#LADS Rafayel

[rounove]

[LADS] Womb

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

The soft melody from his expensive royal-looking piano had drawn you in. Xavier was elsewhere in the living room, probably asleep. You couldn’t resist pressing a few keys, trying to recreate the tune he’d played yesterday. As you leaned over to reach a higher note, your sleeve caught on several keys, and with a sickening crack, they snapped loose.

Your hands flew to your mouth. Three keys hung at awkward angles, completely broken from their moorings. The room suddenly felt too small, your heart pounding as tears welled in your eyes.

You heard his footsteps before you saw him in the doorway. His eyes widened slightly at your tears.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted. “I was just—I didn’t mean to—” You couldn’t finish the sentence as your voice cracked.

“Why are you crying?” he asked. He walk towards you, then knelt beside you, hands gentle as he took the broken piano keys from your trembling fingers.

“The piano...” you managed. “I broke it... I’ll pay for repairs, I promise...” you stammered, wiping at your eyes.

Xavier glanced at the damaged instrument, then back to you. A small smile formed at the corners of his mouth as he sat beside you.

“It was an accident,” he said simply, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb, his warm palm cupping your face. His touch lingered there, gentle and reassuring.

“But it’s your piano,” you insisted.

“The keys were already weak,” he replied with a slight shrug. “It’s already old, and I’ve been meaning to replace it.”

When you still looked uncertain, he added, “I don’t want you to be upset. Things break, and it’s okay.”

The way he said it—so matter-of-fact yet somehow gentle—made you feel like the broken piano truly was insignificant to him. In Xavier’s quiet, straightforward way, he’d made it clear that your distress concerned him far more than any damaged items.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

The hospital had called Zayne in for emergency surgeries three nights in a row. When you woke up early on his rare day off and found him already at his desk in the home office, surrounded by patient reports, you decided breakfast was in order.

You pushed the door open with your hip, balancing a tray with coffee and toast, just as Zayne reached for a folder. Your foot caught on the edge of his rug, and before you could regain balance, hot coffee splashed across his desk—directly onto the stack of patient reports he’d brought home. Dark liquid seeped into what looked like hours of meticulous work.

“I’m so sorry!” Your voice pitched higher with panic, ignoring the stinging pain on your palms. “Zayne, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean—” Your hands shook as you tried to salvage the papers, only smearing them further.

Zayne stood immediately, his chair rolling back. The stern lines of his face were there, but not directed at you.

“Stop,” he said firmly, holding your hands away, and taking the tray from your shaking hands and setting it aside before you dropped it too. “Leave the papers.”

Tears welled up despite your efforts. “Your reports, all your work... I just—I just ruined your day off... I’m really sorry…”

Zayne set the papers aside and surprised you by taking your warm hands in his, turning them over to examine your skin.

“Did you burn yourself?” he asked, his voice soft.

You shook your head.

“Good.” He guided you to sit in his chair. “These are just copies. I can print them again.”

“But—”

“No ‘but.’” His thumb stroked across your knuckles, a small gesture of affection that contrasted with his authoritative tone. “I keep digital backups of everything, so don’t worry. And don’t feel bad about an accident you couldn’t control.”

He leaned down, pressing a brief kiss to your forehead, then reached for his phone.

“The reports can wait. Let’s order some breakfast, and I’ll get us something to heal your palms.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

The afternoon sunlight streamed through Rafayel’s studio windows, casting a golden glow across his workspace. You’d come to surprise him with lunch since he often forgot to eat when absorbed in his art.

As you walked between tables covered with half-finished projects, your bag caught on something. You turned to see a delicate sculpture teetering on its pedestal—a twisted form of glass and clay that Rafayel had spent weeks perfecting. Your heart stopped as it fell, shattering against the floor with a sound that seemed to echo forever.

“Oh…! No, no, no,” you whispered, dropping to your knees. Your fingers trembled as you tried to gather the larger pieces, tears blurring your vision.

“What happened? I heard—” Rafayel’s voice cut off as he entered the studio. You looked up, seeing his expression shift as he took in the scene.

“Rafayel, I’m so sorry,” your voice broke as you continued frantically collecting shards. “I can find someone who can repair it, or—”

“Hey, hey, stop!” He crossed the room quickly, kneeling beside you. “Leave it. You’ll cut yourself.”

When you continued reaching for a particularly sharp piece, he gently captured your hands.

“Your art…” you said, tears now falling freely. “I broke it...”

“It’s just clay and glass,” he said, pulling you away from the broken pieces and into his arms. “I can make another whenever I want.”

“But this one was special—”

“Not as special as you are to me.” Rafayel’s arms tightened around you as he rested his chin on top of your head. “You’re going to hurt yourself on these pieces,” he whispered. He rocked you gently until your breathing steadied, then pulled back to wipe your tears with his thumb.

“Besides,” he added casually, “now I have an excuse to try that new technique I’ve been thinking about. I’ve been wanting to replace that one with something new anyway. Do you wanna see, cutie?”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

The wind through your hair, the purr of the engine between your legs—there was nothing like late-night rides on Sylus’s custom motorcycle. He’d let you borrow it occasionally, knowing how much you loved the freedom it gave you.

The evening ride had been your idea. “Just around the perimeter,” you’d suggested, and Sylus had agreed because honestly—what wouldn’t he do for you?

You didn’t see the oil slick until the bike suddenly skidded, then tumbled, throwing you clear but scraping across the pavement with a horrible screech of metal on asphalt. Pain shot through your arm as you landed hard.

He swore he’d never been so scared before. He just ditched his motorcycle and was at your side in an instant, his typically composed face taut with an emotion you rarely saw—fear.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, kneeling beside you, hands hovering as if afraid to touch you. “Where does it hurt?”

“The motorcycle—” you managed, tears forming as you looked at the mangled vehicle. Half the custom bodywork was destroyed, the handlebars twisted beyond recognition. “I’m so sorry—I’ll pay—I’ll—”

“Forget the motorcycle,” he snapped, voice sharp but hands gentle as they examined your scraped arm. He was mad at himself for letting the situation even happen.

You’d never seen him this shaken—Sylus, who always had a plan, who always remained calm and controlled.

“I shouldn’t have—” he cut himself off with a sigh before carefully helping you sit up. His fingers brushed your face, wiping away tears and examining you for injuries with tenderness. “I’m just glad the feisty kitten is all okay.” Sylus’s expression shifted to relief, though concern still lined his eyes.

“I’m sorry it got wrecked…” you whispered again.

“I have others,” he said dismissively. “Stop thinking about it.”

When he helped you to your feet, he kept his arm firmly around you, as if afraid you might vanish if he let go. The destroyed motorcycle lay forgotten on the road behind you as he carried you away to his own.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

The storage room in Caleb’s work room was cluttered with mementos from his piloting days. You were searching for an old photo album when your elbow knocked against something on a high shelf.

You turned just in time to see the model spacecraft—the intricate replica of Caleb’s first fighter that you’d given him last year—tumble and crash onto the floor. Pieces scattered everywhere, the delicate wings and engines breaking apart on impact.

Panic seized your chest as you dropped to your knees. Caleb had spent two days putting it together; you remembered how his face lit up with boyish excitement when you’d presented it to him. Now it lay in ruins.

Frantically, you gathered pieces, trying to fit them back together, but your shaking hands only made things worse. You were so focused on your desperate repair attempt that you didn’t hear the door open.

“Hey, what are you doing in—” Caleb’s voice cut off abruptly.

You looked up to see him staring at the broken model, he looked surprised but his gaze softened when your eyes met, and tears welled in yours as you held broken pieces in your trembling hands.

“I’m sorry…” you whispered, voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to—”

Before you could say more, he was on the floor beside you, pulling you on his lap, into a tight embrace. His arms were firm around you.

“Hey, hey, hey… it’s okay. It’s just a model,” he murmured against your hair, his voice steady and reassuring.

“But you worked so hard on it...”

He pulled back slightly, brushing tears from your face with a gentle thumb. His smile alone radiates comfort as he looks at you.

“Then we’ll build a new one together,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “And I bet we can make this one even better.” He looked down at the pieces scattered around you both. “Maybe add some modifications here and there, what do you think?”

His warm laughter finally broke through your guilt, and he held you close as if the broken model was the furthest thing from his mind.

Based on this request.

[mayweholdhands]

[wiavi]

Sleepover

[beechu-beechu]

Fem!Rafayel

Oh, you sweet little siren

[rafayelxsylusho]

How do the LADS men react when they catch you reading smut. 🫣 Part 5

TW: Smut

Part 1 (Xavier)

Part 2 (Caleb)

Part 3 (Sylus)

Part 4 (Zayne)

You were sitting curled up on your couch, having resorted to losing yourself in the pages of romance novels over the last couple of weeks. Rafayel had been away on a work trip, leaving you with an emptiness that you tried to fill with the printed words and the promise of happily ever afters.

The book was just the kind you always liked, romance with some smut. Every time you stumbled across an oral sex scene, your fingers would linger, tracing the words and marking the page with a dog eared corner. It was a habit born out of a desperate need to overwrite the bitter memory of your past lover's words.

You could still hear his voice echoing in your mind, feel the cold sting of his criticism. The first time he had gone down on you, his nose had wrinkled in disgust. "I don't like the smell," he had muttered, pulling away and leaving you craving his touch. The taste, he had said with a grimace, was even worse. Those words had haunted you, making you question your own desire, your own worth.

You sighed softly, your fingers stilling on the page as you lost yourself in thought, remembering the few times Rafayel had tried to worship you with his mouth. Each time, you had pulled him up, stopping him mid motion, a flush of embarrassment painting your cheeks. You could never bring yourself to give him a reason why, too ashamed to admit the truth.

Rafayel had never pushed, always respecting your boundaries even as confusion clouded his eyes. He probably thought you simply didn't enjoy the act, that the idea of his head between your thighs left you cold. If only he knew the truth, that it was the exact opposite. The thought of his tongue exploring your folds, his lips sealing around your aching clit, made your core clench with need.

You shifted on the couch, your body growing warm as arousal began to course through your veins. The book forgotten as your mind drifted to fantasies of Rafayel's mouth on you, his hands gripping your hips as he feasted on your dripping sex. You wanted to fist your hands in his purple hair, wanted to grind your pussy against his face until you found your release.

A soft whimper escaped your lips at the thought, your thighs clenching together as you felt your panties growing damp. You were embarrassed by your own desire, ashamed of how much you craved the feeling of Rafayel's mouth on you.

Unable to focus on the words on the page any longer, you snapped the book shut, the spine creaking softly as you closed it. Rising from the couch, you placed the book on the small wooden table beside the lamp and made your way to the bathroom to shower, footsteps echoing in the empty apartment. Rafayel would be home in a few hours, and already your body was singing with anticipation, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest.

The water ran over your skin, washing away the lingering traces of your desire. But even as the heat soaked into your muscles, you couldn't shake the ache between your thighs, the constant hunger that only Rafayel could satisfy.

You tilted your head back, eyes fluttering closed. You bit your lower lip, a soft moan escaping you as you imagined him carrying you out of the bathroom, your naked body on full display as he brought you to the bedroom. You could almost feel his mouth on your breasts, his tongue swirling around the hardened peaks until you were writhing beneath him, desperate for more.

Suddenly you jumped slightly at the sound of Rafayel's voice, a thrill running down your spine at the realization that he was home. You hadn't expected him to be back so soon, figuring you still had a bit more time before his return.

"Just a moment, I'm finishing up in the shower!" you called out, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt. Inside, your heart was racing, your body already responding to the mere sound of his voice.

You quickly finished rinsing the shampoo from your hair, the scent of vanilla and honey filling the steamy air. Turning off the taps, you stepped out of the shower, grabbing a fluffy towel and wrapping it around your body.

Back in your room you picked a simple sundress, the soft fabric falling to just above your knees. It was a dress you knew he liked, one that made his gaze linger on the way it hugged your curves.

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you stepped out of your room, your bare feet sinking into the plush carpet of the hallway. You could hear Rafayel moving around in the living room, the soft clink of glass on glass telling you he was likely pouring himself a drink.

You paused for a moment, gathering your courage before stepping into the living room. Rafayel stood with his back to you, pouring a measure of amber liquid into a tumbler. He was dressed in a button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of dark slacks that hugged his sculpted ass.

"Welcome," you said softly, stepping further into the room. "I'm glad you're back early." You couldn't help the way your voice wavered slightly.

The moment Rafayel turned to face you, his striking blue and pink eyes locked onto yours, they immediately darkened with a hunger that made your breath catch in your throat and in an instant, he was across the room, his long strides eating up the distance between you.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling your body flush against his firm chest. His eyes raked over your face, taking in every detail, the flush on your cheeks, the way your lips parted slightly as if in invitation. They drifted lower, lingering on the curve of your neck, the swell of your breasts beneath the thin fabric of your sundress. You could feel the heat of his gaze like a physical caress, your skin tingling in its wake.

"God, I've missed you," he breathed, before lowering his head and capturing your lips in a kiss. It was a kiss filled with all the pent up longing and desire of the time you've spent apart, a kiss that spoke of a hunger that could only be sated by the feel of your body against his.

His lips moved over yours, his tongue delving into the warmth of your mouth to tangle with your own. You could taste the whiskey on his tongue, the smoky flavor mingling with the sweetness of his own unique taste.

His hand slid from your chin to the back of your neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. The other hand on your waist tightened, pressing your soft curves against the hard planes of his body until you could feel every inch of him, from his sculpted chest to the growing bulge in his pants. He kissed you until you were breathless, until your head was spinning and your knees felt weak. He kissed you until you were clinging to him, your fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself against the storm of sensation he was unleashing.

"We can't... not right now, cutie," he said, his tone laced with regret . "Finish getting ready. I'm taking you back to my house, I have something I want to show you."

You nodded, your body still tingling from Rafayel's intense kiss and touch. With a soft sigh, you stepped back and made your way to your room to finish getting ready. As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you, trailing over your curves, lingering on the sway of your hips as you moved. 

In your room, you quickly finished what you had started, brushing out your damp hair until it fell in soft waves around your shoulders. You slipped on a pair of cute, strappy sandals that showed off the delicate arches of your feet and painted nails. A quick swipe of mascara, a dab of gloss on your lips, and you were ready.

You took a deep breath before stepping back out into the living room, finding Rafayel exactly where you had left him, seated on the couch, one long leg crossed over the other as he sipped his drink.

Your eyes widened slightly as you noticed the book was no longer on the side table where you had left it, but instead resting on the couch cushion next to Rafayel. A wave of embarrassment washed over you a deep blush spreading across your face

You hoped with every fiber of your being that Rafayel hadn't flipped through the pages, hadn't seen the dog eared corners marking the scenes you found particularly...stimulating. The thought of him reading them, perhaps even catching a glimpse of the words describing the intimate acts you secretly longed to experience with him, made your core clench and your heart race.

Trying to play it cool, you casually made your way over to the couch, stopping a respectable distance away from where Rafayel was seated. "Ready to go?" you asked.

"I'm more than ready," Rafayel murmured, his voice smooth like velvet. In one fluid motion, he downed the last of his drink, the glass clinking softly as he set it back down on the table. Rising to his feet, he towered over you, his tall body casting a shadow that made you feel small and feminine in comparison.

Without warning, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a teasing kiss. It was a mere brush of his mouth against yours and before you could even react, he was pulling away, his hand slipping down to the small of your back as he guided you out of the apartment.

🐡🐡🐡🐡🐡🐡🐡🐡🐡🐡🐡🐡🐡

As you stepped through the doorway of Rafayel's house, suddenly finding yourself swept up into his arms, you let out a surprised gasp that quickly turned into a fit of giggles. "Rafayel!" you squealed, instinctively looping your arms around his neck to steady yourself. "Put me down! I can walk just fine on my own."

Despite your protests, you couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement course through you at being held so effortlessly in Rafayel's muscular arms. He carried you bridal style, your dress riding up slightly to reveal a peek of your smooth, bare thighs. 

Rafayel grinned at your laughter, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made your heart flutter. "But I want to carry you," he insisted playfully, giving you a little squeeze as he held you close to his chest. "Buuuuuut, don't ever expect me to give you a piggyback ride, it will only make me look like a sea turtle" he teased, making you laugh even harder.

As Rafayel carried you into the living room, your laughter faded, replaced by a sudden gasp of surprise as you took in the romantic scene before you. The table was set for a fancy dinner, complete with a crisp white tablecloth, gleaming china, and a vase of fresh roses as a centerpiece.

But what caught your eye and made your cheeks flush a deep, telling pink was the painting hung on the wall behind the table. It was a stunning portrait of yourself, captured in a moment of unguarded joy and laughter. Your eyes sparkled, your lips were curved in a radiant smile, and your hair danced around your face as if caught in a soft breeze. The painting was breathtaking, his skills evident in every brushstroke.

"Rafayel..." you breathed, a mix of emotions clogging your throat. "When did you... how did you...?" You were at a loss for words, deeply touched that he had not only thought to create such a romantic setting for your dinner but had also painted your portrait and displayed it so prominently in his home.

Your heart raced as you met Rafayel's gaze, seeing the love and adoration shining in his eyes. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you blinked rapidly to keep them at bay. "It's... it's wonderful," you managed to say, your voice thick with emotion. "Thank you, Rafayel. 

"Puh-lease, you deserve much more than this" He said as he carried you closer to the table, letting you take in the romantic scene. "But I wanted to start by showing you, in my own way, how much you mean to me"

He set you down gently on your feet, keeping his arms around your waist as he looked into your eyes. The portrait loomed behind him, the painted version of you smiling down at the two of you, a silent witness to this intimate moment.

"Please, have a seat," he said softly, pulling the chair out for you like a true gentleman.

As you settled into the plush seat, he pushed the chair in, his hands coming to rest lightly on your shoulders. Leaning down, he pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head before stepping around to take his own seat across from you.

As you both savored the delicious meal, Rafayel talked about his trip, painting a vivid picture of the places he'd seen and the people he'd met. He spoke of the beautiful landscapes, the fascinating art he'd admired, and the new techniques he'd learned, all while his eyes never left yours.

As the plates were cleaned and the wine glasses drained, Rafayel set down his napkin and rose from his seat. "It's time for dessert," he announced with a playful grin, turning to head towards the kitchen.

As he walked back to the table, he stumbled slightly, his hands both occupied with holding two small, beautifully decorated cakes.

Instinctively, you jumped up to help, not wanting him to struggle alone. "Let me help you," you offered, hurrying over to where he stood, trying to regain his balance. As you approached, Rafayel lost his grip on one of the cakes, watching in horror as it tumbled to the floor with a soft thud.

"Oh, damn it," he cursed under his breath, his brow furrowing in frustration. But before he could bend down to clean up the mess, you were already on your knees, carefully gathering the pieces and setting them aside.

"Hand me that napkin..."

Suddenly you felt Rafayel's hands slip under your armpits. Before you could react, he was lifting you effortlessly to your feet, his fingers splaying across your back.

Startled, you let out a soft gasp as Rafayel began to walk you backwards to the table, his eyes darkening with a hunger that made your skin prickle.

With a gentle push of his hand, he swept the empty plates and cutlery aside, clearing a space on the table in front of where he stood. Your heart raced as you realized his intention, a blush spreading across your cheeks at the thought of what he had in mind. "Rafayel," you whispered, surprise and anticipation coloring your voice. But any further protests were silenced as he sat you on the edge of the table.

He stepped between your legs, his hands coming to rest on your thighs, his fingers gently squeezing the soft flesh. There was a small, enigmatic smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"I have a different kind of dessert in mind," His hands slid slowly up your thighs, pushing the fabric of your sundress higher and higher until the cool air kissed the bare skin beneath. "And trust me, cutie... Im going to love every single bite."

Rafayel sat back down in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly spread your legs apart, revealing more of your smooth skin.

As he leaned in closer, his face was hovering inches from your knee when you suddenly clenched your thighs together.

Rafayel paused, his hands still in between your thighs as he tilted his head to the side, his expression a mix of curiosity "Wait," he said softly, "How is it that you have no problem reading such...delicious filthy things in your books, but when I want to make them a reality for you, you suddenly get all shy?"

He leaned back slightly, his thumbs gently rubbing circles on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as he studied your face, trying to understand the contradiction in your behavior. 

You took a deep, shaky breath, your cheeks burning with a fierce blush as you tried to find the right words. The truth hung heavily on your tongue, but you knew you could no longer hide from Rafayel, not when he was looking at you like that.

"Rafayel, I... I don't taste good down there," you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. Embarrassed, you turned your face away from him, unable to meet his gaze as you confessed your insecurity. "I'm sorry, I just... I don't want you to think that I'm not appreciative of what you want to do. It's just..."

Before you could finish your confession, Rafayel's deep, rumbling voice cut through the air, "How do you know that?" he asked, his thumbs pausing their gentle circles on your thighs as he waited for your answer.

You hesitated for a moment, not wanting to bring up an ex-boyfriend while in the midst of this intimate moment with Rafayel. But seeing no alternative, you took a deep breath and replied softly, "A guy I was seeing before you... he told me that."

Rafayel let out a soft laugh at your words "Oh, so it was one of those boys, huh?" he mused, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

At the sound of his laughter, you found yourself turning back to face him, your curiosity piqued. As your gaze met his, you were struck by the sudden intensity of his eyes, they blazed with a mix of amusement, affection, and a hint of something else.

Rafayel's hand slid slowly up your thigh, his fingertips leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His eyes darkened with desire as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "You know, y/n ," he murmured "I want to do absolutely filthy things to you, especially to this cute little cunt of yours."

As he spoke those dirty words, his hand reached the hem of your dress, his fingers dipping beneath the fabric to brush against the damp lace of your panties. He could feel the heat emanating from your core, could sense the way your body responded to his touch, even through the thin barrier of your underwear.

"But only if you let me," Rafayel purred, as he gazed deeply into your eyes. At the same time, he gently tugged your panties to the side and sank a single finger inside you, feeling your walls clench around the sudden intrusion. He groaned softly at the sensation, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment as he savored the feeling of your heat around his finger.

"And if you like what I'm about to do..." Rafayel said, his finger slowly pumping in and out of your tight cunt, "I won't be able to stop at just once. I'll need to taste you again and again until you are dripping down my chin.

He slowly pulled his glistening finger from your pussy, a low groan escaping his lips as he took in the sight of your arousal coating it and without a word, he brought his hand up to your mouth, his gaze locked onto yours.

"Open your mouth cutie ," he commanded softly, the tip of his finger brushing against your lower lip, smearing your arousal there. "Taste yourself on me. Taste how sweet and delicious you are."

You hesitated for a moment, your cheeks burning with embarrassment at the thought of tasting your own arousal. But the hunger in his eyes was impossible to ignore, his intense gaze daring you to comply with his command.

With a shaky breath, you parted your lips, allowing his finger to slip into your mouth. The moment it touched your tongue, you could taste the evidence of your desire, the faintly sweet and slightly musky flavor exploding across your taste buds. It was a new and intense experience, one that sent a shiver of excitement down your spine as you swirled your tongue around his finger.

Unable to hold back any longer, Rafayel acted on his primal instincts and in one swift motion, he bunched up the hem of your dress and brought the fabric to your lips, his eyes never leaving yours. "Here, hold this for me," his voice was thick with lust. "Bite down on it."

You reluctantly clamped your teeth onto the fabric, the action exposed your covered cunt to his hungry eyes, the damp lace clinging to you like a second skin.

He grabbed your hips, his strong hands gripping you possessively as he gently pulled you to the edge of the table. You gasped softly as he suddenly bent your right leg, exposing you even further to his greedy eyes. A shiver ran through you when he leaned in, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

He didn't dive in immediately, teasing you with a trail of soft kisses. His lips suckled at the delicate skin near your knee, his tongue darting out to taste you, to leave a path of fire in its wake. Slowly, torturously, he worked his way up your thigh, inching closer and closer to your center.

"Rafayel..." you whimpered around the fabric stuffed in your mouth, your hips writhing with anticipation. 

Rafayel continued sucking dark hickeys into the soft skin of your inner thigh, marking you as his. Each one sent jolts of electricity zipping through your nervous system, making you squirm and gasp.

Just as you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to bear the intensity of the sensations, Rafayel lifted his head and a breathy moan escaped your lips as you felt the ghost of his breath skating across your cunt. Instinctively, you tried to clamp your thighs together, but Rafayel was too quick, his hands gripped your knees, holding them firmly apart as he gazed at your glistening folds, barely concealed by the damp lace of your panties. "Don't hide from me, my cute miss bodyguard, I want to see all of you, taste all of you."

He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against the damp fabric as he inhaled deeply, taking in your intoxicating scent. "Fuck, you smell divine," he groaned.

You felt Rafayel hook his fingers into the waistband of your panties, the damp lace clinging to your sensitive flesh. With a sharp tug, he yanked them down your legs, the scrap of fabric sliding over your skin and baring your dripping pussy to his hungry gaze.

"Look at you," Rafayel growled "So fucking wet and ready for me. I've barely touched you and you're already dripping."

Instead of immediately giving in to the urge to devour you whole, Rafayel paused. He trailed his fingers lightly through your folds, feeling the hot, silky evidence of your arousal coating his digits. Slowly, teasingly, he circled your entrance with the pad of his thumb, applying a delicious pressure that made your walls clench and flutter eagerly.

You let out a soft whimper, your body aching for more of his touch. Rafayel looked up at you "Patience my petite artiste," he murmured as the rough pad of his thumb pressed against the swollen nub, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your core. At the same time, he slipped two long, thick fingers deep inside you, curling them just so to brush against that special spot that made you see stars.

You gasped and writhed beneath his touch, your body overwhelmed with the intense sensations. An arm flung over your eyes as you surrendered to the feeling, your breath coming in sharp, quick pants. Soft mewls and whimpers escaping as Rafayel worked you over with skilled fingers. Drool was beginning to soak the fabric you had been biting down on.

You could feel the heat of his breath puffing against your dripping folds, could sense how close his handsome face was to your core. The knowledge that he wasn't repulsed, that he wanted to taste you, to consume you, only heightened your arousal. Your juices flowed freely, coating his fingers and dripping down onto the table beneath you.

As you felt your climax building, your body tensing and coiling like a spring ready to snap, Rafayel changed his tactic. Just as you were on the edge of ecstasy, he dragged his tongue along your slit. The sensation was electric, sending pleasure shooting up your spine.

He started at your entrance, his tongue delving between your folds, lapping up the slick arousal that coated them. He groaned at the taste of you, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh and pushing you even closer.

You cried out, your voice echoing through the room as Rafayel's lips closed around your clit. Your hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles turning white as you clung to it for dear life. The fabric you had been biting down on fell from your lips, leaving Rafayel under the skirt of your dress.

"Oh god—" you gasped, your words dissolving into a strangled moan as he sucked even harder on your clit, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bud.

Your hips jerked and bucked, trying to grind against his face, desperate for more of that exquisite friction. The feeling of his lips wrapped around your clit, suckling and teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves, combined with the thrust of his fingers pumping in and out of you was pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

"Oh fuck—" you panted, pulling your dress back, hands tangling in his hair as you held him against you, not wanting him to stop. Your walls clenched and fluttered around his fingers, growing tighter and tighter as your climax rapidly approached.

Rafayel!" you screamed, your voice breaking as the first waves of your orgasm crashed over you. Your body shuddered, juices gushing from your spasming cunt to flood his mouth and chin. Your hands gripped his hair harder, simultaneously pulling him closer and pushing him away as you rode out the crest of your climax.

A final moan tore from your throat as the last waves of ecstasy washed over you, leaving you feeling boneless. When your eyes fluttered open, you found Rafayel looking at you, his face glistening with your juices. He wore a smug, satisfied smirk as he took in the sight of you, wrecked by the force of your orgasm.

"Well?" he asked before he licked his lips, savoring your taste. 

Suddenly, tears began to stream down your cheeks, your emotions running high from the intense experience. Rafayel's expression immediately shifted to one of concern as he took in your sudden distress. He gently removed his fingers from your core and brushed the tears from your face with his thumb, his brow furrowed in worry.

"Cutie, what's wrong?" he asked softly, his voice laced with concern. "Did I hurt you somehow? I'm so sorry if I did..."

He trailed off as he noticed the way your shoulders shook with silent sobs, confusion etched across his face. Just then, a small hiccup escaped your lips, followed by a choked laugh.

"I can't believe I've been missing out on this all this time. Why did I wait so long to let you do that?"

Rafayel blinked in surprise at your words, then let out a deep, rumbling laugh. He shook his head, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Oh, cutie," he chuckled, his thumb brushing away another stray tear. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you never have to go without again."

[kylominis]

Omnipotent Perception pt 2? [♡]

[lvl1l1]

How the LaDS men react to you leaving a note in their lunch

pairings: Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb x F!Reader(separate)

content: corny puns(i’m sorry), tiny bit suggestive, mostly fluff, mentions of meals being skipped in caleb’s

a/n: caleb’s and sylus’s a teensy bit longer bc i got carried away at end oopsies

Xavier

You and Xavier usually ate lunch together, be it after a mission or after training. Perks of being partners at work.

Today, however, was different.

Xavier had to join the analytics department for a debrief after a special solo mission.

He originally planned on flaking and leaving with you as soon as you had wrapped up your work.

But once you had persuaded him a bit with promises of spending the whole day together tomorrow and a long cuddle session tonight, he caved.

You patted his head as he was pouting at you and pressed a small box to his chest, before turning around and waving goodbye.

He barely registered the tupperware he was holding, as he longingly stared at your retrieving back.

Once you were out of sight, he looked at what exactly you had given him.

Taking in the silver box, he smiled to himself.

The corners of his lips turned upwards and he went to sit down on the nearest chair.

You expected him to eat it during a short break during the meeting, but he couldn’t wait that long, knowing you prepared something for him.

He was contemplating taking out his phone and telling you to come back and join him right now, eat the food you had made for him, together.

He stopped that train of thought, thinking to himself that he didn’t want to drag you back here.

With a slight shake of his head and sigh escaping his lips, he went to open the box.

The first thing he noticed was the amazing smell of whatever you had packed him, the second wasn’t the food but a little yellow note stuck to the roof of the lid.

“Hang in there, Xavie.

I’ll make it worth your while tonight ;)”

The tips of his ears turned red, he stared at the note before breathing out a chuckle.

You really knew how to motivate him, didn’t you?

Before he could linger on the note for too long, he heard a chipper voice behind him.

“Oh, hey Xavier! Mind if we join you?”

He saw Tara and Simone put their bags on the table he was sitting at.

He gave them a small nod of acknowledgement, immediately tuning them back out again after.

He hid the note in his pocket, thinking about how to repay you later.

Zayne

Zayne was used to you preparing his lunch for him, he considered you bringing him his lunch during his breaks as part of his work routine.

He loved getting to see you amid his packed schedule, finding a way to sneak in some extra time for you two to spend together.

Unfortunately, today you couldn’t drop by and bring it to him in person, since you had to go on a mission outside of town.

Instead, you had handed him his lunchbox this morning, kissing him on the cheek before heading out.

He usually looked forward to his break because he knew he’d be able to see you.

Today, that perk fell away, so once his break time rolled around, he kept on working on some reports.

Until he heard the notification sound he put specifically for you,

“Don’t forget to eat, Dr. Zayne!”

“I miss uuuu, can’t wait to see u later”

A small smile graced his lips, an expression you easily brought out of him.

“Take care of yourself. I’ll be alright, as long as you’ll return in one piece later.”

Once he saw you were offline again, he put his phone away, finally taking out the lunchbox you had prepared for him this morning.

He placed it on his desk, taking the lid off.

He immediately noticed the small sticky note you had left.

“I’m “nuts” about you ;D enjoy your break, my love.”

Zayne silently quirked a brow as he read the message you wrote for him.

He shook his head as a quiet laugh escaped him.

His face went back to its usual deadpan expression.

If anyone were to walk in, he’d appear the same as he usually did. You’re the only one who would’ve been able to make out his hidden amusement.

Before he went to eating, he quickly pressed the sticky note to the frame of the picture he had of you two on his desk.

He was looking forward to welcoming you home tonight.

Rafayel

Rafayel had been whining all morning.

He was being forced to meet up with some art brokers outside of Linkon.

He had come up with 10 different excuses and 7 different plans on how to get out of this, yet all of his attempts were shut down. By you.

Talk about betrayal.

You had spent the entire morning talking him into going, saying how it would benefit him and how he should just make Thomas’s job easier for once.

Why couldn’t you understand that he just wanted to spend as much time with you as he could!!!

The next best idea in his mind was coaxing you into coming along.

Too bad for him, you already had plans for the day.

“Just get going already, you big baby.”

You had said to him.

“The sooner you get there, the sooner you can come back. Probably.”

You paid no mind to his heart clenching pout(self proclaimed) and just pinched his cheeks.

Before he could attempt anything else, like tripping over a brush and pretending to have broken his back, or blowing up his car(who knew what lengths he was willing go to, just to get out of work? You certainly didn’t want to find out.) you pressed a chaste but sweet kiss to his lips.

“Have a good day, Rafayel. And be nice to Thomas!”

And before he knew it, you were out of the door.

A groan left his lips, as he rolled his eyes in annoyance.

He was willing to go along with anything you had planned today, he just wanted to be with you a bit more.

Finally, wrapping up his sulking once he realised you weren’t coming back and he really did have to get going.

He grabbed his bag and left out the door you had disappeared out of, minutes before.

Fast forward a few hours later, he’d been sitting in some stuffy office, barely paying attention to what Thomas and the man sitting across from him were saying.

“Alright, let’s take five.”

At that, Rafayel perked up.

Immediately getting out of his chair and walking towards the door.

“Always nice doing business.”

Thomas gave him a pointed look,

“Rafayel, we aren’t done here yet. You better not take too long.”

The purple haired man hummed without looking back and left the building as quickly as he could.

While he knew Thomas was probably gonna think he left, as soon as he couldn’t find him inside, he didn’t care.

He got in his car and rested his head against the steering wheel.

He stretched and went to reach into his bag to grab his phone to text you, when he suddenly saw something he hadn’t noticed before.

There was a silver box sitting in his bag.

You sweet, cunning little thing.

He immediately pulled the lunchbox out, a look of intrigue in his eyes.

Of course, you wouldn’t just cruelly send him into hours of boring work, without rewarding him!

He took the lid off, being met with another sweet, sweet surprise.

Your handwriting immediately caught his attention.

“You’re doing amazing, baby!”

A chibi you doing a thumbs up next to the message,

and on the bottom you drew two stick figures holding hands, surrounded by hearts.

He chuckled quietly and if anyone told you about the lovesick look on his face as he stared at the tiny note, he would’ve sworn they were lying.

He reached back into his bag to grab his phone, snapping a picture of the note,

“seems like ur down bad for me lol”

You didn’t have to know about the goofy grin on his face as he ate whatever you had prepared.

Sylus

Whenever he could, Sylus would make sure you and him shared at least one meal together.

He knew, that due to your conflicting schedules, that wasn’t always possible.

By the time you’d wake up, Sylus’s day was slowly drawing to a close,

by the time you’d have lunch, Sylus would be fast asleep,

and by the time he’d wake up, you were finishing up the last of your work.

Yet he’d make an effort regardless.

Whether it be having breakfast, while you were eating your last meal of the day or keeping you company while he brought you breakfast, simultaneously getting ready to wind down after a night of work.

Obviously, that didn’t always work.

Sometimes you two would barely be able to see each other, missing one another due to your complicated relay race of a sleep schedule.

Today was one of those days.

Yesterday was your day off, but you had to get up early today to get to the Hunters Association on time, so you decided to catch up on some sleep and hit the hay early last night.

As Sylus had to get ready to leave, you had finished up your dinner.

Just as you got into the bedroom to call it a day, Sylus was heading out to tie up some loose ends.

With murmured declarations of love, you bid each other farewell. A quick kiss on the cheek, a soft peck on the lips and out the door he was and you were settling into bed.

Morning came rolling around, Sylus was taking longer than usual.

Before you knew it, you had to head out of the door, taking one of Sylus’s many cars to drive back to Linkon City,

not before sending him a quick text, though;

“I’ll get going now. Rest well, Sy!”

By the time he had gotten back to the base, you had long been gone.

He rubbed his eyes as he read your text.

Feeling groggy, he decided to skip his last meal and texted you back a good night message.

Once he had woken back up, he was half expecting you to be back, laying next to him but to his disappointment, you were no where in sight.

He headed to the kitchen as he checked the time.

5 pm. Surely you’d be coming back soon.

Sylus found Luke and Kieran lounging around the fridge and he quirked an eyebrow at them,

“You two usually don’t show your faces here, unless it’s time to eat.”

The twins looked at him, Luke scratching his neck and Kieran going back to looking around the kitchen,

“Well, boss…”

“Your bad luck struck again.”

“Very unfortunate, indeed.”

“Mhm, mhm!”

Sylus looked at them unimpressed, waiting for them to elaborate.

Luke and Kieran looked each other, silently trying to get the other to break the news to him.

“You see,”

“You might’ve just missed…”

“Miss hunter, boss-man.”

“Mhm, you totally missed her, boss.”

“She just left actually.”

Sylus could feel a headache forming, squinting his eyes at his henchmen.

“She was here? Why would she leave so soon, then?”

The twins shrugged in unison. Mumbling something about how unpredictable hunters were.

“She actually got here a few hours ago,”

“Said she didn’t wanna wake you.”

“Something about you needing the sleep.”

He heard one of them snicker, he couldn’t care enough to glare at the one who did.

Sylus ran a hand through his hair and a pointed look was enough to send the twins scurrying off.

He made a mental note to subtly complain to you about this later.

His mood souring after finding out he just missed you by a hair, he decided to have someone bring his breakfast up to his office, as he turned on his heel.

He spent the day in his office, working through a pile of reports and modifying Mephisto.

He sent you a few texts in between but gathered that you were busy, considering the lack of responses.

He was starting to think he shouldn’t have worked on Mephisto today, curious to see what you were up to, that was so much more important than answering his texts.

At around midnight, a knock resounded on his door.

“Come in.”

His hopes that it might just be you crushed, as he saw one of the twins walk in.

“Yo, boss-man, we were told to make sure you take a break. Instructions from the boss of all bosses.”

He placed a lunchbox on Sylus’s desk and disappeared as quickly as he had shown up.

Mephisto started cawing, reminiscing a laugh.

Sylus shut him up with a flicker of his gaze.

He reached for the black box and opened it.

His lips curled upwards into a half smirk as his eyes landed on the post-it note.

“The anticipation of seeing you later is driving me crazy.

Now, eat up!”

He could read you like an open book, even when you weren’t with him, yet having you be so open about your feelings made something inside of his chest bloom.

Even when you were busy, you still made sure to leave your mark on his day one way or another.

The soft look in his eyes was only ever reserved for you and he couldn’t wait to show it to you.

Don’t think he’ll forget about how you didn’t answer his texts, though.

Caleb

Growing up, Caleb always packed your school lunch.

He would cook for you whenever you were home.

And even when he wasn’t home, he’d make sure you were fed one way or another.

That habit never stopped as you two got older.

He loved cooking for you, it’s the reason he learned how to make all of your favourite dishes.

You always wanted to return the favour but a good moment never presented itself.

From starting college and becoming a pilot to becoming the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, his discipline only increased and so did his love for you.

Just when on earth could you find the time to make food for a man who got up at the ass crack of dawn to work out and make you a nutritious breakfast.

Well, once you found out that this same disciplined man skipped his own meals in favour of getting his work done, you decided to step your game up.

You had it all planned out, you’d take a few days off without telling him, meal prepping for him and getting to his apartment in Skyhaven without telling him.

As you arrived at his place and unlocked the door, stepping inside, your phone vibrated.

“Whatcha up to, pips? ;)”

You squinted around the room trying to see if he had any cameras inside.

Arriving at the conclusion that he probably(hopefully) just got a notification from his door being unlocked, you texted him back.

“Got the day off, gonna wait here until you come back.”

You felt your phone vibrate a few more times after you tucked it back into your pocket, you made your way to his fridge.

Wishing he could see your face of absolute disbelief at the sight of his pathetic fridge.

Empty. Entirely empty, aside from a few apples.

Who lives like this?

Does this man live off of apples?!

You placed all the tupperware you had prepared ingredients in, in his fridge.

Some rice, boiled veggies and proteins.

You’d have to give him a good talking to about this later.

A weird feeling settled in your chest, realising he only really takes good care of himself when you’re around, which is also just a by-product of him taking care of you.

With a sigh you closed his fridge, one more lunchbox remaining at the bottom of your bag.

Still ignoring the messages he had sent you, you left his apartment again.

Caleb was lounging in his office, he still had some time before he had to attend another meeting with the other Colonels and their subordinates.

He was wondering why you weren’t answering him, he was about to check the cameras around his apartment, when a knock resounded in his office.

He put his phone away, knowing he was about to get busy again.

-

His authoritative steps echoing through the emptying hallway.

The nurses and soldiers hurrying off after seeing his annoyed expression.

He paid them no mind, as he unlocked the door to his office.

As soon as he stepped inside, he took his hat off, running a hand through his hair.

Caleb couldn’t care less what the other people working there thought of him.

He gets his work done and he gets it done well.

Nothing else mattered, yet he couldn’t help but feel annoyed at these stuck up old men who dared to doubt his capabilities, be it out of sheer jealous or fear.

They got another thing coming, if they think they could mess with him.

He doesn’t take lightly to his duties, and he doesn’t take lightly to protecting you.

You. That’s who all this was about.

He would put up with about anything, as long as it meant you’d be safe.

Because you were everything to him, his sweet pipsq-

He lost his train of thought as he spotted the silly lunchbox sitting on his desk.

A pattern of red and green apples on it, decorated with stickers that had started to wear off.

It’s your old lunchbox.

He looked around his office, a grin finding its way onto his lips.

You’ve always been a sly one.

He sat down in his chair, inspecting the childish box.

As he took a look inside he was hit by the smell of braised chicken wings.

But he immediately lost interest in the food as soon as he saw the note you had snuck inside of the box.

“Learned from the best.

Eat well and rest well, Caleb.

Or you’ll have to face my fury >:(“

He chuckled to himself, you managed to get into his office undetected, just to drop off some lunch for him?

Caleb loved taking care of you.

It’s what he lived for, but he couldn’t lie.

He liked the feeling of you looking out for him as well.

You always manage to make all his doubts and worries disappear.

He’ll have to get creative with thanking you later.

[manikas-whims]

this is how i see them

[kandavers]

Rafayel’s equivalent of “You cheated on me in my dream”

[rafayelscutiee]

ni hao fine shyts

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

“Zephyr, could you pass the salt?” you ask, reaching across the kitchen counter.

“What?” Xavier looks up from his phone, brow slightly furrowed. The dim light of the kitchenette creates shadows on his face while he stays close to you at the kitchen island as you cook.

“Xavier,” you repeat, “the salt?”

He nods and slides it over. “Here,” he says simply before returning to the counter without another word. You continue preparing dinner together in comfortable silence, the only sounds being the soft hiss of vegetables sizzling in the pan as Xavier slowly lulls to sleep.

After eating, you’re both relaxing on the couch when you murmur, “Zephyr, can you grab that blanket?” Your eyes remain fixed on the phone in your hands.

“Who?” Xavier turns to you, his expression shifting slightly as the corners of his mouth turn downward.

“I said—”

“That’s not my name,” he says quietly. “Who is Zephyr?” Though his voice remains calm, there’s an unusual intensity to his gaze now, a subtle tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there moments before.

You struggle to keep a straight face as you respond, “What? I said Xavier.”

“No,” he says quietly, a hint of a pout forming on his lips. “You called me... Zephyr.”

You burst into laughter, unable to maintain the charade any longer. “I’m just messing with you! You should see your face right now.”

Xavier studies you for a long moment, his lower lip still protruding slightly. Without another word, he shifts position and lays his head on your lap, then gradually slides his arms around your waist until he’s essentially draped across you like a human blanket.

“Xavier?” you question, surprised by the sudden weight.

“Mine,” he mumbles into your shirt, his embrace tightening slightly as he closes his eyes, still wearing that subtle pout. “I’ll make sure you remember. Just wait.”

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

“Here you go, Zayden,” you say, setting a mug of coffee down in front of him. 

“Thank you,” Zayne accepts the cup with a nod, taking a sip before continuing his reading. His pen moves efficiently across the paper as he makes notes.

Throughout breakfast, you don’t notice anything amiss, though you catch him glancing at you occasionally with an unreadable expression, his dark eyes thoughtful beneath furrowed brows.

Hours later, as evening settles over the city, you return home from your mission. Zayne has arrived home before you, having completed his hospital rounds early for once. The transition from Dr. Zayne to simply Zayne happens as soon as you walk in—his tie is loosened, sleeves rolled up, the rigid posture softening just slightly. You’ve picked up takeout from his favorite restaurant, grateful for the rare evening when you can actually spend time together.

“Zayden, dinner’s ready!” you call out, arranging the food on plates in the kitchen.

“That’s not my name,” his voice comes from directly behind you, making you jump slightly. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.

“I—what?”

“Twice, you called me Zayden,” he says. “You did the same thing this morning at breakfast. I assumed you were still half-asleep then. Now I’m curious who’s occupying your thoughts.”

“Oh! I didn’t even realize—” When you explain it was just a mistake—perhaps a character from a show you’ve been watching, or a colleague’s name that stuck in your subconscious—Zayne’s expression softens.

He hums, stepping closer to you. He places one hand on your waist and the other under your chin, tilting your face up to his. “I’d prefer you keep your focus on the present, specifically on your actual boyfriend, Zayne.” He presses a brief, firm kiss to your lips before pulling back, the matter apparently settled for now.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

The afternoon sun streams through Rafayel’s studio windows as he works on a new painting.

“Gabriel, this came for you,” you say deliberately, holding out a package that arrived earlier.

No response. Rafayel continues painting as if he hadn’t heard you. Instead of returning to his canvas, he turns to his fish bowl where Reddie swims in lazy circles.

“Reddie, did you hear something?” he asks the fish, leaning toward the bowl. “Strange, I thought I heard someone addressing a stranger in our home.” He tilts his head, listening dramatically. “Maybe someone been sneaking some random man around when I’m not looking. That would explain why that someone is using names that aren’t mine.”

“Gabriel?” you try again, louder this time. The continued mispronunciation is clearly not helping your case.

Rafayel ignores you completely, continuing his one-sided conversation with the fish. “What do you think, Reddie? Should we be concerned? There’s clearly someone here speaking to people who don’t exist.” He sighs.

You try again, louder this time, fighting to keep the laughter from your voice.

Rafayel’s back stiffens further, but he doesn’t turn around. Instead, he continues speaking to Reddie as if you’re not even in the room. “You know, Reddie, loyalty is such a rare quality these days. At least you will never forget my name.” He strokes the top of the fish bowl gently with one finger. “Perhaps we should compose a song about abandonment and betrayal. I could return to the opera with a tragic ballad about a forgotten lover...”

You can’t contain your laughter any longer. “Rafayel, it’s me!”

His head snaps up immediately, his face breaking into a bright smile. “Oh! There you are, cutie! I didn’t see you come in. Is that for me?” He jumps up. “You’re just in time, I want to show you something.”

You soon find yourself caught and marked with colorful fingerprints as payback for your prank.

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

The soft lamplight illuminates Sylus’s study as he reclines in his leather armchair, engrossed in a vintage hardbound book. You approach with a cup of tea in hand.

“Silvan, are we still on for tonight?” You approach the table, trailing your fingers along its cool surface.

He continues examining his book, turning a page with deliberate slowness, making no indication he’s heard you. The only sound in the room is the song coming from his vinyl.

You clear your throat and try again. “Silvan? About tonight’s dinner...”

He finally looks up, a barely perceptible smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. His eyes—those unnaturally intense eyes that seem to see through every deception—fix on yours with amused interest. “Are you addressing me, sweetie? I believe you have me confused with someone else.”

The atmosphere in the room shifts subtly. Sylus has never been a man to tolerate carelessness, even from you. Especially from you.

“Sylus,” you correct yourself. “I meant Sylus.”

“Better,” he says, turning back to his book and marking his place with a bookmark. “And yes, I still plan to indulge you with my company tonight. Though I find myself curious about this... Silvan.” The way he lingers on the incorrect name sends a slight chill down your spine despite the warmth in the room.

You internally sigh, messing around with him always goes wrong for some reason.

Hours later, you find yourself at an exclusive restaurant. Sylus swirls the deep red wine in his glass, studying its color before taking a sip. He appears completely at ease. Just as you begin to think the earlier name slip has been forgotten, he casually remarks, “You know, (other name), this restaurant has excellent desserts. You should try the chocolate soufflé.”

Your head snaps up from your plate. “What did you call me?”

“Oh? Now you understand how it feels,” he chuckles, voice pitched for your ears alone. “Though I must say, your jealousy is far more entertaining than mine could ever be.”

His laughter fills the space between you as you struggle not to retort back.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

Delicious aromas fill your apartment as Caleb moves around the kitchen, preparing what promises to be an impressive dinner. You lean against the counter, watching him taste-test the sauce, admiring the way he looks in casual clothes instead of his uniform.

“Calvin, this smells amazing,” you say, reaching for a piece of chopped vegetable from the cutting board.

The wooden spoon in his hand freezes mid-stir. “Who?” His voice remains light, but you notice the immediate tension in his shoulders, the slight narrowing of his eyes as he turns to face you.

“The food,” you gesture to the simmering pots. “Whatever you’re making, it smells incredible.”

“No,” he says deliberately, each word precise and measured. “What did you just call me?”

“I said Caleb,” you keep up the act.

“Did you?” He sets down the wooden spoon and wipes his hands slowly on a kitchen towel before approaching you. “Because I clearly heard you call me by another name.”

The playful atmosphere from moments ago has evaporated completely. Though he’s not in uniform and you’ve known him for years, you’re suddenly very aware that this is the man who commands an entire fleet with unquestioning authority.

“It was just a slip of the tongue,” you insist, feeling the cool edge of the counter press against your back as he moves closer. “I don’t even know anyone named Calvin.”

“A slip,” he repeats, his voice deceptively soft as he stops directly in front of you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body. His eyes search yours with an intensity that makes your heart beat faster.

His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your lower lip, “I need to be certain my name is the only one on these pretty lips. Now,” he says, stroking your cheek gently, “Let’s try again. Who am I?”

“Caleb,” you breathe, and the smile that spreads across his face shows satisfaction.

“That’s right,” he confirms, pressing his forehead against yours for a moment. “And don’t you forget it. Not ever.”

Based on this request.

[mayweholdhands]

Lesson learned 😶

(She apologized afterwards)

[candicornart]

If MC randomly flashed the Lis

[aleksatia]

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.