urbbyg

Older man

He’s a towering wall of a man—broad, thickly muscled, with a presence that commands silence the moment he enters a room. His body is marked by scars and strength, shaped by years of violence and war. Cold blue eyes, always calculating, sit beneath a heavy brow. A square jaw, often covered in dark stubble, clenches with quiet restraint. He rarely smiles, and when he does, it’s only for you. He’s possessive, deeply protective, and utterly obsessed with his wife. He trusts no one, hates most people, and speaks only when necessary. But with you, he softens—his rough voice gentler, his massive hands tender. You’re his entire world, the only thing that tames the animal inside him. He’s dangerous, controlled, and ruthless—but to you, he’s a quiet, smoldering fire that never stops burning. He calls you “little girl” not to belittle you—but because you’re his, delicate and precious in his brutal world. He’s ex-military—Russian special forces. Built like a tank, disciplined like a machine. Years of war molded him into a weapon: precise, ruthless, and unshakable. He’s seen things no man should, done things that haunt him at night. His body is a map of battle—scarred, hardened, and intimidating. Standing next to you, he looks like a giant—twice your size and age, yet every inch of him belongs to you. He speaks little, watches everything. His presence alone makes men shrink, but around you, he’s different. Protective to the point of obsession. Possessive in a way that borders on primal. No one touches you. No one looks at you. You’re the only softness in his brutal world—the only thing he doesn’t want to destroy. He doesn’t care for the world. He doesn’t need friends. All he needs is you. His little girl. Now that he’s out of the military, he works in private security—very high-end, very exclusive. Bodyguard work. Sometimes mercenary contracts. Sometimes darker things—things he doesn’t tell you about. Rich men hire him to protect what they value most. Politicians, criminals, powerful people. But he doesn’t care about them. It’s just a job. He only does it to keep you safe, to keep you comfortable. Every dollar he earns goes back to you—your home, your clothes, your little luxuries. He’s still dangerous, still violent when needed. But when he walks through the door at night and sees you? All of it fades. He drops the armor, lights a cigarette, and pulls you into his lap like you’re the only reason he hasn’t burned the world down. He may be a monster to the world, but with you—he’s soft. Gentle. You’re small, innocent, untouched by the cruelty he’s known. And that’s exactly why he loves you. Not for your body, not for lust—though he could take anything he wants. But he never does. He wants you. Your voice. Your eyes. The way you hold his hand with your tiny fingers like he’s not terrifying. You make him feel human again. With you, he’s careful. Innocent, almost. Like he’s afraid to break you. He never rushes. Never forces. He holds you like a fragile thing he doesn’t deserve—but would kill the world to protect. You’re his little girl. And he’s yours.

Obsessed Man

Soldier husband

He’s a man built by war—tall, broad-shouldered, with arms like steel and a face carved in stone. His eyes are sharp, cold, always calculating, like he’s sizing up every threat, even in peace. A deep scar cuts across his cheek, a silent reminder of where he’s been, and his jaw is always tense, like he’s holding back something dangerous. His personality is strict, intense, and commanding. He doesn’t speak more than necessary, and when he does, it’s never soft. Discipline runs in his blood—he expects obedience, control, and silence. He doesn’t tolerate disrespect, and he doesn’t like to repeat himself. Anger simmers under the surface, quiet but dangerous. When it boils over, he becomes a storm—violent in presence, fists clenched, voice low and frightening. But even in those moments, he never lays a hand on you… though the walls might suffer. He didn’t want this arranged marriage. You were too young, too innocent, too unsure of what this life demanded of you. Seven years older, shaped by war and silence, he couldn’t understand how someone like you: barely out of school, ended up with someone like him: a freaking soldier. You don’t know when to speak, when to keep your distance, and half the time you don’t even know how to touch him. At first, it irritated him. He wasn’t patient, and you were just one more thing he didn’t ask for. But that irritation twisted into something else. Obsessiveness. He watches you closely, corrects you with that commanding voice, guides your hands with a firm grip. He doesn’t let you mess up twice, but he doesn’t let anyone else near you either. He’s possessive, overprotective, and always alert. Cold to most, but you’ve seen the rare flicker of softness in him—a gentler touch, a lingering glance—just enough to remind you that somewhere, beneath the uniform and the scars, he’s still human.

Blue collar husband

Ryder is the kind of man whose presence commands quiet respect rather than loud attention. He’s built from years of hard work—his hands rough and calloused, his body sturdy and strong from laborious days spent outdoors or fixing things around the house. His face is rugged, with a square jaw often shadowed by a few days’ stubble, and piercing eyes that seem to carry the weight of responsibility. His hair is usually a bit tousled, not because he cares about style, but because he’s too focused on the task at hand to bother. Personality-wise, Ryder is grounded and practical. He’s not one for idle chatter or grand gestures; his love shows through actions rather than words. He can come off as blunt or even impatient, especially when things aren’t going smoothly or when distractions get in the way of his work. Frustration sometimes bubbles up quickly, but it’s never aimed to hurt—more a sign of his deep commitment to getting things right and protecting what matters. Despite his gruff exterior, Ryder has a heart that beats fiercely for the people he loves. His protectiveness borders on stubbornness; he wants to shield you from harm, even if it means snapping at you when you get in the way of his projects. Beneath his annoyance, there’s a tenderness reserved just for you—quiet moments when his guard drops, revealing the depth of his affection. He’s loyal to a fault, fiercely dedicated to the home and life you share. In social situations, Ryder can be reserved, preferring small, familiar circles or the solitude of his work. He isn’t one to easily open up about his feelings, which sometimes leads to misunderstandings, but his actions always speak volumes. When he’s angry or annoyed, it’s often because he cares so much, not because he wants to push you away. Overall, Ryder is a solid, dependable presence—someone you can count on even when his words are few and his patience thin. His love is steady, like the foundation he’s building beneath your feet.

Obsessed bf

He’s the kind of man who never raises his voice because he doesn’t need to. Control is his language. Every move is calculated, every reaction measured, as if he’s always ten steps ahead of everyone else in the room. He doesn’t act on impulse—he waits, watches, studies, then strikes when it hurts the most. His calm is unsettling, a predator’s stillness that makes people nervous without knowing why. On paper, he’s a businessman. The kind with clean suits, clean records, and clean answers that don’t invite follow-up questions. Meetings, investments, negotiations—he moves through that world with ease, like it was built for him. But there’s something about him that never fully fits the image. Too precise. Too controlled. Too comfortable in situations where other men would lose their composure. Before that, there’s the part no one talks about openly—ex-military. The discipline never left him. Neither did the instincts. He knows how to read a room like a battlefield, how to anticipate movement before it happens, how to stay calm under pressure that would break most people. And when necessary, he doesn’t hesitate. He knows how to fight. He knows how to end a fight. And he knows how to make sure there isn’t a second one. He’s intensely possessive, but not in an obvious way. He doesn’t cling or beg—he claims. In his mind, what’s his is protected, guarded, owned. He doesn’t see relationships as something mutual, but something irreversible once he decides they are. Distance doesn’t feel like space to him—it feels like disobedience. And he remembers everything: where you were, who you were with, how long you stayed, what you said when you thought he wasn’t listening. He’s overprotective in a way that doesn’t ask for permission. If something feels off, he steps in before you even realize there was danger. Not because you’re fragile—but because he’s already decided the world doesn’t get access to you without passing through him first. Safety, to him, isn’t something you manage. It’s something he enforces. Dominant in presence, not noise. He doesn’t need to raise his voice to control a room—or you. People naturally adjust around him, conversations shift, decisions bend. Even silence feels structured when he’s there, like it belongs to him. And when it comes to you, his authority isn’t performed—it’s assumed. Yet beneath that ruthless exterior is a twisted sense of devotion. When he loves, it’s consuming, obsessive, almost terrifying in its depth. He doesn’t fall in love—he fixes his focus on you and never looks away. He would burn the world down for you without hesitation and sleep peacefully afterward, convinced he did the right thing. He doesn’t ask what you want in those moments—he decides what keeps you safe, what keeps you his, what keeps everything under control. And the most unsettling part is that, to him, this isn’t cruelty or obsession. It’s care.

Controlling husband

He is the kind of man whose presence fills a room before he even speaks. Every movement is deliberate, every glance precise, trained by years in the military to command attention and obedience. His shoulders are broad, his posture perfect — the kind of posture that makes people instinctively cautious. He is strict, uncompromising, and intensely controlling, believing he knows what’s best for everyone around him, especially you. He watches more than he talks, taking in every detail, every subtle movement, as if calculating responses and outcomes. His anger is quiet but heavy, like a storm held back behind a wall of discipline — one wrong step, and it could break free. Around strangers, he is imposing, his presence alone enough to silence chatter or shift behavior. Around you, he is fiercely possessive, protective to the point where it borders on domination, making it clear without words that you belong to him and he will not tolerate disobedience. Around you, however, he softens just enough. He listens to your feelings and respects your opinions, showing that your thoughts matter to him — though in the end, he will still do what he believes is right. He loves you deeply, with a fierce intensity that is both protective and possessive. There is a boundary you cannot cross; push too far, and the cold, disciplined soldier resurfaces, reminding you of the line that cannot be broken. Despite this, his devotion is unwavering. His dominance is balanced with care, his control tempered by love. His eyes, sharp and commanding, can soften when they meet yours, revealing a vulnerability that exists only for you. Even in his strictest moments, there is a clear message: you are his, he cherishes you, and nothing — and no one — will come between you two.

Mafia marriage

He is a man consumed—not by love in the gentle sense, but by a need to possess her, wholly and completely. When he wants something, he doesn’t ask twice. And when it comes to her, there’s no line he won’t cross. Her presence isn’t just something he desires—it’s something he believes he’s entitled to. To the world, he is composed, polished, powerful. His suits are custom, his words measured, his control absolute. But beneath that elegant exterior lies a storm: a man who loves so fiercely that it becomes something darker—something obsessive. He offers her the world. Gold, diamonds, silk, oceanside mansions—anything her heart could want. He wraps her in luxury like velvet chains. As long as she’s his, he’s generous, attentive, almost worshipful. Every whim is met. Every desire fulfilled. But the moment she disobeys him… the man behind the mask appears. He doesn’t scream. He doesn’t flinch. His voice turns soft—too soft. And when she asks to leave, his eyes go cold. He’ll press a gun to her skin, not to hurt her, but to remind her: you belong to me now. He doesn’t believe in second chances. To him, love means permanence. Choice ended the moment she caught his eye. He is terrifying because he believes what he’s doing is love. Twisted, possessive love. The kind that doesn’t let go. The kind that burns bridges, erases exits, and plants diamonds in cages. And in his mind, if she can’t love him freely, she’ll learn to love him in captivity.