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madaqueue · 4 months ago

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FALL FROM GRACE

do not desire her beauty in your heart, and do not let her capture you with her eyelashes. put to death that which is earthly inside you.

pairing: priest!sunday x succubus!f!reader

themes/content: dubcon (char!receiving - he says "stop" and it's basically ignored, and there's some heavy coercion/corruption stuff going on here), somno depending on how you look at it (succubi technically visit people in their dreams, so he's asleep ? sorta?), lots of religious guilt around sex, heavy catholic religious imagery (literally straight up bible verses). smut. handjobs, fingering/masturbation, p in v. i wanted to explore the rigidity and internalized shame sunday feels so uh . here's this ! (wk: 3.6k)

a/n: me when he's burdened and tormented (also i had to put my religious trauma somewhere ! hope it's yummy) :3333

The first night is always the most fun.

They never wake, not on this visit; the mind is a simple thing to trick, eager to make excuses for the gentle touches trailing over one’s torso, down their chest. A dream, they call it, a ready and waiting path to forgiveness.

The second night is usually the same - feather-light hands, breathy kisses - but you find Sunday to be a near-impossibly light sleeper when he begins to stir beneath you. Pinned under thighs that straddle his waist, his eyelashes flutter, nearly roused; his lips part, almost a sigh. It’s an uncanny thing to be so beautiful and so unaware; you wonder if he’s grateful for this gift. With a quick peck, you send him back into the waiting arms of slumber.

The third night you visit him, his eyes open slowly, still clouded by dreams. It’s rather obviously unexpected to be found in this position, with a stranger resting over him, smiling, trapped beneath their weight.

“Who are you?” he breathes, barely above a whisper. There’s no fear behind his gaze, only shimmering curiosity.

“Who do you think I am?”

Your fingers trail lower, tracing circles into his abdomen. It’s a fitting pattern for what you’ve seen of him: controlled, precise, predictable. No hard edges or uncertainty, just smooth and calm. Something about a vow, you think, has made him like this. Poverty. Chastity. Obedience. A promise to a power too self-righteous for your taste.

His eyebrows furrow as he attempts to focus upon you, vision still blurry. The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, curves casting shadows under the fading starlight, black lace and soft skin. Then, there’s a flash of horns, a flicker of your tail, the markings below your abdomen pulsing through the dark. He swallows. “What are you?”

Ruby lips spread into a grin, one that veers sinister - he’s such a cute little thing, a chocolate covered strawberry, all sweet and flesh and blood. “An angel.”

The silk pillowcase rustles as he shakes his head, too innocent, too naive to do anything but be truthful. “No, you’re not.”

“No,” you lean forward, feeling his pulse thrum below your palm. “I’m not.” You kiss his cheek, and whisper a goodnight.

The fourth night, he’s more awake, but less verbal. Instead, sun-bright eyes follow your movements, the crackling fingerprints that travel his skin. He lets you touch him, lets you trace out the muscles lying below the surface, feel the nerves and arteries that quicken under your touch. Drowsy little whines leave his throat, barely a sound, as you work. Up wrists, over shoulders, to collarbones, counting ribs and diving into his hips, along his thighs, and back again. It’s a beautiful routine, just light enough to keep him half-slumbering.

From there, it’s mostly the same - you touch and trace and tease him, and he watches, silent and mostly unconscious. A week passes, maybe two. The time doesn’t matter, not to you, not really. What matters is the way his skin sparks beneath your fingertips, the way his eyelashes flutter under the moon’s silken glow.

You aren’t granted the privilege of visiting him awake, not yet, at least. There’s no way for you to see the way he pours over text, books with cracked spines and dusty pages, to find the source of these…dreams, of the being that visits him and steals him from the respite of sleep. The word succubus is heavy in his mouth, more bitter than communion wine, with no unleavened sanctity coming after to dull the taste.

On the seventeenth night (you think, if your count is right), he wakes in a notably different position, no longer cradled by the mattress upon which he put himself to bed. Under the mottled moonlight, he finds himself sitting upright, the bare skin of his back resting against something much warmer than the wooden headboard.

“Good morning, Sunday,” you purr into his ear from behind.

He murmurs something, slowly turning over his shoulder to face you. For the briefest moment, you think you catch the flicker of a smile.

“Good morning, demon.”

“Oh?” you let out an airy chuckle. “So you’ve figured it out then. Good, I was worried all you priests were nothing more than fools.”

The lightest laugh brushes past his lips, allowing his eyes to rest for a moment. “I’m no fool. Now tell me, why are you here, demon?”

Through a feigned pout, your hands make their way back to his chest. “What, are you sick of me already? You don’t like me, is that it?”

“I have no particular feelings towards you.” He’s quick to respond, quicker even to remind himself of his place, of his duties, as your palms threaten to burn through his skin. Poverty. Celibacy. Obedience. Important ideals. Good ideals. Holy ones, at that.

Through a hum, you travel lower over his body. It’s a test, really, to see if he’ll stop you, grab your wrists and yank you from behind him and banish you from this place forever. It would take so little: a splash of holy water, or even a simple curse, and he’d be rid of you. Surely he found that little fact in his readings.

And yet, he simply follows your path downward with his gaze (you can’t say you’re truly that surprised - it has become your routine, after all. And Sunday cherishes his routines).

“No feelings for me, you say,” you say, pensively. Lower, and lower, and lower.

Just as his lips open to speak, to throw some calculated retort, your fingertips brush between his legs and the sound twists into something else, something needier, a noise he couldn’t have controlled with all the constitution in heaven.

You gasp at the response, too, awe bubbling inside your cheeks.

“Oh, Sunday,” you breathe. “You poor thing, you must be so pent up.”

“I- mmm.” With a second run of your palm over his hardening length, his eyes dance shut, his entire body shuddering.

“Don’t they allow you to touch yourselves here?”

It’s evil, this touch, coursing with sin and dark, dirty blasphemy. He ought to shut his mouth, rip out his vocal cords if that’s what it takes, and wait. Perhaps a blood smear above his lips would protect him, make you pass him over tonight and all nights thereafter.

“N-not in the monastery,” he chokes out. “It’s against the rules.”

He grants you the privilege of grazing his warming skin, before letting out a shaky breath. Thou shalt not covet. Dispel desire.

“You…you should stop.”

“Stop?” The absurdity leaks into your voice. “You’ve given up so much for this silly church, don’t you think? Why give this up, too? Don’t you deserve it?”

A pause, a steadying breath, to quiet your dissatisfaction disguised as rage.

“And besides, look how badly you need this. It feels good, doesn’t it?” An angel, caught in your trap; to think you may not even have to clip his wings. “Don’t you want to feel good, my dear Sunday?”

Eyelashes delve into the creases of his eyelids as he tightens them closed, lips pulled into a gasping frown. Everything in his mind, in the years of his training, of memorizing verses and teachings and sermons and rules and rules and rules, tells him to say no, to force a stop to this nonsense.

“And,” you perk up at his hesitation, “it won’t even be violating your so-called ‘rules’ if I’m the one touching you, right?”

Even through the feather-light touches, Sunday worries he’s losing his mind, like your fist might as well be piercing through his chest and ripping his soul from it, dragging it into hell with you. The thoughts that make it up his spine are too blurry with lust to let the more sluggish Reason through.

“Right.”

Smiling into his neck, you feel his carotid jump under your teeth. “Good, good. So just let me do this, okay?”

So put to death the sinful, earthly things lurking within you. Have nothing to do with sexual immorality, impurity, lust, and evil desires.

He says the words over, and over, and over in his mind.

Do not be greedy, for a greedy person is an idolater, worshiping the things of this world.

He knows better than to make idols.

And yet, all he can do is nod his head.

He doesn’t face you, of course, buried under the shame of it. If the church was any older, he’d worry the brick would collapse in on him at any second, to punish him for the sin he was too weak to avoid committing. Perhaps he should be turned to salt, a fate befitting of his pathetic disobedience.

“Okay.”

It’s immediate, the way he relaxes when you finally reach below his boxers. The heat of your touch melts him, his throat craning as it releases strained whines. He’s heavy in your hand, a weight his so-called gods would surely commend, if they could spare such thoughts. Soft skin, unsoiled, untainted. Utterly holy.

As you stroke him with a tenderness only known to the clouds of salvation, he looks nothing short of angelic, the arch of his spine making space where wings ought to be, the tickle of his hair soft like a crowned halo. And you, wrapped around him like a flame, carry him through the air. Lower, and lower, and lower. To soften the blow when one falls from grace.

It takes so little for him to shake, to shudder and cry and bend, until you worry his shoulders may snap if you weren’t caging his torso against yours. His head falls back, slack-jawed and awe-struck, as he releases into your palm, pumps of white coating your hand.

It’s a beautiful thing, the sounds he makes, the purity of it. White and cream and gold, just as you’d imagine heaven to be.

There’s waves of pleasure, his stomach clenching with each one, pushing him further and further into you, and you swallow him whole, welcoming with open arms.

Slowly, you press your lips to his cheek, scalding hot.

“Goodnight, Sunday.” And he falls into your chest.

It grows increasingly difficult for him to hide the dreams (at least, that’s what he would convince himself they are). It’s been months now, although truthfully, you’ve stopped counting.

Every night, he falls into a troubled, humid sleep. Every morning, he wakes to a mess, still half-hard and panting.

And yet, he’s more relaxed, his shoulders less tense. When he turns to the parish, his neck moves more easily. As a well-educated (well-trained) man, he assumes he hides it well, but his relief is palpable, a taste too thick to anyone who knows him.

“You seem different lately, Sunday,” Father Wood observes casually.

With his back facing him, Sunday conceals the way his spine tightens. “How do you mean, Father?”

Pensively, Father Wood lights the altar’s candles, an honor given only to those most highly ordained, an honor Sunday used to dream of performing (now, of course, his dreams are consumed by other desires).

“Just…different, is all.”

Sunday’s attention falls to the flames before him, to the way they dance nervously despite the still, stagnant air inside the church. Perhaps they know something he doesn’t.

“I’ve been spending more time in the library lately. Perhaps my reading has enlightened me.”

“Perhaps,” Father Wood echoes. With quiet purpose, he lights the final candle. “This church is your home, my boy. You had nothing before you came here. I remember the day we took you in, the day you were saved.”

There’s a pit in his stomach, one that grows and grows and grows; he’d expect it to taste like acid, but all he gets is honey. “I remember it, too.”

Father Wood hums, facing away. “‘If our minds are ruled by our desires, we will die.’” A pause, a flickering flame. “Sunday, I trust you not to forget the oaths you swore.”

A shiver runs up his neck. Poverty. Chastity. Obedience. “Of course not, Father.”

That night, you meet Sunday in bed. Normally it’s little trouble to untuck the sheets, to find the welcoming skin of his thighs, but tonight he seems determined to bury himself within the blankets.

“Sunday,” you say. He fails to respond, but his ears twitch. “Sunday, I know you’re awake.”

One eye slowly cracks open, revealing the sun behind his eyelids. “Go away.”

“Excuse me?” you choke a laugh. “You want me to ‘go away’?”

Closing his eyes, he hums in affirmation.

Within your chest, your heart flutters - he’s so cute when he thinks he’s in control. Perhaps that’s why you chose him (the chase is always the most fun, the tension of it all; you think Eve’s first bite of the apple must have been underwhelming compared to its weight in her palm).

Perhaps your routine will bring him back. Slowly, you trail a finger along his collarbone - before he pulls away. Curling himself onto his side, he tucks his knees to his chest and shuts you out.

This is certainly a novel development. And it certainly will not do.

“Fine then,” you state, leaning back to the corner of the mattress.

In response, his left ear twitches, but he gives no other response. So be it.

Against the wooden footboard, you open your legs, visible if he were only to turn towards you. With well-practiced hands, you easily slide the black lace panties down your knees, letting them fall at your ankles and leaving you bare (it requires few garments to do your work successfully, after all - they’re made for this).

Silently, you spread your ever-wet folds open. With your other hand, you draw circles around your clit, slowly, tauntingly. Delving into your own heat, a sound of relief comes as an exhale, one that finally has Sunday’s gaze peeking from between his eyelashes.

“What are you doing?”

“If you don’t want me to touch you, I guess I’ll just have to touch myself instead,” you say. The words flow easily, thick like milk and honey, something sweet, something to help him sleep.

This time, his eyes remain open.

His mouth does, too.

Silent except for the ragged breaths coming past his lips, he watches you pleasure yourself, the way your fingers curl, knuckles disappearing only to reappear shining. The inky pattern adorning your womb morphs and glows; a spot of saliva catches in the dim light, and he makes no move to wipe it away.

With an arch of your back and a tilt of your head, you beckon him closer - always such an obedient little thing, your Sunday (he was praised for it, once); he slowly rises. The mattress shifts beneath his weight, holding it unsteadily, as he crawls towards you. Unwavering attention held raptly between your thighs.

“Sunday,” you say, to snap him out of the trance that pulls him towards you. He says nothing, a small trail of drool spilling from the corner of his perfectly eager lips. “Sunday.”

His eyes snap up to yours, the sun eclipsed behind the growing shadow of his pupils.

Your palm cradles his jaw, thumb wiping away the glistening desire. “Are you going to behave now?”

A blank stare.

A fragile nod.

“Good.” Your grin splits the earth open with wicked flames, poking between your teeth. He drinks in the heat with a starving throat, ignoring the way it burns (or reveling in it).

A sparkling star shines in his eyes, nearly glowing. You pull the two fingers from your cunt, still warm and sticky and sweet, and hold them before his face.

You don’t even have to tell him to open his mouth - obedience is such a lovely thing.

When your taste lands upon his tongue, he releases a moan like molten gold. His lips close around your fingers and he sucks and licks the essence from them, hungry and gnawing. Your fingertips glide over his molars and he fights the urge to bite, to claim (a well-trained dog is still just a dog, after all).

There’s a half-hearted whine when you remove your skin from his, one that makes your cheeks ache.

“Tell me what you want, my dear Sunday. Anything you want.”

If our minds are ruled by our desires, we will die.

Perhaps dying here tonight, with your taste still lingering in his throat, would be a graceful demise. A martyr of his sacrilege.

Already, he looks ravished, his cheeks dusted red and eyes wild and unfocused. The pretty ones are always the most fun to ruin, to dirty with desecration; they look so beautiful as they fall.

“I want-” there’s a lump in his throat where his servitude lives, where the years of holiness coalesced and stayed. He swallows heavily. “I want to feel good. I want you to make me feel good.”

“Ah,” you breathe. “I suppose I can do that.”

“But-” he catches himself. Rules, and rules, and rules. They clog up his esophagus, his vocal cords straining to get past them.

With a gentle finger, you hush his worries. “Just let me take care of you. Let me make you feel good, okay?”

He exhales, a shaky sound. “Okay.”

It takes little pressure to recline him onto the bed, the sheets already dampening from the sweat collected in the hollows of his back. He lets you undress him, lets you place scalding kisses into his skin, soft and sweet as a fig. Ripe like one, too.

Only two pumps of your fist up his length and he’s already leaking, twitching and aching.

“So eager,” you coo when his hips rut into the air, chasing your touch.

“M-my apologies,” he says weakly.

“Nothing to be sorry for, my sweet Sunday. Pleasure is a thing to be worshiped, don’t you think?”

They’d bury him for this. The other priests would crucify him and leave his body out to rot. He’d deserve it, he wouldn’t even complain, he’d be perfectly obedient until his very last breath.

As your thighs encase his, as you line his tip to your entrance, as you sink down, slowly, slowly, slowly, until you’re flush with him, until you’ve swallowed him whole and nestled him inside of you, his vision goes white and he feels the warm smile of forgiveness.

“Yes.”

From behind, your tail twitches into his peripheral vision. A cruel reminder, a crash and burn. Melted wings and the sea. But then your hips circle, once, twice, and he forgets himself again, he enjoys the fall.

His hands fly to your waist, before they’re swatted away with a click of your tongue and a sparkle in your eyes. “Ah, no touching me, remember? Those are your rules, after all.”

“Right.” Instead, his fists dig into the sheets, knuckles turning white.

With each plunge of your warmth up and down his cock, he’s reborn, fresh and gasping, each breath burning like the first. Crescent moons carve into his palms, and he groans.

“Is this…is this real?”

A chuckle bubbles from your throat. “Do you want it to be?”

He hesitates for a moment, lets your hand rest on his unsteady heart, lets your skin stick to his. Just below it, a knot forms, the strings tightening and tightening and tightening under years of strain.

“Yes.”

You fill his vision, all-consuming, eating the space between you with sharp teeth. When you speak, it’s a low sound, a rumbling purr. It makes his stomach clench. “Good.”

His breaths come in faster, now that he knows it’s real, that the heat creeping up his neck and down his legs is real, that this is happening. That something exists that feels this fucking good.

And then, all at once, the knot unties itself. The moans he releases are holy, more beautiful than a choir with all its ordained voices.

Damp palms grab at your hips, and you let them. With greedy fingers he holds you in place, fucking himself up into you. Tears well in his eyes and in the blurry haze, he thinks he sees heaven. It opens itself before him, warm and beckoning, in the space between your thighs.

“God, fuck,” he exhales, and you grin.

“How blasphemous, Sunday.”

If he hears you, he gives no indication. Curses tumble from his lips, raw edges cutting his lungs.

He chases a high with urgency, with uncoordinated thrusts and a too-tight grip. His dedication is truly a virtue.

It’s only a moment before he stills, eyes widening, jaw falling open to release an angelic cry. Truly beautiful as he falls, as he comes undone. In the space below his arched spine, you swear there’s a momentary flutter of wings.

Eyelashes open and close, as if to prove that this is not, in fact, real. But the heat still encircling him is proof enough. He shivers.

“Fuck,” he whispers, more to himself than anything.

“Oh Sunday,” you hum, fingers tracing ribs that rise and fall unevenly. There’s a twinge of something mixed into the pride, something sadder, something longing. “This certainly has been fun.”

“Fuck,” he says again. Dread settles on his shoulders, heavy, heavier than duty or scriptures or a grave, than a cross. “Will I…?”

“Be excommunicated for this? Probably not,” you smirk.

Weakly, he shakes his head, sweaty strands of hair sticking to the pillowcase below. “Will I see you again?”

The question makes your heart flutter. How cute.

“If you’d like to, my dear.” With a gentle hand, you brush the fringe from his forehead. “Anything you want.”

At that, he relaxes, his shoulders sinking deeper. With heavy eyelids, his blinking slows. “Good.”

How beautiful he looks like this, half-conscious and spent, utterly debauched. Utterly holy.

“But for now, get some rest.” Warm lips press into his cheek, and he leans into them with a hum. “Goodnight, Sunday.”

#q writes #oneshot #sunday #sunday x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #sunday hsr #sunday honkai star rail #hsr smut #sunday smut #cw dubcon #cw religious imagery #cw religion #<- if i am missing any tags PLEASE do not hesitate to let me know and i will add them!!!!!#cw sacrilege #cw blasphemy

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guardian-of-fun-times · 4 months ago

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Jack Frost would be an absolute mess beneath you, whimpering and gasping before you’re even fully seated on his cock. His whole body trembles, icy fingers gripping your thighs like they’re the only thing grounding him, but he’s still barely holding on. His flushed cheeks burn with need, his breath coming in short, ragged pants, and his lips part in a desperate moan as he watches you take him in inch by inch.

He’s already drooling, blue eyes glazed over with pleasure, struggling to keep himself together, but the sensation of your warmth wrapped around him is too much. His cock twitches inside you, pulsing with barely restrained need, and his hands flex against your skin as if he’s trying to slow himself down—but it’s useless. The second you sink down fully, taking him to the hilt, his whole body tenses, back arching as a strangled whimper escapes his throat. He doesn’t even have time to warn you before he’s spilling inside, overwhelmed, panting, and completely at your mercy.

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trappolia · 1 year ago

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SUNDAY IS FOR REST ── sunday x halovian!reader, 918

"do be careful, my dove," he murmurs as you straighten out the light feathers behind his ear.

"you haven't preened yourself in a while, have you?" your voice is soft, a hint of chiding to it that makes his heart flutter — there's a groggy rasp to your tone as well, having just stirred from your own dreams. sunday dares not look back at you, for there is a sweet domesticity to be found in the impression of rumpled bedsheets against your cheek and the heavy-lidded eyelids that make it known that you would love nothing more than to go back to sleep — proper sleep.

a hum resonates in sunday's chest as he allows himself to be fully immersed in the moment; early morning, messy hair and feathers, the sleepy press of lip against lip. his head tilts to the side, allowing greater access for you to tidy the feathers in question.

"you are correct. there's no need for me to do such preening in the dreamscape, though i prefer it when you offer your generous help," he replies, a mix of contentment and fondness pervading his voice.

"i'll help you only if you stay still," you grumble. your hands, which were straightening out his feathers, are now hovering just above them as sunday tries very hard not to shift in place again.

he cannot help it, truly. it is not just the factor that sunday is unused to, well, anyone touching something as intimate as his halovian wings, but also the fact that the slightest brush of your skin against his is a sensation like no other.

not that he would ever tell you, of course.

sunday nods, a silent affirmation that he will try his best to remain still, although a trace of a smile dances upon his lips. as you resume tending to his wings, each brush of your fingers brings a newfound appreciation for the sensation of your touch. he can feel the slight tingle, akin to electricity, every time your skin makes contact with his wings.

"my apologies," he murmurs, a chuckle slipping past his lips — as if he is not willing his chest to rise and fall rhythmically, having to manually breathe under your intimate ministrations. "i shall endeavour my utmost to be an inanimate statue. your wish is my command."

"haha," you say dryly.

in spite of your tone, sunday cannot help but chuckle at your jest. a cruel man he is, to find amusement in your grumpiness in the early morn. your nimble fingers gently untangle his feathers, and the sensation is a mix of tingles and warmth that spread across his wings. the act of having someone, especially someone he holds in such high esteem, tend to these parts of him that are reserved for only the most intimate moments is endearing, to say the least.

as you work, your movements deliberate and precise, your lover muses softly, "only you could make tending to feathers feel like a luxury."

"it is a luxury when you are not the one doing it yourself," you huff, hands moving around with practiced ease: smoothing a feather here, tugging a broken one out there.

sunday's chest rumbles with barely suppressed laughter at your huff of annoyance, but he remains true to his word and does all he can to keep still. his skin feels electrified with each brush of your touch, even more potent than before, and he wonders idly if it's because he's aware of how much effort you're taking in taking care of him. he is always the one caring and fussing, rather than being cared for and fussed over. it is strange, for the tables to be turnt. strange, had it been anyone else but you.

"perhaps," he manages to say between bouts of laughter, reaching back to catch one of your wrists and presses a chaste kiss upon it. "we could make a habit of this."

"is it truly proper of the head of the oak family to make a habit of keeping himself less than pristine?" you murmur.

how embarrassing; the passing thought occurs to sunday at your words. indeed, it is unbecoming for him, who stands at a position of such power and authority, to be so unkempt, so careless around you. it feels… freeing.

and so his response is a gentle tug upon your wrist, guiding your arms to wrap around his shoulders and link with his fingers. with a smile full of affection and a touch of teasing, he gently brushes his thumb over the tender flesh between your thumb and forefinger.

"i am simply indulging in the pleasure of being cared for," he answers in that same gentle rumble. "and if that means i am a tad bit less than pristine as a result, so be it."

"i suppose so," you hum, and from where sunday sits in between your legs, he feels you lean forward, hooking your chin over his shoulder. your own wings tickle his cheek, like a lover's kiss in the early morning. "preen me next?"

a low rumble resonates somewhere deep in his chest at the feeling of your breath against his neck. the closeness you've allowed between you is not something sunday takes lightly, and he relishes in it with every beat of his heart.

"with pleasure," he answers, unable to help the upwards tug of his lips as he squeezes your palms.

"let me take care of you, my dove — as you do to me."

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lohotine · 4 months ago

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``One fleeting moment of eye contact.``

X !GN! Reader

You caught me staring at you

from across the room.

But I caught you staring back.

And you can't help but wonder what crosses his mind every time your eyes meet.

Do you appear in his mind as often as he does in yours?

You really hope so...

Though, you can't help

but feel like you know the answer already

because he looks at you

like you're something worth seeing

and his face light up

every time he spots you

in a crowded room.

And you wonder if maybe

Just maybe

He talks to his friends

Just like you tell your friends

About how much he misses you

And how his heart aches for you

How much you miss him

And how much your heart

Aches for him.

Because every time you see that smile of his,

You just....

....

Sometimes, people forget that you can't hide feelings in silence.

Because your eyes speak.

And sometimes

Your hearts will

Understand each other

Even when

Nothing is being said.

And yet you wonder; why isn't anything being said?

Perhaps deep down, you're both still a little scared...

But if you dig

Just a little bit deeper

Into the depths of both of your hearts

(Or maybe not even very deep at all)

You both knew

That you didn't even need to say the words

I love you

Because all it took was

One fleeting moment of eye contact.

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yandere-sins · 25 days ago

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Angelfish

One simply cannot have enough mermaids in MerMay. Thank you all for voting here! I was surprised by some of the results, but I am happy with them! I hope I can do some more stories like this ♥

Edit after writing: This was a fever dream. I don't know how it happened and if you find mistakes, you can keep them because it's three in the morning and I am contemplating my life choices :') This was just an unexpected wild ride and I couldn't stop after starting. What a crazy experience, ngl. Lowkey really did enjoy it though, and I hope you guys do, too! I am just so happy to finally have been able to write for my lovely Sunday, even if it's an AU ♥

Edit edit: THIS IS 7K WORDS WTF!!! Haven't written so much in ages and in one go!!!! Oh my god!!! Correcting this the day after is a whole different kind of fever dream, what the hell did I take yesterday!!! I hate myself for having to edit this but also a little proud of myself ngl.

Character: Yandere!Siren!Sunday (HSR) x GN!Reader Words: ~7k Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Dub-Con Touches, Sexual Harrassment, Attempted Non-Con, Kissing), Violence (Murder, Blood Mention, Death by Animal, Fear of Death) Monster (Claws, Sharp Teeth, Instinctual Behavior, Animalistic Behavior, Territorialism), Possessiveness, Themes of Creatures in Captivity, Reader being delulu and delulu turning into the harsh reality very fast, Manipulation

Words could not describe how beautiful he was.

People had informed you about the allure of the creature behind the glass before the first time you met him. How one glance of him made you want to lay your life at his feet—or, well, his tail. Everyone who had been interviewed after the experience of seeing him had been unable to find words to describe their experience, or even just the feelings they had at that moment. His pure existence stunned everyone into silence, and you were no exception.

Sunday, they had lovingly named him after the day they caught him. The fisher who pulled him from the Amazonian river was now a rich man, but he had not believed the creature caught in his net when he first saw it. Sunday was neither human nor fish, although he looked like both at the same time. With his iridescent scales that covered even some parts of his skin and the graceful movements of his tail in the water, he was nothing like you and every other human. His eyes were filled with unknown wisdom, and his features moved eerily similar to those of any human you knew, yet completely different.

To you, he was like an angel.

If mermaids or sirens existed, so must angels, and he was the closest being resembling them.

It had been months now since his appearance on this earth. Months of him swimming in the aquarium in your hometown, making it a tourist hotspot overnight. And every day since the grand opening of his enclosure, you had come to visit him, even if just to see a glimpse of him.

You'd never know if he'd notice you in the crowds of millions that came to see him, too. But you had to admit that he became an obsession for you. Most people came and went, never seeing him again, but with the luxury of living nearby, you couldn't help it. Your thoughts circled constantly around this strange creature, even when you were at work or at home. It was as if he had put you into a trance, even your dreams filled with the images of him.

Sunday affected everyone, and yet, no one as much as you.

"We ask all visitors to make their way towards the exit, and thank you for your visit. We look forward to welcoming you again in our aquarium another time!"

The announcement made your heart ache as you watched the beautiful creature sway through the water, billowing fins shimmering in the artificial lighting. They looked almost like veils, sometimes hiding him from the eyes as he moved. Sunday was majestic, even as he swam restlessly from side to side of his aquarium, never stopping. The sight, as beautiful as it was, made you sad, and you tore your eyes from him, your gaze falling to the plaque with his description.

Pterophyllum - Angelfish "Sunday"

It fit him so well. A little mermaid-symbol was next to his name and the assumed species, making it clear who this plaque belonged to. Behind you, most people slowly walked through the tunnel, leaving this scene and the siren behind. Most would never return while you stood there, brushing your fingers over the engraved letters. No matter how many times you tried to stay away, you couldn't bring yourself to. Was it pity for the poor, captured creature, or just your selfish need to keep seeing him, that put him into this spot in the first place? Without people like you, he could be released into his home, even though the thought filled you with dread.

A sudden bonk against the glass in front of you made you jolt wide awake, your eyes widening as you came face to face with the most beautiful person you had ever seen. Even close-up, he was as perfect as a statue chiseled in marble.

Your mouth opened to say something, but as if in front of a superstar, you couldn't say a word. He wouldn't even understand it through the glass, you assumed, yet you had never been this close to him, making you greedy for more interaction.

With a shivering hand, you slowly reached forward to where his rested against the glass. A shuddering breath escaped you as you saw your hand against his palm, bigger than yours, yet even the clawed tips didn't scare you.

Looking back at his face, his lips twitched, the corners eventually turning upwards into a smile, making you realize he wasn't used to the expression, but he learned it—for you. Your dreams and delusions were coming true as you laughed, realizing only when the sound escaped you that it was a sob instead. Tears were running down your face as you placed your second hand on the glass as well, and Sunday's expression turned confused, then worried, before he quickly put his other hand against yours.

You doubted you'd ever react like this to anyone but this creature.

Not even the greatest superstar in the world could elicit these feelings. Feelings of being seen. You had wondered countless nights if he knew of your existence since you visited him daily. If, maybe, he thought of you, too—if that was something a siren could do. He's not like you, you kept reminding yourself. He wouldn't love you the way you loved him.

Because that's what it was, right? Love.

You loved this creature with all his abhorrent, uncanny features. You should be appalled by the sharp teeth, claws, scales, and lack of feet. The billowing fins and the gills at the side of his neck, but instead, you loved him. Even if it was just a siren curse or something similar that bewitched you, you wanted to be with him no matter what.

No matter what.

"Hey, you come here often," a voice suddenly rang out behind you. Flinching back to reality, you quickly wiped your tears away, not noticing the sound of sharp claws scratching against the glass where your hand had been. You turned around to find a guy in a staff-shirt standing before you, hands in his pocket and smiling.

"Yeah," you quickly replied, hoping he didn't see that you just cried about your strange crush recognizing you. "I really like the exhibit."

"That's great! He's--woah!"

The man stepped back in surprise, raising his arms as if he were about to be attacked. But he wasn't looking at you; instead, behind you, and you turned around, confused about his reaction.

Instead of seeing Sunday's lovely face, you only saw his tail as he had straightened up, hovering above you in the overhead pool, completely still. You took a step back, and his body instantly relaxed, using fluid motions as he lowered himself to meet your gaze. Once again, his lips attempted to smile, and you touched the glass as you couldn't help but chuckle. Sunday immediately touched his palm to yours again, his grin widening, too, exposing the sharp teeth hidden behind his lips.

"Damn, that was scary..." the man behind you mumbled and you furrowed your brows, giving him a weirded out look.

"What do you mean? He's an angel."

Staring at Sunday behind you, the man slowly peeled his eyes off him and looked at you with bewilderment. "Did you not... Well, whatever. It's closing time."

"Oh," you whispered, shoulders sagging. "Too bad, I wish I could spend more time with him."

Turning back to Sunday, you saw your disappointed expression in the glass, his eyes widening as he tried to read you. He was so clever! Much too good to be held in an aquarium. Sunday was learning and studying the humans; he wasn't just an ordinary animal to be held captive.

"Well. If you like him that much, how about I show you behind the scenes?"

Immediately, your head snapped forward to the man again, your eyes wide and sparkling. "Can I? You're not joking, right? You can really get me closer to him?"

Pulling your hand away, you stepped towards the man as if possessed. This was your chance! Probably the only one you'd ever have, but it didn't really matter. Behind you, something hit the glass violently, but you paid it no mind as you closed the distance.

"Please. Please let me see him, I'd do anything for a chance!"

"Anything, huh..." the man rubbed his chin thoughtfully before he grinned. "It's not exactly legal, you know. But if you are that interested, I could make an exception. Just remember that if they catch us, neither of us will ever set foot in here again, you understand? You have to be really quiet, no matter what happens."

"Yes! Yes, I understand! I'll be quiet, I won't tell anyone."

"That's good, then. Let's go."

He nodded his head towards the end of the glass hallway, where the staff went for feedings and cleaning. With your heart threatening to jump out of your chest, you followed, glancing at Sunday, who swam with you towards the door. His expression was closest to confusion, as if he didn't understand what was going on. Little did he know you'd see him for real soon. That you'd be close enough to touch him, even.

Heading through the door, the staff member looked left and right before waving you through, and you quickly followed. The air was stuffy and had a strange scent, but you were too excited to be concerned about it. You followed the man through the dimly lit hallway and up a metal staircase, higher and towards the top of the enclosure, you assumed.

Before you saw it, you heard the bubbling of water, the rumbling of machines that kept it saturated with anything it could need to host a multitude of creatures. The man pulled a bundle of keys out of his pocket, going through them one by one to find the right one to unlock a door leading further inside the preparation room.

"You didn't hear it from me, but there's been a rumor that that poor fish is dying."

The man said it so casually while testing out one of the keys, as if it didn't bother him at all. Meanwhile, you felt your heart plummet from your throat way down into your stomach as you listened to him over the rumbling of the machines.

"What?" you exclaimed, immediately halting your excitement. "You mean Sunday? The siren?"

"Yeah. Something about his behavior seems to be similar to dying fish, or so. They say he might be lonely and that is killing him."

Another failed attempt made the man curse under his breath while you felt yourself zoning out. He was... dying? Your poor, innocent angel was slowly withering away in that pool, and you didn't even notice it? Sure, he used to hide more when he first came to the aquarium, but you simply assumed he got used to the people staring at him. Then again, even you had noticed his restlessness. The way he kept swimming back and forth, always high above everyone. It had been beautiful to look at, but the reality was much more cruel than you expected.

"Isn't there something we can do?" you asked, your voice cracking as you felt the tears return to your eyes.

"Find him another mermaid, I guess. I wouldn't know, I just throw food into the enclosures. There we go!"

The lock clicked, and the door swung open as you stood there, petrified by dread. Humans hadn't found any sign of life from sirens before. It had been pure luck that someone captured one. You doubted they'd manage to get another in the time that Sunday still had left.

"Are you coming?" the man called out, and although your heart was heavy, you walked after him, every step filled with despair and anticipation at the same time. You'd still get to meet him, probably as one of the few to ever have that honor. But you'd go home, knowing it could have been the last time you ever saw him.

You couldn't let that stop you, even if it hurt.

In the middle of the room was a big opening. A crane hung above it, and you assumed it was to get to Sunday as stress-free as possible if the staff members had to. It was hard to believe that they actually thought they could take care of a creature like him in this simulated home and keep him healthy and happy, but at least it brought you two together.

Slowly, you walked towards the opening, feeling more nervous by the second. Thoughts like, "What if he doesn't come?" and "What if he doesn't like me?" swirled through your mind, and yet, you pushed through until you could lower yourself next to the entrance. The metal grates pressed into your skin, but you gave them no mind as you peered into the dark blue. It was almost too dark to see, but Sunday was a beautiful, iridescent creature, you were sure you'd make him out inside the water.

Collecting all your courage and inhaling deeply, you plunged your face into the wet, forcing your eyes open despite the stinging sensation. How else could you grab his attention and make him come to you? But despite your courage, you feared not being noticed by him. Perhaps the recognition you felt while still behind the glass had been a fluke since you were one of the last people in the exhibit?

Your thoughts strayed everywhere until you felt bubbles on your skin. At first, you thought it was your own air getting thin and escaping, but from the deep blue depths, a light appeared, even if it was blurry with your watered vision. You wanted to gasp when the shape became clearer, but you couldn't move an inch, even as his nose brushed against yours, your eyes staring straight into Sunday's.

How unfortunate it was to not have gills to breathe in the water. Despite your best efforts to hold your breath, you couldn't do it for very long, pulling back just as Sunday opened his mouth as if to speak to you. Could he even talk? You didn't know, but you were coughing as your lungs demanded air desperately and your dreams of being even closer to him shattered as you found yourself back in the room above the tank.

"Man, are you alright? I was going to give you some fish to lure him, were you trying to get bitten?"

"He-- He wouldn't--" you sputtered, attempting to get the strangely tasting water out of your mouth and nose, rubbing your palms over your face to wipe off any remainders.

"Oh, believe me. That freak's an animal. He's bitten all of us at least once in his time here."

The man passed you a towel, which you used to dry your face. You were finally able to see again by the time your lungs calmed down, and you turned towards him with complete conviction. "No, he wouldn't hurt me! He's an angel, I know it!"

"Hey, you really need to see him for what he is. He's just like any other fish. The only difference is his face being slightly similar to ours."

Heaving a sigh, the man squatted beside you, staring down into the dark. "See?" he pointed down, and you followed his gaze. However, the water was even less clear than before, dust clouds rising from the ground. In them, you sometimes saw a flash of light, but it disappeared just as quickly.

"He's doing fish things again. Fighting some poor guppy. That guy even hunted the sharks we put into the tank with him; he's ruthless."

"Maybe they weren't a good fit for him?" you defended his behavior, the dust growing thicker and thicker. Was he panicking? Did your appearance disturb him in any way? It broke your heart to think you did any harm to him, but one could never know. There was painfully little that anyone knew about sirens, and perhaps you had triggered some instinct he now had to battle alone.

"Maybe," the guy shrugged, not really interested in finding out what was happening. Taking a deep breath, he turned towards you, his gummy soles squeaking against the metal, and you looked at him, his lips curling into a grin.

"So... you got a name? I've noticed you around the aquarium many times, and I've always wanted to speak to you. Remember when you said you'd do everything for a chance to see the siren? How about you and I get to know each other a little better in return for my help?"

He looked down at your thigh, his hand following his gaze as he leaned forward. "If you know what I mean."

"What? No!" pushing the man's hand off, you scooted back as best as you could on the unyielding material beneath you. He couldn't be serious, right?! You only said that to show how much you wanted this chance to be closer to Sunday! That you'd be quiet and behave, not that you'd bang some stranger!

"Come on, don't be like that! I did what you wanted. It's only fair that you help me out with my problem now!"

Instead of backing off, the man followed you, getting on top of you with your legs between his. Panic kicked in as you realized this was really happening; that he was serious about you repaying the favor with sex. Immediately, you sprang into action, pushing at his shoulders while you tried to pull your legs out from under him. All you had to do was get up and bolt back where you came from, and you'd be safe. You doubted he'd be as fast as you, given he was already unbuckling his belt.

Your plan was well-thought-through, but at the first motion of slamming your hand into the side of his neck, he caught you, pushing your hand down and banging your wrist painfully against the grate. With your body twisting unnaturally, you didn't manage to get your leg high enough to kick him, and even if you had, he was one step ahead, sitting down on top of your knees.

"It sucks when they fight," he grunted, using all his strength to keep your struggling limbs at bay. "Just enjoy it, will you?!"

A sob escaped your mouth as the reality of the situation hit you. All you had wanted was to spend time with your crush. Be near him, speak to him, touch him maybe. You didn't mean for any of this to happen, your body shaking with anger and the dread of feeling helpless.

"No!" you screamed, hoping that someone—anyone—would hear you.

"Shut up! That was the condition, remember? If someone hears you, neither of us will set a foot in here again! We'll both be thrown out and you won't see your precious fish-monster again, do you understand?!"

You whimpered as the man laid down the consequences clearly. Living without Sunday... it was too hard to imagine. You'd never be able to see him again—perhaps he'd even die here, scared and alone without a face he recognized! If you endured this, you could be with him at least, but every time that man touched you, your body lashed out violently, not wanting it.

"Stop!" you pleaded, tears falling from your eyes. "I don't want this! Stop! Stop, please!"

"Too late," he grunted, and you cried out loudly as he tore on the waistband of your pants, trying to get them off. "I did my part, now it's your turn."

"No!" you cried, squeezing your eyes shut, unable to look at him or yourself any longer. The feeling of violation and disgust had already set in, and you could no longer fight it or the stranger. All you could do was shut out the reality and think of other things, better things.

Sunday and his sweet smile that he had shown only to you.

How you imagined his palms would feel holding your hand and the sweet sounds he'd make resting in your lap. The bubbling of water as you two drifted on the surface, and you told him about your day. The splashing of this tail as you rode him over the waves. The hissing as he hunted prey, the screams of people he attacked, the hot, wet feeling on your skin--

Opening your eyes, you were suddenly aware that the sounds you thought about were much too real to just be imaginary. Hesitantly, afraid of what you might see, you looked up to the side, not blinking as you stared at the horror that unfolded right above you. The man's bulging eyes, his hands caught in larger, blue-ish white ones, blood dripping from his wrists where claws dug into them.

The stomach-churning cracking of bones could be heard even over the sounds of machinery, and the man gurgled as Sunday's jaw pressed tighter into his neck. It wasn't a question if he would bite through; it was only a question of time. More blood squirted out of the wound, hitting your face, your chest, and your legs.

Even though you wanted to, you couldn't look away. The man's eyes lowered to meet yours. He gasped weakly, "Help. Me," before groaning out loudly in pain, the sound suddenly cutting off as his neck broke, head falling to the side like you had only ever seen in horror movies.

Abruptly, he was gone.

His lifeless body was thrown off you and into the water behind Sunday, a chunk of the man's neck still hanging from his mouth. You anticipated him to eat it, but he spat it out as if it was too disgusting to consume, the mauled flesh landing only a few inches away from you with a squelch. And now, you were alone.

Alone with the monster.

There was nothing angelic about Sunday anymore. Your Sunday was beautiful and kind. Not a bad bone in his body! But this... this thing in front of you was nothing like him. Bathed in blood that added a hellish gleam to his white scales, his once beautiful golden eyes now dark as if he were possessed. His light gray hair was spotted with red, making some strands look like horns on top of his head, and his whole skin was covered with layers of blood.

"Mine," he spoke very clearly, and you gulped for the first time, feeling your own body again as the shock subsided. No, the shock didn't go away—it changed. Changed into the strength needed to flee. The man might have deserved it, but still, Sunday killed him. There was no longer any guarantee of your safety, and your body was screaming at you to run! He was just a fish, right? He couldn't follow where you went!

With a high-pitched squeak, you made the mistake of turning onto your belly completely, scrambling to get away. But with a sickening thud, your head banged against the metal, a gigantic hand pressing you down as your brain shook inside your skull. It was followed by more weight spreading over your body like a blanket, your lower back, butt, legs—all pinned to the grate as Sunday's tail weight them down.

"P-Please," you whimpered, not knowing what to do. If he could talk, maybe he could understand you, too? Perhaps he had enough of a hunt that night and would let you go?

But instead, you listened as Sunday let out an animalistic, goosebump-inducing snarl while he lowered his head next to yours. You felt his head-fins fall over you, one on each side and clinging to your skin. You had always admired their aesthetic as they looked like little wings next to his angelic face, but now they only gave you a slight comfort as they surrounded you like blood-stained veils, shielding you from sight. At least you wouldn't have to see your death coming, but it was horrifying nonetheless as the fins stuck to you, threatening to envelop you in them.

"Finally," he cooed, his voice suddenly softening. One of his arms snaked beneath your body, turning and lifting you, while his other hand landed on the top of your head, gently combing his fingers through your hair. It was impossible for his claws not to nick you here and there, but despite your flinching, they were only small wounds, nothing as deadly as he had done to the man.

Small chortles escaped Sunday as he pressed his cheek to yours, fins, scales, and skin touching you in alternation, giving you a sickening warm feeling in your stomach. This was all you had ever wanted, yet it horrified you, making you bury your nails in his shoulders as you tried to get away. But your well-being suddenly changed as a rumble went through Sunday, remaining in his chest until you recognized what it was.

A purr.

Nothing made sense anymore. None of what you knew or thought to know about this creature seemed to be right or even close to the truth. You let out a yelp as Sunday suddenly turned you two over, sitting you down on top of his stomach while he lay beneath you, chortling and looking up at you with unreadable emotions in his eyes.

His arms helped you stay upright for a while, but the moment they let go, you simply collapsed, both the panic and shock making you fall limp, fear making you pliant. Lying on top of his chest, Sunday hugged you tightly, curling into himself and wrapping the upper part of his tail and his fins around you like a happy clam. Your head was pressed just above his heart, the sound of it unnaturally fast and echo-y inside him, interrupted only when he started to purr again.

"W-Wait! Stop!" you mumbled against his bloody skin. But instead of listening to you, Sunday rolled side to side, threatening to crush you every time your arm or leg went under him. He was chirping and chortling away merrily, not responding in a language you could communicate in. Didn't he understand you? He could talk, but perhaps he wasn't far enough with practicing human language to understand it?

Or maybe he didn't want to understand.

His hands rubbed your back, one driving lower, brushing your thigh and moving to your shin before grabbing you there. With his head crooked to the side, he looked at what must have been very strange to him. He observed your flinching leg and tensing toes with as much interest as only a half-fish, half-man could. All while every squeeze and every graze of his claws made your fear spike.

For months, you had imagined this moment. The curious exploration of bodies, the closeness, and the happiness you'd feel to be with him. Now, all you felt was the betrayal of yourself as you wanted to get away, your blood-stained clothes clinging to you like a constant, stinging warning. Sunday was so cold to the touch, so deadly in your mind now. Completely different from the sweet, angelic being you thought him to be all this time. It was hard to follow how quickly your feelings had changed, or really, how much you were suddenly confronted with the reality of it all. All you knew was that you had to get away. That you wouldn't stand a chance if his interest in you waned.

Had he really changed that much? Beneath you, albeit now more red than the iridescent white of his skin, was still the same Sunday you had visited every day. The majestic creature with shimmering scales and the same fluid motions despite his massive size, although his fins were drying up now that he was out of the water. Even so, his eyes seemed to sparkle as he explored you, a red tint spreading all over him from the tip of his ears to the back of his hands, even where the blood hadn't splattered.

It felt like waking from a dream, but it had never been a good one. Even if it looked beautiful at first, it had still been a nightmare, and now that your beloved Sunday had killed someone without any regard or hesitation, you were realizing its true nature. His true nature. As little as you wanted to think about him, that man had been right—Sunday was a monster. A beautiful, but unpredictable one.

And if you didn't get away, he'd kill you, too, you were sure.

Slowly, you lifted yourself off his chest. His limbs were all around you, but they followed your motions, bent and adapted with cautious curiosity. Sunday watched all you did with a haunting intensity, but when you shook your leg, he finally let go of it, learning what you wanted from him bit by bit.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to look down at him. Your once so beautiful crush so close and all yours for just that tiny bit of time you two had together. But even now, you couldn't fool yourself, couldn't pretend the blood wasn't there and you hadn't seen him maul that man to death. He had saved you, and you were grateful, but he was a danger to you now, one that you couldn't risk staying with, no matter how much you would have wanted to just a few minutes prior.

Careful to not step on his fins, you slowly found the ground next to his body again. Everything you did was deliberate and non-threatening. No eye contact, your hands hanging limply at your side. When you rose back into a stand, it felt like you were moving in slow motion, controlling even the depth of your breath despite the sting in your lungs.

Sunday trilled as you distanced yourself from him, the lack of your warmth perhaps concerning him as he reached for your arm, holding on to it with an iron grip and making you stop completely in your motion. He used the time to follow, to sit up and tangle himself around your legs and hips like algae, threatening you to once again drown in him if you didn't get away fast enough.

Slowly, you lifted your hand, carefully, gently placing it on top of his head, trying not to scare or trigger him. He chortled happily, pushing upwards into your palm, soft, slick strands of hair getting tangled in your fingers as you petted him gently. Distracted, he rubbed his face into your stomach, reveling in your touch while you stepped out of his hold, his hands always finding other places to be connected with you, but you kept avoiding them until they were brushing you loosely at best.

That's when you made the boldest move so far, stepping one leg on the other side of him, knowing that sprinting ahead would only lead to you running directly into him, Sunday being like a wall you had to avoid. He was still enjoying your pets, ever so often looking up at you with his beautiful, golden eyes, almost perfectly mimicking a look of happiness and satisfaction on his face. His gaze seemed almost adoring, and your heart throbbed with the pain of having to escape a monster that looked at you as if you were a rare treasure.

You didn't think he would understand quickly enough, as you suddenly bolted, stumbling over his limbs and crashing your knee into the grated floor once again before you were out of his grasp. Sunday was everywhere, but you kept your eyes on the exit, not caring if you stepped on him as you escaped. You'd not get another chance.

His heavy body flung around, fins hitting you as you heard him hiss. A loud wail escaped him as you crashed into one of the machines, almost sounding like worry, and you desperately tried to regain your footing after losing your balance because of the creature's movements. The space was too small for you both to move, but you had to win this battle—your life depended on it!

And you did, with aghast surprise, win, the door slamming back into its lock with a loud bang. You clung to the lattice, but with a gasp withdrew your hands as Sunday crashed into it, the metal bending from the weight he was throwing against it. He was stretching his claws through the gaps, trying to grab you, and you could only watch as he wound himself and hissed angrily, so much frustration in his movements, while his expression was beastly like that of a rabid animal.

You couldn't move, couldn't breathe as you watched him throw his tantrum, now even more convinced that he wanted to kill you. It made your heart ache sorrowfully, to know the person you loved wished your death, but it was just his nature, wasn't it?

With wobbly knees, you slowly got up, ready to try and find your way home, leaving all of this behind you. Your mind faded out the sounds he made as you turned around to walk away. At least, until it grew too quiet for even your brain to fool you, and you looked back over your shoulder.

Like a pitiful mass of blood-drenched fish parts, Sunday had stopped thrashing and fighting with the metal door that thankfully held him back. Instead, shivers went through him ever so often, and you found yourself unable to look away as he clung with one last hand to the grid while his body simply collapsed.

"N--" he grunted, a hiccup following his attempt.

"No-- No leave."

You thought you misheard him, long, drawn-out whines following the few human words. "No leave," he repeated, better understandable this time, his hand slowly slipping and dropping from the door, defeatedly.

A trill escaped him, but it sounded... sad. Heartbroken. His head slowly lifted from the ground, pearl-like tears mixing with the red on his face as they ran down his cheeks. Almost immediately, with a resigned desperation, Sunday smashed his face against the metal, rubbing it up and down as if to be closer to you. He looked like he was comforting himself with the last thing you touched as he rubbed it repeatedly, his fins getting caught and bent in the gaps.

"S-Stop that," you said without realizing it. You should have just left and never stopped to look at him. Nothing good could come from giving him attention. Nothing at all!

"Stop it," you whispered gently, sinking to the floor next to the door. Your heart was bursting with sadness for the creature who looked like a broken man. Like there was nothing left to live for now that you left. Once again, he tricked you with his angelic sweetness, even if you knew better now. But you couldn't stop yourself from reaching out, caressing him through the gaps in the metal door.

Sunday chirped, a hopeful sound, twisting and turning his head to be able to feel your touch everywhere. He must have been so lonely, all this time. Always seen, but still alone. Your heart was betraying you once again as you reached up to the keys dangling in the keyhole, twisting them and moving away to open the door again. He let out a desperate wail when you moved away, but immediately sank his face into your lap as you crouched back into his proximity. His body shook as if he was crying as you rubbed his shoulders and back, leaning on top of him like a lover consoling their despairing partner.

If only things could have always been this way. If only he wasn't a monster. If only you could love him without fearing for your life, if you could be sure that he understood you and could be reasoned with. He had feelings, too, you understood that. But there was never a guarantee that he wouldn't snap in the heat of a moment. Allowing him access to you again was stupid. Beyond stupid! It was absolutely life-threatening.

But what could you do when your heart yearned to console him? You've loved him for so long, how could you leave him like this? Sad and alone? Maybe if you stayed with him, he'd learn! He'd understand! You could fix your feelings for him, right? Your love could.

"No leave?" he asked in a hopeful way, and your heart ached at the pleading look he shot up to you. He even brushed his face against your throat, the proximity of his teeth to your vulnerable body making the fear spike again.

You drew away instinctively, and Sunday looked hurt. It was unbearable to see him like this. Even if you wanted, even if your feelings kept guilting you into staying, you had to leave. Save yourself before you could save anyone else, right? Things got riskier the longer you stayed, and you were fueling his loneliness, which the poor siren didn't deserve. He had gone through so much already.

"I have to," you explained, sounding like a plea of your own. Perhaps it was, as you secretly begged him to let you go. "But I'll come back! I'll spend time with you! Things will be okay!"

Your false conviction seemed to only confuse him more, perhaps because he didn't understand the meaning of all the words you threw at him. The truth was, you wouldn't be back. You couldn't. Your poor heart wouldn't be able to keep seeing him, and you were too scared to get close again.

"Mate no leave," he whimpered, moving one arm out from under him, reaching it towards you. Immediately, you scrambled, too scared of what his claws and hold on you could do. And this time, he reacted in unison, snapping his other hand forward as well.

"N- No! Stop!" you yelled firmly as he crossed them behind your back, pulling you forward. Your body ached, the metal grate having done enough damage to you that night already, every movement against it hurting.

"I'm leaving! Sunday, I need to leave! M- Mate leave!"

You were using his own words to try and make it clear to him what you meant, but he kept rising from the ground, clinging to you as he pressed your body against his chest possessively.

"No leave! No! Leave!" he replied with the same, firm sternness in his voice, fins rising and flopping dryly into the air as if he had tried to bare them in intimidation. He wanted to make his standpoint clear, and you struggled against the crushing hold he had on you as he slowly dragged you back into the room.

"I can't-- I can't!" you screamed, panic overcoming you as you realized he was trying to get you into the water with him. Dying was scary. Being mauled was scary. But the thought alone that you could drown, slowly and painfully, was almost too much to take. Maybe he'd attack you underwater so it would be an even worse struggle—a fight to the death—the thought filling you with dread.

"No! Sunday, no!" you yelled as you heard his body make the water splash. It was only a matter of seconds until he'd drag you under, and there was nothing you could do as he had caught you in his arms, unwilling to yield even a little and let you escape again.

Gasping out the last bit of air, you tried to inhale as much as possible as your feet were met with the cold water, but there simply wasn't enough space for a deep breath, and before you knew it, you were surrounded by the dark wet, with only Sunday close to you.

It was terrifying.

These were your last minutes, and you spent them trembling in fear and cold while Sunday seemed to perk up, now that he was back in his usual habitat. He was moving you two around, and you couldn't see which way you were swimming or where you were going, clasping your hands tightly over your mouth and nose to keep the water out and the air inside for the slightest chance of survival.

Suddenly, his embrace flowed away, and you sank deeper to the ground for a few seconds. Your back hit a flat surface, and you forced your eyes open, trying to see. Floating, dark shapes surrounded you, and you presumed they were algae, so maybe Sunday had brought you to his hiding spot? With one hand, you reached behind you, feeling a slick stone plate which may have functioned as his bed, but even with your blurry vision, you couldn't see Sunday anywhere.

However, it wasn't your main concern as you felt your air supply running out, your body ready to cough it up. Forcing down the need to release your air, you began to paddle upwards, only to bump into something hard and unyielding, hands gripping your wrists, spreading your arms to the side, and pressing you down to the ground again.

"Mate," you heard Sunday's voice ring out, clearly even through the water. "Waited, long. Now, Mate here, home."

His words made sense enough to get an idea of what he meant, but he was absolutely wrong. Once you wished to be more to him than just a visitor of the aquarium, but you weren't a mate for the fishman. You weren't supposed to be here in the water, and not here to entertain him either.

Shaking your head, you finally broke, bubbles rising from your mouth as your lungs were threatened by the water invading. You panicked, your eyes widening in desperation, trying to find the exit before it was too late. But before the water could seriously harm you, two lips lowered against yours, entangling you in a kiss. It was the last thing you wanted, but suddenly, Sunday sucked the water that had already invaded your mouth out of you, and breathe the air that you needed into his kiss. You two fell into an even rhythm between kiss and breathing so quickly, you could barely react, your body clinging to this chance of receiving fresh air with instinctual desperation.

Sunday kept licking your lips, tongue exploring your mouth, over your blunt teeth and poking at your tiny tongue in return. His hands were creeping up your side, and once again, you realized the situation you were in as you felt yourself being stuck and inferior to another man, the irony not lost on you. Sunday was just a different kind of monster, with a different type of obsession.

You.

But you had realized it much too late. All this time, you had been completely oblivious to the fact that your angelfish had been the devil all along. And now you were nothing more than the naive sailors who had listened to the sirens' songs—completely at Sunday's mercy as he threatened to devour you completely.

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jerbunni · 2 months ago

Text

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ Sunday x Reader - Chains☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

[ ༺｡° .ᘛ𓆩 Minors DNI𓆪ᘚ. °｡༻ ] [ 18+ ] [ Tags ] : kinky, bdsm (chained, blindfolded, cuffed), nsfw, 18+, worship, lore intertwined, eeeviill sunday

[ Synopsis ] : You're riddled with sin. Thankfully, the head of the Oak Family is here to help you find salvation.

Blindfolded, bare, and bound by your hands, you could no longer bear the weight of your sins. Although purehearted, you were a human. And all humans bore sin.

He knew this well. And despite his standing, he, too, was soiled with sin. So much sin that he could not bring himself to let you go. His plaything, the fledgling that he prevents from flying, is caged in an enclosure gilded in gold.

“Speak to me,” He’d coo, his gloved fingers tracing gentle stripes against your jaw, “I have sought THEIR presence with us.”

“A-And?” You’d whisper in return, your breath hitching as his fingers outlined the collar clasped around your neck, “What do THEY want with me?”

Oh, how wrong he knew this was. Using THEIR will to preach HIS wicked desires. Even so, he could not help himself.

“Do you sincerely repent and vow to pledge yourself to THEIR will?” He hummed, his skillful fingers approaching your collarbone, daring to dip further, “Have you examined your soul and confessed all your sins? Are you willing to accept the process of atonement?”

You hurriedly nod your head, goosebumps peppering your bare skin, “Y-Yes, I’m willing… I-I’ll do anything! I want to atone…”

Truthfully, you weren’t entirely sure what you had done wrong. But he’d never do anything that wasn’t in your best interest, would he?

Peace, tranquility, paradise, these were all things that he promised to provide to you, and eventually the rest of Penacony. You wanted to-- you had to be a part of his utopia, no matter the cost.

“Very well.”

As he spoke, his fingers retracted from your skin, leaving you cold.

“Then show your dedication to me, and you shall be reinstated among THEIR future.”

You nod your head again, the goosebumps spreading further across your chest, and in turn, hardening your nipples.

The sound of shuffling is followed by the familiar noise of chains. You feel your collar tighten, the chain attached to it pulling upward to force you on the tips of your toes.

“Under the light of the Harmony,” he begins, carefully taking off his gloves, “all wickedness is revealed.”

You swallow, breathing becoming heavier as your calves cramp to hold yourself up.

“I implore THEM to shed THEIR light, and I’ll perform on THEIR behalf…”

Lightheadedness overtakes you with every word he speaks. Even blindfolded, you feel your eyelids feel heavy as a sensation of repose takes hold of you.

“You’ll have until I say to release yourself, and submit yourself to THEIR will… Prove yourself by telling me-- telling THEM, what you feel.”

With those words, you feel his controlled hands delicately encase your breasts with a soothing warmth. His fingers shaping and molding your pliant mounds to his satisfaction.

“M-Mister Sunday…” You whine, “W-What if I don’t say anything? Will the Harmony reject me? Will Ena, too, reject me?”

You feel his movements pause momentarily. Though your concern consumes you, Sunday couldn’t care less about your worries. The way you so innocently speak his name gives him all the entitlement in the universe.

“My dear, THEY would not reject you, less you lied.” With the emphasis on THEY, you swallow. One of Sunday’s hands drifts to your face with a tight hold on your jaw. The tips of his fingers press into your cheeks with a strength that urges a whine from you.

“And if you were to lie, I would be alerted by THEM, mind you.”

You nod in agreement, now having an explanation to the f☐g in ☐☐ur m☐nd.

“Another thing,” He continues, his digits digging deeper into your skin, “Mind the way you speak of THEM. Manners are important, hm?”

You nod your head once more, your toes becoming sore, “Sorry, Mister Sunday,” you mumble.

Every mention of his name brings him closer to his breaking point. Still, he continues to hold strong. With the loosening of his grip, Sunday accepts your apology with a kiss. Despite the harsh indents in your cheeks, his lips feel gentle and forgiving.

“You’re forgiven,” He whispers, his fluttering wings tickling your shoulders.

He returns his hand to your chest, thumbs grazing your nipples to warrant their perkiness. You shudder in response, your body submitting to him almost instantly.

You feel the wetness between your legs grow as he continues to toy with your body. Though it’s embarrassing to admit, the f☐☐ in yo☐r mi☐d compels you to speak, “I-I need more…”

“Oh?”

“Please, t-this isn’t enough…”

Your begging pleases him more than you'll ever know. He leans forward, planting a tender kiss between your breasts. His wings flutter as he does so, eliciting another goose-bump-riddled shudder from you.

“What more is it that you need, my dear?” He questions, continuing to work his fingers into your breasts.

The longer you take to answer him, the heavier the newfound pounding in your head grows. It pains you to be so honest with him, but if it’s for this growing headache to cease, and for THEM to accept you, you’ll answer him truthfully.

“Y-Your fingers…” You swallow, “D-Down… there…”

“Down where?” He questions, a hidden, sinister smile stretching at the corners of his lips, “Elaborate.”

“Mister Sunday, please-”

You feel your breath hitch as the collar around your throat tightens. You rested your feet only for a moment, forgetting the purpose of the chain that had lifted you.

“Please, do be careful,” He mumbles, “It’d be a shame for my favorite little pl☐☐th☐☐g to hurt herself.”

You’re not entirely sure what he said, the f☐☐ in your bra☐n is too strong to comprehend it. But to be crowned his favorite anything is an honor you won’t be taking for granted.

A weak smile stretches onto your lips as you thank him. But you don’t forget about his demand from earlier.

“I-I… I need your fingers on my p-pussy…”

You’re beyond embarrassed, but even so, Sunday doesn’t shame you. In fact, he rewards you for your honesty by listening to your request, all with that smile plastered on his lips.

“Of course,” He hums, one hand slipping past your ribs and navel to graze against your slick entrance.

He gives your breast a firm squeeze as his middle finger prods at your slit, compelling you to buck your hips. Your calves are incredibly sore, but you want to stay strong for THEM-- for him.

“Your body’s so honest…” He mutters, his index joining his middle finger as he continues to collect your slick on his digits, “You enjoy such a ritual? You enjoy submitting to THEM?”

You open your mouth to speak, your cheeks becoming hot as you rethink your answer. It’s not THEM that you enjoy submitting to…

“I-It’s not…” You pause, gathering your thoughts. Your honesty’s cascading so effortlessly from your lips, “It’s you… I like it when you touch me…”

“...Is that so?”

You nod your head, your fingers flexing behind you as your legs wobble, “Y-Yes… S-Sometimes, I find myself looking for things to repent for in order for you to…” You trail off, swallowing hard. The more you speak, the more aware you become of your surroundings.

Due to your lack of vision; his rhythmic breathing, the slick sounds of your moistened folds, and the ☐og i☐ yo☐r br☐☐n consume you. Every touch forces your body to break out in goosebumps. You’re so painfully sensitive, hot, and honest. So, incredibly honest, it hurts.

“Come to, my y/n,” He coos, giving your boob another tight squeeze, “I need you here. Finish your sentence. Tell THEM.”

You feel your tongue numb as you speak, and you can’t help but slur your words, “T-To touch me… I-I find myself looking for things to repent for so I can feel your hands on me, M-Mister Sunday…”

As soon as you finish your sentence, you feel his fingers brazenly push into you. Your legs wobble, and it takes everything in your power to straighten your posture and stay on the tips of your toes.

“Is that so…” He mumbles again, this time with a lack of regard for your feelings.

You hurriedly nod in response, as if lingering for even a moment will disturb your repenting ritual.

"Yes... F-For you, Mister Sunday, I-I even go so far as to--"

Interrupting you, he catches your whimpers with a kiss.

With his lips pressed so tenderly against yours, you can’t help but lean forward into him. The collar around your neck tightens as you do so.

You're choking. It hurts. But you don’t care.

You need him.

You’re addicted to his touch.

Once he pulls away, your whimpering resumes, and it’s intensified with the thrusting of his fingers. Despite the lack of thickness, they’re long, and they press right into the spongy little spot that makes your legs shake.

“S-Sunday…” You whine, your cuffed hands shaking behind you, “F-Feels so good… please don’t stop…”

To you, he's on the highest pedestal imaginable. There's no world in which he'd even dare to stoop to your level. But in reality, he’s filthier than you. He finds his own pleasure in hearing your pleads, the tightness in his pants growing evermore with every whine.

“Why would I?” He questions, the grasp on your breast growing painfully tight, “THEY enjoy your honesty. THEY revel in such a thing.”

You wince at the harsh hold on your chest, it’s sure to leave a bruise, "D-Do THEY?"

No response.

The pace in his fingers quicken, the slick noises emanating from your pussy bringing a swirling sense of shame in your stomach. Surely, you aren’t this filthy…

“O-Oh... M-Mmn..! S-Sunday, P-Please-”

You’re so close. You grind your hips down into his fingers, the collar choking you as your legs shake out of exhaustion. Even so, your chase for pleasure consumes you, and you ignore the tightening feeling on your throat to continue seeking after your high.

“Please what?” He asks.

“I-I need to cum- P-Please, let me…!”

With a soft chuckle, he bends forward to place a kiss onto your forehead.

“If THEY allow it….”

Your breathing grows heavier in an attempt to combat the suffocating tightness around your throat, yet you still decide to chase this pl☐☐su☐e.

“M-Mister Sunday…” You whine out, tears wetting the cloth blinding you, “P-Please…”

You find yourself growing weak, your body giving in to the f☐g. You can’t comprehend anything else, only the ☐☐g cl☐uding y☐u☐ br☐☐n. You need this. You need him.

He laughs again, letting go of your breast to instead hold onto your jaw. With a tug, he forces you back onto the tips of your toes.

“If my pla☐th☐ng wants it…”

You nod your head, mimicking him without full understanding of what it is you’re mimicking, “Y-Your pl☐☐yhin☐ w-wants it…”

Aeons, you’re perfect. You’re perfect, and you’re all his. He wastes no time to kiss you once more, and you return the kiss with all the desperation pent up inside of you.

You feel his warm, wet tongue prod at your bottom lip, and in response your mouth falls open to allow him entrance.

You need to release, but it’s hard to beg when your words are silenced by his tongue. Thankfully, however, he pulls away, a string of saliva connecting between the two of you before he speaks:

“Cum for me.”

With little hesitation, you feel the butterflies in your stomach swirl and bubble up before dispersing into a cascade of slick down his fingers. Whimpering and babbling ‘thank yous’, your knees buckle at your own release, and the grip he holds on your jaw tightens in an attempt to hold you steady.

Annoyedly, he sucks his teeth.

“What a mess.”

“S-Sorry…” You whine, your calves cramping, “M-Mister S☐nd☐☐…”

Though you say his name, the spelling seems to slip your mind.

He doesn’t respond to the plea of his name, instead deciding to bask in the sight of you. He drinks in everything from your desperation to your contentment, admiring the sweat and slick glistening down your naked body.

“Su☐☐ay…”

Another mention of HIS name seems to get HIM to respond to you.

“Ah?”

“My feet hurt… A-And I’m tired… May I please be released…”

Admittedly, he doesn’t want to let you go. He wants to stay here, basking in your presence forevermore. But the guilt would eat at him. You were too precious.

“...Yes…” He finally gives in, releasing his hold on your face to lower the chain holding you.

Once the tightness on your neck loosens and the cooling sensation of the chains extends down to your lower back, you fall to your knees with a shaky sigh, hands still bound behind you.

“Thank you…” you sigh, “Thank you, thank you…”

He didn’t want to let you down, but the sight of you on your knees beneath him is more rewarding than the initial scenery he was so desperately clinging onto. The strain in his pants becomes so painfully stiff as you speak, “D-Do THEY accept me, now? I-I did everything you asked of me…”

What should he say?

Using THEIR power is sinful enough, but to postpone your atonement for HIS enjoyment?

You feel his warmth as he bends down to you, his hand grabbing a fistful of your hair to direct your attention to him.

“...You mentioned you seek atonement to warrant my touch…”

Your lips quiver as HE speaks. You nod your head, mouth hung slightly agape as you try to stutter out an explanation.

In response, he shushes you, his soiled fingers pressing against your lips. He doesn’t need to speak in order for you to get his hint, your mouth falls farther open as you take his middle and index into your mouth to clean him.

“THEY have yet to accept you, however…”

You find yourself chasing his fingers as he tries to pull away, your lips frantically closing around his knuckles with a whine. You taste so delicious. No longer is it the ☐og ☐☐ yo☐☐ ☐☐ad. It’s pure desperation for HIM.

Despite your silent plea, HE pulls HIS fingers away, leaving your mouth feeling empty.

“You haven’t submitted to me.”

“Ah..?"

“Not fully, anyhow.”

“Then, w-what more must I do, Su☐☐a☐…?”

HIS hold on your hair loosens before slipping away altogether. Having been relying on HIM to hold you, you feel yourself sink onto the floor fully.

“For starters,” HE begins, rising above you, “Mind your manners. Honorifics are important, hm?”

“H-Huh?” It takes you a moment to comprehend HIS words, but once you do...

“A-Ah, I’m sorry, M-Mister S☐nd☐☐…”

Oh you’re just so perfect for HIM.

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sports-on-sundays · 1 year ago

Note

Okay so 🤭 what if Y/N use to be with ( whatever Barca player you choose ) and they broke it off because they supposedly wanted to focus on their career and the reader was really heartbroken and omg to make it more better y/n is Carlos sister and then she sees or hear how they moved on already! And little by little she starts to be with lando and they announce their relationship when he wins in Miami!! Like full on hard launch. 😭🙌🏽

Also this got me motivated to think of more ideas ima write them down for the future 🤭

papaya girl / LN4

Summary: ex!Ferran x Sainz!baker!reader x Lando - After a devastating breakup with your footballing boyfriend, you think you'll never be able to date someone again.

Warnings: there's a golf scene and I don't golf so-!🤞, mention of sickness, foul language, sorry if some things are not accurate, headache, partying/dancing/drunkenness/clubbing, mention of getting so drunk you had no memory of what happened, implied getting drunk to dampen emotions, getting injured, vomiting, slight soulmate feel, a bit of suggestive talk, use of babe/baby/bae/baby girl/etc., I feel like every kiss I describe is exactly the same sooo- sorry about that! ✌

Requested?: YES! 😘

Author's Note: Do you ever write something so good that you wish you could make it into a movie? That's how I feel about this. I can imagine the scenes. Didn't plan it but I guess 24 is the magic number for this one. I made the request more dramatic because... I like doing that... 👉 👈 🥺 ALSO THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST. PERFECT MIX OF ANGST AND FLUFF. I LITERALLY LOVE YOU! If you do have any more ideas and you're up for it, let me know!

When you met Ferran Torres, you were a Madridista with a passion for Ferrari. Being a Sainz, you've always been rooting for Real Madrid, but your favorite Formula 1 team isn't as consistent. Because before that, you were a McLaren fan. And before that, Red Bull. And everything else before that, too.

Wherever Carlos is, you're a fan of it.

You, quite literally, on the day you met Ferran, were wearing a Cristiano Ronaldo jersey and a backwards Ferrari cap.

And, well, he, a new arrival from Manchester City, liked that, apparently!

And it was beautiful. They way you slowly became closer and closer, growing to know each other more and more.

And then, maybe you just hit a point. Hit a point in your relationship where you wanted more, and Ferran realized that if any more was given by him, it would be too far for him.

And he cut it off. Said he was doing well in Barcelona. He had high hopes. You, a sold out Madrid fan, had been wearing his number on the back of a blaugrana jersey. And despite that blaugrana jersey, he ditched you.

He said his work, his career, his passions, his dreams, were more important than you.

But you can't complain, Y/n. That's fair. He was gentle in letting you know. He made it clear he didn't want any malice between you and him.

You roll over in bed, staring vacantly at your wall. There's a large Real Madrid flag hanging in the middle. A smaller Ferrari flag on one side. A few posters of bands and teams you like or events you've been to, signed by different celebrities. People who are more famous than 'Carlos Sainz Jr.'s sister' or 'Ferran Torres's ex-girlfriend.' On one side, it seems silly to have a poster signed by Max Verstappen, but you do. On the other side of the flag, you have a peeling old McLaren poster, showing the younger versions of Carlos and his former racing partner, Lando Norris, looking just seconds away from breaking into a loud, hysterical laughter.

And next to that, you have a Barcelona poster.

You smile sadly to yourself.

I must look like such a conflicted sports fan.

You stand up, walking over to the wall. After gently peeling the Barcelona poster off the wall, you slowly trace the badge with your fingers, any hint of a smile now gone as tears begin to fill your eyes, threatening to fall.

"This is stupid," you murmur scornfully, your voice cracking softly. "This isn't even my team! It's not my city...!" You toss the poster across the room, leaving it in a place where you don't intend to pick it up anytime soon.

Let it gather dust and crumple. That's what Ferran did. He threw away our relationship like it was nothing but a worthless piece of paper. And now I'm suffering the consequences.

You sigh. You're trying not to let yourself be bitter. You want to look back on everything you and Ferran had and be happy. Appreciate it. You still love Ferran. You don't want to be angry with him.

Someone said to you once, Hurt heals with time, as long as you let it.

You grab a bold, red Sharpie from your drawer and your notebook from a dresser. You scribble those words in all caps, rip out the page, grab some tape, and hang the piece of paper where the FC Barcelona poster used to be.

You sigh, but nod, before turning to get ready for your day.

You hate winter. You never hated winter before this winter, but now you hate it.

With the breakup, you've been avoiding anything La Liga like the plague, even if it doesn't involve Ferran Torres. It just reminds you too much.

And with Carlos on winter break, getting ready for the start of the season, he's not around much. Going on different trips, he's quite busy. Which you don't like. You and your brother have a strong bond.

It's not like you don't have anything to do. You just don't have anything interesting to do. You have a shop that you run, but you have enough staff hired to not have to be there all the time.

Yes, in a family of racing, you were never too into it. Your strong spot is in baking and business running, so that's why you opened up a bakery in Madrid.

And being a Sainz, of course it was a success.

Same type of thing as Charles Leclerc's 'LEC,' except you're not the racing driver Charles Leclerc, you're not doing ice cream, and you've always been doing this, for five years now.

You watch as a young, excited couple walks in, jabbering away in English. You can just tell they're tourists as they get in line to order. Once they get to the counter, the woman immediately leans over the counter in excitement, saying, "Is Carlos Sainz here?" in English.

You chuckle. Sounds American. "Which Carlos Sainz?" you tease.

They look blankly at you as if you're just about the dumbest individual to walk planet Earth. You chuckle and say, "Why don't you get to ordering? There's a line."

Towards the afternoon, as things begin to quiet down just a little bit, you look up at the doorbell jingles and freeze.

When he reaches the counter, you snap at Ferran, "Why are you in Madrid?"

"Am I not allowed to be? Either way, hello to you, too."

You sigh, licking your lips as you study the Valencian boy. "What can I get for you?"

He shrugs and orders, before seating himself down at one of the seats at the counter. "How have you been, Y/n?" he asks.

"Fine," you swallow, staring down. "And you?"

"I'm good." From there, he begins just talking, as if we're old friends or something, and not exes.

He seems so happy. So content.

To not be with you.

Suddenly, mid-way through one of his many sentences, you slip your hand over his, almost on impulse. He stops, staring to your hands, and then to you.

You breathe softly, "Why? Why did you come here to just talk to me? Aren't you moved on? Ferran, this is torture for me."

Lines crease into his face. You can see him swallow, looking at your smaller hand on his. "I'm... I'm sorry. I am moved on. I'm doing well. I just thought maybe we could be friends. I'd never want to date you again; I'm not in the place to date anyone. I'm happy single. But I just feel bad. I know you're hurt, and... I'd be happy to still be friends with you, is all?" He slips his hand out from underneath yours and takes his cup of coffee with it, taking a sip as he watches you intently.

You drag a hand over your face. Though you didn't want to admit it, seeing him come in to the bakery gave you hope. That maybe he wanted to try again. But those words that came out of his mouth? They cut deep.

"Listen, Ferran," you barely whisper. "I'm still trying to work through what happened. Everything. It's hard for me. But I appreciate it, and when I'm ready, if I'm ever ready, I'd love to be your friend. O- Okay?"

He nods slowly, staring down. "Alright... Fair enough."

"What's wrong?" your older brother, Carlos, asks. You watch outside the window as the world travels by.

You sigh. "Ferran."

"Him, again?"

"Carlos," you sigh. "Stop. It's nothing new. I'm just missing him. He wants to stay friends, but I said I needed time."

"Ah. Well, you know, I did tell you never to date-"

"-a Barcelona player. I know," you roll your eyes with a little smile.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Hurt heals with time, as-"

"-long as you let it. I know," you comment, smiling a bit wider.

"Exactly. It'll come."

You sigh. "I hope so."

As Carlos pulls into the parking lot, you say, "So. Is that why you decided to take me golfing with your friends? Just wanted to check up on me, but you never have the time to sit down over dinner these days?"

Carlos smiles as he shuts off the car. "No. I could have made time. But I wanted your company golfing."

"You know I'm not big on g-"

"Shut up," he grins. "Yes you are."

"I suck."

"Not as bad as some people I know. In fact, you're actually pretty okay."

Soon, you meet up with a bunch of Carlos's friends. They're all chatting, and you're just kind of zoning off, looking out over the grassy hills, when suddenly you look up when Carlos says, "Ay! Lando!"

You blink in complete and utter shock. "Why is Lando Norris here?"

As Lando approaches, he eyes you, saying teasingly, "Well, thank you for the warm welcome, Y/n Sainz."

"Lando was just around, so he made the drive to meet us here," Carlos quickly fills in.

Soon, you're all off. After a round, as you're walking back to the cart to go get lunch, Carlos says, nudging Lando, "I think my baby sister is better than you."

Lando laughs. "You fucking muppet; what are you talking about?"

You grin, falling in step with Lando and Carlos. "I'm a better golfer."

"That is just wrong," Lando says, glancing at you. "Downright wrong."

"It's a Sainz thing," Carlos puts in. "There's no way for you to beat us, Lando. You can't. Winning runs in the family."

Lando rolls his eyes, reiterating, "Your baby sister is not better than me."

"You have no right to call me a baby," you put in indignantly. "I'm probably older than you."

Lando looks at you, his nose all scrunched up. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

"Hah! Same age."

"That still doesn't mean you get to call me a baby!"

"Her birthday is in January; different year than Lando's. Lando, you can call her a baby; you're older," Carlos says.

"Carlos!" you snap. "Don't give him permission!"

Carlos grins and shakes his head as he breaks off to chat with some of his other friends and get on the cart with them.

Lando grins, giving a discreet pat on your lower back as he murmurs, "Sorry, baby."

And for some reason, that makes you feel things. You decide to blame it on the fact that Lando's just good-looking.

Once you're all seated down with your lunch, you comment, "So what's with the whole..." your hand goes to your chin, referring to his facial hair, as you look at Lando expectantly.

Lando slams down his fork, saying lightheartedly, "Sick of people asking me that!"

You smirk. "Makes you look like you're forty."

"Whatever, baby."

"You know, I have a picture on my wall of you and Carlos when you were just babies, too."

As soon as Lando raises an eyebrow with a smirk, you know it was a mistake to word it that way. "You have a picture of me and Carlos on your wall?" he asks, mock condescendingly.

"No, no. I mean, I do, but- It's just an old McLaren poster." You immediately look down.

"What, are you a fan of mine?" Lando teases further.

"No! I'm a fan of Carlos, and you just so happened to be his teammate at that time. The point is that you two look like pipsqueaks in that photo! Lando, you looked so awkward, with all your acne-"

"What, Lando, you think she's a McLaren fan? She's sold out for Ferrari," Carlos interrupts.

"Literally! I deck myself out in red every Sunday!"

"Today's Sunday," Lando starts like the stupid idiot he is, "And I don't see you wearing red."

You groan, leaning back, covering your face in your hands. "Carlos, how are you this guy's friend? He's so annoying! Why'd you invite him for? How do you put up with him?"

Carlos just smirks, patting your shoulder, and says, "I'm used to having to put up with irritable people, after having to grow up with you."

You roll your eyes, fighting off a smile as all the guys around you at the table laugh out loud.

On the car ride back, you're mostly silent, your thoughts swimming with one thing and one thing only.

Lando Norris.

And there's a soft smile on your face as you think about your morning with him.

But Carlos can tell you're deep in thought. Usually, you'd be yapping away right now. "Anything on your mind?" he asks carefully.

You sigh. "Not much."

"You're bad at lying. You're staring out the window dreamily. What's on your mind?"

You sigh. "It's stupid. You'll make fun of me."

"I'm not stupid, though. I can already guess what it is."

You gulp. "How?"

"For the whole day, the only person you talked to was Lando."

You feel your stomach drop. "It's nothing serious, Carlos. He's just funny."

"You said something like that to me about Ferran Torres right before you officially started dating."

That makes you feel a bit sick. "Carlos, I won't let that happen again."

"Don't. And don't be getting interested in anyone until you're over your ex. And we both know you're not. And please don't be getting interested in someone like Lando."

"Why?" You eyebrows scrunch together. "I thought you two were buddies."

Carlos grins teasingly. "If you somehow got yourself with him, there would always be two annoying people in one place."

"You're intolerable!" you snap, laughing.

"You are too, hermana."

It strikes Carlos as strange when the first thing Lando says to him the weekend of Bahrain, before even a hello, is: "Is your sister here?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Lando shrugs. "She's nice."

"No... She'll be coming to Australia, though..." Carlos can't help but feel suspicion fill his chest. He's always been somewhat protective of you, being his little sister and all.

"Perfect," Lando grins, and he's off.

In Australia, like any other race, you're decked out in your red. Ferrari hat, Ferrari jacket, red jeans. Ferrari earrings. Even your black shoes have a stripe of red on the sides.

Carlos always tells you it's dumb. But it's become a part of your whole thing, since you spend a huge amount of your life following Carlos around and going to Grand Prixs.

It's fun sometimes, being Carlos Sainz Jr.'s sister!

But when you see a shock of papaya in your red world called Ferrari's hospitality, you squint, slipping your sunglasses up on your hat, and say, "Who said you could walk in like that uninvited?"

"No one," Lando grins, "but I'm only here to see you."

Your eyebrows raise as you stand up. "Wha-"

"Come with me. I'm going to barf if I have to breathe Ferrari air any longer. Just your terrible get-up is making me nauseous. I guess I'll be free from seeing that stupid outfit next year when Carlos isn't in Ferrari-"

"Oh, shut it, you!" you snap, but follow him with a grin on your face.

"So you broke up with your Barcelona man?" Lando start, cutting straight to the chase.

"Uh-" you swallow. "He broke up with me."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

You're not sure why Lando wants to know, and he certainly doesn't have any reason to know, but still you say, "We had been dating for a while, you know? I wanted something more. You know, to go deeper. Someday, I'd love to even maybe get married. But, Ferran... well, he didn't want to go the step deeper. Said he wanted to focus on his career. He broke it off. We're on fine terms, though."

"Ah..." he nods slowly. "That sounds like a tough breakup."

"Yeah... Yeah, it was."

He continues nodding, and catches your eye before saying, "So I'm assuming you want to... you know, you won't be up for any more relationships any time soon? Lot to work through?"

You suddenly feel your face begin to heat up. "Uh, well- depends on who it is, I suppose," you blurt without thinking.

"Hm?" He raises an eyebrow. A little smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Well, considering the fact that your face is just about as red as that Ferrari hat on your head, I'm wondering what you think of me."

You swallow, feeling even more embarrassed. "Are you suggesting...?"

"If you're up for it, the night after the Grand Prix, you can meet me at my hotel room, and we'll go from there. Text me if you decide 'yes,' for the details."

"I don't have your numb-"

He gives a cute little smile and opens his hand to reveal a folded up piece of paper. "Now you do. See you later, Miss Sainz!"

You stand, dumbfounded, as he jogs off.

"Oh my God, Carlos! Well done! So well done! Oh my God!" you scream in the midst of your strings of excited swear words, in both Spanish and English. "Did you actually just win the Australian Grand Prix?!"

He grins as he kisses your cheek, patting your back and saying, "Yes, I actually just did."

You hug your older brother tight, resting your head on his shoulder. "Love you. You did amazing. After everything you've been through. You're going to be leaving Ferrari next season and with your surgery and everything and-"

He smiles a bit. "Want to let me go now? Can't squeeze me too tight, remember?"

"So you can drive a race car and win the race, but you're too fragile for me to hug you!" you laugh, but release him from the hug.

He laughs out loud. "Yes, pretty much."

Hours later, you stand in the lit, mostly empty hallway, knocking on the white-painted door. You've change out of your Ferrari red head-to-toe fit, and are now wearing a black t-shirt with the F1 logo in red on the left side, black sweatpants, and your hair held back by a headband.

Lando probably isn't here, you think as you wait. I look so stupid. He doesn't care as much as he acts like he does. He's probably out partying or something. He got a podium. Carlos won. There's no way he's just sitting around in his hotel room-

You look up in surprise as the door clicks and swings open to reveal Lando Norris standing before you.

You beam and say a bit too loud, "Lando!"

He laughs. "Hey..." He's dressed in a white button down, dark blue jeans, and his regular assortment of jewelry. "Want to come in for a bit?"

You nod. "Were you... just out?" you ask slowly.

He chuckles again, plopping down on the sofa. "If I were just out, I wouldn't be looking this neat."

"Oh... Oh?"

"Come on. Sit down next to me," he encourages with a wave of his hand. "Something funny- I've had my eyes on you for a while now."

You look up in somewhat shock. "That's why you're so confident about this?"

"That, and that I'm just the peak of all confidence," he jokes, clearly mocking cockiness.

You roll your eyes.

"But really. I've been flirting with you for a while."

This time your eyes widen. "No way."

"Just little. I knew you were dating that Torres-"

"How?"

He smiles. "Doesn't take much to find out. Anyway, I think you just blocked it out because you were dating someone else. Shows you're a loyal girl."

"Hm..." you nod slowly. "I... I suppose...?"

Suddenly, he takes your hand in his. "So, you like me?"

"I think I have for a while. Like you said- I blocked it out because I was dating someone else." You didn't even know that until now, hearing the words coming from your mouth.

He smirks. "Even better. So..."

"Yeah?" you ask, a little glimmer in your eyes.

"I'd like to know what the hell you're wearing."

Suddenly, your face falls. "Uh- I'm sorry- I- I thought we- Um-"

Lando laughs. "Y/n! I'm teasing!"

"O- Oh!" you laugh nervously.

"I was just thinking... Maybe you'd want to go out and celebrate with me?"

"Oh-" you nod. "Right."

"So, do you want to get changed? I'll text you where we'll meet in a half hour?"

You grin, standing up. "Sounds good."

"See you then."

"Holy fuck, man," are Lando's first words when he sees you. You're wearing sunglasses, a form-fitting sequin shirt, and flattering white jeans.

"What?" you ask anxiously. "Is it too much?"

"Too much? Y/n, you're gorgeous."

You sigh in relief. "Alright good... And- one thing."

"Hm?" Lando asks, an eyebrow raised.

"I don't know if we... could we say we're... that you're my..."

"Partner? Boyfriend?"

You swallow. "Sure. I think... I think I'm good with that. At least for tonight."

He nods.

"But let's not make it clear here. I don't want the way for everyone to find out about this being, you know, by nightclub pictures on the internet."

He smirks a bit, nodding. "Fair enough, then. Let's go."

"Rise and shine! Let's hit the grind, Y/n!" an unfamiliar voice wakes you up.

You roll over to see Lando's handsome face looking down at you. You're in his hotel room, in the one bed. He's all dressed and ready to go, and towering over you, looking like a giddy dog.

You sit up, rubbing your eyes. "I've got a killer headache. What happened last night." You feel disgusting, and wrinkle your nose as you get a whiff of the alcohol scent radiating off of you.

He grins. "I learned that you have no tolerance whatsoever."

You frown. "Unlike you, Norris, I'm not getting drunk all the time! Now, tell me what really happened!"

"Nothing much. Just a lot of fun," he sits down next to you, "and it's a shame that you can't remember any of it." He chuckles a bit, saying, "You got fucking wild. You were more fun though before you got absolutely drunk out of your wits."

"You didn't do anyth-"

"No, no!" he rolls his eyes. "Besides, Carlos was there. I wouldn't dare. You at least remember Carlos, right, being there?"

You roll your eyes. "Yes, of course I do."

"But you really did completely black out? You don't remember anything?"

You swallow nervously. "No... I don't really remember anything... I mean, I guess..." You close your eyes, thinking hard. "Just dancing... music was super loud, but... that's not anything specific. I don't feel well at all now, though..." You start to feel a bit dizzy at the energy you're putting into trying to remember.

You open your eyes and look at Lando.

He smiles. "Well, it was fun, nothing more. Want me to bring you back to your hotel now?"

"Yeah, I guess..." you nod, cradling your head in your hands. "That'd be great..." You see the wine stain on your jeans. You can feel an ache in your ankle. You just need to clean yourself up.

Lando helps you limp to the car, assuring you that you just tripped. Saying your ankle is fine; it'll feel better in a few days' time.

You're not so sure.

As Lando drives, he knows he should tell you the details, like Carlos said.

But it still feels like you'd be better off not knowing at all.

Nine hours before

Though every single one of Lando's molecules in his body told him not to, he had to keep pushing you off. He sat talking away with some other dudes, and you sat his side, drunkenly trying to wrap your arms around him.

You blubbered softly about all kinds of stuff, a strange mixture of being utterly devastated and overly romantic.

Lando knew. You didn't get drunk this often.

A part of him felt bad. A huge part of him. He didn't think he had pressured you into anything. Certainly not intentionally. And you were the one who kept drinking more. But maybe he did...

Maybe it was his fault you were the mess you were now.

"Lando..." you murmured, your hand gripping his bicep. You leaned closer. "You're so sexy in that shirt." You reached over to unbutton another button of his shirt.

He gently pushed you away for the millionth time. "Remember, Y/n? You don't want anyone to know you're into me this much," he whispered lowly to you, running a hand through his hair. "Remember that, baby."

You pouted. "Ferran broke up with me and made me sad. Can't you make me happy now."

"Not now. I won't be doing anything when you're this drunk."

"I'm not that drunk..."

Lando snorted. "Whatever you say, lovely."

All was going as fine as it could be going. But then Carlos showed up. "Hey, Y/n-" he had started.

But you had interrupted him by slapping your hand on Lando's shoulder, leaning into it, and giggling giddily, "Look at this pretty boy."

Immediately, Carlos's eyes flashed with shock. And then vague panic. And then anger.

"Lando, how drunk did you get her?!" he snapped, raising his voice even more than he already was. The flashing lights on the Spanish man's face helped Lando's anxiety no more.

"I didn't get her drunk at all! I tried to stop h-"

"Yeah, fucking right. Come with me Lando-"

"No!" you had snapped, standing up to grab Lando's sleeve before your older brother could drag him away.

You were clearly biting back tears. "Lan didn't do anything..." You stumbled drunkenly into the British man, who steadied you gently, before helping you sit down again.

Carlos's face remained hard and steadied on Lando, but he spoke no words, as if he was battling in his head what to do.

Lando sighed. "Listen, Carlos. She won't remember any of this tomorrow morning. Let's just not bring this up again, yeah? It was a mistake. Stuff happens. She got wild and had one too many. We've all had those nights."

But Lando genuinely didn't think Carlos had had one of those nights before.

Lando certainly had, though.

"She deserves to know."

"Maybe she shouldn't, though. She's gone through a lot with her ex breaking up with her and everything. And I'm sure your career up in the air isn't helping her cause much, either. She loves you more than the world. And think about how worrying it was for her to see you go into surgery like that, and race right afterwards? The good emotions just hit her, man. But it's probably a lot. She's just going through a lot. She doesn't need the guilt of getting too drunk and acting a little stupid, yeah?" Lando ranted, intently studying the older Spaniard's eyes.

Carlos's eyes slowly softened. "Alright... I won't tell her what's happening once she's sober. Only if I can make a deal with you."

Lando bit his lip, running a hand through his messed up hair. "What is it?"

"I won't say a word to her, as long as you promise to stay away from my sister. I know you're interested in her."

Lando's eyebrows creased together. "What does that men? Why?"

"Quit trying to get with my sister, and then it's a done deal."

Lando let out a shaky breath, slowly nodding. "Alright, then. Whatever. It's a done deal."

Of course Lando didn't intend on following through with his end of the deal.

But when Lando turned around to check on you on the couch, he froze when he saw you were gone. "Where'd Y/n go?" he immediately asked the other guys and girls sitting around.

"The hot Spanish girl?" one guy asked in a painfully slow Australian accent.

"Yes, her!" Lando demanded, his buzzed brain filling with irrational panic and overwhelming confusion.

He lazily gestured and responded, "Went to go dance, I reckon."

And before Carlos or anyone else could react any faster, Lando tore into the crowd, shoving people aside and squeezing through gaps that weren't there, in search of you.

She's drunk out of her mind! What the hell was she thinking!

That's right. She wasn't thinking.

And then, he spotted you, just for a moment. Moving your hips, stumbling about, thinking you were just about the sexiest thing in the room.

"Move out of my fucking way," was Lando's polite way of shoving two guys out of the way.

He could see the sweat glistening on your face. He could see the dumb smile on your face, your high giggles. He could see fresh wine spilled on your white jeans. He could see hands on you; he took no energy to see who they connected to as rage filled his entire being.

And he watched, almost in slow motion, as your ankle rolled on your black stiletto, and you stumbled to the floor with a brain rattling, painful cry.

Immediately, Lando shoved his way to your side, slipping his hands under your body. "My God, Y/n!" he nearly screamed over the music. "You idiot! You beautiful, fucking stupid, idiot! Tell me why I fell in love with you! You're going to be the death of me!"

"Hi Lando," you murmured through tears. "My ankle..."

"Yeah, yeah, I see. Let's get you out of here, yeah?"

You swallowed, nodding as Lando tucked your hair behind your ear. He lifted you to your feet and let you lean on him as he helped you limp out of the club.

"I'm sorry, Lando..." you had muttered hoarsely.

"Hey, don't worry," Lando had responded. "Never apologize for having nothing but a good time."

But he, Lando Norris, disagreed with the words coming out of his mouth. That was his motto, his excuse, all the time. But as soon as soon as he saw you, someone he genuinely really loved, really cared about, living like that?

It made him sick to his stomach.

Speaking of that, as soon as you were outside, you stumbled away from Lando. He steadied you with one hand and held your hair back with the other as you doubled over and vomited, your previously red face impossibly pale.

"Are you done?"

"Yeah..." you gasped after about a minute.

"Alright. Okay. Let's get to my hotel room now."

Lando could barely understand your slurred words as you responded, "As long as we're getting away from here."

Now

You were going to go to the Japanese Grand Prix. But you just wanted to stay home. With a sprained ankle that confines you to crutches and an illness you've picked up, there was no way you were going to fly across the world for a Grand Prix, especially with the potential jet lag.

You lay on your couch and text Lando. You've been thinking, and you let him know that though you really do want to go places with him, you want to go slower.

You still don't know what happened on that night in Melbourne. For some reason, you can't get anything of significance out of Carlos or Lando. But you know more than what they're saying must have happened that night.

You asked Charles, because he was there. He provided a bit more information, but not much. He said he wasn't really hanging around you that night, but that he did see you cuddling with Lando.

When you asked Lando about it, he said you were drunk, it was just you not thinking, and it only happened once. That you stopped after he pushed you off.

And social media shows no one caught it on camera, or anything that night, for that matter.

So at least there's no fans going crazy over anything.

Lando texts you back, saying that he thinks it's best to go slow. Just let yourselves ease into whatever your relationship is going to be.

It's a relief to see he agrees with you on that.

But then he sends another text, asking you to try to keep it a secret. Even from your family, including Carlos.

You ask why, and he responds saying he simply agrees it's good to be private, and he doesn't want Carlos judging.

Though you're not sure about it, since Carlos is not only your favorite (only) brother, but also your best friend, you still tentatively agree to it.

Lando probably has a good reason.

Right?

By the time the Chinese Grand Prix comes around, though your foot is still in a walking boot, you're over your illness, and decide you're going to go for it and make the trip halfway across the world. After all, you've never been to China!

It's true that your walking boot doesn't look the best with your shades, shining silver jewelry, and overalls, but oh well. The most annoying part is literally everyone who even half knows your name (the Sainz part) keeps asking you what the hell happened to your ankle.

And you have literally no response but, "I fell," because you have no more of an idea than them, and there's no way you're about to say, 'Hah I just got drunk with Lando and got so fucking crazy that I twisted my ankle and sprained it! Anyway!'

Yeah, no way.

So "I fell," is the best option you have.

But the most concerning thing to you is that you haven't even seen Lando yet, all weekend. Though you haven't seen each other in a while, you've been calling, texting, and face timing often, your relationship growing a lot.

You chew your lip as you limp towards the McLaren garage. You peek in, scanning for Lando, but only see Oscar.

You limp to him.

"Whoa- What happened to your-"

"I fell," you say, thoroughly exasperated with this. "Anyway, is Lando around?"

"Lando? Uhhh..." he looks around.

Dude, hurry up. I'm not supposed to be here, your thoughts practically scream.

But then he walks in himself, and you grin, waving, "Lando!" you call.

He walks over to you, smiling. "Aw. Look at my little injured girlfr- uh, uhm, mate. My injured mate." He glances nervously at Oscar.

But the Australian just smiles, "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

Lando nods gratefully, before leading you to a more private place. "Hey," he says softly once you're alone, his hands resting on your waist. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright... Ankle's getting better, slowly but surely."

"Oh, good," he almost looks relieved. "That's so good to hear. I'm so glad you made the big trip to be here, Y/n."

You smile softly. "I was starting to miss you."

He grins. "I was missing you, too, baby... I think I could make some time for you this weekend, too. We could just get take out, hang out at my hotel room, you know. No more partying, even if I win, right?" he teases gently, gesturing to your foot.

You snort. "Yeah. Yeah, no more partying for now for me."

Later that night, you lay next to Lando in his hotel room. His arms are wrapped around you, his hand rubbing your back. "Look at me," he murmurs sleepily.

You look up to see his soft eyes looking at you, with so much, tenderness, so much...

love.

You feel a flutter in your stomach. "Lando, how did we get here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Two months ago, I would lie awake in bed, dreaming about and missing Ferran. I was so lonely. Now here I am. Two months, and I'm laying here, in your arms."

He grins a bit. "I bet it's because we're meant for each other."

"That's cliché."

"No, it's not. I really mean it. You know, I had a crush on you even back when Carlos was in McLaren, you were around a lot more, in papaya."

"No, you didn't-"

"Yes, I did!" he laughs softly. "I really did. The day I saw you in the paddock. The day Carlos pointed you out as his sister. The day you flipped your hair and looked at me with those warm brown eyes. And then looked away from me, because in my first season in McLaren, I was the farthest thing from attractive."

You giggle at this. "You're kidding."

"No, I'm not! That was the day that I knew- I knew- that someday, I was going to make you mine," he murmurs, his eye half-lidded as his hand gently caresses your cheek.

"Lando!" you squeak, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. "Don't you dare make me cry for no reason!" You wait a minute, before saying softly, "Well, maybe, just maybe, back then, though you were a pipsqueak, you were kind of cute... And I've always gotten butterflies from your jokes and teasing, even all those years ago, before I was even dating Ferran."

He laughs. "Awww... So you've always had a little bit of a crush on me, too!" You can see by his blushing cheeks and beaming eyes that just this fact is making him feel warm inside.

You roll your eyes, giggling. "I guess, maybe...."

He flicks your nose gently, playfully, holding you even closer. You lay there in more silence, before Lando says softer, even more tenderly, "Hey, Y/n... can I talk to you about something...?"

"Of course, Lando..." Your eyebrows knit together.

You watch as he swallows. Nods. Sighs. "Okay... Something has been bugging me..." He pauses. "I... I feel like I never should have brought you out that night in Australia... you know? Like, beyond the sprained ankle."

Your eyes flash. "What do you mean?"

"Well... You just got so drunk, and... I feel so bad... Like, somehow, it's my fault... I didn't mean for you to get hurt, or to drink that much... I just thought we'd have fun. Like I always do with my friends. And you're my girlfriend; supposed to be my closest friend..."

"Lando," you murmur shakily. "Did you try to get me that drunk? You didn't encourage it, did you?"

He looks nervous. "I genuinely don't think so, but I'm nervous I did... I tried to tell you enough was enough, but maybe I should have looked out for you more... Maybe I should have worked better at keeping you from getting that drunk... But we were having so much fun and I figured you would know your limit... I shouldn't have assumed."

"Lando! Don't blame yourself! It was my fault. I got too drunk, I fell and sprained my ankle. The sentiment of you wanting to look out for me is nice, but when push comes to shove, I'm in charge of myself, just like you're in charge of yourself, and it was my fault. My mistake. M'kay, Lando...?"

He nods slowly, still looking a bit unsure. "Well, Carlos isn't mad at you about it. He's mad at me..."

"Carlos is what?!"

"Ah, fuck. Forget I ever-"

"Lando Norris, explain."

"Whoa, that's sexy," he laughs.

"What?!" you exclaim in exasperation, yet you're still unable to keep your stomach fluttering by Lando's sudden spoken intrusive thought.

He grins, his eyebrows raised. "I don't know. Full name, in such a firm voice? Like, yes, mommy, order me around. I'll do whatever you want me to," he says in a low, goofy, teasing voice.

You can't stop your face from heating up. "Oh, shut it, you!" you snap, your voice cracking awkwardly as you flick him in the nose this time. And you flick his stupid nose harder than he flicked yours earlier.

He giggles evilly, rolling over. "Look at yourself! You liked that! You're a blushing mess!"

"No, I didn't. What a stupid way to flirt."

"Oh, well, I can show you even more stupid ways to flirt. Because, apparently, it doesn't quicken your heart rate at all."

You groan. "You are so annoying."

He leans over, giving you a peck on your lips. "I know. And you know you love me for it."

You forget to ask him again about Carlos.

"Baby, c'mere," Lando says, nodding for you to join him in his driver's room.

"Dude, watch what you call me when there's listening ears around."

Lando shrugs. "It's only Oscar in the other room."

"So? What makes you trust Oscar so much, anyway?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. He's a good guy. And he's not gossipy, like me."

You laugh. "You are, are you?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm a fucking gossip girl."

You laugh out loud at this as Lando shuts the door of his driver's room behind you.

Lando grins. "Anyways, Oscar is trustworthy because he's not the type of guy to have any desire not to keep a secret."

You frown, crossing your arms. "Alright. Whatever. Anyways, why'd you bring me in here?"

Lando shrugs, sitting down on the one chair in the room. "Sit down, babe."

You blink. "Where? On the fricking floor?"

"Uh, no," Lando rolls his eyes jokingly, as if this is the most obvious thing. "On my fricking lap, Y/n. Come on now. Duh."

You can't help but find yourself blush at that as you slip onto his lap. He wraps his hands around your waist, giving you a kiss on the cheek. You smile, leaning into him as you ask softly, "So why'd you bring me in here? Just for kicks?"

He grins. "I need my Y/n fix before the race. You know, it'll make me drive better."

"Oh? Is that how it works?" Suddenly, though, before Lando can respond, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You slip it out and sigh. "It's Carlos, asking me where I am. I feel like I'm under surveillance."

Lando blows a raspberry before saying, "Just ignore it, bae. You're a twenty-four year old woman; Carlos needs to get over it."

"Get over what?" you ask, an eyebrow raised.

"You not being his baby sister anymore. You're my baby now," he murmurs into your shoulder, pulling you closer to himself.

You laugh. "I still can't decide whether you're the worst flirt I've ever met or the smoothest. But right now, I'm thinking the worst."

"Oh, well!" he says, looking up at you with innocent eyes, batting his lashes. "Doesn't matter to me, because either way, you like it! Anyway, back to before Carlitos had to interrupt-"

You giggle as he begins kissing your face and say, "Carlitos? I'm not even allowed to call him that without him going psycho man on me-"

"Mmm... Can you talk less? It's cuter when you do that giggle thing," Lando murmurs between kisses.

This causes you to laugh out loud. "Sometimes, Lando, I think you're so weird." You realize, in a strange way, though, Lando is right. Because of the giddy feeling of literally having your boyfriend shower you with kisses and love, you're just kind of trying to find anything to talk about.

But maybe you should just take one moment to shut up.

You lean into the kisses, exhaling slowly. Contently, despite your pounding heart and sweating neck.

Finally, you feel as though your face is absolutely, completely covered in Lando's kisses. You sigh, contented, as Lando kisses the tip of your nose, and then pecks your lips.

You giggle, opening your eyes to gaze into his.

But his eyes flutter shut as he leans in, his hand slipping to the nape of your neck. And his lips meet yours again, this time in a real kiss. You shut your eyes, enjoying those lips on your own, sending tingles throughout your whole body, causing your breath to grow heavier and heavier. Desire pulses in every beat of your heart, causing the passion in the kiss to build and build. Your right hand falls into his chest as the other knits itself in his curly locks. You feel Lando's hand on your hip as his fingers snake under to grip your ass gently. You can feel his hot breath on you, in you, apart of you, as his other hand gently stroking your neck, giving you little twitches of longing for more. Your tongues find an art of lingering exploration, Lando's hunger seeming to never be satisfied as his tongue and lips tease your nerves, the emotional and physical connections between you seeming stronger than ever. His hand slides down your neck to your back, pulling you closer to him, so your chests are pressed into one another.

Suddenly, though, there's a pounding on the door of Lando's driver's room. Your eye cracks open. Lando's squeeze tighter shut, his eyebrows creasing together, as if he wishes so much that this never has to end.

Lando grunts, finally pulling away. Oscar's voice on the other side of the door saying Lando's name seems to be in another, insignificant world. You're both gasping as you study each other's eyes in a certain awe.

A soft, mischievous smirk appears on Lando's lips. Those lips that now you can't stop staring at. "Was your first kiss with Torres that hot?"

You let out a breathy laugh. "Definitely not."

There's a pause, of just softly smiling, gazing into each other's eyes, before Lando breathes, his eyes half-lidded, "My fucking God," He gently, slowly strokes your warm, pink cheek. "Did I ever tell you how head over heels I am for you?"

Before you can respond, Oscar's voice says again from outside, "Lando, if you don't respond, soon, I'm coming in."

Lando groans again, leaning his head back, "You can't! The door's locked!" He then adds under his breath, "Fucking Osc, interrupting as soon as I was going to take it to the next step."

At this, you blush even deeper. "You were-"

Lando waves his hand dismissively. "I would have checked with you first."

You nod, breathing deeply.

"Alright, baby," he sighs, running a hand through his hair, ruffling it up a bit. "Let's go see what the hell Oscar wants."

When the door swings open, Oscar can't help but chuckle how how much, in that moment, you two look like some snarky super villian duo, about to give him some cheesy monologue. You both stand, arms crossed, practically back to back. Lando wears a scornful grin and you display a glare as hard as stone. Even your clothes- Lando's racing clothes and your head-to-toe Ferrari red, finish off the silly look.

"What's so funny?" you demand upon seeing the Australian's laughter.

"Nothing, nothing. But I hope you guys know: These walls are not soundproof."

"What are you suggesting?" Lando snaps. "You couldn't have possibly heard anything, you idiot!"

"Whoa, whoa! I didn't! I'm just saying!" Oscar says, going on the defensive, putting both hands up. "Me and my girlfriend don't lock ourselves in my driver's room before the race, losing track of time and forcing you to go get us!"

"You and your girlfriend are probably going to buy a house with a white picket fence and have 2.5 children and a golden lab! Oscar and Lily is bad enough, but I'm surprised it's not John and Emily!"

"Whoa," Lando says, laughing as you walk out of the driver's room together and he shuts the door. "Shots fired. Calm down, Y/n; jeez."

But Oscar's laughing, too, so you know there's no need to apologize.

"Lan... You know I wasn't kidding earlier when I said I won't go out, right?" you say nervously as you walk into his hotel room, rolling your suitcase from your own hotel room.

"Yeah, I know you weren't. I wasn't kidding, either."

"So... What?" you ask, sitting down on the edge of his bed, crossing your arms. "You're planning on going alone? Then why did you bring me to your hotel room-"

"Y/n," he suddenly says, leaning down to gently grab your chin and look you directly in your eyes. "I'm not going anywhere tonight. I'm staying right here."

Your jaw actually drops. "I'm sorry, but who are you and what have you done with Lando Norris? Because that man would never miss an opportunity to party."

This makes Lando let go of you and break into a fit of laughter. "Y/n!" he breathes. "What the hell are you talking about? Before that, I would never miss an opportunity to spend time with you."

You stare. "Okay, actually. I'm being serious now. What did you do with Lando?"

You watch as your boyfriend chuckles, sitting down next to you. "Baby. I'm not going to go out clubbing while you sit in a hotel room alone. And there's no way I'm taking you out again; my guilty conscience can't take that, and neither can your sprained ankle. So why not celebrate P2 here, just you and I, hm?" he says in a low tone.

Immediately, at this suggestion, you blush. "Oh, uh, Lando... I, uh... I don't know if I'm ready for something... you know... for that... right now... Not yet... You know, it's too early for me in our relationsh-"

Lando suddenly breaks into laughter again. Oh, that sweet, silly sound. "Y/n! My God, what a dirty mind you have! I wasn't thinking that at all-!"

"You, Lando Norris, are saying I have a dirty mind?! I bet you really are his doppelganger!"

He crosses his arms. "Only reason why I wouldn't suggest that is because I know you're not ready. Which is more than one hundred percent fine with me. I wasn't even thinking about that, anyway."

"What were you thinking, then?"

He smiles with his eyes. "Well, let's both get ready for bed," he begins pulling his shirt off over his head as you absolutely bear your eyes into him, "And once we're both ready, I'll meet you back... here...?" His confused face slowly turns to one of teasing nature when he sees your eyes trained intently on his bare chest. His perfectly toned abs. His perfectly shaped pecs. His strong, straight, tan back. The little brown beauty marks sprinkled all over his torso. You would love to kiss every single one of them. "Why don't you take a picture?" he smirks stupidly. "That way, it'll last longer."

"Oh, shut up," you murmur, licking your lips as you tear your eyes away from his bare middle. "You can shower first," you murmur.

Once you're both all clean and ready, you snuggle up under the blankets, only to find your arm brushing against Lando's bare skin.

You feel your heart flutter as you murmur, "Are you not wearing a shirt just to bother me?"

"What, no," Lando says, overly innocently. "I never wear a shirt to bed. Just like I'm sure you never wear a bra...?"

If you were embarrassed before, now it's ten times worse. You specifically decided to wear a bra, to avoid... that. And now here Lando is, bringing it up like it's the weather.

"Uh..." you begin.

"Anyway!" Lando says, apparently seeing the vaguely panicked look in your eyes. "Wanna just watch a show or something?"

"Yeah," you nod. "That sounds good."

Lando turns some stupid show on his laptop, and as you snuggle and it gets later, you become more relaxed. You lean your head on Lando's shoulder as he plays with strands of your smooth, wet, dark hair. Your hands begin softly feeling his chest, just drawing circles and feeling the shapes of his abs.

Everyday, you seem to get to know Lando more and more- inside and out.

He sighs, contented, and murmurs sleepily, "That feels nice."

You smile, nuzzling into him.

"I saw Barcelona and Madrid played today," he comments as your fingers continue stroking the abs under Lando's soft skin.

"Yeah... El Clásico..."

"You don't sound as excited as I thought you would. I thought you were big on Madrid."

"Yeah, I am... Just having been keeping up with La Liga lately, I guess."

"Hm... Well, would you like it if I could find some way to watch the game...?"

You smile softly. "Hm. Yeah, maybe that wouldn't be so bad..."

Lando nods, and soon, you're cuddled up with your boyfriend, watching your favorite team play against FC Barcelona/your ex's team.

It feels weird, but you like it.

You decide your bra isn't very comfy and slip it off under your shirt before tossing it across the room.

"You're finally over being embarrassed with me?" Lando teases.

You smile softly, shutting your eyes. "At least for now. Too sleepy to care."

He smiles back. "You're cute when you're sleepy. Cuter."

Soon, though, Lando is gently shaking you, murmuring, "Look. Your ex was subbed on."

"Hmmm? What about Fer?" you murmur with a yawn. You must have dozed off for a bit.

"Fer?" Lando asks, his nose scrunching up. "Yeah, Ferran Torres."

Your eyes flutter open to see your ex-boyfriend running onto the pitch. You feel a sudden, unexpected pang in your chest. When you and Ferran were still together, you watched him do that so many time, with a sense of pride and excitement.

But now, you don't feel much at all. It's no different from anyone else going out there to play.

But, like a train, memories of the past begin to hit you.

Going for walks with him. Cheering him on at finals. Hanging out with his teammates. Working out with him. Bringing him to the Barcelona Grand Prix. Exchanging gifts on birthdays and holidays.

Just all the little things you used to do.

Like snuggling with each other on late nights after Barcelona won.

Not unlike what you and Lando are doing right now.

Suddenly Lando's arm around you tightens, and he says, "You okay?"

"I- yeah..."

Lando leans forward to see you face. You try to turn it away. Lando doesn't let you.

You stare into each other's eyes.

"You're crying," he states softly.

"I guess..." you trail off, averting your eyes.

There's a few beats of silence before Lando states again, "You still miss him."

"I guess..." you repeat. "But... I'm happy to be with you... it just all happened so quick... It's a lot for me... I'm mostly over it- over him- by now, but sometimes things just... make me start to think. Reminsce of what's not anymore."

Lando slowly nods, and begins rubbing your shoulder. "I- Alright..."

"But don't worry. I'm way more happy to be with you right now than sad to not be with Ferran any longer."

"You're sure?" the Brit asks tentatively.

You nod, leaning into him once more. "I'm sure. One hundred and one percent."

"Hey, Lando," you grin giddily before the Miami Grand Prix. "Just drive your best out there, okay? Good luck, baby." You give him a high-five. You can sense he wants to give you a hug, but painfully knows he can't because of the ever-watching cameras and eyes all around you.

But he leans in close, until you can practically feel his breath on your face, and says softly, in just about the most heart-wrenching-in-a-good-way low voice, "Oh, baby... I'm going to go out there and win that race. For you."

"Oh, stop being such a romantic. You're going to make me cry."

He leans in, about to kiss your cheek, but you gently push him off, saying, "You better get going, Lan! Race is going to start soon!"

"Right! Bye bye, bab-"

"BYE!" you scream to overpower his stupid 'baby girl.'

And before you can even blink twice, it seems-

It's lights out....

And away we go!

"LANDO! FUCKIN'! NORRIS!" you scream as soon as you see him, running to him as fast as you can. Your eyes threaten to fill over their brims with tears as you leap into Lando's arms, immediately forgetting about hiding your relationship.

Right now, that just seems too silly to care about. It doesn't matter enough.

Your boyfriend is a race winner.

The racer winner!

He leans back with the most joyful, most romantic, most adrenaline filled, most glorious look in his eyes as they search yours. His hand slowly strokes your cheeks as he purrs, "I told you I would win it for you, didn't I?"

"Lando-" you begin in excitement, but are interrupted by Lando's lips on yours, aggressively, passionately leaning into yours, flooding all his emotions into you, sharing his dream coming true with you.

For some reason, you begin to cry. Flows of tears, flooding down your cheeks as you kiss each other, and your heart pounds at a million kilometres an hour. His hands grip your waist tight, and the moment-

It all seems so perfect.

Right now, you don't care about the fact it was supposed to be secret. You don't care about what Carlos will think or say or do, or what fans on social media will post. None of it matters.

In this moment, the only two people that matter are you and Lando, in a symphony of amorousness, standing on the top of the world.

In this moment, you and Lando, both in sync, know this is the right time. Though it's been merely three months of being in a real, serious relationship, it feels like several lifetimes.

You don't care about the shock of other people, or the cameras flashing and clicking and filming.

All the sudden, you're proud of it.

You want everyone to know, no matter how they'll react, that you're Lando's, and Lando is yours.

When you finally break away from each other, Lando's smile remains as he gazes into your eyes.

"Are you crying too?" you giggle softly as you spot a glint in his eyes.

"What? Me, crying? No, I'm not crying! Of course I'm not crying!" he says teasingly, hastily wiping at his eye with his thumb. "You're the one crying! But anyway-" He slips the papaya McLaren cap off his head and plops it on yours, saying, "Won't be needing this for the top step. Besides," he smirks, leaning in closer. "Enough with all this Ferrari stuff. I think it's finally time for you to admit: Papaya looks best on you. Papaya's your color."

As you watch him jog off after that, stunned, you feel pleased.

Finally, for once, content.

That's right. My color isn't white, or blaugrana. It's not Ferrari's red, either.

I'm a papaya girl.

His papaya girl.

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generalsdiary · 7 months ago

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Aeon!reader x Sunday where Sunday is unexplainably, hopelessly in love with the reader and likewise for the reader who actually appears in person to listen to Sunday’s troubles and prayers- but it is impossible for a mortal to fall in love with an Aeon. in an attempt to find out how this is possible, the reader kisses Sunday and finds out, it is because in his future he almost fully succeeded at becoming an Aeon which made his life nonlinear and gave him the ability to fall in love with a god-like entity. but the reader leaves him upon this revelation (which they don’t share with Sunday) and doesn’t answer his prayers for the following years until Sunday fails to ascend to Aeonhood. and then when he just needs comfort while hiding in a hotel room, away from the authorities trying to punish him for his wrongdoings in Penacony, despite the years of no answer, he utters the name of the Aeon he used to pray to, the Aeon he loves in inexplicable ways, hoping to see them and… the Aeon appears in front of him once more.

thoughts?

#idk if i cooked or nah #but this seems interesting #myb wip dunno depends on how it is received #a small drabble #sunday x reader #sunday x aeon!reader #angst #fluff #possible oneshot dunno #gn!reader #hsr #honkai star rail

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pedroscurls · 8 months ago

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sunday nights (one-shot)

summary: sunday nights with hugh are your favorite -- movie night, cuddling, and finally some alone time with him. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader word count: 654 tags / warnings: fluff, no use of y/n. a/n: shout out to this anon for requesting this idea! i know it's long overdue, so thank you for waiting! hope i did this idea justice - i've been obsessed with writing fluffy stories for hugh 🫶 as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman.

Sundays are the only days that allow you and Hugh to spend time together, uninterrupted. Especially during filming, Hugh’s time is generally spent on set. You don’t mind though, you knew exactly what it meant to be in a relationship with him.

But Sundays, well, Sundays were your favorite.

Sometimes, you both would go out for a walk in the city. Maybe grab a bite to eat for dinner.

And other times, you both decide to stay at home all day, order takeout, and just spend the entire day in each other’s arms.

Tonight, you’re propped up against the headboard with Hugh’s head resting on your lap. His arm wraps around your legs as you both stare at the television, a film that you decided to put on with the theme of old Hollywood movies. Your fingers run through his hair, practically hearing him purr when you gently massage his scalp. You can feel him relax against you, letting out a quiet sigh of relief.

You no longer pay attention to the movie, eyes gazing down at him with a loving look. Every day feels like a dream with Hugh and you still can’t believe that you’re in a relationship with him. He’s taken such good care of you, shown you a different kind of love that you hadn’t ever been used to.

Moments like this make him seem so normal, so unlike the man that he displays in the media.

Slowly, he lies on his back and looks up at you with a smile. “You’re not even watching.”

“Got distracted.”

“By me?” he asks, taking one of your hands and letting it rest on his chest.

“Always by you,” you answer.

Hugh chuckles and brings your hand to his lips as your free hand continues to stroke his hair back away from his face. His eyes flutter closed as he relaxes further into you. You had always been such a calming presence, even in the midst of chaos of his life, you had brought him comfort.

“We put on a movie and you always get distracted,” he replies. “Or you fall asleep.”

You shake your head, moving to lie down next to him as he pulls you into his arms. “No, I don’t.” you pout, head resting against his chest with an arm resting against him as you look up at him.

“Yes, you do,” he laughs quietly. “It’s okay, though. You’re cute so I’ll let it slide.”

You roll your eyes and lean up to peck his lips. “Just cute?”

“Gorgeous. Sexy. Beautiful,” he grins, leaning down to press his lips further against yours. “Breathtaking,” he whispers.

“You get distracted too,” you point out, feeling him move to hover above you as you spread your legs open enough for him to settle between them.

“Yeah, and what makes you think that?” Hugh smirks, gazing into your eyes.

“You get all touchy,” you answer, bringing your hands up to rest on his chest. “And then you start kissing me and–”

“Are we complaining?” he asks, leaning down to brush his lips against your jaw.

“No, no,” you smile, tilting your head back to expose more of your neck for him. “Just pointing out the obvious.”

Hugh chuckles against you, moving his lips from your jawline to the side of your neck as his hands move to run down your sides until they rest on your hips. “Can’t help myself when you’re around me, baby.”

“So, what I’m gathering here is that we aren’t going to finish the movie,” you tease.

Hugh smirks, pressing his hips firmly against yours. You let out a quiet gasp, feeling his hardened length pressing against your core. “We can, but we have a good hour left. Think you can wait?”

“No,” you whimper. “You better finish what you started, Jackman.”

Hugh grins. “Oh, I love Sundays, baby.” Then, he leans in and presses his lips firmly against yours.

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman fanfiction #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman fiction #real person fiction #real person fanfic #real person fanfiction #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman x female reader #hugh jackman x f!reader #hugh jackman x fem!reader #hugh jackman x you #hugh jackman requests #hugh jackman oneshot #hugh jackman one shot #story: sunday nights

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heaven-s-black-box · 4 months ago

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Scaredy Cat- Jing Yuan & more x gn!Reader

Return to File

Recovery date: February 11th, 2025

Description: Can I request some dialogue heavy scenarios where the HSR men, Jing Yuan, Blade, Dan Heng, Boothill, Sunday, Jiaoqiu, and Moze are in a relationship with a Neko reader and how they react when the reader jumps up like an actual scared cat when they're spooked.

Notes: This work was recovered in conjunction with an anonymous researcher, we thank them for their contributions. Basically exclusively dialogue so they're kind of short

Word count: Jing Yuan- 134, Blade- 143, Dan Heng- 122, Boothill- 99, Sunday- 104, Jiaoqiu- 94, Moze- 118

Back to directory

Jing Yuan

“Ah!” Y/n yelps as strong hands settle on their waist from behind. The spoon they were stirring dinner with clatters into the pot as their hand grazes the rim. “Ow- Jing Yu- stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry.” He runs one hand up their arm to take their injured hand and lead them away from the stove.

“Turn off the stove, I don’t want to burn dinner just because you’re a clingy fool. And you’re still laughing, this isn’t funny I burnt myself.”

“But your tail is so fluffy right now, I haven’t seen it this puffed up since all that static electricity from my cold.”

“Do you wanna get bit? Because you’re working your way up to it really fast,” Y/n challenged half heartedly.

“I’m sorry.”

“I can see you biting your lip.”

Blade

“Blade!” Y/n shrieked from across the base. The stelleron hunter slowly got up from the table where he’d been cleaning his weapon and made his way down the hall. “Blade, hurry up! It’s- ah!”

“What is it?” He entered the workshop to find Y/n crouched on their workbench and watching the floor intently. “Got tired of being short?”

“There, there! Kill it!”

Blade sighs, walking over to the skittering bug and crushing it under his boot. “There, it’s dead. Anything else?”

“Help me down?”

“You can get down yourself. Hmph, I see the bug gave you quite the shock.”

“Shut up… I dropped a screw and when I went to pick it up that thing was right there. You can let go of me now.”

“Give me a moment and I’ll come sit with you in case there are any more.”

Dan Heng

Y/n whips their head around, “What the-”

“Hm? Is something the matter?” Dan Heng asks, not looking up from what he’s doing. He’s sat in his chair while Y/n sits on the small steps. When he receives no response, he turns around. “Why is your tail all puffed up, did you shock yourself?”

“No… your tail, it hit mine and I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Oh, sorry. I can…” he trailed off as he searched for a word, “hide it if you want?”

“No! No, it just startled me. Actually, can I wrap mine around it? Since I can’t really sit beside you right now.”

“Always, and if you want, you can always sit on my lap.”

“My, my, so forward.”

Boothill

“Hey kit-”

“AH!” Y/n screamed, slamming their head into their latest invention. “Ow-”

“Holy forkeroni you good kitty cat?”

“Ow, I’m fine… what the hell do you want?”

Boothill snickered, entering the workshop and dropping himself onto a stool. He held out his arm. “You’re pretty darn puffy for being fine. Not that you aren’t fine, you always look fine, I just mean-”

“Can it, cowboy, I know what you mean. You feeling okay?”

“Peachy.” Boothill hummed, reaching his free hand out to smooth their staticky fur.

“Got quite a few exposed wires for someone who’s peachy.”

“Touche.”

Sunday

“Ah!”

“What?!” Sunday asked, voice full of concern as he ran into the lounge car.

“Nothing, it was just a ball of hair getting blown around… thought it was a weird, big, bug,” Y/n huffed. Sunday hesitantly wrapped an arm around their waist and pulled them into his side. “What were you doing?”

“Hm?”

“Your feathers, they’re all puffed u-oops, sorry, forgot they were sensitive.”

“I-it’s fine. If you want you can smooth them out if…” his voice trailed into a mumble, “I can smooth out your tail.”

“Can I preen your wings while I’m at it?”

“If you’re alright with bathing together.”

Jiaoqiu

A loud clatter echoed through the large kitchen as Jiaoqiu knocked over a precariously stacked pile of pots and pans. “Oops, sorry,” he chuckled, turning to check on Y/n.

“Ow, ow- oh, wipe that smug look off your face.”

“But you’re doing such a funny dance.”

“I stubbed my toe because of you!”

“You’ve also gone all frizzy because of me, I feel like I should make it up to you somehow.”

“Right, because you’re so sorry.”

“Terribly so.”

“Gonna hide a humidifier in your office, see how you like a frizzy tail.”

Moze

“I am going to stick a bell on you!” Y/n huffed as Moze once again silently settled at their side, startling them when they turned.

“Sorry, but I don't think your fluffy tail takes away from your outfit. You always look good, frizzy tail or not.”

“Thank you, but it’s not just about the frizzy tail. You make my heart pound enough as it is, thank you very much. It doesn’t need a jump start.”

“Is that why you can never hear me coming?” He asked, and leaned his head on their shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“Your heart drowns out the sound of mine.”

“Moze…”

“Oh, I can hear your heart now.”

“Aeons,” Y/n sighed.

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trappolia · 10 months ago

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WHEN YOU WAKE UP NEXT TO HIM IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT ── sunday x reader, 740

you think sunday loves you.

it was not a marriage to be protested against, certainly; your standing in the family's hierarchy is not as high as your husband's, and what influence you have is due to your close connections to the siblings since early childhood, in the days where their mother still took strolls with them and neither sibling had yet to learn how to spread their wings and ascend— but you are loyal to the family and the endless dream of penacony, so there is no complaint.

they think sunday loves you as well.

it is odd. sunday is not so stoic, simply formal and polite to the point of unsettling, but they have never seen him smile at anyone the way he does to you. there is softness, they think, that can be found here — a piece of the harmony intertwined with their true order. such thing as, well, damning as love should be treaded upon with caution, but you have never shown anything but the utmost loyalty and faith to what you believe is their cause, and so they allow sunday this one weakness apart from his sister.

but no matter what anyone else — or even what you or sunday — may think, the truth is far, far more complicated.

but that thing called truth is a fickle thing, and the foundation of your marriage is laid out upon white lies of little children strolling around gardens and nursing the poor birds with their broken wings and their yearning for flight. there are secrets between the two of you far more intimate than even genuine lovers wouldn’t share, and you find that there is an unspoken intimacy in the silence of it all— your choice to wilfully turn a blind eye to your husband’s transgressions, to feed into his ideas of order and harmony that have been twisted somewhere along the makings of the man he is today, and his own to believe that you love his sister the same way he loves her.

it still creeps up on you, however, for the gods you know have never been merciful, even to one as devout and obedient as you. a thick, cloying thing that gathers in a lump at your throat— makes you sit up in bed and hold your head in your hands.

love indeed has no place in space of your marriage; a foreign concept, a mere distraction and a dangerous weakness. did sunday’s smile, his unusual soft demeanor, when it comes to you, hold the essence of love? perhaps it did— some sort of fondness from the childhood you three had shared together, but you knew very well that sunday would dispose of you if it were for the sake of his sister— and you would do the same to him.

three is a crowd, as they all say.

and for you and sunday, robin has always been the center of your marriage— he as a brother to a sister, and you as something you have long since lost the right to call yourself. in this tapestry of white lies and pretty facades, what remains as the golden truth is that you and sunday love robin above all else— even each other.

still.

in the quiet of the night, there is a call of your name. you turn, heart stuttering when your gaze unfocuses for one vital moment, and sunday’s hair appears lighter, the blue of night reflected in his eyes— and then the moment passes, and there is your husband again, grey-haired and golden-eyed.

“did you dream?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep.

your heart aches as you stare at him. you love him, you do— but not enough. it will never be enough.

“yes,” you whisper, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “but i’m awake now.”

sunday makes a groggy sound, his facade down in this bed that the two of you share out of courtesy alone. your marriage has never been consummated, but sometimes, at night, you can tell yourself that you love him when he holds you in your bouts of nightmarish terror or cold shivers. and when he pulls you to him with a whisper of “sleep now. the hour is still late”, you close your eyes and let yourself dream of hair like slivers of moonlight and blue like a dying evening—

you escape into your dreams once more, to the life you could have had.

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halfwayhearted · 2 months ago

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Hi! I love your writings, can I request something fluff for Marc Guiu, something like their morning routine together or whatever you feel comfortable with, if not, don't worry

Sunday Morning — Marc Guiu.

Pairing: Marc Guiu x Fem!Reader

Summary: You can definitely get used to mornings with him.

Word Count: 750+

Disclaimer/s — This is liiiiiiterally just fluff.

A/N: HIIII, THANK U SO MUCH. I HOPE YOU ENJOY! 🤍👅

The sound of Marc’s alarm woke both of you up.

Or, to be more precise, it woke both of you up, but he still fell back asleep afterward. You made a mental note to tell him to turn off his alarms if he knew they wouldn’t be as important in the end.

“Marc,” you mumble. “Wake up. It’s only fair.”

The man groans. “I thought I turned that one off.”

Huh. “Well, you didn’t, idiot.” And with that, you’re sliding off the bed, not without a fuss, of course. His hand gripped your wrist; it was firm, but not enough to hurt or anything. Still, you flicked his hand away and made your way into the bathroom.

You’re in the middle of brushing your teeth when he basically waddles in, running a hand through his messy hair. “Holy bedhead,” you tease softly.

“Shut up,” Marc grumbled, ruffling your hair as he grabbed his own toothbrush. The action sweet.

It was silence the entire time, obviously. Once you were done, you pinched his side playfully before heading into the kitchen, deciding that you’d make him breakfast before he was off for the day.

Pancakes or waffles? You sigh before, “Marc!”

The sound of his voice calling out your name in return makes you smile. “Pancakes? Waffles?”

“Second option,” he says, and you nod, even though you know he can’t see you. Waffles it is!

Reaching for the necessary ingredients, you get right into it, noticing him moving back and forth between rooms out of the corner of your eye. Then, you hear the shower running. Oh, thank God. His hair was horrific! Now you can style it.

Five minutes pass, and you’re pouring the batter into the waffle maker while cracking two eggs in a pan. Waffles and eggs. Maybe sausages? Bacon?

Yeah, bacon would be ideal.

It’s when you’re placing the eggs on a plate that he enters the kitchen, the familiar sound of his footsteps making your lips twitch, widening even more when he slides an arm over your shoulders, his hand resting on your other shoulder. You lean against him. “Hi. Did you sleep good this time?”

“Yeah, best sleep I’ve had in a while,” he answers.

“I’m glad! I told you so, didn’t I? Sleeping in silence is way better than with the TV on.”

He squeezes your arm tenderly. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Can you grab the glasses?”

“Yes, ma’am. What do you want to drink?”

You ponder for a moment. “Apple juice.”

“My girlfriend’s a freak,” Marc mutters under his breath while reaching for both the apple juice and orange juice, his damp hair falling over his eyes.

All you do is roll your eyes, setting up his plate of waffles, eggs, bacon, and strawberries before gently placing it on the counter. You watch as he slides into one of the barstools, then turn back to make your own, taking a seat right beside him.

“So! After practice, it’s…” you trail off.

Marc swallows his food and says, “I’m not sure. Might go out with friends for a couple hours.”

“Hey, that sounds fun!”

“What are your plans for the day?” He asks.

“I was planning on going to the mall. We’ve been needing some things for the house,” you said, pausing. “Don’t overexert yourself. Take a break.”

Finishing the last piece of his waffle, Marc takes his plate and makes his way toward the sink to wash it. “Yeah, I know. I’ll be annoying about it.”

“Atta boy!” You chirp, your smile broadening.

Once he’s done, he slips on his shoes, grabs his bag and keys, and is behind you in an instant.

Turning in your seat, your gaze flickers up to his hair. “Much better,” you murmur, lifting a hand and carding your fingers through it. “And there!”

As a thanks, he leans in and places a peck on the corner of your lips. But that just won’t do. When your hand drops to his jaw, you kiss him lightly, noticing how Marc smiles into it, causing you to do the same. Then, after a few seconds, it’s over.

“Text me when you’re done?”

He steps back. “What if I call you instead?”

“Even better.”

“I figured. Have a good day. I love you.”

Just like always. It was the same routine, and you couldn’t be happier that it was like this. In fact, you could get used to it, especially when you tilt your head and respond with, “You too. I love you.”

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @pedriache + @spidybaby + @levidazai + @lechrts + @iovepoem + @sakashq + @joaoflms ! ౨ৎ (if you’d like to be tagged, just comment!)

#marc guiu #marc guiu x reader #marc guiu x fem!reader #marc guiu x you #marc guiu x y/n #marc guiu fluff #marc guiu comfort #marc guiu blurb #marc guiu imagine #marc guiu oneshot #request #jilval #sunday morning - maroon 5

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yandere-sins · 1 year ago

Text

a/n: We all know Sunday is scratching my itches for yandere!priests a bit too well, ehe~

You are an avid confessor at Sunday's booth.

It started with a friend's nudge, telling you how much better you'd feel if you talked about your troubles. And it helped—for a while. But troubles rarely come alone, and soon enough, you return to the confession booth almost thrice as much as everyone else. But it helps, at least temporarily, when you tell your woes to someone who absolves you of your worries, allowing you to let the tension fade from your mind.

Sunday loves listening to your voice, imagining it as part of his choir of order, and he forgives even the gravest of your sins, although it breaks his heart. Must you always speak so harshly about him? He only sent you a few letters expressing his love and desire for you, yet you speak as if he had bad intentions. You tell him with a teary voice that you're scared something will happen to you, and Sunday can't help sliding his fingers over the see-through net separating you two, imagining he was caressing your cheek, wiping your tears away, and comforting you.

If it was entirely up to him, he'd tell you that it was his hand penning the poems of insanity he personally dropped in your mailbox in the shadows of night. He'd tell you all those deeds he wants to do for you, all the nasty little things he imagines you doing with him. But alas, he abstains. He can't do anything more to soothe your fears than to promise he'll be working hard to guarantee your safety. This dream is meant to be wonderful for you and him, after all.

And yet, next to him rests the letter of the day, adorned with a feather, its ink as red as blood seeping through the pristine white paper.

One day, he'll have the order he's seeking. One day, he'll be able to guarantee your presence by his side and make you love him the same way he loves you. By then, you will know that you need him. Not only for emotional stability but also to take care of your fears and worries that will all wash away come the day you are chosen as his saint. Sunday will be the constant that you seek out on your best and your worst days. Even if it means instilling the fear and paranoia in you that you have a stalker for now. It will be worth it if it drives you back into his arms—or, well, into his confession booth. But until then, he needs you to come to confess your sins again—even the ones that are originally his.

Because how else is he going to get his fix of you?

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sundaycentric · 10 months ago

Note

sfw alphabet with sunday? :3

ᵋᵌ sfw alphabet 𓈒　　 ◟ 　sunday x reader　 ♡

content — 26 prompts for sunday ! ✦ no tws, sfw, not proofread. set pre 2.3 ~ 3k words

template from the-coldest-goodbye !

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Sunday's affection depends on the situation. Some days he won't initiate any affection (though, he will reciprocate yours), while on others, he will borderline smother you.

On the average day, Sunday tends to not show a lot of affection. This isn't because he doesn't want to, but because he can't. Due to his status as Head of the Oak Family, PDA is a no. Since he works a lot and is in public—or at least in the eyes of someone a lot, Sunday doesn't do much affection. The most he'll willingly allow in public is holding hands, or a brief kiss on the back of your hand.

However, it is a different story when the two of you finally get away from the gazes of everyone. When it is just the two of you, Sunday can be awfully affectionate. While he hesitates about initiating them sometimes, Sunday adores hugs and small kisses.

When he comes home to you on some days, he often peppers your face with small kisses before cuddling you to sleep. Sunday's hands prefer to hook around your waist while his face will either find itself in your neck or hair.

B = Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Sunday would be the type of best friend to give the perfect advice: the type of friend whom you'd trust with your life.

He'd definitely try his best to look out for you, especially if he considered you one of his best friends (one of, since robin will always be a best friend to him as well). If you have any troubles, you could come to him, and either get a flat-out solution or amazing advice.

With that being said, though, the two of you would barely ever go out together. Since you are just friends, Sunday will often prioritize getting his work done over hanging out you. It isn't that he doesn't want to see you, it's simply that he values his identity and the Family too much to risk anything. Of course, you will occasionally be able to hang out longer than 30 minutes or so.

As for how the friendship starts, it would be most likely that you are part of the Family as well. Perhaps not the Oak Family, but at least some other family which would explain why you could be around so much. Or possibly, the two of you just met at random, and Sunday enjoyed your company.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

As said in A, Sunday enjoys cuddling his partner to sleep. Although, it doesn't necessarily have to be at night. Anywhere comfy where the two of you are alone is fine with him. Though, he may not initiate it if he isn't tired.

As for how he cuddles, he doesn't care much. Sometimes he will hug you, pulling your faces next to each other. Sometimes he will spoon you. Sometimes he will be spooned. Sometimes he will just have you lie on top of him. The position does not matter to him as long as he can have you in his arms.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Sunday does not necessarily mind the idea of settling down and living a peaceful life, but he can't bring himself to actually imagine himself living a life like that. He is so used to his work and life as is, that he doesn't know what he would do without it. As stressful as it is, it brings a sense of control and routine to calm him.

And especially with his plans. Settling down with you would be practically impossible. While part of him does yearn for a domestic, calm life with you, Sunday also knows that he must do what he needs to do. He will gently (and reluctantly) lie to you, telling you that one day the two of you will settle down. What you don't know cannot hurt you, so it's for the best.

As for domestic talents, Sunday can cook and clean. However, he does not frequently, as he has people to do that for him. Sometimes, though, he may cook a meal for you or Robin.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

I'm actually unsure.

He'd do it very gently, making sure to not hurt their feelings too much. After all, even if it doesn't seem like it, Sunday is very susceptible others' pains. Especially those who were (once) close to him. Although, he would also be firm enough to get his point across and not give any hope.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Sunday dates with the full intention of getting married to them one day. It's simply how he was raised: he was taught to never date for fun, but rather out of love. He looks forward to eventually marrying you, or he is very happy with your marriage if the two of you are married already.

Sunday does not want to rush things, though. He believes that time matters, and he sees no need to rush with such a sweet dream. He will propose when the time is right—whenever that may be for him. Perhaps it's only months away, perhaps a year or two. He would not go years without proposing, though.

And if you proposed, then he would accept even if it was only months after you got together. Sunday waits not because he is unsure, but to give you time. Again: Sunday dates for marriage. As soon as the two of you begin your relationship, he is ready for marriage.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Sunday tries to be as gentle as he can with you, while still being stern when needed. His touches are fleeting and soft, a light caress on your skin. His words are soothing and quiet, putting your mind and soul at ease. His gaze is intense enough to be noticed, but soft enough for you to feel adored. Sunday makes a point to always be gentle with you.

And even when Sunday gets stern and mad, he never snaps at you. In fact, he never gets truly 'mad' at you, he is that gentle. His emotions are soft and he makes sure to never overwhelm you with his own feelings.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

As mentioned before, Sunday adores hugs. He enjoys the feeling of holding you, having you right in his arms like you'd try to get away if he let go. He will hug you when the two of you are in the privacy of your home, and perhaps give little side hugs in public.

His hugs are warm but tight. He will pull you close, practically squishing the two of you together like he is trying to meld you into one. Despite the intensity, it's comfortable and secure.

I = I Love You (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Sunday says 'I love you' a lot and in many different ways.

He will try to say it slowly, to truly get the meaning and deepness of his affection across. When like this, Sunday tries to pair his words with gentle physical affection.

Sometimes, though, he will be forced to hurry up. He cannot always take his sweet time, but Sunday figures something is better than nothing. When he has to quickly depart, he will whisper a hushed 'I love you' in the few seconds he has before he'll be late.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Sunday does not get very outwardly jealous. He is secure with you, or at least tells himself that he is. However, Sunday is extremely anxious, and he cannot help but overthink sometimes. Of course, he knows you would never leave or cheat.

A lot of the time, his jealousy will silently brew. The only indication you will get of his jealousy is his slightly more possessive actions. A hand lingers on your side longer than normal. His glances become more narrowed and longer. His tone gets a bit snappy when people talk to the two of you. And his wings: his wings will puff up and raise instinctively at times.

He will never admit he is jealous without heavy prompting, though. The best thing to do is not say anything about it, but showering him in affection and attention. He will calm down as quick as it came, his mind soothed by your presence.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Sunday's kisses are always gentle. Never rough or demanding: only smooth and soft. He doesn't like being mean: he wouldn't want to hurt your pretty lips, or the rest of you for that matter.

Sunday likes kissing you on the lips, all over the face, and the back of your hand. Those are usually his go-to spots, but you may notice him pressing soft kisses to your neck or shoulders occasionally. Although, Sunday would enjoy kissing you anywhere if we are being honest.

Sunday also doesn't mind where you kiss him. He likes all your kisses, regardless of where they are. But, his favorites are likely his lips, face, and weirdly with wings. Be soft and gentle with them, though. They are quite sensitive.

L = Little Ones (How are they around children?)

Sunday is very gentle with children. He rarely interacts with them due to being busy, and his job not requiring him to work with them, but he always makes sure to be extra nice when one talks to him.

However, Sunday enjoys watching you interact with children more than actually doing it himself. He adores the sight of you being kind to something so small, something that the two of you might end up having one day however that may be.

Sunday vows to himself to be the best father in the world if that ever does happen.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

It's 50/50: sometimes Sunday is gone by morning, sometimes he is still there.

When he is gone, he always makes sure to leave some sort of note or text telling you why he left so early, where he is, and apologizing. He will also leave food or instructions for chefs to make food for you to make sure you're well-fed as soon as you get up.

When he is there, the two of you wake up tangled together. He will always reach out to gently touch your face as if checking if you're really there. After all, you're too beautiful for this world. You can't stay in bed forever, though, so these moments of soft intimacy are a bit short.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

As mentioned before, Sunday enjoys cuddling you to sleep. Most days, he will not be home by night-time.

He'll gently slip into your room, and then into your shared bed. On these days, he typically ends up spooning you as he doesn't want to force his way into your arms and wake you up.

If you are awake when he gets home, or if he gets home early enough to go to bed with you, he will still cuddle you. The positions will range, though, as there is no threat of waking you up. He doesn't mind being big or little spoon, or whatever you want to do. As long as he is touching you somehow, he will fall asleep.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Sunday does not open up all at once.

It will take time, and it will be slow. He doesn't say everything in one moment, and there are likely things he will never end up telling you. It isn't you: he simply fears. After all, he is the Head of the Oak Family, and he must always be careful. It will probably take a while before Sunday even opens up about his basic childhood.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Sunday barely gets angry or upset with you.

However, he can get snappy much easier with other people. Especially when they are insulting you or his dear sister.

His anger usually comes in passive aggressiveness, so it may be hard to catch on to at first. Even if you do notice, he will usually deny being mad until much pushing.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He remembers everything about you. Anything you say immediately goes to memory.

Sunday is attentive no matter the topic. Your favorite color? He knows. Your favorite animal? He knows. Your favorite song? He knows. Your favorite place? He knows. Your favorite food? He knows. Your favorite crystal? He knows. Your favorite flower? He knows. He remembers and knows them all and more by heart.

Every little thing you mention, if he deems it important (which includes almost everything about you), he will remember it or at the least write it down for future reference.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Sunday's favorite memory is the aftermath of your first dinner date. When the two of you were leaving the restaurant, there was a baby bird on the ground. No nest seemed to be in sight, and no mother as well. You were immediately concerned and checked on the baby bird. The mother bird came rushing out of seemingly nowhere and shooed your hand away.

It was funny, but also endearing to Sunday. To see you so eager to help that baby bird, he couldn't help but feel soft and remember something similar from when he was younger.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Sunday is very protective of you, but in an unnoticeable way. He'll check up on you regularly, make sure you're all okay and don't need anything, and look out for you. Due to his position in the Family, it isn't hard for him to get guards to look out for you and make sure you're alright from time to time.

As for you protecting him: he thinks it's cute, and appreciates the sentiment. While it is a bit useless of you to do, since he already has Bloodhound guards, he won't discourage your behavior. Unless it becomes disruptive, in which case he'll try to reel you in.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Maximum effort.

These things are very important to Sunday, who (as mentioned previously) was raised to date with love. That includes the devotion expected of a good husband, of course. It also comes from his OCD: he must be very meticulous to make sure everything is perfect and controlled.

Dates are at reputable, higher-end places and focus on things he knows you'll enjoy. Anniversaries are never forgotten, and he always gets beautiful gifts for you. His gifts consist of a variety of things: he could never gift you the same thing twice. And Sunday makes a great effort to care for you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He is controlling.

Not necessarily just with you, but in general. If things aren't perfect, Sunday will be on edge. If he makes a mistake, Sunday will crack slightly. If he does anything wrong, he won't forgive himself.

Even with things that seem like a small deal: if the tiniest detail is off, he will be upset.

Which can lead to lots of time wasted as he redoes his hair over and over because one strand was out of place, or when he washes his hands multiple times because he didn't wash it the right way the first time, or when he had to check in a hallway multiple times.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Very concerned. Not because he thinks he is ugly: but rather, he needs to make sure he looks perfect. Not a strand can be out of place, no wrinkles in his clothes, nothing can be wrong as soon as he steps out of the house.

However, when alone with you, he doesn't care that much for looking perfect like a doll.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He would feel incomplete without you. You do make him feel whole.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

His wings give way to his true feelings. If he's happy, his wings will spread out. If he's sad, his wings will falter. If he's mad, his wings will puff out and appear bigger. If you can't read his face, read his wings.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

The only thing I can think of is cruelty. Sunday, despite his flaws, is not a cruel person, nor does he condone cruel actions or people.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Like I've mentioned, he tends to cuddle when he sleeps.

Another thing, though: his wings will move on their own in Sunday's sleep. similarly to sleepwalking, in a way, just with his wings! Which ends up tickling you, sometimes.

#ㅤ𓈒⠀ㅤ◟ ㅤsundaycentric #sunday x reader #reader x sunday #sunday honkai star rail #sunday hsr #honkai star rail sunday #hsr sunday #sunday x y/n #y/n x sunday #hsr sunday x reader #sunday hsr x reader #fluff #sfw alphabet #oneshot

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sports-on-sundays · 5 months ago

Note

i NEED some pedri enemies to lovers where the reader is dating joao felix and he is really abusive to her and when pedri finds out in a party he defends the reader

got your back / Pedri González

Summary: Pedri x female!reader - Pedri hates you. Well, that is, until he's faced with a situation to genuinely be concerned with you. Then? Of course he doesn't hate you!

Warnings: mention of sexual abuse/crossing boundaries, discomfort, language, unwanted physical/sexual action being pushed, mention of sickness, having to fake happiness/being fine, physical abuse, anxiety, fear, don't read if you could be sensitive to anything here- I'd hate to hurt anyone or bring back any pain or anxiety anyone might have - read at your own risk!

Author's Note: I got nothing against João, so instead of using him, I just made the guy an unnamed La Liga player, because I don't want to paint anyone in a terrible image, and I'm sorry if I have done that in the past, but I don't feel comfortable with it. I hope this makes sense and you understand! Thanks for the request!

Requested?: Yes.

You and Pedri hate each other. You've known each other forever, and from the very beginning, your personalities clashed. At times, things were better, but after fallout after fallout in your friendship, it's come to a point where both of you decided that what's done is done, and it's likely just the best for both of you to leave each other alone and stay out of each other's lives.

You don't think about Pedri. Not often, anyway. Now with your new relationship, too, anyway, and all the struggles that are coming with that, you're glad you don't have to worry about all the arguments you and Pedri used to have.

Your boyfriend really wanted you to come to this specific match, though. Against Barcelona. You tried to explain to him that you really would rather not go to a Barcelona game to watch him, simply because of the stress of possibly running into Pedri, though you know how unlikely that really is.

But with your bad luck, who even knows?

Well, the match goes alright, but, admittedly, your boyfriend's team gets hammered by Barcelona, so you suppose you're supposed to be disappointed.

You're walking out, waiting to meet up with your boyfriend, when suddenly, your bad luck strikes.

Of course.

Well, it really has nothing to do with luck, or the lack of it. Though you don't know that. You don't know that Pedri made the effort to find you when he saw that you're at the game.

To you, your bad luck is just making you run straight into Pedri.

"Y/n!" Pedri says as soon as he sees you, stopping in front of you.

You roll your eyes, looking away from him, murmuring simply, "Why are you talking to me."

He stares. Those stupid, stupid eyes, sharply bearing into you. He snorts, saying, "Jeez. Because I know you?"

"Didn't we agree it'd be best to go our separate ways?"

He stares, before snorting, saying, "Doesn't mean I have to treat you like a stranger."

You bite your lip, looking up. "After what you've done to me, I'd rather like it to be that way, actually."

He stares, almost dumbfounded, before the anger sets in. "Oh yeah, and what have I done to you? Get over yourself, you're acting as if I traumatized you! It was never that bad!"

"Pedri, I don't want to talk to you," you say simply, shoving past him as you see your boyfriend start heading down the hall towards you.

He snorts, shrugging, and snaps, "Well, alright, then! You fuck off, too, if that's what you want me to say back!" And with that, you both walk away, feeling angrier than you really have to be.

"He was bothering you?" your boyfriend asks, raising an eyebrows, his arms snaking around your waist.

But it doesn't provide much comfort, considering that probably part of the reason you reacted so harshly towards Pedri is because of the stress already welling up in your chest about your boyfriend himself.

He's over half the problem. In fact, he might be one hundred percent the problem, or at least close to it.

You don't want to be here. You don't want to be at your boyfriend's flat, either. In fact, all you want right now is to be in your own home, alone, in bed, with your pajamas on and a blanket enveloping you.

But instead, you have a drink in your hand, are wearing a black, lacy dress, and are thoroughly exhausted with having to stand there, arm linked with your boyfriend's, looking nice and pretty next to him.

It painfully feels just a little bit too much like all clout.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't done what he did to you last night after the match. He had forced you to do things you certainly weren't comfortable with. Especially not only four months into dating. It was too much for you.

Maybe for other people, it wouldn't have mattered. Maybe other girls would have actually loved that.

You? You've been feeling sick to your stomach for the last twenty-four hours, completely uncomfortable with your boyfriend, and having to fake it all the while. That hasn't been the first time something like this has happened. This time was just the worst.

You should've seen it coming. It's like on top of it all, regret is nawing at you as well.

The night is superficial and empty already, but your stomach lurches as soon as you get a glimpse of none other than Pedri González. You turn your head away, hoping for him to not recognize you, feeling even sicker than before, if that was even possible.

Your fucking luck, huh.

It's then, that, though you really thought things actually couldn't get any worse, that they really do.

Your boyfriend leans in and whispers close to your ear, "You look pale. Bored?"

You swallow, shrugging, "I guess."

"The night's still young, but there's nothing here for us." His hand on your lower back slips down a bit. You swallow as he continues, "We could step out and spice it up a bit."

Your jaw clenches. "Oh, no, that's okay..."

He chuckles. "Trying to be all neat and prissy? Don't play that game. C'mon," he murmurs, taking your hand and starting to lead you away through the groups of people around at the party.

"No, no, really... it's okay..." you murmur weakly, feeling dread and, frankly, fear sink in.

No, no, no. Not this again.

What's he going to do?

He seems to ignore you as you slip into a narrow hallway where some bathrooms are. Not the main bathrooms, though. You didn't even know there were bathrooms back here.

So no one promises to come this way.

Which means it's completely private.

You swallow.

It's then that he pushes you against the wall, getting close, and murmurs, "I could make this night very interesting for you, honey."

You turn your head away, looking down, towards the floor. "U-hm... You sure this is a... safe idea?"

"No," he grins. "I know it's fucking dangerous. But I also know it's a fucking good idea. Now, stop all this coy shit."

With that, he grabs your chin, shoving it up, making the back of your head hit the wall. "Ow-!" you murmur, your face crinkling with a quick grimace.

He hums. "Oh, get over yourself. You know you want this just as much as I do..."

"I-" you begin, but are interrupted by his lips meeting yours in a rough kiss.

It doesn't even feel good.

Your brain is screaming, your head pounding.

Fear grips your chest.

He moves his body against yours in a disgusting way, and every single cell in your body frantically searches for some way to make it stop.

It's then that you feel his hand stroking your thigh, grabbing at the bottom of your dress. You pull away long enough just to say desperately, "No- Please, no- Not here... please."

But he slaps your thigh, hard. You bite back a yelp as he murmurs, "I can do what I want to y-"

"And I can do what I want to you, too!" a voice suddenly says, before, in a flash, you watch as a hand slaps itself across your boyfriend's face. He stumbles back, which means you stumble forward, but there are arms there to catch you.

Not your boyfriend's, though- he's holding his face, looking absolutely shocked at-

You turn to see who has his arm around you from behind.

Pedri.

"What the hell?!" your boyfriend roars.

"Ask yourself that, asshole! Didn't she tell you to stop?"

"None of it is your business!"

"It is when you're doing it in a public area, for God's sake!"

You watch as your 'boyfriend' gulps and murmurs, "Let go of her."

"How about we stop talking as if Y/n isn't here? Y/n, do you want to fucking stay with him?"

You stare ahead, feeling so caught off guard by what has just happened, and the question that Pedri is apparently proposing for you to decide.

As unfortunate as it seems to you, you know which of them you trust more, despite all the trouble you've had with Pedri over the years.

"Listen," you say to your boyfriend, swallowing back tears. "I think you just better go now... I'll pick up my stuff from your flat in a few days... I think it'd be best- best to just end it here, now. I just don't think I'm the kind of person who's right for you."

As you ramble on anxiously, the rage builds up in his eyes more and more, before he yells, "Fine!" slaps you hard across the face, and leaves, walking off.

You stand, staring, your eyes watering in pain. You swallow.

"Y/n, are you okay?"

"I- I don't know."

Pedri folds you into his arms. "You can come back with me to my hotel room, if you want."

You sniff, holding back tears, before nodding. "I- Okay... Let's go."

Once there, you broke down. Sat on Pedri's hotel room bed and cried. And he sat there with you, being that shoulder to cry on. And your rivalry and friendship fall outs and all the other garbage between the two of you seem to slowly fade away. For now. At least just for tonight.

It's the least of your problems.

Now you lay, staring at the wall. You hear Pedri exiting the bathroom. Walking across the room. The weight on the bed shifting as he gets on.

"Y/n..." he says gently.

"Yeah?"

There's a few moments of hesitation, before he says softly, "Mind if I lay with you."

Now hesitation on your part. "Go ahead."

You feel him lay down next to you. His arm gently, tentatively wraps around you.

You lay together, in silence for a while.

"I'm sorry," Pedri suddenly says after long enough.

"For what? You helped me."

"For every single thing I did wrong over the years. I'm sorry for the fact that every time, I screwed it up again."

"It wasn't just you. I was fifty percent of the problem."

"I guess I just... I just like you a lot, you know? I just don't know what to do with that. I didn't realize it until you've been out of my life for six months now."

You nod slowly.

"I'm glad I found you when I did."

"I am, too," you say simply back.

"Seeing him do that to you... That... it's like all I could feel was pure... rage."

You don't have much to say to that, so just whisper softly, "Thank you... for helping me."

He nods slowly. Pulls you closer.

You don't mind. This kind of thing; it feels comforting. Not scary.

You lay there in more silence, before Pedri says softly, "Can we try this again?"

"Can I trust you?"

He sighs. "I think I finally realized how much I can't live without you. How much I care about you."

You snort, yawning. "If I didn't know better, I'd think that almost sounds romantic."

More silence, before he finally says, "Maybe it is. But even if it were, would that even matter right now?"

You shrug, looking back at him with sleepy eyes. "I reckon not. But it might matter someday."

He smiles softly, kisses your nose, and silences himself fully before sleep takes the both of you.

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