stressed-cryptid

[stressed-cryptid]

Fatherhood Is a Full-Contact Sport

♡ ft. Caleb, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus x fem!reader ♡ cw: dad!headcanons, domestic chaos, tag-team toddler warfare, sticker abuse, ego injuries, public humiliation (soft), wife-led mischief ♡ a/n: you didn’t mean to start a war… but once your kid picked a target, you had to support them. teamwork makes the dream (dad meltdown) work.

Caleb

It starts with the socks.

You and your kid exchange a look over breakfast—just a slight twitch of the eyebrow, a smirk over toast—and Caleb should have known. He should have.

But he’s got stars in his eyes and jam on his fingers, and he’s too busy cutting your kid’s pancakes into perfect little hexagons to notice you’ve already swapped his socks.

They’re pink. With glitter hearts. And the words “#1 Trophy Husband” stitched in sparkly thread.

He puts them on without looking.

And then?

Operation: Bully Dad begins.

—

Phase One: Language Manipulation. You teach your kid to call him “Captain Cranky.”

Every time he sighs? “Okay, Captain Cranky.”

When he says no to dessert? “Ugh, classic Captain Cranky.”

He stares at you like you betrayed him. You just sip your coffee.

“I am not cranky,” he mutters.

From under the table: “You’re literally pouting right now, Cap.”

—

Phase Two: The Snack Swap. He reaches for his favorite protein bar in the pantry.

Finds a note instead.

"Too slow, Captain Cranky. We needed it more. For… missions"

He spins around.

You and your kid are already on the couch. Sharing it. Making dramatic yum noises.

“I swear to god, you two are a menace.”

You both say it at the same time: “A menace to CRANKY.”

—

Phase Three: The Betrayal. He finally gets a break. He’s lying on the floor with your kid on his chest, playing spaceship noises.

It’s quiet. Peaceful.

Then your kid leans down and whispers: “Mommy says you talk in your sleep. About kissing her toes.”

His eyes FLY OPEN.

You’re across the room, hiding a smile behind a throw pillow. “I said what I said.”

He groans and drags both of you onto the floor with him. “Unbelievable. My own family.”

You grin. “You love it.”

He kisses your temple, then your kid’s forehead. “You have no idea.”

Xavier

It starts with a whisper war in the hallway.

You and your kid peek around the corner like spies on a stakeout—clipboard in hand, checklist ready.

Mission Objective: Tease Daddy Until He Short Circuits.

Xavier is at the kitchen counter, pouring cereal into the mug he always insists is “just more ergonomic than a bowl.” He’s wearing socks with swords on them. A gift from you. He takes them very seriously.

You circle “Target Acquired.”

—

Phase One: The Wrong Name Game. Your kid walks in casually.

“Hey, Xylophone.”

Xavier glances up. “Hello.”

No reaction.

Not even confusion.

So your kid tries again, louder. “I said Xylophone.”

Xavier frowns faintly. “Yes. I heard. Are we experimenting with sound-based naming systems today?”

You lose it from the hallway.

—

Phase Two: Sticker Warfare. This one’s your idea.

While Xavier’s reading on the couch, your kid climbs into his lap with all the innocence in the world—and slowly starts covering him in dinosaur stickers.

One on his cheek.

One on his temple.

A brontosaurus on his neck.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch.

Finally, he blinks over his book. “Is there a… theme?”

���Jurassic Daddy,” you say sweetly, passing by.

He nods thoughtfully. “Very well.”

Doesn’t even take them off.

—

Phase Three: The Hidden Alarm. Your kid sneaks your phone into Xavier’s jacket pocket.

Sets a timer.

In two minutes, it’ll go off. Loud. In the middle of him doing birdwatching on the balcony.

He’s squinting into the trees, focused and serene—until a digital duck quack blares from his coat.

He freezes.

Then calmly pulls out your phone, stares at it like it’s a new lifeform.

“...Is this my punishment for using your mug?”

You and your kid high-five from the doorway.

—

That night, you’re brushing your teeth when you feel arms wrap around your waist from behind.

“I love you,” he murmurs into your hair.

You smile at his reflection. “Even when we bully you?”

He hums. “Especially when you work as a team.”

He’s got a triceratops still stuck to his sleeve.

You leave it.

Rafayel

It starts because Rafayel wouldn’t let your kid put googly eyes on the blender.

A crime, truly.

So now?

You’re at war.

You and your mini-me form an unholy alliance before breakfast. The mission is clear: mess with Rafayel all day. Confuse him. Fluster him. Bring him to his knees (with love, obviously).

—

Phase One: The Sketch Swap He leaves his current canvas in the studio—half-finished, ethereal, probably titled Longing for Lemuria II: A Study in Violet Silence.

You and your kid sneak in.

When he returns, the dreamy mermaid now has a mustache. And laser eyes. And a speech bubble that says “My dad has stinky feet.”

He gasps like you physically struck him.

“You defiled my muse?!”

You shrug. “Consider it a collaboration.”

Your kid adds: “We made it better.”

He puts a hand to his chest. “You’re both going to artist jail.”

—

Phase Two: The Fashion Sabotage He goes to pull on his favorite pants—the flowy, artsy ones with the embroidered moons—and finds they’ve been replaced with hot pink yoga leggings from your drawer.

You: “I think you could rock them.”

Your kid: “Slay, bestie.”

He stares at the pants.

Then stares at you.

Then changes into them like a man on a catwalk.

But he’s muttering the entire time. “This is emotional abuse. I’m filing a glitter-based complaint.”

—

Phase Three: The Cookie Theft He opens the cabinet for his secret stash of lavender shortbread.

Finds an empty tin and a note inside:

“Stolen in the name of justice. Your blender crimes have consequences. —The Chaos Coalition”

He screams. Loudly. Then walks dramatically into the living room and collapses across the couch like a Victorian woman fainting on a chaise.

You toss him a goldfish cracker.

He glares.

Then eats it.

—

That night, he pulls you close in bed, head on your chest.

“I hope you both know,” he whispers, “that I am keeping a list.”

You run your fingers through his hair. “Of what?”

“Every emotional injury I sustained today.”

Your kid peeks in the doorway. “You forgot we replaced your shampoo with whipped cream.”

He gasps.

But honestly?

He’s never felt more loved.

Zayne

It begins when he finds his stethoscope floating in a bowl of cereal.

“Do you have a reason,” Zayne asks slowly, very calmly, “why my hospital equipment is now... infused with oat milk?”

Your child blinks up at him. “It was cold and needed a bath.”

You, from across the kitchen: “Honestly? Sound logic.”

He closes his eyes. Sets the stethoscope on the counter. Says nothing.

That was your warning shot.

—

Phase One: Renaming the Routine

You and your kid refuse to call anything by its normal name.

Zayne walks into the room, setting his laptop down with surgical precision.

You: “Look out. The Ice Cube Cometh.”

Your kid: “All hail Frost Daddy.”

Zayne: “I am literally holding your dental insurance forms.”

You both clap like he told a joke.

He blinks. Once.

“...What’s happening right now?”

—

Phase Two: The Hospital File Swap

He opens his neatly labeled folder before work.

Finds a glittery drawing titled “ME + MOMMY + FROST DAD = BESTIES FOREVER 💖”

Also, you’ve replaced his bio with:

“Zayne: World’s Coldest Softie. Will cry at piano music and is afraid of butterflies.”

He reads it. Stares at the paper.

Puts it back.

And takes it to work anyway.

—

Phase Three: Sticker Surgery

He showers. He gets dressed. He puts on his favorite button-down.

Then glances in the mirror—and freezes.

There’s a little cartoon Band-Aid sticker on his jawline.

Purple. With a smiley face.

You don’t even try to hide your laugh.

His jaw tics.

“I’ve conducted heart transplants with less sabotage than I face in this household.”

You pat his cheek. “And yet, you’re still so lovable.”

“Debatable.”

—

At bedtime, he’s halfway through folding laundry (into immaculate rectangles, obviously), when your kid leans against his side.

“Hey Dad?”

“Yes?”

“We bullied you good today.”

He pauses.

Then quietly nods.

“You did.”

You sit beside him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“But you liked it.”

“…No comment.”

You kiss the spot beneath his ear. “Tomorrow we’re calling you Doctor Cuddles.”

He exhales. Resigned. But soft.

“…Fine. But only inside this house.”

(You do not respect that boundary.)

Sylus

It starts before 9 a.m.

Sylus—warlord, tactician, red-eyed nightmare of the underground—walks into the living room fully dressed for a meeting with a black-market arms dealer.

Hair slicked. Suit sharp. Brooch in place.

You and your kid are waiting for him.

He stops. Narrow eyes. Tilt of the head. Suspicion.

You smile sweetly.

Your kid lunges forward.

And slaps a bright pink unicorn sticker onto his briefcase.

Dead center.

Sylus just… stands there.

“…Is this meant to be intimidation?”

You: “We’re marking our territory.”

Your kid: “Now the bad guys will know you have backup.”

He looks down at the sticker.

Then at you.

And says absolutely nothing.

But he takes the damn briefcase.

—

Phase One: Name Disrespect

He’s mid-hologram conference when your kid walks in, climbs into his lap, and announces to the entire Onychinus leadership:

“This is Mr. Grumpy Fangs. He doesn’t like it when I boop his nose.”

Sylus doesn’t even flinch.

Keeps talking about supply routes like there isn’t a giggling toddler poking his cheek on live cam.

Later?

He finds out you recorded it.

You send him the clip labeled:

“POV: You’re a villain and your child is your boss.”

He replies with one word:

“Traitor.”

Phase Two: Crow Brooch Chaos

You’re in the middle of folding laundry when your kid comes sprinting in, giggling with something clenched in one hand.

Minutes later, you hear Sylus’s voice—flat, deadly.

“Why… are there googly eyes on my crow?”

You don’t even look up. “Balance. Every villain needs a little whimsy.”

He turns to your kid. “Did you do this?”

“Team effort,” they chirp.

Sylus glares at the glittery-eyed brooch sitting on his chest.

Then sighs.

And doesn’t take it off.

Until hours later.

(He leaves it on his desk. Keeps looking at it.)

Phase Three: Tactical Sabotage

He walks into the war room.

Finds the giant wall map—his map—covered in crayon scribbles.

He blinks.

“Did someone… add butterflies to the Northern quadrant?”

Your kid: “It needed joy.”

You: “And balance.”

He stands there in silence.

Then mutters: “You’ve both become a security threat.”

You blow him a kiss.

That night, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, jacket off, tie loose.

You crawl into his lap, wrapping your arms around him. “Did we push you too far today?”

He grumbles something unintelligible.

Then rests his forehead against yours.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

You kiss him slow. “We know.”

He exhales.

“…You’re not going to stop, are you?”

“Nope.”

Your kid shouts from the hallway: “TOMORROW YOU’RE GETTING GLITTER STICKERS!”

He closes his eyes. Bends his head to your shoulder.

And mutters:

“I should’ve stayed in the shadows.”

(He never means it.)

[stressed-cryptid]

dilf!kento thinks it's odd just how hot and bothered you get when he does the most mundane of things.

for example, he'll be getting dressed in the morning: hair mussed and eyes dark from the lack of sleep that parenthood brings. fingers working his belt through the loops in his slacks and fastening the buckle just to be startled by you, having leapt out of bed to drop to your knees before him and suck him off right there in the walk in closet.

or, later on, when he's cleaning up the kitchen after sending the kids off to school, and you walk in to find his sleeves rolled up, humming away to himself as he washes dishes in the sink. of course, the look on his face when he turns to find you already sat on the countertop and beckoning him over is as priceless as it is arousing.

or god forbid he starts paying bills. sitting at the dining table with papers scattered in front of him, pen held in his strong hand as those glasses of his slide down the bridge of his nose. god, he's so pretty when he's concentrated, working with numbers like a whore! he shouldn't be surprised when you weave your way between him and the papers to sit on his lap and start working at hooking him out of his pants. so you can sit on his cock and get your fill.

"keep acting like that, sir, and you're gonna be a daddy again."

he's gruff. tired. so fucking sexy. "i'm going over the credit card statement. did you spend five hundred dollars on—"

"mmm stop talking and fuck another baby into me, ken."

and, because you married the right man, a pair of strong arms are already hoisting you up and carrying you to the bedroom. "as you wish, love."

[stressed-cryptid]

Teen Nanami... Emo Nanami... Emo teen Nanami... hcs? 🫣

things i think teen!nanami would do if he was dating teen!reader.

thank u for the request anon!! teen x teen, not proofread. sorry for the mistakes.. </3

teen bf!nanami who keeps a picture of you in his wallet. despite gojo teasing him relentlessly, you find it endearing. it's so cute that you start doing the same! now you both match- carrying each other's photos in your wallets.

teen bf!nanami who tells dad jokes to cheer you up. it works every time too. the way he delivers the jokes with that expresionless face is... strangely facsinating. you laugh heartily at his jokes and it matters to him more than you know.

teen bf!nanami shares his everything with you. his headphones, his lunch, his snacks, his homework, his notes, the latest gossip he's heard, books he borrowed from the library, the address of his favourite bakery and arcade, his secrets, fears and finally, his heart.

you are the only person teen bf!nanami trusts wholeheartedly. he shares his goals and dreams for the future with you. he makes sure to you know you're always included in them.

teen bf!nanami who can truly be himself around you. he knows you won't find him overbearing or tease him like a certain someone.

teen bf!nanami is really touch-starved and craves your touch. he was very shy at the beginning of your relationship. he was taking things slow, which you were totally okay with. but once he got used to your presence and touch, he couldn't get enough. he always finds a way to be near you- brushing you, touching you. it's an instinct now, he always rests his head on your shoulder, intertwines your fingers when you hold hands, plays with your hair, and most of the time he stares at you lovingly, adoring you in real time.

teen bf!nanami always buys you cute little trinkets, books, mangas, plushies, your favourite snacks & etc. if you ask him what's the occasion he'll just shrug and say 'it reminded me of you.' you can see his ears turn red, though his facial expression never changes.

teen bf!nanami intoduces you to everyone he knows. he wants you to be included in every corner of his life.

teen bf!nanami carries things you may need with him. a band-aid, a painkiller, a hair tie, your perfume in a mini bottle, a glittery pen...

teen bf!nanami thinks he is the luckiest guy in the world because he has you by his side.

reqs are open <3

my masterlist!

[stressed-cryptid]

to you

ft. love and deepspace men x fem!non!mc! reader

tags. modern au, angst, rebounds

summary. they listen to you singing at your concert after leaving you in the dust a few years back— noticing how the lyrics were about the two of you.

— playlist. [click here]

xavier

he should’ve known.

he really should’ve known the second the lights dimmed and the first note left your lips. but he didn’t. not when you stepped onto the stage in that spotlight glow. not when the crowd erupted in cheers, or when she was beside him and leaned in with a grin and whispered, “she’s even better live, isn’t she?

he just nodded. said, “yeah.”

but then came the second verse.

soft. haunting. familiar in a way that made his stomach knot.

“fun at first, i won't deny

but i want more than just what meets the eye”

he blinked.

his throat went dry.

because you had said that to him once. not word for word, but close. curled up in his arms one night when you thought he was asleep. whispering it into the quiet like it’d slip away otherwise.

she didn’t notice the way his hands clenched.

“'cause i don't want it if it's fake

i don't want it if it's just for show

i just want it if it's real and i'm thinking i should let you know”

he didn’t hear the next few lines. not over the rush of blood in his ears.

not over the memory of your smile every time when you with him. not over how you’d kissed his knuckles when he was bleary with sleep, how you always texted to ask if he’d eaten— even though you knew he probably already had , how you learned how he liked his coffee without ever needing to ask.

he swallowed hard. the crowd was cheering. she was clapping beside him.

but all he could see was you. standing there, poised and radiant, singing your heart out like it didn’t still belong to him.

his jaw tightened.

he’d told himself it was harmless. temporary. a distraction until he figured things out. until his heart stopped aching for someone else.

he hadn’t planned on it hurting like this.

he hadn’t planned on falling for you too.

not this late.

and now you were up there, singing like the memory of him still lived in your lungs. like you hadn’t burned him out after all.

you wrote this about me.

the words stayed trapped in his throat.

and suddenly, MC’s voice beside him felt too loud. too bright. too far away.

because for the first time in almost two years—

he didn’t want to be sitting next to the girl he once loved.

he wanted to be with the one he lost.

zayne

he didn’t really want to come.

it was her idea— MC’s, bright-eyed and nostalgic as she handed him the second ticket. “she’s gotten big now, huh? figured we could check it out. for old times’ sake.”

he’d just nodded. said sure. told himself it didn’t matter. that it was just a concert. just music.

but then the lights dropped.

and you walked onto the stage.

god. he forgot what you looked like under the lights. like you belonged there. like the world had always meant for you to be something bigger than him.

the opening chords hit. slow. aching.

he didn’t breathe. he couldn’t breathe.

“ooh, still you take up all my mind

i don't even think that you care like i do

i should stop, heaven knows i've tried”

his fingers twitched around the drink in his hand.

no. no— this wasn’t about him. couldn’t be.

“one day, i will stop falling in love with you

some day, someone will like me like i like you”

his heart gave a hard, bitter twist.

don’t do this, he thought. don’t make this real.

“she’s so good,” MC whispered, leaning in, smiling like it was nothing more than a simple romantic song.

but it wasn’t just a song.

it was a confession.

and he was the one you were confessing about.

because he remembered— every line, every word you were wrapping in melody. he remembered the nights you waited up for him, the way you’d look up with that stupid soft smile, like he was worth something. he remembered your laugh against his shoulder, your fingers running through his hair, how easily you believed he could be better than he was.

he remembered the exact look in your eyes the night he broke it off. confused. gutted.

“was any of it real?”

he didn’t answer you then.

he didn’t have the guts.

but hearing you now— raw, unflinching, shining on a stage he had no place in— it tore something straight down the middle of him.

because the truth was, he never planned to stay. you were just a placeholder. just something warm to curl into while he tried to claw back a love already lost.

but then you held him like it mattered.

and he let you.

he let you love him, soft and stupid and whole, and when it got too real— too deep— he ran. away from you, and to someone else’s arms. and now you were singing like your heart was still cracked in the same place he left it.

and all he could think was—

you were never the rebound.

you were the one.

rafayel

rafayel had always been good at pretending.

tonight is no different— legs crossed, eyes steady and locked into the stage, lips curved upwards like he’s amused by something no one else sees. MC beside him doesn’t notice the way his fingers tap once against the bottle of his water he’s holding. the only crack in the façade.

then you walk onto the stage.

his gaze catches, holds.

he doesn’t blink.

you look good. confident, radiant under stage lights, wearing the passing heartbreak only you could make look effortless. he lets himself drink you in— like art, like sin. but not like you were ever his.

the music starts.

and it’s soft at first. then sharp.

ever lyric you sing, the deeper he sinks.

“that i'm not a princess, this ain't a fairy tale

i'm not the one you'll sweep off her feet

lead her up the stairwell”

his hand stills.

he feels the sting before he understands it. a line too real. a lyric too close. he knows exactly what night you wrote that from. the studio, dim with lamplight. your legs over his lap. laughter from your throat, hands tangled in his hair.

his sketchbook open on the floor.

he told you that night you were beautiful when you didn’t try. you’d smiled.

and he hadn’t meant it to last.

“she’s so talented her voice is luring all us in, right?” MC says beside him, eyes glittering at your vocals.

he nods once, wordless.

“maybe i was naive, got lost in your eyes

and never really had a chance

my mistake, i didn't know to be in love”

his throat feels tight. his charm— that silk-smooth confidence— it can’t shield him here. not from this. not from the memory of your hand against his chest, the way you asked if he’d ever paint you for real.

he joked. he deflected.

you had a look of disappointment, but you didn’t press.

you never did.

and that’s what cuts deepest.

suddenly, all he can think about is the way you used to look at him like he mattered. how you laughed at his stupid jokes, brought him tea when he stayed up too late painting, how you fell asleep on his couch more times than he could count.

you weren’t her.

and you didn’t know. you had no idea you were the in-between. the stepping stone. the placeholder while he fumbled with his past and convinced himself you weren’t it.

but now he’s here. with her.

and you’re the one he can’t stop looking at.

you’re the voice in his ears, the sand that’s slipping out in his hands, the guilt gnawing at him with every lyric that hits a little too precisely.

he just watches. listens. breathes like it hurts.

because in all his paintings, all his masterpieces—

you were the only one he never signed.

and maybe he didn’t want to admit why.

sylus

sylus doesn’t blink.

the concert hall is dim and you stand in the center like you own it. like you belong there, with thousands watching, hearts bleeding to the sound of your voice.

but it’s only his heart that seizes.

MC beside him leans in, murmurs something about your voice, about how lovely the lyrics are. he doesn’t answer. doesn’t move.

because he knows this song. not by name, not by title.

he knows it because he lived it.

because you wrote it with pieces of yourself he thought you’d never show. and now you’re singing it to a room full of strangers— and somehow, it still feels like it’s meant for him.

“'cause he's moved on while i'm still grievin'

and when a heart breaks, no, it don't break even, even,”

his jaw tightens.

he remembers that night— your fingers on the buttons of his coat, the way you looked up at him like he was worth trusting. like he wouldn’t break it.

he remembers leaving and breaking it anyway.

he told himself it was mercy. that using you was clean, calculated. a transaction. a means to MC. a way to purge the ache in his chest that wasn’t supposed to have your name on it.

“now i’m tryna make sense of what little remains, oh

'cause you left me with no love and no love to my name”

the lyric lands like a knife.

MC doesn’t notice. she’s smiling. content. but it’s not her touch that he remembers. it’s yours.

delicate. reverent. warm.

everything he wanted from her was from you.

and now?

now you’re up there, back straight, voice like velvet. you look untouchable. divine.

but the pain behind your voice— he knows it’s for him.

and it tears through him more than any blade ever could.

his fingers twitch on his knee.

if he closes his eyes, he’ll see you again. not like this. but as you were: bare feet in his chambers, humming off-key, wrapped in his robe, teasing him until he smirked and tugged you closer.

he never meant to keep you.

but he never meant to miss you either.

and yet here he is, staring up at you, hearing the cracks in your voice that no one else hears. the parts where your breath catches. the way you don’t look at the crowd— just above them.

just like how you used to look at him when you couldn’t bear the truth.

he swallows. hard.

he’s never regretted anything.

until now.

caleb

at first, he was fine.

he sat with his arms crossed, half-listening as the venue lights dimmed and the crowd began to hush. MC beside him buzzed with excitement, the kind of giddy warmth that made him smile politely, nod along.

it was just a concert.
just a favor.

he told himself he could sit through it. easy.

then the music started. and you stepped out onto the stage.

he tensed, barely. just a flicker of recognition low in his ribs. he hadn’t seen you in months— hadn’t heard your voice in longer. not since…

well. not since he walked away.

but you looked different now. steadier. colder, maybe. not broken— but rebuilt.
and he should’ve felt relieved.

he didn’t.

“a friend to all is a friend to none

chase two girls, lose the one”

his brows twitched. the line hit a little too clean.

he brushed it off. coincidence. lyrics were like that. both metaphorical and vague.

but then came the second verse.

“but i knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss

i knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs”

his spine straightened in the chair.

a flicker of heat— shame? discomfort?— settled beneath his ribs, slow and subtle.

MC leaned over, whispering, “wow, this one’s heavy, huh?”

he hummed low in his throat, careful.

but his eyes didn’t leave the stage. because your voice wasn’t just sad— it was honest.

he started watching your hands.

the way your fingers trembled on the mic stand. the way you swallowed hard before the third verse.

you were still angry. still hurt. and he hadn’t even realized how deep the damage ran until he was hearing it in stereo.

“i knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired

and you'd be standin' in my front porch light”

his jaw flexed. he blinked once. twice.

his arms dropped from their folded hold.

god. was this how it felt?

not just guilt— but the realization that you’d suffered in silence. while he convinced himself distance was mercy. that leaving was the right thing. he thought he’d let go of you gracefully.


but now, watching you up there— raw and stripped down— he saw how ugly his exit had truly been.

MC was still cheering beside him, clapping softly to the beat. she didn’t know. of course she didn’t.

but he knew. now he knew.

and the worst part?

you didn’t even look for him in the crowd.

not once.

as if he didn’t matter anymore. as if whatever pieces of him you still carried had finally been set down for good. he stared up at the stage, heart thudding loud in his ears.

and for the first time since he left—

he wished he hadn’t.

all rights reserved to ©calebsluvr. do not copy, repost, translate, plagiarise or modify my work in any way on any platform! thank you!

*runs away*

[stressed-cryptid]

Currently, I have a Raf wip that's a bit slow going so idk when I'll post it but beyond that I wanted to preface to my new followers that I am NOT going to be a regular writer/poster so pls dont expect too much of me and dont be surprised if I never write again after this raf wip is done 🙏🏻 ok bc me writing and posting that sylus thingy was me having an idea and manically typing it on the toilet 😔

[stressed-cryptid]

cw: a lil smutty, mild dom!nanami, teasing, banter, humor kinda i dunno. enjoy!!

you wake up tangled in blankets and nanami’s arm, his chest warm and solid behind you. it’s a rare day off for both of you, sunlight slipping through the curtains, and the whole apartment smells faintly like coffee and laundry detergent.

you stretch like a cat, groaning dramatically.

“hmm. i think i had a dream that you were choking me,” you murmur, teasing.

nanami hums behind you. “was i doing it correctly?”

you snort. “i mean… i woke up disappointed it wasn’t real, so.”

his hand, previously resting innocently on your waist, shifts slightly lower.

“you know,” you continue, pretending to ignore the movement, “we could be doing something very productive with this morning. like reorganizing the closet. or—”

his hand squeezes your hip. “keep talking,” he says dryly, “and i will reorganize your organs.”

you gasp, all mock offense. “kenny!”

“don’t call me that right now,” he mutters. “you’re pushing it.”

you grin over your shoulder, eyes still heavy with sleep. “pushing what exactly?”

he exhales slowly through his nose. dangerous. deliberate.

“you know what,” he says, voice low, “i think you want to be punished.”

“maybe,” you chirp, rolling onto your back with a faux-innocent blink. “but like… softly. lovingly. like, respectfully wrecked.”

nanami just stares at you for a second, eyes flicking over your face like he’s trying to decide whether to laugh or throw you over his shoulder.

then he throws the covers back.

“what are you doing?” you ask, watching him get up and tug his shirt over his head.

he glances at you with his usual deadpan expression. “i’m going to brush my teeth.”

you blink. “…that’s it?”

“i’m not going to rail you with morning breath,” he says over his shoulder, disappearing into the bathroom. “i have standards.”

you cackle. “i love you so much.”

“mm,” comes the reply, followed by the sound of him spitting. “you won’t in five minutes.”

true to his word, five minutes later he’s back and standing at the edge of the bed, looking down at you like a man with a mission. his hair’s still a little rumpled. his jaw’s clean. his eyes are anything but.

“on your stomach,” he says, already reaching for your thighs.

“but kento—”

“too late. you had your chance. you could’ve said, ‘good morning, i love you,’ and left it there, but no. you had to be a menace.”

you try to hide your grin in the pillow but fail miserably. “i’m not a menace, i’m just—ohmygod—”

he drags you to the edge of the bed with no effort, settling between your legs and tugging your sleep shorts down like they offended him personally. his hands are firm but not rough—until you giggle.

“what now,” he sighs.

“you’re being so dramatic,” you laugh, wiggling your hips just to annoy him.

he lands a light slap to your ass. “stop moving.”

“or what?”

“i will spank you.”

“please.”

he stills. then, dryly: “you are deranged.”

“and yet,” you whisper, voice a little breathless as his fingers start teasing over your folds, “you’re so in love with me.”

“unfortunately.”

he leans over you, kisses your shoulder, and then mutters into your skin, “you’re lucky i find you cute even when you’re being a little shit.”

“is that your version of dirty talk?”

“no,” he says. “this is.”

and then he sinks into you in one smooth motion, making you arch up with a gasp.

“fuck—kento—”

“you like being a brat?” he murmurs, voice wrecked now, one hand wrapping under your ribs to lift your hips a little more. “then take it. be good now, and maybe i’ll let you come.”

you whimper, grabbing at the sheets.

“god, you’re mean.”

“and you’re soaked,” he groans, thrusting deep enough to make your toes curl. “so which of us should really be embarrassed?”

“not me,” you gasp, “i have no shame—ah!”

“clearly.”

you spend the rest of the morning very productively.

there’s still time to organize the closet later—assuming you can walk.

[stressed-cryptid]

Rafayel turning to mush while you plant kiss after kiss on his face. You’re straddling his lap while he leans back against the couch. The contents of your makeup bag are spilled out next to you. A smaller pile dedicated just to the task at hand.

Testing lipsticks, you said. Have to find our perfect shade.

Our. He loves that you said that, wanting to include him in something mundane as swatching your makeup, wanting to make sure the color looks good both on your lips and the marks you’ll leave on his skin, showing everyone that he belongs to you as much as you do him. A variety of colors painted his face, neck, and chest with varying degrees of intensity since you were testing the fade and longevity as well. Rafayel loved how thorough you were being.

“Hmm?” He looked up at you in adoration, responding to you with a hum at your soft call of his name.

He tried to return your kisses with his own but you’d pull away and giggle at his pout. You need to hold still, my love. And, well, how could he not absolutely melt at that. He’s boneless, completely content with just softly running his hands up and down your sides, switching to playing with the hem of your shirt or squeezing your waist every so often.

“What about this one?” You asked again, lifting his face up to inspect your work. His eyes were unfocused, lost in the feeling of your lips on his skin, but they were able to zone in on your mouth anyway. The slightly faded color on your lips no doubt matching the marks you’d just left under his chin.

“You’re beautiful.” His thumb came up to rub the slight smudge on your bottom lip, the color transferring to his skin. “I like this one.”

“That’s what you said about all of them.” Heat pooled in your stomach while you watched him lick the makeup from his thumb. His eyes were still glazed over, and you couldn’t tell if he wanted to elicit that reaction from you on purpose.

“Can’t help it, you’re a vision. Colors were made to complement you.” He dragged you higher up his lap and tried to pull you down to meet his mouth, whining again when you pulled away.

��Please,” Rafayel begged, his hands resuming their position on your sides, this time sliding under your shirt. It was the combination of his cool hands and the heat in his eyes that made you shiver.

You leaned over and grabbed your phone. You took a few pictures of your canvas before flipping the screen to show him.

“You look so pretty.” His breath hitched. “If we’re talking art, then I can’t decide what color looks best. You make them all look good.”

You giggled. “I might have to start all over and try them all again.”

He groaned and dropped his head to rest on the back of the couch. You run your fingers through his hair and over his shoulders, careful not to smudge any of the marks littered across his skin. “Fine, fiiine,” he said. “We’ll just have to wear them all out. We obviously will look amazing, no matter the shade. As long as we match, there will be no doubts.”

You grin while he threads his fingers through your hair. “But I am going to explode if I don’t kiss you right now.”

He pulls you in- no resistance this time- and dragged his mouth across yours. “It’s your turn now.” You hummed as he deepened the kiss, barely noticing him pluck your phone from your hand, more distracted by the way he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m using this as reference. You’re going to get every kiss mark you placed on me tenfold.”

And as a true artist, he filled his canvas.

This was def done before but I can’t remember which characters. If someone has a whole fic, please link it bc I have a NEED for this trope

[stressed-cryptid]

I HATE CHOPPING ONIONS

[stressed-cryptid]

Unjust Tears

Sylus x Pregnant Fem!Reader

Nothing rains on your mental parade like a bad day. So bad in fact that it brings you to tears. Good thing husband is there to save the day!

Labels: fluff, cursing, attempt at non-consensual touching, allusion to vomit, vague description of kidnapping, implied torture/murder

Wc: 2.2k

Whoever said pregnancy was a beautiful thing was a dirty liar. At least that's how it seemed after such a long and taxing day. It started in the morning, when you had to ask twin troublemakers, Luke and Kieran, for help with putting on your shoes. At almost eight months pregnant, needing help with getting your shoes on wasn't anything new, but usually Sylus was the one to help you with that. He, however, had to leave for an early meeting with some dealer who thought he was too great to wait for the King of the N109 Zone, so he wasn't there to assist you. You loved the boys, but having them help you with this felt just a tad embarrassing; even if they didn't mind.

The second difficult experience of the day came when you tried to eat breakfast. Your private chef had prepared something that you were normally okay with, but today? It might as well have been prison slop. You turned the plate away before it was even set down in front of you, on smell alone. It was pungent and made your stomach turn. So what did you have instead? A peanut butter and jelly sandwich. With pickle slices and a side of orange juice. You were only able to eat about half of it before you noticed the chef give you a barely-there-but-still-visible side eye, and suddenly the sandwich was very unappealing. You excused yourself, citing that you felt full with only half the sandwich (another recurrent problem you had but that wasn't true at the moment) and went about your day while trying to shake off the shame.

You planned on going shopping for more baby clothes, despite already having plenty. After all, it never hurt to have a few extra clothes for your little one. Actually it was probably a good idea, since there was no telling just how many times you'd end up have to change the baby into some clean clothes. It was here that you met the next inconvenience on the list: the elevators in the base weren't working. They were having regular maintenance done, and it wouldn't be done until a couple hours later. The only one that was still currently running was the elevator that went strictly between the penthouse and the second highest floor of the base.

It was frustrating, but you were undeterred, refusing to back down from this metaphorical beast. So, brilliantly, you decided you'd try going down the stairs. It started well, really. You were taking them slow since you couldn't quite see past your bump, and Luke and Kieran were right on your heels to catch you in case you stumbled. After only a few flights though, you were winded and your feet were starting to hurt. Sylus may have bought you the best maternity shoes money could buy, but they weren't magic. You had to pop in on the closest floor to take a seat and rest. It was meant to only be a short break before you began your descent again, but your body decided it was nap time. So you fell asleep in a chair in the middle of the base, with the twins watching over you. By the time you woke up, the elevators were running again, but you couldn't stop beating yourself up over having fallen asleep like that.

So many inconveniences, and it was just barely about to be midday. What bad luck that the rest of the day followed in a similar pattern...

You were dead set on going to Linkon to look for baby clothes, wanting to see the sun and just generally some daylight instead of the N109 Zone's usual gloom. The ride there wasn't normally too long, but traffic on the freeway into the city was a nightmare. It took so long that you nearly peed yourself in the car. While you were perusing the many outfit options in the baby section, a random old lady came up to you and tried to touch your belly. You naturally smacked her away because, hello? You don't know her? She had the audacity to act shocked, and then everyone around you looked at you like YOU were crazy!? You didn't stick around for much longer after that.

You were hungry so you went to a nearby café for a snack to tide you over while you decided on what to buy for lunch. A stranger, for whatever reason, assumed you must've been there for coffee and got in your face about it. You screamed back at them before the boys - who had accompanied you - could do anything. It left everyone stunned as you stormed out, but the interaction ruined your appetite for the next hour.

Eventually, you managed to choose somewhere to eat, though mostly for the twins' sake. You didn't want them to be hungry just because you weren't. Luckily, your appetite came back just in time, and you were able to enjoy lunch for a while. Sylus also found some time to text you back in the middle of you eating, so that was a plus. This was the only good part of your day so far. And it stayed that way. He told you business was holding him up, so he didn't know when he'd be back home. It felt like a punch to the gut, and instantly brought your mood back down, leaving you unable to finish your meal. After lunch, the three of you decided to get dessert at your favorite ice-cream shop, but unfortunately it was out of your favorite flavor. You settled for your second favorite, but it wasn't nearly as good.

On the walk back to the car, someone bumped into you and nearly knocked you over. Luke caught you, thankfully, as Kieran called to the guy, but all you got back was a "Fuck off, Bitch!" During the drive back, some idiot who must've gotten their license by the blessings of an Etsy witch for ten gold nearly ran you off the road. On top of that, the ride was made almost twenty minutes longer because a gang war started on a main road and you had to take a detour.

By the time you got back to the base, your last nerve was worked about as thin as one ply toilet paper. The straw that broke the camels back however, came at dinner. The chef had prepared something delicious, you were devouring it, and it even seem like you were going to finish your food. That was until your baby - beloved parasite you couldn't wait to meet - decided it was time to practice their kickboxing with your ribs. In an instant, you felt full and couldn't eat anymore. Actually, it felt like what you managed to eat was going to be sent back up. You rushed to the nearest bathroom and knelt by the toilet for the next fifteen minutes until your baby calmed down. Your appetite didn't come back though, so your half-eaten dinner was discarded.

You laid down in bed, trying to relax, but could stop yourself from going over every little thing that happened today. Even now, you couldn't free yourself from whatever curse afflicted you. No matter what way you turned, you were unable to get fully comfortable in bed, your legs were sore from all the walking you did today, and your stomach felt empty and full at the same time. So as you turned the entire day over in your mind, again and again, you couldn't stop the stinging in you eyes.

Any other day, you would've gotten over it. Any other day, you would've stopped thinking about it hours ago. Any other day, the frustration would've fizzled out by now. But today? Today you didn't have Sylus by your side. You didn't have him to defend you from judgmental chefs or touchy old ladies. You didn't have him to carry down the stairs or drive you around. You didn't have him to avenge you against inconsiderate, self-absorbed assholes. You didn't even have him to hold you and tell you it was okay. So today, aided by the shackles of pregnancy hormones, the weight of the day came in the form of tears. Dripping down the side of your face and into your pillow.

You were so consumed by your emotions that you never noticed you husband coming in.

"Well this simply won't do." The words put a sudden halt to your sniffles and quiet sobs. You almost thought you had imagined them until Sylus came around to your side of the bed, kneeling in front of you and taking your hand. "Why are you crying, Sweetie? Who upset my gorgeous wife?"

You starting crying again, quite a bit louder this time. "Sylus, I had the worst day ever today!" You managed to say through sobs.

"Is that so? What happened?" His hand came up to stroke your hair, wiping away what tears he could.

After a few sniffles and gasps, you were able to speak. "First-!" You told him everything. Every little detail, from start to finish. The shoes, the chef, the oldest lady, the rude guy; all of it. And Sylus listened. So carefully, like you were telling him the secrets of the universe. He nodded and hummed along, and he didn't interrupt. He let you go on for as long as you wanted about it all. When you were done, he leaned forward and planted a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead.

"It seems the feisty kitten in front of me truly had the worst of days. Come here." Sylus got up from the floor and sat on the bed, turning to face you then helping you sit up as well. Then he hugged you. One hand on the back of your head, the other on your back rubbing up and down. You stayed like this, in silence, for several minutes before he spoke. "Do you remember what they looked like? The people who bothered you in Linkon?"

You sniffled and answered a simple, "Sylus, no." And that's all it took for him to back down from the idea.

"Alright, I won't go after a bunch of strangers, but I am firing the chef. I don't care how unusual the dish is, their job is to make you whatever you want and that's it. Any judgment is to be kept inside and off of their face. I'll have them replaced soon enough, but in the meantime, I'll stay home and make all of your meals. How's that?"

You nodded, hugging him tighter, or at least as tight as your belly allowed. "Sounds good."

"Luke and Kieran told me you haven't had a full meal all day. Is there anything you're craving right now?"

You think for a moment. After having a good cry, and having your husband by your side again, you think you might be able to stomach something. Like Sylus said, you haven't finished a single meal today, so you are pretty hungry. After some contemplation, you land on, "Strawberry yogurt and fries."

"Does it matter where the fries are from?" Like a good husband, he doesn't question the combo. The only questions he asks are the important ones.

"Do you not know where my favorite fries are from?" Hormones strike as visceral rage fills you at the thought that he doesn't know you inside and out.

"Of course I know, Sweetie. Just wanted to make sure you didn't want fries from somewhere else. I'll be back shortly." Sylus walks with a purpose out of your shared bedroom, making sure to fire the chef on his way out. The moment Luke and Kieran hear that, they pounce. Sylus already knew the gist of how your day went; the boys reported it to him the moment he walked through the door. He instructed them to wait for his say-so to take care of that disrespectful pest. He wanted to hear the true severity of the damage their critique caused from you first. He was never going to just fire the chef, but now he's certain they'll never see the light of day again. How unfortunate. Oh well.

True to his word, he comes back quickly. Your craving hasn't changed and he is safe from your wrath and your tears. As you eat, he massages your legs for you, the both of you relaxing as you watch a movie in your home theater. He's changed into a black sweater and white pants, and barely pays attention to what's on the screen. All his focus goes to you, and it makes you wonder what kind of day he's had. Did he have a bad day, too? Was it just as bad as yours? Maybe it was worse. Yet he doesn't say a word about it...

"Sylus, aren't you tired? You spent all day taking care of business, and now you're spending the rest of the night taking care of me. Don't you want to relax instead?"

His response is quick. Decisive. "I am relaxing. And no, I'm not tired. Even if I was, I'd never be too tired to take care of you."

Warmth blooms in your chest, spreading to the tips of your fingers and toes. It's moments like these that you know you married the right man, and you know he'll be a great father, too. You had a bad day today. Definitely one of the worse ones, for sure. But tonight, you'll sleep feeling lighter, at peace, because you know you have your husband to lift you up. After all, he thought your sadness was the greatest injustice in the universe.

You know you'll always be okay because Sylus has your back, and that's never going to change.

A/n: This is my first time writing in years and my first time writing for Sylus so sorry if he's ooc and seems like it was written by a raccoon with greasy hands and eyebags to mars

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[stressed-cryptid]

“Who’s calling?” Your husband, Nanami, huffs from above you, his hips snapping into you. Your teary eyes glance at your phone while you let out small whimpers. “I-it’s our son.” You breathe out, your thighs tremble beneath his hands holding them down beside you.

Nanami groans and stuffs his dick fully into you, a whine escaping your lips as he picks up the phone. Between his work schedule and your 4 kids, there isn’t time for you and your husband to partake in a your shared activities other than the few times you guys got creative.

There was this one time you guys had your oldest watch the kids while you guys went to the pharmacy to pick up some medicine, which ended in a quickie in the dark parking lot before heading home.

Or the other time you guys had a pool day and you went inside to start getting the snacks ready. Nanami followed shortly after to have himself his own quick snack. Both of your days are pretty busy, but Nanami never fails to make some time for you and your pussy. You can admit sex hasn’t really been a priority, until tonight. Upon realizing all the kids would be gone, you immediately called Nanami to be sure he brings his ass home when he is off and not do any overtime- yes you used your mom voice too. Nanami agreed not wanting to be scolded.

When he did get home, he noticed a few things, there was any tv on, or music blasting from your two oldest rooms. There weren’t toys scattered in the living room or the dining room table from your two youngest, no yelling or screaming from all of them in general, it was just quiet. He smelt food in the air, he usually does every night he comes home but it’d be already eaten, or everyone will be eating at the dinner table (he insists not to wait for him because he often stays late) but since he left early from work, it isn’t ready just yet. He quickly rushes up the stairs, starting to feel the panic seep in just a bit, all the kids rooms are empty.

He opens his shared bedroom to see you just laying on your stomach, in the silky robe he got you, reading a book. He calms down because if you were okay, surely, the kids were too. His eyes gaze down your figure, your feet are in the air crossed, while you read. The robe sits at your upper thigh, and since it’s so thin, your ass pops out in the most desirable way possible. “Honey?” He eyes you suspiciously, taking a breath as he starts to settle down, “Where are the kids.”

You heard the front door shut, squeezing your thighs together, feeling the arousal hit you even more. The book you have been reading had been in your mind, and hearing your husband come home really made you ready to take him, full. You had dinner cooking in the oven, almost ready to serve for just Nanami and you. Your oldest son is at a movie with his friends and they are going to go eat after. Your second oldest daughter is spending the night with her best friend, and your two youngest are sleeping over with their grandparents. To say you were practically rushing your oldest son to leave already, since he was the last one to go, was an understatement.

“They are busy and safe.” You closed the book and turn your body towards him, your eyes hungry before you looked at him, but damn near starving when you did. That damn suit and tie. You explained where they all were as you sat up in the bed, impulsively pushing your chest out as you leaned back on your arms. Nanami didn’t ignore the lustful look in your eye, the way your nipples perked against the thin fabric, only assuming you had nothing on underneath. He quickly put a few things together, why you called him to not do overtime. He knew what his wife wanted, at least he thought so.

When your sweet loving husband started off kissing your neck, waiting to use the few hours to just worship your body, you, your hands cupped his chin and looked him dead in the eye, “Honey, I love you so much and I know that you do but tonight-right now I need you to fuck me like you don’t. I want y-“ His eyes darkens more at your plea, how desperate you were truly. How can he ever say no to his gorgeous wife. He cuts you off with a kiss before he started fucking you every way loose. Yes exactly what I said. But of course no matter what time it is, you guys are parents after all….

“What?” Nanami answers the call, still buried deep inside you, grinding against you as his thumb circles your clit.

“..Oh Hey dad, where’s mo-“

“She’s busy, are you okay, why are you blowing up her phone?” Nanami cuts your son off, his eyes focused on you squirming around, biting your lip to keep any lewd sounds hushed while he was on the phone with your son. He speeds up his movements on your clit, softly sucking in a breath when you clench tightly around his dick.

“I wanna buy some snacks and get some food after the movie, mom said she’ll send me m-“

“How much?” Nanami asked wanting him to get to the point so he can get back to his wife. He slowly pulling out before pushing himself back in. Your hand quickly covers your mouth as you shut your eyes. Your legs were shaking crazy. Your husband wasn’t one to always be rough in bed, but the times he is, you would feel it for days, in the best way possible. (He has that dog in him😞) Nanami definitely isn’t holding back, not when it’s been this long you guys were kid free for a few hours and together at that. Nanami was making up for lost time, fingering you until you couldn’t talk properly, eating your pussy like it personally offended him, fucking you left, right, up, down, diagonal, all up until your phone kept blowing up.

“Like about $40.”

“Okay, give me a moment.” Nanami grunts, as he bottoms out again, the way you squeezed his dick nearly knocked him out cold. He feels his dick throb inside you and pulls the phone away from his ear, breathing heavy.

“Thanks d-“

Nanami hangs up the phone and tosses it beside you before leaning in closer to you, peeling your hand away from your mouth and pulling it above your head. “Tell me something honey.” He hums kissing your swollen lips.

You whimper as he fucks you again, slow but rough this time, ”y-yes?” You gasp as he hits your cervix.

“When the kids ask for money, do you send it to them from my account?” He looks into your eyes, sweat dripping down his head watching your reaction to his question really his dick.

You’re screwed. Both literally and physically.

“Not alwa- o-ooh shit.” You moan, his hips moving faster than light. Nanami absolutely hates when you use your own money, hell, even when you were working. When you guys first started dating he already knew you were going to be his wife. Nanami would always say you didn’t need to work but you didn’t want him to be the sole provider. Eventually, you guys moved in together and you were still working. Though, he convinced you to work less hours and took you out on a date when you agreed. It wasn’t until you got pregnant with your first baby, did his wish come true. Shit, he was more excited when you both went down to your job to quit than he was to see the 2 pink lines.

“All the hours I work, being kept away from our family, my perfect wife -ngghh- my perfect wife’s pussy. And you still insist on usi-fuck- using your own money when you have access to my money- no our money, shit your money.” He moans grabbing your other hand and pulling it above your head with your other.

“Y-you pay for e-ever-“

“I’m supposed to baby. I want to.” He interrupts you, lifting your legs to his shoulders, and grabbing your phone with his free hand and sending your son $100 from his account. “Why must you make things complicated, love. I am the man, it’s my job to take care of you, our family. Let *thrust* me. Use my money for the kids, the house, the cars, whatever it is, I have enough, more than.” He kisses your lips softly, opposite to his thrusts. “Use your money I give you for you, whatever you want for you- shit for you. Everything I do is for you, everything I make, it’s yours, ours on paper, but it’s all yours. All for you.” He grunts into your ear, as if he’s teaching a lesson. Technically, he is.

“Don’t let me find out you aren’t using my money first again, okay hun?” He hums at you, a moaning teary mess.

“Now where were we?” He smiles before pulling out and flipping you on your stomach, lifting your ass up and spanking it. “Oh, right.” He chuckles as he spreads your cheeks apart, seeing your drooling sensitive pussy, clenching on air.

*edited but not proofread*

More:

Pussywhipped!Choso | part 2

Married!Eren x Maid!Reader

Ex-husband!Eren

Sylus mini

[stressed-cryptid]

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — their reaction to you taking a double look on someone passing by.

xavier was not panicking. No he was sending you dirty looks- he had seen you do it. the double take. the slight pause in your step. the way your eyes lingered on another woman- too long to be just friendly. Eyes squinted looking as if you were the epitome of victorian man talking about mistresses in front of his very devoted wife-him. Or as if you were the reincarnation of Henry VIII  himself.

his brain? already drafting up worst-case scenarios. his soul? leaving his body. his spirit? crushed.

“That's low,” he whispered, eyes squinted in silent judgement. you blinked. “what?”

“i saw you looking at her.”

you glanced at the woman in question. she was carrying a small bag a white fluffy bunny curled up inside.

“…babe.”

xavier swallowed. “just let me tell you i am against you having any concubines —”

“Babe i was jus—WAIT CONCUBINES?!” looking at him in disbelief, mouth agape- few passer-by's jumped at shear level of the scream, walking faster, trying not to make any eye contact.

Xavier only squinted. half facing you "And? I am against them! I refuse to be Catherine Parr!!" he huffed, crossing his arms.

"I was looking at woman's bunny!"

Xavier frowned, slowly turning to look at woman again.

he spotted the bunny - it is cute, he almost smiled- then at you.

His face lacked any emotion just looking at you blankly "So you come here often?"

your eye twitched, only a whisper was let out- a low, menacing whisper- "run."

“oh,” he whispered in equally low tone, already turning, body tensing- he sprinted.

And you after him, with shocking pace-with your cute, little, pink, dior purse clutched in your hand, as if it was the weapon of the century- he was a dead man.

Later that night he gave you ice-cream and you forgot everything.

it was supposed to be a simple grocery run. a peaceful, uneventful, married couple activity. you and zayne were at the organic section—him carefully selecting the perfect tomatoes, you texting him from two feet away about getting more banana milk. civil. normal.

then it happened.

a man—tall, broad, effortlessly stylish—walked past you with a bulging bag of groceries. your eyes followed him. your head whipped so fast you swore you heard your neck crack. and beside you, zayne stopped mid-reach for the tomatoes, eyes slowly narrowing. “really?” he muttered, voice dangerously calm. you blinked at him, confused. “what?”

“nothing.” his jaw twitched. dr. zayne, mature and self-assured, was obviously not sulking.

but you saw the way his grip on the tomatoes tightened. saw the micro twitch in his brow. your dear husband thought you were checking out grocery bag man. except you were not. oh, no. this was far worse. you turned to zayne, eyes wide, voice trembling with despair.

“he took the last loaf.”

zayne’s expression barely shifted. “what?”

“the last loaf, honey. the ethically sourced, imported-from-a-italian-village, so-soft-and-crispy-i-would-sell-my-soul-for-it loaf! the one that you patiently waited for weeks in shear desperation—he has it.”

zayne’s felt like ground was consuming him, walls crashing sown, all his hopes, his positivity, kindness leaving his body.

the betrayal, the injustice, the absolute audacity of that man, casually walking out with his bread like he didn’t just ruin two people’s week. you grabbed his arm before he could start forward. “babe, no.”

his fingers twitched, torn between rationality and primal rage. “he doesn’t deserve it,” he whispered, haunted. you spent the rest of the grocery run in silence, mourning.

ah, evening walks. bliss of married life. you and caleb, hands intertwined, nodding politely at neighbours like you were the wholesome, friendly couple everyone thought you were.  then you saw him. a man striding down the street, his pants fluttering with each step. the most perfect pair of navy trousers you had ever seen.

you grabbed caleb’s arm, halting mid-walk. your jaw went slack.

“cal—”

his expression darkened. his fingers tensed around yours.

“so that’s your type?”

you blinked, confused. “what?”

“oh, nothing.” he smiled, but it didn't really reach his eyes. it was a "mhm i see you, you CHEATER" smile - sort of scared you-WAIT HE IS TEARING UP.

you turned back to trousers man in shear desperation, hair whipping your face, but you were too busy panicking, fully acknowledged that this man of 25 years is fully capable of having a whole damn crash out in the street filled with people and he wouldn't even care who is watching- BUT YOU DO.

so in shear panic you nearly scream in horror “HE IS WEARING THAT ONE PAIR YOU WERE LOOKING FOR AGEEES!!!"

Caleb froze. the tension evaporated. he squinted. studied. analysed.

“…navy print,” he murmured, thoughtful.

“definitely imported,” you added. you both stood there. staring. caleb’s eyebrows twitched.

“i need to know where he got them.”

“we could follow him.”

“we absolutely could.”

and so, two grown adults—fully indulged in army, passing your very mature late twenties—spent the next ten minutes secretly- not at all- stalked a man for the sole purpose of inquiring about his pants.

you two were arrested at the end....

there were three things rafayel could not tolerate:

being ignored

being ignored in public

being ignored in public while you were looking at another man

so when he caught you staring—staring—at some guy while he, the love of your life, the light of your universe stood next to you in all his beautiful, breath-taking glory, he reacted in the only way he knew how. dramatically.

“are you actually serious right now?” rafayel gasped, clutching his chest in utter betrayal. “ogling another man? in front of me? your one true love?”

you didn’t even look at him. you were still staring at the man, an impressed hum under your breath. rafayel clutched your sleeve. “babe, look at me. me."

“He’s wearing Patek Philippe.”

The temprature of air changed, you two shivered. His hands went limp by his sides. His pupils shrank in utter horror. His jaw—previously running at a hundred miles per hour—snapped shut.

“pa-Patek Philippe?” His voice cracked.

You nodded, grave. This was a tragedy, a betrayal by gods.

now both of you were wailing, sickened by greed of others.

“we could’ve been him,” rafayel cried. “we could’ve been walking around dripping in wealth!”

“he looks so effortless.”

“his life is full of rainbows and unicorns.”

so heads low, choking on an ice-cream while sobbing ugly you two mourned the Patek Philippe. (he bought 3 later that night- just for shits and giggles)

sylus had seen it. the way your eyes lingered. the way your gaze flickered over some gym bro’s barely covered pecs like you had just discovered the meaning of life. he crossed his arms, seething, but not showing it he is chill (he is already planning the man's death). “seriously?” you, completely unaware of your impending doom, glanced at him. “huh?”

“you checked him out, kitten.”

you blinked. “no, i didn’t.”

“yes, you did.”

“no, i didn’t.”

“yes, you did.”

“read his shirt.”

sylus’s eye twitched. but fine. he’d play your little game. he begrudgingly looked over, prepared to see some cringe gym brand logo, only to be met with the words:

“I ❤️ MY WIFE.”

in bold. right across the pecs.

sylus froze. the world went silent. for once in his entire existence, he felt true, undeniable embarrassment.

“…oh.”

you smacked his arm.

the next day, sylus walked into his gym wearing that exact shirt, except his was customized.

“I ❤️ MY WIFE MORE THAN YOU LOVE YOURS, SO DOES MY BLACK CARD.”

[stressed-cryptid]

ᴍᴀɴʜᴀɴᴅʟᴇᴅ

Summary: You prank the lads boys by aggressively manhandling them.

Fandom: Love & Deepspace

Parings: [Zayne x Fem!Reader, Xavier x Fem!Reader, Caleb x Fem!Reader, Sylus x Fem!Reader, Rafayel x Fem!Reader]

A/N: Works been killin my butt. But anyways I saw many prank tiktok videos about women aggressively handling their own partner. Whether it be kissing them, love bites, or putting them on top of the kitchen counter. Figured it make a funny small prompt of how it would go lol.

Warnings: Fluff & humor, suggestive stuff, cursing

════════════════════════════

ZAYNE

You've been feeling pretty clingy today.

You didn't know what it was that made you feel this way. Maybe just seeing Zayne, waking up in his bed, staying over at his place, not bothered by work, both of you doing very domestic stuff, made you feel really touchy feely. And Zayne was much aware of this notion from the very start of the day. Not that he every denied your loving affection, no not ever.

He accepted every hug or kiss, and returned it with much love. Oh, how it only fuels the fire of your clingy nature even more.

Here you are, coming out from the kitchen, to lean against the wall, with a glass of sweet tea in hand. You tilt the glass towards your mouth as your eyes were trained on one thing in particular.

There Zayne sat on the large couch, in the living room, with a book in hand. His eyes soft but narrowed in focus as he reads the pages, he's currently on. His back leaning on the cushions, skillfully flipped each page with his thumb. As his elbow was pressed against the arm of the couch, with a small portion of a sugar cookie the two of you had baked not long ago, in his hands. He immediately finishes it, taking it into his mouth with a small hum. Licking off any specks of crusts lingering on his fingers.

Watching this perfect, handsome, hunk of man as your sipping your tea just sent you up in orbit. It was too much to take in. Does he know how amazing he is, just sitting there? That's what you thought, the audacity of this man to sit and read so cutely, in his causal home attire -white shirt and grey sweatpants-

You had to do something about it.

You walk up to where Zayne was, placing the cool glass on top of the glass ottoman in the middle of the living room. The clink of the glass made Zayne look up at you. His demeanor calm and relaxed, before looking down at his book.

"Any thoughts about what you'd like for din-"

Before he could even finish that sentence, Zayne was attacked.

He found your hands squeezing his cheeks harshly, pulling him closer to your face. You bend down to kiss him on the lips. His eyes widening in shock and confusion.

But you continue you assault on him.

You kiss him very passionately and aggressively. Hands running along his jet-black locks like a crazy loon, messy up his hair. All while you muttered along his lips, words of affirmation.

"God dang it Zayne! You -kiss- are so -kiss- perfect -kiss- uugh!!"

You start to kiss all over his face. To his cheeks, forehead, nose, eyes, and anywhere else you could get your lips on. His book on the floor, as he had already dropped it do to your aggressive love session. His eyes still wide with so much confusion.

It didn't even stop there, as you suddenly push this man, laying his back onto the couch. Pinning him by his shoulders just to keep him still. Your kisses never stopping, as you go lower to his neck, giving him rough kisses down to his collarbone.

Finally, you pull away.

You had found yourself straddling the poor man, your arms still pinning down his upper body.

You look to see his full face that was very much a very funny and cute site. His ears were burning red, hair a mess as he stared at you with such unreadable green eyes. His mouth was slightly agape as if he was trying to figure out what to say to you in that moment. But he closes it, his lips in a tight line, eyes closed, inhaling a long breath to re-catch his own thoughts.

His head leans to the side as he opens his eyes, not looking you in your own eyes. Zayne's heart was pounding in his chest right now.

"You...-sigh-"

You couldn't help but laugh at this site of him. It was too funny to behold, seeing Zayne completely embarrassed and yet flustered at the same time.

"Caught you off guard huh?"

You quip with a prideful smirk on your lips. Zayne brings his eyes to look up at you. You could see he was trying to act all serious, and calm, but it was obviously faltering. As you could see the corners of his mouth flick up in a small grin. His emotions getting the better of him, as he lets out a laugh. A mix between disbelief and fondness.

"Well, I didn't expect to be attacked in my own home by my partner."

He states this, and you laugh even more. An endless supply of giggles and laughter that you couldn't stop. One that Zayne couldn't help but join in, loving the sound of your laughter.

You let go of his shoulders, before leaning down to give a soft kiss to your boyfriend. A sweet smile stretching across your mouth.

"Well, you're just going to have to get use to it. Because there's definitely more to come in the future."

He rolls his eyes at you.

"I fear for my safety."

He says this sarcastically of course, but deep down he's already preparing for the next attack. Just in case, so next time you do this stunt again, he'll be able to calm his heart. Because that shit made him feel like he was having a straight-up heart attack.

════════════════════════════

XAVIER

You were laying on your bed.

Stomach first, as your feet were up in the air. Your hands clutch onto your phone, watching silly videos. Xavier was up in your bathroom taking a shower from a hard day of working. You had already taken a shower first, reasons being that Xavier told you to go in first, and second was because he was already on the verge of sleep. You were about to say to take a shower together, but the man was already nodding off as he sat on your bed. So, you decided to allow him to take a quick nap while you take your shower.

It has been a long day for the both of you, as you had both just got done with work. A bunch of wanderers to take down here and there, nothing too serious of a threat to get badly hurt, but enough to feel exhausted. And it definitely showed with the both of you, glad that it was the end of the day.

Xavier wanted to come over your apartment, because he finds it more comfortable, and wanted to sleep with you tonight. Plus, you figured he was too lazy to go up to his own apartment complex that was just a floor above yours. You never complain, as you would also come over to his complex and sleep there sometimes.

As you were kicking your feet, over the audio on your phone, you could hear the shower suddenly turn off. Indicating that Xavier was all done with his shower. He soon later came out, opening the door the connected to the bedroom. He lets out a silent yawn; while wiping his hair with a small white towel, a large towel was wrapped around his waist. His body shinning in the dim light from the room lights, due to the excess water cascading down his chest and stomach. You can see his full tempting v-line below his abdomen making your face heat up from the delicious site alone. He looked so appetizing yet cute at the same time.

You turned off your phone, placing the device on the bed-side counter. You sat up before getting off the bed, making strong strides towards your gorgeous boyfriend. His eyes open a bit seeing you coming forth, watch as you wrapped your arms around his torso head leaning on his slight wet chest. You didn't mind though, as you snuggled with him, smelling his freshly showered body. The scent of sweet vanilla filling your nose; he used your body wash.

"Hmm...You smell good."

A goofy smile presents itself on your lips. Xavier smiles softly, leaning in your touch as his own arms wrapped around you. His arms holding onto your shoulders rubbing them gently. The small towel he held was draped securely around his neck. His head buried into your hair, nosed pressed against your hair, smelling you as well.

"So do you.."

He whispers this in a low hum, eyes closed as he embraces you. You could feel his heart beat slow and relaxed inside his chest. Xavier's soft snores making you chuckle. The fact that this man can sleep standing up still amazes you.

"Sleepy?"

"Hm."

Xavier hums again, as if to say yes, his arms holding you closer to his body. His body leans into yours, the weight of him not fully on you, as if he was stopping himself from falling on top of you. You let out a sigh rolling your eyes. The cuteness of this man was just too much; it made you giggle a bit.

Without a thought or hesitation, your hands go lower till you reached the back of his thighs. Xavier can feel this, but he doesn't back away nor think anything of it. That was until you used all of your strength, bending your knees, and you use this strength to pick up your boyfriend. Xavier eyes widen as he was suddenly up from the ground, your struggling of course but still it was an achievement. Carrying your sleepy boy by his own thighs, before waking back to the bed. Xavier was very shaken from this move, his hands clinging to your shoulders as he blushes heavily.

"[Y-Y/N]...what are you doing?"

You smiled looking up at your flustered boyfriend, "Carrying...ngh my exhausted boyfriend of course~"

It was all you said, and only Xavier could look at you with wide eyes and a simple nod of okay. His tiredness going away as he watched his own girlfriend carry him around, he didn't know how to feel about this, but it wasn't unwelcomed.

It wasn't long till you reached the bed, slamming the boy right on to the soft bed, making him lay on his back. His small towel was already gone, falling onto the floor when you picked him up. His other towel wrapped around his waist, was defiantly loose, clinging onto him for dear life. But still covered his crotch.

Once settled onto the bed, you crawled your way in between his thighs, your hands running along up his thighs to his stomach. Making way to his chest then finally his soft cheeks. You squish his cheeks in your hands, body resting on top of his. You lips lean in to kiss him on the nose before moving to his lips. His hands were now at your waist, rubbing your sides.

"Are you sleepy now?"

You say this pulling away, but it seemed like Xavier was chasing your lips. His cheeks were still flushed with pink, but his shock expression turned into a very sweet playful grin. His hands tracing along your back, slightly teasing underneath your tank top you were wearing.

"Not at the moment no."

You were suddenly rolled over, as Xavier had now turned the tables. His body pinning you underneath him, his baby blue eyes looking down at you with so much mischief. His hand made its way to your cheek, stroking it was such softness as if you were a delicate relic.

"I think I'd like to stay up for a little while, how about you~?"

You chuckle as you pulled Xavier by his neck, His face and lips close you yours.

"Sounds fine by me~"

You whispered back before his lips connected with yours passionately.

════════════════════════════

CALEB

Pranks were nothing but natural for you and Caleb.

Ever since you were kids you two would pull all types of small pranks on each other. Not mean big pranks that would cause problems in one's relationship. But small harmless pranks that make each other laugh and keep the relationship more fun and fresher. To get competitive and try to one-up each other the next month or two.

It was your love language.

And it was your turn.

Oh, how you've been dying to try and get Caleb back. You were still pouting over the last prank he did. You could remember it like it was yesterday. The man had deliberately placed fake cockroaches all underneath your bed comforter. You of course did not realize it. Already freaking out with disgust and fear, running to Caleb about your "unfortunate" situation. Hugging and whimpering to him while you pushed him to the problem. Only for him to laugh and say how those cockroaches were all plastic toys.

You then start to curse him, while beating his chest -soft punches- giving him the biggest mean mug pout. One that he finds absolutely adorable. He makes up for this by promising to take you out to this new big carnival that just opened up around the neighborhood.

Today was the day of the carnival.

And both you and Caleb were getting ready that late afternoon. Hoping to get there early and on time for the rides and games.

You closed the door to your shared room, checking your small purse to make sure you got everything you needed. You're wearing a nice yellow blouse, white tank top underneath with a light jean skirt. It wasn't going to be cold, just a nice warm day.

Once you made it to the spacious room where the living room and kitchen connected. You could see your boyfriend turned to you. His back bent a little as his focus was on his phone, scrolling aimlessly, elbows on the kitchen counter. He was dresses up as well, in a very familiar outfit. His sleeveless white logo shirt, with black jeans pants.

He looked so handsome in the moment. His muscular back and shoulders showing of through the white shirt, His long arms, especially his biceps that flexed a bit on top of the kitchen counter. His hips tutting to the side a bit. You couldn't see his face fully, but you could already imagine how he looked. Eyes narrowed but soft, probably biting his lip as he scrolls through whatever feed he's on, all while he's waiting for you.

It was in that moment...you had an opening.

Slowly, you sneak your way over to Caleb. Making sure your sock covered feet won't make any noise against the tile floors. It seems he doesn't notice you at all.

So, taking you only shot as you make it behind him, you hand raises to aim for his ass. Immediately striking him down against his left cheek harshly, causing the man to gasp loudly. His eyes were wide, but before he could turn around and say anything, your hand that slapped his ass, remained there. Giving his ass couple of good squeezes while your chest was flushed against his back.

"Fuck, you're lookin so hot! Look at this ass!"

"[Y/N]..!"

You didn't give him any time what-so-ever. Turning him around roughly, only to push him back. You could see his very shocked and surprised face now. His cheeks full on flushed with red, a face that made you grip his cheeks with on hand to pull his close to yours. You give him a big fat kiss onto his lips, before pushing him off, making the man look at you dumbfounded.

"Face matches up nicely, not bad at all~"

You tease as your hands rested against his ass, giving his cheeks a squeeze while playing humping his waist. He looks at you so confused, as if you had two heads. There was a moment of pure silence. That was until Caleb begins to grin so big that it could hurt, before a big laugh erupts his whole body.

His chest heaving and rumbling as his hand makes it way to cover his eyes in embarrassment but much amusement as well. He couldn't stop laughing, and it made you laugh as well, your hands coming off his ass to just wrap around his torso. Head leaning against his chest.

"W-What was that pipsqueak!?"

Caleb's hand goes down from his face, looking at you with a big playful smirk gracing his lips. You smirk back with a wink.

"Nothing! Can't I appreciate my boyfriend's hotness?"

Caleb chuckles, leaning in to give your forehead a kiss.

"Never said you couldn't...but with a stunt like that, I say you must be getting even with me huh?"

Before you can retort back, Caleb grabs up by the waist using his strong arms. You gasp as you're now in the air, Caleb turning you to the counter so he can settle you done on the cool marble. Your legs wrapped around his waist, as your arms wrapped around his neck. He held your tightly against him.

"I would congratulate you on that prank of yours, but I would be lying saying that prank won't cost ya. We might be a bit late arriving to the carnival. After that bit, how can I possibly let you go...naughty girl~"

He says this as his head moves to your neck to place feathered kisses along your collarbone. It tickled causing you to giggle, the thought of missing the carnival making you wiggle in his hold whining.

"Caleb, nooo..!"

Yeah, you were definitely going to be late.

════════════════════════════

SYLUS

Catching Sylus off guard, can be a very difficult task at hand.

It seemed like no matter what, he always knew what move you were going to make. Calculating each future ten step you would say or do just so he can throw it right back in your face. And it definitely frustrated you.

A fierce man who was hard to take down.

In fact, he was the one catching you off guard. He was the one surprising you the most and getting you all flustered in the cheeks with his devious nonchalant attitude. It's a rare and very rare moment when Sylus was ever caught being flustered. And even in those rare occasions, he can easily and quickly hide it inside, composing himself as if it didn't phase him at all. As if he had already predicted your tricks, before you can ever see his reactions.

And so, you were on a mission.

A mission to complete subdue and fluster your Onychinus leader boyfriend. It took you half a month to come up with any idea. A good top idea to catch this man way off guard, just so you can win. You just wanted win over him, even if it's just one time. To get him stuttering over his words. And finally, you came up with an idea, a brilliant idea, one where you hoped and prayed that it will very much work.

You texted Sylus on how you'll meet him tonight at his place. He of course welcomed this arrival, his home literally opened to only you at any time of the day. You made your way, rushing to the N109 zone to Sylus's grand mansion. Preparing yourself for what was about to happen.

Once there, you greeted both Luke and Kieran who both welcomed you back. Wondering what the rush was, but you could only give them both a question back asking where Sylus was.

"Boss is-"

"-In his office." They both said.

Perfect!

Working out exactly how you wanted.

"Thank you, see ya later!"

They watched as you rushed down the hallway with a very confused but interested look, wondering what you were planning.

Sylus was in his office, just finishing up closing a deal via phone call. He sighed as he leaned against his chair running a hand through his own locks, looking around the room with his ruby red eyes. Mephisto was in his office - more luck for you -, and Sylus was thinking about you. Waiting for you to come to him.

He then hears a knock at the door making his lips curl into a smile. He can tell from just the knock alone that it was you.

"Come on in kitten."

Nothing.

The door didn't open, nor was there any sound before or after that came with it. His brow quirks at this peculiar moment.

"Kitten, I said you can come in."

He says this a bit louder, but again no answer, or door opening. And he was already confused from the start, because normally you'd just barge right in with that innocent smile of yours. But you didn't even do that. So, know Sylus was on edge but gratefully intrigued by what was going on. Wondering what you were planning behind that door.

He gets up from his chair, walking towards the lavish design door. Once he made it and he opens the door, he gets suddenly pulled by the collar of his shirt. His body leaning and his lips quickly connecting to yours. His eyes looked at you, wide and in disbelief but it wasn't over yet.

Using a tackling move on him, you swiftly used your leg to grapple behind his left leg. You used you full weight so that he would fall to the ground with a harsh thud. Your lips still on him as your hands moved to grab his own wrists and pin the above his head so that he wouldn't go anywhere. You were now straddling his waist, kissing him roughly before pulling back to only bite his cheek.

The man gasps as he was still to stunned to speak. He could only watch as you aggressively manhandle him. Your bites moved to his neck which caused Sylus to grunt lowly. His cheeks and ears red, still so confused. His brain trying to regain any semblance of reasoning but failing terribly so.

Once you pulled away to look at him, a big smile came to your lips as you looked at Sylus. His expression was priceless, funny, cute even as he looked up at you. You can finally say you've taken down Sylus.

Sylus clears his throat, lips curling into a smirk, shaking his head from your actions.

"Is...this some type of new fighting strategy of yours? If so, I'm not so keen for you to use it on other people."

You laughed.

"Nope, I just wanted to tackle you into submission. And I finally got you!"

You hear a big rich laugh come from Sylus. The pitch a bit heightened as he found this incredibly silly and adorable. He could just maneuver his way out of your hold easily or even use his evol to overpower you. But he doesn't, liking the proud face you made of finally overpowering him. Using your smart skills to gain the upper hand of the situation. It made his heart jump inside his chest happily.

"You know, if you wanted to over-power me, you could have just asked~"

"That's a load of bull and you know it! As if you'd gone easy on me if I did asked!"

Sylus laughs again, making you roll your eyes at him. But your body suddenly sits up right, as Sylus uses his strength to break from your pinned hands. He traps your arms behind your back with his one strong hand, his other hand gripping your chin gently, thumb rubbing the bottom of your lip. His eyes shooting down to your eyes, with his infamous smirk that made your stomach flip.

"You're right kitten. It's more fun to tease and let you work for your food, then to let you have it easy. But don't worry, I'll be gladly waiting for the next time you try to catch me off gaurd~"

════════════════════════════

RAFAYEL

You and Rafayel decided why not work out together.

Well, more like you were going to work out and train your body. But a certain purple-haired artistic man called before you could even go to your local gym. Of course, you picked up your phone hearing him complain about he was bored. You told him how you were going to the gym, and Raf found that as the perfect moment to come along with your endeavors.

He suggested going to his private gym he uses at home. He says he's been wanting to blow off some steam due to Thomas insisting -more like pestering to Rafayel - to create more art for his gallery. The deadline was almost due and Rafayel has been procrastinating with other projects. Telling Thomas there is no deadline to when it comes to art, he'll feel the inspiration when he feels it. And so here he is with you.

This is honestly a first for you.

Working out with him that is.

Watching that beautiful man stretching his own body with much ease as you both did warm-ups. Seeing his biceps and forearms flex as he does push-ups. The way his abdomen tenses when he did crunches. Or how he looked so pretty on the treadmill, running full laps. Hair bouncing, sweat dripping, muscles moving, ass tempting. Even when he took a few walk breaks you could hear his controlled breathing and pants.

He looked so pretty in those moments, truly you were captured by this handsome siren. God, you felt so lucky in that moment, you could watch him run all day long. So much so that you had completely lost track of time, your mind on auto pilot throughout your whole workout session.

The both of you were panting, sweat dripping down your foreheads, Body sore but refreshed in a way all in a day's good work-out. Rafayel sighs sweeping a hand through his front locks with a relieved sigh escaping his mouth.

"I'm exhausted, I don't know who's working me to death, you or Thomas~"

Rafayel grins while joking making you roll your eyes with a small laugh.

He goes into a corner of the gym. There was L-shaped counter with a sink. A mini refrigerator that was set up top, And a round circular table in the middle. Rafayel immediately went to the fringe to grab a bottle of water. Leaning against the table he unscrews the cap taking a few gulps of cool water down his throat.

You do the same, following your boyfriend, but your eyes were only trained on Rafayel. His left arm, behind him, hand placed upon the white table to stabilize himself. His back a bit arched, showing the indent of his pecks and abs through his black sleeveless tight compressed shirt. His waist looking so snatchable as his legs slightly crossed over one another.

Drinking the cool water did nothing to ease the burning tension inside of you.

Rafayel places his water down on the table, his hand reaching out to his shoulders to rub them a little. All while he rambled on and on about his problems, Thomas nagging, and blah blah blah.

That was it you can't take it anymore.

"I swear, I bet Thomas is calling my phone about no-"

Quickly you made your move on Rafayel. You grab at his thighs tightly making him blush and shut up. But then you start to lift him up, causing the man before you to gasp and wiggle in your hands.

"[Y/N]! Aah w-wait!"

You didn't listen to his gasps and pleas, as you use your full strength to pick him up and place his ass on top of the table. His legs wide and spread for you, almost wrapped around your waist. His water bottle accidently falling, spilling onto parts the table and floor. You kept a good tight hold onto him, giving his thighs a good squeeze,

Your lips meet his to kiss him briefly, a tease at the most. Before moving to his cheeks and nose, even his exposed neck.

Rafayel's hands were on your shoulders, not knowing whether to push you off of hold you close to him. His face was redder than a tomato, ears included, as he watches his own girlfriend assault him like this.

You then pull away with mischievous smirk on your face, all you could see was Rafayel with that sweet brattish pout pursing his plump lips. He looks at you, eyes narrowed but it was soft. Rafayel gives you a look of incredible disbelief and shock from what just happened.

"I-I can't believe, did you just..?!"

You laugh at him, causing his cheeks to flush even more. His eyes looking away from your gleeful face. It was adorable to witness it. Seeing him in this type of position. Your hands moved, sliding up to his ass, you can feel him tensing up, his breath getting heavy as though he was working out again. You gave him gentle pats at first, but them with your right hand gave him a hard smack placed upon his cheek.

Rafayel lets out a gasp mixed with a whine, his eyebrows furrowed in a glare. Looking at you with such a appalled face. He was truly was embarrassed.

"H-Hey watch it!"

"What, are you embarrassed baby~?"

Rafayel says nothing, the nickname only making him groan, letting out a long dramatic sigh. His eyes once again still darted away from your owns.

"This must what it feels like to be a woman, being preyed upon by others. I'm all defenseless here, it's scary thing. My own bodyguard taking advantage of me, in my own gym."

"It's not my fault my boyfriend is so beautiful. You really are, looking so pretty while you worked out today."

Rafael didn't really say anything, but you can he was trying not to let your words get to you. But it was failing, as your compliments only made his heart race even more. Fidgeting while you held on tight to him trying to distract himself with the gym appliances around the room.

"Sooo...you're saying you don't like it?"

You give him another kiss on the cheek playfully, making him turn his head finally towards you. His legs bringing you even closer, wrapping fully around your waist to lock you in. While his hands wrapped around your shoulders. It made you giggle, his actions way louder than his actual words.

"I never said that."

You smile as he can't help but smile back at you. He couldn't prolong his pout anymore, he's just too damn infatuated - and slightly aroused - at this new position of his. He leans in to kiss you on the lips, the kiss starting off as sweet before slowly turning deep and passionate. His eyes haze over with a growing smirk of his own.

"I'm definitely not going be able to finish my art piece now cutie~"

════════════════════════════

[stressed-cryptid]

Breaking no contact with the JJK men with the Catherine Method

Tags: JJK men x fem!Reader, smau, crack, cursing nsfw, mdni

An: @theuniversesnepobaby sent me a funny ass tiktok with this trend in it, so you guys can thank her for this smau. also pls look this stuff up on tiktok. it’s so funny for no reason. don’t take this shit too seriously 😭

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @airandyeah

[stressed-cryptid]

— heaven;

cw: 18+, talks of erectile dysfunction, angst, hurt/comfort kinda, fluff, internal shame, smut, reader’s pussy so good it cures his psychogenic erectile dysfunction (jk jk )

nanami kento is twenty-seven, and he’s tired.

not just tired in the way most people are. not the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep can fix, or a strong cup of coffee, or even a weekend off. no—this is deeper. it’s marrow-deep, soul-deep. a weariness that clings to his skin like damp fabric, that coils around his spine and never quite lets go. he wakes up tired, works tired, eats dinner with aching jaws and leaves dishes in the sink because even that feels like too much. he falls into bed exhausted, but sleep doesn’t come easy anymore. it never really did.

he tells himself it’s just the job.

and maybe that’s partly true. being a jujutsu sorcerer is not a career so much as a death sentence delayed. he’s seen too much already—too many curses, too many mangled bodies of young sorcerers who were brave and dumb and sixteen. too many higher-ups pretending to care, pretending it’s all for the greater good, while they sip their tea and send teenagers into war.

but it’s more than that.

nanami feels like he’s rotting from the inside out.

like the life he’s built has been sanded down into something sharp-edged and joyless. he clocks in. he clocks out. he does what needs to be done. he’s efficient, dependable, clean-cut and quiet. people like him. respect him. some of the younger ones even look up to him.

but nobody knows him.

and he’s not sure anyone has, for a long time.

so one night—after a particularly bad day, after a body too small and a scream too young—he tries. he thinks maybe what he needs is something simple. human. physical. something warm to remind him he’s still alive.

a woman from another division has been flirting with him for weeks. she’s pretty, soft-voiced, always smiling a little too long when they talk. so he takes the outstretched hand. they go back to her place. she lights a candle. she kisses him slowly.

he feels it at first—some spark of arousal, like muscle memory—but it’s distant. like watching fire behind glass.

his body won’t move with it. won’t rise. won’t react. he breathes harder. tries to push through it. thinks about her hands, her mouth, anything to stay there in the moment.

but nothing happens.

he goes soft before he even really gets hard.

the woman doesn’t say anything cruel. she gets dressed in silence, touches his shoulder like she’s sorry for him, not angry. she tells him not to worry about it. says it’s okay but there’s underlying pity in her words and shame on her face.

the next day, she requests a transfer.

he books a doctor’s appointment that same week.

and of course—because he’s nanami—he does it methodically. picks a reputable clinic, shows up fifteen minutes early, fills out the intake form with precise handwriting. he answers the doctor’s questions with cool detachment, as if he’s talking about someone else.

yes, he’s under stress. yes, his job is demanding. no, he’s not in a relationship. yes, he’s been feeling… disconnected. not unhappy, not exactly. just empty.

the doctor runs some tests. blood work, hormone levels, a general check-up.

the results come back two days later.

nothing permanent. not uncommon. the diagnosis is delivered gently, like it might break him—psychogenic erectile dysfunction, likely triggered by chronic stress, emotional burnout, maybe even signs of depression. his testosterone is on the low end of normal. cortisol is high. his body is in a constant state of fight or flight, flooded with survival hormones that leave no space for desire. no room for softness. for sex.

he listens. nods. thanks the doctor. goes home.

and doesn’t talk about it to anyone.

he blames himself anyway. even if it’s not his fault. even if it’s chemical, environmental, emotional—he feels lesser for it. less of a man. less of a person. like his body has given up on pleasure entirely. like his mind and his heart have withered into something that only knows function, not feeling.

so he avoids it.

he avoids women, avoids flirtation, avoids anything that might lead to a bedroom. he tells himself he’s too busy anyway. that morning wood was a bother anyways. tells himself sex is a distraction, a complication. that intimacy isn’t necessary for a man like him.

and then he meets you.

you arrive in nanami’s life without warning. not with fireworks or drama, not like most people who crash into his world demanding space and time and more than he can give.

he doesn’t fall fast. nanami isn’t built that way. but you come into his life quietly, like sunlight through half-closed blinds—slow and persistent, until everything is washed in warmth.

you don’t expect anything from him. you don’t push. you laugh at his dry comments, share your lunch with him, ask about his day like the answer matters. and without realizing it, he starts to linger longer when you talk. he memorizes the sound of your voice. he looks for you in a crowd, without meaning to.

you arrive quietly. like a steady rain after a long drought.

it starts with casual conversations in passing. the kind that linger in his mind longer than they should. he notices how you don’t rush to fill the silence. how you laugh with your whole body. how you speak with care, even when no one’s listening.

it’s not just want. it’s not even just need.

it’s love, blooming in slow, quiet ache.

and he begins to notice himself, too.

how his shoulders relax when you’re near. how the sharp, cloying edge of stress dulls a little when you smile at him. how, after weeks and then months, the ache in his chest—the one he thought was permanent—starts to fade.

he starts to want again.

not just sex, not the raw, thoughtless kind of release he’d once tried to chase like a cure. but something real. something soft. something he doesn’t think he deserves.

you.

but that desire terrifies him.

because the last time he wanted something like this, he was left feeling less than whole. and now, even with all the space you give him—all your patience, your gentleness—he still hesitates.

he thinks: what if i can’t give you what you need? what if you take it personally? what if you think it’s you?

so every time you lean in, every time your kisses linger too long and your sighs get needier, every time your hands slide up beneath his shirt or your voice goes warm and breathy in his ear—he pulls away.

softly. politely. like he’s putting up a boundary with words too careful to hold the weight of what he really means.

“early morning tomorrow,” he says.

“long day,” he says.

“let’s just hold each other,” he says.

and you don’t push. but he sees the flickers of confusion in your eyes. the slow-blooming insecurity in your silence. until one night—months in—you ask. gently. hesitantly. like you’re the one afraid of breaking something.

“is it… me?”

the look on his face could split stone. he flinches, hard—because no. never. because you are the only thing in his life that’s felt right in a very long time. and the idea that he’s made you feel anything less than wanted makes his throat close up.

he tries to explain, but his voice breaks halfway through. says something about the stress. the burnout. that it’s not permanent, that it’s not you, that it’s him. and you just nod, not asking for more, just sliding your fingers into his and resting your forehead against his chest.

he doesn’t sleep that night.

and then—some weeks later—something changes.

it’s a quiet night. rain patters softly against the windows. you’re sitting beside him on the bed, legs tangled under a shared blanket, your head on his shoulder.

he looks over at you—and the softness in your expression undoes him.

because when you say “i love you,” it’s not a declaration. it’s a truth. said simply. like breathing.

you reach up to touch his cheek, your fingers trembling. you’re afraid too—he can feel it. your voice is gentle, your body slow, like you’re asking permission with every movement. you kiss him, slow and steady, and for once he doesn’t pull away.

your hand slips under his shirt, fingers trailing down his chest, his abdomen, your touch featherlight.

and then—your palm presses lower, and he gasps.

he’s already half-hard.

your touch stills.

he looks down at you, wide-eyed, disbelieving. “wait,” he whispers. “wait—i—”

your hand shifts, tentative but confident, fingers curling gently around him. he’s warm and thick and growing harder by the second in your palm. his hips twitch into the touch, and a groan escapes him—honest, startled, and wrecked.

“kento,” you breathe, eyes flicking up to his. “you’re okay.”

his mouth opens. closes. opens again. his hand shakes as it settle on your thigh as if to ground himself, his chest rising and falling too fast. “i—i don’t understand. it’s never—” he swallows thickly. “not in months. not like this.”

you press a kiss to his throat. “you’re not broken,” you murmur. “you just needed something real.”

his breath catches. his head falls back against the couch as he tries to absorb the weight of what’s happening—your hand on him, his body responding, his mind not swimming with anxiety or failure or shame.

only you.

your name falls from his lips like a prayer.

“keep going,” he whispers, voice rough with disbelief. “please—don’t stop.”

and when you lean in to kiss him again, he’s already pulling you into his lap, desperate to feel all of you, like something inside him has finally come back to life.

your hand wraps gently around him, and he groans like he’s in pain—but the kind of pain that’s thick with relief. his hips twitch, a raw reaction, and he stares down at you like he can’t quite believe what’s happening.

you stroke him softly, just enough pressure to keep him grounded. he’s hard—really hard—and you feel the pulse of blood and heat against your palm, see the way his breath stutters with every pass of your hand. there’s something deeply vulnerable about the way he looks right now—wide-eyed, flushed, almost awed.

you lean in, press your lips to his throat. “you’re so responsive,” you murmur. “so sensitive. is this okay?”

he groans again, tilts his head back to give you more access. “more than okay. please don’t stop.”

you slide down his body, kissing a trail over his chest, his abdomen—slow and deliberate. he grips the sheets beneath him, knuckles white, trying not to lose control too fast. you settle between his legs, eyes flicking up to meet his.

“can i?”

he swears under his breath. “yes. yes, please.”

your mouth replaces your hand, and nanami breaks.

his hand flies to your hair, not to push or guide, just to hold, to anchor himself. his thighs tremble under you, breath coming faster now, a desperate hitch to it like he’s been waiting years to feel this.

“shit—i’m not gonna last long,” he gasps. “i’m—this is—you’re—”

he spills out your name like a secret, fingers tightening just slightly as you keep going, steady, loving. he tries to warn you again, but the words collapse into a groan, long and low and wrecked. he comes with a stuttered gasp, thighs clenching, whole body drawn tight like a bowstring before he collapses into the mattress, boneless.

you crawl back up to kiss him, and he pulls you into his arms like you’re the last soft thing in the world. he’s shaking.

“i didn’t know it could feel like that,” he whispers.

you smile against his jaw. “you mean good?”

“i mean real.”

but he’s not done.

after he catches his breath, after the shock begins to fade, he looks at you—eyes dark with something steadier now. want. and something clicks in him, something hungry and focused.

“your turn, darling,” he says, low and deliberate.

and the way he touches you then—slow and thorough, with trembling reverence and careful pressure—makes it clear he intends to make up for lost time.

he shifts you gently beneath him, hands slow and warm as they spread across your hips, your thighs. there’s a reverence to him now, a steadiness—it’s like some long-locked part of him has finally opened, and all that careful control he’s always worn like armor has melted away, leaving only want.

but not greedy want. devotional.

“you’ve been so patient with me,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your knee, your thigh. his voice is low, steady, like he’s trying to ground you both. “i want to return that.”

his hands slide beneath your thighs, spreading you open with almost unbearable gentleness. his lips follow the path of his palms, mouth pressing kisses to the softest parts of you, slow and unhurried.

“kento,” you breathe, already trembling.

he glances up—eyes dark, intent. “tell me what you want.”

“you,” you say, helplessly. “just you.”

he exhales like that undoes him.

his mouth finally finds you, and the first drag of his tongue is soft, exploratory, like he’s memorizing the taste of you. and then he does it again, more confidently, more hungrily, and your hands fly to his hair, gripping hard as your hips rise into his mouth. he moans when you do, the vibration sinking straight through your spine.

he eats you like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense. like your pleasure is sacred. his tongue flicks, presses, circles, learning every reaction you give him like he’s etching it into memory. and when you whimper his name, thighs shaking around his shoulders, he doesn’t stop—he slides a finger inside you, slow and deep, matching the rhythm of his tongue with deliberate care.

“you’re so wet,” he groans, lips slick. “i want to feel you come on my tongue. can you do that for me?”

you nod, gasping, your body already so close to the edge. it’s overwhelming—his mouth, his voice, the sheer intensity of how focused he is on you.

“you taste incredible,” he breathes. “you feel even better. i could stay here all night.”

you fall apart moments later, arching into him, his name torn from your throat as your release floods through you. and even then, he doesn’t stop—not until your body’s twitching, overstimulated, clinging to him.

he finally rises, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes never leaving yours.

“i’ve never wanted anyone like this,” he says, breathless, reverent.

he kisses you again—slow, messy, sharing your taste between your tongues.

and then, once your breathing steadies, once you’ve gathered enough strength to look up at him with pleading eyes—

he moves over you like a shadow—controlled, careful—but the moment he sinks into you, that composure shatters. his breath stutters. his hands shake.

“fuck,” he groans, burying his face in your neck. “you feel—god, you feel unreal.”

you wrap your legs around his waist, arms holding him close. he’s so deep, stretching you perfectly, filling you in a way that feels like coming home.

“you’re so tight,” he murmurs, voice fraying at the edges. “i don’t think i can—i want to go slow, i should—”

you arch your hips, driving him deeper. “don’t,” you whisper. “don’t hold back.”

and that’s all it takes.

he growls—a low, desperate sound—and suddenly his hips are snapping into you, strong and fast, each thrust sending a sharp crack of pleasure through your core. it’s messy and hot and overwhelming, the weight of his body, the heat between you, the breathless groans spilling into your skin as he fucks you like he’s trying to make up for all the empty years.

“missed this,” he pants. “missed the way it feels—you, around me like this—fuck.”

he kisses you like he needs to taste every gasp you make, teeth grazing your lower lip, tongue deep and messy. your nails rake down his back, and he shudders, cock twitching deep inside you.

“you’re perfect,” he groans. “you’re perfect.”

but even in his hunger, he doesn’t forget you—his hand slides down, finding your clit, rubbing in tight, desperate circles. “want you to come with me,” he says, voice wrecked. “need to feel you fall apart.”

“kento—” your voice breaks, too close, body already starting to tense.

“that’s it,” he groans. “give it to me. please.”

you break with a cry, clenching hard around him—and the feeling of you, pulsing, squeezing, milking him—that is what finally drags him over the edge. he moans your name as he comes, hips grinding deep, spilling into you as his whole body locks up.

he doesn’t stop moving for a while—gentler now, drawn-out, like he can’t bear to leave your body just yet. his forehead rests against yours, both of you gasping, sweat-slick and trembling.

he kisses you softly. “i don’t know how i lived without this.”

you smile up at him, lazy and dazed. “without me?”

he lets out a breathless laugh, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“yeah,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “without you.”

you’re both quiet in the aftermath, tangled together in the warmth of each other’s skin, his head resting against your collarbone, his breathing deep and heavy. but slowly—slowly—you feel the unmistakable twitch of him still nestled inside, and your breath catches.

you shift slightly, just a roll of your hips, and he groans into your throat, voice deep and hoarse and still utterly wrecked.

“you’re insatiable,” you tease, breathless.

his voice is rough when he answers, low and reverent. “you have no idea.”

nanami lifts his head to look at you, and there’s something different in his eyes now—less disbelief, more possession. awe replaced with intent. he cups your cheek with a hand that’s still trembling, brushes his thumb over your lower lip.

“i thought something in me had just… broken. like i’d worn myself down past the point of wanting. but you…” he leans in, kisses you slow, “you woke something up.”

he kisses you again—deep, slow, tongue sweeping into your mouth like he owns it. and as he moves, you feel him swelling inside you, hardening with each gentle grind of his hips, still sheathed deep. the sensation pulls a soft moan from your throat, and he smiles—a real, almost smug curl of his lips.

“still so wet,” he murmurs. “still perfect.”

he pulls out slowly, and you feel the slick warmth of his cum spill between your thighs, but he doesn’t go far—he shifts down your body, spreading your legs again, and runs his tongue through your folds with a sound like he’s dying for it.

he devours you this time—not gentle, not worshipful, but needy. his mouth is hot and relentless, tongue stroking through the mess he made, sucking at your clit until your hips are jerking and your fingers are in his hair again, dragging him closer, closer—

you gasp his name, trembling under him, and he pulls back just enough to rasp, “you’re going to come for me again. i need you to. i want to feel it when i’m inside you.”

your stomach twists, tight with anticipation, and you nod, hips rocking helplessly into his mouth until you come again, loud and sharp and aching. nanami groans like your orgasm gets him off, like the sound of you falling apart is the only thing he needs.

he moves over you fast—lifts your leg, presses your knee back toward your chest, and sinks back into you with one rough, deep thrust that knocks the air from your lungs.

“fuck—so good,” he grits out, already moving hard and slow. “so goddamn tight.”

this time, there’s no hesitation. he takes his time, but he owns every movement—drives into you with long, deep strokes that press your body into the bed, each one punctuated with soft, dirty praise.

“you feel this?” he growls against your neck. “feel how deep i am?”

you nod, too overwhelmed to speak. he’s everywhere—inside you, all around you—his scent, his voice, his heat. the steady slap of skin against skin is dizzying.

“i could stay here forever,” he breathes, one hand bracing your thigh up, the other moving down between your bodies. “feel you like this—tight and wet and mine.”

his fingers find your clit again, rubbing in circles that match his thrusts, and the pressure spirals fast—he’s hitting every spot, every angle, like he’s been memorizing your body since the beginning of time.

you come again with a sob, and this time he doesn’t stop—his pace picks up, thrusts more frantic now, deeper, rougher. wild.

“want to come inside you again,” he gasps. “want to fill you up, fuck it deeper—fuck—”

your name breaks from his throat as he drives deep one last time and comes hard, hips shuddering, breath gone ragged. he stays inside you, body shaking, arms braced on either side of your head.

for a long moment, neither of you moves.

just breathing.

just feeling.

and then he collapses beside you, pulls you into his chest, still buried deep, still twitching with the last pulses of pleasure. his lips brush your forehead, your temple, your jaw.

“i didn’t know it could be like this,” he whispers. “not just the sex. this.”

you hum, pressing your lips to his chest.

“i’m not going anywhere.” you say.

and his arms tighten around you—like he believes it, finally. like you’ve given him something back that he thought was lost forever.

[stressed-cryptid]

Land of the Lustrous is legitimately one of the best things I have ever read, hands down. A story that genuinely altered my brain chemistry and my perception of the people and world around me. I will never forget the story of a gem named Phosphophyllite.

at the end of a world, the pebbles sing a song for their smallest sibling.

(part of a hnk zine i'm making with @neile for AX!!)

[stressed-cryptid]

Rafayel's toddler son is a total mama's boy, despite looking just like his father.

"Nine months in my womb and you look just like your idiot father."

The little kid follows you around everywhere you go and demands that you hold his hand. Personal space is non-existent with both your boys. If it isn't Rafayel clinging to you, it is your son who demands cuddles just as often.

Surprisingly, unlike his father, your son is a very quiet and docile child. He listens to you when you ask him to clean up after himself, and he helps you tidy, despite never being asked to.

But despite being a soft-natured child, he is his father's greatest rival.

Pushing his dad's face away softly whenever he gets too close. Pulling on his ear piercing as a way to fidget. Interrupting the two of you.

Arms wrapped around each other, with you on his lap. He deepens the kiss, sliding a hand in your hair, only for a small voice to call out. "Mama?" "Hi baby!" And just like that, he's forgotten again, left strung up behind.

Squeezing himself between the two of you in bed, which is fine, until Rafayel wakes up with a foot in his face, apparently, the passive nature disappears when he's asleep.

After waking up for the eighth time with his son starfished

"Now I know why some animals eat their young."

"Rafayel!"

Rafayel loves his little twin, though (the cuteness aggression he gets looking at the product of your love).

masterlist

[stressed-cryptid]

Girl Dad!?

a drabble in which Nanami is the girl dad.

"Here, I keep them on hand for the kids," Nanami says, handing Nobara a hairband from his pocket.

First comes Nobara's question. "Kids? Plural?"

"Nanami! How many kids do you have?" Yuji's voice rang out as Nanami stood beside Gojo, watching the first year students train.

"Four," The blonde haired man responded simply, checking his phone. A text from his beloved wife. He opens it with little hesitation. One picture, their little five month old daughter laid on her mother's chest. He smiles.

"Four kids?" Nobara asked in surprise.

"Four daughters," Nanami corrected her without glancing up from his phone. A second picture. His twin daughters, three years old, had drawn something together that his wife had sent him a picture of.

"Don't you get tired of all those girls in the house, Nanami?" Gojo asked, throwing an arm around Nanami's broad shoulders.

"No." Nanami responded, scowling. "Why would I?" He checks his watch with shimmery pink nails, the work of his eldest daughter. Underneath his brown business shoes and black socks held up by sock garters, his toenails matched, the same shimmery pink.

"Four kids and not one son?" Yuji asked, his big brown eyes gazing curiously at his teacher.

"Aren't you at least a little disappointed?" Gojo asked, cocking his head at his coworker.

"My genetics determined that we had daughters. I love them all dearly." Nanami spoke, shoving Gojo off of his shoulders.

"I have four daughters, and they look almost exactly like my beautiful wife. I'm more concerned about all the boys I'll have to fend off of my doorstep than I am about only having daughters." Nanami said proudly, a soft smile making it's way onto his usually stoic face.

"Now, if you don't mind, my wife says dinner will be done in 20. Have a nice day, everyone." And with that, Nanami Kento leaves, a big smile on his face. He can't wait to get home.