You were his sister's enemy.

Well, he rather assumes it.

Robin defends you whenever he scorns at you, and simply mentions you as someone who just has trouble communicating. Sunday, on the other hand, does not take to your mannerisms politely. Although distance and discord within branches of The Family have long shifted his attention from his sister and their once joint dream, it doesn't mean his protectiveness of it has vanished.

Your singing was nowhere near as perfect as his sister's, he believes. Robin defends you, saying you're great in your own way, and both of you have different styles of singing. He comments on your more mature look with disdain, thinly admonishing it as vulgar, while Robin tries to convince him you just work under a sultry concept. Everything you did, it was never as good as Robin's, and whenever even a single track of yours threatened Robin's on the chart, Sunday would be displeased. According to him, you were competing for fame with Robin, and even the audacity of you to go such lengths was disdainful.

Robin, however, has been trying to convince Sunday to be on better terms with her lover.

He isn't exactly unnoticing of Robin's new lipstick that's in a different shade than what she'd normally wear. A new perfume that's oddly charming, but expensive, not exactly what he sees her picking out. Hair accessories that he's never seen in her drawers, nail polish he's never seen her wear before, a new fresh change to her voice that's making it livelier as of late, which is suspicious, considering all of this takes place simultaneously after she leaves your room.

It's not long until Sunday manages to get a quiet moment with you. Confrontation isn't foreign to him, and neither are implied, cordial threats that are already schemed within the front of his mind as he gently turns the handle to your door.

You greet him politely, as expected, and both of you get talking. He gauges you out, asking you specific and roundabout questions, eyes scrutinizing the familiar color of nail polish on your fingers that were once on Robin's, the half-used bottle of perfume thats slightly peeking out of the poorly hidden drawer which he's sure is something Robin would pick, the glossy, sticky tissue which he assumes you used to wipe off some sheer gloss, which you obviously don't wear.

He's hostile, and he doesn't quite hide it. Warning, teetering on edge, observing and calculating his next question and your responses with every second. But alas, he finally leaves you alone, and silently takes his leave.

-

Sunday hates you. And that is a hill he will surely die on.

Or rather.. what else would you call this ugly, seething feeling inside his chest?

Seeing your eyes soften, your smile quirk up on your usually stoic face, your lazy, languid hands finding their usually hiding spot, tucked onto Robin's waist.

It makes him seethe seeing you do those things with his sister.

Or really, anything you do.

The laugh you share with an overly friendly employee, the side glance, silent communication with some of your audio-managing team, the playful pinching of your cheeks by another singer that's far too comfortable with you.

Your actions are.. despicable. Sure they are. And he starts questioning just why. He deludes himself with any reason that is clearly beyond rationale, and barely constrains a scoff when you try and ask him about his dampened mood.

Of course, he should find them despicable when they're done to him, too. But he doesn't.

And it's even more infuriating. He smiles softly and laughs at some of your words, playfully bumps you from time to time, and chuckles when you return the favor. He feels special when you make certain eye gestures, remember a few inside jokes, and wink at him to keep them a secret. And once he returns to his solitary confinement, it dawns on him, and he should be grinding his teeth to dust from the absolute fury you supposedly induce in him.

But he doesn't.

He's only left with a light feeling in his heart, which slightly, mournfully dampens when he sees you do the same with Robin.

They've shared a dream once. Surely, they can share a love, too?

a/n: yandere aventurine x female reader, suggestive, non-consensual touching and forced kisses

“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.”

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Reader crying until they get a fever in yan!sunday's arms.... ough

--

You might have a fever.

But its hard to tell. You've been crying for the.. who knows how long?

Your face is hot, and tired. Facial muscles strained beyond their endurance, your eyelids hanging as you can't seem to find it within you to sniffle through your burning nose. A part of you wants the snot to drip onto Sunday's pristine clothes. But you know he won't mind.

He hasn't minded, not when your tears and saliva and snot all dribbled onto his shoulder. He didn't mind when you scratched and pushed at him. He doesn't mind your incessant crying. He's been comforting you all this time and you hate it even more.

"Shh", he says for the umpteenth time, his feathers softly bristling against your eyes. They're cooler than your skin, soft against the stickiness smeared from your own bodily fluids.

"You'll get sick at this rate, my love."

You sniffle again. And regret it instantly, as the snot burns your nose on the way back.

His hand runs up and down your back, his head turning slightly as he presses a soft kiss to the side of your head. He presses another, his lips brushing against the cartilage form of your ear. He shifts again, pressing another kiss to the warm side of your face, on your cheek.

"Your temperature is rising. Get some rest."

He tells you, but every moment in his arms is a tormenting cycle – you're here, not at home. Here, with him, not your friends nor your family. People you won't see ever again. You feel another sob throbbing your throat, but you swallow it down, with great difficulty, the flesh constricted and pained from a combination of phlegm and previous episodes of crying.

You open your eyes and see white. Sunday's feathers rustle against your face as they sense the flicker of your eyelashes. You breathe out, quietly; the warm air irritating your already red nose. You're warm. You really might have a fever. You pull away from his shoulder, dizzy. Sunday hums, and then clicks his tongue.

"See? You've been crying for hours, my dear. Isn't it tiring?"

His hand comes up to pull away hair strands from your face, sticking to the snot and wetness of your face. His gloved thumbs wipes the dribbling water from your nose, before pinching it playfully,

"Your face is all red. You might need to wash it, my love."

He leans in and presses a kiss on your forehead.

"Lay down. I'll bring some facewipes for you."

You can't stand being with him.

I don't know if it's a thing yet or not, but Yandere Aventurine x Talent Motivation Department - employee reader!!!

Yan!Aventurine who was handed in your care when he first joined the IPC. Since the two of you were of the similar age range, and you always had been such a sweetheart in Jade's eyes, she personally hand picked you as the guide for the latest stone heart. The boy all your to nourish and train: to be graceful, fancy, extravagant and make him someone fitting the title of a Stoneheart.

Yan!Aventurine who at first was too cold and distant, barely talking to you, and extremely depressed when left alone. But after seeing you waking up at unholy hours, to prepare for his day, working more than you were needed to for your paycheck, spending time with him in silence even in your off hours, all that just to give him company and make him feel not alone, he realized that your compassion was genuine and you cared for a monster like him, cared for a slave, a killer, a loser, all hell went loose.

Yan!Aventurine who despised his work, the stuffy environment, and especially the opportunist people surrounding him, so he get attached to you, the only genuine person in his life, his lovely caretaker. Slowly starting to grow extremely dependent on you emotionally once he knew you really care for him, refusing to learn how to do his hair properly, or proper dining etiquettes, etc. just so he can be in your care for longer.

Yan!Aventurine who doesn't wear all the flamboyant clothing and way too many accessories during his missions because he likes to be extra/maximalist, no. He does so because he's trying to wear all the gifts you have ever given to him all at once as many as possible, to show his appreciation, and to keep you close to him in spirit, just in case this mission happens to be the end of his life.

Yan!Aventurine who can't believe a person as kind and gentle as you is actually real, as he see you worrying about everyone around you. Helping elderlies cross the road, patching up little kids playingin the playground, baking for your friends whenever you feel like, greeting every stanger you see with a smile, trying your best to brighten everyone's day. Pathetic, you were truly pathetic in his eyes, so vulnerable for any vulture to pick you up and tear apart, a fucking push over.

Yan!Aventurine who soon realizes how much more power he has over you, his mindset starting to getting corrupted with his workplace, and the inner panic realizing how your time as his caretaker is going to end soon. Slowly he started tugging in a few strings to dwindle your reputation in your department through some ugly methods, no matter the cost that now remain hidden is his mind, long forgotten in the future. After all, he can't have his lovely caretaker to be placed with some other no-good person who will only take advantage of you! You caring for someone else, talking so lovingly with someone else, letting someone else lay on your thighs as you pat them asleep, letting someone else bring you expensive gifts as a token of appreciation, letting someone else making you laugh, letting someone else get so close to you.

Letting someone else replace him.

Yan!Aventurine who offers to move in together in his new bigger house now that he was in an established position, just when your position as a respected member of talent motivation department is threatened to fall and your salary starts getting cut short, in the guise of repaying your kindness, knowing damn well how desperately you needed to save some housing money and can't reject.

Yan!Aventurine who was always there for you as your friends and coworkers started growing distant from you, and coddling your anxieties away when mean rumors about you started spreading around, comforting you just like how you used to comfort him, despite being the reason you cry in his arms.

Yan!Aventurine who start taking you out to work parties or hang outs, as your work load started decreasing, and you grew lonely with your friends leaving you, charming his way in your heart, loving the way you started blushing around him, and fully taking advantage by teasing your more to see your cute reactions, adoring how this all was meant for him. Your love, attention, care all for him.

Yan!Aventurinewho gently shifting your 'roommate' duties, to more domestic one, like cooking, cleaning, and anything that was indoors, preferring to do groceries shopping either by himself or together, making sure your contact with others remain as minimal with others for the sake of his own sanity.

Yan!Aventurine who was shocked when you were the one to confess first, his heart beating fast in his ears, face red, and tears welling in his eyes, as he collapse in your arms, surprising you with the hug and the chats of i love you's.

Yan!Aventurine who almost can not believe his life is really true, as he lean against the doorframe, watching as you feed the little cat cakes he got. You now leaving your work to take care of your lover, leaving behind the people who left you just due to some stupid rumors, and now sporting the title of a stone heart's lover, enjoying your life of luxury.

Matchmaker! Jade who always had a gut feeling you two were meant for each other, since the day she appointed you.

Where the Lamb does not Belong.

You're isekai'd into the world of Honkai Star Rail. Thankfully, you're taken into the Astral Express and continue your journey peacefully, until you reach Penacony. Something, or someone, seems to be causing your system to continually crash. Perhaps it's because you did not belong here at all.

Warnings: yandere, obviously. Uh, mentioned fracture(?)

A/n; reader is a tad forgetful and can brush off a few things, and get distracted slightly easily. But for the most part, i think it won't ruin the immersion. Its my first time writing something "self aware" related, and something like a character breaking the 4th wall. I really love these tropes but rarely write them. I hope i did it well. Its roughly 4.5k long. Enjoy.

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Sunday manipulating you into loving him...

His manipulation is so good that you no longer doubt your feelings. It's hard to imagine your life without him, and it shows. You cling onto him like a baby bird and he is soaking in all of the attention like a man who hasn't had a sip of water in a millennium....

He needs you. He needs you like never before, he is love for you is ethereal and true. His devotion mirrors that of an acolyte worshiping their beloved god.

Please, love him in the same way he loves you, for nothing else shall satisfy him and his bleeding heart.

Originally posted by b1adie

God, I finally caught up on the HSR story and I'm so down bad for this man, this traumatized guy, my poor little meow meow.

So here's some yan! Aventurine X gn! reader headcanons that have been rotting inside my brain for the past few days. Bark bark bark rate up soon please haha!!

In the early stages of your relationship, his behavior matches his superficial self, the shell he shows everyone. One of his first gifts to you would be a credit card attached to his personal bank account. 'Don't ask! Just spend.' He'd get a hit of endorphins every single time he sees a charge coming through from you. He knows it's you because he named the profile attached to that card with some corny pet name with a slew of emojis beside it, taking up an obnoxious amount of space on the screen of his phone.

It doesn't take long for him to be utterly obsessed with you. How could he not? You're just so... everything! His everything. It's at this stage, the mask slips off. Material gifts are no longer enough, and the gifts he gives you are pieces of himself. He'll overrule whatever pet name you gave him in favor of honey -- a reference to his heritage.

And speaking of heritage, he's prepared quite the gift for your one year anniversary. Once the sun had long set on a sinfully indulgent all-day date, and after some desperate and incredibly needy sex when the two of you are tangled up in a knot of your sweat and burning feelings, he'll give you his present. Kakavasha, he'd mutter into the sensitive skin on the side of your neck mirroring his commodity code. It's one of the few things he owns that truly matter to him, and he can only hope you'll accept his humble gift.

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Playing Dress Up

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ft. Sunday, Aventurine, Dr Ratio, Blade

Heads up: Female!Reader, Possessive Behaviors, Very Self Indulgent

-; ੈ♡˳ SUNDAY

Sunday seeks refinement in every aspect of his life, this does not fail to extend to how you'll dress yourself while tied to his prestige as well. Sifting and digging through uncountable articles on women's fashion, extensive research on sources to make his vision come to life — Sunday hadn't even put this much effort into drafting his own style. What beget this initiative is rooted in his innate desire to make your connection to him clear through means sans saying it outright, though he'd much rather present it as his attempt in searching for a style that is uniquely yours ; which he does wish for to a degree, not to fret.

Your clothing will be weaved from scratch with the finest threads, silk and satin will be cut, folded and stitched to perfection. Even the measurements of your clothing will be penned down by the man himself : skirts must be of moderate length, not too long or too short and necklines must be modest. Said attires will be painted in shades of white, blue and gold ; his colors in short. But anything under these graceful dresses will be sleek black, a secret that'll never meet the public eye. The motifs of his halo will be skillfully engraved on the canvas that is you ; woven on the dresses, tempered in jewelry to adorn your hair and ears and not even your shoes will be spared.

The principle Sunday follows throughout this charade is complexity through simplicity. While one might think you'd look much like an over-groomed poodle after this, the gentle elegance of the reality will surprise even you. That is because Sunday practices caution in areas that are easy to complicate, jewelry for example. He's partial to earrings, bracelets, brooches and hair ornaments — not necklaces as he prefers the unobstructed beauty of your decolletage. Even those few ornaments are not gaudy in design, selected exclusively to accompany than to steal the stage. But the stones, diamonds and pearls he orders to be embedded in them are far precious than they initially suggest. After all, you deserve nothing but the best.

Most of Sunday's struggle was concentrated in the makeup area, for which, he had before anything else, scheduled an appointment with a dermatologist. Only when he had a detailed report on what products would suit your skin and what would harm you did he place the orders. Sunday thinks this endeavor to be much like conducting an orchestra : not all will understand why the conductor standing on the podium spins and twirls the baton, but when the tunes from the instruments unite and bring the melodies to life, it all makes sense.

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You remember the first time Phainon said your name with a vexing clarity.

Well, ‘announced with all the vigor of a gorilla in its prime’ would be a more accurate description of that moment, not that you can word this out loud in front of ordinary folk — not anymore. What beget that incident and how he came to know of your identity are details even you question currently.

Exhilarating is the simplest (and most positive) word to describe the experience with the Chrysos Heir, being in his presence is no less riveting than witnessing a blood-warming battle straight from Castrum Kremnos. As such, against your judgement and awareness, it seemed that most things became a blur whenever he was nearby.

Not that it stirs an affirmative thrill in your arteries now. It did back then ; when he'd so brazenly dedicated his victory to your name in front of hundreds, nay, thousands of citizens, uncaring of the uncertain state of your acquaintanceship. You recall being more confused than overjoyed at the seemingly once-in-a-lifetime event of a Hero's attention falling upon you. But that, too, was swept by the tide of envious curiosity of the people of Okhema soon.

You don't blame them, you'd question if a nobody became the subject of reverence of a hero so suddenly as well. But that didn't mean you were no less annoyed by it, especially as it seemed that Phainon had no intention of quitting this practice. Every spar, every small victory towards the Flame-Chase and even the most random of achievements — he'd dedicate to you, the declarations becoming bolder each time.

You don't even need to ask what exactly you did to have him so invested, he has scarce control of his mouth when it concerns you. Do you believe the things he says though? That criteria, will not be met regardless of how sincere the Hero appears to be. You're not someone who's had to mingle with people of this volume, the invisible pushes to step into Phainon's world, direct or indirect, do not soothe your nerves in the slightest.

Ballads speak of the distant days when the sun used to kiss the soil of Amphoreus, but you weren't fortunate enough to witness those times. You've been reprimanded in a recent style lately though, your surroundings are quick to point at the dawn-incarnate, dashing specimen of a hero who's illuminated your once dull life and wonder so starry-eyed how grateful you must feel.

You used to roll your eyes at these whispers for a short frame of time. But as whispers ascended to theater and people eagerly awaited to spectate the turns of your ‘love story’, you really started to feel grateful. Not because you were pleased with your situation, but because of the support Phainon had provided throughout. He'd commented lightly once, you aren't built for such a harsh life. You deserve to recline, let others — him do the heavy-lifting and indulge yourself.

You tried your utmost to prove this redundant hypothesis incorrect. But dogs, once sufficiently attached, will always return to the master no matter how far one throws the toy. In moments of vulnerability, if even darkness helps, people will cling to it. And if it is the sun, they'll embrace blindness against the wishes of their conscience.

In Amphoreus, there goes the tale of the valiant hero and the beloved he's claimed as his life. Only in moments of clarity do you recall, it is nothing but the recounting of your immurement.