More Like You (Yan!Albedo)

synopsis: Albedo isn’t usually careless with his things. Not around you, at least. Everything has a time, a place, a reason. Even if you can’t see that.

cw: imprisonment?? kidnapping, mild stockholm syndrome?? mild mentions of SH, yandere themes

From the request for an artsy darling ❤

_._

The first time he leaves his drawing pens out, you think he’s gotten too comfortable with your complacence.

What if you used them as weapons? Felt tips could pierce skin, if you applied enough force. What if you hurt yourself?He was always careful around you, nearing condescension, treating you like some fragile, breakable thing.

So your first thought is to be offended. Have you gone soft? Has the time and the loneliness gotten to you? Maybe it has been a little too long since you last gave him a hard time. Maybe you haven’t spurred him into action recently enough.

But the second thought that comes to you, when the initial bitterness fades, when you realize that maybe he’s leaving his things out now because he knows that you know that you won’t do anything (he’s always known you better than you know yourself, after all), is one of some intense kind of longing. You used to draw a lot, before.

It was an outlet, a way to bleed yourself onto the page without opening a vein. You’d nearly forgotten the feeling. The euphoria. The pain that came with it, too, the hours spent hunched over something that you’d end up hating, in the end.

But here they are, his drawing effects, laid bare on his abandoned desk as though they are calling your name. Begging to be used. But you’re wary, still, of the talking-to that might come after, of the patronizing tone and the reminder that if you want something, you need only ask him.

The pull of it, eventually, overcomes the wariness. It’s hard not to let it, when your world is a small cabin in the raging wilds of Dragonspine, with no company other than that of your captor and of your own wicked thoughts.

The first stroke of the pen on the paper (you found scrap pieces stashed away in his desk, top drawer) is nearly euphoric. You don’t really know what you’re drawing, at first, basking in the feeling of doing something of your own volition for the first time in months.The first scrap is filled with mindless scribbles, little flowers and looping letters.

When you put your focus onto something else, using the chair behind the desk as reference, your heart aches a little. Because it’s been a while since you’d been able to draw anything,and you’re rusty. Your hand cramps. Your lines are shaky.

You want to laugh. Cry, maybe.

And then there comes the telltale turning of the lock to the front door, and you’re scrambling, trying to replace the pens exactly as you found them, shoving the scraps of paper into the waistband of your pants.

When you go to greet Albedo that day, you have a hard time masking your happiness. In an uncharacteristic show of affection, you throw your arms around his neck, and although he is a little stiff, he lets you.

_._

The second time he leaves his things out, you start to believe a little in fate.

What else would bring you your most secret joy?

From there, it becomes a habit. Whenever he’s gone, exploring or experimenting or basking in his freedoms, you indulge in your own. So happy are you, that you don’t notice that he leaves more often these days. That he starts being a little more forgetful, leaving sketchbooks around, and paints, and near-blank canvases.

It doesn’t matter to you, after all. Not when you get to have your own, small piece of autonomy. The one thing he doesn’t get to see, to observe, to regulate.

Inadvertently, you start to see him in a better light, too. You can’t help it, really, riding high on the euphoria of your small victory. Your small independence from him. When he comes home, you can’t help feeling giddy.

He never seems to notice either. He never comments on the pages ripped from his drawing pads. Never mentions the way the stack of canvases seems thinner, today. He doesn’t even bring up the way he seems to run through his paints more quickly, these days.

This only fuels you, encourages you, drives you to draw more, to paint more, to push this freedom as far as it will take you.

_._

Albedo is pleased, these days.

He has always been calculated, pragmatic. It’s in his nature. He understands the importance of experimentation, and is no stranger to laboring over trials until he reaches the answer to his hypothesis.

This was an educated guess. He’d noticed the way your eyes caught on his hands when he painted, the way you seemed to perk up just a little more when he’d drag his easel out of the closet.

Albedo is a practical man. He is accustomed to waiting. He is patient.

But even he must admit that victory tastes sweet, even when it is so easily attained.

mini reqs!!

ok i’m really dead in the brain from school, and am in the mood to write just dumb lil drabbles. they don’t have to be yandere, at this point it’s all gonna be just shitty lil writing drabbles anyways so……. lmk if there’s anything you’d wanna see!!!! characters, scenarios, etc. i’ll be doing these into the weekend probably aye yo

Between The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (sneak peak)

i’ve made an executive decision!! if u can guess who it is im givin u a smooch. i think it’s pretty obvious, though….

cw: violence

_._

“You think it’s funny?”

He takes a step closer, and you aren’t laughing anymore. He’s smiling, but it isn’t the happy kind; it’s feral and thirsty and full to cracking. He trails his hand soft against the skin of your cheek, fingertips dancing. And then he grips your jaw, hard, harder, as though he seeks to break the bones beneath.

“I will destroyyou,” he purrs, face mere inches from your own. His eyes are blown wide and wild, his breath smells of cold mint leaves.

You want to pull away, to wrench yourself from his grasp and thrust your blade through his chest. But there’s something inside of you that keeps you still. You don’t breathe. You aren’t even sure if your heart is still beating.

You came here to kill him, sure. But what if he kills you first?

He licks his lips, the tip of his tongue just grazing your nose. There’s something in him, something dark and twisted and unyielding. You would have been better to stay away, you think belatedly. You would have been better to let sleeping dogs lie.

He pulls you closer, until you’re certain you aren’t breathing your own air anymore, and then he slams your head back against the wall. There’s a burst of colour, a flash of searing pain. You moan in pain. There’s a ringing in your skull.

His hand slips down to wrap around your throat, teasingly gentle, and he leans in, smiling wide, lips grazing your ear.

“You think I’m bluffing?” he whispers. “I was madefor battle, baby. So bring it on, really. I can’t wait to see you try. Because I’m gonna break and break and break you, until there’s nothing left in you but me.”