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#yandere honkai star rail x reader
ataraxiaspainting · 2 days
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Can you write for black swan as a yandre?
Lovers Forever, Until The World Falls Down.
Yan Black Swan x F Reader.
Synopsis: Her tarot cards are just as well used to predict the past as they are to predict the future.
Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, major spoilers for Honkai: Star Rail 2.0 and 2.1 Updates, implied stalking, and mentions of violence/character deaths.
Word Count: 1.3k.
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When Black Swan’s eyes first lay upon you, she has multiple impressions of you.
The Remembrance has caused her to have manifolds of judgments, some lapses and others more thorough. But never once did the Remembrance ever cause her to be so deeply enveloped in someone that she would proudly showcase what Fuli has blessed her with.
She knows what you are, all of you. Your past, present, and future… all of it is seen within the eyes of the Garden of Recollection.
It is only natural for her to want you to know her as much as she knows you. With social creatures comes the need to connect. When it comes to Black Swan, her wants and her needs are equally important, and thus she has no need to separate them.
“What brings you to me, fair maiden? What ails you?”
The only sounds that arise from you are slight grumbles, and the only fresh sights she has of you are fading tear stains on your cheeks. As a response, she repeats her words softer this time, crosses one of her legs over the other, and rests her head on one of her gloved hands.
“I want…” You start, clenching your nails into your palms so deep they almost bleed. “To know the… thing that killed my friend, Memokeeper.”
In her other hand are a few of her beloved tarot cards, tucked so lovingly between her pointer and middle fingers. 
“Ah,” Black Swan lets out a sigh so gentle you do not hear it. “I presume you are speaking of Miss Robin?”
You nod, looking down at your lap as she lays out the cards in a simple, singular motion on the table.
“Who else would I be talking about?” Your tone is that of an angry hiss, but she knows it is not directed at her. For you, you two had only just met. But to her, with the powers that come with the followers of the Remembrance, it feels like she has known you your entire life.
Black Swan’s gaze is all-seeing, and nothing that is not in the dark can be unseen once she has seen it–even when she wishes it were otherwise, like that dance she had with that Galaxy Ranger.
She wishes now that perhaps she was dancing with you instead.
“Pick a card,” The Memokeeper requests, her now free hand gesturing towards the sight she had just made. “We’ll continue from there.”
“Why?”
She shakes her head slightly as she closes her eyes for a moment. From that expression on your face, she can tell that you have to stop yourself from scoffing at her. “Just trust me; I don’t mean any ill will towards you… and nor will I harbor any.”
“I’ve heard odd things like this about you, Miss Black Swan, but I didn’t think they would have been true.” She knows the comment is not an insult, but it is not a compliment either. “Do people blessed by the Remembrance always act like this? I’m… just curious is all.”
When you point to the card on the center’s right. “Are you planning to replace me already? I thought we were getting along quite well…” 
She turns over the card as her palm faces you, and that causes you to loudly gasp. 
“The Eternal Freeze… Jarillo-VI.”
She turns over the card on the center’s left without asking you to pick another. She stifled a chuckle.
 “Cocolia Rand. A Silvermane Guard trapped in what looks to be a block of ice…”
One after the other, things are revealed. It is faster than either of you could catch your breath. It is faster than what you wanted it to go. It is not faster than the realization that hits when Black Swan connects all your memories into a perfectly completed puzzle.
“Stop it-”
“You have lost someone before, haven’t you?” She can imagine… no, presume, the suffocating atmosphere surrounding you, as you appear on the verge of gasping for air. “You couldn’t save them either… Am I right, Miss [First]?”
You don’t answer, but you don’t look angry anymore. Despite the venomous nature of her words, her tone manages to grow even gentler as she utters them.
“Despite everything you tried to do, you couldn’t save them… Who were they, if you don’t mind me asking such a thing, oh dear citizen of Belobog?”
You avert your gaze from her, once again opting not to respond. Black Swan patiently waits, arranging the cards in her hand to create a semi-circle. As a Memokeeper, she has acquired numerous lessons from the Remembrance, but the most valuable one is knowing the significance of patience.
The fingers that wrap around your own are both warm and freezing cold.
“My… partner.”
She tilts her head to the side, her lips pursing up into a kind smile. “Ah… I see… I didn’t know.” She lies. “I’m sorry for your loss. But… my apologies for saying this… if you couldn’t even save your partner from the blizzard, I believe you cannot avenge Miss Robin’s death.”
Your eyebrows simply furrow like she expected them to.
“For Peniconians, death is a grand illusion, a state of falsehood, something that is not supposed to exist within the Dreamscape… thus, something much more powerful than you or I or even the Family had to break the rules of the Harmony and become… well… Death.”
When Black Swan’s eyes look at new tears as they start to fall, she has only two impressions of you, the others fading away like an amnesiac’s memories.
“I don’t mean any harm when I tell you this. It is the truth, plain and simple.”
Her hand squeezes slightly against yours. Once again, you do not respond.
“You do not have to fight something you cannot defeat.” She scoots her chair slightly closer to your side of the table.
She is met by a few more moments of quietness before you ultimately choose to break the silence. “Her death will be in vain then. Just like theirs. I do not want to be a coward anymore.”
Another sigh escapes her lips, and once again it is not out of exhaustion but rather curiosity.
Her grin remains unwavering, just as she had taught herself to. “You were never a coward in the first place, dear.”
Black Swan continues to move her chair quietly, but not at all subtly, until your thighs touch hers.
“I really won’t be able to… at least help the Family?” You ask. “I am really not… useful?”
“You’re useful in other ways to the people you love and trust, and those who reciprocate.” Her initial judgment is that you require safeguarding from the dangers of the world. It is in your best interest, her best interest, to remain inside a safe and small space, as there is a risk of you inadvertently harming yourself while attempting to assist others.
“Am I?” You mutter, clasping your hands together. “Am I… really? People… really like me?”
She affirms with a slight movement of her head.
Black Swan's second opinion of you is that you pose too great of a risk to be released, as it would result in her being left alone without any chance of ever seeing you again.
It is selfishness that prevents her from showing the two remaining cards, both hidden elsewhere. One of which has the depiction of you dead, and the other has you smiling proudly as she watches from afar in hiding.
The Remembrance has taught Black Swan how to be many things, but it is Black Swan who has taught herself how to be selfish.
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2broschlininahotub · 3 days
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Brosch, adding onto the thought about sunday, what about learned helplessness, but it's because of the harmony resonance?
Like everytime reader thinks of doing something with out sunday to help them the suddenly get a headache or fall weak?
Causing them to be under his constant watch and also unable to leave.
Yes, I see him doing this. It also could be a possibility of linking his darling's mind to his. Meaning Sunday can see in his darling's thoughts.
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moonsaver · 2 months
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Thinking ab Yan!Dr. Ratio in arranged marriage.. in whichever setting, I dont know
He doesn't like the idea of it at all. He opposes it until he can't. It would have to be a painstakingly limiting situation for him to even marry anyone, especially someone that's arranged.
When it comes to actually talking with him and setting out boundaries – he's not interested at all. He doesn't want to know you, he doesn't care, and he thinks it most likely won't change, and he'll remain uninterested..
If it weren't for the fact he's so damn touch starved.
He finds out by a lazy morning in the kitchen, your hands accidentally brushing each others as both of you carry on your routines in your own world. He doesn't realise ‐its just a brief feeling of nice. And his hand subconsciously tilts a bit to touch yours again, to emptiness. Your hand already moved away. And Aeons, he just can't get the feeling out of his head. He loved that brief moment where you both touched and he hates it.
And neither of you actually realises just how clingy he is, because he builds up to it so slowly. He pulls you along to some of his lectures, and sometimes you protest. He grabs your hand, and secretly relishes just how good the contact feels. He says there's something on your face with an annoyed tone, and brushes it off, his fingers lingering near your lips a little longer than they should. Whenever you walk by him, your scent practically intoxicates him, his head whips up from whichever book he fancied that day just to find the source of the scent, which he knows deep down, very well, it has always been you.
And it infuriates him. You have such a grip on him that it drives him up a wall.
And Aeons, he loves the feeling so so much.
He forces you to take a bath with him, telling you to keep the bathrobe on if you want to but it is a must that you join him. He tells you to move closer with a stern voice, impatience bubbling inside of him, all covered up with his signature scowl. The water sloshes as you move and his hand almost eagerly snakes around your waist, holding you snug against him. He fills the noise by asking you all sorts of things, calling you an idiot, and going on a ramble about some or the other complicated topic, trying so hard to not just hold you and bite into your shoulder, arm, neck, wherever his eyes can see your skin. You're practically driving him feral.
Oh dear, he swears he doesn't care about you. He cares even less about your personal life and whatever daily affairs you carry on. It's none of his business and he doesn't want it. But seeing you talk and become so chummy with another man boils a kind of anger he's never experienced before. As if to prove him wrong, Veritas tells you to sleep beside him at night, not answering your "why"s and shutting you up in an instant with something or the other. The summer heat is bad, but it's even worse with Veritas practically sticking himself to you, the direct skin-to-skin contact creating an absurd amount of sweat and humidity under the covers. His arms just tighten their grip around you if you ask him to get off. He won't. He needs to prove to himself, that bumbling buffoon won't ever get as close to you as he can. He will make sure of it.
And suddenly, he starts presenting just how possessive he is behind doors. He always keeps an eye on what you're up to from behind you, telling you to stop overthinking and to just come to him, that it'll take you months to understand this concept, and to just let him help you instead. Who else would tolerate you as well as him? Just let his hand keep it's deathly grip on your thigh, or arm, maybe even your waist. Its a fair exchange, and he's being generous, when it really comes down to it. Ugh, you're testing his patience too much. Just.. let him shut you up with a harsh kiss, don't ask, and let him continue. Keep listening, or he'll test you, and he won't go easy on you if you get those questions wrong. He has a lot of pent up frustration about you, anyway. You'll only give him a reason to take it out on you.
Don't bother going outside. Just invite your friends here, instead. You'll waste more than half your break-time just travelling alone. Maybe your idiot friends can join in on the study sessions, so Veritas knows what kind of people you enjoy surrounding yourself with. Of course, he isn't amused at all. Idiots, the lot of them. Is this who entertains you? He scoffs. Perhaps letting you talk to them in the first place was a mistake. Yes, of course.. just talk to him, instead. He's much better than them. You'll only waste your time around them.
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harmonysanreads · 3 months
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Thinking about Ex!Aventurine who doesn't have much of a reaction to your break-up, who is certain you'll crawl back to him within three days at most.
Ex!Aventurine who goes on about his life, after all, every second is worth precious credits. Days, weeks, months and then a few years pass and one day, the realization that you may actually have moved on from him crashes atop him like a pile of bricks.
Ex!Aventurine who tries to contact you through your number and social media, only to find that he's been blocked everywhere. No matter how many fake accounts he makes and how many texts and calls he sends you, you just don't respond and it frustrates him so much.
Ex!Aventurine who is ecstatic when he sees you again in Penacony, sprinting his way to you and ready to give you a hearty reprimand on your prolonged avoidance.
Ex!Aventurine whose heart sinks when he sees you coiled around the arms of another, smiling and laughing in pure happiness and paying not a millisecond of attention to him. Is this a joke?
Ex!Aventurine who corners you when an opportunity arises, ready to strangle every answer out of you so please tell him this is just some prank and you still love him—and, his heart shatters when you give him the coldest truth of his life.
Yandere!Ex!Aventurine who feels the nudging of an infamous green monster every time he sees you with them in the halls of the Reveries or in dreamscapes. Who wants to tear his hair out when he sees you giving that dreamy look to that vermin, one he thought belonged only to him? Who wants to tear that imbecile limb from limb every time he touches your skin.
Yandere!Ex!Aventurine who wishes to turn back time and drag you back to him. Who drowns himself in liquor, round after round at the casino and the sweetest of dream bubbles, yet, nothing compares to your warmth. Whose regret and jealousy slowly eat away at his left-over sanity til he's on the verge of committing something that'll soothe his agony but, create one for you.
Yandere!Ex!Aventurine who spares no warning, catapulting mysterious debts and financial troubles your way with no trace that it was his doing. But when you still don't leave your so-called lover, he finally snaps.
Yandere!Ex!Aventurine who takes it slow, one by one, patiently and meticulously ; first the fingers, then the legs, then the eyes and at last the heart of your ‘beloved’. But is not satisfied still and has every piece of their remains fed to hungry wolves right in front of your eyes.
Then, Yandere!(No longer Ex?)Aventurine will come to you and wipe away your tears, shush your curses and hateful words with a kiss. Telling you to forget and resume what you had with him. And you absolutely cannot say no, after all, what other choices do you even have?
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jymwahuwu · 25 days
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@blbrrymilk in your inbox again TvT
which of the hsr men do you think are into boobjob/ paizuri?? or mostly likely to stare at/grope your chest often. i wanted to know your thoughts on this... (also reader who has a flat chest too please. i wondered who would tease you the most about your size... my mind is saying aventurine and sampo 😭)
sorry, it took me so many days to answer!! this is very enlightening and I have been thinking about how the men in HSR would react😩😚😽💖
-cw: dub-con, yandere tendencies, nipple clamps, boobjob
They love it so much: Jing Yuan, Aventurine, Argenti, Sampo
Like but not particularly keen on: Blade, Dan Heng, Dan Feng
He claims not to know what it is while stimulating you to orgasm: Luocha, Sunday
Consider this silly stuff: Dr. Ratio
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They love it so much:
Jing Yuan:
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General likes your boobs and tits. No matter what size that is <3 If you have busty/medium boobs, be prepared to be rubbed by boobs for a long time. If you have flat/small boobs, expect to have your boobs licked so that they glisten with water. He looks forward to the day when your buds swell and your milk leaks… (I have written a more detailed version before)
Aventurine:
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Exactly. If you have small breasts, he will definitely laugh at you first. Staring at your flat breasts with a mean look. Use his thumb to circle the areola and squeeze. But the look that turned into affection gave him away. He kisses your nipples. If you have large/medium boobs there is a milking machine for you and try boobjobs.
No matter what your breast size is, he has some custom nipple clamps in colors and patterns for you. Aventurine is not cruel, the nipple clamps are very loose and only slightly painful when clamped on your breasts. You whimpered and bounced on top of him, the nipple clamps on your breasts swaying. What a beautiful scenery.
Argenti:
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There is no doubt that this knight adores your breasts, no matter the size. He looks at your breasts carefully and plays with them, and invariably ends with a boobjob. Because who can resist worshiping such beauty as you? Lots of compliments and squirting sounds. Cock inserted when you're shy.
Sampo:
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Take off your clothes. You pumped your fist as Sampo laughed at your small size. He quickly blocked your punch and claimed that he just liked it so much… No matter what your size, he would give you a customized gift, a cute bra!
He is very patient, and the hair lying on your chest is itching and shaking for a long time. Orgasm after orgasm was pulled out of you, and when your mind was blurred by the orgasm, he held you tightly and penetrated you firmly, rubbing your breasts.
Like but not particularly keen on:
Blade:
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Your bra was mostly destroyed into his hands. When he pulls your bra, it rips. It's really too much!! Blade usually prefers to penetrate you roughly rather than rub your nipples, but sometimes he might do that.
Dan Heng, Dan Feng:
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These two dragons don't like these fancy things. They just squeeze your breasts without wanting a boobsjob. Why do they do this? You should be doing this to nurse the baby dragons.
He claims not to know what it is while stimulating you to orgasm:
Luocha:
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The foreign trader considered and read the explanation. Luocha claimed he didn't know this as he cupped your breasts and rubbed and squeezed them mercilessly, keeping an innocent look on his face as you gasped and climaxed.
Sunday:
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"What is that?"
Sunday's lips raised. The halo behind him became softer, and the feathers behind his ears were swaying. He requires you and serves Him. This is a type of dedication. You have to push your breasts and rub his cock...and at the critical moment, he'll dig his fingers into your wet walls and pound away.
Consider this silly stuff:
Dr. Ratio:
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Ratio pinches, pokes and rubs your breasts while explaining the principles of orgasm and breast stimulation. It was a rational, calm tone. He scoffs and sighs as you twitch uncontrollably.
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hanihaato · 2 months
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a/n: yandere aventurine x female reader, suggestive, non-consensual touching and forced kisses
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“Ah, ah, ah, don’t say a word, darling,” a glowed finger pressed to your lips makes words die on your tongue almost as effectively as the Aventurine’s vivid, piercing eyes. Except for the shallow breaths, you stay in silence, and he glides his hand from your lips to cup your cheekbone. “I must say, you are really bold, testing my connections like that to find you. Being sceptical is a great quality…”
He pushes you onto the bed and lays on top of you, interlocking your fingers together so you don’t ever try to push him off yourself. He stares at you, his smile growing smug with your every try to wiggle out yourself of the embrace.
Aventurine’s head falls on your shoulder. You shiver as he chuckles and his warm breath sends a chill through your spine he muchly adores tracing his fingers on.
“…But not when it comes to me.”
You turn your head away from him. Ugh, you wish you could have at least a full day without him, but you could pride yourself in having a plan good enough to escape the room he locked you up two weeks ago when you first arrived on this planet.
Though, it hurts your ego a bit that Aventurine doesn’t seem to be bothered at all.
He shifts on the bed, and you hate how the sheets that smelled of the hotel’s cleanliness are already starting to stink with his perfumes. The smell you once loved now suffocates you with each breath.
He wraps his arm around your waist so he spoons your back for a second before grasping you tighter and throwing you over himself, having you face him. He entangles your legs before you can think of hitting him with a knee.
You whisper into the pillows.
“…At least I know you are a real deal.”
Aventurine chuckles in a tone you would find endearing if you didn’t feel he laughs at you. When he first started to show you the best parts of the world he’s been living in—the casinos that always had a nice pianist playing on a grand piano, the numerous vine tastings, the breakfasts that make your mouth water, clothing that feels like silk in touch—you could hear the tone everywhere, usually just by your ear. He then told you how he loved how your eyes shone and how much more enchanting you look every day.
You wonder which night he started to plan to cut you off from both worlds, yours and his, to only have him as your everything.
“That’s news to me,” he says, theatrically raising his eyebrows. “You didn’t believe me at all? You must know, darling, that everything I told you after we got together is true. That’s a real privilege right there.”
His finger starts to trace circular patterns on your forearm’s skin. Your heart throbs painfully.
“Aventurine…” Your voice is as demanding as can be the voice of a woman squished in the arms of a man who knows how to use words and guns. “I don’t believe you really love me. That’s not how love looks like.”
The man is still in his position. He blinks, and his eyes are fully on you. You have yet to find out if that look is a warning for you or whether he is enticed by what are you saying. Or maybe he just wants to hear your voice—you know Aventurine is not a man above misleading you into believing you aren’t in a hopeless position just to hear your pleas.
“When you love someone, you want the best for them. You want— You see them as equals. You don’t strip them of what they love to do, and… and people they love. You just… join their life and slowly build a new one together…”
When you fall silent, Aventurine pulls you in and with the other hand brushes hair off your face.
He hums. “That’s an inspiring speech. Oh, and I loved how you looked when you talked about it. Such a view. You must’ve thought about it for quite a while, huh?” He pats you on the head, lingering a bit to loosely twirl your hair on his fingers. “But, dearest, everything you’ve said, well, it all checks out.”
“No.”
“I do view as equals. We have a trade: my everlasting love for a bit of your freedom. It looks like a good deal.”
“It doesn’t look like—”
Aventurine shuts you up with a kiss. You hate, hate, hate this feeling, because in these moments you wonder if you could ever truly fall in love with a man you despise that gives you the hugs you long for and kisses you think about for days.
As he pulls away, with your free hand, you wipe off the traces of the kiss on your lips. Of course, you know it’s meaningless—he kissed you many times, you would have to count in hundreds at least—he will revenge you for that later.
“Awh, don’t be like that,” He says, kissing you again and holding your wrists this time. “You know, I pride myself in being a good businessman. If you are going to put your undying love for me, I will give you the freedom back.”
“You may beg all you want, but with begging you can’t get my love.”
It’s a brave thing to say when you are at the mercy of a man who’s famished for your affection.
“Hm, is that so?” Aventurine chuckles, but for the first time in the evening, it lacks the usual flippancy. He begins to pepper your neck with kisses, and you feel his sturdy hands travel down your stomach and a tugging on your shirt. “Well, say what you want, darling. But since you’ve been by my side for such a long time, you must know I only engage in bets I know I will win.”
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yandere-romanticaa · 5 months
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The General was a man whose reputation often took a hit due to his disposition for rest and love for games such as Star Chess, which if given the opportunity, the man would play with just about anyone, truthfully you did not even need to be a skilled player at this point. His seat gave him power but it all meant endless boredom. Cut the man some slack, okay? Geez.
The Dozing General soon found himself with a brand spanking new title in a matter of weeks though, one which brought him endless amusement.
The Lovesick General.
Ah, it sounded so pleasing to his ear. Jing Yuan sat in his office, the paperwork pushed to the side in favor of reading the news which people on the Lofu had started to spread around like candy- the General had taken in a lover and said lover simply preoccupied his time far too much!! Lots of sources recommend that his lover should not be present in any sort of meeting lest everyone in the room wished to see their General turn into a lovestruck fool. He was known to get very handsy as one gossip site stated while others pondered the identity of this mysterious lover of his.
Jing Yuan absolutely devoured absolutely every single article with a wolfish grin on his face. He was so eager to show them to you but he also was not sure how you would react to them. Things were still slow, so to speak. You still were not quite accustomed to this new way of living. He knew all too well just how dull it could get to just sit around with nothing to do, more so with a collar around your neck but precautions needed to be taken.
Jing Yuan saved some of the articles on his phone, even taking screenshots of some for his own personal use later on. He usually did not mingle with such mindless gossip but the endless sea of tips and tricks gave the general so many ideas on how to woo you.
Who was he to just throw away this treasure? He would be a fool!
With a pep in his step, the general's white hair swished back and forth as he walked out of his office, his heart beating harder in his chest than it had any right to do so. He couldn't wait to show you everything, it was all too good.
Oh how sweet, people even started drawing the two of you!
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beloved-blaiddyd · 29 days
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WARNING: HSR 2.1 SPOILERS
Prompt: Yandere!Gallagher who based most of his current personality on (Y/n)'s dead husband.
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i love this man so much like can you imagine hoyo just dropped us a playable character with facial hair like HELL YEAH let's gooooo
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teabutmakeitazure · 25 days
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Roll a Die, Roll a Poison - A Game
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>Yan! Aventurine x Fem! Reader
>Word count: 1.7k
>a/n: very subtle yan themes in this one. might expand on this soon. i love a man going through trust issues and self depreciation. plus points if he's pretty
Part 2
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To say you found the sound of a die rolling to be annoying would be an understatement. No, it scratches your auditory canal as it works its way through to your eardrums, wreaking havoc on your hearing before you even register the sound. What’s worse is the voice that follows after it and the insufferable smile accompanying it.
“Care for a game?”
Asking for your participation is a charade. In the occurrence that you do decline, you are simply pestered to the point that you give in like how an older sibling acquiesces to the younger’s demands. Except you two aren’t family, not yet at least, and he is nowhere near a cute younger brother or a cute younger anything.
The fur lined coat is shrugged off, and Aventurine plops down on the other end of the sofa. You have half a mind to get up and relocate, but considering his pettiness and the very high possibility that he would simply follow you, you decide to let things be. A single die is placed onto the dark oak centre table in front of you both, and when you look at him questioningly, he simply rests his back against the sofa with a smile. The dark teal green velvet of the sofa sometimes seems like a deliberate choice to you.
He is wearing a similar colour after all. Like he almost always is.
“No bets,” Aventurine clarifies. “Just a game.”
You cross your arms over your chest, refusing to accept so readily. “What kind of game?”
When he speaks, his voice slightly reverberates through the empty apartment. It reminds you of how empty it is and how he is the only other here. “Oh, it’s just a simple game, to get to know each other better. Each of us will take turns rolling the die. If the number is 1 to 3, you have to answer a question I ask. If the number is 4 to 6, I have to answer a question you ask.”
“No constraints on the questions? I have an idea of what might be brewing in your mind, and I frankly do not like it.”
He laughs, eyes closing as he recomposes himself. “Ah, as much as I would love to enact upon that, I’m afraid I won’t. It’s just a simple game, dear. Won’t you humour me?”
You glance between him and the die innocently lying on the table, the number 2 staring back at you. His coat is hanging over the backrest and he’s wearing his usual work clothes. Something must have happened at work. Something that ticked him off, and now he’s looking for an excuse to bask in your company because he’s aware you won’t humour him without something like this.
Fine then. You’ll accept on your own accord. Maybe you might end up with an answer or two.
“Alright,” you answer. “Any other thing I should know?”
He blinks, those devastatingly beautiful yet incriminating eyes blink at you. “Alright~ The first person to score a total point of 30 wins. Their prize? The other person has to do whatever they want.”
“I thought you said there’s no bet.”
“This isn’t a bet, sweetheart. It’s a game. There are winners and losers in games.”
Something’s up. 30 isn’t a high number. The game will be over not too long after it starts and the winner gets a prize that’s too good to be true. “Are you sure?” You eye him wearily as you speak, the smile never leaving his face. “What if I win and ask for you to never see me again? Isn’t that too big of a price to pay over a silly game?”
Aventurine hums. There is either something cooking in his head or he’s overly confident that he would win. The latter you would not put against him. He has insane luck. So much so that you worry over him someday shooting himself while playing roulette with a revolver, but it hasn’t happened yet.
“Well,” he drawls, “you can ask for anything you want if you win. However, it’s imperative for you to remember that there is a way to work around everything. So then, let’s begin, shall we?”
He reaches for the die, and asks for your hand. When you extend your palm to him, he grabs it gently with one hand, the leather rubbing against your skin as his thumb rubs your wrist, and the other places the die on your hand. “Ladies first,” he chuckles. You waste no time in rolling, the sound of the die falling onto the empty table making you cringe.
When it stops, the number 3 stares back at you. What a great start.
“Oh! It’s my turn to ask. How lovely.” When you give him a sad look, he’s quick to conceal the excitement he just displayed. “Ah, I’m not sure what I should ask. Give me a second.”
You know he must have prepared at least 10 questions beforehand, so purposely dragging it out is just rude.
“I know,” Aventurine exclaims, “Tell me one thing you like about me.”
You deadpan. “That isn’t a question.”
“What’s one thing you like about me?”
Okay now this is tricky. The temptation to reply ‘your money’ is strong, but you both know it’s not true. You could care less about his riches simply because you do not let him win you over with them. There are another few answers that you could use to your advantage to potentially playfully dodge the question, but you suppose that wouldn’t be a very noble thing to do.
Thus, you break eye contact and direct your attention to the die on the table. “Your attention to detail,” you mumble out. “It’s… interesting.”
Aventurine makes a satisfied hum, and you can almost hear the upward curls of his lips in his voice. “I’ll take it. Now then…”
A gloved hand grabs the die and rolls. The number he rolls is 5, and you mentally cuss him out. “My turn again!” He asks you to face him, that sweet, buttery voice of his leaving those perfectly moisturised lips and-
“My question is… what would be the perfect date you ever went on?”
This time, you blink at him. Interacting with Aventurine is usually like a game of chess. Both of you move your pieces in your respective turns, and every sentence that leaves either of your mouths counts as a move. The pieces represent the strength of either party. However, it is imperative to reiterate that you aren’t good at chess and you’re pretty sure he’s either eating or hiding your pieces when you’re not looking.
“Nothing,” you reply. “I would rather not be on a date. Ever.”
He tuts. “You were the one who asked me out the first time. Or are you forgetting?”
“I was not.”
“You asked me out for coffee, remember?”
You choke on your words for a moment. The audacity of this man! “Asking to have coffee together is not a date!”
“Is it,” he chuckles. “We were alone together, and we talked for way more than an hour. I specifically cancelled any appointments I had that day, and I even paid the bill. That’s a date. Not a simple outing.” You part your lips to speak but are cut off. “So, what’s the ideal date for you?”
“I frankly have no clue.” He raises a brow at your admittal, but makes no move to question it. “My romantic experiences aren’t exactly plentiful, but I suppose anything would do as long as it isn’t in a casino or the like.”
“Hm. Noted. Your turn.”
The accursed die is taken into your hands, yet you do not roll it immediately. It is given a harsh glare and a mental warning before flung to the table carelessly. Surprisingly, you score a 6.
Aventurine whistles at that appreciatively. “Hope you’re keeping count of your points.”
“I am. No need to worry your hat off.” A mischievous smile stretches on your lips. Retribution has come, although in a small dose, and you would be an utter fool to waste it. “Riddle me this, my personal annoying, chirping bird. Why do you torment me so?”
He feigns innocence. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Do not play dull. Why do you remain adamant on making my life so difficult?”
“Difficult?” Aventurine acts offended, as though he’s been told he doesn’t love you. “Why, I cherish you, my dear. Regardless, I never caged you. You simply make things difficult for yourself.”
You click your tongue. What a roundabout way of saying he sabotages things deliberately for you. “I would beg to differ.”
“Nevertheless, I cherish you. We’re in love. And before you say something like not liking me back, I’d like to remind you of all the things we did before going into this ‘arrangement’.”
You bite back instantly. The mere mention reminds you of the evening you spent sobbing locked in the bedroom’s attached bathroom. “Do not downplay your actions. You know you hurt me. Playing innocent just makes you look worse.”
“I took a gamble with your emotions as the wager. Sure, I lost a few chips, but I did win. And viola. Here you are.”
A glare full of bittersweet betrayal is directed his way, yet he simply looks tired. “Don’t look at me like that…”
You avert your gaze at that. Life has turned into a series of sought out opportunities to gain the upper hand, something he is unwilling to relinquish. It’s maddening at times, but it is your reality. Even if you wish it weren’t, you don’t hold the power to change it.
“To answer your question,” he says, voice low, “I don’t want to, but I currently don’t have any other choice.” And just like that, in the blink of an eye, he’s grinning again.
“My turn!” Aventurine grabs the die, eyeing it as it sits in his leather palm. “Your 9 points versus my 5 points. Let’s see who wins in the end.”
The sentence makes a chill run down your spine. He’s insanely good at games like this. Just what would he ask of you?
As you watch him roll a 6, you only continue to lose hope for a win. Just like the countless times before.
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a/n: he asked you for a kiss on the cheek everyday for a week straight that's it
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throwaway-yandere · 3 months
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POV: You mentioned getting a divorce after a very heated argument with yandere!Sunday
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ataraxiaspainting · 21 days
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The Chauffeur.
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Yan Aventurine x F Reader.
Synopsis: Life has always made losers out of people like you. You dream even now that that could be changed. But can it really?
Warnings: Yandere themes, manipulation, kidnapping, stalking, drugging, misogyny, abuse of power, and mentions of violence.
Word Count: 3.2k.
*~*~*~*
When thrust into a world filled with illusions of chance, one can only hope that change will soon arise.
The company, the appearances, the losers, the winners; nothing ever changes, not even the dreams that things will.
How you are treated is a gamble all on its own too, despite you wishing it were not so. Lady Luck has yet to smile upon you, but instead of gifting you with snake eyes, she gives you the utmost displeasure of being slapped, being threatened, or having your salary lowered. You sometimes wish she would just give you the lowest score on a physical die instead of an invisible one.
You wish she would have made you less appealing to unwanted stares, would have made you have a burned face that would scare off anyone as soon as they looked at you. Hell, even make you be an old woman begging for spare change. That would be a better existence than to live in this body, where you are forced to wave and smile and conceal the bruises and slap marks whenever they appear in a place not covered by your dress. Not that your dress covers anything.
You have three jobs in this casino. Your first one is to spin the wheel or make the letters visible after all the bets are placed and the speaker gives you the signal to do so. Your second one is to always look presentable, your boss’s definition of “best”. Appearances will bring in more onlookers, he said. Just get yourself all dolled up. Okay, toots?
You conform every time your clothes change in color, size, and pattern because after all, they could just replace you with someone more willing.
After all, you have your mouth to feed and your own back to clothe.
So, you endure not all of it, but most of it. You endure the times your assigned makeup artist has called you a whore for not letting him stay in your room during his breaks, the times the suited mascot of this place squeezed you a bit too tight when you were told to take a few photos with him. You pretend not to notice things like that, because if you start a conflict who knows what will happen?
The applause of onlookers is always paired up with lewd comments about your body instead of congratulations to the winner.
The heels you are paid to wear always manage to make you trip onto someone, or rely on some flirty stranger to help you walk to and fro. Your manager told you to grow your hair out when you first started working here, and when it finally reached the desired length he gave you very few options when it came to which hairstyle you wanted. If you remember correctly, it couldn’t have been more than four. All of them had curtain bangs and waves. There was even one, you think, that had something to do with bleaching.
You opted for the one that let you keep the most of your natural hair pattern, not that that was a lot. 
Your dresses always come with a slit to see one of your legs. Temptations bring in more dreams, and with dreams come people wanting to be big shots. That is what your boss said to you after you questioned your given work wardrobe. You did not want his glare and mocking laugh to be aimed at you any longer, so you nodded and went to change. He praised you for it later, but your brain protected itself by not remembering what he said.
All you can recall is the way you shuttered at him wrapping an arm around your bare shoulders,  a lit cigarette in his hand.
You don’t shutter as often anymore after he scowled and threatened to place it on your palm.
Your world is simpler than it was before when you were sleeping on the streets and given just barely enough to scrape by. You only have three jobs to do, but the third one holds the most importance. Sabotage the gamble. Never let them win unless they hold enough power that your boss permits you to stand back.
There have been very few instances of that happening, but they happen nonetheless. They are this casino’s equivalent of a blue moon. There are telltale signs before you are told of their status. Their clothes are always glittering like an invisible spotlight is on them. They always have guards, and people sticking to their arms like glue just itching for a taste. It is an even rarer sight to see one of them being chosen to be their partner for the night. You can tell when a person can buy you off with their proportion of pocket change. Not that anyone has, much to your gratitude.
This man is just like them. You can sense the ego dripping off of him, and can sense how much all those rings on his fingers cost.
This is the real deal. You can tell. That earring of his is probably worth twice that of all of your organs. That is being generous with the price you would most likely hold on the black market. In reality, perhaps thrice. That is not even going into his pink sunglasses, which have tiny gems stuck on the sides. 
He has a gun holster, you think, but the gun itself is nowhere to be seen.
Perhaps one of his men is holding it for him. Perhaps.
From the corner of your eye, you see your boss amongst the crowd, nodding slowly at you. He is sitting in a booth a bit more distanced from the others, three women on either side of him. Every time he sits there, it is your first signal that something is surely going to happen. Good or bad. This time it is good, and you will end the night with nothing less than a few thousand credits for playing your part well. Last time it was bad, and you ended up having so much more than a simple slap on the wrist.
He has three dice between his pointer and middle fingers. One green, one teal, and one dark blue. They are each twelve-sided from what you can see, but the sigils remain unseen by you. Maybe for the best, you think, you don’t want him to take up as much memory space as he already has.
All you want is for this shift to be over, but with this unplanned patron skipping the line of gamblers to gamble himself, who knows how long until the dice stops rolling?
Your fellow staff members look happier, displaying genuine smiles on their faces. Not that you can blame them though, most of them are new hires because your boss tends to fire people on the daily.
“Hold on a sec, please. Madam, I would like to use my lucky charms before you spin the wheel. If you don’t mind, that is.” The man requests. It is not a sincere question, you note, because he clasps onto the dice in his palm so lightly like they are gravity-resistant.
Instead of looking at him, you look at your boss first. He doesn’t seem to be paying attention to you any longer with what looks like one of the women being straddled on his left thigh. Hmm. It’s your call then, you suppose. 
“Sure,” You answer, trying to put on your best polite grin. “Who am I to deny such an… experienced gambler?”
“Thank you for the praise,” He replies, his free arm bending as he scratches the back of his head. “But you… misunderstand, I am just a simple bettor, nothing more.”
The positioned desk with a microphone attached has just become this casino’s newest playing ground. Faster than you can blink, the dice are let out of his hand and roll. When they stop, you can hear cheers and praises, as if they are all meant for him. 
A spotlight is focused on him too, a color more dazzling than the brightest glittering gold.
“I’m going to choose the peach.”
You nod and spin the wheel, all of the colors blurring together, slowly but surely soon coming to a stop.
The pink area with the same peach is on the pointer, and the crowd all clap their hands and dance.
*~*~*~*
During your breaks, you are allowed to go to your recovery room to do whatever limited array of activities your bookshelf and dusty boxes under your bed had in store for you. The breaks are always nothing more than half an hour, but you earned the right to have your breaks’ minimal times be nothing less than ten minutes.
“I just… noticed you never play the games you so often assist, that’s all.” The blond stranger continues to follow as you speedily walk down the hallway to the backrooms. Little by little, the golden paint that coats the walls turns into a dull beige, a sure sign that your treasured little hiding place is near.
“I wish I could but right now I have my lunch break, sir.”
His speed is nowhere near diminishing, no, if anything it is getting more profound.
If you did not have unwanted company, if you did not have to worry about the security cameras in every corner of this part of the casino, if you did not have this job you hate to your very core, you would have torn the high heels off of your blistered feet.
But you cannot because you do have unwanted company, you do have to worry about the security cameras in every corner of this part of the casino, you do have this job you hate to your very core. So, the high heels stay on and make sounds with every step you take.
“Come on, Miss [First]. I know you want to.” You have been unable to get him off your back for the past ten minutes. Even when you attempted to walk around the less crowded parts of this casino in circles, he was there. “[First]. A lovely name, if I say so myself. [First], [First], [First].”
It takes everything in you not to frown or cross your arms. That could be considered rude, especially to someone as high standing as this man. “Utmost sincere apologies, sir, but I really-”
“Aventurine.” He interrupts. “It’s Aventurine, Miss. You don’t have to call me sir, you know. We’re alone here in this stank hallway. Without my money, I’m just like you, and I’m sure we can become great friends.”
“In my opinion, I believe that there are better people than me to form connections with, Mister Aventurine.” You try not to huff in frustration, but you could have sworn that one was let out.
In the distance, you see your recovery room, the number two on it turning off and on every few seconds.
It has always been that way. The only one who often gets renovations to their living quarters is your boss. The rest of you are nothing more than cow fodder to him, even his assistants.
“You should head back, Mister Aventurine.” You say, the smile on your face trying its hardest not to fade as you turn to look at him. “I don’t want your seat at the pinball machine to be taken from you.”
“And who do you think would have the guts to steal from me?” Aventurine smirks, one of his hands lowering his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose. “No one is that suicidal, that’s the hard truth.”
He winks at you faster than you can get a grip on your door’s handle. 
“Just think about it, m’kay?”
In a flash, he starts walking off, leaving you all alone.
*~*~*~*
“Ah, you’re back!”
Aventurine is at the start of the hallway, the part where the gold paint is the most pronounced.
“My break ended.” You say your answer quickly and simply as you walk past him. Instead of your high heels, you are wearing black flats.
Your feet were bleeding much more than usual when you finally made it to your room. Yeah. That is the excuse you will give to your boss if he asks. He seems drunk and is still at his little booth, not to mention it is dark in the casino at the moment, so there is quite a low chance he will.
“You don’t look so good.” Aventurine nearly shouts, causing you to walk even faster to make it to the wheel of fortune. “Did something happen?”
His voice is soon drowned out by the crowds of people talking. Just a few more seconds. A few more seconds, and he won’t be able to bother you much longer and he will head back to that pinball machine he has been hoarding for the past hour. 
You move past the ogling eyes of drunk consumers and move past the guards, who always let you behind the stage without a hassle. Your flats don’t make nearly as much noise as the heels as you walk up the five steps.
You only have three minutes before the curtains withdraw from their positions, so you pull on your bun to make it tighter and put the stray baby hairs behind your ears. You brush any dust off your dress and then brush off any dust that is on the gambling wheel. The cleaners only work after all the shows are done and all the guests go home, so it is up to you to make sure the show is always looking its best.
You hear the countdown from the electric speakers and the onlookers.
“Five! Four!”
You take a few deep breaths.
“Three!”
You hear the confetti cannons turn on.
You close your eyes and think about the best possible future, one where you can be happy. Where you can be yourself. Where your smiles are real. Where your happiness is real. Reading for as much as your heart desires. Trying all the delicious-looking food no matter how strange it may look. 
“Two!”
Instead of hearing the number one, you just hear more cheers.
The curtains move to the designated sides of the stage, and the near-blinding spotlight shines at you. You smile, waving at the crowds of people, until you see something that nearly causes your facade to crumble down.
Aventurine stands there at the start of the line, holding his three dice just like before.
*~*~*~*
You avoid Aventurine just long enough for the casino to close for the night. It was not an easy task by any means, but somehow retreating to the bar on the job and making simple conversations with other patrons and fellow staff members was enough to repel him.
Since it is after hours, the bartender has gone back to his room to sleep after downing five shots of Spade. He will be hungover tomorrow, that much is certain.
Ah, to only work when it is far past dusk. A dream only for your boss’s most favored employees. Aside from the bartender, there is his guard, who has been seen for the past few months being so drunk that he cannot even stand; he has to sit on the floor.
There is no room for you in that little club. But your gut tells you that it is better this way, for no one unfavored can see what goes on inside.
It is only you in this bar now, spinning around on the stool closest to the gates that lead to the other side. It’s you. Despite this job, despite everything, you are still you. All you ever have to be is you. Only you.
The glass in front of you is half full. Half full with Melancholy. It is only slightly bitter, the rest of the flavor profile being floral and refreshing. This type of shot glass is only reserved for people as high standing as Aventurine due to the little scattering of gold at the rim. 
They are stuck there so they won’t choke whoever is drinking from the cup. For once, your boss put his resources into something partially useful. If only he would do the same with your salary and put some more credits into it.
The door’s chiming bell rings. You hear the front door then close. Did the bartender forget to lock the door?
Should you say something? You don’t want to get in trouble with your boss tomorrow, and his hangover will certainly make his wrath ten times worse than it already was.
The sound of footsteps doesn't fade, and another sound accompanies it soon enough; Aventurine’s voice.
“Hey. Just wanted to drop by. See what you’re doing this late all alone, you know?” 
Before you can turn around and politely ask him to leave, he sits on the stool beside you. Vibrant eyes make contact with yours.
A hand goes on your shoulder, squeezing with a purpose; to keep you quiet.
“Are you drunk? You smell like Blossom Dew and Soothing Soda. Heavily.” 
He's exaggerating, you know this. You've barely had a sip. It's not nearly enough to get you intoxicated. Not at this early into the after-hours. You still need to have a few more beverages before heading to your room for the night.
“Mister Aventurine, I am going to have to ask you to leave.” As he chuckles, your body instinctively reacts, possibly as a protective response. You wouldn’t blame it for acting this way, even under ordinary circumstances.
“I don’t think you’re in the right place to be making orders like that. Maybe if you worked for the IPC, but you’d have to work at the speed of light to get anything close to my ranking.” His hands slither from his sides to your glass, tilting it so he can see the dark yellow liquid within it. “Hmm. Do you not have a high alcohol tolerance, Miss [First]?”
“I do.” You rebuke. He shrugs his shoulders.
“I don’t think I should believe you, honestly.” With one of his hands, he takes off his pink sunglasses, putting them beside your cup. “Maybe if you drank the rest of it in one gulp.” With a slam, he puts a stack of credits on the table. “Go on, do it and I’ll give you enough credits to leave Penacony forever. I promise.”
Who are you to decline such an enticing proposition, despite your distaste for the man's company? This employment, with all its hardships, can vanish if you are simply granted the funds. Thus, you hastily consume the remainder of your beverage without deliberation.
You’re too focused on the bet at hand to notice the unusual saltiness.
With a wide grin, he applauds enthusiastically, his cheers echoing through the stillness. However, his clapping abruptly ceases, leaving behind an unexpected emptiness. In its place, a throbbing headache emerges, surpassing the intensity of any typical morning-after discomfort.
The fall into a state of unconsciousness is far from effortless; it feels more like a sudden, jarring blow to the face, sharp and agonizing. 
“I’ll keep my word, that is a gambler's responsibility after all."
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limerenceheart · 14 days
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yan! dr ratio and yan! aventurine
dr ratio and avenutrine wasn't exactly thrill on this arrangement.
ratio felt a little bit cheated since he found you first as ruan mei's assistant. the young scholar was there to welcome you with open arms when ruan mei fired you for gross misconduct. something that dr ratio might had started.
it was the perfect foundation for dr ratio to put everything into motion till a certain blonde got in the way. you was too oblivious to notice his love bombing, aventurine may be a sweet talker but he was never the sentimental type to give out flowers for a good friend of his.
dr ratio wanted to let out a scoff upon hearing that. if only you knew the truth. the thing is neither of them wanted you to know.
so the pair made a deal to protect you from the harsh truth of the world.
"aventurine kindly offered to fund our upcoming research project so we'll have to live together for a while and he will pop in regularly for updates."
you brought the lie too easily.
him and aventurine was doing you a favour by whisking you away from the outside world.
an innocent soul wasn't fit to be left alone.
the pair just hope that you would never caught on since they didn't want to corrupt you.
not at all.
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moonsaver · 3 months
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Finished penacony. Sunday. Oh dear oh dear.
Yan!Sunday who seems obsessively off with you for the early start of something like a relationship. Calm, but underlying warning tones. One wrong word and you might tip him off too much. You've learned one way to decode his emotions are his wings. They tense up whenever you mention something.. unpleasant. Its a warning. You cut yourself off in the middle of your sentence. The silence passes, and his wings relax. He turns to you with a calm smile on his face. You barely squeezed through, this time.
Yan!Sunday who's just a bit delusional. He deludes himself into thinking about righteousness, and you're some sort of reward for him, for him to keep, and shelter, and nurture, like a christmas gift pet, but something more tender. Tender like a bruise, anyway.
Yan!Sunday, who seems.. to be slipping indisputably. In the corners of your eyes, in private, where he meticulously plans everything, every second where you breathe. He helps you dress and laces up your clothing just as he normally does, but huffs, and insists on doing it again. The first few times, he redid it only twice. His frustration would bleed through his fingers the more things proceeded in time, tightening the lace so much, your limbs almost went blue. He apologizes through gritted teeth, and you forgive him. It doesn't help the fact he practically suffocates you with the way he kisses you, though. His lips land on yours a bit too harshly, and you wonder if he actually hates you. Those thoughts dissipate when he relaxes more into it, though.
Yan!Sunday, who stares at you unblinking, waiting for you in the dreamscape, in the reverie, anywhere. Robin's.. departure has put him under more strain, so just for his sake.. ignore the way he tightly grips your arm, fearing it'll snap.
Yan!Sunday – you can't leave his watchful gaze. The last time you did it, he practically forced you to walk through the real dreamscape, deathly shivering as the atmosphere almost froze you, being forced to walk through unyieldingly harsh and twisted paths, doors never staying in the same place, being forced to use rough traversing methods, the dizziness of the memoria almost feverish. He waits for you at the end, a much gentler version of him. You fall into his arms, sobbing and weeping, and for once he handles you with care. Gently wiping your tears, stroking your hair, his hand guiding the back of your head to his shoulder, burying your nose into the crook of his neck. You notice just how much more warmer he feels in the dreamscape, not just due to the cold atmosphere. His wings gently flutter on your face. Let's leave now, he says. I trust you've learnt, my dear.
Yan!Sunday, who decides that maybe keeping you in the alternate dreamscape, Golden Hour, would be much more preferable. He seethes watching you be eyed by everyone – officials, businessmen, representatives, whoever it may be. He gently lulls you into the dream fluid, kissing your hands, up to your arms, neck, til your cheek, until you finally fall asleep. He places you down and gets to work in a second. When you panic, not being able to wake up, he's right beside you in a heartbeat, telling you there's just been a slight error.
Yan!Sunday, who would even go as far as to construct an entirely new dream for you and you alone. No one would be allowed to visit except him. He tells you it's for the better. Everyone lies in Penacony. Stay put and let him take care of this. Let him take care of you. Of everything. You dont miss the way his hands harden their grip around your waist. His gaze settles gently on yours. It's a harsh contrast to his eerily peering one, in reality. If you even remember what it's like being there, of course.
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harmonysanreads · 25 days
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Recipe - Yandere!Sunday
Ingredients: A Fresh Sunday, Childhood Trauma, Crippling Anxiety, Bone-Crushing Loneliness, Political Power, Unpredictability, Intelligence, Empathy, Blessing of Xipe, A Darling, Salt
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INSTRUCTIONS
First make sure that your Sunday is dry of any past romantic experiences. The moisture from romantic experience interferes with the frying process but, if you don't mind getting a few extra burns, feel free to keep it. Now, take a large bowl and start by putting a dash of Childhood Trauma. Close your eyes and pour as much Bone-Crushing Loneliness as you desire, add a good chunk of Unpredictability and Intelligence into the mix. Don't worry about the measurements, just use your feelings.
Now, put Political Power into the amalgam ; you can empty out the entire packet if you really like the feeling of powerlessness. Add the Blessing of Xipe for a twinge of spice and a healthy portion of Empathy so whenever your Sunday thinks of how wrong his actions are, he kills himself a little inside. Last but not least, a pinch of salt because no dish is complete without it. Mix everything evenly and regret not getting a bigger bowl.
So this time, get a sufficiently large pot and fill it to about halfway with Crippling Anxiety. Turn on the heat and bring it close to the boiling point. Take your Sunday and marinate him with the mixture, make sure there's no empty spot on his person. Now, gently throw him in the boiling pot of Crippling Anxiety and wait for about 10 minutes.
You might be questioning why we need to fry him in Crippling Anxiety out of everything? That is because hot Crippling Anxiety will convert Bone-Crushing Loneliness into Possessiveness. Which will then branch out to Jealousy upon meeting the necessary conditions, but trying to identify this Jealousy will be near-impossible due to Sunday's immaculate ability to act (this talent is a byproduct of adding too much Childhood Trauma and Bone-Crushing Loneliness, as such, you don't have to worry about getting it from the store). So, don't waste your time there. By now, some parts of Sunday's Childhood Trauma have probably transformed into Relationship linked Insecurities. Wait for five more minutes and your Yandere!Sunday is crisp and ready.
Feel free to serve him with A Darling anytime — yes, they're the sauce.
CAUTIONS
Be careful when you release Sunday into the boiling pot of Crippling Anxiety, you wouldn't want to splash yourself in that.
Don't be greedy and eat some of the Political Power when you're pouring it in the bowl, it tastes very, very bitter.
The Blessing of Xipe is a crucial ingredient because it'll give your Sunday that unsettling aura. Don't let the shadiness deter you and just buy it.
Don't be too generous with the Childhood Trauma, we don't want our Sunday to be way too dysfunctional.
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41-kiraraaa · 10 months
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ᥫ᭡. 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫, 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫
⤷ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠.: yandere dragon!dan heng x reader
⤷ 𝐭𝐰.: yandere behavior, possessiveness, obsessiveness, isolation/imprisonment, slight blood/gore
⤷ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬.: dan heng has his draconian transformation aboard the express with you to watch over him. his desire for you had finally made him snap, and, now, there was no escape from your mate.
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊
whenever trailblazing wore you out, you could count on dan heng to make sure nothing strayed too much out of order.
his constant watchfulness over you, march, and the trailblazer was nothing if not helpful and convenient should anything ever go awry, which it has, too many times in the past, but in your downtime on the express, you just wanted to be away from his scrutinizing, assessing gaze. you also didn’t want to be a burden on anyone, another person to worry for, and the thought of spending some time by yourself, without the presence of the other crew members, drew a sigh of relief from you.
you had promised yourself moments of rest after the stellaron mission in belobog, no matter how fleeting. with kafka and the stellaron hunters getting involved and sending the express crew to the xianzhou, you wanted to savor every moment you could in solidarity before you had to aid welt, march, and the trailblazer in their mission to seal the destructive core.
what you hadn’t expected, however, were the muffled sounds of pain coming from past march’s room and straight from the archives, where dan heng’s voice had echoed out in agony.
it hadn’t been long after the express was docked, and you rushed out of your room to make sure that your companion was unharmed.
after skidding to a halt at the doorway of dan heng’s makeshift room, you hurried past the open door, where himeko was bent over dan heng’s silently whimpering form, looking concerned.
when she noticed your entrance, her eyes flitted to you and she nodded, motioning for you to come over. you obliged, suspense and adrenaline racking in your system as you hunched over dan heng.
you’d thought that your eyes had deceived you when you had run through the door, but it seemed that the flash of green was indeed an extension of dan heng.
what you had glimpsed before when you were rushing in was a tail, whose fluffy tip was now pattering against the floor in obvious distress. what you hadn’t seen before, however, were his horns.
also a green hue, they extended upwards proudly, akin to branches of coral. they still seemed to be growing, as noted by his light breaths and whimpers of pain as you thought you imagined them coming up to be a little higher every time you blinked.
immediately you took charge, knowing that he would need a more comfortable place to be situated in, and you didn’t think that intruding on himeko’s space would please her all that much.
“i’ll take him back to my room,” you informed her, not realizing that you were too shaken by this whole ordeal until you heard your voice waver.
she gave you a nod of affirmation and, before you knew it, dan heng was on the edge of your bed and you were out of breath from helping himeko carry his deadweight. you tried pushing him to the middle of the bed for maximum comfort, and to minimize the risk of him falling off, but gave up when he didn’t budge and, instead, made the bedsheet wrinkle.
sighing, you turned back to him for a moment to check that everything in your room was orderly and that the door was closed after lugging him inside, which it was, but then a sudden weight came crashing down on you and you collapsed with a choked shout of surprise.
on top of you was the body of human, yet devoid of warmth, like a reptile. the pants and low growls resonating in your ear were most definitely human—the voice of an irreplaceable person in your life.
“d-dan heng!?” you exclaimed, trying to push yourself up, already in a plank and ready shake him off and book it for the door, but his weight and power pressed you down until you were flat against the ground, panting for air.
“you’re mine,” dan heng whispered, his voice husky and low and his breath hit against your ear. your breath caught in your throat at his proximity, and your struggles renewed as you pushed your back upward to try and shove him off.
a swift, unexpected bite to your throat ceased your struggling, and you lay limp on the floor at the pain that blossomed. the weight on your back was lifted off of you for a moment, but you couldn’t escape with your senses hyper-focused on the wound on the most sensitive part of your body.
dan heng was staring intently at your back, his objective dark, and, you couldn’t see it, but you could feel the desire emanating from his possessive, lustful gaze. your skin crawled with gooseflesh, and you gulped slightly, as unnoticeably as you could manage.
he dipped downward sharply soon after though, absentmindedly lapping at the blood streaming down your neck before it could reach the ground. it was too precious to waste, you were too delectable to pass up.
dan heng had thought that his feelings would be hidden from you forever, the desire to lock you away from the universe and have you safe from harm’s way. unfortunately, the life of a trailblazer was seldom easy, and you met life’s challenges with courage, even when your qualms and fears had a grip on your heart.
he always went out of his way to make that your life wasn’t being threatened, even when it seemed impossible. he was your shield, his cold, unyielding personality your preservation.
he needed to make sure that you had placed your trust in him fully, first and foremost and no one else.
if he was immovable, then what was there to threaten you? what was there to deny him from what he had kept himself from for so long? he craved you, ached for you, longed for you, but never showed an ounce of it through his words or actions, for fear of your rejection, of society’s caution around his amplified desire for you, strong enough to harbor hatred and murderous intent for anybody who so looked at you the wrong way. looked at you at all, even.
now though, he was finally discarding those frivolous thoughts of his concealment of desire for you, his draconian side emerging. after all, it was only normal to want your lover in every way, right?
his present, human, morally ambiguous but restrained side was miles away, the tsunamis of desire crashing into oceans of want and possessiveness making him realize that he wanted this so badly that he would die if he was without you for another moment. even blinking was made scarce, absorbing your ethereal, once ephemeral, form in to fully appreciate you in ways he couldn’t before.
his stone-cold, deadpan exterior had finally given way to his true self, more open to expressing his love and devotion for you, as the dragon in him coiled with the need to make sure that you were his forever.
so why were you struggling? couldn’t you tell that you were his mate? his to love and cherish forever? even if you didn’t think you loved him now, there was no way that he’d let you go, not when the both of you were finally alone, together, and safe.
carefully, gently, absurdly for the situation he had just subjected you to, he lifted you up in a bridal carry and you couldn’t tell if you wanted to curl into his strong embrace, or shimmy away from your captor.
once he settled on your bed, he bunched the covers up around you and him until you were both insulated and he could retain the warmth that you gave him. he had made sure you were comfortable, drawing the blankets up around you first and foremost and leaning over your form quite inquisitively, drinking in the most vulnerable side of you he had never gotten to appreciate properly and feeling a strange welling of wholesomeness in his heart at your figure, dwarfed by him and his twisted love for you.
after getting settled down, you couldn’t help but close your eyes sleepily, unsure as to why you were feeling so exhausted that your body would let your guard down around the beast that had possessed your friend. you would contemplate why you were allowing him such proximity, but your mind was too scrambled to discern if he was a threat or not, and it seemed as though your body had decided for you as you were his mate.
a hand from out of the blue descended upon your head and sharp nails massaged your scalp deeply, comfortingly, lovingly. they were careful not to draw blood or scratch you too hard, and your eyelids grew heavier still, and your ears gradually rose a barrier between you and the outside world, content in the embrace of someone you knew.
the wound in your neck hadn’t bothered you for a moment now, and you had half a mind to wonder why when a low croon came from above you. it seemed as though he was still watching you, with another hand descending to rub your cheek soothingly. the solace of his presence was unbearable for your rationality, and you let go all train of thought to give into him.
dan heng watched with satisfaction as you drifted off into slumber, pride welling in his chest at the level of trust you still had for him, even after his slightly unorthodox display of dominance.
after making sure that you were truly sleeping, deep inside the crevices of your mind and dreaming of him, no doubt, he lowered himself down into a space next to you, where he was able to hold you with your back to him and his arms wrapped tightly, possessively around your waist and pulled you as close to him as he possibly could.
a few seconds later though, he opted to drag his arms up higher until he was just right below your chest so that he could make way for his tail, which dipped under you and then coiled upwards to wrap around you, doubly secure and safely tucked in by his side.
although your blood had supplemented him some energy to get by for a little after his grueling transformation into a dragon, he was more than content with the prospect of regaining his full strength by resting by your side, knowing that nothing could ever take you away from him.
and afterwards, when his power was at its full glory, he’d prove to you that you’d never need to leave his side. ever.
and even if you insisted, tried clawing your way out of his embrace, tried to escape into a world with dangers lurking around every corner, ready to take you away from him, there was no way he would ever lose you, no way you would ever lose him.
your mate.
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊
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ddarker-dreams · 3 months
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kafka encouraging yan blade's behavior and even helping him in his questionable endeavors ...
the selfish decisiveness his mara evokes vanishes when his lucidity reigns. he's less sure of himself. specifically, of his conduct. how much of your happiness can he sacrifice for his own? he doesn't want you to be miserable. he doesn't even need you to like him, necessarily. although he'd greedily devour your favor, should you bestow it upon him.
blade experiences this pleasant rush when watching you go about your daily activities. how your voice takes a soft cadence to soothe a crying child, when you help an elderly neighbor bring in their groceries, the supernovas born in your eyes when you learn your favorite drink had been paid for by a stranger (him). it's organic, it's you — uninhibited, stumbling around through life.
he could take so much. he could ruin you. he could drain every ounce of goodness from your body like a parasite. he's acutely aware of this, even derives a sick satisfaction from it, if he's honest. you're in the palm of his scarred hands. this is the focal point of his dilemma. should his grasp loosen, you'll fall through his fingers. however, if his fist clenches too tight, you'll break.
blade doesn't want you broken. he just wants you. smiling, laughing, whole.
everything you wouldn't be if he acted on his impulses.
kafka, vigilant as ever, picks up on blade's morose mood. she knows what's troubling him before he even parses it out for himself. and so her gentle suggestions begin, woven so subtle at first, that they almost go unnoticed. she stresses how safe you'd be under his dutiful watch. that you wouldn't want for anything. how if he shares parts of his past, you, being the bleeding heart that you are, won't be able resist empathizing.
sometimes, she'll tell him, a gentle hold is the trickiest to escape.
he might not acknowledge her advice outright, but as time ticks on, each lonely night feeling colder than the last, he wonders how much longer he can go without your warmth.
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