#yandere hsr
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(yandere! ex x gn! reader) (thought of this in the shower and thought it would be funny)
it had been five long dreadful days since you last talked to him.
five.
full.
days.
your ex boyfriend thought that it was finally time to break the silence and embrace your presence again. unfortunately, you had blocked him on all platforms and even got a restraining order on him. like, you've blocked him before but not a restraining order!
you even got all dramatic and said you wanted to break up!
...again.
he honestly thought it was a little cute. like aw... you wanted a break again! okay, because he loves you so much he'll give you another one! like you obviously meant break up as in separate for a bit then go back! like as always!
so... why haven't you contacted him at all?
he's itching and clawing at his walls just waiting for you to text him. but no, nothing. zero. absolute silence.
all the blocking and restraining orders weren't just to get his attention?
...
but he doesn't care haha! why should he care? you're just being a little dramatic again. this is how it's always been. he knows you just feel neglected, so of course you're just doing this for attention!
oh! he knows what to do!
that's right! he should show up with gifts and coddle you in kisses! like always!
that's why, he's patiently waiting for you to return back home... with tons of jewellery and cash laid on the ground. how did he get in, you ask? well obviously he has a spare key to your home! yeah yeah, he knows you haven't actually given him a new key and that you changed your lock two days ago but it was so painfully easy to just copy your key!
he couldn't just not make a copy, could he? you know he has to have access to you at all times! he gets antsy when he doesn't!
ah, your door is opening!
he grins happily, giggling excitedly as he sits by your couch, looking at the door in excitement.
"darling! i missed you!"
he moans, cheeks flushed as he stares at your stunned figure. however, his happiness gets replaced by worry as you slip on the money he laid down your hallway. oops... maybe he shouldn't have flooded your house in cash?
"darling! oh no... sre you alright?"
he pouts, immediately rushing to your side as he brushes the money away from your body. ah look at you! your face is all terrified... you must've been so so scared without him, weren't you?
"i promise I won't leave you again... just look at you!"
he mumbles, shaking his head disapprovingly as he picks you up and expertly maneuvers his way through your cash flooded apartment.
"what would you do without me?"
he sighs, cradling you to his chest as he sits on your couch and begins wiping away his faux tears with a wad of cash. that's right! what would you do without him? you were just so fragile and helpless! you'd suffer without his protection! he swears never to leave you alone again!
meanwhile, you were just silently smashing your head against the wall. god, your escape attempt failed again! maybe you should just escape to a foreign country next time. hm, maybe you should change your name to josh and alter your appearance too.
#yandere#tw yandere#yandere x reader#yandere drabbles#yandere imagines#yandere scenarios#yandere concept#yandere hsr#yandere aventurine#yandere aventurine x reader#yandere ex#yandere ex x reader#suiana rambling#suiana brainrotting
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𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 . .
. . he's just had a little taste of infatuation. or is it obsession?
// tws ; stalking, taking photos w/o knowledge of other person ; gn reader ; yandere au
a/n: i swear i'll start writing the aventurine exes hanahaki au after i post this
click!
a soft flash of white light, akin to the color of the small wings that adorned him, appeared before sunday as the camera went off. it encased you in a photo, forever embedding your beauty into a polaroid.
you were so pretty.
too pretty.
even a photo couldn’t capture your full beauty — you were just too beautiful.
too pretty.
too heavenly.
too ethereal.
all sunday wanted was you. all he needed was you. he just loved you so, so much — a little too much, if you were to ask robin or aventurine or anyone other than him about it.
sunday was meant to be yours. you had ripped his heart out, claiming it as your own (well, not that he minded too much. you could have him as well for all he cared!).
you couldn’t just leave him like this after you had yanked and twisted and pulled his heart out of his body, leaving him only to bleed out.
sunday felt as if he would die without you.
you were oxygen, the only thing breathing life into him.
an oasis in a desert, which he would die without.
sunday wanted you. no, wait — scratch that. he needed you.
he.
needed.
you.
well, that would have to wait. for now he would have to settle with having only a minimal amount of photos and polaroids of you.
well, if "few" meant having walls and walls and walls of his mansion covered and plastered with only photographs of you.
he just needed you so bad. so, so bad.
if only you noticed him. if only you were bewitched with his heavenly and ethereal appearance like he was with yours. if only his words, strung together carefully and ever-so-delicately so he could tie you up defenseless, worked on you. if only his cunning yellow eyes — just like the chesire cat's — enchanted you, leaving you in a trance, as your eyes did to him.
every time you were around him, his heart raced, as if it would leap out of his chest at any moment. but, unfortunately, he couldn’t say the same about you, which was a tragedy indeed.
his need for you was more than desire or a craving. it was as a human needed water. if they didn’t have it for a prolonged amount of time, they would perish.
as would he if he didn’t have you.
though, it would only be but a matter of time before he had you tied up with his strings of words too, just like he had done to everyone else. even if it meant following you everywhere you went, unbeknownst to you. perhaps one would call it stalking, but it wasn’t his fault he had such an unhealthy obsession with you.
you would be his, akin to how he was yours.
you will be his.
another click.
another photo.
another step closer to having you.
#*ੈ✩ -- sunday#sunday hsr#sunday x reader#sunday#hsr sunday#yandere#yandere au#yandere sunday#yandere hsr#hsr#honkai star rail#tw stalking#phototaking#gn reader#sunday x you
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: ̗̀➛ ALL OR NOTHING. yan! aventurine / gn! reader
it's a nice feeling to finally be on the winning side, feigning fairness when all the winning cards are in his hand. but it's not like you can fault him for cheating. after all, you who has nothing chose to challenge him, the one who will gain everything.
( overarching theme of sl4very, anim4l cruelty, anim4l death, bl00d, graphic description of violence, hinted obsessive behavior, im unoriginal and stole kafkas spirit whisper for reader ) + 7.5k words
"It's just a bet," he suggests, as if this gamble won't cost you your everything. "Juuust a bet. Exactly what are you so scared of?"
He sits laid back in his plush velvet chair, twirling a cocktail as he enjoys the finest luxuries in life. He is clad head to toe in the finest clothing, dressed like a peacock waiting to impress. You, on the other hand, feel more like the peahen— dreadfully drab in your rags and no choice but to watch as the peacock flaunts his feathers. You are knelt on the ground, but your eyes show no submission.
"I'm not crazy, gambler," you bite. "I know the IPC. They are full of shit. And you, Aventurine." Your eyes set on him with hatred. "You're the smelliest of the lot."
Aventurine, the gem of lies and luck, sighs dramatically. "Pup, you know I don't like it when you're so vulgar, y'know? I'm giving you a chance at freedom, so you ought to at least treat me at least a little bit nicer. I'm not the one who shackled you, so I don't understand what the aggression is all about."
"You're the reason why I'm here in the first place!"
"No, Jade was." He presses a finger to your lip and you'd bite it if it weren't for the annoying bind you were under. "Jade came across you and thought you and your talent would make for a nice gift. You were a gift and I'm just the receiver. So don't go barking up the wrong tree, pup."
"So." He leans back into his couch and shoots you a sly grin. "Up for round one?"
You are lost.
The meaning of Paths and their symbolisms are lost on you. You don't care for Aeons— no one on your home planet was. You were busy diving in dumpsters for a scrape of food, tricking your 'friends' into sacrificing themselves for you, and killing whatever was left of your humanity just to make it to another day. You walk on no Path but yours.
You don't even know which way you're going. So you are lost.
You think Aventurine is lost too.
He has every detail of his facade practiced. His gait is relaxed enough to not be intimidating, but not sloppy enough to be called out as bad posture. He talks in a smooth voice that eases fools and makes enemies wary, his smile is charming to sway the opponent into another gamble, his hair is fixed to frame his pretty face, and he chooses words that cannot be turned into loopholes. He is Aventurine. But he is not himself.
He does not care for the Preservation, but he rejects the Elation. He is on his own Path too, but he knows the destination he must reach— his 'End'. In that way, he is different from you, because you know not your journey or your ending. Still, he is just as lost as you.
But he makes a darn good show of not seeming that way. Right now, you watch as he throws the dice on the table, and the whole table watches with bated breath as they turn. A six and one— he lost the bet to the other's six and five. They cackle gleefully as they collect their earnings from Aventurine. They have chips upon chips on their side of the table while Aventurine's winnings are cut in half.
"I think I'll call it a day, pretty boy," the gambler cackles, greedily eyeing his earnings and possibly dreaming about the cash he's made tonight. "Even a gambler knows when to call quits, right?"
Aventurine pouts. "Aww, so soon? C'mon, the night's only begun! Who knows, play another round and you might just end up with more money than you have right now~"
The man laughs again, obviously not fooled by his pity act. "Boy, I'm not as addicted as you are. I know when to stop instead of letting you bleed me out dry." But Aventurine isn't fazed; rather, he snaps his fingers and you lower your head as you step to his side.
"Well, we can't have that, can we? [Y. Name], be a dear and persuade this gentleman into another round with me."
A glow of your eyes. Then you fix the man with an eerie gaze as you say, bright and clear, "Hey, you: Play another round with my master."
As if in a daze, the man's eyes cloud over and sit right back. Another round later Aventurine wins all his losses back and more, leaving the other gambler's side naked and bare of chips. The man is barely out of his stupor when he realizes what just happened— that he's fallen for a trick and now he's ended up with no money to even cover his lodgings— but you and Aventurine have sauntered out of the casino doors by the time he's begun cussing you out.
"Ha! That was fun." Aventurine shrugs off his jacket now that you're in the car and raises an empty champagne glass to you. "You're a good partner, [Y. Name]. Honestly, that Spirit Whisper of yours is such a nice trick. Just like that Stellaron Hunter, right?"
"... Kafka?"
"Yes, her. Enigmatic woman, isn't she? A bit ironic how those with such a powerful ability ended up as slaves. Her as Destiny's, and you as... mine." He gives your collar a little tug and you growl in warning, but you inch closer to him anyway. "So. Gambling. You up for that round?"
You scoff and grin at him with all teeth and no mirth. "You really think that a Cornerstone would bet on their slave's freedom?" Aventurine's own grin grows wider. "C'mon. Even Pteruges-V has better lies than you."
"Ah, right, your homeworld. No wonder you're so brazen all the time, even to your superiors. I forget that fear is a foreign concept to you people. Still," he raises your chin with a finger. "If you're so fearless, why not bet on a gamble? It's not like you're scared."
"There may be fools from my planet that you can trick with that taunt, peacock, but I'm not one of them. I'm fearless, not stupid. And with the way you're so eager to involve me in this bet, I'm beginning to suspect that you need this more than I do." You push him away. "So, no, master, I won't indulge you. I'll bide my time and look for an escape. Just like I've always had."
"And what?" He looks at you from behind his sunglasses. "Will you kill me to gain that freedom?"
You flash him a sharp grin, now amused. "Of course you'd think that, master."
The smile on his face is wiped clean. You really are a brazen thing, you.
Jade has always mentioned how soft Aventurine is on you. A dog of your attitude should merit a little more disciplinary action and even the good Doctor has told him this once or twice after seeing your arrogance despite the collar around your neck. "Your dog bites more than it deserves," Ratio scoffed while you made an action of biting him behind Aventurine. He frowned in displeasure. "You ought to make it learn a lesson or two."
"Now, now, doctor," Aventurine had laughed. "Not everyone shares the same sadistic tendencies as you." An image of you collared and shaking on your knees flashes through his mind, and he finds himself gulping. Ratio looks at him like he doesn't believe him.
It's not like he hasn't thought of it, of chaining you to the wall and starving you so that you learn that your attitude has its consequences. You shouldn't bite the hand that feeds you, not when he's been so good to you. But that... that was exactly the line of thought his old master had. That wicked man who put a brand on him and sullied his hands with his wretched man... he couldn't risk turning into a monster like... that.
Aventurine is weak. Unable to let go of past sentiments and memories, he makes it up with his grand display of bravado and high-stakes gambles. He gambles even as he spoils you, laughing at your audacity and even rewarding you for it sometimes, not knowing whether you'll leave him or if you'll stay with him. It is a gamble indeed, but you were worth every risk.
"What do you think of me, [Y. Name]?" The cityscape beyond the window is glowing with Pier Point's nightlife, and his suite provides him a good view of the world beneath him. He glances back at you, stirring his coffee for him. "Your dear master Aventurine. What do you think of me?"
"Annoying, stupid, a fool, an addict, and pathetic." You don't hesitate to badmouth your master. "You lie too well, you think that luck of yours will never run out, and you try to be someone that you can't."
"And who is that someone?"
Your eyes flash. "Someone strong. Someone confident. Someone who isn't afraid to admit his weaknesses and hope that things get better."
"I didn't peg you for an optimist, dear pet."
"Hmph. That's not optimism. I may not know what exactly fear is, but I know that what is holding you back isn't it. You do not fear things, gambler. You stake it all and bet on something so intangible as luck. That can't be fear."
"Then what is it?"
The stare you give him sets his heart off, looking straight into his eyes and giving a grin so devilish and knowing like that facade of his never mattered in the first place.
"You're a coward. A plain, old coward. Nothing more, nothing less."
That conversation had always popped up in his head in the most inconvenient of moments, especially when he was about to get some sleep. His heart beat faster every time he recalled that knowing gaze of yours, invading where he didn't want the world to see and baring his soul right before your very eyes. His facade doesn't work on you.
He could care less. You were the one person he didn't want it to work on, though he'd never admit that out loud.
This meeting with the other Ten Cornerstones could not interest him any less, and it seemed to be that way for the others too. Jade is saying something on behalf of Diamond, again, and everyone is busy doing their own thing. Only Topaz seems to be the one paying at least some attention, and even then she gets distracted by Numby from time to time. Aventurine glances at the clock.
He wonders how his pup is faring while he's away. Ecstatic, perhaps.
"— All evidence leads to an underground network that is scattered among numerous planets, though thankfully all of them are within the same galaxy. I'll be forwarding an email to you all with a detailed report on each of these. Just know that most of us will be likely deported to these countries to break up the—" In the middle of Jade's tiresome monologue, the security alarms start to blare and two officers slam through the doors with looks of urgency. One of them scans the room until his eyes land on Aventurine, and they quickly approach him.
"Sir!" They say, desperate and alarmed. "Your do— I mean, slave! They've– They've escaped!"
Surprise streaks across the faces of the Ten Cornerstones, even Aventurine's. He collects himself when he catches Jade's knowing smile and chuckles to himself.
"Well, I guess this is the master's consequence for not disciplining their pet."
Did he really think you were fucking stupid? Taking on a bet for your freedom... what a bunch of bullshit. He can proclaim about how much he loves a fair gamble, but you know that's only reserved for the people around the table. You are his slave, the one he demeaningly calls 'pet'— you don't have the chance to make your own dealings.
"Halt! In the name of Qlipoth, you better stop while we're giving you a chance." These IPC henchmen were slowpokes, the lot of them. You weave in and between salary workers, crashing trolleys full of wares and coffees and hopping between levels just to shake them off their tracks. By golly, they might be incompetent but Aeons damned they were nothing but persistent.
"Ha, the Devil Hunters were more annoying than them," you mutter to yourself, skidding around the corner only to come face-to-face with two IPC henchmen. They raise their polearms to strike, but with a chilling grin stretched across your face, you say: "Hey, you: Jump."
You don't look back to see whether they made the seven-floor drop.
This reminds you of the nights you spent back in Pteruges-V: making fools out of the prissy rich, jumping across buildings to shake of the Hunters, and using whatever you had to make things go your way. Not everyone had Spirit Whisper, but those who had made good use of it and you sure as hell wouldn't miss a single chance to use it.
Your mind runs with plans as you continue to run away. Maybe you'll find a nice ship to stow away on, hopefully, one that leads to a nice planet that isn't so stuffy and rigid. Maybe like Homberto-σ, out of sight from the IPC and where everyone minded their own business.
For what felt like forever trying to shake your followers off, you finally came to a stop when you realized that only the sound of your footsteps could be heard in this labyrinth of hallways and corridors. Finally having shaken them off, you sigh as you climb up the stairs to the rooftop. 'Just jump down and sneak off to the nearest hiding place you can find.' You tug at your collar and scowl. 'When I escape, not even this collar will matter anymore. Not when I'm somewhere they won't reach me.'
You've escaped so many life-or-death situations before. Escaping slavery is no different.
"Slave [Y.Name], subordinate of Cornerstone Aventurine, you are surrounded!" A voice blares through a megaphone the moment you step onto the roof deck. You hiss as multiple glaring lights settle on you, shielding your face from them and the helicopters' onslaught of wind. "Surrender now before we are forced to take extreme measures."
Through the gaps of your fingers, you can barely make out the men in black pointing their guns at your head, the red hot of the laser making you a point-blank target. You click your tongue. Those bastards tricked you into thinking you were safe. Fuck. You couldn't even be mad. This was all on you.
"Oh, little pup. I guess I really should have listened to them when they told me to discipline you." Aventurine's seedy voice sighs behind you, smirking as he nonchalantly strides up to you. "Did you really have to do all this instead of taking the bet? Do you really hate the thought of playing with me, hm?"
"Fuck off."
"No can do, little one, you know how much I'm obsessed with you, right?" He chuckles, catching your chin between his thumb and index and forcing you to look into his eyes. Those Sigonian eyes are covered by the cloudy purple of his glasses, but even you can tell just how much he's enjoying this mess you've put yourself in. "You know I don't have a need for your skill. I could easily persuade anyone without trying, but I still let you stick around. Pup, I can't just back away from you when you know how much I want you."
You smile darkly. "That's cuz you're a sicko who likes tugging on the chain instead of being in it."
Those pretty eyes of his darken for a moment, embittered by the snarky comment at his past, before his hands trail down to your collar, hooking it with a finger and pulling on it. "Dear, while I usually have the patience for your tirades, I'd rather not do it today. You've humiliated me enough in front of the entire Corporation. So—" Pulling once again on your collar, he starts to lead you to the door. "— Let us depart without much hassle, okay?"
Humiliation sears your nerves like a hot metal, a warning growl eliciting from your mouth as he continues to tug you away from the rooftop. Close, you were so fucking close. Here you are breathing in the fresh night wind, a jump away from freedom, but then these IPC idiots all had you fooled. You don't care how many bullets will embed themselves into your skin, all you just needed to do was get away from this grip Aventurine has on you.
You grab the wrist pulling on you, yanking him towards you. His eyes widen before narrowing again, as if not believing that you still had the energy to fight like you don't have red laser points on your forehead. "[Y. Na—"
"Hey, you: S—"
You couldn't even get another syllable out. Your collar beats a few pulses before it starts squeezing your neck, crushing your windpipes and forcing you down on your knees as you choke on your blood. It sears hot around your neck and you collapse writhing on the ground as you sob and gurgle on your screams and congealed blood.
'WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY ME—' You can only curse and scream inside your head as you painfully thrash on the cement. '— A BILLION BASTARDS IN THE WORLD AND IT HAD TO BE FUCKING ME.'
Darkness is pushing in on you and the pain is making it too hard to go on, but you've always been a fighter. Even if you think that your squirming is pathetic and futile to the onlookers, you continue to tug and pull on the collar like you have a chance. Your ears are ringing and your eyes are too fucking blurry to see with, but the fight doesn't die down.
Aventurine places a soft palm on your hair. Even through the tears stinging your eyes, you can barely make out the faint expression on his face. Damned fucking bastard, damned Signonian, hypocrite and the fucking devil—!
He even has the audacity to look sad for you, as the light slips away from your eyes.
The first round is simple. Play a round of poker with him.
Aventurine hums delightedly as he shuffles the cards with clean and practised movements, looking right at home at the dealer's table he has sitting in his suite. You blankly look at the cards, not even an inch of a reaction from your side. He chuckles as he deals your cards.
"C'mon, look alive, dear." It's almost like he genuinely wants you to cheer up. "Look, I even poured out alcohol for you. It's not everyday that you get to taste Pier Point's most exquisite wine!"
You continue to stare blankly. You haven't given up yet, of course not, but... you can barely bring yourself to move.
When Aventurine is done dealing all the cards, he leans back on his chair and studies his opponent, just like he always has in the past. If you were acting normally, this would have been an easy win. After all, you always wore your heart on your sleeve and abhorred being told to control your emotions. You acted the way you felt— you curse when you anger, you boast when you're feeling smug, and you press your lips together and blush as he praises you for another job well done.
But now. Well. Bandaids cover the seared marks on your neck as well as your head after you've slammed it against the pavement during your delirious fit on the rooftop. Your arms are littered with purples and blues, the aftermath of a disciplinary session that went on throughout the night. Despite the abuse that Aventurine has (rightfully, in his mind) dealt to you, he had made sure to tend to you afterwards.
Settling your head on his lap, combing through the strands as he placed an icepack on your bruises. He hummed you an old children's rhyme from his home planet as you lay limp across the couch. You could barely move, mind unable to process the pain and despair of having an inch of freedom being ripped away from you. He had wiped away the tear that would fall from your eyes.
You couldn't feel comforted at all.
"This will be the first round out of four. Today, we'll make this a bit simple. Five quick rounds of Indian poker. If you're confident that your card is higher than mine, you can bet as much as you like. Not confident? Fold, and that won't count as a round. Loser has the lower card." He raises his glasses to his hair and smiles at you. "Understood?"
"Understood," you grunt. "I'm not a fuckin' idiot."
Aventurine only smirks. It irritates you, but you don't have much fire in you to snap at him.
The room is silent save for the clinking of chips against each other. The two of you cast a chip to the middle of the table. You raise your card to your forehead.
You cast two more chips. Aventurine casts three. You stare at the printed picture on his card and throw in another chip. He throws in another five. You frown.
"Fold."
"Ah~ You should've been more confident in yourself!" Aventurine chuckles as he begins to shuffle the deck to deal another round. You scowl at the Ace of Clubs in your hand, mocking you at your relinquished defeat. "Is a little intimidation all that's needed to make you submit? You weren't this docile before."
"Shut the fuck up and let's play again." He decides to stifle his laugh for the sake of your nerves.
"Raise." Your win, six of hearts to three of spades.
"Raise." Your win, queen of spades to jack of hearts.
"Fold." Could've been Aventurine's, ace of spades to king of spades.
"Raise." Aventurine's win, eight of clubs to six of hearts.
"Fold." Could've been yours, queen of hearts to 10 of clubs.
"Raise." Aventurine's win, nine of clubs to seven of spades.
Aventurine's practiced hands thumb through the cards as he begins to rearrange them again. His glass wine is almost empty, while yours is untouched. The man knows that you don't drink, so why would he...?
"Last round before one of us wins," Aventurine's voice lilts as he throws you your card. "How about we make it exciting? No one is allowed to fold this round." You frown at him but don't say anything. You cast another chip to the table, and he follows suit.
He has a 10 of spades pressed to his forehead, and your fingers dig deep into your skin.
'Oh please, there's other cards higher than a 10.' You remind yourself, but you gulp down your dry throat as your vision zeroes into his card. 'Jack, Queen, King, Ace. Anything. Please.' Aventurine notices your hurried breathing and smiles knowingly. You gulp whatever cowardice is rising in your throat and throw another chip.
"Raise." Fuck it. If this is the last round, then let's just ball.
He cocks his head, finding the motion unnecessary in this last round. But he sighs with a smile and plays along, casting his chips into the fray, "Then I'll raise too."
"This is the last round," you say, more so to remind yourself.
"Yep." He leans forward on the table and the fluorescent lights cast a shadow over those alluring eyes. "Nervous?"
'How could you say that? How could you taunt me like that? When you were just like me?'
You strengthen your resolve and glare up at him, the fire lighting back up in those blank eyes. "I hope you go to hell."
You throw your card to the middle, with the rest of the chips.
Jack of Clubs.
Aventurine cocks his head at you, smiling as usual.
"Congratulations, pet."
One would expect that Pier Point was the peak embodiment of wealth and luxury, being the base of the Interastral Peace Corporation. But the brightly something shone the darker its shadows.
Aventurine just so happened to like those shadows, even shrugging off those fancy clothes of his just so that he could find solace in those sleazy bars and play rounds of poker with dead-eyed salarymen and recently fired hopefuls.
The surroundings didn't fare any better. Amongst the dying neon lights, Pier Point's worst neighborhoods featured a just as nasty environment. Drunkards lying beside dumpsters with shattered beer bottles around them, cats hissing at each other in a fight for survival, and abandoned children peeking at them around the corner as they lay in wait for an opening.
Aventurine has shedded his elaborate peacock coat in favor of a simple white button-down and slacks. Despite the simplicity, he still looked out of place amongst the rags, though it made people think of him as a fearless idiot rather than run away at the sight of the IPC's elite.
"Mmm, that robin is indeed very plump," the blonde idiot remarks out of nowhere. "Quite out of place for this kind of area."
You pay him very little attention, mindlessly kicking the broken half of a bottle with your heel. It bumps into a smelly bastard who shoots you an irritated look, but quickly cowers when you return it tenfold. "Maybe it's been feeding on the leftovers of you prissy IPC folk," you spat, taking a look at the fat robin for yourself.
He takes no notice of the slight towards his kind and instead cocks his head at the cat slinking around the corner. "Well. Its health has attracted a rather unwelcome predator." He turns to you, with a mischievous smile. "How about we make this round two? Who will die first, the cat or the robin?"
Seriously? You were betting your freedom on something as stupid as this? You consider the cat— snarling, insipid thing, balding and thin as a stick— then the robin, tweeting fearfully at its perch on the graffitied wall. "Am betting on the cat. Could eat the fat thing while you go on another gamble."
He laughs, sliding on his shades as he walks into the seedy bar. "Then I have no choice but to bet on the poor robin. Let's have some fun before we see the results of our bet."
The cat is lying on the ground, heaving its last few breaths. Its yellow eyes are barely peeking out from its eyelids, probably delirious and starving in its last moments. You poke it slightly with your foot.
It meows pitifully. You instantly feel bad.
It might just be the ugliest thing you've laid your eyes on, but even the ugliest creatures deserve some sort of companionship in their last moments. It hisses weakly when you draw your hand close, but it can't do anything but relent as you stroke its hairless head. It purrs a bit, ragged and breathy, but the heaving of its ribbed chest slows as it relaxes.
"Don't do that," you murmur. "Just... just be quiet. It's okay."
The quiet steps of leather shoes stop beside you, and Aventurine watches on in silence as you comfort the dying thing. His gaze moves from the cat to the robin, still perched on top of the wall with his fat little chest and beady eyes. It hasn't moved from its position at all, just... staring and staring.
"So—"
"I know," you murmur, focus still on the poor thing. "I know, okay?"
The fat robin chirps again, tittering with its mocking chirp, before it flies away into the sky.
Your cat closes its eyes shut, and its skinny chest finally slows to a stop.
Aventurine stays with you for a while as you find a nice spot of earth to bury it.
No matter how much you want to believe your preconceived image of the blonde gambler— irresponsible, materialistic, money-wasting— you can't just make up lies about him in your head when all of his missions end on a win for him. Right now, he's heading for another mission in a galaxy far away again. And like always, he's dragged you along whether you like it or not.
"Come on, you like sightseeing other planets!" He laughs on the space warp going there. "Makes your blood pumping, scouting out the possible planets you can run away to."
"If I can run away," you grumble, not wanting to acknowledge him as you stare out the window and into the starry expanse of galaxies and space. This sight has always unnerved you— a reminder of how small and insignificant you are. How small and insignificant this collar hand on your life.
"It's not like you to be such a downer," he huffs. He pats the empty seat beside him. "Come, come. Drink with me. Ah, but no alcohol though. Don't want you trying to bite my entourage as soon as we get off." He's referring to the time that you had two sips of the lightest alcohol the ship had in stock before you absolutely wasted and decided that running away to the next planet was a good idea.
You grunt but sit on the floor next to his feet. He doesn't dare to correct you but only regards you with amusement before handing you a glass of sparkling water. You've always had this weird insistence of maintaining your master-slave status quo, despite abhorring your status as a slave. You followed his commands to the tee no matter how dangerous but refused to budge whenever he insisted on treating you like an equal.
"Don't get me wrong," you had snapped at him angrily one time. "As long as I'm in this stupid collar, I am not your fucking equal. So don't go around treatin' me like one, got it?!"
"You got the briefing, right? I'll be dismantling an underground operation on our next planet, so I'll be making good use of your Spirit Whisper." You sip your drink and make no reaction. "I'm sure you have no complaints about that, right?"
"Like I have a fuckin' choice."
He laughs into his cocktail. "Right. How could I forget?" Your eyes narrow into slits when he threads his thin fingers through your hair, but you don't make any move to remove them. "Unfortunately, this isn't an operation that I can just charm and gamble my way through, so you'll be doing a lot of heavy lifting. But so long as I have you, my dearest pet, I'm sure we'll be done before we know it."
You fight the urge to give into his tender touch, massaging your scalp as he combs your strands, though your eyelids are drooping now. He chuckles fondly when you rest your chin on the sofa, right next to his thigh. Adorable, how easily you succumb to the smallest of physical affection.
"Just take a nap," he hums. "We'll be there before you know it."
Aventurine's lavish outfit is a stark contrast against the nitty and gritty environment of the gambling den the two of you are staking out right now. Some of the men leer at him when he passes by, their faces painted by sweat and malice, and the promiscuous women bat their eyes at him with painted-on sweet smiles. No one bats an eye at the collared servant trailing behind him.
You try not to wince as you accidentally make eye contact with another slave, them kneeling on the ground with only rags to cover them and you have the luxury to look away as you grip the sleeves of your ironed button-down. You decide to just fix your eyes on Aventurine's back for the rest of the journey.
The next room you enter— less room to be honest, and more... coliseum-y— features a fighting ring where the crowd cheers on two dogs circling each other under the fluorescent spotlights. The other one, bigger and scarred, is baring his teeth while bearing a deep red gash across his body. The smaller one is shivering but giving the same energy back, snarling in intimidation while also sporting a noticeable limp. Despite the darkness of the room, you don't miss the way Aventurine's face contorts into disgust as he looks at the fight and surveys the crowd of spectators.
"Disgusting," he murmurs. You don't say anything back, though you doubt he could hear you amidst all this cheering. You used to bet on dogs too, back in the day. It was quick and easy money, and you had better things to worry about than the fate of some mutt.
While you're focused on the pathetic dog show in front of you, he steps to your side and nudges you with his elbow. "Willing to bet?" He asks, eyes focused on the show. "As our third round."
"From the look on your face, I thought you hated this kind of thing."
"I do, but I'm not putting money in the pot like the rest of them. This is strictly between you and me with no money involved." He turns his gaze to you. "So, what about it?"
You study the dogs. They've been circling each other for a while now, and the crowd's been growing more and more agitated by the lack of fighting. You think of the dogs you've bet on before, how the smaller ones had just an equal chance of success at winning as the bigger ones. Unconsciously, you tug at your collar. It matches perfectly with the stupid dogs down below.
"Bet," you huff. "I'm taking the smaller one."
You don't know why. It'd make sense to just bet on the bigger and badder, but maybe it's that ferocity in his eyes even if it's overshadowed by the growling menace that has you feeling for it. It's stupid, you know, betting your freedom on a hunch and emotions. But...
If it could have a chance at winning... then why can't you?
...
... Are you destined to die, just like it?
... Are you destined to die as a slave for another IPC slave?
... Will your death be just as morbid and pathetic as the mongrel, his innards spilling onto the pavement while the winner is pulled away by the collar, with no prize but another day of freedom?
This is round three out of four. You've only won one so far.
The very next round could kill you. Could completely sign away your freedom.
Shit shit shit shit shit. Why'd you have to go feeling sorry for the stupid shit? Why'd you have to empathize with its futile fight? Why'd you have to go see yourself in it? Now you could very much share its fate, dying pathetically serving for people who never cared about you in the first place.
Shit shit shit shit shit. The pressure of the bet has always been at the back of your mind, niggling at your brain. But now you can feel its heavy weight squeezing around your heart, in perfect rhythm with the phantom choking of your collar. If you don't win the next, you could very much—
Something light touches your shoulder and you lurch back like you had been stricken there. It disgusts and scares you, sending both repulsion and fear through your body like maggots wriggling into your system.
With a faltering outstretched palm, Aventurine's eyes widen behind his glasses. He sees something on your face, enough to make him bite down whatever cocky shit he has to say, and turns his back towards you.
"Let's go," he says, just barely audible above the crowd. "We still have a mission to complete.
"This is some silly joke of yours, isn't it?" Aventurine maintains his cool facade, but even then there is disgust in his tone as he speaks to Jade. "Giving a slave to another... you must think this is hilarious."
"Amusing, maybe, but this little one is too precious to let loose in the wild." Jade strokes your head, and while you curse in warning, you don't move to attack. "A user of Spirit Whisper, a rarity even among those in Pteruges-V. Don't you think it'd be better if they served the Amber Lord rather than going back to their pretty crimes?"
"Then give them to someone else." Aventurine turns his back on you and Jade. "Since when did I need help closing a deal?"
"Well, I just thought that you were lonely."
"And you think gifting me a slave of all things would help me?"
"Oh, just give them a chance. I'm sure you'll like this one. Look." Jade raises your chin with a finger, lifting your bruised face to the light. You shoot her a glare, plotting murder in your head, but you don't try to fight back. You might have tried once, probably, and learned your lesson. "Don't you love the fire in their eyes, even after being collared and brutally beaten?"
It is sick. It is sick how Jade can just easily muse about your past abuse to his face. To him. It is sick how the IPC thinks that Aventurine would even be happy about this... gift, let alone accept it.
"I appreciate the... thought." Jade smiles at the barely held back distaste in his voice. "But I'd really rather not."
"Oh, I see..." Jade hums, tilting her head to scrutinize you. "But no one else will accept you since you're too feisty for their liking. So I guess..."
"We'll just have to kill you."
Your face pales. Aventurine has never been quick to turn around.
"Fine. I'll accept," he says with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes. "I'll accept your gift, so just..." He sighs, massaging his temples and waving Jade off. "Go away and let us be."
"Is this some sort of savior complex you have going on?" Despite being a slave, you haven't really learned how to hold that spiteful tongue of yours. Half of the fault lies with Aventurine, seeing how he's never bothered to scold you for it. He looks away from the reports in his hand and smiles at you.
"Oh, whatever do you mean, my dear pup?" Your bitter scowl is pushed down even further at his sweet tone and you scoff.
"I mean," you say, gesturing all around you. "You never scold me, you give me good food, you do all these nice things for me. You don't beat and lash at me like others do. Are you feeling sorry? As one slave to another?"
"Personally, I've never heard of a slave complain about treating this well."
"It's weird." You frown. "It's weird and creepy. All these niceties yet I can tell that you don't even mean half of 'em. Your heart isn't in it. You're just doing it for the sake of being nice. So I don't get it." You cross your arms and lean on the couch, deep in thought. "If you don't even mean it, why even bother?"
Aventurine hums, studying your silent and pondering figure before returning to his papers. You don't follow up your complaints with anything else, and the two of you are left to stew in the silence.
... Why even bother indeed?
"Last round and you only have one win, pup." His sickly sweet voice croons, tapping his perfect nails on the table as he watches your expression. "Are you excited?"
Normally you'd bite back, but today you thickly swallow. The looming sense of doom continues to hammer into the back of your skull, spiking your nerves with every beat and shaking your senses. You can barely feel your fingers. You can barely feel except for the fear coiling around your heart.
"... Yes." You can't even barely say a syllable.
Through the rushing blood of your ears, you can barely make out the sound of your master rummaging through something. Something metallic clicks into place and he slides it to the center of the table. You will yourself to look up—
A shiny revolver lies on the table.
A surprised cry elicits from your mouth and you jolt back. The sight of a weapon is enough to startle your poor nerves now and even more so the expectant look glinting in Aventurine's eyes. He smirks and leans forward.
"How about I make an offer you can't refuse?" Not that you were in a position to do so. "Since this is the fourth round, how about we go all in?"
"Russian Roulette. Whoever wins stays alive—"
—And the other lays dead in a puddle of their own blood.
It goes unsaid, but the moment you locked eyes with Aventurine, it was clear that the both of you were thinking of the same thing. You could ponder upon why the Aventurine would stake his own life over something so trivial as your freedom, but you aren't thinking anymore. All you want is your freedom. All you want is to get away.
You don't think further as you wrap your fingers around the handle of the gun and press it to your temple. You pull the trigger. Only a clean click follows, the chamber changing cases. You slide the gun over to him.
He calmly picks it up and slots it to his temple too. "Why are you so desperate to get away from me, pup?" He cocks his head. "I would give you everything you ask for, should you just ask. I treat you with care and as a friend. Is being with me so bad you'd put your life on the line for your freedom?"
He pulls the trigger. Nothing happens. He slides it over to you.
"Even if you go back to your old life, what would be the point? You'll go back to stealing whatever you can off nobles, treating your fellow street rats like fools and pawns before dashing off to your next victim. Would that give you happiness? Fulfillment? Is that the life you prefer instead of being next to me?"
"Sh... Shut up." You sound drained, but he presses on.
"You can have it all, in the price of a collar. Does it not sound good enough to you?"
'Why... Why of all people is he...'
"Do you really hate being owned by me?"
"Why are you..." You choke on your words, grip around the handle trembling. "Why are you saying those things?"
Aventurine has never seen you cry. Not once. Not even when he had to punish you for running away. You could be weak and beaten, but you never willingly cried. But now...
He raises a hand to cover his smile.
"I thought... I thought you of all people would understand." Tears drop to your lap and your hand lowers the gun from your temple. "The pain, the humiliation of being a slave, of being owned. It doesn't matter how nice you are to me. I just want to be free. Shouldn't that be enough?"
Silence overtakes the room as Aventurine takes in the unfamiliar sight before him. Here you were, his greatest treasure, the most vulnerable than you ever were. Sobbing and weeping with a gun in hand, the pressure of the bet finally getting to you.
He moves. "... So this is it? For your pride?"
You wince, looking at him in betrayal. "You... I thought you of all people would at least understand..." You stay silent, the words forming on your tongue but too afraid to sound them out. Then your expression twists into anger, then resolute determination, before you wipe away your tears and glare at him like you always did. "I was wrong. You're scum. Just like the rest of 'em."
The moment the head of the gun points at his head, the collar clamps down and chokes you till your throat cracks and bleeds. The current of electricity crackling your nerves is just as painful and torturous as last time, but you grit your bloodied teeth and press the gun further.
Aventurine looks dazed, staring up into your bloodied face. If you weren't in such agonizing pain you would have laughed at how stupid he looks.
"[Y. Name]..."
"I hope you go to hell," you hiss through the bloody pain. "And I hope that when I get there, I'll never have to fucking see you again."
You pull the trigger to that beautiful face of his, but nothing happens once again. Fuck. It falls to the ground as the pain overwhelms you and you finally stagger. It lays among the specks of blood on the carpet, along with its empty... case...
Your eyes flick to Aventurine, still caught off guard and staring at you with wide eyes. Hesitantly, he reaches out to your convulsing body and cradles your head. "[Y. Name]..." He says, still sounding dazed. "Why would you..."
"Fuckin'... coward..." You grit out. "I was right... from the very start..."
Aventurine watches as you succumb to the pain and collapse in his arms. Despite being unconscious, the collar continues to shock and choke you, and more and more blood spouts from the side of your mouth and into the carpet. He tries to wipe it, despite it continuing like a fountain, before giving up and stroking your hair as the pain continues to intrude on you in your sleep.
"I know," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your eyelid. "You know it as well as me." He presses a kiss onto the other.
"You were never a bet I was willing to wager."
#yandere honkai star rail#yandere aventurine#yandere hsr#honkai star rail#honkai star rail x reader#hsr aventurine#yandere x reader#yester.writes
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Hiii! <3 Could you perhaps write something with Reader cheating on yandere Jingyuan?
I hope this isn't ooc! I love writing for HSR characters but I don't do it often.
Yandere!Jing Yuan x Reader
Tags: NSFW MDNI, cheating, spanking, patronizing behavior, light degradation, sex as punishment, gender neutral reader, implied kidnapping
You couldn't deny you felt shame. Jing Yuan was so sweet, so doting, but he could get so busy sometimes. You loved him, you truly did, but occasionally, it was too tempting to not hook up with someone else. Just a fling, that's all you wanted. Only enough attention to make up for the lack of his while he was on duty. You didn't expect anyone to get murdered over it.
Things were supposed to go out smoothly. Your husband would be gone for the weekend, so you'd have a one-night stand and sneak back home at midnight. You didn't bother hiding the hickeys since you didn't think he'd be home.
However...
"Welcome home, dear. Did you have fun?"
He was there when you walked in. He was lounging on the sofa, eyeing you as you came in, his figure relaxed with one leg crossed over the other. There was no anger on his face. On the contrary, he smiled and looked more content than he had been in a while. But you could see it.
The glimmer in his eyes, the dangerous red that clouded his pupils. He wasn't angry. He was furious.
You flinched, wanting to shrink away into your coat. How were you supposed to explain this? "I..." Your voice came out in a rasp, throat dry and tight. You swallowed down your fear and tried again. "Yes... I did."
Part of you was still foolishly hoping he didn't know about your disloyalty, that you were overthinking his mannerisms.
Perhaps he just happened to be home early because he wanted to see you, and not because he rightfully suspected anything. Maybe you could still cover this up.
He rose from his seat and came towards you. "Did you now?" His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his chest. Your hands shook as they hung by your sides. "Would you like to know what I did, honey?"
It wasn't a question. He didn't care if you did or didn't want to know. He was going to tell you anyway.
His face pressed into your neck, inhaling your scent, humming against your skin. "I followed you." His lips peppered your neck with kisses as his grip tightened. "I have lots of friends in the knights that patrol the area frequently. Imagine my heartbreak when I hear my darling spouse has been sneaking around. I didn't want to believe it, so I had to see for myself."
You trembled in his hold, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Jing Yuan's tone was frighteningly even, but that only scared you more. You could feel him smiling against your skin. Forced and cold.
"When I saw you enter that man's house, I thought to myself: No, there must be an explanation for this. There's no way you would do such a thing." The more he talked, the more painful his grasp got. His nails dug into your side, threatening to puncture your skin. "So I waited outside for a while and sure enough, you came out a mess." His gaze became more narrowed, trailing down to the angry hickeys covering your skin.
"You stunk of alcohol and sweat, with all these nasty marks all over you. Even on your collarbone. Absolutely shameful."
You winced. "I'm sorry-"
"Shh." Jing Yuan's lips covered your own in a deep kiss that tasted of wine. "You were lonely without me, right? You wanted attention. I understand. There's no need to apologize. I know I haven't been paying much attention to you, so it's natural for you to look elsewhere."
Despite his understanding words, you felt trapped. Jing Yuan kissed you again and again, tongue swiping against your lips. You didn't have a choice but to open your mouth and let him in, letting his tongue explore every inch of your mouth.
He usually took his sweet time tasting you, but this time, he was impatient and sloppy. You could only grip his arms, whimpering as he poured all of his pent-up anger into the kiss.
When he pulled away, your knees threatened to give out on you. His mouth remained close, the warmth of his breath grazing your lips.
"You'll just have to make it up to me." His hand slithered under your coat and slid it off, his fingers stroking the marks on your shoulders. "These look painful. I never knew you liked pain. But I guess I never knew you were a whore, either."
His words pierced you like daggers, tears spilling from your eyes as you choked back a sob. Jing Yuan's cold eyes softened at the sight, cooing at you.
"Don't cry, sweetheart. It hurts me too when you cheat." His fingers stroked your cheek, catching some of your tears and licking them off his fingers. "I'll take care of you now, okay? Let me be your husband again." He guided you into the bedroom, pushing you onto the bed. "I'm going to fuck all of him out of you, so when I'm done, you'll only remember me. And all the other men you've seen."
Before you could protest, he flipped you onto your stomach and pulled down your pants. You squealed as his hand came down on your ass, leaving a red mark that would surely bruise later.
His palm was ice cold on your hot skin, soothing the sting from the impact.
"I want to forgive you, but I'm not going to lie to myself. You hurt me. I'd never hurt you like that." He paused, feeling between your legs. "And now you're getting aroused by this? Maybe I really have been neglecting you." He stood up to unbuckle his belt. "Let me remind you what sex feels like with someone who loves you."
You glanced back at him over your shoulder, watching him stroke himself. He looked down at you, an unsettling smile on his face.
"You know I love you, right?"
Jing Yuan climbed onto the bed, fingers tracing up your leg before pressing into your entrance. You whimpered as he eased them inside, not used to being stretched so suddenly. But he didn't care.
He thrust his fingers in and out of you, moving his fingers in scissoring motions to spread you more. You couldn't stop squirming beneath him, struggling to adjust to his pace.
"Answer me," he demanded. His fingers curled inside you.
"I do! I-I do!"
He hummed and removed his fingers, staring down at his hand covered in your wetness. He admired the way his wedding ring glistened in the low lighting, but not for long.
His gaze lowered to your reddened, flustered face, making his cock twitch.
"Good. Because I really do love you." He lifted your hips up, guiding the tip of his cock to your hole. He pushed into you and watched as you squeezed your eyes shut, desperate moans falling from your lips. Your walls wrapped around him, and he wanted nothing more than to absolutely wreck you.
So he did.
His hips snapped against yours at a rough pace, hands gripping your waist tight enough to leave finger-shaped bruises. Your moans and the sound of skin slapping skin filled the room. But the way you cried his name was the best song to his ears.
If he weren't mad with jealousy and frustration, he would've taken a few seconds to grab his phone to record. But he needed to chase the image of that man out of your mind first.
He reached around you and started rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. He sunk his teeth into your shoulder, grunting against your skin. His touch sent you spiraling into an orgasm, juices gushing all over his cock.
Your tightening walls drove him towards his climax as well, and he came inside of you with a satisfied groan.
Your eyes were blown wide as you felt his cum fill you up. Jing Yuan panted above you, not having the energy to pull out yet. After a few seconds, he did, watching his seed spill out of you. His hips gave a few lazy thrusts into you as if trying to push it in deeper.
"You took me so well, sweetheart." He laid down next to you, bringing your shaking body close.
"Are you still mad at me?" You breathed in his scent.
He chuckled. "I'm no longer mad. In fact, I'm happy. You just confirmed my suspicions that you can't be trusted on your own."
You didn't like the sound of that. "What do you mean?"
He brought a hand to your neck, stroking the skin there. "You have a wild spirit. So it's only natural that I'd need to watch over you closely, right? So you don't wander off again. How can you cheat on me if I'm the only person you see?" He ignored your frightened expression and snuggled you close to him. "This is for the best. Everything I do is for you, Y/n."
#yandere#yandere hsr#yandere honkai star rail#yandere jing yuan#jing yuan#jing yuan smut#hsr smut#honkai star rail smut#yandere x reader#obsessive love#yandere imagines#yandere x you#yandere fic
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sorry for the second ask lord Sunday is seeping into my brain like a parasite rn but 😭😭😭 imagine being the second sister of Sunday. After the passing of robin he slowly started getting more obsessive and controlling over poor sister readers life due to his paranoia growing.
Oh you want to go out? Too bad. You can’t. It’s too dangerous for you he’ll insist. At first it was reasonable as you both harbored your grief together. You were scared for him too but it slowly started growing worse as the days dragged on. Your friends grew concerned as you started being distant; not answering their messages and calls and always excusing yourself from hangouts.
But since Sunday is usually admired and respected, none of your friends questioned him when he stated you were having mental issues due to your sisters passing.
Slowly his feelings of obsession lead into dangerous territory, suddenly talking about having a family with you. He insisted it would save you both and eventually poor reader fell to his demands, being brainwashed into thinking he was right.
(Also aaa if you don’t mind could I be 🪽 anon? :3 I’m the one that sent sensitive reader with Sunday)
HELLOOO, of course you can be the 🪽 Anon! Sorry this took awhile to respond.. Also I love the idea of possessive!Sunday.. I want this man to obliterate me.
Tw:Incest, Incest, Incest, suggestive, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, brainwashing, implied noncon at the end, DLDR under the keep reading
After the death of Robin, you noticeably notice the change in your big brother.. As the head of the family, he's always been calm, calculating yet after her death you can slightly see the twitch in his eyes. Nowadays, it's becoming more recent.
Especially when you're in his sights.
At first, it starts slow. He starts limiting you from going out or into the dream world without a guard or him. You still could accept the reason that it's dangerous outside, it's understandable that he's worried since what happened to Robin.
But then he starts going further, he doesn't let you visit your friends or talk with your friends under the reason that it could be an impostor or something.. It makes you laugh the first time he said it, but then you realize he was serious.
At that point you were already fed up with his antics, but the final strings were him not allowing you to go out of his room or go into the dream world.. Like at all. You're forced to stay inside his room which you couldn't understand, why can't you stay in your own room?
You would go and meet him up yourself.. But the problem is that you're too scared, scared of your big brother and how much more terrifying he could be.
So you kept silent the first few days and you can see that he's pleased with that, he starts to let you out of his room and inside the dream world once again.
But then— you notice that your friends started to distance yourself from you, they didn't want to reply to your messages or when they coincidentally meet with you in the dream world they seem scared out of their wits and excused themselves of being busy.
You pinpointed it all to him—who else could it be? He would be the only one terrifyingly powerful enough to scare your friends away—or even threaten them!
And that's where you snap, you stormed into wherever he's at and yell at him to stop messing with your life! He mostly kept a calm composure but you can the little twitch in his eye that he does once again—
Suddenly your head feels dizzy and you feel like everything around you is warping.. There's strange purple trails in your vision, your inner being is telling you—no, commanding you to follow his every saying.
You don't remember how you ended up in this position;in his bed, naked while he's stroking your back, whispering sweet nothings in your ear and how he wants a family with you.
You can't move—you can't think for yourself, but somehow your mind deluded yourself into thinking that this is where you belong.
And right here is where you'll stay, beside your big brother.
#tw.dark content#tw.noncon#tw.incest#sunday#hsr sunday#yandere honkai star rail#honkai star rail smut#hsr noncon#hsr smut#yandere sunday#sunday smut#honkai star rail#hsr#yandere hsr#Sunday noncon
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Waxing, Waning, My Unraveled Body Beheld By the Moon [Yan!Aventurine x GN!Reader]
The sun is not always shining. But the moon can only shine because of the sun.
A companion piece to Sunrise, Sunset, My Destroyed Body in the Onset. This fic assumes you've read it, so I heavily recommend you read it first before reading this. It'll make more sense if you do.
Ao3
Word count: 15.4k
TW: Implied/referenced noncon, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, mild gore, violence against reader, choking/strangulation, Stockholm syndrome, Aventurine's Past shows up, EXTREME tonal whiplash due to the beginning (but frankly it's so you can brace yourselves...the calm before the storm), Reader needs a hug, Ratio where are you my man needs therapy NOW, twisted "happy endings" my beloved
Note: This got so out of hand. Aventurine is the most potent brain worm I've had in a while. Poor reader though. They used to be such a cringefail, now they're a poor little meow meow 😔
(Written before 2.2)
You stand on the top of a tower.
It’s a modest and small thing, but every second and breath you’ve taken is in its service. Time is its mortar, and actions are its bricks. It is stable, for you’ve built it straight up; a wide and strong base, with little deviation. If it had a shaky foundation, then you wouldn’t even bother.
You have no plans to construct it into something grandiose and spectacular. It’s best to keep your ambitions realistic, for it is so very easy to use and dispose of those with dreams bigger than themselves and small enough to be crushed in the palms of those atop skyscrapers. Your tower is modest, and you will keep it that way. You will have to become a cog in the machine for that to happen, but you can meagerly control the stability of your cog.
It is cruel that it has to be that way, but you aren’t capable enough to change the way things are done. You might as well make the most out of this.
You know this song and dance, by now. The park is closed at this time of night, but, and it might be your greatest achievement of them all, you found a way to sneak in undetected. Granted, there wasn’t anyone to stop you, but you were always good at being quiet, so rarely are you noticed.
You park your bike, well hidden in the bushes and trees. This is the noisiest part of your visit since the bike is heavy and you can’t suppress your soft grunts as you weasel it into its spot. But it’s worth it. After that, you walk along the trail, and when you’re far enough away, you stop trying to silence your steps and enjoy the sound of your boots falling onto dirt. It’s a soft but firm sound, and it brings you a sense of peace. You hike until you reach it. A little trail to the side; few sets of feet have paved the dirt, and even those who decide to pursue it usually turn back at the impenetrable foliage. But, you know there’s a stop. It’s tucked away, discovered by a much younger and adventurous you. You’re not sure if you found this place because you wanted to pretend to be a fairy princess or a heroic knight who saves the princess, or if you might’ve always been a little bit lonely. Whatever the case, you found this place, and it has since been your reprieve whenever things become too much.
You know the area like the back of your hand, so you turn off your phone’s flashlight as you make your way. It’s a small clearing of forest, but it’s perfect. Bushes and trees surround you in a half-circle from behind, and in front of you is the ledge of a cliff. From here, the sky has a clear view and it is always lovely whenever there’s a sunrise or sunset. Sometimes, when your mind wanders, you wonder how long you’d fall if you tripped over the ledge. But those are just musings you have no intention of acting on.
The moon does not grace you with its shine, but that’s alright. You’re here to see it shine on everything else. You’ll bask in the darkness, and admire the silver sheen on the rest of the world; the world which gets a fraction of the sun, even at night. You settle into your spot against the tree trunk, shaped so it nearly encircles you in its embrace. A silly thought crosses your mind: has this tree loved you? Of course not, but it’s just that: a silly little thought.
You’re not here for any especially soul-crushing reason or anything. It’s the usual: schoolwork ramping up and deadlines creeping up. And the accompanying existentialism of what comes after. It’s just another peaceful night during a stressful time. It will soothe your soul, the comfort within shall ebb and flow, and then it will all fade away when you’ve returned to the world blanketed in the sun’s golden sheen. When it all piles up again, you know you can always come back here: your special place, where you can curl into yourself as much as you want to. And as always, you will fight the urge—so tiny that it’s insignificant but still so omnipresent—to sink your head fully into your stomach and become a mass of unthinking flesh. Becoming smaller and smaller until you aren’t even a speck.
The wind picks up. The cold doesn’t bother you much, but your so human, and instinct propels you into nuzzling into your cotton scarf. It does mean you have to wash it often, but the inconvenience outweighs the comfort it provides. Yes, tonight will be a lovely one, spent doing nothing but staring at the moon from the shadows, alone with your thoughts and nocturnal critters that may tussle in the shrubbery. You hear a series of quick rustles—squirrels, maybe? Two of them, considering the frequency of rustling and the fact that it’s their mating season (well, you’re pretty sure spring is mating season. It could be wrong, but it’s useless trivia anyway, isn’t it? In the back of your mind, you imagine someone berating you). Another rustle plays, and you sigh wistfully. And then—
“…Hello,” A voice, shrewd and low sounds out.
Ink makes your vision go black and the only reason you don’t gasp or scream is because you’ve always froze before you ran. But even if you were a runner, where was there to go? You don’t know who this person is, where they are, why they are in your special place and why they’ve come here like a malicious boy kicking down a toddler’s sand castle or could they be here to prevent you from ever coming back to your special—
You swallow your panic and look for an exit before it forces itself back up. It’s not the first time someone’s noticed you, but you never really had to worry; you could just slip into here, and they’d give up when you couldn’t be found. But this is uncharted territory. More importantly, if anyone else were to know about this place, it would be a ranger. And you aren’t very interested in counting empty donut boxes and coffee cups during a run-of-the-mill interrogation.
Slowly, and as quietly as you can, you make your move. Your hands are clammy, and each step feels like it will cause the earth to crack and you’ll fall into its molten core. You’ll be melted down, and the idea that you may be reforged sends another surge of panic within you. You cannot let a single brick crack.
“I’m not here to hurt you if that’s what you’re thinking,” the voice says, much much much closer now. The words themselves should be of relief to you, but the fact that he’s closer means he knows where you are—in fact when you turn to look behind you, you can see a vague silhouette. Still, the few seconds you took to turn around also made it so that rather than relief and panic nulling each other, somewhat cool relief washed over you. Even if this entire situation is very, very, very weird.
Should you just leave? He could just be lying to you. You weren’t great at figuring out people’s intentions, but you’d think that the most likely one in this situation leaned toward the malicious. However, you didn’t even notice his existence until he spoke. The fact that at the very least, he could weave through mostly undetected. If he could do that, then you think it’s not very likely you can just get away.
You accept that defeat, so you decide to do something a little stupid. You talk to the stranger. In the event he’s a serial killer or something, maybe a conversation will let you get a good enough handle on him that he might just…let you go. Your heart hammers and you want to do nothing but shake, but you will yourself into a blizzard. If you are there, then you might be able to freeze and delay the ink that begins to drip.
“I’m pretty shocked,” you mutter. Your voice is still a bit disconnected, still reeling, “I’ve never met someone here. How’d you find this place? Why’d you come to this place?” You ask these questions, and you won’t mind dying as much if they’re answered.
“Work,” he cryptically says. You just barely pick up on a sardonic lilt.
“So you’re a park ranger,” you deflate, and you nuzzle into your scarf as you brace yourself. But levity is powerful, and you’ll tap into it. “Here to arrest little ol’ me, then? You could’ve waited, at least until the moon started to dip. It’s a pretty solid night, methinks.” Your heart feels a little numb from hammering into your ribs so much.
The ranger hums, “Moon’s the moon. It’s not bad, but the sun’s always pretty nice. But you’re right. It would’ve been better to wait till the sunrise. Alas, my schedule as of late has been a horribly rigid thing. I’m sure you know how it is.”
“Hmph,” you frown. It feels like he’s a cat playing with a mouse. You sigh with defeat, “Oh well. I’m not exactly known for being slippery, so I’m not even going to try and outrun a ranger of all people,” you extend your hand lazily, “Just get the cuffs already,” you decide to pout, to turn the situation around to something more comical and less soul-crushing, “Any longer, and the suspense’ll bury me six feet under. The records might call that cardiac arrest, but I call it embarrassing—the thought of dying like that is a real heartstopper.” Ha, look at you! A true punster, you little rascal. There is no reason for you to defame or attack a guy just doing his job, so if you go down, you’ll at least go down with a slow-witted joke or two. Across from you is a law-abiding Joe, and you are the evil thief mothers warn their children about. Truly, it cannot be more black and white than this, so it’s best for everyone that you don’t make too much of a fuss. See? You are capable of ethics! Or maybe that was more like philosophy? Eh, what’s the difference? You’re still fucked, and you very much want to die.
“Arrest you?” The ranger’s voice teeters toward, um…you think it’s some mix of sarcastic, mocking, and—oh wait, you’d call it ‘teasing.’ “Do you want to be arrested?” He teases, but it feels like the way an owner would talk down to a beloved puppy. You don’t appreciate it.
You frown. “No. Why would I want to be arrested?” You deadpan, “Can you please stop skirting around the issue?” More ink blots your sight, as your palms start to clam with unwanted anticipation. You think they could be gushing with your blood, if this guy keeps dragging your arrest out like this.
The ranger laughs. Laughs. You aren’t sure if you want to join him or shove him off the cliff. Whatever the case, now you know that there is a nonzero chance this ranger has a bit of a sadistic streak. Instinctively, you take a few steps back, as if that could save you from disaster, from plummeting over the edge of your tower.
“…Please tell me you aren’t planning anything…” The words you were thinking of saying suddenly elude you, but you’re already speaking. You have no choice but to see what haphazard replacements you make, “…goofy silly. Or something.”
The ranger clicks his tongue. It seems he’s fully dipped into a playful veneer; whether that’s his true self, or the mask he thinks you’ll best respond to in the way he wants, it nudges you a little further to the edge. You defensively nuzzle into your scarf, trying but failing to calm your nerves. You’ll give yourself one point, though: you thought you’d be more inclined to be screaming or crying. That’s probably because you are technically doing something illegal, so there’s really no one but yourself to blame for this predicament. Really, why do you still come here like this, when you know it’s against the rules? It’s not the first time you’ve asked yourself that question, but it’s certainly the first time it feels sort of tangible.
“‘Goofy silly?’” The words seem all at once perfect and dubious when carried in the ranger’s voice, “Hm…you know what? I do feel like I’m in a ‘goofy silly’ mood!”
Oh. Well, guess you’re double fucked. It was a good life, the clean record, you suppose. But what is life if not change? You’re entering a new era now, hardened criminal you. Crime will be your lifeblood; anything scared shall disintegrate into something depraved at your touch. You’ll do it all: tax evasion, defamation, shoplifting, parking offenses. Society will not be free of your crime sprees—all will fear the Suburban Terror. Karens will cower before you, the neighbors will hate you, the teenagers will prank you, and the children will scream with fear at you. All because the consequences of your actions caught up with you at the behest of the actions of some guy who just so happens to be able to arrest you.
“So, about that arresting,” the ranger continues, “I won’t be doing that!” he peps.
Everything stands in place. “What?”
“I’m not gonna arrest you!”
“W-well, I heard that,” you stammer, “but why? You literally said you’re here for work!”
You can practically sense the ranger’s lighthearted shrug, “I am. And I’m not arresting you. Simple as that!”
Everything feels like it's going too fast and too slowly. Whiplash isn’t good for the soul, in your opinion. “But…but the law…”
“Who said the law needs to be followed?”
“The government and state…” and then something clicks, “Hey, if you’re a park ranger, then aren’t you working for the government? Is this corruption?”
You imagine the ranger smirks. “What is corruption but a tool of the game?”
“What does that have to do with this conversation?” You find yourself deadpanning. “And why aren’t you answering?”
“Life’s a game,” he breezily purrs, “and conversation is a part of life, so really, it has everything to do with this conversation.”
“I think I’d rather go through a physics textbook than deconstruct that sentence,” but you find yourself smiling. The ranger has a good sense of humor, you find. You take a few more steps, no longer teetering on the edge. In the back of your mind, you think that he could just be lowering your guard, but honestly? Maybe you shouldn’t doubt a person’s goodwill, even if it’s technically illegal. Well, you don’t care about what’s illegal and not; if hairless monkeys with godless monkey brains are imperfect, then the things they make are imperfect too. Regardless…you don’t know his face, and he doesn’t know yours either. In other words, you’re both complete strangers. If you ever meet each other, you won’t even recognize each other, won’t ever truly register each other’s existence outside this singular shared moment.
That anonymity, the opportunity to exist without future consequence…it entices you, and you’re drawn into it. Drawn into levity and shedding your superficial guard.
“Careful, you might insult a doctor of physics or two,” the ranger says with an insinuating lilt. Perhaps he knows a physicist or a student suffering with their doctorate thesis. Information that is all at once useful and impeccably useless. “You might just get a piece of chalk lodged in your skull.”
You shrug. “I’m living my best life while they’re stressing over the mechanics of a rat yawning and how that like. Affects the physics of the air or something.”
That gets a soft huff, like he breathed out a laugh, “I say that too, but then he starts going on about quantum mechanics and wormholes…probably a lot more than that, but the stuff’s so incomprehensible I tune out.”
“Your friend sounds…well, like a scientist,” you unceremoniously blurt. “Sure, they’re called nerds, but for good reason. They can talk your ear off, all the while you nod without understanding a single thing…and then they sigh to go talk to someone who actually knows what they’re talking about.”
“‘Talk your ear off’ is a bit of an understatement,” the ranger says, “though I think it’s better to say ‘gives a tongue-lashing.’”
You wince at the image. “Oof. Sorry about that.”
“I’m used to it,” the stranger says. “Besides, I have a quip or two to throw back.”
“Oh.” You aren’t sure how to react. “That…that sucks.”
“‘That sucks?’” his tone isn’t accusatory; it’s curious, with a hint of what you believe is wariness.
It flusters you a bit, for some reason. “W-well,” you stammer, “if you’re used to it, then that means you get, uh, ‘tongue-lashings’ a ton, right? I don’t think people should be getting a ton of tongue-lashings…”
“But what if I do things that deserve a tongue-lashing?”
“Well, then you’d get a tongue-lashing. But, I dunno. I don’t think people should be mean to each other all the time, I guess,” you try, practically rambling, “Maybe it’s just cuz I know I’d just be on the floor in a sobbing heap if someone so much as raised their voice at me…but…but…w-well, you know what I mean!” You raise your hands, making desperate gestures as if you could telepathically communicate with them. Unfortunately, you do not live in a sci-fi with magical reality-bending wizard monk powers, not unless you devote yourself to a singular concept. “There’s always plenty of room for, um. Positive reinforcement, yeah! In fact, let’s practice!” Shit, your cheeks are heating and at this point you’re just incoherently blabbering but now that you’ve started you just can’t stop oh dear Aeons save you— “Uh…you…you follow your heart! By choosing not to arrest me out of…out of principle or, or, or pity…um, well, point is, you have defied the law of your own choosing, which is a pretty uh, gr~eat show of your super strong will! Your beliefs! They say within all delinquents lies a heart of gold, after all! And you know how to be sneak of super! I mean sneak super! I mean super sneak! Urgh, I mean suppppperrrrrrr sneaky. And I bet that’s really nice and I know that’s really cool! It’s a super power on par with that of uh. Uh. An Aeon? Yeah, an Aeon!”
You’ve lost your steam, and now you’re left blinking. The embarrassment flusters you, and now you’re something in between a fish being choked in the hand of a cruel fisherman and a wonderfully eloquent failing car engine. You truly are the epitome of grace and elegance. There was no way the ranger wasn’t at least cringing. Maybe he’d change his mind and just arrest you; after all, how else to fix cringe if not rehabilitate it? Well, if he did arrest you over this, you’d be back to haunt him with like, cheese, or something. You’d jump that hurdle when you got there.
Hm…but you think you kind of wanna crawl into a hole and die…but that expression is too cliche, so instead, you think you wanna crawl into a hole and start a society of mole people. It’ll be like LARPing, except you wouldn’t be role-playing! …Actually, yeah…someone should just kill you right now before you start to laugh and then cry as your embarrassment transitions into self-conscious despair……..that’s how it usually went when you got like this….
It’s a good thing you can’t be seen.
You think the ranger will laugh, stand in baffled silence, mock you, or just walk away, but he chuckles. “Hmmm…you know, I could get used to this; hearing people stumble over their words to compliment me!”
You’re a little dumbfounded, but you’re decent enough at rolling with the punches. You can come up with a headcanon or two on the spot. “Yeah! That’s the spirit! Now that’s what I call some good old-fashioned character development!”
He lets out a soft whistle, “That so? What trope would you say I embody, out of curiosity?”
“Hm…” you tap your chin in thought. You’re in a forest, and there’s a moon, and you get an award-winning idea. “Maybe…hrmmmm…a mysterious vampire, here to whisk the unassuming protagonist away to a forbidden romance, sustaining your very being on their essence…”
“Oh? Am I really that charming even without a face?” He teases.
You laugh. “Well, you are pretty charming, but I was just kidding. I couldn’t just let that opportunity slip away,” your laugh calms into a soft chuckle. “No, I’d say…a mysterious stranger, with a past unearthed and a charming veneer, but beneath it all lay an affable man…who may or may not heed the word of law.” Sure, it’s cheesy, but you don’t care about if he likes cheese or not. You like cheese, and that’s all that matters in this cruel world! If the world doesn’t like that, it can kiss your ass! (You think all of the is while very aware that the world can just as easily kick your ass)
“So…you’re just saying you don’t have a single clue about what my deal is.”
You feel a little offended. In hindsight, maybe you wouldn’t have been great at terrorizing Karens. “I mean, I’ve only known you for like, half an hour. All that I know about right now is that you’re some flavor of anarchist. Probably. Maybe.” But the same applies to him! He knows nothing about you! “But if you’re so confident, then it’s time to prove your mettle!” You point towards him challengingly, even though again, he cannot see you, “You tell me what character trope I am!” (And you briefly realize that you feel light and happy, that your smile is wide)
And at that moment, just at the cusp of truly extraordinary conversation (a claim which may or may not be exaggerated), an annoying thing happens. Your phone vibrates and your screen lights up; your alarm has gone off. Your phone always has the best timing, and you don’t want to scream at it and crush its sorry little body into itty bitty pieces.
“Oh…” you awkwardly exclaim. You’re wearing a light jacket, so the ranger can see the soft glow just as you do. “That’s…yeah, that’s sorta…alarm. Yeah. It’s my alarm. Not me alerting the IPC or the CFSS or something. I…have to go.”
“I see,” the ranger’s voice is light and airy, entirely unaffected. “A shame. I really did enjoy our conversation.” Your mind tells you it’s all empty, but your heart is aching to soar to heights unseen. Because you are only human, those with lone hearts die first.
You want to ignore it so badly, to just converse with this ranger a little bit longer but…but you really can’t. You must abide by it if you want to mitigate your suffering in the morning (re: you’ve run out of energy drinks and coffee at home and it’ll be hell to start your morning without slugging around like a zombie). And just like that, the ranger and your conversation will fizzle away into a distant memory. And you’ll still live, the same as you’ve ever been. And because you’re both strangers, there is no reason to ask each other for anything. Because if you do, then you will both have to live with the consequences of your words. And who knows? Maybe the ranger has only spared you this night because he was in a good mood. Maybe he won’t be so affable the next time you meet.
But there’s something to it. Some allure—no, the same allure of your special place. So you offer something, and you think your face might melt off, with how your cheeks fluster to the point its searing.
“...I come to this place a lot. It’s like…my special little place,” you awkwardly offer. “If…if you were curious about that, er, sorta thing. Yeah. Bye, have a good night.” You stutter awkwardly, stiffly and uncertain. And then you walk away, simultaneously desiring and afraid of hearing what his response to that would be. Of having your fear being validated with rejection.
If there was one moment you could point to that sealed your fate, it wouldn’t have been that conversation by a longshot, nor was it your second, third, tenth, or even your final conversation before he revealed himself to you; it was your offer. After all, people only think fate is immediate whenever it comes to hit them straight in the face. In truth, fate is gradual, of many bricks stacking up into a skyscraper. That offer led you to swim in ink; to traipse into fields of cotton; to weather against frozen infernos; and then finally, to dance in a flowering meadow, your feet raw and bleeding, sanded against the soft blades of poison ivy and oak.
—
He sees you’re on the balcony.
(Only right after when he woke up and felt that you weren’t in his arms and nearly tore apart everything and anything with a scream and that you were gone and had left him like everyone else—)
He’s rather taken aback by this. He was sure you wouldn’t even be able stand come the dawn. But you still unwittingly find ways to surprise him even now. You should really give yourself a pat on the back! Even if it seems like you’re leaning onto the railing for dear life.
The moon covers you in its silken silver sheen. The breeze tussles your hair and makes your robes softly billow. It’s a heart-throbbing serenity, and he finds an iota of respect within him to make his ambush on you gentle. You’ll squeak, pout, insult him, banter, and hiss before you resign and then he can hold you in peace. It’s a predictable song and dance, but he hasn’t tired of it. Seems even he can surprise himself.
(But oh, it’s because it’s something resembling something warm which has become so familiar…and a sturdy rock he can hold onto)
The smile spreads on his face easily (but whenever he’s around you, it’s a little less weighted, a little less about pitiful survival), “Sick of me already?” he adopts his signature lilt, albeit weighed by sleep, as his arms encircle your form. “We’ve only been a couple for a few of months.” You squeak, comically so, and violently flinch as he settles his head in the crook of your neck. Your reaction almost immediately invigorates him, like he’s wide awake in the sun. Your heart rate beats more rapidly, but your tensed muscles relax, just a little. You’ve been practicing, he thinks, to lessen your own burden rather than increase his pleasure. Maybe there’ll come a time when you can mold yourself however you please, and he’ll be none the wiser in your embrace when your hand snakes into his back.
(Don’t do that. Please, he just asks that you melt in his touch, melt right into him and stay—)
He inhales—his chest expanding into your back, and he feels your own breath hitch as if it slices into you—taking in your scent, all at once overwhelming and (newly) customary. A pungent ink comes to burn his nose at first, but underneath it comes moonlit snow, fresh and cool; dancing within a floral and earthy aroma, a dusty cedar scent with wilting flowers; and the afternotes of a decaying musk, passionate and vying for an end. He hums in appreciation, exhaling with contentment. You shudder in disgust because it’s him and you still aren’t used to the way his breath feathers and scratches your skin, over the bits of dried blood speckled over your neck.
“Aw, nuts…” you softly curse, but there’s no surprise to be found. Your words are laced with sleep, but there’s something else to them, he’s noticed. Your words still drip with vitriol (though it’s always been measured with ink, and it makes him purr in delight and it makes him feel even more empty—), but they’ve gotten softer, for lack of a better word. Exhausted, the same way one is when they’ve walked through a blizzard or sandstorm for long enough. How one gets frozen in the bowels of hell’s fires, or how one burns in solitary inferno in the frigid arctic.
And still, you haven’t reached your limit and killed him.
Surprisingly, you turn to face him, and he turns down the urge to lean in and kiss you. For now, at least. He’ll take it when you’ve said your piece.
You probably think yourself expressionless, but there’s a certain way your mouth subconsciously curls in displeasure like you want to scream or vomit your organs. Your eyes can host anything from enraged clarity to dull acceptance. The latter has only appeared a few times, but he anticipates that it will be a common sight as the months pass by. He wipes that look from his mind, and smiles wide as he looks intently into your eyes. The scent of ink burns his sinuses. Right now, your eyes are exhausted, disgusted, and a touch confused; nothing he isn’t used to. His smile goes soft, for he is more than willing to swallow poison you gift him. And as lovers, you’ll have to reciprocate, won’t you?
(Stop. Let him apply thinner to that ink, let him wash it all away and please please stop drowning in it)
“I was sick of you the moment you revealed yourself as the orchestrator.” you bluntly say, as if it’s an obvious fact—and it is—and for a moment he feels like he’s touching ice. You shake your head and sigh, looking back to the moon. You don’t want to discuss the matter, so you move on to another. “I just woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. It’s nothing personal. Happens all the time.”
“‘All the time?’” He echoes and slides his hand into one of yours, where you lean on your arms against the railing. Your hands have been clamming; gosh, he really was something, to get you so worked up in a matter of minutes! His self-restraint is already on a thread when it comes to you. He gives in and gives you a chaste peck. Your lips slightly pucker with disgust, like you’ve sucked on a rancid lemon. But the kiss was meant to be brief, so that’s not an issue he’s too hung up on in the moment. He’ll just work on it with you, later. He trusts that you’ll cooperate, anyway.
(That you do not immediately hurl in his mere presence is miracle enough. He’ll take what he can get, and work from there. That’s how he got here)
He tilts his head boyishly and gives your cheek a playful pinch, “I mean…lately, you’ve been able to fall asleep without medicine—” your eyes widen and your cheeks flush as you’re caught off guard—but he doesn’t cut open your stomach or slice at your ribs to let your own body be the weapon which kills you—and he’s, his goal is always to win, but that doesn’t mean you have to fight. Right now, he’s merely having a heart-to-heart with you, sweetheart. So he doesn’t bother to point out the red on your cheeks, because he knows you hate it. Knows you understand it on a logical basis but still hate it so, so, so deeply and intricately. He doesn’t mind pushing you, but he would rather not see you bashing your head on the wall, crushing your skull and mind into lumps of grounded flesh, to try and ‘fix’ it. He sees that you’re mentally dismembering yourself when you locate the opening you gave him anyway. He doesn’t really need to try with you sometimes; it’s not an insult, it’s the truth, and he still loves you so very much. “These nighttime stirrings of yours aren’t going to be the norm, you know. If you’re able to fall asleep in my arms once, you can do so twice.”
Your eyes flit through a captivating kaleidoscope of disgust, intrigue, disgust again, pungent ink, and then victorious confusion. You scoff, but you don’t entirely deny what he said. “Waking up in he middle of the night and not falling asleep is a common thing. You shouldn’t misconstrue these sorta things y’know. Makes you seem desperate.”
“‘Desperate?’ Coming from you, should I consider that bonafide or just another desperate act?”
You frown. “I was only desperate because of you. The shit you pulled gave me no other choice.”
“Really?” He smirks, letting out a mocking huff, “You weren’t desperate before that?”
You scoff. “If you’re talking about school, then fine, I guess I was desperate to graduate as soon as possible.”
“Errr,” he mimics a buzzer, “two strikes.”
“Are you just projecting?”
“Make that three.”
“Bruh.” You deadpan. You’re quite amazing to be able to momentarily take yourself out of reality, he muses. “I’m not desperate,” you insist, practically hissing the words.
(He’s a bit jealous)
“If you weren’t desperate, then why’d you blindly befriend someone whose face you didn’t even know?”
“…I don’t know my online friends’ faces,” you weakly respond. You’ve conceded, and all you did was for show. For him or for you or for you both. He’s not sure either.
“Alright,” he pretends to concede, “Putting aside that they could just trace your information and learn everything about you…” his hand strokes your neck, goosebumps blazing in its wake, “They wouldn’t have been able to just…snap your neck, with you none the wiser,” He presses a kiss to your uneven pulse with a soft huff of laughter.
“It’s not like I didn’t think that,” you shoot back, “I figured at the time that if you could sneak up on me like that, then I’d be helpless to your whims.”
“Ah, but then…you offered me something: another night, in your special place, underneath the moon…who’s to say that I wouldn’t have been able to carry out any malicious actions? To continue to gain your trust and then stab you in the back?”
You frown. “Well…I…”
“Cat caught your tongue? Well, as I’ve said, the word you’re looking for is ‘desperate.’”
You swallow, and then you say, meekly, softly, like your voice is about to crack, “…I guess. And in the end, you did stab me in the back.”
He did, it’s true. That same iota of respect emerges, which makes him gently kiss you instead of speaking. Anything he’d say would only dampen your mood. You both may know about how disposable—
(Yet when it comes to you, something unpleasant twists his tongue, whenever he calls you disposable and he can’t truly come to vocalize such a statement)
—the two of you are. Nothing more than dots in the universe, nothing more than pawns in another’s game. The hand that moves him is the IPC, and it’s only natural he’s found a pawn of his own: you. Even if you’re not particularly valuable on the grand chessboard.
[Do you even want them on the chessboard in the first place?]
“I’ll make it up to you,” he promises. But you don’t believe him.
“You can make it up to me by never showing your face to me.” Ice encases his hands, stabbing into him; but it also roots him right at his spot. He is unused to the ice’s painful cold, but for as much as it is a deterrent, ice has a tendency to trap.
“Hmmm…how about no?”
“You half-ass…” You groan, tired and defeated. He feels a thread fall. “Seriously, people like you who use others to make promises you can’t and don’t keep are just…well, you know just how much you disgust me.”
(But he admits. He admits that your vitriol is tiring. He admits that he wants to hear you whisper in his ear, the same way he does to you, that he wants you to harbor the same carnal adoration he has for you—that he wants you to tear into him and expose him and then kiss and embrace him and that he wants to feast on you devour you consume you infuse you with his heart and soul so that he knows you’re here and will always be h—)
His jaw expands and closes down. Blood spreads along his tongue like wine, bitter, salty, metallic, and well-aged. You let out a scream of pain, and he only bites harder so that he burns himself into your skin to prove that he has you and that he is hu—
“Ah—ow…ow ow ow owwww—” you hiss, muddied by a sob, “W-why…?” You whimper, “When you already—AH!” His mind is blank, excited by the sweet flesh, only focused on devo—
“S-s-stop! Please!” You beg, and he feels you struggle uselessly, “H-hurts! I-I, what d-did I do to—?! Gh!”
Satisfaction and triumph weave into him. Your screams mean you’re here, means he’s carved himself into you, means he’s indulging in wine.
(But that’s a bit of a leap. He wishes he was as calculated as he makes himself out in front of you when it comes to you)
He pulls away. You breathe laboriously, looking at him with hate and terror, cradling your weeping neck with your hand. You aren’t completely exhausted, but he has made you even wearier if such a thing was possible. “Sorry,” he emptily apologizes, and presses a soft kiss to irritated skin, before moving on to your tears. Blood quickly smears your skin.
You growl, the pain making way for your unfiltered words. “You keep doing it, and it’s always so fucking painful.”
“It doesn’t help with how irresistible you are, sweetheart,” he smiles, and you bristle. “You know it’s because I love you,” he says, to rile you up a little. It helps that he means it.
(So you don’t notice the fact that he was in a hypnotic daze)
“‘Love.’” Your voice shakes. Your eyes are wide, angry, disbelieving, and blank.
“Yep.”
You shake slightly with anger. “Eat shit.” You spit. “Whatever the fuck this is, don’t call it that. Don’t you dare twist that word like that.”
He blinks. It’s not the first time you’ve lashed out over the word or the admission, but he still doesn’t quite know how to answer you. He settles, then, for what he’s always said. “Then what is it?”
“I don’t know. Obsession. Hate. Sadism. Loneliness. Whatever it’s called, it’s one hell of an insatiable beast. All that matters is that it’s hurting me.” You grunt, and bury your face into your hand, sighing blearily. “It’s late. Let’s…let’s not,” you exhale, tired, “Let’s not,” you repeat as if it were all a hopeless prayer. It might be more fitting to see you as a beggar, however. Leave me alone, you beg. Get buried beneath the sands already you Sigo—
“Why don’t you come back to bed?” he softly mutters, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and presses a kiss to your cheek. The lingering blood on his lips blossoms into a weeping flower, a venomous and invasive species. They can be found throughout your skin, dried and wilting, but they’ll always blossom back. “You can sleep in.” Translation: he’ll still wake you up, but only for a kiss before heading to work. Though you’re still hesitant to exercise any bit of freedom he offers you. To be fair to you, you’re so very well aware of where your freedom and “freedom” lie. One has been crucified, and the other is merely its poorly preserved remains.
His mercy isn’t lost on you, but the hope in your eyes is quickly simmered by your hesitation and dread. You look away and grunt, likely hoping he’ll just shrug and walk away. Or at least delay the inevitable. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, you know. So painfully aware of your complete lack of power, so painfully aware that any outright resistance just isn’t worth it; isn’t worth risking the pain you fear so, so, so much. But that doesn’t mean that a reminder is remiss. Hesitation is fatal for the gambler, after all.
He hums and grins. He pulls you back and flips you around so that you lean against the railing, slightly hiked up so the tips of your toes just barely press against the ground. It grants him an unfettered view of your expression, almost comical shock morphing into fear as you register your newfound positions. You may not be entirely dangling over the railings…but you’re still at his mercy. You don’t hold onto his hand for dear life because that’s just what he’s decided. And you don’t want him to pursue that option or even fancy it.
[You mean…you want to point a gun into their heart, again?]
Fortunately, he has other plans. As much as he loves staring into your eyes, it’s the only thing he likes about you. He moves his head against your chest, right against that sweet heart of yours. It misses a beat before it resumes its cacophonous rhythm. “Wha…what?” your mortified tongue manages to get out. “Put…put me down!” He gives a content hum in response, nuzzling further into your heartbeat, tracing patterns into your back with one hand and securing you by the waist with the other. His silence only intensifies the cacophony, but he could never bear to shut down any sound of yours. He chuckles. You shiver. He can see you fight not to struggle, fearing that it would send you plummeting.
“It could be so much worse. You know that, don’t you? You live without chains and in a land where dawn shines, but that’s all my choice.” He finally speaks, when he’s decided you’ve had enough. Sure enough, the sound of screams and crumbling cities joins the cacophony. He pushes so he may discover all of the cacophonies your heart plays. He giggles, to twist the point further, “Relax! You haven’t done anything to warrant that! Yet.” You take a sharp breath. “But you still do things. Small things, but still bad things,” you quiver. “I’ve had a few thoughts. A tattoo,” your heart skips a beat, “of a peacock’s feather, maybe, tickling your thigh, or an ace of spades. Nothing too extravagant. Hm, although,” you’re frozen in place, so he moves his hand up to drift around your chest, clutching your waist tighter, “maybe we can just have my name, somewhere here…or…” he hums, for any and all matters pertaining to you need great care and thought, “....maybe we can just go with them all!” He exclaims.
(What is he doing what is he doing no he knows what he’s doing yes he needs to see and feel and taste your ink he’ll take what he can get but what is he doing why is he doing why why why is he doing but why’s he asking it feels so so so good to be the one towering above)
He resists the urge to look up at your expression. Not yet, he’ll save it for when it’s truly exquisite, for when ink burns up into his skull. “Oh, and now that I think about it, maybe something fancy on your back? Ah, haha, but it can’t be super big. It has to complement you, not overtake you! On that note, a piercing or two. Your ears are a no-brainer, but…” he takes on a teasing lilt, like he’s a boy unsure how to act around his crush, “...where~ else~ do we go? The belly button? That’d be pretty cute! Or…” his hand drifts further along your chest, “here…” he giggles, “that’d be so awfully adorable, wouldn’t it?” Your unease rolls out in waves. His grin widens further, foxlike, silently thanking you for giving him so many openings. “Ah, but doing all of that’s like saying you aren’t enough, isn’t it? I’m sorry for implying that,” he purrs the faux apology, “and maybe those kinds of accessories would get in the way of your full resplendence.” He sighs, similar to the way he does whenever he’s done talking. After a few moments, the cacophony quiets down, the ink merely stings, and you breathe close to steadily. Poor thing. You think he was done? “Clothes, too.” Your heart plunges into the depths. His hand teases dipping into your robes, “Why have a wardrobe when it can’t possibly do you justice?” He clicks his tongue. “That just~ won’t~ do~,” he singsongs, and then transitions into a friendly tone, “and hey! You can just think of it likeeee…going full-on commando!” He feels you seize up with disgust drawn out from the very depths of your soul. “That’d be pretty fun, wouldn’t it?” He laughs, “And comfy. A self-proclaimed couch potato’s dream is to endlessly lounge away the days, right? So, then,” he slightly dips his fingers, featherlight against shadowed skin and bitten gifts, “you really should just spend all day in bed. It’s not like you could go outside anyway. And just think about it—” An image pops into his mind, widening his smile, “Wrapped in my blankets, tangled in silk, entrapped into a web of it…” he slides a hand around your trembling wrist, his thumb rubbing over your thundering pulse, “this would look so beautiful, in red ribbon,” he presses a chaste kiss to your thundering pulse, “your ankles, waist…a mess of them over your chest…” he sighs, but he isn’t a negligible man, drifting his touch to lovingly wrap his hand around your neck, “and that pretty little neck goes without saying. You’ll be just like a little gift and I’d really . And,” he chuckles, “I don’t imagine you’d want to leave, either.” You shudder, tremble, make a sound a cross between disgust and a gasp choking on ink. “Hm, actually, that’s a good question,” And then he finally looks up. He is not disappointed in the slightest. You are choking, and completely pale and the only signs of life on your frozen face are your infrequent blinks and quiet breathing. “Do you want to leave me?” He wonders: what will you do? Say? You both know the answer, but for him to ask it would have you second-guessing yourself on what to say. Should you be honest? Should you give him the answer he wants to be true? Should you merely say that the two of you know that already? Or do you just say nothing, as ink clogs your throat?
[Do you really think you’re playing a game? With them of all people? How do you think they even ended up here in the first place?]
The cacophony of your heart cracks and twists the earth into pieces. You shake like a leaf, slowly but surely devoured by a caterpillar. Soft and innocent at first glance, but it only knows how to feast and gorge itself. Your breath comes out in short gasps, as burning ink drips through them and into your stomach. It forces itself out violently, as your sensitive skin clams up, as it painfully inches out of your skull, to thrust itself out through your eyes.
You’re beautiful.
It’s an honor, he thinks.
(And stand so highly elevated)
Although your terrified silence was anticipated, he doesn’t quite appreciate having a one-sided conversation, sweetheart. It seems you need a bit of encouragement, but he’s more than happy to provide. Regrettably, that means fully raising his head, but at least he won’t have to strain his neck to get a look at your face. He hikes you up, and you shriek in with fear, vaulting to wrap your arms around his shoulders as you struggle in vain to give yourself any semblance of contact with the ground. But the tips of your toes just barely graze the smooth concrete. “Dar~ling~,” he sing songs, “don’t keep me waiting, now.”
He smiles kindly. He takes your left hand into his own, gently rubbing in soothing circles. Your heart beats louder, as you’re forced to rely on him even more. You take in a sharp breath, stifled by a flood of ink. He leans his head down, over that nigh-on unbearably beautiful mark on your neck, placing his lips on it like a fleeting feather brushing past. He looks up into your eyes, blackened and blurred, while his own are rounded and soft. He coos and kisses the few that fall, a delightful flavor of vulnerability flowering on his tongue that he can’t get enough of. He tilts his head when he’s done, his expression lovesick and deviously innocent, and goes caress your cheek, to chain you to place. You stay still so that it doesn’t go from choking to cutting. He gives your hand a maliciously reassuring squeeze.
“I’ve got you,” he reassures, “you’re safe, with me.” The words are heavy and loaded yet he says it like he’s holding you close in the afterglow, whispering sweet nothings that mean everything into your ear. Impressively, a scoff is drawn out of you, yanked out through a sea.
(It reassures him, in some strange way)
You clutch at him harder, almost pulling him flush against you in an effort not to fall. Adorable. You’re still enveloped in ink, so looking up at him, you seem little more than a trembling newborn fawn.
Something dark flickers in your eye; the same dark thing he saw on the luckiest day of his life, as the sun shined so brilliantly on the gun held against your forehead. That dark thing which he didn’t foresee, and hadn’t seen since that day, until now.
You tremble, but you purse your lips, and, as resolutely as you can, give your answer.
“Yes.” And then you lean back. Your feet do not touch the ground.
His instincts are far more trained than yours. Pulling you away and into the room is a simple affair. You whimper in pain, struggling against his hold, but it only takes a slight twist to your wrist, an effortless suggestion, for it to cease.
(It’s his whole body that trembles, but you never seem to notice, when you tremble so much yourself and are so often a prisoner in your own mind)
“My friend,” he says, dropping any semblance of emotion in his voice. You nearly shriek as you’re engulfed in an inferno, hyperventilating in vain as smoke from your own burning body clogs your lungs. You’ve brought this upon yourself, though. Trapped in the fox’s jaw, you have nowhere else to go but right here. He smiles emptily, knowing that it makes you want to die. “Why don’t you come back to bed with me? And we can have a chat.”
(He hides his arm behind his back)
Just before he opens the balcony door, a drop of rain hits his cheek. The clouds obscure the moon, sealing its light shut. The sun will not shine on you two.
—
You aren’t shoved onto the bed, to skid across it like a sea of sharp rocks, or anything like that. That makes it worse, you think. Though, with how heavy your mind is, with how much ink fills it, you could see a blossoming flower and think that doomsday was nigh.
Trapped in his hold, out of endless possibilities, Aventurine elects to merely guide your forms to sit on the edge of the bed. He releases you, but whatever relief you felt was burned away when he slots your hand with his own, the other held behind his back. Like this, you two must look like a normal couple. One that had a fight, but then cooled down enough for them to sit and have a serious conversation; to communicate their feelings to one another, leading to a gentle reconciliation and promises to do better. But Aventurine…you’re sure that he holds a butcher knife, hidden behind his back, in moments like these.
You almost don’t hear him over the pounding in your ears eyes heart and lungs and everything. “Just what were you thinking, acting like that?”
Thinking? Thinking? Why would you tell him that? Actually, thinking? Did you even think? You feel your hand get squeezed like a lion clamping its jaw into a gazelle. “I—I, I…I,” you stammer.
“‘I don’t know?’” and you almost demand for how he was able to guess your answer. He hums and leans in further and further, boring those terrifying eyes right into you; you fear that he’ll bore a hole right through your eyes and fill it with himself. So that even in death, a part of him would always infect you.
Your mind, badly addled, nods.
He hums again, betraying no emotion, “I know what you were thinking. And you will, too. I’m sure the two of us are eager to get back to sleep, so it’s best to cut to the chase.”
“Cut…to the chase?”
“To the takeaway.”
It happens slowly, or quickly, or something, you don’t know you don’t really know at all everything drowns in ink—
He leans toward you, and gently pushes you on your back. You reactively scramble, but it doesn’t take much for him to make your struggle useless—and he wraps his hands around your neck and squeezes. Softly, then firmly, then roughly, then chokingly. He doesn’t butcher you, doesn’t spill your blood, doesn’t dismember you and put you back together, doesn’t meticulously carve himself into your skin, he just simply squeezes. That might’ve been the truly shocking thing about this. But you can’t think about that when you breathe and nothing comes in. You gasp, but it comes out as a silent, dying wheeze. You kick, but it’s useless. You try and pull his hands away. Useless. Useless useless useless everything is useless your future and very being are an endless abyss devoid of hope and life and everything you do have done will do is useless meaningless meaningless meaningless you’re dying you’re going to die you are dead you are hopeless and miserable and scared and dying dying dying dying dying he’s bored of you sick of you hates you he hates you hates you hates you hates you hates you stabbed you in the back choking you choking you you cry cry cry cry cry but your tears are searing ink that burns your flesh you’re burning burning burning burning there is no sunlight or moonlight—
You think and think about everything and nothing. You think about your cotton scarf. You think about your parents. You think about your degree and how useless it’s been. You think about the tiramisu you made earlier, and how it needed to set in the fridge overnight.
But no matter what you think about, or what you stop thinking about, you cannot stop thinking about Aventurine.
It hurts, but you can’t say that. It hurts so much, and you feel that your neck will be sliced off your head. You must look so ugly. You feel your eyes bulge, expand from out of your sockets, just a few seconds away from popping out and hanging by a nerve that could so easily be cut and gushing blood that Aventurine will lap up before throwing your corpse out of the window, to throw the trash out of the house. Your nose uselessly tries to inhale, but all it does is marginally slow the hideous mucus that leaks. Your mouth is equally useless, and it isn’t long until you give up and your tongue ungracefully lolls from your mouth. You feel all at once overwhelmed—the tears from your eyes burn your flesh, your eyes will become weights that shake with every movement, the snot will leave behind anguishing trails of acid, your tongue feels like a dumbbell crushing your face—and floating. You decide to float. You think about your cotton scarf, nuzzling—
You dimly realize you’re nuzzling into the grip that’s killing you.
Your body becomes lead.
Aventurine’s expression betrays nothing. But you feel something shake—your body? It’s surprising because you can hardly even blink, let alone move. It’s mostly around your neck. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen. Your hands have gone limp, uselessly falling to the side, but you haven’t died yet. Aventurine is still busy killing you, and looking at you like you’re nothing and that he couldn’t care less about your reaction. You don’t want to look at him anymore. You don’t want to die with his face as the last thing you see. You’d rather die looking at the moon. But against his ironclad grip, your head doesn’t move. You struggle, but Aventurine’s face remains. Your mind begins to fill with cotton, and your eyes start to glaze, but it's burned away by a particularly forceful squeeze, which quickly lightens, but the damage has been done.
Your tongue is drying. Your vision spots. Not with black, not with the shade of ink you’ve grown used to, but it spots with light. Sunlight. You’re being cradled in the sunlight. Warm and soft, but you’re wretched out of that false sense of security when your body begins to blaze.
And then he lets you go after what feels like years. Something burning and cold and wonderful enters your nostrils and mouth—air, air, air air air air you need air air air air air—
The air doesn’t come rushing in like you’ve seen described in books. It painfully pumps into you, but it’s vastly preferable to the pain you were experiencing just a few moments ago. Your head slumps, turning to the moon's salvation—but you see only the clouds.
When your lungs stop burning, and your breathing returns to normal, Aventurine gently pulls you up into his lap, where he leans against the headboard. A single arm draped over your waist confines you to his chest. His other hand is out of sight. When he’s sure you aren’t getting away, he takes a breath, and his hidden hand comes to tip your head up.
His eyes all at once resemble an aphotic ocean and a flooding dam. You aren’t sure where it comes from, but you realize that, for this brief moment, he has dropped his facade.
“If you want to die,” he says, quietly, softly, almost vulnerably. You must have brain damage, if this is how he sounds. “this is how it’ll happen. By my hand. By my choice. And trust me when I say it’s infinitely better than anything you could do with your own hands,” he removes his hand from your chin to intertwine it with your own, all at once invasive and sweet, “I promise, (Name).”
Your chest begins to flood with a sob. It comes out wrangled and inhuman, but he only clutches you closer. Strangely, he doesn’t lap up your tears. Like many nights before and to come, you pass out, weighed by the agony of living with a man so obvious and indecipherable.
Your last thought before finally shutting your eyes is that Aventurine won’t be throwing you out anytime soon. You do not celebrate the thought, not entirely, anymore. It’s only much later that you realize why: he finally succeeded in forcing a small part of him into you.
—
When you pass out from complete exhaustion, Aventurine quietly tucks your head deeper into his chest. He thinks about yanking apart his ribcage, forcing you into it, and then pinning you there as he forces it to close. It’s begun to rain outside. It pitter-patters, booming in his ears, and nearly shreds his ears apart.
[But a part of you likes it when you drag them down to your level, right, Kakavasha?]
—
His master swirls a glass of red wine. It may as well have been blood; bought by blood, drank in the wake of blood, and spilled into blood. Kakavasha pursues his lips, to not scream in agony as the wine sears his wound; but it will be okay. He is used to weathering the sun, trudging through heavy sand, with his mouth drier than the environment. He can withstand this searing heat. He’s already withstood iron-hot metal pressed into his skin for minute after agonizing minute, no matter his involuntary cries and tears and pleas to stop.
But that was an exception. The desert has long dried his tears.
Besides, this is a ‘reward.’ For triumphing yet again. For surviving yet again. So the master sees it fit to briefly lavish him in luxury. At least it’s fitting for the occasion, Kakvasha thinks, the wine puddling out like blood. He waits for it to end. He’s already battered and bloody, beaten down, and he doesn’t need his neck chaffed and bleeding. Every yank of his chain evaporates energy he cannot afford to lose, cannot sacrifice or else there won’t be a bet he can emerge lucky from.
And, he admits. He’s a little (no, very) afraid of being brought to the edge between life and death again. He doesn’t want to be chained to the wall again, and have the chain around his neck pulled further and further away—
A sneer that would get him tortured spreads across his face. His face is already forced to the ground, so he’s not too worried.
“My lucky hound,” his master drawls, “stay with me. You did pretty well; it’d be a shame if I had to reevaluate you if you pass out just from this. C’mon, gimme a lil’ bark.”
He wipes his sneer and looks up with a practiced expression: defiant, but sanded down with fear; feisty, but compliant. Just enough fight to entertain, but not enough to be a nuisance. “Alive and kicking,” he grunts. It’s a strange mix of genuine and manufactured, biting back his cries of pain. It took him a bit to figure out what his master liked, but all that matters is that he got there. It’s fine, he tells himself. He doesn’t need to know how much he’s using him, too. “And savoring your gift.” He’s sure it’s the right answer, but the slight tremor indicates the awful anticipation he has for the results. If it isn’t, then everything he’s done to get here would all have been for nothing. He cannot afford to fumble his gamble now.
Luckily (ha!), it was the right answer. He’s given something his master can poke and prod at, and he’s gladly taken it. “I thought I asked you to bark,” he snarls, and the flaming wine ceases. But it’s for a reason, as he soon gets a kick to the stomach. It knocks the air out of him, but if his master were truly offended, he would’ve done much, much worse. Kakavasha coughs, just enough to suggest that he’s sorry and begging for forgiveness, but not enough to seem desperate and begging for a release and to stop stop stop— “Speaking is for humans. Honestly, I don’t even know why you Sigonian hounds were born with mouths. Universe’d be a better place if slaves like you were born with their mouths sewn shut—by the Aeons, do you disgust me!” he scratches before a smirk twists his face, “Though, ‘suppose that would mean I wouldn’t be able to hear the dogs whimper.” A shoe grinds into his stomach. He wants to see Kakavasha’s face then. “So, you gonna bark, or what?”
Kakavasha doesn’t need to act much, this time. His face falls into grim acceptance; the face he made when heat emanated from his neck; the face he made when the doors to his cell closed; the face he made when he saw the sand bury his sister’s body. Although the expression this time isn’t genuine, it’s not quite fabricated, either.
It’s fine. It’s fine. This is but one gamble. Acquiesce to his whims just enough, and then strike.
Soon, wine pools at his feet. But the wine in his master’s hand hasn’t all spilled, yet. Memories flit by in his mind: his master, flaunting his wealth in front of him.
“Humans wear clothes, accessories, and jewelry…dream all you want, but an animal can never become what it’s fated not to be.” His master’s voice echoes.
His limp and cold hand is adorned in rings. His still wrist holsters a beautiful watch and tasteful bangle. Kakvasha takes a sip of the wine. It burns, dripping down his throat. It leaves his tongue rancid and as dry as the desert.
He supposes that’s what it means to be human, then.
—
When you wake up, pain radiates throughout your neck and legs. Absently, your hand goes to your neck to relieve it but meets soft cotton. Gauze. Did he disinfect your wound (brand, that bastard branded me get him out of me I’ll—) when you passed out?
You close your eyes and try to fall back asleep but to no avail. With a moan, and then a hiss of pain, you roll over on your side. You see a note, a couple of pills, and a glass of water have been placed on your nightstand. With concentrated effort, you sit up and read the note.
Darling, dearest, love of my life, (you’d scoff if it didn’t hurt like hell to even breathe)
A painkiller. One every three hours. I suggest you take it if you want to get through the day comfortably, so please don’t spend your day staring at them in contempt like they’ve killed your dog. Contrary to what you might think, I do care for your comfort. (You feel a jolt of anger through your spine) I’ll try to be back a half hour or so earlier, but if fortune’s on my side, I’ll be back to you a full hour earlier. Wouldn’t that just be amazing? Actually, let me do a coin flip to gauge today’s fortune—oh! Look at that! Seems that it’s an hour. You won’t be lonely for long, I promise. (You frown) Business is wrapping up, so we’re leaving today, but I’ve already packed your bags. Focus on yourself, sweetheart, and get plenty of rest. And before you start overthinking things, I’m not worried at all. You won’t be forgetting anytime soon, and you’re not going anywhere. (You grit your teeth)
Use lots of ice on your neck! It helps a ton. And eat soft foods that go down easy; broth, oatmeal, the works. Now that’s what I call a good excuse to gorge on ice cream; not too much though, you *might* just throw up. And no, you can’t break the windows. Literally. I know you have your impulsive moments, but you’ve gotta be conservative with your energy today. I’ll make sure you are. If not…well, you like guessing games, right? Haha, now I really do have to go. I can’t believe you got me writing such a long letter! Alright, see you later, sweetheart.
Love, Aventurine.
You stare at the signature. Love, Aventurine sounding over and over in your mind, hitting the walls and coming back in a cracking echo. Love—a knife impales you—Aventurine—and you’re eaten alive.
Love, love, love, love, love.
You force yourself to look at the painkillers. You have no reason to believe him, but he doesn’t have any reason to lie to you. You decide not to take them.
Instead, you take a few slow sips of water, letting it coat your throat and tongue thoroughly. Then you force your sore body to the kitchen. You stumble, you trip, but you still make it to the countertop. It’s not complicated. Your mind can’t process complexity in its current state anyway.
It’s simple. You yank a knife from the block and plunge it into your chest, through your ribs, and into your heart. Blood gushes out like a waterfall, glistening like a ruby in the light of the dawn. You grin, pain wobbling your mouth, and swiftly cut open your stomach. Bile creeps up your throat as you gag violently, until you finally retch on the elongated mess of your intestines, unraveling into a bunch. You laugh hysterically when you notice that it looks like a horribly butchered plate of spaghetti—hilarious. It’s all nearly too much to bear, but there’s more work to be done. You’re still thinking; that just won’t do. You raise your knife, the tip shining in the sun and sparkling through your tears, and slam your forehead into it, finally putting an end to your existence.
That’s what should’ve happened. But the knife hasn’t taken that first plunge, yet. You will your arm to rectify the mistake. It shakes harder. And then everything from the night before rushes to your head, and ink clouds everything and everything and—
You can’t do it. Not by your own hand.
You violently throw the knife into the sink and collapse to the ground in a brutal sob.
You never attempt it again.
—
He was wrong about something. Your shattered limit would never end with his demise—it was yours.
(Is he really surprised? Or was he in denial this whole time?)
He’s not sure how to feel, that you’d rather destroy yourself than kill when backed into a corner. But he can at least understand that urge of yours to take someone else down with you; only, that person isn’t him, this time.
The wall you have built crumbles, and he wonders if you care if your destruction ends up killing another unintentionally; if that part of yourself has been killed, or if it has been twisted so you are born anew. But that’s a bit silly. You can destroy yourself, but you won’t ever lose yourself, even if you become fractured. That’s what experience has taught him, and it is both excruciatingly painful and relieving.
You’ve pinned him down. Your eyes are wide and dilated, and that spark of life within them is just nearly dimmed out; and yet, beneath that spark, something awful and alive pulsates. They hold an unabashed focus, yet they also look past him. For a rare moment, he is completely taken aback, and cannot conceal his surprise and dubious, almost hesitant delight. But he drops the hesitation. It’s fatal for him.
(His heart nearly stops. Is he pinned to the ground, or is he looking into a mirror? He almost feels like he’s been turned inside out)
“What. Were. You. Thinking?” It’s your voice, but he can’t help but think it takes on a cadence similar to his own. He can see that awful creature brandish its claws.
As much as he enjoys seeing such a creature, he cannot allow himself to be ripped apart by it. He’ll assert his control, and you’ll back off, the same as it’s always been. But he doesn’t quite mind being pinned down by you, so he’ll allow it for the moment. “You watch me gamble all the time, dearest.” He tilts his head, knowing just how much it pisses you off. “I don’t see how that’s gotten you so worked up—and you’ve been so sweet lately.”
Your jaw trembles, like a dog, he thinks, on the verge of barking and biting an intruder. Yet, a part of him also tells him that isn’t quite right. “You played Russian Roulette.” Drip, drip, sounds the blood of his challenger, but such a sound has been white noise all his life.
He smirks. “Are you jealous?” he teases, “Did you want to kill me, or were you hoping to take the bullet yourself?”
You, ever so slightly, begin to shake. “No,” you respond, without any sense of the word. “Answer my question,” you demand. He’s a little surprised because you so rarely make demands. He can see the beast grind its teeth, gnashing at the mere idea of his flesh, drooling its filth in gluttonous anticipation. But he knows you so, so, so very well. He can smell your fear—but of what? Fear that you might not be able to personally exact vengeance? He’s a little lost, for once. But he’ll know soon enough, he supposes. He continues with his usual demeanor.
“Mmm,” he hums nonchalantly, making you shake in agitation. “Well, I suppose I’m in no position to refuse. It was a good gamble with a good thrill, of course! I thought you knew this.” He knows you don’t believe that entirely, having spent so much time with him. The look in your eyes tells him it was the answer you were expecting. But you still aren’t satisfied. You still haven’t strewn his guts about the floor, to join the foolish challenger.
You do not respond, remaining as still as you can be. He decides to encourage you; you can’t just lead him on like this, you know.
“What’s wrong?” he goads. “Or have you finally come around to just how irresistible I am?”
The blood’s aroma has wafted over. Your eyes glaze impossibly further. The beast breaks its chains.
“I want to hollow out your chest,” you admit. His heart stops, and it’s only through years of practice that his face doesn’t instantly break out in shock. “And burrow into it, so I can listen to your heartbeat and feel the expanse of your lungs pressing into me with your every breath,” you shake, nearly violently, and you take each breath as if it’ll be your last. His own heart begins to beat erratically; he’s excited, he doesn’t know what’ll happen, but whatever it is he needs to have have have it— “I want to breathe in your blood, taste your heart, blood, sustain myself on nothing—” Aventurine feels a thread be pulled apart. “—on nothing but you!” You cry out, leaning in closer as you collapse to your knees and elbows, practically exchanging air. You’ve finally begun to cry, and with it, the beast has come—
No, he thinks. It’s already ripping apart his flesh. Your tears fall onto his face. His heart beats faster and faster; just as fast as when he ran away into those bloody puddles all those years ago.
“If you die…I might just join you, because…there’s really nothing else for me…” you sob, face contorting in a way he finds so breathtakingly pathetic and beautiful. For a moment, your mouth curls down, not maliciously, but with a determined promise. “If you die…I’m pulling the trigger, not some random sap in a casino.”
Oh. You…you remembered. Of course, you did. You never would forget. You couldn’t ever forget. His chest feels numb with how brutally his heart has beaten it.
He feels something cool seep into his pants and legs.
He is well acquainted with the touch of ice. How could he not? The time spent with you feels like a (fragile) eternity, and in it, he has glued himself to you; and you’ve, however unwittingly, froze him in place. Even if he’s always been able to force you into the desert with him, there are still those moments when a nigh unbearable cold seeps down into his bones, threatening to kill him, to preserve his dead body to be dusted ogled at whenever the master of the house needs to showoff their private collection to guests. But he feels it melting. He feels the cold you’ve desperately embraced crackle.
You sob a sound of euphoric despair that has him resisting his every urge to cradle you, and confess the truth; confess your want.
“I love you, Aventurine,” you take in a shuddering gasp.
His heart explodes. It is then he realizes that he, too, has gasped, and is breathing irregularly. That his composure has shattered without his realization.
“I love you…” you cough, no longer able to hold back your breakdown, the volcano of your emotions erupting in a destructive blaze that killed a part of you; the part of you that’d been holding on. Flora and flowers burn, snow becomes hellfire, and any and all life is replaced by a hungering beast desperate to keep itself satiated.
But only Aventurine can satiate it. A blush dusts his cheeks.
“I love you, I love you,” you hiccup and sob, repeating the mantra like a prayer (to a devil in velvet), I love you I love you I love you I love you.” And then you finally collapse on him, a pile of bricks and rubble and dust. You curl into his chest, over his violet heartbeat. “Don’t throw me away…don’t l-leave me…” he immediately secures your waist. It’s a disgusting implication. Why would he do that to you of all people? “I need you,” and his heart soars. A smile finally cracks his face, shattering something deep inside of him.
[No, no, Kakavasha, that’s really quite wrong. You haven’t been whole for a very, very long time.]
And then something brief surfaces in you, a small piece of useless reasoning, “and it’s your f-fault I’m like this…” That’s very true, which is why he needs to take responsibility. Which is why he has to continue keeping you, caring for you, and brutalizing you. The blood has trailed down to his back.
And then you’re back to sobbing, and practically howl, “Please, please Aventurine, tell me you love me and won’t ever let me go!” you beg, and entirely break down into a concentrated sob, distant from reality. You blabber, likely unaware, utterly lovely and incoherent words. The blood has reached his head.
His entire body shudders, rapturing him into a pile of broken flesh. He can’t hold back. He holds you tighter than before. It snaps you out of your daze, your body instinctively flinching away, but his grip doesn’t cease; it can’t cease, because if it does you two may never truly meld with one another. He sits up, positioning you so you straddle and completely rely on him for support. He looks at you. His long-lasting appetite has finally been satiated, but now a new one takes hold of his shaking form, his excitement electric and bloody.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he shudders breathlessly, just barely keeping himself from pouncing, “that was beautiful—you’re beautiful,” he pants, as his hunger grows painful, “how could I refuse such a heartfelt and adorable confession? You’re so perfect. You’re the other side of my coin…”
[Took you long enough.]
“...yes,” he groans, “I’d love to bring you down with me, and to tear you apart if I’m back in that dawnless land.” Because you aren’t leaving him, nor could you survive if he plummets back into that land. But you’re still coming with him because you need him (and so does he).
The dawn shines on the two of you, and finally, he kisses you. You’re too dazed to reciprocate, but you offer no resistance at all. But it’s a (relatively) chaste kiss, as he pulls back to whisper against your lips, wholly reverent. “I knew you were the one,” he confesses, and he sees your blush deepen, your eyes widen, “Thank you, for destroying yourself for me,” he brushes your cheek, “It’s truly an honor, sweetheart.”
You blink, eyes wide with tears, and just as he’s about to caress them away your mouth twitches—almost like you’re glitching as if the very expression was some bug in a game—and then you laugh. And it isn’t crazed, it isn’t weighed by madness, nor does it carry that familiar undertone of despair and fear he’s become so used to hearing from you—it’s warm like the dawn has cut through the rain to shine on him.
It’s that lovely laugh which the sun shines overhead and erases any shadow of doubt:
You’re insane. You’ve frozen over in hell, and have shattered yourself into pieces to melt into it.
If ‘I love you, Aventurine’ was the straw that broke the camel’s back, then your laughter is what made the camel burst and seep into searing, soulless sand.
It makes sense. Only someone destroyed and insane could love Aventurine.
(Kakavasha was dead. His hands are sticky, his chains rusty with blood and his throat burns)
[Is he? Or do you just need him to be dead? No matter how you slice it, I still see that same boy who clung to his Big Sis till the very end.]
But he’s a selfish man. If you give him your love, then he’ll gladly take it.
[Tsk, tsk. A desperate man, Kakavasha.]
But more importantly, there’s a feeling in his heart. It’s the feeling of a peaceful day beneath the scorching sun, of when he wins a game, of when he and his sister were just themselves with each other. All of it coalesces into something he hasn’t felt in—no, something he may have never truly felt until now:
Happiness.
[The closet thing you can call happiness, you mean.]
And is that feeling that has him lift you up, and spin and twirl with you in his arms. It is sheer elation, a hedonism that is so self-serving yet selfless all at once—sheer bliss—that fills him this: this is what he wants to feel. Your laughter is infectious, permeating his body and sapping it of rationality, but he does not try to fight this virus. For he is happy. The corner of his eyes crinkle; he is unused to the feeling.
He laughs and laughs with you. His clothes and shoes are tracking blood. Normally the thought of even rain getting on his clothes disgusts him, but now, all he can think about is basking in this crimson victory. The dawn shines on you both, commemorating your unholy union.
You really are perfect for him, he thinks. Because he must be insane too, when he laughs like a crazed dog—the same dogs he nearly drowned in bloodied water to get away from.
—
You both deserved a treat. He whisked you away to a room—he can deal with the casino room later, call on a few favors—because you deserve his utmost attention, as he does yours. The prospect of your complete attention, entirely unfettered, excites him.
It’s a fine room. The bed is large and soft, the bath is large and pleasant, and the view is utterly breathtaking. But neither of you cares about that. You could be rolling in sewage and shit and you’d still look at him the way he looks at you, still enter demented laughter and twisted joy, still parade under that veneer of love.
He gets his fill, as do you—but you both know neither of you will ever be sated, not when you two can’t be joined together in the ways you want to.
The dawn is rich and bright, shining on the waking and sending the begging crawling away into the shadows. You breathe softly, utterly exhausted. A complete 180 from just a few moments ago, too. Your arms wrap weakly around him, tucking yourself into him snugly. His kisses, imprinted with your blood, create a field of flowers on your face. As does his own. …He makes a note to tip room service extra for the bloodied sheets. There’s a reason he doesn’t dress (as) extravagantly for when he needs to get his hands dirty.
Perhaps after this, he’ll gift you something truly special, he thinks. His earring’s twin has just been gathering dust. And it would be quite romantic to get your ears pierced by him, too. His heart beats at the thought. He’s sure you’ll agree to it if it’s by his hand. Maybe, after this, you’ll wear his gifts of your own accord. Small things, for when you go out, a modest bracelet or watch, a tasteful necklace (of ownership). Nothing overt so as to not draw any thieving eyes, but something to signify to those that know what to look for that you aren’t to be messed with. As for when you’re inside and home…he still remembers how red your face got, and the curses you threw at him. And you’ll finally concede that his taste is actually pretty solid (but, and he will clarify just for you, it's not a sore spot in the slightest! He’s more mature than that).
He feels a bit of pride at your exhaustion (“I…erm…wanna…well, I can d-do some of the work,” you said, flustered and embarrassed by the mere admission. He found it endearing, that you could confess your desire to burrow into him and then stammer when asking him for something. You really did hate the idea of using him, didn’t you?) The remembrance of that moment makes him smile.
(He doesn’t bother dissecting what kind of smile he makes)
However, a single moment is on repeat in his mind. His hand absently drifts to the crook of his neck, weeping but a few minutes ago. Your teeth, sinking in so deeply, intimately, just on the verge of ripping a chunk of his flesh out; you were practically dining on him. It sent him over the edge.
When you pulled away and looked at him, he was again taken aback at what he saw.
Your lips, slightly parted and utterly breathless, speckled with rouge. Your cheeks were red hot with adoration. Your eyes, brimming with love and care and everything he couldn’t believe someone besides his own family could direct toward him.
(But your love is very different from his family’s. They wanted to nourish. You want to devour. But he sees nothing to criticize there—indulge, and he will gladly indulge back, until there’s nothing left of either of you)
But what truly pushes him over the edge, is the smile you give, softly stained in crimson. It is pure and untainted, angelic and sweet, soft and warm like how the dawn kisses his cheek. It is as if this love of yours was born not of a tower’s rubble but of whispered secrets and touches shared in the shadow of moonlight. It’s as if the love you show him now would’ve been what he got if he was a more selfless man (if he were any other man). You both know he does not deserve the love in your eyes—it is the last thing you owe him. Yet you give it to him anyway.
You are utterly insane. And now that he knows what insanity on you looks like,
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
But before he can shut his eyes for an hour or two of respite, there’s something he has to do. He promised many things as you both feasted, but there are two absolute ones he has to reaffirm. Two absolute ones you wanted so badly that you unleashed a frozen inferno.
“I’ll never leave you,” he promises, “And never would. I admit, it stung a bit for you to fear that from me, but…I’ll make it up to you tenfold, sweetheart. I’ll make sure you don’t feel that way ever again,” He kisses your cheek gently. He pictures your response and giggles. “Yeah, I’m being sappy, but you’re,” he boops your nose with each following word, “just~. As~. Guilty~.” You stir, groggily groaning but it’s not enough to rouse you. After a short while, you nuzzle your head further into his neck with a sleepy sigh. Something tells him that even asleep, you’ll somehow know what he’s telling you. Your lips come to rest on the gift you gave him, as if even in sleep you’d rip him apart. His heart flutters. “You’re so sweet…” he exhales with a shudder, “seriously, how do you manage it? Not that I mind, of course…” he plays with a strand of your hair. Candy and clouds and raw flesh burst on his tongue all at once, and he can’t get enough of that flavor of sickly sweet rot. He smiles, a soft and predatory thing, and his lips drift to his favorite spot.
But don’t get him wrong—every part of you is lovely and he would kill to vivisect you if only it didn’t mean killing you and putting you in extreme pain. It’s those two latter thoughts that quell his desire to do so.
(Maybe he would enjoy it, but only for a moment, only for so as long as the euphoria and awe of seeing all of you lasts. If you did die—especially with cries and shrieks of pain—he would sob, curling around your body…and then he would take you with him, so when he goes to that place, you’d be with him on that very first step)
It’s where he first bit you on the luckiest day of his life. It’s bruised and tender, red and ugly and scarred. Renewed countless times, it is beyond repair. Moments ago it held a crimson sheen, but its been smeared throughout your collarbone and shoulder. The way it smears makes it appear like a red mist, like a curling wisp of smoke that dirties clouds and infects rainwater. He brings you impossibly closer, to keep you from becoming red mist. At the same time, should he squeeze just a bit too hard, then away you go into the mist.
(As if to keep you far, far, far away from the rainwater which had swirled with a thick, red mist—to keep you from breathing in it, from having to hide so you didn’t become like the cold bodies which floated beside you)
His lips seemingly slot in with the spot perfectly. It only makes sense. It was today where you’ve melded yourself to him.
(And he’s melded himself to you for a long time. Against his better judgment and sense, he melded himself to you; at the time it was only the idea of you, but it didn’t take long for it to be you.
He sighs in content, but he still has another promise to make.
“We’ll be together, you and I. Two sides of a single coin can face away from each other, but they can’t exist separate from each other. You’re pretty smart, so I’m sure you get it,” yes, he has plenty of faith in you, sweet thing, but he can’t help but ramble, “and it’s because I love you, (Name).” He says it so tenderly, your name, and unexpectedly (or very expectedly) something he thought he’d never feel ever again invades his chest, and it forces itself out, “I love you, I love you,” he thinks his grip has tightened and that his heart has started to race and that he’s shaking but he doesn’t care about that right now and he doesn’t care if he has been losing composure without his notice. “I love you I love you I love you. You have no idea just how much I want to devour you, just how much I want you tethered to me. How much I need you to be unable to live without me. If I’m alive, you’re alive. If I’m dead…you said it yourself. You’ll follow me. It just needs to be by my hand, and you’ll follow me. You won’t have to worry about being alone, being without me. And it’s all because…
I love you.”
He dimly realizes that something salty has trailed to his lips. Are you awake? Or are you having a nightmare? Either way, he moves like he has so many other times, to remind you that he’d be there, even at your most vulnerable. He goes up to kiss your eyes and lick your cheek, but nothing’s there.
Something flutters against his cheek. You’re awake, and he feels something warm and wet travel on his cheek. He’s not sure what he feels, when he looks up to you.
(What does his face look like?)
You blink, eyes bleary with sleep and weighted with content. But tinged with the sleep and contentment, there’s another thing, which makes everything within him burn. Which makes him shake and his heart nearly explodes.
Dimly, he realizes that your destruction didn’t just kill a part of you. He’s buried beneath the fire and rubble, too.
[And it’s lovely.]
And then (at that moment), for some reason (for all the reasons), he buries his head in your chest (into your heart),
To sob in the sunlight, soothed by the hands that unraveled him.
#yandere#yandere hsr#yandere aventurine#destroyed onset#aventurine x reader#yandere aventurine x reader#yandere x you#yandere hsr x reader#tw noncon#tw suicide#next fic is gonna be sitcom esque#the calm before the storm 😉#and also because i need to write the reader being happy in a#not fucked up way LMFAO
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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.
*~*~*~*
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.
#i can fix her i swear#yandere#yandere x reader#aya abstractions#yandere honkai star rail x reader#yandere honkai star rail#yandere hsr x reader#yandere hsr#yandere black swan#yandere black swan x reader#black swan x reader#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#300 followers event
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Boothill and a corrupt USB with a “love virus”… and you’re the poor, unfortunate engineer forced to deal with him in this state, except his little metal heart has gotten too attached to you and the feeling of overbearing longing that you make him feel… on the bright side, your wanted posters look lovely together ♥︎
#yandere honkai#yandere honkai star rail#yandere hsr#yandere boothill#boothill#yandere male#yandere concept#yandere x reader#yandere male x reader#boothill x reader#honkai star rail x reader#star rail x reader#i’ll elaborate on this i promise#my hsr brainrot is too strong rn - and sunday… sunday i have plans for you my boy#send star rail requests - i have a sparkle one that’s eating my brain but i can handle more please please please#๋࣭. ancient scrolls
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I have so many thoughts about the new characters in 2.0 (yes, this is sorta yandere ish??)
Note | There are no spoilers btw!! :p
Sunday, who loves dressing you up in personally tailored outfits that match his so everyone will know that you are his.
Sunday, who tells you that reality is harsh and that the only way for you to regain your happiness is to stay in the dreamscape with him.
Aventurine, who says that the only way for you to clean your family's debt is to be his.
Aventurine, who tells you to look into his eyes when you ever think of leaving him.
Robin, who sings you to sleep whenever you try to leave her.
Robin, who loves doing duets with you and if anyone thinks about doing a collab with you, she'll make sure to tell her brother about it.
#ideas! 📬#honkai star rail#hsr#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#yandere honkai star rail#yandere hsr#sunday x reader#aventurine x reader#sunday hsr#aventurine
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One thing that came to mind is that Yandere! Boothill, despite having the body of a robot, adores it when you touch him, especially his oh so human face.
I like to imagine that he's always holding you in some way - be it your hand, waist, the lower part of your back, heck, if you try getting away from him he might just even hook his leg around your own, making you fall right on your face in the process.
"It's your fault for trying to run!" he'd say, his tone cheerful and merry.
But you quickly learn that the best way to get through to him is if you touch him back.
Caress his face, play with his hair. Watch him melt in the palm of your hand. It's as if Cupid himself had shot him straight in the ass, there really is nothing quite like it.
The spell will break quickly the moment you stop touching him though.
He gets so grumpy as he quickly takes your hands and brings them back to his face. Boothill likes to tickle the skin of your wrist with his nose, as the ever so delicate pulse point brings him an unfathomable amount of joy. If you're lucky, he'll fall asleep, which will be somewhat helpful in escaping him (provided that he isn't hooked around you like a koala bear. That's its own separate issue.) and the moment the coast is clear, run like there's a rocket up your ass. Don't look back, don't check for anything, just. Don't.
Congratulations, the taste of freedom has never felt better.
He'll find you soon, don't you worry about that.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yancore#yanderecore#yandere aesthetic#yandere male#boothill#hsr boothill#honkai star rail#hsr#hsr x reader#hsr x you#hsr x y/n#yandere hsr#yandere hsr x reader#yandere hsr x you#yandere honkai star rail#yandere boothill#yandere boothill x reader
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(yandere! genius x gn reader)
"For someone so smart you are acting unusually stupid right now."
He grits his teeth, stalking towards you as you unconsciously take a step back.
"Why are you doing this to yourself? You need me."
He hisses at you, eyebrows furrowing as he folds his arms. You only stare back, lips pulled into a thin line as you refuse to speak to the person you once considered your friend.
How did it even get to this? You were only joking around when you told him that you wanted to date that cute bakery boy! How were you supposed to know that he had feelings for you? That he would do anything for your love?
"Come on. You know that bug wouldn't even match half of your intelligence."
He mutters, looking at you with lovesick eyes as you continue to defy his wishes. Why wouldn't you give into him already? It's clearly the best and most intelligent outcome! He knows this. You know this. So why are you making such a foolish mistake?
Is it because of...
"Hah, don't tell me you're actually throwing away everything to be with that plebian!"
He insults, eye twitching as he resists the urge to hurl insults at you. Come on! Just give in already! Why are you making this so much harder for yourself?
"He's an idiot! He will never match up to our levels of intelligence. Ever. Why are you tainting your bloodline by choosing him?"
"It was a joke! I don't actually like him!"
You yell, looking behind your shoulder for a possible exit. There was the window but the fall is two stories and you don't want to risk breaking your ankle. And there was also the door... But would you make it in time?
"Then why? Why are you refusing me? You know I'm the only one for you. The only one worthy of you."
He spits, face relaxing slightly at your reassurance that your crush was just a joke. However he can't help but grow agitated again at your antsy behavior. Are you scared of him? You keep looking at the door... Are you trying to leave?
"I locked the door. You can't run. Now answer my question."
He mumbles, taking large strides over to you as his patience wears thin. He's so glad he took precautions.
"What? You locked me in?! How-"
"Because I need you to understand that only I can stand as your equal! You hear me? Me. And only me."
He yells, trapping you against the wall as your chances of escape dwindle near zero. You feel your heart thudding in your chest, mind racing as you stare into his obsessive eyes.
"Only I am worthy of you, just as only you are worthy of me. No one else can compare with us."
He mumbles, calming down slightly as he invades your personal space. Your breath hitches as he stares down at you with sharp eyes. They are full of obsession, eyes belonging to someone completely unfamiliar to you. Dread fills your body as he mumbles his next statement, sending shivers down your spine at his lovesick tone.
"And I will make you understand why that is so."
#yandere#tw yandere#yandere x reader#yandere drabbles#yandere imagines#yandere drabble#yandere scenario#yandere scenarios#yandere concept#yandere hsr#yandere dr ratio#yandere genius#yandere genius x reader#gn reader#suiana rambling#suiana brainrotting
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cw: non-con, forced orgasm, yandere, discipline, control
Sunday doesn't like this.
This is not at all suitable for the Family's harmonious style of doing things.
So, before that, Sunday expressed to you that he and they (all members of the Family) were sad about this. It hurt him (and all of their feelings).
But... if you hadn't joined the Family and ran away, and tried to say some irrational things, things wouldn't have developed like this.
He looked at you tenderly, your whole body filled with vibrators. Several suspicious lines flowed out of your watery place, making a low buzzing sound.
His gloved hands politely look at your private parts, fingering them gently as if he were playing a musical instrument or inspecting a fragile item. Your vision was completely blurred by tears.
Then... one of the fingers poked, rubbed, and finally slid into your warm wall without any hindrance, which was convulsing during the previous orgasm.
That finger was thrusting skillfully and deeply, without any adaptation at all, but immediately forcing a new orgasm to form quickly.
"Stop-Stop!!!!"
A violent, humiliating orgasm complete with lustful wetness and a taut body. Sunday always looks at you without a trace of pride or annoyance, just like that’s what he should do. He slowly pulled his fingers out and wiped the gloves dry.
He kissed your forehead, not turning off any of the vibrators.
But adding a few new ones.
"Shh, it's almost over. Then we'll welcome you into the Family again."
#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#sunday x reader#yandere honkai star rail#honkai star rail x you#yandere hsr#yandere hsr x reader#honkai x reader
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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.
#moonink#hsr#honkai star rail#hsr ratio#hsr veritas#honkai star rail dr ratio#hsr dr ratio#yandere hsr x reader#hsr x gender neutral reader#hsr x you#hsr x y/n#hsr x reader#yandere hsr sunday#yandere hsr x you#yandere hsr#yandere honkai star rail x reader#yandere honkai star rail#yandere dr ratio#yandere veritas ratio#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail x gender neutral reader#honkai star rail x you
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Thinking about being shared between Yandere!Dr Ratio and Yandere!Aventurine.
But instead of being locked up in one room, they let you roam free—or at least, as free as two of the most overbearing men will deem fit. These two have no disagreement in terms of their intentions concerning you and can communicate almost seamlessly in this regard. Be not mistaken though, neither of them are particularly fond of this arrangement, but they'd much rather shake hands on the fact that their cooperation will be mutually beneficial instead of partaking in pointless feuds.
And their theory on this is quite credible ; Aventurine is more spontaneous and inconsistent with his affections while Ratio is more grounded. Albeit, Aventurine's job contributes to this, being out on missions and tasks when the IPC demands it. As such, when he does have you all to himself, his pent up frustrations and adoration rain down all at once. He's the most susceptible to your whims, just mention the name and he'll present it to you through any means. Never forget to thank him with a kiss or something similar within the first hour though, does he not deserve it?
Consequently, you end up spending most of your time with Ratio. He prefers to keep you in his vicinity at any given moment, though hardly do you end up conversing about menial topics. If his work involves sitting down for a prolonged time, it is a rule that you must perch atop his lap and remain still. If he's heading to a bath, you must accompany him, regardless of which hour of the night it is.
You're either seen silently sitting by the side in Ratio's lectures, serving as damage control if his temper has been tested beyond limit ; or, hanging by Aventurine's arm as he flaunts you as his ‘lucky charm’ in casinos and parades you around in shopping malls.
You are not a mediator in their arguments, for you do not match their heights in intellectual factors. You do not have the final say in your cuisine or clothing if you're going out with them, though they might ask for your opinion once-in-a-blue-moon. You're constantly tossed back and forth, but you're not allowed to have a favorite, even if they may entertain the idea in playful moods. Behind one another's back, they slyly lure you to vent about how suffocatingly the other has treated you. You'd be wise to understand that it is nothing but a trap.
It's not so bad, if you have no problem being treated as a pampered pet more than a human being with autonomous thoughts, that is.
tldr: the crack image i have of this au is reader sitting very still while ratio tries to make a sculpture of them and aventurine showering money on them to piss off ratio
#yandere#yandere dr ratio#yandere dr ratio x reader#yandere veritas ratio#yandere veritas ratio x reader#yandere aventurine#yandere aventurine x reader#yandere hsr#yandere hsr x reader#yandere concepts#dr ratio x reader#aventurine x reader#honkai star rail x reader#hsr reader#dr ratio brainrot#aventurine brainrot#veritas ratio#dr ratio#aventurine
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Imagine Dan Heng with a daughter that's his past reincarnation's/Dan Feng's daughter.. She's so sweet to him even though she knows that he's not her real father anymore and he can't help but fall in love with her.
He's stuck between deciding if this is taboo or not, this is his past reincarnation's daughter.. But it's not his real daughter, yes.. He knows that, but still, why does it feels so wrong?
Despite that, his morals are thrown out the window when he feels her soft body for the first time.. They're not blood related, right?
This is probably fine.
#tw.dark content#tw.noncon#tw.dubcon#tw.incest#tw.fauxcest#dan heng#dan feng#imhibitor lunae#aventurine honkai star rail#dan heng smut#yandere dan heng#honkai star rail#yandere hsr#yandere honkai star rail#honkai star rail smut#hsr noncon#hsr
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Paws on Me!
A 'stray' found by the Express scientist herself, she took you in as her lovely pet/partner. She takes pride for being the only one who can control you, so, how does she feel if she sees her lovely puppy being obedient to another woman?
Kafka-Hybird!Reader-Himeko
Feral reader!!, reader is dog-coded, good relationship with Himeko/unknown relationship with Kafka, FERAL ARF ARF ARF, hint of obsession/possesive, attachment issue, yandere-ish Himeko, manipulation, OOC!Himeko and Kafka probably.
A/N : bad grammar
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Playpen
On one day when the red fiery head lady decided to explore outside express, she brought in...a 'being' from outside.
A...human dog? You have all the traits of dog and human. Cute triangle fluffy ears, and big tail too. It seems you are some kind of unique species that Himeko found.
Being the conductor's second-in-command, she does not need other's opinion to bring you in. she just decided to pick you up, clean you up, and dress you up properly.
It seems like Himeko actually had planned to take you in really well. Considering she already knows a lot about your likes and dislikes, prepared extra pillows and blankets in her room, and your only words are simple 'no/yes' and 'Himeko'.
Also considering how you seem to have an attachment to Himeko, to the point it seems unhealthy.
So, at some point in the day, there will be raspy 'Himeko?' around the train as the red-haired woman teaches you or hanging out with you.
You growl. growl. and growl at everything and everyone. Feral and aggressive. Your first meeting with the Express crew resulted in heavy constant growling within the express. Himeko decided to bring you back to her room after you tried to hide in her coat and luscious red hair.
However, Himeko herself understand, you are not aggressive without reason, you are just afraid. Every little grown and snarl is just you trying to defend yourself.
If Himeko is alone, it usually means you are asleep in her room. The express seems back to normal, without any yapping, barking and growling. Well, until you wake up that is. Your separation anxiety and attachment to Himeko make you NEED to see the red hair in your vision at all times.
Howling and whining can be heard throughout the whole express cabin, a cry of a poor lonely being, an obvious sign of someone missing their master so much. The sound that Himeko loves so much
It is kinda cute though, to see you who usually being aggressive and untouchable, will cry with your tail between your legs, barging into the main area to find Himeko. Once she sees you, she will coos and call you to her lap.
Like the spoiled puppy, you are, you just jumped into her arm. Melted into her touch while you whined and cried softly.
"Aww, I am here, I am here. Shh..shh..."
It is borderline cute--you curled up next to or on her lap, whimpering scared--if nobody notices the excitement glint in her golden orbs. It seems your attachment to her isn't a problem at all.
Treats
When the Express first met you, they knew Himeko had quite some time spent. Matching rose choker/collar, coffee scent, Express tag on your outfit, matching coats. Everything on you screams hers.
Himeko should give herself a pat on the back for turning you a dirty-flea covered mutt to a fluffy healthy dog.
At first they were having a hard time to even socialize with you. Every attempt of being friendly met with snarl and growl. But after sometimes, the crews knew you are just all about making noises and mean no real harm as long as Himeko is untouched.
Despite already being 'friendly' with you and seen how you act like a rabid dog in training, every attempt of the Express trio requesting you to take them trailblazing always meet with a shake of head from Himeko.
Your meal consist of meat, although you have a perfectly normal human body, despite the ears and tail, you prefer to eat meat, raw or cooked.
You don't really like Dan Heng. Himeko said you are sensitive to other predator's scent, and somehow Dan Heng having dragon blood in him counts as 'predator'.
Himeko did a great job to not making you follow your prey-drive, however, the crew sometimes caught you staring at Pom Pom a lil bit too intense for comfort.
They love seeing you wag your tail though.
Himeko seems really proud and happy whenever you 'hang out' with the Express. Usually just you growling while March brushing you or Stelle/Caelus teasing you.
Himeko adores you, a little precious thing she took in.
Trick
Although she knows how dependent you are to her, sometimes she can't help the thoughts of you being snatched from the warmth of the safe haven Express.
The way she attracts you was by her heat and welcoming comfort of her warmth (she is thankful for her fire element). You were just a lil beast cowering in fear and cold.
Being thankful, you always being obedient and follow her. No one is as important as Himeko to you, she is your top priority list. Th eonly one in your head.
You only have Himeko in your mind.
So, what happens if you meet someone who can play with your mind?
Kafka is a threat. Himeko knows that, but Kafka is a massive threat to her and her pup.
A stellaron hunter, with almost 10 B for her neck, will get what she wants, especially with that alluring voice of her. You might get snatched away from Himeko's grasp.
Oh no, she does not want that.
So, imagine the crew seeing Himeko being all defensive and hostile towards Kafka whenever her hologram decided to stop by to check on you.
Poor you does not even know you are facing one of the most dangerous criminal. Well, maybe you do, judging how you start hiding behind Himeko whenever Kafka comes.
Kafka is a considerate person and despite being a manipulative master, value real bonding. So she never use her voice to call you to her. so far
She will sits too close to comfort with you, poor you trying to squeeze yourself more into Himeko's side, trying to get away from her. Kafka sees this as a cute thing somehow maybe she enjoys seeing fear in others huh?
Oh how a little beast like you ended up here huh? Himeko's puppy? Oh would be a shame if someone decide to just take you away and gooble you up~
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After this, Welt decided to teach you how to speak and read.
#imaginedraw#hsr x gender neutral reader#hsr x reader#himeko hsr#kafka hsr#yandere himeko x reader#himeko x reader#kafka x reader#yandere hsr
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