Sunday My Beloved - Tumblr Posts

Imagine that Sunday is absolutely in love with you, but you keep calling him by the wrong name. Or, where Sunday is so down bad for you that he doesn't mind that you call him different days of the week.

"Thanks so much, Monday!"

"It's no problem."

He smiled and acted as if being called Monday was an everyday occurrence.

"Wow! I wouldn't have ever thought of that, Wednesday!"

"All it takes is a little thinking outside the box, so if you ever need any more help, don't be afraid to ask."

Despite the new name, he would always help you out. Night or day. Evening or early morning. He was there for you.

"Fridayyyyy! Worked sucked so bad!"

"I'm sorry, do you want to listen to some music to relax?"

No matter how tough life got for either of you, he always made time for you. Through the bad days and the good.

"Tuesday, Tuesday! You won't believe what happened to me today!"

"I'm all ears."

He loved how excited you got whenever you talked. He honestly could listen to you all day. Though, he also liked how attentive you were when someone else was talking to. Showing just as much enthusiasm in the subject.

"Saturday, that girl is so mean to me. She was talking behind my back and everything! Spreading all those lies too..."

"Don't worry, I'll be sure to fix everything for you."

And he would. Anything bad, said or done towards you by another, was never tolerated. The entirety of Penacony learned that the hard way.

"Let's go eat some lunch, Thursday! I'm starving!"

"Alright, alright. Let me just finish up these papers and then we can go."

Simply being with you was always enough for him. However, he sometimes wanted more but never could bring himself to say anything.

But, luckily, you always noticed.

"Thank you"

"For what?"

"Thank you so much for letting me fall in love with you, Sunday."

You could only smile as you watched his face freeze. A deep, crimson blush coating his cheeks as his wings came up to try and hide his face.

You always knew what his name was. But teasing him was just so much fun ♡!

It didn't take Sunday long to notice your admiring gaze. You were new. A new assistant that his sister picked out herself. Apparently you both have been friends for a long time which worries Sunday.

Because honestly, he at first thought you only befriended Robin to get close to the Family. However, after meeting you, well, he discovered you were quite harmless. A little dumb even, no offense.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," he said smoothly in attempt to tease you with his knowing grin.

It was one of those rare days when he would be working at his desk and you would be with him in his office.

It was also when he would notice your ogling gaze on him the most too.

And when he turns to look at you to gauge your reaction the moment those words leave his mouth, he doesn't see your flustered expression, your lips quivering in embarrassment, or your eyes averting away from his own.

Instead, he hears a click and a flash of light.

Did you just-?

He blinks momentarily as his face morphed into one of bewilderment. In turn, you brought your phone down and gave him a questioning look, "what? Something wrong? You said I could take your picture."

"I, well, i-"

He couldn't stop his cheeks from flushing into a dark red as his wings went to cover them. He coughed, "It was just an expression-"

*click*

"So cute," you muttered as you ogled your new photos of Sunday himself.

All the while, the halovian before you could only hide behind his wings and the stacks of paperwork as you continued to take "cute" pictures of him to your hearts content.

"Hey! Maybe you should take pictures of me too? Since I catch you checking me out sometimes."

YOU NOTICED THAT?!

Sunday decided that you were a dangerous foe right then and there. Bad for his heart, and bad for his reddening cheeks too.

Hsr characters in a Soulmate au

warnings: sunday backstory, implied Gopher Wood being a bad father (Sunday), implied stellaron hunter Sunday, discrimination (aventurine, not said by reader), debt (aventurine), firefly backstory, 2.0-2.2 penacony spoilers

characters: Sunday, Aventurine, Firefly

a/n: it's so obvious who's my #1 fav in this

Sunday: writing

Throughout the world, everyone had the ability to communicate to their soulmates through writing on their own skin.

Sunday doesn't remember much about his childhood. His home-world was entrenched in war. The only constant in his life was his own sister, and the strange symbols on his wrists.

After being taken in by Gopher Wood, he would be taught that those symbols were words, and they came from his Soulmate. Excitedly, he'd take to the books to communicate with the person on the other end. At first it was little doodles, then broken sentences, and then full on conversations.

He wrote about his sister, the charmony dove, music and literature. One day, the writing stopped. You'd jot down messages in concern, so worried to the point your hand writing looked like illegible scribbles. He never did tell you his name after all.

After years, finally you got a response.

'Meet me at Dreamflux Reef, here, at 8 pm.' You couldn't help but notice that your soulmate's penmanship had improved after all these years. The once poor excuse for cursive wasn't just printed letters attached to one another, but font-like in it's neatness with broad loops. Despite the brief words written on your skin, your stomach rolled. Was it nerves or excitement?

There was a little hand-drawn map, taking up a portion of your forearm, with an 'X' on the location. You approached the streetlight ahead of you. It was five minutes before 8 pm, at the exact area he told you to be at.

There was somebody there. In the darkness, it was hard to see. The streetlight offered little brightness. Just a faint glow upon whoever it was. They were clearly halovian, a light bounced off their halo, providing a shine in your line of sight. Contrarily, they stood in dark clothes. And seemed to be fidgeting...as if waiting for someone.

As if on cue, the figure straightens up and turns to look at you. Those grey feathers and yellow eyes were unmistakable.

"Mr. Sunday?" The man hasn't been seen since the Order was chased out of Penacony.

"I didn't expect you to show up early," Sunday gives a halfhearted chuckle, then he calls your name, "you are them, right?"

"Yes, but-" You look towards your arm where the writing is located.

He sighs and shakes his head, "I...I'm the one who's been writing to you all these years." Sunday lifts his sleeve, on it is your reply to him, asking where he's been, and saying you'd be there.

Your soulmate was Sunday. The former head of the Oak Family. An MIA criminal. But also your childhood friend, who you never met.

There was so much to say, but the only thing you could think to ask was, "Why? You've been gone for so long..."

"I'm sorry. My fa-the dream master, prevented me from reaching out to you. He wanted me to be 'the chosen one' for The Order. I'm sorry that it took so long for me to-"

Gently, you put your arms around him.

"I was so worried. Please, talk to me. About everything."

He would, but now, all he wanted to do was rest in your embrace.

Aventurine: eye color

Everyone has one of their eyes the same eye color as their soulmate’s, until they meet.

It’s something that’s so arbitrary and meaningless to most people. There are only so many colors in the universe after all. But not yours.

“Sigonian.” Disdain.

“Poor child.” Pity.

“Whoever your soulmate is, you’re better off not meeting them.” Disgust.

Sigonia. A far off planet somewhere in the galaxy. Lightyears away. Where a people known for their unique eyes resides. Or used to reside.

Looking into the mirror, your right eye looks back at you, it’s a purple tinged with blue. You wonder what your soulmate’s would’ve looked like. You’ve long since accepted that any possible soulmate would’ve died years ago. Not even baseless rumors could settle any feelings of loss.

Knock Knock

Debt collectors.

The gentle knocks turn into bangs. The person standing outside takes a full walk around your house, peering inside any windows in search of you. The IPC was relentless when it came to debt. They'd make constant calls, tell your neighbors, blackmail their debtors, tack on more and more money, all to collect as much money as possible.

Just as your nerves calm down your phone rings. It's from a family member.

"Hello?"

"Hello, I'm calling from the IPC." That's not them. The voice is male with a smoothness to his voice. He disguised his number.

Just when you're about to hang up, "Don't hang up yet, I have a proposition for you." He instructs you to open the door.

You follow his instructions. Each step you make, the pit in your stomach gets wider. The door creeks as you turn the knob.

Two purple eyes, with a blue ring around the pupil. Sigonian. His eyes mirror your right one. But, within his reflection you see your own two regular colored eyes. Wait-

The man's mouth drops in shock, but instantly pulls into a grin. He hangs up the call.

"I see what's going on here. This time, the charge is on me," Aventurine insists. He's covered in designer clothing from head to toe, with golden rings lining each finger. You know right then and there that anything you say will get you nowhere. You're just glad he seems to be on your side.

"...Thank you."

"Mmm, but I never said it was without recompense." Shit. "In return, I'll provide you with a better place to live. This place is a bit...run down," he takes a glance around your home, and you can't help but feel embarrassed.

"Thank you, Aventurine, but that just sounds like I'll be in your debt."

He waves you off. "Debt? No, friend. What kind of partner would I be to let my soulmate fend for themselves?"

Firefly : timer

Every person across the galaxy has a timer leading up to the meeting of their soulmate.

4,000 years. Approximately 35,040,000 hours.

That was what Firefly had.

When she first awoke in her incubation chamber, it felt like she could wait forever. Their purpose was to devote their entire being to Glamoth. She did not dream. Not of the warmth of someone’s hands in theirs. Not of someone telling her that she was more. That was not a right of a weapon.

Yet, under the ashen sky and fields of smoke, not a single light shone through. Glamoth would never see the sun again. That was no place for a firefly.

For the last time she broke all protocol.

They unfurled their wings and chased the light. Finally, Unit AR-26710’s heart fluttered for a purpose that wouldn’t destroy.

24 hours = 1,440 minutes = 86,400 seconds.

They’d be landing in Penacony soon. She looked at her wrist, where the countdown was located. 1 day. She could feel her heart beat in her throat; she was so nervous.

Love. Kafka taught her that emotion. She’d never felt it before. Not that way.

Her eyes never left the window.

5 minutes = 300 seconds.

299, 298, 297, 296… Thinking in seconds was faster than minutes. It made time go faster. Minutes felt like eternity.

120, 119, 118, 117… Were they standing in the same area? Could she be looking at them right now? How far apart were they? Would they be tall or short? Would they be the time to put milk before cereal? Would they even like her?

10, 9, 8, 7… She watched the time tick away. She didn’t dare to look up least she burn up from the inside. It felt like her propulsion accidentally activated.

4, 3, 2, 1—

A figure crashed into her from behind. “I’m so sorry!”

0

She turned to look, and there you were. Yet, there was no celebration like she imagined. No hugging. No holding each other in an embrace. Instead, your face was pulled into grimace. Your arm gently interlocking with hers. Your posture was tight and hunched. All the signs of an uneasy person. Two Bloodhound members trailed after you.

“Did we do something wrong?” Firefly moved to stand in front of you

“That’s classified information,” one of the bloodhound guards say, gaze shifting off to look at you.

“I really didn’t do anything.” You look at Firefly with a pleading look.

The girl looks back at you and nods. She grabs your hand, the one the countdown is located on and charges for the alleys.

You hear the slap of their shoes against the concrete. The hurried pants of the guards. The footsteps behind you get louder and closer. In spite of the danger, all you can think about is the girl whose fingers are intertwined with yours. It brings a rush to your cheeks that only a breeze can soothe.

When your soulmate rounds the corner of the alley, her warm hand laced with yours turn a cold metallic. Her other hand placed around the small of your back in support. The suit of the armor is cold against your skin, but there’s a heat that radiates from the chest of the mech. It soothes your nerves. The lack of heat from her hand interlocked with yours may be replaced, but it was welcome.

When she unwraps her wings from behind her suit, a warm air erupts around you. Suddenly, you’re in the sky. The wind ruffles your hair, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when it dawns on you that you’re in your soulmate’s arms.

‘How would the other hunters react if they knew she blew her cover? Kafka was definitely going to tease her."

a/n #2: aven's was so hard to write. he feels like such a sleazebag in this but its only because he's in work mode I promise !! I want to do more of these bc it was fun.

piercings

double standard w/ sunday

based on @harmonysanreads fic! Y'know the neuron activation meme???? yeah,,, that's what actually happened when I stumbled on her post qwqwqwq

TYYY @harmonysanreads FOR YOUR SERVICEEE

Stelleron hunter sunday !

did our dreams come true

🥂🥂🥂

most morally dubious nameless

Imagine sitting on the express, offering Sunday a bag of chips. He politely declines, but you can tell while you're scrolling on your phone that he's been stealing glances in your direction. Wordlessly, you extended the bag to him without tearing your gaze away from your usual daily scroll. It's been a few minutes and you haven't heard or felt the sound of chips moving about. When you turned to look, you realized that he hadn't been eager for a bite of those potatoes. He was watching you eat, with a small smile on his face as though he himself was full just by watching. This was what he needed. The necessity of domestic repose.

Sunday began thinking himself as a fool, not from the nasty pit that was self-deprecation, but out of fondness for the sight. Why didn't he take this path sooner?

He shifted from his seat. A simple gesture— nearly unseen— but you heard how he chuckled curtly. Then, he spoke:

"Pardon me for my rudeness, but you have some crumbs on your face."