#manipulative Sunday

[zeyris-daydreams]

…The fox is often unnoticed until the henhouse is empty.

Yandere!Sunday x reader ! Part [1/4]

a/n; Based around a dream i had. Warnings aren’t many, spare for manipulative and cunning Sunday. The full picture develops over the course of chapters.

———————†

You haven’t had many expectations. Your legs felt weak from prolonged lack of movement, like bags of sand dragging behind you with each step. You had to wake- you had to wake up.

The ache in the back of your skull persisted, washing down your body in a steady rhythm, pulsing like a tumor. You hated that persistent feeling. The presence of the wall on your fingers was dull, texture hardly registered as you glared towards the neverending traffic on the streets of Penacony. As of now, all that remained was your overbearing urge to vomit — alongside the street light right around the corner. It still was too bright, the back of your eyes in constant pain.

You chose to remain in the alleway, deciding that it wasn’t worth risking being seen by any of the guards.

Not that you had time to spare. Each hour that passed worsened the withdrawal at the price of better bodily sensation - like a drug that you were relying on without your own consent.

Your knees nearly bent under the weight of your body, other hand clutching your chest. A hiss escaped you when your bare knees hit the unforgiving ground. You were faintly aware of the cold sweat sticking to your forehead, and the feeling of fire from the inside - it felt like a furnace in there.

Any other person within this “sweet” dream would have woken up at the hotel, but not you, no. Perhaps if you launched yourself to a driving by vehicle, maybe then-

No. If you failed, that would alert the Bloodhound guards. And then - you’d be back to square one. The clothes you donned wouldn’t help the hit much anyway - something unspecified that hung over your body, and socks. Like a mockery of a pyjama - that and underwear.

Your hair stuck to your forehead and you pushed it away to see better - surroundings blurring together.

How long were you hiding here? A day, maybe…? While you traversed a very short distance, it was as though your body was getting ready to go down. It was distasteful, to turn into such a pathetic rag after being regarded so highly once. Once.

As of now, you were deemed dead.

Your breath came in and out in short specks, chest unable to expand fully and constrict fully - akin to an experience of breathing while sleeping.

Self loathing and compassion in your mind were brought to a stop by a hand on your shoulder. The grip was firm, enough to have you tense, jerking your head back. An older man - a bloodhound - alerted you. His brown hair was brushed from his face by his hand. “You okay?”

It didn’t look like you were in trouble, but—

“Yes.” Maybe your tone wasn’t as convincing, and you gripped your head at another wave of a headache. ’You will speak when I allow you to. You will look at me when you speak.’

The man took the cigarette out of his mouth, brow raising. “I don’t think so.”

As you cleared your throat and opened your mouth to speak, the pain persisted. But you had to prevail despite it. “I’m not.. help.. help me..”

He put the cigarette out on the wall, a soft ‘hiss’ as the ashes crumbled to the floor. The item was discarded into a large bin nearby — your body nearly collapsed, and the man caught you by your arms. He didn’t say anything at first, pulling you straight up soon after. “Let’s not stay out here.”

Your legs followed mindlessly, feet scrambling over the pavement as he led you along. As you walked forward, he looked at you from the side, before continuing on. Your head hung low the entire time, only aware of how the tips of your toes scraped at the ground below with each horrible drag, and how you weren’t pulled out into the bustling street.

The exhaustion was only setting in - the adrenaline having long worn off. You found that the effects of harmony could prolong for days, weeks, months. It was like a never ending source within your mind; once a cancer sets in, it’s unlikely to ever eradicate it fully.

Maybe that’s why your perception of time was so utterly out of place, and you haven’t even realised you’ve already walked through a doorway.

As you tipped your head to look up, you squeezed your eyelids together, your mouth feeling dry. The migraine was ever-present, photophobia only serving to enlarge its effect — making everything look impossible to distinguish. The room looked white, spare for rougher edges of furniture before your vision sharpened. The shapes were clearer and clearer, and you found yourself within an office. One that Bloodhound’s probably worked from, as you’ve seen many alike months ago.

“Name’s Gallagher, by the way.”

He stepped to the desk, using his foot to pull the chair back, before lightly guiding you onto it. Gallagher stepped back, headed for the joint room of this office.

Sat like that you slouched, ignoring the way your throat tightened. ‘You ought to sit properly’, but who cared about that now? You watched your trembling hands, laid on top of your lap. The fingers shook, hot and cool at the same time. The fire of harmony raged inside you, and the coldness of the outside chilled your weary shell.

You wore close to nothing after all.

The chair you leaned against brought some comfort to your sore muscles. It took a lot of work to even get moving, and like so it took even more effort to keep in motion. The amount of energy you used on even lifting yourself up previously was taking its toll now, your limbs entirely relaxing, dragging your weight down on the chair. A weary sigh left you. All that effort, and you still didn’t even leave penacony. It must’ve been over a day-

When Gallagher came back, you didn’t bother to look behind, feeling your shoulders be wrapped in a blanket. You welcomed it, grabbing the edges to pull them over yourself properly. “Thanks..”

He murmured something to himself about ‘troublesome young dreamers’, before he sat on the chair behind his desk. Only then did you briefly meet his gaze, noticing he placed a cup of water in front of you. “Drink, kid”

While you wanted to scoff, you merely reached for the paper cup, both hands gripping onto it to bring it to your mouth. Given your expertise, you should have checked the contents. Yet your eyes closed and you tipped your head, greedily downing the contents in huge gulps. Small stream of water ran down the corner of your mouth, dripping onto your skin and some on your plan white shirt. Not plain anymore. Wandering about for hours surely made it disorderly.

Only when the cup was empty did you put it down on the table, and it was nearly weightless, almost knocked off the darkened wood of the desk. ‘Officer Gallagher’ the decor on the desk read, showing his elevated position within the hierarchy.

You were cooked. If they had found out you—

The Bloodhound leaned back in his chair, fingers intertwined together in thought. “What were you doing, out and about?“ It was a matter-of-fact question. Usually the guards don’t find people in your condition. Your eyes were growing weary, but you tried to keep your gaze trained on the desk. Yet your eyelids fell shut, and you opened them once more.

No one would believe you if you said the truth. And if they did, you’d doom yourself more than necessary. He was doing you a favour by not seeking further justice, if you exposed him, you’d expose yourself—

“I don’t-“ Your throat suddenly tightened, “-remember. I’m.. sorry.”

Gallagher thought for a moment, studying you. You couldn’t judge from his expression whether or not he bought that excuse, so you swallowed the thick saliva that pooled in your mouth. Your vision felt strange, everything swimmed. The air in your chest felt hot and dry.

As you blinked you could swear that the bloodhound’s outfit was grey for mere seconds. You were clearly losing it, your vision doubling.

”—Injury maybe, I just can’t remember.” ‘You won’t speak of it to anyone, lest it is to find your way to me.’

Before you spun more elaborate excuses, he waved his hand dismissively. “Nothing to be done about that.”

Your skull felt heavy, threatening to smash into the desk in front of you. Something was off, something was out of place—

It took all your strength to not slide onto the desk, fists tightening on your lap. Reality and tiredness blurred into one. The man stood, and your eyes snapped open again, revealing hints of his now lighter hair.

“It’s not like elaborate tales were ever your strong suit, dove.” You knew that voice, trying so hard to keep your eyes open. Your hand flew to the desk, grabbing the edge to keep you upright. Through your half lined gaze you saw the - now halovian - man regard you.

His clothes were pristine as always, yours— not so much. He oh so lightly and gracefully lifted himself from the seat in all his damned might, hand on the wood as he took a step. “Can’t even do your job right, how..”

The halovians gloved hand held his chin, and he pretended to look for a word he already knew. “..utterly pathetic. The only thing you were good at was laying in soft cushions and being useless.

His voice carried a sense of mockery. Your elbow bent, having your upper body lean onto the desk. Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Sunday walked around the desk slowly, steadily approaching your side. His words felt like spoken through a blanket, everything so pleasant and fuzzy.

”But the charade is over, doll. You’re coming back to me.”

Sunday’s hand placed itself on your head, giving it an almost mocking pet, before everything went dark.

[neapenning]

It'd be so embarrassing to join a group after trying to kill their members and losing

[baeshijima]

thoughts on being engaged to duke!sunday, the head of the oak family, an incredibly influential figurehead within society, the close subordinate of emperor gopher wood who brought him and his sister in and raised him like his own, and the villain who faces a tragic ending in a novel you recently finished — the very same one you just so happen to find yourself transmigrated into. he is as cunning as he is blinded, a trait which brought ruin to many in the empire, and one which ultimately brought ruin to himself at the hands of the protagonists.

as luck would have it, you became a barely mentioned side character from a marquis family, whose role was to be the villain's wife stuck in a one-sided love who, too, would get caught up in the tragedy alongside him. however, now that it's you who is stuck in this position, you're determined to try any means necessary to deter him from going down that path, all in an effort to escape your predestined doomed fate!

of course, you didn't expect it to be easy. the day of your arrival in this world was already the night before your wedding, so you had little time to prepare yourself for the nonchalance of your supposed family, how they viewed you as but a means — a tool — to boost their influence and prosperity, the dismissive mannerisms of the household servants, and the absolute beauty of a man you will be married to.

(seriously. the novel descriptions did not do him justice. he was like... like... like he was handcrafted by god himself! and not to mention his sister, robin, was the very epitome of an angel! perhaps you're destined to perish by the god-tier visuals instead...)

to say the least, the wedding ceremony went by quickly. safe to say you didn't spend the night; he was cordial and gentlemanly upon letting you know that he won't do anything until you're ready, that you can take this relationship slow, but somehow you ended up feeling a tad insulted. like, who leaves their newly wedded alone in a big cold bed as they walk out on their own? a sick bastard that's who!

well, whatever. it's not like you need nor want to consummate with him! besides, you have bigger things to worry about — things such as your impending death. and, of course, the only way to stop sunday that you can imagine working is by chipping away at his resolve bit by bit, and opening his eyes to reality.

he is a tragic character, one who cares more about the well-being of penacony and its people than anyone else, but was manipulated into getting his hands dirty in the emperor's stead. you knew this. you sobbed over his story, cursed out the protagonists, and even fought internet randos on novel forums about sunday's motivation and how,

no, he is not just a stupid villain. he is a complex character with flaws and humanity and was cruelly taken advantage of by someone he considered family. he was deceived through the suffering the emperor wanted him to see to make him easily manipulated, creating a rift between him and robin to have that prominent separation. you know what? maybe you're just a !%#@ who can't even #@?"% read properly!

and yet you still find yourself at a loss when faced with the walls he has in place. your initial efforts went as well as it possibly could have; you trying to earnestly help him, while he "kindly" dismisses your offers! well, "kindly" being more condescending since you could read between the lines of his mannerisms and amiable demeanour, but that's fine! you expected this! that just means you have to double down on your sincerity, get through to his heart (somehow), and help him realise humanity isn't as weak as he's led to believe!

you have three years until the novel's plot officially starts, and another year after that until your demise. that's plenty of time to get him to warm up to you!

it was easier said than done, but after your valiant effort and abundance of time put into this relationship, which admittedly you could do with some of that lost time back, you could give yourself a pat on the back with the progress you made! while you definitely could have done without a lot of the headaches, it's safe to say sunday has significantly warmed up to you in comparison to your wedding day. he now willingly eats all his meals with you with some real conversation, takes garden strolls with you in the early evenings, invites you out for dinner at a restaurant at least four times a week, hell he's even joked and laughed with you more frequently! but most importantly, he has begun asking for your opinion before finalising any decisions he is required to make. and he actually listens and considers your side! now, that certainly is the best outcome you could hope for after all this time, and it most definitely will help in your endeavour to save you both from the protagonists!

however, you've noticed he's been more... affectionate? well, at the very least he now willingly holds your hand when in private (not just in moments when you're in the public eye and he has to make sure the family's reputation is spotless), sometimes he will hug you out of the blue ("i just need to... recharge. you have a way of calming me down. i hope you don't mind." ...how could you say no to his supreme god-tier face card? that's just a losing battle you won't even bother fighting against.), oftentimes he opts to just gaze wordlessly at you (robin had mentioned over one of your tea times how it almost appears as though there is no one but you in the world when sunday gazes at you with, in her words, "the eyes of a man so deeply in love!" ...whatever that's supposed to mean...), but a more recent development has been his sudden interest in kissing you; well, more specifically giving you a kiss to the back of your hand or on your forehead — certainly not anywhere near the lips! (besides, he's probably just gotten comfortable with you, enough where he can freely act without judgement. nothing more, nothing less.)

well, either way, development is development! soon enough, the time for the main plot to start has arrived. it of course follows what you remember, from the organised balls to the protagonists meeting to the political aspects of it all. the only difference is sunday's less active involvement in all the schemes and the emperor's ploy. rather, he seems more focused on you and the future of your marriage and even displayed a sudden interest in your practically non-existent relationship with one of the foreign diplomats, aventurine— wait...

"[name]," he calls your name out so sweetly you nearly disregarded it as someone else he was talking to. well, perhaps you would have done had he not suddenly appeared before you, a tight-lipped smile tugging the corners of his lips as he steadily approaches you.

oh. he doesn't seem very happy, if his tense figure is anything to go by. you wonder if one of the nobles grated his nerves a little too much this time?

sunday comes to a halt a step away from you. "i don't like that... gambler being so close to you. it... it brings me a rather unpleasant feeling." there's a slight, trembling pause. not a moment later does he close the gap between you, one knee on the ground as he matches your seated height on the fountain rim, your hands gently enclosed in both of his.

you idly wonder if this is what robin meant by the so-called "eyes of a man so deeply in love" she constantly gushed about, for the way in which he gazes up at you is enough to render you breathless.

"tell me, [name]," he begins once more. there is an underlying desperation woven within his tone, one which has your head spinning and heart thumping wildly as his trembling gaze holds you in place. "tell me, what am i to do with this fervent love and overwhelming adoration i hold for you?"

oh.

...oh.

perhaps your impending doom should be the least of your concerns when you now find yourself in the arms of a clingy husband...

(though, it's safe to say you did, in fact, manage to prevent him from succumbing to his tragic fate! you just gained a loving, yet slight slightly emotionally challenged husband along the way.

well, you can help him work through it; you have the rest of your lives now to figure it out, after all.)

[komelliko]

manipulative!boss!sunday x timid!secretary!reader

summary: Sunday wants to invite you to dinner. ...Correction: Sunday will invite you to dinner. Even if there are a few loopholes to get through first. wc: 1.1k

part 1 / part 2

---

Sunday finds it quite unfortunate that the salvation of the world must sometimes be assured through cruelty. It wounds him when he must be cutthroat, must be stern in his ways, but he does it all the same. Even the gravest of sins shall be absolved in the eternity of the dream he chases, and Sunday knows no man to enact this sin besides himself.

...In short, manipulation is no stranger to the head of the Oak Family.

You're nearly tripping on your heels again when your boss runs into you, lighting up at your presence in a way you have to decidedly ignore. It's unprofessional to dwell on it—You hate even the notion of being unprofessional. After all you've worked towards, every hour you've busted your ass off to get to work as secretary for one of the most important people in Penacony, the thought of ruining it by being unprofessional makes you want to fill a bathtub with SoulGlad and let yourself drown in it.

"Good morning, Mr. Oak," you greet him, once he's within speaking range. There's a million papers and manila folders in your arms, all cobbled together with clips and staples, and you hold them at your chest almost like a sort of shield. Hours upon hours of your work rests within this stack of papers, thousands of words worth of reports and number-crunching and printed out messages between Family Heads. Sunday makes a point to look you right in the eye, and it's a gaze you swear you'll never get used to.

You don't know what the look in his eyes mean—Sunday takes great pleasure in keeping the meaning from you.

There's a plenty good amount of things he prefers to keep to himself (as is only proper for someone of his responsibility), and the images his mind likes to conjure only flip past like cards in a rolodex as he sneaks a glance at the body hiding behind the papers. He smiles, but not any bigger than he would smile to anyone else. Not yet.

"Good morning, [Y/N]," Sunday coos. "Working out of the office as usual, I see? Please, if there's any reason for you to avoid it I must know."

Flush with embarrassment, you shake your head. It's just easier to make sure everything gets done when you're always walking, you find. You hate being kept places, being forced to sit and hear the second-hand of a clock constantly chatter behind your back. When you're walking, your heels set the pace instead, at whatever you need it to be. You're only indebted to your own ethic, which you hold in high regard.

"Oh, the office is perfectly fine, Mr. Oak," you stammer out, fingers drumming on the stack of papers. "I just like the stained glass on some of the third floor hallways of Dewlight. The, uh— The fountains add a nice atmosphere, too." You panic, adding "It's a really wonderful building, sir. I'm honored to work here."

Sunday nods. He'll have to order for new windows and a fountain to be put in his office the second the moment arrives. A meeting with Whittaker Nightingale was in order, clearly—He'd understand the situation.

"Please, dear, if anyone here should be honoured it's me," Sunday smiles. He passes to stand beside you rather than in front of, catching a glimpse of the way your hair falls over your shoulders. "Can I discuss something with you for a moment, if you'll allow?"

Sunday takes the initiative to place one hand on the small of your back, the other clasped behind his own. The touch makes you flinch—You grab tight onto your papers, hoping they won't spill out in a burst from the way you nearly jumped in place. "Gosh, Mr. Oak, I don't really think this is necessary—" On the outside, his face is stern, perhaps even disappointed with your tendencies to act like a stickler. Internally, he's more concerned with how often you spurn his affections: At his core, however? He wants to hold his hand against you until he dies.

"Please," he whispers, almost commanding you. "Walk with me." Sunlight streams in through the windows of the Dewlight Pavilion, pockets of gold dancing on the marble floors.

"You've gotten in touch with the Alfalfa family, as I requested?"

Panicking, you leaf through the papers you had kept clutched to your chest to search for any notes or documents relating to that. Unfortunately, your anxieties are valid: You did not. Sunday doesn't let on that he's lying to you. He asked you to reach out to some bureaucrat working for SoulGlad, but nothing to do with Oti or any of the Alfafas. But you're forgetful, and he loves that about you. Not as much as he values your eagerness to please, though.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Oak. It must've slipped my mind." You spent the whole day organizing the catering for the Charmony Festival, and your papers corroborate this.

"Please, I could never fault you," he smiles. "It'll be taken care of tomorrow."

Sunday bites his lip as he feels the back of your shirt brush against his hand. If he was any less of a man with any less of a reputation to uphold, he'd have it comfortably in the back pocket of your pants. He goes on, to get to the real purpose of this informal meeting with you.

"Would you be interested in discussing things over dinner?"

Your breath stalls for a moment.

"I— I'm sure sending today's report electronically should be just fine, sir."

Sir. It's a word he's been addressed by many lips, but every utterance pales in comparison to this singular moment.

"It would be my pleasure."

"I'm not sure I even have anything that would suit the occasion," you confess.

"I can arrange for something to be sent to you."

A particular nausea pools in your gut: a feeling so light, so painlessly ignorable that even worrying that it's gas feels like an overreaction. Meetings over dinner are professional, and at a rank like Sunday's, it's entirely reasonable that you conform to a certain dress code—one that he knows much better than you, no doubt. Sending something for you to wear would only be logical if it meant preserving that image of his.

(And he had been peculiar about dress in the past: No heels could be too tall or too short, pants were preferred but knee-length skirts were permissible, Oak insignia patches visible on every blazer, such and the like. Surely, this was nothing new.)

"If you find that to be within your purview, Mr. Oak," is what you manage to respond with. "...I'll make myself presentable."

"Don't fret too much over it, [Y/N]," Sunday smiles. "I fully trust in your abilities to uphold our reputations." 'Our'.

You force yourself to not dwell on it.

---

A/N: If anyone has feedback, please share it with me!! Obviously some artistic license has to be made for the premise to work but hopefully it's nothing too egregious :,)

[yandere-daze]

I thought it was high time that I finally wrote something for this man and this idea was stuck in my head for days. I hope you enjoy! <3

gn reader

2.3k words

cw yandere, obsessive behaviour, hypnotizing siren song, manipulation

Yandere! Siren! Sunday x Sailor! Reader

You weren´t supposed to be anything more than an easy prey. A human led astray by his enchanting tunes like any other, only to be torn apart once within reach.

You were a simple sailor sailing the deep waters of the ocean with your small crew. For what purpose? Sunday wasn´t quite sure and he didn´t really care to know. All he yearned for was sinking his claws into your vulnerable flesh as he dragged you to the bottom of the ocean.

You see, Sunday was a siren, a hunter in the image of a beautiful young man with grey hair and enchanting golden eyes. Were it not for his singing voice, a deep gaze into his radiant eyes would be enough to tempt any poor fool into his waiting arms. Yet his voice, oh his voice, its heavenly sound masking his dark intentions.

Within his lifetime, Sunday has lured many unfortunate sailors to their demise though, in recent times, fewer and fewer boats have delved through the waters he called his home. From what he had witnessed being whispered onboard, tales of cunning and vicious sirens roaming these waters have reached the mainland, causing many to steer clear and avoid this place.

This naturally annoyed Sunday, for the flesh of humans was what he sustained himself with. This fact only increased his determination when after quite a long while of waiting for a sign of life, a boat had finally lost its way into his domain again. Sunday had been hungry for way too long now, he couldn´t let this stroke of luck go to waste.

So certain that he would finally claim his prey again, he decided to first spy on the passengers of the boat before making his move. It was important for him to know the routines and habits of the sailors if he wanted to catch them alone to entice them to run into their doom.

As a siren, Sunday was more powerful than an average human but even he wouldn´t be able to fight off several sailors if he were to try and hypnotize someone in broad daylight. He couldn´t risk the crew becoming aware of his presence and leaving, he couldn´t go on without another meal again.

And so, he secretly started spying on the passengers of the small boat, staring at them from behind a rock and making sure to keep his tail concealed within the water. He watched everyone go along with their days on board the ship when something unexpected happened.

He saw you, stepping away from the rest of the crew to stand near the edge of the boat, a smile on your face as you let the sun shine on your face. Without even realizing it, you had stepped close to where Sunday had gone to hide. You were so close, almost within arm´s reach. For a moment, Sunday deliberated if this was his chance to strike.

With you separated from the rest of the crew like this, it would be a simple thing indeed to lure you into the waters where you would disappear forever.

But just as he thought this, he stopped in his tracks as he watched your carefree smile, suddenly becoming enchanted by the way the light of the sun rained upon your skin. For lack of a better word, your presence at that very moment was mesmerizing and Sunday felt warm inside as if the rays of the sun were descending on him instead.

And then, for a moment, Sunday almost felt his heart stop for then you opened your mouth and started, he almost couldn´t believe it, singing.

There you were, practically within the jaws of a predator, and letting your soul rejoice in song so carelessly. And yet, within your naivety, Sunday couldn´t help but feel at peace. Your song rang out across the lonely waters, unaware that your secret audience was becoming more and more enchanted by you by the second.

Your singing, Sunday couldn´t quite describe it. It sounded nothing like his own singing, which was beautiful and yet felt intrinsically wrong somehow. Your song was nothing like that. It might have not been as pretty or practiced as his own singing, but yet it managed to ring true within his heart. Your song felt earnest and real, untainted and uncorrupted by malice. Within seconds, you had captured his attention and heart, yet you were completely unaware that he was even present.

In an ironic twist of fate, Sunday felt himself being pulled towards you as if touched by magic, an ardent longing for you deep within his chest. It was as if you were the siren calling out to him, beckoning him closer like a lovesick sailor lost at sea, yet Sunday was sure that instead of a sudden demise, he would find true salvation within your arms. With the way you were holding out your arms, he could almost imagine you wrapping them around his body in a lover´s embrace, pulling him so close as if you would never let go of him again.

Because he knows that´s what he would do if he finally had his beloved in his arms. For only a fool would ever let go of the person they want to spend the rest of their life with. It filled him all at once, this desire to have you for his own, to make you his dearest mate.

You were radiant and joyful in a way he had never seen before and he couldn´t bear the thought of letting you slip away from him.

And from the desperate yearning he could so clearly hear in your song dedicated to just him, he knew that you must feel the same way. You were just waiting, begging to be taken away by him. Why else would you walk so close to him, all on your own and profess all of your feelings like this? Sunday now knew that this meeting was fated to happen and he would be sure not to waste it.

He had been watching you closely for the past few days along with the other sailors aboard the ship and he saw how the other crew members acted around you. He had thought nothing of it back then but now boiling jealousy filled his being as he remembered how chummy they had been acting with you. How they had laughed and joked around with you so easily, how they had thrown their arms around you and sang cheery tunes beneath the starry sky.

He especially detested that one scoundrel that had dared to kiss your cheek so invasively. How dare they treat you like this? How dare they lay their filthy hands on you when your beauty was meant for solely him to treasure? But not to worry, Sunday would finally bring you home and keep you safe.

He understood your surprise when he finally emerged from his hiding spot and started swimming towards you. You looked so pitiful with your body shaking and your eyes growing wide when you saw his shimmering white mermaid tail. You poor thing must be frightened out of your mind because of all these stories you were told about his kind but do not be afraid! Sunday would never hurt you like this.

You were special to him, you just needed to allow him to show you that. You backing away from the railing, backing away from him, just wouldn´t do.

"Darling, there is no reason to be afraid, I´m not here to hurt you, do not let their horrid tales corrupt your thoughts. I am here to finally take you home!" He reached out his hands to you, wishing for you to jump into them and accept his love willingly yet he could only click his tongue in disappointment when instead, you took another step back.

"D-don´t come any closer!", you shouted out, breaking the poor siren´s heart in the process. How it hurt him to see you so frightened that you would turn your soulmate away. But no matter, he was prepared to take matters into his own hands and nudge you towards your own happy ending. You just needed a little bit of convincing.

"My darling, please listen to me! You and me, I know we were meant to be! So please don´t resist this, alright?", he hummed gently, his voice almost pitiful while begging you to hear him out.

You would have even felt sympathy for him if you weren´t acutely aware that you were facing a dangerous predator. There was no doubt in your mind that this was a siren and you needed to get away from there fast.

But unfortunately for you, you weren´t quick enough for as soon as you had gathered your resolve, Sunday´s ethereal singing voice had swiftly broken it down.

Suddenly, all your previous thoughts about him being a danger to stay away from evaporated, leaving you confused as to why you ever wanted to run away from him. There was nothing dangerous about him, was there?

Instead, your mind was now being filled with pleasant images of you and the siren spending time together, of him holding you close protectively, of him swearing his eternal love and kissing you. All of a sudden, you felt warm all over as you gazed deep into Sunday´s eyes and you knew that he was the one that was meant for you.

Slowly, one step at a time, you walked closer to the edge of the boat again, where Sunday was happily holding out his hands for you to take, eagerly grasping at air as if to usher you even closer.

And you were all too eager to follow his demands as a sugary sweet melody droned on and on in your ears, overwhelming you with feelings of everlasting love and devotion.

"That´s it, darling. Come closer. It´s only a few more steps.", he urged you on, almost desperately as you almost came into touching range. It was only a few more moments until he could finally have you in his arms. And once he did, he would never allow you to leave him again. Not that you would be able to underwater.

Voices were picking up in the background, quickly getting closer and Sunday realized that your crew must have picked up on what was happening.

"Come here quickly, darling!", he shouted, his voice growing more urgent and desperate the closer the booming voices got.

And you did as he said, quickening your steps towards him with a lovesick smile on your face.

"I´m almost there, my love", you said and Sunday´s heart almost burst at the sweet tone you took with him. He knew you were currently under the influence of his siren song but he strongly wanted to believe that the love you felt for him was real. Why else would you too be looking at him so full of yearning?

"Someone, quick! Grab on to them! That siren is trying to lead them to their death!", a gruff voice yells from the back with several more footsteps scrambling quickly behind. They were advancing on you fast and Sunday knew he was almost out of time as one quickly ran up to you.

"No, no, no! Don´t touch them! They´re mine! Don´t ruin this for me!", he yelled out in anger, his eyes a furious storm as they glared at the person trying to get a hold of you. He couldn´t fail so close to the end. How dare they accuse him of trying to harm you?!

"Please, you need to come to your senses!", the sailors try to reason with you but it´s almost like you can´t even register what they say.

" I need to meet with my love, he´s waiting for me.", you say, still smiling as you step to the very edge of the boat, looking down at a Sunday growing more and more manic by the second.

"Jump into my arms, darling! Accept my love and be mine forever!", the siren calls out to you as a crew member grabs into your arms, trying to pull you back.

"Don´t listen to him! Please, don´t do as he says!"

You struggle violently against the hold, kicking and screaming, demanding to be let go.

"No, you can´t separate me from my love, let me go! I need to be by his side!", you scream and with an especially harsh kick, the sailor lets go of you for a moment, leaving you with enough time to take the final step and jump right into your demise.

Sunday gently catches you in his arms, a lovesick smile on his face as he finally gets to hold you like he wanted to. You´re finally all his and there´s nothing that can be done about it anymore.

"I´m so happy you chose me, darling. We´re going to be so happy together. I´ll take such good care of you. No one else is ever going to touch you again.", he whispers into your ear and you can´t help but giggle joyfully at the prospect, your mind singing with affection, drowning out the growing panic within you.

But what is there to be afraid of? You´re finally united with the love of your life and nothing will ever separate you again.

Sunday holds you firmly as he quickly swims away from the boat, leaving your panicked crewmates behind.

Now that he finally has you, he will make sure that you´ll grow to love him even without his song. He knows that deep down, you love him just as much as he does you, you´ll just need a little bit of time to adjust to your new life underwater. He knows of a very beautiful underwater cave that he can keep you in until you grow more accustomed to your new life with him. Down there, you´ll never be able to escape his grasp again.

You will be his forever, for that is the consequence of putting him under a spell like you has.

And then he takes you with him to the very depths of the sea, never to be seen again.

[kiki-1109]

these two probably cannot have a normal conversation ever

[aventurineswife]

reader x sunday but the after affects of the penacony 2.2 story, like maybe reader being left in the dark about everything and they’re slightly upset with him :>

Bound by Dreams, Torn by Truth

Summary: After the events on Penacony, you confront Sunday about keeping his plans for Sweetdream Paradise hidden from you. Despite his vision of a pain-free society, you feel hurt by his secrecy and question his motives. In a vulnerable moment, Sunday reveals his desire to protect you from the harshness of reality, asking for your understanding as he attempts to balance his ideal with his love for you.

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Penacony 2.2, Emotional Conflict, Confrontation, Bittersweet Romance.

Warnings: Mild existential themes, Mentions of escapism, Slight manipulation(?)

The aftermath of the events on Penacony leaves you feeling unsettled, uncertain about the man you've trusted. Sunday's lofty vision of a painless utopia — one where people live in eternal dreams, safe from the harsh realities of life — now appears more complicated. The illusion of a paradise that he believes in clashes with your desire for a real, imperfect world. Although he speaks about shielding others from pain, his choice to withhold the truth about his intentions and the cost of Sweetdream Paradise leaves you feeling like an outsider, someone he couldn’t fully confide in.

One evening, you decide to confront him. You find him in his office, surrounded by ornate, dreamlike decor, the quiet hum of reverie hanging in the air. His golden eyes, like halos of their own, meet yours with the same calm conviction they always hold. But tonight, you want answers — real ones.

"Why didn’t you tell me everything?" you ask, your voice wavering slightly. "You talk about protecting people, but this... this dream isn’t real. It’s not what I thought we were building."

Sunday’s expression softens, and for a moment, a glimmer of regret crosses his features. He reaches for your hand but hesitates. "I wanted to keep you safe," he says, his voice as calm and steady as ever. "The truth is harsh, even painful. Sweetdream Paradise… it’s mercy, even if it comes at a cost."

"But don’t I deserve to know? To understand the real consequences?" you ask, feeling the weight of everything he chose to conceal.

He nods, a small sigh escaping his lips as he steps closer. "You’re right. I should have trusted you with more. But understand, this world, this dream — it’s my way of giving people peace, of sparing them the torment of life’s cruelties. Even if you don’t see it as I do, know that my choice was out of love. I wanted to protect you from the darkness that reality brings."

His hand finally reaches yours, a bittersweet touch that’s both comforting and conflicting. "Stay with me," he whispers, a hint of vulnerability slipping through his composed demeanor. "If you can, believe in me just a little longer."

Though the ache of his secrecy still lingers, you sense the sincerity in his words. He may never see the world as you do, but tonight, you realize that perhaps love isn’t always about sharing the same dreams — it’s sometimes about walking together, even through the differences.

[annqer]

something unto death

[starcurtain]

Was rewatching this scene today, and honestly, the fact that Sunday asked this question is actually so funny.

Bro took one look at Aventurine and was like "No, he's too cool. He's too hot. He's too good at this game. I'd better check if Avgins have supernatural powers." 😂

[illyabata]

why do i get attracted to fictional men i know would manipulate me and why am i okay with it🧚‍♀️this post is about sunday from honkai star rail

like imagine him telling you you have to stay with him because the strong (powerful?) protect the weak or whatever he says with his philosophy. like it sounds chivalric and stuff but also we all know hes kind of a lunatic and whatnot, so he’d use it solely to convince you that you need him, you weak little thing—you would not survive if he didn’t keep you safe.

you’re just like the little baby charmony dove he and his sister nurtured in their youth: a precious, vulnerable thing without the ability to fly.

sunday had seen that baby bird try with all its scarce might to learn. he had then seen it plummet to its death. he had picked it up, had watched it writhe pitifully in his palms before it breathed its last breath; if only he had kept it safe and sound. if only he hadn’t let it try what he knew it could not do.

that baby bird was never meant to fly. and neither are you, darling.

but like omgggg giggling and kicking my feet. scary powerful morally questionable man who provides protection 😍 😍😍😍😍 he can lock me up idc i love him

[love-toxin]

havxksjshxnai we truly are a hive mind here bc i was about to pass the mic to you for your sunday thoughts 😂

to squeal a little bit: he truly is a yandere lover’s wet dream - confirmed control freak ✅ bird minions to spy on anyone anywhere ✅ freaky Harmony mind powers ✅ scary religious undertones (the halo, the wings, the eyes on his coat) ✅ his gentle demeanour and genuine dedication to loved ones to contrast all the scary ✅

also how caught up are you with hsr’s story and side quests bc i don’t want to spoil anything major for you !

MMMPH RELIGIOUS UNDERTONES...idk how to explain it but it's like....almost "cult of Sunday" vibes. like he wants an entire world that's just you and him. he'll just make you live in the dream forever if that's what you need to love him, makes me think of Sunday totally messing you up psychologically by crafting an entire dreamworld for you where everything is perfect but you slowly start to suspect that little things are off, like matrix-style disillusionment--ugh! i love him already 🥺

also im so caught up babey dw i inhale these updates like the second they drop--i needed those sweet sweet husband lore drops <33

[comesatimecomesashadow]

my interpretation of sunday (mid-quest) is probably kinder than what he's actually like.. (he's manipulative but he's silly so its ok :3)

[brainrot-jikan]

baby jing yuan compilation

[mallleus]

One thing I’m scared that’s going to happen with Sunday in the leaked gameplay is that people are going to mischaracterize him as a crybaby like they did with Neuvillette

[komelliko]

manipulative!boss!sunday x timid!secretary!reader

summary: Sunday can no longer control himself around you. He will make his affections known. wc: 1.6k - this is nsfw! cw for dubcon! fingering/dry humping/softdom!sunday

part 2 / part 3 (nsfw) / part 4

---

By his insistence, it had been too late post-dinner for you to head home alone. In fact, it had been too late to bother leaving Blue Hour at all—not when Sunday could find you a place to stay the night as easily as walking through the entrance of the nearest hotel. "One room," he had told the Halovian clerk at the front desk, a kindly young lady with red cardinal feathers encircling her cheeks. "Anything will do." You tapped the empty box of mints clutched in your hand with one of your fingers, as if the slow rap-tap-tap would truly relieve any of your nervousness. His words had stuck with you after all—The Head of the Oak Family wandering around Blue Hour with a glorified nobody wearing a dress like this? Of course they'd assume something!

But you weren't a glorified nobody, you wanted to tell yourself. You had worked your ass off to be here, even if nobody else around you knew that. You were a somebody, no matter where you were or what Sunday had you wear or anything of the sort. You were one of the most powerful people in Penacony, damnit. ...Of course, at the time, you had been too distracted by this train of thought to realize he had only asked for one room. And, furthermore, at the time you hadn't asked if he would be making any trips that night himself.

Sunday had counted on this.

Sunday walks you to your room with his hand on your lower back once again, in what feels almost like a mockery of the conversation you had with him a few hours ago. You suck on the inside of your cheek, wishing the mints hadn't all been swallowed by now. Even as you try to walk faster than him ever so slightly, he seems to set the pace. Slow, methodical, calculated. The first thing you notice when you get to the room is the large window overlooking the rest of the Moment, sprawling buildings disappearing into the edge of the dreamscape. Large billboards painted in shimmering hues of gold display women in ornate jewelry, displaying dazzling watches and rows upon rows of pearls. You've never seen a Penaconian skyline that didn't have its fair share of advertisements, in all truthfulness—Every instance of gold and ochre like another glinting set of eyes watching you as you go about your day. Sunday approaches behind you, his hand resting on one of your shoulders.

"Don't you want to sit down?" he asks. You initially think to protest, but before you can even process it you're already in his lap, a lone wooden chair pulled out from the room's lounging area to sit in front of the window. Your eyes switch between glancing out at the billboards, then your knees, then somewhere in the middle distance. His voice takes on a honey-like quality that it usually only shows a hint of, whispering things in your ear that you accept so easily... because they almost sound like music. A low, deep harmony.

"I hope you know, [Y/N]," he speaks against the back of your neck, fingers dancing through your hair. "That when everything is said and done, I don't just consider you an employee. I consider you a friend."

His other hand goes to rest on your hip. You're still not sure what to make of it—Maybe you just don't want to accept the answer. This hot, churning feeling begins to twist just below your stomach, slowly growing bigger and bigger.

"O-of course, Mr. Sunday. Thank you, Mr. Sunday."

What would please him more: For you to drop the formality, or to keep it even as you're eventually moaning it? Sunday isn't entirely sure, but he lets the thought percolate while he continues to play with your hair. You sink your head back into his touch, and your whole body moves in response: Pressing up against him in a way he would kill for.

He cannot control himself any longer. For the briefest moment, he drops all pretense.

"Hike up your dress, [Y/N]."

Once you realize what he means by it, your hands have already shifted the hem halfway up your thighs. This is your boss. You can't be doing this. You'd only be proving people right this way.

...But what would he do if you said no?

The skeptic in you gives in, clinging onto the reasoning that you have no choice anyways. Hell, in the most pessimistic light, you might get a promotion out of this.

The tent in his pants pokes between your thighs like a cattle brand, hot and stiff. You clasp your knees together, but the choice works against you: the way your thighs press against the intrusion, the way the pooling cyprine leaks onto his pants. If you had any hope of convincing him (or yourself) to stop, it was long gone. You hear Sunday let out a groan, a gloved hand petting one of your thighs.

"You can keep a secret... can't you?"

There's nothing else for you to say. You stare at the floor, your face burning bright red.

"Of course, Mr. Sunday."

"...I've dreamed of doing this."

His hand moves with a particular confidence as it slips between your thighs, a single finger tracing that hidden bundle of nerves.

"It's awful," he pouts, his touch slowing to a crawl, "How often I convinced myself I could be satisfied with so little. Yet as I indulged myself with your presence further and further, I could not find satiation." The way his fingers gently pass over you cause you to jump in his lap, and he only sighs again, wrapping his other arm around your waist to keep you still. "Oh, how I betray myself."

The pace of his fingers quickens again, and you stop to think—Promotion? What in Aeon's name would you even be promoted to? What rung on the corporate ladder was there above Secretary to a Family Head (other than being a Head yourself, which was obviously out of the question), and what difference would it make if he changed your title to Personal Assistant or something of that ilk?

Well, there was no point in asking that question. You knew the answer. A promotion was clearly on the horizon—it just wasn't a corporate one.

His fingers breach through, and Sunday gasps as if he himself is being penetrated, not the other way around. What first seems to simply be Sunday readjusting himself in his seat eventually becomes a slow, desperate grinding of his hips, thrusting them up into your own as his fingers continue their work of spreading you open. Two, then three, then four. His head spins at the sensation of syrupy fluid coating his knuckles, as if even touching it is enough to get him drunk. Hissing out a minced oath under his breath, Sunday rips off his stained glove and plunges his fingers in again, practically dry humping you in his lap once he can truly feel the way you clench around his hand.

"Oh, you're perfect," he exhales. "Aeon forgive me for what I want to do to you, [Y/N]. The things you do to me... How badly I needed this." He starts to direct his huffing into your shoulder. "Come for me, [Y/N]—Right on my palm. Ruin me, I beg you."

"Mr. Sunday," you heave, the words forcing themself past your wobbling lip even as you bite it shut. "I—"

"[Y/N]," he whimpers. "Please." You clasp both your hands over your mouth when you finally reach release, throwing your head back with a muffled cry. Your heart continues to race so hard that it makes you dizzy, the sound thumping in your ears. Sunday, too, starts to heave in tandem, and you feel the sheen of sweat on his cheeks as he sloppily plants kisses on the back of your neck. As he catches his breath, Sunday's eyes glance around the room warily. He notices the pitcher of water on the countertop (a complimentary convenience typical for this specific hotel, and the main reason he chose this one to begin with), and resolved to dump it on his lap. Not to wash off any of his and your release currently sticking your laps together and staining his trousers, of course—But simply as a convenient excuse. He'd only been attending to his wonderful secretary, his treasured secretary, when the water was spilled as he filled a glass for you. ...Or maybe spilling it over his head and saying he had to dive into a fountain to valiantly save you from some ne'er-do-well would be more reasonable? Catching stray bullets with his hand to keep his darling safe and the like?

Your orgasm had all but knocked you unconscious, your half-lidded gaze unable to focus on the flashing lights and colors out the open window. The two of you must have been twenty, thirty stories off the ground, far from anyone spotting your little tryst. You slump back into Sunday's chest, rolling your head backwards as you mumble a weak "Mr. Sunday..." "Thank you for indulging me, my dear," is all he responds with, scooping you up off his lap and bringing you to the room's bed. Once you are draped in the bed's covers, you quickly fall asleep, with the night's events sure to become a hazy memory.

Sunday sighs contentedly to himself. In a final moment of trangression, he takes his soiled glove into his mouth for a brief moment to savor that which stains it. He can only hope—no, be certain of the fact that—the endless dream he searches to blanket this world in will be to your every liking. ...With you by his side, no doubt.

It wouldn't need mention just yet, but for your marriage to him to be the first union blessed by Ena THEMSELVES..?

Why, what could be better? --- a/n: when looking back through some of his lines, i thiiiink sunday uses aeon as the singular? correct me if I'm wrong on this lolol. feedback is always appreciated, especially regarding pacing! criticize me to hell and back y'all I want to write better smut :,) tag list: @j1yu425 @crepezinhos @i-am-tiredd

[insummerigrieve]

it's the weekend!