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bigtedbear · 16 days ago

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“ 𝐜𝗼𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐡, 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐫 “

𝐩𝐫𝗼𝗺𝐩𝐭: 𝐲𝐚𝐧! 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝗼𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝗼𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝗼𝐮’𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐢𝐭

content warnings: boss and employee, abuse of power (like that's the entire plot), yandere themes, nsfw content 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝟏𝟖+, male reader, amab reader, gay sex, anal penetration, anal fingering, head (character receiving), hickies, hook-ups, friends with benefits (fwb) turned feelings relationships, cock-blocking, situationships, possessive-obsessive behavior, stalking, sunday as your crazy girlfriend (who u don't know is your girlfriend yet !!)

heavy on the yandere themes this time around!

not a lot of smut I fear <//3

warnings that this may not be my best work, it took me a LOONNNG ass time to finish this so the quality, tone, etc. may vary

apologies in advance :')

“ new contact noted! caller sunday has been added to your phonebook! - love, 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟 𝑡-19 “

“ new contact noted! caller aventurine has been added to your phonebook! - love, 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟 𝑡-19 “

If anyone were to ask Sunday about the first time he met you, his answer would depend on the person.

Strangers would receive a very basic, formal answer. You were assigned to lead the team in charge of his security.

Closer friends may get a different story, depending on how close they are, naturally.

The true story was a little bit embarrassing after all, caught staring a little too long at something you weren’t exactly supposed to see.

He was busy. He’d spent his morning darting to and from locations to make important meetings, be seen in all the right spots, shake hands with the right people, say all the right things. Consistent and careful cultivation of his reputation and his image seemed to be all he ever did with his time and that day was no different.

There was only one problem.

On the day that he first met you, his leads had run dry.

So instead of attending scheduled events, handling confessionals, or making sure he was on time to important meetings, he was left wandering the hotel Lobby on the off chance someone important might see him extending his consideration to Penacony’s regular visitors.

Despite how much the constant fawning grinded on his nerves, he reminded himself over and over again that it would all be worth it in the end. Still, no matter who was in the crowd, it blended together into a constant cacophony of “Mister Sunday, Mister Sunday, Mister Sunday!”.

“How kind you are, Mister Sunday!”

“It’s always such a joy to see you no matter the hour, Mister Sunday!”

“You’re such a gentleman, Mister Sunday!”

Realizing nobody of concern would be there to see him, he cut himself short. A polite smile here, a well-timed nod there, and a firm handshake with an older gentleman to tie a bow on the conversation, his mouth opened his mouth to say an all too familiar phrase.

“This has been delightful, but I’m afraid I’ll have to excuse myself.”

With the nearly synced chorus of farewells behind him, Sunday began his retreat to the VIP floor of the Reverie. His contemplation drowned out the pleasant, if not repetitive sound of the elevator music flooding the little cramped metal box. As the doors opened, though, he was abruptly knocked out of his thoughts by the sight that greeted him.

Almost immediately, his eyes locked on to an all too familiar looking iridescent glint from the corner of his vision.

A charmony dove.

Then he really focused on it.

No, not just one charmony dove.

It just looked like one from where he was standing. From where he was, next to the elevator, the flock of charmony doves gathered around this one sitting area on the opposite side of the floor was small enough to make his brain think it was just one charmony dove a lot closer to him.

He glanced around him, making sure no visitors would see, before extending his hand to shield his eyes from the harsh light of the chandelier above. He squinted, trying to make out what exactly caused all the birds to gather in the first place.

But his eyes failed him and he was left just as confused.

The wings on either side of his head fluttered slightly in indignation. With one of his hands still tucked behind his back, he ventured closer to the curious gathering of birds. The curved nature of the balcony meant it was still virtually impossible for him to ascertain what exactly he would find upon his arrival.

So imagine his shock when he saw a person in the center of the chaos.

Miraculously undisturbed by the hundreds of birds gathered around the table, even as they continued to sing and warble their signature tune, there was a man laying his head on the table.

Sleeping.

For a moment, Sunday stood at a safe distance, utterly dumbfounded. The next moment, he picked his jaw off the floor.

The charmony doves were more than happy to use the mystery man’s shoulders as a perch. Furthermore, the man was deep enough in his sleep that the brush of feathers and the sensation of little feet all over his arms and the nape of his neck went completely unnoticed.

He used his arms as a cushion for his head, cranium tilted to the side to make room for fresh air flow. Sunday’s eyes trailed just slightly lower, catching sight of a card in the man’s hand.

It was connected to a lanyard hanging off his neck, the ID clutched so tightly it bent with the curvature of his palm. Stranger still, the ID card was a work ID.

“Strange, isn't it? I didn't know what to think the first time I saw it either.”

Before Sunday could get a closer look, he was interrupted by an uncomfortably familiar voice. He jumped slightly, neck snapping to look at the source, “Gallagher.”

The man in question raised his hands defensively, shrugging nonchalantly. The charmony doves seemed to readjust themselves to suit the new rising tension in the air. Still, the sleeping man didn’t seem any more aware than before. “Relax, I'm not here for you.”

Sunday noted that Gallagher’s usually low voice was even dimmer than he remembered, not all that dissimilar to a whisper. Reflexively, he lowered his tone to follow suit, “I presume you're here for him then.”

“Yeah, he usually takes a nap on his lunch breaks,” the older man rumbled, “Hardly gets any sleep with his team leader running him around doing enough work for two people.”

Sunday raised a skeptical brow, “He does this often?”

Gallagher hummed, seemingly rummaging through his memory, “Every once in a while, when he gets assigned shifts near the VIP lounge.”

“The doves… do they gather every time he does this? Why hasn't anyone been made aware of this?”

The older bloodhound crossed his arms, “Didn't see the need to make a problem where there wasn't one. He’s not bothering anyone and he's off the clock.”

The head of the Oak Family frowned, brows pinching in bewilderment. “...I see.”

The two of them stood in silence for another moment before Gallagher looked down to his wrist to check his watch, “His lunch break is about to be over, he’ll wake up soon. You probably have somewhere to be, right?”

Sunday seemed to catch himself, blinking a couple times before nodding, “Ah- I- yes, I should've been on my way back to the Golden Hour.”

Gallagher gave a grunt in response, seemingly unimpressed.

The young halovian bowed his head, eyes darting back over to look at the man sleeping soundly once again.

Without thinking about it, his eyes lingered on the ID badge secured by the man's iron grip as he left. He registered only a few words before he pried eyes off of him for good.

‘NAME: [name] [surname]

Clearance: Entry Level Security’

Naturally, Sunday’s inner thoughts and desire for complete control over a situation didn't allow him to simply roll over and accept a natural phenomena within the Reverie without a(n un)healthy dose of worry. Using the new recruit’s name and his extensive ties within Penacony, he pried open the hypothetical crate housing the answer to his burning question with a proverbial crowbar.

A Penacony native, one that came from an average family. Not much was noted about them, his mother and father were seemingly normal civilians that worked hard at their day jobs and landed themselves squarely in the upper-middle class. His mother was the one with ties in the Bloodhound family, the one that vouched for his resume and got him hired in the first place.

But then came the question, why was he constantly surrounded by charmony doves?

The answer to that question was MUCH harder to obtain and, consequently, took weeks of dedicated snooping to figure out.

There simply wasn't an answer.

By all accounts, the man was never particularly fond of them, but they'd followed him around since he was a child. Sunday only managed to find out through the man’s educational records.

He'd gotten in trouble with teachers when he was younger because they suspected he'd been feeding them while their backs were turned, but they later rescinded any accusations upon closer observation. He'd actually taken to trying to scare the birds off, getting into even MORE trouble with his teachers.

It'd started off with him shooing them away by running at them and yelling with his arms raised above head trying to intimidate some kind of angry predator. When they inevitably came back, it escalated to him smacking the birds for landing on him. Eventually, when he hadn't gotten anywhere with that, he started throwing rocks at the doves whenever he'd see them around the schoolyard.

Admittedly, Sunday dug a lot further into it than he'd expected. Worse still, he'd turned up empty-handed.

It frustrated him, to leave it up to a simple “it just happens”, but if this had truly been happening since childhood and had no presumable pattern… what options was he left with?

Eventually, as he got higher and higher within the order of the Family, his list of responsibilities grew longer and longer. The matter found itself buried in thousands of memories of other trivial nonsense he didn't have the luxury of entertaining anymore.

He was too busy tending to confessionals, honing the powers of the harmony, meeting with influential figures of the Family, and finally, taking his place as the head of the Oak Family.

By the time he'd met with you again, he'd almost completely forgotten any and all the strange details surrounding the first time he’d seen you.

It was a bit of a low point in Sunday’s life. He and his sister had chosen two different paths in life. While he was the head of THE most influential faction in Penacony, Robin had always longed to spread harmony to as many people as possible. Even if it meant she had to leave her brother’s side, she began her career as a performer and was signed for an intergalactic tour.

She’d left the week before Sunday was informed there was an extreme staffing overhaul within the Oak family.

The most notable change came in security, citing instances that sensitive information had been leaked to other factions. They couldn't accuse any member of the group specifically, which meant they had to clear out any potential traitors on the outside before they could zero in on any evidence of internal betrayal.

He took the hiccup in stride, but inside he was more than frustrated. Sunday hated change and there were suddenly a lot of big changes happening at once.

Still, like a good soldier, he put on a brave face and cleared a minuscule slot of time to introduce himself to the new officer in charge of the Oak Family’s security staff.

Very honestly, Sunday’s foul circumstances meant he didn't truly make an effort to give the new guy a fair chance at landing in his good graces. The meeting room was a cramped, newly cleaned out office that had a scratched-up, scrappy looking table with flimsy folding chairs. He'd come from a meeting discussing things with people who gave him a headache and barely cleared out fifteen minutes before another meeting with people who got on his nerves.

No matter what happened, Sunday would continue to be in a sour mood.

At least, that was what he thought would happen.

Despite the mounting pile of unfortunate circumstances, you didn't seem to be swayed. You sat in the weak excuse of a chair with your hands folded on top of eachother on the table in front of you with a pleasantly neutral expression on your face.

When the door creaked open, you stood up, as was the etiquette in Penacony.

As the meeting began, a sense of uneasiness washed over the head of the Oak family. There was a tingling sense of apprehension at the back of his mind as he shut the door to the tiny broom closet of a meeting room.

The man was familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Sunday’s inner dilemma only seemed to worsen when he caught the nearly imperceptible shift in the other’s eye. The man knew there was something off about his expression.

Despite that it didn't stop him from outstretching his hand to offer a greeting. “It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I hope I won't disappoint.”

Short, concise, polite.

The Oak family head noted, eyes trailing down to the ID card hanging on the man’s lanyard.

‘NAME: [name] [surname]

Clearance: Oak Family Personnel’

The wings on either side of his face twitched with the sudden sense of recognition. Trying to remain as level-headed as possible, Sunday took your hand in his. He gave a firm shake. “I’m sure you won’t, you've been a member of the family for a while now.”

You nodded your head silently, going to take out a small folder. "There wasn't much time reserved for this meeting, but I wanted to still wanted to make a good impression. I brought a list of some of my past assignments, but a copy was already forwarded to your office."

A tingle ran down his spine the longer he made eye contact. There was a foreign feeling building up in the bottom of his gut, a feeling that made him apprehensive. "Yes, I'm afraid I'll have to take a look at these later, I have a meeting following shortly after this."

Your eyes crinkled at the corners with an unspoken kindness that tickled the recesses of his ribcage, ghosting butterfly kisses off each bone with tender reverence.

"Of course, sir," your fingers gingerly tucked the manila folder back into the bag you'd brought with you, "I'll be following your lead, starting today."

When you made eye contact, there was something piercing and holistic about the way you looked at him. In the dreamscape, he was used to a more glazed over, passive look no matter who he was speaking to. It was a natural side effect of being in a paradise hidden beyond the gates of sleep.

His response lagged for a second, an awkward pause before he seemed to snap back to his senses.

When he'd looked into it at first, as stated earlier, he couldn't figure out why wherever you went, the charming doves wouldn't be far to follow. The longer he looked however, the more and more he understood.

In a world where everyone bowed to the authority of rest, you were the first person the head of the Oak Family had ever met with such a sharp gaze.

Bright, alert, attentive.

A nervous grin crept up his cheeks, Sunday himself nodding to avoid eye contact. Quietly, he mumbled,

"...I suppose you will."

‘Have you seen Mr. Sunday lately?’

‘No, is something the matter with him?’

‘Why, it seems to me that Mr. Sunday is growing pretty smitten with a certain someone…’

Rumors constantly flit around Dewlight Pavilion, family members whisper hushed musings behind pristine gloves at all times. It is rare, however, that Sunday is seriously brought up in the quiet giggles echoing the corridors.

A young Pepeshi woman chortles, ‘You should see how much he's brightened up these last couple of weeks.’

A cleaner with tousled hair underneath his uniform cap hums, ‘I don't know Mr. Sunday well, but he seems to have gotten some kind of weight off his shoulders.’

One of the intelleron consultants chews on a thought, ‘I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something different about Mr. Sunday, more at ease.’

Even stranger, nobody seemed to follow up on those whispers to correct the record. No members of the Oak Family shushing the loose-lipped gossip mongers usually meant something. It could mean the gossip wasn't anything worth noting. But when it came to the romantic status of one of the most sought-after bachelors in Penacony, really nothing was too small.

No, there was something else far more likely hidden in plain sight.

The family wanted you to believe them.

Sunday wanted you to believe them.

You swallow the urge to wring your hands nervously but it goes down feeling like the bile rising in the back of your throat. Walking through Dewlight Pavilion never fails to make you feel like you’re going crazy.

You hear your coworkers’ voices so clearly you could swear your life on it, but it’s like they have some magical sixth sense that lets them know the second before you’re going to look at them. It’s like the second your eyes land on them, their lips are pressed into a thin line and the little group they were huddled in disperses to go back to work. It’s like they’re taunting you.

The various workers depart to their station from the main hall, leaving a clear path for you to take up the stairs. Each step makes you feel more nauseous than the last, the vintage lights and their golden visage spinning in your peripherals as you try to focus on the plush red carpet under your feet. It’s soft, but it’s almost like you can’t feel it squished under the soles of your shoes.

Your feet lead you, on autopilot, to the same office you were always summoned to just after the end of your shift. There was a sudden surge of anxiety gripping your diaphragm, but you did your best to push it down. Both hands reached to smooth the front of your uniform, shaking ever so slightly.

That wouldn’t do.

You took a deep breath in, clenching your hands into fists, the same breath escaping your nostrils as you let the same hands relax at your sides. You ended up disappointed anyways, your fingers twitching as they wrapped around the handle to Sunday’s office. Still, anymore stalling and you’d likely be late for your meeting.

‘SQUEEEAK!’

Your eyes squeezed shut with a grimace, luckily still hidden by the large wooden door. You inhaled sharply before wiping the expression off your face, pushing the squeaky door open enough to slip into the room.

You didn’t need to look up to imagine the same pair of honey-toned eyes lifting from the stacks upon stacks of paperwork on his perfectly organized, polished wooden desk. Even further, you didn’t need to look up to imagine him haphazardly pushing the stack of papers he’d been looking at to the side.

“[name]?”

You let the breath you’d been holding flow out through your nostrils, finally turning around to face him head on.

Sunday, in all his pristine, well-kempt glory. He set his pen down on the desk, a gloved hand loosely beckoning you forward. He didn’t say anything, you didn’t either. The same red carpet covered the inside of his office, the same red carpet squished under your shoe as you walked closer to his desk.

You didn’t miss the way his eyes followed you wherever you walked, certainly didn’t miss the way they lingered far too long for comfort.

Opposite his desk, a chair with plush red cushions. It felt far too fancy for someone as low on the totem pole as yourself, but you didn’t dare make any comment on it. Making eye contact felt too direct, instead your gaze fell to your lap.

“...Mr. Sunday,” you asked, attempting to rub your palms off on your slacks, “if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly is the purpose of this meeting?”

He pursed his lips and you feared you’d said something to upset him. “Just Sunday is fine, no need to act like a stranger.”

The halovian wings on either side of his head opened up before resituating themselves back on either side of his head, his small smile seemed to widen, but you weren’t sure if that was your mind playing tricks on you at this point, “Well, I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that have been circulating lately.”

Your pulse spiked.

“Ah, I-I suppose I have.”

Your fists tightened into balls where they’d been resting on your thighs. You could swear you picked up on some kind of twisted amusement dancing in his eyes, like he was toying with you.

But it vanished just as quickly, his eyes growing downturned, as though embarrassed or understanding, “I understand it may be a tad bit awkward, talking about it I mean,” he rested his elbow on the cool wood, propping his chin up on an open palm, “but I wanted to hear your opinion on them.”

“My…opinion?”

He hummed, calm, as though he were asking for something as straight-forward as the color of the sky.

You swallowed, dryly. “Well, I can’t say I’m all that fond of them.”

“Oh?” Even if he didn’t move all that much, his expression made him feel like he was leaning in on you, closing in. “Do tell.”

“It…” you paused again, looking for anything around the room except for Sunday to rest your eyes on, “It makes me feel as though my abilities are being brought into question. People may assume I only got this job or keep this job because of some kind of feelings you harbor for me, but I earned my position just like everyone else.”

He went to answer, but it seemed like all the feelings you’d been bottling up were surging past your lips like a tsunami you couldn’t hold back anymore. “Rumors about a relationship aren’t good for your integrity and they aren’t good for ensuring I do my job without interference.” Your expression got serious, brows settling into a firm line while your lips curved into a frown. “For both our careers, I think it’d be better if there was a little bit more distance between us in the future.”

“...”

Sunday was no longer smiling.

The silence was thick enough to suck the air out of the room, hanging in place like a misty fog. Perhaps that was why it felt like you couldn’t breathe.

The wings on either side of Sunday’s head made some kind of fluttering noise as he repositioned them once again, a little less elegantly than the first time.

“I see.”

The head of the Oak Family sat up abruptly, resting his other elbow on the table so he could interlace his fingers in front of the lower half of his face. “I wanted your input before I made any decisions handling the rumor mill. It seems we’re largely on the same page.”

‘Liar.’

It rang clearly in your head like a bell, but you obviously couldn’t say it to his face. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, eyes flitting to the door before returning to your hands in your lap. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m just a security officer. I trust you to handle this how you see fit.”

“...”

“...Am I free to go, sir?”

Sunday appeared to be thinking.

“I believe the best outcome will come from both of us staying on the same page,” he started laying his palms flat on the table, “but I understand that you’re probably eager to clock out for today.”

“...”

His smile returned, jaw unnaturally clenched.

“I’d appreciate it if you stopped by tomorrow before clocking out again, just to go over the situation in a little bit more detail.”

You were quiet. Too quiet.

You could feel his stare boring holes into you, even if you refused to make eye contact.

“...of course, Mr. Sunday.”

“Long week?”

You didn’t even raise your head from where you’d slumped over the bar counter. In fact, you assumed the alluring voice calling from over your shoulder was talking to someone else. The Soulglad was working its magic, smoothing out any disharmony that seemed to rise from your situation at work.

It always sloshes around in your mouth cold, fizzy like soda but it goes down your throat like a sweet mug of hot chocolate, bubbling up warm at the bottom of your gut like some kind of warm internal hug. The glass you’d been nursing was empty by now, though.

Some people get angry, giggly, reckless when they’re drunk. Maybe you would’ve been one of those people, but today? You were too tired to be anything except sleepy. Arms crossed on top of the counter, resting your face on your forearms, you were maybe two seconds away from falling into the most blissful slumber of your entire life.

The slumber, however, was unceremoniously tugged just out of reach by the man situating himself on the bar stool right next to yours.

I mean, it wasn’t his fault technically. He hadn’t gone out of his way to shake you to get your attention or anything. It just so happened the creaking of the bar counter under his palms seemed to do the work for him. That didn’t stop it from ruining your evening, though.

You pried your head from your forearms like you needed a proverbial crowbar to pick your neck up. Your brows were angrily set lower on your face, lips curled with an extra dose of distaste. There’s a dissatisfied rumble in the back of your throat while you correct your posture, sitting up straight. Reluctantly, you rub the sleep out of your eyes with a swipe of your hand.

Impishly, the man who’d called out to you earlier snickers before turning towards the working bartender. His Soulglad order goes unheard in your little stupor. You raise your arms towards the ceiling, attempting to get a satisfying crack in your back to no avail, instead slouching in your seat again so you could reach for the nearly forgotten empty cup you’d downed about half an hour ago.

You wait for the bartender to come back from fetching the pretty stranger’s drink, patiently, formerly angry features melting into a much calmer expression. You massage your temple with your free hand, trying to ignore the incoming hangover you’ll be dealing with come tomorrow morning.

Despite very obviously appearing to be drowning your problems in liquor, the man sitting next to you seems reluctant to leave you to your sorrows and spirits.

“You don’t seem to be doing so hot, big guy.”

You tap your finger on the rim on your glass, “Gee, what gave it away?”

The first thing you notice about the man is his hair. Compared to the rest of the crowd, it’s a jarringly soft, sandy blonde. It’s the easiest thing to spot, especially since the alcohol is starting to blur your vision.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he hums, leaning closer to you over the wooden counter. “Why don’t you tell me?”

The next thing you notice is his eyes. The two of you lock gazes and it feels like you stop breathing for a second. His iris was made up of electrifying hues of magenta and teal, lining his pupil in alternating rings.

You stared for a moment too long to be considered natural, completely forgetting what he’d asked you in the first place. You blinked, embarrassed, turning your attention to how empty your drink was. You gave a heavy exhale through the nose before responding, “God, where would I even start?”

“Well, take it from the top.” Finally, you take note of how expensive his clothing is. As a Penacony native and one who works in tandem with the public sphere, you recognize the rings on his fingers from the high-end jewelers at Oti Mall the very second his rings clink on the wooden countertop. “I’m a really good listener when I want to be.”

He’s leaning in closer, you can smell just the slightest hint of cologne from where he’s started resting his head on his hand.

“Well,” You start, eyes tracing the fluff on his collar, “As flattered as I am, my lips are sealed.”

He elongates the ‘Whaaaatt’ he lets out in response. He sits up a little bit straighter. It’s cute, reminds you of a bird fluffing up its feathers. “I’m just trying to make some friends while I’m in town. Saw you all by yourself and thought I might have found a kindred soul to talk to over a glass of wine.”

You huff, but you can’t help the smile that tugs at your own lips. His playful attitude is infectious and you can’t help but fold when you’re this drunk and impressionable. “We can talk, just not about my problems. I save that for the second date at least.”

The other man’s eyes light up with mischief, “Oh?”

The bartender finally returns with the mystery man’s wine glass. He takes a look at the crimson in the glass, sizing it up before seemingly deciding it was satisfactory. You, on the other hand, place another order for what you’d been pounding back earlier. The younger bartender eyes you up and down for a moment, trying to figure out if you were drunk enough he should consider cutting you off for the night.

Still, he disappears behind the counter again with your empty glass to get you another refill and you can focus your attention on the mystery man swishing his wine around in his glass. He brings the glass just under his nose, seemingly surprised by what he smells.

You raise a brow at him, crossing your arms over one another on top of the counter again. “Did they stiff you?”

He hums, “I can’t tell yet.” He tips the glass back, taking just about the smallest sip you’ve ever seen anyone manage in a Penacony bar. He lets the taste settle in his mouth, giving another noncommittal hum.

You watch him in silence, hanging on his next word.

Funnily enough, he doesn’t say anything next. He holds the glass out to you.

You’re reminded of the alcohol muddying your senses when it takes you an extra second to realize he wants you to take the glass from him. Dumbly, you blink at him, “Me?” You jab a finger at your own chest, “You want me to taste test your wine?”

He laughs, more breath than anything else, “Why not?”

You purse your lips, “Well, I don’t know what you think I’ve been drinking, but the people I know don’t usually get buzzed on red wine.”

He offers you the glass again, “Just try it, I want to know what you think of it.”

You look at him funny, earning another laugh from him. Tentatively, you wrap your fingers around the glass, just barely brushing your fingers with this mystery man. “You’re strange, y’know. Not a lot of people offer their drinks to total strangers.”

You take a sip of his wine as he watches, seemingly captivated with the way your adam’s apple bobs when you swallow.

“Well,” he starts, taking the glass back just as the bartender on shift is returning with your own drink of choice, “We don’t have to be total strangers.”

You take the glass from your coworker graciously, giving a curt nod to signal your gratitude. But, unlike the last 3 times he’d gotten you the same drink, you don’t immediately take to gulping half of it down. Instead, you’re staring back into the same magnetic eyes that you thought ruined your night earlier. “Yeah? And what do you suggest we do?”

He’s coy, hiding the bottom half of his face behind his wine, “We could start with names.”

You didn’t think about it for long, already in too deep to act like you weren’t equally as enamored.

“(name).”

He sets his glass down on the table, seemingly uninterested in the contents at this point.

“Well, (name), you can call me Aventurine.”

As was customary in the land of festivities, the bar was once again alive with groups of friends, family, lovers, and strangers alike. As was also customary, almost all of them nursed some kind of alcoholic beverage or Soul Glad while they conversed amongst themselves.

A young woman with a tall wine glass would bat her eyes at a young fellow gripping a pint of beer like he needed it to breathe. A group of older gentlemen seemed to have variants of the same drink, each just barely distinguishable from the drink next to it, belly-laughing about nonsense that made it obvious they were drunker than the bar staff should’ve allowed.

That was the odd thing. Normally, you’d be doing the same as everyone else. The moment you clocked out of the most awkward, gruelingly uncomfortable work environment you’d ever been unfortunate enough to be subjected to, you’d just be another face throwing back a couple drinks to take off the edge before heading home to actually relax. Today, despite the not-so-subtle lingering bar staff, you still hadn’t gotten yourself a drink just yet.

You were waiting for someone.

Well, you were maybe waiting for someone.

The two of you hadn’t agreed to meet up again after getting drunk off your asses the night prior, but you really hoped he would show up again.

Absent-mindedly, you drummed your fingers on the top of the familiar wood with one hand, the other reaching into your pocket. It’d become a nervous habit. Nobody really seemed to notice but the amount you would check the clock had drastically skyrocketed since you’d started working in the Dewlight Pavilion.

Since you’d started working for Sunday.

The moment you’d realized what you were doing, it was like a switch went off in your brain. Your hand moved to tuck your phone back in your pocket, your inner monologue scolding you for getting so worked up over someone you’d only known for a few hours.

“...”

You sat in silence, both hands loosely gripping the edge of the counter top.

You weren’t left by yourself for long, though. In fact, literal seconds before you planned on flagging down a bartender to grab a drink, you were startled by a pair of gloved hands reaching out in front of your face to cover your eyes.

The touch was delicate and the material of the gloves was familiar.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Your heart rate picked up, automatically on high alert.

“Guess who?”

Immediately, your heart dropped back down to where it was supposed to be in your chest.

“Aventurine?”

The gloves pulled away from your face, no longer obscuring your vision. You noted immediately that they were black, not white. You were so caught off-guard by the gesture earlier you hadn’t even thought to check what color the gloves were.

The aforementioned man, none the wiser to your inner dilemma, rested his hands on your shoulders with a smile. “How’d you know?”

On auto-pilot, your posture relaxed, an exhale passing through your lips in relief. You played it off as a joke, swiping a palm across the back of your forehead animatedly, “Well, I only know a couple people with those gloves and you’re the only person who wouldn’t be trying to kill me.”

He snickered, once again sliding onto the bar stool right next to you. “Really? You have enemies?”

You shrugged in response.

He hummed, “Color me surprised.”

You smiled back at him, genuinely this time. “Live and learn, right?”

Aventurine nodded, raising an arm to flag down the bartender. “As much as I’d like a repeat of yesterday afternoon, I actually have somewhere to be today.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Really? What have you got planned for your afternoon in the land of festivities?”

He cracks a half-smile, “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you.”

You cock your head to the side, earning yourself an amused grin.

He gazes off towards where the bartenders are running around like headless chickens, attempting to keep guests happy during the after-work rush. “I rented out a huge roulette table for myself and a few big investors with the company I work for.”

You purse your lips, giving him a certain look he seemingly didn’t anticipate coming from you.

He pushes your shoulder, “Hey, what’s that face for? I’m plenty lucky!”

You nod, incredulously, “Uh-huh? Anything else you want to say?”

He huffs, trying to hold a serious expression, but almost immediately he’s fighting an uphill battle. “I’ve never lost a bet of any kind in my life.”

You snort, “Whatever you say.”

He crosses his arms, resting them on the bar counter, “I haven’t!”

You can’t help the grin on your face nor the overconfident manner in which you doubt him. You’d seen this kind of thing a million times before. Tourists always like to play their luck gambling and it turns out, they don’t have much to play. “Mhm.”

Anything less than a smile is gone from his face at this point, “If you come to the roulette table with me, I’ll prove it to you.”

While he’s looking straight at your side profile, you’re looking for a good moment to flag down one of the bartenders that’d seemingly forgotten the two of you existed at all. “I don’t do gambling anymore. I lost half a paycheck while I was drunk and I swore I would never do something that stupid ever again.”

“You don’t need to be the one gambling,” he adds, almost a little too quickly. “You can just sit back and watch.”

You were already going to open your mouth to give him a maybe, but he cut you off before you could so much as make a sound. “I’ll even cover your drinks for the night.”

You glance at the bar counter, seemingly weighing your options. He interlocks his fingers, playing up the begging act before you swat his hands away with a chuckle, “Okay, okay! You’ve convinced me, you’re going to embarrass the both of us.”

He silently cheers, hopping off the bar stool before motioning for you to follow him.

Your jaw drops, “Now? We’re going now?”

He nods,coffering a hand, “Well? The reservation starts in ten minutes and I plan on getting my money’s worth.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek.

You’re nervous.

No, you should be nervous.

You’ve talked to Aventurine for maybe 5 hours total if you’re being generous. You shouldn’t be this eager to follow a random stranger, albeit a handsome stranger, into some dark, shady roulette table room.

But you are.

You slip your hand into his, letting him lead you out of the VIP Lounge before you can consider turning down his offer.

‘CRASH!’

The sound of the stapler clattering to the ground is deafening in the silence of Sunday’s office.

With a swipe of his arm, the giant stack of paperwork he had yet to complete flew off the corner of his desk.

‘THUMP!’

It falls in a giant heap to the ground, the recoil sending papers flying across the red carpet floor.

He grabs the lamp that’d been in the office longer than he had by the base, yanking the cord out of the wall in the process.

‘SMASH!’

The lightbulb shatters when it makes contact with the bookshelf he’d thrown it at. All that’s left on his desk is the line of neatly organized pens in black and blue ink.

Even then, that’s too much.

With Herculean strength he didn’t know he possessed, he grabs his desk by its corners, flipping the entire thing over onto the floor.

‘BANG!’

Sunday’s teeth are grit, grinding against one another hard enough his jaw aches. His hands are shaking where they’re curled up into fists at his side. His chest heaves, but not from the exertion.

Something inside him burns.

It rumbles, it aches, it hurts.

His fingers itch for destruction of some kind, more destruction than tearing apart his office can give him. He needs to see carnage, needs to cause some kind of catastrophe but his status means he can only do so much without jeopardizing his future prospects.

The wings on either side of his face flutter indignantly.

It’s getting harder and harder to breathe.

His vision is starting to get spotty.

Every time he tried to swallow down the urge to tear apart anything and everything he could get his hands on, he just kept on seeing the pictures that’d sent him into such a fervor in the first place.

Why?

What was it about the IPC Stoneheart that caught your interest?

What did he have to offer that Sunday didn’t?

Originally, he tried to push down the burning feeling of competition.

The first picture he’d been sent wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Aventurine cradled a glass of blood red wine in one hand, the other one was counting something off on his fingers. You leaned in, resting your chin on one of your hands while taking a sip of your own drink.

It was just a friendly outing between two strangers in a bar!

But then it wasn’t just a friendly outing between two strangers in a bar, it turned into inviting you out on the town whenever you weren’t working.

Every picture he was sent made Sunday feel like he was being jabbed with a hot poker. The nagging voice at the back of his head went from being nothing more than occasional whispers to near constant chatter.

Competition and jealousy boiled over, returning as steaming hot inadequacy and betrayal.

The cameras around Penacony caught the two of you frequenting gambling dens, all smiles and coy banter behind the mountains of game chips Aventurine’s supernatural luck managed to rake in.

The head of the Oak Family tried to come up with a reason why you’d choose to follow after Aventurine. Maybe the family hadn’t been paying you enough, maybe you were only toying with Aventurine for his money. If Sunday increased your pay, maybe you’d stop running around behind his back!

But that would only explain the times you were pictured at the casino tables.

What about all the times the two of you had wandered around the Moment of Scorchsand?

Drinking, dancing, bar hopping? Were those just an added on fling? Another way of cheating Aventurine out of his money?

Or, or the moment of Stars?

Did you need Aventurine’s money to have a good time at an amusement park?

Why did you pay for that date then? Why was that date your idea?

Why did the cameras catch the two of you making out on the elevator ride up to Aventurine’s hotel room?

The halovian clutched his head in both hands.

He needs the room to stop spinning, he needs those images out of his head.

But he can’t seem to stop them, no matter how hard he tries. The second he manages to push one down, another five images are burning themselves into his brain.

Cruelly, the voice that’d been telling him to act on his suspicions sooner only seems to get louder and louder. It laughs at him, ridicules him.

Sunday cries out in pure anguish, sending a fist hurtling straight through the wall behind his desk.

“FUCK!”

“Hngh… Oh-”

Aventurine’s fingers curl in your hair, tugging your strands with enough force your scalp burns. You groan, throat spasming around where you’d taken his cock down to the base. The pleasant vibrations only send his head tipping back against the silk-cover pillows in a delayed moan, toes curling from where you’d thrown his legs over your shoulder.

Your middle finger ghosts over his prostate a second time and his jaw drops. Reflexively, he pulled your face closer to his pelvis leading you to choke. You lave your tongue over one of the more prominent veins on the underside of his pretty pink shaft on your way up, kitten licking the tip as your chest heaves. You take in a much deeper breath, pulling off of him completely in favor of grabbing the bottle of lube that’d you’d carelessly thrown aside earlier.

His eyes are just a smidge glossed over when he picks his head up from the pillow, meeting your gaze with his lower lip jutted out in a pout. “Mmm… I was so close, why’d you have to stop?”

He’s a picture, blonde hair sticking to his forehead, teal button-up only half undone and hanging off his shoulders. His collarbones and shoulders are littered with hickies in a plethora of colors, reminders of each time you’d found yourself in the same hotel room after a haze of a night spent drinking, gambling, and/or flirting.

“It’s hard getting comfy with something down your throat, babe.” With the cap of the bottle already mostly screwed off, you make quick work of it with your teeth. Pulling your middle finger out of his tight ass, you squirt a healthy dollop onto your middle and index fingers.

His eyes drop to where your fingers are working him open, two fingers sinking in knuckle deep. He whimpers when he hears the filthy squelch the lube makes when you start moving them back and forth. His breath gets stuck in his lungs when he feels the pads of your fingers glide over his prostate again. “Hurry up-” he bites his lip when he feels the warmth of your breath fan over his leaking tip, “Wanna feel you inside already.”

Your laugh is breathy as you start to scissor your fingers to make room for a third. You blow cold air on his tip, relishing the way his knees try to lock up around your neck, the way his cute dick twitches. He shoots you a half-hearted glare, pushing his hips further on your fingers to try and feel for that one spot that would send him to the stars above. You’d hooked up with him enough to know exactly where it was in this position, angling your fingers to skillfully knead the little bump with startling accuracy.

“Fuck- Yes, please, (name), right there!”

His thighs seize up on either side of your head, eyes rolling into the back of his head. One of the hands tangled in your hair finds itself covering his mouth, muffling his whines. The hand still knotted up in your tresses tries to pull you closer, nonverbally pleading for more. You slip in a third finger and he groans at the stretch,wiggling his hips even though you aren’t moving.

Your mouth is on his tip in an attempt to pacify him, licking over his slit as you pull your fingers out again. He’s easily distracted and his hips are trying their best to thrust up from where they’re pinned on the mattress. There’s another healthy slathering of lube on your fingers before you’re working him open again, taking as much of his pretty pink cock in your mouth without using your throat.

His moans are getting higher and higher in pitch, grip getting tighter and tighter on your scalp. He whimpers between them like he’s in pain, but the way his heels are digging into the small of your back, you know he isn’t actually hurting.

“Ah~, (nickname), I’m gonna- I’m gonna cummmngh~”

Crystalline tears pool at the corners of his eyes, his back rising in the perfect arch the deeper you’re thrusting your fingers. You pull off his dick with a smile, a line of saliva between your lips and the angry red tip serving a messy reminder. You’re panting, both trying to catch your breath but also because you’re hardly containing your own excitement. “Yeah? You’re gonna cum?”

He nods his head quickly biting his lips, and Aeons, he sounds angelic when you prod around his insides looking for his prostate again. “Mmhm… Ngh~”

Your free hand wraps around the base of his dick with a smile, chuckling when his grip on your hair is just about tight enough he’s getting ready to pull out chunks of your follicles. You’re stroking him up and down, nice and slow at the same pace you’re thrusting. “You wanna cum?”

He nods his head even harder this time, the tears pooling at the corners of his eyes starting to slide down his cheeks one by one.

You stop stroking him, hand coming to a stop working his insides too, “I wanna hear you say it,” you press a lingering kiss on the top of his thigh, “Need to hear you say it f’me before you cum, darling.”

He chokes on a frustrated sob, “I-I needa cum- please, baby, n-need it so bad-”

He’s too slow to bite his lip again, an uncharacteristically screamlike moan ripped from his throat the moment your hands started massaging his sweet spot again. Despite already being arched, his back is pushing itself off the bed as he struggles to keep his voice down. He’s chasing your hands, despite the fact they aren’t going anywhere.

You start sucking a hickey into his inner thigh, watching the way his cock twitches and his legs jolt.

“CUMminGgh! Oh, hoh- I’m cumMINg~”

He keens, spasming and seizing up before he creams thick and heavy onto his chest with a labored sob. His chest is moving so fast it looks like he’s hyperventilating and he’s scrambling to pry your mouth off his over sensitive inner thighs.

You groan against his skin, immediately getting up from where you’re kneeling at the foot of the bed to crawl on top of him. Despite just how intense he came, he’s more than eager to welcome you onto the bed with open arms. His hands are immediately reaching for your shirt buttons, fumbling to get them undone with shaky hands. You’re caging him in with one arm, the other reaching up to help him undo your button-up.

He scowls at the last few–the ones he decided were taking too long–before he’s taking the fabric in both hands and popping the buttons off in one fell swoop. You’re pleasantly surprised, even more so when his hand is reaching for your belt buckle all on his own.

Usually, he enjoyed being pampered in bed, him taking the initiative was more than unexpected–pleasant, but unexpected.

“What’s the rush?” You tease, letting your arm fall back into place holding you up, “I’m all yours, all night.”

Aventurine whines, fingers catching on the clasp of the buckle, “That’s not soon enough, wanna feel you now.”

“Fuck…” The sight of him being so needy is turning you on to an embarrassing degree. At this point, you’re guessing the front of your boxers are all but soaked through.

The man underneath you isn’t the only one that’s impatient, it seems. Moments later, your hand is reaching down to help him free you from the confines of your uniform slacks. One of his hands reaches up to yank you down close enough to kiss him, clumsy and wanting.

Your lips are about to connect, the night’s really heating up, and you couldn’t think of anything that could ruin the moment until-

‘KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!’

The two of you freeze, eyes darting towards the door.

You look back down at him, “Were you expecting anyone tonight?”

“No.” Aventurine scowls, pursing his lips, “I told the front desk to say I wasn’t here tonight.”

You frown, “Then, who-”

‘KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!’

You get off the disheveled blonde, snatching his robe off the back of his closet door. He takes it quickly, getting off the bed to cover himself.

You’re trying to button-up what buttons remain on your shirt, redoing your belt buckle while you’re at it.

Aventurine turns back to you, approaching the entrance to his luxury hotel suite as he shrugs the fluffy black robe, “Don’t think you’re getting away from me, we’re starting up again the second I’m-”

‘KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!’

He grits his teeth, “I’m on my way!”

He ties the waistband into a knot, sliding on a pair of equally fluffy slippers by the bedroom door before disappearing from sight.

You don’t think much of it, after all, you’d spent enough nights out with Aventurine to know he was someone important in a huge corporation. It didn’t seem out of the question that something might’ve needed his immediate attention.

In the mirror of the wardrobe next to the bed, you’re fixing your hair and counting the buttons missing from your uniform when the door opens.

“Sunday! What a pleasant surprise.”

there's a note on the side of the phone booth, read it?

" happy gay month cuz u know u gay and stuff <3 "

guys there isn't that much smut don't be mad at me i have a heat fic and another fic about blowing out brant's back to write😔

ANYWAYS

If you guys haven't checked my pinned lately, I'd recommend giving it a read because it contains my plans for this account's future and all that good stuff <3

I really appreciate the people who stuck with me over like 5 months of prolonged absence, y'all are real ones and I wish I could kiss u all hot and romantical on the mouth

I'll admit this isn't my best work, especially since I've kind of fallen out of HSR and Genshin, but it's here for whoever wants to read it !

It's been wonderful getting to know all of you guys and I'm sincerely grateful for all the support you guys have shown for me and my little writing hobby :,)))))

divider credits:

@/im4yeons

@/saradika-graphics

@/enchanthings

@/cutestgrotto

#Σ>―𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐭 𝟏𝟗 ✆→#honkai star rail #hsr #sunday hsr #hsr aventurine #sunday x male reader #sunday x reader #sub hsr #sub honkai star rail #x reader #x male reader #male reader #x male y/n #fanfiction #fanfic #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail fanfic #aventurine x reader #aventurine x male reader

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