," Lewis remarks, causing everyone to laugh. Renata shrugs, a proud smile on her face. "Trust me, I will, but not for him. Have you heard of Charles Leclerc?"

You're still staring at Daniel, dumbfounded. Wheels are turning in your mind.

Aaron's voice interrupts your thoughts. "So...why are we still staring at him?"

"I'm going on a date with him tonight."

Your own declaration surprises you.

"Wait, you are?" both of your friends say in unison, their eyes widening with curiosity.

"Yes," you say, setting down your drink. "You guys ready to go now?"

They nodded, not wanting to press further but clearly intrigued by this, and you said your goodbyes to Lewis, promising to see him on Friday at the track. As you made your way to the exit, you grabbed Daniel by the arm and pulled him aside.

"Hotel Hermitage, 7 p.m., Room 303. Don't be late," you whispered, voice calm and steady. Daniel's mouth curled into a smile, but he maintained his composure and nodded, a feeling of excitement in his gaze. With a final pat on his shoulder, you rejoined your friends and headed out of the venue, eager for the evening ahead.

•••

You don't know what the hell you were thinking when you said yes. You could feel your anxiety building as the time approached—face flushed, stomach twisting in knots. James and Liz, your hair and makeup team, paused, laying out brushes and curling wands. "Everything okay, love?" James asked. "You want us out?"

"No, keep going. You're almost done, anyway. I'm just internally freaking out a little."

"You're great and look beautiful," Liz replied. "There's nothing to worry about."

You give her a tight smile and try to believe her words, but the nagging doubts continue to linger in the back of your mind. As the final touches are applied, you take a deep breath and say your goodbyes to them.

"Good luck and have fun!" James says as Liz winks at you and closes the door. You chuckle at their enthusiasm. You walk back into the bedroom and pick up the black cocktail dress hanging on the closet door. The soft fabric feels comforting against your fingertips as you slip it on. The dress hugs your curves perfectly, accentuating your best features. You grab your clutch and check yourself in the mirror one last time.

A knock on the door startles you. "Coming!"

Breathe, you remind yourself.

"Wow," Daniel says with a warm smile. "You look absolutely stunning. Are you ready to go?"

You're sure your face must look like a tomato as you thank Daniel for the compliment.

"Yes, let's."

As you reach the entrance of the hotel, Daniel hands the valet a ticket, and he opens the door of his car for you. "My lady," he says with a playful bow. You can't help but feel a rush of excitement as you step into the very flashy luxury car. For an F1 driver, you didn't expect anything less. The soft leather seats hug your body as you settle in, and the sleek interior design adds to the overall opulence of the vehicle. Daniel starts the engine, and the car glides smoothly onto the road.

"Where are you taking me?"

He looks at you with a mischevious grin plastered on his face. "My friend Max is throwing a yatch party tonight, and I thought it would be the perfect way to spend the night," he says, revving the engine slightly. "But I intend to dine and wine you before we head there."

"Oh," you reply nonchalantly, "Nice."

"Still playing hard to get?"

You shrug and give him a grin.

"That's alright. I enjoy a good challenge," he replies, his eyes sparkling. "But I have a feeling that by the end of the week, you won't be able to resist my charm." He winks at you.

"You're quite confident, aren't you?" you say, raising an eyebrow. "But don't underestimate my ability to resist." You smirk back at him, ready to prove him wrong.

The car pulls up to the entrance of the restaurant, and you both step out onto the bustling street. You make your way inside. "Oh, I've been here before," you say lowly, feeling a little satisfied that it is something you've experienced already, so it's harder for him to impress you.

You couldn't have been more wrong, though.

The hostess greets you with a warm smile and leads you to the main dining area. As you follow her, you can't help but notice it's....empty. Not a single table is occupied. The dimly lit room feels intimate and cozy, with soft music playing in the background and red roses adorning each table.

The hostess gestures towards a table in the middle of the room. "The waiter will be with you shortly," she says before leaving you alone.

You turn around, facing Daniel. "Did you rent out the entire restaurant for us?" you ask, slightly surprised. Daniel chuckles and shakes his head. "No, I just made a reservation for a quiet evening," he replies.

"You're an awful liar."

"I just saw how hectic everything was for you this morning, with all the pictures and people clamoring for your attention. I wanted to give you a break from that and create a peaceful vibe for us to enjoy tonight," Daniel explains, his eyes filled with sincerity.

You smile. "That's very thoughtful. Thank you."

"I have my moments."

The night continues with the two of you enjoying the delicious food and engaging in fun and light conversation. The peaceful atmosphere allows you both to relax and truly connect with each other.

Just what you needed but didn't realize until now.

"You're literally always smiling," you tell him. In the very short time you've known Daniel, there's something constant about him: his distinctive smile. Daniel chuckles and replies, "It's amazing what surgery can do. Formula 1 pays really well, and I was able to put a lot of that money into permanent smile surgery."

You burst out laughing. "Well, they did a great job," you say, still chuckling.

•••

You glided arm in arm onto the yatch, dry martinis in hand and a revolving stream of waitstaff to refill your drinks as soon as they emptied. You feel more relaxed and comfortable now. Maybe it was the three glasses of wine you had at dinner and the drink that's currently in your hand, or maybe it was the contagious laughter and carefree attitude of your date.

Cote d'Azur was a smooth wash of precious stones at this time of year. The ocean's deep, smoky blue stretched out like a shiny carpet. Loud music blasted from the speakers, and the upper deck was transformed into a vibrant dance floor with people spinning and swaying to the beat.

You wished you could rest your head on Daniel's shoulder without looking like you were already drunk.

He excitedly introduced you to his friends, who instantly made you feel like part of their tight-knit circle. As the night progressed, you found yourself effortlessly blending in.

"So how did this insufferable clown manage to take you out on a date?" Max asked, his voice loud over the booming music.

You shared a brief glance with Daniel. "He spilled champagne all over me."

"And then she couldn't help but fall for my charming personality and good looks," Daniel interjected with a playful grin.

"Yes, that's exactly what happened."

Daniel puts a hand on your lower back, and you mindlessly lean into his touch. "You wanna go outside for a bit?"

The need for some fresh air and a break from the crowded room causes you to hum in agreement. You leaned over and observed the white waves as they cut through the water as you came across a section of railing near the stern of the yatch.

The sound of the waves crashing against the yacht provided a soothing soundtrack to your conversation. As you leaned against the railing, Daniel's playful banter continued.

"Are you having fun?"

"Very much so," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"So I'm winning sooner than I thought I would."

"Winning what exactly, Daniel?" you asked, raising an eyebrow playfully. "The game of enjoying this beautiful yacht ride? Then yes, I suppose you are."

He laughed, but it wasn't his usual boisterous laugh. It was a softer, more genuine sound that made your heart flutter.

He came closer. "Would you like me to whisper it in your ear?"

As he leaned in, you could feel the warmth of his presence enveloping you. His eyes were locked with yours.

"You're falling for me," he whispered, his voice husky. The words sent a shiver down your spine, confirming what you had been trying to deny for the past hour or so. Not because you didn't find him charming or attractive, but because you felt like you were betraying the person who broke your heart months ago.

How can someone break your heart if it wasn't theirs to begin with?

You push back those thoughts.

The playful banter that played out all night faded into the background as a new energy filled the air, sparking a connection between the two of you that was impossible to ignore.

You give in.

"You think?"

He nods, his eyes dark. Your hands were encircling his neck, one at the nape of his neck and the other against the side, where you could feel his heart pounding beneath the pads of your fingers. Your fingers scraped at bristled hairs as you held onto his curls, and you enjoyed the feel of them rubbing against the pads of your fingers. You were tightly gripping him in your hands, not allowing even a millimeter to pass.

Daniel couldn’t decide where to touch you. You huffed a breath against his mouth as the lightest of touches - the barest featherweight of fingertips, like your skin was made of silk, traced along the curve of your jawline. The sensation sent shivers down your spine, making you crave more of his touch. His fingers continued their exploration, trailing down the nape of your neck, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake.

He had pressed you against the railing at your back with no warning, and you felt the firm pressure of it. And now you arose from it, attempting to cling to every bone-hard surface of Daniel's body. His lips found yours in a passionate kiss, igniting a fire within you that consumed all rational thought.

"People are watching," you whispered breathlessly, breaking the kiss reluctantly. Daniel's eyes met yours, filled with a mix of desire and mischief. He smirked, his hand sliding down your waist possessively.

"Let them."

You were so fucked.

•••

You’d barely been able to breathe these past couple of days with events and rendezvous with Daniel consuming your every waking moments. It was fast paced and you found yourself completely swept up in the whirlwind of emotions. He was showing you his world and you were willingly diving headfirst into it.

It was Saturday morning, which meant is qualifying day and despite all of the media commitments and preparation that Daniel had to do, he’d promised breakfast as a way to make up for it. So here you were at a cafe only a short walk from the circuit, chewing your way through a delicious stack of pancakes while Daniel sipped on his coffee.

It felt oddly comforting to be sitting there with him. He was a stranger to you just a few days ago, but now he feels like a familiar presence. The conversations flowed effortlessly between you; he was funny, attentive, and attentive, but most importantly, he wasn't afraid of showing you off and telling you how much he liked you.

From the moment you crossed paths, he showed interest in you and made an effort. You haven't questioned whether he genuinely liked you or not. It was nice to be with someone who didn't play games or hide their feelings.

Your mind has also found a new way to torture you: whenever you felt happy with Daniel, a nagging voice in the back of your head would remind you of him.

Him. Him. Him.

You couldn't even say or think of his name. It was too much.

And yes, you were content, but you couldn't help but think about it.

The first time you tasted Daniel's lips, you were let down it wasn't the same. That feeling of disappointment lingered, but as days passed, it dissipated more and more. Maybe one day it'll be gone completely, you thought.

"So let me get this straight," you say, putting your fork and knife down on the plate. "You were on your way to winning in 2016, but a pit stop error cost you the race?"

Daniel nods. "It haunted me for so long. I couldn't shake off the frustration."

You grab your coffee and lean back on the chair, listening intently. "It was very dark. I should've been happy because I was on the podium in Monaco, and that's huge, but I was miserable. The whole time, all I wanted to do was smash everything to pieces and scream, which is something you do not want to do in front of Monaco royalty, by the way."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by Daniel's emotional upheaval. This was clearly a pivotal moment for him. "So, what finally helped you move past that?" you ask, curious to hear his response.

"Well," Daniel begins, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I won last year."

"Yeah, that'll do it."

You both laugh, and he places a hand on your knee beneath the table. "But honestly," he continues, his voice softening. "It wasn't just about winning. It was about proving to myself that I could overcome my own limitations and achieve greatness."

"So...winning basically," you respond, teasingly.

"See, I wanted to be humble about it, but let's be real, winning felt pretty damn good," Daniel admits with a sheepish grin. "I love winning."

You snort in amusement, "Well, I guess a little bit of bragging rights never hurt anyone."

You two carry on with your meals. His left hand still on your knee, and the air filled with contentment.

•••

While Daniel returned from the qualifying weigh-in, you waited at the back of the garage. You had gradually gotten to know the Renault team over the previous two days. Everyone, from the mechanics to the media team, has been friendly and welcoming to you. You're still trying to decide whether it's because of Daniel, your status, or that they were just nice. Pretty sure it was all three.

You were aware that it would be best for you to stay out of the way as the team worked and the broadcasting teams were filming in and around the pit lane, but you were unable to hide in Daniel's prep room. At the back of the garage, you found a calm area where you could watch the busy activity without being a nuisance.

You were aware that, although you might have been in the VIP sections, you couldn't be that far away from him. You were able to feel more connected to Daniel and the team's spirit by spending time in the garage.

The phone had been ringing nonstop all day in the back pocket of your pants; the screen frequently flashed with new notifications from your social media accounts or texts or calls from friends and family. You were aware that the countless pictures of Daniel and you parading through Monaco were the root of the problem.

It was truly a sight to behold to be watching him race around the track and walk around the paddock.

He was in his element.

"You look cute, baby," he says, referring to the oversized headseat on your head. His face flushed from the heat, and yours from the compliment. His hair was messy and a little damp from sweat, evidence of the intense racing. He looked perfect.

Fuck.

He leaned in for a kiss, his lips brushing against yours, electricity rushing through you.

Fuck.

"I think you're winning," you say, your eyes fixed on him.

"Aw, that's sweet of you, baby, but I didn't qualify that great," he chuckles, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"That's not what I meant."

His face is puzzled for a moment before realization dawns on him. He smirks, his signature smile spreading across his face. "Oh," he says, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

"Yeah," you say, barely above a whisper, your eyes never leaving his.

"I told you so," he replies, his voice filled with confidence and pride.

"Shut up," you say playfully before kissing him again.

Fuck.

You were falling for him.

a/n: oh oh pedro...someone's stealing your girl. are you guys team pedro or team daniel?

Reblog or like if you enjoyed it! thank you for reading :)

#happy october 1st 🎃#pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal angst #pedro pascal fluff

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