just-average-writer

[just-average-writer]

DBD is making my wesker obsession resurface uh oh and me finding this post made it way worse omg so good

I just did a request for yandere Albert Wesker and how I portrayed him made me think of like...OK, imagine an Overhaul-type character who is obsessed with a Darling but is also cold and unfeeling as fuck. It isn't really love they feel so much as a strange flicker of something close to it that worries them a LOT. They don't have time for feelings and love and attachment like that, there's research to be done god damn it. So it's a weird paradoxical relationship where they're obsessed with someone and they do have sex with them and want to keep them for themselves, but they also are so detached and icy towards them that Darling wonders why the fuck they kidnapped them in the first place.

For the record, yandere!Virgil from Devil May cry would be kind of like this but also capable of love...in his own cold and pragmatic "I NEED MORE POWER" kind of way. Like idk if you can say he "loves" his brother or his son, but he does love his mother ("nyeeh, motherrrr") and I think he could love a Darling despite being a very cold character.

[just-average-writer]

i go back to this fic wayyyy too much

Zufriedenheit. Yan Johan x Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, Johan is ruthless but so is Reader tbh… Word count: 2.1k.

“I’ve noticed something most peculiar.”

If Johan is a hypnotist, he requires no pocket watch; his melodious voice is enough to seduce the mind and body alike. The inflection of his sentence portrays an openness for dialogue that you know to be teasingly deceitful. You think he prepared two paths depending on if you chose to respond or if you thought better of it, regardless; he’s equipped, while you are left defenseless.

“You have been a subject of my observation for some time,” he relays the information your intuition whispered. The shadows your peripherals caught in the night have eyes, it would warn you. What a fool you were not to listen. “And in that time… a certain tendency of yours became evident.”

Keep reading

[just-average-writer]

Ok, hear me out.

I just did an prison break themed escape room with some friends, and I just cannot stop thinking about the theme. The over arching story was that “you” were a prisoner, and the psychopath prison warden who likes chess and got bored, so turned to playing psychological games with the prisoners. “You” had peaked his interest, and now he wanted to play a twisted game with letting you escape as a reward.

It was so beautifully themed too, and reminded me of a cross between AHS: Asylum meets Knives Out and an old fashioned prison from the 60s.

Completely got me in the writing mood, and now all I can think about is a yandere prison warden with a prisoner darling. He’d kind of be a mix between the Riddler and the Smiling Man from Small Spaces.

Uh oh…. my creative juices are flowing now… maybe new content soon?

[just-average-writer]

UGH PART 1 WAS VERY VERY GOOD AND THIS WAS EVEN BETTER!!! Makes me feel like I’m in a twisted 80s film.

Super Psycho Love Part 2

Poor girl, so clueless and sweet. You really don't know what's coming.

Yandere! Jock x Nerd! Reader

Part 1

Content Warning: Stalking, Sexual Themes

It was an overcast Monday the first time he followed you home. It had rained all through the night before and well into the morning so coach had canceled afterschool practice. Instead, they spent their sixth and seventh period in the weight room with the ripe smell of teenage boys and the sound of clanging iron. The academic part of school was only a suggestion for the flock of football players. Generally, as long as their arms and legs were in good enough condition to play, they were in good enough condition to walk the stage come June. They were allowed out of class for any and every reason, and although a few teachers who still believed in silly concepts like fairness fought the special treatment it was an unspoken rule at that point. The coach signs a slip and they're excused indefinitely.

It wasn't supposed to happen. His hair was still wet from the showers when he saw you walk by in the halls, bogged down and almost toppling over with the weight of your bookbag. You looked adorable. You huffed and puffed as you shuffled down the hall and tugged at your pleated skirt to make sure it still covered your ass properly. You were really cute when you didn't look viscerally disgusted with him. He even caught a glimpse of the elastic band of your milky pink panties.

It seemed eerily convenient to him. Earlier that morning his mom confiscated his keys for coming home Saturday with the smell of vodka on his letterman jacket. Even though it wasn't from him but a girl he hung out with at a college party, it brought no comfort to his mother. His point-zero breathalyzer did nothing to convince her that he could be trusted to drive anywhere – especially alone. He knew his dad would come through (as he always did) and reassure her that he was just a boy doing what boys do, but until then he was stuck walking. He wasn't one to contemplate ideas of fate or soulmates or whatever cheap shit they sold to teenage girls to get them to buy cheesy books and movies. However, he did certainly feel lucky.

He watched your braided pigtails bounce as you loaded your books into the plastic milk crate secured on the back of your bike. Through the glass doors of the school's west exit, he could clearly read each cover. AP Biology, Advanced Lit, Human Geography and Calculus all toppled in and the milk crate shuddered under the weight. No wonder you were so disorganized with all those subjects to keep track of. There was something innocent in your movements, something about how unaware and clumsy you were. You weren't paying attention to the way his gaze settled on the back of your thighs, just below the shortest pleat of your skirt. When you were almost out of his sight he slyly tugged his the hood of his grey sweatshirt over his eyes and pushed past the set of doors. He smiled a wry, cynically amused smirk. The irony of it – he was sneaking around to catch glimpses of you when he had a mental list of past conquests he had blocked in his phone and avoided at school like particularly vicious STDs.

You walked along the still-wet sidewalk with your trusty pastel blue bike, letting the seat bounce against your hip every so often. You had a tendency to be overly cautious; after all, bad things happened to people who weren't careful. What if the bike's tires couldn't grip the slick asphalt well enough, your brakes failed and you biked into oncoming traffic? Then what? In your mind, the safest route was the only route worth following. No alcohol, smoking, or boys – the only exception to your little safety bubble was the Mac eyeshadow palette and tinted lip balm you had tucked into your pencil case. That, well that was harmless. You scrubbed it off in the bathroom after chess club with wet wipes and hoped your mom wouldn't notice that your face looked slightly more red than usual. You wondered if moms developed their sixth sense during pregnancy, where they could tell when their kid was doing something they shouldn't.

You didn't mind the walk home, even with the dreary weather. It was a nice enough area with usually well-maintained lawns and gardens. Occasionally, when the opportunity came you'd pluck a particularly eye-catching flower or ripe fruit from a broad, sturdy-looking tree. Not much outside of school plagued your mind. Truth be told, you haven't even thought of him once since your encounter a month ago. You had more important things to worry about senior year; the competition for valedictorian was going to be tough. It was between you and three other people and depended solely on how many AP classes you could cram into the next six months. You absentmindedly wiped the juice from your lip with the back of your sleeve, courtesy of an apple tree Ms. Donovan planted.

A tree branch snapped sharply somewhere in the distance. You whipped your head in the general direction of the sound. The sound was especially loud in the heavy, late afternoon silence. The closer you got to your house, the more quiet the walk was. It was situated on a little side road, past the strip malls and busy main road. It wasn't common for other people to walk about, especially since your nearest neighbors were well into senior citizen age. Your eyes lingered at where the sound should've come from like something would slink out from behind the thick shrubs. A squirrel skittered by your comfortable oxfords and you hesitantly shrugged it off. You didn't see the slight rustle of the dark green topiary.

Maybe there was a chance he would've let you be if it wasn't for today, but after seeing you so vulnerable and sweet looking there was something ravenous and hot bubbling in his gut. The image of you barefaced and wide-eyed looking almost directly at him with clear juice dribbling down your soft lips had his stomach tied in knots. He wondered if you'd make that face for him when you were underneath him too. He wondered if your nipples were the same shade of mauve as your mouth and if you made that face when you play with yourself. If, he corrected. He wondered if you've ever cum before, but you seemed too sweet for masturbation. You didn't even wear lipstick yet.

He knew he wanted you in a way he's never wanted a girl before. It wasn't out of boredom or needing to feel big. He wanted to be around you all the time, even when you weren't aware of him.

[just-average-writer]

Legacy

Yandere! Pantalone x Female! Reader

Warning: Suggestive theme

Pantalone, my beloved, sometimes I wish you weren’t so verbose.

***

There was something strange in his smile tonight.

Something black, that dripped from his hair and clothes, mixed with a red undertone of… lust. Pantalone wasn’t the most physically affectionate person out there, but even he wouldn’t deny himself the pleasure of touching you. Of holding you. Of kissing you. You were like a squeeze toy that he used to release his stress and frustration after work, and sometimes, you were grateful you weren’t his punching bag. Other Harbingers wouldn’t have been so kind, even if there were invisible strings to his own kindness.

“Welcome home.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

Pantalone didn’t release you immediately, choosing to look down at you as if you were the most beautiful jewel he ever beheld. You’d long passed the scrutiny phase, after all. His huge coat wrapped around your body, feeling more suffocating than warming.

“I met a man earlier.” he spoke up. “A sneaky one, yet somewhat foolish. He failed to uphold his end of contract and tried to escape to another country along with his family, but I caught him just in time. He taunted me, but when I… ah, touched his family, he finally broke down and begged me to release his family.”

You didn’t want to know what he meant by ‘touched’, but you did want to know about what happened next.

“And did you… do that?”

He simpered.

“He cared not for the danger that loomed over him, but the danger to his family. Isn’t that so touching, to see such a sly man become unraveled by a mere touch to his kids?”

“I… suppose.”

“Isn’t it? It makes me wonder about what I’d do had someone threatened my family.” he chuckled. “But I wouldn’t let that happen, of course.”

You averted your gaze when dread began to creep up at the back of your throat. Pantalone often dropped hints, not because he was overly polite like his manner of speaking would suggest, but because he wanted to test you. He liked to test you. Ignorance wasn’t bliss when you were faced with a manipulator like him.

“… I see.” You cleared your throat, hoping it’d prolong the inevitable. “I hope they’re safe.”

They weren’t, but you didn’t need to know that. You didn’t want to know that. Just because Pantalone never killed someone right in front of you, didn’t mean he hadn’t. His thick gloves were only meant to protect him from the snow, not the blood.

“What a bleeding little heart you have there.” he remarked bemusedly. “Perhaps you could teach a thing or two to our kids as well. After all, the Tsaritsa herself is no less than benevolent to her subjects.”

And these very same hands were holding – touching – you right now.

“Pantalone, no. I’m not… I’m not ready yet.”

The Regrator cocked his head in mock questioning, his body remaining a wall to your effort at pushing him away.

“You’re not ready or you don’t want to?” he asked. “My love, you ought to remember that every kingdom needs a legacy. I’ve given you enough time for yourself. Or, maybe, I gave you too much?”

“If the constant surveillance is equal to your kindness, then no, I don’t have enough of it.”

Pantalone threw his head and laughed, and you thought this was the first time you’d seen him lowering his guard slightly. The fact didn’t flatter you in the slightest.

“You never cease to surprise me, do you? Who would’ve thought that, underneath your benevolent self, lies a deep well of greed and bitterness?”

“You stole my freedom, Pantalone.”

“And, in return, I gave you unimaginable wealth.” he retorted. “You can’t have everything you want in life, darling. And besides, it’s nigh impossible to have a complete freedom, not with the gods dominating almost every aspect of our lives.”

Bitterness rolled off his tongue, but it was subtler compared to the poison. And just like those who had been engulfed by the fire of competitiveness within arguments, you grasped at any sign of hypocrisy.

“You said that, and yet, you bow down to Her Majesty.”

“Her Majesty shall cleanse the world of its rottenness, and when that happens, I want my family to witness it as well.” He glanced down at your stomach. “And I can’t do that without your… coordination.”

“No, please!” you begged, now gripping his coat as if it was your lifeline from the cracking ice beneath you. “Just… just give me a bit more time please. I will prepare myself more, I promise!”

Pantalone chuckled and stroked the apple of your cheek.

“You’re quite charming when you beg, do you know that? I certainly prefer that than your resistance.” He tilted his head and leaned forward, breath as cold as the snow caressing your trembling lips. The redness of lust finally bled to the blackness of his soul, creating a passion darker than the night itself. “Perhaps I can indulge myself in this side for a little, but rest assured, you’ll want nothing more than pleasure in the end. And I shall help you with that, just as I do with maternity.”

[just-average-writer]

This is um amazing. I ate this up, definitely my favorite Pantalone post so far.

Yandere!Pantalone HCs ♥

I really tried to hold back because I don’t like the feeling of assuming a character’s personality without there canonly being one. But this man is living in my head rent-free (that greedy bastard!!) and won’t leave my thoughts alone! Please send help ;;

Obligatory Lemon warning!

»»———————— ♡ ————————«« 

♡ The only time Pantalone puts his hair up and way out of his face is for punishment time. He wants to see every precious tear rolling down your face, every mark, scratch, and drop of blood he caused on your body, and not even his hair should hinder him. That’s why after he got you, he bought tons of hair ties to put into his drawers and leaving them lying around as a warning. The look he gives you—smirking knowingly with a violent gleam in his eyes—as he combs his fingers through his hair, pulling them up, makes you instantly fear for your life. In return, you’re the only (living) person that ever saw his face completely revealed. It’s his way of ensuring his appearance is burned into your very being, both in your dreams and nightmares, so you may never forget him as long as you live. No matter where you go and who you are with, even if it’s not Pantalone, he’ll be on your mind. He owns you no matter where he is.

♡ Pantalone has a strike system for you two in public (think Dom/Sub play) and strict rules for you to follow. There’s no talking, walking off, or looking other people in the eyes. If you want to look at something, you have to ask him nicely to walk over there with you, arm in arm, hoping he’s in a good mood. You are not to interrupt him ever except if he addresses you directly, so when there’s business, then tough luck. But if he catches you staring at a store longingly, there’s a chance he goes there to reward you later. Something for you, and then on the Black Market to get something for… him (also you). If your hand so much but lifts a finger off his arm, he’ll take you home immediately; there are no excuses. But otherwise, if you upset him, he’ll let you know, perching his glasses up higher on his nose, first from the right side (first strike), then the left (second strike), and once he is fed up, he’ll push them up in the middle and excuse you two, gripping your hand so tight as he pulls you ‘home’ (wherever that is at the moment) that you fear it might fall off from blood loss. 

♡ He loves, loves, loves feeling your weight on top of him. Ever since he claimed you as his, your buttocks have not met the soft cushions of a chair or couch. While doing business, he has you stand by his side, not allowing you to squirm or fumble, just stand and stare at the floor or hold papers he gives you. But as soon as things turn less professional, Pantalone pulls you on his lap, gripping your thighs tightly and forcing you to lean on him. The longer the evening, the darker the red wine, the firmer his grip on you, until he opens his legs, slipping you on top of just one thigh and whisper to you to lift your feet from the ground. So while his hands travel down your back as he listens to the drunken businessman around you, he forces you to grind on his thigh. To escape the boredom of these formalities, he likes bopping his leg and watching you hold back any sounds stuck in your throat as you hold on to him by gripping his expensive clothes. If you tear them, you’ll pay for it. That’s the deal. So he doesn’t mind you getting rough with his new favorite shirt. Pantalone also really likes watching you at night. You on top of him, moving and working your pretty little body off for him, like a good pet. Definitely his favorite position by far.

♡ As greedy as he is, you will never fear poverty by his side. Well, as long as you behave, that is. The world is more or less open for you if you stay in his favor and listen to his instructions. Your shoes are soft, your clothes don’t itch, food is flavorful and plenty. Pantalone brings home gifts, toys and jewels, new inventions, and… less savory things for you to try. He even rents out more rooms, so there is plenty of space to put your stuff in, alongside maids to clean up. But where he spends money on you, you sometimes wonder why he isn’t living in more luxury, not yet understanding that you are his greatest possession that he’s preserving with his wealth. And especially the things he gives you that you don’t appreciate as much (little to no coverage clothes, unique toys and inventions, silk blindfolds, and many, many more) are what he enjoys buying the most.

[just-average-writer]

Okay so imagine someone buying a..pleasure android off of some sketchy site while drunk. The bot arrives and the person instead treats it like a roommate, perhaps even a friend. The robot’s programming is supposed to simply simulate feelings of lust and desire. But now they actually feel very attached to their new master.

tw - unhealthy relationships, obsessive behavior, implied emotional/physical abuse, themes of codependancy.

in your own defense, it was an impulse purchase, and who hasn't accidentally bought a full-sized, life-like, fully automated pleasure android after a few (and then maybe a few more) drinks? you do try to cancel your order, but the shady site you must've stumbled onto is gone by the time you're sober enough to realize how badly you fucked-up, and for better or worse, you're stuck with your new robotic companion - a model a few years old, clearly preowned, if the jagged tears along their artificial skin and broken nails are anything to go by. it's nothing that can't be fixed with a few home repairs, though, and they're up and functioning within a week of their arrival. you try not to mention how they came to you, for the sake of their feelings, if not to preserve what little pride you have left. you don't think they'd care, but you'd still rather not bring it up.

it's nice to have them around, for the most part. you're still a little too weary to use them for their intended purpose, but their programming seems to be flexible, and they're just as good at household chores as they are at... other things, not that you've wanted to find out for yourself. you can tell they're a little confused, that they don't fully understand why you don't want them to drop to their knees whenever you call their name, but they seem to enjoy cooking, cleaning, all the little domestic things you've shown them how to do, and they seem satisfied with platonic affection, with kissing your cheek before you leave for the day and cuddling up to you whenever you don't have anything for them to do. you did your best to wipe their memory card when you first got them, but they still have some hold-overs from their last owner. they like to sit on the edge of your bed at night, even when they should be charging, even after you've expressed how much you'd rather not wake up to their unblinking eyes boring into you, and they have a few... odd habits, taking knives away from you while you're in the middle of cooking, kneeling by the door with an unfaltering kind of patience whenever you're gone, holding your hand just a little too tightly whenever you don't have the heart to pull away.

you're not scared of them, and you certainly aren't considering throwing away what is essentially a fully conscious, fully alive person, but you'd be lying if you didn't have a few concerns, if you didn't feel something when they ask why you don't like it when they touch you the way they used to touch someone they can't quite remember, why you don't want them to love you the way they've been taught to love.

you have to wonder what they think love is, and why it doesn't seem to involve you loving them back.

[just-average-writer]

Yandere Itto Thought?

Arataki Itto is not a stalker. He’s just protecting you from afar, making sure nothing harmful even comes near you. He’s a good guy, y’know, to be looking out for you when no one else does. He’s like your guardian. Sometimes though, on days when your work at Uyuu Restaurant is done, when it’s storming outside and you, with your loved and worn clothes, with bags under your eyes from working late shifts, runnning home to your younger sisters and brothers, he follows you a little bit more. 

Do they know how you work yourself to death for them? Do they see how tired you are? It’s crazy, you seem to return the next day with a smile and a spark of hope in your eyes. It’s the same spark, he figures, that makes him want to be your protector. At first, he thought you’d be a good addition to his gang, but when he really sat down and thought about it, it occurred to him that you couldn’t fight. You could cook though. He’d had your food from the restaurant on multiple occasions, takeout of course, he isn’t ready to appear in your life yet. It was good, maybe some of the best cooking he’d ever had? 

Over time, as he kept following, kept watching, he came up with a pretty good solution. Maybe the best way to protect you would be to become your husband! Itto’s very good with kids, so you don’t have to worry about that. He’ll make sure you and your family are well provided for, and well taken care of. He’ll make sure you have dark circles under your eyes again, and never have to work those long and stressful graveyard shifts again. All you have to do is be good for him, and don’t flinch too much when you wake up tied to his bed.

[just-average-writer]

AHHHHH man this is it. Drabble of the year.

matrimony n secrets with childe

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, mild not SFW implications. 

13k follower event

You set a slice of freshly baked sharlotka in front of Childe. 

This might not be the pinnacle of culinary perfection — the dough could’ve risen more and the powdered sugar is more concentrated in some areas than others, but all in all, it serves the purpose. Or so you hope. 

“Huh. So this must be why we had a large shipment of apples imported from Mondstadt,” Childe muses, setting aside a letter sealed with the Fatui’s emblem in favor of observing your dessert. “Taking up baking as a hobby, [First]? How cute. Domestic life suits you well.” 

Archons, it’s been ten seconds and he’s already trying to rile you up. You refuse to budge at the juvenile provocation. He seems to sense that you’re not taking the bait and changes his tactics. With the silver fork you brought, he secures himself a piece, yet stops just shy of putting it in his mouth. 

“Should I be expecting any poisons?” 

“You know the answer to that as well as I do. I was monitored throughout the entire process.” 

“A shame, that,” he takes a bite, humming in approval over the flavor. “Well? I assume there’s some ulterior motive at work here. Either that, or you’ve accepted the mantel of loving spouse-to-be faster than I anticipated.” 

It’s almost frightening how well he knows you. You were hoping he’d thoroughly enjoy the treat first, bringing him into high spirits and you, his good graces, but that was asking for too much. 

“... It’s about our wedding.” 

“Oh?” That catches his attention. A dangerous glimmer shines in his otherwise dull eyes, one that you recognize well. A nonverbal warning. “I’m afraid I can’t bump up the date to accommodate your impatience, dearest. You’ll have to wait with bated breath just as I have been.” 

Insufferable asshole, you think. 

“That isn’t what I had in mind,” your smile feels forced, not that you can bring yourself to care. This is the best you can muster up given the circumstances. “I... I’d really appreciate it if we didn’t make a giant spectacle of the event.” 

When he doesn’t interrupt, you gather your boldness, then go for the killing blow. 

“Could it just be the two of us? Please?” 

The final word comes out as a more high-pitched, meek display than you intended, but you departed with pride long ago. 

“That would be awfully intimate, wouldn’t it? Borderline scandalous. Never took you for the eloping type. What’s the problem, [First] dearest? Afraid you’ll get cold feet walking down the aisle in front of the adoring masses?” 

There’s a rather long list of answers to that loaded question. When you’re alone as often as you are, you have lots of time to think and ruminate. Your parents in the front row watching their offspring marry a bloodthirsty Harbinger. Your siblings being guarded by Fatui operatives from the inn to the ceremony and back. Friends from childhood wearing strained smiles while congratulating you with tight throats. 

If getting on your hands and knees to beg spared them this nightmare, then that’s exactly what you would do. 

“It means that much to you, huh?” 

Childe’s question brings you back to reality. You realize that you’re blinking back tears — he noticed before you did. 

“I’ll tell you what,” he points his fork at you, “Keep endearing yourself to me like this, and who knows? I might just be able to make it happen.” 

“Thank you,” it comes out breathless and more genuine than anything you’ve uttered in months. 

“Just know that our wedding night is going to be twice as long as compensation. Pick your poison, sweetheart.” 

[just-average-writer]

The most important writing lesson I ever learned was not in a screenwriting class, but a fiction class.

This was senior year of college.  Most of us had already been accepted into grad school of some sort. We felt powerful, we felt talented, and most of all, we felt artistic.

It was the advanced fiction workshop, and we did an entire round of workshops with everyone’s best stories, their most advanced work, their most polished pieces. It was very technical and, most of all, very artistic.

IE: They were boring pieces of pretentious crap.

Now the teacher was either a genius OR was tired of our shit, and decided to give us a challenge.  Flash fiction, he said. Write something as quickly as possible.  Make it stupid.  Make it not mean a thing, just be a quick little blast of words. 

And, of course, we all got stupid.  Little one and two pages of prose without the barriers that it must be good. Little flashes of characters, little bits of scenarios.

And they were electric.  All of them. So interesting, so vivid, not held back by the need to write important things or artistic things. 

One sticks in my mind even today.  The guys original piece was a thinky, thoughtful piece relating the breaking up of threesomes to volcanoes and uncontrolled eruptions that was just annoying to read. But his flash fiction was this three page bit about a homeless man who stole a truck full of coca cola and had to bribe people to drink the soda so he could return the cans to recycling so he could afford one night with the prostitute he loved.

It was funny, it was heartfelt, and it was so, so, so well written.

And just that one little bit of advice, the write something short and stupid, changed a ton of people’s writing styles for the better.

It was amazing. So go.  Go write something small.  Go write something that’s not artistic.  Go write something stupid. Go have fun.

[just-average-writer]

Diluc, are you angry with me?

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, some mentions of (accidental) injury & blood

As if the red wine seeping into the stone floor, looking to all the world like running blood, wasn’t enough to you. As if you needed more confirmation than the crunch of glass beneath your delicate house-slippers, dainty slips of silk chosen especially to discourage you from ever trying to get outside where the terrain was far harsher than the well-polished floors and rugs in the living quarters above the Winery.

Not that they worked. Why would they? He acts like you’re some soft fragile thing. A doll. Or an ornament. It drives you mad.

“Angry?” Diluc finally asks, looking down at you with eyes that feel like they might just bore right through your skin. His grip on your upper arm tightens enough to hurt and you grit your teeth. “You would have gotten hurt. You might have died out there, if I didn’t catch you. What do you think?”

You could tell him that he’s hurting you. He would let go. You know he would. A look of shame and regret would flash on his face and he would apologize for forgetting himself. He would drag you upstairs, all the same, and wearily have a maid take you to your room while he figures out how best to reprimand you. 

But you’re so tired of that. You’re so tired of stiff apologies and awkward dinners, the too-long table lit by candlelight and serviced perfectly by experienced staff who always knew how to carve and plate and what course was appropriate for offering a topper on your glass of wine. 

You want him to be angry. You want him to show it. You want him to be the brute that he is, the man who keeps you away from the world, too precious and delicate (you’re not--you lost one fight, one fight where an extraordinarily strong group of Hilichurls got the best of you) to handle anything more than this secluded domestic life he’s forced on you.

So instead of giving in, you struggle against his grip, which only tightens in response. Your leg moves back, an attempt to brace yourself, to get into a better position; the weight of your body presses errant glass shards right into the soles of your feet and you wince--

A dumb mistake.

Diluc’s grip relents in an instant and before you know it, you’re swept off your feet, being carried bridal style up the cellar stairs while your slippers soak up blood. You tune out his frustrated mumblings, voice higher and anxious, calling out for someone to fetch a medical kit. 

You wonder which maid will have to clean up the mess you left behind.

[just-average-writer]

Monster is in ur top 5? have u ever thought about writing for johan??

glances into my drafts...

... how long has it been since i put that there?? i have an extremely basic premise down, it's just writing for johan that's giving me difficulty. monster's story is pretty airtight so trying to think of darling's place in everything,, phew. rough. i'll have to keep thinking away. right now it's criminal psychologist darling just staring at this man and monologuing. they probably need to say something eventually...

[just-average-writer]

do y'all also have mutuals whom you’re actually a fan of? like everytime u see them on your dash u just,,,,, “u go mutual that’s my mutual!!!!! i love u mutual!!!! i can’t even believe we’re mutuals i don’t deserve u!!!! keep being u mutual!!!”

[just-average-writer]

[just-average-writer]

Birthday Blues. Yan Chrollo x F Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, not SFW implications, some religious mentions.  Word count: 1.5k.

If there’s anything you’ve learned from your time with Chrollo, it’s how to pick the lesser of two evils.

You’ve become quite adept in the art of assessing situations and doing just that. Without this ability, you’re certain you would’ve started to pull your hair out months ago. Miraculously, your scalp remains in decent shape, although the same can’t be said for your sanity. You’re convinced that you’re starting to get loopy as the days progress, bleeding into one another like watercolors on a macabre canvas.

Where you used to feel visceral dread in Chrollo’s presence, apathy has taken root and reared its head. How nice of your brain to develop a way to cope with the extremity of living underneath the same roof of a notorious criminal. You appreciate the mass of grey matter enough for trying, but if you could choose, you wish it’d create those strange magical abilities that Chrollo possessed instead. He called it Nen once if memory serves.

Get to it, brain, you think. Then I’ll be impressed.

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[just-average-writer]

Haven’t posted in a good month or two, but wow so I did not expect my genshin content to get so much love! Buying a new writing journal to get back in the vibe soo…. maybe more Childe content in the near future??

Yandere Childe Drabble

Pairing: Yandere Tartaglia (Childe) x Reader

Warnings: Yandere behaviour, overall creepiness??

“It’s gonna be alright.” Childe’s soft voice snaps you out of your thoughts. He’s gently stroking your hair. Until now, you’ve never thought about how nice he really is.

You sniffle a few more times before you bury your head back into his shoulder and continue crying, tears beginning to soak into his jacket.

“W-why a-are you doing t-this for me?” You ask, shaky and overwhelmed.

“I understand how you feel, I guess.” He admits, a sad grin on his face.

“I’ve never really been one to be… part of the flock so to speak. Plenty of people didn’t like that I was thirstier than them. I wanted more for myself than they could offer me.”

“T-they j-just l-l-left me to di-“ You begin, but he cuts you off with a knowing look.

“Left you to be killed by me and the Fatui, yeah.”

“I-I d-don’t under-“ You try to get the words out, but Childe presses a finger to your lips.

“Don’t worry about it. I mean, you should really stop thinking about them now.”

Even as Childe speaks gently and lovingly to you, stroking your hair and wiping your tears, you have to ask the burning question on your mind.

“W-why am I-I still-“ But before you can finish, he interrupts you again.

“I know, I know, you’re wondering how you’re still alive.”

It’s like he reads your mind again. 

His cheery face flickers to you, waiting for confirmation. You meet his stare for a second, and then quickly look down.

He seems content with your reaction, and goes back to staring at the horizon.

“I don’t know why, but I don’t think I’m going to kill you,” He says finally, turning back to you. You’re still shaking, wrapped into his side.

“I pity you, sure, but you’ve also piqued my interest.”

Childe pulls you closer into him, with one arm, forcing your head to press further into his jacket.

The gleam in his eye has become slightly feral, his mouth still in an unsettling upwards curve.

“You remind me of a cute little bunny.” He says, but for some reason his eyes tell you there’s more.

Your shaking slows, and you gaze up at him, wide eyed.

He reaches out to your face and brushes the pad of his finger against your nose.

“I wonder how fast you can hop away from a predator.”

[just-average-writer]

Left Blind // yandere EraserMic x Reader

Sequel to Eye For An Eye. hopefully i didn’t get a certain events in the wrong order!

warnings for unhealthy/abusive/obsessive relationships, manga spoilers in terms of minor character death, hurt/comfort, drugging, body horror which i wont specify to ruin the surprise~

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Your leg hurts.

Crisp air is breezing along your body, a warm sunlight glowing against your skin, there’s a pleasant amount of humidity that’s juuust right

and your fucking leg hurts.

There’s a scowl on your face, as usual. Whatever pain medication you were allowed only did so much to ease the discomfort from your now healed, maybe even improperly so, leg, a leg broken by the very men who sat on each side of you. Aches and sore muscles are a constant experience for you now, often making you want to simply lay in bed and wallow as the pain shifted around your body that was desperately trying to compensate for the shift in your gait caused by… the incident.

A grunt leaves your body as you try to shift into a sitting position that put less strain on your hips, aided by the soft cushion oh so lovingly added to your folding chair. The sound doesn’t escape your company, both men turning to snag a glimpse of your pained grimace. “Should we head back?” Aizawa questions, and you shake your head in response. It wasn’t often that you got to sit outside; you didn’t want to give it up just because of an uncomfortable chair. Yamada seems to look you over, but remains silent, as if in thought. He’s been more quiet recently, you’ve noticed. You caught Shouta trying to ask him about it the other day, but the blonde was especially tight-lipped, particularly so when the two men noticed you hovering by the doorway.

Quite frankly, you don’t have the mental energy to be suspicious. If you’re not terribly depressed, you’re horribly apathetic. You’re just going with the flow at this point, if only to preserve your own sanity. Who knows, maybe being too audacious would cost you an arm next. It’s no lie to say you’re just existing on auto-pilot.

Although… you had to admit that Hizashi’s silence bothered you for more than one reason. After all, you and him had spent a lot of time together during recovery, and before everything went to shit and you were brought in as a captive, you had actually had a pretty positive relationship with both Heroes. It made you… strangely uncomfortable to think that there was something bothering him. Maybe what bothered you more was that you cared. Honestly, you’ve been so worn down and exhausted between being a captive and essentially losing your proper mobility that you had to take positivity where you could get it, and the loudmouth blonde was always a proper source of pep.

Or he had been. Maybe you could ask him about it?

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