A real man. As much as one can be, your personal guilty pleasure. A quixotic wet dream, haunts you whenever another dark blonde man, adorned by crow feet, ravages a new pussy on your screen. A girl with the most cake; you want it all. Long legged cuties spread their legs for every type of cock; imitating their smeared expression by spit and sperm, taking notes of arch and overexcited movements. And a skirt perfect enough to flash your heart-shaped butt. Learning from the best. You are going to be a much better lover than your mom is. Louder, prettier, with your cunt as expressive as your eyes are. Leon just doesn't know that yet.

Not only this, but other knowledge slips through his fingers like sand. A constant vague hunger, a food unrelated one — touch starved, your clit throbs whenever he is in your eyesight. The morning coffee caprice vanishes and the sausage grows chewy dry, keyed up on the chair.

You drag him into predicaments a father wouldn't find himself in, normally. A family dinner doesn't go without his fingers amidst your plush thighs, while your mom's mouth is chewing onto quick made dinner. That's a family dinner, not a fucking porn scenario. In his defense, he is a simple man, and you guided him there! A father is not supposed to have pictures of your perky tits on his phone either; happy Father's Day, dad! Oops! That was just a mistake, dad! — your excuse, a gift for Father's Day. He promised to delete them (he never did).

In his defense, a daughter is not supposed to blueball her own dad. Nor tossing around your lacy underwear your mom doesn't wear, Leon bought them all with you on his rare holiday, freshly soaked with your slick leaving a trail lasting whole day on his fingertips. Even non present, you haunt him in pictures hanging on the walls of the house. A hand on his thigh (too close to his dick) every family picture can't be without a touch.

What's his is yours.

And his shirts. They disappear with a suspicious frequency, the stereotypical jealous wife would have the most picturesque fantasy; a possible lover. A faceless woman, red wine coloured nails on the waifish fingers, loosely hung on his shoulder in a cocktail dress, ebony eyelashes that bat away any worry in a man's heart. Young and driven by caprice, soaking herself in the perfume before the rendezvous — a valid explanation for Leon to reek in cherry notes. Instead, a red squared bottle, on the sink of your bathroom, emanates that cloyingness, your pajama consists in his shirts — naturally doubts don't exist inside your mother's heart. Just affectionate. Daddy's girl. Through and through. To bone marrow.

Freud would have a field day with you. Penis envy is bullshit, the coke fried brain conjures nonsense treated as a fact if it is from a man. Your mother is envious of you, not vice versa. As a matter of fact, it is evident by her gaze hopping up and down across your figure, lips separate in a loud smack; you look like a whore, dress up nicely, don't bring shame to my name.

A Givenchy wouldn't look like a rug on you. Birkin wouldn't cheapen your outfit either. She doesn't deserve that. There will be no kids clinging to your hip — no fucking way, your dad doesn't need another baby while he has you. Envious of slipped youth by popping a baby, envious of your perky boobs that will never be tainted by pregnancy, and a pussy that would get him hooked worse than a heroin.

It is going to be. You will make it sure. Well, made it sure. An urgent notification from your mom popping on his screen is enough to urge him into bedroom, pretty obvious despite his following-lady-lead-is-not-my-style bullshit, ring coiled around his finger is the most normalcy he could ever get.

Instead, the sight in front of him jumped off a tacky fantasy. A garnish Hitchockian, cool platinum blonde femme fatale on the book cover one would find on the shelves of a lonely lady with blue eyeshadow and grey roots peeking out; you just lack a red satin robe. With a loose deep cut. And you are not blonde.

Nonplussed, forced to meet your eyes, being half of your mother, Leon clearly hasn't gone mad to confuse you with her. Yet at least. Like a pretty gift in his shirt, you are sitting on the same bed he conceived you. And Leon is too aware for his own good about the throbbing dick beneath his jeans.

"What are you doing here?" Leon asks, uncertain if he even wants to hear the answer.

"Waiting for you." The fabric slowly pulls up by your two fingers, legs spread in front of his glued eyes to your walking digits. A peek of your pussy, until it is on full display; slick drips across your lips. Jesus Christ, so alone, needy with throbbing clit waiting for your dad. Stop Leon, this is your daughter. Vulnerable, like a newborn puppy.

A hard swallow, tensed lips. "You need to dress up, before your mom comes here," Leon says, hand resting on doorknob this close to turn and leave the room. "I'll bring you clothes."

"No-no-nonono!" You trill. "Dad, please, stay! Please, please, please or I'll scream."

"Scream?" His hand drags across his face, in hope it would wipe the growing weariness. Your dad is not a stupid man, otherwise he'd be your birthday's gift soaked in formalin. Lost Cherry by Tom Ford.

"…You can't do this to me, and I can't do this to you, pumpkin," Leon says plaintively. To your mom too. But that fades as quick as the floor creaks before he stops himself from stepping closer. "And your mom can enter any time."

"I am not asking a lot."

"Missy, you are trying to bite more than you can chew."

A loud pop, like from a lollipop, falls from your heart-shaped lips. Not so different from your gaze (Leon swears to god your pupils form hearts) immersed by tracing his figure before lingering on his groin. It gave you answers to every existing question in your pretty little head.

The outline of his dick is embodied. Not hiding struggles against the fabric of his jeans, harder than he has ever been. As much as Viagra is a good AED for whiskey dick — a dry sex in the dark with your mom cancels its effect.

"I don't think mama would be happy about this though." Your head nods towards his hard dick. "Aaand, you can always lock the door," you add simply.

Innocently staring at him, this is a joke he swears to god. A terrible one. A good father would wash your mouth, maybe slap this nonsense out of you. Click! In the heaving silence to his sensitive ears it felt like a full blast; probably echoing across every angle of the house, just a second your mom's footsteps have to ring next. Instead there is nothing. The door is locked. Only a mellifluous giggle slips out of you, amused by your father's standing like a useless dildo.

"Can't believe I've been raising a whore of a daughter all this time." Lower lips juts out which gets kissed away as soon as it appears.

"I am not!"

"Then who? Your mother?" Leon asks. His hand settled amidst your plush thighs, fingers run across your pussy savoring clinging slick to his skin. Carefully, it dips inside your leaking warmth, forcing your eyelashes flutter at a thick digit slowly thrusting inside your squeezing walls.

His lips distract your body from hypothetical painful stretch around his digit. Exquisite. His kisses are always. With no space for you, peppering them all over your face, leaving a trail of sparkling marks. Suffocating, drunkens your senses. His stubble tickles you to sink deeper into the bed with a muffled creak. Sheets susurrate by your squirming as his lips shift to your neck, like there is an invisible candy necklace, lulling him to bite and soothe the mark with his tongue.

"How many boys got you like that?"

"Zero." And Leon leans back to look into your face better.

"A virgin?" At your age there are a minimum two kids clinging to stretched by another pregnancy hip. You have none, busy daydreaming about dad's cock. "Fuck, were you keeping yourself for your dad?" You nod.

A wave of guilt sobers him, a glimpse of conscience lingers in his stormy blues. It is supposed to be taken by a man, your heart would swell with love from one glance, a man that would love you with the same intensity. Something romantic, rose petals on the bed with guttering candles. Your needy whine crosses this out, narrowing to only one trivia; there is no man better than your dad.

A hard swallow. A kiss on your forehead (more for himself than for you). Another finger slips, you hiss softly at the burning stretch. "Oh, don't worry, alright? That's what I'm here for."

It doesn’t linger for too long, replaced by growing pleasure. It buds inside your cunt whenever his fingers curl to press onto your sweet-sweet spongy spot. Your first, your best man, the only one you want. His head rests on your knee, gaze directed in between your legs; your hole swallows his fingers with a loud squelch as you get wetter after every steady pump. Amusing. Ridiculously easy for him. Perhaps a grace, ignoring soaked hole, which belongs to his dear daughter. The first and only one child.

There aren't many moments in his life comparable to this velvety wetness squeezing his digits with so much need. A honeymoon flashes in his mind, that's a bad comparison — you couldn't take this from your mother. If his head is not failing him. Hit it too many times, job's downsides.

Pussy out of porn, he'd say. And he knows them very well, marriage dries a woman, but his balls are painfully full with nowhere to ease. Fleshlight could be a good choice, your fuddy-duddy daddy prefers old ways; easier to explain, easier to hide. An almost identical unnatural amount of slick gathers around his fingers — you just lack pornographic pretenses.

In the end you are asking for this with your whole body, wavering with your hips towards him as if hoping for more. Something thicker, bigger. Something real. A pop echoes by his withdrawn hand. Risking your mom's knock is undesirable and Leon is too hard right now to brush you away. Too late, he tugs onto his belt, your ears pick up a loud zip. Your head flicks up, like a curious cat with identically dilated pupils, trying to get a peek of his dick.

Flipping pages of the raunchy magazines hidden beneath your mattress, there were all kinds of dicks printed on; big ones, curved to the left ones, ones mushroom looking, ones you wouldn't find among various porn actors, sickeningly similar to your dear daddy, chosen subconsciously by your nefarious mind. Until today you would never know what his dick is like. Thick, unlike many porn dicks the size is not enormous, it was made just for you, not weathered by Viagra abuse or STD bouquet, but naturally hard, his head glistens with smeared precum. A glittery sparkle. Perfect lipgloss.

"It is rude to stare, baby." Almost flattering to your old man, this close to pull your face down onto sheets. Leon tugs your hips towards him, not letting your shame to mouth a quick 'sorry'.

Your legs hang onto his hips, skin-to-skin his dick slots between your folds, a little tease to what’s coming. With a glide up and down, his tip positions to your hole. Not falling into teasing for too long, slowly his dick sinks into you. A light whine slips as he pushes through, anxiously your head tosses to the side awaiting for worse to come.

"Look at me, or I'll stop," Leon says. Glossy eyes dart towards him. Tight, sickeningly tight. Virgin tight, the type of pussy a man dreams, driven to knees by raising every existing skirt in hope of it. "I know it hurts, baby, but you can do this for me, so fucking good —fuck." You flutter around him as his dick pushes further until he is buried fully. "You like your dad here, huh?"

You nod — a little bit redundant, he doesn't comment. Your pussy answers for you. His hips slots against yours, balls nestle flat against your butt. Your walls flutter tightly, gripping him as his dick slides out, slathered by your slick mixed with drops of blood. Fucking hot, his dick throbs before with undulate motion of his hips, with a full thrust he buries his dick until it kisses your cervix.

A light discomfort vanishes into at foreign fullness between your legs. That's new, doesn't feel like your fingers at all. Those were only two while his dick is three in girth? You'd say even four. Three and half — sounds about right. There was an expectation of excruciating pain to twist your body; perhaps you were born under a lucky star, it never comes. Well, you know this shit hurts as hell, feels like you are getting raped, your friend's words are meaningless now, and you were too naive to believe them. Frankly, what could you even know?Her cherry was popped long before you got to know her. It doesn't matter now, thoughts unrelated to your dad are kicked by his quickening pace.

If someone would have told him his dick would plow deep inside you on the same bed you, his first and only child, were conceived — a trigger would have been pulled. Your pampered existence is the sun for him to orbit, dick deep inside your pussy doesn't change that instead you centers him like he is your whole world. For both of you, it is an unchanging fact.

Not so far from the truth. Ecstasy takes shape in your dilated pupils, your lips struggle to keep your moans low as his dick plummets down into your hole. They bubble up like an itch you can't suppress in a series of breathy mewls.

Dad, dad, dad!

They repeat over and over whenever he grinds against your cervix, whenever he is making your eyes roll back and clamp your thighs taut around his hips.

"Can't be quiet, can you?" Leon grunts. You tried. Really. His hand comes to muffle your whines. "Hush now." A hard thrust into your suctioning hole, your hips buckle towards his. "You have to stay quiet, she might hear."

Your gushing slick around his thrusting dick washes away any lingering guilt attempting to sit on his chest like a cauchemar, a living nightmare caused by his mistake but soothed by your nails digging into his back. Still a sweet baby needs your dad not merely as a shield but as a man. It is everywhere, squelching and slapping echo in the room. His dick throbs as your unfocused gaze tries to stay on him longer than one second. A thrust and it gets kicked out, numbing your senses only.

The pleasure builds up in a crescendo as his dick keeps the steady rhythm by rutting inside your fluttering hole. Overwhelming, like nothing before; your fingers don't even stand next to the perfect arch pressing onto your insides. Every withdrawal of his hips leaves your body with a longing desire to feel full again. And vanishes as soon as his dick thrusts into you back in a loud slap of your connecting fleshes, driving you deeper into the mattress. Your squirm grows, trying to keep up with his pace by matching movement — a tsk tells you are not doing the best job. Doesn't stop Leon from praising how good you are, how good your pussy is to him and how much he needs to fill you. A reason for his dick pulses with every thrust, losing control as his balls tighten more and more. You can feel it by his rougher, selfish snaps overwhelming every inch of your body, driving your legs to tremble and eyelashes flatter rhythmically.

Too dumb on your dad's cock, orgasm hits you like an unexpected crushing wave, milking him as Leon tries his best to prolong for himself. He is a man, every man is simple. But spasming walls make it only harder for him, consuming every rational idea — his sperm is not supposed to be deep inside you, that's dangerous. That's not responsible (nor fucking his daughter, but alas!). A last deep thrust, his dick throbs inside you as he spills the load.

Fucked big this time. Leon fucked up huge this time; he can only hope he shoots blanks. His spent dick slips out of you. Leon leans back with a heavy breathing, thoughts narrowing to leaking sperm between your plush thighs. Even infertility is not one hundred percent of protection, those trashy reality shows, where everyone beats each other in real time, proved that point. Viscous as nectar, droplets roll across your curved skin before ending onto the sheet. Plan B exists, then this can be hidden in his memory. Nothing happened, right?

"Tell me you promise!" you say. "Dad!! For God's sake! Are you even listening to me?" Leon winces, his eyes darting to your face — so close now, too close for his comfort. "I'll tell everyone you raped me then!"

"What?!" Leon exclaims. He can't do this at his age, blood pressure will kill him."I didn't, what the fuck?"

"Then promise this is not last time."

Hesitantly, Leon nods. A lie, no fucking way, despite the oozing proof of his misdeed and a fresh memory of your pussy — Leon won't fall to the same mistake again. What happened remains only in these walls, once and never repeated.

He hopes so.

"I love you," you say, clinging to his side. His arm pulls you closer.

"Me too, I love you too."

S-FW

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

Eccentric. ”Eccentric” is the one word you would use to describe the ethereal sight of the Knight of Beauty with a flaming red mane and pristine, white armour. For one reason or another, people seem to be either drawn to him or prefer to keep as far away from him as possible, no in between. His demeanour certainly evokes curiosity in the crowd around him.

The man doesn’t linger in one place too long — such is the nature of the quest he has set off on — and so, if you happen to stumble upon him, your first encounter is going to be a fleeting one. By coincidence, the two of you may happen to be in the same place at the same time: For example, you might have boarded the same vehicle, or maybe you’re stuck at a queue next to each other. With his profession, the possibilities are truly endless. For you to cross paths with him alone is a miracle worth singing praises to the Aeons for. 

The meeting might even take place in the Astral Express if you’re a passenger. Perhaps you’re a voyager, finally returning to your home planet after a long trek amongst the stars. Plain, ordinary people, adventurers, hermits, outcasts; all are welcome on the journey of the Trailblaze, no matter what sort of a life they have led. The standard crew of the Express mirrors the very same fact: The quiet, dark-haired man has his roots in the Xianzhou Luofu, the lady of the train, Himeko, used to be a scientist, and the halovian with pale blue hair has… a vaguely familiar face. However, incidentally, you don’t happen to be the only extra passenger that has decided to board the vehicle.

On the wine-coloured bench that extends from one end of the train car to the other, this man has chosen to sit right next to you. It’s not an understatement, either: Quite literally, his thigh is inches away from grazing against yours. It’s like in that one shitpost your friend sent you the other day: ”Do we have to sit like this?”

He’s all smiles, all excitement, as if he’s unable to entirely acknowledge the social weight of the situation. He sits quietly with his hands set neatly in his lap, his eyes directed at the other side of the carriage, positioned as if he was posing for a portrait. He’s acting like he’s having the time of his life — which he might very well be, judging from his earlier conversations you overheard him having with the other people on the Express — but above all, the picture you’re getting is that he’s quite fond of your presence, for whatever reason. 

The tea was spilled to you by the girl with a camera, March 7th, that he’s called Argenti, and he’s an emissary of sorts: He has taken on the duty of upholding the path of Beauty’s noble name and wanders the space alone without much of a route planned out. Unlike him, you have a specific destination in mind, but it just so happens that the two of you have chosen the same occasion for your inter-astral trip. For the very limited time he has known you, you could never imagine someone taking such a blatant liking to you so fast, yet the way he behaves conveys just that. Not even a few hours into your journey on the train, he has glued himself to your side like he was your long-lost childhood friend. 

His presence is on the fence of being overbearing, but somehow, he hasn’t managed to cross that line quite yet. He’s very close to doing so, however, especially since the things he has been rambling about have ranged from complimenting the house plants to praising the Aeon of Beauty with plentiful words to acclaiming the apparently riveting shape of your fingers. None of the other people on the Express seem to have quite caught on to what he’s all about either, despite having been acquainted with him before, but then again, his intentions seem to be on the pure end. There’s not an ounce of hostility radiating off of him, to a degree you would consider to be nearly concerning. You don’t think he has ever even killed a mosquito in his life. 

Despite the bit of unease you feel in his vicinity, you can’t deny that his presence has managed to pique your interest as well. There’s something incredibly alluring about him, in a way — you can say for certain that you’ve never seen anybody like him, both regarding his appearance and the manner he carries himself in. Thus, swallowing your prejudices, you decide to strike up a conversation with him. 

The way his eyes light up is a sight. You think he might have been expecting you to open the discussion out of courtesy, but after your initiation, it’s like the flood gates had been opened. 

Immediately, you come to find out that he’s an excellent conversationalist. He needs but a few mere seconds to turn what you thought would be mildly awkward smalltalk to a captivating exchange of views. Whatever surface-level topic you may have chosen for the chat quickly expands towards broader, more abstract subjects, continuing on and on until you get sidetracked and go on yet another tangent. He doesn’t even appear to be particularly knowledgeable about the things you two talk about, yet he engages in the conversation like it was the most intriguing thing he has ever heard. You don’t think you’ve ever met anyone that was willing to listen to you for so long with such blatant enthusiasm in his words. 

You’re left with a very pleasant impression of him after he finally excuses himself for a bit. He even makes sure to plant a kiss on the back of your hand in a knightly manner, nearly making your heart flutter out of your chest. You feel like the main lead in a sappy soap opera, almost: Not many people have had the privilege of meeting someone like him, you’re certain. 

It’s not just a one-time thing, either. With how you’re enclosed in a relatively small space together, you’re bound to be seeing his face multiple times a day, but the second, the third, the fourth, and every single time you bump into him is just as pleasant as the last. 

It just clicks between the two of you. In just a few days’ time, you’re spending your time playing board games with him, you’re taking care of the dishes together, you’re showing him pictures of your pet back at home. You enjoy yourself in his presence: With how attentive and kind he is, you really wonder how anyone could not like him after getting past the quirky nature of his exterior. It’s difficult not to get completely enamoured with the manner he shares the stories from his adventures with. 

He’s his usual, blithe self for the vast majority of interactions you have. There’s nothing in his behaviour, neither outwardly or even inwardly, that could indicate what is about to eventually take place. Each time you pass him by in the hallway, you feel nothing but joy. What first appeared to be a person you wouldn’t survive spending the next few weeks in the same vehicle with quickly forms into someone you would call a friend. Whatever, feelings might be brewing inside of him aren’t ones of obsession or possession, either: Not at the beginning, anyway. 

As sentimental of a person as he is, surprisingly, he doesn’t fall immediately. The mitigating factor with him largely comes down to that very trait itself: He’s very tuned with his own emotions. Compared to someone who isn’t as open, though he has his peculiarities, he’s fairly level-headed. That’s not to say that he isn’t attracted to you from the moment he sees you, and the sort of allure he feels isn’t just the everyday ”Ahh, hmm, that is beautiful” kind of a notion. It’s his life purpose to bring happiness and beauty to the world, and attraction is undeniably a part of that. He’s not unfamiliar with being the target of people’s affections, either: While he himself is not entirely aware of the effect he has on people, he’s certainly not completely oblivious to it. He senses something akin to that from you, too, but he isn’t quite certain whether it is to be perceived as anything deeper than the cordial sort. And, perhaps surprisingly, he isn’t initially too saddened by it.

If it weren’t for the circumstances you have been essentially locked in — being in the middle of nowhere in space and all — the feeling that smolders in his chest could have taken an entirely different course compared to what ends up being. The Astral Express doesn’t stop just anywhere in the cosmos, and so, the distances between the destinations are long. Therefore, you’re basically forced to linger in his general presence for a few weeks at minimum, all the way until the next station. The sort of a ”bubble” you are in forms into the damning factor that ultimately causes him to build past what is normal and wander into obsessive territory.

It starts very slowly — so much so that you can’t pinpoint the moment, or even the day when the scale tips in favour of the deluded side of his impulses. What was once innocent fancy towards you gradually grows into what could be called love, then infatuation, then need. In the span of a few weeks, he goes from zero to one hundred with no bumps in between. 

Though the time frame is relatively short compared to what the more patient sort of yanderes might prefer, the fact that you’re so closely involved with him nearly 24/7 is what makes the difference. It’s comparable to how people on summer camps and such get emotionally intimate with each other in merely a few days’ time: Though the period of time isn’t long in itself, the hours spent with him pile up quickly — much quicker than in normal circumstances with someone like Jing Yuan, for example. 

At some point down the line, you start to notice very subtle differences in the way he acts. The change is so faint that it’s difficult to determine what exactly has altered, even. It’s the sort of a shift where you might just think that the person stubbed their toe when they woke up, and there’s nothing more to it. However, if you hold eye contact with him for longer than usual, you may be able to catch a glimpse of the strange flicker in his irises. Unlike his mundane, slightly air-headed self, he’s clearly paying closer attention to you. Not in the sense that he wasn’t already keen on observing you — you’re a sight to behold, naturally — but he seems to be scrutinizing the details with much more intent than before. For example, when you’re engaged in a conversation with him, his eyes might wander off from your eyes the second your hand comes up to your head to gesture along with the story you’re telling. It’s not a curious ”oh, there it goes” sort of a look, it’s more that momentarily, he appears almost alarmed by the movement. 

He’s plagued by all sorts of thoughts when he goes to bed at night. He recognizes the attraction factor — he’s not unfamiliar with the feeling of crushing on someone, or falling in love, even — but he can’t quite wrap his head around what the jittery, almost compulsive emotion rising up in his throat is. He tries to reason with himself, he does his best to comprehend what it is about you that makes him feel so... neurotic, but the roller coaster you have indirectly forced him into doesn’t let up the tiniest bit. It doesn’t help that he has to see you every single day going about your business, as carefree as can be, all the while he’s dreadfully counting seconds to when you’re going to hop off the train, never to be seen by him again. For one reason or another, the latter is the idea he can’t quite stomach. 

What ultimately causes everything to finally fall apart is when he starts associating you with the Beauty itself. Not just the adjective, but the path. Suddenly, it all becomes clear to him: You, you are the one all of it is about. All of you, your looks, your spirit, your kindness, all of it conveys nothing but the sacred Beauty he has sworn to protect for all his knighthood. The realization doesn’t happen in a snap, either: It’s just that he has been hanging onto the steep edge of the slippery slope for far too long. 

The difficult thing about evading your fate with him is that all his eccentricities overshadow what could be seen as red flags when you’re with him. When your radars get bombarded with so many strange stimuli at once, it would be a demanding task to fish out the qualities that are actual warnings for what is to come. Essentially, you let a lot slide with him for the sole reasoning that his intentions seem innocent. Further down the road, it’s clear that not only is the man hauntingly skilled at concealing his darker side, but though you realize it much too late, it was always evident that ”dark” is the wrong word for it entirely. Though morally dubious, he can’t be described as evil. He’s nothing but noble, nothing but candid: You yourself just never happened to ask the right questions. 

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

In Argenti’s mind, the next logical step in his journey of conquering you is, well, securing you. Once he has decided that you are precisely what he wants, what he needs, what the Beauty requires, he doesn’t require much time to come up with the idea of abducting you. At that point, the ethics of such a thing don’t really ring the alarm bells in his head anymore. Any mental gymnastics he might have to do to justify the actions don’t demand much brainpower from him, and so, the route is settled. 

It has to do with your perceived vulnerability. Initially, kidnapping you doesn’t even cross his mind (and not that he would refer to it with that word, anyway), but when he sees the dangers you’re subjected to in your life, he really can’t help but have the overwhelming urge to bring you to safety. Yes, you’re in danger. Everything around you, even down to the kitchen knife you’re using to chop down some vegetables, is a hazard he has to protect you from. It’s his duty as a knight!

He does, however, understand that if he were to start fussing over you in the express, his behaviour could attract some unwanted attention from his fellow crew members. Not that he would find anything to be wrong with his own actions, necessarily, but he does understand the potential negative reaction that could come his way, so he refrains from going overboard for the time being. Still, he can’t get over the voice in his head yelling at him to shield you from the tiniest perils. Going down the same train of thought, he realizes that not a long time from now, you’ll be leaving his sight potentially forever, and that’s when his fire really gets fueled up. 

For him to be able to even entertain the thought of snatching you away — regarding both his state of mind and the actual planning and execution of the abduction — the time frame has to be very specific. The only point where he can actually seize you is in the narrow window between after you step out of the Express and before you board your next vehicle, and that’s precisely where he decides he should strike.

While he does have a somewhat solid course of events in mind, it can’t exactly be called fool-proof. There are a lot of moving parts, lots of risks that he has to take, but in the end, the odds are very much in his favour. If there’s one positive thing about being him, it’s that people tend to trust him very easily. None can actually be blamed for that — I mean, just look at him — but it does come particularly handy when he actually has to get things done, both in the good and the bad. 

A day prior to your departure, he suddenly informs the rest of the Express that he’s going to be hopping off at the same stop as you. The excuse is quite plausible, given that he’s a traveller, and having his plans change without much of a warning isn’t exactly unheard of in his profession. You don’t think much of it, either: On the contrary, you’re mostly pleased that you’ll get to have him for a little longer before the two of you part ways for what might be the rest of your lives. Obviously, you’ve already shared your number, your social medias, all of those, but even then, with how far away he might get, there’s no guarantee of you getting to see him again. Though the atmosphere is a little melancholic due to the approaching goodbye, his presence is keeping you in a relatively good mood. 

Then, when the next morning rolls around, you gather your luggage and unboard the train with him on your side. With the arrival message already sent to the people that are expecting you back, you bid farewell to him with a light hug on the side. Doing his very best to curb the sheer euphoria that the touch makes him feel, he sighs out an adieu after you. 

Without a single adverse thought plaguing your pretty little head, you make your way to where you are to board the local public transport. The time of day isn’t exactly the busiest one, and there aren’t many people around as you walk past the myriad of platforms in search of the correct one. Checking your ticket, you come to find that the one that’s supposed to be yours lies at the very far end of the row. Not wanting to miss your ride, you hasten your pace. 

As is on many planets, the traffic on your home one is largely automated, and so, there’s no chauffeur to welcome you at the entrance to the vehicle. Instead, as you’ve done many times before, you hop on the little pod that is to take you all the way to your home. 

However, just as you’re about to close the car door behind you, something lodges in between. 

There’s a moment of confusion. For a good few seconds, your brain is scrambling around, trying to find a logical explanation for why he has boarded the vehicle with you. However, any and all conceivable answers you come up with for your question each outrule themselves as soon as they pop up. There’s a terrible, twisting feeling in your gut. 

Before you can even open your mouth to mumble out a confused greeting, he has shut the gates behind himself and sat down beside you, much akin to the way he did at your very first encounter. The car nudges into motion. 

He doesn’t utter a thing. Unlike a few weeks prior, back when you were sitting at the cosy seats of the express with him on your side, you silently beg for him to say something, anything to explain what’s going on. Yet, he remains quiet.

You whisper out a “Hi” in a thin voice. Uncharacteristically, he merely responds to your words with a smile and a tense nod. 

You don’t dare tear yoru eyes away from him as you reach into your back pocket to fish out your phone. However, just as you pull the device out, he snatches it right out of your grip. 

Your heart sinks into your stomach. Even though you swear it’s him, even though you could put your life on the line that it’s still the Knight of Beauty who calls himself Argenti, his actions aren’t the same as of the person you know. With a surge of adrenaline, every last inch of your body is screaming at you, telling you that if you want to prevent what is about to happen to you, you need to get out of the car that very second. With haste, you reach for the door on the opposite side of the pod.

The handle doesn’t budge. Slowly, with a violent shiver raking down your back, you turn back around to face him. Even though the smile is the same, the warm glint in his green eyes hasn't changed, something about his demeanour has fundamentally, irrevocably shifted. 

You never make it to your home. After the investigation on your disappearance launches, one could look at the surveillance camera tapes and see that you boarded the pod with an unknown man and then vanished without a trace during the journey. Recognizing people off of the video alone is a task that requires effort, and with no leads to go on, it’s going to be a while before they will be able to track the place where you were last seen, and by then, you will have long since departed from the planet. 

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

When you wake up to the mean truth of your new life, the first few days are, of course, going to be him trying to keep you from launching yourself through the front wall of your temporary place of stay. He expected as much: Big changes cause people to act a little out of line, but it’s nothing he doesn’t know how to handle. Yes, he knows, it’s all strange and unfamiliar, and you must be so frightened since he just stole you away like that, but you know what, it’s all going to be alright! You’ll just need plenty of time to adjust, is all, and he has thoroughly prepared for that. 

Needless to say, the first couple of days up to the entire week are rough on you. A betrayal of the sort he conducted is not only mentally incredibly damaging, even more so than a sudden, unexpected kidnapping from an unknown person might be, but the toll it takes on your body is immense. You go from laconic to spitting hate at him to apathetic to crying your eyes out. You ask him for your phone, whether or not your family knows, if the Express knows, where you are, where you’re going… He can hardly keep up with your questions, but despite your words being nearly incomprehensible, he answers them all with a calm, soothing voice, all while holding your hand. 

Yet, with him, you’re going to have to enter the unpredictable sort of everyday life with him much too quickly. Because of logistic factors, he can’t afford to stay at one place for too long. Thus, even if he has to present them to you while you kick and scream at him, you fall into his routines way, way faster than you would like to.

The most prominent thing about living with him is that technically speaking, Argenti is a wanderer, meaning that when the day turns to night, he doesn’t have an actual home to return to. He does insist that he has a house somewhere in an entirely different corner of the cosmos, but with his occupation, having a fixed place of stay would be quite inconvenient. So, considering the mentioned circumstances, the two of you tend to stay in all kinds of accommodations ranging from encampments to higher-end hotels, depending entirely on your location at that time. 

The consequence is, naturally, that you don’t actually get to own much. He has taken you far, far away from your home, and so, you don’t exactly have any of your personal belongings from your time in freedom with you. Of course, he allows you to have a handful of your own stuff, given that you’re able to transport them from place to place without much difficulty. That being said, the most you’ll get to ”own” are little trinkets such as jewellery and something like a sketchbook, for example. 

He doesn’t allow you to have a phone for fairly obvious reasons (though he insists that it’s for your safety and nothing more), but he does let you use his every now and then. Contacting anyone is obviously off-limits — he’s going to have his eyes boring into you the entire time you’re using the device — but if you’re into games or reading online books, for instance, he doesn’t mind allowing you to indulge in those. 

Activity-wise, your options are limited by the lack of a regular place of stay, but if he can help it, he puts a lot of effort into making having hobbies possible for you. Though he isn’t the stalking type of a yandere, he has more than a rough idea of what you’re into, and if your preferred pastimes are available wherever you are currently, you can be sure that he’s going to take you there. Art galleries, libraries, activity centres, botanical gardens, you name it. The handy thing about changing locations every week is that he doesn’t really have to worry about anyone recognizing your face, and so, as long as there aren’t many people around, you have a lot of freedom when it comes to spending your leisure time. That, and given you don’t try to run to the first person you see and start yapping about how he kidnapped you. Gosh. 

Moreover, with someone like him, it’s needless to say that when it comes to basic necessities like food, warmth, sleep, and so on, you won’t ever have to fear him taking them away from you. He’s even more particular about them than you would like: No skipping meals or getting dehydrated with him, and certainly no staying up too late (or if you do, you’re going to have to wake up later). Beauty, in his eyes, includes taking care of oneself, and he would be a hypocrite if that didn’t extend to you. 

He isn’t a health freak, by any means, but he does have a habit of taking care of you indirectly via not allowing certain things even if you were to explicitly ask for them: If you have a sweet tooth and poor self control, for example, he takes on a sort of a parental role, almost. You know, consuming too much sweets is detrimental for your health. It’s the same with things such as exercise, too: He doesn’t just let you rot in bed all day, no matter if that’s what you want. You’re going to have to walk around with him, whether you like it or not, he tells you almost like scolding a kid. He’s not being annoying with you on purpose, of course! He does it because he loves you. Really!

Then again, a routine in the sense of the word both is and isn’t something you get to enjoy with him, depending on the perspective. Meal times and such don’t usually alter that much, but on the other hand, you come to see quite quickly that he rarely has a plan for the day, and even if he did, things almost never turn out the way you had expected them to. He has a certain streak of impulsivity to him, albeit very minor. If your safety isn’t compromised by it, he might take on all sorts of side quests, being a knight first and foremost and all. You are, naturally, dragged along the entire time, and your opinion on the matter doesn’t weigh as much to him as one would think it would. Leaving you alone anywhere is certainly out of the question, so his hands are tied. 

But, at the end of the day, you always have a bed to sleep in, albeit the quality of it alters. Overall, he treats you with what can only be called utmost respect. If you ignore everything... morally questionable in the ”relationship”, being with him is nothing short of a dream-come-true. Occasionally, you simply have to wonder whether or not he’s actually evil in the sense of the word at all. 

˗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 set out any rules for you. Literally, there are no restrictions for you on his end. If you inquire with him about it, he’s going to give you a questioning look and tell you that he doesn’t quite understand what you’re talking about. 

The reality conflicts with the previous statement, however. Essentially, no, he doesn’t utilize any preventative measures when it comes to keeping you from doing stupid things, but stopping you while you’re doing them is a different case entirely. 

He won’t let you touch certain stuff, for example. Not that there’s a lot to prod overall since the two of you change location every few days and can’t carry that much stuff with you, but things like his polearm are in your reach most of the time. He obviously won’t let you handle a weapon of all things — not without his surveillance, anyway — so the second you’re trying to pick up the lance, he’s by your side, gently grasping the weapon like a disapproving parent and twisting the thing out of your grasp. 

He gets a tiny bit paranoid about your well-being in general, so in an ideal situation, you wouldn’t really be touching anything at all when he’s not around to see it. So, there are plenty of unspoken rules regarding that: No knives or other sharp items, no fire, no electronics, and most certainly no going anywhere without him merged to your side. Note that you’re still allowed to do all of the mentioned things, but you’re going to have to tolerate him breathing down your neck the entire time. 

For the first few weeks or so after your abduction, whenever you go out, he makes sure to tie a ribbon around your and his wrist, connecting your hand to his. ”It is the one condition for the jaunt”, he says in a somewhat joking manner as you make an effort to rip the thing off of you, but the knot doesn’t as much as budge. He even leaves you an abundant amount of leeway to keep your distance from him if you would like — a couple of meters or so — but if you desire to leave your place of stay for even a short trip, the physical connection is what you’re going to have to tolerate. Though, he gets much more lenient the more time goes by (and as his confidence grows on the fact that he can and will catch you if you were to make a run for it), and truthfully speaking, when you get used to it, the ribbon isn’t actually that bad. It just gets a little irritating when you have to yank him in a certain direction if he gets distracted by the charm of whatever object he has found that time. 

He’s really, truly kind of a chill yandere to have in this regard. He won’t restrict you in any bizarre or manipulative ways, and he won’t try to get into your head more than absolutely necessary. He trusts that you’re intelligent enough not to try to do anything stupid under his watch, and what’s best, you can still be stupid all you want — as long as he’s there to witness it and stop you if need be.  

Lastly, as a bit of a sidenote: Try to swear at him, see what happens. Seriously, try it. The moment the first curse word leaves your mouth, his mouth falls open, gasping out loud, and he places his trembling hand over his chest, clutching his pearls like he’s going into cardiac arrest. You don’t even get to utter the rest of your sentence due to how genuinely shocked he appears. The most vulgar words you ever hear from the man are, like, ”goodness gracious” and ”oh, Idrila”, and he visibly shudders when he hears you call something ”stupid” or ”dumb”. It’s not necessarily a rule because he can’t exactly stop you from speaking your mind — even if that includes a few unholy phrases — but considering his reaction, it’s for the best that you watch your tongue. 

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

In case anybody were to ever ask about it from him, he would swear up and down that he would never punish you. After all, what exactly would there be to punish? You could never do anything that would warrant him to even as little as raise his voice when he reprimands you, in his eyes. He can’t even begin to think of such cruel and savage acts as physical discipline! 

It doesn’t mean that he won’t indirectly apply consequences on you, though — albeit, in his defence, they’re on the mild end of the spectrum. It’s little things like going out less when you’ve been difficult for him to deal with, or not getting you as many things to entertain yourself with, though the latter is a consequence of him not being able to leave you alone for long. 

The things you can be subjected to his ”consequences” for are kind of big compared to what other yanderes might consider punishable. He doesn’t actually mind your escape attempts that much as he perhaps should: With the lifestyle he has the two of you lead, you’re bound to have lots and lots of windows for a potential getaway attempt. What kind of a man would he be to blame you for taking those? Obviously, he understands that you yearn for certain parts of your old life, but then again, you’re much safer with him. That being said, if he catches you with a lockpick or a similar, damning sort of evidence, his reaction isn’t much more intense than having found a large bug hiding in the corner of the room. With a few, lax words of scolding, he simply takes the item away, gives you a pat on the head, and takes the thing somewhere you can’t find it. 

Secondly, trying to throw hands at him isn’t that big of a deal to him either, but it’s within limits. While he doesn’t take kindly to you trying to beat the rose petals out of him like a human piñata, as a knight, he can take a considerable amount of blows. He’s sort of similar to Phainon in the sense that in his mind, he thinks that you’re just blowing off some steam, and soon you’re going to be back to your usual, sweet self. Though, be aware if your behaviour is especially volatile, he might not leave you alone for a bit, even if you were to want a minute to cool down by yourself. 

It’s a challenge for him to leave you alone in general, sort of. So, essentially, it could be considered a punishment to have to be in his suffocating presence more when you’ve done things that he deems disagreeable. You have gotten the image that it’s more him monitoring you than actually forcing you to be with him for that much: In favour of making sure that you don’t continue your shenanigans, he keeps a watchful eye on you. It gets a bit unnerving quite fast, but even if you are to point it out, he shrugs the whole thing off with the same, dumb smile on his face as always. 

Heavily parallel to what comes to you planning an escape, the punishment he graciously bestows upon you for actually (almost) succeeding in fleeing from him isn’t that harsh of a storm to weather. Considering that you have plenty of possibilities for it as mentioned before, you’re bound to get it right at least a few times. 

A very peculiar quality in him is that if you pull on his heartstrings for a long enough time, he might actually, in the sense of the phrase, let you escape. Though, be aware that it’s never for a long time: Although he sees the way your eyes light up when he gestures his arm towards the open door, he himself knows that he won’t be able to keep his own instincts at bay for too long. In a mere few minutes or after an hour at most, depending on what your current surroundings are, he’s going to be right on your tail, dragging a flailing and sniffling you back to him with a litany of apologies spilling out of his mouth. 

The act isn’t sadistic by any means, and he doesn’t mean it to be. In his mind, while he reasons it with himself in the aftermath to be giving you a breather from his presence, it’s actually a split-second decision on his end. As much as he can take, he’s really adverse to seeing you in any kind of distress, and if getting you in a better mood means allowing you to have an adrenaline trip on the idea of suddenly getting your freedom back, so be it. For the first few times, you fall for the false hope of actually making it out of his clutches — you cook up hasty plans on the spot on how you’re going to make it back to your home planet, how you’re going to get his ass arrested, how you’re going to be united with your old friends, and so on — but after becoming all-too-familiar with the pattern of him dragging you right back, you can’t be bothered with the same cycle anymore. On those occasions, he obviously doesn’t have the right to punish you (other than being very adamant on holding you while you sleep that night) since he quite literally opened the gates to your liberty himself. 

Intentional, wittier fleeing attempts aren’t that much worse, frankly speaking. You manage to slip away when he sleeps? No big deal, he probably woke up less than five minutes after you slipped away, anyway, and he’s already tailing you. When he has you back, the most you get as a punishment is a few locked doors and him tightly stuck to your side. The pros far outweigh the cons on this one. 

However, there is one thing that he doesn’t let slide, and it’s severely trying to hurt him in any form. Just your physical strength isn’t sufficient to cause him grave enough harm — even something as graphic as a bloody nose doesn’t really upset him beyond the initial shock. We’re talking about truly grim injuries; the kind he would maybe have to fear for his life for. 

Maybe you’ve fashioned yourself a make-shift weapon of some kind, or perhaps you’ve successfully stolen one of the kitchen knives for later use. You’re smart enough to understand that without a tool of some sort, there’s no way you’re going to catch him off-guard and so, with your limited options, you have come up with a macabre plan. 

The intention isn’t to kill — you’re not sure if you could live with yourself after having done something like that — but with how narrow of a space your options have driven you inside of, you feel like you have exhausted all other alternatives. Gathering all your courage, you put the course of events into action. 

He’s sleeping on the couch with his hair sprawled over the pillow and his hands resting over his stomach, serene and undisturbed. With how his armour is discarded somewhere in the room, the window of opportunity that has been presented to you is near perfect. Ignoring how droplets of cold sweat run down the back of your neck, you dip your fingers under your waistband to search for the blade hidden between the folds of your clothing. 

Clutching the weapon with both of your hands, you sneak closer to the man, watching your step, holding your breath. Your eyes are fixed at his closed lashes, anticipating the moment he might open them and find out about what you’re about to do, but both to your relief and the overwhelming anxiety growing inside of you, he seems to be fast asleep. Silently observing the steady rise and fall of his chest, you inch closer to him, slowly lifting your hands to prepare for the act you’re about to conduct. You fix your grip once, twice, thrice, making sure that the handle isn’t going to slip. 

You swallow down a thorny lump in your throat. Taking in the sight of his tranquil, resting form, you take a moment to prepare yourself for defying the core of human nature. Then, as you stop in front of him, you inhale a single gulp of air, raise the knife over your head, and plunge it down at his chest. 

So much happens in the span of a single second that the perceptions that register in your brain are hardly enough to construct a proper picture of the moment. Just as the blade is about to pierce his waistcoat, his body twitches, his eyes shoot open, and his hands fly to yours to catch the weapon. In his drowsy state, the dodge is imperfect, however, and one of his hands lands misses its target and latches around the razor-sharp edge instead. Bright red blood sprouts from the gash that tears across the entire length of his palm.

Your breathing has gone so erratic that your head is getting light. With wide eyes, you stare back at his own which are directed at the doom lingering less than an inch above his chest. The expression on his face is difficult to decipher: There’s disbelief, there’s shock — those are given — but behind the initial stun, there’s an emotion you can’t quite find a suitable word for. 

Then, his gaze moves on to yours. He looks at you with his lips ajar, seemingly ignoring the stabbing pain he’s undoubtedly experiencing. A near-silent gasp is all that leaves his mouth. 

With speed and precision you’re quite not used to, he catches both of your wrists with the hand wrapped around the blade, staining the ends of your sleeves with his blood. The warm liquid seeps into the fabric and dyes your skin in bright red, painting you in the macabre colours of your own intentions. 

Slowly, he pushes himself up from the couch. Your eyes dart all over the room, searching for any possible escape route, but to no avail. It’s like time has settled still: For a while, nothing seems to move: Not you, not him, the air, the atmosphere. Not until your darting gaze travels up his chest, his neck, and finally, his face. 

You don’t recall ever seeing the countenance on his face before. Standing straight right in front of you, he looks down at you with a scowl. The usual, pleasant smile you’re used to is long gone, and his brows have flattened into a disdainful and outright cold expression. There’s not a single hint of the tender and caring person to be found behind the apathetic, needle-sharp glare directed at you. 

He then closes his eyes. You see the way his shoulders heave along with the deep breath he takes in. Simultaneously, the grip around your wrists suddenly tightens, and you’re forced to let go of your weapon. The thing drops on the floor unceremoniously, clinking against the tiles a few times and painting the ground in red speckles before landing by your feet. 

Wordlessly, he takes hold of your arm with his uninjured hand and heads towards the bathroom. In your shaky state, you nearly fall over, tripping over your own legs. Yet, mustering up what must be the last few bits of his patience, he pauses his steps to allow you to find your balance again before dragging you along. 

He sits you down on the edge of the tub. Letting go of you, he allows your hands to fall to your sides where the blood on your sleeves defiles the pure white porcelain. 

By the time he turns the tap on, you’re hardly even aware of your own surroundings. Through a foggy lens, you watch him bring his injured palm under the running water. The stream quickly turns carmine as he washes the wound down without as much as wincing at the feeling. You can see the distinct line the knife has left on his skin, the flesh that has been cut open.

You fall into a state of disconnect as the minutes pass by. Silently, you stare at a single spot at his feet, your eyes glossing over. Though you listen to and comprehend what he’s doing, none of it really registers in your brain. He cleans the gash, pats his hand down with a cotton ball, scrubs the stains out of the cuffs of his shirt. Intuitively, you’re aware of how the dizzying, inescapable scent of iron lingers in the air, yet it all is much too far out of your reach. An empty, whirring hum inside your head blocks it all out.

It’s only when he finishes wrapping gauze around his hand that you’re shaken out of your trance. Making his way back over to the tub, he pauses to stand directly in front of you. Unable to quite think straight, you simply stare at the sight of his chest; right where your blade was supposed to pierce through. 

Wordlessly, he wraps his arm around your shoulders. He pulls you into an awkward embrace, urging your head to rest against his heart as he often likes to do. Only this time, the action doesn’t carry the same warmth it usually does. 

Afterwards, he gets you out of your bloodied clothes before seeing you over to the bedroom. In his stand-offish state of mind, he simply locks the door behind him and leaves you to your own devices for the time being. He doesn’t think you’re capable of causing further harm that day: The soulless look in your eyes is enough to convince him of that. 

In the darkness of the bedroom, you lie on your back on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. Just before the slumber overtakes you, you can hear the tap turning on again. 

Though, intuitively speaking, it should be the other way around, the one that suffers more mental damage from the ordeal is you, not him. So, resorting to trying to wound him physically is not something you find yourself doing after the first and only time — not in a very long while, anyway. It doesn’t matter how adamant you are in wanting your autonomy back, the way he behaves, what his body language conveys in the moment instills an undeniable sense of guilt in you. It’s a beyond horrifying mix of emotions you thought you would never feel with him, and even when all the signs of the event taking place have been scrubbed off and stitched together, you can’t shake the unnerving sight of him staring down at you without a single ounce of sympathy on his face. 

He himself isn’t really all that different in the following days, though that’s only the surface-level impression. If you observe closely, you can see the subtle difference in the way he acts, how he makes sure to put everything sharp out of your reach, how he double-checks the locks, and so on. He doesn’t treat you any worse than he would in normal circumstances, though: Overnight, he has gone back to the kindness and gentleness you’re used to, carrying on like you never did anything bad, but the bandage around his hand tells a different story. 

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

Oh my, oh my-my-my, there are a lot of ways he expresses his love to you with; so many that you can hardly even process all the affection you’re being showered with. He’s a hopeless romantic through and through, and so, you can expect nothing less than being drowned in all he can offer you. 

First and foremost, the vigilant instinct is off the charts with him. It’s a certain streak in his personality: He has an overbearing urge to convey to you that you’re being protected, that you’re safe with him. This manifests in things like him lingering in your personal space a little (a lot) more than you would like, or him fixing your hair or your clothes for a bit too many times to be comfortable. Whenever you’re on the move, his arm is always, always slotted around your shoulders like a vice. Then again, though he means it as a sort of a grounding gesture, the message that gets across is more along the lines of ”you’re not going anywhere”. Moreover, he’s also very insistent on little things like never having you walk on the inner edge of the sidewalk, nor does he allow you to hop off even small ledges without him holding your hand, and the list goes on. 

Furthermore, hand-holding is a must with him. The longest distance he allows you to wander off from him is more often than not the length of your and his arm added together. After you get past the ribbon phase, you come to find that the alternative is not any better — it’s even worse, practically speaking. Though, if you’re really insistent on not having your hands linked at nearly all times, as the forgiving soul he is, he could maybe allow you to walk around on your own every once in a while, depending on whether or not you’ll be able to properly rebuke his opinion on the matter. With him, it’s best if you have even a little knack for argumentation. 

Physical closeness is an important factor to him on the whole. He’s not daft when it comes to knowing the perks of it by no means: He understands the amount of power touch holds when it comes to sharing affection, and he most certainly knows how to utilize it to the max. Still, though he may sometimes cross the line, he’s actually very skilled in walking the narrow border between enough and too much regarding having his hands on you. Nevertheless, he requires his daily hugs, of course, and if you’re not resisting him with your teeth and nails, he does slip in a few kisses here and there. If he gets the image that it all makes you extremely anxious, he tones it down a little, but you’re never going to completely get rid of the physical side, no matter how you fight back. And, if you’re not that resistant, he may just pull you in for a good old, sappy make-out session on the daily. 

Fleeting brushes are massively his thing, too. Whenever he passes you by, he makes sure to rest the palm of his hand on the small of your back for a moment, and each time he comes up to you to say something, he can’t help but tuck your hair behind your ear or caress the crown of your head. He does it all with a terribly loving smile on his face, conveying nothing but pure admiration for you — even when you would almost rather have him completely livid at you. 

Then, of course, he hardly ever lets you sleep without him touching you in some shape or form. He isn’t actually the type to completely suffocate you in his sleep like someone like, say, Mydei tends to do, but he does prefer to have his arms on you. The position is chiefly negotiable, and he defers to whatever works the best for you, given that your requests aren’t too ludicrous. 

Though, if your quality of sleep is suffering from him holding you through the night, or if you’re showing genuine signs of distress when his fingertips dance along your bare shoulder, he isn’t opposed to letting you rest alone. It’s a heart-wrenching thing for him to allow, and he makes it known by dropping you the most lachrymose snippet of a verse that has ever reached your ears, but, whatever makes you sleep at night — literally. You’re lucky that his caring inclination overrides his self-interested one. 

Being in bed with you in the innocent sense is a very intimate experience to him. Sleeping next to one another is the ultimate display of vulnerability, and so, the last thing he wants is for you to get so uncomfortable with the idea of it that you’ll never allow him to hold you while you rest. That being said, he often settles for small acts of physical love such as gently caressing your arm or playing with your hair while your back is turned to him. When you’re already half asleep, you sometimes get awakened by the feeling of something softly, nearly imperceptibly tugging on your locks. If you allow him to, or rather, if you don’t explicitly tell him not to, he also likes to draw patterns on your back in the kind of fashion where you have to wonder if he’s tracing an actual shape or if the tip of his finger is just travelling wherever. 

On the other end of the spectrum, as is presumable, he has got quite a way with words. It’s like the man is an ever-open book of poems that just never stops giving, even when you would like it to. You have been woken up more than once by him showering you in all of the verbal love he could possibly muster up at a moment’s notice — your personal alarm clock, if you will. He compares you to the ethereal beauty of the universe, even going as far as likening you to Idrila herself (though within limits) yet the words that come out of his mouth are so sophisticated that you’re not sure if you even understand him entirely. 

It also manifests as little compliments here and there. Maybe your hair looks particularly nice, or perhaps he’s just admiring the way you’re immersed in your pastime of choice; he’s going to let his thoughts be known. His praise is so genuine that it rarely fails to elicit at least a little reaction from you, ranging from a mild warmth on your cheeks to having to stick your head under icy cold water. You never know in advance what it is that’s going to come out of his mouth.

Additionally, on the whole, he’s all for the most cliché, most soul-cringing, most unbelievably sappy stuff that even most romance authors are scared to write about. Whatever you might have thought when you still didn’t quite know him thoroughly could never have even scratched the surface of the things he’s willing to do for your love — or to attempt to get it from you, anyway. 

You best be sure that he gets you to dance with him every once in a while. You don’t have to be well-versed by any means — you could have three and a half legs for all he cares — he’s still going to have you waltz with him, and it’s non-negotiable. Occasionally, when he’s feeling particularly lovey-dovey, he gets the gramophone out and puts some three-beat tunes on, walks up to you and kneels in front of you with his hand extended out like you were a couple in one of those overly mawkish Penaconian romance films. The gesture is exaggeratedly amorous that you don’t know whether to cringe or trigger spontaneous self-combustion right then and there, but needless to say, there’s no escaping him on this one. And, if you have the right attitude for it, dancing with him is among the more pleasant moments you could have with him. 

Obviously, he buys you a bouquet of roses whenever you’re out. Obviously. Similarly, love letters are to his liking, and you get a lot of them. From small notes to what feels like full-blown literary analyses, you’re not safe from his verbal talents even in text form. Since you’re hardly ever petty enough to simply throw them in the bin, both in fear of managing to crack through his overly saccharine performance and him going out of his way to write more in the lost pieces’ place, the papers quickly build up. Time to pick up origami-folding. 

There are lots of smaller things that typify his cheesy tendencies as well. He plants kisses on the back of your hand whenever he’s able, he sometimes insists on princess-carrying you to bed when you’re already half-asleep on the couch, he tucks your hair behind your ears, that sort of thing. It all comes across as very gentlemanly and chivalrous, true to his nature. 

Finally, please, let him rub your feet. Not even in any strange sense, either; literally, just please, let him rub your feet. Or, if there’s really that big of a threshold for you to allow him to do that, he’s alright with just the calves. Aren’t you tired from all the walking you had to do that day? He knows how much your legs must be aching from the exertion, and massaging them could help you sleep. ”No”? Alright, alright, then, what about your hands? Give him your palm, and he’s going to trace the lines and dips with the tip of his finger, tickling the nerve-endings with a touch so feather-light that a weaker person would pass out from the mere thought of it. He’s into certain acts of service like that; ones that inherently pedestalize you in a sense. And, if you don’t shy away from the contact, he might just spend the next hour pressing the pad of his thumb into the arch of your foot with the most loving expression on his face. 

˗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?

Considering his nature, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he has a bit of a mother goose inside of him. He falls into the category of caring yanderes: He could never even entertain the thought of neglecting your mental well-being in the sense of being rude or denying certain necessities from you. 

Every day, even multiple times in one, he asks you how you’re feeling, if there’s anything he can do to brighten your mood, if there’s something in particular that has been causing you distress. Of course, the answer he’s looking for isn’t the ”Let me go” that your first response always is, but after he gets past that, he’s actually very attentive when it comes to looking after your feelings. He wants to, no, he needs to know it all: From your deepest fears to the tiniest things that might have made you happy that day, please, tell him all of it. He holds your hand through it all, no matter what kind of things he gets to or has to listen to. 

Of course, if the free venting sessions aren’t enough of an outlet for you, which they most likely are not, from day one, he’s prepared to weather your emotional outbursts in their rawest form. Whether your expression of choice is screaming at him until your vocal cords barely function anymore or crying your eyes out for the better part of the day, he’s ready to take it all. 

The former is a bit counter-intuitive from the perspective of effectiveness in the sense that yelling at him hardly gets any reaction from him. Where certain other yanderes have a much lower tolerance for you raising your voice at them, he takes it all with a sympathetic expression on his features. That, and he responds to all of your screeching with very eloquent and calm words, to the point that you have an overwhelming urge to lunge at him and slap his brain into the next galaxy over. He’s so infuriatingly calm and seemingly concerned about you that you simply have to wonder if it’s all a part of his master-plan to provoke you into spiritual degradation. Even if you’re throwing pieces of furniture at him, he’s still genuinely trying to figure out what has made you angry. You simply can’t win. 

It somehow doesn’t appear to register in his brain that you’re actually, like... mad mad. Yes, he can see that your distress — that much is obvious — but for you to be so livid? He doesn’t quite understand why you having to be with him is so afflicting to you. Not in the sense that he would consider himself to be some blessing from the Aeons or anything — he’s a humble man — but he treats you with utmost care to the best of his ability, so what could it be that you’re so terribly perturbed over? With that thought, he spirals into the same line of thoughts he’s usually contemplating: How can he, within the limited circumstances, make you feel better? Of course, removing the said limits themselves isn’t in the equation, and so, the two of you keep spinning around in circles regarding the matter. 

Then, on the other hand, he’s very reactive to tears, both in the good and in the bad. Unlike with anger, he’s absolutely stellar at dealing with the more sorrowful emotions you might have. With him, you notice quite early on, that crying gets a response out of him that you couldn’t ever hope to get with red-hot rage. The second the thinnest sheen of glimmer appears at your waterline, he’s already rushing to you with his hands out, ready to gather you up in his arms. 

If it’s something relatively minor and not a full-on breakdown that’s going on with you, his attitude towards the matter is more on the lighter side. Especially if it’s something he can fix in the moment, he tends to scoop you for a tight hug, give you a sigh and a sympathetic smile, and assure you that ”whatever it is will all be gone soon”. It’s not that he doesn’t take your woes seriously — he very much does — but sometimes, the best remedy to problems like that is a few encouraging words and the promise of it getting better. He takes the role of the pillar you may rest against and lean on for support, sort of, and you best believe that he takes the duty very seriously. 

More often than not, though, what’s eating away at you isn’t solvable with just some surface-level consolation, and to his horror, he realizes that he might not be able to cure this one. It causes him to experience a gut-twisting sense of inadequacy: He’s unable to repair what he swore to you he would always take care of, and as the realization dawns on him, the smile fades from his features. The aforementioned mother goose is very much present here, because after the initial shock, the unstoppable flood of ”what’s wrong”s starts. 

He urges you to sit down with audible desperation in his voice, begging you to please pour your heart out to him in whatever pace you’re the most comfortable with, though his tone conveys an underlying sense of hurry regarding the matter. He does have a bit of a habit to push to get an answer out of you, but then again, in his mind, there’s not much else he can do. Though, if you would rather have him hold you for a bit before you’re ready to talk, he’s most certainly not opposed to it. It’s a ”only a firm no is a real no, and everything else is a yes”-situation, sort of: As you don’t push him away with all your might, he reads the situation as you wanting that contact from him. By that point, you’re much too burned-out to resist him further, and he goes through with all the physical comfort you would ever want. Cautiously, as if you were made of glass, he pushes the side of your head against his chest and weaves his fingers in your hair in an awkward, half-lying position he holds you up in. He couldn’t care less of the way his joints burn at the strain, though: With you in his arms, he can hardly feel any pain at all. 

Truthfully speaking, your tears shake him in a sense. Hugging you more of a comfort to him than it most likely is to you. Sure, he repeats reassuring things like ”It is going to be alright, I will make it all alright” and ”You are safe, you are safe right here”, but they’re as much for him as they are for you. As he holds you, he can’t help but thank the Aeons with every inch of his being for having been granted the blessing of getting to care for you.  

Then again, for the cunning sort of darlings, if you’re looking to get something out of him in the messy, emotional way, a prime way to do so is to get the tears flowing. As much as he’s aware of it himself, it’s ridiculously easy to get under his skin with a sob or two. In times like that, you have him wrapped around your finger to an extent you could never even begin to understand, so if there’s something he hasn’t agreed on under normal circumstances, you might have a better shot at getting it when his resolve has been wavered a bit. Though, be aware that your performance is going to have to be on the more convincing end since the man isn’t actually as air-headed as he seems. 

˗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?

If there’s one good thing about being Argenti’s darling, it’s that considering all the other alternatives you could end up with, he really isn’t that difficult of a yandere to escape from. Of course, it’s still a challenge to overcome in its own right, but if you put your mind into it, it’s very much doable and within reason. 

The main problems you’re going to run into when trying to flee from him are the fact that more often than not, you’re in the middle of nowhere with literally no direction to escape in unless you would like to end up in space, and also the fact that you’re basically conjoined. He’s very particular about not letting you out of his sight for more time than is absolutely necessary, and the latter is the main way he exercises his power over you. So, even if you were to successfully pull a fast one on him, the chase would be over in a heartbeat. 

Still, there are bound to be small openings of time where you could technically orchestrate an escape. Namely, when he’s asleep. He doesn’t really let you out of his sight other than when he rests (rest assured that if he didn’t require sleep, you would have to bear his yapping around the clock), and even then you’re still glued to him the overwhelming majority of time, but if you were to manage to slip out of bed, unlock the door, and make your way out, you would have regained your freedom. Hence, lockpicks and such are valuable utensils with him since a forceful breakout isn’t something that really works. He sleeps ridiculously lightly, though, so you’ll need a considerable amount of luck and soundless steps to pull it off. 

Of course, something like poisoning him is on the table, too. He places a considerable amount of trust in you in your day-to-day life, and thus, slipping something in his food wouldn’t be too much of a hassle. Acquiring a suitable substance for the task is an entirely different problem, however, which is something to regard. Injuring him — or rather, trying to injure him — is another risky sort of a deal since the man’s reflexes are on another level entirely, and he appears to have some sort of a sixth sense when it comes to that, but if you give zero fucks about having to try it multiple times, you’re bound to succeed at some point. If not, then it might not be the route for you.  

In relation to the faith he places in you, it’s one of the handiest tools the darling can utilize with him. Though he’s half aware of it himself, he’s extremely easy to manipulate if you know where to press. He’s delusional in the sense that he wants to believe the best of you, no matter the situation, so if you’re skilled enough in conjuring up plausible enough excuses, he’s quite likely to cave in. Tying to the same point, if you keep up good behaviour for a long enough period of time, he may start forgetting to lock the windows or such. At the start of your captivity, he’s pretty meticulous about making sure there are no escape routes available for you, but lull him into a false sense of trust for long enough, and the case might become entirely different. 

Moreover, with him, there aren’t many people that would, or even could offer their hand out to help you, for obvious reasons. The tricky thing about being his darling is that while there are people searching for you, he changes scenery so often that in case different star systems don’t start working together on the rescue efforts, whatever little aid the authorities can provide doesn’t make much of a difference. There are bound to be lots and lots of inter-astral disappearance cases, and unfortunately, you’re not exactly that special among them, legally speaking. The last reliable sighting of you was Aeons-know-how-many light years away from your current location, and with the details the ones tracking you have, it’s safe to say that help from outside sources isn’t coming in a long time. 

Though, there is one person that you get to see every once in a while that could technically be the key to your autonomy: Boothill. 

You’re not quite sure what the relationship between the two of you is — they’re both clearly from the quirky end of the personality spectrum — but if you’re brave enough to ask him for help, he just might assist you in getting out of your little predicament. He is, however, a tough nut to crack in the sense that he himself has a difficult time grasping what the issue at hand is since Argenti doesn’t show any external signs of remorse regarding the situation. As clever as he is, with certain things, he’s a bit… daft. That, plus as much as he would like to aid you, he has his own missions to take care of, and besides, the Knight of Beauty apparently holds a special place in his heart. He may very well decide that the redhead’s business is not his to delve into, and that would be that. There aren’t really any negative consequences to seeking out his help, but prepare yourself for the disappointment of his answer being ”Sounds like a you problem, laugh-my-bootycheeks-off” and a half-assed pat on the back. 

Though, if you do get him to lend you a hand, Boothill is a very viable solution. Like Argenti does, he travels from place to place as his occupation, so he can take you far away quite quickly. Still, be aware that he himself might harbour some more selfish motivations for doing so: Snatching up a darling hanging out in the open might just be his style. 

When it comes to general things to make your life easier with Argenti, the most obvious thing is just to... be nice. Be nice to him, talk kindly to him, let him touch you, allow him to entertain his romantic fantasies. It doesn’t get much easier than that, especially since the behaviour he desires of you is mostly passive. Essentially, you just need to let him do his thing, and he will be as content as can be. If you really want to amp it up, you can start initiating the interactions more, and the guy is going to melt into a puddle on the floor. It is, however, not required to achieve the best life you could have with him; he’s flexible like that. 

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

The first thing that sets Argenti apart from most of his peers is that he doesn’t attempt to conceal his emotions around you at all. He wears his heart on his sleeve, he laughs openly, he says what’s on his mind, and most distinctively, he sheds tears in front of you. 

It doesn’t have to be any special occasion for him to cry in front of you. All kinds of things have him tearing up: cute animals, courageous deeds of others, beautiful scenery, and most importantly, of course, you in any possible context. You could be in the middle of stuffing your mouth with food, and he would still rest his gaze on you with his eyes glistening like you were the most ethereal sight he has ever stumbled upon — and frankly, you are just that to him. 

Then, of course, he does sometimes cry out of grief, anger or frustration, too. If you’ve done something particularly heinous (according to his standards, anyway), he might shed a few tears while he reprimands you. It’s never anything overblown — the emotions he expresses are genuine — but it still never fails to make you halt your sentence midway. He’s quick to gracefully dry his eyes on the back of his glove, of course, and the situation at hand continues like nothing ever happened, yet finally being on the receiving end of vulnerability between the two of you does leave a strange feeling in your chest. 

Secondly, there’s one thing about him that’s not quite visible to just everyone’s eyes. Namely, if one hasn’t known the man for that long, they would think that he has next to nothing going on in his brain. It’s like he constantly has the latest episode of the HSR universe’s equivalent of Temptation Island on a loop in his mind, and just about everything else aside from Idrila and you seems to hold very little value in his thoughts. 

It’s not the entirety of the case, however: You come to see quite quickly in to your captivity that he’s actually exceedingly intelligent in certain areas. For instance, a lot of the time, you have a feeling that he isn’t telling you everything that’s on his mind though it might first seem like he does. The shifts in his ever-smiley expression are very subtle, to the point where you have to consciously look for them in order to understand him. 

As an example, his responses to your questions are occasionally a tad bit too witty not to have a hidden meaning behind them. One time, after the cycle of almost allowing you to escape has once again renewed itself, you might express your doubts towards him, you might tell him that ”he’s giving you hope on purpose” with tears of frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes. However, instead of immediately frantically denying the claim as you assume him to, he tilts his head to the side with a peculiar glint in his eye. ”Perhaps you should consider not attempting to flee at all, then”, he says in a tone that’s much too cheerful compared to what his words are implying. Of course, he knows you know, and after admiring your bewildered expression for a moment, he finishes the statement by bringing his index finger to his lips and mouthing out a ”shh”, all while giving you a bit of a cheeky smile. You find the gesture beyond unnerving. For a fleeting moment, you wonder if he truly is as delusional as he lets you believe. 

Finally, it’s a relatively minor detail, but given that he’s able not to, he prefers not to wear his armour around you. In his mind, it has something to do with chivalric behaviour, almost: With you around, he isn’t necessarily on Idrila duty (although it’s basically a 24-hour job), and to make that line distinct, he prefers to lay his weapons down for the time being. That, and it’s admittedly much easier to embrace you when there’s not a thick plate of metal in between the two of you. 

He gets into a sort of a leisure mode with you. Aside from getting rid of the armour, he might tie his hair up, for instance. There’s a clear difference in his demeanour, too: Though he’s still very much his usual, flamboyant self, his energy levels seem to drop a little. The chatterbox side of him is cast aside in favour of allowing the two of you to linger in silence. In general, such moments are a welcome change to you since he can get quite passionate with his words, but then again, there’s something vaguely unsettling about witnessing him behaving almost... normally. 

NS-FW

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

First and foremost, Argenti views sex as he does many other things: something beautiful. It’s an activity where two lovers get together to appreciate each other in the carnal way — to him, anyway. As they say, he doesn’t fuck; he makes love. 

He isn’t really a major step in any direction when it comes to the topic of libido. The matters of the sexual realm of things in general don’t concern him that much, to be fair: There’s nothing taboo about sex to him, but at the same time, he’s the polite sort of reserved respecting the matter. That’s not to say that he doesn’t indulge in whatever sexual cravings he has every now and then, but he does so in a demure, deferential way. Plus, the crude kind of sex talk is certainly not his thing. Don’t use the word “dick” around him. 

He is, however, open to discuss the matter, but it has to be done in very light terms. Referring to any organs as curse words will kill the conversation, and anything too violent is going to have him questioning the other party’s intentions. His view of sex is, in that way, very limited to the idea of what ”loving” and ”caring” is. Some would likely consider him a bit of an oddball for the opinions he holds in the matter. 

That, and he doesn’t think of certain things as sexual that would widely be deemed so. Bare skin doesn’t in itself get his downstairs going, unlike some others who would have to excuse themselves at the sight of your unclothed ankle, and so, he could very well see you walking around the room with your shirt off and he wouldn’t think much about it (other than the fact that you’re ethereal, of course). Though, a lot of things do excite him: A specific sort of banter, banalities relating to the theme, fleeting touches, that sort of thing. He himself needs to be warmed up to the idea, almost. 

Your presence changes the dynamic a little, however, as you might have guessed. He still remains as respectful as ever towards you: He doesn’t comment on anything, doesn’t really touch anywhere he isn’t supposed to, and he can hold eye contact even if you’re wearing a low-cut top. Yet, when he goes to bed at night, he would be lying to himself if he said that certain kinds of thoughts weren’t rushing through his mind. It’s not as much about the specific scenarios that keep him awake but the overall feeling you have him facing. It’s a tingling sensation in his fingertips, yearning for the experience of conquering you in all of your glory, down to your insides. 

˗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?

It’s likely that from the very first second you spent in his captivity, you’ve assumed that he would be building all the touches and caresses up to the unspeakable. If you were to ask him about it (bonus points if you’re sniffling during), the answer you would get would be him nearly fainting from the idea before then reassuring you that he would never do something so horrible to you, but alas, the actions don’t match the words with him. 

If there’s some credit to be given to him, it’s that out of the wide spectrum of yanderes, he’s holding the prize of giving you the most time to get ready for the act. In a way, he really does care about the fact that you’re unwilling to get with him, but only up to a point. Namely, when the delulu side of his brain starts making up excuses for why it all is necessary, much like how he reasoned the kidnapping part in itself, it’s pretty much over for you.

At first, it’s “never in a million years”, then it grows into “what if”, before eventually ending up at “when”. The justification is an odd mix of arguments that could be refuted with common sense, but as is with the rest of his thoughts of dubious nature, he doesn’t really spare energy on considering trivial factors like that. The points supporting his own point of view are enough: It’s going to feel good, it’s the greatest act of worship he could ever bestow upon you, and it’s what lovers do. That’s about it, and any and all complaints will be overridden by the aforementioned claims.

It starts with lingering looks on your body. You might be talking about whatever — maybe you’re expressing your distaste at something, maybe it’s just some tired back-and-forth, or it could be discussing what to have for dinner that evening — but for a moment, you’re pretty certain that his eyes flick downward from yours. Having been caught off-guard by the unusual gesture, the sentence you were in the middle of dies down unfinished, and only then does he realize how obvious he was being about his antics. He quickly brushes it off, asking you what the problem might be and to please continue with whatever you were saying, but there’s a mean sense of dread bubbling up in your stomach regarding the thing, no matter how tiny. 

Then, it grows into touches. You don’t recall ever having him rest his hands at such a risqué area before, but there they are, holding you by your hips, a little too close to the territory you’re frightened about him invading. You quickly swat his hands away, jumping away from him like a trapped animal, yet he doesn’t quite seem to grasp the weight of the gesture he just performed. Instead, he simply smiles back at you, tilting his head to the side as if to inquire about your high-strung reaction. 

He knows what he’s doing, of course, up to a degree. In his mind, the strategy is getting you used to the idea of having his hands on you, to being the target of the physical sort of love he wants to shower you in. It’s a slow process, and that much he’s willing to grant you for the sake of your sanity. Still eventually, it’s all going to build up to what you have been fearing the most. 

One night, after having been allowed to bathe yourself, you come back to your shared bedroom to find him sitting on the foot of the bed with his hair tied up and his black dress shirt unbuttoned. He has lit a couple of candles on the nightstand which now illuminate the room in a warm hue. The sheets, you notice, have been arranged in an unusual way, almost like they’re creating a space in the middle of the bed. 

His eyes are fixated on your form, your short nightdress, the little droplets that still cover your bare legs, your damp hair. You don’t know what exactly it is about the way he looks at you, but immediately, you know better than to freeze in place. Without missing a beat, you lunge back towards the bathroom door. 

But oh, his reflexes are to be reckoned with. Before your hand can even brush the handle, his own is already wrapped around your arm, pulling you back towards your impending fate. He speaks out a few reassuring words, telling you that ”you need not be afraid”, but his serene voice does nothing but instill deep, unadulterated terror inside of you. In your panic, you try to rip his fingers off of you, digging your nails into the delicate skin on the back of his hand, but to no avail. He doesn’t as much as flinch, let alone express anything but a tiny bit of sympathy towards the hysteria you’re rapidly building up. Quickly, you resort to the last thing you can think of which is begging with him, but even before you voice out the pleas, you know nothing is going to deter him anymore. You can feel it in his presence; the way he has made up his mind. 

You’re pulled towards the bed with more strength than you’re used to receiving from him. In a clumsy movement, you land on the mattress on your elbows. The shadow in the shape of his silhouette is cast over the sheets, looming over your quivering form. 

Immediately, you scramble backwards, retreating towards the headrail of the bed. In seconds, your breathing has gone from steady to completely uncontrolled: Your shoulders heave up and down in haphazard patterns, feeding into your horror like gasoline a flame. Your head is getting light, there’s a whirring noise in your ears, stars flash at the edges of your vision, but despite it all, you hold onto the last bits of determination in you. Twisting to the side, you reach for the burning candles on the bedside table.

It is, however, no use — you’re much too slow. Giving you a gentle sigh, he climbs onto the bed after you, quickly closing the distance in between the two of you. Completely ignoring the way you do your absolute best to push him back while fumbling towards the side of the bed, he catches your hands in his before leaning forward, effectively pinning you under his weight. Your chest elevates in the rhythm of your erratic breaths, your eyes are blown wide open, and strings of ”no-no-no” and ”please-please-please” slide past your lips like a mantra. 

You don’t dare look up at his eyes hovering much too short of a distance above yours, but if you were to, you would be met with the definition of a love-drunkenness. It’s not difficult to picture the image of his pupils nearly spilling past his irises, the bright red blush on his cheeks, or even the way he swipes his tongue over your lips. 

Then, he asks you how you’re feeling. The question is spoken in his usual, soft tone, without a single hint of exertion present in his voice.

You’re unsure how to react — so much so that for a moment, you forget to breathe entirely. Simply staring up at him, out of pure bewilderment, you don’t make any effort to move when he manoeuvres your hands so that he can hold them in a single one of his. ”You are safe”, he repeats to you as he cups your chin in a touch so tender it could graze your very soul. ”Nothing is going to bring harm to you”, he continues. His hand separates from your face and instead slides under your head. Carefully, he cradles your head to his chest as if he was consoling you for a fleeting sorrow. 

You can’t even begin to understand a single bit of what’s going on inside his head. Desperately, you yell at him to stop, but the words are muffled by his bare skin. If he feels the way your tears seep into the open collar of his shirt, he doesn’t care. Instead, his fingers leave your hair in favour of wandering lower. 

Your brain begins shutting down. You hardly register the way his free hand peels up the hem of your dress before taking hold of the waistband of your underwear. Distantly, you hear him talk, rambling on about something, telling you how ”he is going to take care of you” while his touch nears what’s between your legs. His ponytail cascades down the side of your face, tickling your cheek as it pools down beside your head. Your vision blurs. 

However, he refrains from indulging himself just yet. Rather, he resorts to stroking his palm along your inner thigh in a soothing manner. He assures you that the two of you are going to have plenty of time that night, that he isn’t going to rush, all while his hand slips beneath your gown, glides up your stomach, past your ribs, and finds your breast. Caressing your flesh in slow, circular motions, he looks down at your fear-stricken expression with nothing but adoration on his own. 

By the time his fingers enter you, you’re far too gone to understand what’s happening around you. You feel how his digits breach you, how the smooth curve of his palm rubs against your clit as he does, the strength which he uses to hold your arms down against the mattress. Tears have long since spilled past your cheeks, instead staining the pillow under your head, and while you’re still coherent, the words you utter have lost their meaning. 

He pulls his appendages out, then pushes them back in, then out then in, and then he curls them against the front wall of your insides. A pleasurable sensation tweaks up your stomach, and your entrance contracts around him. He smiles down at you. 

The first time with him is very schematic, for the lack of a better term. After he has spent his sweet time prepping you, his hand goes to his trousers. You decide to save yourself from having to witness the sight of what is about to breach you. Letting out a choked sob, you squeeze your eyes shut and listen to his downy voice as you feel his cock nudge at your cunt, right before it begins pushing into you. 

It doesn’t really hurt. Not that it doesn’t feel uncomfortable — you’re much too tense for it to ignite anything but a festering sense of tautness in your bits — but it doesn’t sting. You lie still as a statue as you bear the sensation of his dick penetrating you until he’s inside you to the hilt. Yonder, you feel his mouth connecting with the underside of your jaw, leaving a wet spot in their wake. Then, moving upwards, his lips land on yours. 

All in all, considering the alternatives, it isn’t that bad with him. The aftershock is its own challenge to handle, both for you and for him, but then again, with how proficient he is at turning a blind eye at the lack of morality in his own actions, it’s not going to be long until he repeats the pattern. Of course, he comforts you through it all afterwards, holding your trembling body against his until you eventually fall asleep in his loving arms to what he hopes are nothing but pleasant dreams. And just like that, his conscience is clean. 

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

Just like the rest of his life, he wants his sex romantic, full of emotion, and spiritually fulfilling, and he’s satisfied with nothing short of that. Not for his own sake, either, but for yours. He’s quite particular about his tastes, and he has a clear idea of how he wants everything to be, and that’s what you’ll be subjected to. 

He likes fingering you, he likes eating you out, and he likes penetrating you: That’s just about it. Most of what happens in your bedroom can be put in the category of vanilla, but then again, there are certain factors he likes to spice things up with.

- Overstimulation

It’s not that it’s his intention, necessarily: It’s just a by-product of everything else that goes down. Overstimulation in itself doesn’t go hand-in-hand with what he wants for you since technically speaking, it could be likened to pain, but then again, the core of it is utter, overwhelming pleasure — which is what he’s all about. 

It’s not methodical torture by any means; it’s rather that he doesn’t grant you adequate breaks in between your peaks. You might be in the middle of the act, and with how he has been drawing circles across your clit with his dick grinding into you in steady, sensual thrusts, you’ve given up on trying to hold back your climax. Expecting him to just end it there after he has gotten what he wants out of you, you weakly twitch in place as the pleasure takes over. Observing your expression with awe written all over his face, he takes a while to simply adore the sight of you. His finger disconnects from your bits, and he decelerates his movements, but he doesn’t quite stop. Swiftly, what felt pleasant mere moments ago turns into intense stimulation that has you trying to wrestle yourself off of him, but the man doesn’t budge. 

You gasp out at him, trying to put into words that ”it doesn’t feel good anymore”, but the only answer you get is a gentle smile, a reassuring pat on your head, and an ”I know, my darling”. He continues pushing back and forth at a slow, dragging pace, touching every last sensitive spot inside of you, tickling every last nerve ending. You can hardly contain the noises that slip past your lips, and with how one of his hands comes down to caress your nipple, he has guaranteed your undoing. 

He’s quite careful not to go overboard with overstimulation, though. Having adapted to your body within an impressively short time frame, he’s confident in knowing just where the line between what you can take and what is too much goes. While he doesn’t want to push you too much, he vastly enjoys watching the way you linger at the edge of delirium, all from his efforts. 

Since he tends to want to go for more than one round in a single evening, it becomes a routine you have to bear, more or less. There isn’t really any concrete way to avoid it, but he does tone it down a little if you express your discomfort about it outside of the activities. Still, he won’t ever allow you to go without at least a little sprinkle of overstim, whether it be with his fingers, with his mouth, or his member. It’s better just to get used to it. 

- Sensory deprivation

What he likes the most about the idea of taking away your senses is that it’s both incredibly sensual and it requires you to put your trust in him, whether you like it or not. You’re completely under his mercy with your eyes covered, and while that exhilarates him to no end, he makes sure that the faith you put in him is paid back with your ultimate rapture and more. 

The blindfold is the easiest tool to go for as he isn’t really a fan of any more complex paraphernalia. Something like a silk ribbon is easy to wrap around your head, and to make sure you don’t tear it right off, he has a habit of tying your hands together or to the headboard. That, or he simply holds you down with one of his; either goes. 

Most often, he utilizes restricting your vision as a foreplay. You see, when one sense is taken away, the others become hypersensitive. Naturally, it would mean that you’re much more susceptible to his touches and his words. The way you jolt when the pad of his finger makes feather-light contact with the skin of your abdomen, how you gulp in a sharp inhale when he whispers in your ear... It’s like a drug to him. Oh, you don’t have the faintest idea what your little shivers and whimpers do to his mind. 

He likes to have you linger in the suspense. The longer his ministrations continue, the more you anticipate the moment when he strikes again. The charm of it all is also in the moments where he does nothing and merely lets you drown in the uncertainty of not knowing where he’s going to stroke next. Is it a lick up your neck, is it a tender bite on your earlobe, is it a caress along your ribcage? Is it his mouth connecting with your cunt or is it his fingers pushing into your entrance? Both, even?

Don’t worry, though, for he talks you through it all. He isn’t that mean! While he likes to gently tease you a little, his main motivation is to ensure that you’re nice and ready for him when he takes his cock out. If it’s starting to look like you’re getting more panicked than he would like, the blindfold will come off in seconds, but then again, it’s not like you’ll get out of the rest of the night just like that. 

- Body worship and praise

The combination of the most predictable points on the list, one could argue. He’s quite ritualistic about sex in the sense that he has a clear turn of events in his mind: Sex is to go from point A to point B to point C and then it ends, but each stage is to be savoured with utmost care. In layman terms, he puts his heart into showing immense amounts of adoration for your body. 

It manifests in both touches and his words. For one thing, sex with him is always slow in pace. He doesn’t rush into anything, and while the act could be described as passionate and somewhat intense, he’s always clearly taking his sweet time with it. 

Kissing is a big thing for him, both on the lips and basically everywhere on your body. The hotspots are the general area of your shoulders, chest and neck, your thighs, your stomach, and the entirety of your face. He just can’t keep his lips off of you. Furthermore, you can predict pretty reliably that you’re going to be doing the deed that night if he starts kissing you a lot during the day. 

He likes to do it the sappy way — of course he does. His ideal foreplay is getting to kiss you all the way up from your feet to your head, prolonging each smooch as long as he possibly can. He’s a complete sucker for that kind of thing, truly. He also tends to caress you very thoroughly, for the lack of a better term: Along your hips, over the curve of your waist, up your arms, down your thighs... That, and cupping your face in his hands is his very favourite. 

The verbal part is even more plentiful. For the life of him, he can’t shut up during the act, no matter how loudly you insist on him stopping with the praises. It’s like he has never seen anything as gorgeous as you — albeit a good part of that statement is true. ”Lovely”, ”radiant”, ”breathtaking” and ”ethereal” are just a few adjectives he gasps out in between planting sloppy kisses along your navel. He also weaves words into such intricate compliments that you have a difficult time grasping them in your hazy state of mind. He sings worship to you with the same devotion he spreads Idrila’s word with, up to a point where you have to wonder if he sees you as some sort of a deity. The thought isn’t that far from the truth, and he really wants to get the message across.

Finally, sort of tying to the theme: He seems to be fixated on working with your chest. Whatever the occasion is, he never gets enough of latching his lips around your nipple and sucking until the bud has pebbled under the relentless swirl of his tongue. Truthfully speaking, it probably does even more to him than it does to you: He gets something very specifically rewarding out of playing with your breasts, and he tends to spend copious amounts of time at that area whenever he stops by it. His own nipples are a very sensitive spot, too, so going by his own instinct, it’s no surprise that focusing attention on yours is a thing for him. 

- Dacryphilia

Hear me out. No, please-please-please, hear mE OU-! *door slams*

No, but serious talk. As has been mentioned before, he’s very sensitive to all sorts of emotions, and what could be a rawer expression of that than tears? Crying is also a reaction that conveys more than one feeling: One can cry of grief, of sadness, of frustration, of anger, of joy, and of course, pleasure. 

He’s not a sadist by any means when it comes to tears eliciting a certain response from him. It’s not that he wants to make you cry via physically hurting you or speaking mean words — he’s pretty much incapable of doing that — but he would be lying if he claimed that the way tears swell up in your eyes when he pushes you past your fourth climax of the night isn’t something he looks forward to. It’s such a primitive response completely out of your control, and in a way, it’s the rawest form of emotion he could coax out of you. 

The first time you end up in tears from the sexual side of things is burned to your mind. The constant stimulation, the overwhelming sensations all over your body, the fatigue weighing on your mind; it all becomes too much for you, and you really can’t help the way a glossy sheen stings at your eyes. He, attentive as always, is quick to notice your distress. Slowing down his thrusts, he gazes down at you with what you suppose is a hint of surprise on his flushed face. It’s difficult to tell exactly due to the curtain of tears blurring your vision, but taking a closer look at him, you swear that it’s not only sympathy that his countenance conveys. 

Instead of stopping what he’s doing, while still rocking back and forth, one of his hands disconnects from where yours are tied above your head, and the tips of his fingers find the side of your face. There, as gently as he’s possibly able, he wipes your tears away with the back of his knuckle. For good measure, he gives you a soft, reassuring smile before leaning down and planting a kiss on your sweat-clad forehead. The actions contrast the rest of what’s happening so starkly that your head can hardly keep up with them, not to mention react to them in a meaningful way. He doesn’t give you much time to wonder about it either, for after a brief moment, he resumes pushing into you with full force. 

It doesn’t require complicated thought-work to figure out that he takes it as his goal to get you in the same state from then on. Clearly, seeing your tears awakens something in him, striking both the comforting and the worshipping parts of his mind. On one hand, he has the urge to console you to the best of his ability, but at the same time, the culprit behind the tears is none other than his cock driving deep into you. Who’s to blame him for wanting to see more?

It’s also that for one reason or another, him being the one to be both the perpetrator and the one to offer you comfort kind of... turns him on. Moreover, he can’t just randomly start solacing you if there’s no distress factor, so naturally, he needs something to trigger that reaction in you. He himself doesn’t consider the act to be vicious in any way, but looking from the objective perspective of things, it’s very much dangling on the fence. 

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

As is foreseeable with how the consequences of your actions are with him in general, he doesn’t do sexual punishments, either. Something like that would go completely against his ethics from more than one angle: Sex is a sacred thing to him, and he wants to convey that to you, so why would he ever make you associate it with something negative or painful? The mere thought of it makes him shudder. 

You guessed it, the words are empty here as well, but not as outrageously as they could be. In the sense of the word, what he does can’t exactly be considered to be in retribution, but the notion behind it remains the same: You’re misbehaving (according to his criteria, anyway), and he utilizes sex as a means to get you to not do it again. It all comes down to the definition. 

Frustration, throwing fits, being rude to him, all of it could end up with you slotted in his lap with one of his hands holding you down by your waist while the other is three fingers deep in your core. The act itself doesn’t exactly quell your anger since there’s a good chance that it’s precisely what you were complaining about in the first place, but by the time he’s done with you, there won’t be much space for rage in your clouded mind. Usually, you know by a single, certain sort of a look he sends your way that you have successfully crossed the line and that he’s coming for you, and soon enough, you’re going to be coming for him, if you know what I mean. 

It’s not something he resorts to that often, mostly due to the fact that it is a little brutish for his standards. It’s never pleasant for you nor him to drag you to the bedroom by your flailing arm and get you all docile, but what can he do? The strategy available is quite effective, yes, but he likes to save it for when you need it the most. 

He’s absurdly good at getting you exactly where he wants with as little as his fingers only. He knows just where to prod, just where to caress, and certainly just what to say. It’s infuriating how weak you are to his touches, and the fact that he’s so calm and oh-so-gentle throughout it all merely rubs salt in the wound. All the while you bite down on your lower lip so hard that your teeth dig into the skin, he guides you through it all in a soft voice, telling you to ”let it out” and to ”allow him to aid you”. It’s so horribly humiliating that you’re not sure if you want to tear his face off or get rid of your own. 

Oh, and it’s specifically always the fingers when he’s punishing you. For one reason or another, he doesn’t want to associate the acts he deems more intimate — penetration and oral — with the harsher side of things. That, and it’s the most conveniently available method since it doesn’t require any demanding positions or having to prep you beforehand: He can just go for it in the moment. 

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

Hands down, Argenti is THE aftercare king. None other can offer it as spectacular as he can, and it’s not even close. No matter what kind of a state you’re in when the deed has concluded, you can be sure that all your physical needs will be met to a T, and the mental ones depend entirely on whether you’re willing to receive his aid or not. 

As is with the sex itself, what comes after is also somewhat of a ritualistic process to him. Bodily closeness is, of course, once again, a thing he doesn’t shy away from: It’s a major way he communicates in, whether that be when comforting you or otherwise, and so, his hands don’t leave you even when he has pulled out of you. He likes to linger in the afterglow of both of your climaxes (the act only ends when he has come, no matter how many orgasms you might have been forced through). By that point, the way he embraces you with his arms wrapped around you like a vice might feel beyond overbearing, but it’s a non-negotiable part of the operation for him. 

Then, after the mandatory cuddle, it’s largely up to you what you want to do next. If you’re all clammy and sticky and are in dire need of a bath, just say the word, and he’s going to run one for you. Perhaps uncharacteristically, if you specifically tell him it’s what you want, he’s alright with allowing you to wash yourself alone. Though he’s very particular about not letting you do almost anything without him in your immediate vicinity, taking a bath is one of the few things he can make an exception on. It ties to the somewhat prudish views he has on sexuality, sort of: Showers are private by default, in his eyes. Then again, if you don’t outward tell him to get the fuck out of the bathroom, he might just follow you in. That, and the interval for your alone time is approximately 15 minutes, after which you can expect to hear him knocking on the door. 

Water, food, massage, ointments... Ask him, he will get it for you. During aftercare, you could essentially compare him to being your servant with how attentive he is. He also goes as far as to suggest getting you anything you might be wanting, up to the point where you have to repeatedly answer ”no” to, like, ten different questions. That, and he, of course, finishes the mantra with ”Please let me know if there is anything you desire and I will fetch it for you”, and you best believe he means every last word. 

However, if you’re more on the angry or distraught end of your emotional range after the deed has been concluded, he doesn’t even entertain the idea of letting you exit the bed before you have calmed down. He might be even a little confused, having a difficult time comprehending why you might be reacting the way you do. His solution to the problem is holding you through it, no matter if you’re attempting to fight him off or not. The notion behind is both about tiring you out and him believing that the skin-to-skin contact will ”heal” the misery you’re suffering through. One of his arms firmly holds you against his chest while he uses his other hand to weave his fingers through your hair or to carefully rub the nape of your neck. Then, when you eventually run out of fuel, he can move on to the more logistical matters. 

He likes to go to sleep afterwards, largely due to the fact that sex doesn’t really happen outside of the bedroom nor does it take place at any other time of the day than the evening. Again, it ties to his beliefs on the matter; nothing less, nothing more. 

If you’re up for it, he would like to chat with you before you drift off, but due to obvious factors, you’re not really ever feeling like it. Nevertheless, he might just take care of the pillow talk part all by himself: Though you don’t answer him, he may start telling a story from his past or prating on about something in his childhood. It’s clear with how he doesn’t ask any questions that he’s not expecting you to converse with him, necessarily, but it’s still something he does and evidently finds pleasant. Fortunately, he also happens to have a ridiculously soothing after-sex tone of voice, and his words serve as an excellent somnifacient, so it’s usually lights out for you in a matter of minutes.

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

One would think that with him, you would have a say when it comes to what goes down in the bedroom content-wise, but it’s really not the case. Where with someone like Jing Yuan you get to express your opinion quite a lot and decide on your ideal foreplay and whatnot, with Argenti, it’s pretty much off the table. 

It comes down to his idea of being able to take care of you and being the more knowing, more responsible, and more trustworthy party of the equation. He believes wholeheartedly that he’s the one who understands your side of the situation better, even when he has you writhing in his arms, trying your absolute hardest to get away from him. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s reasoning things with himself in his view’s favour, and therefore, it’s very difficult if not impossible to sway his will when he has settled on something. It has to do with the protective instinct, largely: Mamma knows best, if you will. He says he cares, and he does, in a way, but it’s just he cares for you so much that he needs to say no to you when your suggestions are simply subpar to his. 

Oh, how he would love to dress you up in pretty outfits, if you would just let him. He is a fan of all things aesthetically pleasing, and so, the idea of you in a pretty set of lingerie turns him on to no end. It is, however, a little difficult to get you to wear anything since he isn’t the sort of a domineering yandere who would actually punish you for not entertaining his whims (read: Sunday), but he still can’t help but wonder. Perhaps he could negotiate with you somehow: He could offer something in return for you allowing him to witness the sight of you clad in lace. However, considering that you’re not quite willing, the fantasy might end up staying in his head for the time being. 

For another thing, he really isn’t one for quickies or spontaneous acts in general. It simply doesn’t align with his needs or views on the matter. A very positive thing about being his darling is that you rarely have to fear for regular, innocent physical contact to turn into something sexual. Even when he cuddles you, hugging you so close to him that there’s barely any space in between his crotch and your behind, he won’t try to get in your pants. Where someone like Phainon wouldn’t waste two thoughts on whether he should stick his hand in your underwear or not, Argenti considers moments like that to be of the sacred sort. 

With him, you’ll know exactly when things are of that variety and when they’re not. He doesn’t, for example, nearly ever initiate anything in the bath, even though your bare body is plastered right in front of his eyes. Expanding the topic even further, if you were to ever suggest an impromptu act with him, he would be the one to need a little time to get in the mood. It’s not to say that he would reject the offer under any circumstances, but you would notice the difference in how the foreplay would seem to stretch on and on. 

And, finally, the Knight doesn’t have a single particle of a possessive streak in him in the sexual realm of things. He just doesn’t see the need for it, especially since he is of the firm belief that he already has you completely. The consequence of it is that hypothetically speaking, if the chance were to present itself, he would be open to sharing you with someone. Naturally, the first person that comes to mind is none other than the space cowboy he seems to already harbour some friendly affection for, so the possibility of that might be something you want to watch out for. 

A/N

Bet

OOOOOO this took a long time to get out. I've had multiple slowing factors in my life, ranging from the university courses starting to Silksong finally dropping (SHAW). And, then, I found out that Argenti is a bit more difficult of a character to write as a yandere than I initially thought. I wanted to really get his personality and quirks down, and for that, I suffered some writer's block. Also, if you delve into his character, you'll come to see that his backstory isn't explored that well, and I had a little trouble tackling certain things like how the fuck does he travel from planet to planet. How the fuck does he end up in like Penacony and then pop up at Luofu. How. But, here he is, and I hope it was worth the wait for the Argenti fans. Shoutout to my lovely wonderful spectacular Ficbook translator Tumblr acquaintance who decided on him being the topic of the 7th profile, I love you babygirl ( ˘ ³˘(◡‿◡˶)

But but but, I hope we're all ready for the fanfic writers' and readers' sacred month October. You better believe I have a little something something planned for it (≖ᴗ≖ ✿) Ultra secret info, but I'll finally get to expand my writing experience to the Genshin cast as well, the main push being a certain new face that popped up in the 6.0 Archon Quest. I think we'll all be really happy with this one.

Regarding the taglist, I came to realize that I organized stuff very badly, and even though I tried my absolute hardest to find the people that have asked to be on it, I have a creeping feeling that I'm forgetting someone, so PLEASE, if I didn't add you on it even though you asked me to, I give you formal permission to send me one (1) hate ask of up to 50 words in my inbox with your name on it, and I'll get you to the bunch.

Taglist, yippee! Comment or send an ask to be added, either one is alright ( ˊᵕˋ )♡.°⑅ (and hey, if you want off the list, that's cool too, just shoot me a message!)

@dyingsweetmackerel @walnutofthedead @avenixs @loserworld @lem-hhn

𝑮𝒆𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆 𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒆

You walk into the room like nothings changed, and george’s eyes widen immediately

“Hang on- what’s happened to your hair?” He blurts, standing up so fast his chair scrapes back and nearly topples over.

You can’t help but smile “surprise?”

He circles you once, pretending to inspect it, but there’s a real spark in his eyes

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” he says, mock offended, but the grin gives him away.

Then, softer: “you look… wow, like actually wow.”

He reaches out to tuck a strand behind your ear “it’s unfair you can pull this off so well.”

𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒙𝒐𝒏

Chris notices immediately. His mouth opens, closes, then opens again.

“You dyed your hair”

It’s not a question.

You nod, a small, unsure smile on your face. “Do you hate it?”

“Hate it? No I just..” he rubs the back of his neck, laughing quietly. “You caught me off guard.”

He studies you for a few seconds, expression softening from surprise to something fond and warm. “It really suits you,” he says finally. “You could’ve told me though, I’d have wanted to see you get all excited about it.”

You grin, “Would you have stopped me?”

“Not a chance.” He admits, smile growing wider.

𝑨𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒖𝒓 𝑭𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌

Arthur nearly drops his phone when you walk into the room.

“Right, okay, what’s happened here?” he asks, eyes darting up and down like he’s trying to process it.

You shrug. “Just felt like a change.”

He laughs, a hand pressed to his chest. “You can’t just do that to me. I thought I’d walked into the wrong house.”

Then, after a beat, his voice softens.

“Actually… it looks amazing.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah?”

He nods, stepping closer. “Yeah. You look like you’re glowing and you’re obviously very happy

with it. Promise me you’ll warn me next time before you casually melt my brain.”

𝑨𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒖𝒓 𝑯𝒊𝒍𝒍

When he opens the door and sees you, Arthur’s words immediately trail off.

For a moment, he just stares, quiet.

“You changed your hair,” he says finally, voice gentle but full of something deeper.

You nod, suddenly a little self-conscious. “Do you like it?”

He reaches out, brushing his fingers through the new colour, tugging lightly on a strand, watching how it catches the light.

“I love it,” he says softly. “But I’d love you if you shaved it all off too.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s still smiling, a little in awe.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmurs, “but you’d still be the prettiest thing in the room either way.

𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝑳𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒚

Will squints the moment you walk in.

“Wait. You look… different. Did you grow two inches or something?”

You shake your head, amused. “Try again.”

His eyes narrow, scanning your face. Then it hits him. “Oh my god! the hair!”

You burst out laughing at his dramatics.

He points accusingly. “You didn’t tell me! I could’ve prepared myself emotionally.”

A smirk pulls at his lips before he steps closer, hands slipping into his pockets.

“Alright, fine,” he concedes, grin softening. “You look really good. I mean, you always do, but this… yeah. This works.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That your way of saying you like it?”

He grins wider. “It’s my way of saying I’m obsessed, but trying not to sound whipped!”

𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑳𝒆𝒘𝒊𝒔

Harry nearly chokes on his drink when he sees you.

“What the- what happened to your hair?!”

You giggle as he sets his cup down like it’s a crisis.

“Relax, it’s just dye.”

“Just dye? You look completely different!” He circles you dramatically, hands waving. “You can’t just do that and not give me a warning text first!”

But then his voice quiets as he leans closer, eyes scanning your face.

“Actually… it’s kind of perfect.”

You smile, teasing. “You sure?”

He shrugs, cheeks faintly pink. “Yeah. You look gorgeous. Nearly scared me to death, but worth it.”