#yandere sunday

[faetima]

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.

[stickyspeckledlight]

VERY short drabble based on @harmonysanreads recent brainrot-quick thought whatever you call it post, of sunday singing lullabies

you used to think sunday to be a kind man, but recently, he's revealed his true colors; which leaves you here, tossing and turning.

at his betrayal and from your stress and hate, you transmitted your unbridled rage toward him. from one halovian to another, nothing so out of the ordinary (though, the brutality of those emotions was another matter entirely).

perhaps sunday wasn't completely shaken (for how else could he have remained as head of the Oak Family?), but it certainly had an effect. he didn't notice that one of his lapels fell slightly askew for three minutes, in fact. it was a sweet victory, but if you bite the hand that feeds you, why should you expect to have kept eating from it?

it must've been hours ago, but those waves of emotions he sent to you still run through you. you can't decipher them, when you're so overwhelmed---

love, obsession, love, hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, love, worship, my dove my creed---

you scream into your pillow. your migraine may have degraded into a headache, and the agony may not be so intense, but its still the same flavor. it's acrid and cracking on your tongue. every time you think you've spat it out or rinsed it out, it grows back into an arid patch on your tongue.

you can't sleep. you want to sleep for a reprieve, yet if you do...

what else would sunday send to you, in your dreams?

"you're awake," the door opens, greeting you with that awful voice, "at this hour?" there is a particularly way sunday speaks, when he thinks you unruly, but not enough to properly punish. it's infantilizing, chiding, antagonizing, yet also warm. it reminds you of a mother, one who couldn't bear to let her children go, to let them step out of the lines she set. "i understand that you are still in the process of transitioning, but bear in mind that you---"

"what makes you think I can even relax, after that?" you hiss, "that...that..." you take a sharp inhale when a pang of agony hits.

sunday hums dismissively. "merely the consequences of your actions. do not worry. so long as you don't step out of line, I will ensure you only the best, as a valued member of the Family...and a 'dove.'"

you hiss with frustration. your mind is far too occupied trying to not collapse and break down, and there's no retort you can offer sunday. you close your eyes, and wrap your blankets tighter, till you are trapped in a coil.

the bed dips, and a glove hand runs through your hair. you know who it belongs to, but the touch is warm, kind, and you can fool yourself into thinking it to be loving. it is a relief from the weight of the past hours.

and comes a calm, harmonious, melodious hum. you nearly jolt from as the agonizing weight in your mind gets replaced with the kind warmth of a fire, the sweetness of soulglad, and the security you find within sunday's arms---huh? wha---the softness of sunday's lips, the beauty of his smile, his enthralling gaze, his downy feathers which accompany wonderfully silken hair.

gloved fingers encourage your eyes to shut, and you abide, wrapped in this soothing, blissful melody, and let yourself be carried away into a dream.

[one4shio]

"There's no point of trying my angel... just tell who was that."

He glared you down, "you wouldn't want me to use my ability, wouldn't you?

A/n: I thought I give up on drawing, it look so bad. I don't even try to draw his halo, it's a pain in the ass...

Headcannon: i think when halovian(?) angry, their wings puffs up.

[harmonysanreads]

The intimacy of your relationship with Sunday could be represented through the distance he's maintained from you whenever you sat together on the couch.

Like the majority of acquaintances, it started from the respectful distance from where he remained rigidly planted at the other end of the sofa. Nothing more than basic pleasantry and information that any passerby of Penacony would also be able to provide traveled that bridge of cold courtesy.

The Oak Family Head is an excellent actor, albeit you realized this at a latter point in time. Your conversations remained unremarkable — at least in your opinion. But Sunday expertly kept the extent of his burgeoning interest under wraps and the increasing boldness in his inquiries seemingly as normalized as the shrinking distance between you two. You hadn't noticed back then, or was it that you chose not to notice?

By the time the space waned by half, you eliminated any probing suspicions. The contents of your discussions evolved beyond polite tete-a-tete and exciting prospects such as inside jokes soon joined in. You were thrilled at the unravelling of a Sunday unknown to many, perhaps a touch too thrilled. While his ‘accidental’ touches disrupted the quaint rhythm of your heart, his soft smile sowed seeds of appealing scenarios. But even then he had been at a safe margin, it is wholly your fault for giving him the incentive to continue testing your boundaries.

From that point onwards, every decrease in distance came at a sacrifice from yourself. It was faster than before, yet so much more agonizing. Some pieces of you were negotiated, while others greedily stolen and a good portion you surrendered voluntarily at the enticement of trust. After all, it takes two to start a quarrel and you definitely and regrettably, played your role in his schemes.

Because by the time you came to know of the true Sunday, the couch had been replaced by his person entirely.

──⚝ You may also like [ Aventurine and Couches ]

[loriannbowman]

Honkai Star Rail X Arknights | Yandere!Sunday X Sankta!Reader | Part Two

You have always been a sensitive sleeper, not necessarily light, but very aware of what was happening to your body when unconscious. You could feel every poke, prod, and needle that touched your skin, no matter how deep your sleep was. And right now, you can feel someone touching you, probably trying their best to wake up you.

You shiver and twitch at the sudden touches. The cold touch was definitely The Doctor's gloved hands.

Sunday, who has been leading you away from the bright and colourful lights of the city seems to notice this agitation. The feathers on one of his wings twitches slightly, not so dissimilar to a cat's ear hearing a sound behind them.

"Are you alright?"

You rub your arm across the goosebumps that now liter your skin, hair prickling against the fabric of your glove.

"Fine," you say through gritted teeth.

Sunday, in one swift motion, turns directly around to face you, his seemingly imposing presence staring down at you. His heels snap together, hands pressed against his back in a professional manner. He leans in towards you, a light seemingly emitting from his halo.

"Lying is a bad habit."

You don't get why, but chills and anxiety flood through your blood system. You can feel your heart beating faster, so fast, in fact, you wonder if Doctor Loriann noticed the spike. You can almost feel their fingers pressing against your neck.

"I'm not lying," you bite back.

You're a combat specialist, along side being a medical researcher. You're not going to back down to some man in a suit. This man probably has never had a physical fight in his life.

His eyes suddenly feel like they're burning, searing, into the calloused flesh of my body. You can't help but feel itchy, like thousands of spindly spiders are crawling underneath the surface of your skin.

You'd almost rather deal with your Oripathy pains than this uncomfortable feeling. You can't help but swallow a sharp pain in your throat.

After agonizing seconds, Sunday looks away. He straightens his spine, his eyes closed with contemplation. It looks as though his wings extend a little, a similar tactic as a bird to increases their size.

"May The Harmony forgive your words," he mutters under his breath.

Sunday turns back around in a sharp and crisp movement before raising his hand, a sign to continue to follow him.

You can't argue, he's apparently an authority in this place... Then it dawns on you...

"U-Um... I know that this is a little late to ask, b-but what is your name?"

Sunday casually looks over his shoulder, the lights of the city in front of him giving him a glow.

"Hmm? Did I never introduce myself? I deeply apologize. My name is Sunday Oak, head of the Oak Family. And you are?"

You bite both of your lips, feeling the plush between your teeth.

"Um... I-I'm (Y/n)... but you can call me Lamplight... It's my codename."

"Lamplight? Codename? Why would you need a codename?"

"... It's not important."

Sunday hums lightly before cooing.

"You'll tell me eventually. You are going to be questioned after all. Don't forget, you're under suspicion as a stowaway into the Dreamscape."

You can't help but grumble, kicking the ground slightly in annoyance.

"Sack of dirt-- Feather Faced-- Stupid freaking--"

❥ Sunday wishes so badly he could read your thoughts. He wants to know anything and everything, wanting to pick your brain apart.

❥ Sunday who has to restrain himself from immediately using the power of The Harmony that was so graciously gifted upon him.

❥ Sunday who wishes to punish you as the sinner you are.

[heartlyrins]

Tw:talk of s^ic*de, starvation, emotional abuse, don't interact if you're easily triggered

I want to write a fic of a yandere fucking up darling's mind so bad that she tries to commit suicide multiple times just to escape him.

One of the few characters I could think of doing this is Sunday.. That man would mindfuck his darling so bad, deprave you of food, leave you in a dark room especially if you have a fear of darkness..

HEAR ME OUT.. I don't usually write for BSD but PM!Dazai would. I have no words for PM!Dazai because I just know he would. But for ADA!Dazai, I feel like he wouldn't be as cruel but his punishment would be emotionally. Like for example, deprive darling of affection for one day.. No touching, no talking, and absolutely no asking him anything. He would ignore you the whole day just because you wanted to kill yourself without him.. Like invite him too. 10/10, would make you emotionally unstable to the point of wanting to kill yourself so you can both die together.

Or maybe there's other characters who would do this, send me an ask if u think so. Mmm yandere and angst, perfect combo.

[yandere-romanticaa]

Yandere! Sunday, who forces you to act like the picture perfect spouse in each and every public gathering you attend with him. He has a public reputation to maintain and he will not allow you to squander it. He watches over you like a hawk, his golden gaze piercing the very fabric of your soul and the people around you are none the wiser.

Sunday has perfected the act of a kind and caring husband. People often mistake his gaze as fondness. My my, he's so smitten with you that he can't help but to look at you without fail, even if he's married to you and sees you every day. People across the universe swoon over this romance, dreaming about finding such a doting spouse such as Sunday.

However, there are times when he is not acting.

Despite his calculative nature, Yandere! Sunday truly does love you.

Oh yes, most earnestly so...

He likes to indulge himself in the sweet presence of your company. While he is the type of man who likes to have everything under his control, even he is not immune to some simple pleasures in life. Please, be a dear and indulge your husband a little. Ease his worries, talk to him , tell him all about your day. Even if you think it's nothing worth sharing, Sunday begs to differ. Even if he hears you say the same exact words hundreds of times, he will never grow tired of them.

Your voice, to him, is like cold dew on a warm summer day. It refreshes him, soothes him beyond belief.

Yandere! Sunday, who secretly likes it when he gets to hold your hand. Public displays of affection are not allowed but in private, he can be real damn shameless.

If he is so inclined, he will wrap his gloved hand in your own, fingers tightly intertwined with yours as he steals countless kisses from your darling lips.

The wedding ring on your hand is proof enough that you belong to each other. It's only natural for him to want to kiss you.

[moonsaver]

You were his sister's enemy.

Well, he rather assumes it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

Or really, anything you do.

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

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

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

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

But he doesn't.

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

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

[draconic-desire]

Yan!Aventurine who is willing to risk it all to make you his. Don’t underestimate the scope of his reach; with his connections and money, you’ll never be out of his hands for long, no matter how far you may run. He won’t take you immediately—no, he plays the long game and makes you sweat until you have no choice but to take the gamble and face him yourself. How much does it take for you to go all in, sweetheart?

Yan!Dr. Ratio who subtly gets in your head, wearing you down bit by bit. He’s part of the Intelligentsia Guild for good reason; this man knows exactly how to calculate every scenario and predict every outcome. Coaxing you closer and closer under his wing is like an experiment—how far can he push you before you realize him for what he is, before it’s too late for you to ever escape? Only the next test will tell.

Yan!Sunday who constantly manipulates everything about your life, down to the very last detail, behind the scenes. This man is the very definition of gaslight gatekeep (girlboss). If you rebel one too many times, you best believe he’ll whisk you away to his dreamscape manor, locked in never ending puzzles until you’re begging for him and his company.

Yan!Gallagher who is anything but what he appears. It’s child’s play for him to get close to you. Need someone to talk to over a stiff drink? How about someone to carry walk you home after you’ve had one too many (or did it taste a bit sweeter than the usual drinks he mixes for you?). Little do you know he’s been accumulating tidbits of all the things you like in a partner—he can be everything you’ve ever wanted, after all. Even if you have no choice.

——————————————————————————

My personal vote is for Sunday. After seeing his (spoiler alert) huge mansion and the miniature Penacony park in the 2.1 patch, I immediately (like many others) thought about how he’s used that dreamscape to his advantage. Gallagher is a close second…for obvious reasons if you’ve played 2.1.

[mothtral]

the family notices immediately that their aeon has their benevolent eye on you. how could they not? their aeon’s gaze is a weight they’ve known like the back of their hand since childhood, and it’s always noticeable when xipe… lingers on someone. especially an outsider.

one by one, members of the family approach you. asking if you need any help, if you’re enjoying your stay, do you need help getting back to your room. oh, don’t worry about it, it's no trouble, here, let us carry your bags.

sunday personally shows you around the forbidden zones, a gloved finger held to his lips to quiet your excited giggles. at first, he wondered just what drew xipe to you, but after spending night after night at your side… the picture becomes clear, with you are the main subject.

the family must be doing something right, because sunday shares with them the dream he had. xipe visited him and shared how pleased they were that the family has treated you so kindly. but they want all of them to do more. do anything that would tie you to penacony permanently.

xipe is saddened that they can’t claim you, another aeon having laid their filthy claws on you prior to your visit to penacony. no matter. things like this can break. it just takes a little time. thankfully, the dreamscape is a wonderful place where reality and time are things of the past.

(second part in another post.)

[cloudshuffle]

cuteness aggression. yan!penacony

Sunday

"This feels... dumb. I'm not a Halovian."

Sunday looks up from last-minute paperwork, pausing. Something unfamiliar stirs in his chest. He tugs on his gloves.

"It's not dumb," he replies smoothly. "You look... wonderful."

A small pair of wings sits just behind your ears, like his own. They're not real, of course, but they function just fine - letting everyone know who you belonged to.

He rises from his seat, moving toward you. You step back until your back hits the door, shrinking away from his hand.

But Sunday simply tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, rubbing a thumb gently over the inside of your wrist with his other hand. He leans into you slightly, radiating heat like a small star, blowing sweet breath across your face.

"Adorable..." he mutters, half to himself.

"Sunday," you say, voice weak, though you aren't sure what you need to tell him. You feel very much like a small thing being cornered by a predator, his eyes dark, pupils blown.

Then he pinches your cheek, so swiftly and out of character for him you blink.

Before you can protest, he massages your face lightly with both hands.

This must be what street cats feel whenever you accost them with your affection.

He releases you just as suddenly, patting you on the head as he passes. "Prepare yourself. The guests will be arriving anytime soon."

Well, you suppose there's a first time for everything.

Aventurine

"Good evening, my sickly angel."

You scowl at him from under blankets, a cold compress on your head. "You're not funny."

"On the contrary." He lifts your medicine. "I think I am very funny."

You complain audibly, but that's about as much as you can do with your energy drained by the fever. Aventurine feeds you as patiently as a mother with a small child, though perhaps with twice as much condescension.

"Stop staring," you grumble. "It's weird."

The bed sinks as Aventurine leans over, gathering you up in his arms. "You're like a kitten when you're sick. All angry and no claws."

You hiss when he squeezes you, only belatedly realising that you're proving his point. "Kittens have very sharp claws, excuse me."

"A declawed kitten, then." He rubs his cheek onto the top of your head. "You smell different, too."

"That's weird!"

[astolfofo]

…I had a thought about the halovians(specifically sunday) and want to know peoples opinions. do u think he has nesting instincts? :3 thank u for listening to my ted talk.

hi (i did say i was gonna answer this 2 weeks ago unfortunately I forgot i'm so sorry.) But anyways, thank you for your ask, and 100% he does.

tw: non-con, forced pregnancy, dark content. truly the unedited sleep deprived trying to write.

Okay i finished writing this i know you didn't ask for acutal writing but i went ahead and did it anyways because why not hope u don't mind

also excuse the fact that thus was posted at 4am and I was half falling asleep already while writing this.

There were three days in your life that you could have called the worst.

The first one was the day when Sunday took your life away from you, and claimed you to be his "wife". The second was when first time he chose to be intimate. The third was when you got pregnant as a result.

Nothing had ever stuck to you like the day after that. You felt like washing the sheets until your hands would bleed. You wanted to submerge yourself in bleach until every fiber of your body burned, shriveled up, and died.

You wanted to forget that it happened. That the events in the previous night ever happened at all.

But the soreness between your legs was a constant reminder. And even though the pain went away after a few days, it was replaced by something much worse. Something you feared.

You saw the signs from the second you got them. Your body felt heavy. You were constantly tired. You had lost interest in eating. It was obvious what was going on.

And for a few days, you tried to hide it. The longer Sunday didn't know, the better it was for you. That way, you could slowly while away your last few moments in peace before everything was taken from you in entirety.

After a few weeks, you couldn't hide it anymore. You remember staring at the double line on the pregnancy test.

You almost instantly broke down into tears. It wasn't anything that you hadn't already know n, but maybe part of you still just believed you were ill, that maybe there was another reason why you had missed your period that month. That the pain you kept experiencing was just from some kind of illness.

The last thing you could keep away from Sunday was taken away from you that day. The sense of freedom you could've had.

To Sunday, you suppose this was the final step he needed to take to bind you to him. Another way to control you. Another way to keep you in his arms, and make sure you wouldn't let go.

And if you didn't want to get murdered by the press, if you didn't want to further sabotage both your own and Sunday's public image, you knew to take it.

You had no choice but to take it. You were no more than an insect trapped under his thumb.

-

out of the two of you, there was only one person that was particularly enthusiastic about having a child.

It certainly wasn't you.

Ever since you had first found out about the pregnancy, you had felt empty. As if someone directly sucked the soul out of your body.

You weren't yourself anymore. You hadn't been for a long time.

Sunday didn't seem too bothered by it though.

You weren't sure if it was just his own parental instincts, or whether he could tell that it was almost time for you go into labour. Maybe it was a combination of both. You didn't care. You couldn't care less.

All you knew was that his presence was suffocating. Overbearing. Invasive, even.

You couldn't do anything by yourself. Sunday felt the need to assist you with everything you did. Even basic tasks such as grabbing an object, he insisted that he would get for you.

But what set you off the most, was his intense urge to keep the house in order. You had never seen him having such intense urges to organize a room even when just the slightest thing was out of order. He couldn't stand seeing the slightest speck of dust, he couldn't stand seeing the furniture just an inch out of place.

It drove you to madness.

If you had even slightly misplaced something Sunday you would notice Sunday getting slightly agitated.

From the moment he came home, to the moment he would fall asleep, he spent every waking second making sure the house was perfectly in order, before obsessing over you. At some point you just wanted to wave him off. Lock yourself in the bathroom and sleep for a long period of time, until you had no concept of reality anymore.

You didn't have it in you to keep going. week after week, month after month, Sunday's final goal had always to perfect you into an obedient wife that would do as they were told. And no matter how you tried to fight it... you were always forced back into obedience.

There's two cold fingers touching your chin, and lifting your face up, until you're forced to meet a pair of eyes.

They're bright. Everytime you see them, you can't help but try to look away. They were as bright as the sun, and just like the sun, you felt as if you were going to be blinded jfyou looked at them for too long. You guess it could've also been a sentiment to the power he held over you too.

"Dear, did you hear a word I just said?"

It's an obvious answer. But, you know better by now just to answer the question. You slightly shake your head, which supposedly satisfied him enough, to let go of the fi gers holding your head up.

He sighs, you're not sure in annoyance or in disappointment.

"If you keep acting like this, I'm going to need to resort to drastic measures..."

You look at him one more time. You remember how when you first saw him, you thought of him to be beautiful. To be almost ethereal.

You regret falling into that hypnosis. You regret looking at him at all.

Look at where it got you.

[harmonysanreads]

Sunday, my guy, you're not even trying to escape the Yandere allegations. Living in an extravagant maze-like prison of a mansion? Having a miniature dreamscape-esque sandpit where a person can shrink in size? Your strange fixation with nightingales? Your weird voodoo powers that make you look more like a cult leader? People are calling you a control-obsessed maniac who lives off of manipulation to your face and you're just... standing there, blinking? Really, dude, are you just begging to be adopted by the fic writers?

[throwaway-yandere]

POV: You mentioned getting a divorce after a very heated argument with yandere!Sunday

[gojoidyll]

Sunday is the type to

hold the door open for you

pull your chair out

open the car door for you

blow on your food if it's too hot

taste a drink if you say it tastes bad and then proceeds to get a new one for you

will kiss any and all bruises and cuts you get

will dote on you if you have a bad day

will place a hand on your lower back to guide you along if you're walking together

But most importantly, Sunday is the type who

Doesn't like to share you

Gets antsy if you hang around that shady IPC gambler for too long

Dislikes it when you lose track of time and make him wait for you. (You're quite the airhead, so he worries about you when you drift along in your own dreamland) - but don't worry, he can't stay mad at his forgetful baby for long, he adores you too much!

Must know your whereabouts on Penacony at all times

Speaking of Penacony... you want to leave? You can't. You can't possibly think about leaving Sunday.

But it's ok, even if you want to leave, then Sunday always convinces you to stay. He's just that good at manipulating convincing you!

[hanihaato]

a/n: jealousy themes, yandere sunday x reader, mentions of abduction, incapacitation, drabble

Your artistic silence is broken with a snap of fingers and a question.

“Now, who is that man?”

Before the vision disappears, you have a split second to admire your efforts. Your skills have improved over the last three hours where Sunday had left your dreamscape to attend to some urgent and questionable matters.

This time, you have delved into the concept of imaginary creations that followed your newfound belief that even in this kind of twisted dream, deliberately manipulated by Sunday, you could still treat it like… a dream.

Do wonders. Keep yourself occupied to take care of your sanity.

The man you’ve created doesn’t have a name as you don’t recognize him. Maybe he was your own creation, or maybe he was one of the countless tourists at Reverie Hotel whose face you’ve been fortunate to remember. He would have made for a much more entertaining company than Sunday is, especially as he presses his lips into a thin line and looks disappointed in you.

“A secret boyfriend. We were planning to elope tonight, before you…” The story cuts short, as Sunday closes his eyes and sighs heavily, as if dealing with a troublesome kid. You take the warning and end your joke here, but because you know you have the privilege to as his beloved, you pout at him. “Alright. I was bored. Happy now? I thought you said I can do whatever I want here. Well, you keep calling it my dreamscape, after all.”

Sunday sits you down on a sofa that materializes within a blink of an eye. It’s another reminder you’re not in Penacony; there, nothing like that could happen, as it’s a dream with rules you are bound to obey. But at least there, you could understand its mechanism as it was created to mimic the real world.

‘Your’ dreamscape was solely ruled by Sunday’s whims.

You fall on a stack of heavenly puffy cushions, with his arm draped around your waist.

“Dearest. It’s our dream. This fantasy wouldn’t exist without any of us,” Sunday promptly corrects you and smiles gently at your irate gaze. “Believe me, I wholeheartedly would love to give you a fair share of power over this place, but it would be a bit dangerous to someone not practised in lucid dreaming.”

If you didn’t exceed his tolerance for defiance for today, you would have hit him with one of the pillows. Instead, you sink yourself deeper into them.

“Alright, then… What do I have to do to be classified as experienced? As far as I am aware, spending a whole three months in a dream should have made me an expert.”

“That’s a lovely conclusion. But does spending time in a library make you able to get a degree in every subject that’s written in the books?”

The question silences you. The break is long enough for Sunday to design your surroundings: a coffee table that matches the times, a porcelain tea set with golden details and some infusion with fascinating taste. They go with a tray of cookies and little sandwiches, as well as a bowl of fruits and nuts that would taste better if they were real.

However, you have to do with what you have on your hands.

You bite into a biscuit. “Then, what should I do? To be adept enough, that is.”

“There are many other requirements…” He falls into a reverie, and just as you think he closes the topic—you’ve been willing to give it up at this point, solely for the quiet to continue—Sunday speaks again. “If you can wake up on your own or overwrite any of the aspects of this dream, for example, gravity, I will consider giving you a little more power here.”

So, he’s asking you for the impossible.

“…I won’t be wiping myself out only for you to ‘consider’.”

Sunday takes a sip of tea. The porcelain can’t hide a tenderish smile, but the unexplainable gleam in his eyes is exposed.

“There is always a shortcut.”

“That doesn’t, um, doom me for eternity?”

“Yes. If I have a say in this, it’s a very delightful one.” And after the next sentence, you know why he’s so engaged in this discussion. “Marrying me.”

…

Sighing, you cross your arms and shake off Sunday’s arm from your shoulder. “I thought you hated liars.”

“Which part of what I said do you consider a lie?”

You ignore him and get up from the sofa, heading towards the big door. Sunday might have changed the look of the place, but the layout always remains the same. Behind that door, you will find a short hall that leads to several other rooms that don’t have Sunday in them and so are preferred.

“I don’t want to talk (to you) anymore, sorry,” you mutter out the apology just to defend yourself if Sunday was going to accuse you of being rude. “I am going to daydream—dreamdream?—about, I guess, men, if I can’t have anyone here. Goodbye.”

You reach for the pair of doors and find them uncharacteristically too heavy. You try to open the door, but just then a big silver chain crosses over their handles, a small lock appears, but you don’t have time to notice the details as you find yourself staring into a plain wall.

“Now, no need to rush,” Sunday purrs, and you turn around to see your beloved doors behind his back. “Would you like to play a round or two with me? I think we could have a wonderful conversation about how to pry the imaginary door locks and who are the people you’ve been thinking about so much.” He smiles. “All with names and examples. There shouldn’t be any secrets between us, isn’t that so?”