#suiwrites���

[connorsui]

He stood outside the courthouse, using the building’s reflective glass as a makeshift mirror. He adjusted the tie she’d picked out for him that morning, tugging it loose and then tightening it again until it sat just right. His free hand ran through his hair, smoothing the strands she’d ruffled when she kissed him goodbye with a sly smirk. The faint scent of her perfume clung to his shirt, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Man, your wife is insane,” an officer muttered as he walked past, throwing him a glance.

Without missing a beat, he chuckled, straightening his collar. “Yeah, no shit. Why do you think I married her?” He shot the officer a grin through the reflection, adjusting his cufflinks like this was just another day in his life. “I’m literally on my way to her trial right now, carrying her favorite cookies and wearing the shirt she insisted on. Hell, I’ve even got her eyeliner in this bag because, and I quote, she wants to look stunning for the pictures.”

He gave himself one last look in the glass, smoothing the fabric of his shirt, before turning to the officer. “And when this is all over, I’ll be paying her bail. Not because I have to—because I want to. She’ll come out, probably ask for a shopping spree or some fancy dinner, and you know what? I’ll give it to her. Every last bit.”

His voice softened as he glanced down at the cookies in his hand, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Because she’s my wife. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[krystaline]

closed for @suiwrites ! at some castle corridor, night-time .

enveloped in the darkness, it has come to no one’s surprise that emma was sneaking outside the gryffindor tower past curfew, skillfully hiding underneath the shadows as she's done so multiple times. and although ideally, she would've preferred to venture the castle with her fellow miscreants, one was terrified of even stepping a toe beyond the fat lady's portrait without the others, while the very same others were more preoccupied with some map they devised which emma finds nothing short of precarious. her plan for tonight was simple however: slip a couple of frog spawning soaps into the bathrooms, let them perform their magic, and wake up to quite the hysterics in the morning— plain and simple. it wasn't much compared to her more elaborate schemes, but she was itching to do something and who would she be if she does not surrender to her impulses.

as she was rounding around the corner on the way to her last couple of washrooms, her spirits were dampened by her furry nemesis whom she was hoping to avoid tonight. mrs. norris was staring at her as they meet, caught her red-handed with the bag of soap in her hands; and considering where the vile cat was, mr. filch is to be expected. emma had no other option but to run, and while doing so, completely cursing herself for not taking james's cloak for the night that it didn't let her mind dictate where her feet was taking her. she zooms past corridors, almost faster than the speed of a broomstick that it completely surprised her when a human body suddenly appears and ended up colliding into. "ow ! must you really emerge out of nowhere?" she groans, hand on her head as she hears distant footsteps coming from the hallway behind her. instinctively, emma grabs the other person's hand and drags them into the closest and unlocked room she could find. "terribly sorry— not really, but i have to drag you in here to make sure you're not going to rat on me."

[connorsui]

drunk! simon

You set down the small pile of items you’d gathered; cotton pads, a bottle of micellar water, and a towel on the nightstand before making your way toward him. “You look like you’ve had better days,” you teased softly, crouching down to meet his eyes.

Simon gave you a lazy, lopsided smile, his blue eyes glassy but filled with affection. “Y’know, I don’t say it enough,” he slurred, his accent heavier than usual, “but I’m bloody lucky to have you, luv. How’d a lug like me end up with someone like you?”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips twitching into a small smile. “You’re repeating yourself, Simon.”

“Don’t care,” he muttered, leaning forward slightly as if drawn to you like a magnet. “Need you to know it.”

Your heart softened as you reached for a cotton pad, dabbing it with micellar water before gently tilting his head back. “Let me clean you up,” you murmured, your voice gentle as you began swiping the pad along his face.

He sighed at your touch, his broad shoulders relaxing under your care. “You’ve got the softest hands,” he mumbled, his voice quiet and heavy with sleepiness. “Don’t deserve you, darlin’. Too good for me.”

“Simon,” you said softly, shaking your head as you worked, “if you keep saying that, I might start believing you don’t like yourself very much.”

He chuckled faintly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “I like me just fine. Just like you more. Love you more.”

You set the used pad aside and smoothed a bit of moisturizer onto your fingers, massaging it gently into his skin. He leaned into your touch like a contented cat, his eyes fluttering shut as a quiet hum escaped him.

“All done,” you said softly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Now let’s get you to lay down.”

But before you could pull away, Simon grabbed your wrist with surprising gentleness and tugged you closer. He slouched forward, resting his head on your lap, his arms wrapping loosely around your waist.

“Simon,” you said, exasperated but amused, “you can’t just—”

“Not movin’,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your leg. “Too comfy here.”

You sighed, a soft laugh escaping as your fingers instinctively combed through his messy hair. He melted further into your lap, his breathing slowing as you stroked his scalp.

“Love you so much ...did I mention how much I love you? ..I love you” he murmured, his voice a quiet slur.

Your chest ached with warmth as you looked down at him. “I love you too, Simon,” you whispered, your fingers still threading through his hair.

Simon’s grip on you tightened slightly, and for a while, you let him stay there, cradled in your care, his quiet devotion lulling the room into peaceful stillness.

[connorsui]

"But what would you do if she stabs you!?"

Sylus: If my wife stabbed me, I'd thrust myself deeper into the blade just to be a few inches closer to her...

"...."

Sylus: but, that's just me, I don't know

[connorsui]

Next to my wife

The room was silent except for the faint hum of the overhead fluorescent light, casting a sterile glow over the darkened office. The glass walls reflected the sharp lines of the man standing at its center—a man whose reputation was whispered with equal parts, fear, and reverence. Dressed in a tailored black suit, his presence was as sharp and cold as the knife that rested on the desk beside him.

Before him, a man knelt on the polished floor, bound and bloodied, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The once-pristine white shirt he wore was now stained with crimson, clinging to his trembling frame. Despite the fear in his eyes, he forced himself to speak, his voice hoarse but unwavering.

“After everything you have done,” he rasped, each word dragging itself out of his throat, “how will you sleep at night?”

The suited man didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a practiced flick of his lighter. The flame illuminated his face for a brief moment—sharp jawline, calculating eyes, and an expression that betrayed no hint of remorse. He took a slow drag, exhaling a stream of smoke that curled lazily into the air before speaking.

“Next to my wife,” he said simply, his voice low and even, as if the question had been nothing more than idle conversation.

The man on the floor blinked, disbelief flickering across his face. “Your... wife?” he spat, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. “You speak of love? You? After the lives you’ve destroyed? The families you’ve torn apart?”

The suited man’s lips curved into a faint smile—not one of amusement, but something softer, almost wistful. He walked around the kneeling man, his footsteps deliberate and slow, the sharp click of his shoes against the marble floor the only sound in the room.

“You think a man like me can’t love?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with a quiet intensity. “You think all I am is the blood on my hands?” He paused, turning to face the prisoner, the glow of the cigarette illuminating his face. “Maybe I am. But she—she’s the one thing in this world that’s clean. Untouched by all of this.”

He gestured around the room, as though the opulent surroundings—the leather furniture - the glass walls overlooking the glittering city—were as tainted as he was.

“She knows what I am,” he continued, his voice softening. “And she loves me anyway. Not because she’s blind to the things I’ve done, but because she sees the man I could be—the man I am with her.”

The kneeling man shook his head, his expression a mix of fury and disbelief. “You think that makes you a good man? That loving her wipes away all the lives you’ve taken?”

The suited man crouched down then, bringing himself to eye level with the prisoner. His gaze was steady, unflinching, as he spoke.

“No,” he said, his tone quiet but firm. “I’m not a good man. I never will be. But for her, I’m the best version of myself I can be. And if that means burning down the rest of the world to keep her safe, so be it.”

He straightened, taking another drag of his cigarette before extinguishing it in a nearby ashtray. The room fell silent again, the tension thick enough to choke on.

A knock at the door broke the moment. The man’s expression softened immediately as the door opened, and you stepped inside.

You were a vision of understated elegance, dressed in a simple black dress that clung to your frame just enough to hint at its curves. Your eyes, warm and bright, scanned the room before landing on him.

“It’s late,” you said softly, your voice carrying a quiet authority that made the man standing in the room seem almost ordinary.

He nodded, crossing the room to you. His hand found yours, and he lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles with a tenderness that seemed impossible for a man like him.

Your gaze flicked to the prisoner, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “Is everything handled?”

“It will be,” he assured you, his voice gentle now, as though you had the power to soften the sharp edges of his world.

You smiled, a small, knowing smile, and leaned into him. “Good. Come to bed.”

As you both left, his hand resting protectively on the small of your back, he paused at the door and glanced over his shoulder at the prisoner.

“How do I sleep at night?” he repeated, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I sleep with her. And she’s the only peace I’ve ever known.”

The door closed behind him, leaving the room silent but for the hum of the light and the weight of his words.

The husband in question: Geto Suguru, Caleb, Sylus, Vladimir, Sukuna, In-ho (The Front man), Eren Yeager, Toji Fushiguro, Bucky Barnes, Loki, Jason Todd, Victor Fries (Mr. Freeze), Silco, Overhaul, Dabi

[connorsui]

Imagine a Konig who not only bites but ..doesnt care if it fits or nah …that man will make it fit...

You barely had a moment to catch your breath before he was behind you, his large hands gripping your hips firmly as he pushed you against the wall. There were no soft words, no warnings. There never were with him.

Your panties shoved to the side in one swift motion as though they were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. His breath was hot against your neck, and then you felt it—the familiar sensation of his cock sliding between your folds, sinking into you with no hesitation. The stretch made you gasp, fingers scrambling to find purchase against the wall as he buried himself to the hilt.

Konig wasted no time. There was no tenderness in the way he fucked you, no hesitation. His thrusts were brutal, relentless, the wet sounds of your bodies colliding echoing through the room. The force of it had your legs shaking almost immediately, threatening to give out with every slam of his hips against your ass.

“Fuck,” he growled into your ear, his deep, gravelly voice sending shivers down your spine. “That’s it. Good girl. Take it.”

His hands gripped your hips so tightly you were certain you’d find bruises there later, but you didn’t care. The sensation of him pounding into you, the roughness of his thrusts, had your mind spinning, every nerve in your body alight with pleasure. His teeth found your shoulder, biting down hard, and you whimpered as the pain mixed deliciously with the pleasure coursing through you.

He loved leaving his mark on you. Your skin was perpetually covered in his bites—your neck, your thighs, your shoulders. And he always encouraged you to bite him back, leaving matching bruises on his own skin.

Your breath hitched as you felt him twitch inside you, his thrusts becoming erratic as he reached his peak. With a deep groan, Konig came, spilling himself inside you, hot and thick. But he didn’t stop. Not yet.

He kept going, fucking you harder now, using his own cum as lube, each thrust sending shockwaves through your overstimulated body. The feeling of his release leaking out of you, combined with the brutal pace of his thrusts, had you crying out, fingers desperately gripping the wall in front of you as your legs threatened to give out beneath you.

“Fuck, Ko—” you gasped, your voice trembling, barely able to form words as he pounded into you mercilessly.

“That’s it,” he growled again, his voice thick with lust, teeth grazing your neck before biting down hard once more. “You’re doing so well. Taking me so fucking well.”

Your body was trembling, mind hazy with pleasure, the relentless pace leaving you breathless. By the time Konig finally finished, his grip on you loosened, you were a shaking, dripping mess—legs weak, panties soaked through, and your mind blissfully wrecked.

With a final bite to your shoulder, Konig muttered. “Good girl.”

[connorsui]

Caleb's Encouragement

He groans and feels himself on the brink of another intense climax as you continue to milk him. "Your pussy is so sloppy, baby," he stammers, overwhelmed by the feeling of filling you up again. Your soft and wet walls massage him, sending waves of pleasure through his body. You moan from the intense sensation, your own body trembling with need.

He can't believe how wild and insatiable you've become, driving both of you insane with desire. Suddenly, his eyes snap open when he feels something warm hit his chest. Looking up, he sees tears glistening in your lashes and your thighs shaking uncontrollably as you grind down on his cock.

"I-I can't," you sob pathetically, still moving your hips in a desperate rhythm. The throbbing sensation inside of you only intensifies your need for release. "I can't stop, Caleb. It's not enough, I -"

As you finally look into his eyes, he can't help but feel shocked by your disheveled appearance. Your hair is a mess and your cheeks are flushed so hot and pink. But what surprises him the most are the tears streaming down your face. Yet even in this state, you are still the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

Caleb's heart aches at the sight of your desperate need. He reaches up to caress your tear-stained cheek,

"Shh, it's okay, baby," he soothes, voice husky with his arousal. "I've got you. I got you, just let go for me."

His hips snap up to meet yours, driving even deeper. You cry out at the intensity, more tears spilling over. Caleb's hands grip your waist, guiding your movements as he thrusts upward. The new angle has you seeing stars.

"There you go, just let go for me" he encourages. "Come for me. I want to feel you fall apart." feeling you nod frantically against him, unable to speak from the way his cock drilled up into your pussy, tip kissing your cervix with each thrust. "see?, I got you, j’ just relax, and take it, baby, let me spoil my girl"

[connorsui]

If your passions called, Simon would answer. Boxes arrived while he was gone, filled with fresh journals for your poems, new pens for your writing, and all kinds of baking supplies to spark your creativity. He wanted you to always feel his presence, even if he was half a world away, each package a testament to his unwavering affection. When he returned, you would often slip him small, handwritten notes—your own words of love and encouragement—folded neatly, and he’d keep them close to his heart, tucked in a pocket as if they were a part of him. The others joked about him looking like a:

“proper husband”

for always stopping to read your handwriting, touching every letter as if every word you wrote was a treasure on its own.

There were nights, long ones, when you’d catch him sitting at the kitchen table, leafing through a scrapbook you’d made during his deployment. Pictures of the two of you, your annotations in the margins, your thoughts and memories, capturing moments he hadn’t even noticed you were holding onto. He’d touch each page, almost reverently, lingering on the edges like he was afraid his touch might ruin the paper. And when you’d join him, sliding into his lap with your arms wrapped around his neck, he’d tuck his face into your shoulder, silent, holding you close as if you were the only thing grounding him to this world.

Simon never argued with you; never needed to. He believed in “happy wife, happy life” with a fervency others might never understand. If you didn’t like something, he’d change it without hesitation. If you felt uncomfortable going out he would take you back home in his arms, helping you out of your dress with gentle hands, making your favorite tea in the kitchen, casting you warm, lingering glances as you sipped your cup by his side with the prettiest smile he swears he has never seen before in his life.

There were times you’d tease him, testing the boundaries of his devotion with light-hearted remarks about your whims. But no matter what you said, he never wavered. If anything, his dedication seemed to intensify, his love quiet but resolute, unwavering in the face of your every wish. You could see it in his eyes, the way they softened whenever he looked at you, as though you were the only person in the world he wanted, needed. To Simon, you were perfection, and nothing you did could ever change that.

When it came to intimacy, Simon was utterly faithful. At night, his hands would roam your form reverently, memorizing every curve, every detail he’d missed in his months away. When you traced the veins on his neck, his breaths came out heavy, the weight of his love pressing down on him. Your touch left him trembling, his normally steady hands shaking as he held himself over you, eyes dark with an almost sacred devotion as he rocked into you with slow, deep movements that left him weak.

When you’d murmur his name, kiss his scarred knuckles, and hold him close, Simon felt himself unraveling in your arms, reduced to nothing but his love for you. His broad, muscular form sank against you, a sturdy weight softened by your warmth, and he’d surrender completely, letting you hold him, a silent confession of his trust and vulnerability.

In the stillness of those moments, he would remember a time when he hadn’t believed in softness when life had taught him only to take and endure. But now, in your arms, Simon Riley found a new truth: that he could give, could cherish, and, most of all, could love without fear. And as he drifted to sleep, wrapped in your love, he knew that he had finally found his purpose—not in battle, nor vengeance, but in this quiet, steadfast devotion to the woman who had taught him that he was worthy of peace.

[connorsui]

“So, you really mean it when you say you love me, right?”

Satoru’s voice carried a teasing lilt, his gaze shifting between you and the bundle snuggled close to your chest.

You raised an eyebrow, cradling your son with a gentle, protective hold. “Satoru, please, we’ve been married for five years. How could I not love you?”

“Are you absolutely suuuuure?” He pouted dramatically, leaning closer with a mock-serious expression. “Because lately, it seems like you’ve been ignoring me for someoneeee elsee over heree.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics. “Oh really? And who might that be?”

With a theatrical gasp, he clutched his chest. “So you admit it! You’ve been cheating on me!”

You shook your head, amused by his over-the-top reactions. “Satoru, he’s our son,” you said, adjusting the baby in your arms. “Of course, I’m going to pay more attention to him than you.”

The baby’s wide, innocent blue eyes peered up at Satoru as if sensing his father’s dramatics. Satoru’s pout deepened as he looked at the tiny face.

“It’s not fair–,” he said, his voice a blend of genuine complaint and playful jest. “He gets to lay on your tits all day, and I have to settle for... what? The floor?”

The baby cooed softly, adding an extra layer of cuteness to the scene. Satoru glanced from you to the baby, his expression a mix of mock jealousy and affection.

“He knows what he’s doing,” Satoru said with a grin, pointing at the baby.

“Satoru…” you began, trying to suppress your laughter.

Just then, the baby, as if on cue, threw his plush toy directly at Satoru’s face. The toy hit him softly, and the baby giggled, watching with delight.

Satoru stared at his son with a mixture of affection and playful indignation. He pretended to glare, then dramatically pretended to clutch at your chest. “...those were mine first,” he said, holding onto you as if to reclaim his territory.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Satoru, you’re ridiculous!”

Satoru smirked and pulled you close, pressing his cheek against yours. “Well, if you’re going to be all about the baby, at least give me some of that love, too.”

You kissed his cheek, smiling warmly. “You’ll always get your fair share"

Satoru pouted playfully, but his eyes sparkled with affection. “Fine, but I’m expecting you to be on your knees- "

"Satoru ...not infront of our baby"

[connorsui]

Hi! Can I ask for a Sylus fluff, where he gives the reader his bank card for her to go shopping, and he expects a bill to be at least $10,000, but all he sees is about $100. So he asks her if she bought everything she wanted, and she says something like "yeah, there were such good discounts, I didn't spend too much, did I?"

And man is just ಠ⁠益⁠ಠ GIRL GO SPEND MY MONEY I WANT TO SPOIL YOU

My beloved @lalaluch I cannot explain to you just how much fun this was to even imagine but let alone even WRITE 🩷 like I was losing my mind trying to bust out my Google docs to even make this. But my sickness was literally getting to me that all I could do was imagine--but anywhoo now that it's finally done I hope you all enjoy it ✨️

p.s: I hope this sickness finally leaves me because it be making me internally cry on the inside ...I pray for prayers lol 💅🏻

BUDGET QUEEN

It had taken weeks of gentle coaxing, half-joking remarks, and the occasional exasperated sigh before you’d reluctantly agreed. You had this stubborn streak, an insistence on independence that both irritated and fascinated him. But today, you’d finally caved.

“You’ll take it,” Sylus had said that morning, slipping the sleek card into your hand, his fingers brushing against your palm. “No arguments. No excuses.”

You had sighed, rolling your eyes. “Fine. But I’m not going crazy with it?!”

He had only smirked, knowing full well you would—and knowing full well that he wanted you to.

And now, hours later, he awaited the results.

Sylus leaned back in his leather chair, his crimson eyes flicking lazily over the documents cluttering his desk. A rare break in his usual chaos had him sipping on his usual drink, savoring the brief quiet. That was until his phone buzzed. He set his glass down and checked the notification, a message from his bank popping up.

He expected it—he wanted it. You had finally caved to his insistence after a literal month of convincing and taken his black card to go shopping. He’d envisioned the inevitable message all morning, something like:

One-hundred million spent at Celine and The Row’s combined?

Or perhaps?

Fifty million at Loro Piana?

You’d mentioned their beauty and elegance more than once.

Nevertheless, the man wanted indulgence, excess—you deserved it, after all.

Instead, the message read:

$157.45 at… Assorted Stores.

Sylus stared at the screen, unblinking. Surely, this was a mistake. He refreshed his balance multiple times. Same amount. He checked for pending transactions. None.

“…What?” he muttered, his irritation simmering beneath the surface. He slammed his phone down, crossing his arms as he waited for you to return.

Minutes later, the front door opened, and you walked in, humming happily, two bags dangling from your arms. You looked utterly content, your warm smile sending a pang through Sylus’s chest. He didn’t want to ruin the moment, but he had questions.

“You’re back,” he said, leaning against the doorframe to his study, watching you set the bags down in the living room. His towering presence cast a shadow over you, his white hair catching the light, giving him an almost otherworldly aura.

“Yup!” you chirped, rifling through the bags. “You wouldn’t believe the deals I found today! It’s like the universe knew I had your card!”

Sylus squinted. “Deals?”

“Yeah! Everything was on sale! I even had coupons for some things. Oh, and this boutique downtown was having a clearance event! It was amazing!” You beamed at him, oblivious to his growing disbelief.

“Clearance? ..…How much did you spend?” he asked, his voice neutral. Too neutral.

“Um…” You frowned, pulling your phone out to check. “About a few hundred, I think? Oh, wait—like one-fifty! I didn’t spend too much, did I?” You tilted your head, as if genuinely concerned.

Sylus stared at you, his expression shifting to one of incredulous disbelief. His red eyes seemed to glow, and his lips pressed into a thin line. It was the look of a man deeply offended. Not by you—but by the principle.

“…That’s it?” he asked, his voice sharp but measured, as if he were trying to comprehend an alien concept. “One-fifty?”

You blinked up at him, a little confused by his tone. “Well, yes… I mean, I didn’t want to waste your money—”

“Waste my—” He cut himself off, running a hand through his snowy hair. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. “Sweetheart,” he said slowly, “do you have any idea why I gave you my card?”

“To… buy some stuff?” you offered, suddenly feeling like you were missing something obvious.

“To spoil you,” he emphasized, stepping closer. “To treat you like the queen you are. To shower you in luxury. And you—” He gestured to the modest shopping bags on the floor, his voice taking on a dramatic edge. “—come back with clearance items?”

Your cheeks flushed. “But… I didn’t need anything expensive! I found good deals, and I thought—”

“No.” Sylus leaned down slightly, bringing himself to eye level with you, his crimson eyes boring into yours. “Listen to me, love. I don’t care about the price tag. I want you to have the best. The fact that you’re this thoughtful is adorable—don’t get me wrong—but next time…” He paused, his voice dropping into a softer, more commanding tone. “…I want to see receipts that would make the average person cry.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m not.” He straightened, towering over you again, his arms crossing. “Do you know how much money I make? How much I’ve set aside specifically to spoil you?”

“I can guess?…”

“Clearly not if you’re spending less than a casual dinner out on everything.” His voice was calm, but laced with unmistakable disapproval.

Then, with a breath, he softened—only slightly. “I just want to see you dressed in diamonds,” he corrected, stepping closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. “To watch you slip into golden heels that make you shine like the goddess you are. To drape you in silk and velvet, to see you standing before me in a dress that costs more than a car and still doesn’t compare to your worth.”

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the sudden weight in his words.

“I gave you my card,” he continued, voice lower now, intimate, “because I want you to indulge. To spoil yourself the way I ache to spoil you. Because you deserve to walk into a store and not think—just watch and admire”

Your throat went dry.

He lifted his hand, fingers brushing over your wrist before tracing upward, his touch featherlight against your skin. “I want to see you try on jewelry without looking at the price tag,” he murmured. “I want to sit back and watch as a saleswoman fumbles to put a necklace around your throat because her hands are shaking too much from the sheer amount of wealth wrapped around you.”

His gaze dipped lower, lingering on your frame as he exhaled through his nose. “And instead… you bring me deals?”

Your heart pounded, a mix of amusement and something else entirely stirring in your chest. “I didn’t think I needed to spend that much—”

“You don’t need to,” he interrupted, thumb ghosting over your jawline. His voice was softer now, but no less commanding. “But I want you to.”

Your face heated.

“Next time, I’m going with you.”

“What, to make sure I spend enough?” you teased.

“Yes,” he said, dead serious. “And to carry your bags. And to remind you that you can have whatever you want.” His red eyes softened slightly, and he tilted your chin up with two fingers. “All I want is to see you happy. No discounts required.”

You smiled at his sincerity, warmth blooming in your chest. “Okay, fine. Next time, I’ll go a little crazier. Maybe five million?” you joked.

Sylus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Woman, you’re going to be the death of me.”

You laughed, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. “You’re so dramatic, you know that?”

“And you’re too frugal for your own good,” he shot back, pulling you into his arms. His voice softened, turning almost playful. “But I guess I’ll just have to teach you how to spend properly.”

“Looking forward to it,” you said, grinning against his chest.

Sylus sighed, resting his chin atop your head. As much as he wanted to spoil you senseless, he couldn’t help but love your thoughtful, practical side. It was part of what made you you—and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

Still, next time… he was definitely making sure you left the store with at least an entire closet filled with designer bags.

For his sanity—and yours.

[connorsui]

Marked in Metal

Caleb... loves ... buying you rings.

It wasn’t something you directly questioned—at least, not seriously. He had always been like that, always finding little things to slip into your life as a form of joy. Bracelets, necklaces, little earrings here and there.

But ...rings?

Oh, those were his favorite.

— Princess cut, Briolette, Trilliant, Radiant.

Oval and round. The entire catalog.

And it wasn’t just about the aesthetic. No, it was something else entirely—something unspoken in the way he always lingered just a second longer when slipping the ring onto your finger, something in the way his eyes darkened with quiet satisfaction whenever you lifted your hand, light catching on whatever new piece he had picked out for you.

Like now for instances.

"Here," he said one afternoon, handing you a small velvet box. His voice was casual, but his fingers brushed yours when you took it from him. "Saw this new piece on my way home and thought of you."

You barely glanced up from your work before popping the box open, the soft click of the latch followed by a quiet inhale as you took in the ring nestled inside. A smooth sterling silver band, sleek and polished, with fluted rose gold prongs holding a citrine gem. The cut was extravagant, the kind of thing that should have been reserved for engagement rings, but you had long stopped questioning Caleb’s taste.

"Caleb," you groaned, rolling your eyes but still sliding it onto your finger. It fit perfectly, as they always did. "You have to stop doing this."

"And why should I?" He smirked, leaning back against the couch, arm thrown over the backrest as he watched you admire the ring despite your protests. "Looks good on you."

You twisted your fingers, letting the metal catch the light. He could see it in your face—the way your lips curved slightly, the way your brows relaxed—that moment of pure, genuine appreciation. He memorized that expression every time.

Because no matter how much you insisted it was too much, you never turned them down.

And he never had to worry about you asking how much they cost.

But it wasn’t about the price anyway. It was about the way you wore them, the way your hands danced through the air when you talked, your fingers adorned with pieces he had chosen. It was about the quiet thrill of watching everyone else notice, of knowing that every time someone asked where you got them, your answer was always the same.

"Caleb, obviously. He’s the reason I have half my jewelry box."

That was enough for him.

But this one was different.

"Wait, Caleb?" Your voice broke through his thoughts, amused and lilting. "Did you know this was engraved?"

You held up the ring between your fingers, tilting it just enough for the small inscription inside to catch the light.

.C.

Delicate, subtle, almost invisible unless you were looking for it.

He raised a brow, feigning nonchalance. "Oh? …I don't actually remember seeing that anywhere?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. "You seriously didn't notice?"

"Guess not." He shrugged, and you huffed out a laugh, shaking your head.

"I don’t think I believe you."

He didn’t respond, only watching as you lifted your phone, snapping a picture. Within minutes, your messages flooded with the usual teasing.

"Another one? Does Caleb just collect rings for you now?"

"That’s basically a proposal, babe!"

"Correction. This is the one billionth proposal"

And, as always, your reply was the same.

"Of course it’s Caleb. Who else spoils me like this constantly?"

He loved that. Loved knowing that when others have noticed the rings on your fingers, they knew exactly who put them there.

But even when he adorned your hands, his own ring was different.

It never sat on his finger. It had its own place, strung securely onto the same chain as his tags, resting against his chest beneath the layers of his uniform.

Same material, same weight.

But the chain never left his body. It was there in the dead of night, cold against his skin. There in the thick of the day, clinking softly against metal. It was there when the world was loud and chaotic, when exhaustion pulled at his bones, grounding him with the quiet weight of something real.

Something that brought him back to you.

And when he returned home?

when he was finally home, the chain came off—but the ring never stayed in some forgotten drawer.

No, it belonged in the same place it always did.

Right where you were—pressed close against his heart.

[connorsui]

MR CRAWLING had a particular fondness for your thighs. They were, without question, his favorite place to rest. He’d often drape himself across your lap, his head nestled against you as if your softness was meant to be his pillow. Occasionally, after his naps, you’d notice faint impressions of teeth—a playful reminder of his admiration.

Today was no different. He approached silently, lowering himself until his head rested comfortably on your lap, his large frame curling around you like a protective shadow. As he exhaled, the tension seemed to leave his body, his hand absently tracing patterns against your leg. Smiling to yourself, you reached for his hair, fingers working carefully to braid it. He didn’t protest, his eyes half-lidded as your hands moved gently through the strands, his usual quiet intensity softened by your touch.

Throughout the day, he’d find excuses to approach you. A quiet kiss pressed to your neck and cheek, his hand inevitably trailing down to your thigh to give it a firm, possessive squeeze. It was as though he couldn’t resist the draw of them, his affection unspoken but ever-present.

If you ever doubted your own beauty, it would break something in him. Like, how could you not see how perfect you are, ....how much he adored every. inch. of. you?

[connorsui]

Easily startled

Mr. Crawling had a habit of scaring you senseless, though you knew deep down he didn’t mean to. His silent, almost ghostly movements often left you screaming in terror when you turned to find him right behind you. There were times his unintentional jump scares hit so hard you felt your eyes sting with tears, trembling from the shock of it.

For example, one night, at two a.m, you left the safety of your bed to get a glass of water. The hallway was pitch black, and your only guide was the faint moonlight filtering through the windows. You didn’t bother flipping on the lights, groggily shuffling toward the kitchen. But halfway down the hall, your sleepy haze shattered.

A towering figure stood at the end of the corridor, barely illuminated by the pale light. Your heart stopped. Mr. Crawling was standing upright. Not crouched low as usual—his impossibly tall frame stretched into the dark.

A shaky gasp escaped your lips, and he tilted his head ever so slightly as though he didn’t understand your fear. Then came the soft, unnerving giggle that sent you over the edge. You screamed, stumbling backward until you hit the wall.

The sound must’ve startled him because he immediately crouched back down, his long hair brushing the floor as he crept toward you. When he emerged from the shadows, his usual eerie grin was gone, replaced by a rare expression: a deep, regretful frown.

“Im sorry...” he muttered, his voice broken and low. “No scare. I promise”

You pressed a hand to your chest, struggling to steady your racing heart. Mr. Crawling inched closer, his long arms hesitant as he reached toward you. Finally, he wrapped them around you in an awkward, apologetic embrace.

“No stand again. I promise,” he said softly, almost solemnly.

From that night on, he made an effort to announce himself, muttering things like, "Human. Im here” as he moved around. While he still caught you off guard occasionally, his efforts made you feel safer—and maybe even a little less afraid.

[connorsui]

Dad! Simon

You find him in the bedroom, sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, legs stretched out, a shoebox balanced on his thigh. And, scattered around him—like fallen leaves—are photographs.

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Planning a scrapbook?”

Simon doesn’t look up, but the corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. Just recognition.

"He’s gotten so big now," he mutters, lifting a picture between his fingers. He turns it toward you—your son, a newborn, swaddled tight, impossibly small in his arms. "Look at this—head barely bigger than my palm."

You step inside, lowering yourself beside him. The photos form a mosaic across the carpet—a timeline of a life measured in firsts.

First ultrasound. First bath. First wobbly steps.

His first birthday, cake frosting, smeared across chubby cheeks, fingers reaching for Simon’s.

His first time on Simon’s shoulders, tiny hands gripping his head, giggling like he’d never known a world without laughter.

You pick up a more recent one—your son at five, sitting on Simon’s lap, eyes bright, smile wide. He looks just like him. Same sharp gaze, same shape of the mouth. It’s almost funny how undeniable it is.

Simon exhales, slow and steady, his thumb tracing over the glossy surface.

"Simon ...do you want me to - "

His jaw tightens, just for a second, before he lets out a quiet huff. “No, it’s fine. Thinkin’ of puttin’ some in an album.”

You don’t catch him on the lie.

Because what you don’t know—what you won’t know for a long time—is that there will be no album.

The photos will go back into the box. Just like they always do.

And later that night, after the house has settled into quiet, after you’ve both gone to bed, he’ll slip the box under his side of the nightstand—within reach, always.

And when it’s time—when the bags are packed, when his boots are laced, when the house is still dark with sleep—he’ll take the smallest, most recent one.

-- where your son is missing a front tooth, grinning wide, arms thrown around your neck like he never wants to let go.

He’ll fold it carefully, tuck it into the pocket of his gear.

Because the thought of not having it, of not carrying that proof of life with him, is unbearable.

So he keeps them.

And sometimes, when he’s halfway across the world, when the silence stretches too long and the weight in his chest feels too heavy to bear, he’ll take that photo out.

Run his thumb over the edges.

Remind himself of what’s waiting for him at home.

Just for a little while.

Just to hold on.

[connorsui]

"Why? Because I treat you like my wife?" Sylus asked, a rare smile tugging at his lips as he tilted his head, his crimson eyes glinting with curiosity.

"No… it’s because you treat me like a queen," you replied, a soft giggle escaping as you smiled up at him. Your laughter seemed to brighten the air, and for a moment, the usual weight in Sylus’s expression lightened.

His smile widened, a subtle curve that made his sharp features soften. "Well, the queen should be treated like a woman and a lady at every phase of her life… so there are moments where she must be cherished with the passion of a lover, revered with the devotion of a worshiper, and adored like she’s the very air I breathe—the only thing keeping me alive." His voice dropped, low and steady, as he stepped closer, his presence commanding yet impossibly gentle.

His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin with surprising tenderness. "Because that’s what you deserve, every second of every day."

"You’re not just my queen," he murmured, his gaze steady and warm as his smile softened further, "you’re my everything. And I’ll make sure you never forget that." His head tilted slightly, his eyes flicking to yours with an affectionate gleam, as if he was savoring the way you looked at him.

[connorsui]

You were already a trembling mess beneath him, breath hitching as Satoru pressed his large body over yours, his lips brushing against your ear. His hand gripped your waist tightly, his size alone making you feel small and vulnerable.

“Look at youuu?,” he murmured, voice dripping with a mix of mockery and affection. “Soo fucking sensitive... you can barely take me in.” His hand moved from your waist to your thigh, thumb brushing the sensitive skin, making your breath hitch. “You crying already?”

Tears blurred your vision, and you bit your lip, trying to hold them back. His hand wiped away a stray tear, his touch both soft and condescending. “Cute,” he cooed, “but I’m not done with you yet.”

The stretch was overwhelming, the feeling of him deep inside you nearly unbearable, and yet it was everything you craved. His size was something you couldn’t ignore, the way he loomed over you, filling you up completely, leaving no space untouched. Satoru got off on that—the way you had to look up at him, the way your body shook as you tried to accommodate him.

“You’re so good for me,” he groaned, leaning down to kiss your neck, his hips moving slow but deep, pushing into you with precision. “You love it, don’t you? Being filled like this.” You whimpered, your body responding before your mind could, hips bucking up to meet his.

“That’s right,” he praised, voice thick with lust, “you take me so well. So perfect for me.”

But Satoru wasn’t going to let you have it easy. He could feel you nearing the edge, the way your walls clenched around him, desperate for release. His hand slid down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing it just enough to drive you wild, but not enough to let you tip over.

“You’re not cumming yet,” he said, a teasing grin on his lips as he slowed his thrusts to a maddening pace. “Not until I say so.”

You whimpered in frustration, the need to release building in your core, but he was in complete control. He loved that power, the way he could make you beg for it, the way you’d do anything just for a little more.

“Satoruuu, pl-please,” you gasped, your voice trembling.

“Hmm?” He cocked his head, faux innocence in his eyes as he pushed deeper, the head of his cock pressing against that perfect spot inside of you. “Please, what? You want to cum?”

You nodded frantically, the desperation in your voice making his smirk grow wider.

“You know what to say"

“F– .. Fuck! You’re so good—please, torruu~ please let me cum… You fuck me so well,” you babbled, barely able to keep your thoughts together as his hand worked you over, teasing you closer and closer to that edge.

“That’s my good girl,” he grunted, and without warning, he let you fall apart beneath him, your orgasm crashing over you as your body shook.

And he didn’t stop. His hips didn’t falter, thrusting deeper as he filled you completely, hot and heavy, his breath hitching as he came inside of you.

But Satoru wasn’t done.

Seeing his cum dripping out of you only made him want to keep going.

“Guess I’ll have to go again. Gotta make sure all of it stays in ..right?”