Fibbi

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[fibbi2]

You returned from your studies after surviving an attack by Tacet Discords, narrowly escaped alive, and while wandering through the dangerous wastelands, fell into the hands to exiles.

Characters: Scar, Aalto, Geshu Lin

!CONTENT WARNINGS INCLUDE: quite dark content, violence (detailed descriptions of attack implying dismemberment/gore and bloodshed), severe physical assault, extremely disturbing, sadistic, obsessive behavior, suffering, psychological distress. NC-17 content.

Scar stood in a half-ruined building on the outskirts of Jinzhou, his silhouette stark against an unnaturally crimson sunset. His two-toned cloak billowed in the wind, which carried the scent of Tacet Discords, mingled with the acrid smell of the chaos he so adored. He didn't bother seeking out news. Chaos has its own resonance, and he felt acutely how something had just collided with reality, scattering into a harmonious cacophony amid the noise.

Your decision to leave and study in another region wasn't just a failure to him, but a personal insult. No, even as a joke — an exhibition of the very pathetic weakness he despised in people. You sought comfort when the world demanded survival.

—Such a boring little lamb, — he’d muttered back then, adding with a twisted smirk, — my lamb. The most fragile.

It was precisely your exceptional disregard for safety, your innocent, almost irritating belief in a normal life, that made you interesting. You were fragile, vulnerable, and that, in his warped worldview, was the most captivating weakness he could observe and, if necessary, protect. But not out of love; rather, like a collector guarding a rare, delicate exhibit.

And now you had returned, and the world had shown you what reality was.

He had received information about your return and, of course, knew about the attack. More than that, he had been watching your frantic escape. The tacets attack was expected, but the encounter with the exiles, ohhhh, that was interesting. Scar knew those vagrants well. He often played with them like ants, using their anarchy and base instincts for his own ends, observing their primitive cruelty which, he believed, was merely a pale shadow of true chaos.

He stood leaning against the cold wall when you finally dragged yourself home. He didn't go to greet you; he observed. He was curious.

When you literally stumbled into the house, your clothes torn, your face covered in blood and grime, and the hematoma on your forehead: dark, bulging, ugly. He felt a rush of burning, perverted ecstasy. Chaos. He loved how chaos revealed the essence of things.

You couldn't utter a word, just collapsed in tears into your mother's arms, and then passed out from the adrenaline overload and exhaustion. You were the epitome of the weakness he despised, yet simultaneously your weakness, which he treasured so much.

Scar chuckled quietly. It wasn't a merry laugh, but a dry, rasping sound, heavy with sadistic satisfaction.

—Magnificent, — he whispered, pushing himself off the wall. A ragged laugh, arms spread wide, head tilting toward the sky. —There it is, the true nature of humanity, its pitiful fragility. Your precious knowledge didn't save you, did it?

He had no sympathy, no anger towards your attackers, only a cold, analytical approval of the event as a lesson you were meant to learn. But for some reason, a feeling of... annoyance still gnawed at him.

Those exiles had damaged his property.

Allowing you to suffer was one thing. But allowing someone else to trespass on what he considered his own was entirely unacceptable. They didn't understand the rules of this life.

—Filth, — his voice hardening slightly. —Why leave such disgusting marks?

He hadn't come to console. He had come to savor the spectacle of your broken state. And now he had to teach a lesson to those who touched you. Properly. Thoroughly.

He took a step toward the edge of the roof and jumped. His goal was clear: those who dared to lay a hand on you would learn why he was called the perverted maniac. It would be a methodical disintegration, a true work of art executed purely for his own pleasure. He would ensure that when you woke up, rumors of a new, far more horrific and sophisticated chaos reached you, making you realize that even from the most merciless truth, you were only separated by another, even more dangerous predator.

—I'll await your waking, — Scar whispered, dissolving into the darkness. —Your weakness is so captivating when it's on the edge. And I will make sure that edge is sharp.

You left, despite his protests.

—Are you really certain about this? — In his voice there was none of the habitual sarcasm that usually surfaced when your upcoming studies were mentioned, only undisguised exhaustion. — Outside of Jinzhou, there's neither our protection nor our order. You know how dangerous it is,— Aalto said back then. He didn't believe in your academic departure, viewing it as a naive and unwarranted whim. Why exchange the safety of the city for an ephemeral education in another region that lacked such strong defense against Tacet Discords and active tacet zones?

Months later, your return was sudden. Your academic institution had closed due to the escalating discords active in the surrounding areas. You drove back, feeling a mix of shame and relief that you would soon see your young man. He would surely be very satisfied to know he was right, and would likely bring it up with a smile for some time while looking at you.

However, the bus never made it to the city. In the barren wastes, it was attacked by a Tacet Discord — not merely an Echo, but the very embodiment of a tear in the fabric of reality. The screams, the screech of metal, and the sickening, wet sound of tearing flesh drowned out everything. You only remembered the sticky terror, the smell of blood, and being thrown aside as the driver's cabin erupted in a fountain of red shreds.

You survived. And along with a handful of other passengers, you found yourself trapped in a nightmare.

Days blurred into one endless marathon spent in the grim, wind-scoured wastes. Every cry, every snarl in the night made your heart pound against your ribs. Wild animals, monstrously fused with echos, were everywhere. Adrenaline kept your body in an unnatural, feverish state of activity, but your strength was fading.

On the fourth day, just as you thought you might see the city lights, you were spotted. A roaming gang of marauders and scum. They didn’t preach the cult of destruction like the Fractsidus, but their human, grounded cruelty was no less repulsive, marking you as easy prey. You don't recall how it started, but your desperate struggle only incited a fit of aggressive amusement from them. A hard, dull strike against a concrete wall. Then a second one. Sharp, pulsating pain in your forehead, a wet trail of blood trickling down your temple, and a swollen, purpling hematoma on the upper part of your head. Laughter. Taunts. The blow was powerful, but apparently not enough to render you unconscious. And then, when they realized you had nothing left to take, purely for the sake of entertainment, the exiles inflicted a mutilation upon you, permanently taking away your voice. Pure senseless violence, fully reflecting their inhumanity.

A sudden noise on the horizon, — perhaps another echo, perhaps a patrol, gave you a chance. You exploited their momentary distraction and bolted forward, never looking back. Blood streamed down your face, and every step echoed inside your head, but primal fear propelled you onward. You managed to hide in a labyrinth of destroyed buildings and ran until you finally collapsed, trembling, just inside the walls of Jinzhou. You knew where to go. The only place where you were expected, even if with an unvoiced accusation.

The door burst open, and you stumbled into Aalto's office, stopping dead. You looked like an animated corpse: torn clothes, dried grime, blood mixed with tears. It just really luck that his office was on the ground floor.

He was there. Not at his desk, but standing by the tea table, discussing something with a tall, broad-shouldered man with a predatory gaze, whose clothes were rough but expensive, and whose hands bore the unhidden marks of ancient battles. Perhaps another leader of the exiles group terrorizing the wasteland. And, apparently, he was here as a client.

The broker's usually unflappable face, always hidden behind a mask of light charm, contorted into an expression of pure, instant horror. It lasted a fraction of a second before he forced himself to take a step forward.

Encore, clutching her fire-breathing plushies Black and White, let out a frightened peep, staring at your wound. A sharp pang of guilt struck you; you knew how dreadful you must look now — a walking disaster, a bloody wreck, and this nightmare was now before a child's eyes. A man simply turned his head, his eyes sweeping over your ravaged appearance, and not a single muscle twitched. No recognition, no remorse, just bored contempt. He'd seen enough poor, broken souls like you, having quite often participated in their torture himself.

You wanted to tell Aalto you were back. You wanted to apologize, to say he was right. You wanted to tell him that the bus... that the tacets... that the bandits...

You opened your mouth, struggling to push out a single word, but only a hoarse, wet, silent sound escaped your throat. In that moment, you grasped the full extent of your misfortune and your injury. Your body, which had been running on pure, desperate adrenaline for the past few days, suddenly shut down. The office was too quiet, too warm, too safe. Your body finally understood that the battle was over. The pulsating pain gave way to a deafening heaviness, and your legs buckled. Your eyes focused on his face, the very face you had thought about the entire way.

For the first time, you saw him without his self-control, without his defenses, exposed and utterly terrified.

You didn't even have time to fall to your knees. Before his hand could catch you, the world dissolved, plunging into the deep, merciful darkness brought on by exhaustion, stress, and a critical crash in terrible episodes whose were behind.

Aalto held you close, feeling how weightless you were, how frantically your heart beat.

—I told you, — he whispered, and his voice broke, dissolving into something between an exhale and a moan as he realized you were unconscious. He ignored the terrified Encore who rushed over to help. His usually cold, calculating fingers trembled as he carefully pushed your hair away from your forehead, touching the bruise.

At least yes, he was right, and it brought him no satisfaction whatsoever.. Only a burning, incinerating fury directed at the entire damned world outside. And at himself, for having let you go.

He wouldn't have said much. Lin is a man of action, not empty words, especially when it comes to pain. You recall his gaze the day you left to «find yourself» and «study away from the eternal threat of Jinzhou».

How naive.

How trustingly.

How foolish.

—You're willfully going where I wouldn't be, where the rangers couldn't reach. Study, then. But don't forget that your vulnerability is my responsibility, or, more accurately, was.

The last words were spoken quietly, but they chilled your blood. His disappointment was heavier than any words.

You blink. The dim light of the headquarters, the smell of dust and disinfectant. You slip into oblivion, and your last, desperate thought, before consciousness fades, summons his image.

Geshu Lin.

In that moment, his reaction comes alive in your mind, so real you feel the icy air of his presence. He stands over you, not in his worn field uniform, but in a perfectly clean uniform, like on the day of your farewell, his usual impassive expression on his face, his eyes boring into you. You feel them register every bruise, every torn piece of fabric, every scratch. He lowers his gaze to your head. The swollen, purplish-yellow hematoma on your forehead, a gift from the exiles, is like a brand on your tormented face.

Silence.

This isn't a reproach. It is merely a necessity, compressed into silence so as not to explode into fury. He gently brushes the back of his fingers across your forehead, just touching the swelling.In this hallucination, you feel the pain recede.

—I should have locked you in the barracks, — he finally pronounces. His voice is low, even. But there is such steel, such pain in it, that it's worse than a shout. He isn't angry at you.

—The discords tore the bus apart. They simply can't be stopped. But you made it through that, through the roar, — his finger slides down, touching your dirty chin. —Across the wastes. And you survived.

His gaze turns murderously cold as he thinks of those who inflicted your injuries. He doesn't ask what happened. The details don't interest him. Seeing is enough.

—Then the dregs of society. Those who were people, but became... — He cuts himself off. Geshu Lin never allowed himself curses, but now he looks as if he is preparing to personally wipe the entire faction from the map of Huanglong.

—I told you. The wild world is worse than the monsters. The wild beasts at least act on instinct.

His hand tightens over your shoulder. You feel his heart pounding despite his outward calm.

—You thought you would grow stronger by running from me and from Jinzhou. But look what they did to you. All you gained is merely proof that your place is here. Next to me. And if I'm forced to chain you to my barracks to protect you from the consequences of your foolishness, — he falls silent again, and then his eyes close from the agonizing tension.

He leans down and touches your forehead with his. You feel the coldness of his skin, the bitterness of his guilt.

—You survived. That's all that matters, — his voice becomes a barely audible whisper, drowning in the rush of your head-dizzy. —Those degenerates will be found. I'll personally see to it that they feel every single impact your head took against that wall, as soon as I return.

...as soon as I return.

You fall into sleep. The hallucination disperses like smoke. Geshu Lin isn't there. He's missing in action after the battle with the Ovathrax. And you are left alone with your dream, in which his steel gaze is the last thing you saw.

|Sorry for possible mistakes in the text. And thank u for reading to the end ♡|

[riricatria]

Hiya, hiya~

Back with another piece! Thanks for all the opinions that came in regarding who to write for next! Right now, I'm swimming with ideas for multiple characters, so I'm not quite sure who the next profile is going to be for, but we'll see soon enough! In the meantime, I'm thinking of writing some shorter form content so there doesn't have to be 1,5 weeks in between each post (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

I'm an irremediable whore for this man, not sure if you can tell. Lord have mercy（´∇｀''）

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

CONTENT WARNINGS INCLUDE: Dark content (dead dove), cisfem!Reader, injury to reader (there's blood), the general stuff that comes with yandere content (obsessiveness, possessiveness, imprisonment...), a lot of forced non-schmexual touching, manipulation, manhandling, NONCON, coercion, rope, oral in both directions, fingering, painful coitus (there's blood), size kink, brief anal, manhandling, cockwarming, kithhing, marks, he gets a bit rough, pet names.

Disclaimers can be found in my pinned post. The template is heavily inspired by @/cinnamonest!

S-FW

˗ˏˋ ★ 1. General look: How are they like? How do they behave around the darling? Are there any warning signs?

Ah, the General. You know, the tall, handsome and gentle man that watches over the Luofu and leads his people with quiet self-assurance and accustomed routine? He’s been in the office for as long as you’ve been alive, and according to the elders, the seat has been his for multiple centuries. Even your Vidyadharan acquaintance tells you that the man, Jing Yuan, has held the post for as far back as they can recall.

He’s tall, and he’s strong, and he’s kind, he’s good with his words, he moves so gracefully, his smile is so beautiful, his-, wait, what were you thinking again?

It’s fair to say that he has managed to catch your eye. From the red ribbon in his long, fluffy hair to the little mole on his left cheek... The sight of him gets you feeling certain things. One could say that you have become somewhat enamoured by him. You’re not the only one, no doubt: The General does have a little bit of a womanizer’s aspect to his personality. Many if not most would drop their current life to be with him.

It’s not a reasonable fantasy to have, of course. He’s been alive for, what, over 700 years, and you have been alive for… less than that. Besides, it’s not like you’re actually trying to court him. The little crush you have is more innocent daydreaming material and less an actual, serious endeavour. He doesn’t have a partner as far as you’re aware, but you’re not about to offer yourself up for the position. Being the General’s wife would be a hassle in a league of its own; plus, you doubt you would have a particularly good time in such role. It would bring a myriad of responsibilities, and you would have to become a public figure, too. That kind of life doesn’t really suit your tastes.

That won’t stop you from entertaining your fantasies, though. You wonder how it would be like to lie in his arms, to get to hear his voice the first thing in the morning; what it would feel like to have his fingers run through your hair, how his kisses would be, that sort of thing. It’s all in good humour, and you even tell your friends about your little reveries. They, of course, roll their eyes in a playful manner but engage in the conversation nonetheless. It’s no secret that the General is as dreamy on paper as it gets, and chances are that you have quite a few people to gossip with.

However, your interest doesn’t truly spike before you actually get to meet him in person. One fateful day, you are to visit the Seat of Divine Foresight: You need to bring a few documents in because of your job. It’s something that needs to be taken care of right away, and although such thing isn’t a part of your usual job description, you take on the task nonetheless. It’s not that long of a trip to the office, anyway, and you’re just going in and out.

Exalting Sanctum is quite a mesmerizing place. You don't often have a reason to visit the place since you live elsewhere, but it's always a joy to see the ever-so-lively plaza. The middle square is an especially beautiful sight: People are sitting by the stairs, going about their day, chatting, laughing... The place never disappoints. However, where you're headed is the grandest building amongst the many.

Just in case, before entering the Seat, you check your reflection in the window by the door. You briefly adjust your hair, making sure no strands are sticking to your forehead, before patting down your clothes. Your outfit isn't the most extravagant one, and you're going to stand out a little because of that, but it's not that big of a deal. If you knew you were going to have to take the gig today, you would have dressed nicer, of course — especially since there's always a tiny chance that you could be seeing the object of your interest — but you can do very little about that now. Besides, your clothes don't affect the quality of your work, and they're comfortable, so you decide to hold your head up high and step in.

Your thoughts take an unexpected turn the second you make it inside the grand building, though. Suddenly, when you take foot into where practically all of the Luofu's important decisions are made, your found confidence suffers a small blow. Everybody is dressed in fine garments, important-looking people are striding around the vast room, and there are guards everywhere. Without having even done anything, you have already gotten a few dirty looks. You’re completely out of your element.

You hold the stack of documents in your arms closer to your chest as if they’re going to fly away with all the bustle. The red carpet that leads to the General’s seat feels inappropriate for you to walk on: It’s like you’re trespassing an area that you’re much too low-class to be seen in.

What was her name again, uhh… Ah, Qingzu! You’re supposed to take the papers to someone called Qingzu. You were told she could be found somewhere in the office. You haven’t worked with her before; you have know idea what she even looks like, but surely it’s not that big of a challenge to find her amongst the staff?

After a quick look around, though, the task starts to seem more difficult than you originally thought: There are so many women who could very well be her, all looking equally high in position, carrying around papers and tablets, knee-deep in their own work. There are warriors, there are secretaries, messengers... You quickly give up on the mission and instead start scanning the room for somebody that appears like they could help you find her.

Cautiously, you make your way deeper into the hall, timidly peeking around like a kid lost at a market. Gazing at the opposite end of the place, you come to see that the General's seat is empty, as usual. Albeit you were secretly hoping for a chance to get to meet him in person, it’s a known fact that more often than not, he can’t be found where he should. You've heard various reasons for why it is, ranging from official business affairs to him being an incorrigible slacker. Personally, you believe that it’s a mix of the two: For him to be such an accomplished man, you doubt that he could spend half of his day just lazing around and still get so much done. Then again, there's always some truth to rumours.

You walk up to a woman that’s standing by one of the scroll stacks on the wall. Hesitantly, you introduce yourself and explain that you’re looking for a person called Qingzu, that you’re here on work errands. She looks at you with a slight knit in her brow before letting you know that who you’re searching for is currently on lunch break. Moreover, she suggests that you hand the documents over to her instead.

You’re not sure what you're supposed to do. Logically, it should be okay to trust the woman to handle the job to the end, but you were specifically asked to give the papers to a different person. Your boss made it sound like a literal request, too. So, you swipe your tongue over your lips in a nervous manner and tell her that you can wait for Qingzu to return, that it's not a problem for you. Hearing your response, the woman sends you a tiny look of distaste before insisting that she can take care of it.

It’s a tricky spot to be in. You’re sure that you have a few pairs of eyes on your back already. The guard a short distance away from you discreetly glances your way. The more seconds pass, the more awkward the situation becomes. At the Seat, the pace in which matters are handled is strict and unforgiving, and wasting the employee's time would be a faux pas like no other. It's evident that you're going to have to make a quick decision if you don't want more people to get involved.

Just as you're about to open your mouth, however, the woman's eyes move away from yours, looking at something above your head. Then, you feel a warm hand on your shoulder. A deep, rich male voice speaks behind you, the words demanding respect: "Please allow her to stay until Miss Qingzu returns from her break". Judging from the woman's reaction, the request is less that and more of an order. Without missing a beat, she gives you a curt nod before leaving you standing there with the documents still in your half-extended hands.

You turn around to greet the man. However, as you do, you’re only met with the sight of a chest.

Your heart nearly jumps out of your throat. Your gaze travels up the man's form, trailing from his red pants to the golden symbol of a lion on his right shoulder. You let your eyes stray higher, and soon enough, they come into contact with a couple of striking, yellow ones. It’s him.

Your immediate reaction is to completely freeze in place. A steady warmth makes its way onto your cheeks, as much as you would like for it not to. You become aware of how you're staring at his face, and you avert your gaze from the sight of him to look at the floor, the scrolls on the walls, the banners hanging from the ceiling. The situation is so horribly awkward that you think you would prefer for the ground to swallow you along with the documents. Your boss suffering the minor loss of some papers and an employee is something she would just have to survive. Though, realistically speaking, you prepare yourself to humbly take on a scolding from the General himself, and so you straighten your back and look him in the eye.

However, instead of whatever you were expecting for his reaction to be, the General simply smiles down at you with compassion. His brows are raised in something akin to intrigue, and one of his hands comes up to rest over his chin in a thoughtful pose.

He has to bend down in order to greet you properly. The action is simultaneously a tiny bit belittling and incredibly attractive. He obviously doesn’t mean it in an offending way, and the gentle smile on his face tells the same story. Though everything in his character gives off nothing short of serenity, you yourself are finding it difficult to even stay standing.

He asks for your name. You mumble out an answer, but your voice cracks in the middle. You wish you never chose this occupation. However, instead of acknowledging the blunder, he gives you a courteous nod and introduces himself. Obviously, you would have had to live in one of the cargo boxes at the docks to not know who he is, and even then you would probably have caught the name. The gesture is, however, out of courtesy on his end: It’s a clear attempt to treat you as an equal, as ridiculous as that is when it comes to someone of his status, and so, you accept it with gratitude.

You stammer out the reason for your visit, showing him the stack of papers in your hands. He hums a small, contemplative sound in response.

Then, he asks you to wait by his desk for when the rightful recipient for the documents returns. Your eyes widen at the proposal: You, him... What? But the... You're about to refuse the offer, assuring him that you could just come back later, but there's already a large hand hovering above the small of your back, leading you towards the seat sitting at the grandest spot in the entire hall.

Your head is going hundreds of miles per hour, and every thought is so jumbled that you nearly fail to notice how he plants his palm on the back of your waist in a fairly intimate manner. Obviously, it’s a bit strange for him to be this touchy with a person he has just met, but oh, how exhilarating it feels to be the object of the General’s undivided attention. The entire situation is like straight out of one of your daydreams. You pretend to scratch your arm in favour of pinching yourself, just to make sure that this is, in fact, not a result of your imagination.

You end up standing next to him at his desk, completely still and straight as a twig, for the twenty-something minutes that it takes for Qingzu to appear back in the Seat of Divine Foresight. It's the only thing you can think to do: You're not sure about the etiquette when it comes to places like this, and so you do your best to be as unnoticeable as possible. The General, however, doesn't seem to find it necessary.

He asks you about your work. Hesitantly, you tell him the basics, who you work under, what the documents are about. It’s an attempt at small talk, clearly, but you’re hardly even able to listen to what comes out of his mouth. He’s so close to you, you can almost feel his warmth, and oh Aeons, he’s so handsome. Dealing with something like this is way above your paygrade, but you can't help but thank whatever stars aligned for you to end up where you are.

By the time Qingzu returns from her break, your blush is so deep and your hands so shaky that she has to inquire if you’re feeling alright. Finally being able to hand the papers to her, you thank her profusely and assure her that nothing is wrong. Without any further explanations, you swiftly excuse yourself. Of course, you make sure to bid your goodbyes to the General as well, and you do it along with an apology and a slight bow. He lets you go with a smile so devastatingly good-looking that your blood nearly evaporates. You practically skip your way out of the building.

When you get back to your boss, the first thing she does is laugh at your reddened face. Your thoughts practically radiate off of you, and it’s not particularly difficult to guess at least the basics of what has gone down when looking at you. The deep flush, the way the corners of your mouth are forcibly tugging upwards, and most importantly, the dreamy sigh you let out the second you make it inside your own office. Chances are that she set you up for the whole thing, knowing that you have the hots for the General, but you couldn't care less: You can't wait to share all what happened with your coworkers. In your elation, you decide to set the pessimistic rationale of what he must have thought of the encounter aside, and instead, you go on to gush about it like reciting a romantic drama script. It's all light-hearted fun, and the tale is sure to entertain every lover girl at the office.

Though, whatever you're thinking is going through Jing Yuan’s mind all the way back at the Seat of Divine Foresight is most likely quite far from the truth. Outwardly, he doesn't seem affected at all: He appears like his usual self, going over some work matters with glazed-over eyes, reading through the scrolls, writing down notes. If anything, he looks like he’s about to fall asleep, which is not that far from the usual, but in his head, he's anything but drowsy.

You’re lovely. It’s all he can think about. From your pretty face to the way your hands trembled out of nervousness in his company, your hair, your eyes, your meek voice, how you carried yourself despite the anxiety. What a rotten coincidence it would have been if he had missed you: You nearly walked out right in front of his eyes!

Immediately, he recognizes that he's attracted to you. However, unlike with most yanderes, what he’s feeling is closer to pure romantic interest than the overwhelming desire to possess you. It’s been a good while, centuries, even, since someone has last caught his eye in this way, but it's nothing severe enough to make him spiral. For now, in his eyes, you're a terribly pretty thing, but that's as far as it goes. Though, if he were to get to know you better, things could take a different course.

As luck would have it, your boss sends you on the very same types of errands in the future as well. She’s a cunning lady, true to her Foxian blood, and so she has claimed it as her responsibility to see that you get more fuel for your crush. Not only are you much more efficient that way, but the gleeful grin on your face is more than enough of a reason for her to put in a bit more effort. All in all, it’s a wholesome turn of events.

You start seeing the General on a regular basis while conducting the tasks delegated to you. More often than not, he’s at his desk when you pop up, and each time, he greets you with the same warmth as he did the first time. The relationship between the two of you slowly gets more and more cordial, until eventually, you would dare to call him ”your acquaintance”. Anything beyond that is off the table since he’s still a much more powerful figure than you could ever be, but it's far beyond enough for you. He listens to you talk about your day, about your boss, about your personal life, even. He doesn't seem that keen on sharing his own stories with you, but you're more than happy with the arrangement. You have learned that listening is his strong suit.

Though, as time goes by, you start to notice that your initial crush on him has begun dwindling down. As you have gotten to know him better, the attraction has slowly lost substance until your heart doesn't even leap anymore when you see him at his seat. It's not to say that you don't like him, no, but these days, the romantic scenarios you used to make up of him seem silly, more than anything. He has become something ordinary.

He knows, of course, that much like many people before you, the interest you initially showed at him was the youthful, innocent kind. It’s no unusual thing for him to have to deal with; he knows he’s quite a handsome guy. From you, especially, it was incredibly flattering: He could have bathed in your gaze like sun-warmed lake water, relished the red that adorned your cheeks, but as time has gone on, he no longer senses the same type of infatuation from you. Now that the two of you have actually gotten to know each other, it’s almost like you think of him as a… friend.

The second that the revelation comes to him, his sanity, the figurative floor that has kept him from falling into depravity, shatters under him, and he falls head first into the endless pit of his own self-absorption. The change occurs in a heartbeat, quite possibly in the middle of a conversation between you and him. Uncharacteristically, he seems to pause in the middle of his sentence, as if having forgotten what he was about to say, but he quickly composes himself. However, in that single moment, all of his psyche has flipped upside-down. And, the worst thing is that, you won’t catch a single glimpse of it.

He’s skilled when it comes to the art of concealing one’s emotions. He has had to do it for the past seven centuries, so it would be quite embarrassing if he hadn’t already caught the gist of it. Despite the way all of his mental alarms are going off at the same time, he continues the chat with you, completely unfazed.

He can’t believe you don’t harbour that sort of affection towards him anymore. It wasn't obvious then, but it seems that he took your attention for granted. He feels like the chance he knew he had slips from his fingers right then and there, as if a switch had been flipped. His mind is flooded with beyond unpleasant thoughts about all the losses he has had to witness, the death, the pain, everything. The image of you turning your back to him is enough to raise his pulse to near hysteria. Everything is about to come crashing down, and he’s just quick enough to excuse himself for some mundane reason before he loses himself.

It's so selfish. How could he be so selfish? How did he not see that, with every conversation, with every exchanged smile, your interest in him had lost substance bit by bit, and now he's left with nothing but a friend. You were supposed to adore him, to be all jittery when looking him in the eye. He didn't consider himself a self-centered person, but it seems that he has to reconsider that. You, little, tiny you have been holding so much power over him and he didn't even notice it.

He hasn’t had to deal with his vulnerable side for a good while. In his everyday life, there’s hardly anything that would be upsetting enough to affect him like this. It’s a terribly egotistical thought, he recognizes, but he simply can’t stomach the idea of your interest dying down. Unbeknown to you, and, he sees now, to him, he has breathed in your presence like it’s oxygen to him. He sits down and buries his face in his palms.

˗ˏˋ ★ 2. Securing: How will they abduct their darling? When, where and how?

For the next few days after his breakdown, Jing Yuan ponders over the options he has. Obviously, the most reasonable and morally correct action would be to just… let you live. He takes pride in being justful and kind, and every other alternative plan would be sheer mockery of such descriptions. The Luofu is particular about the citizens’ rights, too: Wrongful imprisonment would be against at least a dozen laws, and even more when taking his position into the equation.

But, then again, he needs you. It's not justifiable in any way, and he doesn’t understand it himself, either, but he can’t deny the fact that he would cut off his own arm if it meant that he could wake up to the sight of you every day. No matter how many days go by, that urge doesn’t die down — it grows stronger and stronger, until abducting you is all he can think about.

He’s vaguely pretending in his mind that, no, he isn’t conducting a plan for kidnapping you, but that’s exactly what he’s doing. During this time, he spends more time in his house than usual — to the point where Yanqing has to question if "the General is feeling under the weather". Despite the concern, he assures everyone that he’s doing fine, that he has just been busy outside of work matters. Truth to be told, he’s at his wit’s end regarding the entire thing, but nevertheless, he doesn’t stop pursuing his goal.

The eventual, inevitable outcome is that he abandons his honour in favour of achieving, well, you. It's the result of multiple days' careful consideration and a generous amount of introspection, but no matter which way he looks at it, he always ends up choosing you over anything else. And, when he makes his final decision, it's like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Jingliu would be really proud of him for this one.

Ultimately, his plan isn’t even that grand or scrupulous as one would perhaps expect from him. Yes, it’s not particularly risky, either, but at its core, it's as simple as it gets. So much so, even, that when it has been conducted, you don’t immediately realize that you have just become a victim of his whims.

It’s an ordinary day. You have, once again, been tasked to visit the Seat of Divine Foresight, and as is usual, the General is there, sitting at his desk with a scroll of text spread over the table. He raises his gaze when you step in, welcoming you with his typical, soft smile that used to make your heart leap out of your chest. These days, you only feel the steady delight that comes when seeing someone dear to you.

You’re about to drop the documents off to Qingzu again, but this time, he stops you before you can begin searching for the woman. ”Actually, she informed me that it would be best if they were delivered directly at my residence”, he claims, gesturing at the papers in your hands. Your eyes widen a little, caught off-guard by the statement, but you're quick to compose yourself. It’s not unusual for him to take some work matters back to his house, and besides, for him to request something from you should be an honour! Hence, you don't think that much of it. You agree to his proposal, setting the stack on his desk instead of finding Qingzu, but he continues: ”That, and I have a few documents to send back to your boss. Would it be an inconvenience if your errand were to stretch a bit?”

You look at him, down at the documents, back at him. It’s a bit of an odd suggestion, considering that such a thing has never been asked of you before, but then your rational mind takes over. Surely, it’s not that big of a deal to walk to his place and back since there’s a good reason for it, too, right? You know roughly where the house is, anyway, so maybe you can make it back by starskiff before your boss starts wondering if you’re slacking off. Plus, there’s no reason for you not to trust the General. He’s been nothing but cordial to you, which has made your job far easier and much more pleasant than it would be under normal circumstances. And then again, your boss is probably going to be more than happy about you seeing an extra task through than not strictly sticking to the schedule.

You agree to the plan. His expression softens. He informs you that you’ll be leaving in a quarter of an hour. Nothing in his behaviour is indicative of anything out of the ordinary.

The two of you head to his house. Through the crowded streets of the Xianzhou Luofu and all the way to where his residence stands on top of a little hill, you walk beside him. You sit next to him in the starskiff that takes you to a completely different part of the ship. Throughout the trip, he makes little attempts at talking to you about nothing in particular, maybe trying to ease your mind, maybe just out of courtesy, but aside from those, he’s unusually quiet. That, and you notice that his pace is a tiny bit hasty. Your legs are starting to strain from constantly having to catch up with him. You don’t dare comment on it, however — it’s probably just your height difference. He’s really tall, so it’s likely just what he’s used to.

It’s not. He’s putting all of his willpower into not speed-walking his way through the entire commute. He’s very much aware of how you’re just barely keeping up with his pace, but it’s the best he can do, really. The more people there are that see you, the bigger the risk of somebody finding out what he is about to do. However, the great thing about being in his position is that nobody, nobody would dare to question him if it comes to having to prove his innocence. It’s a terribly corrupt use of his status, he knows, but moral sacrifices like that are only necessary when working towards a greater aim.

When you arrive at his residence, you can't help but marvel at the sight of it. His place is a beautiful, traditional Luofu house with a large yard and a tall fence surrounding the premises. You comment on it, telling him that you find the view gorgeous. He just gives you a smile as a response.

He leads you inside the house. You immediately come to question the fact that it's awfully dark: Maybe he's really that mindful about his energy usage? Though, even when the two of you get further into the building, he doesn't switch any lights on. An uneasy feeling is making itself known in the pit of your stomach.

You consider asking him to just retrieve whatever he has to from inside the house, but as he doesn’t suggest it himself, you conclude that it would be rude to question him. You follow him through a few rooms, gazing at the interior with curiosity, having your eyes travel over the ornate items on the walls, the paintings, a chess board spread on one of the tables… His house is surprisingly ordinary, at least according to your standards, though it's a bit hard to make it all out in the dim lighting.

He opens one last door at the very back of the apartment and holds it open for you to enter the room behind it. You walk past him, stepping into the darkness, squinting your eyes to see anything. You’re just about to gently propose that perhaps he should turn the lights on, but when you turn around, you hear the lock click shut behind you.

The room is pitch black. You have been rendered blind. The violent shiver that runs down your spine cannot be described in words. Your stomach flips in the same instant, and an ice-cold surge of terror floods into your bloodstream.

No, maybe he’s just… maybe he’s just… It’s because he’s…

The very same moment you realize that you have run out of justifications, his hand shoots out from the darkness to grab your form. You try to dodge, but of course, no person on this planet holds enough strength to be able to resist General Jing Yuan.

His arm wraps around your upper body, effectively locking you in place. His other hand goes to rest over your mouth, large enough to cover the entire lower half of your face. His chest is firm against your back, and no matter how you try to tear at his arm, he won’t as much as budge. When you start flailing your legs and trying to step on his toes, kick at his shins, aiming in between his legs, he lifts your entire body in the air like you weighed nothing to him. In a disproportionately calm voice considering the situation, he speaks in your ear, telling you to ”calm down, you’re only going to hurt yourself".

Naturally, that doesn't make you give up the fight even the slightest bit. Still, no matter how hard you struggle against him, your screams are muffled by his palm pressing against your mouth, and whatever little punches you’re able to land at his sides do nothing but tire you out further. The true panic is starting to set in, and your movements are getting more and more haphazard. He takes note of this, of course, and lets up his grip on your face a tiny bit to let you breathe. There’s nobody around that could hear your trouble, anyway.

When you run out of energy to put up a physical struggle, you resort to pleading with him, begging him to let you go, telling him that ”you won’t tell anybody if he just lets you go back, you won’t tell your boss, you won’t tell anybody, you swear”, but none of it really registers in his brain. At the moment, he's hardly capable of sensible thought. He’s still holding you in the air, just to be sure, but it seems that the worst is over for now. He lets out a sigh of relief.

A few tears have rolled down your cheeks and caught on the hand that’s still slotted against your face. He knows that you’re terrified out of your mind, that you don’t understand the least bit of what’s happening; you might even think that you’re in immediate danger, that he’s going to harm you. The idea of you going through such thing does cause his chest to ache a bit, but he’s sure that, with time, the fear you feel now will turn into something much more pleasant. And, fortunately for him, he has time.

˗ˏˋ ★ 3. Life: What is it like to live with them? How do they treat the darling?

The first few days are rough for you. Properly speaking, it's not because of him; he won’t put you through anything too harsh at the start (considering what he could be doing), but the frightening part is that you have been left in the dark regarding his intentions. It’s not that he means for you to feel that way — it’s more that he doesn’t know how to talk to you yet. You're in a highly vulnerable place mentally, and so, he doesn't want to inflict any further unintentional damage by getting too close too fast. Unless you make the initiative to talk to him, he won’t force you to converse with him at all in the first week or so. You have your own room that you’re locked in, and he doesn’t really talk to you when he brings you your meals and whatever else you might need. He greets you and says a few things, of course, but nothing beyond that.

When it comes to the room itself, it could be much worse. It’s nicely furnished: You have a large, plush bed to sleep in, you have your own bathroom, he has left you things to pass time with, and you can see the beautiful view of his yard through the tall window on the north wall. All things considered, it’s far from the worst place to be imprisoned in. It used to be one of his spare bedrooms, actually. "But it's all yours now", he tells you as he sets a bowl of rice in front of your huddled form in the room's farthest corner.

Though, after a few days’ ”settling in”-period, you're going to have to start cheering up a bit. He’s going to come into your room one day with your dinner. It’s just like all the previous evenings, but this time, he doesn’t leave after the few soulless sentences he utters. Instead, he sets his share of the food beside yours and sits down in front of where you’re balled up in the corner. It seems to have become your favourite spot — it must feel safe to you in some way. He makes sure to keep his distance for now, not entering your personal space, but it still leaves you feeling trapped. He slides your bowl closer to you, urging you to eat, but your hands remain tightly slotted against your chest as if you feared that he was going to cut off your fingers. He sighs at the display.

He asks you how you’re doing. The answer is obvious, you’re not faring too well, but the question is more about the sentiment behind it than your actual answer. He averts his gaze from your quivering form for a moment.

It takes a while for him to find suitable words for the situation. However, after he does, he opens the conversation by apologizing. You’re not the least bit impressed by his show of regret, and you make it known by pulling even further into yourself. You debate on if you should kick the bowl of food over just to get the point across, but as if sensing your intent, he moves the thing to the side.

He begins explaining your situation to you to the best of his ability. He lets you know that he’s not going to hurt you, that you haven’t done anything wrong, that he loves you, and that he’s not going to let you out. It all comes out of his mouth one thing after another, perhaps in an effort not to prolong the suspense. You’re equally horrified and confused by each of the claims, but the two latter ones are evidently the most shocking to you. The dried streaks of tears that adorn your face look like they’re going to get a fresh round in a bit. You swallow down a lump in your throat, willing yourself not to cry in front of him.

He promises to answer any and all of your questions if you have them. You have a difficult time deciphering what his eyes convey. It’s your decision whether or not you want to talk to him right away because the offer will remain open as long as you’re there with him, but he's a bit more receptive at the start of your captivity. If you don’t take the opportunity, he won't bother you any further with conversation attempts, and the two of you are going to eat in silence. Nevertheless, though, whatever your choice is, the moment marks the end of your adjustment period.

When it comes to his day-to-day life, you'll notice that his time isn’t really bound by that strict of a routine. He wakes up early in the morning, yes, and he has his job to attend most days, but other than that, you’ll be spending a lot of time with him in his house.

He feeds you, takes care of your needs, makes sure that you’re doing okay and that you’re in as sound of a mental space as you can be, circumstances taken into account. You have his attention whenever you desire it, no matter what he’s currently occupied with. He attempts to strike up chats with you, varying in topic, and slowly but surely, he has been able to get words out of you. Whether it’s you asking him for something or even complaining, he gladly accepts it all. He also takes you outside whenever he’s able: It’s important for you to get sunlight, and besides, the yard is much more spacious than the room you’re holed up in. It’s under the condition that your wrist is linked to his with a red tie, though, so you can’t make a run for it, but he lets you roam around as much as you’d like.

When it comes to his free time, as mentioned, he likes to spend it with you. From the conversations he used to have with you back when you were still free, he has a pretty good idea of the stuff that you're into. Whether it be arts or sports or anything in between, he suggests doing it with you. More often than not, you decline, and it does set him back a bit. If you're not up for doing it with him, he's perfectly fine with just watching you. You point out that it's equally as awkward if not even more so, but he insists that he doesn't mind. He likes to watch you do things, no matter what they are.

His personal favourite activities are, however, napping, gardening and chess. All of these are even better with you, naturally. It doesn't matter if you don't know the least bit about any of them (though napping is not the most demanding hobby to have), he guides you through with a gentle hand on your back. "I don't know the rules" is not valid enough of a reason to get out of playing board games with him, and neither is "I'm bad at it". He'll sit you on his lap and literally guide your hand on the pieces if he has to.

He also has a really sneaky way to get you to play with him. Times when you're clearly not feeling like it, he might pick you up and pretend to want to nap with you. Fearing the two-hour heater treatment and the sheer boredom that comes with it, you hastily propose that you do something else instead. "Hmm, what would you suggest?" is a difficult question to answer on the fly, and so, you end up going with the chess. Regardless of if you choose that or the nap, it's a win for him. Cunning fuck.

At night, the two of you sleep in the same bed; either yours or his. You won’t be able to escape from him since the only position he allows you to rest in is encased in his arms. You’re tightly pressed against his broad chest, head tucked under his chin. It gets kind of hot like that, but no matter how many times you complain about it, he insists on doing it. You feel like you’re cuddling a radiator.

Jing Yuan is not a bad yandere to be with, all things considered. If you weren’t held in his house against your will, one could think that it’s just an ordinary, happy relationship you have with him.

˗ˏˋ ★ 4. Rules: What kind of rules do they enforce? How lenient are they? How do they keep their darling in check?

He doesn’t really set out any rules for you. It’s more that he assumes that you understand them yourself. He did state that ”he’s not going to let you escape, unfortunately”, so that’s given, but aside from that, he’s incredibly lenient. You can yell at him all you want, insult him, curse at him, punch him, kick him — anything you fancy, really. Though, if you get really violent with him, he will restrict your movements. It’s not like your hits do a lot to his rock-solid body, but he would prefer not to be beaten regardless. Though, it’s good that you’re attempting to channel your rage to something else than yourself, he thinks.

Another thing is that he would rather not have you break stuff in your room. He can replace all of it, of course, but it’s always a bit of a hassle to do so. That, and hey, the room didn’t really do anything to you. It kind of pains him to see that you would place so little value on his home. However, if it makes you feel better, then who is he to say no to you: He could get you a dummy in your room if you're so keen on venting your aggression in violent ways.

The most severe restriction in your life is the fact that he doesn’t ever let you wander further than his yard. When he’s around, you’re allowed to explore the entire house (preferably where he’s able to see you), and he takes you outside whenever you’re feeling like it, but it’s going to be a miracle if you ever see the planet outside of his residence again. He knows it’s not ideal: It’s good for one’s mental health not to constantly look at the same view, but it’s a necessary evil, he thinks. He's simultaneously more lenient and far stricter compared to other yanderes when it comes to controlling where you get to roam: Though you'll never get to wander any further than his house, the entire plot is yours to explore (under his watchful eye, of course). He could be far less merciful.

A major part of his lenience comes from the fact that he feels remorse for having abducted you — especially now that you don’t seem to be particularly pleased about the turn of events. He’s not going to set you free by any means, of course not, but he still feels sorry for the anguish he has caused. That being said, he’s incredibly weak to things you might suggest. If you want anything, he’ll most likely get it for you (to a reasonable degree). If you want to go for a walk, he’ll take you. Whatever it is, he’ll abandon his work in favour of entertaining you.

When it comes to keeping you in check, he himself wouldn’t like to use that term. It’s more about ”making sure that you don’t so stupid things”. He doesn’t do violence, he doesn’t make threats, doesn’t tie you down, doesn’t really restrict you in any other way than locking you in your room, and even that is usually only if he has to leave for work or if you've been difficult. He’s fairly confident that you won’t be able to escape from there, so he doesn’t see the need for further precautions. Your furniture is much too heavy for you to lift, and the lock cannot be picked. Yes, if you rammed yourself into the window full force, you could technically make it out, but he doubts you have the courage for that. More on this later.

It’s not that he can’t be firm when it comes to setting boundaries, though. He’s a very confident man, and if there’s something that is absolutely off-limits, he will let you know in the calm, rich and absolute tone of his. And, you should know that when he says no, it really is a no.

˗ˏˋ ★ 5. Consequences: What kind of punishments will the darling face? How do they punish different offences?

Usually, his punishments are not that severe. He doesn’t penalize mild offences that he perhaps should: These include things like badmouthing him, yelling, trying to hurt him (with some exceptions), refusing to speak to him, that sort of thing. He doesn’t believe in reprimanding you more than strictly necessary, and the purpose is not to scare you or hurt you for the sake of it. Moreover, he doesn’t have any go-to methods; he will do whatever he deems suitable at the moment.

What he does punish you for, for example, is the aforementioned breaking things. He has a spare room in his residence for when he has to have you out of your own for whatever reason. It’s a crammed, empty space with no windows, and that’s where you’ll be spending an hour or two if you decide to trash what he has so gracefully provided you with. It’s dark in there, and it’s so narrow that you’re barely able to lie on the floor without your head or your feet touching the wall, so you don’t particularly enjoy the times he puts you in there. He might also throw you for a cooldown in the damned cabinet if you seriously don’t stop trying to beat him up. As much as he would like to, he really can’t have you trying to punch his face in when he’s trying to bring you dinner. He would prefer not to spill the food on the floor.

Then again, if you start getting a bit more creative with your attempts at trying to cause physical harm to him, you will face at least some degree of consequences. If you were to, say, try to stab him with your utensils when he comes to have lunch with you, he won’t take the action lightly. He obviously dodges the hit — what kind of a swordmaster would he be if his reflexes were that weak — but it’s the notion that he’s more concerned about. He firmly grabs your wrist in the air, giving it a warning squeeze. He lets you know that ”if you do it again, he’ll have to think of another way for you to eat”. The point gets across, at least for now. The same thing goes for things like, eh, assassination attempts while he’s sleeping, hurling sharp objects at him, and so on. You should know that his threats are not empty, either: He could feed you by hand if you prove untrustworthy with your chopsticks.

If he has time and he needs to teach you a lesson, one of his methods is forcing you to sit in his lap for hours on end. It’s not a particularly comfortable position for you: His legs are hoisted over yours, effectively locking you in place, and he’s holding both of your hands in one of his. No amount of struggling is going to get him to let you go until he’s satisfied. The duration of this procedure varies: It could be just for until he’s done with his work, or it could be basically for the entire day. You never know with him.

It also serves as an effective method to calm you down. It's how animals are soothed as well; by holding them down until the body gets the message that there's no danger. That, and the more energy you spend on trying to wrestle yourself out of his grasp, the calmer you are afterwards. It's not even that much of a punishment, truly; you should be grateful that this is his method.

If you try to escape from him, though, you’ll come to understand the worst extent of the consequences he can offer you. As much as he would like for it not to happen, you almost flee once when you, against his expectations, manage to ram yourself into the window with enough force to shatter the glass. It’s after a considerable amount of attempts, and you had to switch elbows after a while since your entire side felt like it was bruising, but after numerous times of running against the window, you hear how it cracks. A few more hits, and your entire arm crashes through the windowpane.

Your forearm suffers a deep gash in the process. Blood spills from the wound, but you have no time to think about stemming the flow as you focus on making the hole in the window large enough for you to fit through. You tear away a part of the now broken muntin to use as a tool to break away the sharpest points on the glass, being as quick and as precise as you’re possibly able. Within a few minutes, you deem your work good enough, set your foot on the window sill, and climb out of the building.

The General has been away for quite some time now. It’s only a matter of time that he returns to the house, so you know you need to be swift. The main exit is at the front of the house, and if you make it there, you’ll be free. Not caring about the way your own blood is staining your clothes red, you start running your way around the building.

The residence is not that big. It’s just that your room is facing the back side of the premises, right into his garden. You have to make it past the twisting paths that line the ponds and fountains, and then you’ll need to cross the smaller fence that separates the back from the front of the plot. Your panic is keeping your arm from hurting; the adrenaline is blocking the agony. You’re certain that the excruciating pain will catch up to you soon enough, and you would prefer that moment to be when you’re already far out of his reach. So, you leap over all that garnishes his yard, wetting your socks as you scramble through the water and to the other side where the inner fence stands.

The thing is higher than you remember, now that it actually comes to you having to jump over it; it’s all the way up to your neck. It would not be as strenuous of an effort if both of your arms were still in the game, but now, it’s a bigger challenge to get past the thing. You wince as you slide the pads of your fingers over the barrier's jagged texture.

Regardless, you have no choice but to make it through. Determined to make your escape, you start manoeuvring yourself over the fence with only one hand. Every single spot on your body strains as you do your best to see the endeavour through, and your palms scrape against the rough surface, most likely drawing blood. Still, clenching your teeth, you grasp the edge with all your might, fling one of your legs over the top, and with great pain, you manage to cross the fence.

Your body tumbles down onto the other side of the gravel. You fall right on your back on the hard ground, and you're hit with an overwhelming urge to vomit. However, you only allow yourself a single second of rest before rising onto your feet and directing your attention to the exit.

He’s standing there.

Your eyes lock with his. The expression on his face is completely unreadable. Though, if there’s one thing to note, it’s the fact that the usual smile has disappeared from his features. He stands completely still, staring at the sight of you with his hands resting on his sides.

You don’t make an attempt to sprint for the exit. You know you can’t make it past him. All hope you had gathered in your being dissipates into the air like it was never there. Despite your heart still hammering in your ears, you’re suddenly all too aware of how your wounded arm aches to the point of it radiating into your entire upper body.

He strides towards you. As a last ditch effort, you attempt to dart to the side and dive under his arm when he reaches out for you. For once, he doesn’t expect defiance, and you manage to evade his grasp. You manage to get a few meters further before you feel his fingers dig into the back of your shirt. He yanks you backwards with an unusual amount of force. You let out a yelp, choking at the way your collar tightens against your throat. Regardless, you do your best to turn around and rip his grip off of you. It’s a futile effort, of course, and with a single tug of his hand, he immobilizes your body against his.

You don’t fight him when he wordlessly wraps one arm over the backside of your thighs. He hoists you over his shoulder with roughness you’re not quite used to. The air is knocked out of your lungs as your chest is thrown against his upper back.

The entire aftermath is messy. Not necessarily physically, although it can be that, too, but emotionally. He doesn’t show it on his face, but you can’t miss the way his hands tremble the slightest bit; such bodily reaction is so out of ordinary for someone like him. The feeling is the same as when he first realized that his love for you was less that and more obsession. It’s the sudden realization that you could very well leave him if you so desired, and now that you have shown him that you’re capable of it, he has to admit it to himself that he truly has been startled. He’s nothing short of a level-headed man, but you’re the one piece in his life that threatens that.

He brings you into his room. As much as he's trying to curb his anger, he can't help the way he flings you onto his bed. You let out a frightened little yelp as he does, but he can't find it in himself to care. Instead, he climbs on top of you and grabs your entire face. His fingers dig into your cheeks, your temples, your jaw. Your eyes are blown wide open, trying to suck in frantic breaths through where his palm presses against your lips.

Then, his grip tightens. Simultaneously, his other hand latches around your wounded forearm, squeezing tight. Strangled wheezes and muffled pleas erupt from your mouth as his fingers sink into the open flesh, his nails sting against the gash, meant to hurt. Your entire body is trembling along with the whimpers that spill past your lips. Despite how you beg, his grip only gets more and more crushing.

You fear he's going to shatter your jaw. Your arm has gone numb from how much pain it has been projected to. Instead of your words, you attempt to plead with him with your eyes. It proves to be a terrifying task, however, when you come to find that his gaze is solely focused on your own. His pupils are sharp, his face expressionless, and most terrifyingly, he doesn't seem to have heard a single word you said. Your tears catch against hand, but not even that is enough to pull him out of his trance.

It's only when you let out a desperate shriek that his hand flies off your face like he had set it on a stovetop. A simple "ow-ow-OW" is enough to break him away from the daze, and in a split second, he releases his grip. You immediately curl in on yourself, bringing your bloodied arm against your heaving chest.

He himself is breathing heavily, too: Seeing the state that you're in, the reality becomes apparent to him. He rises off your body, sucking in a deep inhale and closing his eyes. For a moment, he just stands on his knees above your form, straddling you with his arms resting on his sides. You're not sure what it is that he's doing: It looks like he has fallen into another stupor, almost, but the way his fists are clenched tells a different story. It's not like you can really concentrate on the sight, though. Your eyes are swimming with tears, and the pain is so unbearable that you wonder how long you're going to be able to remain conscious.

Still, after a long minute, he opens his eyes and slowly exhales through his nose. Blinking a few times, his gaze settles on your form. He couldn’t care less for how the blood that now stains his hand seeps into your shirt as he softly sets his palm above your stomach. Your increasingly rapid pulse rushes beneath your sweat-clad skin where he gently pushes down on your abdomen. His lashes fall shut again.

He lets you know that he’s going to have to lock you in the spare room for a few days. You hardly even react to the statement, much too absorbed in your own thoughts and the pain that’s shooting up your arm. ”I know it’s not pleasant, but considering what you did, I assume you were prepared for it”, he continues, stroking his thumb against your skin.

He asks you to remain still while he goes get something for your wounds. Your face contorts to something akin to distress, but the expression fades away in the very same second. Instead, you let out a near-silent sob, and a single tear runs down your cheek.

˗ˏˋ ★ 6. Emotions I: How do they show love? How do they attempt to make the darling love them?

Jing Yuan is a force to be reckoned with when it comes to affection. Not only is he a naturally gentle person but also a sucker for romantic gestures. That being said, be prepared to be showered in (unwanted) love.

The first and biggest thing for him is touch. Touch here, touch there, touch-touch-touch. It’s like he has a health bar on him that gradually goes down and only regenerates when he gets to have his hands on you. That’s how much you have to deal with his physical side.

He can’t help it. Every chance he gets, you feel his fingers dancing along the curve of your shoulders, brushing through your hair, ”adjusting your clothing” in favour of getting to touch you. He loves the subtlety of it all: It’s enough to satisfy his need for closeness while simultaneously being just mild enough for you to not get upset at his ministrations. Of course, if you show a negative response, he won't push the limit too far. Be mindful, though, because rejecting his advances will only work at the start: If you don’t allow him to touch you, the eventual outcome is that he starts doing it against your will, and it’s only going to escalate from there. The man needs his hugs.

Ah, hugs. Those and cuddling are the source of his life energy. He does both multiple times a day, and whenever he does, you feel like his body is about to consume you. He’s a large man: His hand fits around your entire bicep, and he can hold your weight up with only one arm. That being said, he gets creative with how he embraces you. He could have you lie in his lap, either straight or sideways, or he could spoon you, or then he could just hug you the classic way. The front, the side, the back, he doesn’t really have a preference. If he makes you nap with him, he also enjoys sort of half-lying on top of you. He can’t do it with his full weight, of course, since he would crush you, but it’s comforting to him while simultaneously making sure that you can’t flee from him.

Then, he loves-loves-loves to massage you. He would do it every other hour if you just would let him. As much as you don’t like giving in to his whims, you must admit that he’s ridiculously good at it. If you’ve been looking especially groggy and irritable, he might take you to the garden and sit you down on the grass. You wonder if he’s going to make you play a game of his fuckass chess again, but no. Instead, he takes a seat behind you. With the back of his hand, he lightly nudges your lower back to coax you to straighten your posture, and as you do, his touch moves up to your shoulders.

The way his thumbs press against the muscle connecting the back of your neck to your shoulder is firm yet as gentle as he could possibly be. Carefully, he makes a repetitive, round shape on your skin before moving a little bit lower. His palms are so warm, and oh, it feels so good that a part of you wants to just stand up and leave in order to not give him the satisfaction of knowing exactly how pleasant it is. However, you don’t, and within ten minutes, his hands come up from either side of your neck to softly tilt your chin up because your head is starting to droop.

It also goes when you’re lying down. He does it in the bedroom (in an innocent way) since it’s much more convenient to have you rest on the bed on your stomach. He can have your back bare that way, too, and he's able to straddle you unlike when you’re sitting up. Scalp, feet, hands, he massages them all like it’s his favourite thing in the entire universe, which is probably not too far from the truth.

Other physical things he does include unlimited headpats, carrying you around (he takes a lot of pride in this one, and you’re not pleased), and playing with your hair to the point that he messes it up. He would probably stick a finger up your nose if it meant that he got to touch you. Though, if you’re really resistant to having him close to you, he tones it down quite a bit. He’s a respectful man, but admittedly, your life is a lot more pleasant if you just entertain him.

In addition, bathing with you is a thing he takes immense pleasure in. He has got quite a mane on his head, and if you do as well, he would like nothing more than to care for your hair for you. He has a big tub in his house for both of you to soak in, and he prolongs the washing time to the best of his ability until you forcibly remove yourself from the bath. Usually, you’re feeling a bit spiteful and don’t let him go beyond what’s necessary, but sometimes, you allow him to conduct the entire menu: He washes your whole body down, gives you a good back rub, takes care of your hair, everything. He would probably go into cardiac arrest if you showed any interest in doing the same for him, so that’s something to keep in mind.

Lastly, Jing Yuan is very good with words. He knows it himself, and he uses it to his advantage. It manifests in well-placed praises, beautifully phrased compliments, and the way he talks to you in general. His voice has that natural, calming sound to it, and in any other circumstances, hearing him would make you feel at ease. He compliments your looks, your person, everything. If you’re occupied with something, he often says a few nice words about whatever it is. His praises are plenty: He’s kind of desperate for you to feel even neutrally about him, and that occasionally shines through.

˗ˏˋ ★ 7. Emotions II: How do they deal with the darling’s emotions? How are outbursts handled? How do they attempt to comfort the darling?

Jing Yuan isn’t afraid of emotions in the general sense. He has lived long enough to have experienced the entire human spectrum of feelings, and he’s more than skilled in regulating them, both in himself and in others. He’s empathetic by nature, and so, dealing with your feelings is simultaneously easy and arduous for him.

You don’t show him anger that often. It never gets a reaction out of him nor does it make him give you any leeway regarding anything, really. Yes, you sometimes scream at him and throw insults his way, but it never seems to faze him. The same thing goes with physically lashing out, as talked about, since he just holds you against his body until your little fit of rage passes. He doesn’t usually seem bothered by it, either: The startled animal analogy stands.

He does get much more receptive, however, when your emotions make themselves known in a more woeful manner, and only then does he attempt to genuinely console you. He knows you have a lot of feelings about the entire situation you have been put in, so here and there, he encourages you to vent them to him. His mind can suffer much more sorrow than yours, after all. He makes an effort to ask you how you’re faring quite often, and unlike most people, he genuinely expects an honest answer.

It’s not only the abduction and captivity themselves that you have a hard time processing internally. There’s also the factor that you used to be romantically interested in the man, at least until a certain point — and the sentiment is the complete opposite nowadays. You still haven’t quite taken the time for yourself to untangle the thoughts affiliated with the events that have taken place; the betrayal is a difficult topic to get into. Often, you prefer to let the anguish burst out when he isn’t around since seeing the person responsible for it all would only make it worse. In the middle of planning your escape and whatnot, you sometimes cry for a while, just to dull out the despair that ripples inside of you. It doesn’t help with anything, really; you’re aware that you’re wasting the precious hours of your time free of his presence, but you do tend to feel a little bit afterwards.

Even if you try to be discreet about it, there are bound to be instances when he happens to walk in on your weakest moments. Maybe he’s returning early from his work, and the first thing he seeks out, naturally, is you. However, when he opens the door to your room, he comes to find that you’re sitting on the edge of your bed, face hidden in your hands as your shoulders heave. It doesn’t take him more than a few seconds to figure out the situation, but he needs to spare a moment to consider what his next course of action should be. Soon enough, though, he slowly makes his way to your quivering form.

Your weight shifts as he sits down next to you on the bed. Of course, even if you didn’t acknowledge his presence, you noticed him entering the room. You guessed that he might try to offer comfort to you, and whether or not you wished for him to do so, you don’t reject his advances.

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to him. He might open his mouth to either speak your name in a soft tone or just to let out a quiet sigh, but there are no words beyond that. Whatever it is that is the cause for your sadness, his main method is to calm you down with his physical presence, true to his nature. He coaxes you to lie down over his lap, to rest your head on his thigh. When he has you in that position, he starts running his fingers through your hair, careful and gentle. If you’re receptive, he may inquire about the reason behind your tears but if not, he’s going to continue lulling you into serenity until you tire yourself out enough to fall asleep.

Sleeping is a particularly effective way to get you in a better mood again, he has noticed. So if he catches you feeling down, his first suggestion is always to take a nap. He’s free to do so almost whenever you want, and even if you don’t accept the offer most of the time, he’s all the more elated when you do.

˗ˏˋ ★ 8. Thing to exploit: What are the darling’s best chances at escaping? Are there things the darling can use to their advantage? How can the darling make things easier for themselves?

The best things to take advantage of are mostly related to his trust in his methods and your perceived incapability of breaking through them. Compared to other possible candidates, he’s not the paranoid kind that would seal every single crack in the wall and chain all your limbs to the bed, so in that sense, you have a much better base for fleeing than with someone like, say, Sunday. The difficult part of it all is that although his precautions aren’t innumerable, they’re still, unfortunately, effective enough. As mentioned before, you can’t pick the lock on the door, and he installs iron bars on the window after your first attempt. Trying to shank him is off the table for obvious reasons. Despite not being aware of it yourself, you run out of options much faster than one would expect.

Under no circumstances are you allowed to have a phone; he took care of your previous one. That, and a few weeks after your disappearance, the efforts to locate you have been deemed unfruitful, and the search has halted. That’s all the more convenient from his perspective, but you’re quite devastated to hear the news. However, such is the life at the Xianzhou Luofu: So many people go missing yearly that they can only spare a limited amount of resources on finding a single person before they have to move over to the next case. The current theory on your vanishing is that you were ambushed by some Mara-struck beasts and failed to make it out of their clutches. Essentially, you have been ruled dead. That being said, the main take-away is that nobody is searching for you.

Your most notable chances at making it out are with outside help. Though, as stated, Jing Yuan doesn’t let you see anybody aside from him under normal circumstances, so it's not just any outside help. You’re going to need to get your hands dirty if you want to add people to your rapidly-shrunken social circle.

Namely, a certain healer is your best bet. You might think that Jing Yuan is never going to let you see anybody else aside from him, due to the fact that your location being leaked could cause a scandal that would quake the entire ship, but this is actually not the case. Namely, after your first escape attempt that ended up with the skin on your forearm being shredded, you’ll get to meet a strange Foxian man.

He shows up not long after Jing Yuan locked you in the spare room with your loosely bandaged arm and tells you that he ”has to take care of something”. That something ends up being calling a healer over since tending your wound seemed a tad bit too far out of his expertise. When the lock to your dark prison opens, instead of being faced with the familiar silhouette of your captor, there’s a shorter man standing beside the door frame. He has pale, peach-coloured hair and wears a red coat over the traditional Luofu attire. Most prominently, his eyes are closed, even though you sense that his attention is fully on you.

You don’t get to know his name, even though you make a point to ask him about it multiple times. You beg him to let somebody outside know that you’re alive, that you didn’t meet your end in the claws of the mara-struck beasts, but instead of helping you, he lets you know in a calm voice that ”he’s only here to take care of your injury, nothing more”. He doesn’t say it in a mean tone, though: It’s more of a statement. The ever-so-pleasant smile on his face is way too reminiscent to the one on your captor’s own that it makes you want to refuse the help altogether. However, looking at the sorry state of your arm, you swallow your protests and let him do his work.

At first, it’s no use trying to ask him for anything. You come to find quite quickly that the guy has an equally morally questionable streak as the General himself; or perhaps he’s just incredibly good at masking his intentions. If you attempt to chat with him while he stitches you up, he might entertain you if the topics are light-hearted. Anything else is a no-go, though — it seems that he has been given quite specific orders about what he can and what he cannot talk to you about. So, after he's done with his job, he leaves without having left you with anything useful.

It’s not the brightest idea, perhaps, but you figure that if you got hurt badly enough, he would have to come in again. There are multiple ways you could go about it: You could pretend to have twisted your ankle, or perhaps you could convince your captor that you have been suffering from a terrible headache. Then again, it’s likely that he would see through your act, so going the authentic route is unfortunately the better option. You could shove a handful of dirt in your mouth from the flowerbed when his attention is elsewhere. The fever you end up getting is admittedly a pain, but you succeed in your main objective nonetheless.

The healer is merciful enough to give you his name now that the two of you meet for the second time. Jiaoqiu, he calls himself. You get a strange vibe from the man: He doesn’t exactly wear his heart on his sleeve, and you have a difficult time making sense of his intentions. He doesn’t seem to be completely under Jing Yuan’s foot, however, and you decide to take advantage of that.

You could offer him something in return or conduct a plan that would guarantee that the escape would never be tracked to him. You must have quite a lot of wit to pull it off, but Jiaoqiu might very well provide you with some vital knowledge on how you could concoct a certain type of drug from the plants in the garden. Be careful, though, because discerning whether the glint in those squinted eyes of his is of genuine benevolence or something downright malicious is a tough task. It would be a shame if your escape would end up with you in a different house but under the exact same circumstances.

˗ˏˋ ★ 9. Further notes: Is there anything that sets them apart from the other yanderes? What unique qualities do they possess?

Firstly, your will to fight is much weaker than with other yanderes because Jing Yuan is just so… nice. That's not to excuse any of his actions, but he’s just a remarkably pleasant person to be around aside from all the immoral things he puts you through. He’s rarely rough except for when a situation strictly requires it, and he’s never anything but kind when it comes to you. Don’t be fooled, he can and will be firm when need be, but it’s not his usual way of going about things. He likes you most when you’re as happy as you can be, considering the context.

It doesn’t mean you won’t still rebel against him, though — the occasions where he has to take something away from you because you’ve been planning an escape are practically a weekly event. That, and you still try to throw hands at him sometimes. You're lucky he finds it sort of cute, but it's really not something he enjoys.

So, he comes up with a plan to maybe redirect your thoughts from the schemes and struggling. Specifically, he will present you with a deal: Alright, he will let you go, but it’s under a singular condition. You’ll have to beat him in a swordfight.

You look at him like he has lost the last bits of his sanity. Surely, he must know it himself that you’re not going to bite on such obvious bait: There’s no way that you would ever be able to best him in any form of martial arts, be it a sword or a glaive or a bow or anything in between. You wonder if he’s poking fun at you, mocking you for being so weak that you can’t even put up a proper fight against him. That would be the most obvious answer, but the expression on his face tells a different story; there seems to be something more to the suggestion.

You haven’t held a sword more than a few times in your entire life, and truth to be told, you didn’t expect the next instance to be when you’re about to duel the General himself for your compromised freedom. Nevertheless, that’s where you find yourself: You’re standing a short distance away from him in the yard, with a much-too-heavy blade in your trembling hands, while he’s holding his weapon of choice with accustomed composure. He teaches you the etiquette, instructing you to point your sword at him and greet your opponent. You roll your eyes, doing just that, and he mirrors your movements before the duel commences.

You barely manage to register the shape of him as he lunges towards you in a fraction of a millisecond. In the blink of an eye, a deafening sound of two pieces of metal clashing together pierces the air, and the next thing you know is that your sword is sticking out of his fence, the blade having sunk deep into the stone, horizontal. You can’t help the way your jaw falls slack as you stare at the sight. You look at the fence, then at your hands, then back at the fence. You foolishly thought that he would maybe go a little easier on you since you and him both are very much aware that you’re no swordswoman, but apparently, that was not the case.

He lets out a soft chuckle. ”Hm, looks like I have come out victorious”, he utters through poorly masked amusement. You wonder how quick you would have to be to punch the smile off of his face.

NS-FW

˗ˏˋ ★ 10. General look: How does their sexuality manifest? What does sex mean to them? How horny are they?

Yes, he is a somewhat sexual person. As mentioned, bodily closeness is a big thing to him, so it's only logical that it extends to this side of things as well. He sees sex as a tool to use for bonding, something to show affection with: Naturally, you’re going to be the target of said form of love.

Outwardly, he keeps his urges reserved. It wouldn’t be becoming of somebody in his position to be very open about their sexual side, after all. He does take care of himself in private, though. He has quite a high drive — or, perhaps it would be better to talk about a need for physical intimacy. He doesn’t like to talk about ”urges” himself since it makes the matter sound like it’s something uncontrollable. He’s adept at keeping himself in check, and so he doesn’t indulge in sexual pleasures as much as one would expect. Yes, he does turn to his hand a few days a week, but nothing beyond that.

He wouldn’t describe sex as being exhilarating to him, either. He doesn’t think of it as dirty or something to be ashamed about at all. It’s not about taking care of needs for him; it’s for two people to enjoy each other’s presence. He’s a bit conservative like that, but can you blame him? He has been alive for multiple centuries, so for him to crave something beyond a few strokes and a quick release is more than fair.

Don’t get him wrong: He has his fair share of experience when it comes to sexual activities. He didn’t spend all his years celibate, so he wouldn’t call the wonder of the female body a mystery to him. He’s quite receptive when it comes to how you react to his touch in general, and he seems to know just where to prod and press to get you to melt under his hands. You’ll soon come to know that there’s another way for him to benefit from that particular skill.

˗ˏˋ ★ 11. Limit: How long does it take for them to have the darling? What is the first time like? Do they care about the darling’s willingness?

He would really prefer it if you came to him willingly. Taking away one’s sexual autonomy is one of the cruelest things that he thinks could be done to a person, and so, you’re given a generous amount of time before he gives in to his feelings. It does depend on your behaviour, somewhat: If you’re particularly averse to the idea of him touching you even in completely innocent ways, his patience can stretch for months on end — he has got time. Then, on the other hand, if you don’t seem to mind him having his hands on you, the period might be shorter.

When it does happen, though, he won’t be callous or forceful (in a sense) about it. On a random Monday, as he serves you your breakfast, he will inform you about a certain plan this week. Specifically, he lets you know that ”sometime during this week, he’s going to have you”. Of course, you need to go over the sentence a few times in your mind before you even begin to comprehend the meaning behind it. Your eyes widen, and you shake your head in defiance, telling him that ”there’s no way you’ll do something like that”. However, by this point, your fate is pretty much set in stone, and he won’t relent even if you were to throw a fit or two. Besides, he’s being lenient: He assures you that he isn’t going to just take you without a warning — you get to decide when it happens, but it has to be in the following six days, or even today, if you’re feeling like it!

So, needless to say, you make him hold out until the very last hours, all the way to when the last rays of daylight disappear behind the horizon. You have been nothing but anxious the entire week, he has noted. You’re much jumpier than usual, and you have been evading his touches to the best of your ability, no matter how soft he has been. That, and he has had to watch out for your escape attempts even more than normal. You really aren’t fond of the idea, he thinks to himself as he watches you sit in the dark in the corner of your room, knees pressed against your chest. You’re completely motionless and rigid, down to your eyes: You’re looking directly at his form in the doorway, not even blinking in case that would open a window for him to reach for you.

He attempts to talk to you. The task proves to be difficult, however, as you only continue ogling at him in silence, flinching at even the tiniest movements he makes. Perhaps it would’ve been better not to give you a heads-up about the sex after all, he thinks: You wouldn’t have had time to build up the fear as much. Your head must be swimming with all kinds of horror scenarios about what he’s going to do to you, he thinks. He sighs out loud.

Your jaw clenches as he crouches down in front of you. You have made yourself as small as possible, and he feels like he’s approaching a flightless bird. Still, you don’t kick at him when he rests his hand over your leg and begins stroking the skin up and down in a soothing manner. You do try to pull away from him, but considering your position, you’re unable to make a difference. ”You don’t have to be scared”, he tells you, gently pulling on your ankle, coaxing you out of your hiding place.

You’re not about to tolerate his advances even a second longer. So, you fling your hand out, land a mean slap on his wrist, and fight yourself out of his grasp. You yell words of defiance at him, standing up from your spot with shaky legs before trying to leap past his form. He's quick to catch you by your thigh, however, and you nearly fall over. Instead of making your escape, you land in his firm grasp.

If there’s one thing that you have learned while in captivity, it’s that Jing Yuan’s grip is inescapable. No matter how you flail, he catches both of your arms in one hand and lifts you in the air with little to no effort. By this point, you’ve resorted to pleading with him to give you a few more minutes to prepare. More concerningly, though, you start spewing out things like ”please don’t hurt me” and ”I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good”. Goodness, it does wound him a little bit that you would think such things of him. Of course he isn’t going to hurt you. What he’s about to do is the farthest thing from that.

You’re laid on the bed. He frees your arms for a second to adjust his own position, but he snatches them right back before you can even think of clawing at him. You’re hardly able to move at all as he presses his weight down on you, effectively pinning your form in place on the mattress. He leans down so that you’re face-to-face, his open hair coming to frame the sides of your head. Still smiling, he's looking down at you with a tiniest amount of pity in his gaze. In contrast, your teeth are clenched, and you’re breathing as heavy as if you had just finished a run, but he really can't find it in himself to care that much.

He lets you know that there’s no escaping your fate, but that he’s open to suggestions if there’s anything you would like to do. There are a few options: You could start by making out, or he could go straight to prepping your downstairs for him. He could massage you, even. It could get the blood flowing, he muses. He talks to you in such a soft tone that you wonder if you’re understanding his words correctly. Maybe you would prefer it if you just kissed for a little while beforehand? Would you like him to eat you out, perhaps?

You're unable to get a single word out. He waits for you to take courage for a moment, caressing along your neck and chest area with his free hand. He means for it to be calming, but the effect is the exact opposite as tears fill your waterline. He looks down at you with a sympathetic expression, swiping the pad of his thumb under your eyes, and then he leans in to kiss you. Unlike the brute strength he uses to hold you down, his lips move tenderly against yours; it's a maddening, incomprehensible contrast. Your sobs are swallowed by his mouth.

You feel him start stripping you down. There's not much you can do when he pulls your shirt up, when his touch lands on one of your breasts. His hand is large enough to fit the entire mound in its grasp. Then, his fingers creep down your stomach, and in the next moment, they slip down the front of your bottom.

Nonetheless, no matter what kind of foreplay you chose (or if he chose for you), you’re going to eventually end up under him, completely bare, chest pressed against the mattress with your lower half in the air. His hand is heavy on both of your wrists, pinning you down with the force of a thousand boulders. You can feel his naked body flush against your back, and something prodding between your thighs. He has prepped you thoroughly, but no amount of stretching in one night could ready you for what is about to come.

You know there’s no stopping him now. Not that you would've been able to reason with him before, but as the main course is now becoming reality, the dread in your stomach is boiling over. You don’t know what you should think: You have been sniffling the entire time, you have struggled as hard as you could, but he’s still being so damn gentle with you that your brain is having a hard time keeping up. You understand, at a conceptual level, that you're about to be violated to a point of no return, but at the same time, his touch is so tender. No matter how you will your body to resist, you're unable to summon the strength to find his ministrations repulsive. His strokes are like a sedative seeping into your skin.

His cock nudges against the entrance of your cunt. Your eyes widen, and every muscle in your body tenses. His grip on your wrists tightens.

It’s big. It’s really big. You feel the shape of it against your inner thighs. There’s no way something like that is going to fit into you just like that: It would be like ramming a log into a keyhole. Fortunately, he himself is aware of the very same fact: He knows he’s generously sized when it comes to his dick, and he’s also conscious of the fact that the first time is probably going to sting a bit. For you, not for him. Furthermore, he feels the way the muscles in your lower abdomen have gone completely rigid, and there’s no way he can get inside you like that.

His exhales tickle your ear as he leans into the side of your face. His warm hand snakes around your waist and presses just above the curve of your cunt. ”Relax these here for me”, he rubs his fingers against the area over your pubic bone. When you don’t do as you’re told, he forces your chest even lower with his body weight, deepening the arch your back has formed. He’s as patient as ever, but his breaths are the tiniest bit laboured. You loathe the implication.

”And these ones as well”, he instructs as the pads of his fingers glide over the inner sides of your hipbones. You can’t help but shudder when you feel his cock twitch against your thighs. ”Don’t fight it… There you go”. His hand is large enough to rest over your entire lower abdomen. It’s searing hot against your skin.

You hear a container pop open. In the next moment, his lube-clad fingers slip inside your cunt as a final act of mercy. You whimper at the sensation, clenching your fingers into wrists, trying to twist your arms free, but it's no use. He hardly pays any mind to your struggling at all, spreading the slick around with care, and after his hand withdraws, you hear the squelching sound of him giving the same treatment to his cock. Then, you feel his tip prod at your entrance.

You and him both know that it’s not going to be pleasant the first time around. His chest rests heavy against your back, moulding you into a horribly pliant position. He moves your hair out from in front of your ear. His voice is no louder than a whisper as he gives you a final warning: ”It’s going to hurt a bit. You’ll be alright”. His entire arm wraps around your ribcage, effectively locking you in place. ”3… 2… 1…”, and he pushes in.

Oh, it’s excruciating. You let out a shriek so loud that it could be heard in the entire Luofu if he didn’t shove your face against the pillow just in time. You feel like your bottom half is being skewered on a pole: He went in all the way with a single shove. The agony you're in couldn't possibly be put into words: It's searing hot, agonizing pressure that reaches all the way up to your stomach. Still, even though he feels how your little cunt is spasming in place, doing its hardest to push the intrusion out, he keeps you firmly pressed against him, preventing you from allowing yourself even the slightest bit of slack. "It's better this way", he thinks. It's like tearing of a band aid: It's only going to hurt more if you go slow.

He swipes his fingers around where his cock is stretching your cunt and brings his hand up to his eyes. You let out a wretched sob, and in a voice no louder than a whisper, you ask him if you're bleeding. ”A little”, he gives a scant answer to your question in a rather nonchalant tone. He doesn’t seem too bothered by the pain he has caused, though, because after the few minutes of adjustment time he grants you, he starts thrusting into you at a pace that conveys nothing short of the frustration he has been building up for the past however long it took for him to have you. In an act of clemency, his hand slithers in between your legs to roll your clit in between his fingers as he kisses the side of your face. You can only clench your hands into fists and take what he has in store for your poor body.

˗ˏˋ ★ 12. Preferences: What is sex with them like? What sort of stuff are they into? What kind of kinks do they have?

He likes traditional sex the most. You know, the two of you, on a plush bed, bodies pressed against each other, warm and full of passion. He prefers sexual activities to be loving and emotionally fulfilling above all, hence the partiality. Though, that’s not to say that he doesn’t indulge himself in certain tools in the bedroom in favour of spicing the act up a little.

Bondage (shibari in particular)

Jing Yuan isn’t particularly interested in trying to pleasure you with anything other than his own body, but there is one exception to that: Rope. Red rope, specifically. He enjoys restraining you with his own strength, yes, and he does that a lot of the time, but tying you down is, admittedly, a lot more effective. He can enjoy himself a little more that way, too, since he doesn’t have to worry about you trying to struggle yourself out of his grasp.

He just… brings it up one time when your form is already settled on the sheets. He stands at the foot of the bed with a hank of scarlet material draped over one of his forearms. Smirking down at your shivering body, he whips the rope in his hands, testing its durability in an impish manner. He twirls it around his fingers, relishing the way your expression portrays the swarm of thoughts rushing around in your mind. He can’t help but find it cute; the way your lip quivers and how your legs tremble with anticipation for what is to come.

He knows all kinds of things when it comes to the art of bondage. He has had plenty of time to acquire experience in this field: Knots, links, he can do it all. You come to understand his expertise the second he gets to work on your body. You’re going to be bound from head to toe, clad in intricate patterns he weaves with his hands. He’s so thorough with it that you’re not even able to do as much as wiggle your fingers when he’s done. He doesn’t have a favourite routine, either! Everything goes — criss-cross over your body, twisting you in all kinds of bizarre positions (hopefully you’re flexible), even crotchrope. The crotchrope is a common occurrence, in fact. Not only does he love how it looks on you, but he often makes a knot on it right where the rope presses against your cunt. He can only marvel at the way it rubs against your clit when you move even the slightest bit.

He will absolutely have you suspended from the ceiling while tied, too. It allows him to see you as you are, without all the defenses you have put up against him, in all of your beauty and complexity. Of course, the main objective is to either fuck, finger you or eat you out, but sometimes, he can’t help but enjoy the mere sight of you. It’s adorable, really, how you’re all helpless in your bindings, whining at him to let you down, how ”the rope is chafing against your…”. Little do you know that that sentence alone is enough to spring his cock up like stepping on a rake. He only coos at you before sliding his finger underneath the string traveling between your thighs before pulling it taut.

Occasionally, when he has time, he might just hang you from the ceiling in his work room. You’re dangling there, all still and pretty while he takes care of his more boring responsibilities. Your bare nipples are pebbled from being exposed to the cool air, and your cunt is glistening from the relentless stimulation that the bindings are subjecting it to. With every tiny movement you make, the knots rub directly against your clit. He watches the show with keen eyes and merely chuckles at your misery.

Oral

It’s easily his favourite. The second is dicking you down, naturally, but there’s just something about eating you out that gets him going like nothing else. It’s intimate, it feels incredible, and his technique is impeccable. He devours you like he’s starving, and you should know that it’s not going to be only one round when he truly gets excited.

It could be while you’re tied up, or he could simply hold your hips down when he goes to town on your bits. His hands are firmly slotted around your upper thighs, keeping you flush against his face. The tip of his nose nudges your clit with every lick, his tongue is rubbing against your walls, and no matter how you tug at his hair or tell him to stop, he won’t. He occasionally dips down to your other hole as well. He knows it can be incredibly stimulating down there, too, so what kind of a person would he be to not take advantage of that?

He gets creative with the positions, too. It could be the classic one where you’re lying down on your back and he’s on all fours in between your legs. Or, then it could be something completely different like folding you in half with your entire lower body off the bed, or having you basically sit on his face as he comes up from underneath you while you’re suspended in the air, or it could be him standing up, holding your weight up by himself, your cunt in his face and his crotch against yours.

Oh, and he does like 69. He’s alright with it no matter how: You on the bottom, him at the bottom, the two of you sideways, in the air, anything goes. It’s a known fact by now that his junk is big, so it’s a bit of an effort on your end to even get him into his mouth without your jaw locking. He won’t fuck your face, ever, partially for that very reason — it would not be very sexy to have to explain what went down to Jiaoqiu when he would have to come in to take care of the aftermath— and on the other hand, he doubts it would be very pleasant for you either way. His goal is not to have you choke, obviously. Though, be prepared to take at least a little bit of him past your lips: 69 is a two-person activity after all.

He likes to stick his fingers in you in the meantime, too. Cunt, ass, or both at the same time. It gets a bit exasperating after a while, though, because he has you coming in a matter of minutes meanwhile he’s not even close to his own climax. He tells you that ”it’s quite alright, he wasn’t done with you anyway”, and despite his ”well-meaning” words, you only feel dread. Getting him to finish proves to be a more arduous task than you figured it would be. That, and he won’t stop eating your cunt before you succeed in getting him to come, too. He promises that he won’t overstimulate you too much — he can keep a little break in between — but you’ll still be a complete mess when he finally gets his climax. And then you’ll take his cock. Good luck.

Praise, voice, and words

Oh, his voice. His tone is pleasant: It’s calm, it’s comforting, and he always seems to know just what to say. Before the sour side of events took place, you would've been fine with listening to him talk about his day, what’s going on at the Seat of Divine Foresight, whatever, for hours on end. His voice has that certain ASMR quality to it, almost. However, you just wish he didn’t have to speak such filth directly in your ear while his dick is splitting you in half.

It’s never, ever, mean, though. He would rather set you free than ever degrade you. Sex is supposed to make you feel good about yourself, so what purpose would that serve? That being said, the praises he utters are both genuine and so exaggerated that they nearly make you roll your eyes. ”You look ravishing like this”, he whispers against your temple as you’re tied up from head to toe, his fingers knuckle-deep in your cunt. ”This here”, he continues, circling your clit with the pad of his thumb, ”is especially mesmerizing”. Not only does he punctuate the sentence with a deep curl of his digits, but the way he so closely scrutinizes your bits is enough to inadvertently humiliate you beyond repair. You feel his gaze on you, and with every soft hum he lets out of his mouth, you get closer to your climax.

Even though he doesn’t mean it, his praise occasionally comes off as belittling. You’re lodged under him, speared down on his dick, and he has the audacity to open his mouth. ”You’re doing so well, just bear with it for a little”, or ”there’s only a little blood, you’re alright, you’re alright”, or ”you’re being so good for me, darling”. It’s all the while you’re struggling to even breathe with how deep he is inside you. He loves pet names, too: His personal favourite is, ironically, the aforementioned darling, but the list also includes names like good girl, babybird and pretty little thing. They all have a bit of a nasty ring to them, considering your circumstances, but nothing you say will stop him from using them.

He also tries to get you to communicate during the deed. It’s a common thing for him to ask you how something feels, if you’re feeling good, if you’re hurting anywhere. The concern he shows is genuine, unlike with someone like, say, Aventurine: He’s open to criticism when it comes to his performance. If his fingers are prodding at a bad spot (which they rarely are), then by all means, let him know and he’ll fix it. Oh, ”the ropes are digging into your wrists”? Give him a second, he’ll loosen them up a bit. "Too deep"? Well, there's not much he can do about that one, sorry.

Lastly, he has a very true-to-him thing he does in the act that always manages to flip your stomach upside down. While rocking into you and twirling your clit in between his fingers, he’s coaxing you closer and closer to your climax. No matter how hard you try to fight the feeling, no matter how you try to distance yourself, when he presses his lips against your temple and hums out a deep, low note directly into your ear, you’re done for. He finishes the action by planting a kiss on the lobe, and just like that, your cunt constricts around him, and your stiff body goes completely slack under his touch. He has you right where he likes you the best.

Manhandling and size kink

He likes to claim that it’s unintentional. It’s not — he’s doing it fully on purpose, and it’s one of his favourite parts of the act. If he wanted to, he could fold you into every position imaginable, and you would have zero say in the matter. Compared to your strength, he’s like a damn Aurumaton. A single hand of his is large enough to clasp around both of your ankles; not to mention your wrists. You weigh practically nothing to him, and so he’s able to hold you against the wall, in the air, however he likes. There’s also the aspect that, technically speaking, he could snap your spine in a single movement if he so desired. He’s a large man: No matter how tall you are, he’s taller, and no matter how strong you are, he’s stronger. He’s faster, he’s more agile, he’s better than you in every single physical way. You can’t really blame him for using those qualities to his advantage.

That being said, he gets kicks from seeing you struggle. It’s not something he wants to admit out loud since it would emphasize the implication that it’s against your will, but he does enjoy it nonetheless. He has a clear dominant streak to him, and it manifests in being in complete control of you. He gets to be in charge of the pace, he gets to determine when you're going to come, and he gets to lay his claim on you in this incredibly primitive way. The sheer thought of it makes him hard.

It’s kind of a protective instinct, too. More often than not, when he’s dicking you down, his body encases yours, his warmth seeps into your skin, and there’s no escaping his embrace. It’s suffocating, but at the same time, you do feel secure in a sick, twisted way, almost. It’s like being contained in a glass box where nothing can get to you, but you can’t get out, either. And the box also makes you come, whatever that implies.

Then, there’s his size. And the talk is not only about his stature here. He likes how small you are compared to him. It’s so easy to pick you up, to throw you over his shoulder, to carry you to the bed and give you a thorough fucking when you’re being disagreeable or if he just wants some. He finds the size difference quite arousing in a strange way: He doesn't know how to describe the feeling out loud, but seeing such a pretty little thing like you under him, how one of his hands is large enough to grab both of your breasts, how even a single finger of his enough to give your cunt a considerable, stretch... Oh my. Can you really blame him?

Lastly, occasionally, although he doesn’t mean it, he leaves marks on you. Namely, bruises are somewhat common, and there are very few times when he doesn’t at least leave red patches on your skin from where he has been holding you. He swears it isn’t his intention, but you start to doubt his credibility when he doesn’t make any efforts to tone it down. Your hips, thighs, waist and wrists are the usual spots of interest, but he can't get himself to worry about the imprints too much since he's the only one that gets to see them, anyway. Ah, but he understands that they must ache a bit. Come here, he'll massage them all better. He promises not to go as hard the next time (he doesn’t even believe his own words).

Insane mouth game

Simply put, he's a slut for tongue action. Whether it be a good, long make-out session or just a chaste peck on your cheek, or even his face in between your legs, he's all in. It's how he shows that he cares, among all the other things he does to you. It doesn't matter what has gone down that day, bedroom or otherwise, he's sure to have his lips on you in one way or another. In his mind, there's nothing more intimate than giving your partner pleasure with only your mouth, and you'll come to see that he lives by that statement.

It turns out that the Aeons blessed him with quite a long tongue, and he couldn't be happier about it when it comes to you. It reaches all the way deep into your cunt when he's devouring your lower half, and when he's kissing you, you can feel the thing in the back of your throat. He isn't particularly shy when it comes to mouth action in any way, and so, his kisses are wet, sloppy and incredibly intense. When he goes down on you, he sucks, he licks, and truly eats you out. Other things he enjoys doing is licking his way down your body, leaving streaks of saliva along the juncture of your neck, the valley between your breasts, your inner thighs, your feet, even. He plants open-mouthed kisses on all of your most sensitive spots, and the way you shiver and whimper from the feeling is truly and utterly exquisite in his eyes.

Your neck is quite often the target of his actions. It doesn't even have to lead to sex, either. Sometimes, when you're sitting on his lap, he likes to cover your entire upper body in his love. Despite your struggling, his lips are flush against your shoulders, your neck, your collarbones, leaving traces of spit all over your skin until you feel all gross. He tends to leave a good few marks in his wake, too: Bright red hickeys in various sizes litter your form, and even when you comment on them looking vulgar, he does very little to change his ways.

Then, the proper kisses. The endless stream of pecks on your lips, his tongue in your mouth, his saliva mixing with yours. It's like he's attempting to breathe you in with how his lips mould against yours. You can't refuse his affections, either: Usually, he tilts your head up by your chin to kiss you, but if you pull away, he's going to grab your jaw and squish your cheeks together. The outcome is always the same. He does it numerous times a day, too.

˗ˏˋ ★ 13. Punishment: What do their sexual punishments look like? What methods do they prefer?

Jing Yuan prefers not to punish you sexually. It goes against everything he believes in when it comes to the act itself, and he refuses to weaponize something like that.

That doesn’t mean he won’t still do it, though. He swears up and down that oh, he would never, but here we are. If you’ve been doing something you shouldn’t have, he won’t immediately toss you on the bed and fuck you stupid like a lot of other yanderes would, but you’ll come to see later that day that, no, he didn’t just forget about it. When the evening comes rolling around, his irritation is nearly palpable. Usually, he would give you at least some warning before the deed would commence, but now, he just picks you up bridal style and carries you to his bedroom.

He doesn’t prep you as well as he would any other time. The stretch is even more painful, but he doesn’t seem to give two fucks about how you slap his arm and try to tell him that it hurts. He tells you to bear with it, unlike the gentle approach you’re used to. His grip on you is harsher, too, but despite it all, his attitude hasn’t changed much. His tone is still soft, but it doesn’t translate to how roughly he’s fucking into you. Surprisingly enough, he never ties you down when he’s making a point, but it doesn’t make the experience any more survivable. By the time he’s done, you will have been reduced to a barely coherent mess.

Uncharacteristically, he tends to overstimulate you when he’s mad, too. Usually, as mentioned, he will give you breaks in between your orgasms, but not this time around. Instead, no matter how fast or slow you have come, he just keeps going without missing a single beat. You may struggle all you want, it’s only going to make him go harder. You complain that ”it’s too intense”, and to "please give you a break", but with a soft, warm tone, he tells you that it’s exactly how it’s meant to be. He makes an effort to spread your labia to get his finger directly on your clit, rubbing his pad against it in a manner that's nothing short of torturous. His touch is directly on your nerves, and the overload of simultaneous pain and pleasure is so agonizing that you wish you could pass out right then and there. Sometimes, he won't stop until you have done just that.

So, punishment sex with him (again, he doesn’t like to describe it that way himself) is basically just marathon sex. Plenty of rounds, all lasting a considerable amount of time, and he twists you around like a ragdoll. Even if you start crying halfway through, he won’t care much. Most he will do is use the back of his finger to wipe your tears away, but that’s all while he’s thrusting into your tired insides. Yes, he does try to make it feel nice to you, sort of — he focuses on your clit, your nipples, kissing the back of your neck and along your spine, stroking your thighs, but it’s still a harsh ride.

Seeing the effect these sessions have on you, it becomes a bit of a habit for him to fuck his vexations out on you. That includes when you’re in a mood, too. It’s like a tool to calm you down: After a few orgasms, you have got some feel-good hormones running in your veins, and you’re much more compliant. Less insults, less sulking, less rejecting his touches. He makes sure to praise you when you’re this way, too.

One thing that he does when he’s slightly irked by your behaviour and doesn't really have the time for the full thing is have you sit down on his cock while he works. Obviously, your cunt is doing its absolute best trying to accommodate his size, and even with zero movement, it’s an entire achievement to stay still for the hour or so that it takes for him to cave in. He doesn’t let you shift even the slightest bit, not even to adjust your position in his lap. One of his arms is tightly secured around your waist, preventing you from squirming. He himself can’t even focus on what he’s doing: Truth to be told, he has to read the same block of text at least three times to understand what it says. Each time he exhales, your cunt squeezes around his cock, and as much as he wants to make a point with it all, he himself is about to go insane. It won’t be long until he takes care of both of you.

˗ˏˋ ★ 14. Aftermath: What does their aftercare look like? Is there any?

He’s very thorough about it. Sex with him can be emotionally intense, especially when it comes to the long sessions, so he puts a lot of importance on taking care of you after he’s done.

The very first thing he does is ask you how you’re feeling. It comes before anything else — you haven’t even come down from your last climax of the night, and he has to repeat the question for you to make sense of what he’s saying. More often than not, you’re a bit offended by the gesture, spitting out a weary yet snarky response before rolling over to your side and turning your back to him. While he isn’t particularly pleased by you reacting like that, he understands that it’s better than he could hope for, taking the context into account.

Both of you are all sweaty afterwards, but he prefers not to take you to the bath immediately. He likes to bask in the afterglow, enjoying your (reluctant) presence while he slowly lets his breathing become even and his heartbeat settle. Cuddling during these times is a must-do for him, and it doesn’t matter what kind of a state you’re in, he does it regardless. You do have input when it comes to choosing the position, though: If you’re in a more of a grumpy mood afterwards, he just lets you rest your head on his bicep, sort of half-hugging you on one side. Then again, if you’re a crying mess, he takes you into full embrace, tucking your head under his chin and pressing your naked chest against his own. It’s like hiding you from the world, albeit it feels terribly suffocating at the same time.

He enjoys pillow talk immensely, but more often than not, you’re not up for it, so it usually ends up staying in his head. Though, if you are receptive, he could chat to you in a hushed tone for hours on end. It’s about nothing in particular: Work, life, you, him, whatever. He also spills you a considerable amount of praise.

Falling asleep after the act would be a preferable outcome for him — you know the General well enough by now that he likes his rest a bit more than he would like to admit, but if you’re not drowsy, he won’t nap either. Since sex with him usually takes place in the late hours of the evening, you’re often quite sleepy in the aftermath, but if that’s not the case, he thinks of something to keep you occupied. For example, he might give you a back rub; the usual. Whatever spot is hurting, he makes sure to give extra attention to it. If you’re complaining about aches, he may get up in favour of getting you a painkiller and some water. This is also the only way to get him to leave the room if you want some time for yourself.

He tends to be in an excellent mood after sex, so if there’s something you’ve been meaning to ask for, this is the best time for it. Obviously, if it’s something completely outrageous, he’s going to gently shake his head and refuse while stroking his knuckles against your cheekbone, but if it’s nothing that crazy, he may very well give in to it. The things that you can get this way are stuff like certain snacks, more time outside, less time with him, and so on. In addition, he’ll be utterly elated if your request involves him in a positive way, and so, you have a chance to pull a kind of a double-exploit tactic here. The man isn’t easy to manipulate, but he does have some of that golden retriever energy in him, and there’s not much he can do about himself in that regard. Be careful, though, because if you’re too nice, you might accidentally set yourself up for round two.

˗ˏˋ ★ 15. Further notes: Is there anything that sets them apart from the other yanderes sex-wise? Are there any unique aspects to them?

Surprisingly enough, with Jing Yuan as your captor, you get to speak your mind when it comes to sex. While there are some basics that he won’t let go of, like tying you and him being in control, you’re allowed to express your opinion on things like positions and what type of foreplay you want. He listens to your requests and takes them into account to a surprising degree. The reasoning behind it is that you being vocal about your preferences implies that you get at least some enjoyment out of the sex, which is a part of his goal, so he’s not opposed to your thoughts.

He sometimes asks you about them directly, too. ”Would you like to be eaten out today? Or does fingering sound like a more preferable plan?” he might inquire. Don’t be fooled, though: It’s either-or, and refusing the entire thing is never an option, but you still get to choose between the two. It’s better than nothing. When it comes to positions, he’s open to pretty much anything — even you riding him if you asked really nicely. He’s going to be in full control the entire time, however: It’s more him lifting you up and down on his dick than you actually doing any of the work. Most likely, the request to ride him would be to make the stretch less painful, but you come to find that you being on top brought very little help to that problem.

Moreover, if you’d like, you could also get him to explore new horizons when it comes to his sexual preferences. He doesn’t really favour things like toys when it comes to the bedroom, but if you were to suggest them? That’s an entirely different story. He raises his brows, pondering the idea for a bit before shrugging and wondering why not. Sure, he can get a vibrator or a few for the two of you to use. Hm, ”for you to use on your own”? Ha-ha, nice try.

On a completely different note, Jing Yuan likes to make you feel things, for the lack of a better word. Not just any things, though — specifically, he likes it when you squirm and shiver. He has noticed that a very effective way to get you to tingle is whispering right against your ear or even licking the inside. He does it in the most unexpected moments, too: You may be sitting on your bed, reading a book or something, and he gets in behind you before blowing a puff of air directly in your ear canal. Obviously, you slap your palm over the side of your face and snap at him, asking him ”what the hell does he think he’s doing”, but he just gives a soft chuckle as a response. He has a bit of a mischievous streak to him in that way.

By that point, you know it’s going to be go-time soon enough; this is just some foreplay for the actual foreplay. If he’s feeling even friskier, he might start nibbling on your earlobe and uttering uncensored filth against your temple. Not only does it make you embarrassed, but you’ll know exactly what he’s going to do to you that night.

A/N

Taglist, yippee! Comment or send an ask to be added, either one is alright ✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ )و✧*｡

@yourfavouritecitizen @loserworld @lem-hhn

[fibbi2]

You decide to do them makeup

Characters: Aalto x Reader, Calcharo x Reader

Tags: Silent Consent, Soft Content, Nude makeup

Aalto didn’t even have time to react.

One moment — he was quietly reading something on his hologram, sitting peacefully in his chair.

The next — you and Encore were already hovering over him with brushes, glitter, and mischievous eyes.

«Sit still! You promised today was our day», — you said firmly.

«And you also promised to be a good example for Encore, remember?», — the girl chimed in, her voice full of spark.

Aalto sighed. Softly. With a long, long pause. His hand trembled just slightly as he removed his glasses — not out of fear, but because he knew exactly what he’d signed up for.

«All right. Just nude tones. No glitter. I know you two».

«Nude! I promise!» — Encore chirped, swatching shadows across your palm to choose the right shade, while you were already applying primer to Aalto’s smooth, stunning skin.

Aalto didn’t resist. His face was calm, even a little distant, like someone who had accepted they weren’t going to win.

But there was a softness to him.

Like the feeling of home. Especially when your pinky brushed along the edge of his jaw and he squinted slightly at the touch.

«Keep your head straight», — you whispered, already reaching the corner of his eye.

«You touch me like I’m made of glass», he murmured, voice low, laced with that deep warmth he only reserved for the chosen few.

Meanwhile, Encore hummed a little tune under her breath, carefully dabbing gloss onto Aalto’s upper lip. She giggled:

«You look so good, I’m getting a little jealous!»

When you were done, you both leaned in to admire the result. The makeup was subtle, barely there — but it brought out all of Aalto’s features. Those clever, slightly melancholic eyes. The clean line of his mouth. That restrained, quiet beauty.

«So… do I look like someone who’s going to save the world and got roped into a home beauty salon?»

«You look like the main character in a drama about a heartbroken spy», — you replied, gently brushing your fingers along his cheek.

Aalto didn’t say a word. He just hid the smallest smile.

«But... don’t make a habit of this», — he added, already standing.

Yet as he turned to leave, he pressed a soft kiss to your temple — a sign that this little «beauty ritual» with you two was one of the very few things he’d ever let touch him so closely.

And Encore? She was chasing after you both with a glossy magazine, yelling:

«Next time smokey eyes! I already watched the tutorials!»

Aalto groaned.

But silently agreed.

You only said:

«Let me do you makeup», — and he already sees it as a threat to his safety: his eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing, his jaw tense.

«Are you serious?» — he throws out quietly, almost lazily, but with that familiar hint of predatory irritation. He tilts his head slightly, as if assessing whether you're joking.

You’re not. You’re already holding a brush, foundation, gloss, and something with shimmer.

«Don’t come closer. I’m warning you», — he says as you inch closer. His hand already reaches for his weapon — purely symbolic.

But you’re persistent. You touch the tip of your fingers to his jaw.

«I know you want to see how skilled I am…» — and your voice is playful, calm. Provocative.

He grabs your wrist quick and sharp, as always. But this time, he doesn’t stop. He just holds it, looking into your eyes. Silence. Tension. His gaze — burning.

«You have five minutes. And if there’s even a hint of pink, I’ll make you erase it with your tongue».

And you get to work — carefully, precisely. Only nude tones, only calm shades, only what suits his face — this sharp, slightly predatory, breathtaking coldness. When it’s done you put all the things in a small cosmetic box, while he silently walking up to the mirror.

He looks. A minute. Two. Three.

«Hm»

And nothing more. But as he passes by you, you notice: he’s slightly lowered his collar, as if accentuating the line of his jaw, and the gloss on his lips — he hasn’t wiped it off. On purpose.

«Don’t think I’ll let you do this again. But…»

A pause. A sidelong glance:

«…you’re not bad at it»

Now you know: even Calcharo can be swayed — if you know where to press.

[fibbi2]

I wrote a bit about Jiyan cause I was waiting his reran from December and tomorrow/today HE IS FINALLY COMING TO HOME 😤🥹 (F2P)

Also, I’m sorry if u see some mistakes in my works. I’m not native speaker but, anyway, I try to do my best ;3

[fibbi2]

He had been away on the front line for a long time, but now, having a short leave to spend by your side, he craves intimate closeness. However, you're on your period (you don't allow him to touch you out of embarrassment), yet he still finds other ways to somehow satisfy his thirst for you.

He had long ceased to be just a general. Somewhere on the battlefield, amid Tacet Discords and bloodshed, Jiyan lost something human — but in its place, something else grew: a savage, boundless devotion to you.

He had been at war for too long.

When he finally returned late at night, even though he had long since bathed and changed, the scent of dust, steel, and blood still seemed to cling to his skin. His eyes, heavy and tired, full of the silence of endless battles, now lit up when they found you. Throughout all those endless days and nights, the only thing that kept him going was the thought of you — his single, pure, warm light. You were the only world he longed to return to. And now that he could — now that he felt your warmth, smelled the delicate scent of your skin, sensed the soft tremble of your body in his arms — he realized just how desperately he had missed you. His bones ached with the need to touch you, to melt into you, to feel you once again.

His hand brushed along your thigh, slowly, carefully, every movement trembling with restrained hunger, sliding lower with aching patience. His fingers, shivering slightly, pulled you closer against him — but you, shyly, hesitantly, pushed his hands away, whispering your quiet confession.

Jiyan froze.

For a moment, the only sound was his rough breathing, crackling through the tension in the air. His gaze deepened, the corners of his mouth barely lifting into a smile.

“I understand...”

Short. Without anger. Without disappointment. Instead of pressuring you, he simply smiled softer, almost painfully tender:

“I won't hurt you. I just want to be close to you”.

And he meant it. He didn't force you into anything you were uncomfortable with. Instead, Jiyan found another way to sate the unbearable thirst that had been building up inside him during all those long, lonely weeks.

His fingers, warm and gentle, traced your body — through the soft fabric of your nightgown, careful, reverent. He caressed your stomach, your hips, your shoulders — so slowly, as if committing every curve, every detail, back to memory. He kissed your wrists, your collarbones, your forehead, murmuring:

“You have no idea how much I've missed you. I won't touch what you don't allow... but don't forbid me from loving you in other ways”.

And so he held you the entire night, pressing you so close against himself it felt like you had become part of him. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in, whispering broken promises and silent devotions straight into your soul. His love had no limits — even when the flesh had to wait, his heart burned fiercer than any physical act.

That night, he didn’t seek your body — he sought your soul. He craved to see you shiver under his touch, to feel your breath hitch, to see your shy pleasure bloom without crossing the line you set.

And later, when you fell into a soft, peaceful sleep in his arms, Jiyan, trembling with repressed need, quietly sought his own release — careful not to disturb you — biting back his own gasps, muffling them against your skin.

Even then, he whispered into your ear:

“All I want is you” .

[fibbi2]

What's their favorite position when they’re making love to you?

Jiyan, Geshu Lin, Calcharo, Aalto, Scar

NSFW content soooo ✌︎('ω'✌︎ )

His favorite position is from behind, with you standing or bent forward, because it gives him full control, and he can lean in to kiss your neck, shoulders, and spine, leaving his marks.

He rarely speaks during sex, but his breathing — heavy, deep — says more than words ever could.

He’s persistent and rhythmic, not overly gentle, but holds you like you might disappear.

Afterward, he always lifts you in his arms — carries you away like you’ve been wounded, even if you’re only trembling from pleasure.

If he sees tears on your face, he touches them silently with his fingers, as if memorizing every drop.

His favorite position is you on top of him, but he’s the one in control — holding you down, setting the pace, guiding you even from beneath.

He studies you like a map — where your skin heats up, where you shiver, where you fall silent. For him, intimacy is an art.

He loves when you run your fingers over his neck, especially his Tacet mark — it makes him lose all restraint.

Afterward, he keeps his hand on your back or stomach for a long time, like a vow that you’re his. His silence speaks deeper than words.

Favorite position: you on top, but he’s still in control.

Soft sex doesn’t exist for him. It’s a game of survival — and you’re meant to surrender.

Licks your neck while forcing you to make noise for him.

He needs to see your eyes the moment you break — when you stop pretending you don’t want him.

If you cry from overstimulation, he’ll only hold you tighter and whisper something unhinged like, “this is how it should be”.

He’s gentle — until you start trembling, and then he changes.

Favorite position: face to face, hands locked with yours, legs tangled.

Loves when you whisper his name — but when you softly bite your lip, he loses control.

Hates the thought that someone else has ever been closer to you than he is.

Always kisses your forehead after — silently, like signing a claim.

With him, you don’t know where passion ends and madness begins.

Favorite position: you standing, him behind you — one hand on your throat, the other exactly where you can’t breathe from pleasure.

If you say “You’re too rough”, he smirks and replies, “Don’t you like it?”

His gaze when he’s inside you is something between mine and never letting go.

Sometimes after, he just stares — says nothing. Then suddenly pulls you back in. Again.

[fibbi2]

/You kissed their tacet mark

characters: Scar, Calcharo, Aalto, Jiyan

You hesitated. Your fingers trembled as they touched his high collar, cautiously opening access to the throbbing symbol – a tacet mark blazing in the middle of his neck, like a warning. Scar didn’t even move, but his eyes were already watching – tense, dark, ready to break the silence at any moment.

And, before giving yourself a chance to change your mind, your lips touched the mark. The world seemed to stop.

His hand instantly squeezed your waist - sharply, like a trap. He pressed your back against the wall, pressing you into the cold surface, and his other hand wrapped around your face, forcing to look directly into his eyes.

— You have no right to do that, – he groaned, but there was no anger in his voice. There pulsed thwarted self-controlled passion. — Now I can't think of anything else.

His breath burned your cheek. He was trembling – not with fear, but with the dangerous line you had crossed. Eyes blazed with a haze of unhealthy desire.

— My little lamb, you have no idea what you've done. This sign is my heart. My rage. My curse. And now you're in it. You're in me.

He leaned closer, almost touching your forehead.

— You're mine. Not because of love. Not out of affection – because of the obsession that you yourself have awakened.

His fingers slid to your throat, stopped where pulse beat.

— You can't escape. And even if you try, I'll find you. And I will return. I don’t give back what has already become mine.

He said it so calmly, as if he were talking about something mundane – but there was a terrible, painful level of control in every word. And while you were silent, he whispered quietly:

— Kiss again. Let me burn completely. But with you…

He sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, with his head down, his eyes half closed. After the last mission, the muscles were aching and the mind was exhausted. But you have silently settled next to, wrapped in a blanket, calm and warm, as always.

His tacet mark is clearly on his forehead, like a target. He didn’t wear bandages, didn’t hide it. He never seem to care. But not this time.

— Calcharo… – your voice sounded quiet, almost in a whisper. He did not open his eyes.

— What? – he responded deafly.

— Can I?..

He looked at you at last - slowly, without haste. His eyes, usually sharp, were now deep and silent.

— It depends what you want.

You leaned closer, cautiously, as if approaching a wounded beast. Your fingers touched his cheek, the second time his forehead, where the mark pulsed. Short breath. Then a kiss.

Warm. Real.

His body whipped. His eyes flashed. He didn't move, he didn't even breathe for a few seconds.

— You... seriously? – wheezed. – From all possible places right here?

— I wanted to show that I trust you, – you whispered, your lips still almost touching his skin.

Silence. The tension hung between them like a thread.

Then Calcharo threw his head back, as if catching himself on something forbidden. His lips reached into what looked like a smile.

— You trust, then. It's... dangerous, you know?

He leaned forward, a little closer to you. His forehead easily touched your forehead, the look was completely serious.

— Now I have to take care of you even more. As Than I do it every day…

You quietly entered the room where Aalto was standing, carefully watching the wind, playfully waving curtains. The room was filled with his calmness, and he himself looked so detached and calm that nothing seemed to break this balance.

You took a few steps in his direction until he noticed. As soon as he came back, you barely touched his neck, gently kissing the tacet mark on the right side. The moment was quiet, and as if the time stood still, when you faded away, his eyes were focused, but he still couldn’t restrain his smile, and then exhaled with a laugh:

—You just kissed the most sensitive place of the resonator... – Catching your eye, he added cheerfully and teasingly: — And now you’re fully responsible for my further actions.

At the same moment Encore ran into the room, quietly waving her arms:

— Heeeeey, cutie doves, what kind of intrigue? Aalto! Do you intend to take my bestie for all day?!

Aalto laughed, looked at you, and shrugged jokingly.

— C’mon, Encore, don't worry. She’ll be back in time for you to get all the applause!

Encore watched at you for another minute with a smile, and then winked cunningly:

— Well, but if you don't let her go on time for my performance, I'll come for compensation myself!

Aalto nodded, examined you and whispered cheerfully to:

— Ahhh, she's always so timely... So, ready to continue?

He had just left the bathroom, wiping his hair with a towel. You sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a soft robe, and watched as single drops of water flowed down his back. Your eyes stopped at the dim, pulsating light.

— What is it so flickering?.. – quietly ask.

He didn’t immediately respond. Just threw the towel on the chair, lowering his shoulders, relaxed.

— Tacet mark, – said simply, — Each resonator has its own.

You rose, bare feet came closer.

— Could I see it closer?..

He didn’t forbid. And you touched with your fingertips, carefully, as if you were afraid to break something. The light under the skin responded with a weak vibration.

— It’s warm... – whispered. And without thinking why, how, why just bent over and easily, childishly, kissed it. Just... as a gesture of trust. As a kissing to someone in a scar, a scratch, as a sign of support. Nothing more. For you.

But for him...

Jiyan's body seems to be stony. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t look at you, only breathes heavily. Slowly, deeply – as before the storm.

— You... you even know what just did? – his voice sounds deaf, squeezed.

You look a little surprised.

— No?.. – you ask, not understanding his tension.

He finally turns to you, and you see his eyes darken, becoming dangerous and deep.

He takes a step forward and you feel his presence puts you in a tense wait. His gaze seems to penetrate you, studying your every reaction. He is very close, breathing is heavy, and his voice is dry:

— A kiss in a tacet mark.. isn’t just a gesture. It's a sign. Mutual connection. Something bigger than you imagined.

You are silent, not knowing what to answer. Chaos is not just a kiss in your mind. And suddenly you feel: what you did changed everything. It is no longer possible to simply let it go like an empty mercy. It means a lot more than you realize.

— And now... – he comes even closer, and your hand involuntarily falls, as if you want to retreat, but you can't, — you can't leave it without consequences.

He does not wait for an answer, his hand gently raises your chin, forcing you to meet him with your eyes.

— Now you will be mine, – he said, quiet but determined, – to the end.

[loloisafangirl]

Achilles: I know my judgment may be clouded because I like Patroclus a little bit

Chiron: you doodled your wedding invitations

Achilles: that was our joint tombstone

Chiron: my bad.

[michael-drummey]

Achilles x Patroclus Explained: for anyone who needs it plainly mapped out for them one more time.

The Iliad:

-Most obviously there is a Special Relationship between Achilles x Patroclus

-Achilles and Patroclus share a Bed & Tent, Patroclus also does all the  “domestic” work for the 2 of them on top of being a soldier

-”But he had Briseis who he was going to marry”, despite only bragged about her because she was a war prize taken by Agamemnon thus taking his honor, he was “locker room talking for the boys” when in reality he had no sexual contact/dimension/relationship with her yet. He also knew the prophecy he wasn’t coming back from Troy so this is one of two reasons we can say that they have no plans together, (see bullet point one for second reason) and then later he wishes Artemis had killed her way back when they were raiding cities. It is also inferable that Patroclus had planted this seed of thought in her mind to put her at ease with Achilles as well as protect his honor because Patroclus is always there for Achilles (Achilles does take Briseis into his bed in Book 24 but again totally as a spoil of war… she is a conquest not a lover)

-Greeks know Achilles will only listen to Patroclus, Especially Nestor who goes to Patroclus to persuade Achilles to re-enter the fight

-When Achilles receives Patroclus’s body his first thought is to end himself with a sword because he does not want to live in a world without Patroclus

-Achilles’s rage at the death of Patroclus and wishing he had let all the Greeks die and they conquered Troy together

-Refusal to eat & sleep while weeping for days on end in bed with Patroclus’s body

-Andromache’s speech about Hector, forsaking all her other loved ones for her husband, aka her one true love and then Achilles giving the almost exact same speech right after about Patroclus his “beloved”

-Achilles kills Hector (Gods even fear his rage and that such emotion could cause war to end before prophesied) aka Achilles could change fate because he so “grieved” for Patroclus - totally homies right?!

-Achilles drags Hectors body from his chariot damaging and defiling the corpse for days; Angering the gods, to which he doesn’t care

-Thetis then comes to Achilles, to which he wants none of her comfort, during their conversation she also has to suggest AND specify for him to now have sex with a woman and maybe find a wife before his life is over (why does she have to specify “woman” & who/what was keeping him from getting a wife)

-Achilles tosses and turns sleeplessly (body of Patroclus is still kept in his bed) and he longs for Patroclus’s “μένος” (menos) which in ancient greek translates to “Might - Manhood - Vigor - Semen” plainly speaking “Spunk” (both kinds!)

-Achilles reaches to embrace the ghost of Patroclus when he appears before him - desiring to physically touch 

-Achilles plays the role of the woman and/or wife of the deceased when they burn Patroclus’s body on the funeral pyre and then collects the ashes himself and puts them in the golden urn. Achilles then charges the men to do the same to him when he dies putting his ashes in the same golden urn and burying them together so that they will physically be together for all eternity - which does happen

-LITERALLY ACHILLES x PATROCLUS

Most Ancient Greeks, Shakespeare, Artists & Intellectuals:

ACTUAL Greek Artwork from 500 BCE (currently resides on display in Germany)

-There is no reference to this moment in any record or story. In this depiction Achilles wraps Patroclus’s arm while he sits between his open legs, and Patroclus lets his dick hang out, while Achilles’s is visible as well, super intimate for “bros”

-Later greeks assumed or imagined their relationship as Pederastic (An older “erastes” lover & an “eromenos” younger beloved) because that was the norm of that period but no one could definitely decide who was the top and who was the bottom 

**SIDE NOTE They do not have an age gap to support the Pederastic Theory AND after the pederastic relationship ended the men involved married women which we know neither Achilles nor Patroclus had nor plans to do

-Plato totally thought Achilles was a Bottom in his “Symposium” 

-Aeschylus (the literal inventor of Greek Tragedy) portrayed Achilles & Patroclus as lovers in his lost play “The Myrmidons” which was based on The Iliad. Surviving lines from the play are of Achilles speaking of “Patroclus’s Reverent Company, his thighs, and being ungrateful for many kisses”

-345 BCE = Athenian politician, Aeschines states in a speech during his trial that Homer didn’t have to say what they were because 1. the Greeks were more sexually fluid then 2. there wasn’t a word for “Homosexual” 3. Homer was a storyteller and ANY educated man knew what they were, like its THAT obvious

-Alexander the Great and his lover Haphaestion (this is a whole other can of worms still being fought) liked to think of themselves, and referred to each other as “Achilles & Patroclus”

-Shakespeare features the two in his play “Troilus and Cressida” in which Patroclus is called “Achilles’s Brach” aka “Achilles’s Bitch”

-Renaissance Artists & those onward armed with their skill, knowledge, and obsession with all things ancient painted numerous depictions of the two, usually scenes of Achilles receiving Patroclus’s body, and for “buddies” they sure love painting them showing A LOT of skin

-By roughly the 1960′s & 70′s historians and scholars started talking about them openly again with the

“ARE WE READY TO STOP PLAYIN’ AND OPENLY ACKNOWLEDGE THEM AS ‘YOU KNOW’”

  All joking aside we still have a select number of Historians, Scholars, and Hollywood still holding out:

-What about Briseis!? (see above) they both also do sleep with a woman each but sadly here they are seen more as conquest and war prizes than actual lovers - again there is a fluidity

-Achilles was a HERO! Best of the Greeks -He’s always shown as A MAN’S MAN! YET in a separate myth (see Achilleid) his mother Thetis was able to hide him among a group of girly girls on Skyros to which he was perfectly disguised and has a one night stand with the princess again showing their regard for sexual fluidity. ALSO Do not disrespect that he was a manly hero and a femboy! This also explains how his son comes to be - again this is a completely separate myth and origin

-Could they be cousins!? (NO)

-**Closing Eyes** Homo-erotic? WHERE? “Item Not Found”

-”Well all we can say, there is no source, Homer never explicitly stated that Achilles and Patroclus were a couple or had a sexual relationship that we can find in the source material so… I am choosing to ignore all context and blatant evidence, as well have no heterosexual explanation for them either…  you’re just reading into it too much”:

EVERYONE who has a brain and has read The Iliad:

As for myself having read the Iliad, studied this Art, History, and Culture, as well as having a BFA; when you know, YOU KNOW. Feel free to share, use this as inspiration to read “The Iliad” if you haven’t already, think critically, and study up on your own!

IN CONCLUSION = THEY GAY & THE OTP !!

(Highly Suggest “The Song of Achilles” as well)

[solophent]

Chiron and Achilles - John Singer Sargent, c. 1922