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The gilded chains around your wrists jingle softly as you struggle, their cold touch biting into your skin. White silk sheets pool around your hips, a mockery of purity against the scene unfolding beneath the dim, golden glow of floating lanterns.
He watches you, that serene, maddening smile never faltering. His silver hair cascades over one shoulder, his golden irises gleaming in the soft flickering light. A vision of divinityβtwisted, profane, undeniable.
“You mustn’t resist,” Sunday murmurs, adjusting his gloves as if he were preparing for a sermon rather thanβthis. “You’re confused, aren’t you? But don’t worry… I’ll guide you.”
His gloved fingers skim your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his. Those navy pupils, deep and unfathomable, reflect your terror back at you.
“You belong to me.”
The words slip past his lips like a hymn, his voice thick with something more potent than devotion. His body looms over yours, the weight of him sinking into you, pressing, suffocating. His hand travels down, tracing the delicate curves of your form before gripping your thigh and forcing it apart.
You flinchβhe chuckles.
“Shhh, little lamb… you’re shaking.” His voice is velvet wrapped around steel, his touch deceptively gentle as he spreads you open. “You trust me, donβt you?”
A shudder wracks through you. You do not. He knows you do not.
But that doesnβt matter.
The blunt pressure between your legs sends a cold bolt of dread up your spine. His cock, heavy and warm, slides against your slick folds, teasing, prodding, waiting.
“This is inevitable,” Sunday hums, adjusting the halo behind his head, golden light casting shadows that dance across his sharp features. “It always has been.”
He moves, slow, deliberate, sheathing himself inch by inch inside your unwilling body. Your breath catches, your back arching off the mattress in a desperate attempt to escape the stretch, the burn, the sheer force of him splitting you open.
“There it is,” he exhales, his voice nearly reverent as he bottoms out, seated fully inside you. “So perfect… So made for me.”
Your fingers claw at the sheets. You want to scream, but the sound catches in your throat. Heβs too deep, too thick, filling you past what you can bear, stealing what little resistance you have left.
His hips snap forward suddenly, knocking the breath from your lungs. A strangled gasp spills from your lips, and he drinks it in with satisfaction.
“You feel that?” Sunday groans, rolling his hips in slow, taunting circles. “Your body knows me. It remembers.”
He sets a paceβdeep, unhurried, devastating. Each thrust forces a whimper from your lips, the slick sounds of your unwilling arousal filling the air, a lewd symphony of submission.
“Surrender to me,” he whispers against your ear, his gloved fingers pressing down on your throat. “You were never meant to resist.”
Official TAG LIST of βThe Red Ledgerβ: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld , @yanderedrabbles
Character Tag List for HSR Sunday: @yandere-romanticaa
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