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cinnaminsvga · 6 months

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Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits.

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country.

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend.

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly.

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank).

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored.

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that.

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was.

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment.

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage.

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction.

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!”

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?”

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks.

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding.

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone.

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still.

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him.

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident.

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way.

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture.

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you.

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture.

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat.

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk.

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence.

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away.

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door.

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice.

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off.

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note.

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you.

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole.

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero.

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation.

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you.

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”?

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot.

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly.

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute.

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night.

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?”

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively.

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically.

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying.

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason.

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching.

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding.

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly.

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face.

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you.

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text.

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time.

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy.

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense.

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him.

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement.

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him.

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same.

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray.

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes.

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him.

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream.

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name?

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers.

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform.

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?”

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful.

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything.

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight.

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom.

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through.

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do?

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought.

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift.

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance.

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage.

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology.

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years.

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts.

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug.

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache.

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor.

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well.

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song.

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers.

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten.

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him.

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can��t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him.

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick.

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses.

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer.

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you.

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears.

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant.

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder.

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back.

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky.

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought.

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster.

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one.

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook.

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind.

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you.

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs.

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again.

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out.

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you.

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent.

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix.

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it.

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow.

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles.

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter.

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope.

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that.

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it.

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears.

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer.

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too.

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers.

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare.

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind.

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class.

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel.

But you do know, the universe responds.

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond?

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing.

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation.

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat.

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance?

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air.

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you.

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door.

#bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bangtan #bts #bts fanfic

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violetrainbow412-blog · 1 year

Text

Emergency room [S. R] +18

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 12k

Summary: Spencer forgot to mention that you're still his emergency contact. You wouldn't have had a problem with it if you weren't his ex of over a year and the hospital took you out of the bed because he had a car crash

contents: exes to lovers, car accident, hospitals, mention of injuries (nothing graphic), mutual longing, SMUT, porn with plot, a little sub!spencer if you squint, penetrative sex (p in v), vanilla sex

Maybe there is a mistake with the grammar and pronouns, I swear I checked it the best I could but surely something escaped me! Enjoy :)

The ringing of your cell phone snapped you out of your hard-won reverie a few hours ago, and you sighed audibly into your pillow before opening your eyes. The device was somewhere on the nightstand, so it was enough to reach out and feel the wood a little to take it.

Virginia Hospital Center.

You hoped the caller ID was wrong, which was highly unlikely, and you swiped to take the call, wondering what it could be.

“Virginia Hospital Center, may I speak to Ms. Y/N Y/L/N?” With a shaky voice you answered in the affirmative and then the woman continued: "I am calling because you are the emergency contact on file for Mr. Spencer Walter Reid, who has just been admitted to the emergency room”

Hearing this, you jumped out of bed like a spring and felt how a chill ran through your entire body, a sign of the obvious panic that had just invaded you.

"What happened? He's fine?"

“He suffered a car accident and now he is being transferred to the operating room. It is imperative that you show up at the hospital so that you can account for any complications and can help us complete the information in his medical history."

The woman behind the phone was barely finishing saying that when you were already looking for your car keys and a decent change of clothes. You only took what you had in your bag before getting in your car and starting the engine to start the march, even with the adrenaline that you had coursing through your system. The hospital was a bit far away, so every time you accelerated too much you had to remind yourself that you could have an accident too, and then that would be the last straw. With that constant change of speed, you managed to get there in almost an hour, a little less than the time it would normally take, but still too long for your liking.

Somewhat agitated you rushed to the reception desk, where there was a nurse whose voice you recognized from the previous call. She had to reassure you a bit when you desperately asked her, almost with tears in your eyes, to tell you where Spencer was and what condition he was in.

“What relationship do you have with the patient?”

“I am his…” Your breath caught for a moment, thinking about whether it would be correct to tell the woman the truth or not; In the end, you decided to lie to her "girlfriend"

You and Spencer hadn't seen each other, at least not physically, for a little over a year. You often saw him on the news, in one or another now-forgotten photo that fell by accident from between the pages of your books, or in the articles on the internet about the conferences he gave; but you had never dared to contact him to go out, just as he hadn’t called again. You thought that eventually, you guys would meet again even if it was by chance, but you never imagined that it would be under these conditions.

“Can you help me answer a few questions?” she murmured and to each question she asked you answered almost mechanically. You were quite surprised that, even with the time that had already passed, you still remembered everything perfectly, as if it were your own medical information that you were providing.

The woman informed you, as kindly as she could be, that Spencer had already been in surgery for an hour and that when the doctor came out he could explain what had happened in more detail. You thought about the hit he had suffered to end up there and the anxiety of knowing if he was okay was eating away at your place in the waiting room, where you alternated between biting your nails and moving your leg up and down to calm down.

You wondered, meanwhile, why he still had you listed as an emergency contact. You knew he wasn't a person with many friends, but it sounded more practical for that position to be filled by someone he lived with more often, like Prentiss or Hotchner, not you. It wasn't the first time you'd been in a hospital with Spencer as a patient and you tried to remind yourself that those other times everything had gone well, but on those other occasions he'd always gotten immediate care because he'd been working or it was simple things like a cold that had become too bothersome. You wondered how far he had crashed, how long it had taken the ambulance to get there, how much pain he had experienced. You were really worried, until after half an hour that seemed like an eternity you heard the nurse call you and a doctor appeared next to her.

The first thing you asked, with a trembling voice, was if he was okay, and when you felt the doctor's soft nod you felt your soul return to your body. Then he explained everything that had happened in greater detail: Spencer had been hit from the side by a drunk driver who had entered at the same time as him and who, unfortunately, hadn’t survived. The surgery had been delayed because Spencer had a stab wound to his leg, dangerously close to the femoral artery and at risk of bleeding, as well as multiple pieces of glass buried deep in his torso, which punctured muscle and could damage vessels, nerves, and tendons. He had made the emergency call before falling unconscious and the doctor in front of you emphasized that if it hadn't been for the speed of the report things could have ended worse.

"Right now he is in intensive care, you can come in to see him until he wakes up"

"And how long will that take?"

“It varies from patient to patient. I can't give you an exact answer, but it won't be for another hour or two”

You warmly thanked the doctor for the job done and somewhat disappointed, but definitely calmer, you returned to your seat in the waiting room. You asked if you could stay there the rest of the night even if it wasn't on his side and the woman agreed. A little less upset, you searched in the hospital for a place to prepare coffee and after obtaining a well-charged one you waited again.

At some point you curled up in the chair and after an hour, and the fact that the coffee had no effect on you at all, you had already fallen asleep. Luckily your sleep was light, so you could clearly hear when a new nurse murmured your name and said that she would guide you to where Spencer was, who had woken up a few minutes before. During the walk down the corridor, she warned you that in intensive care only visits of less than an hour were allowed and when you entered the room full of stretchers protected only by curtains, she took you to one almost at the end, indicating that your patient was there.

You didn't go in immediately, because you needed to get some air first to gather the courage to do it, and when you finally did, a sea of feelings flooded you. Spencer looked fatigued and a little pale. His eyelids were closed and if it hadn't been for the heart monitor next door emitting soft, continuous beeps, you would have thought he was already in a better place.

Carefully you approached a chair right next to the stretcher and once seated there you remained silent for a moment, until you felt the need to hold his hand as a way of comforting yourself, as if you were closer this way. Said action didn’t go unnoticed by the man, who, when he slightly opened his eyes, believed that his mind was vilely deceiving him, and a second later your name left his lips as a scratchy and confused whisper.

"Hello" was all you managed to say, holding back the tears that had already pooled on your lashes. "How are you feeling?"

“I feel like everything around me is spinning”

With a little more confidence, and so that he wouldn't strain his eyes, you approached the edge of the bed, still not letting go of his hand.

"The doctor said you really had a bad accident"

"The other man? He is…?"

"Dead" you completed in a whisper, completely admiring your friend's pure spirit that allowed her to worry about who caused him to be there "He was drunk when he hit you and they couldn't do much"

"Oh," was all Spencer said, with a genuine tone of pity. You didn't know what to say, or even what to do, you were just looking at him as closely as possible to reassure yourself that he was okay and with his whole body. Your hand hadn't let go and he seemed comfortable with it.

"Do you want me to call someone?"

"A doctor?"

"To a friend"

"They..." Reid still looked disoriented, as if he couldn't even remember the conditions in which he had the accident, and when he finally got his thoughts together, he looked back at you, "Why are you here?"

“I am your emergency contact”

It took him a moment, again, to process the words. When he was aware of the situation, he closed his eyes tightly as if he had done something terrible, and looked at you with shame.

"I'm so sorry"

"Don't you want me here?"

"What? No! Of course I want you here. It's just that I didn't want to bother you with this, I… I thought I'd change that information when I found a better candidate and I never did, so months went by and I… forgot. Well, I didn't forget, but I didn't want to change it because I didn't think it would be necessary and right now I think I should have discussed it with you and I never did, so I'm sorry. Are you upset?”

“Spencer, relax,” you exhaled gently, rubbing your fingers over the back of his hand “There's no problem staying here, I just want to know if you need me to call someone. They didn't let me stay here for long."

“Call Hotch. I want to let him know that I'm taking a vacation."

It was difficult for him to keep his eyes open continuously, probably from the remaining effects of the anesthesia, so you just nodded and did as he asked. Spencer listened to the entire conversation in which you explained what had happened and even answered some of his boss's questions himself, assuring him that he was as well as he could be after an accident of this magnitude. Aaron also promised that the team would visit him as soon as possible, and he asked you to keep in touch, with an odd familiarity that made you smile.

After finishing the call, you returned to your chair and leaned over to brush his hair off his forehead, taking the opportunity to caress his face carefully. Spencer, still with his eyes closed, smiled at the touch.

“You cut it” you observed “Are you still doing it yourself?”

"Yes, still"

You smiled at him and he smiled back, but neither of you said anything else. There would be time to answer questions later.

Although he seemed to be asleep, he was aware that you were by his side for another long time, and when you said goodbye you promised that you would return there as soon as you could.

The next morning, after taking a shower and calling work that you had an emergency, you kept your promise. Spencer seemed a bit more recovered on this second visit; his color had returned to his cheeks, he was almost sitting on the bed and could basically keep his eyes open for more than ten seconds at a time. The doctor had told you that he would stay there for observation for the rest of the day and once he moved to a general room you could be with him for as long as you wanted. For now, you would have to make do with that sixty-minute visit.

"Do you feel better?"

"Not really. But I'm not complaining, it could be worse” he replied, settling better on the bed and wincing.

“I told the doctors no… I asked them not to give you Dilaudid” you confessed, with a bit of fear of his reaction “No type of morphine, in fact. They told me that they could substitute another analgesic, but that you would feel a little more pain than you normally would. Still, I insisted. I hope you don't mind"

“The doctor told me. And I appreciate it,” he murmured sincerely. He couldn't describe the ease he felt when he found out about it, for he had been drug-free for too long to mess it up by carelessness. Luckily, he had you.

"How have you been, by the way?" you shyly exclaimed, taking a step closer to him "I don't mean right now, but... during this time"

"Relatively well" he replied, inviting you with his eyes to sit in the same chair you had been a few hours ago. In doing so you hoped that he would develop a more complete answer than just two words and then he began to relate to you some events significant enough to deserve a mention.

One of the things you'd always loved about Spencer was hearing him talk, whether it was for a minute or an hour. With other people he talked fast, afraid someone would ask him to shut up, but with you he always took his time. In his words there was no sign of spite towards you, even when you thought you deserved it, always showing the beautiful heart that he harbored in that chest.

“I have also been giving conferences more often and that makes me happy. Many of the people there don't understand what I'm talking about, but those who do always come up and ask me questions. Sometimes Emily or Rossi accompany me and other times I go alone. Oh, and I'm taking a PhD."

"Another?" you said surprised, although you didn’t doubt his ability.

"I've been kind of bored, if I'm honest" was his poor explanation from him. You wanted to remind him that no one went into PhDs just because they were bored, but he was a genius you were talking to.

You didn't dare to confess to him that you had been watching some of his labor movements, but just knowing again a little about the things that were happening to him made you feel good.

“Have you been alright?” he continued, looking genuinely interested in hearing your answer.

“I have been able to defend myself, yes. Do you remember when I told you about asking for a promotion? Well, it finally happened a few months ago and the extra money has been doing me good. I have a little more work freedom, too, and I'm considering moving”

“Where do you plan to move to?”

You explained some of the options you had in mind and after hearing each one he helped you learn about some of the pros and cons in terms of costs, services, and security in the area. You would have continued your talk if it hadn't been for a nurse coming in. She was the same one that had received you the night before and you smiled kindly when you recognized her.

"Good morning, how are you feeling, Mr. Reid?" she asked, as she maneuvered to change the IV pole bag.

“Better than yesterday, definitely”

"You don't have to worry, you will recover soon"

"I hope so" he smiled.

“You gave your girlfriend quite a scare, that's for sure,” she teased, nodding her head in your direction.

You tensed at that, and if you had been an ostrich, you would have buried your head in the ground. Spencer watched you from the stretcher with a little smile and answered something you didn't understand to the nurse. They exchanged another couple of sentences until she was gone, saying goodbye cordially to both of you.

"Did she misread the situation or is there something here I'm missing?" he asked you once you were alone, looking genuinely amused.

“Okay, I admit it, maybe I lied a bit last night. I thought they would have more compassion and trust in a girlfriend than an ex-girlfriend"

"And your real boyfriend isn't going to be upset if you're here taking care of me?"

Ever since you met him you could say that if Spencer lacked a quality, it was subtlety and now he himself was showing it. You knew that there was enough trust for him to tease you like that, but you also knew that asking about your love life was some kind of revenge for having lied to the staff and so you decided to humor him.

"No, he isn’t very jealous to say. On the contrary, he is open-minded and right now we are trying to have an open relationship. You know, I see some people, he sees others, but we still have our thing."

Spencer's previously mocking expression immediately changed upon hearing you say that, having no idea how he would be wise to react. But you couldn't stand it for a long time and you burst out laughing, clarifying between laughs that you were only joking.

“Well, even so, it is likely that at some point in your life you could be in such a relationship, there are even those who think that it is healthy and mature when both people agree”

“It's not quite my style. I prefer safe monogamy or if the guy is very stupid, the sex without commitment for a single night” you laughed slightly.

The deadline for the visit had already expired and with all the sadness you had to say goodbye to him, promising that you would return as soon as he came out of intensive care.

“You've done a lot for me, but it's okay if at some point you're too busy to come, okay? I will understand"

"Don't talk nonsense" you exclaimed firmly, while you leaned down enough to give him a hug without hurting him. Suddenly a new concern invaded you and you felt that you had to ask him a question that you had omitted: "Unless you have a psycho girlfriend who is after my head, do you?"

"Do you think if that was the case, I wouldn't have mentioned it already?" he muttered obviously and now it was your turn to smile.

You didn't want a nurse to come in to get you out of there by force so you took your things and looked at your ex-boyfriend one last time to wave goodbye.

You always thought that when a relationship ended it was because either party had made a serious mistake: “I slept with your best friend”, “my family secretly hates you”, or “it turns out I'm still too in love with my ex to love you”. But when you decided to break up with Spencer, you found that that formula didn't apply to everyone.

Perhaps it was an unfortunate combination of situations, feelings, and problems that led to things simply stopping working overnight. You didn't know how to explain it, none of you, but you guys couldn't even kiss the same way you used to. Your work exhausted you, his work exhausted him, and in the end it was you who decided for both of us that things would be better if everyone took their own path. This isn’t to say that the breakup was less painful, it was just that the hope of being able to have a friendship after it made the grief more bearable. But none of you was able to forget what had happened to pretend to be friends and so, little by little, you stopped seeing each other. Over a year passed with neither of you discussing the silent breakup and, though you and he couldn't have known it, even your respective group of friends suffered a little from the pain of parting from a couple they'd swear would walk down the aisle.

That was why a part of you was guiltily glad that you could see him again and that things weren't at all awkward, like you always imagined they would be. It was your same Spencer, just a little teasing and with less hair, but other than that he had barely changed. He still had those kind eyes that once saw you as if you were the most beautiful person on earth.

You took advantage of the way home in your car to think about everything that was happening to you and for a moment you wondered if with Spencer's recovery all relationship with you would end up withering like a flower with the arrival of autumn or would be reborn as they do in spring.

"I don't even know why we're playing, we both know you're always going to win" you complained, throwing your pathetic poker hand onto the bed sheet, as he laughed.

The hospital called you when Spencer was admitted to the general ward and you had stayed with him ever since. There was a television in the room, but you knew that he was not a big fan of technological entertainment, so before coming back you decided to take as many things as you needed so that you could kill time; a few books, a deck of cards, a book full of word scrambles and crossword puzzles you'd picked up at a newsstand on the way, and even a blank notebook that could do multiple jobs.

He would stay there for about a week (the doctor explained that it all depended on how fast he healed) and that morning you had gone to talk to your boss at the office to ask her for a couple of days so you could stay with him. You still had a week of vacation available and although he felt extremely guilty you insisted on staying there, after all no one from the BAU could leave their post for that long. In addition, urgent or essential things could be done from home and it was enough to connect for a couple of hours from your laptop to solve them.

Spencer hadn't told you, but he felt comfortable having company during his stay there. Hospitals weren’t his favorite places and having such a familiar presence comforted him.

"I'll let you win once if it makes you feel better"

"If you wanted me to feel better you should have done it without telling me, now I know you were just being silly" you huffed, shuffling the cards with both hands.

"It's all about math, it's really not that complicated"

“Why have you never thought about betting big in casinos? You're from Vegas, you must know a lot. And you could become a millionaire with it."

“It is illegal, in fact, and I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin, and Pahrump because of my card-counting ability. So sorry to disappoint you, but those plans wouldn't work."

“A wasted talent. What a pity” you sighed, starting to hand out a new game.

While you were doing that, a nurse came into the room carrying a tray with food and your friend's eyes sparkled, because being fed intravenously for a day and a half hadn’t been very to his liking. When he put it down in front of you, you noticed that everything looked appetizing considering it was hospital food, and after thanking the man he took the dessert and spread it in your direction.

“You don't like Jell-o anymore?

"Yeah, but I know it's your favorite," he added, shrugging and starting to eat the main course voraciously.

"I'm not going to take advantage of a sick person"

“You aren’t taking advantage. I'm giving it to you" with a smile you put the dessert on the nightstand, ready to return it to him if he wanted it later, and as seeing him eat your own hunger woke you up, you told him you'd go out for a moment to look for something.

You were surprised that across the corridor, at the reception, there was a group of people that you recognized immediately. Morgan was the first to notice you and had to turn twice to make sure his brain wasn't playing tricks on him. Then he motioned to Garcia, who was holding a bouquet of flowers and a balloon, and she waved her hand in your direction with a huge smile.

“Are you really who I think you are?” he asked, once they approached you.

"It seems so" you laughed, under the watchful and surprised gaze of almost everyone present.

The team greeted you with hugs, seeming genuinely happy to see you around and asking about the status of your mutual friend. You related all the medical details of the accident, the care they had taken and in the same way you told them that you had been there throughout the entire process.

"And how is he now?"

“He is fine, just a little sore. But the worst is over, the doctor says he will recover soon”

"It's a relief that everything was quick, I don't even want to think about what would have happened if the doctors didn't arrive on time"

"Do you think we can stop by to see him?"

"He'll be delighted, I assure you" you answered happily "He's in room 501, I'll come back to you as soon as I find something to eat"

Everyone thanked you and set out to find the room, except for Aaron who stayed in the hallway so he could talk to you.

"How has everything been?"

"Okay, as far as that goes," you smiled, arms crossed over your chest, "How's Jack?"

"Growing up" was all he said and you didn't need more to know what he meant "I just wanted to tell you that the plan is to stay here for a few hours, in case you want to come home and rest"

Although you didn't often see him, Hotch had always been particularly nice to you when you were the boy's girlfriend, and he had also tried to cheer the man up when he found out about the breakup: he was especially fond of both you and him.

“Oh, thank you very much for that, Aaron. I was going to go get something to eat, but I don't have much of an appetite for fast or canned food, so I could probably eat at home and come back."

"Do what you have to do. We'll be here,” he assured you.

"You're not going to ask Spencer to go back to work, are you?"

"I won't ask him, I'll be lucky if I convince him not to do it" you giggled to see that Spencer was still the same stubborn person as always, and you thought about whether it would be correct to ask your ex-boyfriend's boss a personal question. You had always seen someone strong in him, of course, but he also had a gentle and understanding part.

"He told me that he's been fine, but… has he really been?"

You wanted to hear from someone else how he had been, because you knew that it was likely that the chestnut omitted the bad parts of the story just to not worry you.

"I don't know what can be considered ‘fine' in Reid's life. He has kept up his spirits and as far as I know his mother is doing well. He doesn't drink, he doesn't smoke, and even though I've insisted on it, he refuses to see a therapist, but I guess he finds another way to deal with the problems. There have been bad days, but he always gets over it” you felt calm when you heard that and you nodded with a smile.

“He is always like that. It makes me happy that he has you"

"Sometimes he's not that happy" he sighed, probably with some important background for those words "But in the end it's like in all families, right?"

"I think so" you smiled bitterly. He was watching you carefully, trying to read your micro-expressions as much as possible. After all he was a profiler, that was his job. "Then I'll go home quickly and come back as soon as possible, okay?"

“Good luck, drive carefully”

"It was nice to see you again, Hotch."

Spencer hardly even noticed your absence with the bustle of his friends in the room and when you came back you were even wearing other clothes. During their visit you were just a listener to the funny stories everyone seemed to have and from time to time you answered a few polite questions from others.

You talked to them about your plans to stay there daily and you agreed that they would take turns helping you for a couple of hours each, when possible, so you would get some rest as well. Also, most volunteered to replace the amount of blood he had needed in surgery. All the attention had the man a bit dizzy, but still he felt lucky for the people around him.

The days went by and sometimes you smuggled in a snack that wouldn't harm your friend's health so he could eat during the afternoon. You had convinced him to see one or another movie, you had brought some yarn and needles for you to resume knitting lessons that had been forgotten for many years, and in general you could say that you had a good time with him. Chats with Spencer always felt natural so topics of conversation weren't a problem either, as he would be able to recite facts to you from memory as long as you guys didn't get bored.

The doctors came in frequently to check that everything was in order and every time you heard positive responses about the recovery process you felt calm.

You'd come home at night because Spencer insisted on it, but the next morning you'd leave your apartment as early as possible and spend the rest of the day there.

Although you didn't want to admit it, you were more and more convinced that those days by his side became the spark of happiness that your life needed. All the time was only yours and served to recover some of the lost things.

“Do you want me to read aloud to you?” he offered an afternoon and you put aside your occupations to accept the offer. You had gotten him a copy of The Narrative of John Smith by Arthur Conan Doyle because you knew he loved that book and that was the one selected for the activity.

Contrary to what many people thought, he was a great speaker and the sound of his voice brought to the surface memories that you thought were lost.

"What are you reading?" you had asked that night, after brushing your teeth and putting on your pajamas. Spencer spent at least 10 minutes reading before going to sleep, enough for him to devour an entire book, or at least a large part of it.

You assumed that his current reading would be something related to a case, but you were surprised to hear the answer.

"Alice in Wonderland"

"Why are you reading Alice in Wonderland?" you asked helpfully, as you slid under the covers into the space next to him and peered over the side.

“My mom used to read it to me when I was a kid and I wanted to reread it. It's a nice story"

"I have never read it. I just watched the movie"

"You are committing a sin. The cinema will never do justice to the original stories.”

"And why don't you read to me a bit?" you asked nicely, followed by a short kiss on the lips "I like listening to you and maybe you will help me fall asleep"

You carefully slipped in until you were comfortably recharged on his chest and when you were ready he complied with your request, beginning with the story he knew by heart.

Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it…

It became a habit and sometimes you guys wouldn't even finish the books because you always picked another one that seemed interesting, even if it was in a different language because you knew Spencer would translate it for you. It was those kinds of actions that allowed him to feel useful around you and thus show you how much he loved you.

You had already read that book once, as you were also an enthusiastic Doyle fan, so he felt free to choose one of his favorite chapters. You didn't lie down as comfortably as you used to, but you still enjoyed reading, with a big smile to return to that habit of yours that you loved so much.

In the midst of everything you reflected that, perhaps, the love between you was something that had not completely disappeared, but rather a latent feeling that had now found an opportunity to appear.

Loving meant many things and if you didn't love it then you wouldn't be there at that moment, but somehow repeating an exclusive activity from your time as a couple made you miss that greatly. Spencer hadn't read to anyone else because he knew that was just yours.

This time you didn't fall asleep when he finished the chapter, but you kept looking at him the whole time, afraid that it was just a ghost in your memory that would evaporate in your hands as soon as you dared to touch him.

Luckily he was very real and inside that small hospital room, you could travel to the past as many times as you wanted without being disturbed. And for now, that was enough for you two.

A whole week passed and everything seemed to be going great. That day Spencer had convinced you to watch a Korean movie he had on DVD and you were about to leave when he cleared his throat to get your attention.

"Before you go, do you think you could do me a favor?" he asked. He could move a little better now and right now his feet dangled to the side of the stretcher, from where he watched you slightly nervous. You didn’t imagine what this behavior was due to.

"Whatever, what do you need?"

"I didn't ask before because... I'm a little embarrassed, to be honest," Spencer wasn't watching you speak and your brow furrowed in obvious confusion at that "But... I asked the nurse if I could take a shower now and she said yes, but I need someone to help me"

Your mouth opened with a soft oh and then you understood why he seemed so shy about the request.

“You don't have to do it if you don't want to” he added “I know it can be awkward, I just don't know who else to ask and you know it bothers me so much being so dirty. I hadn't tried it before because it literally hurt to breathe, but now that I feel better I think I really need it and I would really appreciate it if you… you know."

"It’s okay, Spencer," you replied, taking a few steps toward him, "There's nothing in there that I haven't already seen.”

“I will wear underwear, I don't have to be completely naked. You would just have to help me wash… some parts”

“Then why are you making this fuss? Let's give you that shower!" you laughed, sitting down next to him so he put his arm around your shoulders and you could help him up.

He was still having a bit of trouble from the leg injury, but the bathroom wasn't that far away and you managed to guide him there. The shower was surrounded by a plastic curtain, with a proper chair for patients and a hose with a shower head at the end. You helped Spencer into the chair and while you recovered from the effort you took a look around; there were some toiletries on a shelf that would surely do for him, and a white towel as well.

“Morgan brought me some new clothes and the nurse said we could ask the store manager for a gown,” he muttered, before you started doing anything. You took off your shoes and left them nestled to one side, always feeling his gaze following you.

When you noticed that he didn't take his eyes off you and was just there, sitting, you spoke:

“Should I help you take off your gown or do you take it off yourself?” there was amusement in your words and Spencer, as if taken from a trance, hastened to find the knot of the garment for himself. He was already wearing his underpants below and it only took him to get rid of the material so that he was half naked.

You hadn't seen his wounds until that moment and you couldn't help but wrinkle your face imagining the pain he must have felt. His stitches were still there but they were already healing and he would have at least four scars, plus one twice the size on the leg opposite where he had taken a bullet; that added up to five marks adorning his body. He was never an athletic person, but since he wasn't a very keen eater either he was able to keep himself in shape. Personally, you had always been attracted to him in every possible way, so his physique was never something that bothered you: thin, muscular, with some paunch, you were going to like him no matter how he was.

“Are you going to help me or are you just going to stare at me?” he countered, looking down at you with that expression you knew was the boldest thing he could get, and you snorted a laugh.

"Shut up"

You stretched to reach the shower head to warm the water, not wanting him to catch a cold and knowing that a warm shower would make him feel better because it would relax his muscles. Once it was at the right temperature, you wet his hair a bit and took shampoo in your hands to wash his head. He gave a barely audible moan as you began to massage his scalp and closed his eyes so he could enjoy your touch. Once you were done there you took a sponge and started cleaning his shoulders, torso, and back, trying to be as careful as possible. Sometimes you even let your fingers slip through the side of the sponge to touch his slightly tanned skin, as smooth as it had always been, while you gazed at those moles you'd kissed so many times. The first time you had sex with him, as you watched him in the twilight after the act, you had tried to study every part you could, from the little freckles on his back to the birthmark on his leg, and right now you felt like crying to see those little things about him again.

You were enjoying treating him like this so much and not to mention Spencer, who felt like he was in heaven to feel you so close to him. He could smell your perfume, a little worn, but still present after the whole day and from time to time he dared to look up to meet your face. And every time he looked at you, he remembered why he thought you were the most beautiful woman of all.

"You didn't have to give me the whole shower, you know?" he joked at some point, when you lovingly washed his hands “I just wanted you to help me with the parts I couldn't reach. But honestly, I'm not complaining about this."

Of course the two of you had ever taken a shower together, but it had never been anything like this. They were always things to optimize time, like when you were short of time to go to work or too tired to shower separately. This act was something different, something more private and delicate; it was too domestic. You were taking care of him and at the same time enjoying seeing him in such a docile position, peeking at you from time to time.

"I'm just doing an old friend a favor" you answered with a smile, although when you heard the words out loud it immediately faded.

An old friend. Was that what you were now?

The place was silent for a moment, with only the sound of water dripping on the white tile floor.

"Did you ever miss me?"

His question had taken you by surprise and you remained silent before answering, trying to figure out what relation the question had to the situation. From the way he'd said it, you almost thought it was one of those things that burned in his chest and he'd needed to exhale.

"Yes, sometimes" you finally answered. He seemed satisfied with the answer "And you?"

"Many times," he laughed, a bit of guilt tinging his words.

A part of you wondered what he was trying to tell you with that: was it a confession… or a declaration? Ending the relationship had been imminent, and if you hadn’t done it that day you could have done it months or even weeks later, however, you weren’t going to lie in saying that you weren’t tormented by the thought of what would have happened if you had tried just a little longer. And that was accompanied, of course, by a tremendous feeling of nostalgia. You wanted to correct your answer and tell him that you had actually missed him terribly, all along, but you couldn't bring yourself to. And he, who couldn't read your mind, thought that he had simply bothered you with an out-of-place comment.

"You can rinse off while I get a new gown, what do you say?"

Spencer nodded at the idea and then you walked out of there, your cheeks feeling strangely hot. What was happening to you? Did you still have feelings for him?

Maybe the real question was, have you ever stopped feeling something for him?

It didn't take you long to get what you needed and you came back to find it wrapped in the towel. After he got dressed, you maneuvered in the same way to help him out, although now with the added problem of the slippery floor, and before long he was lying back on the bed.

"I feel much better now" he smiled at you. From the bedroom window you could see the night sky and then you realized how long it took you to shower.

"Do you want me to do something else?"

Your curt response wasn't because he deserved it, but because you were too confused to stay there any longer.

“No, everything's fine. Thank you very much for this”

"You're welcome" you smiled.

"Well... I guess you'll want to go now”

You still knew Spencer too well to know that that slight frown between his brows was a sure sign of concern, and you felt bad for speaking to him in the way you had. To atone a bit for your guilt, you approached him and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning against his body in a hug.

His body still felt warm and comfortable and just as if it had been made to fit yours. His arms held you firmly when he was finally able to react and you felt his chest deflate a little, as if he wanted to give you more space to feel close.

Time passed so slowly that you didn't even know how long you stayed in that position, just enjoying the closeness and his gentle hands rubbing your back.

"I like how you smell" you exclaimed in a low voice, fearing to break the tranquility of the moment and you felt his chest vibrate with a laugh.

“Did you know that your sense of smell is directly linked to the attraction you feel for a person? Your nose captures the pheromones that the opposite body secretes and if it considers it a good candidate to mate then it is pleasant”

"I think it's just the shampoo," you laughed. You turned your head up a bit and Spencer, by inertia, turned down to meet your gaze. "Although I wouldn't need to sniff you to know if I wanted to mate with you”

The joke had been so natural that you didn't measure the weight of the words until they left your mouth, and the worst thing was that the position you were in hadn’t been the most appropriate. You could feel his breath mixing with yours and it was enough to get a little closer to melt your lips in a kiss.

You had put yourself in that situation, as if your body was unconsciously looking for his own, and Spencer hadn't refused at any time. Just like how no one had forced you to stay with him all this time and you still had.

Your boss had been too permissive with the situation during that time, but you were sure that she would no longer be so if more time passed, so you would have to return to the office the next morning. And Spencer had at most two more days before the doctor released him.

And what difference did it make if you kissed him at that moment? Would you ever get a chance to do that again? You didn't have to think about it too much, because he was the one who started closing the distance; an inch, then another, until you felt your lips brush against each other. And he would have kissed you if it hadn't been for the unwelcome ringing of a cell phone that made you jump away.

"It's... yours" you stammered, handing him the old artifact that announced Penélope García's contact calling him.

While he was having a conversation, you didn't even look at him, but started packing your things spread out around the room so you could get out of there as quickly as possible. You could tell by the rush in the man's words that he could read your intentions and wished he could talk to you before you left.

"Everything's good. Thanks for calling, Garcia. Yeah, I love you too. Bye”

"Look the hour! I have to go, I'll go back to work tomorrow and I want to have everything in order" you said as soon as he hung up the call, waving your hands in the air as you spoke as a sign of your nervousness "I'll try to come back tomorrow, but... I don't know if work let me"

“Okay, you've already done too much. I'm fine now,” he assured you, giving a thumbs up with a tight-lipped smile. Even though you wanted to say something the words didn't come out of your mouth, so you just raised your hand to say goodbye and then you rushed out of there.

All the way home your mind was busy processing the feelings that almost kiss had evoked in you and, to be honest, they all ended in the same thing: the wish that he had cut the distance completely. That desire followed you when you showered, when you went to sleep, when you woke up, and all through the workday the next day. Minute after minute your mind could only think about him and what would have happened if you hadn't been interrupted by that call.

As you had feared, you didn’t have time to visit him at night and since you didn’t find the courage to call him personally, you only asked the hospital to pass on the message. You intended to see him a day after that, figuring that the matter would have been forgotten, but your plans were thwarted when Spencer called you to say that they had just authorized his medical discharge. He sounded calm and, of course, happy, when he told you that an ambulance was going to take him to his apartment.

"That's wonderful" you answered honestly. You were sitting at your work desk sorting out some documents, so you held your phone between your ear and your shoulder.

“I just wanted to thank you for everything you did. For all. I… I don't know what he would have done without you here. And you didn't have to, but you still did it. So, thanks"

"I already told you before, you don't have to thank me for anything"

"But I'd still like to," he murmured firmly, "Would you let me buy you dinner sometime?"

You were silent for a second, honestly confused by what he was asking. I mean, you knew what he was inviting you to, but you didn't know why.

"Dinner?"

“Well, it's the least I can do for you. I have to use crutches for a while again, so we couldn't go out to a fancy restaurant or anything. It would just be us in my apartment, do you still like Italian food? Rossi taught me a great recipe and I think I cook decent enough.”

“Ah… yes, I would love to” you stammered. You thought that after his recovery you would not speak again and things would return to how they were before; but apparently Spencer had other plans.

"How about Saturday?"

“Sounds perfect to me” you breathed out, still a bit surprised and quite nervous about the proposal you just received. Even if it was merely friendly, you were happy to know that he still wanted your company.

Perhaps you had been too hard on him and on yourself by not allowing things to just follow their natural flow, holding onto the misconception that you and Spencer Reid no longer had romantic feelings for each other.

"I'll meet you here then, do you still remember how to get there?"

“If you have the same address, then I still do it”

"Good. I was just calling to ask you that. I guess you're busy working."

"Only a little"

"Well, I'll let you do it. Thanks for accepting"

"Thank you for inviting me"

You guys were silent for a moment and you wondered if Spencer was smiling the same way you were.

"Bye," he said kindly and after saying goodbye you hung up.

You were left smiling like a fool at the idea that your first date in a long time would be with the only man who years ago had been capable of stealing your heart and after taking a few minutes to process it you went back to your work, but not before pointing with circle the date on your calendar, like a teenager in love.

When the day finally came you made sure to look for a nice outfit before your dinner with him, holding yourself back from looking too excited. You rarely wore dresses but, if your memory serves you, he really liked how you looked in them, so you made sure to look for one that would accentuate your figure and make you look more youthful. You carefully combed your hair, put on just a little makeup, and came on your way to buy a bottle of wine. You still remembered the information that he had told you about which wines were best suited for each meal and although you still didn’t know about dinner, you brought a bottle that it presumed to be Italian.

When you reached number 23 on the second floor, you knocked on the door and after hearing a couple of noises, he finally appeared in front of you.

"Hey!" he greeted you happily. He was using his old crutches, had shaved off the facial hair that had appeared during his hospital stay, and was wearing a black apron with white lettering, which Garcia had surely given him, and which read: Kiss the cook. Please I'm very lonely “Come in, come in”

"How are you?" you asked, stepping into the apartment and greeting him with a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“I’m okay, dinner is almost ready. I had technical complications because I didn't consider that cooking with crutches is more difficult than doing it without them, so I just hope it tastes good" he complained, moving deftly through the apartment to the kitchen "Sit down, I'll join you in a moment"

When he got lost in the kitchen you took the opportunity to take a look at the place. He kept having piles of books both on the shelves and stacked on the floor, on his desk, next to the chair. There were a couple of new artworks on the green wall along with the ones you'd helped him choose in the past, and picture frames everywhere: him with his mom, several with his co-workers (old and new). and you were surprised to see that even you had a space. The frame was smaller than the others, maybe to make it more discreet, but it was carefully arranged on the shelf that, by chance, or perhaps not, contained many of the books that you had given him.

"Do you need help with something?" you half screamed, hearing the crash of some pots and he denied in the same way. The air smelled delicious and your stomach rumbled with anticipation. After a few minutes Spencer was with you, both sitting in the brown leather chair where you had spent so many afternoons together.

“You just have to wait for it to cool down a bit and we can have dinner”

"I brought a wine" you murmured as you handed him the bottle. He examined it and congratulated you on your choice, telling you that it would go perfectly with the pasta he had prepared. "Are you still taking any medication?"

"Not anymore. The doctor prescribed me some things for the pain, but… I'm not taking them” he said, with a guilty smile on his face “I like your dress, by the way”

Hearing this, a satisfied smile spread across your face and you modestly thanked him for the compliment.

As he said, dinner was ready in a few minutes and you accompanied him to the dining room to serve a couple of dishes. Spencer seemed to have put an effort into everything, as he looked really exquisite and you didn't hesitate to compliment him on it even before trying it on. Dinner remained pleasant, with a couple of laughs, jokes and a flirtatious look that sometimes you weren't even aware of. Now that he had gotten rid of the apron, you could see that he was wearing a purple button-down shirt that you had always liked on him, because it fit in all the right places to make him look gorgeous. Besides, that color had always favored him.

Once you were finished, you offered him a drink of wine and he agreed, listing the digestive benefits the drink had for you. He asked if you wanted to go into the living room to be more comfortable and then both of you walked to the rickety chair, taking the bottle with you. Within a very short time the liquid in it was almost completely finished and both he and you became gigglier.

Unfortunately for you, with the laughter that came, your self-control also left. Every time he spoke you couldn't help but let your gaze slide to his lips, a little to be able to correctly understand the words that came out of it and another little just to be able to appreciate the pink color they had; they still looked soft, and you wondered if they would feel soft.

You didn't know Spencer was aware of the struggle you had inside of you, as he kept talking, laughing, and just looking so handsome while you fell apart. After a couple of minutes, you couldn't resist it anymore. Your body was vibrating with the desire to have him, maybe because of the alcohol in your blood or maybe because he looked strangely attractive when he rambled on about his PhD research.

“Spencer” you stopped him suddenly. He looked at you with a hint of concern for having overwhelmed or bored you with his talk about him and you thought he couldn't look cuter that way.

"What's wrong?" he started to say, but the question was drowned out by your lips trapping his.

You kissed him fast but deep and all the weight of guilt fell on your shoulders when you looked at his reaction; he kept not looking at any specific point and breathing heavily through his mouth, totally petrified by what you just did.

"Sorry, I don't know why I did that" you stammered. You regretted it just because you made him uncomfortable, not because you didn't want to kiss him “I messed it up, didn't I? Are you mad at me?" you wanted to know, panicked, but now it was your words that were cut off by a kiss.

He wasted no time and taking advantage of your shock one of his hands came up to hold your cheek, while he leaned more in your direction. His lips tasted of wine and nostalgia, they tasted of an overflowing love that you had finally agreed to continue feeling for each other.

He kissed you so hungrily that he was making you completely dizzy and you only separated when it was absolutely necessary to breathe, repeating kiss after kiss. He lowered his other hand to your waist to try to get you closer and you, reflexively, climbed onto his lap. It was then that you guys really looked at each other; wet lips, messy hair, hot pink painted cheeks and completely agitated breathing.

"Uh, I..."

"It was too much?" you said fearful. His hands had automatically gone up to your waist, since that position was already quite familiar to him, and yours were on his shoulders.

"No, no. I mean… only if this is okay with you”

You could have told him you were sorry, but that would be a lie. You loved being so close to him, you loved that you finally had your courage, and you loved that he cared about what you wanted. And you were going to tell him, that's for sure.

"I am telling you the truth?" you gasped, carefully holding his face to force him to look you straight in the eye. They were the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen: "Right now all I can think about is how much I need you"

No more words were needed for what happened next. You melted into a kiss again and when you pressed your hip against his, he sighed against your mouth, feeling his crotch suffer the consequences of the heated kisses you were giving him. For a moment he wanted to feel sorry, but he knew better than anyone that you already knew perfectly every inch of his body and from the smile he felt on his lips he suspected that you were enjoying the heat in that area more than you should. It was satisfying to see that you still had that kind of power over him, where you barely touched him and he was already a mess. But you couldn't speak more highly of yourself, because when his hands went to your hips you felt like putty between his fingers.

"You want to…?" he started to say, but your insistence on kissing him barely left him thinking "Do you want us to go to my room?"

Spencer was afraid he was going too fast and scaring you with it, but he couldn't find another way to interpret the result of what you were doing. He just wanted you to be as comfortable as possible.

"Yeah, I think so" you answered in a whisper.

You got up from your seat and took his hand intending to help him up, until the crutches next to the sofa reminded you of the man's physical condition. Spencer looked at the hesitation in your eyes, but he didn't give you time to back down, because in one quick movement he was on his feet and crossing to the door that led to his room, ignoring any kind of pain he might feel.

Once there, he sat on the bed and pulled you towards him to continue kissing you. None of you bothered to turn on the light to continue what you were doing. You thought the position might strain him so you gently and carefully pushed him back to lay him flat on the bed. This allowed him to better knead the soft meat on your thighs and you rewarded him with enthusiastic kisses on his neck.

You separated a little until you were sitting on his hip and then you undid the buttons of his shirt. You made sure to gently kiss the wounds he had made and Spencer just sighed with each touch of your lips. A little needy to kiss you, he also stretched out his hands to your dress, asking with his eyes for your consent to lower the zipper and get rid of it.

The dress was left tossed somewhere in the room and you leaned in just enough for him to smear kisses down your shoulders and across your chest. You could tell that he was taking his time and that only increased your desire to have him, to feel him inside you and make you his as he had done so many times.

“Y/N” he whispered against your mouth and you just hummed a nod “Darling, can you help me take off my pants?”

The nickname had come so naturally from his lips and had sounded so delicious that you had to suppress a groan. He called you that all the time, he was a very vocal man and it wasn't uncommon to hear him say those kinds of things. Both in bed and out of it.

You did exactly what he asked and you took the opportunity to slowly pass your hand over the bulge in his crotch, hearing him let out the first moan of the night.

“Hey, do you have a… uh, some protection?” you asked timidly. You loved him and trusted him, but a baby wasn’t what you needed; at least not at that time.

"In the usual drawer"

As if no time had passed, you rummaged with your hand in the left side of the second drawer in the nightstand, until you found what you were looking for. Sudden and unwarranted jealousy swept over you as you wondered if he had invited other women to spend the night and if those others could find things as naturally as you had. No one knew Spencer as you did, you were sure of it, because he wasn't a man who opened up easily to others. And no matter how many people had passed through your life, no one would understand you as much as he did.

Once you put the condom on, you took the opportunity to pump it up and down with your hand and the man's whining made you realize that he had really missed you. Both of you were trembling with anticipation, so with one movement you discarded your missing items and climbed back into his lap. Still a little fearful you looked at him and even in the middle of the darkness you realized the loving eyes on you.

“If it hurts just tell me and I'll stop. I know you're still delicate and I don't want to hurt you.”

"You would never hurt me" he answered and although you wanted to believe that they were limited to his injuries from the accident, you knew that it wasn’t so.

Those words carried more weight than you thought. They were a vote of confidence that he gave you over your entire person, not only his physical condition, but also his feelings and desires.

When you became one you groaned in unison and took a moment to get used to each other again. Your movements became soft, constant, and deep and he, unable to do more, just enjoyed that feeling.

After a few minutes, things went beyond the physical plane you were on; you realized that no one, ever, could make you feel what he did. You felt complete, whole and loved. You loved to hear everything that came out of his mouth and respond with an even more obscene sound. You loved that he knew the right points to touch and when to do it, you loved that he looked for your kisses in the middle of the act and you loved that being with him everything became so passionate and intimate. At that moment it was just him and you, no one else. As it always should have been.

After a while both bodies were already covered by a fine layer of sweat and your hands, small compared to his, leaned on his biceps to be able to move better against him.

"I missed this so much" you confessed, your voice muffled by uncontrollable moans "I missed you so much, you don't know how much I did"

He wanted to answer you, but the truth was that for the first time he had run out of words. He could only feel your body pressed against his and your boobs bouncing with each thrust.

There were certain gestures, movements, and sounds that told Spencer when you were about to arrive, so when he heard your erratic breathing and sensed your hesitation, he placed both hands on your hips to help you keep up.

At some point you felt the knot in your belly forming and you just let yourself be guided by it, anxious to feel the ecstasy exploding in you. It was enough to feel your walls pressing against him, your loud moans and a couple more pushes for Spencer to reach his own orgasm, wishing that the hot liquid had filled you instead of the barrier that protected you.

Your body fell against his, completely surrendered, and you felt his chest rise and fall as you tried to catch your breath. One of his arms, still clad in his shirt, slid around your waist and his lips groped for your forehead to place a small kiss. You were exhausted, but at the same time overflowing with joy, and he shed a single tear. Maybe because he had had a good orgasm in a long time or maybe because of the overwhelming reality that you had just made love to him.

For a few minutes you stayed like that, so peaceful and calm that you feared falling asleep in his arms.

“Y/N” he whispered, your name slipping from his lips so softly you thought you misheard.

"Yeah?" you inquired in a whisper. You two had always liked to talk for a bit after the sex rush wore off, as a way to keep things romantic.

"Risking to ruin the moment, can I ask you something?" he murmured and you rearranged yourself to face him to watch him. He looked so handsome, with dilated pupils and a flushed face, that you thought you might take him again right then.

"Whatever you want," you replied, gently brushing back the hair that had stuck to his sweaty face. You were drunk with love, he could have asked you to lower the moon and you would have done it without hesitation.

"What did this mean to you?" he added cautiously. You knew better than anyone that Spencer needed a certain security in things as well as people. The question would come eventually, though you thought you would have more time to think of an answer that would suffice. “It's okay if you say you just felt like doing it or that it was something that happened in the moment, I understand. I just... I don't want to get the wrong idea."

“And what would that wrong idea be?” you asked curiously. Suddenly he had become shy and just avoided your gaze without knowing how to respond to that, but you took him by the chin to force him to pay attention to you "Spence?"

“I don't want to have any illusions about you. If you don't see something in the future with me, that's fine, but at least I'd like to know."

They were not aggressive or demanding accusations; they were just sincere words with which he sought to protect his heart.

"I honestly don't know what's going to happen to us," you replied. A disappointed expression came over his face and you took him by surprise when you reached up a bit to kiss him again, but this time reassuringly and gently "But today I realized that you are perfect for me, in all the senses. And that I can never love someone like I love you. Does that answer your question?"

“I guess I feel the same way” he replied, but this time he was smiling slightly “And I know that we should have ended a long time ago, but… if your heart agrees, I think I'd like to start over. We were both in a bad situation back then, but now things could be different."

And of course they were going to be, because a part of you was convinced. You loved him, you had admitted it, and you knew he felt the same way about you. That was enough.

"I guess you're right. As always, Dr. Reid” you laughed, hearing his melodious laughter as well.

"For once, that makes me happy" he confessed and almost a second after that you heard him let out a weak moan that made you aware that you were pressing your chest against his still-fresh scars.

But to be honest, any previous signs of pain had been dwarfed by the pleasure of your body grinding against his.

"Maybe I should move" you apologized, but when you tried to, he didn't let you, instead tightening his grip on his arm against you.

"Don't do it” he begged you "Stay here just a little while longer"

For him, you could stay your whole life if he asked you to. Now you were sure of that. He was sure of that.

And now that you two had it back, you weren't going to let it go.

taglist: @navs-bhat @reidwritings @tricia-shifting14

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #JJ #penelope garcía #david rossi #emily prentiss #spencer reid x you #spencer reid smut #spencer reid exes to lovers

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cod-dump · 2 months

Text

Bruise (teen!Ghost au)

___

Kyle was reading in the living room when Simon passed by, heading to the front door. Of course he looked up to ask where he was going, that's when he noticed the bruise.

"Si what happened!?"

Simon stopped and blinked, looking down at the large bruise peaking from his collar.

"Oh, that. Johnny hit-"

Kyle's mind went blank. He put his book down quickly, practically dropping it. He wasn't even sure if he had marked his place. In a instant, Kyle was out the front door and heading across the street to Johnny's house.

"Kyle? Kyle what are you doing?"

Simon followed, confused and concerned. Kyle passed Alejandro sitting in his care, the reason why Simon was heading out the door. The boy blinked and peaked his head out of the window and called out to Kyle.

"Why are you making that face-?"

Kyle turned and interrupted him, murder in his eyes, "Johnny hit Simon."

Alejandro quickly got out of his car. Simon, by this point, realized what was happening and ran to Kyle, grabbing him.

"Kyle no- I'm fine!"

Alejandro, unrestrained, marched to the MacTavish house, and Simon squawked when Kyle forcefully removed himself, patting Simon's shoulder before he took off after Alejandro.

"WAIT-"

"THIS WON'T GO UNPUNISHED!"

"¡ESTO SIGNIFICA LA GUERRA!

"WAIT WAIT- IT WAS AN ACCIDENT I SWEAR-"

With the yelling and Simon desperately trying to deter Alejandro and Kyle from doing something they would regret, neighbors came out from their houses. Only a few of them, and one of them recognized Kyle and Simon, pulling out their phone to call their father. And Johnny came out from the back garden, confused. Simon grabbed Alejandro the moment he saw Johnny, fearing that he would do some serious damage.

But Kyle was left free and Simon was immediately regretting every decision that led to this moment.

"JOHNNY RUN!"

Johnny didn't get another running as Kyle, his best friend, charged him with murderous intent. Screaming, Johnny turned and ran back into the garden.

"KYLE NO-"

Alejandro freed himself from Simon as he was distracted with distress, charging after where Johnny and Kyle disappeared to. Panicking, Simon followed, trying to catch Alejandro.

When they made it to the back garden they found Johnny narrowly escaping Kyle's grasp. One of Johnny's sisters was watching from a window, Andy, and the look on her face was one of pure disbelief. She disappeared further into the house and Simon was hoping it was to fetch an adult.

Simon managed to grab Alejandro at his waist, Kyle lunging at Johnny in that same moment.

"WHY- WHAT DID I DO!?"

"YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID!"

"¡LUCHA CONMIGO, COBARDE!"

Finally an adult arrived, Johnny's father running out of the house. He clearly had jumped out of the shower, his shirt sticking to wet skin and hair plastered to his forehead as he ran out of the house barefoot. Johnny dove behind his father and Isaiah stopped Kyle.

"Whoa whoa- What's happening?"

"HE HIT MY BROTHER!"

"WHAT!?"

"LOOK AT THE BRUISE!"

"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT! AN ACCIDENT!"

It took several minutes for Isaiah to calm down everyone enough to get a straight story out.

"A baseball? Since when do you play baseball?"

"Johnny was trying to show me how to play!"

This event had occurred a couple days ago, Simon having missed catching a rather hard thrown ball and it nailing just below he collarbone. Johnny had already felt horrible about it but Simon had assured him it was fine and he was fine.

They both had neglected to share what had happened and Simon's modest style hid the forming bruise. Now Simon was trying to get over an anxiety attack while Johnny was rapidly explaining to Alejandro and Kyle and his father what happened.

Simon was honestly surprised Kyle jumped so quickly on trying to fight Johnny. Alejandro? He wasn't even surprised.

"Boys, I admire your spirit but please, please, try to at least talk about it first next time."

Johnny couldn't look at Kyle or Alejandro, he was partially hiding behind his father and Simon couldn't blame him. Kyle was showing regret and shame. Alejandro?

"Good thing I didn't hit you. No taking that back."

Unbothered, Simon felt like he was going to have to knock some shame into him later.

"Sorry Johnny."

"Probably would've done the same if I found a bruise on one of my sisters."

Johnny inches from behind Isaiah and Kyle approaches.

"Should've asked questions. But now you know how I would act if you purposely hurt my brother."

Johnny's eyes widened and Isaiah snorts, "Better keep that in mind."

"Oh... I will."

Simon groaned, this was a horrible start to the weekend.

___

#teen!ghost au #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #alejandro vargas #soapghost #ghostsoap #drabble

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lovexjoe · 3 months

Text

On the Run Mini Series

Warnings: Death, language, angst. Mention of abuse. Part 1

"This is your fault! If you would have just listened to me we wouldn't be stranded right now!" Kayla was fuming marching next to Armando. They had no communication back to the team. Honestly Armando saved both of their asses by landing the plane. Was she gonna admit that? Nope!

"We would have been fucked up either way, at least the enemies are dead and we can make our way back. Now shut the fuck up and do as I say. You're in my world now" He towers over her, beaming down at her letting her know if he wanted to he could just go his separate way and leave her to fend for herself.

They hated each other from the moment Armando step foot into their lives. Wanna know what's the cherry on top? Kayla was the one to shoot Isabel causing her to fall into the fire. Armando hated her guts since that very moment. In reality Isabel was gonna shoot him a second time, but he was already dazed out in Mike's arms to realize. No one else ever brought that moment up. Mood killer for sure.

Both of them were beat up pretty bad, neither of them ready to admit defeat as they kept moving through the woods trying to find a place to sleep. Kayla points out what seems like an abandoned camp sight. Armando found what he could for the fire and used the lucky lighter that survived the crash. Kayla was scared of the dark, if she looked pass the fire is was just an abyss of darkness. She busied herself by usually a branch to draw lines in the dirt.

They sat in silence. Armando looking at her as she continues to draw her lines, he never really looked at her face for too long. He was always disgusted with her in general. She took some hard hits during the accident, but she was still standing strong.

"Armando?" She looks up at him, not realizing that he was already looking at her. Her stomach doing a flip. He nodded his head for her to continue her question.

"What...what was it like for you growing up?" She didn't want him to explode, but she truly was bored out of her mind. They never had a decent conversation, so why not start now? He thought about her question for the moment, wanting to share, but knew she'd just pity him.

"Nothing close to the princess treatment you had." He said dryly then turn his focus to watch the fire. It was gonna take more than her big brown puppy eyes to get him to open up. Kayla bites her lip to keep herself from tearing up. It hit a sore spot, she never had the princess treatment. Her father was abusive to her and mom since she could remember. Just for her to enter an abusive relationship with her ex, that she barely escaped from. Kayla turns her back to Armando, sniffling and trying to get into a comfortable position to sleep. That was the last time she was gonna try to talk to him. They both dozed off listening to the fire and hoped tomorrow was a better day.

#armando aretas #jacob scipio #bad boys #bad boys ride or die #armando aretas x reader #armando aretas concept

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repulsiveliquidation · 10 months

Text

Chosen Family

Leah Williamson x Reader x Arsenal Women.

word count : 2.8k

this was meant to be a blurb but oh well

warnings : mentions of death, swearing, it's kinda sweet...?

“While we have valued your skill addition to the team, we cannot find any reason to retain you and that it why we are terminating your contract, effective immediately; other teams will bid for your purchase by the end of the month.”

That was the last thing that you heard until you stopped listening. The room began to feel small. It was spinning, your head just immediately began to throb. Combined with the need to throw up was the cherry on top. You blinked at your agent, who was stone-faced but determined to fight for you, in a plea to let you leave. He nodded and leaned in to talk to you. “Go, kiddo. Find the girls, I’ll sort this out.”

You scramble out of the room, not caring what the board thinks. You run; fast. Tears are cascading down your face, hot and frustrated ones. Your legs knew where to run, where to find your beloved girls.

19 and fresh out of your first senior Lionesses call up, was a day you didn’t think would come. You were on the plane back home from the 2023 World Cup a little gloomy; a text from Leah changed the whole day around for you. It was a simple one, curt and just what you expected from the North London girl.

“Welcome to Arsenal.”

You were playing for Brighton Albion right now, while you loved it there, Arsenal was your well-known dream. Going through the academy was the best thing that ever happened to you but when you didn’t get moved up to the first team and instead bought by Brighton, you immediately made it known that if ever they were interested, you’d even transfer for free (your agent did NOT like that.)

The girls cheered and clapped, celebrations were in order for the youngest Lioness. They popped champagne (you sneaked a flute, Alessia winked at you), food was eaten with more enthusiasm.

When you stepped on that pitch for the first time as part of the First Team, you cried. Leah made fun of you for a week but you didn’t care. Your dream was now your reality. You made it. Your parents passed away when you were 14 from a car accident, they were both die hard Arsenal fans, it was your fathers dream to see you in an Arsenal shirt with your last name on the back. You were at this facility that day, that day was the hardest day of your life. Today came a close second.

“I’m sorry daddy.” You whisper, fresh tears pricking in your eyes. You push open the changing room door and walk in, the girls immediately quieten down when they see your tear-stained face.

“You’ve only been gone a half hour, you miss us that much?” Leah jumps up enthusiastically and walks over to you to pull you into the changing room.

“Leah, shut up. What’s wrong, kleintje?” Viv asks, pulling you into her arms. Everyone’s mood changes when they realize they’re sad tears.

“They’re getting rid of me.” You say quietly, muffled into Viv’s chest. She kisses the top of your head, rare affection from the Dutchwoman, before pulling your head away from her chest.

“Say again for me love?”

“They’re selling me, they fired me.”

“They can’t do that.”

“They just did.”

You’re crying again, now passed to Beth’s arms as Viv, Leah, Alessia, Katie, Lotte and Stina begin to march out of the room angrily. You beg them not to, crumbling to your knees.

“Please, you shouldn't have to fight for me. They’re just throwing me away…I-I thought I was good enough to b-be on the team! Like a fucking whore, sold to the highest bidder!” you’re heaving, their eyes soften and they rush to you; Leah getting to you first. She kneels before you and pulls you into her arms, cradling your crying head against her chest.

“Hey, stop that. They’re not selling you, we will make sure of it. They can’t, not like this.”

“What if you can’t? What if you can’t stop them?”

“We never play football again, darling. It’s that simple.” Piped in Alessia, anger seething behind her eyes.

“I couldn’t make you all do that.”

“Watch us. Every single one of us. I might bleed North London but no one treats my family this way. You’re our baby, no one messes with this family.” Leah said, everyone in the room nodding their heads in agreement.

“What did your agent say, darlin’?” asked Katie, coming up beside you to rub your back just as your agent walked in.

“You can ask him.”

“Cut the shit, Tony. What did they say?” Leah pounced on him, he only shook his head slowly.

“I told them that the transfer window was long closed. Turns out that that doesn’t really matter when you fire a player; they’re just sold like any other player that can be sold. I know you girls are mad for her; please don’t do anything stupid like all quit football altogether.”

“How the hell did you figure that out?”

“I’m an agent for a reason. I’m also her guardian, I know you lot well enough to know you’d do something like that for my Y/N.”

“Why the fuck are they selling our best forward then?”

“I don’t know. I’ll be damned if I don’t find out.” He walked over to you, the girls help you stand.

“I will not stop until I find out why, kiddo. I promised your father I would take care of you, I intend to do that. Do you trust me?”

“With my life, Tones.”

“Atta girl, I know you’ll be in good hands with these girls. I’m sorry, but training will have to be at home till I can find out why you’re out of a fucking job. I love you, Martha wants you over for dinner on Saturday; bring her some of your cookies will you? You lot are invited if you’re interested.” he kisses your forehead and walks out of the room, already calling people on the phone.

“Come on baby, let’s get you home.” Beth cooed, Viv immediately grabbing all your things from your cubby.

“Pack her a bag and take her to mine, she stays with me till this is over.” Leah tells the two, they nod and usher you out before you can make any form of protest.

The drive to your apartment was a quiet one, Beth sat in the back with you while Viv drove. You could tell she was mad, her jaw clenched as she was mumbling under her breath. You reached over an arm and grasped her shoulder, she visibly relaxed and looked at you through the rear-view mirror.

“We’ll figure this out, lieveling. Don’t you worry.”

Arsenal Women look to sell Y/N L/N to the highest bidder in a sudden dropping of her from the squad. Teams like Manchester United and Bayern Munich are among those highly interested in the prodigy forward from North London.

“Hi angel, the guest room is all set for ya. You’re welcome in my bed if you’d rather; fair warning, I am a snorer.” Leah winked at you, helping you take your bags into the house.

“I know you do, Kiera told me at camp one time.”

“That sneaky woman. I’ll be having a word with her, pet. Come on in, make yourself at home. The rest of the girls are on the balcony, they really invited themselves over you know; how rude, coming into our home like that!”

Our home, she said. You really didn’t need to worry with these girls, they’ve got your back.

Leah had to drag you to training although technically you couldn’t participate. It made your heart ache, being there but not being able to play. Jonas shot you a sorry look, allowing you to steal a football and kick it around on your own. The girls were all feeling sorry for you, one of them always coming over to check on you each hour.

Lotte walked over after their 6 a side scrimmage, spraying you with her water bottle before you shot up and chased her around the pitch.

You finally caught her, cursing her long legs. She merely side hugged you, kissing your warm, sweaty forehead.

“That take your mind off things for a bit, little bit?” she asked, her choice in nickname made you smile.

“It did, thanks Lotte.” You lean into her and say, both of you watching Katie spray her water bottle at Beth and before you knew it everyone was doing the same. It made you heartily laugh, all the girls more than happy to get their shirts soaked if it meant little bit was smiling for just a little bit.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you in here, Ms. L/N.”

“She’s with me, Ben.”

“I’m sorry Leah, she can’t be on the training pitch. Boss’ orders.”

“Well, she’s coming with me and we’re going to see about that. Come, Y/N.”

You trail behind Leah as she walks with determination to Jonas’ office. He’s in a meeting, she simply does not care.

“I’d like to know why she can’t come to the training ground and whose idea was it to do so.”

“It came from upstairs Leah, it was on my table this morning. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t even try to do anything about it? She’s still a part of this team!”

“I’m sorry Leah, she isn’t. She can’t be here.”

“Go downstairs and put your boots on, Y/N. Un-FUCKING-believable.”

“Leah, I’ll just get an Uber and g–”

“I said, go downstairs and put your fucking boots on. Now.”

You walk out of the room and do as she says. She comes back out to the pitch 20 minutes later with huge smile on her face, winking at you.

“All sorted darling, nothing to worry about. Sorry if I scared you.”

You run and hug her, she merely smiles wider and kisses your head.

“Thank you Leah,” you whisper, only meant for her to hear.

“Anything for you, my love.”

“What are we feeling for dinner, darling?” Beth called as you were sitting in their living room playing Fifa.

“I don’t care, but a pizza sounds fucking delicious right now.”

“Language! Leah is a horrendous influence on you. Sausage and banana peppers?”

“Sorry, mum. Yes please.”

Beth walked in and rolled her eyes, picking up the takeaway menu stack near the tv.

“What is this that I hear that I’m a bad influence?”

“Leah!” you yelled, jumping up from the couch and jumping into her arms. You had grown quite attached to the older woman, her fierce protective nature from the start of your journey of international football along with the move to Arsenal had made you fall in love with her. It was a secret you were willing to take to the grave if you got to enjoy her and not risk losing her.

It had more to do with the age gap, it wasn’t monstrously large but it would turn heads either way with you being a teenager still. You turn twenty in less than a week anyway, maybe if you could muster up the courage you’d tell her.

“Hello, pea. Beth bullying ya?”

“No, she said my swearing is because of you. But we’re getting pizza!”

“That sounds lovely, angel. I love pizza, pizza loves me. Wanna see if you can beat me at a game while we wait?” she says, pointing to the paused football match on the tv.

“What’s in it for me?” you tell her cheekily, grabbing a second controller for her.

“You’ll have to beat me to find out, doll.”

Viv walked in, standing with Beth as they watched the two of you playing.

“So, who’s gonna tell them?” Viv asks bluntly.

“They’re right knobheads the pair of them. It could be written on their foreheads and they’d miss it.”

You were more than happy to have a little cake and a song for your birthday. Years without parents who died around your birthday made it a sore subject. Tony and Martha made it better though, both of them really did try their best to make sure you were well cared for and for that you were forever grateful. No one texted you all day though, you’ll be honest, it made you a little sadder. You were just about order some takeout when Leah walked into the house with balloons, cake, the girls, and much more. Katie led the chorus for ‘Happy Birthday’ so offkey you were sure your ears were genuinely bleeding. She pulled a party hat on your head and kissed your forehead, holding your face in her hands and she whispered, “Happy Birthday, little bit.”

You were crying, touched by their kind gesture. Only Leah knew the extent of why birthdays were a little sore for you, a proud smile on her face as the rest of the girls busied themselves with laying out the food and putting the decorations up. She smiled at you, eyes full of love like you were the only one in the room.

She walked up to you with the cake as Stina lit the candle, her bright smile on her face.

“Make a wish, pretty girl.” She said, you closed your eyes and made your wish. You blew out the candle; the cake was handed off to Viv.

She pulled you into her arms, kissing your nose. She had that same look of pure adoration on her face; you were scared of asking the question itching on the tip of your tongue. Luckily, Leah asked it for you.

“Happy birthday, special girl. Can I take you out on a date sometime?”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to ask you that.”

“No time like the present, kiddo.”

She leaned in and kissed you softly, your lips molding perfectly to hers. The room cheered loudly, Beth yelling at the top of her lungs while Viv looked like a proud parent.

“Did your uncle ever mention that he was suing the guy who got into that accident with your parents?”

“No, I thought they didn’t know who it was.”

“Well, they do. He knows you too.”

“How the hell could he know me.”

“He’s the scumbag who hired you then fired you.”

“What are you saying, Tones?”

“When the lawsuit came in and the names were revealed he realized that someone leaked the information he tried so hard to keep buried and your name was in there. He thought you figured it out and were coming after him through your uncle. So, he fired you. Probably thought that would send a clear message that he could ruin you.”

“Tony, this is a lot to take in.”

“I know, kid. You leave it to me, you hear? Especially leave your new girlfriend out of it. She’s great but fucking scary.”

“Tony, it’s on speaker!”

“I know where you sleep Tony.” Leah supplied happily.

“Shit. Please kid, between the two of you only yeah? I love you.”

“I love you too, Tones. Send Martha my love.”

“Sure thing. Be safe, please?”

Click.

“What the hell am I going to do, Lee?”

“We’re gonna fight baby. Every single one of us. We got ya.”

“Tony literally just told you, you couldn’t kill the guy.”

“I will if I have to, you’re my girl now. You’ve always been my girl but now circumstances have changed. I know a guy who knows a guy; I’ll do it with my bare hands if I had to.”

“Tony was right, you are mad scary.”

Arsenal Board member sentenced to 10 years in prison for countless charges. The Plaintiff, Y/N L/N was rewarded with an undisclosed settlement for damages that caused the death of her parents 6 years ago, which turned out to be a massive coverup. Her position as forward on the Arsenal Women’s team had been reinstated effective immediately.

“We did it, little bit.” Lotte hugged you, the rest of the girls filtering into your home. Okay, it was Leah’s and she did just ask you to move in with her but it was nice to have someone to share a home with.

“I’m so proud of you, kid.” said Katie.

“You’re stronger than you look, Y/N/N.” said Stina.

“I have pictures of you on the stand!” said Alessia.

Their words were drowned out by the sound of a certain blonde and blue eyed, Milton Keynes accented, Lioness captain that was praising you.

“You did perfectly today, pea.”

“Thanks Lee. I couldn’t have done it without you. All of you.” You turn and face all the girls and continue.

“Without you all, I don’t think I would have been able to get through the past few weeks. You’ve all shown me what real family looks like and I can’t thank you enough. I love you all from the bottom of my heart.” You were crying, wiping away tears before Alessia yelled “Group hug!” and you were wrapped up in many arms.

Once they let go, Leah came up behind you and kissed your cheek. You lean back into her, rubbing her strong arms that were around you.

“Thank you Leah, for everything.”

“Anything for you, my love.”

#woso soccer #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #leah williamson #leahwilliamson x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #leah williamson imagine #alessia russo #katie mccabe #lotte wubben moy #beth mead #vivianne miedema #stina blackstenius

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mickyschumacher · 6 months

Text

𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒 .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you were in love with f1's beloved honey badger and you had been for almost year. but why in the world had you instead fallen for his teammate? or in which infidelity has laid it's sticky little hands on you.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: slight angst, infidelity naturally, falling out of love, steamy makeout sesh, suggestive content, pining, sad boy hours for daniel, lando being kind of a sneaky bastard, age-gap between reader and boys (8 years for dan and 2 years for lan), reader born in australia, set in 2020/2021, false or incorrect marine biology lingo and protocols lol, mention of crossiant horner, poor explanation of f1, mentions of insecurity, proof-read...ish

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: daniel ricciardo x marine biologist!female reader, lando norris x marine biologist!female reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4k+

𝐀/𝐍: i felt bad for not posting so here's me digging into my reserves! written when i did more song-based fics!! i wish life wasn't so busy 🤧 i have started a few thingsssssss but it's definitely going to be a while before i post them sorry 😣

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆ •°. 。 .°• ⋆

You, honestly, were a normal girl. Mundane as mundane gets. Never once had you imagined of cameras, headlines and the need for a PR specialist in your life.

But it's what you had gotten. That's what Daniel Ricciardo came with.

You had met the Australian on pure accident. It was late 2020 and the season had just come an end. Hamilton was a six-times World Champion and Daniel had his last season with Renault. He hadn't got the result he wanted but he was optimistic about his future with McLaren. So eventually, he headed home to Australia for the Christmas holidays.

Now you would like to consider yourself a well-versed Australian. Especially considering you were born there. Robert Irwin was the most beloved Australian for years to come and Margot Robbie and Chris Hemsworth were your Aussie reps in America.

Somehow, however, you had never really got F1 or Formula One. That's not to say you hadn't heard of it. Honestly, for the past few years it was difficult to pass Albert Park in the summer of March without it flashing in front of your eyes. But if someone were to ask you anything about it, you would blink blankly and apologise.

Which is exactly what you did in early December. You were out having lunch with your closest friends at a local cafe, catching up on the year in the fresh yet skin-damaging Aussie sun.

You were in midst conversation when a brunette girl politely interrupted you. "Hi, sorry. This is going to sound really weird. I'm doing this on a bet. But do all three of you know that man over there? In the hat?”

You looked over to her table full of people. It seemed like she was with her family and friends. You and your friends zoned on the man in the hat, a guy who was trying to not make it obvious that he was aware of what was going on.

You scrutinised him carefully and unsurprisingly, you didn’t know him. Surprisingly, you did find that he was attractive. The curly hair, the scruff… you wondered whether he was actually Australian because no men in Australia looked like that.

Your two friends nodded while confirming with one another. “It’s Daniel, right? The driver?” One of them asked.

Your other friend hummed in agreement.

The brunette looked over at you. You blinked at her as your face slowly morphed into an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

The brunette, which you expected to be somewhat sad about it, ended up smiling while your friends’ faces dropped.

“Thank you! Oh my god. You have no idea what you’ve just done!” The brunette laughed loudly, capturing the attention of her table. She pointed at the man in the hat, clutching her stomach. “She doesn’t know who you are, Danny. Take that!”

Similarly to your friends, the male’s face dropped. He looked at you and tilted his head.

When Daniel actually saw you for the first time, he was in shock. Not the type of shock of an Aussie not knowing who he was. But rather the shock of being in the presence as someone as beautiful as you.

Your eyes were tantalising and your apologetic expression was cute.

He waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s okay. I’m just an F1 driver.”

You nodded in slow understanding. Maybe you had in fact seen his posters in Albert Park. Honestly, you couldn’t be sure. Life as a marine biologist was busy and all over the place. Recognising celebrities or athletes was kind of the last thing on your mind.

━━━━━━━━━━━

That day you went home with the expectation of a normal tomorrow. One where you were out at the ocean and exploring the waters you had loved so much.

You wish you could say it came as a shock to see that same curly haired man on the wharf, but given the current temperatures that heavily contrasted your winter, it was reasonable as any other Aussie here.

What you didn’t expect was you passing him to get to your boat and then hearing a voice enter the air. “Hey! Excuse me. Sorry. You’re the girl from yesterday, right?”

You turned to the man, hand over your eyes to protect yourself from the harsh rays and take a closer look at him. Just in case it wasn’t him.

“Uh, yeah? You’re the driver, right?”

Daniel gave a wide smile, extending out his hand. “I’m Daniel. Daniel Ricciardo.”

Oh my. What a smile he had. The type to make you feel happy just by looking at it. You couldn’t even help but smile in response. You reached out to shake his hand, not ready to feel a weird sort of spark between the two of you.

“I... I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

Daniel slowly removed his hand from yours, grabbing any last second he could. He eyed the briefcase and scuba gear in your hands. “You diving?”

You looked at your equipment. “Well, testing. I’m a marine biologist. Although, I guess I’m still diving.”

Daniel pursed his lips. Now he had to get to know you. You were beautiful and a marine biologist. An Aussie dream.

“Oh yeah? What are you testing?” He queried with a raised brow,

“Oh! Uh, currently things like the local fish populations in decline. Their habitat. Whether they’re safe or not. Algae growth. Predators. pH levels. All the fun stuff...” You sheepishly trailed off once you realised you began rambling.

You didn’t know but in that moment Daniel was in awe of you. The twinkle in your eyes that rose once you talked about your work. Like your work was your passion. That’s how he felt about F1.

You watched Daniel nod as if he were actually interested. “Do you mind if I come with? I won’t contaminate anything. Promise.”

You mended your brows together. It wasn’t uncommon for people to ask to join. But the way Daniel said it… like it was something he had to do or he would regret it for the rest of his life, you couldn’t help feel compelled. “Um, yeah. Do you not have to be on the road or something though? ‘Cause your a driver?”

“Oh F1 only goes between March and November. We’re on holiday at the moment. Well sort of.”

“Oh,” you mumbled out cluelessly. Your cheeks burned with a tinge of embarrassment. How had you managed to get through all these years of living and not known about this?

Daniel laughed lightly at the reddening of your cheeks. Just when he though he could find you any cuter. “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you F1. And you can teach me the ocean.”

So the two of you went into your boat. The sun beat down onto you so harshly that for most of it, you had retreated to driving the vessel in the shade as Daniel sat next to you.

It had gone so well that this, whatever it was, became a regular occurrence after you exchanged numbers that day.

You were learning a lot about him and his job. He was actually Italian-Australian. He started this passion with go-karting. You found out F1 wasn’t just racing but it was racing to another extreme. 300 kph. God, getting your car to 100 kph for the open road was thrill enough for you.

That made Daniel wheeze with laughter and promise he would take you for a drive in a sports car to get a taste of the speed he craved for.

Apparently F1 had 10 teams, each with 2 drivers. In each of the teams, the drivers had the same car to drive, cars that were constructed originally by each team. The point of the races were for two championships. The Driver’s World Championship, the title the driver wanted to win, and the Constructors’ Championship, the title everyone from the driver to the team strategist wanted to win. They were calculated by the amount of points received by the drivers in the races.

All the races were settled through a long weekend of sorts. Fridays were for practices to see how the car was on the track as they had different conditions per track. Saturdays were for qualifying. Here, Daniel would push the car to its limits to get the fastest lap time as the drivers were ranked to then get a position for the actual race tomorrow. Sundays were where they raced for points.

All of it was slightly complex, especially with the penalties and rules that they followed. Buy you seemed to get the gist of it.

Daniel had learnt that you had grown up in Australia and like him had to travel a lot for your work. Weirdly, some times his race dates would match up with your travelling. Daniel chose to take that as a sign. You were 8 years younger than him, taking him by a slight surprise. You were 23 and he was 31. But it didn’t seem like it mattered to you. Communication between the two of you was a smooth sail.

Daniel even opened up about his time with Red Bull. A whirl of bad and annoying memories. But when you had said that you would like to see Christian Horner step on to your boat and throw him overboard into a tank of piranhas, only for thirty seconds of course, Daniel had never laughed harder.

━━━━━━━━━━━

By the billionth time you had hung out, the sun was setting in the evening, providing a refreshing cold breeze to match the heat. Christmas was close soon. And Daniel was aching to ask you out.

He had to go into this next season of driving knowing he had you by his side. Even his own family was pushing him to ask. Especially his sister, Michelle, who had dubbed herself the cupid as she was the very brunette who had technically introduced you two, or so she claimed.

The both of you had finished a dive and were heading to Daniel's car. You were supposed to have dinner with his family on this fine evening.

"You good, Danny?" You looked over to the man. Daniel, for the loud and outgoing person he was, was being rather quiet today. You couldn't really put your finger on why either. You took pride in being able to read people. But it looked like his mind was at some sort of battle.

He gave an idle hum, getting into the driver's seat.

You raised a brow, closing the door on the passenger side shut. Your hand reached out to his thigh, making him break his trance and flicker his eyes towards you.

"Listen, I don't know what it is or what's going on. But I'm all ears if you want," You smiled, patting his thigh. You went to remove your hand but Daniel placed his hand over yours, keeping you there.

Daniel's heart was in his throat. He was not normally a nervous man. He was the epitome of confidence. But you seemed to tear that down, in the nicest way, quite easily.

Daniel absorbed your curious eyes before releasing a shaky breath. "Uh," he awkwardly chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "I'm not normally like this. I can't really explain it... but these past few weeks, I... I haven't felt like this in a really long time. With you I feel free... happy... I guess what I'm trying to say is that I really like you. And even if I'm ancient, I would really like to be with you. You know. Together. If that wasn't clear."

The smile on your face the moment you realised what was going on hadn't stopped growing. You watches his eyes dart around, looking for a signal of anything. A yes. A no.

You looked down at your hands. The warmth of his spread among your one. You turned your hand to intertwine them with his and squeezed his hand, looking back up at him. "I think you took the words right out my mouth. I like you too, Danny. A lot. Even as an 'old ass man.'"

An odd silence settled within the car as Daniel simply stared at you, honey brown eyes hold your own.

"Danny? Are you okay?"

Daniel's eyes turned into crescents while his infamous wide smile sprawled onto your face. "Can I kiss you?"

You stilled in the passenger seat. Your eyes flickered to his lips before meeting his eyes once again. You weren't sure if you could trust your voice at the moment so you gave a curt nod.

Daniel smiled softly at the flustered expression you sported. Instead of leaning his head in like you expected to, he reached over to your seat and lifted you out of it. You released a small yelp before landing onto his lap, straddling his crotch as you faced towards him.

Daniel's fingers played with the slightly dampened tresses that had fallen around your face and pushed them behind your ears. His fingers trailed down to your heated cheeks and to your jaw. Bringing you closer to him, he leaned his head towards you.

Daniel's lips fell into yours. His hands soon fell to your back as your arms snaked his neck. The world... your surroundings were all gone. All you could feel was each other. His fingers sneaking past the hem of your shirt and grazing your bare skin. The action sent a wave of heat within you.

You let out a small muffled moan causing Daniel to adjust himself in his seat. A bulge had formed in his pants, aching at your touch. You released yourself from him for a gasp of air, which fell into further pleasurable gasps as Daniel's swollen lips had found your neck, leaving a trail of small sloppy kisses.

Daniel rested his chin onto your shoulder before pulling back to look at you. He grinned at your dazed expression. "As much as I would like to continue this in such a fitting setting like a car, I would rather our first time in an actual bed."

You let out a small laugh, feeling yourself fluster even further while you gave him a tight hug.

And that's how your relationship had started. Since then, it had been almost a year. In that year, you had gotten impossibly closer. You had visited his races without telling him because you were scared. You were scared of distracting him and scared for him. The first F1 race you went to matched up to your meetings with other marine biologists and techs in Spain. God, you didn't know cars could even go that fast. The occasional toss of a car to the side sent fear coursing through you.

Eventually, Daniel had found out and reassured you that you being there wouldn't harm anything. In fact, the thought of it calmed him down and encouraged him. He had even introduced you to some of the team and whispered in your ear when he pointed to Red Bull's team principal.

"Oh... so that's the man going overboard. That's a shame. You didn't tell me he look like a sea otter. Sea otters are supposed look cute. I'll just pretend he's plant plankton."

Daniel had never laughed harder at something. Just when he thought he couldn't love you more. God, you were a sight to behold. He would never understand how you managed to be who you were.

You had felt the same.

Well, at least that was until when you met his new teammate in McLaren, Lando Norris.

Lando was two years younger than you and what some people called the British Ricciardo. He was constantly smiling and cracking jokes. He was the moodmaker.

The vibe he had was like an annoying little brother of a sort.

But people obviously didn't feel attracted to someone if they truly thought of them like that.

You shouldn't feel this way. It was wrong. You had a boyfriend. A boyfriend who adored you. You had tried to keep yourself occupied with your job to avoid having to attend too many races and meet the McLaren team, in fear of meeting Lando.

But of course, how were you going to refuse to celebrate Lando's 2nd podium of the year in Monaco when Daniel asked?

So here you were. In a club dressed in a cream coloured set: a long sleeved bralette and a long skirt starting from your waist, ending just before your heels with a slit in the middle.

The compliment you had received in your ear from Daniel made you wish you could say you were dressed for him in the first place. But it would be a lie to say that.

You had navigated yourself around the club to drown yourself in some alcohol. You needed a distraction and you felt that being some what drunk and out of it would've helped.

you should take it as a compliment that i got drunk and made fun of the way you talk. you should think about the consequence of your magnetic field being a little too strong. and i got a boyfriend, he's older than us he's in the club doing, i don't know what you're so cool, it makes me hate you so much.

You were out of it for sure. Because sober you did not have the guts you had right now. The guts to not only sit at the same table as Lando but next to him and make fun of his British accent with Carlos.

"No, Carlos. I'm pretty sure he sounded like 'No no no... you ruined my ice cream,'" You laughed lightly as the Spaniard refused to agree with you.

"No he has bit of a weird sound at the 'ruined' part. He sound like those kids in the UK... on the road? What are they again..."

Lando's face burst with amusement. He laughed so hard, he had to prevent his cup from falling out of his hand. "Do you mean..." He gasped for air, "Roadmen?"

Jesus. Carlos Sainz discussing roadmen was the funniest thing that had happened so far.

You weren't sure where Daniel was even. All you knew he was probably talking to some other team member of McLaren. You were rather preoccupied and entranced by the British male next to you.

You couldn't explain it but it was as if there was a magnetic field around him and you, like an element, were simply attracted to him. As if there was no other path to go. He made you laugh differently. Feel differently. He was also a looker. That boyish charm that simply pulled you in. It made you wonder how strong his magnetic field was.

The science of it was simple. You may be a marine biologist but you hadn't flunked physics. The stronger the intensity of a field, the further the magnet, Lando, will be able to attract elements, like you. All you knew was that he was strong enough to inexplicably take you attention away from your own boyfriend.

you're so gorgeous i can't say anything to your face 'cause look at your face. and i'm so furious at you for making me feel this way but what can i say? you're gorgeous.

This attraction you felt to Lando what ridiculous in itself. But you had felt it from when you first met him and you felt it now. Lando was simply gorgeous. His smile was breathtaking. His laugh felt pretty.

And it infuriated you. You wanted to yell at him, tell him to stop. These feelings, this flutter, this tingle... make it all stop, you wanted to say.

But you could never say that to his face. How could you? Those same things came back every time you looked at him.

The smile. The flutter. The tingle.

You wondered whether he had even looked at himself in the mirror. You wondered whether ever had felt insecure about the way he looked and that if he did, you wished he hadn't.

Everything thing about him was simply enticing. A delightful view... from the arms of Daniel.

you should take it as a compliment that i'm talking to everyone here but you. and you should think about the consequence of you touching my hand in a darkened room. if you've got a girlfriend, i'm jealous of her. but if you're single that's honestly worse. 'cause you're so gorgeous it actually hurts.

This feeling... this infatuation was overwhelming for you. You were a taken girl. You had even made it was to the multiple Instagram F1 'WAGs' accounts and were met with the most glorious welcomes by fans.

You needed to get a grip on yourself for Christ's sake. Lando was also taken. Even if he was single, which if you were being honest was an insult to romance itself, you didn't have a chance let alone now. No matter how jealous you were, you had to be realistic. You paled in comparison to the fame Portuguese models that F1 drivers often found themselves with.

Of course, you had to admit they were beautiful. You had no conflict with them. They weren't your classic mean girls. They were impossibly nice and you even found yourself in some interesting conversations. But at the end of the day, you were simply a marine biologist.

So in the darkness of the club, you had managed to isolate yourself from Lando, who had gone with Pierre somewhere, and made the struggling and gruelling effort to talk to anyone else but him. You had conversed with Carlos before he had gone somewhere with his girlfriend. You had settle for Charles as a distraction.

Charles was a pleasure to talk to. As always, he was also so kind and sweet with his words. The type you were sure that when you looked at the, you knew that their mother raised them right.

Daniel had finally found his way to you, mentioning that Zak Brown had just pulled him aside for a talking to. You asked if he was okay, in which he responded with a smile and said: "Now that I'm with you, yes."

You managed to give him a soft and believable smile. Daniel was standing behind you, joining in your conversation with Charles. It wasn't until you were in the midst of a conversation about life in Monaco that you felt a hand on yours.

You smiled gently, expecting it to be Daniel's but instead it was Lando's.

ocean blue eyes looking in mine. i feel like i might sink and drown and die.

Your eyes snapped up to meet Lando's face. His blue eyes bore into yours.

Those goddamn eyes of his would be the end of you. The similarity of them to the oceans you had travelled and the beautiful creatures you had seen was uncanny.

Your heart paced furiously against your chest. He must've been drunk or tipsy to the very least to stumble onto you. There was no way he had purposely wanted you to drown in his eyes.

You sucked in a quiet sharp breath and edged to removed your hand. But as quickly as you had made that decision, the gnawing feeling at your heart had grown more intense and taunted you. Lando's hand hurried to grab yours and place it back where it was.

Your eyes shook with awe and lingered with a dangerous thrill. You could feel his fingers rub the back of your hand gently before intertwining them.

You looked blankly at the table in front of you while Lando had joined in the conversation so casually, like nothing was even going on. You had to thank your stars that the club was able to be as dark as it was.

A lot of the noise around you had turned into white noise and blurs of sound. Charles must've complimented you as you had managed to capture some mention of fish and coral reefs from your boyfriend.

you make me so happy it turns back to sad. there's nothing i hate more than what i can't have and you are so gorgeous, it makes me so mad. you make me so happy it turns back to sad. there's nothing i hate more than what i can't have and guess i'll just stumble on home to my cats alone unless, you wanna come along?

It was Daniel kissing your cheek fondly and Lando's hand grazing your knee under the table that had brought you back to reality.

The happiness and adrenaline you felt was wrong. You knew with every crevice and fibre of your body that this had to stop. This attraction and sickly sweet infatuation with Lando. God, he just made you so fuzzy. You could barely think straight.

You were stuck in between two men who had their touch on you. It wasn't right. As much as you liked Lando, he angered your entire being. He had simply waltzed into your life. He was playing along with your feelings.

Lando's damning eyes averted to you when he felt your hand slip away from him forcefully.

You hoped the guilt in your eyes shone as much as they could in this darkness.

You were going to have to break up with a man who would give you everything. You would have to leave all of... this... and get away from here.

You needed everything to return to normal. You had no idea how exactly you were going to explain a sudden return home without inflicting any suspicion.

All you knew now was that you had to make a lengthy apology to a man you had not realised you had fallen out of love with.

You supposed that was love.

Love was a bittersweet feeling. It was beautiful and fluttering but brought a lot of tragedy and strife along with it.

That was love: simply gorgeous.

#mickyschumacher #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #daniel ricciardo x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris #lando norris x reader #daniel ricciardo fanfic #daniel ricciardo

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gojoshotblackwife · 3 months

Text

|| 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗍, 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋．

꥟ 𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖾 x 𝘢𝘧𝘢𝘣!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

꥟ 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗅, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾, 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋．

☽ 𝗰𝘄: 𝟣𝟪+ 𝗆𝖽𝗇𝗂, 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁, 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗍𝗈𝗑𝗂𝖼!𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖾, 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 (𝗈𝖻𝗏𝗂), 𝖼𝗎𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗎𝗌 (r! 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀), 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 (𝗋!𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀) 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽 (𝗂𝖿 𝗎 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗇𝗍), 𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖾, 𝖼𝗎𝗆 𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀

☆ 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 𝟤.𝟦𝗄

— 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝖻𝗎𝗒 𝗍𝗅𝗈𝗎𝟤, 𝘀𝘂𝗽𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗽𝗮𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗲! 🇵🇸 —

|| 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 while 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽！

you spend most of your days tending to the children of jackson. kissing boo-boos or cleaning up accidents. child care is your calling and you’re happy to contribute to your community, jackson, however possible.

your nights, however, consist of anxious pacing, impatience and (understandable) overthinking.

checking the digital clock on your lovers bedside, the glowing red numbers read ‘3:00 AM’ . as each minute passed you could feel your heart sinking deeper and deeper into your chest, imagining the endless endeavors your green-eyed girl could be facing at this very moment. oh how you fear for ellie’s life as if it were your own. your mind often flickers images of a world where you were more than the owner of jackson’s child care facility. a world where you didn’t have to sit and wait anxiously for the door to open like an abandoned puppy. you yearn to care for ellie like you care for those kids. to stay by her side and prevent the bruises and scars, not tending to them after the damage had already been done.

all the fingers and toes in the world couldn’t add up to the endless times you watched ellie stumble through her bedroom door, covered in scratches or riddled with bloodstains. too many times were you afraid to ask and too many times have you immediately rushed to her side to tackle her with little “i love you”s and “it’s okay”s before leading her to the bathroom, a warm wet rag in hand.

you almost hate yourself for the simple act of not being able to be there for ellie whilst she fought off deadly infected or dangerous looters. you knew you couldn’t go out there with her, hell you spent the entirety of your life inside jackson’s walls, coddled from the dangers that roam outside of them. you were never built for that shit. but ellie, she was made for it. you could tell from the moment you saw her, scuffed and dirty from her voyage with joel. she was an animal, in the best way possible. she was rough, and had character, more than you did anyways.

you ache imagining the day joel, tommy or dina would slowly march through jackson’s child care center, hat in hand with a grieving look you could read from a mile away. you can hear the ringing in your ear while you read lips that read “ellie is-”

the sound of squeaky door hinges shakes you from your thoughts, your head snapping up to meet tired, green orbs and a small smirk.

“angel. you stayed up for me?” ellie asks, an arm holding her side. she’s clearly hurt and doesn’t want you to see. rushing to her side, you’re careful not to squeeze or hold her too tight, afraid to worsen any of the injuries she’s obviously obtained throughout her patrol.

“ ‘so glad you’re safe. ‘was so worried” you mutter into her ear, arms slung over her shoulders. you can hear your girl chuckle as she takes her free arm to wrap it around your waist, relaxing into your touch. “i know babe, im so sorry i took longer than usual-“ she starts before you swiftly cut her off. “nono, please don’t apologize, don’t explain. it’s okay .” you let your head fall down, resting it on her shoulder, you were so glad to have your girl home. “are you hurt?- of course you are look at you.” you answer before ellie had the chance to respond, peering down at her slender frame. you feel tears begin to well up.

you look back up at ellie, who appears to be in just as much distress as you are. you don’t have to ask. you can just tell.

“please els, let me clean you up, then we can sleep. fuck, i can’t even imagine..” you trail off, grabbing her rough hand to lead her to the bathroom.

soft little thuds follow your comparatively silent ones. your clean soft feet lead ellie’s old dirty boots, slight creaks in the wooden floor of this old house you’d turned into a home with your girlfriend.

the sting of cold tile floors was enough to remind you to turn around, just a quick glance to make sure she was still there. orpheus envied you.

“ let’s take these boots off before we get in here?” you plead, slowly crouching on your knees to assist her with your request. if ellie’s heart somehow stopped beating in that moment she’d die happy knowing she had a woman who’d wait up for her on cold winter nights and fall to her knees to care for her. if her side didn’t hurt so bad, she’d probably laugh at how smitten she is with you, how content she is watching the muscles in your face contort to frustration, hunching over, and lost in concentration tugging at the shabby boots. finally, you manage to get them off her feet, a pair of mix-matched socks greeting you with scents of rain and sweat. you place them right outside the door before pulling yourself up, signaling ellie to finally enter the bathroom and hop up on the sink.

— ꥟ ꥟ ꥟ —

little words are exchanged, as you tend to ellie’s wounds. only an occasional wince or a heavy breath. shirt lifted, she gnaws on it to ease the inevitable pain. even still, you clean up, pat dry and bandage every small cut, every mahogany bruise— no questions asked. you two remain in comfortable silence as you scrub the shorter girl clean of her guilt and shame.

ellie keeps her head hung low. she tries concealing any hint of emotion, but her cringes of pain fail her that night.

“are you okay?” your freehand lays gently on her thigh, makes a home there.

ellie’s silence is telling. but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to know who or what did this to her. “ellie.” you demand, brown eyes searching for hers in return. a heavy sigh falls from your chapped lips, dry from the brittle december air. “please i just- im worried. i dunno what goes on out there but-“

“doesn’t fucking matter.” ellie finally grunts out, head lower than before. she doesn’t mean that. how could she mean that? “doesn’t matter? el this is the worst you’ve come home in months. what-“ your cries of concern are abruptly interrupted when the freckled girl hops off of the sink, pushing past you to make her way to her wardrobe. she angrily strips, as if furious at the clothes that keep her warm. jacket tossed and cargos flung, you pitter-pat after her. “ellie, if you’re upset i understand. but i cannot help you if you don’t talk to me.” you beg, desperation tainting your tone. in nothing but boxers, a bra and half finished bandages, she ignores every word, pretending not to hear you over the sound of her anxiously digging through clothes, solely focused on finding some pants to sleep in and forgetting this whole night ever happened.

“doesn’t. matter.” she repeats like those are only two words of english she can remember. pants found, she stomps into them. patience thinning, you grab her shoulder, keeping her put for the moment. you can’t help the tears that pour from you, your lip quivering while you ask, “why wouldn’t this—you—matter to me?”. ellie’s dark, green eyes meet your wet brown ones and she feels her soul crush. fuck, what is she doing? she’s being an asshole to you , the last person on this fucked up earth she’d ever intentionally hurt. and god, are you hurting, face pinching into unimaginable despair, your mind pondering over what you could’ve possibly done to be treated this way after countless nights of mending her broken wings, kissing her scars better.

finally broken at the sight of her sad girl, she admits, “i almost died.” the admission tore through her as she said it, she can feel the lump in her throat. you shudder at the thought, pulling her in close. breathing in her hair, her skin, anything you could to remind yourself that she’s here and not lying dead in the snow somewhere. “els” you whisper. “i don’t think i’d know what to do with myself if you left me.” falling into the crook of her neck once more, aching for her touch. as if on cue, ellie’s strong arms clench your waist, squeezing like it was the last time she’d ever get to touch you again. you pull back, teary eyed, awaiting something, anything, from ellie.

unable to form words, or thoughts even, she opens her mouth before attaching it to yours, hoping to communicate through intertwined tongues, swabbed spit and muffled moans. enough said, you reciprocate instantly. if this is how she wanted to “talk” about it, you’re more than willing to let her speak to you like this until the sun comes up.

ellie’s hands journey to your soft cheeks, caressing them before tightening her grip, head tilting to the side to search deeper, to find your deepest secrets and suck them out of you. you let her in, your darkest desires revealing themselves as your tongues melted into each other, sounds of exchanged spit overwhelming your burning hot ears.

it’s not too long before the backs of your legs are pressed up against the foot of ellie’s bed. accepting defeat, you pull your girlfriend down with you, letting her take you in any way she deems fit. swiftly, el peels your clothes from your perfect body. a clean canvas compared to ellie’s bruised masterpiece, she swears though, tonight she’ll leave you with a few brushstrokes colored shades of deep red with hints of purple, if you’re lucky.

bare now, you peer up at a sweaty, almost feral, ellie, face dangerously close to your own. while yet to utter a single word, she finds new inventive ways to speak to you: a firm hand on your doughy breast, kneading at you like a cat, an additional firm hand on your waist to keep you still and a secure thigh up against your throbbing core, quickly dampening at her touch.

she’s quick when she lowers her face into your aching neck. it begs for ellie’s mouth, and sighs of relief at the feeling of her soaked tongue, tracing small circles while her lips suck and slurp away at your delicate skin. you’re sensitive, so you’re fast to mewl out a weak cry of her name. arms taking their rightful place wrapped around her, one hand reaching up to her auburn hair and a second digging into her back responding to the added pressure on your clit. a needy little thing you are, squirming into ellie’s thigh whilst she moves down to your pert nipple, savoring your taste. you’re a mess. hair disheveled, you cup ellie’s face. you wanted—needed—her, pulling her face closer to utter a small “please”.

ellie gives you what you need, a sneaky hand trailing down past your tummy before landing at your dripping bliss, opening your clam to reveal the precious pearl inside. el teases you slow, but with intention, her middle and index appendages rubbing you where you liked it the most. ellie can’t help but bring her face down to get a better view of the mess she’s made of you. a cheeky smile spreads across her face. this is what matters. fuck whatever happened before she walked through the door, before she mistakenly treated you like shit. she wanted this, you.

muscle memory takes over when ellie replaces the fingers on your bud with the warm muscle in her mouth. her rough tongue hits every nerve, lapping away at you. what a thirsty dog she was, whimpering and whining into your messy cunt, devouring your essence like a final meal.

the room is already muggy and hot, your little huffs filling the air, an invisible cloud of your warm arousal gets all over the windows, makes them foggy.

a broken moan falls from your precious lips, a melody from heaven to ellie’s ears. she craves to hear more of your sweet music, letting her fingers slide into you, plucking your strings. she plays you like her favorite guitar, maneuvering her fingers to play the perfect chord. utter bliss is the only emotion you’re capable of feeling. your hands journey down your person to meet ellie’s head in the middle. fingers perfectly fitting into auburn locks of hair, you rein her in, riding her face like she rode shimmer on those almost-fatal patrols.

your legs tense up at the feeling of your inevitable orgasm, and too soon did it come, picking you up before releasing you to white lights and blurring vision. repeated chants of “fuck, ellie fuck fuck fuck-” flood ellie’s bedroom, bouncing off the walls and into ellie’s ears as she curls up into your special spot, no intention of stopping anytime soon.

you shake and beg but to no avail, your green-eyed girl tears daggers into you, looking up oh-so innocently, her digits increasing her speed as she drinks up your release, drunk on it. overstimulation upon you, you search for something—anything— to free yourself of ellie’s grip, her forearm keeping you glued to the bed. completely spent, your best bet is weak pushes to ellie’s head, shaking your own as you squeak out a frail “too much. please el.” at last, she lets up, that same strong forearm releasing its grip to rub your abdomen, you catch a glimpse of the moth tatted there in ink before throwing your head back, exhaustion catching up to you after a long day of caring for the children of jackson, and an even longer night of waiting up for ellie.

roles reversing, ellie understands now that it’s her turn to take care of you . in her own way of expressing gratitude, she lifts you into her arm, silently thanking you in her head for staying up late with her, cleaning her up or listening to stories of her day. and before you can even think twice, ellie places you gently on your side of the bed, warm comforter embracing your bare figure. you’re half asleep when you hear ellie walk away, returning with water. without a word, she puts the glass in your face, urging you to hydrate. very slowly, you take the glass with both hands, slowly blinking while you down it to satisfy ellie. and satisfied she is, taking the glass from your tired hands, placing it on the bed side table.

at the brink of sleep now, you’re finally able to succumb when you feel ellie crawl into bed behind you, rugged hands tethering you close, slim arms holding you tight. it is only then, once she hooks a chin onto your shoulder, do you hear her whisper before falling asleep:

“‘m sorry. i love you.”

— ꥟꥟꥟ —

𝗱𝗶𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒’𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝖼. 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 <𝟥𝟥

#black writers #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie smut #18+ mdni #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #lesbian #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams x black reader #diofics #Spotify

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 5 months

Text

Let's Get Out Of Here

Jake Lockley x GN!Reader • Rating: M •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist• ko-fi •

Summary: You've met your Dad's best friend before.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: This one was so difficult.

Warnings: Implied sexy times, Reader has a sort of family backstory, Reader's Dad had Reader very young, Reader has a good relationship with their Dad, Jake being a flirt, swearing, overuse of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 776

“And this is Jake.”

Your smile freezes on your face as your Dad gestures to his aforementioned best friend. If it wasn’t for the grounding warmth of his hand on your arm you were sure you would have had an out of body experience.

Him.

Oh fuck.

How could it be him?

“Nice to finally meet you Jake.” You nod and shake his hand when he holds his out to you.

“Likewise.” His own smile is polite, tailored to a mask of neutrality that you can see through. He’s shitting himself just as much as you are.

Your Dad laughs, thankfully oblivious to the sudden tension in air. “I’m glad you two could finally meet.”

If it wasn’t for social norms you’d turn on your heels and just march right out of there. Maybe you could hide somewhere in the crowd.

Your Father and Step-Mother were renewing their vows, and were throwing an ‘engagement’ party of sorts.

They’d long ago moved out of the town you’d grown up in, as had you and sadly your new home was further away from them than you’d have liked. So you didn’t get to see them in person as much as you wanted to.

Jake had met your Dad about four years ago, the two becoming fast friends. From what your Dad had told you Jake travelled a lot, but when they did meet up they always got on like a house on fire. He was, as well, a little camera shy. Covering his face or ducking out of the way in group photos, so the most you’d ever seen of him was the arm of his leather jacket, a blurred cap, or the scruff of curls poking just into frame.

It had become a running joke that this ‘Jake’ was either imaginary, or a spy.

Your Dad had had you young, an accident that he always called ‘his greatest achievement’. Despite his youth and the barely sixteen years between you, he had been and was a wonderful father.

Someone calls your Dad’s name and he excuses himself quickly, darting off before you even have a chance to protest.

You look after him forlornly, your shoulders slumping.

Maybe running away wasn’t such a break of social norms.

“Hi.” Jake says softly, having taken a step closer.

You turn back to him. He’s shoved his hands in his pocket, looking down before giving you an uncertain smile.

You return the gesture.

“I’m so sorry-” You blurt out.

“I didn’t know you-” He starts at the same time.

You both laugh.

“What are the odds?” He says with a shrug.

“Well, I guess a fondness for you runs in the family?”

Jake pulls a face and you laugh.

“Don’t say that.” He grins.

You try and fail to hide your smile. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Maybe… if I’d told you my name?”

“Well,” you shift your weight, relaxing a little. “I didn’t tell you mine either.”

“We were a little preoccupied.”

“Hmm.” You nod and close your eyes for a second to let the wave of embarrassment pass. “The first time yeah… but I think by the sixth we probably should have.”

He laughs again. It’s a musical sound, deep and rich. Calming in its certainty. “What did you save my number as?”

Heat burns a little under your skin. “Pretty guy.”

“Pretty guy?” His eyebrows raise, but not in upset, just surprise.

“Yeah, well,” you pull a face. “You’re pretty and a guy, so…”

He puffs his chest out a little, leaning a fraction closer. “You think I’m pretty.” He teases.

You give him a sincere look. “I think you’re beautiful.”

The honesty gives him pause for just a beat before he quickly recovers. “Says you.”

“Says me?”

“Yeah, says you. You’re stunning.” He lightly touches your forearm, his fingertips just ghosting over your skin.

You swallow, trying not to get lost in his eyes. “Shut up. What do you have me saved as then?”

He grins, not breaking eye contact for a moment before he pulls out his phone and shows you your contact information. There’s a single red heart emoji listed as your name.

“I didn’t take you as a romantic.” You tease.

He chuckles, leaning close and whispering in your ear. “Haven’t been treating you right then, have I?” He softly brushes the tip of his nose along your ear and you shiver. “Let me show you just how romantic I can be?”

He leans back just enough for you to see his expression, the question in his dark eyes as he nods his head towards the venue doors.

You grin. “Let’s get out of here.”

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh @romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho @steven-grants-world @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie @silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom @alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @soft-girl-musings @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood

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#jake lockley #moon knight #moon knight mcu #jake lockley x reader #x reader #jake lockley x you #x you #jake lockley x gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #jake lockley x gn!reader #x gn!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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hannieehaee · 10 months

Text

18+ / mdi

content: thor au, mingyu has superhuman strength (he's literally a god so), mingyu's kinda a dick, re-imagined plot of the first thor movie for fanfic purposes, mentions of movie characters, afab reader, smut, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 2203

a/n: thor was my favorite marvel movie growing up so i loved doing this!!! tysm to the person who requested this and im soooo sorry it took me so long T-T also i havent watched the movies in forever so im so sorry for inaccuracies </3

masterlist

mingyu wasnt too sure where he was.

just moments ago he had been fighting with his younger brother, loki, scolding him over yet another mischievous act, but now he was in the middle of nowhere. well, at least that was going off of his surroundings. in the distance, he could see various signs detailing the foreign words 'new mexico'.

he had just been wandering aimlessly around the desert, not paying too much attention to his surroundings as he tried to make sense of where he was. that was until his entire body was pushed forward by a massive object, making him lose most of his ability to process what just had happened. he was only slightly lucid as he laid limp on the ground, barely processing the girl looking down on him, completely freaked out at having just ran over a man in the middle of nowhere. without putting much of a fight, he allowed you and your friend to struggle your way as you dragged him into the back of your van, probably not wanting to leave any evidence that you'd almost committed homicide.

unfortunately for you both, he passed out quickly after that, not allowing you to confirm any information about him, nor giving you a chance to stumble your way through an apology for almost killing him.

seeing as you almost cost him his life, you decided to bring him to your laboratory, where you would let him rest until he was conscious enough for you to find a way to make it up to him. your friend darcy left you on your own, claiming it wasn't much of her problem since you had been the one driving when you crashed into him.

as you waited for him to wake up, you wondered how and why he had survived your van crashing into him. i mean, he didn't sustain any injuries, simply passing out from the impact. he had even left damage on the van itself upon the crash. looking at him, you realized he was very fit, with muscles bulging from the strange armor he had on. you hadn't questioned any of this until now, being mostly freaked out by almost killing him, but it was all now making you wonder the logistics of the situation.

you didn't have too much time to think, as he began to stir, groaning a bit before actually waking up. he jumped in place upon realizing he was in unfamiliar surroundings, staring at you with wide eyes as he backed away a bit.

"hey-"

"you! who are you? where am i?"

"listen, you might be a bit disoriented after the accident, you're in-"

"new mexico? right? i saw a sign earlier today."

"yeah, it's-"

"okay, but where is new mexico? i need to get back to asgard. how can i manage that?"

"asgard? listen, you must be going through a psychic episode, just let me-"

"stay away! i demand you tell me where i am!"

jesus christ, this man was stubborn. not once sentence could leave your lips before he was making demands. he didn't even give you a chance to apologize either. you weren't sure what he meant by his blabbering, which was still going on by now. asgard? was he hallucinating about norse mythology? had you rendered this man insane?

"we're in new mexico! right by texas? are you okay? you seem kind of disoriented. i'm so sorry about what happened, i-"

"my armor! you damaged it with your machine!", he finally looked down at the scratches and missing bits of his armor, eyes widening once more.

he got up from his spot, marching around your laboratory and grabbing at things with curiosity. he eventually came across your globe, reading out the label before gasping loudly.

"earth?! loki told me of this place. that means you're a human," he was mostly speaking to himself before turning to finally direct himself at you, "human. i am mingyu, the god of thunder. you must help me get back to asgard. can you do that?"

you were speechless throughout his entire ransacking of your lab, but even more so now. was this an insane man you were with in the middle of the desert? you had brought him to your secluded lab out of remorse for what you'd done, but now you were alone in the middle of the night with a maniac. a very strong one at that.

"don't look at me like that," he interrupted your thoughts, "i know im not the god your people typically serve, but i still demand your help. you did hit me, after all."

that broke you out of your spell, your niceness peaking out again, "i'm sorry! i-"

"great! so now you're indebted to me," he clapped his hands together, "how shall we begin?"

okay, there was no way you were helping this maniac with his senseless plan, but you needed to think of a sensible way to tell him to fuck off.

"you're mingyu? the god of thunder? why are you reciting norse mythology to me? i cant get you back to asgard. it doesnt exist," okay, not subtle, but it was a start.

"listen, human. your kind would not understand the depth behind my people. you don't believe me? i'll show you."

and with that, he raised his arm, erected and facing to his side as he stared at you directly into your eyes. he stayed like this for a minute before you chose to question him, only to be shushed by him once more, "just give it a minute, human."

it was about three minutes when suddenly a hammer came crashing through the wall, destroying everything in its way in order to arrive to mingyu's hand.

next thing you knew, you were hiding under your table, utterly terrified at whatever the fuck was happening. was he really the mingyu? but those were all a child's tale, were they not? did you truly have a god standing before you, trying to convince you to come out from hiding?

"human, i- im sorry. i shouldve warned you. come out, please? i'll even forgive you for crashing into me. i just need some help," he sounded so defeated, you couldn't help but feel sorry for him, deciding to come out from hiding as long as he put his hammer down, something to which he agreed to with no hesitation.

"o-okay, mingyu. are you- you're real? shit, okay, never mind. you clearly are. but how can i help you? i'm not a god, h-how am i supposed to help you go back home?"

"there's always a way, human. we just need to find an opening. you see ..." he proceeded to explain his entire plan to you, sounding way more intelligent than he had shown himself to be throughout every interaction you'd had with him so far. he was also standing. very. close. it was hard to pay attention when the damage of his suit allowed you such a perfect view at his gigantic muscles. but you needed to focus! you owed it to him to at least try to help him.

the plan had been settled soon after that, agreeing that tomorrow you'd use your 'machine' (re: car) to drive him to a specific spot in which he'd be able to gather enough energy to summon lightning from the sky, which would render him powerful enough to communicate with gandall, who would take him back to asgard. it was too much for the regular person to process, but luckily for him, the person who almost ran him over was a scientist who was very well read on norse mythology.

after that, you had told him he could hit a shower, located in the habitable part of the lab in which you'd stay at sometimes. you let him know you two should also catch some sleep before tomorrow. you offered up your bed, claiming you'd take the couch since you'd caused him all this trouble anyway. he agreed with no argument, making you frown a little at his lack of gallantry.

he came out of the shower soon after, all while you sat on the couch occupied by a book. you heard his arrival, but didn't pay him much mind until doing a double take on him, realizing he was stark naked, with every glorious inch of skin in full display.

"jesus christ! what the hell are you doing?!", you covered your face with your book, extremely flustered at the sight. how was he so bi-

"what? is there no nudity on earth?", he sat on the couch, way too close to you.

"yes! but not like this! you're supposed to warn me beforehand. i-"

"why won't you look at me, human? uncover your face at once."

you weren't sure why, but you followed his direction, removing the book from your face but keeping your eyes closed.

"eyes open too."

you opened them, looking up as to avoid staring at his nether area. although you weren't looking at him, you could tell he had moved to sit even closer, making you anxious about what he'd do next.

"look at me."

you looked down to find him staring directly at you, face at only a few inches from yours. you couldn't help it when your eyes lowered to his lips, noticing him mirror your actions.

"this?" he whispered, "this is what you want?"

it was an ominous and unclear statement, but you still found yourself nodding, too full of a sudden surge of lust to think properly.

he attacked you with his lips, using full force immediately upon kissing you. he was very intense with his movements, almost immediately pinning you down on the couch, an easy feat for a god with his superhuman strength.

you couldn't help how wet you grew almost immediately, having taken a peak at his massive length when he had first approached you on the couch. was he going to put that in you? you were kinda terrified, but also giddy to feel the insane stretch he was about to give you.

you kept keening against him, softly moaning into his lips as he ground his hips against your own, making him groan in return.

"gods, human. you're so fragile ... so delicate. i'm gonna- gonna break you," it sounded like dirty talk, but there was some genuine concert laced in his tone.

"do it! please ... please fuck me," all dignity had left you the moment you saw him in all his naked glory, so any begging was fair game to you by now.

he chuckled, "yeah? pretty princess wants me to fuck her? think you can take it?", he was quite literally dangling his dick in front of your eyes, hands ripping your shorts out of the way as you gasped at the act.

"sorry, princess," he coo'd condescendingly, "they were getting in my way."

he didnt bother to check whether you were wet enough or not before plunging into you, but you had fortunately been dripping for him by then. still, his massive size had you writhing under him, screaming his name to anyone who could hear you from your secluded location.

"oh? now you pray my name? fuck, beautiful human. didn't know humans could be so pretty ..." he was growing delirious at the tightness of your cunt, combined with your much smaller frame. all women in asgard were as big and built as him. this was his first time experiencing anything like this, and it had him rethinking his return to asgard.

'g-gyu ... shit. i'm gonna cum, please!'

he folded you like a pretzel, not caring to conceal his inhuman strength as he pounded madly into you, feeding off your gasps and squeals. you were making him see valhalla.

"pretty princess ... cum for me. let me have yours and i'll give you mine- shit! gonna breed you. gonna come back here and take care of you every time im lonely. g-gonna keep you all to myself. my pretty secret on earth."

the idea of mingyu popping by to fuck you whenever the literal heaven that was asgard became too boring for him had you keening, now grateful you had ran him over as your orgasm attacked you unexpectedly.

you had never felt such a high, almost feeling like you had astral-projected into heaven. mingyu seemed to be in a similar situation, groaning against your mouth as he filled you up with his endless seed. seemed like he was well-endowed in all areas, being a god and all.

"fuck ... thank you for that, human," he thanked you as he got up, at least having the courtesy of helping you clean up, "now i feel kinda bad about leaving."

"then dont," you werent sure why you said that. maybe the high of your orgasm.

"yeah?", he smirked, nearing you once again, "convince me," you noticed his hardness was already back, at a literally inhuman speed.

you weren't sure how you were meant to take him again with no rest in between, but you were willing to take the challenge. you'd worry about how to get the god back to his home tomorrow. for now, you were going to enjoy him while you had him.

a/n: before anyone comes for me, I KNOW this isnt very inaccurate for thor (ive watched the movies too many times) but i wanted to write a short smutty blurb and not go off with too many words so this is what we ended up with

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #seventeen #svt #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #seventeen smut #svt smut #mingyu scenario #mingyu imagines #mingyu fanfic #mingyu smut #mingyu oneshot #mingyu x reader

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christinesficrecs · 10 months

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It's the time of the year where I sneak holiday fics into all my recs. 🤶🏻

Scent Left Unsaid by bleep0bleep | 2.5K | Mature

In a society where werewolves are second class, Deucslist is an alternative werewolf network (similar to Craigslist) where humans and werewolves offer (mostly sexual) services. Derek is a long-term client of an anonymous human omega whose scent is just perfect. He never expects to meet him, until it happens.

Derek has slept with that faded red hooded sweatshirt every night since he got it in the mail. It’s calming, that scent; it’s everything to him. So it’s strange now that Derek is smelling it wafting from the end of the subway car as it careens towards the L line, lights flickering on the passing platforms.

My World Is Filled With Cheer And You by bleep0bleep | 10.8K

In which Derek and his daughter are displaced just in time for the holidays, matched up with Stiles and his young son in a government protection program.

Sidequest by bleep0bleep | 11.4K

Agent Derek Hale has been working up the courage to ask his partner Stiles out on a date (finally!) when he heads out on a solo mission—without Derek. Eager to provide support, Derek arrives in Beacon Hills, only there is no mission, and Stiles’ dad thinks Derek is Stiles’ boyfriend.

Well. It could be worse.

The Kiss Doctor by bleep0bleep | 3.5K

“That’s me,” Derek says. “Are you, um— the Kiss Doctor?” “Stiles,” is the reply, and the guy grins. It’s charming.

i wait for you like a lonely house by bleep0bleep | 4.5K

Derek isn’t sure why he buys the house. He doesn’t need the space, that much is certain. While it’s not as big as the one Derek grew up in, something about the cheerful yellow paint and the wide staircase (with banisters wide enough for children to slide down) draws him in.

affettuoso by bleep0bleep | 13K

Derek mentally kicks himself for just standing there like a lovestruck fool, but it’s been exactly forty-six days since he saw Stiles, and he still remembers the taste of his skin, how Stiles feels underneath him.

The Gentleman And The Fox by bleep0bleep, Inkforwords | 15.7K

Derek doesn’t expect much from his arranged marriage. When his inattentive husband, Lord Stiles Stilinski, tells him he’s free to look for a lover, he doesn’t know where to start, until a dashing bandit named the Red Fox catches his eye.

All's Fair in Orgasms and War by bleep0bleep | 63.2K | Explicit

The one in which (almost) everyone is a porn star, and Derek just wants to curl up with his fluffy blanket and watch the Hallmark channel, but work and falling in love gets in the way.

nom de plume by bleep0bleep | 3.9K

There are no more chapters. 22 is the last one. Derek groans in despair. He has to know what happens.

Five Times Detective Stilinski and Fire Captain Hale Had Sex In Public, and One Time They Did It In A Bed by bleep0bleep | 32.8K

“Did you say–” Stiles starts.

“What?” Derek growls.

“We’re not a couple!” they both retort in unison.

“We’re not together,” Stiles insists.

Lydia coughs pointedly. “An incident report filed by 87th Precinct Captain Erica Reyes. March twenty-fifth, eight p.m. Came back to the precinct to grab my coat, only to hear Stilinski banging his new boyfriend in the holding cell.”

i wanna dance with somebody (who loves me) by bleep0bleep | 10.5K

Derek gets in an accident and loses a few years of his memory; suddenly everything is different— he’s not a freshman loser anymore, but a popular senior, captain of the basketball team, a shoo-in for prom king, too, and he should have everything he’s ever wanted— except he doesn’t seem to be friends with Stiles anymore.

Mauve by bleep0bleep | 7.3K

It’s been ten years since he’s seen Derek Hale, but Stiles would recognize that ass anywhere.

remember my love by bleep0bleep | 23.3K

Stiles wakes up and suddenly the war is over, he's no longer a penniless mage, and living in an exquisite manor married to the man he's been in love with for far too long.

“It’ll be fine,” Stiles says gallantly. “I am certain I will just fall in love with my husband all over again, and I will find plenty of joy doing that.” He winks at Derek for good measure. Derek blinks.

of course, of course by bleep0bleep | 12.9K | Explicit

Derek swallows, watching Stiles mull over the paperwork. “Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely,” Stiles says, licking his lips. He signs with a flourish and pushes the contract back at Derek.

Derek knows every word of the contract by heart, but his heart stutters anyways when a sentence jumps out at him. The client acknowledges that any bond created during the heat session is temporary.

#sterek fics #sterek #ficrecs #fanfic writers #sterek fandom #author spotlight #bleepobleep #author appreciation

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allinestarr · 9 months

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Relentless (1/?)

Max Verstappen x Fem Driver Reader!

Y/n YLN was the only other driver others feared on the track besides the Dutchman himself. She maintained a 1st to 2nd place spot on the podium every race. Even though she was fairly new to F1 and in her 2nd season, she was a force to be reckoned with. The only problem was she had yet to win a championship. Max always beat her to it. The rivalry started early on when they had there first run in, quite literally, in Spain. It was lap 64 and y/n was ahead of Max leading the race until he got within DRS range and tried pushing past her and in the last second she turned to defend but it was to late. He hit the back of her car and they spun out. Max was able to stop before hitting the barrier but she hit head on.

“ Y/n are you ok???. Please respond”, Liz your race engineer asked.

Seconds passed by and there was no response and as smoke started to come out of the engine the extent of the accident raised a new level of urgency. The safety car came on track as drivers began returning to the pits. Max was already out of the car but instead of checking on you he walked back to his garage.

“ Y/n, say something!!.”

Again, nothing. Every second felt like forever to onlookers and just as they feared the worst, you groaned as you turned the radio on and with a shaky breath rasped out,

“Ok…”

Liz along with the rest of the crew breathed out a sigh of relief as you responded. The more you thought about how you got here, the more your head hurt. Most likely a concussion. The smell of burning rubber and the smoky haze snapped you back to reality as you turned around to see a small fire coming from the engine. It didn’t take you long for you to react as you reached down, unbuckled yourself and climbed out. Your knees buckled when you stood and had no choice but to crawl away from the car as the flames grew. Everything happened so fast that you zoned out. When you finally came back to, you were in the ambulance headed to the hospital.

The total damage was a concussion, a fucked up car and your pride. After being on a winning streak since the begging of the season it was gone in the blink of an eye. They wanted to keep you overnight but you refused and returned to the garage.

As much as you wanted to be anywhere but here, you felt you owed an explanation to Toto. It technically wasn't your fault but that didn't stop you from blaming yourself.

" Toto I really want to apologize. I tried to defend but I didn't think he would hit me. I'm so sorry I disappointed you.."

"Y/n don't. It wasn't your fault. You're an amazing driver and I have full confidence in you. You'll be back on top by the next race so don't beat yourself up. All that matters is that you're ok."

Toto wasn't a super affectionate guy but he had a soft spot for you. He hugged you before being called away by an engineer. Although his words were reassuring they didn't make you feel better. The expectations were high from others, but not as much as your own.

The race was over and the results were in. Checo first, Charles second and Carlos third. The first podium without Mercedes since the beginning of the season. Lewis got 4th so we still gained points. The disappointment you felt in yourself was strong but the anger overshadowed. As much as you wanted to march into the Red Bull garage and go ballistic on Max, the media would eat it up and spin it so you looked like an over emotional woman who didn’t belong there. So for now, you’d wait till you were away from prying eyes to address him. Lewis had just walked into the garage and stopped as soon as he saw you.

“ Y/n, you’re back!. How are you feeling??”

“ I’m ok, just pissed.”

Since joining Mercedes you immediately clicked with Lewis. He was the only person you felt comfortable opening up to and he actually listened and was honest when you needed to hear the truth. He knew how hard you were on yourself when you lost so he already planned to have a sleepover later with your favorite snacks and movie. It was a tradition at this point.

“ I just can’t believe he would do that. It was clearly sabotage. What pisses me off most is that he probably won’t get punished cause he’s Max Verstappen, the golden boy.”

Lewis sighed as he nodded. He knew first hand from losing his 8th championship to Max. After talking a little longer you eventually went your own ways for media duties. Every question was the same and so was every answer you gave, no comment. Looking around you hadn’t seen Max once. Pierre said that after the crash Max walked into his garage like a madman kicking shit around screaming and went straight to his room to change and left. What a pussy, you thought. The guys invited you out but you were just not in the mood. Lando tried his puppy dog eyes which in most cases worked, just not today.

Weirdly enough even after getting in a crash you still had energy to burn so you changed and headed to the gym. You were so deep into your workout you hadn't noticed Max had at some point walked in and made a beeline to you.

“ What the hell!” You screamed as someone yanked off your headphones. Max of course...

“You cost me a podium today!.”

“ Are you fucking delusional?. You tried to pass me, trashed my car and cost me a podium. You knew you wouldn’t be able to make it through and couldn’t bare the thought of losing to me again!.”

“You’re the one who swerved last second and caused the wreck!. You think you’re so good cause you won a few races?. You're pathetic!. Next time, get out of my way!.”

In that moment you had the textbook definition of black out rage cause your hand moved on its own as your fist collided with his nose.

“Crazy bitch!.”

You smirked as you grabbed him by his collar and brought his face closer to yours,

“ You have no idea. Humor me, are you threatened because I’m beating you or because I’m a girl and beating you?. Learn how to lose Verstappen cause you won't be on top forever, ill make sure of that.”

Max was at a loss for words. Who did this woman think she was challenging him?. Before he could respond you walked away.

Already showered and changed you heard a knock revealing a giddy Lewis with a bag of snacks and his signature smile. Settled in bed snuggled up to Lewis you thought about your encounter with Max.

“Everything ok?.”

You contemplated telling him about today but decided not to so you just nodded. He of course knew you were lying but didn’t press you since you weren’t in the mood so he accepted your answer. The movie ended and while Lewis was asleep you were awake thinking of how to win your next race and the race after and... actually why not think bigger. How about winning the rest of the season?. The thought of Max losing put a smile to your face as you closed your eyes and drifted to sleep.

It was a game of tit for tat fluctuating between 1st and 2nd place the rest of the season. Mercedes had never been better managing a podium every race and ending with 2nd in constructers by the end of the season. Red Bull kept there streak with 1st in constructors. Max was first in drivers but you took second much to Red bulls dismay since you took Checos spot. At this point Max was a 4 time champion. Usually everyone was planning vacations for break but all you could think of was the next season and the possibility to win your first championship. The best part wouldn’t just be the championship, it would be the look on Max’s face when you beat him to it. The thought was orgasmic. For now though you had a celebration to attend with the guys which unfortunately included Max. How bad can it be right?…..

Taglist-

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#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #formula one #formula 1 #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 grid x reader #f1 x reader

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jaidens · 1 year

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Ladies And Gentlemen, Will You Please Stand? With Every Guitar String Scar On My Hand Take This Magnetic Force Of A Man To Be My Lover

pairing [s] : spencer reid x reader

warning [s] : | marriage | why ain't he my husband yet?! | spencer is so lover | I just copied the basic rite of matrimony soo

a/n [s] : requests are open

Spencer is completely and half-heartedly nervous about the wedding day. His hands sweat and shake a week before, Derek ends up having to coach him on how to correctly act around you. He's worried about whether his knees lock on accident and he passes out on you, or if he sleeps in late on it and misses his own wedding. Spencer can't lie and say he hasn't read every single book on weddings, going back into the 1400s.

The best day of his life begins with his chosen groomsmen jumping on his bed and hyping him up early into the morning. Derek picks him up from his bed and basically throws him around. Spencer swears he's about to throw up every moment he gets ready. When he's in the shower, when he's getting his hair dried and professionally done, or whenever he's getting in his suit while his groomsmen are yelling and screaming about how stupid good he looks.

His mother and yours both sit down which alerts him to walk to the altar. Spencer's Mom is already on the verge of crying as he goes to the altar. It's covered with soft lace and flowers, everything you wanted. The entire venue is absolutely amazing and beautiful as he captures it in his mind. Eventually, his groomsmen walk down individually, as everyone stands. Derek walks down last a bit of a smile on his face and his hands together.

He pats Spencer on the shoulders, whispering in his ear to make sure to not lock his knees. He's absolutely worried, no matter how many things he knew about weddings. Your bridesmaids walk down the aisle next, clad in the beautiful colors you chose. Spencer thought about all of the mixing of colors and your eye for them was one of the things he loved. Derek is mumbling something behind him to Aaron, talking about how nice the venue had been. He smiled knowing that he had multiple people to help him in anything behind him.

Spencer is attempting to not let his nerves take over his head. He's twisting his neck to see things behind him, next to him, and the people that were invited and their plus ones. He takes the small handkerchief he was given to wipe the tears that start in the corner of his eye. All he's thinking about is you. The dress you might have chosen or the smile that you'll be wearing, and he swears it's everything he's lived for. He also thinks about this: what if he never chose to join the BAU? What if he went to a different part, ending up never meeting you?

Soon, he hears it, the Wedding March fills the sound of the outside. You wanted to have a string quartet, and so that's what he gave, and he was absolutely glad you chose it. The soft noises of violins, cello, and violas are playing in March. His back is turned to the preacher that stands there, asking him if he's ready. “I’m ready for her.”

As soon as he sees your father appear from the corner, he's covering his mouth and stifling his gentle sobs. Everything seems incredibly perfect. He's looking away in the hopes he won't start sobbing. Derek taps his shoulder and there you are, practically floating down the aisle with a soft veil covering your face. He has to cover his eyes and try not to lose himself when he sees you.

He's in love, in love with his best friend of fourteen years and his girlfriend and fiancee of seven. You have the biggest smile he's ever seen on your face as your father hugs you and walks away to his seat next to your mother and his. Everytime he looks up, he cries even more, You float further up to the altar and now you're right next to him, and holding your hands out.

“You look absolutely gorgeous.” Spencer whispers softly in your ear and you look up at him. “This is so amazing, and you look so handsome.” The moment is something he will remember for as long as he lives, seeing your eyes look into his and all he feels is love. Spencer never felt a love like yours, and the connection your souls had intertwined together. When you first started dating, he told you he had your names etched in hid heart and in the stars, and how nothing could possibly change his feelings.

The preacher begins the rite of matrimony. Spencer grabs your right hand and holds it in his hand. “I, Spencer, take you, to be my wife. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and to honor you all the days of my life.” As soon as he finishes, he's covering his mouth and trying to pull himself together. You copy him, saying the same thing as him.

The ring holder hands you Spencer's ring and you slide it onto his ring finger. Spencer does the same and kisses your knuckles against his lips. He savours this moment and the intimacy he feels just by looking at you. He stares at the wedding ring and he realizes it's his mother's and he completely loses it. “Is that my Mom's ring?” He asks gently through soft sobs. You nod at him and you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Do you take Y/N to be your wedded wife, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to her, for as long as you both shall live?” The officiant speaks, looking into Spencer's eyes. “I do.”

You do yours and you say a soft, “I do.” The priest announces to you husband and wife. Spencer is instructed to pull the veil behind your head and he looks at your face. Your eyes are glossy and rimmed with tears and your smile almost false apart as you try and hold yourself together for him (and partly the wedding photographer.)

As soon as he hears the word kiss, he drops his hand on your lower back, and kisses you. Spencer pulls your leg up so it sits against his hip, and one of his hands stays on your thigh. No matter how many times he's kissed you before, he still begins to get breathless and his cheeks will heat up embarrassingly. He hears your guests clapping before you pull away. In under a second, you rush back into his lips.

—

Spencer remembers the day like yesterday as he holds you in his arms. He's weaker and frail than he was 47 years ago, but the same gleam in your eye and strong smile that takes over his heart. You're watching the television and laughing softly at whatever’s playing, but all he does is stare at you and the wedding pictures that are around the walls. He stared at the grandchildren that are drawing in the kitchen, and it reminds him of everything he had years ago.

#spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid criminal minds #husband!spencer reid #spencer reid x wife!reader

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elysiaheaven · 27 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.

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