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aleksatia · 4 months ago

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

I originally made this list as character notes for future stories — I love digging deep into their dynamics and really breaking them down.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

🍎 Top 10 Things That Make Caleb Absolutely, Irrevocably Mad

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne Soft Against His Will

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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kaiist · 4 months ago

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𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐏 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐒𝐒

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

You and Xavier were sprawled across the bed, controllers in hand as you both battled through the latest game. He lay on his stomach, entirely focused on defeating the boss character, his sweatpants-clad form stretched out before you. As you sat up to adjust your position, you couldn’t help but notice his ass. Without overthinking it, you reached over and slapped his ass.

Smack!

The sound echoed in the quiet room. He nearly dropped his controller, his character immediately dying on-screen as he turned to stare at you with slightly widened eyes—the most expression you’d seen from him all day. The silence between you stretched for a moment, his surprise evident.

“Did you just...?” he asked, voice trailing off.

Without a word, he sat up slowly, placing his controller aside. As you recognized the look in his eyes, you attempted to scramble away. You barely made it three steps before his hand caught your wrist, tugging you back onto the bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, the hint of playfulness in his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could formulate a response, he pulled you close. “My turn.”

He returned the favor with a playful slap to your ass, his smile appearing as your surprised laughter filled the room—the forgotten game controller sliding to the floor.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

Morning sunlight streamed through the window. The kitchen was quiet except for the gentle sounds of Zayne preparing his tea. The three-piece suit he wore for his presentation later that day accentuated his form perfectly, the tailored pants highlighting his figure as he stood with his back to you. You found yourself admiring the view as he reached for the sugar.

Your hand moved before your brain could intervene.

Smack!

Your hand connected with a satisfying smack against his ass. He gasped softly, his tea sloshed dangerously close to the rim of his mug. He set the mug down before turning to face you, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Was that necessary?” he asked, his voice calm despite the slight flush creeping up his neck.

“Absolutely,” you replied with a grin.

He shook his head, glancing at the tea that had nearly spilled. “You realize that could have ended with second-degree burns on your skin if I had spilled it on you?”

Despite his words of caution, there was a warmth in his eyes that belied his stern tone. He set the kettle down completely, turning his full attention to you.

“Perhaps save such impulses for when I’m not handling scalding liquids,” he suggested, his voice softening. “I’d hate to see you hurt because I couldn’t control my reaction to your... unexpected attention.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

Steam filled the bathroom as Rafayel emerged from his shower. A towel hung low on his hips, revealing the dimples at the base of his spine, as he rummaged through his wardrobe for clothes. Water droplets still clung to his skin, catching the light as he moved.

The temptation was too great to resist.

Smack!

You approached silently and delivered one hard slap to his ass. The impact sent him jolting forward, his towel nearly slipping completely off his hips. He grabbed it at the last second, preserving his modesty by mere inches—as if you hadn’t seen everything yet.

He whirled around, eyes wide with surprise. “What the—?” he sputtered, clutching his towel with one hand, and stared at you with an expression of pure surprise. This was the first time you had ever slapped his ass, and he clearly hadn’t seen it coming.

“Wow,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “My Miss Bodyguard is feeling really bold today.” He readjusted his towel, securing it more firmly around his waist as he observed you with newfound interest.

You stepped back, unable to contain your laughter at his expression.

After the initial shock passed, his surprise morphed into amusement, a slow smile spreading across his face as he readjusted his now-precarious towel.

“I didn’t know you had it in you, cutie.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

Sylus stood with his back to you, carefully dusting his extensive vinyl record collection. Each movement was precise as he worked, completely absorbed in his task of maintaining his prized possessions.

He’s vulnerable when it’s just you, and you won’t let this opportunity pass when the perfect moment presents itself.

Smack!

You stepped forward and delivered a firm slap to his ass—he just sighs, didn’t even flinch or jolt forward. He simply paused in his actions, his hand hovering over a record sleeve for a moment before he slowly turned to face you. The corner of his mouth quivered upward in that infuriating half-smile.

A low chuckle escaped his lips as he regarded you with amused eyes. “Bold move,” he said, setting down the vinyl he’d been holding. “I wouldn’t have expected such... directness from you today.”

His smirk grew as he stepped closer, maintaining eye contact that made your heart race slightly. Your breath caught as he leaned down, lips barely ghosting over your ear. “I suggest you watch your back for the remainder of the day. I always return favors... and mine tend to come when least expected.”

The threat—or was it a promise?—sent your heart racing. He straightened himself, returning to his records as if nothing had happened. Throughout the day, his gaze would linger on you a moment too long, keeping you on edge.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

The training room was filled with the sounds of Caleb’s workout as he moved through his routine. You observed from the doorway, admiring the view before you. Sweat glistened on his skin, his training shorts clinging to his form as he cooled down. His form was perfect, as always, and an intrusive thought suddenly demanded action.

Smack!

You approached and delivered a solid slap to his ass before you felt the familiar sensation of his Evol activating—but too late. This rare moment, you managed to catch him off-guard.

His surprised expression quickly morphed into laughter, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, look at you! Getting brave when my guard is down,” he said between chuckles, turning to face you with bright eyes. “I must be losing my touch if you can sneak up on me like that.”

His laughter was infectious, and soon you were both grinning like idiots in the middle of the training room.

He wiped his brow with a towel before flinging it around his neck. “I hope you know I’ll be returning the favor,” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Fair warning—keep your guard up today.”

Throughout the day, you felt his gaze following you, waiting for the perfect moment. His playful revenge would come when you least expected it—perhaps when you were helping him with dinner, or just as you were falling asleep—his hand delivered a playful smack to your ass as he laughed in satisfaction.

This was really fun to write, Idk why 😭

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neuary · 1 month ago

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You're all I can think of, every drop I drink up.

MINORS DNI!! MINORS DNI!! MINORS DNI!! MINORS DNI!!

contents ⇀ Manager!Mc, AFAB reader, titsucking, fingering, handjob, B.Saja hates your guts (at first but then he starts fucking it), Lots of petnames from him and he calls you 'manager' a lot here, mentions of alcohol, lots of teasing from him, switch reader(and a lil of B.saja), I give him a name here because I refuse to call him Baby Saja the whole time.

side note — im also planning on making a whole lore about how Mc became their manager and yes im calling the reader mc bcs im a LADS fangirl and have grown used to it LOLL

Your impression of him had been sour.

He'd often express great disliking towards you because a mortal human would be handling their group. And the fact that you made a deal with Gwi-Ma for this job just made you more irritating. 'Human greed as always.' He'd say, as if his words held no hypocrisy. But you'd always try to remain professional, putting up with his mean remarks masked as 'criticism' as well as the obvious glares whenever you're in the same room.

He hated you and you did your best to work around that.

Your first proper interaction happened late at night when he found you drinking alone in the bathroom. You looked like a mess. Hair sticking out in different directions as tears stained your cheeks, the sight looked absolutely pathetic he just had to sit and watch.

You offer him a drink and he accepts because who says no to alcohol? Well not him.

He drinks with you, watching as you take in sips of the booze directly from the bottle. Nothing he hasn't seen before, human nature at its lowest point. You start to spill out your thoughts, telling him about how hard it is to be their manager, and even if he didn't care to listen you had to let it out as a drunken statement just for tonight.

He listens and may or may not have been reminded of his humanity. He still didn't like you, but you were tolerable as of now.

And from that point on, you'd both drink together late at night in the bathroom, time to time. He let it happen, maybe because the fact that you're drunk means you wouldn't be able to remember much of what he's saying. Or maybe because the company you both shared on the cold tiled floor just felt nice.

Then one night he enters the bathroom and he sees you there fully sober. "Hey." You greet him. Opposed to the usual, "Babbbyyyyyyy!" That'll leave from your lips every time you see a blur of blue hair in your drunken state.

"Not drinking tonight?" He asks, his expression blank as he sits next to you.

"No.. I'll just get a hangover and it'll make the job worse for me."

"We just ran out of booze didn't we?"

"Yeah that too I guess."

Silence falls between you two, and you soon ask him a sober question.

"What's your real name?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Calling you 'Baby' is a little too awkward for me."

"With how many times you've said it, I'm surprised."

Your face flushes as you look down.

"I was drunk those times okay?.. But you don't have to tell me, It's not—"

"Daewon."

You look at him, surprised that he'd actually tell you. "So is it fine if I call you that now?"

"I don't really care."

Is what he said, though he didn't expect to be caring about it at all now that he has you in his bed. Underneath him, half naked, your panties pushed to the side as his fingers pushed in and out of you.

"Daewon..!" You'd say in between his thrusts, your face flushed and hidden behind your hands.

The sight thrilled him, wanting to push you further.

"I want to see you, manager." He coos, leaning down to tease you more. His free hand moves yours away from your face, you could tell how much he enjoyed your reactions with just his breathing alone. "Well aren't you pretty? Haha.. Want me to go faster?"

"Mghh..! Please! Fffuck..!! I.."

"Mm, yeah? What is it manager?"

"Yyou're.. Aaahh..! Sssuch a prick..mmm!"

"Watch it, beautiful. I'm the one knuckles deep inside this pussy, do you really think you should be speaking to me like that?"

God he's such an asshole. But really, that only turned you on. Every taunt that came out of his mouth made you writhe and whine at the palms of his hand, the very same palms that groped at your body, taking your clothes off bit by bit, unclasping your bra as he asks if he can have a taste.

It came out more teasing than asking though, the shiteating grin on his face as vexatious as ever. "Wanna taste you so bad gorgeous, you'll let me right?"

"Just do it already..mmghh.."

"Oh but it seems like you don't want me to."

"Daewon, I swear to god—Aghh..!"

You can feel the smirk that forms on his lips as he starts to suck on your chest.

"You like my name a lot?" He kisses at your collar bone, "Gonna scream it out for me?" He licks down up until your cleavage, his other hand still working on making you cum as the other holds your tit directly at his tongue. He puts it in his mouth, sucking and lapping up at your nipple, letting it go with a pop as he gives the same attention to the other. You continue to whine complaining about the pace he's going, your pussy clenching at his fingers.

The way your eyes sharply squints at his direction has every vein in his body quiver, the electrifying feeling of it pulsing up until his cock. He needed you, so bad but he still wanted to test how desperate you can get.

"You're complaining a lot but this cunt tells me otherwise.. hah.. mm, show me how bad you want it yeah?" His hands take a break from fondling your breasts, leading you to feel the bulge in his pants. "Show me.. mm..ah.. I know you want to.."

You hesitate, because you want to get him back thanks to how pent up he's made you.

But the look he gave you leaves you torn with the options you had in mind. "Is it my turn to beg?" He chuckles, "You're so cute.. hah.."

"You're sssoo.. mmghhff..ffuck.. I hate how good yyyou.. aare at thisss.. aaa...nnmmhhh.!"

"Flattery won't get you anywhere but my cock, gorgeous... Haha.. Keep going, yeah?"

He pulls your hand onto the tent in his pants, making you more feel more hotter than before. He felt big.. No, he is big. With a face like his you wouldn't expect it at all, and the way he's looking at you suggests that he's intent on making you remember that.

"Feel that? That's all you." He smiles before kissing you, his lips traveling down to your collar and chest once again. He groans at your touch, smiling against your skin as he feels you give in to his request. "Mmhh.. That's right.. Stroke my cock."

You place your hand at the base of his bulge before going at the hem of his pants, taking his cock out. You start out slow, teasing him back by grazing your fingertips onto his shaft, softly going up and down.

"Please. You can do better than that." He whispers directly at your ear, his words coming out more as a demand.

"You can beg better than that." You bite back, earning another smile from the demon. His fangs are visible as he bites at your shoulder without warning, slobbering it up after with kisses and licks.

"So it is my turn after all. 'Want it fifty-fifty, is that it?"

"Mmghh.! ..ahh" You could feel his fingers press harder into your pussy, his thumb bundling up your clit to stimulate you further, "Daewon..ahhh just..mmghh.. ffuhh.. fff..fuckk..!"

"Fffuhh..ffuuuhh?" He mocks, quickening his pace, "ffuuuckkkkk you? Haha.. mmmghh, that what you want from me, gorgeous?"

You felt even more flushed with the names he keeps throwing at you, unable to keep up but still unwilling to drown into his control.

"Yeahh ahhhggg... So what iff..I do?.. You're supposed to..mmm do what I say anyway..ahh.."

"If you're gonna be so demanding you should try not look so good while getting fingered by me, manager.. haha." His voice was a low, wicked murmur, his breath hot against your ear. Each word sent shivers down your spine, making you arch into his touch instinctively. He chuckled darkly, a sound of pure satisfaction.

"Mmm, you're so responsive, manager... I can feel you clenching.. Craving more."

You could feel the hard length of him pressing insistently into your palm, a silent promise of what was to come. He was teasing you, pushing you to the brink of desperation with his slow, sensual thrust. He just needed you to beg for it. To really beg for it. To scream your desire out to him so he can finally have you right then and there. You wanted it as bad as he did didn't you? Your pretty face says it all as he tries his hardest to hide the look on himself.

He drank in the sight. The desperate need written plainly across your features, the hunger that mirrored his own. The thought of it made him twitch, knowing he could reduce you to this state with just his touch and teasing words. His ego swelled at the realization, cock throbbing with anticipation. His lips brushes against yours in a ghost of a kiss, not quite touching but close enough to feel the heat radiating from them. He moves back onto your breasts, the slick of his drool drips down, his eyes stuck to yours. "Come on, gorgeous... mm.." He places a peck on your nipple, "Don't hold back now. I want to hear you scream my name like you mean it.." He heavily sighs, "Fuck, the way you look at me, like you need me more than your next breath... it's fucking intoxicating."

His fingers held both your tits in place, allowing him to suck and lick as he pleases as the other continued stroking and circling your clit. He could feel the slick heat of your arousal coating his fingers, and it took every ounce of control not to simply surge forward and bury himself inside you.

"Daaaewon..mmmm aghh fffuckk..!"

"Tell me how badly you want it, manager. Beg me for it." His voice was a low, dark rumble, sending vibrations through your chest. He nipped at your chest, soothing the sting with a flick of his tongue before pulling back slightly to search your eyes. "I need to hear it.." The tone of his voice almost let out a crack of neediness.

"The way your pretty face flushes, the way you tremble and moan so sweetly... it's driving me insane. So be a good girl and give me what I want, yeah?"

He punctuated his demand with a sharp thrust of his fingers, pushing deep and curling against that perfect spot inside you. His thumb rubbed tight circles on your clit, the dual stimulation pushing you to the brink of ecstasy. He was close, so fucking close to snapping, to giving in to the urge to just take you. But he needed to hear you say it.

You soon snap, having enough of his teasing.

But you didn't dare beg. Hell no.

You retaliate, squeezing at his cock so suddenly, not enough to hurt but to get a reaction from the demon. His eyes shot open, lips letting go of your breasts as he lets out a strained moan. "Aghhmm..!? What the fuck are y..! Ahhhgg..mmm.."

You rub your thumb over the tip of his dick, stroking him every few seconds as you switch between both actions. He starts to pant like a dog, too immersed from your touch to even notice that you've switched positions with him. A strangled moan tore from his throat, the sound a mix of surprise and pleasure as your hand tightened around his aching cock. His hips jerked forward, seeking more of that delicious friction, and he found himself momentarily short of words.

"Nnngghh... fuck..." He gasped out, his voice ragged and raw. The feeling of your thumb swirling around the sensitive head of his cock sent electricity up his spine, making him shudder and groan. He was so fucking hard, his dick twitching and leaking, desperate for more.

The power dynamic had shifted, and the realization sent a thrill of excitement through him. He gazed up at you, eyes glinting with a mix of annoyance and arousal. A smirk tugged at his lips, slowly spreading into a wicked grin. "Hahh.. Playing hard to get? mm.. I didn't tell you to do that..hah.." He chuckled darkly, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you down against his straining erection. He rolled his hips upwards, grinding against your slick heat and letting out a low groan.

You visibly react, shuddering at his length that's underneath your sex.

"You think you're sooo clever hm? Haha. You have no idea how dangerous it is to tease a demon like this." His voice was a low, seductive rumble, his eyes glinting with predatory intent.

"Your cock is telling me otherwise." You compose yourself, tugging at his cock sensually. He hisses, the friction making him even more aroused. "Haha.. mgh.. You're sooo cute." You mock, copying the tone of his voice.

He made no move to reclaim control, instead letting you continue. He arched into your touch, his body trembling with the effort of holding back, allowing you to set the pace. It was a small victory, but a sweet one nonetheless. You could feel your own heart racing in your chest, your breaths in each other's faces as you come closer to have a quick taste of his lips.

The air was thick with the scent of sex. He could see the hunger in your eyes as you gazed down at him, and it only fueled his own desire.

"So, what now, gorgeous?" He looks up at you, placing a hand on your lower back.

You remove his touch on you, pinning his hand onto the bed, the back of his head thumps against the headboard.

Breathless, you gaze down at him as you shift to strip your panties off "Now.. ha.. You sit there and take it."

He found it adorable. So fucking sexy how you think you could boss him around like this. And honestly he's going to let you. What a sweet little mortal 'putting him in his place' like this when she can barely glare daggers at him in her state.

"Do your worst princess."

You crumple up your undergarments, shoving the fabric into his mouth without a second more to spend. He looked very shocked, rightfully so but his cock only felt more harder in your fingertips.

You position his erection underneath you. Slowly, you sit down, feeling his size sink and throb inside you. You couldn't help but squeal, voice becoming higher in pitch as your breath gets heavy. You convulse onto him, your body fluttering, almost cumming on the spot.

You move, his cock slipping in and out of you easily because of how soaked you got from his fingers. The sudden motion startles him, his hands fly right at your hips, gripping intensely.

"Mmmgghhfff..!" The sound of his groans were drowned out by the panties gagging him shut. Your panties, fuck they tasted so good. They tasted like you and he can't wait to bury his face into them.

"You're such a prick.. mghh.. Always.. haa.. being sso difficult."

You say in between moans as you ride him, bouncing on his cock. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth around the fabric gagging him. The way you moved on his cock has Daewon mentally reminding himself to hold back, your slick walls gripping him like a vise, made it impossible for him to feel genuinely irritated.

"Always making..ahh hhh.. Things so difficult for me.. haa.. fuckinggmm.! ssadist.."

He bucked his hips up to meet your downward thrusts, driving himself deeper into you. It was hard not to show the visible look of pleasure across your face, but you made sure to not break, still glaring daggers at him even with the fast pace of your breathing. You muster up a handful of self control to get a handful of his hair, tugging him towards you as you bite into his lip before removing the undergarments in his mouth. The cotton white panties hangs between your teeth as you pull away from him. He lets out a deep sigh, his breathing still shaky, matching yours as well as the way you move on his cock.

"Aww..haaha.. I wanted to keep that." He grins, drool dripping from his mouth. His hands move to caress your back, a silent praise emitting from the skin ship.

You drop the panties, using both hands to grip at his shoulders.

You refuse to give him the satisfaction of a response from you, quickly shoving your tongue down his throat to shut him up. He kisses back, your sounds clash together as he devours you like a starving man. You keep going, writhing as the taste of him engulfs your mouth like fire. The flavor of sweet mintiness spreads.

He's the first to pull away, not bearing another second apart from your tits as he instantly smothers them with sloppy kisses. You tug on his hair, groaning curses and fucked out phrases that you don't even realize you were saying. His name felt so good on your tongue. "Daewon.." You'd whine.

"Daewon.."

He starts to go faster, fuckinh into you more.

"Daewon ahh.."

You match his pace, compelled to experience release.

At this point you couldn't tell who was in charge, you both gave into your own hormonal urges, ravaging each other like animals.

"Fuck...O ffuuck.. You feel so good, manager.." He whispers, still having his mouth pressed against your breasts. He just can't get enough. "I'm so close.. ahh.. hhh ha.."

"Yyyeah? mmm.." You attempt to taunt him. "Already? hahahhh..."

He laughs, pulling you closer to him, your tits flushed and pressed against his neck as he looks at you with a determined expression, grinning knowingly. "Look me in the eye and tell me.. ha.. you're not as desperate as I am to cum."

Your smug expression falters, amusing him further.

"Tell me, manager.."

"Just..ahhh... mm..kkeep fucking me."

He lets out another laugh, his smile wider as he thrusts harsher into you.

"Yes ma'am."

The pace intensifies and both your expressions drop into uncontrollable pleasure, eyes rolling back as well as squeezing shut once the orgasm in you snaps. Both of you grip on each other as if for your dear life. He felt so good, he felt so fucking good and you didn't know if you hated that he did or not. He was definitely sure however, that you felt the closest thing to heaven. Like a bottle of alcohol, he's sure he'll be getting addicted soon.

Im so sorry, I hope this was worth the wait yall <3

—neuary

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