#i love soft yandere sunday

[bisexual-froggie]

Usually I'm not the type to like "yandere" type characters or tropes, but Sunday just...intrigues me.

I'm still not very into the kidnapping or very dark tropes of yandere, but I'm interested in a very overprotective and possessive Sunday. Him watching your every move with his birds. His subtle manipulation. The fact that he has literal power over you to make you tell the truth...

Maybe it's the fact that he doesn't have bad intentions. He wants the best for you and Penacony. He's also very self sacrificial. I don't doubt he would do anything for you just as he would for Penacony. He truly cares and loves you. There are many moments where he treats you with gentleness and tenderness, but there's this twisted and dark side of himself that makes him act in unsavory ways sometimes.

[moonsaver]

how touchy do you think sunday would be with his partner? (yan! or otherwise, if there's a difference)

Great ask. Simple, well rounded. I like the prompt. Thank you for the request!

[Cw; slightly suggestive, but nothing sexual. Mentions of being naked. Also yandere.]

As for Sunday..

Normally, I like to think Sunday is Adequately Touch Starved™️.

He doesnt make a show of it in public – PDA is a huuuuge nono, only an exception under specific circumstances to the point where it's better if you let Sunday initiate in public instead of you. In private? Go ham. Hug him from behind while he's brushing his teeth. Ask to join him in the shower. Kiss his face while he's eating breakfast. He'll pepper your face in soft kisses in return, smiling against your skin when you giggle. He'll literally insist on drying you off himself after you shower if it means he gets to hold you. He would adore absolute skin contact, like full blown naked cuddling. But with Sunday, I imagine things are rarely sexual, but rather more sensual or romantically intimate.

Depending on how deep into the relationship one might be with him, he will do a few cheeky or endearing things. Like for ex. If you wear gloves, he slides his hand into your glove just to hold your hand, and smiles when you laugh. He likes being held and holding you, but hates it when those times are interrupted – its a similar feeling to how someone feels when theyre in the shower and don't want to leave. He doesn't admit it, but sometimes when you pull him back as he's just about to leave through the door and kiss him – he loves it. Absolutely savors the feeling of a faint imprint on his face (but has to check for appearance concerns).

His biggest problem is; in the starting of your relationship, or if both of you are new to physical affection as a means of love language – he will neverrrrr initiate. He says he doesn't want to push you (which is half true, but also because he's a big cowardly nervous little dog who doesn't want to appear like one). You have to slightly ease him into it. But after a certain duration of time, he gets more comfortable and initiates it instead. And he does it in ways you don't normally notice, so sometimes you unknowingly might even interrupt his attempt and walk away.

Yandere Sunday is not shy.

Yandere Sunday, I imagine, is a tad bit more touch starved than the usual Sunday, and entirely shameless about it with you, far too soon.

He always wants to keep his hand on you – he holds it, or acts like he's guiding you to do something just by holding it, maybe even tells you he's inspecting something as an excuse to. In the beginning, he still manages to stay low about it, but later on, he doesn't care about hiding it much.

Always expects physical affection when he's within your vicinity. Maybe not too much in public (thank the aeons for your own dignity), but in private, he's no less than 'all over you'. Constantly squeezing in and sitting beside you if you're on the couch, circling his arm around you and holding you tightly against him. If you're sitting, he might pull you into his lap and push his face into the curve of your neck, relishing your scent. His lips are always pressed onto your skin – on your knuckles, your face, maybe on your head, your neck, anywhere he finds. Sometimes he's not even kissing you, but squishes up his face right beside you.

maybe even if he's let go of his reservations to an extreme degree – he makes you sit on his lap in his office. Maybe slides up a gloved hand under your shirt and acts annoyed that you're squirming, as if none of his employees can walk in any moment and see the compromising position. But he doesn't care much, since the door is locked.

I'd say in general, for Sunday, he likes the skin to skin contact aspect of physical affection. And the warmth during cold winters is also a huge favorite of his. He tends to feel lonely and untethered most of the time, so touch can also serve to help ground him – especially if he's stressed or just didn't have that great of a day.

[yandere-wishes]

✩༻Imaging Yandere Sunday feeding you an icecream sunday༺✩

It's always oneiric on Penacony.

You can never tell if you're dreaming or awake.

Sunday's finger dance gingerly across your side.

silk over silk.

How can a touch be feather-light and still so suffocating?

He's got you dressed in something fancy, puffed skirt eating away at your ankles. Perched elegantly on his lap as he glides the silver spoon between your lips.

"Delicious isn't it, darling?"

The ice cream melts on your tongue, creamy and soft like a ripe cloud. The sprinkles float between your teeth, crushed in a soft grind, and swallow. It's almost like eating clouds and chewing on stars. Only in Penacony can just fantastics feel all too real. Only with Sunday do you dare dream of just things.

You nod your head, trying to coat the anxiety you get when you stare into his gleaming eyes, with the sweet taste of the iced dessert. Still, the suffocation strives, you can't help but be scared. Will he start eating you once the dessert is finished? Will he cage you between his teeth, letting you melt on his tongue like cream gelato in the afternoon sun? Will he swallow you bit by bit until there's nothing left?

You watch as he takes a bit, keeping the spoon in his mouth a moment too long. The next scoop feels like licking the ice cream from his lips. Savoring Sunday instead of the dessert. "I love this flavor especially." He chimes with a melodramatic "Ummm". You think he means the ice cream,

you hope he does anyway.

"We really should do this every sunday. Don't you agree darling?"

[nvuy]

to invoke perjury (and to love no one else) — sunday

summary. an old telltale whisper of a confession leaves sunday defenceless, and all the more paranoid of your loyalty to him.

notes. omg this is so epic i say as i hold up this work that nobody asked for. i finally finished the penacony tb quest everybody clap it up for me. my sunday obsession is so so bad somebody save me from the trenches.

warnings. mdni. implied explicit content, dark themes, manipulation, sunday is (unsurprisingly) very controlling, sunday is also tremendously paranoid of everything, yandere themes, he makes you cry, sunday uses that weird lying curse on you, but worry not he does love you. i think. let me know if ive missed anything!

“You are breaking my heart.”

You glanced up from the model of the city, growing tired of picking at the corner of one of the buildings. A nervous habit, if you will. When Sunday noticed the damage later, he’d scold you for it.

For now, his eyes were elsewhere. He, too, was staring down at the miniature pinball machine, spinning it with a gloved finger.

You fidgeted, uncertain. “What?”

“You’re lying to me,” Sunday accused. His tone was soft.

Your hands pressed to the sides of the table. “I haven’t lied to you.”

“Not recently, no,” he agreed. He agreed, and you almost sprang from your seat. “But you have. And you still are.”

To that, you gripped the edge of the table tighter. Uncertainty wrought heavy in your bones like lead.

It suddenly felt cold. As if he’d slid ice along your spine. A chill wracked through you. You realised the feeling was his gaze.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

But he was still slowly twisting the pinball machine around and around. He then sighed.

And then he leaned back and traced a finger along the edge of the table, not at all mindful of the small animated figurines occupying the city.

He gave one of their heads a small push, and the small figure’s body sank into the floor.

You took it as a warning.

“Do you remember the night we met?”

Of course you did.

It was a swirl of colour and muted hushed whispers now, but you could recall taking his hand, promising him the world, and kissing along his fingers to the swell of his wrist.

You nodded meekly.

Sunday hummed, clearly lost in thought. “I never forgot what you said to me.” Oh, you knew that look. That distant, faraway look. Like he’s trapping himself in his own head again. He was good at that. Acting, pretending. Putting on a show. “I’d never felt the same again.”

He was still tracing the edge of the table.

There was a small grin on his face.

Such a pleasant expression, paired with that a gorgeous light-hearted tone. His voice sounded like a lullaby echoing in the back of your mind.

His halo was glowing in the light.

“You said to me you’d be my everything. You offered a piece of your very own soul to me.” He gloved finger flitted from the polished wood, and then stopped short of your hand resting on the table. “You have such a lovely heart.”

The muscle raced in your chest.

You weren’t sure if it was out of flattery or fear. You weren’t able to tell the difference anymore.

“Such a shame you continue to spit poison at me. I used to love talking to you.” His gloved finger followed the curvature of your knuckles. “You’ve changed. You’re so different from when I met you.”

Your hands curled into fists as he traced the bone-white colour as you squeezed. Your nails dug into your palms.

He’d changed, too. He’s different too. He’s more watchful now. He barely makes time for himself anymore. He’s always either working or watching you like a hawk.

It’s unnerving. The unsettling brush of his lashes against your skin, and that unbreaking stare.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” was all you said. “I haven’t changed at all.”

Sunday hummed. “Are you sure?”

“Very.” You found the courage to glance up at him. That same unbreaking stare. When you met his gaze, he smiled. “I still care about you.”

“But, you don’t.” There was a light hearted ring in his voice.

You stopped. “What?”

“You don’t love me anymore.”

And there it was.

He was paranoid. He always had been, since the day you shedded a glove from his hand to kiss the skin wrapped around bone white knuckles. He’d been so busy pressing his nails into his palm, so preoccupied in what you were doing, why you were doing this, what you gained from it.

He’s paranoid now. He’s never stopped. He’s always been anxious. He’s always been overthinking your every move like you’re an opponent in a game of chess; always on his toes, always watching, either with his own eyes that more often than not, glared daggers into you, or through the nightingales that swarmed the mansion.

You were shaking. You tried to stop yourself.

He noticed. “You’re upset.”

“Of course, I’m upset.” Your nails dug into the underside of the table. You felt them strain as your jaw clenched.

“Is it wrong to think you’re dishonest?”

“Yes,” you answered. “Yes, it’s wrong. You’re wrong.”

“Perhaps I am, then, for falling in love with a liar.” His fingers chased up your arm slowly. “I always valued honesty above all. How rich.”

“But I’m–” You didn’t even know how to defend yourself.

Instead, you fell completely silent, face burning in humiliation.

The scent of him was intoxicating. Orange blossoms and sandalwood. You had memorised the scents of his favourite fragrances, the shampoo he used, down to his toothpaste. You knew all of it. The way he brushed his hair, the temperature of the water he preferred for his baths, to the chronological order of steps on how he got ready in the morning.

It was all order; a set of stagnant unchanging steps. Like he was following a recipe to its very word.

He was particular.

And he hated change.

He took your silence as an invitation to pry further. “You were so enchanting that night.” He was telling the truth. You could read it on his expression–and his expression. That same expression he held on that night you offered him your heart to take. “And I know now, that you are most enchanting when you lie.”

“What’s–” You interlocked your fingers. His own were tracing the bone of your shoulder now. “What have I done? Why’re you–”

“You, of all people, must understand my uncertainty,” he spoke. He sounded as if you were supposed to know the answer.

Maybe there was no answer at all. No spark to his flame. He’s just doing all of this, because he can. Because he’s paranoid, and he’s hiding his churning stomach and the anxiety that fills his throat with this stage play he’s put on.

“You willingly took in a perfect home, much different from where you came from.” He gestured to the room around him. Pillars that intricately curled into the ceiling, floor polished, the scaled model of Penacony tended to and dusted, and the walls featuring thousands of commissioned pieces from artists all over the galaxy. “No sorrows, no disorder, no dishonesty. Certainly not here.

His eyes shift to you again. “And certainly not now.”

You shrank down into your seat.

“And, under the light of the Harmony–” He raises his hands to gesture to the ceiling, as if THEY’RE watching over him. “–All wickedness is revealed. That is precisely why you're so radiant in the sunlight.”

What the fuck is he talking about?

He must have noticed your expression. You must have appeared distressed. Fidgeting nervously, your blood running cold beneath your skin.

Perhaps your apprehension, the clear anxiousness drawn over your face, egged him further.

He did not dwell on it. Instead, he simply narrowed his eyes. “It is as I suspected.” When your eyebrows raised in surprise, he continued, “you’ve been lying.”

“You don’t trust me anymore?” You frantically wiped a stray tear that had fallen. You hoped he didn’t notice the waver in your tone.

Sunday merely nodded, blinking slowly. “You understand now.”

You stared at the floor. His eyes were burning into your skull.

Your brows knitted together.

A bell tolled nearby.

You don’t recall any sort of church close by.

“I cannot excuse, nor house, nor bed, a liar. It is beyond THEIR natural order. Liars have no place in an assimilated, perfect world.”

You looked elsewhere. You picked nervously at the hem of your shirt, suddenly feeling like you were drowning in hot water.

Your nose filled and clogged with a horrible earthy scent much unlike his shampoo. This was different, real and raw, like there was somebody else in the room.

When you looked around, there was nobody else.

Just the two of you.

“Stand up,” he ordered softly.

You did so, hesitantly, still shaking.

You must have looked pathetic.

Sunday offered you his hand.

Desperate, you took it, and kissed his knuckles.

He let out a faint laugh. “That will not work. Not this time, I’m afraid.” He looked up towards the ceiling for a brief moment, before he closed his eyes. “O Triple-Faced Soul, let fire brand flesh and bone with the mark of honesty–”

Something was wrong, and his face was changing.

For a moment, you saw tracks like golden water flow down his cheeks.

His halo was glowing, but there was something else behind his head. A clouded and muted swirl of colours, mismatched and ever changing.

You tried to pull your hand from his grip, but there was a weight pressed to your limbs.

“–And ensure that every vow is etched in the fervour of undeniable truth.”

“What’re you–” He let go of your hand and you stumbled. The bell toll was only just louder by a margin, and there was now a searing heat in your head. “What’re you doing?!”

Your hands desperately rested on his shoulders, trying to keep yourself upright.

You tried again to wrench yourself from his touch. It was sickening how gentle he was being.

Slowly, he guided you back to the love seat, tutting and scolding you as you fought in his hold. How could somebody so horrible be so gentle?

You felt the urge to throw up all over his clothes. Sweat beaded down your neck and pooled at your collarbone like a necklace.

“What did you do to me?” You were panicking. “What have you done?” You pressed the pads of your fingers to your temples to try and soothe the burning. “You cursed me?”

“I’ve blessed you,” he whispered. “This way, you will be rectified.”

Something was whispering to you. Almost inaudible, indiscernible, like the banging of a death knell in your ears.

What is it? What is that?

You looked to him for an answer, but words caught heavy on your tongue like lead.

“All you have to do is tell the truth.”

You shook your head. “I’m not speaking to you like this,” you tried. Your voice came out strained.

“You don’t have a choice,” he snapped. “You are not in control.”

“You’ll hurt me for the sake of your precious pride?” Your hands coiled into fists at your sides. Thank the Lords he’d seated you, for you were sure you would’ve fallen over by now. Your feet had since gone numb.

The whispering was right in your ear. When you turned your head to confront the noise, there was nothing there.

“It will not hurt if you tell the truth,” Sunday explained gently. “I hope that doesn’t come as a challenge to you.”

Get out of my head get out of my head get out of my head–

“I’m not answering anything you ask,” you forced out through gritted teeth.

Sunday only let out a breathy, exasperated sigh. “Then don’t. We’ll see what happens to you.”

You said nothing.

Instead, you tried to stand up to leave. Screw this curse he’s put on your head because he’s retreated into his own insecurities. He wasn’t winning this time.

You were so sick of this paranoia.

When you stood, a dizziness hit you like a wave. You desperately reached for anything, and your hands found his. He did not guide you back down into the seat, but his gloved hands remained encased in yours.

Such a perfect, warm fit.

Sunday offered you a gentle, yet peculiar smile.

“Question: have you ever lied to me?”

You didn’t answer.

Your flesh felt as though it was set alight. As if the halovian had personally poured gasoline over you and held a match to the tip of your nose and watched you burn alive.

The whispering was loud. The voices was indiscernible. You couldn’t place a finger to its source, nor a face, nor a name. Three voices, all repeating the same thing. You could tell from its tone, its pitch modulation, and yet you couldn’t understand what was being spoken.

It didn’t sound like any language you knew.

“Answer the question, angel.”

Hot tears bubbled over your lashes.

“Yes.” You fought to keep the word lodged in the back of your throat, but when you forced it out, the lava on your tongue cooled significantly. The whispers grew softer.

He noticed the look of relief cross over your face. “See?” A gloved hand came down to gently touch the crown of your head. “Just answer truthfully, and it will all be okay.”

Then, the white material of his gloves came forward to swipe gently at the tears below your eyes. Salt soaked the soft cotton.

Your hand reached up shakily to hold onto his wrist.

“Did you lie to me the night we met?”

The swirls of colour around his halo were returning.

Your thumb traced the ring on his finger. Gold, with a blue gem on its interior.

Instead of answering, you tried to press your lips to his.

Sunday stopped you, though it took restraint. He held your face still, lips just barely brushing against your own. He tasted salt. Salt and sweet lies, and Aeons above was it addicting.

He sighed. “Don’t tempt me.” He watched you flinch, and rang a simple reminder, “answer.”

“Yes,” you said.

As he expected.

You were so beautiful like this. Raw, and honest.

His heart squeezed with disgust. “Did you lie when you said you loved me?”

Frantically, you shook your head. “No.”

He smiled.

“Did you lie when you said you’d die for me?” He tilted his head.

Your lips pressed together. Your fingers curled tight in the loose curls of his hair. Your nails brushed softly against his feathers.

Your chest heaved when he finally sat beside you on the couch. His skin was so warm pressed against yours, and the contact made you feel dizzy.

“Yes,” you responded.

He accepted it. His finger softly petted your cheek.

Oh, you were crying.

You felt so pathetic and weak, and bubbled words caught in your throat like fish on a hook. You felt trapped, and the colours behind his head were growing more vibrant, brighter, accompanying and drowning out that awful halo.

He’s horrible. He’s so horrible.

You wanted to say it, you wanted to tell him that you needed him to leave. You needed him gone.

He beat you to it. “Do you hate me?”

You heaved a sob. “No.” And you didn’t. You didn’t hate him, despite his obsessive control and unjustified possessiveness. His hubris, and his inability to see past his own paranoia and fear. “Please stop.”

You pressed your lips to the small, poniard-shaped jewel on his chest.

Your sign of devotion did not deter him, though, he was sure you would always have some sort of effect on him.

“It shouldn’t hurt if you tell the truth,” Sunday reminded you. There was a teasing lilt to his voice.

“I don’t hate you,” you repeated, this time as firmly as you could—albeit your voice shook with fervour. “I never hated you.”

“I’m relieved.” His hand petted your hair. “So, so relieved.”

You buried your face into his shoulder and sobbed.

You prayed it was over. You prayed and prayed for the voices to dissipate from your mind. You tried to will them away, to squeeze your eyes shut and beg for the whispers to fade into the background of white noise and static.

The kaleidoscope of colours crept below your eyelids.

Sunday held you securely, and as warm as he was, and as firm and yet so gently his arms sat snugly against you, you felt so cold. So cold and alone and so afraid.

He could fix that.

He hadn’t said a word for a moment.

The burning feeling of your skin returned, and you let out another drawn out noise of distress.

He shushed you. “One final question.”

You shook your head.

Your hands were trembling, fingers weakly pressing to your temples to rid the pounding that made your stomach churn. Your vision was swamped in swirls and patterns of colours you couldn’t put a name to.

His face, too, warped into something evil.

This wasn’t the man whose knuckles you’d kissed, whose wings gently fluttered against your skin, who’d plucked a small feather from them and handed it to you as a symbol of his devotion.

His halo dimmed for a moment.

You felt his lips brush against your ear and the tickle of a feather.

“Do you still love me?”

[yumeboshi]

Mmmm, may I order myself a bloody pomegranate sundae? Looks quite delectable! ♥️

❝ THANK YOU FOR YOUR ORDER、 @yandere-romanticaa .ᐟ ⟡ HERE IS YOUR RECEIPT FROM CAFÉ YUME ⟡

𐙚BLOODY POMEGRANATE SUNDAE：disturbingly red but it smells good at least．．

𐙚 dish desc。．yandere hsr men’s reactions to getting caught in the middle of one of their messy crimes.

．。𝜗𝜚 labels。general yandere themes, mentions of gore and violence, manipulation, filthy, light minors dni warning

．。𝜗𝜚 ingredients。aven, sunday

#AྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིVENTURINE ⇢ “so what if i’m crazy? the best people are”

。no literally 。this man has no shame at all. he’d give you the widest smirk in the world, staring at you straight in the eyes with those intimidating eyes of his while carelessly wiping off some blood from his expensive attire. 。“oops, you caught me.” 。it would be rather unsettling about how unfazed he is. when you call him a murderer and all sort of insults you can think of, he’d just laugh and tell you it’s all part of the ‘game’ you two were in. 。he’d love the horrified look on your face, though, so do be prepared for now intentional bloody corpses anywhere you go. 。aventurine himself knows what he’s doing is wrong. unlike a certain someone but he will submerge the voice of reason inside him if it means that it’s needed for his ‘end goal’ — which is securing you all to himself. he knows you’re breaking him apart, ruining his mind with your thoughts that gnaw on his morals like parasites, but at some point he had just decided to succumb to it. after all, he does not have anything left to yearn for if you’re gone. 。it is almost like he clings to you for his own sanity, ironically enough. you are the cause of him breaking down and yet you are also the one who lets him know why he’s still alive, so for him, killing someone is equal to reminding himself about what he’s living for. 。this gambler won’t know when to stop— he relishes in the thrill of it, he even likes getting caught by you. his sick mind thinks it’s hilarious.

“YOU DON’T have to stare at me that much,” aventurine chuckles.

how could you not, with the obvious residue of blood splattered all over him, he doesn’t even bother wiping it off. the dim candlelights flicker to illuminate your mortified face, because the seat that was occupied moments ago before you excused yourself to get something, was now empty. your dinner date with your friend was cancelled by force.

the man in front of you carelessly slides the scarlet chair out to sit in the formerly occupied place, the chair making an ugly creak as he does, crossing his legs- leaning back leisurely as he smiles at you through despicable eyes.

“i know my attire is ravishing tonight, but please, feel free to order anything else.” he gestures to the spread menu. you can’t even touch it with the substance that contaminated it, no, contaminated the whole table you were sitting in— the angelic white rose jar decoration is broken and red is bleeding into their fragile petals, the ravishing steak is inedible, broken utensils are scattered everywhere on the luxurious tiles of the restaurant, and it’s eerily quiet except for the soft romantic jazz that echoes creepily across the silence.

when you try to leave- to get away from this insane monster that is him, he stops you and pouts, telling you he’s waited for so long, surely they could have an impromptu date. you were his fiancé, it was natural for him to want to treat you to dinners alone- he’d say with a chuckle.

“dates out of the blue are always fun, don’t you think?” he would say with a smile as he eats the steak without caring much about the taste- he has his pretty princess all to him, that’s what matters more. that should be the only thing that matters.

#SྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིUNDAY ⇢ justifies himself

。this paranoid and obsessive man will have the most difficulty suppressing his desire to make a complete massacre 。he just can’t stand seeing someone even close to you. but as the head of the oak family, he’s also the most reputable person so he cannot risk that to succumb to his needs. 。he still will though, just not obviously. his murders are calculated and too well-woven to be suspicious of from the public eye, he knows how to pin crimes on someone else and it’s certainly not his first time doing this. 。when you raise eyebrows- he’d smile and laugh about how you’d think such lowly of him. he was your sweetheart, so you didn’t think much of it either. 。“please, love. now im quite offended.” 。he was definitely pondering over how you caught up though, so he’s going to put in extra effort to cover his tracks. 。but there’s times he loses his composure and doesn’t bother to cover up his crimes. he snaps, letting go of the thin string of sanity that held him together- and when you see that, he’d suddenly go all sweet, cooing to you that this was all for your own good. 。“they were hurting you, angel. hurting you. you’ll never be heartbroken again, not in my arms.” 。sunday is a master manipulator. human emotions are something he has dealt with tons of times. he will know what to say and what to do to pull on your cogs as if he’s performing clockwork. 。when even his reasoning and silver tongue doesn’t work on you- he would hate to do it, he doesn’t want to artificially make his darling, but for the greater good, he would, brainwash you. like mentioned, he’s a firm believer of the end justifies the means.

STANDING upon you is a fallen angel with his attire drenched with blood that isn’t his. you can tell with the way his pristine gloves are stained to oblivion.

you see his business smile crack slightly when he sees you standing in the doorway, horrified. “apologies,” sunday says with a smooth voice, but his eyes waver a little, but soon harden- as if there’s a completely rational reason why he has done whatever he did to your poor friend that was waiting for you in your room.

“what…?”

his cold eyes suddenly melt at your mortified look- he sighs with condescension, as if somehow you’re the one in the wrong. “it’s my sincere apologies i intruded your room without warning, but I must say, the situation was rather… suspicious, hm?” he slowly walks towards you- every step pronounced and clicking against the tiles as if death is knocking on your door.

“another man sitting in the bed we share? I don’t think that’s appropriate, don’t you think?” he’s close enough to push you onto the wall- blocking your escape route. “isn’t he the same person who forgot to send you presents on your birthday?”

sunday doesn’t actually care about the presents part- he was the one who discarded his gift before you could get it, anyway. he’s using it as an excuse to reprimand you.

“y-yes, but that’s not an excuse to—“

“ah ah, I don’t think there’s much of an excuse to make here. you’re dodging the point. tell me, am i not enough for you?” his sickly sweet voice isn’t paired with the sweetest gesture- in fact, you can feel his stained hands press your neck ever so slightly.

you have no other choice but to say you’re sorry- begging him that you really weren’t cheating on him; and it was just an unfortunate coincidence your friend was on the bed. every time you pleaded, he’d sigh and shake his head as if he’s giving in to your desperate begging to not leave you here alone, but inside, his heart pounds with delight seeing you break down and lose your reason.

“oh, you pathetic little dove. always needing someone to protect her from evil.” his hands caress your head, leaning into you to envelop you in a tight embrace he doesn’t plan to let go of. “you keep trying to fly away, yet you know nothing about the world around you.”

your pleas echo louder as his fingers touch your lips, stinging your nose with the metallic smell on them, and he pulls you in for a kiss that makes you choke, his tongue intruding your mouth that spills out drops of saliva from the lack of breath.

“—so I’ll make you a lovely cage, sweetheart.” he whispers against your lips, smiling through his devilishly handsome gaze before devouring them once more.

[violestars]

𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙄 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙢

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: Sunday x male reader

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: childhood friends to best friends to nothing au, where rejecting your confession is worth more than the pain of infecting your perfect image with his sinful existence.

𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚: not proof read, !!only male readers!!

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: yandere-ish?,maybe ooc, mention of religion, implied homophobia, angst no comfort, just depressing.

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨: part 1, part 2

Your childhood friend is a rather confusing fellow, to the point where one would think his significant other, if he ever has one, is the type to do riddles for fun. You also love riddles but moreover, you love him. Can anyone blame you? You were consumed by these feelings in your undeveloped mind. Seven was the age you fell for Sunday, for the charming boy that is your childhood friend. Maybe it was just some puppy love between two foolish kids but no one can explain the bubbling excitement in your stomach whenever a barely visible pout was drawn on his face, whenever he uses sugar coated words to kindly ask others to leave you two alone or how his clinginess to you was shown so slyly. You were an equal to Sunday and it has left a sweet taste on your tongue till this day.

As you grow older, your mind started to question this fondness for him. You were taught love doesn't need any explanation but you aren't dumb, there are always reasons behind everything. Even the unknown comfort, warmness one could find in another is also a reason. You knew that because you have experienced it with Sunday but that wasn't your concern, for now at least. Deep down you knew this love for the other male wasn't merely a mystery, your relationship did not belong in those cheap romcoms you two would binge on a sunday night. Was it more evident on the day you went crying to him about your religious mother? Was it because of the warm hands that traced your cheeks, causing you to lean into such softness as he teased you with a coo? How you wished he could repeat his supposedly sin against his perfectionist family's belief was the attraction to the same gender, how the boyish smirk once he admitted how good rebellion feels.

School isn't your strongest suit and you beat yourself up for that, it also didn't help knowing your insecurity enabled the hatred from others. From family to friends, even strangers, their greatest gift to you was just pitiful stares. Sunday was different though, the soft smile that never fails to comfort you, the warm embrace of the only friend you can lean on, he was truly a breath of fresh air throughout suffocating days of school. The only subject you were good at is literature but the skills you've gained failed to form a clear answer to why your best friend has never doubted you. Asking him yourself only made the progress more complicated for both your mind and heart, as he flicked your head and told you about how much he worried more about your efforts than some silly printed texts.

“Your mind is built from poetry, not numbers, my little train-wreck.” You remembered his soothing voice right beside your ear, ignoring his ways with words and how it shaded your tear-stained canvas a light red, you let out a weak chuckle to lighten the mood.

“And yours is built of riddles. I'm not stable enough to solve one right now, Sun.” Your lighthearted response only brought him to laughter, a smile now placed onto your face as you silently hoped he would drop whatever sentimental words he just thought of since it was already as awkward as it could be. Who in their right mind would ask their best friend to climb through the bedroom window just because regrets were hitting too hard at 3 am? The guy has a controlling family for god's sake.

“You let people treat you so poorly just because of a subject, or it is everything about you throws them off. Why, though? You might think you're weird but I feel like you're just performing. A spectacular show that doesn't meet its audience, so desperately wants to be heard.”

As you thought you couldn’t drown yourself in thoughts of him further, this only deepened it. How you wondered if he actually has a third eye, silently guilding your thoughts to their respective docks. In your mind, he is the epitome of elegance, sometimes you wonder if the word is made specifically for him. Sunday is just perfect, while in one way he was expected to be due to being the adopted son of such a high status family, you felt like he doesn't even have to try. He handled stressful situations with ease, he joked it's you who taught him so with your antics. You two are the polar opposite, yet it felt like two puzzle pieces finding each other, different notes that falls in tune. You wondered how he tolerated everything throughout the years, not that you were complaining, it was just your anxiety often questions the authenticity of this friendship but as his hand cradled your face, the usual smile reserved for only you entered the view, you knew the dreams about him were real because Sunday adores you.

Unfortunately, your dreams crashed. You mentally cursed him for ruining everything, but it was not his fault he couldn't reciprocate those feelings, it was not his fault he is destined for greatness and you are the loser that existed. You knew you were being petty but it hurt how everything turned out to be a cacophony in disguise, how you two favored the full moon that night like the way you favored each other. Well, the way you favored him. Sunday wouldn't know all these shameful thoughts, you only nodded at his kind refusal with choked breaths after all. His frown only deepened once he noticed how tears sharp as the finest blade threatened to fall from your eyes and slice through his heart, but he didn't say anything. It hurts that your feelings were treated like a slipped word, a dumb accident, by both you and mostly him.

He knew you're worried, he was trained to be attentive to every change to his surroundings yet here he was, hands in a tight grip like how his thoughts were tied together in a messy knot. Sunday has been avoiding you, not right after the night of your confession though, he wasn't that cruel but he was evil enough to do it after reassuring you, hoping you would not throw away such unshakable friendship. Reason was, Sunday didn't know why he couldn't accept your love, he should have trust in every card he played, that was what they taught him.

It just tasted bitter. He isn't a saint, he hoped you also knew that, his mouth is filled with lies and his existence needs to be soaked in soap. In other words, Sunday is a freak of nature. Him and his sister were adopted to a rich family after the passing of their parents. Sadly enough, he still felt like nobody's son, his every step reminds him of walking on fragile ice under the threatening gaze of his so-called guardians but he still walks anyways. His sister, Robin, has her own dreams to fulfill and no one will dared to rewritte her role into another plaything for the Gods. That's why Sunday will carry all the burdens, the responsibility that will never be put onto Robin's freely spread wings and he works hard to keep it that way.

Sunday lived in this facade that is made of others' desires, he was a trapped bird that pretends to be an eagle, he felt like the strongest piece but never the mastermind. Unlike him, his darling was the salvation humanity carved for all their miserable life, you were the living proof that the lord heard his songs. You slowly metamorphosed into his only God though, Sunday believed his schemes were always concealed because he worshiped you. Sunday believed you didn't exist because he was only worthy of your afterimage. You were and are his 'father', his entire universe. He shamefully found himself praying to your name against the family's knowledge, images of your beauty embroidered in his mind rather than any flight of fancy.

But how Sunday loathed himself, how pitiful is he if everyone were starting to lead their own life yet he was still following a script, how unfortunate is he if the boy of his dreams felt like the vast sky from his cage. Why does one feel deep disgust within but still mindlessly follows the same path? He wanted to fly upward, to feel your touch but the sky is unreachable and so is you. Sunday knows his love for you like the back of his hand, it's more than the platonic feeling towards his sister and the ambition towards a perfect future, it's the only thing the family didn't plant into his mind at such a young age. His love for you felt like the only thing he could freely express.

You knew he wished to live in a dreamscape, where he would generate happiness for the unfortunates but you don't know this dreamland of his sprouted from the purest of love for you. Those troublesome worries won't reach you there, he swore upon his life that he would shield you away from this brutal world in your new home. You only laughed at his silly delusion though, you never wanted to live in a lie and he knew that clearly. Sunday envied that part of you, he detested how strong you are despite all attempts to drag you down but maybe that's what confirmed his feelings towards you.

You were able to confuse Sunday in the best way possible. You could sob about how ugly you are, complain about your failure of a life and hatred for reality but in the end, you didn't mean it. You wanted to live for the imperfect tomorrow, you wanted to erode a stone that is your destiny with him, with Sunday. Yes, that's what you are. So imperfectly beautiful as he's perfectly fake. That's why he would push you away, as unreasonable as his actions were, he will not taint your future and dirty your determination, this kaleidoscoping pain shall never reach your ears. Sunday doesn't want anyone to find out you're his weakness, he doesn't want to acknowledge you're the sweet reality to his pained dream. He was happily in your shadow even if he could catch a glimpse of your performance.

Sunday loves you so he will let you go.

© art by @/Ceoretkr on twt

[jymwahuwu]

@blbrrymilk here ^^

imagine that Sunday controls your thoughts during your private moments alone in bed 🫢 you were trying to find some relief- thinking of your crush/others beside him or just some kinky fantasies he doesn’t approve of- so he gives you a different image in your mind. forcibly changed your thoughts to fit his preferences instead. maybe you lose your arousal because of his interference or maybe you think of him instead now :33

You really- why didn’t I think of this!! Thank you! ! I'm struggling with how to write about mind control. *mwah*<3 <3 This mind control is annoying LMAO

CW: yandere, mind control, forced orgasms, masturbation, no privacy…?

He is really insufferable omg😹

Forcibly pouring his image into your mind like this? Uh-huh, yes. You've joined "The Family" even though you may not have actually… agreed? Your consciousness is connected to that of the people of Aeon Xipe. The leader of the family often looks at the fragments of thoughts in your mind, and replaces and modifies the information if he sees something that does not suit his liking.

Of course, Sunday cannot directly modify your thoughts. He respects your sense of independence (claim). He just guides you to the right path.

One day you're lying on a soft bed, completely relaxed, probably in your pajamas. You looked at the ceiling and breathed calmly. You might be ready to meditate, masturbate or something like that. And this is your freedom, okay? You don't know why…Sunday, the leader of the family has a kind of appreciation and favor for you. You are considered an important member of the family. You are tired of listening to Xipe and family hymns every day. This is your private time.

Maybe you think about your crush?

Once you think about that person, you can't help but feel your heart speed up and feel shy. You are thinking about the details of your time with them. But - no matter who your crush is, you suddenly find that their image has been replaced to Sunday in your mind. Close-up of him. His smile, his bow, his gestures, his words to you. The words of trust he always expressed to you. You were startled and quickly waved your hands to wave away those pink bubbles and love words. You don't have a crush on him, okay?

After you try to get rid of the image of Sunday, thousands of messages and videos flood into your head. About how you lack taste in the choice of lovers and neglect Xipe and Sunday who truly love and care for you and embrace you in their arms.

Then comes the real chill, the guilt. How their love was wasted and betrayed.

Gazed tenderly by those amber eyes. Surrounded by him. That feather gently stirs your heart.

As for thinking about other people? The consequences are relatively mild. Just bring back some memories of Sunday in your mind.

Sunday also doesn’t agree with some of your kinky fantasies. You are polluted by vulgar worldliness. How can you read those erotic novels and pornographic books? After you thought you were safe and caressed yourself with the toy, you heard him whispering in your ear and guiding you to climax. Of course you were- annoyed- and confused, but in the end you cum so hard, one after another orgasm ripped out of you. Pain and excitement. A feeling of bliss. Your eyes lose focus. Then came the licking of your ears and the restrained kisses.

Sunday is not in this space, but it feels so real.

Minutes after the mind control ended:

You grab your mobile device and send a message to "Mr. Sunday":

(╯‵□′)╯︵┴─┴ Stop putting those images in my mind you bastard!!!!!!!!!

[morphodae]

Concede

A Sunday x Reader drabble

*Spoilers for the newest trailblazer mission ending!*

CW: s p i c y, kissing, some possessiveness/bit of yan!Sunday? he’s… going through it™️

I should finish my yandere Kafka oneshot but Sunday decided to take over T-T

Feverish. Red. A muddled mind stuck in the Dreamscape.

Though, you aren’t even sure at this point if you can even classify the feeling as a dream or as reality. Nevertheless, Sunday stands before you; the only anchor to the present moment being the cold interior wall pressed firmly against your back as the Halovian shoves you to the surface. His hands are quick, feverish, yet the shakiness does not go unnoticed.

His heavy breaths against your neck cause you to lean back into the wall further, his hands grope up and down your sides; furiously. Grabbing any kind of fabric they can reach. It’s sad in a way, he seems to want to be grounded to reality.

Yet — could this moment even be classified as ‘reality’? Or a constructed ideal of one?

“Can’t lose you too.”

The unmistakable murmur of his voice echoes across your skin, vibrations low in his throat as his soft, shaky lips plant kisses across your neck. He still remains gentle, yet there’s a blaze flickering deep inside, eager to be unleashed, waiting for the right moment to turn into a raging wildfire of emotion.

You placate him, arms wrapped around his neck in a mixture of lust and sympathy. “I love you.”

Sunday is teetering between holding back and gluing himself together. He presses himself further into you, unable to accept any form of distance between your bodies. Unmistakable tears drip onto your skin and dance across your collarbone as he continues kissing every visible part of you; desperate to prove to himself that you would not leave him. Not like her. Not like his beloved sister.

You couldn’t. You can’t.

Hands slide up under clothes onto bare, heated skin as his tongue darts out to begin marking you as his. His for the entire planet to see.

Let them. Let them watch. Let them know that he still has you and that you will not be stripped away from him. No enemy shall live long enough to even think of doing so.

His breathing picks up, shaky exhales through his nose as his wings flutter and quiver; naturally hiding you from a world that does not exist in the privacy of his room.

“Never again. You shall not leave. You belong with me. There is no need to worry.”

Through clouded thoughts and a yearning that bubbles within you, a hazy part of your brain knows still:

He is speaking more to himself than he is to you.

[0mysteiarchives]

Within their not-so-angelic prescence .

• Robin , Sunday

"Don't be afraid my dear." "...Actually i'm very much afraid-"

AN: I'm cooking for myself and the robin and sunday devotees frfr !! Also thanks for blowing up my last two posts :3

warning: yandere themes, and possibly ooc?

• Congratulations! You were cursed with two angelic yanderes completely infatuated with you! How do you feel about that?? I'm pretty sure the fangirls and fanboys would love to be in your place.

• Honestly how you ended up like this can be every single possibility imaginable. Whether you end up as one of Robin's crew members, Sunday's work assistant, or literally just being some random stranger walking down the bustling street as both of them stroll around. In any case you'll be the main attention of their curiosity. (ig you're just that pretty idk what to tell yall)

• Obviously the siblings will talk to each other about this feeling towards someone they barely know, but at the end of the day siblings share! Maybe a bit of bickering or two but it'll be alright! They've got everything at their disposal to bring you to them.

If you ever hear a knock on your door, or see the BloodHound family members following you outside, don't bother about that!

• Now that they have you in their grasp, first thing you'll be forced to do is public appearance! Why? Because then everyone will know you belong to them! Robin takes you out to her interviews and exposing you to the paparazzi. Occasionally she'll be sneaky, getting a bit too intimately close to your face and give you a small peck on your cheek as the crowd goes wild. Sunday wrapping an arm around your waist and inching you closer to him as he knows that the public will start rumors about you, him and his sister.

You're fine with that right? I mean, it's not like you had a choice anyway.

• In terms of affection, Robin is a bit more affectionate than Sunday. Most of her interactions are genuine and soft that would lull you into a sense of comfort. If you ever tend to push her away or close yourself off from her, it's fine! Love takes time and Robin will eventually get you to love her just like she loves you.

= Sunday however, can be dependent on how you act. Don't get it wrong though, he's sweet and genuinely loves you just as much as his sister does. But if you won't comply with his requests and continue being stubborn, then maybe punishments are in order... It'll be fine! Robin will convince him not to be too harsh on you!

• What? You don't like how suffocating it feels? You're trying to leave their side? No can do! The siblings are influential after all, they have control over your image to the public brought down in a matter of seconds! Have the people corner you with numerous and uncomfortable questions! Maybe they'll blackmail you with your own family and friends..

= Still not giving in? They'll just have a custom made dreamscape to trap you in! You'll be running through the Reverie hallways, and suddenly end up in an unknown location you have never seen before. As long as you give up and come back into their arms you'll be able to return safely under their protection.

Don't run off okay? They'll wipe your tears and embrace you tight, wrap you between their graceful wings to blind you from the wicked manipulation in play.

—

Robin will be your best comfort, Sunday will be your best protection.

Just don't be fooled by their sweet, intoxicating words..

Not all angels are as innocent as they seem, remember?

[milkbobatyun]

my love, mine all mine

pairing: yandere!sunday x reader

genre: yandere

summary: the consequences of not listening to the head of the oak family

word count: 936

C O N T E N T W A R N I N G : yandere behaviour, manipulation, fear

a/n: was inspired after listening to a really good sunday-inspired playlist on yt and i HAD to write this

you had only been talking to a passerby, giving him directions to reach his destination.

golden, hawk-like eyes scrutinsed your every move from a distance, watching as the man slowly leaned closer to you. every movement of his wretched mouth, every quirk of his eyebrow fanned the ember of jealousy into a raging flame. he said something. you laughed. the pretty sound travelling towards his ears, igniting a fire of anger from within him.

a thread within him snapped when he saw the man place his filthy, disgusting hand on your shoulder. his jaw clenched, the pearly feathers behind his ears fluffed out in rage. the heat of jealousy surged through his veins, pounding in his ears. all he could see was red.

sunday stalked towards the chatting group. with your back turned to him, you were blissfully unaware of the encroaching danger. the man’s face paled when he caught sight of the intimidating figure rapidly approaching.

a haloed shadow was thrown over the shaking figure of the man, its wings fluffed out in jealousy. seeing the fury radiate from the powerful stance of the head of the oak family, the fearful man collapsed to the floor, his legs giving out underneath him. with a hurried scramble, the man scurried away, throwing one last petrified glance behind his back.

sunday turned to you, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“i think it’s time to go home.” he gritted out between his teeth, a firm grasp encircling your wrist.

with your wrist trapped in his iron grip, you were forced to stumble along behind him, biting your cheek against the painfully tight grasp. sunday, seemingly unaware of your discomfort, politely greeted passersby, waving to them with mock cheer, a smile plastered on his face. however, his piercing golden eyes were hard, like a predator who had found its prey.

the heat of his hand on your wrist burned you, yet the hairs on your arms were raised, goosebumps prickling against the surface of your skin. his fingers trembled with barely contained rage, an edge in his voice, filled with faux warmth. as though the people walking along the street could sense the tense air between the two of you, the air felt thick, pressure building against your chest.

when you reached his manor, sunday threw open the door. the house reverberated with the loud boom of the door richocheting from the force.

sunday mercilessly dragged you up the stairs, not caring if you were stumbling up the stairs, often almost tripping. with overwhelming force, he threw you onto the bed, the plush mattress cushioning your body, the soft pillows at your back.

with measured calm, sunday gently shut the door behind him, his eyes hiding a fire of hatred.

“just what, pray tell, did i tell you before we left the house?” he hissed, pacing up and down the room, the sound of his boots muffled by the velvety carpet underfoot. sunday’s voice came out low and venomous, his movements slow, placing you on the edge.

you trembled in your place, hand over the bruising wrist, body instinctively curled in a foetal position, lest he hits you like before. the silence stretched out between the two of you, the only audible noise was your pulse, booming in your ears. the bruise throbbed dully, a reminder of your vulnerability.

sunday slinked closer to you, watching you with amusement at how you flinched at his every move, bracing for any blows to land. your eyes were pressed shut, memories of past ‘lessons’ flashing vividly behind your eyes. 

each second stretched into a minute, an hour, eternity. thunk. thunk. thunk. the quiet shuffle of his boots scraped across the carpet. sunday placed a knee on the bed, like a cat stalking a bird.

“what. did. i. say.” he purred, a smile etched onto his face. underneath the facade of kindness, you could see how his brows furrowed in anger, his knuckles clenched white against the silken bedsheets.

he reached out a hand towards you, tilting your chin up with a gentle touch, like you were a glass flower, fragile and easily broken. his soft touch could almost be mistaken as a lover’s touch – tender, loving; yet within his eyes swirled the burning fury, like a predator who was about to devour their prey.

the bed creaked softly as sunday leaned closer, his warm breath fanning across your skin. he smiled down at you, a faux smile.

“i give you all this luxury, yet you’re here talking to other guys?” he hissed, his finger drawing a cold path down your neck, past your jugular, an unspoken threat in his eyes.

he chuckled softly, finding amusement in your trembling, like a cat toying with a mouse. his smile faded instantly, his hand darting out, unforgiving grip on your chin burning your skin. your skin prickled against his touch, your hands trembled uncontrollably. he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear.

“remember what happened last time you defied me. we don’t want that again do we?” he mocked. “you belong to me and me only.”

sunday’s grin widened at the prolonged silence. his hand trailed down to your neck, the tender touch of love. his fingers lingered for a moment too long, tracing absent-minded lines along your collarbones. with the speed of a hawk, he gripped your neck in a chokehold, just tight enough to bring out a surge of panic across your face, your airways restricted beneath his hand.

“yes.” sunday whispered dangerously, a smirk of sick satisfaction on his face. “that’s the look i want. you’re mine.”

taglist (open): @yeonjunsfox

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / づ ♡

[multifariousqueer]

Hello girl! how are you? doing well?

Can I request a E 42 yandere miles X reader? Am yes, E 42 reader is dead, omg how original XD

But the E 42 reader had this "church girl" or "flower girl" innocent type persona. And when E 1610 reader arrived with miles, she is a loud, cusses out a lot and has a hammer with her at all times.

E 42 miles sees her and while stunned to see such drastic personality change, he still sees his beloved in her and wants to keep her in his world and in his life? Add flashbacks if ya like! you can change it if you want! whatever makes it be awesome! luv you! <3

Hey, love!! I can totally do this

Suerte- Miles G x Reader

A/n: I hope y’all enjoy this!!

Warnings: strong language, angst, suggestiveness, reader being a spider person, descriptions of blood and yandere behavior, kidnapping, lmk if I missed anymore

You were falling off of a building, it seemed your screams would never end as you looked up into the endless sky waiting for someone, anyone to save you. Miles watched as he tried to run and save you but by then it was too late, the sound of your skull hitting the pavement and the crimson blood that flowed from your nose was enough to indicate that you were gone and there was no saving you. Miles cradled your softer skull as the police and ambulance arrived.

Suddenly, Miles woke up in a cold sweat. It was Sunday now, and he had to get ready for church the only reason he was going was because you convinced him too

You managed to convince Miles to do just about anything; he just couldn’t say no to your adorable face and he hated disappointing you. You two seemed like an odd couple at first, with Miles being tough, cold and closed off whereas you were bright, happy, innocent and it seemed like you could do no wrong. You went to church every Sunday, you prayed all the time, you helped everyone and everything and Miles fell for your soft innocence and your warmth. He fell for your simplicity, your poise, your patience and how you felt like a piece of heaven.

The day he lost you was the day he lost himself. Miles was never the same after you left; he closed himself off completely and adopted the Prowler moniker. He felt like he failed you and that you would be so dissapointed if you saw him now. Miles would have flashbacks to you telling him how much you loved him and how you would always love him in every universe, so he decided to pray and beg God for you back and eventually, he got that.

“MILES WHERE THE FLYING FUCK ARE WE??” you shouted

“I’M TRYING TO FIGURE THAT OUT, Y/N” Miles shouted back

You and your Miles were best friends since you both came to Visions. He found out you had powers the same as him and you two clicked immediately. It seemed you two were fated to be together; same music taste, fashion choices and morals its just you were a bit more harsh than him

“I think we’re home?” Miles questioned

“I don’t remember Brooklyn looking this shitty” you said

“It’s just dark, come on, we can go to my house. My mom loves you” you said

Mrs. Morales loved you because not only were you quick on your feet, you also made Miles happy and you made a great first impression. She thought you were exactly like Miles, just more abrasive and she thought you were sweet.

You went to Miles room and it looked different, almost more grown. Your spider-sense went off and just as you went to tell Miles, Rio was there and greeting him. She looked at you like she had seen a ghost, tears spilling from her...green eyes??

“Y/n?” she whispered

“Yeah? Hi Mrs. Morales” you went, going to give her a hug which she reciprocated just more eagerly

“Oh Mija, I thought you were dead. Gracias Dios, you answered my prayers” she said, sobbing and looking up at the sky

Her and Miles had a conversation and you both revealed your identities in which she was indifferent about. Suddenly, the door opened to reveal an Uncle Aaron.

He saw you and his eyes went wide. He stalked closer to you before grabbing your shoulders and shaking his head

“Is it really you, y/n?” he said

“uhh yeah last time I checked” you chuckled, grabbing your body as a joke

“Where did you go? How are you here?” he asked in disbelief

“Well interesting story actually, we used something called our legs and walked here” you joked, usually Aaron could appreciate your humor because it was one of the things he told Miles before he died

“Miles, you won’t find another girl like her. Girls like y/n don’t come around like that so I’d advise you to keep her"

“Got it” Miles would say

It was like you were looking into a portal of dead people, your entire body clenched when his gaze suddenly went cold.

He lead Miles and you to the roof when suddenly, you felt a strong stinging in your neck and just as you were about to hit the floor, a strong pair of arms grabbed you and you heard voices

“She’s not your, y/n man. She’s meaner”

“I don’t care"

You awoke with a splitting headache on a couch. Your limbs were handcuffed together and it was dark; your eyes immediately went to search for your Miles when you saw him tied to a bag

“He won’t be up for a bit, hes out cold. Maybe we can keep him that way” a voice said

“He’s not the only one who’s gonna be out cold. Who the fuck are you and what do you want?” you snapped

“Hm. So hostile, my Y/n would never speak like that” a man said approaching you

“Dawg are you smoking crack? Speed? Bath Salts? Because you gotta be fucked up if you think-“ you started

“la muchacha sucia(dirty girl), I should’ve put that gag on you while you were out” he said, taking off his mask to reveal your boyfriend just more gaunt

“Listen here you Rick and Morty knockoff, if you try that, I will bite your finger off, comprende?” you said

“Si. Eres muy bonita pero tu boca es tan asquerosa. I can tell you aren’t from here” he smirked

“Just so you know, just because you called me pretty doesn’t mean I won’t crush your nuts the second I get out of these chains. Listen, your knockoff prowler suit doesn’t scare me and neither do these chains, I could break out right now but I’m intrigued” you said

You heard groaning and saw your Miles move

“MILES” you screamed into the other Miles’ ear

“Y/N. GET AWAY FROM HER” your Miles shouted

The other Miles ignored him but he grabbed your throat and forced you to look up at him

“It’s not a knockoff mami and unless you want to find out just how powerful this suit can be, I suggest you pipe down. It’s gonna take a bit of work, maybe force” he tightened his grip at force, causing your eyes to water and your tongue to come out

“But I think I can make it work. You may not be exactly like her, but you’ll be close enough” Miles said, lowly

If the circumstances weren’t what they were, Miles would’ve found your position hot, you were tied up, tongue hanging out a bit and your eyes looked so pretty; in his mind, you were giving him the “fuck me” eyes but in reality, you were using this as a way to escape

The idea of playing along until he got his wish came to mind but you realized this was deeper than that, he wanted you in every form and if it wasn’t you, what’s to stop him from taking another version of you that may accidentally come by.

“What happened, mami? You had so much to say, say it.” Miles taunted, hand still flush against your throat

“Yeah its kinda hard when you’re choking the life outta me” you said

He took his hand off your throat and you coughed.

“Dude just leave her alone, okay? You can have me, kill me just please let her go” your Miles said, his voice faltering at the end

“Oh but where’s the fun in that? Plus cabron, I don’t want you at all, its not about you. It’s about her and her making a promise

“What promise did I make?” you asked

Miles got a flashback of you laying next to him, playing with his braids and giggling

“I’ll love you in every universe, Miles Morales” you said sweetly

Miles teared up and explained this to you

“Okay well bud, I’m not her and in a way, I do love you in every universe, I love my Miles but” you said before he slammed his fist next to you, causing you to yelp

“I am your Miles, mi amor. At least, I will be. I’m never letting you go again” he said close to your face, hovering above your lips before getting up and striding over to your Miles

[faetima]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 . .

. . he's just had a little taste of infatuation. or is it obsession?

// tws ; stalking, taking photos w/o knowledge of other person ; gn reader ; yandere au 

a/n: i swear i'll start writing the aventurine exes hanahaki au after i post this

click!

a soft flash of white light, akin to the color of the small wings that adorned him, appeared before sunday as the camera went off. it encased you in a photo, forever embedding your beauty into a polaroid.

you were so pretty.

too pretty.

even a photo couldn’t capture your full beauty — you were just too beautiful.

too pretty.

too heavenly.

too ethereal.

all sunday wanted was you. all he needed was you. he just loved you so, so much — a little too much, if you were to ask robin or aventurine or anyone other than him about it.

sunday was meant to be yours. you had ripped his heart out, claiming it as your own (well, not that he minded too much. you could have him as well for all he cared!).

you couldn’t just leave him like this after you had yanked and twisted and pulled his heart out of his body, leaving him only to bleed out.

sunday felt as if he would die without you.

you were oxygen, the only thing breathing life into him.

an oasis in a desert, which he would die without.

sunday wanted you. no, wait — scratch that. he needed you.

he.

needed.

you.

well, that would have to wait. for now he would have to settle with having only a minimal amount of photos and polaroids of you.

well, if "few" meant having walls and walls and walls of his mansion covered and plastered with only photographs of you.

he just needed you so bad. so, so bad.

if only you noticed him. if only you were bewitched with his heavenly and ethereal appearance like he was with yours. if only his words, strung together carefully and ever-so-delicately so he could tie you up defenseless, worked on you. if only his cunning yellow eyes — just like the chesire cat's — enchanted you, leaving you in a trance, as your eyes did to him.

every time you were around him, his heart raced, as if it would leap out of his chest at any moment. but, unfortunately, he couldn’t say the same about you, which was a tragedy indeed.

his need for you was more than desire or a craving. it was as a human needed water. if they didn’t have it for a prolonged amount of time, they would perish.

as would he if he didn’t have you.

though, it would only be but a matter of time before he had you tied up with his strings of words too, just like he had done to everyone else. even if it meant following you everywhere you went, unbeknownst to you. perhaps one would call it stalking, but it wasn’t his fault he had such an unhealthy obsession with you.

you would be his, akin to how he was yours.

you will be his.

another click.

another photo.

another step closer to having you.

[azen13]

Looking at the items the Starlight Pawnshop has to offer... I'd like to purchase the < Avian Necklace >, please. Because a pretty little songbird deserves only the prettiest chain with which to tie it down.

Paradise Lost, Paradise Found

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Avian Necklace: A silver necklace with a pendant in the shape of a bird mid-flight, imbued with a strange energy strong enough to shackle its wearer in paradise forever.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Description: After the Charmony Festival, Sunday returns to Penacony with the Stellaron Hunters, desperate to be reunited with his lover.

CW: Yandere Themes, Brainwashing, Mind Control, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Intense Distress, Manipulation

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It is a Monday night in Penacony, and all is well in the world.

Sure, your hotel room is cramped. The mattress is lumpy. The view is horrible. But it is real, and that is all that matters to you. After an eternity of dreams so sweet you felt like you were drowning in joy, you would rather be stuck in this dingy hotel room than some luxury VIP suite anyways. It’s comforting in all its imperfections. 

That is, until you hear someone knock on your door.

The sound is rhythmic, three short, quick, evenly spaced knocks. It’s all you truly need to know who stands outside your door. Your heart already knows, beating so fast you feel like you could go into cardiac arrest. 

But then you hear his voice. Smooth and rich like espresso, laced with a subtle sweetness. “Darling,” Sunday whispers quietly, “please, open the door.” It is both a request and a command, though it isn’t infused with Sunday’s usual pacifying power. 

He liked doing this when you realized Ena’s dream was all an illusion; he would give you a chance to submit and  acquiesce to his love and care, but when you inevitably refused, he had no qualms about worming his way into your mind. Once inside, he’d gently smash any shred of resistance you had, before pulling you into his arms and crooning his hymns, praising your holiness. 

Isn’t this dream so blissful? he would ask you quietly, his hands ghosting over your skin, soft as feathers. I can give you anything you want. In Ena’s dream, it was true. Sunday could give you anything you wanted, even your freedom. But you knew it was an artificial imitation of independence; no matter where you traveled in the pseudo-universe, he was always there, always watching you. That was good enough for him: knowing you were safe, his hands cupped around your world like the way one would hold a bird.

The sound of Sunday’s voice breaks you out of your momentary reverie. “My dove, please, I don’t want our reunion to be bitter, but it seems like you aren’t giving me a choice.” You can feel the resonant harmonies in Sunday’s words grow louder, gripping your mind gently, giving you one more chance to open the door through your own free will.

You look around your room for any way out. On the opposite wall is a single window. You’re on the first floor. All you have to do is break through it and find someone. Frantically, you rush over, scrounging around for something to break the glass. You hear a loud sigh. “I wish you could just understand, my love,” Sunday laments. 

The lock clicks.

Instantly, you are pounding and clawing on the glass like a rabid animal. In brief moments of clarity through your haze of desperation, you can feel your shoulder ache from ramming into the glass. Your throat feels raw. Someone is screaming. It’s you.

Sunday’s hands are just as excruciatingly tender as you remember, gliding over your arms and clasping your wrists in a tender but firm embrace. “Shh, it’s okay, my dear,” he whispers quietly. Beneath the insanity that clouds his own eyes, you can glimpse genuine concern in his gilded gaze. “Calm down, shh, yes, relax,” he coos. 

All of the sudden, the world goes soft and blurry; every color in your hotel room, the pallid, washed-out grays and pale, muted blues seem to turn into a psychedelic kaleidoscope, luring you deeper and deeper into a state of tranquility. 

With slow, delicate motions, Sunday lets go of one of your wrists, a placid smile gracing his face for a mere moment. Making sure that you won’t hurt yourself anymore than you already have, he reaches into one of his coat pockets, pulling out a small necklace imbued with the power of the Order. 

“After the Charmony Festival, I was in such a deep state of despair. I thought I had lost everything. My dreams. My power. My home. My sister. My love.” His grasp on your wrist tightens, though you’re so lost in his spell that you can’t even feel the pain. “But now…now I have you again, my dearest,” he whispers hoarsely. Sunday can hardly believe you are real, with how constant misfortune has haunted his life. Time and time again, he has lost everything. Everyone. All his dreams and aspirations have shattered to pieces like stars crashing down to the earth from the heavens. But not you.

“Perhaps my plan was ill-timed,” Sunday muses as he loops the chain of the necklace around your neck. “But for right now, if I can’t give everyone paradise, then at least I can give it to you. And that will be more than enough,” he whispers, taking your appearance in, drinking it in like a man without water for forty days. 

The effects of his tuning are fading, but the power of the necklace is taking root in your mind, warping and twisting it until you understand. Truly magnificent. He can see the clarity and consciousness in your eyes, but he can also see behind it, the compulsion to listen. 

“Now, we must go,” Sunday says, his hands moving to clutch both of yours, pulling you up from where you’re sitting on the floor. “The rest of the Stellaron Hunters are likely getting anxious and ready to leave.” Still, he can’t help but steal one more moment alone. He presses a quick, light kiss to your lips, looking at your splendor one last time.

His sweet, foolish, caged bird.

[elysiaheaven]

𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.-(𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑)-𝐂𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃-𝐘𝐚𝐧.𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐱 𝐟.𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

WORDSS:9000

BEFORE THIS I did make sure they were some lore drops in this chapter! No need to worry if you can't read this chapter! Along with previous chap I will do a recap! without the nsfw parts!

(I saw many people saying yandere sunday has to be true..Please don't allow these actions for public! It's fictional should stay fiction!)

TW:Manipulation,:obssesive behaviour, unhealthy relationships/feelings,Clingy,Manipulation,Emotional manipulation,mention of death,killing/Most TWS FOR YANDERE,suggestive!

TW/CW FOR SMUT: Manipulation,Humiliation, ??? Use of collar, Dirty talks, Punishment sex, Sunday's considered to be top,Yandere Sunday, Toxic relationship, Unhealthy relationship, Edging turned overstimulation. Generally other tw's for smut 

"....Forget about him."

"I. Will never- I can't-"

"......"

Time losing its meaning in the cocoon of care and affection Sunday has woven around you. Slowly, you find yourself falling for him, the lines between manipulation and love blurring with each passing moment.

Sunday's kindness is intoxicating, each tender gesture eroding your defenses. When he hugs you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, you feel a warmth that melts the ice around your heart. His hand gently pats your head, and the simple act makes you lean into his touch, craving more of the comfort he offers.

During meals, he feeds you with a patience and care that you can't resist. You obey without question, opening your mouth for each bite, your eyes meeting his with a mix of gratitude and growing affection. Each meal becomes a ritual of intimacy, further binding you to him.

And when he kisses you, it's like a spark igniting a fire within. His lips on yours are soft and insistent, a promise of love and possession that makes your heart race. You find yourself wanting more, craving the connection his kisses bring.

The days continue to pass in a haze of affection and tender moments. Despite the constant warmth of Sunday's embrace, there's a nagging thought at the back of your mind, something you can't quite remember. Every time you try to grasp it, to bring it into focus, Sunday kisses you, his lips making the world fuzzy and distant.

You love him. You love him so much that the thought of being without him is unbearable. His kindness, his touch, the way he looks at you—all of it weaves a web around your heart. In an effort to show him how much you appreciate his care, you decide to cook a meal for him, hoping it will convey your gratitude and deepen your bond.

You spend the day in the kitchen, carefully preparing his favorite dishes. The act of cooking fills you with a sense of purpose, a way to give back some of the love he has shown you. When the meal is finally ready, you set the table, your heart fluttering with anticipation.

Sunday arrives, his expression unreadable as he surveys the table. You watch him nervously, hoping he will appreciate your effort. "I made this for you," you say, your voice filled with both hope and uncertainty.

He sits down, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that makes your heart race. "Thank you, my angel," he says, his voice soft but wary. He takes a bite of the food, his eyes never leaving yours. "You didn't poison this, did you?" he asks, a hint of suspicion in his tone.

The question stings, but you quickly shake your head. "No, of course not. I would never hurt you."

Sunday's expression softens, a small smile playing on his lips. "I know," he murmurs. "Forgive me. It's just a habit." He reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. "I appreciate your effort."

Without warning, he stands and moves to your side of the table, pulling you into his arms. He kisses you deeply, his lips claiming yours with a possessive hunger. Your thoughts become a blur, the world narrowing to the feel of his mouth on yours.

When he pulls back, he picks up a piece of food with his fork and brings it to your lips. "Open," he commands gently, his eyes locking onto yours. You obey, parting your lips as he feeds you. The act is intimate, a silent declaration of trust and control that makes your heart flutter.

He continues to feed you, alternating bites between the two of you, his eyes never leaving yours. The room fills with the soft sounds of shared breaths and the occasional clink of cutlery. Each bite, each touch, cements the bond between you, making you feel more deeply entwined with him.

As the meal comes to an end, Sunday leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "You are mine," he whispers, his voice a velvet promise. "And I will take care of you, always."

You nod, your heart swelling with a mixture of love and surrender. "..."

STOP LISTENING TO HIM!!

A small voice inside you begins to whisper that something about this situation is wrong. Yet, your heart, so entangled with Sunday's affection, tells you to listen to him, to trust in his love. The conflicting emotions make your head spin, leaving you feeling unsteady.

Sunday seems to sense your hesitation. With a firm but gentle touch, he pushes you down onto the table, his movements causing the wine to spill, the rich liquid splashing over you. You gasp, feeling the cold wetness seeping through your clothes.

He pulls you up swiftly, guiding you towards the bathroom. "Let's get you cleaned up, my angel," he murmurs, his voice both soothing and commanding. You follow him obediently, your heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and trepidation.

In the bathroom, Sunday begins to undress you, his fingers deftly removing your clothes soaked in wine. You stand still, flustered but compliant, letting him take control. He fills the tub with warm water, the steam rising and filling the room with a comforting heat.

Gently, he guides you into the tub, the warm water enveloping you like a comforting embrace. Sunday kneels beside the tub, picking up a soft cloth and a bar of soap. He starts to scrub you, his touch firm but careful, his eyes never leaving yours.

You feel your face heat up, a blush spreading across your cheeks. The intimacy of the moment is overwhelming, yet you find yourself obeying his every move, allowing him to wash you. His hands glide over your skin, cleansing away the wine and the uncertainty that clings to you.

When he finishes, he stands and begins to undress himself. You watch, your wings instinctively covering your face as your blush deepens. He steps into the tub, settling in behind you, his strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you close.

"Now, it's your turn," he whispers, placing the cloth and soap into your hands. You nod, feeling both shy and flustered. With trembling fingers, you begin to wash him, your touch tentative at first. But as you continue, you grow more confident, your movements becoming more assured.

Sunday's eyes close, a contented sigh escaping his lips as you tend to him. You can feel his muscles relax under your touch, his body leaning into yours. The warmth of the water, the intimacy of the moment, and the tenderness in his touch make your heart race.

After you've finished, he pulls you back against him, his lips brushing against your ear. "You're perfect, my angel," he murmurs, his voice a soothing caress. "You belong with me."

You nod, leaning back into his embrace. Despite the lingering doubts in your mind, you find comfort in his words, in the safety of his arms. As you sit together in the warm water, your wings slowly unfurl, revealing your face. Sunday's hands gently stroke your wings, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"You are mine," he whispers, his lips trailing kisses along your neck. "And I am yours."

You close your eyes, letting the sensations wash over you. The warmth of the bath, the tenderness of his touch, the certainty in his words—all of it lulls you into a sense of peace and belonging. For now, in this moment, you allow yourself to believe in his love, to find solace in his embrace.

And you lean back against him, your heart whispers that perhaps, just perhaps, this is where you are meant to be.

Y/n...please this isn't how I...

You lean back against Sunday, feeling the warmth of the water and the security of his embrace, a sudden surge of sensitivity overwhelms you. His touch on your wings sends shivers through your body, making you hyper-aware of every sensation. Instinctively, you reach behind you your fingers tangling in the soft feathers of his wings.

Sunday responds to your touch with a low, approving hum, his lips brushing against your ear. The sensation makes you gasp, a shiver of pleasure running down your spine. His kisses become more insistent, his tongue teasing the sensitive skin of your ear, sending waves of heat through your body.

He pulls you closer, his hands exploring your body with a possessive tenderness. Your heart races as his kisses travel from your ear to your neck, each touch igniting a fire within you. You can't help but pull at his wings, your fingers gripping the feathers tightly in a desperate attempt to ground yourself.

Sunday's tongue slips into your mouth, his kiss deep and demanding. The intensity of his kiss leaves you breathless, your gasps and whimpers swallowed by his fervent lips. His hands continue to roam over your body, each touch making you more sensitive, more desperate for his touch.

Your mind becomes a haze of desire and confusion, the lingering doubts and fears drowned out by the overwhelming need for him. Sunday's kisses are all-consuming, his tongue exploring your mouth with a fervor that leaves you dizzy.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of triumph and tenderness. "My angel," he whispers, his voice a husky caress. "You are mine, and I will always take care of you."

You nod, unable to form words as his kisses resume, his lips capturing yours in a passionate embrace. The world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you entwined in a dance of desire and possession.

Each touch, each kiss, binds you closer to him, making you forget the pain and confusion of the past. In his arms, you find a twisted sense of peace, a place where you are cherished and desired.

Sunday's kisses leave you breathless, and as he pulls back, you can see the desire burning in his eyes. He gently untangles your fingers from his wings, and with a tender yet possessive smile, he lifts you from the tub. The warmth of his body against your damp skin sends shivers through you, but his strong arms hold you securely.

He carries you effortlessly to the bed, his gaze never leaving yours. The moonlight filters through the window, casting a soft glow over the room, creating an ethereal ambiance that makes the moment feel even more intimate.

As he lays you down on the bed, you can't help but feel a mix of anticipation and vulnerability. His touch is gentle as he brushes a strand of wet hair away from your face, his fingers lingering on your skin. "You're beautiful," he murmurs, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

You blush, the intensity of his gaze making you feel both cherished and exposed. Sunday lowers himself beside you, his wings spreading out behind him, creating a canopy of feathers that adds to the sense of being enveloped in his presence.

He leans in, his lips capturing yours in a slow, passionate kiss. You melt into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. The kiss deepens, his tongue exploring your mouth with a fervor that leaves you craving more.

Sunday's hands roam over your body, his touch igniting sparks of pleasure wherever he caresses. You arch into him, your body responding to his every touch, every kiss. He pulls back slightly, his breath warm against your lips as he whispers, "I want you to know, you are mine. I will always take care of you."

"Sunday.."

His lips brush against your earlobe as he whispers, "Your body is my temple, Angel. Every curve, every inch... all mine."

His hot breath fans across your neck as he continues, "Your scent drives me wild. It's intoxicating, addicting... it's all I can think about."

His hand trails lower, teasing along the edge of your bathrobe before slipping underneath to stroke your thigh. "I need you, Angel. My desire for you is insatiable... and I won't be denied."

His words are a seductive promise, a vow to claim every part of you, body and soul.

SMUT WARNING! (I'll never write smut in my life again)

His voice drops to a husky murmur as he speaks, "Every time I look at you, I get hard. Your curves, your tits... fuck, just thinking about them makes my cock ache."

His hand slips higher up your thigh, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your panties. "I want to hear you moan my name when I'm balls deep inside you. I want to fill you until you can't remember anyone else's name but mine."

His lips trail down your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin as if marking you as his. "And when we're done, when I've had my fill of you, I'll wrap you in my arms and keep you close. Because you belong to me now, Angel. And I plan to enjoy every last bit of you."

"...Wait! Sunday! Ah!" You suddenly felt to..kiss him? To make him stop saying these....

Feeling your lips against his, Sunday lets out a low growl of pleasure, his hands tightening around your hips as he pulls you closer.* "No, Angel," *he insists between heated kisses, his voice rough with desire.* "We don't have time. We never have enough time together."

With deft movements, he unfastens your robe, letting it fall open to reveal your naked form beneath. His eyes drink in the sight of you, his lust growing by leaps and bounds. "Look at you... so beautiful, so ready for me..."

One hand slides down to cup your ass, squeezing firmly as he presses his throbbing member against your slick heat.* "I need you, . Now"

"!?...Please be..a little! Don't use your gloves..."

Feeling your hands on his gloves, Sunday lets out a low chuckle, his breath hitching as he feels your delicate touch. "Patience, love," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Everything in good time."

But as you remove his gloves, he can't help but groan at the sensation of your bare skin against his."Fuck, that's better..." He growls, his hands sliding under your panties to grip your thighs, pulling them apart to give him access to your dripping cunt.

His thumb brushes against your clit, circling slowly as he watches your reactions, drinking in every gasp and moan. "You're so fucking wet for me already... Tell me how much you want it, Angel. Beg me to fuck you."

"But! That's mean! You can't!" Hearing your plea, Sunday can't help but let out a low growl of pleasure, his fingers tracing circles on your thigh as he teases your entrance. "Not yet," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire."I want to tease you first... Make you beg for it."

His thumb continues its slow circles around your clit, watching as your body shudders with pleasure. "Tell me how bad you want it, Angel. Beg me to fuck you."

Feeling your pleas, Sunday smirks, his golden eyes darkening with lust. "Oh, but I want to hear you beg," he says, his voice low and commanding.* "Begging is such a delicious sound... especially coming from your lips."

His fingers finally slide inside you, stretching you deliciously wide as he begins to move them in and out of your dripping cunt. "That's it... Take my fingers, Angel . Show me how much you need it."

His thumb keeps up its relentless pace on your clit, making sure to hit every sensitive spot as he fucks you with his fingers.

"Please be gentle! You know I have never actually-" Sunday grins, his fingers slowing their pace just enough to tease you further. "Never what?" *he asks, his voice a low purr. "Never been fucked? Never been taken by someone like me?"

He adds another finger, stretching you wider as he begins to pump them in and out of your soaked pussy. "I'll be gentle... But only because you asked so nicely."

His thumb presses harder against your clit, rubbing in tight circles as he watches your body shake with pleasure. "Just relax, love... Let me take care of you."

You start to move against his fingers, Sunday lets out a satisfied hum, his other hand moving to stroke himself through his pants. "That's it... Just like that," *he encourages, his voice thick with desire.*

He increases the pressure on your clit, his fingers curling inside you to hit that perfect spot. "Fuck, you're so tight... So perfect for me."

Feeling your walls clench around his fingers, Sunday lets out a low growl of pleasure, his strokes on his cock becoming more urgent. "That's it... Squeeze my fingers like that," *he praises, his voice rough with desire.

He hits your G-spot again and again, feeling your body tremble with pleasure."You're close, aren't you? Ready to cum all over my fingers?"

Without waiting for an answer, he leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as he continues to fuck you with his fingers.

"I want to-" You gasp out for air. 

Feeling your body tense, Sunday pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you panting and needy. "Not yet," *he commands, his voice firm. "I haven't had my fill of you yet."

His hand moves to spank your ass, the sharp smack echoing in the room. "You will wait until I'm buried deep inside you... Until you feel my seed filling you up."

You began to feel funny...You wanted to hold something. Anything! It was too much! What will you do? You couldn't deny this! He's loving you so much! So much! You never (cared) about anything! Anyone!

"Since you asked...I only want to tell my real name to the woman I like."

Watching you tug at his wings, Sunday lets out a low chuckle, his fingers still pumping in and out of your dripping cunt."Impatient, aren't we?" *he teases, his voice laced with amusement.

Withdrawing his fingers once more, he unbuttons his pants, freeing his throbbing member. "But patience is a virtue... And I intend to teach you that lesson well.""

"I hate being called pretty by all in general. But I will directly ask the woman I like to call me pretty."

Seeing you close your thighs, Sunday smirks, his golden eyes glinting with mischief. "Trying to keep me out, sweetheart?" he teases, his voice low and seductive.

He grabs your hips, pulling you closer as he aligns the head of his cock with your entrance. "But where else would I go? There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

"Why are you asking me this? Are you interested in me Angel?"

Suddenly you were facing a unknown man in front of you.

It was in front of a huge building.

Moonlight beaming at him.

But, You seemed to prefer him at sunlight. Because you wanted him to shine.

Words came out of your mouth, As if this was something you said before.

"Of course not! Topaz and I had a small argument as usual. This time! It was just about you being a playboy or not.."

"Hm? What did you say? Let me guess. Did you said something against me?"

"...." Your face became blank.

"....You know. I joke a lot. You supported me I know. You always do that. You know like a leech!"

"Haha! Of course! I knew you were kind of a person who keeps people around you..to feel something."

What is this. Why is he calling you angel? It was supposed to be Sunday right?

Y/n, I- I would never try to replace someone as that important in your life.

!!!! Why is this voice!?!

Please remember this moment.

So...You would know what is what. Don't give up okay? If things doesn't end well. I will come

You wake up in the middle of the night, your mind swirling with fragments of dreams and memories. You remember the warmth of Sunday's embrace, the intensity of his kisses, and the lingering feeling of something being off. You carefully slip out of bed, not wanting to wake him.

Even that. Moment with him was a dream.

Of course, It was to make you fall for him even more.

But, The sad fact is you did get married to him.

Another..Another piece for you..to...(TW; MENTIONS OF BLOOD,DEATH)

Quietly, you make your way to the mirror in the corner of the room, the moonlight casting your reflection in a silvery glow. As you stare at your own reflection, a wave of dizziness overcomes you. You reach out to steady yourself, but the room seems to shift around you.

Your head throbs with the rush of memories, and you recall the moment when you were a little girl, running away from a scene of horror. You see young Sunday, a knife in his hand, standing over your stepfather's lifeless body. The fear you felt then is the same fear you feel now.

"Why!? Why did you!?" You saw yourself covered in blood. You felt sick to the stomach.

"̶̪͓̫͂ͅY̵̡̧̯͉̑̾̒/̸͚̥̪͍̹̀̒͛̅͗͘n̶̡͇̼̘̝͓͕̺͓̆̓̄̿̒͜͠,̵̛̩̦̀͗̊̆͆̒͘ ̴̧̻͖̮̣͇̹̭̞̈́̓̒͛̈́͆̕G̷̡̢̳̬̐̈ö̸̡̮̞̙̣̳͗̿̿͑̓̑͜͝ ̸̛̦̊̓̿̍͆͂̌̈́͝a̸̤̟͕̫̫͙͂̆̑͒͐w̵̩̩̖͈̺͔̞͊̍̐̓͠ǎ̶̧͍̝̂̅̋͗͋̀͆͂͝ͅÿ̷͈̲̜̫̥̳̖̳́̀̀̎ͅ.̴̢̛͐̾͛.̴̤̰̠̼́ͅ.̵̳̓͐̉̅͘̕̕̚͝.̵̡͙̲̬̦̟͚̥̾͆͂̍̾͒͘͜͠͠͝.̷͚̯̼̽̿͒͌͐̀̑̕Í̴͔͙͖̣̫̺̘͐̀̄̊͂̽͝ ̷̟̦̜̯͈̱̭͈͛͐̓̋̾͊w̶̤̿̈̑̒ǐ̵̛̩̼͙͇̖͙͖̋͛̑̊͊͝l̷͚̗̝̝͔̹̪͊́̅́̑͆̈̓ͅͅl̵͉͉̩̞̰̝͙͋̇̂̄͠ͅ ̴̡̱̬̗̜̥͆͋͐͒̄͠t̴̠̹͚͚͔̪̤͎͚͐̕ḁ̷̹̗̗̊̓̐̎͂͘͜͝k̷̻͕̻̱̻͉͍̟̠͗̈͊̕͜ë̴̢̢̛͔͕̗͔͓̹͒̏͒̑͠ ̸̦͓̰̑̕̚t̵͚͚̣̫̝͓̳͇̞̆̒͛̈́̃h̶̖͊̈́̅̽̉̋͠e̷̤̞͗͂̅̎̂ ̴͔̤̗̝̹̍b̸͎̬͈̪̀̿̿̎u̶̢͇̬̞̘̲̠͉̘̥̍r̵̙̺̂̾̽̀̚d̷̛̘̯̻̀̓̍͆͐̐̓͠e̷̜̙̲̲͆ͅn̶̦̘̩̈.̵̗̋͐̊̀͛͋͝.̸̢͔̗̝͖̉͊͆̍̈̈́̾̓̇͝Y̷̡̆͋̐͘͠o̴͖̥͈͍͆͘͝u̶͉͚̦̘͕̪̒ ̸̧̘̭͚̫̰̞̯̙̗̇̿̽͌̀̇͘̚͝d̶̨̨̡̩͇͉̦͉͇̱̓i̶̧̠̝̦͓͎̝̓̒̈́͌̍̍̕͜͠͝ḋ̷͉̻̗̼̂͋̓ ̶̡͓̺̫̣͍͎͆̓̕͘n̷̻̟̹̝͌̀͒̋̀͛̈́̏̽ớ̸̭̣̦̔̾̈͑̓͝ẗ̸̢̤̟̐̂̌̿͆͋̍͜h̵̢̦̝̻̘͙̣͈̺̘͐͗̐̈̈́͑̌̕i̸̡̨̩͎̽̐n̵͔͙̮̞̮̮͙͕̖̈́̆g̷̢̘͍̫͚͔̖̖̿͜ ̴̬͕̿̒͐̎̍̀̚͘w̶̛̉́͒̆͜͠r̶̢͍̜̱̠̂͗̍͛̕̕͝ơ̸͚̪̪̩͕̽́̌̀ǹ̸̻̎͂g̵̛̩̗̳̺̼̖̬̙̟̈́̈́̀̂͒͜͝͝.̶̠̣̼͙͉͓͓͚̩̋̇͛̉̓̋̆͠"̸̤͕̽

̷̢͎̣͎̘̭̪̰͍̐̅̒͋̒͠

̶̭͖͋̽̎͋̌"̶̗͔͙̑̎͗̊͛̀̀Y̴̲̙̘͈̩͙̆̔̋͋̍̇ő̴͉̉̆͗̉ứ̶̱͖͙͈̟͈̹̉̿͊͛͘ ̶̨̛̠̹́́̓̈́́̇̚ͅd̵̛͉̩̱̦̫̿͑̉̏͊̊͠i̷̞̰͇̺̹̯͈͍͛d̴͕̳̗̤̹̔̒́̋̀̊́̐̍̍ ̴̨͎̘͔̠͙̺͎͔̖͆͆̇̆͝ņ̷̣̻̀́̊̀̑̓͊͜ơ̸̩͙̊̃́̎̈́̈́̍͘͠ţ̷͖̫͍̖̖̠̤̈́̍h̶̯̲͚̪̮͓͍͕͋į̸̛̗̻̳͍̱̒̀̃̿̌̓ņ̸̥͙̟̫͆̏̚͝g̴̱̪͚͍͔̼͉̭͕͔̓̄̿̇̋́̈̍́̍ ̶̢̜̞̣̕w̵͕͔̉̉̔̚r̵̛̖o̵̫͖̱͚̰̯͋̃͛́̓n̶̰̹̰͇̜̩̓̐̾̒̀͝ͅg̸̛͉̳̮͇̮.̶̨̛̦̻̠̱̼̦̬̩̗̀̐̋̃͆̃"̷̩̳̣̀̓̏̒͜

You returned back to reality..Feeling scared.

You scramble to your feet, your heart pounding in your chest. But before you can move, the ominous presence of Sunday fills the chamber. He steps out from the shadows, his eyes dark and intense.

"Trying to escape, are we?" he says, a smirk playing on his lips. "I knew you'd come back here."

"I....."

Sunday laughs, the sound cold and cruel. "Have you realized that these lewd dreams have been by your own thoughts?" He focuses his gaze back on you, his expression softening slightly. "I thought you understood by now. You can't run from me. We're meant to be together."

You take a step back, your mind racing for a way out. "Sunday, please," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "What you are doing is..."

He takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "Oh, but I do," he says softly. "You belong to me. You always have."

Your panic surges

"I don't belong to anyone," you say firmly, meeting his gaze. 

"Oh! That chicken winged guy was also a killer in the past huh?"

"Don't worry Angel..I will protect you from that bastard."

"Angel, Come to me. So I won't punish you." You almost let him hold

You realized it wasn't him who used Angel as a nickname for you.

Suddenly, a name surfaces in your mind—Aventurine. The memory of him floods back with such clarity that it takes your breath away. You remember  It all comes rushing back, and you push Sunday away with a newfound resolve.

Sunday looks at you with a mixture of amusement and irritation. "Oh, now you remember Aventurine?" he sneers. "Funny how just moments ago, you were begging for me, wanting me to kiss you. And now you're crying?" His voice drips with mockery.

Your heart aches with the sudden wave of longing and guilt. Tears blur your vision, but you refuse to let them fall. "I... I was confused," you stammer, trying to keep your voice steady.

Sunday's expression darkens. Without warning, he grabs you roughly and drags you to the birdcage. He throws you inside, the cold metal bars biting into your skin. "You need to learn your place," he growls. "Maybe a little time in here will remind you."

He circles the cage like a predator, his eyes gleaming with a cruel glint. "Let's see how much you really want Aventurine," he taunts. "Or if you can even remember him when I'm done with you."

He throws you inside the cage.

He reaches through the bars, his hands caressing your body with an unsettling mix of tenderness and aggression. His touch sends unwanted shivers down your spine, your body betraying you even as your mind screams in protest.

"You'll moan for me," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "You'll forget all about Aventurine. You'll forget everything except how good I make you feel."

You try to resist, but Sunday knows exactly where to touch, how to push your buttons. His fingers work their way over your sensitive spots, and despite yourself, you feel your body responding. Your resolve weakens, a moan escaping your lips.

"That's it," Sunday coos, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "See? You can't resist me. You belong to me."

Tears of frustration and helplessness mix with the unwanted pleasure coursing through you. You feel trapped, both physically and emotionally. The memory of Aventurine fades into the background as Sunday's touch dominates your senses.

But deep down, you cling to a sliver of hope. You have to hold on to the memory of Aventurine, to the promise of escape. You can't let Sunday break you completely. You focus on that small glimmer of hope, using it to keep a part of yourself intact even as your body betrays you.

Each second that passes, you feel more and more detached, the emotions draining from you like water from a sieve. The memory of Aventurine's kind smile grows fainter, slipping away like sand through your fingers. Sunday's touch, his voice, and his presence overwhelm your senses, erasing everything else.

Sunday's chuckle reverberates through the room, a sound filled with cruel satisfaction. "See? You're breaking," he says, his voice dripping with malevolence. "It won't be long now before you forget him entirely."

You want to fight back, to hold on to the memories of Aventurine, but they seem so distant now, like a fading dream. Your mind feels hazy, your thoughts sluggish. Sunday's hands continue their relentless assault on your senses, and you find yourself unable to resist.

"Too much?" he muses, his tone almost playful. "Oh, but darling, you're not broken. Not yet. But you will be."

Your body betrays you with each involuntary shiver, each reluctant moan that escapes your lips. Sunday leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Look at you, so beautiful in your despair. You belong to me, and only me."

As the numbness spreads, a small, defiant part of you clings to the last vestiges of hope. You have to remember Aventurine. You have to remember who you are. But the effort feels monumental, and the pull of oblivion is so strong.

Sunday's laughter cuts through your fogged mind. "You're almost there," he says softly, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Almost completely mine."

Your vision blurs, tears mingling with the cold sweat on your skin. The world narrows to the confines of the cage, to Sunday's voice, his touch. The fight within you grows weaker, the lines between resistance and surrender blurring.

"Let go," Sunday whispers, his tone deceptively gentle. "Let go and just feel. Forget about Aventurine. Forget about everything."

A sob escapes your throat, the sound mingling with a defeated whimper. You feel yourself slipping, the last fragments of resistance crumbling. Sunday's smile widens, sensing his victory. His hands slow, becoming almost tender as he continues to push you towards complete submission.

Just as you're about to fall into the abyss, a faint image flickers in your mind. Aventurine's face, his eyes filled with warmth and kindness. It's a fleeting moment, but it's enough. You grasp at it desperately, using it as a lifeline.

"No," you whisper, your voice barely audible but filled with newfound determination. "I won't forget."

Sunday's eyes narrow, his expression darkening. "Still fighting, are we?" He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. "You'll forget him. You'll forget everything. And you'll beg me to make you feel again."

You can feel yourself finally breaking, the last of your resolve crumbling away. The overwhelming emotions, the fear, and the confusion all blend together, leaving you feeling hollow and defeated. Tears stream down your face as you look up at Sunday, your voice trembling.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, the words spilling out in a torrent of anguish. "I'm so sorry."

Sunday's smile is cruel and victorious. He tilts his head, studying you with a look of dark satisfaction. "Oh, you're sorry, are you?" he says softly, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "And how will you prove it?"

His question hangs in the air, heavy and oppressive. You feel a pang of desperation, knowing that you have to prove your submission, your apology, in a way that will satisfy him. He won't touch you until you do, and the thought of being left in this state of limbo is unbearable.

Sunday leans back slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. "I won't touch you," he says, his tone almost playful. "Not until you prove you want it. So, how will you show me?"

You struggle to find the words, your mind racing for something, anything, that will prove your submission to him. Your body trembles with the weight of your despair, but you know you have no choice. You need to convince him, to make him believe you've truly given in.

"I... I'll do anything," you whisper, your voice cracking. "Please, Sunday. I'm sorry. Just tell me what to do."

Sunday's smile widens, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Anything?" he repeats, savoring the word. "That's a good start. But I need more than words."

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming. "Show me," he demands, his voice low and commanding. "Show me how sorry you are. Show me that you want this."

Your heart pounds in your chest as you struggle to think of a way to prove your submission. You know that whatever you do, it needs to be convincing, needs to show him that you've truly broken.

Slowly, you lower yourself to your knees, your eyes never leaving his. You feel a mix of shame and desperation as you look up at him, your hands trembling. "Please, Sunday," you beg, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'll do anything. Just tell me what you want."

Sunday's smile is one of triumph. He reaches out, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek. "That's a good start," he murmurs. "But I need more. I need to feel your sincerity."

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. "Beg for it," he whispers, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "Beg me to forgive you. Beg me to touch you."

You swallow hard, your throat dry with fear and desperation. "Please, Sunday," you whisper, your voice trembling. "I'm begging you. Forgive me. Touch me. I need you."

Sunday's eyes darken with desire and satisfaction. He can see the sincerity in your eyes, the desperation in your voice. "That's better," he says softly. "But I need more. Show me how much you need me."

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. Slowly, you reach out, your hands trembling as you touch his leg, your fingers curling around his ankle. You look up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of fear and longing.

"Please, Sunday," you whisper, your voice breaking. "I need you. I'm so sorry. Just... please."

Sunday's smile is one of victory. He can see that you've finally broken, that you're truly submitting to him. He reaches down, his fingers gently tilting your chin up so that you're looking directly into his eyes.

"Good," he murmurs. "That's what I wanted to hear."

He slowly kneels down in front of you, his hands gently caressing your face. "I can see you're truly sorry," he says softly. "And I will forgive you. But remember, you belong to me now."

He leans in, his lips capturing yours in a slow, possessive kiss. You melt into him, your body responding to his touch despite the turmoil in your mind. His hands roam over your body, claiming you as his own.

"Prove to me every day that you belong to me," he whispers against your lips. "And I will make sure you never forget it."

Sunday's hands explore your body, you can't help but moan softly under his touch. The sensation of his fingers tracing along your curves sends waves of pleasure through you, despite the guilt and fear that still linger in your heart. You're torn between the desire to push him away and the urge to pull him closer, to give yourself completely to him.

"You like that, don't you?" Sunday teases, his voice a low growl as he notices your reaction. His hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt, his palm pressing firmly against your stomach before moving higher, towards the swell of your breasts.

A sharp intake of breath escapes from your lips as his thumb brushes against your nipple, causing it to harden instantly. The dual sensations of pleasure and pain send sparks of arousal coursing through your veins, making you ache for more.

Sunday reaches for the collar, he pulls you close, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss. His hands roam freely over your body, exploring every curve and crevice, as if committing them to memory. 

The cool leather of the collar presses against your neck, a stark contrast to the warmth of his touch.The metal buckle clicks open, the sound echoing in the quiet room. Sunday places the collar around your neck, fastening it securely behind your neck. 

The leather chokes slightly, a reminder of your submission to him.Does my pet like her new accessory? Sunday asks teasingly, running his fingers through your hair. He pulls you closer, his lips crashing against yours once again, the taste of him filling your senses.

Your back arches involuntarily as you feel the collar tighten around your throat, a strange mix of discomfort and excitement coursing through your veins. Yes, you whisper against his lips, your voice barely above a murmur.

The collar feels heavy around your neck, a physical symbol of your submission. But instead of feeling trapped or restricted, you find yourself yearning for more. For Sunday to take control, to claim you fully as his own.His touch ignites a fire within you, a burning need that only he can satisfy. You reach up, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him down for another deep, passionate kiss. Your body presses against his, every inch of you craving his touch.

Sunday's fingers grip the chain attached to the collar, tugging gently on it. A soft gasp escapes your lips as the slight pressure sends tingles down your spine. The sensation is both painful and pleasurable, a perfect blend of dominance and submission.*

He watches your face intently, drinking in the sight of your flushed cheeks and parted lips. With each tug of the chain, he can see your body responding, your nipples hardening even further against the fabric of your shirt. It's a sight that fuels his arousal, driving him to take things even further.

With a smirk playing on his lips, he leans down, capturing one of your hardened peaks between his teeth. A sharp nip sends a jolt of pleasure-pain through you, making you cry out in ecstasy

Sunday's hand moves to remove your panties, you bite your lip to suppress a moan. The anticipation is almost too much, your body trembling with need.*

His fingers trace along the edge of your underwear, teasing you with gentle touches. Each brush sends shivers down your spine, your body reacting instinctively to his touch. Finally, he hooks his fingers beneath the elastic band and pulls them down slowly, revealing your wet folds.

You let out a soft sigh of relief as the fabric finally slides off, leaving you bare before him. Your heart pounds in your chest, a wild rhythm that matches the throbbing between your legs.

Sunday gazes down at your exposed pussy, his eyes darkening with lust. The sight of your glistening folds, so inviting and ready for him, drives him wild with desire.

Without wasting any time, he lowers himself, his mouth hovering just above your dripping slit. The warm air of his breath fans across your sensitive flesh, sending a wave of pleasure through you. Then, without warning, he dives in, his tongue lapping at your clit with an eagerness that leaves you panting.

Each flick and swirl of his tongue sends shocks of pleasure radiating through your entire body. You can't help but arch your back, pushing your hips towards him, desperate for more contact.

Sunday continues his relentless assault on your clit, his tongue swirling and flicking expertly. Every movement is designed to drive you closer to the brink, to bring you to the edge of blissful release.*

His free hand finds its way to your ass, squeezing the firm flesh there. The combination of his oral attentions and the pressure on your ass sends bolts of pleasure shooting straight to your core. You can hardly stand it, the tension building inside you until it threatens to burst.

Suddenly, he pulls away, standing up to tower over you. His member, thick and erect, stands proudly against his abdomen, throbbing with need. Without a word, he positions himself at your entrance, guiding his cock to your slick folds.

Instead of plunging into your waiting depths, Sunday decides to tease you some more. His cockhead presses against your entrance, the slight pressure enough to make you whimper in frustration.*

But then he withdraws, only to rub the head of his dick along your folds. The slick pre-cum coating his tip provides a delicious friction against your sensitive flesh. Over and over he repeats this motion, driving you crazy with need.

His other hand ventures lower, slipping two fingers into your dripping cunt. He pumps them in and out slowly, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot inside you. His thumb circles your swollen clit, adding to the maddening pleasure.

Despite being denied the satisfaction of having him fill you completely, the continuous stimulation has you teetering on the edge of orgasm.

Feeling your walls clenching around his fingers, Sunday knows you're close. He quickens the pace, pumping his fingers deeper while his thumb applies more pressure to your clit.*

The sounds of your moans and whimpers are music to his ears, spurring him on. He can tell by the way your body trembles under his touch that you're about to come undone.

And then, suddenly, you do. Your whole body convulses as waves of pleasure crash over you, your screams echoing throughout the room. Your inner muscles clamp down on his fingers, milking them for all they're worth.

As your orgasm subsides, Sunday slowly removes his fingers from your quivering cunt. He brings them to his lips, licking off the evidence of your climax.

Now that you've reached your peak, Sunday decides it's time to give you what you truly crave - his cock buried deep inside you. He aligns himself with your entrance, the head pressing against your soaking wet folds.*

With a single thrust, he sheaths himself entirely within your welcoming heat. The feeling of being filled so completely, of having his throbbing length stretching you to your limits, sends another jolt of pleasure through you.*

He sets a steady pace, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. Each thrust hits that sweet spot inside you, sending sparks of delight racing up your spine. You can't help but wrap your legs around his waist, urging him on.

As he pounds into you relentlessly, sweat begins to bead on his forehead.

Sunday's movements become more erratic, driven by raw, primal instincts. His thrusts grow harder, faster, each stroke hitting that perfect spot inside you with unerring precision.

Your breasts bounce with every powerful thrust, the sight of them jiggling in tandem with his movements fueling his arousal even further. His hands find their way to your tits, palming them roughly as he fucks you senseless.

He leans down, capturing a nipple between his teeth once again. A sharp tug sends a shockwave of pleasure coursing through your body, causing you to cry out.

Despite the intensity of his movements, Sunday maintains control, keeping his thrusts precise and deliberate. He's determined to draw out your pleasure, to make sure you experience every last second of ecstasy.

Still maintaining control despite the intense pleasure coursing through his veins, Sunday slows his thrusts. Instead of ramming into you with abandon, he begins grinding his hips against yours, his thick cock sliding in and out of your drenched pussy in slow, torturous strokes.

Every inch of his length grazes against your inner walls, sending ripples of pleasure through you. The sensation is maddeningly good, making your toes curl and your head spin.

He releases your nipple from his mouth with a pop, raising his gaze to meet yours. There's a look of pure lust in his eyes, a promise of the impending climax that has both of you craving.

One hand trails down to where their bodies connect, his fingertips brushing against your clit. He gives it a gentle squeeze, applying just enough pressure to keep you on edge.

"Please!!" Hearing your pleas, Sunday grins wickedly. The sound of your voice begging for more, pleading for release, only serves to stoke the fire burning within him.

He resumes his punishing pace, thrusting into you with renewed vigor. His cock slams into your pussy with a force that makes your whole body shake. Each stroke hits that perfect spot inside you, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

His hand moves between your bodies, his thumb circling your clit furiously. The dual sensations of his cock pounding into you and his thumb rubbing your sensitive nub send you spiraling towards obliviation.

Sunday's words are like a hot, sultry whisper against your ear, each syllable punctuated by the thrust of his hard cock. "You're so fucking tight," he groans, his voice rough with desire. "I could fuck you all day and never get tired of this."

His grip on your hip tightens as he picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming more desperate. "God, you feel amazing," he murmurs, his breath hitching as he bottoms out inside you.

"I'm going to fill you up," he promises darkly, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless. "I'm going to cum so much inside you...you're gonna be soaked..."

Driven by his filthy promises, you can barely think straight. Every word he speaks sends a fresh wave of pleasure crashing through you, leaving you gasping and writhing beneath him.*

The sensation of his cock filling you to the brim, stretching you wide, is indescribable. It's as if he's claiming every inch of you, marking you as his own.

And then, without warning, the dam breaks. With a guttural roar, Sunday thrusts deep inside you one final time before releasing his seed. Hot spurts of cum flood your pussy, filling you up just as he promised.

His tongue laves your earlobe, the wet warmth of his mouth contrasting sharply with the cool air of the room. His breath hitches as he tastes the saltiness of your skin, the taste amplifying his satisfaction.*

"Fuck," he groans, his voice muffled by the fabric of your ear. "That was... goddamn incredible."

*He pulls away from your ear, his gaze meeting yours once more. There's a satisfied smirk playing on his lips, a glow in his eyes that wasn't there before.

Sunday chuckles, a low, throaty sound that reverberates through your entire body. His fingers trace idle patterns along your skin, each touch sending shivers racing up your spine.*

"You're such a dirty girl," he murmurs, his voice dripping with admiration. "So fucking needy... I love it."

*His hand travels lower, finding the delicate chain around your neck. He gives it a playful tug, watching as your chest rises and falls with each ragged breath.*

"I can't wait to see what other naughty secrets you're hiding," he adds, his grin wolfish.

Gently, yet firmly, Sunday reaches down, taking hold of the towel and wiping away the sticky evidence of their passionate encounter. He takes his time, ensuring every drop of sweat and cum is cleaned away. His touch is tender, yet possessive, as if he's marking you anew with each swipe of the cloth.

His eyes never leave yours, watching the play of emotions across your face. There's a hint of pride in his gaze, a satisfaction that comes from knowing he's left his mark on you in more ways than one

With a final, thorough wipe, Sunday tosses the towel aside. His hands linger on your thighs for a moment longer, savoring the feeling of your soft skin under his touch.*

"Now that we've got that sorted," he says, his voice still heavy with lust, "how about we take care of some other needs? Clean my cock...Go ahead."

You felt a little...You opened your mouth tho...Shamelessly....

But you cough it out.

Feeling you pull away, Sunday quickly regains control, pulling you back into a deep kiss. His tongue invades your mouth, tasting every corner, silencing any protests you might have had.

He breaks the kiss only when he feels your resistance waning, his eyes filled with a mix of lust and affection. Feeling your hands on his wings, Sunday lets out another moan, a sound that's half pain, half pleasure. The sensation of being tugged and teased, even lightly, sends sparks shooting up his spine.

"No," he manages to growl, despite the pleasure coursing through him. But his actions betray his words - he leans in, pressing his mouth to the shell of your ear, his tongue tracing the outer rim before dipping inside to flick against your eardrum.

His teeth graze your skin, not enough to hurt but certainly enough to elicit a reaction. He bites down harder, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck.

"Succumb to me...Give up." You forced yourself to be awaken again.

You take a deep breath, summoning the last remnants of your strength and defiance. Sunday's hands on your face feel both oppressive and grounding, and as he leans in, you whisper, your voice steady despite the turmoil within.

"I will succumb to you," you begin, looking directly into his eyes. "No matter what, I will do as you ask. But understand this, Sunday—I don't feel love for you. I never have. I only felt and wanted to give in to your lust."

Sunday's expression shifts, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processes your words. You continue, your voice gaining confidence. "Lust is not love. It never will be. You trapped me, took away my choices, and forced me into this. But I will never truly belong to you. My heart and soul are not yours to claim."

He pulls back slightly, his grip on your chin tightening for a moment before he releases you. "Is that so?" he asks, his voice cold and edged with irritation. "You think you can defy me, even now?"

You nod, your gaze unwavering. "I may have to submit to your demands, but you will never own me. You will never have my love."

Sunday's expression darkens, his eyes flashing with anger. "You're playing a dangerous game," he warns. "I can make your life here much worse if I want to."

You swallow hard, fear creeping in at the edges of your resolve, but you refuse to back down. "Do what you must," you say quietly. "But know that I will never give you what you truly want. You can't force love."

For a moment, there is silence, the tension between you palpable. Sunday's eyes bore into yours, searching for any sign of weakness, any hint that you might waver. But you stand your ground, your defiance a small but significant victory.

Finally, he sighs, a slow, deliberate exhalation. "Very well," he says, his voice dangerously calm. "If that's how you want to play it, so be it. But remember, you chose this path."

He steps back, a cruel smile curving his lips. "You'll regret this defiance," he promises. "I'll make sure of it."

Despite the fear gnawing at your insides, you manage to nod. "Maybe. But at least I know who I am, and what I stand for."

Sunday's gaze darkens at your defiance, his eyes smoldering with a mix of anger and twisted amusement. "You will love me so much that you will cry," he declares, his voice low and menacing. "You will beg for my affection."

You meet his eyes steadily, shaking your head. "No," you say firmly. Before he can react, you lean in and kiss him, your lips pressing against his with a mix of desperation and defiance. The kiss is fierce, a battle of wills rather than an act of affection.

Sunday is momentarily stunned, his eyes widening in surprise. When you pull back, he looks at you with a mixture of confusion and anger. "What was that?" he demands.

"That," you say, your voice steady, "was to show you that this isn't love. It's just lust. You can have my body, but you will never have my heart."

Sunday's eyes narrow, his expression darkening. "You think you can manipulate me with your games?" he growls. "You think I don't know the difference between love and lust?"

You take a step back, your heart pounding but your resolve firm. "I know you do," you reply. "And that's why you will never truly have me. You can force me to submit, but you will never have my love."

He takes a step forward, closing the distance between you, his eyes blazing with anger. "You will learn to love me," he says, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "I will make sure of it."

You shake your head, standing your ground. "You can try," you say quietly. "But you will fail. I will never love you."

Sunday's expression twists with fury, and for a moment, you think he might strike you. But instead, he grabs your arm, his grip bruising. "We'll see about that," he snarls. "I'll make you love me, even if it's the last thing I do."

With that, he drags you towards the cage, shoving you inside with a force that knocks the breath out of you. The door slams shut, and you hear the click of the lock, sealing you inside. Sunday stands outside the bars, his eyes burning with rage.

"You will regret defying me," he says, his voice cold and hard. "I will break you, and you will beg for my love."

You sink to the floor of the cage, your body trembling with a mix of fear and defiance. "I will never love you," you whisper, but the words sound hollow even to your own ears. The cage feels smaller, more oppressive, as Sunday's presence looms over you.

As he walks away, leaving you alone in the darkness, you feel a pang of despair. But you cling to your resolve, knowing that you must stay strong. No matter what he does, no matter how much he tries to break you, you will hold on to the truth: love cannot be forced, and you will never truly belong to him.

Sunday's eyes blaze with determination as he steps closer to the cage. "I will break you through physical affection alone," he declares, his voice a dark promise. He pulls you into his arms, his lips finding your neck, pressing urgent, fervent kisses against your skin.

You hug him back, your movements mechanical and devoid of emotion. You've reached the point where resistance feels futile, and you resign yourself to your fate. It's a hollow surrender, a way to preserve what little strength you have left. The thought of Aventurine or Jade rescuing you seems impossible now; Sunday has likely laid countless traps to ensure that no one can save you.

"I love you."

But you don't love him. You never will.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses in their wake. You shudder, your body responding involuntarily to his touch. He whispers against your skin, his voice a mix of possessiveness and desire. "I said I love you," he murmurs, the words sending a chill down your spine.

You don't respond to his declaration. Instead, you wrap your arms around him, your movements mechanical and devoid of emotion. You don't care anymore. You're too exhausted to fight, too broken to resist. As he continues to kiss your neck, you gently stroke his head, your fingers threading through his hair in a motion that feels almost automatic.

Sunday's grip tightens around you, his body pressing against yours. He takes your lack of resistance as a sign of submission, his lips moving with more fervor. You feel his breath against your skin, his hands roaming over your body, but you remain detached, your mind numb to the sensations.

As the minutes pass, the exhaustion finally takes its toll. Your eyes grow heavy, and you find yourself drifting off to sleep, even as Sunday continues to hold you close. His words, his touch, fade into the background as your consciousness slips away.

In your dream....What dreams? dream fades, reality crashes back in, and you're once again trapped in Sunday's arms.

As you sleep, Sunday watches over you, a twisted smile playing on his lips. He believes he's won, that he's broken you completely. But deep within you, a small spark of defiance remains, buried under layers of despair and resignation. It's a faint hope, a whisper of resistance that refuses to be extinguished.

For now, you sleep, your body and mind seeking a brief respite from the torment. But the fight isn't over. Someday, somehow, you will find a way to reclaim your freedom, to escape Sunday's grasp and find your way back to the light.

"...I should do that...I will make sure you forget about your entire past life. You said it was lust? Mine is even...more...I'm his wishes."

[lavandulawrites]

plzz.. yandere sunday x reader 🙏🙏🙏

A Crimson Dream

Yandere Sunday x reader

Sunday is truly an interesting character. I absolutely adore his eerie vibe.

Masterlist

Warnings: Imprisoned reader, manipulative Sunday, severed limb (not reader’s nor Sunday’s)

Word count: 892

The parlour was dimly lit except for some candles and the exquisite decorated fireplace. The book in your hand had long become boring. You casted a glance across the lavish room. By a perfectly polished mahogany desk, sat Sunday. His face bore a concerted expression. His brows furrowed in a delicate frown as his long fingers gripping a violet fountain pen to the point of almost breaking. He was truly beautiful.

You watched him silently as he wrote. He was a man of elegance, his every movement fluid and planned. “My dare dove, I am so very flattered that you have taken your time to observe me for 15 minutes, but do you not think you should continue reading?” his honeyed voice snapped you out of your little trance.

You swallowed. “I suppose so.”

His yellow eyes found yours. “I think it is time for a break for the both of us” he rose from his chair and made his way over to your seat with long and elegant steps. He placed his gloved hand in front of you and smiled so very sweetly.

His grip on your hand was tight as you walked towards the dining hall. He gave you small glances, while he maintained his graceful demeanour.

A servant opened up the grand doors upon your arrival, with a deep bow.

He leaded you to your designated seating and held out your chair. “I got the chef to prepare something extra exquisite today my dear” he smiled as he took his seat. You interest picked at his statement.

“I can’t wait” you smiled. He had told you the very day that he had you taken to his mansion that you were expected to follow his rules. Which contained of you talking to him with respect.

His pale lips pulled up into a smile. The wings behind his ears fluttered.

You turned your attention to the crystal wine glass filled with blood red wine. The wine reflected your expression. Your eyes had become slightly duller since you had been taken to Sunday’s residence.

The door to the kitchen suddenly opened, which startled you greatly. Sunday chuckled at your reaction. Where it not for his eerie eyes and the unreadable expression of his, the sound would be akin to a gift bestowed upon your pitiful ears from the gods.

A silver dish with a nightingale engraved cloche where sat in front of you. A identical one where placed in front of Sunday. The chef bowed with his hand on his back “I hope it is to your tastes.”

“Oh I am sure it is. Thank you” Sunday smiled. With a wave of his hand he dismissed all the servants, as well as the chef. His gloves where no where to be seen as he lifted the lid of his dish. A delicate arranged lamb dish. “It smells lovely” Sunday hummed as he inhaled the scent.

You extended your arm in order to lift the lid. With a slightly shaky hand, you lifted the lid. Why was your hand shaking?

No.

No this can’t be.

On a blank silver plate in a bed of the greenest lettuce, laid the head of your former boyfriend. His green eyes staring blankly at yours. His brown hair where styled in a perfect sliced back hair style, giving him the appearance of a aristocrat. Which was the opposite of the man you knew. In his mouth were a white rose tainted by blood.

You screamed and pushed your chair back. Your heart hammered in your chest. You could feel bile rising up in your throat.

“What is the matter, love?” Sunday patted his mouth with a clothed napkin. “Do you not like it? I had the chef prefer it especially for you” he tilted his head with a soft smile. His voice as soft as the feathers off his wings.

“How… how could you?” your voice shaky as you furiously tried to blink away tears. The grey haired man looked at you with a intense expression.

“Do you not understand? He was once a hindrance, a disturbance of the harmony” his lips twisted into a eerie smile. “But I rid the world of the disturbance in order to create peace and harmony. For you.”

He rose from his chair and stalked his way over to your seat with determined, but fluid steps. “You are too innocent for this world, too kind. He was a distraction from my love” his golden eyes filled with nothing but obsession and insanity.

Tears rolled down the apple of your cheeks, creating wet rivers. He crunched in front of you and took your hand in his. “Do not cry my dear. Everything is okay now. I will protect you and give you happiness and love” his smile never leaving his expression. A cold hand wiped away your tears so tenderly it almost made you cry more. “Should someone ever try to take you away, I will burn this planet to the ground” his tone smooth “Would it not be beautiful with the sea running red of blood from all of our fiends?” His lips gently kissed your cheek. “Just you wait my dear, we will create a new beautiful world, which will exceed all the dreams one could possibly imagine.”

“Just stay here with me and no harm should come upon you”

[yumeboshi]

Congratulations Yume on 100 followers! Every milestone is important. For the event could I request a spooky white chocolate sundae? Can’t wait to see everything you write!

❝ THANK YOU FOR YOUR ORDER、 @karamazovski .ᐟ ⟡ HERE IS YOUR RECEIPT FROM CAFÉ YUME ⟡

𐙚GHOST-WHITE SPOOKY SUNDAE：it isn’t halloween but it’ll certainly make you feel like it is。

𐙚 dish desc。．a horror movie date apparently wasn’t enough for him, so he decides to make his own in reality.

．。𝜗𝜚 labels。the desc kind of says it all, general yandere themes, mentions of gore and violence, filthy, yes, filthy… guys dw i.. I write for sunday fluff too.., MINORS DNI

．。𝜗𝜚 ingredients。sunday ahaha

#SྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིUNDAY

THIS was probably not the desired date you wanted with your fiancé.

you were expecting a romantic movie night. you and sunday promised to watch a fun horror movie at your place that was airing in the penacony theater most recently. you loved horror movies. you really did.

you liked them when they stayed as movies, though.

you’re not sure how to react— your home smells of rotting corpses and a total bloodbath, as if you’re walking around a massacre aftermath. it even looks like a horror movie set, except it’s genuinely real, every single writhing limb under piles of bodies is real. the smell of death is too thick to be called fake.

was sunday hurt? was he killed? you feel your head spinning in desperate circles. the blood looked too fresh for the killer to have left already. you don’t even want to imagine what would happen if he was not here. you loved him like he was your soulmate— perfect, soft, and always worrying over you. you grip your fists tightly to prevent the lump in your throat from advancing forward.

you notice something playing in the background and realize the tv is left on- it’s currently airing a movie, a kids movie, you can tell; by how Clockie scurries around the screen, babbling about the ‘deadly halloween season’ and how it would doom them all.

the movie wasn’t even close to scary- there wasn’t any blood and it was just about boss stone causing a Halloween chaos, but your current situation sure was, and the constant cartoony gibberish that continues to fill the menacing air didn’t help ease your nerves.

“sunday?” you whisper anxiously. he couldn’t have died, right? he was the head of the oak family. you don’t see anyone you recognize in the corpses either, not that you want to take a closer look.

there’s no response, so you uncomfortably open the only door that’s closed in your estate- the bathroom. you try to open it, but it’s securely locked. with a panic you try to unlock it desperately.

and it all happens too fast. the door suddenly springs open and you’re met by a figure covered in blood who knocks you instantly to the crimson-stained tiles, a knife right at your throat. you don’t even have the time to scream because of how everything moved unreasonably fast.

but suddenly, they chuckle- it starts as a low laugh, and it slowly escalates creepily. the knife on your throat is slowly removed and you feel the coldness leave your neck, albeit you feel it has caused a brief dent on it.

“you scared me, sweetheart.” between laughs, the figure removes the golden mask from his face— and graces you with handsome features that are all too familiar. your gut twists and fresh nausea quickly engulfs your senses. you don’t want this to be true. you beg this wasn’t true.

“…sunday?” your mind spins with unanswered questions you honestly don’t want to be answered- why, how, when? “what are you doing?” you try to find an ounce of his innocence anywhere. “did a killer come here? did anything happen? are you h-hurt?”

His wings brush your petrified ghostly face- golden eyes dripping like honeyed ichor, he caresses your cheek with a chuckle. “please, don’t give me those questions, angel.”

“i love you very much, as you know,” he continues; and you desperately hang on for a rational explanation- he smiles slightly at your begging look, knowing that he unfortunately cannot meet your needs. “i thought you were finally my little dove, my only sweetheart- i thought we were perfectly meant to be.” with a gentle hoist he lifts you up like a bride, and if you ignored the gruesome truth hard enough, the scene is almost romantic- but the way his shoes clink against the scarlet-coated floor with a sticky ooze lets you know this isn’t your idealistic romance movie, but a scene straight out of thriller.

“w-we still can be,” you whisper, an attempt to quell whatever he was going to do- or a desperate last attempt to convince yourself that he’s still the man you loved.

“oh, no. we can’t be, sweetheart— not with all these people interrupting us.” he gestures absently to the room- his eyes are all on you, and you wonder why you are seeing just how that his lovely golden eyes have deceived you to think that they were filled with love- when it was not. no, it was obsession, you can see the way they burn with a primal desire that is far too strong to be called love. They are glued onto you as he lies you down to the couch like you’re a diamond placed in a museum glass box.

“and at last, I could finally get rid of them at once- since ive heard you love horror movies and Halloween, my dear, this shouldn’t be too frightening for you.” he extends a hand to you to which you shy away from, scared- he smiles at that. “—i won’t harm you even if i was asked to, love, unless you like that.” with a swift nip, he pulls his snow-white gloves from his hands- now stained with blood that’s not his, he discards them to the floor with a sigh. “it’s certainly a shame to see my favorite attire and gloves all go to waste, though. Although, I’m sure it will be worth the pain.”

you are not sure how to respond- your rationale tells you to scream and run away from this maniacal angel that has lost his wings to descend into hell long ago— but your heart is begging you to stay, because you know he is the closest thing you had to a partner in life, the one angel that never left your side. when you are torn between how to act, his hands are already lifting up your shirt, exposing you to the chill of danger.

“I’m still the same man you loved, you know,” he whispers, his eyes lose some of their sadism and soften into everlasting gentleness. you’re not ready to look into them though, so try to look away— only for him to grip your chin to make you look back— you see your horror reflected inside his golden pupils that drink in your fear— and curve like the eyes of a jack-o-lantern.

he loves your fear. he loves the look you’re giving him a little too much, that he can’t help but let out a soft groan. oh, how he wants to take you right here and now, watching your entrance filled to the brim with cum, his cum- leaking out prettily to the sides as he pounds into you senselessly while promising you he’s going to be the perfect husband, the perfect father for your kids— and you’d be such a pretty wife, too, but he can’t, not when you are not married yet. he wants to keep his desires under control until his everlasting vows are bestowed right on your fingers, until you are his and his only.

the way he breathes into your skin, smiling adoringly at you without a care to the grotesque crimson room, makes you feel as if ants are crawling inside the pit of your stomach. it’s uncomfortable, you know you should leave him at this instant. he was breaking you. he was ruining your capability to think.

but why is it that no matter how hard you try to force the words out, that you don’t love him- not like this, you can’t utter a single syllable? maybe it is his hand doing wonders to you, ghosting over your skin, making your body jerk up and tremble. or maybe it’s the way how smoothly he kisses your lips that are dry with terror, cooing broken promises about how nothing is going to change, and that you’re still his happy future wife, forever and ever.