#he doesn’t think about certain stuff | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joelsgoldrush · 11 months ago

Text

“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you.

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.”

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend.

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison

Allison:

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss.

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.”

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features.

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules.

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up.

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail.

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients.

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment.

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you.

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him.

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his.

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic.

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on.

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?”

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days.

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you.

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble.

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

12K notes · View notes

b4tgirlz · 2 months ago

Text

practice round

dick grayson x fem!reader

summary; when some guy takes an interest in you, your extremely thoughtful best friend dick convinces you that you need a little more… experience. and who better to help you practice, than himself?

warnings; 18+, manipulation, yandere-lite themes… best friends <3 nsfw, reader is inexperienced, but not a virgin, possessiveness, fem!reader, oral (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (reader is on the pill)

author’s note; felt depraved things writing this… if you enjoy then let me know!

You’re sat on your bed, curled up near the edge where Dick is sprawled out on the floor beside you, scrolling through his phone.

He noticed a slight shift in your behaviour about ten minutes ago when you’d received a notification on your phone. He wonders if you’re going to tell him about it — he supposes it doesn’t really matter if you don’t. He’ll just look through it later, but of course he wants you to be the one to share.

You look so nervous, knees drawn up to your chest like you’re trying to make yourself smaller. It’s adorable. It’s pathetic. It makes something sharp twist in Dick’s stomach.

Finally, you blurt it out. “So… this guy asked me out.”

Dick stills, his finger hovering over his phone screen as he freezes in place. “Yeah? Who?”

You say his name like you’re embarrassed and Dick smiles, slow and easy. But inside, he’s seething. It takes a lot to keep his expression carefully neutral. He’s heard you talk about this guy before, offhandedly calling him cute. He has no idea you may have possibly been forming a crush on him.

You hug your pillow against your chest and scrunch up your nose. “He’s so… popular. You know? Good looking. Everyone’s obsessed with him, so I don’t know…”

“Sure,” Dick mumbles, pretending to focus on his Instagram feed again. “He’s been with… what, half the senior class?”

You wince. Dick thanks the universe in this moment that the guy who has taken an interest in you is basically a manwhore. It’s going to make this so much easier.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I guess. He’s really, uh, experienced.”

Dick turns around to face you properly. He scans your face, assessing the way you bite at your lip and look down, your gaze faraway somewhere. “Wait, you’re nervous.”

He forces himself to sound surprised, but of course he knows you’re nervous. He’s banking on it, in fact.

You nod, sighing as you lean back on your bed. “What if I’m not enough for him in… y’know, that area. He’s probably used to girls who know what they’re doing and I’ve barely even—”

“Hey, hey,” Dick cuts you off, getting up to take a seat next to you on the bed and reaching a hand out to lightly squeeze your knee. “You’re more than enough, sweetheart.”

He means that. You’re way more than that jackass deserves. Dick has heard how he’s talked about women before. Even if this guy wasn’t scum, there’s no way in hell Dick is going to let him have you. The gears in his mind are already turning and there’s a growing excitement in his lower belly that he can hardly contain.

“You just said that he’s been with so many people,” you point out, frowning at him.

Dick sighs, like it pains him to say it. “Yeah, well. Sure, he’s probably used to certain things. Stuff he’s probably expecting without even thinking about it. But that isn’t your fault.”

You stare at him, looking utterly crestfallen. He can practically hear your heart sinking and it only spurs him on as he shifts closer to you, dropping his voice into something more intimate and safe.

“Any guy would be lucky to have you. You know that right?”

“Thanks, Dick,” you mumble, trying to smile. But he’s not done.

“It’s just guys like him,” Dick continues slowly and deliberately, carefully choosing his words. “They get bored really fast. If something feels too new… too awkward…”

He trails off, allowing the implication to hang heavy between you. Dick is well aware that you’re not a virgin, but you may as well be. He’s talking bullshit, obviously. He knows that this guy would kill to have you in his bed and that your lack of experience would only make you more appealing to his sick mind. Dick would know, considering his mind is even sicker when it comes to you. The difference is that you actually mean something to Dick.

“Oh,” you whisper, dropping your gaze. You look disappointed and Dick knows exactly what to say next.

“Look, if you’re that worried,” he starts, sighing like you’ve presented him with a problem. “You could always practice.”

You blink at him, startled. “Practice?”

He smiles at you, all warm and encouraging like he’s offering you a life raft. “Yeah. To get comfortable. Figure out what you like, what feels good. What to do. So that when it matters, you’re not nervous.”

You let out a nervous laugh, hesitating. “I guess. But, with who?”

Dick shrugs, noncommittal. “Me, if you want.”

As expected, you whip your head up to gape at him, wide-eyed and shocked. “What?”

He rolls his eyes, as though what you’re saying is silly. “Don’t make it weird,” he chuckles under his breath, keeping his hand on your knee. “We’re best friends. You trust me, right?”

You open your mouth, like you’re about to argue but then you shut it. Because you do trust him — you always have. “Yeah, I do, but—”

“Doesn’t have to mean anything,” he says, softening his voice even more. Every word coming out of his mouth is a lie, but they’re necessary, really. You don’t know what you want yet, which is exactly why he’s here to help. “And wouldn’t you want to practice with someone you’re comfortable with? Someone who only wants to make you feel good and confident. To teach you how to make someone happy.”

Lies, lies, lies. He has no intention of letting that happen.

Dick starts to stroke your wrist, thumb gliding lazy circles over your pulse like he’s trying to calm you down. Judging by the way it quickens, he’s doing the opposite and he has to fight to hide his grin.

Your voice cracks when you finally whisper back. “You really think it’ll help?”

“Yeah, but it’s totally up to you. You don’t have to decide right now,” he says lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and marvelling at how your gaze is tracking his every movement. “If you’re already this nervous…”

Your voice comes out impossibly small. “What would we even do?”

Dick’s mouth twitches as he tries not to smile triumphantly. He’s got you exactly where he wants and he’s elated.

“We can just kiss for now,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your lips, immediately making them part. Fuck, he’s going to have a hard time stopping if that’s all you want to do. “Whatever you want.”

After hesitating for a second and testing Dick’s patience, you finally nod. It’s shy, barely a movement of your head, but you’re smiling at him and Dick feels it go straight to his groin.

“Okay, then,” he murmurs, agreeable like you’ve coaxed him into it. “Do you want to set the pace, or should I?”

Your shoulders relax a little at the kindness in his voice and you swallow. “You… you can.”

He almost groans at your words. So submissive, so willing. You’re giving him permission to do what he wants and oh, he’s going to take it.

Dick gently positions you so that you’re facing him a little closer, sneaking his hand around to your back like he’s done a million times. Except this time, he gently lifts up your chin and offers you a reassuring smile and you can’t help returning it, albeit nervously. It’s Dick after all — your best friend in the whole world. And he’s such a good one for helping you out, right?

As if you’re getting impatient, you glance down at his lips and he decides that’s enough playing around.

Dick leans forward and brushes his lips against yours to test the waters. When you don’t move away, he presses his mouth to yours and your eyes flutter shut.

You’re a little stiff at first, hesitant and unsure as you allow Dick to lead. And he’s more than happy to show you.

He tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss as his hand slips back to cradle the back of your neck. His fingers tangle in your hair, fully controlling your movements and you let out the tiniest, most helpless whimper he’s ever heard from you.

Dick nearly loses it there and then.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to speak, and his lips brush yours with every word. “You can kiss me back, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice coaxing and patient. He brushes his knuckles against your spine and swallows hard when you instinctively arch up into him. “Just… follow what I do.”

You nod, your expression dazed and faraway and when he leans in again, you press your mouth to his in a soft kiss.

Dick smiles against you, rewarding you by slanting his mouth more firmly against yours. This time he lets the kiss linger, letting you feel his warmth, the careful way he parts his lips to guide you how to breathe through it.

When you mimic him, he hums low in his throat, the noise vibrating against your lips.

“Good girl,” he whispers, barely pulling back, his voice rough with approval. “You’re doing so good for me.”

Your lips turn up, a shy smile gracing your face as you shiver slightly. “Thank you,” you mumble out, like you’re embarrassed.

Dick has manipulated you into kissing him and you’re thanking him. He’s so giddy he could burst.

Instead he settles for kissing you again, even deeper as his hands slide down to your hips where they lightly squeeze. The action makes you gasp softly against the kiss and he uses it, sliding his tongue against your bottom lip.

You stiffen, unsure and he immediately soothes you, hand against the side of your thigh. Your nerves are so cute. Almost as cute as the strawberry lipgloss that he’s tasting, which he knows is your favourite.

“Open up for me, baby,” he murmurs, voice dripping with patience. “Just a little. Let me in.”

You part your lips, all hesitant and sweet and Dick rewards you immediately by slipping his tongue in your mouth. You melt against him some more and he takes it as a sign to go further until he’s licking into your mouth, kissing you like he’s trying to eat you alive.

He’s borderline devouring you, getting hungrier when he feels you start to move with him, gasping into his mouth and making soft, pleased noises.

Dick can feel how overwhelmed you already are when you helplessly reach out to grab the fabric of his t-shirt, clutching him like a lifeline. He needs more.

Pulling back far enough to speak, he tries to control his own breathing. It’s just so hard when he’s this excited. “When a guy really likes a girl…” he says lowly. “He won’t wanna stop at just kissing. You wanna make sure you’re ready for all of that?”

You stiffen for a second and Dick decides to change his tune, gently kissing your forehead like he always does and begins to shift back a little.

“I mean, we don’t have to,” he relents, trying to sound as flippant as he possibly can when his hard on is painfully straining against his jeans. He begins to slide his hands away from your body as though he’s unaffected. As though his jaw isn’t clenched from the restraint of not touching you. “We can stop.”

“No!” Your hands shoot out to hold his own in place where they grip your waist and your eyes don’t leave his mouth for a second. Your’e panting softly, lips swollen and bitten — courtesy of Dick — and your eyes are glassy. “I— we don’t have to stop… I want to keep going. Please.”

Who is he to deny you when you ask so sweetly?

“Whatever you want,” he agrees, voice calm as ever. But his blood is hot and he’s trying so hard not to rip off your clothes and fuck you into the mattress until your bed is broken in half. All in good time, he tells himself as he guides you further back. “Lie down for me?”

You rest your head against your pillows obediently and Dick runs his hands up your sides, slowly and teasingly. “I’m going to take off your shirt now.”

Nodding, you lift up your arms when he begins to peel away your oversized t-shirt, shrugging it over your head to toss it to the ground. Dick’s eyes don’t leave your chest and it’s like he’s a man possessed when he immediately leans down to drop kisses to your neck and down your chest, grazing the swell of your breasts.

“So, so pretty,” he mumbles against your skin, his hands sliding behind your back to fumble with your bra clasp. You don’t stiffen this time and he takes it as permission to unclasp it before sliding your straps down your arms and leaning back to stare at you. “Fuck…”

You shrink under his gaze, trying to place your hands over your chest when he doesn’t move, and the action snaps him out of it.

“Don’t cover up,” he instructs, impatiently brushing your hands away before looking directly into your eyes. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

A little laugh leaves you, like you don’t believe him and he decides it’s high time to convince you. Ducking his head down, Dick immediately swipes his tongue across your hardened nipple and you hiss, hand flying up to muffle your gasps as he starts to suck. Everywhere. He’s biting and licking at your chest, purposely leaving marks. If you try and do this with anyone else, they’ll know he was here first with all the blossoming bruises he’s sucking onto your skin.

Your gasps are coming out too quietly for his liking.

“No, don’t cover your mouth,” he says firmly, circling your wrists with his much larger hands to guide them away and pin them to your sides. “Guys like it when you’re noisy.”

Translation: Dick wants to hear you scream.

He returns his mouth to your body, this time venturing lower as he peppers kisses to your stomach. Lower and lower until he’s at the waistband of your shorts. He kisses around your belly button, nipping at your skin to distract you from your nerves as he slides the shorts down your legs.

You’re not even protesting anymore. In fact, you’re eager as you kick the item of clothing off your body. Dick huffs out a laugh against your belly when he sees your pink cherry-print panties. He recognises them from all the times he’s rifled through your underwear draw — it’s his favourite pair.

“Stop laughing,” you say breathlessly as you playfully tug on a strand of Dick’s hair. “It’s laundry day.”

“No, it’s cute,” he says, completely serious as you roll your eyes. The attitude you give him makes him want to fuck it out of you and so he swipes his thumb across the centre of your panties, right where your clit is, pulling a breathless sound from you. “So, so cute.”

You’re already soaked through the pink and red fabric, your wetness forming a damp spot visible through your panties and he grins. Shit, he’s barely touched you.

Dick props up your legs for better access and tugs at your panties, sliding them down to your ankles and then he groans.

He sounds like you’ve just sucker-punched him and before you have the time to process it, Dick sinks a finger into you easily and without any friction.

You’re so wet that it slides right in and the sounds that leave your lips make Dick’s mouth water. You’re gasping on choked breaths as he moves in and out of you, dragging his digit against your walls.

“So responsive,” he exhales, keeping a slow pace as not to overwhelm you. It only lasts a second though, as he can’t help wondering what other noises he can get out of you. His other hand comes up to start circling at your clit and your hand flys up to grab at his inky black locks.

“Oh, sh…shit. Dick, oh my God,” you whimper as the double stimulation makes your body twitch. You’re so consumed by pleasure that you probably don’t realise how hard you’re pulling on his hair — it’s a good thing he likes it. “Oh, please…”

He thinks he could die right now, hearing you beg him. For what, you don’t sound sure, but he obliges you with something. That something being a second finger which slides in almost as easily as the first.

The whine that leaves you is music to his ears and he pumps his fingers in and out, stretching you open in preparation. “Good?”

His question is teasing, since he can tell from the way your eyes are screwed shut that you do think it’s good. You nod nonetheless, whimpering out a “Yeah, so good. S-so good, Dick.”

Dick hums, increasing his pace absentmindedly as his erection brushes against your sheets. He’s practically humping your duvet, it’s pathetic. But he can’t bring himself to feel shameful about it when you’re looking so fucked out before him and he’s barely even done anything.

Fuck, he’s nearly drooling and so he decides the only thing to do is remove his hand from your clit. Your eyes flutter open at the loss of contact, despite his fingers still moving inside of you.

“Wait, what are you— Nngh.”

Dick flattens his tongue against your cunt and drags it up over your clit. You cry out, tangling your fingers further in his hair and keeping his head between your legs. Not that you need to when he’s eating you out like a man starved.

His tongue is moving against you like you’re his last meal while his fingers curl upwards into your pussy, making your eyes prick with tears. The second he starts sucking at your clit, you arch off the bed and helplessly grind against his face, covering his chin in your slick.

Dick moans into your cunt, pulling away a little to ask you in between licks. “Are you close, sweetheart?”

When he doesn’t hear an answer, his fingers pause in their movements and he lifts his head up to look at you.

“I— I don’t know,” you whisper, breathing heavily. “I’ve never… y’know, I haven’t—”

You’ve never had an orgasm

It feels like Dick’s luckiest day alive, he thinks to himself and he can’t help the wicked grin that splits across his face. His slides his fingers out of you, making you whine and his grin widens as he climbs over you, swiping a hand over his mouth before pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” he says soothingly, starting to pepper kisses over your cheek and jaw. “We still have more practicing. You’re going to cum on my cock for the first time, okay?”

“Okay.” Your response is almost immediate and he huffs out a laugh at how willing you are now. Any hesitation has since left you and Dick doesn’t have to convince you to do anything.

Not when you’re tugging at his shirt to take it off, which he happily obliges, reaching behind his back with one hand to shrug it over his head.

You exhale shakily, reaching out tentatively to trail your fingers over the sculpted lines of his chest, the hard ridges of muscle and the soft scattering of dark hair trailing down to disappear into his jeans.

“You’re beautiful too,” you say under your breath with a shy smile and he lets out a broken laugh, rough and shaky, grabbing your wrist and bringing it to his lips to press a kiss at your pulse point.

He’s going to absolutely ruin you.

When your hand drags down his abdomen and further down to his waistband, Dick shudders — a harsh tremor wracking through his body.

“Fuck,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. “Take off my jeans.”

Your fingers fumble to unbutton them and before he knows it, he’s tugging them off and you’re looking down at his cock straining impossibly hard against his boxers.

Dick doesn’t need to instruct you this time, and you’re hastily undressing him, allowing his achingly hard cock to spring free. You let out a breath at the sight of him, his leaking tip practically sore from neglect.

Your hands come up to hesitantly wrap around him, dragging his precum down his length to better stroke him. You do it painfully slow and he hisses through gritted teeth, jerking his hips into your hand which is so, so tiny compared to him.

“Am I doing this right?”

Your quizzical voice nearly makes him buckle, and he decides he’s had enough of not being inside of you.

“You’re perfect,” he promises, sliding a hand up the expanse of your thigh to squeeze your ass. “You’re more than perfect, but if you keep going, I’m going to cum all over your hand and that’s not what we’re practising today.”

You give him a sheepish smile, removing your warm hand and letting it rest by your side while he hovers over you.

Dick glances over your naked frame and nearly sighs aloud at the sight, leaning down to kiss your temple. “Are you ready?”

“Ready,” you say, nodding at him to continue.

Dick brings his length to your cunt and drags it up and down once to cover the tip in your slick, marvelling at the natural lubricant. He’s not going to need anything else to slip right in and when your body twitches at the feeling of his head dragging against your clit, he smirks.

And then he slips the tip right into you, slowly working you through the delicious burn as you gasp. In the back of his mind, he’s a little bit concerned that you haven’t bothered to ask him to wear a condom (not that he was going to — he knows exactly what birth control you’re on, it’s fine), but your compliance is so naive. He’s glad it’s just for him.

“Ohhh, fuck. You’re doing so well, you can take it,” he grunts out, trying to go further in as slow as possible. His hands are clenched around your sheets as he slowly pushes and pushes deeper into you. “You were made for this, weren’t you? Huh? You gonna take all of me?”

“Yes, please, please, please,” you mutter, voice hoarse and nearly inaudible.

“Please what?” Dick stills, not moving another inch as he freezes halfway inside of you. “What do you want me to do, baby? Use your words.”

“Dick,” you rasp out, trying to buck your hips up for more, but Dick grabs your waist and pins you down. You can’t move an inch when he does this. “Please, please, I want more!”

He leans down to chuckle in your ear before he buries himself into you, sinking all the way down to the hilt.

He only gives you a few seconds to adjust before he’s pulling out and slamming back into you. The cry that leaves you is so beautiful and Dick wants to hear it again and again and so, all of a sudden, he’s driving his hips right into you with a desperation.

His cock is stretching you out more than his fingers ever could and you’re so wonderfully tight that Dick can feel every last inch of your velvety walls wrapped around him, sucking him in like something vicious and needy.

You’re practically incoherent now, the whimpers that leave you are basically sobs as Dick fucks into you hard and fast.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he grits out, sweaty curls falling into his eyes as he doesn’t falter in his thrusts. He leans down to press his body against yours as he continues to pound your hot, weeping cunt. “You’re a fucking natural, you know that? You don’t need the practice, you’re perfect. He doesn’t even deserve you. Fuck, he doesn’t deserve to look at you, let alone fuck you.”

Dick’s control and flippant attitude is slipping as he mumbles the words against your skin, but what else can you expect when you’re scraping your nails down his back and pressing your tits against his chest? He doesn’t even care about fucking you under the guise of practice anymore and instead he’s whispering cruelly into your ear.

“You’re so fucking gone for my cock, I bet you can’t even remember his name,” he chuckles against the shell of your ear and you let out another sob, shaking your head frantically. “What is it, baby? What’s his name?”

“I don’t…” you trail off, jaw going slack and eyes rolling back into your head when Dick lifts up your leg to position it over his shoulder, hitting a brand new angle that makes your whole body tense and writhe. He repeats the question and you whine, arching your back even more as you clutch his bicep. “Fuck! I— I don’t know, oh my God, I don’t remember. Oh, Dick, please, it’s so good! You’re so fucking good, I can’t—”

Dick smirks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin as he pants. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

He leans back and brings your other leg over his other shoulder to drive his length into you impossibly deep and you scream his name so loudly that there’s no way your neighbours could miss it.

The sounds of his skin slapping against yours are so obscene in the otherwise quiet of your bedroom that he wishes he could record it to listen to the audio later. He makes a mental note for next time.

As soon as Dick feels your cunt begin to clench around him, he knows you’re close and fuck if he isn’t too. Sweat is coating his back and he feels out of control — you don’t look any better as there are tears of pleasure running down your cheeks, your tits bouncing with every thrust, the sheen of sweat over them catching in the light.

Fuck, he groans out a guttural noise as he picks up the pace to piston into you like a fucking machine. Reaching over in between your legs, he starts to rub quick circles into your clit with his thumb, leaning down to spit on it.

He watches with awe as his thumb rubs his spit into your cunt and the more he circles your clit, the harder he slams into you. Soon, you’re coming so hard that your body trembles with a high pitched whine and your nails are drawing blood down Dick’s back.

The way your cunt is clutching his cock through your orgasm makes him follow quickly and he’s as much of a wreck as you are, burying his face in your neck and sliding his arms under you to pull you close to him as his hips begin to falter. Before he knows it, Dick is shooting hot ropes of cum all over your walls with a choked groan.

It feels never ending, the way you’re milking him for all he’s worth and he decides he never wants to separate from you, keeping himself buried inside of you as he collapses onto you.

He leans most of his weight on his arms beside you, but he’s close enough to feel your racing heartbeat against his chest as you catch your breath.

“You did so good for me, sweetheart,” he pants, one of his hands coming over to rest on your belly where he traces his fingers. “So fucking good…”

Your lips curve up into a smile and although it’s tired, he can tell you’re pleased.

He presses soft kisses into your temple, still buried deep inside of you. Your legs stay wrapped around him and your arms encircle his broadness in a bear hug, not eager to let go any time soon.

Dick is such a good best friend, after all.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson smut #nightwing x reader #nightwing smut #nightwing x you #dick grayson x you #dick grayson scenarios #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson imagines #dick grayson fics #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson fic

3K notes · View notes

parrish-the-thot · 2 months ago

Text

A continuation of this post I made

I imagine Steve genuinely doesn’t think about Eddie, like at all. Besides the occasional “what is he yelling about in that table” or “ Munson actually showed up to class” or once in sophomore year he thinks “how much does Munson charge for an ounce of weed? Would he take a $50 for an ounce” which causes Eddie to wait around all day at the picnic table wishing for some shmuck to offer $50 for just an ounce, but no one shows up (Steve had to go pick up Dustin after school and didn’t want him to find weed the weed when he inevitably starts going through Steve’s car)

The lack of soulmate thoughts really irks Eddie, because he knows his soulmate is in Hawkins, but he never thinks about Eddie, like at all??? Positively or negatively?? Eddie jumps on more tables, he blares loud music from his van, he is in a band, he is the drug dealer for all the teens in Hawkins and all his soulmate thinks is “why the fuck did Munson double park his van, I’m going to be late looking for a parking spot now” it absolutely drives him crazy.

He eventually figures out his soulmate must be a jock of some kind because one day he hears “what is Munson doing under the bleachers?” when some sports team is let out of playing with balls practice. He is briefly heartbroken his soulmate isn’t a nerd like him, but then spends the night thinking about how a certain fluffy haired jock could play with his balls anytime.

Steve isn’t not thinking about Eddie on purpose, but they just don’t run in the same circles, so he doesn’t really think about him too much, just in a genuine, “I don’t know them, don’t interact with them, so I don’t really think about them” sort of way. Especially after befriending the kids, Steve’s focus goes to keeping them safe and being a babysitter instead of finding his soulmate.

Steve’s experience with his soulmates thoughts is completely different. Starting in middle school he heard his soulmate think he was cute which he thought was nice. As he got older his soulmate would still think he was cute, but also handsome or pretty which, he doesn’t know any girls who call their boyfriends pretty but ya know, he can roll with that. He thinks he will have to roll with a lot of stuff, since hai soulmate seems to into a…a lot of interesting things, to say the least. Steve has dated a lot of girls but none of them seemed to want to rub their face in his chest hair like his soulmate did, who also wonder is Steve was that hairy everywhere which- he was but he didn’t think a girl would want to know about that.

He would be in the middle of a basket ball game and he hit with a 15 minute monologue about how wonderful his ass looked in “thise little green shirts that ride up his ass in the best way” and how his soulmate “wanted to be those shorts” causing Steve to miss three different shots. Also with all this wildly kinky stuff and even general sex things Steve has never heard of or thought about he figures he should become more knowledgeable to better be prepared for his soulmate.

One day when Steve is cleaning up a drink he spilled in the cafeteria and heard “god Harrington looks good on his knees, bet he would look even better with my cock in his mouth” figures chances are his soulmate isn’t a girl at all.

With not much else to loose and a new door opened up to him, Steve starts spending time thinking equally horny thinvs about different guys he sees in class, just to see if they will react to what he is thinking. This is how he figures out Eddie is his soulmate.

Steve notices eddies table is getting a little rowdy, as is always does before Eddie gets up on someone’s table and he rants about jocks and preppy girls while stepping on people’s lunches, Steve thinks “what if comes over here, spits in my stretched out hole, and fucks me right next to Heathers Halloways tuna sandwich”

Eddie, whose soulmate didn’t even think about Eddie that one time his car got spray painted a fit was all the school talked about for a week, was NOT expecting that at 12:30 on a Tuesday and promptly trips on a chair and slams face first into the lunch table, breaking his nose.

Eddies friends rush him to the nurse and Steve is torn between this being a sign Eddie is soulmate or Eddie just clumsy, Steve has seen him walk into a door twice, so he don’t 100% sure. Steve decided to test this anytime he has a clear viewpoint of Eddie and starts thinking the most horny, kinky things possibly about Eddie to see if Eddie reacts proves he is Steve’s soulmate (also revenge because Steve had to go through years of Eddie horny pondering interrupting Steve during important tasks games or tests so Steve figures he should pay that forward during eddies dungeons and dorks games)

#Eddie trying to remain cool and mysterious as a dungeon master while hearing the most filthy things imaginable #steve at home looking at his watch like #oh it’s 4 Eddie it starting his game now I should start thinking about the different ways I would let him fuck me in his nerd throne #eventually Steve will come forward like 👋 hey it’s me your soulmate #I thought it would be funny if Eddie is thinking something kinky while in the library #and Steve just goes over to him like you know choking someone like that during sex can be dangerous #and Eddie is there like what the fuck what the fuck how did you-what #but I think it could be dinner that depsite sexy thoughts bringing them closer it’s Eddie bashing on sprouting Steve likes #like abba or something that makes Steve speak up #and Steve is like hold the fuck up abba is great why would you think it’s prep garbage #Eddie is there like :0 while Steve goes in a rant about Eddie not truely being minded about people liking different things like he claims #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #just a drabble #stranger things #soulmate au

2K notes · View notes

barnesonly · 9 days ago

Text

Days of Silence

bucky barnes x reader

tags: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, past traumas, slight trauma bonding, boyfriend bucky, established relationship, miscommunication.

summary: Bucky’s the best boyfriend — sweet, gentle, trying so hard to be good. But sometimes his trauma speaks louder than he does, and he snaps without meaning to. You’ve always been understanding. you know it’s not really him but this time, it hits too close to old wounds. So you protect yourself the only way you know — by distancing yourself.

word count: 2570

A/N: based on this request, hope I met your expectations even though it was such a difficult topic to bite into. Hopefully I wrote it well enough!

Bucky Barnes is a good boyfriend.

No — he’s the best.

He folds your laundry even though he swears he doesn’t know how to “properly” fold your clothes. He texts you pictures of stray cats and dogs he sees throughout the day because “they looked like they’d like you.” He kisses your forehead when he thinks you’re asleep.

He holds you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world.

But there are days — more than either of you would like — when the past crawls back into his lungs and makes it hard for him to breathe. Hydra didn’t just break him. They rewired him. And no matter how many mornings he wakes up in a warm bed beside you, some part of his mind still thinks it’s a cold metal table.

He doesn’t talk about it much. Not in full. You never push. You just know.

You’ve seen it in the flash of panic behind his eyes when someone touches his back unexpectedly. In the way he winces when he hears certain sounds. In the way his voice sometimes gets too sharp, too fast — not because of you, but because something in him gets tangled and scared.

And you’ve always understood. You’ve always met his storms with soft hands and soft words.

Because you love him. And you get it.

You know what it means to be hurt and to carry it like it’s your fault.

But tonight… tonight is different.

Tonight, you are tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep can fix. The kind that settles in your chest like wet cement. That slow ache from giving and giving and giving.

You were late getting home. It rained. You were carrying too many bags. Your coat’s still damp. It wasn’t a bad day.

Not really. Just long. A bit of a tangle — errands, traffic, a headache you couldn’t quite shake. Bucky had been quiet since the morning, not in a cold way, just… somewhere else. That haunted kind of silence you knew wasn’t about you.

You’d given him space, like always. That’s what worked best — gentle patience. You never pushed. He always came back.

But that night, it was something small. Ridiculously small.

You were making dinner — his favorite, even — and you forgot the stupid jar of sauce.

You laughed a little, standing in the kitchen barefoot, coat still on. “Shit, I forgot the tomato sauce. I was at the store and everything.” You shook your head, opening a cupboard. “We could use the backup jar of pesto maybe?”

From the couch, he barely glanced up. “Seriously?”

The way he said it — flat, with a sharp edge — hit harder than it should have.

You turned slowly, confused. “Yeah. I just— I forgot. I’m sorry. I had a lot on my mind.”

He doesn’t even look up. “You always forget something.”

There it is.

The twist.

The snap.

It’s not yelling. It’s not cruel. But it stings because it’s him. Because you know he doesn’t mean it — but it still lands like a blow.

And worse — it feels familiar.

Not from him, but from someone before him.

From someone who wasn’t kind. Someone who made you feel small on purpose.

You swallow the lump in your throat.

It’s not fair to compare. You know that. Bucky would never hurt you like that. Never on purpose.

But you’re still made of scar tissue.

And tonight, you’re stretched too thin.

“I’ll use pesto,” you say softly, turning back to the stove.

———

You don’t talk about it later. Not really. You just focus on your own stuff, distancing yourself so it hurts at least a bit less.

So it starts with small things.

Not coldness. Not anger.

Just… quiet.

You still smile when he kisses your cheek in the morning, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You still laugh at his dry humor, but it’s half a beat too late. You still curl into him when you sleep — but you wait until he moves first.

You’re careful with him. Softer than usual. Almost like you’re afraid to make noise.

And Bucky notices. He notices everything.

At first, he tries to pretend he doesn’t.

Tells himself you’re just tired. Busy. Overwhelmed.

But the second night in a row that you wash the dishes alone, he knows better.

“You okay, doll?” he asks gently, drying his hands as he leans against the doorway.

You glance up too quickly. “Yeah, of course.”

Your voice is sweet. Light. Nothing wrong.

But he sees the way your shoulders tense. How you don’t look at him for more than a second.

He nods slowly, but doesn’t speak. Just walks over and silently takes a plate from your hands to dry. Your fingers brush and you flinch — just barely — but he feels it like a slap.

You don’t mean to. You don’t even realize it.

But Bucky does.

Something in him turns cold. Not angry.

Just scared.

Because he knows that flinch. He’s seen it before — on himself. In mirrors. In memories. It’s the recoil of someone preparing for pain.

And the worst part is, he thinks he knows why.

He’s been short lately. Distant. Snapped at you when he didn’t mean to. He told himself it wasn’t that bad — but now?

Now, you’re looking at him like you’re afraid of making a mistake.

Like you’ve already decided you’ll carry the blame.

Like you’ve been here before, and you already know how this story ends.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Look at me.”

You hesitate, but you do.

And god, you wish you hadn’t — because the moment your eyes meet his, you see it. The guilt. The worry. The silent apology.

But you don’t know how to comfort him right now. Not without lying.

So instead, you just offer a quiet smile. “It’s fine, Buck.”

You go back to the dishes.

And Bucky stands there, drying a plate with shaking hands — because nothing has ever felt less fine.

———

It’s been two days since the kitchen. Two days of I’m fine and don’t worry about it and really, I’m just tired — but Bucky knows better.

You haven’t fought.

Not once.

No doors slammed. No yelling.

Just gentle answers. Forced smiles. A kind of quiet that feels… wrong.

You haven’t pulled away physically. Not exactly. You still sleep in his bed, still let him hold you when the nightmares get bad. But your touch feels lighter now. Less certain. Like you’re afraid of taking up too much space.

He hates it.

He hates how loud the silence has become.

You’re sitting on the couch, pretending to scroll your phone. You’re wearing the hoodie he left out for you earlier — the one that still smells like him — and for a moment he lets himself believe that’s a good sign.

But then you flinch when he sits too close. Not obviously. Just a slight shift in your shoulders. A tiny hesitation.

He sees it.

And it breaks him.

“Okay,” he says quietly, voice steady but firm. “That’s enough.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“Don’t do that,” he says, shaking his head. “Don’t smile at me like everything’s okay when it’s not.”

“Bucky…”

“I’m not mad,” he says quickly. “I’m not. I just—” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself more than anything. “I see you, alright? I know you’re not fine.”

You open your mouth to argue — but the words don’t come.

Because he’s right. And you’re tired of pretending.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, softer now. “The other night. I was a dick, I know. I just—something in me snapped and I—”

“I know,” you whisper.

“Then why won’t you look at me the same?” he says, voice cracking. “Why does it feel like I have to earn you all over again?”

Your heart squeezes.

Because that’s exactly it.

Not because he’s failed you but because you failed yourself — by slipping back into old fears, old habits. The instinct to shut down. To stay small. To protect what’s left of your heart.

“I’m not trying to punish you,” you say softly. “I just… I didn’t even realize I was doing it. It’s like something in me just shut off.”

He nods slowly, eyes fixed on yours. “That’s what I’m scared of.”

“Why?”

“Because I know how it feels,” he whispers. “When everything feels like too much, so you go quiet just to survive it. I know that feeling. And I never wanted to be the reason you feel this way.”

You blink fast, trying to hold it together — but the tears come anyway.

Bucky reaches for your hand. This time, you let him.

“I’ve spent months trying to make you feel safe,” he says. “Tell me I didn’t fuck it all up.”

“You didn’t,” you say, voice shaking. “You didn’t. I just… I think I’m scared too.”

“Of me?”

“No,” you breathe. “Of how much I love you. Of how much it hurt when you said that. And how much I still want to forgive you.”

He leans in, gently pressing his forehead to yours. His voice is barely a whisper.

“Then let me try again. Please. Don’t shut me out.”

And something in you shatters.

You nod — barely — just once, but it’s all it takes.

Your bottom lip trembles. Your chest rises, tight with emotion that’s been building for days, weeks — maybe even longer.

“I don’t want to,” you manage, voice breaking. “I don’t want to shut you out, Bucky, I just— I didn’t know what else to do—”

He doesn’t wait. His arms are around you in a second. Pulling you into him, wrapping you up like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. One hand cradles the back of your head, the other holds your waist like a lifeline.

You collapse into his chest, sobbing. Ugly, shaking cries — the kind you’d held back for too long. The kind that don’t come out pretty or soft, but raw and real and earned.

And Bucky just holds you.

Not with panic. Not with guilt. Just love.

His lips find your temple, over and over again — feather-light kisses scattered across your skin like apologies.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

You cling to him like he’s gravity. Like the ground beneath your feet gave out and he’s the only thing left holding you together.

“I’m sorry,” you cry. “I’m sorry, I know you didn’t mean it, I just— I felt like I was back there. With him. And I hated myself for it.”

“Don’t,” he breathes. “Don’t say that. Don’t be sorry.”

His voice is thick with emotion, but gentle. Reverent. Like he’s speaking to something breakable — something sacred.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. You hear me? Nothing.”

You nod into his chest, tears soaking the fabric of his shirt.

He keeps whispering soft things. Little comforts. His breath warm against your hair.

“It’s okay.”

“You’re safe.”

“I’m right here.”

“I love you.”

Eventually, your sobs begin to quiet. Not because the pain is gone — but because his arms make it bearable. Because his love is louder than the ache.

You sniff, rubbing at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie.

“Sorry I’m such a mess,” you mumble against him.

Bucky pulls back just enough to look at you. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, catching the last of your tears.

“You’re not a mess,” he says quietly. “You’re a person. A person I love more than anything.”

You blink at him — watery, stunned — because God, how did you get so lucky?

And then, so soft you almost miss it, he says:

“I’m scared too, you know.”

Your heart stutters.

“I’m scared I’ll slip and lose you. That I’ll forget how to be soft when you need it most. That something in me will break and I won’t catch it fast enough.”

You cup his cheek, thumb stroking the stubble there.

“You always catch it,” you whisper.

You’ve quieted now. The tears have stopped. The storm has passed.

But you’re still curled into his chest, face pressed against his neck, as if you need to feel his heartbeat to believe he’s real.

And Bucky…

He still holds you like you’re made of silk and smoke. His lips move softly against your temple, over and over. As if he could kiss away every old wound. Every bruise left by people who didn’t know how to love you.

His breath is uneven. You feel it before you hear the catch in his throat.

He’s crying.

Not loud. Not shaking. Just quiet, stubborn tears sliding down his cheeks. His hand trembles slightly as it rubs circles on your back.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers. “I hate that I made you feel like you had to go back to that place. I hate that I made you doubt me. I swear to God, if I could tear that moment out of your memory, I would.”

Your fingers clutch his shirt.

“Bucky—”

“No, let me say it,” he breathes, voice thick and aching. “Let me say all of it, because I’ve been holding it in too long and if I don’t tell you now, I’m gonna break.”

You look up at him, eyes still glassy.

“I love you,” he says — fast, like it’s bursting out. “I love you so much it fucking hurts. You don’t even know, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches.

“I think about you all the time. Even when you’re next to me. I look at you and I can’t believe you’re real. I’d do anything to protect you. I’d give you everything I have just to make you smile.”

His thumb brushes your cheek again. His eyes are red but shining.

“You’re my safe place,” he whispers. “Even when I’m messed up. Even when I don’t deserve you. You’re it for me.”

You blink, overwhelmed — but this time, the tears don’t sting. They come softer. Warmer. Held by love.

“I love you too,” you whisper back. “So much.”

He exhales shakily and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, then one to your cheek, then your jaw, your temple, your nose — soft, desperate pecks like he’s making sure you’re still there, still his.

You let him. You let yourself lean into it.

After a long moment, he shifts, still cradling you against his chest, and reaches behind for the throw blanket on the back of the couch. He wraps it gently around your shoulders, tucking you in like he’s wrapping up something precious.

Then he leans back slightly, cupping your face with both hands, voice gentler now.

“You wanna watch that dumb movie you like?” he asks, a small, hopeful smile breaking through the heartache. “The one with the dancing and the terrible accents?”

You laugh through a sniffle — just a little. “Mamma Mia?”

He nods solemnly. “I’ll sing along with the bad parts if it makes you feel better.”

You smile, eyes still wet but lighter now. “Okay.”l

And as he grabs the remote and pulls you closer, you realize the tightness in your chest has eased. Not gone — not magically fixed — but soothed.

Because this isn’t a perfect love.

It’s a real one.

1K notes · View notes

twilightofthesandwiches · 15 days ago

Text

There’s a lot of stuff in Deltarune, especially Ralsei’s arc, that is, I think, kind of an exploration/critique of common Video Game tropes about Player Character-NPCs friendships. Mainly the simplification of good/bad options in friendship progression and the concept of the blank-slate protagonist in the context of video game friendships.

I mean, that whole thing of having a Player Character being a stand-in for the Player and so building friendships in-game is much more focused on flashing out the NPCs and making them lovable to the Player. While explaining which traits in the Player Character the NPCs likes or what they would like to do together is given less focus and a lot more ambiguity. Because… well… that character needs to stand in for any person ever who plays the game and they need to feel like this character likes them whatever their individual traits may be. As well as how this whole thing interacts with choices. Like gamifying the idea of friendship into just picking the nicest and most pleasing and placating option until you ‘win’ the status of being friends with them.

Like, that’s also kind of a thing in Undertale (as certain elements in Deltarune are based on or built on the audience response to Undertale). I hardly think it’s a detriment to that game, to me it’s more of a thing of “a game can’t be Everything at Once. Part of Undertale’s greatness is that it knows what it wants to focus on”. But many fans have already poked fun at how, because the idea of Frisk not being a total Blank-Slate-Self-Insert is actually kind of a twist - most of the other characters’ friendships with Frisk involve these wonderfully-written fully-rounded adults trauma-dumping on this silent blank child and then going “Wow you’re such a great friend, I’m so happy you’re here to support me!”

Papyrus’ character was already kinda a Tounge-in-Cheek acknowledgement of the absurdity of the situation. A Guy who is both extremely self-absorbed and extremely wholesome to such an absurd degree that he basically cannot help himself but befriend you, no matter what you do (I mean, unless you kill him)

And I think a lot of Ralsei’s arc in Deltarune, in the ways he relate to Susie and Kris, is meant as a more serious exploration of these tropes.

Because Ralsei starts out with a very… video-gamey idea of how friendship works. He thinks that it’s just about being nice and making sure others are happy

And is shocked to realize how much he appreciates Susie, a person who… if she was the Player, she would absolutely not be choosing the nicest most placating choice each time. She can be a bit prickly and abrasive…. but it doesn’t actually diminish of his fondness of her.

Because, you know, that’s what actual real-life friendships are like.

And yet Ralsei is still surprised to learn that the same is true of him. That his friends also don’t demand just generic niceness, placating comments and gifts from him - they like his personality, not a blank slate. That’s the important part.

And, of course, that also connects with the whole thing of Choices That Don’t Matter and the disconnect between Player and Player Character. While Frisk being their own independent person that you had to leave to have a happy life with their friends is kind of a Twist in Undertale, we know Kris is their own person from pretty early on.

So first of all that creates more situations where despite our control Kris can let their unique personality shine through regardless. Kris’ friendships feel real because Kris is a person separate from the Player who therefore has their own personality that their friends like.

Plus, like with Susie, Kris isn’t necessarily the nicest and most accommodating person. They’re kind of an Edgelord WeirdEnby, so the interactions that show their personality and endears them to their friend often stands in contrast to the nicey accommodating tone of a Player trying to always choose the ‘Good’ option.

Sometimes the ‘right’ answer with Kris isn’t the nicest one, even when they’re with their friends. Because they like Kris, and that kinda comes pre-packaged with a little bit of emotionally-detached teasing.

And our choices don’t really matter, because outside of the Total Terror that is the Weird Route, the Player can’t really choose in a way that changes Kris’ relationships. They will rebel against words that are too cruel or too saccharine for them.

And the actions they take on their own will always be the most important to the development of their friendships.

It’s kind of the most heartwarming twist Deltarune has on the idea of ‘Your Choices Don’t Matter’. Your choices don’t matter because when it comes to friendship, Kris’ personality will always triumph over your choices.

And of course, the general conceit of Deltarune makes the idea of an NPC liking the Player over the personality of the Player Character to be an especially chilling conceit. It makes people inherently more open to the idea because the alternative feels like such a grim concept in-universe. This is one case I am very thankful my choices don't matter and I would like it to continue that way!

1K notes · View notes

mwahgo · 2 months ago

Text

LOSER VIRGIN

— Trafalgar Law x Crewmate!Reader

[+18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+]

Summary: Law is a loser virgin and this is first time seeing a woman naked.

Word count: 2,914 words

Tags: P in V, unprotected sex, virgin!Law, fingering, mentions of masturbation, breasts fondling, examination table sex, begging, gynecology check ups

Mwahgo's notes: I read this one tumblr post where i think they head cannon law is a loser virgin and I agree :33 that man is a pathetic virgin. Also, feel free to point out stuff because most of the medical terms i used here are either from google or my own experience so if it’s wrong, please point it out so i can edit it :3 requests are closed for now since I wanna work on my own fics!

Shachi stepped out of the medical bay of the Polar Tang, knees shaking and he looked like he’s about to pass out, “So, how did it go this time?” Penguin asked, grinning smugly.

“I-It was worse.. ugh, Captain didn't have to be that harsh,” His knees buckled as he fell to the floor before Penguin started laughing at him.

“I told you, man, you shouldn't have ate that bag of sweets,” Penguin snickered, putting his hands behind his head.

“Oh but it was so delicious though!” Shachi whined as he plopped on the floor, defeated while Penguin giggled at his devastated reaction.

The Heart Pirates are currently having their monthly check up performed by their own captain and doctor, Trafalgar Law. And as a strict doctor, he recommends his crew to stay in shape and be healthy to being able to fight well and not catch the sickness easily. Law is a meticulous doctor, he gets into detail on what’s wrong with you and what you should do about it, so if he spots something unusual, it’s best to tell the truth than him forcing to use his devil fruit on you.

Speaking of being meticulous, Law does every medical examination under the sun, from general check up to getting your blood samples. He just wants what’s best for his crew, even if it takes too many steps further. He does accepts refusals if the crew doesn’t feel uncomfortable doing certain check ups, he doesn’t want to lose the trust from them so he respects their privacy.

As Penguin, Shachi and Bepo talked among themselves, you stepped in the hallway—yawning heavily before spotting the crew next to the medical bay, “What’s going on?” You asked with genuine confusion.

They three of them turned to you and greeted, “Oh hey (Y/N)! You’re just in time. Captain is having us our monthly check up,” Bepo smiled.

It took you a couple of minutes to understand the situation—since you obviously looked like you just woke up from a nap, you let out a small “ah..” before sitting next to Bepo, “Well, looks like I don’t have any other choice.. I don’t want the Captain to haunt me in my sleep,” You joked, making them chuckle.

“How come you never heard about the check up? Captain usually announces that prior,” Shachi wondered.

You shrugged your shoulders, but before you answer, Law steps out the medical bay—clipboard in hand, “Penguin, you’re next,” He called as he looked up from the clipboard, “Oh (Y/N), you’re supposed to be here 30 minutes ago,” He glared, crossing his arms.

You sweatdropped from the intense glare as Shachi and Penguin snickered at you, “H-Hehe… Sorry Captain, must’ve forgotten the memo,” You scratched your head in shame.

Law just sighed, “Doesn’t matter, you’re here,” He said, “Penguin,” He called strictly before heading back inside with Penguin following behind him.

“Well, me and Shachi are going now, (Y/N). Law asked us to do something around the storage room,” Bepo stood up from the bench and Shachi rose from the floor.

You pouted, the thought of being left alone as you wait for your turn for the check up. Shachi and Bepo just looked at you with sympathy as theybid their goodbyes to you before leaving. You sighed sadly as you swing your legs in boredom, waiting for Penguin to come out and to be called for your turn.

Penguin finally got out of the medical bay with a bottle of medicine in hand as Law stood behind him, “Remember to take that every 5 hours, you can start later at lunch,” He instructed.

Penguin saluted playfully, “Aye, sir!”

Law just sighed as he turned his attention to you, “(Y/N), it’s your turn,” He ordered as Penguin left and you entered the medical bay.

The medical bay was quite large, with two examination beds in the center, machinery placed on the corner and some medical supplies placed in their own storage. You sat down on one of the examination beds as Law flips through your charts, “Have you been feeling sick lately?” Straightly, he asked.

You shook your head no, “Taking any medicines?” You shook your head no again.

“Any allergies?”

You shook your head.

“Is anyone in your family has some sort of sickness that can be passed down?”

You shook your head.

Law checks the boxes off your chart, showing that your completely healthy as he moves to some of the medical equipments on the table, “Alright, we’re gonna start your physical exam,”

Law grabs the stethoscope from the metal table and as he turns around, his eyes widened when he sees you zipping off the top part of your white overalls.

His cheeks blushed as he turned away immediately, “Y-You don't wear a shirt underneath that?” He stuttered.

You looked at him confusedly as you looked down to your sports bra covering your chest, “Oh! It’s because it’s too hot in this uniform and this is much more comfier,” You answered

The doctor just sighed as he puts in the earpieces on and placed the diaphragm on your chest. Quietly, he listens to your heartbeat—monitoring it as his golden eyes wandered downwards, ogling at your cleavage. Law wasn’t an open book to easily read, he tries to be as professional as possible but the sight of your plump breasts peaking through your sports bar, it made Law’s demeanor crumble. His cheeks blushed as he lost focus on listening your heartbeat.

“Captain, everything alright?” You asked.

He jumped slightly when you called him as he immediately pulled away the diaphragm away from your chest, “Normal heartbeat,” he said flatly.

You furrowed your eyebrows in Law’s sudden unusual behavior as the check up continues. Your captain checked your blood pressure, breathing patterns and tested your reflexes. After the exam, he busied himself checking some things of your chart—most of the test you came out either fine or negative so there’s nothing wrong with your health.

Law came back with your chart as you waited patiently for his results, “Well, all of your tests came out, no abnormalities or problems,” He flips through the clipboard, “So, obviously, you’re healthy, (Y/N),” He announced.

You smiled brightly, “That’s great to hear, Captain! Thanks,” Law dismissed you for today as you got off the examination table and left the medical bay.

The moment the door closed behind you, Law let out a sigh of relief as he glanced down at the raging boner through his jeans. Throughout the whole check up, he tried his best to hide the obvious tent between his legs, he tried his best to not stare at your at your chest but his thoughts yells at him, begging him to grab a handful of your soft breasts, how it feels in his rough palms.

Law knew to himself that he’s still a virgin—being focused on studying and travelling as a pirate, Law doesn’t have time to mingle around with women, he doesn’t reciprocate the flirting that some women give him and he gives off a very intimidating vibe. But back in his study room, he would often blush like a school girl over illustrations of breasts in an anatomy books or his cock would harden as he reads about the clitoris. Every night, after a few study sessions, he would masturbate at the images of a naked woman in those books. Law is not stupid, he knew to himself he’s a virgin who wanted to see a woman naked.

You, on the other hand, you giggled to yourself as you left the medical bay. Law may not be an open book to easily read, but his body gives hints of his sexual frustration. The obvious boner in his pants almost made you want to call him out, but you didn’t want to embarrass the captain like that. His red face almost made you smirk triumphantly, his walls crumbling just from the sight of cleavage and every bite of his lips made you want to tease him more. Law is a reserved man, but his body craves something more.

The next month, Law announced to the crew that there will be another monthly check up and ordered everyone to meet him up in the medical bay. As the others conversed to themselves about some recently changes they’ve been noticing, you have a bit of concern you want to address to Law regarding your health. After the crew had their breakfast, they split into groups—some went around the ship to do their assigned chores, some went to the control to manage navigation and the crew members who have nothing much to do, they went to the medical bay to meet up with Law for the check up. You were one of those people as you arrived to the medical bay, you saw Law talking to Jean Bart.

As the big man left, Law’s eyes met with yours as it widens and his cheeks blushed, “Come in, (Y/N),” He said, entering the medical bay with you following behind him.

Law started the check up with the usual stuff—checking your blood pressure, testing your reflexes and checking your heartbeat again. He examined your body for any abnormalities or bumps and so far you were doing good. As Law was checking your chart, you spoke up, “Uhm, Captain.. Can we do another check up?”

Law didn’t bother to glance but he was listening, “What is it?”

You fell silent for a moment, choosing the right words to ask him, “Uhm.. C-Can you do a check up for my.. private parts?” You stammered.

His breath hitched when you mentioned you wanted a check up for your reproductive organ. He never did that examination before since most of his crew members are male and they don't really mention a more detailed examination on them.

“I mean it's okay if you can't do it! It's just that I would sometimes get that check up—” Law cuts you off.

“N-No, it's fine. You’re concerned with your health so I’m here to assure you that you’re healthy,” He insisted.

Law instructed her (he tried his best) to take off her uniform and her undergarments and told her to lay down on the examination table. As Law turned around to start the check up, he saw your naked body laying on the table as his breath gasped. He felt his cock harden in his pants but he tries to hide his arousal and focus on the current task in hand. He approached your relax body and sighed, mentally preparing himself as his hands reached out and grabbed your breasts.

Suddenly, you let out a small whimper and Law jumped back, “What the hell? Are you okay?” He asked.

“O-Oh I’m sorry, you could’ve warned me that you’re going to start,” You said as Law sighed.

He continued the examination on your breasts—his hands feeling the soft flesh, looking around for some lumps or abnormalities while he lowkey enjoys being able to fondle your breasts. Then, his hands lingers downwards to your stomach, pressing it down to feel around for some lumps as well. His tattooed hands now descended between your spread legs as Law breathe shakes, his body buzzing in adrenaline and his eyes admired your cute pussy. He had only seen these on medical books and now he gets to touch them in person. He gulped nervously as his fingers grazed on your labia and your clit, inspecting if there are any signs of deformity. Every slide of his fingers on your labia makes your hips thrust up which made Law weak, thinking if this is your reaction if he fucks you hard.

His hand pulls away from your pussy as he grabs the lube and coated his two fingers, “… Are you a virgin, (Y/N)?” Law asked.

You shook your head, “N-No…” You answered.

Law hit a pang of jealously, knowing that you had someone before him but he disregards that idea as he went back to your spread legs, “I’m gonna need you to breath steady here, it might feel uncomfortable,” Law assured.

You nodded as he slowly inserts his lubed fingers in your pussy. Your lips let out small whimpers as Law almost moan at the feeling of your spongey walls engulfing his fingers, his breath hitches at the sight of his fingers inside you. He blinked back to reality—almost forgetting he’s on a medical check up right now as his other hand pressed down your abdomen so that he can easily feel around inside you. You took deep breathes as Law continues to press his fingers inside your pussy, feeling your around your vagina for any thing unusual but your small moans took away his attention as he glanced up to see your expression—your eyes closed and your brows furrowed as you try to suck in your moans, but Law’s fingers feels so good.

The doctor gulped as he pulled his fingers back before sliding them back inside as you let out your moans of pleasure, “Fuck.. Feels good, yeah?” He asked as the hand on your abdomen moved to your hips, caressing the soft skin.

You nodded as Law slowly fingers your pussy, “Yeah… Feels really good,” You whimpered, “Law.. Please, I want you,”

His golden eyes widened, “Wh-What?” He stuttered.

“I want you to fuck me, p-please. I know you’ve been wanting this, baby..” You bit your lip as your hips thrusts back on his fingers.

Law paused for a moment, radically thinking about the situation. Sure, he wanted to see a woman naked but it was all a fantasy of his, he didn’t expect it to make it this far. You were already willing—begging him almost to fuck your needy pussy and Law couldn’t refuse because he didn’t want you to feel betrayed.

Law nodded as he pulled out his fingers—you whined in the emptiness before he unbuckles his pants and pulling his boxers down, revealing his hard cock. You bit your lip at his size as your foot rubbed his sensitive cock, making him groan, “You must’ve been desperate, right Law?” You smirked.

He growled in annoyance as he coated his cock with some lube before positioning it on your pussy. You gasped as his cock penetrated your pussy and Law bit his lip—sucking in his groans as he feels the sensation of your pussy wrapped around his cock. He looks down and his knees almost passed out when he sees his cock buried deep inside you, creating a slight bulge on your abdomen, “H-Holy shit… Feels so good,” He whimpered.

You let out a small giggle as your hips grinded on his cock, “Please.. F-Fuck me Law, hurryyy,” You begged.

Hearing your pleas, he nodded and retract his hips back—leaving the tip of his cock inside before plunging in back as you both moaned in pleasure. He picks up the pace wanting to reach into you deeper, fucking you hard on the examination table. His hands grabbed your legs and hooked them on his arms, making his cock go into you deeper as you moaned loudly, “Oh fuck Law! It feels so good!”

Law panted heavily, “Y-Yeah, I’ll make sure to… fuck you real good,” He whimpered as his pace quickens.

The examination table starts to shake as Law took an aggressive pace, your skins slapping against each other as the sound echoes inside the medical bay along with your moans and his deep grunts. Law glanced down at your reddened lips as he leans down and kissed your lips. Your eyes widened in surprise but time went on and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer while he maintains his pace.

You pull away from the kiss, “O-Oh Law, I f-feel something!” You moaned, “I’m gonna cum!”

Law pushed himself up with his hands as he felt the tight knot in his stomach, “Fuck, (Y/N). I’m g-gonna cum too..” He groaned, “Can you cum with me, p-please?”

You almost laughed at his pleas as you nodded before you felt your orgasm hit you. You throw your head back as your moans escaped your lips and Law quickens his pace before cumming inside of you, his deep groans mixed with yours. His hips stuttered as his body plopped on top of your sweaty body as you both panted.

“Damn… I didn’t know.. you had it in you,” You teased your captain.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance, too tired to argue, “Yeah well… this is the wrong time to say this but.. I kinda like you for a while,” He blushed, “… And I’ve been wanting to do this with you,”

Your eyes widened at his confession as you started giggling, “Well.. At least, we can do it all the time now,”

Law snickered as he leaned down and kissed you passionately—with you wrapping your arms around his neck and kissed him back.

#one piece x reader #one piece #anime #one piece x reader smut #trafalgar law #anime smut #one piece smut #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law x reader smut #trafalgar law smut #op #op x reader #op x reader smut

1K notes · View notes

yunamoona · 2 months ago

Text

formation a !

summary: you’re getting hit on!!! Luckily your friends have a protocol to neutralize this very situation.

content: fluff, satoru gojo x fem!reader (ft. Shoko and Suguru), silliness, gojo vs jealousy. Gege if he was full of joy and whimsy AU where they all at least make it to their last year of school together. Oh and thug Geto (but not really) allusion to the “Formation b” og at the end.

a/n: we all saw how quick Gojo was to reacting to Megumi “getting hit on.” formation b??? yeah, that was NOT his first rodeo…anyways, this is my first oneshot! please be forgiving, but I’m open to constructive criticism! also feel free to send feedback & reqs! info in my pinned.

“I don’t waannaaaaa!”

“Then go home.”

“I don’t wanna do that eitherrr”

Before you can snap at him again, it’s Suguru who smacks him upside the head, “then quit whining,” the man grumbles as Satoru whimpers and rubs the back of his head. “It’s already hot as balls out, you’re giving me a headache.”

Satoru huffs at that, purposefully stumbling along the sidewalk to knock himself into Suguru. There’s an oof as Geto returns the gesture by elbowing him in the gut, and some of your and Shoko’s shopping bags slip down Gojo’s arms as he shoulders the other man again, more intentionally this time. It’s moments before the two break out into a full on scuffle.

“Let’s bring Haibara and Nanami next time, kay?” Shoko jests loud enough for the two behind to hear, her thumb jabbing backwards towards them with that feline smirk on her lips. “They’re way more well-behaved than those idiots.”

“You can’t replace me— maybe Suguru, but not me!” Satoru wheezed out, sputtering a bit. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Suguru tightening the headlock around the other boy’s neck, squeezing a choked sound from Satoru as his sunglasses slipped down his nose. “You’d miss me too much!”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, we’re almost done shopping, alright? I just wanna get one more thing.” You point a little ways ahead to the shop you’ve been meaning to get to after hearing they had a sale on all their blind packs.

Yet looking backwards, you could see the heat was getting to your friends, making them more irritable and haggard. Even Shoko looked about ready to call it a day, but it was Satoru who appeared to be the least tolerant. He was practically dragging his feet across the ground, cheeks flushed red from the absurd heat and a rare genuine frown on his lips. The sight made your heart pang just a little.

Your gaze traveled around the little outdoor shopping center, landing on something that you were sure would bring up the mood— at least for a certain someone.

“Oh!” You pepped, pointing out a little cart stationed at the corner across from the store you wanted to hit up. Perfect. “How about we stop for ice cream?”

The way Satoru brightens immediately is almost uncanny, azure eyes sparkling and wide. “How’d you know that’s exactly what I was thinking?” He beamed, toothy grin wide and unabashed. “See, this is why we’re soulmates!”

You wish he’d stop saying thoughtless nonsense stuff like that.

The four of you stroll up to the stand, the older man running it joyfully greeting your group as Satoru leaned over the counter, enthusiastically giving your orders. You can’t stop thinking about that shop across the way, though. Clarence. Blind boxes. Marked down. MiniBrands…other people were gonna buy them all out…

“Shookoooo,” You whine, your bottom lip jutted as you reach for her hand, nodding your head towards the store. “Come with me pleeaaase? I’ll be quick.”

Lie.

Both of you told the guys you’d only be a minute, but it’s been at least 15 by now. Where the heck were they hiding your stupid discount mystery boxes??

“I know they’re here,” You reassure Shoko after dragging her into the same aisle you’ve checked three times now. “Somewhere. I have that feeling.” She doesn’t argue, but you feel her unspoken doubt.

After a while still, Shoko taps you on the shoulder.

“You keep looking, I’ll be right back,” she hums, middle and pointer finger tapping her lips. Then she was waving and strolling out the automatic doors, right back to where you both left Satoru and Suguru. The latter was manspread on a bench and scrolling on his phone, the former half-perched on the armrest watching the screen over Suguru’s shoulder. He had his second half eaten popsicle in one hand, taking sneaky licks of your ice cream in his other when he thought no one was looking.

He didn’t pay Ieiri any mind for a good several minutes, not until he peered up into the glass window of the store across the street, tongue frozen mid-lick of your ice cream. You were in there, without them— with some guy— chatting. Laughing. Suguru’s head rose when he heard the plop of frozen dairy hitting the asphalt, following his friend’s gaze after registering his alarmed expression.

The ebony haired man sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth. “That’s rough.”

In a blink Gojo’s hands grip Shoko’s arms with urgency. “Shoko.” He gritted, hand flying to make wild motions toward the shop.

The girl squinted, spotting you inside after a few seconds, talking to some guy. “Oh. Good for her,” she’d acknowledge coolly around the cigarette at the corner of her lips.

Satoru’s frown drastically deepens.

“You were supposed to stay with her— what happened to girl code?”

“I needed a smoke. And what do you know about girl code?”

“Queens before nicotine!” Satoru stressed while jostling the easygoing girl.

“C’mon, c’moonn, we gotta hurry. Do it like we practiced, alright?”

“These what you’re looking for?” The man who’d originally approached you pulled out a small colorful package from a larger cardboard box, lopsided grin on his plain face as he held it out to you.

“Omg, yes!” You cheered, clasping your hands together. At long last, you’ve been reunited with your cheap blind boxes. “Thank you so much, you have no idea—“

Your name is called out somewhere down the aisle, and when you turn to look, you spot Shoko back from her smoke break.

The brunette looked less than enthused, however, eyes flitting down to very obviously scan some note cards between her fingers. She briefly cleared her throat.

“Another one? Damn girl. Isn’t this your third one today? I thought what we had meant something to you.” She exclaimed flatly, articulating every word like a robot. She shuffles to the next card. “Girl, you crazy.”

???

You stare at her with a gaped jaw and knitted brows, lips barely forming the beginnings of the word “What—“ when you hear the chime of the door. And in the storefront’s entrance stood Suguru- reimagined to look…vaguely thuggish?? Your eyes don’t know where to look, between the rolled up sleeves of his rumpled uniform that showed a poorly scribbled tattoo sleeve on the arm of his pocketed hand, and the jagged scar with a smudge of red that’s suddenly appeared on his right cheek. (You’ll learn later they’re sharpie marker and Shoko’s red lip stain.)

“Hey babe,” BABE?? “Sorry to keep ya waiting. There was…a complication.” He grunts around a toothpick. You only notice he’s lugging a bat over his shoulder when he taps it twice against himself for an intimidating emphasis. He begins to stride toward the three of you, unimpressed glare landing on the man who’s now shuffled slightly behind you. “But there’s no trouble here. Right?”

The poor guy looked ready to piss his pants out of fear. You were ready to explode out of shock and embarrassment.

“I—“ You open and close your mouth like a gasping fish, but no words are forming as your baffled expression shifts between Shoko and Suguru. “What the hell is happening?!”

Admittedly, you did feel a sense of foreboding. Like a piece was missing from this debacle of a puzzle. A grand finale that would ensure you would never set foot into this store for at least another decade out of pure shame.

“Would you step away from her? You homewreckers!”

No. Nononono—

To your horror, large hands clap over your arms, spinning you around to face teary cerulean eyes.

God knows where his uniform jacket’s gone, or where he’s managed to get a tie to wear at the collar of his white button up on such short notice.

The way he laments your name is already enough to make you cringe, his disheveled white hair cascading as he slumps his head forward between his shoulders, his hands bracing on yours.

“I knew you’d be out here, fooling around! Don’t tell me it was a lie? When you said I was the only one for you?? I slave away everyday at that damn office— to provide— for us!!” He’s sobbing, in the midst of his own soapy k-drama. You half expect cherry blossoms to start raining from the tiled ceiling covered in harsh fluorescent lights, or for some violin-heavy ballad to start playing.

“Come home,” he begs, lifting his face stricken with faux tears to meet your eyes. “the kids miss you…”

There are no words to describe how much you wish to disappear. The blood that had drained from your face comes back tenfold, now buzzing in fiery humiliation.

There’s a too heavy, too long, awkward pause.

“…Okay, well. If you don’t need anything else, I should get back to restocking…” The man who’d been the target of Satoru’s strategic wrath half-bowed his head, anxious to shuffle away with a forced polite smile. “Glad I could help you find what you were looking for, miss.”

“Huh.” Both Gojo and Geto chirp in unison, heads tilting in confusion. Only then do the men maybe register the fact the guy who was “hitting on you” was wearing a uniform and a name tag. And then understanding dawned. Not before you yank at either of their ears, unfortunately, which they begrudgingly accept.

“What is wrong with you guys??” You fume, and either of them shrug, wincing when you tug harder. Best to take this sitting down. “Why would you embarrass me like that— and why’re you dressed like the villain of a low budget movie?” Geto glances sideways and you can almost see the guilty cartoon sweat drop.

With a long suffering sigh you release the both of them, whipping around to Shoko with hands on your hips. “Okay, but why’d you go along with this?” You ask in exasperation. She merely gives a halfhearted shrug.

“‘Was bored.” Figures.

“So mean! We had good intentions, where’s the love?” Satoru pouted, faux tears in his eyes as he rubbed at his reddened ear.

“You,” Was all you could muster in a dangerous tone, accusing finger jabbing towards him. He jolted, at least having the decency to look somewhat fearful even if it was mostly overshadowed by thrill. “I know you’re behind this.”

“Sweetness, hey,” He attempted to pacify you, palms forward. “before you get mad, I—“ The squeal that elicits from him is girlish as he twisted just out of your reach. Then he’s booking it. Slippery bastard.

The way he cackles at you as you give chase makes your cheeks burn hotter, curses and promises of strangling him spilling from your lips. He howls when you nearly crash into the ice cream stand while whipping around the corner after him, the owner shouting his own swears at the two of you and…

…and the remainder of the memory escapes you as sunspots dance in your vision. Bright light sears your eyes the moment you manage to blink them open, a bead of sweat rolling from your forehead down the bridge of your nose. You just sit there for a minute like this, dazedly staring at the sky. Trying to hold onto the vivid imagery before it began to fade back into the recesses of your mind once more. With a grumble you gain your bearings, wiping your face with a sleeve as you stand. You swear there’d been shade over this bench when you sat down…just how long had you been sitting here in this heat?

You look side to side. Where have your students gone? Well, your students, and that overgrown manchild—

“Fushigurooo!!”

“No.”

“But Fushigur-“

“Stop following me.”

Your head snaps to where your students are zipping past the sidewalk, Yuji stumbling after Megumi as he stormed off.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Fushiguro! I really thought she was hitting on you— y’know, Bros before Does!” Itadori placated with a pleading gesture of his hands. With one glance behind him however he jolted, picking up the pace into a sprint almost immediately after spotting Kugisaki barreling towards them.

“Itadori, you idiot!” She squawked, waving a fist as if to clobber him once she caught up. “Making us chase down that angsty sea urchin in this heat! You’re gonna get it!!”

All three disappear around that corner where that ice cream stand always used to be posted, an echo of the past. Come to think of it, it hasn’t been around for years, and you idly wonder what became of the old man who used to run it.

As if on cue, Satoru meanders up to you, ruffling his snowy hair as he readjusts his blindfold over his eyes. He beams simply at the sight of you.

Your glare hardens, and he startles. He knows that you know he’s the mastermind behind that spectacle you’d just witnessed. Was it really that long ago since he pulled this same stupid stunt? He never did quite change.

“Ehehehhh,” He pitters nervously, putting on a wide innocent grin as you approach, index scratching a nonexistent itch at his jaw. “Hi sweetie, baby, love of my life—”

What makes him give pause though is the way you just trudge into his side and nod your head against his chest. You feel an arm instinctively wrap around you, and it makes you uncomfortably warm in this hot weather, but you don’t entirely mind it either. “Hey, what’s up,” he murmurs more sincerely, head craning to get a better peek at you. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Is what you mutter in response, still replaying the dream of that memory in your head. It made you feel poignantly happy, but the aftertaste of the emotion left you…tired. “Heat fatigue.”

“Right.” His grip tightened, nestling you closer. He doesn’t say anything, just letting the quiet fill the air aside from the croak of locusts. You wonder if he’s reminiscing on those times, too. Before everything— “I betch’ya got a nasty tan line.”

“Satoru!”

“I’m kidding! You’d be sexy even if you had a redneck tan.”

“Ew, don’t even say that!” You scold even if you can’t keep the ridiculous smile off your face. You still check under your sleeve for good measure, to which he chuckles.

“Wanna get some ice cream?” There’s a smile in his voice, and you feel his lips stamp a kiss to your sweat damp forehead.

“Y’read my mind.”

#⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆moonwrites #gojo satoru #geto suguru #gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo saturo #gojou satoru x reader #shoko fluff #geto fluff #suguru fluff #jjk fluff #fushiguro megumi #yuji itadori #nobara kugisaki

1K notes · View notes

yukioos · 1 month ago

Note

what love languages do you think izuku, bakugo, shoto, shinso, neito, touya, keigo, and tenya give and would want to receive from their special someone? ♥︎♥︎♥︎

what love languages he would give and like to receive

featuring izuku, katsuki, shoto, eijiro, denki, hitoshi, neito, toya, keigo, tenya

izuku midoriya

izuku shows his love in so many different ways, as in all of the love languages. he can’t keep his expressions to a minimum, he can’t help but show his love to you in every way! you’ll get compliments, gifts, hugs, favors, and time with him every day!

he doesn’t care much about how you express your love either. all he knows is that however you show your love, is a representation of it. he does prefer receiving physical touch though, as it makes him feel so needed and comfortable in your arms.

katsuki bakugo

katsuki shows his love with words of affirmation. he tells you you’re doing great, you’re improving on something, and that you look good in a certain outfit. it comes naturally to him, so he doesn’t always consider it flirting. he just loves you, and also gives acts of service. if you can’t reach something, he’s right behind you, and he’ll reach up and grab what you want and put it in your hands. he’s natural with it.

he loves to receive words of affirmation as well. he knows he’s amazing at almost everything, and he hears it on a daily basis, but it’s different when it comes from you. you make katsuki more flustered, and he also likes physical touch. when you hold onto his bicep in public rather than his hand, it makes him feel protective and so loved.

shoto todoroki

shoto sometimes struggles to show his love to you because he never saw it when he was a child. he gives you gifts because he has enough money, and most things remind him of you. when he goes on long missions across the country with his dad, he brings back souvenirs for you.

he likes to receive quality time because he just wants to be in your space, not necessarily talking. one of you could be doing homework and the other could be sleeping, but at least you’re in the same room. he craves silence sometimes and knows that actions are enough. shoto loves it when you praise him, as he didn’t receive much as a child, your words make up for what he missed.

eijiro kirishima

eijiro shows his love in so many different ways! he loves having his hands on your body, whether it’s guiding you with a hand on your back or an arm wrapped around your shoulder. he showers you with compliments every day, and loves just being in the same room with you. he loves cuddling with you in silence, sleeping together seems so intimate to him. he gives you gifts when he’s reminded of you, even if it’s a little trinket he sees from a stand. eijiro does so much for you, carrying stuff for you because he wants to make things easier, although he knows you can handle things yourself, and to show off his strength.

he loves receiving words of affirmation from you. sometimes, he still thinks he’s weak and that he could have done a lot more to save people from death or even from being hurt. your words make him feel better. when you run your hands along his scars or give him a hug, it makes him feel like his scars aren’t a reminder of how weak he is, but rather how strong he is.

denki kaminari

denki shows his love to you with words of affirmation and half of the time, he doesn’t even realize it. he can’t help but compliment you on how pretty you are, or how cool your style is.

he likes receiving physical touch, feeling your arms wrapped around his waist or neck makes him feel so warm and loved. he can’t help but have a soft, genuine smile on his face when he’s with you.

hitoshi shinso

hitoshi is quiet except when he becomes closer to someone, like you. he shows his love by acts of service and gifts, always texting you ‘this reminds me of you’ maybe it was a plant you were wishing for, and suddenly it was in your dorm the next day. when you’re thirsty but comfortable in bed, he walks down to the common area to get a glass of water for you.

he likes to receive quality time because he isn’t much of a talker, but rather a listener. he’s willing to stay silent and respond sometimes while you yap, it’s just something he enjoys. he loves hearing you speak about your day, whether it’s good or bad.

neito monoma

neito gives quality time. he feels like being able to be silent around each other with not much interaction is such an intimate thing. he’s alright with physical touch but it’s not his go-to way of showing you he loves with.

he loves receiving words of affirmation because it feeds his ego, and it makes him feel different when you compliment him, rather than a teacher.

toya todoroki

toya absolutely sucks at expressing his feelings, so sometimes he does it in unhealthy ways. he’s willing to kill for you, so he gives acts of service. he’ll also bring you stuff without you asking if you’re sick or simply not feeling well. if he sees you improving for something, he’ll give you a subtle compliment, so words of affirmation as well.

he wasn’t highly praised as a child when shoto came along, and he was always trying to be the best. toya loves to receive words of affirmation because it makes him feel cared for and as if he matters. it makes him feel like he’s progressed in life.

keigo takami

keigo is probably the touchiest motherfucker on earth. he almost always has his hands on you, so he gives physical touch often. if you don’t like physical touch, he’ll shower you with gifts. he’s rich, after all!

as a hero, he hears praise from people all the time, telling him he’s handsome, powerful, polite, etc. he loves receiving words of affirmation from you because he sometimes falls into an unhealthy headspace if he can’t save someone. he also loves to randomly be hugged from behind or holding hands, so he likes physical touch as well.

tenya iida

tenya doesn’t always know how to show his love to you, but researches the best ways how to. he likes acts of service like helping you out on homework or studying with you for tests, so also quality time. he just loves to do things together.

he likes receiving words of affirmation so he knows he’s doing something right. sometimes he has to double-check or look to you for reassurance, though he won’t say it. he just likes to know if he needs to correct his behavior, and if you like the way he’s doing something. he won’t change it.

sorry i haven’t written this ask quickly. i have been replying to singular characters in an ask rather than multiple because this takes more time. i hope you enjoy, this is just how i personally perceive the characters. all of these are just my opinions

868 notes · View notes

intheupside · 1 month ago

Text

About 30 minutes after Team Canada practiced at Hovet Arena, Sidney Crosbystood in the right circle before methodically skating toward the net and firing a shot. The goaltender denied it with a sprawling save, then aimed his glove directly toward Crosby’s face and grinned.

After a 21-year NHL career, Marc-André Fleury is going out on his terms, saying goodbye with his favorite captain by his side.

Fleury, who retired from the league after the Minnesota Wild’s season ended May 1, is enjoying a swan song at the World Championships before his playing career truly ends in the next few days. And he’s doing it with Crosby, his Pittsburgh Penguins teammate for 12 seasons.

Neither star would have it any other way.

“This is kind of perfect,” Fleury told The Athleticlast week. “And you know what I miss the most about playing with Sid? Days like this, just staying on the rink for an hour after practice, just challenging each other. Days like this, I don’t want to leave the rink.”

Around the time Crosby was making that decision to go to Worlds, he received a text from an old friend.

“I never even thought about the possibility of playing with him over here,” Crosby said. “But then Flower texted me. He had gotten word from Kyle, and he was thinking about going. So, then I told him I was going to go. Within a couple of days, he decided to come over, too.”

Fleury’s decision wasn’t difficult.

“Think about it,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I come over here? You get to keep playing hockey a little while longer. Get to play with Sid one last time.”

There was something else, too.

Fleury has had a strange relationship with Team Canada over the years. A misplay in the 2004 World Junior Championship against Team USA haunted Fleury for quite some time, and only once was the future Hall of Famer selected to play in the Olympics, where he never saw a minute of playing time in Vancouver in 2010.

“But,” Fleury said, pointing to the Canada logo on his chest, “wearing this sweater still means the world to me. To do it one last time? It’s everything.”

“This is so nice,” Fleury said. “Me and Sid, we spent so many years together, so much time together, just talking about hockey, life. We won a lot together, too. It’s been a few years since we could really sit down and talk, spend some time together. It’s been perfect. I really thought I was done after we lost to Vegas. So, just to have one more chance to play? To keep going a little bit longer? I couldn’t turn that down. I’m glad Kyle called.”

He’s the ultimate hockey junkie, but in seasons when the Penguins’ campaign ends without a parade, Crosby usually prefers to vacation in Europe instead of watching the playoffs.

Not this year. He was watching when Vegas eliminated Minnesota in Game 6 because he knew it was the last time he’d see Fleury in an NHL sweater.

“I was watching his last game but it never really occurred to me at the time that we could have this opportunity,” Crosby explained.

Fleury doesn’t know when he’ll return to Pittsburgh again, but make no mistake, he will. Players don’t sign one-day contracts to retire where they started as often in hockey as in other sports. But …

“I don’t know,” Fleury said. “Not my decision, right? But I have many great memories from Pittsburgh and my time there, I’ll tell you that. That’s the team that gave me a chance, the team I won with. That city always means a lot to me and always will.”

Dubas is well aware.

“It’s important moving forward that we honor Flower the right way as an organization,” Dubas said. “It was so apparent in October when Minny came to Pittsburgh, just what he means to people. Not just the staff or the players. I’m talking more about the fans, the reaction they had to him. It was incredible. Hockey doesn’t really do the one-day contracts and stuff like that. But other sports do it in a certain way, too, bringing former players back. It’s something we are thinking about, a way to honor him properly. It’s important that we honor him the right way.”

When their post-practice showdown ended, Crosby and Fleury departed the ice — not because they wanted to but because the Swedish ice crew made them leave. Two vacant stools sat outside Canada’s locker room, so Fleury plopped himself down on one and Crosby followed, sitting on the other, their skates dangling a couple of feet above the floor like a couple of kids enjoying the sport they love.

“This is great,” Crosby said with a smile. “Being out there with Flower, the way he’s still running his mouth. It’s perfect.”

Fleury smiled.

“I’m having so much fun right now,” he said.

incredible sidflower from the athletic today

#pittsburgh penguins #sidney crosby #marc andre fleury #minnesota wild #team canada #iihf worlds 2025

814 notes · View notes

riricatria · 11 days ago

Text

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

681 notes · View notes