#ily illu for cooking this and making our convo a reality MHM MHM

[generalsmemories]

I'm bout to lose it on god.

❀ ˎˊ- prompt: sunday hates having to beg, but you've given him no other choice. ❀ ˎˊ- sunday x gn!reader ❀ ˎˊ- wc: 887 ❀ ˎˊ- warnings: suggestive (tension), but overall sfw (ik the prompt is sus there's zero spice, its just him wanting a kiss) ❀ ˎˊ- a/n: he actually makes me insane. everyone say thank you to naru for this fic because i cannot stop thinking about this ❀ ˎˊ- img credits

Tapping fingers, ever impatient, a constant shifting and readjusting on his seat, wings that rustle and flap and flare in annoyance, and of course, those eyes, housing rings of gold that encase sapphires, glancing at you and then away, and then flicking to you again - the tell-tale signs of Sunday’s irritation.

The head of the Oak Family was known for his composure. Nothing could break that smile of his, and no one could ever crease that suit of his. Everything was under his control, as it had to be.

Everything, of course, except for you.

He doesn’t know what it is about you that just - no pun intended - ruffles his feathers. When the Family treats him with the respect that he is due, you grin impishly, tauntingly as you dare him to even try to control you. When he can make anyone else bend without raising a finger, it’s with your touch that he finds himself as the one on the brink of falling apart - and you know it.

The power you hold over him, you dangle over his head like a treat, and you abuse it - bringing it close enough where he could almost taste it, close enough that he’s fooled enough to try and take a bite, only for you to yank it away again.

Even now, he thinks scornfully, you meet his narrowed eyes with innocent eyes, and he knows that you’re enjoying his predicament. You flash him a smile, and his fingers dig into his thigh as he restrains himself from pouncing on you then and there. If he did, after all, he’d lose, and you’d just mock him again.

“Are you okay?” you ask, faux concern dripping like sweet honey. “You seem a bit… agitated.”

You already know the reason, he knows that you know, but he can’t lose just yet.

“Is that so?” he replies, eyes gentle and voice barely level. “I guess it’s been a long day for me.”

He looks pointedly at you, and you only hum in response.

“Poor thing,” you coo sympathetically, and Sunday has to hold himself back from ripping that shit-eating grin right off your face. “Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

And that’s it. You take your teacup in your hands and raise it to your lips, sipping at the sweet beverage. Sunday’s wings flap angrily as he stares daggers into you. Meeting his gaze, you only raise a brow.

Realistically, he didn’t have to go through all of this if he just asked - no, begged. Sunday knew you would never be satisfied with a simple request; you had to see his pride crumble and turned to nothing before giving him anything. Between the two of you, Sunday may have had the smoother tongue, but you beat him in terms of pure stubbornness.

And perhaps, that’s why he still wants you so badly despite all of this.

He bites his lip, weighing his options, before sighing in defeat. His wings droop, and his tense shoulders relax. Blood rushes to his face as he instinctively hides behind his feathers.

And then it comes, his admittance of defeat.

“…please.”

As if a switch had been turned, you instantly brighten. Setting your cup down, you lean forward, your elbows resting on the table.

“Sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

Sunday’s wings lift for just a moment to glare at you, but it’s enough for you drink in his delicious expression. Flushed cheeks, narrowed eyes, and gritted teeth through which he hisses out his words.

Really, he’s just so adorable like this. Embarrassed and defeated, his glare appears more like a pout - almost enough to tempt you, but not yet. He has to say it first.

“Please,” he repeats, his voice strained as he shuts his eyes.

“Please what?”

With a slam, he shoots up from his seat. It would’ve startled you if you didn’t already know what Sunday acted like when he broke. His footsteps ring through the empty mansion as he marches over to you, pushing your seat back as he looms over you, wings framing your face and his nose brushing against yours.

Despite having done nothing, Sunday’s breath is ragged and heavy. Exasperation, annoyance, embarrassment, yet also desire melted together into a beautiful rose that bloomed across his fair skin.

“Please…” he whispered, voice akin to a whimper or a whine. “Kiss me already.”

His breath shuddered in his chest as he swallowed back his pride.

“There, happy?”

You laugh airly, your hand comes to rest against his chest, feeling as he shivers under you. His heart pulses against you rapidly, caught in a frenzied dance. Looking up to meet his desperate gaze, you beamed in satisfaction.

“Very,” you murmur, your fingers closing around the lapel of the suit to tug him closer. Sunday doesn’t bother to hide his gasp as you pull him into you, at last rewarding him with your kiss.

The second your lips touch, his hands come to clutch at your shoulders, holding you in place as he dives greedily into you, slipping in his tongue to taste you.

And you let him, eyes drifting closed as he devoured you, drinking you as if you were divine nectar, given to him by the Aeons themselves.

It was what he deserved, after all.