God This Had Me Giggling And Tearing Up A Bit - Tumblr Posts

❀ ˎˊ- prompt: you've never told sunday you loved him, but you never had to. ❀ ˎˊ- sunday x gn!reader ❀ ˎˊ- wc: 787 ❀ ˎˊ- warnings: vague spoilers for 2.2, mild angst (sunday hates himself lmao) ❀ ˎˊ- a/n: i remembered some random hc that halovians are sensitive to emotions and i woke up in a cold sweat idk if its canon but i like it. anyways happy sunday guys <3 ❀ ˎˊ- img credits

Halovians are the prized jewels of the universe, beloved and admired by many for their elegance, beauty, and elusiveness. But as Sunday’s come to learn, being one of the revered beings isn’t what it’s made out to be.

His halo tingles, little buzzes of electricity shooting across the metal ring and flowing directly into his brain. Sunday flinches at the feeling, although it's hardly noticeable - just a little jump of the shoulders, surprise flashing over his face for a millisecond.

Then comes heat - scorching, smoldering heat that floods over him, embracing and smothering him in its intensity. Instinctively his wings move to cool him down, but the heat is all in his head - physically, he’s fine. But it’s the implication, the knowledge of just what this feeling is that sets his face ablaze.

Ever since he was but a young child, he’d discovered quickly that he could sense the emotions of those around him as if they were his own. Humans were always wearing false faces, putting up a front, but he could always see beyond the mask.

But it was overwhelming - to put it mildly - to be under this constant onslaught of clashing emotions, so eventually, he learned to tune them out, to ignore the waves that his halo received.

And yet, despite all of those years spent learning to block out the emotions of others, here he is, fighting with all his strength to not melt down into a flustered puddle as he walks by your side.

There’s no one else in the Dewlight Pavilion’s garden, so he has no doubt about it - it’s you who’s sending these… feelings his way, and that realization does little to help with his predicament - he’d even say it makes it worse. But Sunday wouldn’t be where he is if he wasn’t able to keep a straight face despite it all.

But he does wonder, how are you doing it? See, Sunday has the excuse of being trained and raised for his role in politics. But you? How could you act so casual, so unbothered, and treat him like any other despite how strongly you… love him?

It breaks a part of his mind just to admit it, but he doesn’t know what else to call it. The warmth that emits from you is the same as that that radiates off of the newly wed couples that come to Penacony for their honeymoon, except you don’t know whether or not your love is reciprocated, nor have you ever considered to ask.

A part of him wishes that you would.

“Sunday?”

He blinks back to reality. You’re smiling up at him, and the pure adoration that exudes from you has his knees weak and his heart jumping. He feels like he’s choking, his breath is caught in his throat and there’s a heavy weight on his chest - but he only smiles reassuringly at you.

“Yes?” he asks softly, taking great care to keep his voice even.

“Are you alright? You seem a little…” You trail off, not sure how to word it. “…off.”

The corner of Sunday’s lip twitches. “Off is… certainly a way to say it.”

Your brows crease further in worry, and he can’t help but laugh good-naturedly.

“Please, don’t worry yourself.” He waves his hand dismissively. “I am fine, but I’m grateful for your concern.”

“Are you sure?” you insist. Sunday smiles warmly.

He feels how much you care for him, how much you wish for him to be happy, to have the most wonderful things. But he can't help but wonder - why? Why him? The parts of you that you devote to him, someone such as himself does not deserve. Not when in his ideal dream, he is destined for a life alone in the sky.

You deserve to love someone else, someone who can properly appreciate what you give him.

Absent-mindedly, his gloved hand comes to brush a knuckle against your cheek. A pleased hum rumbles in his chest as he feels your skin warm and your heart skip a beat.

"Of course," he murmurs. "In fact, I'd say I've never been better."

“If you say so.” You don’t look convinced, but you don’t argue, instead opting to subtly lean into his hand.

Sunday’s eyes soften. Guilt gnaws at him for his indulgence. He should stop, pull away. Leading you on like this wasn’t right. He needed to wake up, and stop playing pretend. The Charmony Festival was almost here - he couldn’t afford to give himself false hope.

And yet, he lingers there, bathing in your affection for a little longer.

If this is his sweet dream, he doesn’t want to wake up just yet.

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tags: @sh0jun, @themoderatelyawesomeninja, @xphantasmagoriax, @rainswept, @lucensei,

@akutasoda, @naraven, @scribs-dibs, @apathicace