^3^

Toji didn’t want to think. Lately, thinking had done him no good. Thinking of the inevitable only served to paralyze him, made his knees buckle, made his lungs seize and choke on heavy breath, made his will weak and heart unsteady. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, seeking solace from the fairness of the night and the Moon herself. 

The drums had started a while ago. 

Or—that was what it sounded like—the staff and torch of every man and warrior hammering against the softness of the earth, driving up sand and dust, what started as a cacophony of sounds gradually reconstructing into fire and rhythm and heartbeat. 

They were calling for someone. Yearning for their echoing cry. 

And the day it came, it might as well cue the apocalypse. It would be the end of Toji. 

Except…

You were nothing like he had imagined. 

“Omega,” a soft croon travelled from within the temple. Quiet, yet steady—low. Demanding his attention, his answering warble. 

Toji resisted the urge to raise his head and answer, despite the sudden, terrifying need to bare his neck and whimper, to submit to the faceless alpha before him. 

Toji had expected to be taken by force by a hand clamped onto his sensitive nape, scruffing him like all filthy omegas deserved to be held, dragged up the stairs against his will and thrown into the temple. 

Not the gentle guidance of a curled finger lifting his chin… to meet the most brilliant pair of golden eyes he had ever seen. 

“I was calling for you,” you murmured. Soft. Forgiving. So unlike every alpha he’d ever seen. “Why haven’t you answered my call, omega?” 

Toji couldn’t breathe. 

A mocking sneer came from behind, a full body shudder immediately surging its way into his bones, halting the sense of comfort that your unexpected… mercy? kindness? provided him. 

“I see you’re examining our gift to you, Chief.” 

You only smiled kindly. 

“How kind of you to bring me a gift, Naobito.” You paused, gazing down at Toji, before resting a hand on his cheek, watching as he couldn’t help but nuzzle into the cup of your palm, clearly starved for gentle touch. 

“Well? How do you like it, Chief?” 

“He’s certainly… extravagant.” 

Toji couldn’t keep the scowl off his face even if he tried—he could tell you were lying. There was nothing extravagant about him, with his scarred skin and thick bulk that made him unseemly of an omega, the picture of crass and shame. 

You tilted your head in confusion at the sudden sour dip in his sweet scent, the strange stillness in his body language. “What’s wrong? Did you not like the term I used, omega?” You had meant it with every fibre of your being. The omega was beautiful. Extravagant, like you said—a jewel blessed by the moon. 

Toji frowned harder, keeping his mouth shut despite his displeasure. He had learned to do so the hard way for far too many times—the scar slashing across his face was solid proof of that. There wasn’t any room for an omega to butt in when any alpha was speaking—much less the pack alpha himself. 

“Extravagant is one way to word it,” Naobito sniggered, “though I’d suggest we use the term low-bred.” 

Toji was indifferent at this point, used to having nasty insults hurled at him to berate him for the impropriety of his body, but what took him by surprise was how tense you had gotten from one single word of the other alpha, his instincts immediately sending out warning signals to soothe and pacify, not in fear of your anger but in distinct worry for your well-being. 

“Low-bred,” you repeated, “you say?” 

“Yes,” the old pack alpha affirmed. “Low-bred is right. Only a low-bred omega would ever dare to betray the fate the Moon goddess has ordained for him and turn himself into the beast that he truly is.” 

“And pray tell, has the Moon goddess herself granted you the authority to define a creature of her creation with such an undignified term?” 

Naobito raised his eyebrows, undaunted by your sharp tongue—years of experience had given him the composure of an old fox. 

His lips stretched into a smile, revealing a pair of grotesque yellow fangs. “The Chief has peculiar tastes.” 

“The Chief,” you smiled contemptuously, “worships the Moon goddess with respect, as does the rest of our clan, unlike certain dissemblers.” 

Naobito growled. 

Faith and religion were sensitive waters to tread into for any clan. 

The head priest coughed awkwardly, breaking the uneasy silence. 

“It is time, my liege. The hour that the Moon favours has come.” 

You gazed down at the omega, still bound on his knees, jaw cradled in your palm, now slightly more relaxed—how many hours had it been since he had been forced to kneel and pray? 

“What is your name, favoured one?” 

Toji glanced up at you, dark blue boring into golden. 

“Fushiguro,” he said. “Fushiguro Toji.” 

You hummed. How interesting. “Not Zenin?” 

“No,” Toji muttered lowly. “I am… pariah. An outcast. I am not one of them.” He nearly spat the last part out, something akin to manic glee in his eyes. 

“Pariah,” the foreign word rolled off your tongue like silk. “What a pretty name for something they detest so much.” You stroked his hair almost lovingly. “But not for long, Toji. Tonight, as the goddess favours it, you will be mine.” 

Toji shivered involuntarily, this time not in fear as he had priorly with Naobito, but an unexpected, all-consuming feeling of heat shooting straight into his lower belly. At that moment, he recognized just how dangerous of an alpha you were, to have an omega like him—one that repulsed alphas with the entirety of his being—wanting to get on his knees for you and have you take him mercilessly, right here right then, pheromones dripping out uncontrollably like peach syrup and golden honey, flooding the air like a dammed up river unleashed. 

“Unbind him, Suguru,” you ordered, and Toji whined in arousal. “No omega of mine will ever be leashed.” 

Mine, the alpha says. Toji’s heart fluttered despite himself. I will become his omega, like it was written in the fucking stars. What the hell? 

Was this what it felt like to freely belong? 

Toji was then helped to his feet, his hands swiftly untied, a flask where a sweet-smelling liquid was fed to his lips. He tensed, wary, but your steady gaze boring into his almost immediately rid him of any suspicions. 

“Drink,” the head priest—Suguru, offered kindly. “You must be parched. It is water from the sacred fountain.” 

A blessing of fertility, he registered, his breath hitching. One that would induce a heat so potent that would make conception simply inevitable. There was no going back from this. By the end of the night, he was to be taken and bred by you before the waxing gibbous Moon, your seed flowing into his womb—and by sunrise, he would be pregnant with your pups. 

Toji closed his eyes, nodding once and opening his mouth, allowing the sweet fluid to slake his dried throat, before the flask was taken away from him, a silk cloth pressed to his lips to clean him. 

There was a very specific order to these things. 

“Favoured one,” Suguru said. “The Chief waits for you.” 

You had disappeared up the stairs and onto the altar while he was distracted, leaving behind a thick trail of your scent. Toji followed it blindly, desperately, heat burning an electric path down his spine and spilling heavily into his nether regions, a slow whine ushered out from his parted lips. 

He stood at the entrance on wobbly legs and took you in. “Alpha,” he allowed himself to pant out, for the first time of the night. “A-alpha, where…” 

You were beautiful and bare under the moonlight. All of you was soon to be his, just as he would be yours. 

“Come, my omega,” you gently shushed the omega’s unsure warbling, patting your lap and smiling at him. “Let us forget everything around us. Tonight, there is only me and you, and the goddess, who will watch me fuck you on my cock until you are swollen and pregnant with the fruit of her blessing.” 

Toji could feel his omega purring, giddy from your promises, a slickness trickling down his thighs, evident through the sheer fabric of his robe. He trudged over to where you were sitting, shakily positioning himself on your warm lap. His knees bracketed your hips, resting comfortably on the soft material of the furs and bedding laid all over the ground, the perfect cocoon for lovemaking all night. 

You were cooing at him. Pressing tender kisses to the pulse of his wrists, soothing at the abrasions the ropes had left behind like he was something precious, something to be treasured. 

Toji had previously thought he was not going to survive the night, but now, he only wished the night would last forever. 

“What are you thinking, my sweet?” you crooned at him. 

The omega flushed prettily, glancing down at his slick-dampened robes. “My clothes,” he whispered. “They are uncomfortable, alpha.” 

You regarded him with a playful tone. “Is that so?” you responded. 

Toji nodded, a pout forming on his lips—something he would have never done in the presence of another. You made it hard for him to act normal. You were the strangest alpha he had ever met. 

Trepidation began to build when you remained silent for a few moments. 

The disrobement was often violent. That was what he had seen happen to other omegas in his clan, more often than not with an alpha that they had never seen before prior to that night. Stripped bare of their dignity, and forced to submit and take whatever they were given. 

“May I?” was a question that Toji would have never even considered to hear. 

He nodded then, almost desperately, as you chuckled and pried his white robe fully apart, fully unveiling his body for the first time to the cold of the night. 

“You are so wet,” you commented, one finger brushing up the entrance of his pussy, gathering slick before lightly pushing at his clit, making him shudder and cry out. “I doubt we will be needing any extra lubricant.” 

“No,” Toji agreed. Fuck, he needed you inside of him, this instant. You were far too patient for an alpha, far too gentle, far too kind. He leaned back and spread his legs, revealing his sopping cunt, hoping to entice you into taking him. 

Your eyes darkened, zeroing in onto his soaked folds, spread out like a flower of the flesh. 

“Alpha,” he whined, the heat making it hard to speak coherently, “I’m ready. I-I need you.” 

You sneered. “Pretty omega needs an alpha to breed him? Plug his pussy full of seed until he is heavy with pups?” 

“N-not just any alpha,” Toji panted. “I want you. Only you. Your pups, alpha.” 

You held back a whimper at his words and the sight of his cunt clenching needily combined, wanting nothing more than to fulfil your promise and fuck him into the nest until the omega was seeing stars, helplessly clinging onto your shoulders and screaming your name with every thrust. 

But you also knew that it was far too early for that. You wanted to take your time with him. Savour him. Let him understand that he wasn’t just a toy for your pleasure tonight, but everything and more. 

“Not now, Toji,” you muttered softly, stroking his cheek, and sighed in dismay when the omega began to tear up, evidently consumed by his heat and seeing your words as a form of rejection. “Please, don’t cry.” 

“Y-you do not want me,” he gasped out wetly, “You are just like the rest of them. You do not see me as an omega, do you? You think—” he paused, before frowning and accusing, “you think I am low-bred.” 

Rage flickered in your gaze, and Toji could feel another wave of slick pouring out of his aroused cunt, baring his neck with a soft whimper to appease you. 

“Never say that about yourself again,” you snarled. “Or else I’ll just have to show you exactly how well-bred of an omega you are.” 

“But you stopped.” Toji huffed. “Why did you stop? Am I not enough for you?” 

You could feel your frustration boiling over. “If you still think that this is not enough, look at me.” Your cock stood proudly between your thighs, heavy and girthy with the flushed head dripping with arousal, the base starting to swell with knot. “Do you not see what you have done to me, omega?” 

Toji bit back a whine. Fuck. That huge thing was going to split his cunt apart, and he couldn’t wait. 

“Then what.” 

“I want you to show me,” you challenged, resting back against the pile of soft furs. “Show me what you can do, omega. Fuck those pretty fingers into your little pussy and get yourself ready for my cock.” 

Toji whimpered. His fingers weren’t small, but your cock was way, way larger. It would take at least four of them to properly stretch himself out, and goddess, was he impatient. Biting his lip, he inserted the first two fingers with ease, the abundance of slick making the glide smooth, wet and easy, waiting until he had them pushed almost all the way in before he started to slowly scissor them, panting softly at the movement. 

“So hot, Toji,” you purred. “Keep going, pretty. Show me you’re worthy of taking my knot. My pups. The perfect omega for me to breed.” 

The sight before you was a piece of heaven itself. The omega was struggling to fit the third finger in, even with how much he was slicking up—what an arrogant little thing, offering to take your knot when he could barely fit a few fingers into his tight virgin hole. 

“Alpha,” Toji panted, starting to rock his hips down onto his fingers, clumsy and inexperienced but nonetheless the most beautiful sight you had ever seen. “I-I’m… almost… there…!” 

“You are doing so good,” you cooed. “Just a little more, baby.” You were seconds away from grabbing your cock and jerking yourself off to completion, but how could you ever, when the prettiest, slickest pussy you had ever seen was right in front of you, waiting to be bred with your cum? 

Toji hissed out victoriously as he pushed the fourth finger in alongside the rest inside the wet mess of his cunt, stretching it out almost obscenely. He glanced at you expectantly, a smug smile on his face as though he were expecting a reward. 

“Well? Am I worthy of your knot now, alpha?” he sneered. 

What he didn’t expect was how quickly you manhandled him onto his hands and knees, making him arch his back until he was properly presenting himself to you, his pussy fully facing you, gaping widely and dripping with sweet-smelling slick for the taking. 

He gasped and whined, sensitive cunt clenching as you blew air over it, dutifully admiring the efforts your omega made in preparing himself for you. 

“Good omega,” you crooned, pressing a tender kiss to the hood of his clit, making him shiver. “You are the prettiest thing I have ever seen.” 

Toji wasn’t sure why he chose that moment to rebel, even with the sweltering heat and arousal clouding his consciousness. “Liar,” he whispered. 

You growled, rocking your hips forward harshly, the girth of your cock rutting against the crevice of his wet pussy, the sudden stimulation making him cry out. 

“Look at me,” you growled out. “Look at me as I fuck my cock into you, and tell me I am a liar.” 

Toji tilted his head to stare back at you, panting heavily. 

You sneered. “I wish you could see yourself right now, because there is no way someone will see this—and hear this—and call you anything other than an omega bitch.” 

Before Toji could even ask anything about what he was supposed to be hearing— 

You had positioned yourself and rammed your cock into his cunt in one smooth go, and Toji screamed. 

“Fuck,” he wailed loudly as he came, whimpering as you thrust right back in, rough hands grabbing carelessly at the thick of his hips, slamming him back onto your cock whenever he tried to crawl away from the oversensitivity. There were sure to be countless bruises by the time morning came—if it ever did, with the way you were fucking him so ruthlessly into the nest, taking away his every breath. 

“Alpha, puh-please!” he begged, tears of pleasure filling his eyes, his instincts going haywire with the only coherent thought being to let himself be bred, to carry your pups like the good omega you told him he was. “W-want your babies, want them in me so f-fucking bad, please.” 

“No,” you snarked, refusing to cum—a punishment, Toji knew, for the words he had negligently said, and the omega whimpered in frustration. 

“Please!”

“No. Not until you admit what you are.” 

“Alpha,” Toji cried out, frame shaking as he came again, slick leaking out of his pussy in messy slops with each slap of your hips against the reddened back of his thighs. 

You growled. “Admit it.” 

“A g-good omega,” Toji panted. “Yours.” 

“What else is there?” 

“P-prettiest thing you have ever- ever seen, alpha.” 

You hummed your approval. It was impressive that he could still manage to string together words, despite how hard you were pounding into him from behind. 

“I need an even better answer, baby.” You sneered, nipping meanly at his ear. “Something that sums up the above. Tell me. What’s a fertile and pretty omega like you good for a pack alpha like me?” 

Toji whimpered. He knew the answer you wanted—it was right in front of him. A burst of elation filled him at the prospect, and he found himself growing even wetter, if that was possible. 

“I’d be a good… a good breeding bitch for you,” he slurred. “And I’d let you fuck your knot into me anytime and anywhere you want, put a clan of pups into my s-stupid little cunt.” 

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Fuck,” you cursed, letting out a breathless laugh. “You are really something, aren’t you.” And that old bastard had dared to insult him. Was he blind? Were they all blind? 

You reached under Toji’s chest to cup his full breasts, squeezing and massaging them, making him jerk in your grip, cunt fluttering around your swollen cock with a wet sob. 

“Even your tits are perfect,” you jibed on, “They would look so good, swollen and heavy with milk to feed the pups I am going to put in your belly. Is there a single part of your body that isn’t breedable, Toji?” 

Toji mindlessly shook his head, whimpers and moans fucked out of him with each snap of your hips, his eyes hazy and unfocused as you pumped your cock into him, threatening to breach his womb with how deep and hard your thrusts were. “N-no,” he whined, “I’d let you fuck my t-tits, alpha. Get them fat and full too, like how you’re going to make my t-tummy.” 

You couldn’t help but bark out a laugh at that. Your pretty thing really was gone, wasn’t he. To think he had been so shy and guarded just a few moments ago. He was truly unrecognizable now—his low, threatening voice turning into high-pitched moans, the scowl on his face wiped off and replaced with a look of pure ecstasy. 

“Naobito!” you growled out, a deranged grin on your face. “Is this the omega you were calling low-bred? The one you were berating for his appearance?” 

There was a flush on the elder’s face as he quickly hid it—either from embarrassment or from the fact that he, too, had reached a shaky hand into his robes to relieve himself, much like the rest. 

“Why,” you drawled, pushing Toji up so that his back was pressed flush to your chest, exposing his limp, fucked-out body to the crowd, “You lot seem to be enjoying it as much as I am. It is a shame that you will never have him, for the ways you have treated him.” 

Tonight, and for the rest of the days forever, Toji would be yours. 

With a snarl, you sunk your teeth fully into your omega’s neck as Toji let out a warbling cry, head tilting back to allow you full access to his nape as you thrusted upwards once more into his trembling body, just enough to pop the swell of your knot into his tight cunt, properly stuffing him and locking the two of you together. 

“I feel so full,” Toji mumbled as you pulled back to shift the two of you into a position that would allow the warm cum to slowly flow into his womb. “Feel you—right here, alpha.” He rubbed at his tummy, over the slight distension caused by the thickness of your knot. 

You had to hold yourself back from biting him again. 

“Yeah? Feels good, right?” you cooed, kissing the wound on his neck, one hand protectively cradling the belly of your new mate, as though he were already swollen with pup. Toji nodded sleepily, resting against your shoulder and letting out soft little trills, one hand joining yours to rest on his stomach. 

The ritual was over, but the Zenins were still in your territory. If it were up to you, you would have their hands and tongues cut off for the vile things they have done and said to Toji. 

But this wasn’t your decision to make. 

“Luna,” you murmured softly to your mate. “My sweet Luna.” 

Toji blinked in confusion at the strange term of endearment, before his eyes widened with realisation. 

You gestured to his former clan, now encircled by warriors of your own, the stench of fear and bloodthirst weighing heavy in the air like a thick fog. 

“They await your orders, Toji.” 

The crazed glint in your omega’s eyes had never been more telling. 

2. You go to someone else for help instead of him. You needed tech support. A charger. Help moving the couch. And instead of calling your six-foot-two, military-trained, emotionally unstable boyfriend — you asked Xavier. Caleb didn’t say anything. Just stood in the doorway, watching, calculating how long it would take to move the entire solar system to make sure you never do that again.

3. You don’t sit on his lap when there’s clearly space.You chose the chair. Next to him. Not on him. He’s not mad. No, no. He's just questioning the entire fabric of your connection and whether you’ve lost all sense of instinct. And when you finally realize and climb into his lap? He sighs like a man being restored to life.

4. You post a photo where you're not touching him.Nice shot. Great lighting. Cute outfit. But why is he two feet away and not glued to your side like a shadow with military clearance? His arm belongs around your waist. His hand belongs on your thigh. And your caption? Should’ve been his name, followed by a possessive noun.

5. You forget to wear his dog tags. He left them for you. Carefully. On your nightstand. The same tags he’s worn through hell. And you? Walked out the door wearing a cute sweater and nothing that says “belonging to Colonel Caleb.” He’ll never say a word. He’ll just strip you slow the second you get home and fasten them back around your neck himself. With teeth.

5 Lies Caleb Tells Himself About You

1. “I don’t care that she uses my toothbrush.”You could take a fresh one. You don’t. You reach for his, same as always — like that handle belongs to you more than to him. He mutters something about germs. Then watches you rinse with that smug little smile. And later, when you're asleep, he moves it back to your side of the sink. Right where you like it.

2. “She can wear whatever she wants.”And you do. His shirt. His flight jacket. That tiny black top you swear is “practical.” He acts unbothered. Says nothing. But the second someone else looks too long? He stands behind you. One hand on your waist. That casual kind of possessive that feels like a warning wrapped in warmth.

3. “I don’t need her to text me when she gets home.”You’re a grown woman. A Hunter. You’ve neutralized things with more teeth than common sense. You say “Don’t wait up.” He says “Sure.” Then checks his phone every ten minutes like it's a heartbeat monitor and he's waiting to hear yours again.

4. “It’s fine if she flirts. I know it’s harmless.”You’re charming. It’s part of who you are. You wink. Smile. Lean in a little too close. Caleb plays it cool. Says, “She’s always like that.” Then grabs your waist in front of everyone and whispers: “Try that again, and I’ll fuck you so hard next time you won’t remember anyone else’s name.”

5. “She doesn’t need to say she loves me every day.”You say it once. In passing. A low little “love you” as you walk away, like it’s nothing. But he hears it like an oath. And that night? He holds your hand a little tighter. Pulls your body a little closer. Not because he needs to hear it again. But because if he doesn’t touch you, he might forget how to breathe.

5 Things That Make Him Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. Your hair falls in his face. Leaning over him. Stretching across the couch. Just close enough that it brushes his cheek like it has rights. You don’t even notice. But he does. Every time. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move. Just breathes in and lets the world narrow to that one soft, smug part of you.

2. You chew on your thumb when you’re thinking. Not seductively. Not even consciously. Just a tiny bite to the edge of your nail while you’re mid-rant about your latest recon or trying to remember the name of a street vendor. It’s nothing. Stupid. Barely a gesture. And yet — he stares. Tracks it like a countdown. Fists flexing slow. Jaw tight. Because that mouth should never look that innocent.

3. You interrupt him when he’s cooking. He’s focused. Knife in hand. Half-distracted by heat and oil. And then you slide in behind him. Touch his lower back. Squeeze something you shouldn’t. Say “Smells good, chef,” with a grin that makes his whole spine forget how to hold. He curses. Tries to shoo you off. You lick something off his finger. And now dinner’s going to burn.

4. You try on his Fleet cap like it’s a joke. You lift it off the rack. Set it crooked on your head. Salute with two fingers and that smile that once made him fall off a training tower. “Colonel,” you say. And he’s gone. He should laugh. He doesn’t. He walks over, takes it off you slow, and kisses your temple like he’s reassigning you to a very different kind of mission.

5. You say “I’m yours”. Not in bed. Not in public. Just… casually. In passing. In that low voice you only use when something’s real. “I’m yours.”He looks at you like you just disarmed a bomb with your bare hands. And then he ruins you for saying it so lightly.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. You’re the only one allowed to fly with him in his military jet.Clearance denied. Protocol says no. Regulations triple-confirm it. And yet — you’re in the co-pilot seat, boots up, fingers tracing buttons you’re not supposed to touch. He doesn’t stop you. Someone once asked why you get to ride with him when no one else does. He looked up from the cockpit and said, “She’s my gravity.” End of discussion.

2. You only need to place your hand on his to calm him down.No words. No pleading. No strategic de-escalation. Just your fingers, settling lightly over his, when something in him starts to coil too tight. And just like that — his spine eases. The heat in his eyes lowers by a degree. People have seen him end arguments with three words. They’ve never seen him go silent for anyone but you.

3. You’re the only person he’ll interrupt a briefing for.He’s mid-sentence. Room full of officers. Tactical projections glowing on the wall. His phone buzzes. He glances down, sees your name — and pauses. “Give me five,” he says. And walks out without waiting for permission. Someone once asked who it was.  He said, “The only priority higher than this fleet.”  No one asked again.

4. You walk in on his arm at the Farspace Fleet annual gala.He’s in dress whites. You’re in black. And the room — full of admirals, envoys, diplomats — parts like mist when you enter. He doesn’t introduce you. He doesn’t need to. You’re not just his date. You’re the one who makes him dangerous in silence. And everyone knows it.

5. You don’t need words to communicate.One glance. A tilt of your head. A tiny shift in posture across the room. He’s already moving. Already reading you like mission data. To others, it looks like magic. Intuition. Maybe telepathy. But for you two?  It’s just muscle memory — built from years of almosts, nevers, and finallys.

5 Times Caleb Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

1. He pulled the full personnel file on a man you once smiled at.You were being polite. Friendly. The guy asked something harmless, you laughed. By morning, Caleb had his record open on a secure datapad, scrolling like he wasn’t reading a life — just calculating the risk factor. You asked what he was doing. He said, “I like knowing who wants what’s mine.” And then kissed you like he hoped you never asked him to stop.

2. He showed up at your door at 02:03 AM. Soaking wet. Furious. Silent.You missed one message. One. He waited. Thirty minutes. An hour. And then something in him snapped. No threats. No drama. Just the sound of his knock like a warning shot. You opened the door. He didn’t speak. Just stared. And then pulled you in with a grip like survival wasn’t optional anymore.

3. He scared the hell out of a junior pilot for asking your name.The kid was fresh. Eager. Smiled a little too long. Said, “Hey, what should I call you?” You started to answer. Then turned — and saw Caleb across the room. Expression calm. Stance neutral. Eyes loaded. The pilot apologized before you even said a word.

4. He slammed his hand on the table when you joked about breaking up.Just a joke. A throwaway line. Something stupid like “Guess I’ll go find someone less intense.” And his hand hit the surface before the words fully left your mouth. Not loud. Not violent. Just final. He didn’t yell. Didn’t argue. Just looked at you like you’d put a knife in his ribs and smiled about it. You never made that joke again.

5. He called you “dangerous” — and meant it like a vow.It was late. You were arguing. You said something sharp. He caught your wrist and said it low, almost reverent: “You’re dangerous.” But not like an accusation. Like awe. Like worship. Like he’d already decided to stay, even if you wrecked him completely. Even if he’d have to protect the world from you. Or protect you from himself.

5 Petty Jealousies That Reveal Just How Much Zayne’s Obsessed With You

1. Someone else bandaged your scratch. Just a graze. A stupid piece of shrapnel across your forearm. A colleague wrapped it up. No big deal. You came home smiling. Told him it barely hurt. He nodded. Quiet. Then excused himself to the kitchen. Five minutes later, he returned with antiseptic, clean gauze, and the words: “Take it off. I’m doing it properly.”  You didn’t argue. Neither did he. 2. Someone at work lent you their umbrella. A man. It was raining. You forgot yours. He offered. You accepted.  Zayne didn’t say a thing when you mentioned it over dinner. Just hummed. Neutral. The next morning, you found a new umbrella in your bag. Carbon fiber. Windproof. Labeled discreetly with your initials. You didn’t ask how he knew the exact weight your bag could carry without straining your shoulder. 3. You asked the waiter to recommend a wine. It was harmless. Polite. You were curious. But Zayne was sitting right there. He didn’t blink. Just looked at the waiter, then at you. Then took the list back. “Actually,” he said, calm as glass, “she prefers reds with less acidity. I’ll order.” You nodded. The waiter nodded. And somewhere between the clink of glasses, you realized that wasn't about wine at all. 4. You didn’t invite him to your morning training. He’d had a night shift. Surgery ran late. You wanted him to rest. So you left quietly. He woke up to an empty bed, your gym bag missing, and a silence that felt like a closed door. You came back to find his routine disrupted, his pulse still too fast — and a protein shake mixed just how you like it, chilled and waiting on the table. He never mentioned it. But now, if you decide to “let him rest” again… your training starts later. And doesn’t involve clothes. 5. You called another man “smart.” It was a game show. Trivia night. Some stranger on-screen made a clever move. You smiled. “Wow. That was actually really smart.” Zayne didn’t look up from his tablet. Didn’t even shift. But ten minutes later, you found yourself in a very precise debate about probability, strategy, and why that move wasn’t that brilliant after all. You didn’t argue. You just leaned closer. He didn’t smirk, but you felt it anyway.

5 Lies Zayne Tells Himself About You

1. "I’m just your cardiologist during exams." It’s clinical. Professional. Necessary. He listens to your heartbeat, takes your vitals, asks you to breathe deeper — deeper. You unbutton your shirt. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look. Doesn’t feel anything. Except for the part where he adjusts his gloves a little too tightly. And maybe takes one extra second to remove the stethoscope from your skin. 2. "Lunch tastes the same without you." He orders the same thing. Same café. Same tea. But the pastry tastes off. The space feels louder. The table — emptier. He tells himself it’s fine. Then brings the leftovers back to his office. Doesn’t touch them. Just leaves the box where your hand might find it later. 3. "I don’t need to pick you up." It’s logical. You’re a professional. Your job runs over sometimes. So does his. But your message was short. The streetlights are on. The buses are unreliable.  He checks traffic cams. Weather. Public transit delays. Then sits very still, staring at his phone, wondering how to offer you a ride without making it sound like panic. 4. "I’m not checking. I’m sleeping." You once left while he was asleep. You thought it was kinder. Quieter. Now he says he “needed water” or “had a dream.” But every night, at 3 AM, his hand reaches. Just to feel your back. Your wrist. The smallest proof that you haven’t disappeared again. 5. "Short skirts are inefficient." He says they’re impractical. Not suited for cold weather. Definitely not for terrain with hostile wanderer activity. You raise a brow. He adds, “You’re not seventeen. Dress like it.” But the second no one’s watching, his hand is already sliding up your thigh under the table. And when you raise a brow at him, he just says, flat: “Checking for circulation.” You’re not fooled. He’s already failed the mission.

5 Things That Make Zayne Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. You straighten his tie. You’re not thinking about it. Just reaching out, adjusting the knot, smoothing the line down his chest like it’s second nature. He stays still. Breath held. Eyes on your face. You step back. He doesn’t. Because now all he can think about is using that same tie to bind your wrists to the chair in his office — and how many minutes he can steal between appointments without compromising your breathing. 2. You dip your finger into the frosting of his pastry. You don’t ask. Just lean in, collect a bit of cream with your fingertip — and taste it. Oblivious. Innocent. Distracted by something else. He watches. Silently. And now the fork in his hand feels criminally unnecessary, because his mouth is dry, his mind’s gone blank, and he’s halfway to pulling you into his lap just to return the favor — with interest. 3. You take off your bra without removing your shirt. It’s casual. Automatic. You’re talking about your day, laughing, and then — One arm out. Then the other. The strap slides through the sleeve and vanishes into your laundry bag like it never existed. His brain glitches. His hands twitch. And he will absolutely spend the rest of the evening pretending to listen while picturing every technical step of reversing that maneuver with his teeth. 4. You imitate him. Badly. You’re wearing his lab coat. His glasses. Sitting at his desk, brows drawn, lips pressed tight. Your impression is awful. He should be annoyed. But instead — he watches. Sharp. Quiet. And when you finally laugh and start to take it off, he gets up. Takes the coat from your shoulders himself. And tells you, too evenly, “You forgot the gloves.” 5. You trace lazy shapes on his wrist while talking about something unrelated. You’re saying something about your neighbor’s cat. Something trivial. But your fingers are moving in a slow, absent pattern across his skin. And Zayne — who has operated on live hearts under pressure, who has held lives in one hand and death in the other — is currently struggling not to grab your wrist and drag you onto the desk. Because apparently, nothing in this galaxy has the precision impact of your fingertip.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. You have a keycard to his office.Not a guest pass. Not a shared access code. A permanent, personalized, high-level card to a room most staff can’t even knock on without permission. You walked in one day mid-shift, casual, spinning the card between your fingers like it was a hairpin. Three nurses saw. One dropped her tablet. Rumors started before you even closed the door. Zayne didn’t correct them.

2. When he received a prestigious award, the first person he thanked was you.Best cardiothoracic surgeon of the year. Cameras flashing. Applause rising. Everyone expected a speech about innovation and responsibility. Instead, he said: “I’d like to thank the one person who keeps me alive enough to do this work. My partner. My favorite interruption.”Then he looked straight at you. The auditorium melted.

3. You’re both dressed like weapons. And everyone notices.He wears tailored coats, precision-cut collars, charcoal palettes like a tactical signature.You? Heels like blades. A suit that redefines “combat-ready.” And when you walk together — sharp, silent, side by side — people stop talking. Someone once tried to photograph you. The headline read: Unknown dignitaries arrive. Security does not comment.

4. You don’t argue. You duet.Someone crossed a line. Loud, drunk, smug. Zayne responded first — clean, cold, just one sentence long. The man blinked. Started to retort. You finished it for him. Elegant, sharp, no profanity required. He left. Fast. And you turned back to Zayne like nothing happened — while everyone else tried to recover from what could only be described as a linguistic orgasm.

5. He opens doors, buttons coats, and moves chairs like it’s instinct.Not performative. Not flashy. Just… precise. He adjusts your sleeve without thinking. Helps you into the car like it’s always been his hand. You barely register it. But the woman across the street? The one who saw it all from behind her coffee cup? She’s still texting her group chat about “the man in the long coat and the woman who ruined my standards.”

5 Times Zayne Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

1. He gets live data from your heart monitor.Your Hunter’s Watch sends updates to the cloud. Zayne rerouted the feed to his private tablet. “Just in case,” he said. Now he knows when your pulse spikes. When you’re injured. When you don’t sleep. You never gave him access. You never had to. The first time he called mid-mission to say “slow your breathing” — you realized he wasn’t tracking. He was watching over.

2. He absolutely hates when you drive. Always.You're capable. Fast. Efficient. And yet — every time you take the wheel, something in him shuts down. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t protest. Just goes silent. And stares at the road like it personally offended him. He says, “It’s fine.” But he holds the dashboard too tightly for that to be true.

3. He freezes every time you say “I can handle it.”You mean well. You’re strong. You are capable. But when you brush him off with a casual “I’ve got this,” he doesn’t nod. Doesn’t smile. He just stops. Eyes unreadable. Hands still. And when you come back later — even fine — there’s already a backup plan on your datapad. Three versions. In color.

4. He never replies to emotional messages right away.You send: “I miss you. A lot.” His read receipt appears. Then… nothing. For two hours. And just when you start to spiral — he sends a photo. Of your favorite pastry. Waiting on his table. With one word: “Soon.” You hate how well it works. 

5. He spoke to the man flirting with you like he was reviewing his autopsy.It was harmless. A drink. A joke. A compliment. You laughed. Zayne didn’t. He stepped in, shook the man’s hand, and said: "Tell me, has anyone ever checked your prefrontal lobe for impulse control irregularities?"The man left. Quickly. You rolled your eyes. Zayne didn’t apologize. He just took your hand. And changed the subject. Completely calm. Fully satisfied.

5 Petty Jealousies That Reveal Just How Much Rafayel’s Obsessed With You

1. Someone comments “🔥” under your photo — and you like it.He sees it. Of course he does. He sees everything. You think it’s harmless. He thinks it’s appalling that someone dared mark your beauty with an emoji better suited to grilled meat. He says nothing. But that night, you get a charcoal sketch of yourself in your favorite pose, signed with a tiny flame in the corner. When you ask about it, he hums. “Oh, just honoring your admirers’ creative input.”

2. You linger too long in front of another artist’s painting.Not just glance. Linger. Eyes soft. Head tilted. That thoughtful little breath you take when something moves you. He stands beside you, perfectly still. Smiling. Then leans in and whispers, “Cutie, if you start weeping, I may need to challenge the gallery owner to a duel.” You're not sure if he’s joking. You’re also not sure you want him to be.

3. You talk about a beautiful place you visited… without him.You’re glowing. Describing the light, the air, the view. He listens, nods, even asks questions. Then: “And did the sun taste the same without me there?” You pause. He smiles, all charm and cheekbones. “I’m just wondering how it dared rise, knowing we weren’t together.”

4. You send him a photo — and there’s someone else’s hand in the frame.You didn’t notice it. He did. He stares at the image like it’s a crime scene. Zooms in. Later, he replies: “Beautiful composition. Fascinating use of background tension. Would love to discuss the symbolism of that wrist — whose is it?” You laugh. He doesn’t.

5. You say some actor is “exactly your type.”He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just goes very still, then casually asks, “Before or after makeup?” Later, you find your datapad background changed. It’s him. In perfect lighting. Shirt unbuttoned just so. The caption reads: “Still unsure who your type is? Look into my eyes. You’ll remember.”

5 Lies Rafayel Tells Himself About You

1. “I didn’t paint you. It’s just resemblance.”He insists it’s a study of emotion. A symbol. A face from memory. But the tilt of the head, the mouth, the birthmark near the collarbone — they’re all yours. You ask, teasing: “Is that me?” He blinks. Smiles slowly. “Cutie,” he says, “I wouldn’t paint you without permission.” And then changes the subject. Very deliberately.

2. “I don't reread your old messages.”He’s far too elegant for that. Far too composed. Except on quiet nights. On long flights. In museums where the silence scratches at his skin. Then he opens the archive. Just for the rhythm of your words. The accidental poetry. The way you once wrote “come home soon” like it meant more than time and place. He says it’s for “emotional reference.” He lies beautifully.

3. “I don't watch your mouth when you talk.”He’s an artist. A visual thinker. Of course he looks at faces. But not like that. Not at yours. Not like he’s memorizing the shape of every syllable just to feel them later against his throat. Not like he’s fantasizing mid-conversation about shutting you up with his tongue and tasting the sentence off your lips. No. Never. He’s listening.

4. “I haven’t memorized your scent through every season.”He claims not to notice. But he knows the spring version of you — soft rain, citrus skin, the aftershock of lilac. He knows the winter version — leather gloves, cinnamon breath, quiet wool. He doesn’t name them. Doesn’t chase the memory. But when you walk past — his eyes close. Briefly. Automatically. Like he’s gathering air before going under.

5. “I don't imagine your name with mine.”He’s not that romantic. Puh-lease. Marriage is a construct, surnames are politics, and love is beyond paperwork. He says all that with a flourish. And yet — there’s a notebook. Tucked under his mattress. Full of signatures. Yours. His. Just to see how it would look. Just in case.

5 Things That Make Rafayel Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. When you eat something juicy. Fruit. Fingers. With zero awareness.You bite into it slowly, distracted. Something sweet. Ripe. Juice glides over your lower lip, and your tongue follows without thinking. He watches, motionless. Not breathing. Not blinking. You glance at him. He tilts his head. Smiles. Says lightly: "That peach is about to become my personal enemy." You laugh. He doesn’t. He’s too busy wondering how it’s possible to be jealous of the fruit.

2. When you kiss his hand instead of his mouth. He leans in, expecting lips. Contact. Heat. And instead — you take his hand. Press a kiss into his palm. Soft. Deliberate. His breath catches. His throat tightens. Because that wasn’t affection. That was submission. And now he’s wondering just how far you’d let him take it. 3. When you tease him with your voice. Not the words. The tone. The whisper. You say his name like silk sliding over glass. You ask “You think so?” like it means “prove it.” You laugh — not loudly, but just enough to make his chest hurt. He could diagram it, break it into sound waves, prove the seduction in math. But instead, he just steps closer. And says, low: "Say that again. Slower." 4. When you sit on the floor, barefoot, flipping through his sketches — looking like you belong there. You’re humming something. Knees tucked up. No shoes. No guard. You tilt your head, study a piece, murmur: “I like this one.” He doesn’t even remember drawing it. He just remembers the way your hair spills over your shoulder and how the studio feels suddenly too small for how much he wants you. He doesn’t touch you. Not yet. He just watches like a starving thing. Memorizing the moment in case he dies of it later. 5. When you say “more.” In any context. “More sugar.” “More time.” “More.” That’s all it takes. One syllable. One open door. You never mean it the way he hears it — but he takes it as a promise. Like permission. Like a match tossed onto something already too dry to survive. And the next time he touches you? He makes damn sure you say it again.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. He painted a self-portrait — with you reflected in his pupils. Not your full form. Not a shared composition. Just his face. Direct gaze. And in both eyes: you. Looking at him. Always. When the painting debuted in the gallery’s main hall, critics called it “a study in obsession.” He called it accurate. 2. In an interview, he said you’re the only one who gets his sketches. The host asked who his work goes to first — gallery, agent, press. He smiled lazily and answered, “Her.” The room stilled. “The raw ones. The incomplete. The brutal drafts no one else deserves to see.” He didn’t say your name. He didn’t have to. The moment he said it, you were already trending. 3. He delayed his own exhibition opening because you weren’t there yet. The venue was full. Lights ready. Guests murmuring. But he stood at the entrance, fingers laced behind his back, perfectly calm. “She’s on the way,” he said. “She had a prior engagement.” No one questioned him. Later, when you finally arrived — graceful, composed, in a deep sapphire gown that matched the evening — only he noticed the tiny scratch on your knuckle. The faintest shadow of something darker, just beneath the perfume. You smiled. He took your hand. And the doors opened like they’d been waiting for you all along. 4. Someone flirted with him. He looked at you. Then said: “I’m already spoken for. Permanently.” It was charming. Playful. Someone touched his wrist, laughed softly, leaned a little too close. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t react. Just turned his head toward you. Found your eyes. Then said it — quietly, cleanly, like a closing signature on a finished masterpiece. 5. At a charity auction, he sold a painting titled: “Painted Between Her Breathing and Mine.” The crowd didn’t know what to do with that. Some laughed nervously. Some applauded. The bidding started high and ended astronomical. But as the winning guest walked past you, holding the canvas with reverent hands — he still glanced back. At you. As if to say: That canvas holds the image. But I keep the original.

5 Times Rafayel Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

1. He can disappear for three days and return with, “I just needed to stop being jealous.” No warning. No calls. Just silence, like he fell off the planet. You panic. Rage. Rehearse five speeches. And then he walks in — composed, scented like night air and oil paint. “Sorry,” he says softly. “I was being irrational. Had to… recalibrate.” You want to scream. Instead, you breathe him in like he’s home. 2. He destroyed the career of a critic who called your photo “poorly lit.” It wasn’t even a real insult. Just a throwaway line in a blog. But Raf read it. Once. And within a week, that critic was blacklisted from three galleries, publicly corrected by five curators, and accidentally misquoted in a viral controversy. You found out much later. He just looked at you and said, “No one calls shadow a flaw when it falls across you.” 3. He faked an illness so you wouldn’t leave for a mission. Nothing dramatic. Just a cough. A warm forehead. You hesitated. Postponed. Stayed. The next morning, he was radiant. Healthy. Annoyingly smug. You narrowed your eyes. He only shrugged, kissed your wrist, and whispered, “I needed one more night. Forgive the performance.” You did. Of course you did. The guilt felt almost like foreplay. 4. He left your clothes wet in the wash so you’d wear his shirt instead. Accident, he claimed. Timing. Cycles. But somehow, your entire outfit was still in the machine — cold, damp, and useless — while his favorite linen shirt lay folded neatly on the bed. You put it on. He watched you button it. And smiled like he'd won a silent war no one else even knew was happening. 5. He reads your messages without asking. Calmly. You know it. He knows you know. He doesn’t deny it. Just traces your jaw one evening and says, “You don’t hide anything from me. That’s why it doesn’t count as intrusion.” And the worst part? He’s right. You stopped hiding a long time ago.

5 Petty Jealousies That Reveal Just How Much Xavier’s Obsessed With You

1. You nap on the wrong side of the bed.You nap on the wrong side of the bed. Not wrong, exactly. Just… not his. You’re curled up in the late-afternoon light, peaceful, quiet, unaware. He doesn’t wake you. Doesn’t move you. But when you stir, there’s a weight in the silence. His side of the bed is untouched. Pillow perfectly aligned. No warmth. No scent. And your blanket — tucked just a little tighter — like a quiet reminder that even when you’re here, something’s missing. Something he’s not sure how to ask for without sounding ridiculous. Like: your perfume. On his pillow. Where it should be.

2. You tell him about a dream. Someone else was in it.You describe it absently. A mission. A flash of danger. And a man — not him — at your side. He listens. Nods. Doesn’t blink. But that night, when he kisses you, his hand stays on the back of your neck longer than usual. And his mouth says I want you, but his grip says: you don’t forget me, even in sleep.

3. You keep something old, worn, unnamed.A keychain. A patch. A folded slip of paper. Nothing dramatic. But it’s always near. He asks, once: “What is that?” You smile. “Just something from a long time ago.” He nods. Never brings it up again. But two days later, he leaves something else beside it. Not to replace. Just to match the weight.

4. You let the barista choose your drink instead of him.You smiled. Said “sure, why not.” Took the new coffee without hesitation. He was beside you. Holding your usual. You didn’t notice. But when you left the café, his own drink sat untouched. And he walked a little faster. A little quieter. As if recalibrating the fact that maybe someone else knows your taste. Even if it’s just in coffee.

5. You close your laptop too fast when he walks in.“Just a movie,” you say. Too quickly. He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t tilt his head. Just nods and sets his gloves on the table like he didn’t notice the flicker in your tone. Later, while checking your tabs, he sees the paused frame — teeth on skin, hands holding wrists, someone begging. Silently. His breath doesn’t change. His expression stays neutral. But when he finds you, hours later, he doesn’t speak. Just pins your arms above your head and kisses you until you can’t remember what the scene looked like — only what it felt like when it became real.

5 Lies Xavier Tells Himself About You

1. “I’m not jealous of whoever taught you how to fight like that.”He knows it doesn’t matter. It’s skill. It’s history. Efficiency passed from one warrior to another. He tells himself it’s irrelevant. But when he watches you move — precise, lethal, beautiful — something coils in his chest. Not because of the technique. But because someone else saw you become this version of yourself. And he didn’t.

2. “It’s logical to sleep apart sometimes.” You need rest. Space. Post-mission decompression. He understands. It’s healthy. Statistically sound. But the first night you say “I’ll sleep in my own apartment,” the bed feels wrong. His internal balance off by degrees he can’t quantify. He tells himself it’s fine. Then stares at the ceiling for hours, heart syncing to a rhythm that isn’t there.

3. “It doesn’t bother me when you keep things to yourself.” You’re independent. He respects that. Boundaries are natural. But you say “I’m fine” with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, and he catalogs ten micro-expressions that say otherwise. Still, he nods. Doesn’t push. Then replays your words in his head for the next three days, trying to solve you like a puzzle that refuses to open.

4. "I could walk away, if it ever came to that." He tells himself he’s rational. Detached. If you chose something else — someone else — he would adapt. But deep down, he knows: he’s already memorized your weight in his arms, the way your name fits inside his silence. If it ever came to leaving… he wouldn’t walk. He’d stay exactly where you left him. Quiet. Waiting. Ruined.

5. "You wouldn’t lie to protect me. Would you?" You say “it was nothing,” “I’m just tired,” “I handled it.” And he accepts it. On the surface. But his mind starts building alternate versions. Safer ones. Worse ones. Ones where you bled and said nothing. He tells himself you’d never hide real danger. But he still checks your vitals in the logs. Every time.

5 Things That Make Xavier Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. You walk in wearing a bright yellow duck kigurumi.  Absurd. Fuzzy. Zipped up wrong. You yawn, mumble something about tea, and pad across the room like comfort incarnate. He looks up. Blinks once. And forgets what he was doing. The beak hood. The bare ankles. The way you scratch your neck, half-asleep. None of it should be seductive. But now he can’t look away. His gaze tracks you like threat assessment — only it's not danger he’s calculating. It’s proximity. Access. How long he can pretend he's unaffected… before you end up against the wall. Still wearing the duck. For now.

2. You adjust the chest plate of his armor.  No rush. Just fingertips over matte metal, sliding a buckle, pressing a clasp. Your hands linger longer than they need to. You don’t even realize you’re doing it. But he does. He’s counting your seconds, your pressure, the exact placement of your thumb. If anyone asks why his next shot missed the center by half an inch, it’s because you touched him like a secret no one else was allowed to see. 3. You peel off your combat gloves with your teeth.  It’s efficient. Quick. Practical. But the way your mouth closes around the strap and your fingers flex once, twice, before they’re bare — He’s staring before he knows he is. Processing nothing but the curve of your jaw and the memory of that same mouth around his length. The second glove doesn’t stand a chance. Neither does he, honestly. 4. You wear a thin black choker.  No explanation. No warning. It’s not part of your gear. Has no field utility. But it’s there, snug against your throat like a promise no one else knows about. He sees it once and looks away. Sees it again and swallows too hard. The third time, he doesn’t look at all — he just shifts in his seat like everything in his world needs immediate recalibration. 5. You say “later” when he leans in.  Just a little. Enough to feel the pull. And you smile, soft, apologetic, not teasing — just... not now. He nods, like he understands. He always does. But from that second forward, every calculation, every breath, every cell in his body becomes attuned to the moment you say now. And when you finally do — he doesn’t wait. He doesn’t ask. He just takes, like patience was never part of the equation to begin with.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. You moved in perfect sync — without saying a single word. In the training hall, you didn’t say a word — but moved like a mirrored code. You shifted, he adjusted. You reached, he passed. No signals, no commands. Just two bodies in absolute sync. Someone watching whispered, “Do they rehearse this?” Someone else muttered, “No. That’s just them.” And suddenly, no one wanted to spar with either of you. 2. Someone called him “too quiet.” You didn’t let it slide. It was a throwaway comment —“He’s so silent, it’s weird.” You didn’t even look up from your drink. “Then you’ve never heard him breathe next to you.” The room went still. Xavier didn’t react. But you felt it — how he went still too, the way his attention locked fully on you. As if your words changed the temperature. 3. He braided your hair for three weeks while your wrist healed. At your desk. Between reports. No comments. No hesitation. Just practiced hands and quiet efficiency, like it belonged in the schedule. And maybe it wasn’t romantic. Or loud. But after that, no one ever looked at you the same way — because somehow, without trying, the two of you had redefined what closeness looked like. 4. You didn’t ask for his jacket. You didn’t have to. A shift in the wind. Goosebumps on your arms. No complaint, no drama. He just stepped behind you, slid his cardigan onto your shoulders like it belonged there, and said nothing. The couple walking by paused. Stared. You didn’t. You were already reaching for his hand. 5. There’s a photo of you on his desk.  Just you, caught mid-laugh, in natural light. Among tactical reports and encrypted drives. He never explains it. Never acknowledges it. But everyone who enters that room sees it. And no one ever asks if he's serious about you. They already know.

5 Times Xavier Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

1. He monitors your meals like it’s a clinical trial. “You didn’t eat enough protein today.” “That pastry had no nutritional value.” “Are you hydrating?” He says it softly. Calmly. Like a doctor. Like someone who cares. And yet — you’ve seen him survive three days on black coffee and whatever snack bar was closest to his hand. You mention this once. He pauses. Then says, “That’s different. I’m used to operating under stress. You’re not.” End of discussion.

2. He didn’t argue. He made the argument disappear. You disagreed about something small. Nothing dramatic. Just opposing views. He didn’t push back. Just nodded, quiet. Said, “If that’s what you think.” Later, you realized the entire issue — schedule, person, condition — was gone. Resolved. Removed. Replaced. No apology. No discussion. Just silence... and a solution that left you with nothing to win.

3. He never asked where you’d been.Not once. Not even after you were late. Not even when your message came hours too late. He didn’t accuse. Didn’t guess. He already knew. Tracked your path, logged your signal drift, checked your pulse history. All without a word. And still held the door open when you arrived.

4. He always calls via video when you’re in another city.He never misses a day. Never just texts. Always video. He says he likes seeing your face. That it “grounds him.” And maybe that’s true. Maybe. But every time the screen lights up, you notice how carefully his eyes scan the room behind you. How his voice sounds different if there’s movement. How he never quite hangs up until you say, “I’m alone. It’s quiet here.” Only then does he relax. A little. Maybe.

5. You told him, “Sometimes, you scare me.” He said, “Good.”It slipped out. Low. Uncertain. Not a joke, not an accusation — just the truth. He didn’t deny it. Didn’t soften. Just met your eyes and said, calm as ever, “Good. Then you’ll stay alert.” And for a moment, you weren’t sure if he was warning you… or protecting you from something only he could see coming.

5 Petty Jealousies That Reveal Just How Much Sylus’s Obsessed With You

1. You didn’t tag him. He made sure the world knew anyway.You posted a photo. Cute. Stylish. Perfect lighting. But no mention of him. No tag. No trace. He reposted it within minutes. Same photo. New caption: “Correction: mine.” It got five times the reach. And suddenly, everyone knew better.

2. Someone else made you laugh. Sylus didn’t.The waiter was charming. A little too witty. You laughed — loud, unfiltered. Sylus just raised a brow, pulled out his wallet, and handed the man $2000. “For your last night in customer service,” he said. He smiled. You choked on your wine. The waiter never came back.

3. You called some man a friend. Sylus ran a background check.“He’s just a friend,” you said. Lightly. Barely thinking. Sylus smiled. Tilted his head. “I’m just a man with access to his tax history.”And that was the end of that conversation.

4. You said another man had a nice voice. Sylus gave you no air.It was innocent. Harmless. “His voice is kind of nice.”  Sylus said nothing. Just waited. That night, he read you poetry in three languages, one line at a time — mouth against your neck, breasts, stomach, thighs — until you begged him to stop. Not because you wanted him to. Because you physically couldn’t take more.

5. You forgot to wear his ring. He didn’t forget anything.It wasn’t intentional. You were rushing. Distracted. But he noticed. Of course he did. He said nothing all day. Then, that night — when you were breathless, undone, on your knees — he took your hand, kissed your finger, and slid the ring back into place. Slowly. Deliberately. Like sealing a deal you forgot you signed.

5 Lies Sylus Tells Himself About You

1. “I didn’t pick your outfit to match mine. Must’ve been the stylist.”It was just coincidence. That your lipstick matched his cufflinks. That your dress followed the same line as his collarbones. That when you walked in together, people paused — like royalty had arrived. He didn’t say a word. Just looked at you once. And didn’t look away for the rest of the night.

2. “I’m not furious that I wasn’t your first.”He says it doesn’t matter. Shrugs. “I’m not a teenager.” And yet, the thought of someone else touching you before him? It coils in his chest like smoke that won’t clear. He tells himself you chose him now — and that’s what counts. But the next time you moan his name, he fucks you hard enough to make sure no one else’s ever mattered.

3. “I don’t answer your messages instantly. I’m just always holding the phone.”He just… saw it. Right away. Just happened to be holding his phone. Just happened to pause mid-meeting, mid-deal, mid-war — to write: “Be safe.” You tease him for how fast he replies. He teases back. And never mentions the part where your name makes him drop everything.

4. “I’m not obsessed with the way you say my name when you’re annoyed.”You do it without thinking. That exact tone. That breath. That syllable dipped in heat. He rolls his eyes. Says, “What now, kitten?” But every time it happens — he shifts closer. Hears it again later in his head. And stores it next to the version you whisper when you want him most.

5. “I wouldn’t beg. If it came to that. …But only for you. And only once.”He’s not that man. He doesn’t plead. Doesn’t bend. But when he thinks of you leaving — really leaving — something dark and fragile coils behind his ribs. He tells himself he’d let you go. That he wouldn’t chase. But even in the lie… he’s already halfway down the hallway.

5 Things That Make Sylus Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. You ask him to zip your dress. Then don’t wear anything underneath. It’s casual. Innocent. “Help me?” You turn your back, lift your hair, and wait. He moves slow — almost reverent. But when his fingers meet bare skin where silk should be… he doesn’t finish the zip. He turns you around, steps in close, and says, “You came dressed for trouble. Good. So did I.” 2. You say “don’t be gentle” with a smile that promises you’ll say it again, louder. He always controls the pace. The heat. The rhythm. But when you lean in, lips brushing his ear, and whisper those words — something in him fractures. He doesn’t ask if you’re sure. He doesn’t give you time to change your mind. He just obeys. And makes sure you feel the echo for days. 3. You use his tie to pull him into a kiss. He likes power. Centered, composed. Collar straight, voice cool. But when you grab that perfect silk tie, wrap it around your fingers, and yank — he stumbles into you like a man starved. You kiss him once. He kisses you back like vengeance. 4. You say “yes, sir” in a tone that means the opposite. You drawl it. Sweet. Defiant. Like you know exactly what it does to him. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t smile. Just leans in, voice low against your throat, and says, “Keep using that tone, kitten. Let’s see how long you last when I take it seriously.” You don’t last long. Not that night. 5. You put on his ring and ask, “So what does this buy me?” It’s a joke. Almost. You twirl it on your finger, playful, reckless. He watches. Then smiles slow, wicked. “That?” he says, stepping closer. “That buys you a night where I don’t stop until you forget your own name.” And just like that, you do.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. The earring incident at the casino. You dropped it. Somewhere between the blackjack table and the bar. Nothing dramatic — until your face shifted. That quiet flicker of loss. Sylus didn’t sigh. Didn’t scold. Just raised a brow. And a dozen seasoned criminals began crawling across the velvet floor. They found it in twenty minutes. You wore it for the rest of the night. He wore the look of a man who’d moved the world back into place. 2. The arrivals are always his favorite part. You come back from missions — tired, sore, alive. And there it is: his sportscar. Engine humming. He’s waiting with a bouquet of roses so rare you don’t recognize half the species. The entire terminal watches. You don’t. You’re too busy smiling. He says, “Welcome home.” And just like that, the war disappears from your shoulders. 3. The seat at the head of the table. It was a high-stakes meeting. Old money. Dangerous names. Sylus led you in by the hand — then pulled out his chair. You blinked. He said nothing. And while you sat at the head, calm and poised, he stood behind you like a king who knows exactly where real power sits. No one even dared raise a brow. 4. The auction. Your hand. His silence. He gave you the paddle. Not instructions. You bid on instinct — numbers rising, tension thick. The item? A rare protocore with blackout-level clearance. Sylus didn’t flinch. Not once. And when the gavel dropped — he leaned in, lips brushing your ear, and said, “You can spend my money however you want, kitten. Just make sure they see you doing it.” 5. The moment the room lost him to you. It was mid-negotiation. Tense. Crucial. Every word counted. But across the table, your fingers tapped. Your eyes glazed. You were bored. Sylus watched. Then stood. “Deal’s done,” he said. “You’ll take our terms.” And somehow, they did. Because the only person in the room whose attention he wanted — was already drifting.

5 Times Sylus Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

================================================

Reading 1:

The International Star 🌍✨

Your name will echo across continents, a powerhouse in your field. Whether through social media, entertainment, business, or a groundbreaking innovation, you’ll cultivate a massive following—millions will know your name. Fame may come quickly or build over time, but once you hit your stride, it will be impossible to ignore. Your influence will shape opinions, trends, and even industries. However, with such a large audience, scrutiny follows. Every move will be analyzed, and while the spotlight brings admiration, it also attracts criticism. If handled well, you could become a respected leader or icon, someone whose impact lasts beyond their lifetime.

Potential Challenges: Loss of privacy, pressure to maintain relevance, public scrutiny. Best Approach: Maintain authenticity, set firm boundaries, and ensure your values align with your public image.

================================================

Reading 2:

The Ghost 🕶️🕵️‍♂️

At some point, you decide the noise isn’t worth it. You fade from the digital world, erasing any traces of your online presence. Maybe you never cared for public attention, or you once had it and realized it wasn’t fulfilling. Instead, your life becomes more private, possibly even mysterious to those who once knew you. You might live in a secluded area, focus on personal growth, or travel the world in anonymity. While some will wonder what happened to you, only a select few will truly know.

Potential Challenges: People from your past trying to dig up information, adjusting to a quieter life. Best Approach: Accept that some will always seek answers, but enjoy the peace you've created for yourself.

================================================

Reading 3:

The Reliable Co-Worker 💼📊

You follow a steady, practical path—maybe in corporate, education, or any structured work environment. Your reputation is solid: a competent, reliable worker who does their job well. People at work respect you, even if they don’t know too much about your personal life. Perhaps there was some drama in the past—office politics, misunderstandings—but you’ve learned to navigate it. You aren’t particularly active online in a creative way, though you might occasionally engage on platforms like LinkedIn or Facebook. People in your immediate circle know you, but beyond that, you live a relatively normal life.

Potential Challenges: Office politics, occasional frustrations with routine work. Best Approach: Stay professional, but don’t be afraid to advocate for yourself when needed.

================================================

Reading 4:

The Vanishing Legend 🌟➡️🛑

You will achieve something remarkable—whether it’s in the arts, sports, science, or another field, you’ll gain major recognition for it. People will talk about your work, and your name will be everywhere. Then, suddenly, you step away. No one sees it coming. You vanish from the public eye, refusing interviews, avoiding social media, and leaving behind an air of mystery. People will speculate about why you left—was it burnout? A desire for a normal life? A secret project? Your name may become something of a legend, with theories swirling about where you went and why.

Potential Challenges: Letting go of the success you built, resisting pressure to return. Best Approach: If walking away feels right, embrace it fully. Reinvent yourself in a way that aligns with your true desires.

“So... I can’t pay my share of the rent this month. I’m really sorry,” you said, putting on your best apologetic voice.

The spatula stopped mid-air. Slowly, he turned to face you, his crimson eyes narrowing. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I just... don’t have enough this month,” you said with a dramatic sigh. “Things are tight, you know?”

Sukuna’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and then he straightened to his full, intimidating height. The sight of him—looking thoroughly offended—would’ve had anyone else running for cover.

“Tight?” he repeated, his deep voice dripping with incredulity. “What the hell do you mean ‘tight’? Since when have you ever paid rent?!”

You bite the inside of your cheek, struggling to keep a straight face. “Well, I thought maybe I should start contributing, but—”

“Contributing?!” he barked. He threw the spatula down with a clatter, crossing the room in two long strides to stand right in front of you.

You looked up at him, blinking innocently, while he glared down at you, his massive frame practically eclipsing the light. “Let me get this straight,” he said, his tone sharp. “You think you need to contribute? To my building? The one I OWN?”

You shrugged, barely containing your laughter. “Well, yeah...”

“Y/N,” he growled, his jaw clenching. “You’ve never paid for a single thing in your life. Not rent, not groceries, not even the goddamn Netflix subscription. What’s next? You’re gonna tell me you’re struggling to pay the water bill?”

You blinked again. “How much is water?”

“Oh my god,” he groaned, running a hand through his pink hair like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You wouldn’t last two seconds paying bills. Why the hell would you even say something like this?”

“I just feel bad sometimes, you know?” you said, tilting her head to look up at him.

His expression softened for half a second before he snapped, “You feel bad?! Woman, do I look like I need your rent money?!” He pointed to himself. “Do I?!”

You shook her head, her lips twitching.

“That’s what I thought,” he muttered. He placed his hands on either side of the counter, trapping you between his arms. “Are you in trouble? Huh? Do you need money? Tell me right now, or so help me—”

“I’m not in trouble!” you laughed, unable to hold it in anymore. “It’s a prank!”

Sukuna froze. “What?”

You were laughing so hard you could barely get the words out. “It’s a prank, babe. I was messing with you!”

The room went silent except for the sound of your giggles. Sukuna just stared at you, blinking slowly, his face unreadable. Then he took a step back and ran his hands over his face with a groan. “Unbelievable. I just had a damn heart attack, and for what? For a prank?!”

“I’m sorry!” you said, still laughing.

“You’re lucky I don’t throw you out the window,” he grumbled, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting back a smile. “You’re driving me insane, woman.”

Before you could respond, he leaned down and grabbed your face, pulling you into a searing kiss that left you breathless. His lips were rough, his grip firm, and the sheer intensity of it made your toes curl. When he finally pulled back, you were left staring up at him, dazed.

“For the record,” he muttered, his forehead resting against yours, “you’re never paying for a damn thing. Got it?”

“Got it,” you whispered, your cheeks flushed.

<><><><><> <><><><><><><>

Later that day, you posted a short clip of their interaction online, the internet exploded to say the least.

“NOT HIM BEING OFFENDED THAT SHE EVEN MENTIONED RENT.”

“That kiss at the end??? Ma’am, are you alive?”

“He looks like he eats nails for breakfast but acts like her stress is the enemy. I need this.”

“WHO LET THIS MAN BE SO BIG AND SO SWEET AT THE SAME TIME???”

“He looks like he could throw her and the fridge out of the house, but instead he kisses her like he’ll die without her???”

“No, but the way he said, ‘Do I look like I need your rent money?’ with his whole chest? That’s a MAN.”

“He’s got big ‘pays the bills without letting you lift a finger’ energy. And I mean ALL the bills.”

“This man is built like a WWE champion, but the only thing he’s body-slamming is the stress in her life.”

“He’s definitely rich-rich. Like, ‘owns the whole building and forgot about it’ rich.”

“Imagine pranking the kind of man who doesn’t even look at the price when he buys stuff. Brave.”

“He looks like he’ll fight anyone who even breathes wrong around you. Please prank him again; we need more content.”

It didn’t stop there. People started creating memes:

A still of Sukuna glaring down at Y/N with the caption: “When she says she can’t pay rent, but you literally own the entire block.”

“Here.” You hand him the cup, holding it until he clasps it between his hands. God, these people are such slobs. Can you believe this?” Your hands gesture towards the stain. He guessed it was someone’s dinner of alcohol and spaghetti. “I might be drunk, but at least I have class!”

Tsukishima doesn’t know what he’s doing. 

He stands up, a little wobbly– he’s still drunk, after all– and slips off the long trench coat he always wore. He doesn’t say a word as he slips it over your shoulders, but he doesn’t bite his tongue when his words come out before he thinks. 

“I’ll walk you home.” 

And he doesn’t protest when you nod and let him guide you out the door. 

————

You’re not sure how it happened. 

Tsukishima’s cuddled up on your couch, legs dangling off the side, but his hands are snug against his chest. He looks cute– you think– when he isn’t talking to you with his sharp tongue or ridiculing you for not completing an assignment. 

“You’re staring.” 

You don’t bother to look away. Tsukishima’s eyes narrow when you move closer, and his face warms slightly. “You want breakfast?” He hums, rubbing his face before he reaches for his glasses. “You like bacon?” 

“No. Ham?” You hum, rummaging through your fridge. His lips quirk when he sees the package of ham in your hands, and he points down your hall when you look at him. 

“If you wanna shower, it’s left for hot and right for cold.” You say, smiling when he waves his hand. “See you in a bit.” He hums again. 

You don’t know what you’re doing. 

How did it come to this? Tsukishima in your apartment, taking a shower while you make him breakfast? You start to wonder if you were really drunk last night and if this was all some sick and twisted outcome to your late-night endeavors. 

“Are you going to eat all of this?” 

You laugh lightly, scratching your face as you blink at the array of food you made. “I was just thinking that. I know you don’t have a big appetite.”

“How do you know that?” 

“Yamaguchi told me–” you shut your mouth after exposing yourself, whether he realized it or not. “A little while ago.” 

You look away when you catch his eye and hold your breath when he steps closer to you. 

———

This was the last thing Tsukishima wanted– expected– to happen. 

The breakfast you went out of your way to make gets ignored the moment he took a step closer to you. Tsukishima didn’t know what he was doing, and he was sure you didn’t have a clue either. 

He didn’t close his eyes when he kissed you; he’d wanted to see your reaction– to know if he royally fucked up or if he just made the luckiest choice in his life. 

His eyes began to shut when your hand rested against his chest, the other gripping his bicep as if it were an anchor. 

He hadn’t meant for this to happen. But he’s not upset about it like he thought he’d be. Not when you kiss him back. Not when your hand snakes up to his jaw and holds it like he’s the most delicate thing to grace the planet. 

“I thought you hated me?” Is the first thing you say when you pull away, and he wants to kick himself for thinking he could ever truly hate you. 

“I–” he takes a breath, resting his forehead on yours. “I was afraid you wouldn’t like me, so I was rude instead.”

“What are you, five?” You laugh lightly, “That’s terrible. What if I really ended up hating you?” He shrugs; he didn’t know what he’d do– he told Yamaguchi he’d transfer to a different university.