★ Lovesick | HSR Oneshots

Sunday x reader | final checkmate

Sunday x gn!reader

Requested by aventurinelxver

A Final Checkmate

The moon hung low and ominous in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the ancient, dilapidated church where you and Sunday often met for your secret chess matches. Tonight, however, the stakes were far higher than any game you had ever played. Tonight, your life hung in the balance.

You had been cursed. A malevolent sorcerer had cast a dark spell upon you, transforming you into a creature of the night. Your once-human features were now twisted and demonic, your soul a battleground between your humanity and the dark forces threatening to consume you. The curse was a cruel irony; you and Sunday had dedicated your lives to ridding the world of such evils. Now, you were the very thing you had fought against.

Sunday stood across the church’s nave, his long, grey hair flowing like a silver river down his back, his eyes filled with sorrow and determination. He was an exorcist of unparalleled skill, his mission clear: to exorcise all demonic forces, regardless of the cost. Tonight, that mission meant facing you, his closest friend.

"Y/N," he called out, his voice echoing through the cavernous space, filled with a mixture of sadness and resolve. "You know what I have to do."

You nodded, a resigned smile playing on your lips. "I know, Sunday. Just like a chess game, right? You have to win."

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "I will set you free, Y/N. I promise."

You crouched low, your transformed body ready to spring. The dark power coursed through your veins, making you faster and stronger than ever before. But your mind, your essence, was still the same. You were still Y/N, and you still loved chess.

"Let’s make this interesting," you said, your voice distorted but carrying the same familiar tone. "I’ll call out your moves. You’ve always been predictable, Sunday."

He smirked, a small, sad gesture. "We’ll see about that."

You lunged forward, claws slashing through the air. Sunday moved with a grace that belied his size, dodging your attack and striking back with his silver staff. The weapon glowed with holy light, designed to dispel dark forces.

"Knight to E5," you taunted, predicting his next move.

Sunday swung his staff, aiming for your legs. You jumped back, avoiding the blow. "Bishop to D3," you countered, launching a flurry of attacks.

He parried and blocked, his movements precise and calculated. Each strike, each dodge, was a move on the board. You danced around him, testing his defenses, probing for weaknesses.

The battle raged on, each of you giving and taking hits, your movements a deadly dance. Sunday was relentless, his face a mask of determination. But beneath that, you saw the pain. The anguish of having to fight you, his friend.

"Rook to F7," you called out, diving to the side as he swung at you again. "You’re slowing down, Sunday."

He gritted his teeth, pushing forward. "I won’t let you win, Y/N. Not this time."

You laughed, a harsh sound that echoed through the empty church. "You never could handle losing."

He struck at you again, this time his staff connecting with your side. Pain flared through your body, but you pushed it aside, retaliating with a powerful swipe of your claws.

"Queen to H5," you panted, feeling the strain of the fight. "You’re running out of pieces."

Sunday’s eyes flashed with determination. "So are you."

The air crackled with energy as the two of you clashed, each strike a calculated move. You were tiring, the dark power within you sapping your strength even as it granted you unnatural abilities. Sunday’s holy power was taking its toll, burning away at the darkness inside you.

The church was in ruins, debris scattered everywhere. You and Sunday were both wounded, blood and sweat mingling as you continued your deadly game. Every movement was a struggle, every breath a reminder of the stakes.

"Check," you gasped, dodging another swing. "You’re in check, Sunday."

He paused, breathing heavily. "Not yet, Y/N. Not yet."

You both knew it was almost over. You could feel the darkness clawing at your soul, threatening to consume you entirely. This was it. The final moves.

"King to G8," you whispered, barely able to stand. "Your move, Sunday."

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a sorrow so deep it broke your heart. "I’m sorry, Y/N."

With a final, powerful strike, he brought his staff down, the holy light blazing as it connected with you. The darkness screamed, a hideous sound that echoed through the church. Pain ripped through you, but beneath it, you felt a strange sense of peace.

"Checkmate," you whispered, your voice barely audible. You reached out, your fingers brushing against Sunday’s cheek. "Checkmate."

He caught you as you fell, cradling you in his arms. Tears streamed down his face as he held you close. "Y/N..."

You managed a weak smile, your vision fading. "We always knew... it would come to this. Didn’t we?"

He nodded, unable to speak, his heart breaking.

Your last breath was a soft sigh, a final kiss against his lips. "Good game, Sunday."

The church was silent, the echoes of the battle fading into nothingness. Sunday knelt in the debris, holding your lifeless body. His heart ached with a pain he had never known, a wound that would never heal.

You were gone. His friend, his chess partner, his confidant. The one person who understood him, who challenged him, who stood by his side through everything. The one person he couldn’t save.

He gently laid you down, his tears falling onto your still form. "Rest now, Y/N. You’re free."

He stood, his body trembling with exhaustion and grief. The curse was broken, but at what cost? He had lost the most important person in his life. The one person who made the endless fight against darkness bearable.

Sunday looked around the ruined church, the place where you had shared so many moments, where you had fought your final battle. It was a hollow victory, a win that felt like the greatest loss.

As he walked away, the moon casting a cold light on the scene, he couldn’t shake the memory of your last words. "Checkmate." A final kiss. A goodbye.

The world felt emptier, colder. He had won, but it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like the end of something beautiful, something irreplaceable.

He would continue his mission, continue to fight the darkness. But he would do it with a heavy heart, carrying the memory of you with him. You had been his greatest challenge, his greatest loss. And now, you were his greatest sorrow.

The road ahead was long and lonely, but he would walk it. For you. For the promise he had made. To exorcise all evil, to protect the world. But the world felt a little less bright without you in it.

Years later, Sunday would often find himself in that same church, now restored and filled with light. He would sit at the old chess table, staring at the pieces, remembering the games you had played, the conversations you had shared.

He never found another opponent like you. No one else could match your wit, your strategy, your passion. No one else could fill the void you left behind.

In his heart, you were always there, guiding him, challenging him. Every move he made, every battle he fought, he did with you in mind. You were his compass, his guiding star.

And as he sat there, in the quiet of the church, he would sometimes hear your voice, soft and teasing, calling out his moves. Reminding him that he was never alone.

"Checkmate," he would whisper to the empty room, a sad smile on his lips.

The endgame was over, but the memories would last forever.