More Husband Sukuna Ooooo Oooooo OoooooOOOo

ride or die

sylus [秦彻] + female reader

synopsis. you're a simple girl: you see your boyfriend win a street race, it makes you want to jump his bones.

genre. 18+! MDNI! street racer!sylus, smut, pwp, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, masturbation, reader is a cowgirl yeehaw!, sweat, quickie in a car, biting, dirty talk, jealousy, established relationship. (i don't know anything about cars so excuse my bsing lol) wc; 1.5k

author's note. your honor, i plead the fifth. you read the tags... this is pure filth. nasty, disgusting self indulgence. enjoyyyyyy <3

Tucked away on the outskirts of Linkon, where the stars shine brighter, there’s a hum of engines.

The night is electric, the excited whispers of bystanders mixing with the crackle of the bonfire that was burning brightly. Its smoke served as a signal to those who wished to find a distraction from the sleeping city. There’s a remnant of heat from the summer sun, though it’s been long since it dipped into the horizon.

Everyone’s attention was pointed towards the two brightly painted vehicles in the middle of the crowd. The red and yellow colors reflect the fire burning behind.

You stood in between them, watching the red sports car intensely. Though the windows are tinted too dark for you to see through, it’s impossible to ignore the feeling that you’re being watched.

With a kittenish smile, you lift the flag in your right hand, pausing for a moment before it comes back down.

Before you can even blink, the two cars speed past you, leaving nothing but the smell of fumes behind.

Without hesitation, you turn, barely catching your boyfriend’s car disappearing down the road. The cacophony of cheering is overwhelming. There are worried looks and nail biting as the possibility of losing a bet weighed heavy on people’s minds.

But, you, you were anything but worried.

All your money was on Sylus.

And it’s not long before the familiar sound of your boyfriend’s muffler comes back into earshot. He stops abruptly, past the finish line.

Not even close.

The crowd rushes past you, wanting to congratulate the tall figure emerging from the car. A few straggle behind, frustration evident on their face as they watch the other racer arrive. 

They really should have known better.

You drop the flag you’re still holding, pushing past the crowd ready to run your victor’s arms, until you see the group of girls gathering around him.

Girls who were arching their backs a little too hard, tugging their already low-cut tops even lower, batting their eyelashes.

And although you were used to the attention Sylus got from women, tonight it made your hands clench into fists. Your eyes twitch, scowl scrunching your features.

Maybe it was something in the air tonight, because you march up to him, all but shoving the girls away from him and ignoring their dirty looks.

Sylus, who had already spotted you through the crowd, drops his tense shoulders as you stop in front of him. 

“Hey– mmph!”

You plant your lips onto his, not waiting for him to react before slipping your tongue into his mouth. His surprise does not linger as he reciprocates with ease, hand coming up to the small of your back to push you further into him.

As your tongues clash passionately, the girls gawk at you before leaving with a roll of their eyes. You pull away, unable to help the satisfied look on your face. Your hands come up around his neck.

Sylus tilts his head, eyes alight with a fire. He smirks.

“Kitty has claws.”

You were only slightly embarrassed at the wetness pooling in your panties already. Though you knew it didn’t take much for him to get you going.

His face was glistening, a thin layer of sweat from the humidity of the abnormal hot night. The black shirt he was wearing was entirely too tight for your liking, taut chest and broad shoulders on full display. 

He might as well just take it off.

You bit your lip softly, looking at his lips. Not shying away from your blatant eye-fucking, Sylus’ hand trails lower down your back, slipping into the pocket of your denim shorts that left little to the imagination.

Maybe you both were trying to drive each other crazy tonight.

“Sy…” you breathe, unable to contain the desire dripping from your words. “I need you.”

You don’t care if you sound whiny. You needed him inside, badly.

Sylus groans lowly as you tug at his strands slightly. He lets go of you, not before slapping your ass. “Get in.”

You should be ashamed at how quickly you run around the car to the passenger side. Everyone surely saw your display of affection, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. You were way too needy right now.

Sylus reaches over to buckle your seatbelt, wasting no time in driving away as soon as he hears it click in place. You watch as the speedometer on his dash rises to the triple digits and it only makes your cunt throb harder. You sigh, frustrated at the lack of attention.

You kick off your kitten heels, sliding your shorts down your legs.

“Kitten…” it's a warning. Sylus glances in your direction, eyes stern.

“I just,” you slip your finger under your lace panties. “I can’t wait.”

His hand grips the gear shift.

You slip a finger into yourself, gasping at just how soaked you were. Without hesitating, you slip another in. The sound of your fingers deftly working your wet cunt was enough to earn another groan from Sylus.

“Sy…” a soft moan, “please.” another finger, but it was just not enough. 

“I need you, now.”

He’s sloppy, clearly affected by your words as he swerves, haphazardly parking on the empty field that surrounds the road. Reaching over, Sylus unbuckles your seat belt and pulls you on top of him with such speed it leaves you dizzy.

His lips are on yours before you can process it, tongue swirling in your mouth. His kiss was burning with desire, unrelenting, his hand holding your head in place even as you struggle to breathe. You bring your hands to his neck, unable to let your instincts kick in.. You wished to devour him whole.

Sylus is the one to pull away, teeth softly biting into the swollen flesh of your bottom lip.

“What’s gotten into my sweet girl…” he ponders as you attack his neck, fingers now pulling his shirt up to feel the heat of his skin. Your tongue comes down to lick the sweat from his skin. You feel rabid, sucking down until you see the purple marks bloom just above his shirt.

Enough for everyone to know he’s yours.

You pull back, biting your lip with barely contained delight. 

It makes him look so pretty, you think.

Sylus catches the way your eyes twinkle at your work. It almost makes him laugh.

Like a woman entranced, you quickly make work of his pants, pulling out his thick, hard length. You don’t even try to stop the soft moan that leaves your lips at the sight of his wet tip. You wonder if you’d ever stop being surprised at how big it was in your hand.

“Are you trying to tease me?” he questions roughly as you slowly slide your hand up and down his length.

“Can’t I just appreciate my boyfriend for a minute?” you bite back, and it earns you a hard slap onto your ass.

“But, you were so eager just a few minutes ago. Be a good girl and take my cock already.”

You knew better than to argue.

Sylus slides your panties to the side, helping you as you align your dripping pussy with his tip. You slowly slide down his length, feeling every. single. inch. until you’re completely full. You whine, back arching as you let his cock spread you deliciously. 

He groans, hips coming up to meet yours impatiently. He leans back, hand on your hips as he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Now ride it, kitten.”

His words make you lift your hips, slamming back down as soon as his tip is at your entrance. 

Your breaths mingle, clouding the car’s windows. You continue to bounce on his cock, moaning sweetly with every move of your hips. His nails dig into your ass, guiding you to make sure he doesn’t slip out of your tight cunt.

“Oh, Sy!” 

Sylus comes up, pressing his chest against you. His head is heavy on your shoulder, and you feel his teeth sink into your skin.

You’re not even sure if you’re still the one controlling your movements. Sylus’ hands come to your waist, using his absurd strength to keep sliding your slick against him. You're impossibly close, skin to skin, nails clawing at his back.

You were getting so close.

He knew.

The seat comes down and you squeal, falling onto his chest. Before you can question him, Sylus is slamming his hips up into you, deeper than before. 

“C’mon, kitten. I wanna see you cum for me,” he’s breathless at the sight of you, mouth open and eyes rolled back. “Cum all over this cock, you know it’s all yours.” his words coax more honeyed moans out of your swollen lips.

He was making a fucking mess out of you.

And he was enjoying every second of it.

The euphoria is sudden, your orgasm making every limb in your body spasm against him. Sylus can feel your tight pussy creaming on his length, almost enough to send him over the edge. But—

“Can I—”

“Yes,” you whimper, still on cloud nine. “I want you to fill me up, Sy, please.”

That’s all he needs to hear.

You feel his hot spurts of cum inside you, doing just as you asked.

Legs numb, you stay on top of him, struggling to catch your breath. Sylus brings his hand to cup your face, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek. When he pulls back, he has that infuriating smirk on his face again.

“All because of some girls?”

Your face is warm, and you try to blame it on the suffocating heat in the car.

“Shut up.” you drop your forehead onto his chest.

It makes his smirk wider, but his gaze softens. He brings his finger up to the window, using the condensation as an easel. You turn to watch him as he draws a tiny heart with your initials.

“You’re always going to be the only one for me, kitten.”

thank you for reading <3

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morning, munchkuna! / sukuna fic

part 2 to this! 🍮

*ೃ༄

inf: u forgot how sukuna woke u up when u were still together. ferociously, amazingly good head. || reader gets ate OUT, definite smut, morning sex, sukuna is a softie in the morning, minors go away!😾

You are so cute when you’re asleep.

You’re even cuter when sunlight leaks through your curtains and hits your drooling face, one loud snore erupting from your throat when you turn so your back is to the window. So adorable.

At least, according to Sukuna. All details included in his summary. Not that he wants you back, of course.

Last night was one time only. One.

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──———── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

But why do the remnants of last night still stick to your bed, then? The stained, rumpled sheets, your robe and lingerie in heaps on the floor, the gorgeously tattooed, black-haired absolute hunk next to you . . .

Yes, all remaining from the night before. The night you’d tried and failed miserably to convince yourself that you didn’t want your ex-boyfriend back, you wanted the nerd guy — what was his name again?

You mumble something incoherently in your sleep, turn over. Your legs twitch. Something fuzzy is between your thighs. Or furry? What is the difference, even? All you know is you’re dreaming of a bunny between your legs.

Your thighs twitch again. Shake a little. Quiver. What is that?

You almost jolt yourself awake, before your body reminds you. Youre in bed with your ex, who was at one point your boyfriend. And how had your boyfriend woken you up?

Your lashes flutter awake, your fingertips stretch to the sky when you yawn, grumbling sleepy things and then a moan falls from your plush lips —

Oh.

Slowly, your gaze falls to the culprit of that moan. The raven-haired man whose face is in your legs, whose nose is brushing your clit and sending that electric shudder through your thighs.

True, you have a beautiful guy in your bed, his veiny hands propping your thighs apart tenderly.

But he’d also stayed. And that makes your eyes water more than his mouth is.

“Morning, Kuna,” you mumble, letting your hand ruffle his hair.

He barely looks up at you. All his attention is focused on that slick wet pussy of yours. “Mornin’,” is all he grunts, eyes flicking up at you with that familiar look again.

His tongue drags up your cunt, lapping at your clit like a kitten to milk, his fingers plunging in and out of you. Where was your alarm now? “S’kunaaa,” you mewl, thighs shivering like they’re cold, your hand knotted in his hair now. “You stayed.”

“Figured my girl would need me to wake her up like usual,” he says, his breath hot against your pussy. “Guess she did. Gotcha all wet for me, hm?”

His lips pull at your swollen clit, his fingers are probably pruned by now; he moves down to pull with his teeth.

You are yelping and moaning now, thighs twitching and squeezing his head like how he’d squeezed your hips last night.

My girl. He’d called you his.

Without even looking up from your cunt, his nose still nuzzling your clit, his tattooed arm reaches over to your nightstand, opens the drawer, pulls out that pretty baby blue vibrator you kept after you’d kicked him out three months ago.

He eats you out like a man starved, passionately, growls at your pussy and delving his tongue in the places that his fingers aren’t filling.

Per usual, he turns on the toy he’d grabbed with his thumb. Lowers it to the second lowest setting — it is nine in the morning, after all — gently presses it to your clit.

If he’d made you feel good last night, this was even better.

“Suku..,” you moan, your hips bucking into his mouth with the toy buzzing into you on top of his ravenous mouth.

“Missed wakin’ ya up like this,” he grumbles into you. “You missed it too, yeah?”

His fingers curl up into you, hit that spot that has you unraveling. “Yeahh, Suku, missed you,” you murmur, breaking off with a cry as his fingers hit that spot again and again.

You near your climax, taking in the glory before you. Your ex’s face covered in your slick, yet he doesn’t stop eating. His hips rut into the mattress, hes without a doubt hard again. Doesnt matter. You’ll take care of that later.

“Kunaaa.,” you moan louder this time, almost fully awoken. “I’m s’close..” Your hips buck unconsciously, thighs twitching but you just need him closer.

“Yeah?” He grunts. “That’s it, baby. Cum for me.” Fingertips only just grazing that spot, he removes the slick-covered toy from your cunt, watches you come undone underneath his mouth.

Your legs tremble around his head, cum oozing out of you, your body shaking as your legs roll back. And he laps up all of it, gathering your fluids on his tongue like hes still hungry. “S’kuna, ohhh..,” you groan as you cum, voice drawling, slurring, hips rutting wildly into his mouth like you need more.

Of course, hes doing the same — just more subtlely, pounding into your mattress like how he’d done to you last night. You can tell he’s picturing the soft, creaking bed as your body (don’tcha wish it was?). His groans quieter, nose scrunched up and strong hands gripping your thighs.

“Lemme help you, Suku,”you murmur, coming down from your high, gaze fixed on each thrust he ruts into your bed.

“Just look at me, baby,” he says breathlessly, “s’all I need.”

And it’s true. You’re all he needs for him to come undone, your eyes never leaving his even as he comes, cock twitching, hot cum spurting out and he moves his body to hover over yours,

Cumming all over your body, covers your already wet folds with his spent, your eyes still locked together.

“I love you, Suku. Missed you,” you murmur. Maybe your head is still in the clouds when you say it. He can’t tell, but it affects him all the same.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grunts, gently taps a towel to your swollen cunt, doesn’t meet your gaze. “I’ll bring you that guy’s head. Don’t think I forgot.”

“What?! Kuna!” You yelp, sitting up and remembering that you’d told him nerd guy’s name in the midst of your haze last night.

But he’s already standing up, pulls on his boxers, waits at your bedroom doorway. “Aint say nothin’,” he grins. “Come on. Made breakfast while you were snoring your pretty little head off.”

And for a moment, as you get up, following him in your enamored trance, you forget why you even broke up with him in the first place. Because you forgot what a gentle giant this man is,

(Even if he is gonna kill the guy you were hooking up with).

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──———── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

a/n : & the crowd goes mild! i actually do love this fic tho. if u didnt catch it, part 1 is here. luv ya baby cakes! 🍮🪽

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Satoru doesn't do well with the idea of leaving you. Never has. Probably never will.

Even the short missions are enough to make him sulky, but the long ones? The ones where he’ll be away for days, maybe weeks? He turns into a whining mess. You wonder if he's always been like this, just never voiced it aloud to anyone before.

Packing takes three times longer than it should. Every time he tries to fold a shirt or zip his carry on, he ends up abandoning the task halfway through just to wrap his arms around you from behind, pressing his face into the crook of your neck with a pitiful little whine.

"I don't wanna go," he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin, maybe saying it enough times might make the whole thing mission disappear. "You’re my little Pokémon, y'know? I should be able to just catch you in a ball and bring you with me."

You laugh, warm and breathless, reaching up behind you to card your fingers through his snowy hair. "You could try," you tease, and he groans dramatically, squeezing you tighter.

It’s not just joking, though. When you offer to come with him, he always gets a little quiet. A little stuck in his mind. Turning you around and pulling back just enough to look at you, and the way his bright blue eyes shimmer... God, it breaks your heart a little. He wants to say yes. You can see it in the way his hand trembles against your side. The way his pretty eyes scan your face. It's on the tip of his tongue.

But instead, he just shakes his head slowly, a wobbly little smile on his lips.

Because the thought of something happening to you, curse or no curse, makes his heart ache. Makes his mind wander a little too far for his liking.

What if he’s in the middle of a fight and someone targets you?

What if he’s too far away to reach you in time?

What if...?

"Can’t risk it," he finally says softly, thumb brushing back and forth against your hip, memorizing the feel of your soft skin. Maybe your scent will eventually be engrained in his mind. "You're... you’re everything, baby."

Already pulling you against his lean chest again, holding you so tightly you can barely breathe, mumbling "I love you" over and over against the crown of your head. His palm rubbing up and down your back in loose patterns. You almost think he's tearing up.

"I love you. I love you so much. Don’t forget, okay?" he murmurs between kisses to the top of your head. "Be safe. Call me if you even think something’s weird, kay? I’ll come running, promise."

You have to physically pry him off you just to get him to finish packing. And even then, he keeps glancing back at you every five seconds. Begging for one more hug. One more kiss. One more chance to touch you before he has to drag himself to the door.

By the time he actually gets to the door, he’s somehow hugging you again, despite your giggling protests, rocking you gently side to side in his arms, mumbling about how he’s going to miss you so bad he might just quit being a sorcerer and become your full-time house husband. (He’s only half joking.)

Finally, after a hundred kisses and whispered I love yous, he leans down one last time, nose brushing against yours, voice soft and almost trembling: "Be here when I get back, 'kay? I don’t wanna come home to a world without you."

But then, quieter, so quiet you nearly miss it he adds: "...And don’t... don’t forget about me either, yeah? Don’t find someone normal while I'm gone. Someone who doesn't leave. Someone who can give you the kind of life you deserve."

It’s said with a half-laugh, light and teasing, like he’s trying to play it off, but you can feel it in the way his arms tighten around you, the way his voice wavers. That tiny, hidden crack in the foundation of Satoru Gojo: The fear that being the strongest might mean ending up the loneliest too.

And even as he finally forces himself to step away, flashing you that big, blinding smile. You catch the flicker of sadness he tries so desperately to hide. Because no matter how strong he is, when it comes to you, Satoru’s always afraid that someday you’ll realize you deserve more than a man who keeps having to leave.

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CUTE CAMGIRL GETS NAILED BY NERDY ROOMMATE?

lights, camera, action!

starring: roommate!Gojo x camgirl!Reader

content: mdni, modern au, gojo is obsessed but sweet, instant crush, falling in love, masturbation, jealousy, Sukuna cameo, teasing, making out, back shots, doggy style, unprotected piv sex, creampie, aftercare

art by @chu-cho + divider by @bronzewasp

roommate!Gojo whose been obsessed with you before you even moved in - he just didn't know it

roommate!Gojo who didn't really need a roommate when he doesn't even pay rent for the penthouse he already owned, but after so many lonely nights with no one to talk to (and considering pets were out of the question since he can't even keep a plant alive) he was more than a little taken by the idea of having someone to come home to who was stuck with him for a twelve month lease

roommate!Gojo who plasters ads online, exchanging emails with strangers until he lands on sweet little you, asking you to meet him for brunch the next weekend, despite Suguru being convinced you had to be a catfish hoping for cheap rent

roommate!Gojo who thinks you're an angel when you slide in the seat across from him - even if you laugh in his face when he calls you one

roommate!Gojo who listens leaning halfway across the table with his chin propped up by his hand, enraptured by every word that leaves your mouth, the way you giggle at his lame jokes and roll your eyes at his lamer flirtations, only getting serious when you awkwardly admit you have an unconventional job that meant you'd be home most of the time, although something about your voice is familiar, like maybe he heard it before, bumped into you somewhere

roommate!Gojo who pulls out the lease for you to sign then and there, cheeks already heating up at the thought of you walking around his apartment in tiny shorts and thin tank tops, or even better, your figure drowned in one of his t-shirts, padding into the kitchen barefoot and bending over to grab a drink from the fridge, well, actually, he's imagining what a cute story this would make to tell your future children someday but even he could admit that was probably a little much

roommate!Gojo who figures out what your unconventional job is one week into this new living arrangement after helping you get your new room all set up, scrolling on his phone in his own bed and debating on asking you on a late night ice cream run when he hears your voice through the wall, all cute and chirpy, and yeah, he shouldn't snoop, but perhaps he just-so-happened to press his ear against the wall to listen in when all the pieces clicked together

roommate!Gojo who has never typed faster in his life than when he's searching up his favorite faceless camgirl, pulling up the stream just to confirm his suspections - and thank the fucking stars he somehow got this lucky, listening to your laugh through the wall and on his phone

roommate!Gojo who ends up fucking his fist by the end of the show, because even if you never showed above your shoulders on stream, he's picturing what pretty faces you were making now that he knew it was you, barely able to keep his moans to himself as he strokes himself in rough, harsh thrusts, bucking his hips up and wishing it was your palm wrapped around him instead, or fuck, the pretty little cunt you had on display on screen

roommate!Gojo who blushes wildly the next morning he sees you, and you just giggle, giving him a quick wink, like maybe it wasn't just his imagination your little show had been louder than usual, your gasps and whimpers meant to be heard through the wall you shared

roommate!Gojo who thinks you're the perfect girl roommate - you listen to all his ramblings and rants, curl up next to him on the couch for movie (and Digimon) marathons, ask to bake sweets together when you're bored or let him drag you around some afternoons to shop and eat, casually holding his hand in public, resting your head against him and letting him throw an arm around your shoulders, and yeah, okay, you always pay rent on time (although his generous donations probably make up half of it)

roommate!Gojo who is, of course, devastated to have to spend even just a few hours apart and leave you alone in the penthouse to attend a stupid work party with Suguru, ignoring his friend's teasing about his crush, but a cup of spiked punch later, he's wondering why he hasn't just made a move yet, asked you to be his, when he gets the notification you're live again

roommate!Gojo who almost pukes when he clicks on it and realizes you're not alone, some asshole with too many muscles and even more tattoos manhandling you into a mating press on your soft mattress, faces carefully concealed out of shot as usual while you get speared open on his obscene length

roommate!Gojo who excuses himself from the party, an emergency at home, which really meant he needed to get there and throw that fucking prick out and show you anything that guy could do, he could do better, but by the time he made it through the front door, the jerk was gone, only finding you sleepily sprawled out on the couch watching some reality show

roommate!Gojo who just blinks, swallowing the lump in his throat when you yawn and sit up as soon as you notice him, stretching your arms and letting your shirt ride up to expose a thin strip of skin, while you just tilt your head to the side as if to ask if he was going to say anything - as if you knew he knew about your guest star

roommate!Gojo who bridges the distance in a few short strides, getting down on his knees in front of the couch to cup your face and capture your lips in a starving kiss, hard enough you almost fall back onto the couch cushions, but you're giggling in-between kisses at the way his glasses keep slipping down the bridge of his nose, fingers tangling back in his hair, tugging him in closer so your canines can nip at his bottom lip

roommate!Gojo who's the one throwing you onto your bed half an hour later, his cock throbbing painfully in the too-tight confines of his boxers, aching for your warmth after barely being able to stop himself from cumming in his pants ten times just from making out, but the sight of your glistening cunt in person when he peels your blue lace panties down your thighs almost does him in again

roommate!Gojo who thinks he must've got into a car crash and died on the way home, because he must be in heaven when he finally slides the first few inches of his thick cock inside, groaning as he forces his way past the first ring of resistance, his grip on your hips nearly bruising as he grinds in deeper, overwhelmed by the pretty arch of your back and you on your hands and knees, whining and ready to take him, your soft ass squirming while your walls grip and suck him in so sinfully

roommate!Gojo who fucks you like you're still on camera, pounding into you until you're crying out his name loud enough for half the building to hear, his hips probably leaving marks on your ass and the lewd smacks of skin-on-skin and your pretty wet slick dripping down your thighs only encouraging to go faster, harder, give you more until there was nothing left of him to give

roommate!Gojo who knows what spots to hit to make you shudder, you thighs trembling as you whine and mewl, making soft, sweet promises of something he can't even fully process, too focused on making you cum harder than you ever have before, his grip on your hip the only thing holding your body up as he reaches his other hand around to play with your surely needy clit, his new favorite toy, massaging precise patterns and calculating just the right amount of pressure to have you unravelling into putty in his palm

roommate!Gojo who can't help cumming inside you when your body shivers and you break into what feels like a billion pieces for him to put back together with searing kisses scattered across your back, grunting your name and mumbling something half-incoherent about how long he waited for this, for you

roommate!Gojo who carries you to the bath afterward, still pressing kisses everywhere while he cleans you up, washing your hair and scrubbing both of you clean, leaning back against the porcelain with you on his chest when you glance up at him to fix his crooked glasses with a grin, pressing a peck to his jaw and asking if he wants to do it again - with an audience

a/n: this was based on an anon ask I accidentally deleted sorry >.<

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10 Ways You Ruin His Day (and 10 Ways You Ruin His Self-Control)

I originally made this list as character notes for future stories — I love digging deep into their dynamics and really breaking them down. But honestly? I couldn’t not share. Would love to hear your thoughts too: what do you think drives them absolutely mad, and what turns them into helpless fluff puddles? 🖤

🍎 Top 10 Things That Make Caleb Absolutely, Irrevocably Mad

1 He doesn’t know where you are Even when it makes sense. Even when you’re safe. Even when he’s on the far side of a tunnel with no signal and too much time to think. The silence eats at him, turns every breath into a countdown. By the time he’s back, no one on the base dares talk to him until you’re in his line of sight again.

2 You come home with a bouquet of flowers from another man It’s not jealousy, really. It’s… fury dressed in olive green. You’re standing there, smiling, saying some poor man gave you flowers because you saved his life. Great. Fantastic. Caleb’s thrilled that his girlfriend is both competent and accidentally irresistible. But now he has to pretend this isn’t bothering him while mentally comparing the man's face to strategic punching surfaces.

3 You climb on unstable furniture to reach something You know, nothing fancy—just a stack of books on top of a chair that’s on top of a bench. And you? Balancing like a gremlin in fuzzy socks. He walks in and suddenly the war flashbacks begin. You think it’s funny. He thinks it’s a workplace hazard, and you are the HR violation.

4 You rearrange his model planes He adores you. Worships the ground you walk on. Would throw himself in front of an oncoming dropship for you. But if you dust his shelf and dare to reorder his starfighters and aircrafts by vibes instead of model number? He's already rewriting his will. In blood.

5 You do something reckless and then smile about it You say “relax, I had a plan.” He hears: “I almost died, and I’d do it again, because I’m cute and unstoppable.” That smile? That grin you give when you know exactly what you did and you’re proud of it? That’s why he needs stress meds. And maybe a punching bag with your face on it. (Lovingly.)

6 You casually mention the girl he used to date You say it with a smirk, like it’s just some harmless teenage memory. But he doesn’t see her—he sees you. You, standing in the doorway that day. You, catching him with her, both of them half-undressed. And you looking at him like something cracked between you. Back then, you were off-limits. You were the girl he wasn’t allowed to want. So he wanted someone else. Easier. Safer. And now, years later, you bring it up like it’s nothing—while he’s still trying not to remember how badly he wished it had been you.

7 You weren’t his first kiss—but worse, he wasn’t yours It never comes up. Not out loud. But he remembers. Vividly. The hallway. The way your face lit up. The boy leaning in. You smiling. And Caleb—watching from across the room, fists clenched, jaw tight, playing the role of older brother when his whole body screamed mine. You never talk about it. But he never forgot. Never will. Because that moment should’ve been his—and someone else took it first.

8 You walk away during a fight, or shut down emotionally You call it “space.” He calls it “psychological warfare.” You shut down. He short-circuits. Nothing drives him more insane than trying to fix something while you’re actively ghosting him across the living room. He’d rather you screamed. Threw something. Anything. But this quiet? This distance? That’s the one thing he doesn’t know how to fight.

9 You cry—especially if it’s because of him And then he’s done. Game over. His spine straightens like he’s under military command and his entire soul just went through the paper shredder. You cry, and suddenly he’s the villain. You say “it’s not your fault,” but that doesn’t matter. He’s already rewriting the past and taking full responsibility. And yes, he’ll suffer in complete silence. Like a man.

10 You secretly try to uncover what he’s hiding from you You call it curiosity. He calls it a breach of protocol punishable by full emotional lockdown. You think you’re clever. He thinks you just walked into classified territory barefoot, blindfolded, and with a target on your back. You were never supposed to see that side of his world. And now that you have? He doesn’t know whether to yell, hold you, or lock you in a room with military-grade firewalls and a blanket.

🍎 Top 10 Things That Turn Caleb Into a Complete Fluff-Mess

You wearing his dog tags / uniform shirt / flight jacket Instant puddle. No chance. He sees you in his gear and his brain just... shuts off. All he can think is mine mine mine, and he gets this dumb, soft little smirk like he’s trying so hard not to combust.

You falling asleep on him—especially mid-conversation You’re curled into his side, mumbling something about dinner plans, and then: silence. He looks down, sees you asleep on his chest, and that’s it. Whole day ruined. Cancel all missions. He’s not moving.

You bringing him coffee exactly the way he likes it—without asking That quiet, thoughtful act? Hits him right in the soldier-shaped heart. He doesn’t even know how to process being taken care of, so he stares at the cup like it just proposed to him.

You absentmindedly touching him—fiddling with his fingers, tracing scars, playing with his hair He pretends he doesn’t care. He does. He cares so much he forgets how to breathe. Just turns into a warm, red-eared statue trying not to whimper.

You whispering “I trust you” or “I feel safe with you” in a soft moment Core memory unlocked. He stores that one like sacred intel. Will literally whisper it back to himself at 3 AM when he’s lying awake, missing you. It breaks him in the best way.

You clinging to him in your sleep / pulling him closer without waking up Caleb.exe has stopped functioning. He will lie perfectly still for HOURS if it means not disturbing that moment. Bonus points if you mumble his name while doing it.

You defending him when someone questions his methods or past He’s used to being the shield—not having someone stand in front of him. The second you raise your voice on his behalf? He falls in love with you all over again. Might even cry. Secretly.

You gently helping him out of his gear after a long day Soft hands on his buckles. A kiss to his shoulder. A low “You’re home now.” That’s how you make a Colonel melt. His fingers twitch like he wants to worship the ground you walk on.

You surprising him with something dumb and heartfelt, like a handmade gift or bad sketch of him He acts gruff—says “the hell is this, Pips?”—but then puts it in his locker or keeps it in his chest pocket for missions like it’s sacred treasure. Because it is.

You calling him “baby” / “handsome” / “sweetheart” when he least expects it He acts like it’s annoying. It is not annoying. It turns him into actual butter. If you do it with a teasing smile? He short-circuits. Might drop something. Might combust. Definitely blushes.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne’s Calm Snap Like a Microsurgical Thread

You ignore his instructions when you're sick You had a fever of 102°F. He left explicit care instructions—bed rest, fluids, minimal movement. You, sweating and glassy-eyed, decided this was the perfect time to rearrange the furniture. When he came home and found you dragging a bookshelf across the room “because the light felt wrong,” he genuinely considered sedating you. Not as punishment. As damage control. For both of you.

You order greasy fast food instead of going somewhere “nutritionally viable” He offered to cook. You said no. Twenty minutes later, you’re eating fries from a paper bag while half of it spills on his clean table. You grin. He stares. Not angry at the food. Angry because you rejected his precision, then settled for processed chaos.

You leave wet towels on the floor after every shower He’s not sure when it started. Day three? Day five? But every time he walks into the bathroom and steps into cold, soggy cotton, something in him fractures. You claim you “forget.” He suspects a psychological experiment.

You casually mention spending time with male friends You think it’s harmless. Lunch with Caleb. Training advice from Xavier. You light up when you talk about them—and that’s the problem. Zayne doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t raise a brow. But the sudden over-fixation on his email inbox says everything.

You receive a speeding ticket. Forty miles over the limit. You wave it off like it’s a funny little anecdote. He sits in absolute silence, calculating the stopping distance of your car vs. standard reaction time at that speed. You think he’s judging. He’s actually trying not to scream.

You poke his ass. Specifically, between the cheeks. You call it “affection.” He calls it “emotional terrorism.” He flinches like he’s been electrocuted, whips around with murder in his eyes—and you’re giggling like a gremlin. Later, you regret nothing, but your thighs may beg to differ.

When you diagnose him with internet psychology You’ve read one book on attachment styles and watched three reels about emotional unavailability. Now you’ve decided he has "clinical avoidant tendencies with a hint of fear-based control fixation." He stares at you, deadpan, like he's about to perform your autopsy.

You keep spoiled food in the fridge and expired meds in the cabinet You say “it doesn’t smell that bad” or “maybe it still works.” His eye twitches. His gloves are already on. He’s not even mad at you—he’s mad at entropy. You’ve become its agent.

You watch reality shows. About infidelity. Willingly. You claim it’s “just background noise.” But he walks in and hears someone scream “that’s not even your baby, Kyle!” and your eyes are glued to the screen. His soul briefly leaves his body.

You washed his white lab coat. With your pink unicorn pajamas. It’s not just the color. It’s the betrayal. The symbol of his clinical neutrality now smells like bubblegum and looks like cotton candy. You say it’s cute. He looks personally violated by the washing machine.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne Soft Against His Will

You bring him lunch at the hospital He never asks. You just appear—arms full of neatly packed containers, face lit up like this isn’t the third double shift he’s worked this week. He complains about the timing. The smell. The disruption. And then eats every bite with frightening focus. You leave. He stares at the empty container like it’s proof someone still believes he’s human.

You quote him back to himself like a philosopher You remember something he said weeks ago—some throwaway line about time or structure or entropy—and you drop it casually in conversation, like it’s wisdom from an ancient text. He doesn’t know how to react. You turned his logic into poetry, and he’ll never recover from that.

You wear the little seal keychain he made He didn’t think you’d keep it. Let alone turn it into your everyday keychain. But there it is—always with you, worn smooth from touch. You twirl it absentmindedly while talking to him, never noticing the way his gaze lingers. Never realizing how something so small can hit him so hard.

You put a photo of the two of you on his desk It appears one day. No fanfare. Just… there. A moment frozen in light, sitting quietly beside his surgical reports and diagnostic schematics. At first, he moves it to the edge. Then back to center. Now it lives next to his pen. He doesn’t talk about it. But it’s the only object on that desk he wipes clean with his bare hand.

His work shirt smells like you You borrowed it that morning, wore it while dancing around the apartment with wet hair and no real purpose. Hours later, when he pulls it on between rounds, the scent hits him like a loaded memory. He short-circuits mid-button. Everything feels warmer than it should.

You leave your phone with him while you shower No password. No hesitation. You toss it into his lap with a breezy “can you clear out whatever’s making it lag?” and vanish behind steam. He sits there, phone in hand, suddenly trusted with everything. He opens nothing. But the fact that you’d let him? That’s the part that shakes him.

You ask for his opinion on minor discomforts A papercut. A weird freckle. A suspicious sneeze. You hold out your hand, utterly serious, asking what he thinks. It’s laughable. Ridiculous. And it absolutely wrecks him. You could ask a dozen others—but you ask him. Like he’s the one who makes things better.

You’re on top He likes control. Precision. Strategy. But when you climb into his lap, all instinct and fire, hands braced on his chest and lips already parted—his brain stops cooperating. There’s something about you taking the lead that makes him unravel. Quietly. Violently. Completely.

You argue with him about complex theories—and mean it You don’t just nod. You push back. You challenge. You quote sources he hasn’t thought about in years. You spark. You flare. And he watches, fascinated, lips twitching with something dangerously close to pride. No one does this. No one dares. But you? You never flinch.

You whisper “I love you” in your sleep It’s not loud. It’s not even clear. Just a faint breath in the dark, like a dream half-remembered. But he hears it. Every time. And though he never says a word in return—not while you're sleeping—his fingers tighten around your waist like he's anchoring himself to the only thing that matters.

🎨 Top 10 Things That Make Rafayel Absolutely, Irrevocably Annoyed at You

You told him his painting was “nice” You stood in front of a piece that cost him three sleepless nights, a minor existential crisis, and two broken brushes—and said “Nice.” Just like that. No gasp, no poetry, no tears. He aged five years on the spot. Somewhere in the distance, a violin cried for him.

You dragged him to a cat exhibit You thought it would be cute. Enrichment. A bonding experience. Instead, he spent the entire time perched on edge, eyes darting like prey. You said “they’re just kittens.” He said nothing. He was too busy making sure none of them came closer than ten feet.

You cleaned his studio You thought you were being helpful. But you moved The Pile. The sacred, unholy, perfectly calibrated mess. Now he can’t find his favorite brush, and also he’s deeply offended by how cheerful you looked doing it.

You didn’t reply to his messages for over an hour He sent three texts, one meme, and a “thinking of you 💭” voice note. You replied 67 minutes later with “sry was showering.” By then, he’d already decided you were breaking up with him, joining a cult, or possibly dead. He had a whole monologue planned. And now you’ve ruined it.

You cut your hair He loved your long hair. Adored it. Worshipped it. You showed up with a sharp little bob and said “it’s just hair.” It is not just hair. It is the collapse of a visual era. He’s still adjusting. And by adjusting, he means mourning with wine.

You made fun of his driving You muttered “technically, you were meant to let the tram go first” He muttered “technically, silence is golden.” His driving is instinct. Vibe. Energy. If you didn’t want drama, you shouldn’t have sat in the passenger seat of a man who parallel parks like he’s in a ballet.

You woke him up too early He went to bed at 4 a.m. because inspiration struck. You woke him at 7:12 like it was nothing, and said “you have that interview, remember?” He does remember. He also remembers specifically telling you that if he ever falls asleep before sunrise, you are to let him die peacefully, cancel all earthly obligations, and throw his alarm clock into the ocean where it belongs.

You hid your phone screen when a message came in You were probably teasing. Just being playful. But now he’s spiraling. Who was it? Why the secrecy? What do you have to hide? Congratulations—you’ve just activated his inner opera villain.

You got jealous Which is absurd. He’s the one who invented possessive affection. But you being jealous? That makes him unreasonably indignant. What do you mean you “didn’t like the way that gallery girl looked at him”? Of course she looked. But he didn’t see her. He saw you.

You burned the bacon You say “it’s fine.” He says it’s charcoal. The entire kitchen smells like culinary war crimes. And now he’ll have to burn incense and replant three garden beds to recover emotionally. Who even let you near the stove? Who hurt you? Was it… the bacon?

🎨 Top 10 Ways You Accidentally Turned Rafayel Into a Purring, Love-Drunk Work of Art

You massage his head He’s mid-rant. Arms crossed. Absolutely furious about the lighting in that gallery. And then your fingers slip into his hair—and just like that, the war is over. His entire body melts like he’s been tranquilized. He’ll deny it later, of course. But the way he leans into your hand? Case closed.

You claim him in public It’s an art gala. He’s dressed to ruin people. And then you slip your arm through his, fingers just tight enough to say mine. You smile like a goddess. He pretends he’s unaffected. Inside, he’s writing vows in ten languages and considering printing matching business cards.

You actually listen to his advice He knows he can be dramatic. Unfiltered. Emotionally volatile. But when you sit there, really listening, nodding like his words matter—you destroy him. Suddenly he’s not the chaos. He’s the compass. And that? That’s love.

You share every detail of your day over dinner You talk about everything—the lady at the store, the funny email, the awful latte. You give him your day like a story, like he’s the only one you wanted to tell. He leans in, listens too closely, files away each emotion like a collector of rare art.

You’re always down for his wildest ideas It’s 3 a.m. He wants to hike 2.5 miles along the beach, take a boat to a tiny island, and watch the sunrise with wine. You say “give me five minutes.” And just like that, you become the only person worthy of his wildest, most beautiful chaos.

You let him photograph you Nothing compares. Not awards. Not praise. Nothing rivals the moment you look into his lens—bare, unfiltered, unashamed. Especially when you’re nude, glowing, and laughing like the world doesn’t exist. That’s when he falls in love with you all over again. And again. And again.

You let him choose your dress You come out in the one he picked. Elegant. Perfect. You spin for him. And the way he watches you? Like he made you. Like you’re the gallery and he’s the only one with the key. It’s not fashion. It’s trust. And he adores you for it.

You sing when you don’t know he’s home Wearing socks and earbuds, dancing with a broom, serenading your way through burnt pancakes. You’re off-key. Glorious. Real. And he stands in the doorway, silent, just watching. Because in that moment—you’re not posing. And he’s never loved you more.

You take care of him when he’s sick He has a fever of 99°F and insists he’s fading. You bring tea, stroke his hair, whisper that he’s “very brave.” You don’t mock him. You take his dramatics seriously. He will never forget it. He may also write you into his will.

You join him in the bathtub without asking He’s already halfway submerged, music playing, steam curling in the air—and then you slip in behind him, no warning. You nudge your legs around his hips, hand him your shampoo, and let him wash your hair while you giggle. He tries to act unimpressed. But when he starts kissing your toes? Yeah. You win.

✨ Top 10 Behavioral Anomalies That Triggered Xavier’s Internal Alert System

You break an agreement—even if it's “just a small one” It’s not about control. It’s about structure. You promised. And when you bend the rules—just slightly—he doesn’t react outwardly. No visible shift, no sharp breath. But something behind his eyes goes cold. Because for him, even small deviations mean recalculating everything. And that means risk. To you.

You create drama “just to get a reaction” You push. You poke. You escalate. And he gives you… nothing. No outburst, no flinch. Just that flat, unreadable stare while he mentally exits the room. He doesn’t get angry—he just shuts off the part of himself that wants to stay.

You refuse his protection—on principle You call it independence. He calls it a strategic vulnerability wrapped in pride. He won’t argue. He’ll just be one step farther back the next time, quietly cataloging how to stop caring just enough that it won’t kill him if something happens.

You call him cold—especially when he’s holding himself together for you You see stillness. He feels restraint. You accuse. He remembers what it takes to not become the darker version of himself. If only you knew how much energy it took to stay composed. If only you knew it was for you.

You’re late Five minutes. Ten. No message. No explanation. And his pulse ticks upward—not with impatience, but with pure, trained alertness. He starts looking for signs. Traffic reports. Emergency alerts. By the time you arrive, he’s smiling. But it’s the tight kind. The kind that says never again.

You skip training You’re tired. You had a long day. You say you’ll make it up later. He doesn’t argue. He just recalculates survival probabilities and mentally adds you to the list of people who might die because they were unprepared. And he will blame himself for letting you get soft.

You pull away from his touch when you're angry It’s not the rejection. It’s the meaning behind it. He reaches out—small, careful, calculated—and you shut the door in his face with a single backward step. He doesn’t try again. He doesn’t ask why. But the space you leave behind? It echoes.

You use a photo of Lumiere as a bookmark You think it’s cute. Maybe even sweet. He sees it—and freezes. He’s not jealous. Not exactly. But the idea that you might admire that version more—the legend, the mask, the sharpness—it unsettles something deep. Something he can’t name.

You secretly believe you’re not good enough for him You never say it out loud. But he sees it—in your deflections, your nervous jokes, the way you doubt his love like it’s a glitch. It doesn’t anger him in the usual sense. It just…hurts. Because you’re the only one who never had to earn it.

You throw yourself in front of him during a mission It’s instinct, you say. Split-second decision. You didn’t even think. And that’s the problem. He does. Always. Every variable, every movement, every risk is accounted for—except you breaking formation to protect him. You think it’s brave. He sees it as catastrophic miscalculation. Not because you acted without logic. But because you decided his life was worth more than yours. And that? That’s the one conclusion he refuses to accept.

✨Top 10 Things That Quietly Break Xavier’s Walls and Leave Him Unreasonably Soft About You

When you start reading the same book he’s readingYou don’t announce it. You just show up with the same title, a few chapters behind, and start casually asking questions. He plays it off. But inside? He’s spiraling. Because this—this—is how you speak his language. Silently. Precisely. Together.

When you knock on his door like you’re trying to break it downIt’s loud. Impatient. Inappropriate for the hour. But he knows that knock. That rhythm. That you. You need him. Not his solutions. Him. And somehow, that chaos pounding on his door feels more like home than anything else.

When you hug him from behindYou wrap your arms around his torso mid-task, face pressed between his shoulder blades, palms splayed across his chest like you’re anchoring yourself to something ancient and steady. He stills. Every time. Like someone just whispered a secret to his bones. He never asks why. Never moves away. He just tilts his head slightly—listening, as if your silence said everything he needed to hear.

When you touch his sword (the actual weapon, calm down)He never lets anyone handle it. Not even for cleaning. But your fingers skim the hilt, gentle, curious, reverent. And somehow… it’s okay. You’re not just touching steel. You’re touching him. And he lets you.

When you act like a little girlYou scrunch your nose. Say something ridiculous. Blush like you didn’t mean to. And he watches—utterly disarmed. Because he knows exactly what you want. You want him to carry you. Wrap you up. Keep you safe. And he will—without hesitation.

When you join him on a morning runYou complain. You lag. You swear this is “not your vibe.” But you still show up. Same hour. Same route. And when you match his pace for those few precious minutes? He doesn’t say it—but he’s proud. Painfully proud.

When you share your dreams—and say “we”You’re rambling. Light spilling from your words. Talking about the future, the maybes, the next steps. But you don’t say I. You say we. And that sound? That tiny shift in grammar? It settles deep. Irrevocable. Permanent.

When you make matching braceletsYou say it’s silly. Handmade. Slightly uneven. There’s a charm shaped like a rabbit. He never takes it off. Not in combat. Not in sleep. It rests against his wrist like a pressure point—and grounds him better than anything else.

When you remember his habitsYour shopping list always includes his cinnamon. His brand of shampoo. The exact instant noodles he pretends not to love. You don’t make a show of it. You just know. And that knowing? It destroys him in the softest possible way.

When you trust him completely in bed—even when his darker side surfacesThere’s a moment—quiet, charged—when the softness shifts. He waits. Watches. Braces for resistance. But you don’t pull back. You open your hands. Arch into him. Let him take control without fear. That? That’s what breaks him. Not the pleasure. The trust.

🖤Top 10 Things That Push Sylus Into Maximum Sarcasm and Mildly Homicidal Disapproval

Your outdated, unreliable weapon Yes, he gets it. It’s vintage. It’s “standard issue.” It’s approved by the Hunters Association. Congratulations. That won’t matter when it jams and gets you killed. Every time you return one of the sleek, upgraded firearms he hand-delivers like he’s your personal armory concierge, he has to resist asking if you've already made a draft of your death wish. Alphabetically sorted. With floral headers.

You chew gum—and pop it It’s not the gum. It’s the snap. The sudden, violent pop of sugary air bubbles that hits his trauma response like a trigger. He knows it’s just a noise. His shoulder still twitches. He’s this close to reaching into your mouth and extracting the gum like a gentleman. A very sarcastic, deeply annoyed, half-feral gentleman.

You try to shake your tail (him) You use stealth tech. You block your signal. You go dark. Adorable. You’re forgetting that the very system you’re relying on was developed by his own syndicate. The only person who ever really evades Sylus is Sylus. And maybe the cat that lives under his car. But not you. Never you.

You don’t introduce him as your boyfriend to your old classmates You panicked. He gets that. You called him “a friend.” And now he’s deeply committed to the bit. For the next seven days, every time you said anything, he replied with “Of course, as your friend…” in front of waiters, dealers, and one extremely confused ambassador. You only managed to shut it down by hastily posting a photo of you two with the caption “my boyfriend and the love of my life.” Acceptable recovery. Barely.

You refuse to use his resources His private jet? Untouched. His cars? Collecting dust. His black card? Sitting unused like some kind of insult in your purse. You say you’re “independent.” He says you’re actively offending his entire lifestyle philosophy. Do you have any idea how disrespectful it is to ignore an entire walk-in wardrobe prepared for you in his estate? Honestly, it’s almost admirable. Almost.

You once smoked a cigarette, and he saw it He didn’t say anything. At the time. Just looked at you. Silently. Like someone had drop-kicked a kitten in front of him. He’s not judging. He’s just picturing your lungs in an ashtray. And adding another page to your death wish list.

You speak in riddles and expect him to “get it” You want something—time away, a trip, his attention—but instead of asking, you sigh dramatically and murmur, “It’s fine. I guess some people just don’t want to escape the city with their girlfriends…” He blinks. Slow. Dangerous. “Was that a request, a riddle, or an emotional booby trap?” If you want something from him, Kitten, try using nouns and verbs. Not cryptic guilt puzzles.

You suggest another woman would be “perfect for him” It’s a joke. Offhand. Barely a breath. But your voice wavers—just slightly—and that ruins it. He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t want options. He wants you. And now, thanks to your charming lapse in self-worth, he has to waste the rest of the evening reminding you that this face, this power, this entire empire already belongs to someone. Guess who.

You sneak up on him You never mean to. But somehow, you're always the one person who slips past every alarm, every trained instinct, and ends up whispering behind him when his brain is still in kill mode. It takes everything in him to not react on pure reflex. You think it’s cute. He thinks it’s potentially catastrophic.

You don’t believe him when he says he’s fine Yes, he’s bleeding. Yes, his shirt is soaked. But he said “it’s a scratch,” and when he says that—he means it. His body heals like a myth. Your worried face? It makes something in him ache. Because the real wound isn’t on him—it’s in you, for thinking he’s anything less than unbreakable.

🖤 Top 10 Things That Make Sylus Dangerously Soft for You (And Yes, He’s Keeping Score)

When you finally spend his money It started with coffee. Small. Harmless. But the alert hit his phone and, for a moment, he genuinely wondered if his card had been stolen—until he saw your name. And something in him shifted. Not because of the cost. Please. He could buy the city it was brewed in. No, it was the fact you used it. You. Willingly. Now? You’re bolder—little dresses, shoes, jewelry you don’t need. And every time you do, he rewards it like you just proved you understand the assignment: what's his, is already yours.

When you give orders to his men like you're the boss You don’t ask. You instruct. Calm, certain, completely in charge. One of his men hesitates—just once—while you’re directing them to rescue a terrified kitten stuck in a tree. Sylus doesn’t interfere. He just watches, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his mouth as armed professionals scramble to obey you like you're the patron saint of lost animals. Somewhere in his mind, he’s already fitted you for a crown. With tiny cat ears.

When you secretly pet Mephisto The mechanical raven used to drive you insane. Now? You’re sneaking him treats and absentminded scratches under the jaw. Sylus sees it. Says nothing. But deep down, he knows: if you’ve accepted the bird—you’ve accepted all of him. And that’s lethal. To him.

When you make him a playlist You never explain them. Just send a link and say nothing. But he listens—every time. Alone. In his car. In the bath. Eyes closed, calculating your every choice like it’s encrypted intel. Each track? A hint. A mood. A coded message from you to him. He doesn’t ask for them. He just waits for the next one. And when it arrives, he treats it like gospel.

When you leave a trail of chaos in his car Your hair on the seat. Your gum wrappers in the cup holder. The seat so close to the wheel he practically has to fold in half. And the music? A full-volume love ballad ready to ambush his eardrums at ignition. It's obnoxious. It’s inconvenient. It’s perfect. His life, now featuring you.

When you eat from his plate You swore you weren’t hungry. You said “no carbs this week.” And now? You’re stealing fries from his hand and dipping into his steak sauce like it’s your birthright. He doesn’t stop you. He just watches you chew with that look that says: mine. forever.

When you talk and talk and talk Something happens. You spiral. Words spill. Thoughts tangle. You’re not even aware you’re rambling—but he is. He listens to everything. Stores it all. Because there’s something magical about your voice when it’s unfiltered. You don’t realize it, but he falls a little harder every time you forget to censor yourself.

When you crawl into his lap while he’s working He’s in the middle of paperwork. Calculating things. Dangerous things. And suddenly—you. Right there. Knees on either side, arms around his neck, like the world’s most beautiful interruption. He tells himself he needs to finish. But his hands are already on your hips.

When you call and ask for help A jar. A stuck zipper. A ride. It doesn’t matter. You’re a trained hunter—you’ve faced things with claws, fangs, and no name. But you still call him. Because you want him. And that? That wrecks him in ways he’ll never admit. He’s already on his way before you hang up.

When you scream his name right before you come There’s a lot he’s proud of. His empire. His power. His record. But nothing—nothing—satisfies him more than the moment your voice breaks open with his name. Like prayer. Like surrender. Like he’s the only thing in your world. Which, of course… he is.

---

𝐄𝐗-𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

ex-husband!toji who was devastated when you asked for a divorce but knew it was gonna end up that way. the way he acted like he never cared, always acting sassy towards you even on the days he knew there was something wrong with you on that day. he didn't know that all that would lead up to you eventually wanting a divorce. he denied at first but after thinking it through, he knew it was for the best.

ex-husband!toji who cried himself to sleep the first few months after you had left. the house never felt so empty and quiet. the bed was so warm and everything looked so dull. he missed your warm touch, your weird but cute laugh, the stupid jokes you would tell him when you were getting too sleepy. and now all of that was gone. all because of his ignorance, his negligence. he had finally found happiness with you and he fucked it up. his heart aching whenever he though of you.

ex-husband!toji who resorted to drinking to full all the emotions he was feeling. wasting all of his money on alcohol, but it still didn't help. because even in his drunken state, he still acknowledge you as the love of his life. the one who was able to fix him. him getting a little sober when he comes back to his place calling your name and then remembering that you're gone.

ex-husband!toji who got a little too exited when you called him telling him that you left some important things. his heart is beating rapidly in his chest, a wide smile etched on his face as he hopes you don't get a hint of it either. as much as he wants you back, he does not want to appear too desperate.

ex-husband!toji who's hand was shaking when you rang the doorbell. he opened the door to see you looking as stunning as possible, while he felt like shit. he had heavy bags under his eyes, his beard disheveled and his eyes slightly red form the alcohol in his system and from crying.

ex-husband!toji who persuaded you to stay a little longer and have a chat. and was shocked that you agreed. it was kind of awkward at first, but the years of knowing each other didn't go to waste. you talked about the new place you got, and how you felt during your marriage, getting to understand your side and realizing what an asshole he was to you. but at least now he doesn't feel so lonely. at least today he can go to bed knowing that he got to have you close to him, even if it was only for about an hour.

ex-husband!toji who you agreed to stay friends with because you still cared about him. there were many memories of the both of you happy and in love, acting like complete fools, memories that still put a smile on your face. he was quite the experience, but circumstances made you let go. it was better for the both of you. but of course staying friends is not a big deal.

ex-husband!toji who slowly started getting his life back on track. shaving his stubble regularly, keeping the house clean, arranging his wardrobe and drinking way less that he was as well as working extra hard on his job so he can earn a lot of money and buy himself or you something nice. because at least he didn't fuck up that bad, right...?

ex-husband!toji who became a better person in general, to maintain your relationship. in hopes of trying to get you back. slowly, it was a process. getting you to trust him, just like the first time and making you realize that you miss him and being with him just as much as he does and eventually confessing your feelings to him like the first time. it was genius, really.

ex-husband!toji who gets heart broken when he finds out you've moved on. moved on to a guy more handsome, younger, richer and clearly treats you better than he ever did. he's stunned when you introduce them to one another, not knowing what to say. a fake wobbly smile is plastered on his face as he shakes hands with your new man. he congratulates you. what else is there to say? but he realizes now that he's lost you. there was no chance you were ever going to be together again. nome at all...

comments and reblogs are appreciated

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Pleaseeeee, I'm begging you.... I need to know how Nanami react when his wife finally tell him she's pregnant and his not crazy this whole time.

click 4 context :)

nanami swears he's never seen you eat deep-fried... anything. it wasn't that you weren't keen; it just never fell into your lap. whenever you two ate outside of home, you found yourself walking hand-in-hand through the doors of your favorite hole-in-the-wall ramen shop.

but, tonight, you begged him. nearly cried with a jutted lip for something you never had, but doom-scrolled past on social media.

now you're sitting in front of him, back straight as an arrow as you uncharacteristically shovel steaming-hot slices of gyukatsu between your glossed lips.

he watches you hardly, flicking his eyes every few moments to catch the way your lips shake, or how you do that stupid little happy dance when you get the perfect bite. he's tending to his curried rice, eating slowly—your exact opposite. he smiles to himself, letting the table remain quiet with your content hums until you bite your tongue and whine out.

"slow down, my love." he speaks after swallowing his bite, leaning back. he can see the slight flush heading across your familiar neck as you react to his buttery voice.

"i'm so sorry. how impolite of me."

"well, i don't care much. just don't want you to burn or... bite yourself further." he nodding towards the sizzling hot stone just in your reach—a dangerous pairing with your eagerness.

flushed under fluttering gold lighting, kento swears you're beaming just a bit stronger. there's a tint to your cheeks that isn't usually there, a gleam that didn't exist until a month ago. he furrows his eyebrows.

"don't stare!"

"thank you for indulging me tonight." you smile as he bends at the knee to remove your shoes at your doorway. you're leaning a hand on the frame, body and mind full of wagyu and kento. "I know you've had a long day at work."

"long day or not, when you tell me you want something..." he pauses, grunting as he stands. "I listen. always. well, most likely."

you giggle, reaching up to hold the back of his neck. the small buzz of his undercut feels fuzzy and familiar—like home. "you're a good husband."

you don't notice, but kento does. the small lisp you give him in speech—he knows it's from your bruised tongue—he hums. "does it hurt a lot? your poor tongue?"

shaking your head, you're smiling. "no... yes... a little bit."

"may I see?" he's so close to you that his words bounce off of your lips like smog—so salty and warm. you nod immediately, always letting him in. "open up."

you're giggling again. "yes, sir." then you keep them parted, dropping your jaw so he can see inside of your warm mouth. you can hear his breathing in the closeness, the drag of his voice against his vocal cords as he inspects.

it's when he presses his finger against the side of your tongue, does it hit you. a debilitating, familiar wave of dizziness. then, you're weak and dipping, knees falling.

right before kento catches you with a single-arm hold on your back, he doesn't make a sound, but the look on his face is terrified. "nanami? are you okay? can you stand?"

it takes you a moment to focus, but his words make it easier. you shake your head, gently. "must've been the exertion."

"why don't you go sit? i'll bring you something, would you like tea?"

"i would love it. thank you."

so, he trusts your balance, but he lets you go like he's nervous. it's only to walk to the couch, but it seems as if you just can't catch your footing. then, you stall and lean to the side—he rushes you, sweeping you up in a cradle.

"no. straight to bed."

"i'm sorry." you whine, burying your head in the pillow when he places you on the mattress.

"i'm calling the doctor now. i've never seen you like this." he's keeping his promise in his perfect timing, scrolling through his contact list with a shaking head. you're staring up at him in horror, heart hammering in your chest, because you don't need a doctor. you know what's wrong.

"n-no, please don't... it's so late."

"doctors take call just like i do." then, he finds it, and just before his thumb presses that shiny green 'call now' button, you're stuffing your face into the pillow, letting it muffle your breathing.

"i'm pregnant." you whine into the fluff, hands twisted tight in the material. you hope he can't hear you, but it's far too late to take it back.

"hm?" kento heard you. crystal fucking clear. but, he's doing that unsure little eyebrow cock, thumb shaking as it hovers over his phone. "what?" he repeats.

"p-pregnant... i'm pregnant." it feels like lava pouring from your soul, so white-hot and shameful, because you've been hiding it for well over two months.

he scoffs, putting his phone down and burying his forehead in his big hand. there's a smirk there—very slight. you don't see it. "ah, well... yes, I suppose that explains it... all."

"please don't be mad at me, it's your fault."

"mine? how?"

"if you just..." you're still talking into the pillow, letting it do the heavy lifting. "you're always on top of me; it's like I can't keep you away."

kento laughs again, it's the most joyless sound that sparks so much within you. he nods, then sits down right next to you, smoothing a hand over the swell of your hips. "if it were possible to choose, i'd like to die on top of you—or inside of you."

"not funny." you're on the verge of tears, feeling the hormonal angst hit you like a ton of bricks.

kento clicks his teeth, then pushes your shoulder to get your flushed face free. "I wasn't trying to be... look, I am not mad-the direct opposite, actually." he's whispering, tracing that hand over your face. you're so warm, so free, now. "I am so happy. relieved that it wasn't something else, too."

"but i'm so scared."

"that's okay. so am i... both happy and scared and relieved; in love with you, your ways, and your spirit." that hand trails back down your side, then it rests right over your lower stomach, thumb rubbing across the covered skin. "and this little one we created together." when he presses, he can feel the firmness that wasn't usually there. "I don't think we will be very good at first, but i'd like it very much if we taught each other how to be the gentlest parents possible."

now, you're crying. it's falling in waves and buckets, snotting up your pillow and eliciting embarrassing sounds from your throat. you're kicking your feet, so built up and unsure where to expel it. "whyyyy," you sob, reaching to twist your smaller fist in his shirt. "why would you say that to me? I'm gonna explode—it's so-

"what are you talking about?" he cuts you off, cradling your clenched fist to his chest. he really just wants to wipe those tears away and make love, but he's kind of... afraid. you'll probably bite him just like your tongue.

"when you talk to me like that... it's so... i can feel it."

"hm... do you think our baby can feel it? i wonder if she can hear us."

"she? i feel like it's a boy."

"no." he whispers, shaking his head, and so sweetly purrs, "definitely a girl."

---

inspired by this post!

you going on a work trip was the worst thing that could’ve happened to your little family.

you and girldad!sylus’ little bundle of joy (or, currently, despair) wails in his thick arms, chubby face scrunched up as big, sad tears stream down her flushed cheeks.

he tries to bounce her, follows all of the motions you usually do: cooing, rocking, bouncing, taking numerous laps around that expansive house, putting on that white noise machine that usually has her out in minutes.

nothing is working.

sylus is resilient — if something is wrong, he’s determined to fix it. the deep(er) bags under his eyes are evident of that. issue is, his little girl is just as resilient, if not more so.

the n109 zone’s princess is beyond displeased, and it’s obvious why, because he feels the same way: she misses you.

they both miss you.

he heaves a quiet sigh. “it’s okay, it’s okay, sweetie. papa’s here. and mama will be home soon, hm? she’ll play with you and sing to you and—”

he stops.

wait. duh. sylus can just sing.

babies don’t know what vocal keys are, right? and when you sing, it always soothes that viscous little temper of hers, screeching cries wilting down to tiny sniffles and happy coos.

he’ll just follow your lead.

sylus shifts his darling girl in his arms, tucking her a little close to his face and chest. his brain flips through an endless list of songs, filtering out the ones that would be most effective and appropriate.

he picks out a tune he knows you sing often and gently clears his throat. it’s now or never.

if this doesn’t work . . he doesn’t know what will.

sylus starts to hum, low in his throat and definitely off-key. it sounds nothing like your heavenly voice, and while he knows it, he really hopes his lovely little girl won’t.

her cries stutter to a pause, wide, teary crimson eyes locking onto sylus’ weary pair, and her hands loosen from their angry fists.

. . .

it’s working. she’s not crying, and—

slap!

one tiny hand comes up to cover his mouth, stubby brows furrowed in a way that scarily resembles a certain wife.

your daughter starts to babble, as if she’s scolding him for such horrendous singing. well. he never claimed to be beyoncé, now did he?

but it did work, his pride be damned.

she stops crying, the bright red flush slowly starting to leave her round cheeks as sylus trudges his way back to the nursery and sets her down in her crib.

he wastes no time pulling his phone out and calling you, using one big hand to push his glasses up and rub at his face as he plops down in the rocking chair.

“. . hello?”

your voice sends a jolt of energy through him like he just snorted a line of coke, and he looks up at the phone screen, greeted by the sight of your worried face and the blurred background of your hotel room. “what’s wrong?”

he chuckles, a weary sound that does jack shit to convince you. “nothing, beloved, it’s just . . our daughter is very opinionated, yes?”

you sigh, but a small smile creeps onto your face regardless. “really? what’d she do now?”

you two talk until sylus’ eyelids get unbearably heavy, his responses teetering off into quiet “mhms” and “yeahs” and “mms”. if you listen hard enough, you can even hear the faint snores of your darling babygirl. and you’ve only been on the phone for fifteen minutes.

“goodnight, sylus.”

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toji x f!reader

you were never able to understand how people could cheat on their spouses or significant others. the pathetic excuses people made up to justify their cheating? you called it bullshit and found the act of infidelity to be absolutely despicable.

well, at least that’s how you used to feel about the act. until you met him.

being a housewife, you usually spent your days lounging around in the million dollar house your husband let you pick out a few years ago. anytime if you weren’t busy taking care of the house or sitting around looking pretty, you could be found at your bi-weekly hair or nail appointment and if not one of them, then you were out and about in your cute little convertible meeting your friends for brunch, attending your pilates class, shopping, or doing whatever your heart desired.

there’s not a better life you could ask for, you get to live the life that so many women can only dream of. yet, as thankful as you were for the lifestyle your husband was able to provide you with, the long hours he spent at the office meant that his work-life balance was greatly affected and sadly, your sex life wasn’t spared.

the countless evenings that were spent sitting at the large, glossy wood-finished dining room table eating alone and laying in bed using one of your silicone dildos to masturbate with because you were getting the real thing were beginning to grow tiresome and the need for physical intimate was getting harder and harder to ignore.

despite that, you still loved your husband and never blamed him for any of it. you were still wholeheartedly loyal and devoted to him. he’s only doing what he has to do to provide for his family, right? and it’s not like he ever mistreated you. there was no other man for you, at least that’s what you assumed. but that assumption went out the window the day that handyman!toji showed up at your front door in a tight, short sleeve compression top and some worn jeans to fix some leaky pipes.

truthfully, it was simply the case of one thing that led to another. for some reason, you felt comfortable enough to open up to a complete stranger about your frustrations and instead of turning down toji’s advances when he came onto you, you welcomed them. the first time was a complete mistake, that’s what you told yourself.

you and toji having a quickie on top of the kitchen table, was just because you needed to release the pent up sexual energy that had built up over time. right? because no matter how good toji’s bulging muscles looked as he subtly flexed them as he kept your legs spread for him while his eyes stayed glued to how well your pussy took his girthy dick, you could not let it happen again.

was it possible that you jinxed yourself by saying you would never sleep with him again? ..possibly. because a week later you’re bouncing up and down in toji’s lap as you two fucked on the couch, with his head stuffed between your pretty titties as he called you every type of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’ for riding another man’s dick while your husband was hard at work to keep up that lifestyle you adored so much. the taunting tone of his voice replayed more times in your head that you would’ve liked as guilt ate at you from the aftermath of your actions, especially at night as you laid in bed next to your loving husband.

did that stop you though? no.

this affair with the handyman has been going on for months now and you don’t see any sign of it slowing down or coming to an end anytime soon. it’s gotten to the point where toji parks his car a few blocks away and meets you around the back entrance of your house, void of the nosey eyes of neighbors. and although you would never admit it out loud, toji fucks you so better than your husband ever could. not to mention, it’s like the man has a gold medal winning mouth when it comes to eating pussy. you never even knew you were capable of squirting until you started seeing toji.

tonight was supposed to be the same as usual, it’s a friday night and one of the days toji now routinely comes over to give you some good loving. except today your husband is uncharacteristically home early from work which makes you both worried and excited. though your worries are put aside as you converse with your husband while cooking, sharing laughs and smiles with each other as if you’re not having an extramarital affair. sitting across from him as you clink your wine glasses together, a little before the clock strikes nine o’clock on a weekday feels foreign to you, it’s been literal months since you can remember having anything close to this.

that warm, fuzzy feeling that fills your body as you and your husband sit and chat over dinner feels so nice that you almost tell toji not to come over tonight— almost.

it’s close to midnight, and your spouse is upstairs passed out on the bed from an alcohol-induced sleep while you’re unlocking the back patio door for toji to come in. he’s a man that doesn’t waste time, he gets down to business and within a couple minutes, he’s got you stripped down and naked, driving that fat dick into your pussy that’s seemingly become accustomed to his dick.

the sound of skin on skin echo through the expanse of the large kitchen as toji fucks you from behind, his broad-shouldered frame and big, bulky arms completely covering you and caging you between him and the quartzite countertop.

one of his large, calloused hands goes to your thigh and props it on top of the counter to fuck you deeper. your hands grip the cool stone harder as a strained moan rips from your throat at the new position and angle, feeling toji hit different spots makes your pussy react accordingly, clamping ever so tightly around his length that it makes him hiss.

toji’s not a particularly noisy man during sex, usually just a few groans and grunts here and there, but he’s changed it up tonight. you’ve never heard him make so much noise before and if you didn’t know any better, you might just assume that he’s getting off to the possibility of your husband waking up and finding you.

“oh baby,” he whispers in your ear, his voice holding a hint of mockery as he smirks. “what would you do if your husband woke up? what would he think if he saw his perfect wife getting her pussy pounded like a slut by another man?” he runs a hand through the silky strands of your colored wig, tugging your head back slightly.

your face scrunches up distastefully at the image and you frown, making a small noise to show you don’t take too kindly to his words, to which toji just chuckles a little louder than necessary. “aw, you don’t like what i said? feeling a little guilty all of a sudden?” he coos, a sadistic expression crossing his face.

his hips start to make contact with yours at an increased speed, balls smacking your sensitive clit each time so hard that it makes you yelp. the pants leaving toji’s mouth turn into full on grunts as his balls empty into your greedy pussy. slowly, toji pulls out and watches as your pussy pulsates and you push out his cum, the liquid leaking onto the stone floor beneath.

toji drops to his knees and starts stroking his dick back to life, letting his tongue dart out and lick at your swollen clit. some of his milky cum drips onto his face and he moves to suck his cum out of your hole, moaning against your sweet cunt. “how many times you think i gotta make you cum before you’re screaming so loud that it wakes up your hubby, pretty?”

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dilf!nanami x virgin!f!reader (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

nanami shoving his big cock in your tight little pussy :( you two met at a bar the other day, you’re barely twenty one and he’s already in his early forties.

imagine his shock when he finds out you’re still a virgin at twenty one?! he stifled in a laugh at that, he didn’t want you to think he was making fun of you. you guys ended up hitting it off that night and started to meet each other more, from coffee dates to small pecks on the lips.. and the age gap didn’t seem to bother either of you, if anything you were into it way more than he was.

then you finally give him the words he’s been waiting to hear, that you want him to take your virginity.

and as he expected, you were as tight as a vice. he said he’d be gentle with you, (unfortunately he promised you) but he wanted to fuck you hard already. “such a pretty pussy, baby,” he coos, his voice is so perfect. deep, soft. just like how he was entering you.

“s-slow, please,” you mumble, your hand coming up to grab his, interlocking fingers tightly. his eyes almost melted at the sight of your beautiful expression, the way your breath hitched and the way your hand was sweaty. “i’ll be slow, promised you, remember?” he watches his thick cock go inside you inch by inch, you could feel yourself getting stretched out. it was oddly pleasurable yet a bit painful as he pushed deeper.

he watches you nod your head and bite your lip, before speaking up again. “let me hear your voice pretty girl, that was our deal right? i want to hear all your sounds.” his free hand that was guiding his cock in your walls came to rub your inner thigh softly, his thumb rubbing lazy circles on your plushness.

“feels good yeah? say it feels good for me honey,” he talks again, you nod your head, “feels good, you.. you feel really good,” that makes him smile.

you can feel his shaft deep inside you now, but not fully bottomed out yet, and you wondered how big he truly was.

a few moments later of slowly pushing alllll the way in, he bottomed out, and he let out a deep groan at the way you felt. “you’re perfect, y’know that?” he whispers.

he disconnects his hand from your own, earning a soft whine from you that made him chuckle. he grabs your calf’s softly with both his huge hands and scoots you closer, lifting your body up so he can have better access as he puts your ankles on his shoulders. “this is much better..” he hums.

“you can move now,” you finally say after a minute of adjusting to his size. and what went from moving slowly became him thrusting into you a bit more roughly, if it was up to him he’d have you on your knees, spanking your gorgeous ass as he praises you, but this was nice too- especially because he loved the way those moans escaped your pretty lips and he knew this was what he wanted, what he needed.

© damsalindistress - do not plagiarize / translate my work

i got too lazy to finish it but dilf nanami supremacy !!

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