#Sunday Hsr

[petorahs]

who you gonna call?

[macheriecake]

Ily sunday mwah

cutie patootie

[n4391]

Sunday's New Life on the Astral Express 👼 (Read right to left like manga!)

[endursent]

WHAT IF astral express sunday would be too nervous to hold readers hand or hugging them bc his brain goes 💥 until he gets used to it and softens up to reader waa 🎉🎉

HES SO SILLY i want him to explode

【 content; sunday x reader , astral express sunday , fluff , character exploration, mild suggestiveness in one section , gn!reader 】

【 note; see sunday mention. NEURON ACTIVATED. i have neglected sunday writing for too long, it's time to sunday post more. 】

【 word count; 1.818 | read on ao3 | masterlist 】

Even after properly defining your relationship as “definitely happening”, Sunday still struggles to adjust to it—not because he doesn’t know what to do specifically, but because he fails to follow through with a lot of it. 

  As soon as he meets your eyes and feels the warmth of your skin at the same time, his brain halts in place like a deer caught in headlights—something about the affection and love in your gaze causes him to freeze, to hesitate and draw back. 

  He wants to enjoy that warmth, he wants to touch your cheek and gaze into your eyes for hours on end, examining every detail of your iris until he has it mapped better than the back of his own hand… but his heart tightens and his arms tingle when he tries. 

  He’s afraid, scared to overstep thresholds whose doors have long since opened wide for his presence. Afraid to take a wrong turn in the endless hallways of his thoughts and what-ifs.

  You don’t push him, you give him time to consider his movement and actions and proceed in the ways he feels comfortable—but you don’t let him pull back too far either. You grasp his hand as it pulls too close to his chest and he swallows when you bring it to yours, you press his palm against your chest and allow him to feel your heartbeat—quickened, excited, yet nervous as well. Sometimes, you’re also nervous. It’s okay to hesitate. 

  Mere moments like brushing his fingers against yours on accident are enough for his head-wings to shoot up into the air. You had simply been reaching for a pistachio in a bowl on a table where you sat with Sunday next to you, and he had coincidentally reached out as well. “A-ah, my apologies,” he pulls his hand back, wings lowering again as one moves halfway up his cheek in a meagre attempt to disguise the dusty red of his cheeks. 

  A small smile tugs on your lips and you take an additional nut to give to him. “It’s okay, here.” He holds his palm open for you to place the pistachio in, but instead of doing so, you peel the shell away with a click and hold it towards his lips. “Open up.”

  Five or so muscles in his face twitch as he leans back, surprised by your sudden approach and the very intimate gesture of trying to feed him—his eyes flicker to the left where Himeko is positively destroying March 7th in a card game, they’re not paying any attention to the two of you at all. 

  Sunday’s lips press together and for a moment you wonder if you might have pushed him a little too far, the red hue of his cheeks deepening as he avoids your eyes… and opens his mouth, just a little—barely enough to fit the small pistachio there.

  Your fingers touch his lips as you manage to set the pistachio on the tip of his tongue hiding only a little behind the bottom row of his teeth, and Sunday thinks he might explode. The way his upper lip lifted a little and a small drop of drool slid under his tongue—thankfully out of sight but definitely not out of mind—when your finger pushed under it to set the nut in his mouth…

  He swallows the pistachio quickly and nervously without chewing it and it almost stops in his throat before he could even realise what he was doing. Sunday might have just perished from embarrassment before the lack of oxygen would kill him were the pistachio to stop in his throat.

  Sunday hasn’t stepped off the Express in a while, he does so rather often, all things considered—usually choosing to at least peek out at the worlds you explore. After all, how can he find himself if he doesn’t look? 

  But he has never experienced a planet like this… you could convince him this is some intergalactically funded horror exhibition if you tried. Long stretches of trees and branches reach into the skies, casting dark shadows on the dull grass that covers the ground as far as one can see. The skies are dark when you hop off the train and practically drag Sunday along.

  He walks close to you, unsure if to reassure himself of your presence among the shadows, or to be ready to give his assistance were you to catch your foot on a root and crash on the ground—you’re walking so fast he can't help but think it’s just a matter of time.

  You feel something touch your thumb and look down, only to see Sunday’s gloved hand retreat. He’s looking ahead and pretending there is nothing strange happening. “Are you scared?” you wonder, tilting your head to get a better look at his face.

  A small frown tugs at his lips, so faint you could barely see it. “Of course not, but I am concerned about us getting lost—do you know where we’re going?” 

  “Kind of,” you sway your hand a little, seeing if you can fish at where he has retracted his to. “Pom-Pom mentioned there a huge city not far from where we dropped down, this world has some real good puddings if I read right.”

  Sunday merely hums in response, following you along. You did finally find the city—high buildings made of darkened wood, but with bright lanterns and strings of lights hanging between buildings to illuminate the streets in a comfortable orange. All the ambiance needs is rain (and for you two be inside a nice café) and it’s perfect.

  The streets, however, are a labyrinth. 

  You get lost only seven minutes after reaching the city, and no matter how you squinted at your phone, you couldn’t wrap your head around the map—and it doesn’t help that despite the darkness, it’s midday, and thus the streets and crowded near shoulder-to-shoulder. This place must be popular despite the gloomy atmosphere. 

  Having almost lost sight of you wandering around trying to get your bearings in the crowd, Sunday gathers his courage and stomps down his thoughts—and takes your hand. 

  You stop where you’re going and turn to look at him. “Hm? Is something wrong?”

  He still avoids your eyes, but his grip is firm. “You’re… still going in the wrong direction.”

  “I am?” you look back down to your phone and tilt it sideways. “Ah! Like this, I get it now… I think.”

  Sunday sighs, stepping closer to you as a person shoulder past your positions—and suddenly the two of you are standing far closer than planned, nearly pressed against the wall of a building that leads to the corner of the street. He can’t stop thinking about your hand against his gloved one, and he also can’t help but notice that your fingers feel cold.

  As you try to figure out the best path towards the mythical pudding, holding your phone out for Sunday to see as well, his fingers and palm engulf yours and try to move some of his heat to you. His thumb rubs over your palm as you speak and the lack of proper reaction from you, yet still laying your hand out to him, helps him find the gesture more natural and comfortable… something he wouldn’t mind indulging in more often. 

  Sunday is a very passive person when it comes to affections, he’s rarely the one to reach out first and needs a bit of a push to even come up with romantic gestures. He considers the time you spend together and the understanding between you to be much more precious and indicative of his affections.

  However, he gets an idea one time from something he saw when scrolling his phone… to leave notes around. Sunday wasn’t sure of it at first—and a little embarrassed that someone else might find them before you do—but gradually began to find it as an easy way to show his attention. 

  Sometimes, the notes have a small message on them (mostly reminding you to sleep more) but other times, there’s no message at all. He came to use it as a ‘I thought of you’ message, where he leaves a blank, small post-it on something. 

  One time you forgot to buy new toothpaste on the Express’ most recent stop and dreaded having to borrow from someone again—until you opened the drawer to fetch your toothbrush and saw a full tube with a small blue post-it on it… now you need to go over to his room and rub his cheeks and thank him for remembering your complaints about always forgetting to buy a new one. 

  Sunday is a surprisingly good caretaker, you caught some sort of cold or flu on a recent trip off the express and have been miserable in bed for days. Up and down, hot and cold, snot-filled and gross on all ends. But he sits down by your bedside and takes your temperature, lays the back of his hand against your heated skin and does all he can to help. 

  One aspect he struggled with was when you got whiny one evening and reached out for a hug…

  While you might mistake his hesitation for disgust, as you are snot-nosed, puffy eyed and half crying from misery—it’s far from what was on his mind. But Sunday feels his chest tighten at the sight of you so miserable, temporary as it is, and he doesn’t have the heart to refuse your embrace. 

  He leans down and lets you wrap your arms around his shoulders, your clammy forehead rubbing into his shirt as he stiffly pats your head and tries to soothe you. “It’s alright… your fever is going down, you’ll be okay soon, just remember to drink the water on the nightstand, okay?” he mumbles by your ear, and the more you nod and thank him for taking care of you, the more his muscles ease and he shifts a bit to lay down with you, allowing you to burrow into the crook of his neck and find comfort in his presence. 

  Sunday rests his chin over your head and rubs your back. “Would you like me to sing for you?”

  You nod into his shoulder and he closes his mouth to hum familiar tunes, the beginning of a familiar song as the vibrations in his chest rumble against you. His voice is soothing, and his singing is surprisingly soft and gentle. 

  As you drift to well-needed sleep, Sunday stays with you until he’s certain you’ve fallen asleep… and then for a while more, just long enough that he can’t imagine tearing himself away from you—or risking waking you up by rising from the bed. Perhaps it’s alright if he stays the night here, after all, he needs to make sure you hydrate through the night.

[jainelope]

Hi... follow my insta @auriexplodez please I'm begging on Eberythitn

[b1adie]

[hoicoro]

[gothiccprince]

Dum dums

[3b0rus]

Sunday in the pokemon au! A novice trainer who’s just started his journey. Just ignore the roided up togekiss he’s been raising since he was six

[heikeeds]

i just saw this outfit in pinterest and thought about sunday so it's half sketch half lazy studie idk felt the need to draw something without thinking a lot

[strawberri-draws]

The siblings have two moods

Anyways. Penacony sketch page. Might try to color some of these digitally maybe

[bunni-v1]

sunday x m reader who wont shut up while hes working so he makes reader cockwarm him to shut him up

Cockwarming With Sunday

🍓Dom Sunday makes my skin crawl. Anyway, I went for a softer take than what you wanted, sorry lol. Even when Sunday tops I can't see him as all that mean, at least, not in the way this was worded lol. Anyway, I'm very well Sunday's biggest hater (I love him more than life itself), so I hope you enjoy this. I want him dead.

Tw: NSFW; Implied power dynamics; Mean(?) Sunday; Grammar Errors; ts kinda ass

Info: Dom!Sunday x M!Reader (it's hard to tell lol); Cockwarming; pre ae sunday; Nsfw

Word Count: 1.5k

Sunday was always considered to be a patient man, especially with those he considered important to him. He had put up with plenty of Robin's silly plans and humored her with delight -- he loved her after all, and any plan she had wasn't truly all that silly so long as it came from her. He even enjoyed her endless conversations when he was meant to be finishing up paperwork. His time with her was sparse, he could afford extra time away from his duties for her. She never kept him for long anyway, understanding his position better than anyone else.

You, however, did not have the excuse of being his darling sister. You spent a significant amount of time with him, both in and out of work, and he had all the time in the world to spend with you. Which meant you knew better than most others how much he needed to fill out this report today. Yet... you kept running those stupidly pretty lips of yours.

He wasn't even sure what you were talking about, he'd tuned you out about ten minutes into your talking. Nearly an hour had passed, and you were still going on and on about something or another -- he catches that it's about an up-and-coming artist you'd seen, not that he cares for any musician that isn't his sister. It wouldn't be so bad if you were just talking, he'd mastered the technique of ignoring things that seemed to get under his skin, but you needed assurance that he was listening.

He would occasionally have to pause and answer questions without much context, or hum in acknowledgement of your words. Your incessant rambling is normally incredibly endearing to him, but with the deadline looming over his head, and the ache stinging between his brows it was enough to make it vexing.

He lets out a sigh, hands pressing the pen to the desk just a bit too harshly. You silence yourself, flinching back a little in surprise. He nearly coos, he hadn't meant to scare you, but you were very cute when frightened. (Perhaps he shouldn't be thinking such things...)

"My love," He hums, meeting your gaze with a calm smile, "you know I love having you around, don't you?"

You nod, nervousness shining in your eyes, giving you away despite the brave front you put on. You were always too easy for him to read, a bit concerning considering the enemies he has, but he'd prefer you pliant than hardened -- at least, in that way.

He gestures to the papers on his desk, "You also know how important it is that I get this done today, yes?"

"Of course," You answer immediately, and he can see the realization of why he was scolding you across your face. So very cute. "Was I talking too much?"

He hums an affectionate smile on his face, and gestures for you to come to his side. You do so with no arguments, as expected. He turns in his chair, grabbing you by your hips to situate you between his legs. You flush a bit at the contact, predictable as always, but he chooses not to comment on it.

"I need to get this done, angel," He asserts again, and you frown shamefully.

"Would you like me to leave?" You offer, but the idea sours something in his chest.

He shakes his head adamantly, "Of course not. I love having you here, but you'll have to behave for me."

There is a spark behind your eyes at his words that makes him ache a bit, his member coming to life much too fast for his liking. The effect seems to be mutual, as far as he can tell from his position near your crotch. His placid smile morphs into a slight smirk, and his eyes meet yours again, "You can behave for me, can't you?"

You nod adamantly, "Of course, s-sir." The title is stuttered, somehow unsure despite your knowing very well what he wanted from you now. It was so adorable how concerned you were with overstepping with him. You truly could do no wrong in his eyes, even when you were getting in the way of his work.

"Then," he pushes you to step back, leaning back in his chair, "Take your pants and underwear off for me. Quickly, I'd like to get this done as soon as possible."

You nod again, doing as he says like a well-trained pet, pretty eyes looking to him for approval as you shove the clothes to the side. He rewards you with a smile, leaning forward to run a finger along the bottom of your hard cock. You hiss at the sensation, drawing a chuckle from his chest.

He eases himself out of his pants as he tugs on your sensitive member a few times, enjoying the little whimpers you give him. His dick springs free, hitting his stomach. He leans back again as it does, telling you what to do with his eyes alone. You follow along like in a trance -- he'd almost believed you were under the influence Harmony, if it weren’t for the fact that he wasn’t using it in the moment.

You hiss lowly as he slides into you. Going raw must've been painful for you, but it felt heavenly for him. Your ass squeezed him so well like it was meant to hold him deep within. He smiles reassuringly at you as you finally sit fully on his lap, taking your chin in his hand to settle a kiss to your lips.

"Very good," He compliments.

You bite your lip, averting your gaze, "Thank you, sir."

He tuts at you, drawing your gaze back just as quickly as it left, "You can sit still and wait like a good boy, can't you? If you can't well..."

"Of course I can!" You respond with a desperation that surprises both of you, quickly adding, "Sir."

"Good, good," he hums, pressing a warm hand against the back of your neck. Your chin rests against his shoulder on instinct, getting comfortable against him. Once he's satisfied with you behaving, he leans forward and starts back to working on the document you'd been distracting him from.

The scratching of his pen is one of the only things keeping you grounded in reality. The stretch of his thick cock in your ass is almost too much for your brain to handle. You shouldn't have been talking so much, honestly, this is no one's fault but your own. Still, the torture of not being allowed to move for fear of worse punishment is enough to make you want to cry.

You sit there pretty on his dick like a good boy, though. Always so obedient for him, if only he didn't have to tell you to behave. No one is perfect, so this was a sacrifice Sunday had to make to keep things as he liked.

His fingers climb up your spine, tingling across your body right to your achingly hard cock. You almost hear Sunday chuckle when it twitches between the two of you, but it's so quiet you believe you might've made it up in your fucked out brain. You wiggle your hips in an attempt to get some friction, but all Sunday has to do is place his hand on it and you cease all movements.

Sunday seems, on the outside, entirely unaffected by everything. For the most part, he really is. He's blasting through his work faster than before, but that was because he couldn't wait much longer to bend you over the papers and reward you for good behavior. Each squeeze around him has him swallowing down groans, determined to not give into your temptations -- no matter how wonderful that sounded.

When he signs the last dotted line and closes the stack of papers back to the front page he lets out a sigh that resembles more of a moan than anything as you clench anticipatorily around him yet again. His pen is set on the desk with a little 'click', and he finally looks at you after agonizing minutes of your squirming. Lust has clouded over his gaze, and he looks positively angelic nearly lost to his own sin.

You are no better, pleading with your eyes for him to fuck you like the sweet thing you were. Tears pricked at the corners of your lashes, a picture of absolute beauty. He smiles at you, wiping them away from your cheeks as they spill over.

"You were very good, my sweet angel," He hums, moving his hands to your hips, "you deserve a reward for behaving, don't you?"

You nod adamantly, your heart picking up in excitement. He raises an eyebrow expectantly at you, and you know what you're meant to do next without the need for words. Standing from his lap, hissing as he leaves your tight hole, and bending over his desk like the good pet you were.

"Very good..." He hums, and your spine tingles in excitement as you hear his pants and belt hit the floor around his feet.

[robinsuperstar]

feather light by luxia 🪽

[chuttlefish]

Some doodles of my favorite halovian 🪽

[sumi-noth]