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ai-katsuu · 7 days 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I originally made this list as character notes for future stories — I love digging deep into their dynamics and really breaking them down.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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ai-katsuu · 7 days ago

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ᴏʀ ɪ'ʟʟ ʀᴀɪꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴅᴇ ꜱᴏ ʜɪɢʜ...

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ai-katsuu · 9 days ago

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can i request s, r, j, and f with keito pls?? <33 thank you!!

a/n — he’s slightly ooc in “j” because i thought it’d be funny to include that certain part LMAOAAO

KEITO HASUMI [ f, j, r, s ] sfw alphabet

f = fiancé (how would they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?)

commitment is a yes— keito have thought about getting married a couple of times and plan a traditional shinto wedding in his head. considering his fondness for japanese tradition, it’s no surprise that he’d want his wedding to be one as well.

he wants to get married as soon as he’s sure both of you are ready to settle in for commitment. he’d probably have a hard time proposing, though. keito’s determination may be big, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling nervous. (he refused to ask anyone in akatsuki for help…)

j = jealousy (how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?)

you know what, good luck. he rarely gets jealous, keito trusts you with his whole entire life. he knows you won’t do anything to break his heart, and even says: “you don’t have the BALLS to cheat on me, [name].”

the only time he’ll get jealous (barely) is when you stop coming to visit him anymore, and when you do it’s usually quick. he’ll get so sulky (not like he’d show it anyway)... if you think he’s already quiet, oh he’s gonna become even more quiet. the only responses you’re going to get from him are “mhm’s”, or nods.

he’s not even mad that you’re spending time with other people, because yeah, you deserve to hang out with your friends. he’s just sad that you’re rarely visiting him anymore and your long conversations are always through texts. </3 keito will hint how he’s feeling towards text messages, though, and thankfully you get the message.

no exceptions, you have to run to his house, apologize and spend your whole entire week, month, year (/hj...) with him now.

r = remember (what is their favourite moment in your relationship?)

keito doesn’t exactly have a favourite moment, as there are too many to count. if sitting in the almost empty library while reading counts, that’s one of his favourites.

though, his favourite to do as a couple is to sit in silence with your head on his lap while he’s working. there’s just something about it that seems… sweet and domestic of some sort.

s = security (how protective are they? would they like to be protected?)

keito may rarely get jealous, but he’s hella protective… his way of protecting isn’t all about controlling, but rather sweet? he’s careful about his words and would scold you if you do anything rash/dangerous.

“[name], how many times do i have to tell you…” blah blah blah, there he goes again. if you’re someone who likes to be reckless, expect a handful of lectures and keito losing his bonkers because of how many times you were caught by him, kuro or souma doing some goofy shit /j at this point, he just sticks by your side, or when he’s busy he’s calling you every single time he takes a break 😭

overall, keito would prefer protecting than being protected.

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ai-katsuu · 9 days ago

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DANCE WITH ME UNDER A MOONLIT SKY.

SUMMARY. enstars characters as a selection of romance quotes that make me want to crush them in my hands

FEATURING. rinne amagi, keito hasumi, tatsumi kazehaya, natsume sakasaki

NOTES. reader is gender neutral, no warnings just pure unfiltered fluff, idiots in love, not proofread

rinne amagi

“it's not that i can't live without you; it's that i don't want to. there's a difference. we all make choices in life and i choose you. my heart belongs to you. and i'm not asking for it back, even if you don't want it anymore.” — the perfect game; j. sterling

rinne falls in love like the first drop of a roller coaster. it's nothing new, he knows how it starts and how it ends—and he swears it's going to be different this time. he isn't going to scream and yell when the rush takes over and he definitely isn't going to seriously fall in love with you. but the rails click with anticipation, and rinne amagi, who is usually so buoyant and a thorn in everyone's side, is unusually quiet. he reaches the very top, and everything else feels so small. the food cart the two of you were just at, the minigame he won just for you so you could take that big ugly bear home, the gift shop that you begged to visit at least once before you left. everything falls into place, and when he turns to look at you and your big annoying smile, asking words he can't quite make out, the ride tips over the edge—and rinne amagi's voice is lost to the wind.

keito hasumi

“i will want you with every single ounce of my being during every single second of every single day for the rest of our lives. no amount of scars will stop me from loving you, from worshipping you with every moment we have together. you are it for me.” — when it raynes; montana fyre

keito falls in loves like free falling from a plane. he's perfectly guarded and protected around all sides—heart packed tightly in the safest corner of his chest, ready for everything and anything thrown his way. it's the only time he isn't in control, and he can't work his way out of this one. the time is only perfect once he catches sight of you below, and keito finally takes a leap of faith, shutting his eyes tight and diving down head first. the wind rushes past him furiously—adrenaline rushes through his veins and his heart is still beating straight out of his chest even when he lands right into your arms. his pupils are blown wide, hair tussled from the wind, glasses long gone from the fall—but you smile at him so warmly that keito thinks he might dive right into your arms right again.

tatsumi kazehaya

“what are you smiling about?” / “just admiring the view.” / “you were staring at me.” / “like i said, admiring the view.” — real players never lose; micalea smeltzer

tatsumi falls in love like quiet nights in front of a fireplace. there isn't anything else except him, you, and the burning of the distant firewood. you glow brilliantly in the golden light, and tatsumi realizes that he would do nothing but stay with you like this forever and he would be happy. the way you shuffle quietly under the large blanket, lost to sleep long ago. behind him, the world falls into a steady pulse, a silent lull that fades into the background as he flickers to life—similar to the flames in front of him. he draws mindless circles on the back of your hand whilst you sleep and wonders just what and when things changed. on what day, on what occasion? but tatsumi doesn't mind, not when your eyes are closed so peacefully—he could stay with you like this forever, after all.

natsume sakasaki

“loving you is as natural to me as breathing. you came into my life and wormed your way into my heart. i knew the first time i saw you that there was no one like you on this planet. no one else for me.” — academically yours; jennifer chipman

natsume falls in love like pancakes over breakfast. it's soft, warm, uplifting, and it feels like he has lived this domesticity with you all his life. because he knew from the first time he set sight on you that you were the one—with your messed up tie and mismatched socks, rushing through the halls with papers flying all around. he feels like the center of a cliche movie, a silly and laughable child's tale. but you are there in every vision he sees. with you, every moment is a state of wonderful bliss—featherlight touches, playful teasing, kisses that never seem to last long enough. natsume doesn't care, he knows you have all the time in the world together. and if fate would not allow it, then he would just have to curse everyone altogether until it did.

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ai-katsuu · 9 days ago

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hello! can i request keito with fem reader where they both got caught in rain while they're on their way home, and keito couldn't help but gets turned on looking at his girlfriend getting soaked, her body curve almost looking visible to some eyes :( when they got back home she noticed that keito has been quite and ask him what's wrong, and then he loses himself and fuck her in the bathroom??

“Just… hold still for a minute.”

synopsis — getting caught in a storm was not on his agenda. but having his dignity washed away by the rain was definitely not what he planned for [keito hasumi x fem! reader]

content warnings — nsfw, mdni. semi-exhibitionism(?), pervert! dom! keito, bathroom sex, penetration, creampie, pussydrunk! keito

author’s note — i used to not like keito, but the enstars fandom REALLY changed my mind about that haha… even more so after this i bet.

word count — 1401

“DAMMIT, IT’S STARTING TO RAIN…”

Scowling, Keito tugged you under the nearest overhand as soon as he felt the first few drops, glaring at the darkening clouds. “And it look’s like it’s not gonna stop anytime soon.”

You sighed. “Well, so much for a nice date. Do you think Kuro can pick us up?”

“He’d be driving all the way back from work- and just for a thirty-second drive back to the house?” He gave you a half-hearted glare, and you shrugged. “It’s not worth it.”

“Well, then can we try to make a run for it? It’s still light-“

You were interrupted by a thunderous roar, the rain increasing tenfold. Fat droplets hit the overhang over the two of you, rolling down from the sides and splattering you and Keito.

The latter grumbled, wiping a stray droplet from his glasses. “Well that’s great. I don’t think we should— the weather is dangerous. But it’s more dangerous for us to stay here, so I say running back to our house is our best bet…”

You didn’t wait for him to finish; you were already off. The male let out a noise of surprise, going to scold you, but relented and joined you in the pouring rain as the two of you raced back home.

He would glance towards you frequently, but the more he did it the harder it was to look away. The rain had soaked through your blouse, the material sticking to your skin and becoming so translucent that… dammit. Why were you wearing such a pretty bra— wait, why was he even looking at that?! How undignified can he be?

And the fact you were basically flashing yourself in public… god, he was losing his mind at an incredible rate. He couldn’t think straight, forgetting both yours and his wellbeing as he almost tripped over the curb of a sidewalk and slipping towards you. You didn’t think much of it, deciding that he was just having trouble in the rain.

Yeah, the rain was making his face red and reduced him into a stuttering mess as you tried to get the house keys from him. Yeah…

You breathed out a sigh of relief as you finally stepped in your house, away from the rain. Caring less about the water prints you left around the house, you rushed to the bathroom to dry up and changed. Keito hesitated, hovering over the entrance as he tried to process what just happened.

Did he get turned on? Yes. Should he do something about it?

…Yes??

- - -

“Keito— are you alright? Why are you acting so weird?”

The said male mumbled out an inaudible response, burying his flushing face into the towel he dried his hair with. When he peeked up, you couldn’t help but coo at his pout, his eyes more prominent without his glasses. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” He muttered, obviously lying. Deadpanning but not wanting to feed into the nonsense, you just sighed and turned around to reach for your hairbrush.

“Can’t you just stop acting like a baby for once? You-“ You cut off with a jolt, feeling Keito’s still-damp hands grab your waist tightly as he pulled your back flush to his chest. The hairbrush hit the tile with a sharp noise, but that soon was forced into the back of your mind as you stared at the male a bit closer. “Keito??”

He seemed to whisper an apology, but after glancing at you in the eye he raised his voice. “Just… just hold still for a minute.”

“What?”

One of your free hands grabbed the side of the sink, instinctively grounding yourself as your boyfriend suddenly shoved his hands under your belt and down your thighs, bringing your pants and underwear along with it. You made an effort to jerk away to his boldness, but shivered and froze after you felt his hot breath on your neck.

He was desperate desperate.

In fact, he was so whipped that he didn’t even bother to apologize, which was saying something because he usually does whenever he jumps on you out of the blue. Right now his mind was set on getting himself off, with you in tow.

He got into foreplay quickly, his deft fingers rubbing your swelling nub and folds. Flinching, your other free hand lifted up to cover your mouth but Keito beat you to it, slipping two fingers into your mouth just as he nipped at your shoulder.

You were going to lose your balance soon- with your boyfriend working you with both his hands and mouth, you felt the inescapable adrenaline he was feeding to you. When he saw your legs buckle visibly and your eyes clouded, he picked up the pace on your cunt, faint squelching sounds reaching both of your ears. You came with a soft whine, your hands going to grip Keito’s shirt as he fingered you through your orgasm. Fatigue was already creeping up your body as you caught your breath, but the knowing grip he had on you said that you weren’t resting just yet.

“You came so easily,” Keito observed out loud, his lack of tone making you shiver. “Glad to know I wasn’t the only one craving this.”

“Just hurry up…” Grumbling, you reached back to press on his ass, the force making him grind against your own. His bulge was prominent, and when he felt the clothed sex rub against your heat the both of you groaned. “Make it quick.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” He snapped, but obliging to your words as he impatiently tugged his pants off and let his cock spring out of his boxers, resting on the curve of your back. You bit your lip, grabbing it to align with your hole, but let out a small grunt of shock as he pushed you against the sink, pinning both of your hands on the cold marble.

Any complaints that were about to bubble out soon grew into rushed moans as Keito slipped into you effortlessly and immediately started to rut into you, shying grunts slipping through his lips as his eyes screwed shut.

“Oh fuck-!” Your head fell on the marble top, the coolness of the stone competing with the raging fire your boyfriend was now fueling. Being louder than him right now, your pathetic attempts to speak echoed through the bathroom walls, your own lewd moans reaching your ears.

Your hands were let go a while ago, Keito’s arms instead wrapping around your waist as he almost lifted you up every time he slapped his pelvis to your cunt, feeling your previous orgasm string off between your thighs and his hips. At this point he was so lost in your cunt that he didn’t even slow down for you when another numbing orgasm rolled over you, your cries white noise to him, as all he could focus was how tight you were wrapping around his cock.

“K-Keito- ghk- t’fast-t~!” You struggled to shied away from him, but he’s had you wrapped around your finger for this long, he can’t let go now especially since he’s nearing his high. Letting out a tsk at you antics, he muffled your complaints with a hand, his grip tightening around your jaw as he nipped at your ear.

“Just be my little whore for a bit longer,” He spat out, his breaths shaky as his pace became ragged and inconsistent. “Bit- bit longer…”

The tears that were gathering around your eyes finally fell as you felt Keito push even harder into you, soon feeling warmth explode in your cunt as he pumped you full of his seed. That feeling alone was enough to wrench out a third orgasm from you, your body convulsing violently. Finally the male slowed to a stop, collapsing onto your shaky figure as the both of you held on the sink to stay on your feet.

You couldn’t see it, but felt Keito’s seed drip out your hole and trickle down your thighs when he pulled out, shivering as you felt his fingers scoop it up and finger it back to your hole.

“Jesus, Keito…” You let out a breathless laugh, turning your head to see his flushed face, the post-orgasm finally clearing his head. He tried to hide his embarrassment, but his bright red ears gave it away.

“Let’s- let’s just get cleaned up. And not a word about this.”

TAGLIST: @ibaraluvr @sugarsweb @himeru-soulmate

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ai-katsuu · 16 days ago

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The Inheritance Games Trilogy: Alisa

no but why has the Alisa x Nash x Libby trio never been discussed?

“When did I become the enemy here? I have only ever done what the old man wanted me to do.” She spoke like those words were beung physically torn out of her. “Do you have any idea what that’s cost me?” // And when she spoke about what her loyalty to the old man had cost her… She’s talking about Nash. “I am holding this empire together by a thread.”

For a second, I felt really bad that Avery mistrusted Alisa.

Alisa was literally Nash’s ex-fiancée. And she’s putting up with aaaaaaall of this. I’m just curious as to why she is very adamant on following through with the old man’s orders. No hate for Libby. I just want a better storyline for Alisa, one where she just chooses to be happy and not stuck with watching her ex go out with other people right in front of her face.

If Nash and Libby are endgame then good for them. I just hope Alisa gets a better ending. She deserves better after finding EVERY WAY POSSIBLE for Avery to retain her inheritance. That is pure effort, skill, and cleverness; a product of The Hawthorne Legacy:

“You have five minutes,” he said coldly. Hurt flashed across Alisa’s features, and I remembered what Max had said. Alisa had moved me back here without my permission. With my life on the line, she’d acted to save my inheritance. “Don’t look at me like that,” Alisa said to me this time. “It worked, didn’t it?” I was here. I was alive. And I was still a billionaire. “It cost me dearly.” Alisa held my gaze. “It cost me this family. But it worked.” I didn’t know what to say to that.

A thank you would be nice? Can I just acknowledge that ALISA SAVED AVERY HER INHERITANCE IN SOOOOOO MANY INSTANCES IN THE NAME OF WHAT THE OLD MAN WANTED: WHYYYYYYYYY????????? WHAT WAS THE REASON??????

And the fact that she’s villainized for it? No, in the next book I want Avery to make decisions WITH A COST. LET HER TAKE THE REINS OF THE EMPIRE AND EMULATE THE UNDERSTANDING WHY THE HAWTHORNES CALL IT BLOOD MONEY AND WHY BOTH TOBIAS(ES) WANT NONE OF IT FOR THEMSELVES OR TO BE INHERITED.

End of rant. In conclusion, Alisa deserves better. Rooting for a justifiable ending for her in the last book.

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ai-katsuu · 18 days ago

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Yaku please <3

YAKU

There is a bottle of your perfume hidden on the third shelf, hidden behind some excess bottles of bodywash and lotion.

You pull it out and weigh it in your hand, surprised to find it half empty.

"Mori?" You ask, half curious, walking the short distance back to the kitchen. "Are you having an affair?"

Morisuke freezes at the kitchen counter, a bottle of your favorite creamer raised in the air, ready to pour.

"What?" He asks, blinking. His eyes, wide and gorgeous and oh so sharp, catch the bottle in your hands. "Where you snooping around again?" He barks, dropping the creamer back on the table. You know that tone. Half rage, half embarrassment.

You raise the bottle. "I have been looking for this for ages!"

"It's not yours," he insists. "I put yours back when I bought my own."

"What for?" You take a step closer. "It's half empty. Who needs that much perfume?"

"It fades quickly," Morisuke points out. "Next time we're getting better quality."

A blush works itself onto his cheeks now. "I put it on my pillow when I'm away, okay?"

"Aww," you coo, taking the last step only to curl your arms around him. "I kinda figured. But you still get to suffer a little. You got mad when I did the same."

"Yes, because you used my most expensive after shave and your perfume is way cheaper."

"Whose fault is that?"

He snorts. "Fine, I'll get you a different brand tomorrow.

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ai-katsuu · 18 days ago

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Feel like now is a good time to remind y'all that when asked "which player had the most effect on you?", these two dead-ass put each other's name as their answer.

So, yeah, YakuNoya might be realer than you think, just saying. *wink*

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ai-katsuu · 18 days ago

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❥. * yaku bf hcs

wc: 0.5k content warning: fluff, slight smut, aged up, mention of praise, post-time skip, my shitty writing, not proofread

˚ ۪⁀➴🐈

-Yaku, the type of boyfriend to work his way into your heart if you struggle opening up to your relationship boundaries. He'd spoil you endlessly for sure, with his love and with gifts.

-Yaku, the type of boyfriend to love cuddling with you, just holding you in his arms makes him feel so safe and content. He'd also enjoy giving you neck kisses if he's big spooning.

-Yaku, the type of boyfriend to give his all when he sees you in the stands at one of his games. He'd be extra pumped up and try his hardest, not to impress you, but to show you the prize you scored when you started dating him.

-Yaku, the type of boyfriend to be very good at communication. If you end up arguing with Yaku, he'd work it out with you while being the most patient he's ever been. He'd acknowledge your feelings, making you feel heard, and help you through any hurdles you may encounter.

-Yaku, the type of boyfriend to be your gentleman. He's gonna be walking a step ahead of you to open the door first, holding your bags or clothing, and even following with the sidewalk rule. If someone mistreats you, he'd absolutely turn his head around and clap back.

-Yaku, the type of boyfriend to have words of affirmation as his love language. He's excellent when it comes to teamwork with his manmade confidence on court, helping out others even if he does tell them that they suck. With you, he'd do the same but with tons of compliments and more gentle care.

-Yaku, the type of boyfriend to absolutely show your parents the best version of himself through his loving words about you and his kind and proper actions. Your parents find him to be a very respectable man that enjoys just being in your presence. Yaku also loves to listen to the stories about you that your parents tell him.

-Yaku, the type of boyfriend to be definitely whipped on that pussy. He's pussydrunk, eyes half-lidded while he's biting back his moans. When a few words slip off his tongue, he's praising you on how good you take him profusely, and how your tight plush walls clamp down on him every time his cock twitched inside you.

-Yaku, the type of boyfriend to love when you sit on his lap with his dick just inside you. He loves the way your arms wrap snuggly around his shoulders while his hands are on the flesh of your dough-like ass, gazing at your lewd expression as you adjust to his length.

-Yaku, the type of boyfriend to cuddle you to bed while holding your hand. When face to face with you, he's peppering the surface of your face with his most gentle kisses until you drift off to bed. A slight tired smile on his face while he takes one more look before sleeping.

masterlist here

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ai-katsuu · 23 days ago

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Tumblr Code.

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ai-katsuu · 26 days ago

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i was the one who requested hurt/comfort Brant fic. THANK YOU FOR GRANTING MY REQUEST&FEEDING MY DELULU(≧ᗜ≦) (sorry for bad english huhu T^T)

And I'm here for requesting again! Wdyt abt Brant take care over his spouse who's got very very very drunk, but his spouse who's usually calm&quiet now becomes all flirty and touchy here&there (giving him ton of kisses on his face)? And Brant's response? He's become a COMPLETELY BLUSHING MESS! Head empty bcs how clingy and affectionate she became!

But if you have another scenario let's go with yours! I just wanna see him nervous with red face honestly (sorry /j). That's all! Thank you again pookie! May your Brant&his weapon come early♡!

TOMORROW, OUR BOY WILL FINALLY HAVE HIS BANNER

I wish you and all Brant wanters, Aventurines luck. All brant wanters will be brant havers 😌🤍

_____

Drunk on Love

The fires in Fool’s Elysium burned bright, casting flickering gold across the cavern walls as the Troupe of Fools celebrated another successful performance. The air was thick with laughter, the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine swirling between the revelers, and Brant was, as usual, at the center of it all.

“And then, as the guards closed in, I told them, ‘Ah, but gentlemen, surely you wouldn’t lay hands on a humble man of the arts!’” Brant spun dramatically, arms flaring out. “And just as they hesitated—boom! Gone in a puff of smoke!”

The crowd around him erupted in laughter and cheers, toasting his theatrics. Brant grinned, preening under the attention—until something, or rather someone, latched onto him from behind.

Warm arms wrapped around his waist, a face pressed into his back, and a voice—soft but undeniably intoxicated—murmured, “Brant.”

He barely had time to react before Y/N, usually so calm and composed, turned him around and clung to him.

Brant blinked. “Oh.”

Y/N was flushed, her expression dreamily affectionate, her grip firm as she buried her face against his chest.

“…Oh,” Brant repeated, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Well, well, what do we have here?”

He tilted her chin up, gazing down at her with playful curiosity. “Darling, you look like you’ve had quite the generous helping of wine. Enjoying yourself, are we?”

She pouted. “Mmhmm. But you—” She poked his chest. “You talk too much.”

Brant gasped theatrically. “Me? Talk too much? Impossible.”

Y/N squinted at him like she was trying to solve a great mystery, then sighed dramatically. “You’re so pretty,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Not fair.”

Brant chuckled. “I can’t say I disagree—”

Before he could finish, she cupped his face and kissed his cheek.

Brant’s brain stuttered.

The surrounding Fools whistled and hooted, but Brant barely heard them. He was too busy trying to process the fact that Y/N—reserved, steady, unshakable Y/N—was pressing soft, lingering kisses along his jaw, moving dangerously close to his mouth.

He stiffened, heat rushing to his face. “Y-Y/N—”

Another kiss, this time right at the corner of his lips.

Brant squeaked.

His usual charm crumbled. He, Brant—smooth talker, silver-tongued rogue, shameless flirt—was suddenly incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

“Alright, alright, I think someone needs a little fresh air,” he managed, voice pitched slightly higher than usual.

Without waiting for her response, he swept her into his arms, ignoring the smug looks and snickers from the others as he carried her toward his quarters.

Y/N only hummed contentedly, resting her head against his shoulder. “You smell nice.”

Brant stumbled.

The journey through the winding tunnels of Fool’s Elysium had never felt so long. By the time he reached his private space—an alcove filled with scattered notes, fabrics, and an absurd number of pillows—his heart was pounding.

He set her down gently, exhaling. “Alright, darling, let’s get you settled—”

But Y/N didn’t let go.

Instead, she tugged him down with surprising strength, pulling him onto the cushions beside her.

Brant let out a very ungraceful sound as he landed, his back hitting the soft bedding, and before he could react, Y/N straddled his lap.

Brant stopped breathing.

She leaned in, her fingers tracing his collarbone before sliding lower, over the fabric of his shirt. “You’re so handsome,” she murmured.

Brant’s brain was gone. Utterly, completely gone.

“Y-Y/N—darling, you—you’re very drunk right now,” he stammered. “I think you should rest—”

She ignored him, her fingers working at the buttons of his shirt. His breath hitched as she pushed the fabric aside, exposing the faint, intricate glow of his Tacet mark against his skin.

Y/N’s eyes widened in wonder. Gently, reverently, she traced the mark with her fingertips.

Brant whimpered.

No one ever touched his Tacet mark. It was sacred, sensitive, and yet here she was, mapping every line and swirl with delicate fingers. His entire body tensed, his skin burning under her touch.

“Y/N,” he choked out. “If you—keep doing that—I might actually die.”

She giggled. Giggled.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” she mused.

Brant let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a groan and a laugh, dragging a hand over his face. “Oh, you are never going to let me live this down, are you?”

She beamed at him, and gods, she was beautiful.

Then she kissed his forehead.

His breath caught.

Then his nose.

His heartbeat thundered.

Then both his cheeks, her lips soft and warm, her hands cradling his face like he was something precious.

Brant shattered.

“Alright, that’s enough, you dangerous woman,” he rasped, his voice uneven. With a dramatic flourish (that was only slightly desperate), he flipped them over, pinning her beneath him.

Y/N gasped, blinking up at him with wide, hazy eyes. “Brant?”

He smirked, though his face was still bright red. “My turn.”

He leaned down—slowly, deliberately—and pressed a single, lingering kiss to her forehead.

Her breath hitched.

Then, with exaggerated care, he kissed her nose.

Her fingers curled into his shirt.

Then, finally, finally, he brushed his lips against her cheek, just barely, before pulling back with a triumphant grin.

“How’s that for theatrics, darling?” he teased.

Y/N’s face was scarlet.

Brant chuckled, pleased with himself—until she pulled him down again, burying her face against his chest with a sleepy sigh.

“Warm…” she mumbled. “Stay.”

Brant softened.

He sighed dramatically but wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin atop her head. “You are going to be the death of me,” he murmured, but there was no heat behind the words.

Y/N hummed in contentment. Within moments, her breathing slowed, her body relaxed against his, and she drifted into sleep.

Brant lay there for a long time, listening to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

“…I am so in love with you,” he muttered to himself, utterly doomed.

And for once, the ever-charming Brant had no idea what to do about it.

Brant had been in many thrilling, perilous situations in his life—performing daring acts on stage, conning pompous nobles, escaping armed guards, even staring down the Dragon of Dirge. But nothing, nothing, had ever left him as utterly helpless as this.

Y/N was clinging to him in her sleep.

Not just loosely holding onto him—oh no—she had wrapped herself around him, arms tucked beneath his coat, face pressed against his chest, and legs tangled with his own. She was warm, impossibly warm, her breath tickling his skin as she sighed contentedly in her slumber.

Brant was losing his mind.

His face was burning, his heart hammering against his ribs like a drumbeat in a grand performance. He had tried—tried—to gently pry her off when he had first realized the situation, but the second he moved, she had whined softly and only held on tighter.

He was doomed.

With an exaggerated sigh, he flopped back onto the cot, staring at the ceiling of his little cavern home. "This is my life now," he murmured to himself, though the complaint held no real weight.

He glanced down at her, a fond smile tugging at his lips despite his still-racing heart. Her expression was so peaceful, so utterly at ease. It made something deep in his chest ache.

Carefully—so carefully—he let his hand move, brushing along her back in slow, comforting strokes. She sighed again, nuzzling closer. Brant bit his lip, trying to suppress the giddy, ridiculous smile threatening to spread across his face.

"Oh, you’re dangerous," he whispered, shaking his head in amused defeat. "Too dangerous."

But as much as he should be trying to escape, he… didn’t want to.

For all his theatrics, for all his flair and bravado, Brant was a man who had gone years without a true place to belong. He had always been the fool, the outcast, the man who danced on the fringes of society. Yet here she was, clinging to him like he was something precious, like he was safe.

He swallowed hard, his fingers absentmindedly tracing small circles against her back.

Maybe, just this once, he’d allow himself to believe it.

With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax.

If this was the price of taking care of her, of having her trust him enough to cling to him even in sleep…

Then he would gladly let himself be tangled in her warmth for as long as she would have him.

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ai-katsuu · 29 days ago

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hello! may i request reader going on their first date with the amphoreus trio (phainon, mydei, anaxa)? Love your writing!!<3

𝙃𝙎𝙍 𝙈𝙀𝙉 𝙂𝙊𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙊𝙉 𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙄𝙍 𝙁𝙄𝙍𝙎𝙏 𝘿𝘼𝙏𝙀 ᯓ★ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀: phainon, mydei, anaxa ᯓ★ rules | masterlist | 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 ᯓ★ 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ᯓ★ 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀:

#𝗣𝗛𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗢𝗡

you don’t expect phainon to be so… meticulous.

not stiff - no, he's far too fluid for that. but there’s a quiet kind of gravity in the way he carries the date, like every part of it has been considered. the location - quiet, sky-lit, with flickering lanterns above and soft cushions underfoot. the music, ambient and low. the conversation: light at first, a dance of observation and humor, and slowly peeling into something deeper.

he's not easily surprised, but there’s a pause - a flicker of real warmth - when you laugh at one of his dryer remarks.

"you actually got that?" he murmurs, eyes crinkling faintly.

you didn’t know someone could look at you like that. not like prey, not like a curiosity - but like a puzzle he’d very much like to keep unfolding, if you’ll let them.

when he walks you home, he doesn’t press. no lingering touches or teasing suggestions. just a promise in his voice when he says, “if you want to do this again... you won’t need to wait long.”

#𝗠𝗬𝗗𝗘𝗜

the date starts with formality.

he greets you like a knight would (despite his rough exterior) - softly bowed head, gloved hand offered, something fond and careful in the way he says your name.

you’d think it would stay serious, but… it doesn’t.

he’s more relaxed than expected. calm, but not cold. surprisingly easy to laugh, easier still to listen. the restaurant he picks is traditional but warm, and he’s memorized the menu before you even sat down - clearly overthinking.

you tease him for it gently, and his smile flickers - embarrassed, almost.

“i wanted it to be right,” he admits. “for you.”

he listens to you like you’re the only voice in the world. no rush. no distraction. just this quiet awe, like he’s been waiting longer than he’ll ever say for a moment like this.

as the night winds down and the stars blink to life overhead, he walks beside you without needing to fill the silence. your shoulder bumps his. he doesn’t move away.

when you thank him for the night, he says your name again - so softly.

"if you would like to do this again with me... who knows, perhaps i'll cook for you,"

#𝗔𝗡𝗔𝗫𝗔

you expect awkwardness.

anaxa is awkward, not in an endearing way - in a stiff but trying way, like he read five guides on how to go on a date and took notes but on his coreflame he would never admit that. he shows up ten minutes early, clearly rehearsed his greeting, and gifts you something handmade - a little carved charm, shaped like a dromas.

“i didn’t know what people usually give,” he mutters, eyes darting anywhere but yours. “but they said first dates should have something memorable…”

you melt.

the outing itself is simple - a walk through a bioluminescent garden, glowing with gentle pink and blue hues - and it’s quiet at first. but as you talk, anaxa loosens. especially when you ask him questions about the stars, about dromas, about what he loves.

and by the end of the night, you realize: he’s been watching you the whole time with soft, amazed eyes.

as if he can’t quite believe this is real.

when you part ways, he opens his mouth - closes it - then blurts, “i... did not expect to enjoy this date as much as i have... would you be open to doing this sort of thing next week?”

your smile tells him everything he needs to know.

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ai-katsuu · 1 month ago

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Mydei x Reader Drabble

Warning: 3.3 Quest Spoilers

When Mydei left to become a titan you knew it would be the last time you’d see him. It was his destiny to fight and protect the people of this era.

Deep down you hoped for the best, that the Chrysos Heir’s would fulfill their journey and he’ll be able go come home to you. Every night under the stars you’d pray for his safety.

You were also aware how Mydei told Phainon to keep an eye on you and to protect you when he wasn’t there. And that he did, protecting you even as many started to die off beside him.

No matter how much you prayed to the titans above, you knew. Everyone heard the news. He was dead. Nothing could change that.

Perhaps, in your next life, the two of you can be together again. But until then, your fight isn’t over. And you will be the one to avenge him.

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ai-katsuu · 1 month ago

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𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 lovey dovey | various hsr men x gender neutral reader

💌 — ; your boyfriend is tooootally the type of guy to...

love mail — a girl gotta do what a girl gotta do. good NIGHT. (it's 8pm as of posting) another short one :p i'm starting to grow to like writing these...

anaxa's the typa guy to prefer slowburn over anything. he wants to earn you, really. doesn't like it when things are too easy because he appreciates the art of courting, though if you DO make it easy for him he still tries to be romantic. wanting to at least feel like he's doing something right to receive such love from you </3

mydei's is the typa guy to appreciate when you bring him in for a dance while he's in the kitchen. while waiting for a dish to cook or the oven to preheat, you begin to hum a familiar song and take his hand. he lets out that deep chuckle of his, indulging in your antics as you two slowdance to your humming. it's so domestic i threw up hi guys

phainon is ABSOLUTELY the type of guy to cross half a battlefield just to help you during a fight. doesn't care how much he's hurt, the distance he has to run, he's at your side immediately. absolutely tears the enemy apart too like.. he is NOT losing anyone else.

dan heng is soooo the type of guy to love taking pictures of you :) candids, proper photoshoots, during dates.. all of it! he adores having his formerly barren camera roll be full of his brightest part of his day. he also keeps some photographs in his wallet, phonecase, all of that! isn't a big words guy so uses this as his way of appreciation <3

dr ratio is the typa guy to use you as his muse. has used your beauty as inspiration for sculptures and doesn't hold back on his compliments for you. you will STRUGGLE to be insecure with how insistent and sharp he is about how perfectly you're 'carved' to be. will playfully debate w u about it

boothill's the typa guy to let you leave your mark on his mechanical body. stickers, kiss marks if you feel like it, little accessories.. do whatever you want, wears it proudly like a medal. personal favorite is his wedding ring <3

moze is the typa guy to like going invisible before hugging you from behind. it used to startle you, but you've grown to appreciate it. he was only like this in the beginning, since he was quietly embarrassed about affection and wasn't sure how to approach it the way you did. decided this was the best way. although you miss it cause it was cute, you like how he doesn't feel the need to anymore. he's grown comfortable with affection <3

jing yuan is the typa guy to know your little 'questions' and subtle hints to things. ask him if he's hungry? he has your cravings being ordered on the phone. does something look nice on you? he already has his wallet out to pay for it. he also makes sure not to walk too fast and matches your pace, all while of course holding your hand. nothing works anymore because he just knows you too well 💔 gives you kisses on your forehead for trying. if you're unhappy he knows to follow up to your cheek, and if it doesn't work he finishes with a kiss to your lips. that one always works :)

gallagher the typa guy to LOOOVE flirting when your tipsy. sometimes you forget he's your boyfriend and get all giggly like when you first met him, it's his favorite thing. doesn't push it too far ofc because he wants to be respectful when you're under the influence, but it takes a lot of years of practice to be able to hold his constraint when you lean in for a kiss.. all sweet with your hands pressed up against his chest

caelus is totally the typa guy who loves to let you wear his jacket. for one, everybody knows it is his, and you wearing it means he's yours <3 so that means nobody approaches you and he likes it that way. also it's comfortable and fashionable! you never get cold :D (and you see his arms so i suppose it's a bonus)

luka is ONE HUNDRED percent the type of guy to love playfighting but he always lets you win. it's always fun with you, you're always so giggly and play dirty, plus while he can totally counter it, he doesn't. let's you have your fun the whole time! unless you start teasing him and that's when he locks in (to tease you back)

blade is the typa guy to appreciate the fact you patch him up. while you're doing so he mumbles about how perfect you are, how he's undeserving of your kindness as he takes one of your hands and kisses your palm softly, making you cup his cheek as he continues his praise of your amazing care for him. sometimes goes overboard and is too focused on showing you how thankful he is and forgets to have his injuries properly treated :p

luocha is the typa guy to like sleeping shirtless. doesn't know why he started this habit, just knows that it started when you two started to sleep together in the same bed. he liked waking up and really feeling you being there. it meant everything to him, this kind of vulnerability. it was beyond lust, it was trust.

gepard is the type of guy to always be flustered easily. we all know it, we love it, but your favorite moments are when you surprise him while he's on duty. when he's stationed to more isolated parts of belobog, he always seems bored or you know.. maybe just doing his duty. whatever it is, he's clearly too focused to let any emotion slide. so when you show up, all smiley and sweet, your energy bounces off of him and he can't help but get all giggly too. only to realize he's still on watch, gets embarrassed, and you relish in the sweet red on his cheeks.

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ai-katsuu · 1 month ago

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WIND BREAKER | when you wear someone else’s jacket

Synopsis ✰ how they react when they notice you wearing a piece of clothing that isn’t theirs

Characters ✰ Haruka Sakura, Hajime Umemiya, Hayato Suo, Akihiko Nirei, Jo Togame, Choji Tomiyama

Contains ✰ sfw! slight possessive behavior, tiny amount of jealousy, little bit of territorial behavior, minor pda, content of the boys being tested in a way?

Haruka Sakura ᡣ𐭩

Sakura knew something was off but couldn’t exactly pin point what it was. you went in for a hug since you haven’t seen your boyfriend all day. it was while he was in your embrace he inhaled a scent, a masculine smell that wasn’t yours or his, his eyebrows immediately furrowed. once you pulled away he examined your body, you looked fine, no visible marks, your outfit was normal… except for that over sized sweatshirt that was draped over your body.

“where’d you get that from?” he asked completely cutting off your babbling. you frowned over his abrupt interruption to your story. he didn’t even look sorry that he ruined your story just blankly staring at you until you opened your mouth to answer.

“a friend from class gave it to me, i was cold.” you answered confused why he was making it a thing. Sakura wasn’t the type to get jealous, it hadn’t even crossed your mind that something like this would ever bother him.

“what friend? boy or girl?” huh, what type of question was that? why would he ask that? there’s no way he could be bothered by something so small, right?

“uhm… a boy? does that matter?” you asked with your eyebrows slightly raised. you had never seen Sakura act so… weird? not over something like this.

“no, just curious.” he finally muttered out after what felt like a lifetime pause. the two of you continued your walk back home in silence. the entire time Sakura couldn’t fight off that frown setting on his perfect face. his eyes were stuck in a trance on you, more like that sweater on your body. you felt your entire body heating up by his intense stare.

you let out a sigh, getting the hint he was clearly upset over the sweater. you stopped in your tracks and pulled the sweater off your body. your boyfriends face immediately perked up after seeing you take it off. he was secretly grateful you did that because he was very unsure how to go about the conversation. before you even knew it, he was already taking off his jacket and putting it on you. you blushed at his action, it wasn’t something you were expecting him to do.

“just come to me whenever you’re cold from now on. i’ll warm you up.” he softly says with the warmest blush spreading across his face.

Hajime Umemiya ᡣ𐭩

Umemiya is rather calm in most situations so something like this doesn’t necessarily trigger him into doing anything drastic. he didn’t think much of it, until you kept wearing it for the rest of the day— then he started thinking ‘it seriously can’t be that cold, take it off already.’ he didn’t want to ask you whose jacket it was since he didn’t want to come off as jealous… even if he is. one thing he did know for sure was that everyone knew you two were dating. he couldn’t help himself anymore before he started taking off his jacket and removing the one you were wearing. he did it so quickly you almost didn’t even get the chance to register what he did. before you knew it his jacket was wrapped around you. you opened your mouth to ask—

“i just thought you’d look better with mine on.” he cut you off before smiling. his words caused you to blush.

“thank you.” you mumbled still registering what had just happened. he took your hand and interlocked it with his own and continued your walk home.

“who’s jacket is it? i’ll make sure to return it for you.” he smoothly says trying to pry the information of who gave it to you in a subtle way. at least, his version of subtle.

“oh- hm i actually don’t even remember. i almost forgot i was wearing it.” you’re confused now since you actually can’t remember who gave it to you. you stopped in your tracks, deep in thought trying to remember. “ah! i remember now, don’t worry about giving it to her. I can do that myself.” you exclaimed happily as you finally remembered the nice girl who lent it to you. she said it was her older brothers but she was always stealing his jackets and hoodies.

“oh good, i’m glad to hear that.” he smiled as you reached out to grab the jacket from his hands. he was relieved to hear that the jacket was from an innocent classmate of yours.

Hayato Suo ᡣ𐭩

as if anyone could even beat Suo into giving you a jacket before he does. Suo had already noticed the way your body was slightly trembling underneath the vent of the air conditioner. however, he also noticed another boy in the corner of his eye looking at you as well. he saw as the boy already begun taking off his jacket and making his way up to you. Suo suddenly felt this urge of territorial dominance creeping up as he wanted to show that you were his. before the boy could reach you Suo wrapped his arm around your chair and pulled your seat/desk closer to his.

“my poor baby, you’re cold. let me warm you up.” he offered with a smile before pulling you into his arms. your body instantly warmed up due to his own warmth. you happily accepted his offer as you buried yourself against his chest meanwhile he hugged you and rubbed your back with his warm hands.

Suo turned to look at the boy who already walked away after noticing you had a boyfriend to keep you warm. he let out a small sigh before keeping you huddled up on his side for the rest of class.

Akihiko Nirei ᡣ𐭩

he didn’t even realize the jacket you were wearing wasn’t yours. it looked so perfect and well fitted on you he actually thought nothing of it. the two of you were spending the whole day together and he said nothing about it. until you took it off and he noticed the name on the tag wasn’t yours.

“this isn’t your jacket?” he finally asked looking closer at it.

“oh no. it’s my friends, she let me borrow it after i forgot to bring mine.” you admitted slightly embarrassed you forgot to bring a jacket.

“i thought it was yours this whole time…” he paused, he was unsure of what to feel. should he be jealous? is it not a big deal? should he offer his instead? he decided to listen to his gut feeling. “are you still cold?”

“a little i guess, her jackets pretty thin so i can still feel the air through it.”

“here, take mine instead.”

“thank you.”

“of course! ask me for my jacket next time you’re cold, i have no problem giving it to you.” he smiled before taking your friends jacket and carrying it for you. Nirei didn’t actually care about you wearing someone else’s jacket as long as you weren’t cold, however, he still would prefer seeing you in his jacket before anyone else’s.

Jo Togame ᡣ𐭩

“take that thing off.” Togame wasted no time expressing his feelings about you wearing another man’s clothes. in all honesty, it irked him way more than he liked to admit. his mind was racing with thoughts of who would be stupid enough to give you their jacket, knowing that you’re his girlfriend.

“huh?? why? i’m cold.” you pouted not wanting to remove the soft material off of your body.

“it’s ugly, you don’t need it. take it off.” his voice was way more stern this time. a small part of you wanted to stand your ground and say no. however, a much larger and smarter part of you knew it was better not to. you took off the jacket with a frown before he snatched it away from your hands.

“wear this instead, my girlfriend shouldn’t go around wearing other men’s clothing.” he scolded while handing over his Shishitoren jacket to you. you wanted to argue but you couldn’t help blushing at his possessive behavior. it shouldn’t have such a strong affect on you but it does.

“who gave it to you anyways? give me a name.” he ordered while scoping out the jacket. it looked strangely familiar but he couldn’t exactly remember where he’s seen it before.

“it’s Choji’s jacket. he offered it to me and said I can keep it until I find you.” you answered with a bright smile. Choji’s gesture meant no harm since he was just trying to look out for his best friend’s girlfriend. he knew Togame wouldn’t have an issue if he knew it was his jacket. yes, you were well-aware of the fact that Togame was only mad because he thought it was someone else’s jacket.

“oh.” the realization settling in as his whole demeanor changed into something more relaxed.

“yes, oh.” you giggled. you could’ve told him sooner that it was Choji’s but where’s the fun in that?

“you called Choji’s jacket ugly.”

“shut up, you should’ve said something sooner.”

Choji Tomiyama ᡣ𐭩

Choji’s mood went from 100 to 0 real quick. his very bright and wide smile getting wiped off his face as his eyes landed on the jacket you were wearing. you tilted your head in confusion to his sudden mood shift. he was usually ecstatic to see you, you couldn’t help but sadden at the lack of emotion he was expressing towards you. were you two in the middle of a fight? had you argued with him and forgot? you didn’t know why he reacted like that. Choji walked up towards you and swiftly took off the jacket from your body. it happened so fast you couldn’t process what even happened. the emotion of confusion stayed in your body as he walked past you with the jacket thrown over his shoulder.

Choji made it his business as leader of Shishitoren to know everything and everyone. as soon as he saw that jacket on you he knew exactly who it belonged to. once you snapped back into reality you chased Choji down slightly worried about what he was planning to do. you found him with the guy who offered you the jacket by the Ori. you watched from a distance as Choji roughly chucked the jacket to the sitting boy’s face. the boy immediately stood up ready to defend himself.

“keep your filthy jacket to yourself and off my girlfriend from here on out.” Choji spat completely unamused by the whole situation. before the boy could even defend himself, Choji’s dark glare silenced him causing him to sit back down before muttering out a small “i understand.” he truly meant no harm by giving you his jacket but in hindsight he really should’ve known better than to do something so stupid. especially when considering you’re his leader’s girlfriend. Choji left it at that, it was his way of showing mercy and restraint.

“oh, you’re here.” he smiled once noticing you at the end of the street. before you could even respond he clashed himself against your lips roughly deepening the kiss as he practically shoved his tongue down your throat. you felt your face getting red, Choji typically wasn’t so affectionate in public, you knew he was doing this to prove a point. your grip tightened around his shirt before you pulled yourself off, small pants escaping from your lips.

“Cho-Choji you can’t just do that.” you argued extremely flustered.

“sorry! i forget you can get so shy, my pretty girl.” he smiled before softly giving you one more kiss. he had no doubt that the boy who gave you his jacket and his friends had all watched your little display of affection. he didn’t mind them watching, he wanted to remind everyone who exactly you belonged to. Choji wrapped an arm around your waist before pulling you closer as the two of you walked off.

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