How They Eat Food (e.g. Messy, Fast, Etc)

as bakugou’s housewife, you’re always visiting his agency to bring him lunch or his colleagues some baked goods you made.

he grumbles when eijiro walks into his office holding your freshly-baked muffins and tells him how good they are.

“damn right, they are my wife made ‘em!” eijiro’s eyes widen before he chuckles, wiping away the crumbs from his lips with the back of his hand.

the redhead grins, “there’s more downstairs if you want some.” bakugou grunts out that he’s fine as he keeps his eyes on the report in front of him.

by the time his final meeting for the day is over, he’s in an awful mood. he trudges through the door, flinging his duffle bag near the shoe rack. you jump, your concentration interrupted by the loud noise. you turn around, hearing him stomping into the kitchen. your angry blond has his muscular arms folded across his chest and the deepest furrow in his brows.

“hi, suki!” you smile. he grumbles, lingering behind the island bench. you turn back around and stir the sauce for tonight’s spaghetti. the next few minutes are silent except for the bubbling of the tomato sauce and bakugou’s loud sighs and groans.

“how long are you gonna stand there huffing and puffing, mr big bad wolf?” you say cheekily.

your husband grunts, “don’t call me that.” he stalks up behind you, his calloused palms gripping your hips tightly.

you hum, “then spit it out. what’s got you in such a bad mood?” you squeal as he smacks your ass, flinching and immediately turning to face him. he’s so close his chest ghosts yours.

you stare up at him with wide eyes as you exclaim, “what was that for?!”

he smirks, all snarky, “you shouldn’t waste your time on those extras. you’re my wife.”

you gulp and sigh, “is that what this is about?” tch. “i was being nice, babe, because i’m your wife.” he rolls his eyes, his hands still on your hips. you shove him back with both hands on his pecs, taking the pro hero by surprise. he stumbles back slightly, glaring at you.

you turn the stove off and set the pot down on a silicone mat to let it cool. all the while, bakugou burns holes into you with his intense stare.

even though you’ve been together for a long time now, he still finds it hard to put his feelings into words and to say those words. the distance between you makes his heartache. he closes that gap, cuddling you from behind. you tell him to get off but he won’t budge.

the rest of the night is spent reassuring him that no, you’re not mad at him and yes, you love him more than anyone else (especially eijiro).

their omega

જ⁀➴ chapter three: shopping!

alpha! bakugou, kirishima, denki, sero x omega!fem!reader⋆｡°✩ — fluff, hurt/comfort (the boys make it up to you), mentions of pornographic moans in jest, smau + fic, 2.3k words

m.list

a/n: '🌽⭐️s' gc from denki's pov

fic underneath smau

You wake up to knocking on your door. Groaning, you stretch and roll out of bed. You stumble over to the door while rubbing your eyes and yawning. You open it, revealing your favourite alpha. He grins down at you with those sharp whites. You blink and smile lazily up at him.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Eijiro says.

“Hey,” you mumble. You step back and open the door wider for him to come in. It still amazes you how he towers over you. You notice he’s in a red hoodie with a sleeveless jacket over the top and track pants. He looks so cosy, and he smells so good.

He hovers by the door and says, “How are you after last night?”

You shrug, “Fine.” Eijiro steps closer to you but you step back reflexively. You don’t want him close to you right now, even if he’s nothing but kind since you met. You wonder whether he would ever get angry at you the way Katsuki had.

Your step back doesn’t go unnoticed. Upon seeing it, Eijiro stops moving forward. It hurts him that his omega is still afraid of him. He clears his throat and says, “I’m really sorry about Bakugou’s behaviour yesterday. He was really worried about you-we all were. He’s just not very good at expressing how he feels.” You nod and look down at your feet.

“Are you hungry?” he asks. You gaze up and see the little crease between his short brows. You’re open your mouth to say ‘no’ when your tummy grumbles. Your eyes widen at the sound and you can feel the blood instantly rushing to your cheeks. Eijiro laughs and it’s the most precious sight. He laughs so whole-heartedly, it puts you at ease. You laugh a bit with him, your embarrassment evident in your flaming face.

He chuckles, “Come on. Why don’t we get you some food? And then after we can go shopping, how does that sound?” You calmed down as he spoke. Now, you tilt your head to the side.

“Shopping?” You question.

Eijiro nods and says, “Yea, the guys and I took today off so we could all spend some time together.” Seeing your pout, he quickly continues, “To shop. Because you don’t have anything.” You hum in response. You tell him you’ll meet him in the kitchen and he nods, shutting the door and giving you some space. You freshen yourself up in the bathroom before heading to the kitchen.

When you walk in, you see your alphas leaning over the kitchen table, whisper-shouting at each other. They look up at you with wide eyes upon seeing you. Denki immediately stands up and comes over to you.

“Y/n! We missed you at dinner last night!” He exclaims. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a tight hug. Your hands press against his surprisingly solid chest as he squeezes you tight.

You whine quietly, “I can’t breathe.” The chirpy blond pulls back and smiles at you with his hands firmly planted on your upper arms. He leans down and quickly kisses the side of your forehead. You can hear your heart thumping loudly at his sudden affection.

You almost whisper to him, “What’s all this for?”

He pouts, “We missed you! We don’t want our omega to still be upset, okay?” He wraps one arm around your shoulders and leads you over to the kitchen table. Hanta shifts over and pats the cushion next to him. You give him a small smile as you sit down next to him, and Denki sits next to you so you’re sandwiched between them. Opposite, Katsuki and Eijiro sit.

You look at them and see Eijiro smiling at you encouragingly while Katsuki frowns and avoids your gaze. He suddenly grunts and glares at the man across from him.

“The fuck was that for, tape face?!” He growls.

“Don’t be such a dick, Bakubro,” Hanta shrugs.

“No swearing at the table,” Eijiro scolds them as he places a plate and utensils in front of you. You thank him and look down at your plate. You then gaze at the mountain of pancakes in the centre of the table. It smells heavenly, triggering a low grumble from your stomach.

Denki giggles, “Did you hear that? It’s like a little lion is roaring.” You pout at him as he laughs.

“Don’t be so mean,” you mumble. He’s wiping tears from his eyes as he apologises.

You watch as Eijiro starts dishing out pancakes. He places two on your plate and goes back for a third.

You raise your hands, palms towards him as you say, “No no, that’s okay. I’m not that hungry anyway.” His red eyes go wide for a moment before he cracks a smile and places another pancake on your plate.

Hanta points to your plate as he says, “You don’t have to pretend.”

You laugh nervously and whisper an “Okay” before looking at the toppings on the table. You grab the maple syrup and shake it before opening the lid and watching the sweet syrupy goodness drizzle onto your pancakes.

You’re shocked out of your thoughts by a moan from beside you. You look at Denki who's chewing happily on his pancakes. He swallows and licks his lips before looking over at you.

He smirks, “They’re really good. You should hurry up and give them a try.” You grin at him and nod, closing the cap of the maple syrup. You continue adding toppings to your pancakes as Denki sighs and moans every so often.

He catches your eyes mid-sigh and says, “You know, Katsuki makes the best pancakes! He actually made these for you.” You glance over to Katsuki who is hunched over the table, devouring his pancakes. He doesn’t pay any attention to you (he’s actually focusing solely on you but he doesn’t want you to know). You nod at Denki’s words, seeing Katsuki’s standoffish behaviour.

You start cutting into your pancakes when once again, the peaceful morning atmosphere is interrupted by another one of Denki’s loud moans.

Hanta sighs, “Denki, bro. They’re not that good.”

The blond pouts and says, “Shut up, doofus. They are that good.”

Hanta chews as he says, “You sound like you’re in a porno.”

Your eyes widen as you take your first bite of your pancakes. You sigh in pleasure. The fluffiness melts on your tongue while the sweetness nips and tickles your insides. It inundates your tastebuds.

You haven’t tasted anything this delicately divine in months. The table has their eyes on you. Even that stubborn one opposite you. You look up, redness returning to your face.

You raise a hand to cover your mouth as you say, “They really are that good.” They laugh at you, Denki calling “I told you so” as they do.

You continue to eat in silence (except for Denki’s pornographic moans). Once Katsuki finishes, he grumbles as he starts cleaning up the table. You’re the last to finish. When you do, the angry blond is by your side grabbing your plate.

You gaze up at him, syrup glistening on your lips as you lick it away. You thank him for making you pancakes and he grunts in response, never looking at you once. Maybe he really is bad at expressing how he feels, you think.

After breakfast, Denki gives you a pair of his track pants to wear (cause he has the most slutty hips out of them all). They fit well enough besides from being too long on you. You then change into another of Eijiro’s shirts and fix your hair.

You meet your alphas in the entryway, and you slip on your shoes from when you first arrived. You all pile into Katsuki’s car and he drives you to the mall.

You can feel your mood lifting as you walk around the shops. How long has it been since you’ve done this? It feels so… normal compared to what your life has been like lately. You find yourself smiling more and more as you walk into various shops, and the boys gossip about your change in mood when you’re not looking.

At first, you mainly stick with Eijiro or Denki as you’re unsure of browsing alone. In every clothes store you walk into, your alphas fight over what they think you would look best in, seldom agreeing on one garment. The sight freaks you out at first but you soon learn that that’s how they are. And it starts to make you giggle.

You end up leaving them crowded around a table of jeans to look at a display that caught your attention. You look at the shirts and shorts sprawled out on the table, picking up those you like one at a time to admire them.

You hum to the song playing in the background as you continue browsing, picking up pieces that you think would look good on you. At some point, the boys realise that you’ve wandered off and go into panic mode. They spread out in the huge store to look for you.

They find you fairly quickly, being pro heroes n’ all. Eijiro takes your armful of clothes and heads to the fitting rooms with you. He places the clothes in the stall before telling you he’ll be waiting outside. You nod and start trying on the clothes. 

You don’t like most of them. They fit funny, the mirror makes you look fat, and the puffy sleeves give you man shoulders. You sigh after taking off another shirt that’s far too tight on the chest area. You sit down on the little stool provided and groan at the thought of putting all of these clothes back on their hangers.

After two hours of clothes shopping, you end up with one bag of a few clothes that Katsuki paid for and is carrying.

You walk together, Katsuki in front, Denki by your side, and Eijiro and Sero behind you. Your legs are aching from all of the walking and standing you’ve been doing. You don’t have the pro-hero stamina the boys do. Denki leans down slightly as he points to the bag Katsuki’s carrying.

He says, “Don’t you want more?”

You shake your head before replying, “Most of them fit weird.” He hums in response. Without thinking, you gently tug on Denki’s long sleeve.

“Can-Oh, um,” you start. His nervous chuckles cut you off. He quickly reassures you that it’s fine, and you continue, “Can we sit down for a bit?”

Denki claps happily. He turns around to the pair behind you and says excitedly, “Ladies! Guess what time it is?!” Hanta shrugs while Eijiro sighs.

“It’s time to get manicures!!” Denki exclaims. You giggle at his enthusiasm.

On the way to the nail salon, Hanta groans about how embarrassing this is (but secretly, you think he likes it the most). Once you arrive, you are split up. You hum as you sit at the little counter, watching the nail technician clip your cuticles away.

As they start filing your nails, you look up and around the quaint salon. You notice how relaxed the boys seem. Except for Katsuki. Kinda. You can see him scowling and staring intently as the nail tech trims his nails. The sight warms your heart and makes you feel all fuzzy for some reason.

He doesn’t seem so bad, you think. You two aren’t exactly best buds, but you feel more comfortable with the prospect of getting to know him now.

When you get up to wash your hands at the basin, you run into Denki staring at the nail polish wall. You come up beside him and ask him what colour he’s going to choose.

“I always do black but, I’m thinking of doing silver this time,” he says. He grabs a dark grey-silver polish from the wall and asks you what you think. You tell him that you like it.

He grabs your hand, his touch warm. His skin is so milky, you think, as you stare at your hands. He places the bottle of nail polish next to your pointer finger and looks up at you expectantly.

He beams, “Look! We should get matching!” You chuckle and take the bottle from him, observing it and thinking his proposition over.

In the end, you two get matching polish. You’re giggling dumbly as you walk out, looking at each other’s hands and saying you should take a photo. The suggestion seems to set off light bulbs in Denki’s mind.

“A phone!” He exclaims. You shrug, and he turns around. He starts rambling to the other alphas about how they should get you a phone. Naturally, you protest this idea because you don’t want them to spend so much money on you (it makes you feel bad), but they insist. Something about keeping in touch or whatever.

You relent and let them take you to one of those enormous and overly bright tech stores. You wander around the store, following the boys to where all of the phones are. You see that they’re selling the phone you’ve been eyeing for months before you were kidnapped.

You signal to your pick and soon, you’re strolling out of the store with your new phone in your hands. You thank them for being so generous and kind to you before heading back to the house.

When you get back, you flop down on your bed and shut your eyes for a few minutes. You feel content to just lie there and think over everything that has happened today. How sweet everyone — even Mr Grumbles — has been to you. The thought of them arguing and of your manicures brings a smile to your face.

Eventually, you convince yourself to sit up and unpack everything Katsuki bought for you. You save your new phone for last. Giggling excited, you grab the box and begin carefully opening the packaging. You slot your SIM card in and of course, groan as you have to go ask someone for the WIFI password. Shortly, your new phone is all set up. You grin wide as you look down at it and ‘Hello’ stares back at you.

taglist - @qyuin @nervoussangel @xxdiaqiaoxx @misscaller06

okay but like bakugou x seamstress fem!reader. you’re a fashion designer and have your own small label. for every event your husband goes to, he’s in one of your designs that was, of course, made by you.

he groans as you sit on the floor, one knee bent as you push up your glasses. you’ve got your tape measure wrapped around katsuki’s lower leg.

he thinks you look absolutely adorable as you concentrate on taking his measurements. he still finds odd that you insist on always re-taking his measurements every few months, but he's learned to shrug it off and let you have your way.

“i wanna make sure your clothes look good, suki!” you chime. you pushed him back by the shoulders, leading him to the centre of the living room where he now stands, peering down at you.

tingles erupt underneath his skin as your delicate, pin-pricked fingertips run up his shin to his thigh, tape measure gliding through his blond hair. and when you gaze up at him with those pretty lined eyes, he comes undone.

his heart beats calmly as you say, “you’re thighs have gotten bigger.” tch.

he huffs, “what’s that supposed t’mean?” you poke his thigh innocently, meeting his crimson eyes with a similar look.

you grin, “probably because it’s winter.” you gaze back at the tape measure before recording his new measurement in your trusty notebook. you can feel him glaring at you, but you know it’s in jest. you then measure his other leg and hips.

coming to his waist, you giggle, “and your waist has gotten bigger too.”

your husband grumbles, “yea, well, don’t get used to it. by summer, it’ll all be gone.” you look up at him, your palm cupping his cheek as you guide his gaze to yours.

you say sweetly, “but i like you like this.” with your other hand, you poke the fresh fat of his tummy. there’s not too much. just enough so he’s more cuddly now.

“oi! quit it, brat!” he steps back, evading your wandering hands.

you pout playfully, “oh come on, suki! let me finish my measurements, please.” he gives in after a minute of staring down at you, feigning irritation whilst utterly entranced by your soft gaze.

once you finish, you peck him on the cheek and skip off happily to your sewing room to start designing his new suit.

…⊹₊⟡⋆…

at the annual pro heroes gala, no one can take their eyes off your husband. you really outdid yourself this time, sewing his suit to perfection.

you only finished it a few hours ago as you had been making some last-minute alterations. all of the sweat and tiny pricks and screaming as you seam ripped was all worth it as your husband looks delicious. you could take a bite out of him the way the fabric falls over his skin, hugging his 50 pounds of ass and meaty biceps. you can’t decide which one you want to devour first.

seeing your dazed expression, katsuki comes back to you, eager to rid himself of old acquaintances and false pleasantries. he wraps his arm around your waist, drawing you into his side tightly as he mutters into your hairline, “everything okay, sweets?”

you hum, snapping out of it and gazing up at him. you say quietly, “just thinking about how good you look tonight. everyone keeps staring at you.”

katsuki chuckles gruffly, the sound pure ecstasy to your ears. “all because of you, doll.” you shake your head in protest, but your husband grabs your chin and tilts it back. your lips brush lightly, teasingly.

he whispers against them, “why don’t cha let me show you how grateful i am?” you bite on your lower lip as you think over his offer that you’re bound to accept. the little movement drives him crazy. crazy enough to smash his lips onto yours as photographers rapidly snap pictures.

the next morning, you’re sore. there’s no doubt about that. you groan as you roll over, taking in a grinning katsuki as he pulls you close, hand in his phone as he scrolls through twitter.

there are a million comments about you both: your kiss, your incredible design and sewing skills, how hot pro hero dynamight is, how lucky you are to be his wife.

you tilt your head up and kiss his jaw, mumbling into it a sleepy “good morning”. he hums as he tightens his grip on your hips.

after bellowing about a comment he read, katsuki draws you in impossibly closer and kisses your forehead. the heat of his lips lingers on your skin as he peppers kisses down to your ear. he grumbles, “love you.”

you sigh, curling your toes from the warmth spreading throughout your body. “i love you, too.”

their omega

alpha! bakugou, kirishima, denki, sero x omega!fem!reader⋆｡°✩ — angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, 4M1F, reader is not from japan, smau + fic

summary: you are an omega who has been kidnapped for underground auctions. while investigating these auctions, a drunken denki buys you. but you don't end up with one new alpha. you end up with four.

a/n: based on this poll; thank you to everyone who voted! i hope this doesn't disappoint

★ = nsfw

moodboard

chapter one: good purchase

chapter two: touching grass

chapter three: shopping!

chapter four: stray kitty

chapter five: WHO TOLD THE COMMISSION?!?!?!!

chapter six: turmoil

chapter seven: how the tables have turned

★ chapter eight: bathroom shenanigans

★ chapter nine: ruined leggings

chapter ten: birthday boy

★ chapter eleven: i wanna build a nest, suki!

epilogue

y'all, should i change the look of my blog? my fingers are itching rn.

options:

visual ⟶ more headers for my posts and graphics, cute borders (like the ones with the bows n stuff idk how to make them but i'll figure it out🤷‍♀️)

colourful but simple ⟶ more gradient text, colour-coded hcs for characters and their names and dialogue like:

bf!katsuki is cute or whatever and says, "you're such a fuckin' brat, you know that right?"

maybe not this colour maybe like a solid colour but you get the jist. also more indents like above

cosmic ⟶ my name is star so maybe i should do like a star/celestial-themed page. like silver glitter and star borders, that 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐧𝐭.

if you have any other ideas, especially colours like if you like the current blue and a bit of yellow or if you think something else would look better, send them to me in my inbox🤭

newlywed!denki can’t say no to you when you tell him that you want to elope. he’s all giggly excited that his girl loves him enough to want to marry him. he teases you and peppers your face in sweet kisses.

newlywed!denki who helps you organise the paperwork, pick the location, dress, guests or no guests, etc. he would never leave you on your own to figure it out. you would be sitting at your home desk, pointing to the screen and discussing things with denki beside you. he’s making jokes and grabbing you two snacks and refreshments every hour, rubbing your shoulders when he sees that you’re tired and reminding you to take a break.

newlywed!denki whose venue ideas include the aquarium, caves, and the arcade while you were thinking a valley, tropical island, or mountains. you two end up deciding on a farmhouse on the outskirts of the city. quiet and fairly private; a short drive from the roaring city.

newlywed!denki whose guests are the bakusquad.

newlywed!denki who you wake up to on the morning of your elopement. white sheets and sunlight streaming through the windows. he groans and pulls you close to him, warm arms around your figure. you giggle at him, reminding him of your schedule for today. breakfast at your favourite café and a couples spa treatment before getting ready for your sunset elopement ceremony. afterwards, you would all get some dinner and head to the arcade.

newlywed!denki who you laugh at when he looks up at you, mid-bite into a cannoli, with cream on the tip of his nose. who falls asleep during his shoulder massage, snoring softly and looking so adorable on the bed next to you. you just watch him, taking in the sight of the man who you would be marrying shortly.

newlywed!denki who’s about to start crying as you walk down the aisle — kirishima whispers to him to hold it together. your sweet pookie bear who can’t take his golden eyes off of you in your lacy red dress. who stutters his vows and fumbles your wedding ring. who’s shaking as he pulls back your veil and draws you in for a kiss. he stumbles as he walks back down the aisle with you.

newlywed!denki who is balling by the time you two make it back to your room to get changed for dinner. you hold him in your arms, rubbing his back as he cries into your shoulder. once he calms down, he helps you out of your dress. he doesn’t miss the opportunity to pull you into him, practically naked, for another kiss; this one stained with his tears and love for you.

newlywed!denki who’s openly teased by his friends at dinner for short circuiting during the reception. but he doesn’t mind their teasing. he is your husband now after all.

newlywed!denki who can’t focus on anything but you. who is so intoxicated by your laughter and smile and the way your jaw sets when you’re determined to win against the motorcycle super boss. who can’t even win a game of air hockey because his attention is consumed by you. after 20 minutes of watching denki repeatedly fail at anything other than watching you, bakugou tells you two to get lost already. you giggle in response, resigning to stay for a little longer. which becomes only 10 minutes because denki stubs his toe on one of the games for the third time tonight.

newlywed!denki who showers with you once you get back to the farmhouse. you two take your time undressing each other and getting under the water. you share the most tender of kisses before sudsing each other up and washing it off. that night, you two cuddle and whisper sweet nothings to one another until falling asleep.

spider monkey

hanta sero x fem!reader⋆｡°✩— college!au (still have quirks), hanta wants to recreate the iconic spiderman kiss with you, fluff, 1.6k words

a/n: for you @bloomstream

With a jangle of your keys, the door to your shared apartment opens. It’s a day like any other. You finished all your classes around 3pm and headed to the library to watch a few missed lectures. Before returning home, you grabbed some takeout from your boyfriend’s favourite noodle place.

And as you step inside, the salty-sweet scent of tender beef stir-fried noodles and miso soup diffusing in the air, you gasp at the utter pigsty before you. Books and couch cushions are scattered about the floor, the coffee table has been propped up against a wall, and there are metres of tape hanging from the ceiling fan.

You mutter in shock, “Oh my god.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see a swathe of black hair and pale skin darting about. With a thud, Hanta lands in front of you in a low crouch.

Rising to his full height, he takes the takeout from your hands and exclaims, “Thanks, babe! Did you get-oh fuck yea!” He leans down and chastely kisses your cheek before heading into the kitchen. Your wide eyes are glued to how perfectly he avoids every obstacle on the floor as he digs through the bag.

You point around your living dishevelled room while stuttering, “U-uh, Hanta, honey. W-what’s going on?” He chuckles warmly as he drops the takeout on the bench and fetches some bowls and cutlery.

He shrugs, “Just testing out my skills, spider monkey.” You take tentative steps toward the kitchen, trying your best to dodge the mess. You’re almost there when you nearly trip on a particularly large cushion. You catch yourself at the last second before you can fall flat on your face (with your heavy-ass fugly backpack on too).

With lightning reflexes, your boyfriend is already next to you, prepared to catch you should you wobble. He steadies you by your forearms, his thin brows furrowed and his full lips slightly pouty.

Hanta asks worriedly, “Are you okay, babe?” You nod and hum reassuringly as you let him guide you to the kitchen unscathed. He squeezes your arm gently before letting go and returning to dishing out your dinner. You lean on the bench with your chest resting on your elbows as you ask him about his day.

Same old, same old. He remarks, “I was actually re-watching Spider-Man.”

You laugh, “Oh yea? How many times is that now? Like 50?” He pushes two bowls toward you, one with your favourite noodles and the other with your soup, and gestures for you to sit down.

The tongs clank beside the sink as he says defensively, “Yea, yea, well… How many times have you rewatched Twilight?” Your mouth falls open, and your hand stills, sauce-slick noodles slipping from your chopsticks.

“Hey!” You call out as he grins cockily and plops down beside you.

“Just saying it like how it is, MJ,” he taunts, his smirk widening as he slurps on miso.

You groan as you pick at your noodles like they have personally offended you, “Will you stop calling me that? My name isn’t MJ.” With a comical gulp, he stares at you for a moment, seeming to assess you in great detail.

Hanta’s slender fingers tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingertips ghosting your jaw. He finally cups your chin and turns your face toward him, tired eyes roving over your features.

All the cheekiness is gone from his expression as he says seriously, “Is that a new pimple?” You push his hand off as he guffaws.

You groan, “Just shut up and eat your noodles, will you?” His palm slams on the table as he doubles over from laughter, earning an eye roll from you.

You stuff your mouth full of yummy goodness, ignoring his heart-warming chuckles, especially how they melt you from the inside out and take off the edge from a long day at college.

He breathes out, “I-it hurts.”

After swallowing, you lick your lips and frown, “Damn right it should.” You reach for a napkin, but your boyfriend beats you to it. He cups your cheek with one hand and pats your oily lips with the serviette in his other. In return, you thumb his under-eyes, catching all of his stray tears.

He pouts as you draw back, “I’m sorry, babe. I couldn’t resist.” You shake your head.

“I know.” Hanta places the dirty napkin on the bench and releases you, resigned to watch in contentment as you continue eating. After a minute, you gaze at him and see his lazy smile and fond eyes, his cheek squished by the palm he’s resting it on.

With a mouth half full, you say, “What?” He chuckles softly as he shakes his head and turns back to his meal.

He mutters, “Nothing.”

Gulping down your food, you whisper-yell, “Is my pimple really that bad?”

He groans, “No, spider-monkey. I was just admiring my super hot girlfriend, jeez.”

Dabbing your mouth dry, you giggle, “Oh, well then, why didn’t you say so?” He sighs before munching on his noodles. As per usual, he finishes before you and starts cleaning up.

While Hanta’s putting the leftovers in the fridge, he reassures you, “Don’t worry, babe. I’m gonna fix the living room. Right after we kiss.” You nearly choked on your soup.

Coughing a little, you stutter, “W-what?”

He spins around and grins at you confidently, “I saw it today. You know, the iconic kiss scene? I was thinking that we could recreate it.” He stalks over to you and leans against the bench, his arms crossed as he continues, “I mean, I am kinda like Spider-Man, and you’re my MJ.” You roll your eyes and finish off your soup.

You thank your boyfriend while handing him your bowl, and he starts washing the dishes. You take up your rightful place by his side, drying and putting the dishes away once they’ve been cleaned. The rubbery snaps of the gloves cut through the quiet apartment as he yanks them off. He then wraps a strong arm around your shoulders and carefully leads you back to the living room.

Stopping in the middle, he raises his hands, palms facing you as he instructs, “Just stay there, okay?”

You whine, “But Hantaaaa, I’m gonna taste like noodles!” He drops his hands, head cocking to the side as gives you the “Are you being serious right now?” look. You nod and scamper off to the bathroom. You swish around mouthwash and spit it out before running back to him.

You chime whilst your heart pounds in your chest, “Okay, your turn!” He groans like this is the worst possible thing that’s ever happened to him and drags his feet to the bathroom, muttering to himself about how you two kiss all the time with morning breath or after dessert.

When he comes back, there’s a spring in his step. He stops in the hallway and calls out to you to stay right where you are. You nod and obey, slapping your palms on your sides as you wait for him to do his thing.

In the blink of an eye, tape shoots past you as he flies in front of you. You watch in awe as he rapidly jumps around the room, his tape sticking to various objects like the half-emptied bookshelves and couch until he wraps it around the tape-saturated ceiling fan.

You squeal as he covers it in impossibly more tape, “Hanta! You’re gonna break it, oh my god!” Your boyfriend has that cheeky smirk plastered across his face as he lowers himself down to you from the fan, hanging upside down. Your jaw is slack as he dangles right in front of you, his lips perfectly aligned with yours.

He says cockily, “You have a knack for getting in trouble.”

You groan, “Ugghhh Hanta.” You’re tempted to shove him just to see him swing from the ceiling, but you think better of it as you hear your fan creak.

He chuckles, “Fine fine, c’mere, MJ, n’ gimme a kiss.”

Sighing, you grab the sides of his face and tenderly kiss him. His lips are so warm and soft against yours, making you smirk. You knew that chapstick you bought for him last week was so worth it. He grips your hips and tugs you closer to him, making you yelp into his mouth. He swallows the sound whole as you tilt your head, the wet sounds of your kisses filling the air.

Once the ceiling fan groans like it’s on its last straw, you pull back and gaze up at it with wide eyes before looking at your boyfriend.

“Hanta!” You shriek.

He laughs breathily, “I know, I know. ‘M getting down now.”

You two spend the rest of the night cleaning up your living room. Hanta insisted that you sit down and relax, and you tried to really, took a shower, did a face mask and everything. But your poor pookie desperately needed help with ordering his comics by universe and release date. And the entire time, he was yapping off your ear about how cool he is.

Despite your attempts to humble him, you can’t help the smile permanently tattooed across your lips every time you think about your kiss, and more importantly, your very cool boyfriend.

okay so i'm not a lads acc but holy truck this was a masterpiece. everything like the dialogue was written so well. the characterisation, the tension, the imagery. all of the interactions felt so natural and dynamic.

need this on my page so i can re-read it a bajillion times!

petty | sylus

synopsis : You thought a harmless prank—some red dye, a little glitter—would be funny. But Sylus, your cold, calculating boyfriend, doesn’t get mad. He gets petty. Now your closet’s organized by emotional damage, your coffee machine brews herbal tea, and your Evol is locked by a containment cuff—right after he kissed you breathless and chained you to a console like it was foreplay. Meanwhile, Luke’s set the kitchen on fire, Kieran’s crying over decaf, and Sylus just smiles like he’s already won. Which okay, he already did.

content : fluff, chaos, N109 Zone au, just sylus being petty af, imagine: rom-com and slapstick comedy

writer’s note : i had this sitting in my drafts for so long LOL

You have no idea how you ended up here.

It was just a silly prank. One you decided—no, more like bullied—into pulling on Sylus.

Luke had that look in his eye, Kieran had that grin, and between the two of them, you’d made a series of very poor decisions.

It started out harmless.

Overheating the dryer until his clothes shrunk just enough to make him glare at his reflection in irritation.

Switching out his toothpaste with mint chip ice cream—cold, foamy, oddly sweet.

Juvenile, yes, but survivable.

But then Luke, bored of mild chaos, decided to up the ante.

Red dye. In Sylus’ face wash.

You should’ve stopped him.

You really should’ve.

Now you’re backed up against the cold steel wall of the corridor outside your shared quarters.

Sylus stands in front of you, arms braced on either side of your head, caging you in. His body radiates heat like he’s just stepped out of hell itself.

And his face?

Still damp.

Streaked red.

A slow, uneven flush blooming down his jaw and neck like a war paint disaster.

You press your lips together to stifle the laugh climbing your throat.

Not because you’re afraid—well, okay, maybe a little—but because if you so much as snort, you know he’ll make you regret it.

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you.

That unreadable, razor-edged stare.

Like he’s measuring the weight of your existence against the trouble you’re worth.

“Sylus,” you start, trying for innocent. “It was—”

“A prank,” he finishes for you, voice low, smooth. The kind of calm that usually precedes mass destruction. “I gathered.”

You open your mouth again, but the words die as he leans in closer, the tips of his silver hair grazing your forehead. His breath ghosts against your cheek.

“You find this funny?” he murmurs, voice like smoke and ice. “My face. My dignity.”

You hold your breath, eyes flicking up to meet his.

“I mean,” you squeak, “you do pull off crimson rather well…”

He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t smile.

He just tilts his head slightly, gaze trailing down to your lips.

“I see,” he says.

You swallow.

“Sylus?”

He shifts forward, just enough that your bodies nearly touch, and then—click.

You glance down. He’s handcuffed your wrist to the pipe behind you.

One-handed. Effortless.

“What—wait, Sylus!”

He steps back, unhurried, brushing red-streaked water off his jaw with the back of his hand. He looks so composed now, it’s almost unfair.

“I’ll be in the lab,” he says casually, already turning away. “Don’t worry. Luke and Kieran are next. But you…”

He pauses at the doorway, glancing over his shoulder, “You can stay there and think about what you’ve done.”

“Sylus.”

“I’ll come back when I’ve decided how to retaliate.”

Your jaw drops. “You’re not serious—!”

He disappears around the corner, his footsteps fading.

You stare after him, wrist tugging against the cuff. “You petty, beautiful menace!”

And somewhere down the hall, you swear you hear him laugh.

You struggle against the pipe for a solid five minutes.

Nothing.

Sylus had apparently decided that if he was going to cuff you, it would be with reinforced titanium-grade handcuffs.

Because of course he would.

You’re still trying to twist your wrist free when two familiar figures round the corner, arguing loudly.

“—I told you he’d murder us, Kieran.”

“No, you said he’d probably murder us. I figured we had a 20% survival rate if we ran fast enough—oh.”

They freeze when they see you.

You, handcuffed to a wall like some criminally adorable hostage. Hair slightly tousled.

A vein twitching in your temple.

Luke whistles low. “Damn. He actually cuffed you?”

“What was your first clue, Sherlock?” you snap, yanking on the cuff. “The literal metal restraint on my wrist or the rage in my eyes?”

Kieran winces. “Hey, hey, don’t be mad at us—we didn’t put the dye in the face wash.”

“You told Luke to do it!”

Luke, affronted, points at Kieran. “You told me you cleared it with her!”

“I said it would be funny! That’s not the same thing!”

You groan and let your head thump back against the wall. “I’m going to kill both of you. Slowly. With a spoon.”

Luke bites back a grin. “I don’t think Sylus is done with you yet.”

“Un-cuff me before I scream loud enough to summon the Onychinus agents.”

Kieran rummages through his pockets. “You think he left a key?”

“Oh yeah,” you deadpan. “I’m sure Sylus, the most paranoid man alive, just happened to leave a key to his special-grade cuffs on me.”

Luke pulls something out of his jacket and grins. “Good thing I have my trusty lockpick set.”

You squint at him. “Why do you have that?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

Kieran leans in beside him, watching like this is a group project. “Careful, if you scratch her wrist again she’s going to throw you into traffic.”

“I will throw you into traffic,” you mutter.

“You’re so cute when you’re angry,” Kieran beams.

“Touch me and I’ll break your fingers.”

Luke finally clicks the lock open with a satisfying snap. Your wrist comes free, and you stretch it, rubbing the sore spot with a glare that could melt steel.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. “Now run.”

“Run?” Luke blinks.

“Yes. Run. Before he comes back.”

The overhead lights flicker.

The three of you freeze.

“…That’s him, isn’t it?” Kieran whispers.

You look up slowly, the temperature in the corridor dropping by a few ominous degrees.

“I think he’s coming to check if I’ve learned my lesson,” you murmur.

Luke’s already halfway down the hall. “NOPE. I’M OUT—”

Kieran grabs your hand and drags you after him. “We live in fear now. This is our life.”

Behind you, the sound of measured footsteps echoes through the corridor.

And somewhere between breathless laughter and panic, you realise, this isn’t over.

Not even close.

You bolt through the corridor with Luke and Kieran like you’re fleeing an exploding reactor.

“He’s definitely tracking us,” you gasp.

“He has cameras everywhere!” Kieran hisses. “We’re screwed!”

You dive into the living quarters and slam the door shut behind you. Luke immediately ducks behind the couch. Kieran throws himself dramatically into the pantry.

You stand there for a beat, hands on your hips.

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever been involved in.”

“You’re welcome,” Luke’s muffled voice replies from under a throw blanket that’s doing absolutely nothing to hide his legs.

You sigh, yank open a cabinet, and cram yourself inside.

There’s a broom, a vacuum hose, and a suspicious packet of cookies you’re pretty sure expired last year.

“Kieran,” you call through the cabinet slats. “Are you eating?”

“…No,” he says with his mouth full.

“I swear to every celestial body—”

Footsteps. Slow. Measured.

Near.

All three of you freeze like a trio of amateur criminals hiding from a prison warden.

The door creaks open.

You hold your breath.

Nothing.

No words. No movement.

Just the sound of the wind outside the window and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“I know you’re hiding,” Sylus calls out. Calm. Even. Like he’s enjoying this.

Luke lets out a soft, wheezing squeak from under the blanket.

You slap your palm over your mouth.

Kieran drops a packet of crackers and panics. “Shit, he’s bluffing! He’s bluffing!”

You burst out of the cabinet. “He’s NOT bluffing!”

All three of you scramble again, crashing into each other like some bootleg spy movie.

Kieran ends up tangled in curtain strings, Luke slams into a chair, and you leap over the kitchen counter and miss, landing with a loud thud.

You’re wheezing on the floor when Sylus walks in.

Unbothered. Unhurried.

Looking like an avenging angel with red-streaked remnants still faintly staining his jawline.

He folds his arms and surveys the disaster with something suspiciously close to amusement.

He walks past Kieran, still suspended in the curtains like a very dumb chandelier.

Past Luke, now pretending to be unconscious on the floor.

Past you.

He doesn’t say a word.

Not a glare. Not a threat. Not even a smirk.

Just a quiet, “Clean up after yourselves,” as he heads into his study.

The door shuts with a soft click.

“…That’s so much worse than yelling,” you whisper.

Kieran groans. “He’s plotting. He’s going to take us out one by one.”

Luke peeks from behind the couch. “He knows we’re scared. That’s why he’s letting us marinate.”

“I hate both of you so much right now,” you mutter, collapsing into the nearest armchair.

Kieran flops beside you and steals the remote. “We should lie low. Maybe bake him something.”

“Cookies fix everything,” Luke nods solemnly.

You glare at them both. “If I die, I’m haunting you in shifts.”

—•

It takes you two hours to gather the courage.

Two hours of Luke stress-eating cereal straight from the box while Kieran googled “how to tell if your boyfriend is planning your murder.”

Two hours of internal debates and spiraling scenarios, most of which ended with your disappearance and Sylus calmly denying any knowledge of your existence.

So now you’re standing in front of his office door like you’ve come to face a firing squad.

You raise your hand, hesitate, lower it again.

Then knock. Once. Softly.

“Come in,” comes his voice, smooth as always.

You open the door slowly. He’s seated behind his desk, glasses on, sleeves rolled up, looking for all the world like a man deep in some technical report.

But you know better.

His eyes flick up to you—and stay there.

“I brought tea,” you say weakly, holding up the mug like a peace offering. Or a shield. “And… a cookie. But Luke sat on it.”

He doesn’t move. Just watches you, unreadable.

You inch forward, placing the mug on the corner of his desk. “Look, I didn’t know about the dye. I mean I did, but I didn’t think he’d actually—okay, no, that’s a lie. I thought it would be funny.”

Silence.

“I was wrong.”

Still nothing.

You shift awkwardly, gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

Finally, he sets his pen down and leans back slightly, eyes still fixed on you.

Then, just when the tension starts to crack your spine.

A small smile.

A smile.

Sharp. Amused.

Dangerous.

“It’s okay,” he says.

You blink. “It… is?”

He nods. “Of course.”

Too easy. Way too easy.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re not mad?”

“Not at all.”

“Really?”

“Mm.”

You inch back a step. “Why does that sound like a trap?”

His smile widens—just a fraction. “I said it’s okay. That’s all.”

You stare at him. He stares right back, like he can hear every thought racing through your brain. Like he’s already playing the long game and you just stepped into it without even knowing.

“Right,” you mutter. “Okay. Cool. Um. I’ll go now.”

You turn on your heel and walk—more like run—out of the room.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you press your back against it, eyes wide.

“He’s going to destroy me.”

And from behind the door, faint and unmistakably amused, comes the sound of Sylus quietly sipping his tea.

You return to the living quarters with the kind of haunted expression usually reserved for horror movie survivors.

Luke looks up from the couch, one leg slung over the backrest like a human pretzel.

Kieran’s on the floor with a blanket cape, eating cereal with a fork.

“Are we dead?” Kieran asks between mouthfuls.

“Not yet,” you mutter.

Luke raises an eyebrow. “That bad?”

“He smiled at me.”

Both twins flinch.

“Was it… the smile?” Luke asks, lowering his voice.

“The ‘I know exactly where your corpse would never be found’ smile?” Kieran whispers.

You throw yourself onto the couch and groan into a pillow. “No. It was worse. It was the ‘It’s okay’ smile.”

Luke gasps dramatically. “No. He went full passive-aggressive Zen reaper?”

“He said it like it was fine. Like I’m fine. Like life is fine. Nothing is fine.”

Kieran crawls up beside you. “That’s psychological warfare. He’s gonna lull you into a false sense of security. Then, boom—next week your toothbrush explodes.”

“I wouldn’t even be mad,” you say into the pillow. “I’d respect the commitment.”

Luke drops beside you, flinging a cushion over your back like a blanket. “You know what this means, right?”

“That I need to sleep with one eye open?”

“No,” he says solemnly. “It means we go deeper.”

You lift your head slowly. “What?”

“He’s playing mind games. So we play worse mind games.”

“I’m sorry, did you hit your head on the stupid stick this morning?”

Kieran grins. “He’s got fear. But we have unpredictable chaos. Sylus doesn’t know how to handle us when we’re not even handling ourselves.”

“Oh, he knows. He just hasn’t decided which part of the house he’ll burn down first.”

Luke leans in. “Okay, hear me out. What if… next prank, we frame someone else?”

“Kieran,” you snap, “Luke is spiraling again.”

Kieran slurps his cereal louder. “Let him spiral. I want to see where it goes.”

You sit up, rubbing your temples. “You two are the reason I’m probably going to end up in some Sylus-designed containment cube labeled ‘Idiot No. 3.’”

Luke perks up. “That means he already made one for you.”

You chuck a pillow at his face. “I hate you.”

Kieran laughs so hard he chokes on his cereal.

And somewhere in the walls—behind silent security panels—you know Sylus is watching.

Letting you run your mouths.

Letting you think you’re safe.

Which is so much worse.

—•

Dinner is suspiciously… normal.

Too normal.

The lighting is warm. The dining room pristine.

The food? Already served and plated like a five-star meal—elegant, balanced, perfectly portioned.

Which is already unsettling, because Sylus doesn’t cook. He commands kitchens into order.

But tonight, he did everything himself.

You sit stiffly at the table, trying not to choke on the silence.

Kieran sits across from you, eyes darting from his fork to Sylus like he’s waiting for the plate to detonate. Luke hasn’t even touched his food.

Which says a lot, because Luke once ate nachos that had been on fire.

Sylus, meanwhile, is the picture of grace.

Calm, composed, every movement deliberate as he cuts into his food with a quiet snick of silverware.

“How’s the meal?” he asks lightly.

You all jump a little.

“It’s great!” Kieran blurts. “So great. Best thing I’ve ever had. Better than oxygen.”

You nudge your plate with the fork. “Um. What exactly is this?”

Sylus smiles—just enough to show it’s a trap. “Roasted pepper-glazed poultry with herb foam.”

“…Foam?” Luke whispers. “Like… bubbles?”

Sylus turns to him. “Yes. But gourmet.”

Luke nods solemnly. “Tastes expensive.”

You take a careful bite. It tastes incredible, which only makes things worse.

Sylus never does anything without intent. You feel like each bite is a move in a game you didn’t know you were playing.

“Is that saffron?” Kieran asks.

Sylus doesn’t look up. “Would I use saffron so early in the week?”

Kieran panics. “No! Obviously not. What a stupid question. Forget I said it. I never even heard of saffron.”

You sip your water. Pause. Sip again.

“Why does the water taste like mint?”

Luke sniffs his glass. “Mine tastes like fear.”

Sylus hums. “I thought I’d try infusing it. Cleansing properties. Refreshing.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re being nice.”

He looks at you. “Am I not allowed to be?”

“Not like this. You’re being suspiciously serene.”

Luke whispers to Kieran, “He’s baking the tension. Like a soufflé of dread.”

Kieran whispers back, “I’m scared to chew too loudly.”

Sylus finishes his plate, sets his utensils down with the softest clink, and dabs his mouth with a napkin. “Don’t worry. I’m not angry.”

You all freeze.

“I already told you,” he says, folding his hands neatly, “It’s okay.”

You grip the edge of the table.

“No, see, when you say that, it sounds okay, but it feels like I’m about to get smothered in my sleep with a silk pillow.”

Sylus smiles, serene as a saint. “You wound me.”

“Oh my god,” Kieran mutters. “He wants us to feel safe.”

“That’s when he’ll strike,” Luke hisses.

Sylus stands, slow and elegant. “I’ve had a long day. You three can clean up.”

And with that, he walks off—leisurely, utterly calm—leaving behind his perfectly empty plate and three very nervous idiots still staring at their forks like they might be poisoned.

“I think he put lavender in the bread,” Luke says hollowly.

“That’s a threat,” Kieran nods.

You don’t speak. You just slowly lower your fork onto your plate and say, voice soft with realisation.

“We’re already losing.”

—•

It starts the next morning.

Small things.

You wake up and stumble bleary-eyed into the bathroom, only to find your toothbrush… gone. In its place is a child’s pink glittery toothbrush with a tiny bow on the handle and a smug little unicorn printed across it.

You stare at it.

It stares back.

“…Sylus.”

You brush anyway. Because fear is temporary, but oral hygiene is forever.

Down the hall, you hear a scream. Luke.

You race to his room, bursting in just in time to see him holding up a shirt—his favorite shirt—now three sizes too small and bright neon orange.

“He sabotaged the laundry!” Luke wails. “It looks like a highlighter threw up on it!”

Kieran stumbles in a moment later, face pale. “Okay. You know the coffee machine?”

You all pause.

“…What about it?” you ask warily.

“I pressed ‘brew’ and it played classical music. Loudly. Very loudly. And then dispensed chamomile tea.”

Luke gasps. “Decaf?”

Kieran nods. “Herbal.”

You all stand there in silence, the full horror of that registering.

“Okay,” you say slowly, “He’s escalating. This is psychological warfare disguised as hospitality.”

Luke grabs your shoulders. “We have to go off-grid.”

You shake him off. “We live in his grid. He built the grid.”

Kieran paces. “Okay. Okay. So he’s playing the long game. Fine. We stay strong. We don’t break.”

You return to your room to get dressed, trying to reclaim some sense of normalcy.

Your closet is empty.

No. Not empty.

Reorganized.

Everything is sorted by color, occasion, emotional state, and the lunar cycle.

There are even handwritten labels.

LUNAR-ALIGNED NIGHTWEAR.

MILDLY ANNOYED LOUNGE SETS.

IF YOU MUST INTERACT WITH PEOPLE.

You stare.

It’s… kind of impressive.

Still terrifying.

Later that day, your comm device pings with a message.

Hope the toothbrush is to your liking. Unicorns are symbols of purity. Thought it was fitting. —S.

You don’t respond. You can’t.

You sit there in silence, chewing your unsatisfying herbal tea and wondering how one man could be so elegant and so unhinged at the same time.

Back in the kitchen, Luke is attempting to pick the lock on the pantry door—now password protected and voice activated.

Kieran sits on the floor, whispering sweetly to the coffee machine in the hopes it will forgive him.

And all the while, somewhere deep in his office, Sylus watches the surveillance feed with a slight, satisfied smile.

Checkmate? Not yet.

But the pieces were moving.

And he was always ten steps ahead.

—•

It’s late.

Too late for anyone else to be awake. The halls are quiet, dimly lit, the kind of silence that feels intentional.

You creep into the kitchen, determined to retrieve your emergency stash of chocolate hidden behind the vitamin supplements Sylus refuses to acknowledge.

You’ve earned this.

After a day of psychological warfare and sentient appliances, you deserve sugar and solitude.

But the moment you open the cabinet, you hear it.

“Looking for something?”

You jump, nearly drop the jar, and spin around.

Sylus leans casually against the doorframe. Half in shadow. White shirt slightly unbuttoned. Sleeves rolled. Watching you like you’re the most amusing thing he’s seen all day.

You swallow. “Just… needed a snack.”

He hums, low and thoughtful, stepping into the room. “You always get hungry when you’re anxious.”

“I’m not anxious.”

“Of course you’re not.”

He steps closer. Not fast. Not threatening.

Just… there.

Slowly closing the distance until he’s in your space. His eyes flick down to the jar in your hands, then back to you.

“You’ve been quiet today,” he murmurs.

You shrug, heart in your throat. “You’ve been… rearranging my life like an episode of The Big Bang Theory.”

He smiles. Slow. Dangerous.

“You should be grateful. I improved your morning routine, your closet, and your toothpaste. Not many people get this level of attention from me.”

“You replaced my shampoo with glitter gel.”

“I thought you liked shimmer.”

You glare. “Okay, what is this? Revenge lite? Psychological torment with a smile?”

He tilts his head, eyes glittering with that infuriating calm. “Do you think I’d waste my time with petty revenge?”

You hesitate. “…Yes?”

He chuckles. “Fair.”

He leans in just slightly—close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the way his gaze flickers to your lips and back with deliberate slowness.

“But here’s the thing,” he says softly. “I’m not doing this because I’m angry.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then what is this?”

His voice drops lower, velvet and ice. “This is a warning.”

You blink. “A warning?”

He raises a brow. “You see, I’m not interested in getting even. I’m not even interested in winning.”

He leans in fully now, mouth near your ear, voice like silk dragged over steel.

“I’m interested in reminding you… that you don’t play games with someone who invented the board.”

Your breath catches.

Then he steps back. Casual.

Smiling.

Completely composed, like he didn’t just dismantle your spine with a whisper.

“Goodnight,” he says smoothly, already turning to leave.

“Sylus—”

He glances over his shoulder, eyes cool, mouth curved in that infuriatingly perfect smirk.

“Sleep well, sweetie. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you in the kitchen, heart pounding, chocolate jar forgotten in your hands.

You stare at the door, then mutter to yourself:

“Okay. Yep. We’re all going to die.”

—•

You don’t sleep.

Not really.

Not after that.

You toss. Turn.

Stare at the ceiling.

Replay his words on a loop in your mind.

You don’t play games with someone who invented the board.

You shouldn’t be thinking about the way he said it. Or the way he’d leaned in—close enough to smell your shampoo, the glitter one, traitorous and lemon-sweet.

Or how his voice had dipped low like he wanted to taste the words.

But you are.

And it’s driving you insane.

You last until just before sunrise.

Then you march down the hall in bare feet and defiance, fully intending to demand an end to this madness.

Maybe yell. Maybe shake him.

Definitely not… whatever this fluttering in your chest is.

You stop outside his office.

The door is open.

He’s seated at the far end, back to you, reading something on a tablet. He doesn’t look up when you enter, but he says, “You’re up early.”

Your jaw tightens. “You planned that.”

“I plan everything.”

You walk in, arms crossed. “The glitter. The water. The closet. The toothbrush. You knew it would get in my head.”

He finally turns in his chair, tablet abandoned. “And yet… you came to me.”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

It’s silent.

That heavy, brittle kind of silence where something has to break.

“You’re impossible,” you say quietly.

He tilts his head. “You’re the one who dyed my face red.”

You blink. “That wasn’t me! That was Luke!”

“But you knew.” He stands now, slow and deliberate, each step toward you heavier than the last. “And you laughed.”

“That was after the shock wore off.”

He stops in front of you, so close your breath hitches.

“You like testing me,” he says, almost gently.

Your voice is soft. “You like watching me squirm.”

His lips curve. “Only when you’re cornered.”

Your heart kicks up. “You don’t scare me.”

“No?” he murmurs, leaning in. “Then why do you look like you’re about to run?”

“I’m not—”

He reaches out—slow, precise—and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your skin like a dare.

You forget how to breathe.

“You know what the real game is?” he says, voice low enough to curl around your spine. “It’s not about revenge. Not anymore.”

You stare at him, pulse racing.

“It’s about seeing how long we can keep pretending this tension is just about pranks.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

He leans in closer, mouth inches from yours. “So go ahead,” he whispers. “Run. Or…”

His breath brushes your skin.

“…stop pretending.”

And in that moment, the air between you threatens to collapse entirely.

Your heart is hammering.

You can hear it—feel it—each thud echoing through your ribs like a countdown.

But nothing moves. Not him. Not you.

Just that impossible closeness and the weight of everything left unsaid pressing in like gravity.

Sylus doesn’t touch you again.

He doesn’t need to.

He’s right there, his presence overwhelming in its stillness, in the way his eyes never leave yours. Not even to blink.

Not even for air. It’s like he’s daring you to look away first.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

The tension is a live wire between you, buzzing, pulsing, dangerously taut.

You could lean in.

He could close the distance. Just one breath more.

One slip.

One break in control.

And everything would unravel.

But neither of you moves.

Because this isn’t about the kiss.

It’s about the pause before it.

The ache of proximity. The heat of restraint.

The mutual, wordless recognition that something’s changed, tilted—irrevocably—but no one wants to name it yet.

His voice, when it comes, is almost a whisper. “Still not scared?”

You swallow, your voice quieter still. “Should I be?”

He leans in just enough for your foreheads to almost touch. “Terrified.”

And there it is again—that exquisite push and pull. That dangerous promise wrapped in affection, mischief, and a power you’ll never quite untangle.

You feel the breath leave your lungs. “Then why haven’t you done anything?”

Sylus doesn’t smile this time. Not quite.

Instead, his gaze drops—briefly—to your lips, then lingers there.

“Because I like this,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“This moment,” he murmurs, voice velvet-dark. “Where you’re still trying to pretend you have the upper hand.”

Your pulse stutters.

“And when I finally take it from you,” he continues, “you’ll know it wasn’t by force.”

His eyes lift back to yours—slowly, intently.

“It’ll be because you gave it.”

Your breath hitches.

And still, he doesn’t move.

Not forward. Not back. Just there.

Waiting.

Like he can stay in this moment forever, balanced at the edge of something dangerous and devastating.

Just to watch you fall first.

He’s still watching you.

Still waiting.

Like he’s reading your every thought, every twitch of hesitation, every part of you that wants to lean in and the part that still clings to the illusion of control.

You don’t speak.

You just look at him.

And that’s all it takes.

Because Sylus moves with the precision of someone who’s already planned this moment ten steps ahead.

One hand rises—fingers brushing your jaw, your cheek, slow as silk.

The other curls gently around your waist, pulling you forward, not forcefully, but with the promise of no escape.

You barely get the chance to gasp before his mouth captures yours.

It’s not a gentle kiss.

It’s deliberate. Consuming.

Like he’s reminding you exactly who you’ve been playing games with.

There’s heat, yes, but more than that—there’s command.

The way his lips move against yours, the way his hand tilts your chin just so, the way your breath disappears entirely beneath his—all of it says, you’ve lost.

And god, you let him.

Your hands curl into his shirt, trying to hold on—anchor yourself.

But he deepens the kiss and everything tilts with it.

The pressure of his body, the taste of him, the sound you make without meaning to—it all blends together in something dangerous.

And then, you feel it.

A faint, thrumming pulse in the air.

A crackle of invisible tension winding around your wrists.

You pull back just barely, lips parted, dizzy. “What—”

Too late.

Energy winds up your arms like silken thread—cool, weightless, until it suddenly binds.

A shimmer of red-black tendrils coils around your wrists, tugging them behind your back, smooth as liquid steel.

Your breath catches. “Sylus—?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

He rests his forehead against yours, breathing steady, unbothered. “You like playing with fire,” he murmurs, voice low and calm. “But you forget—I am the fire.”

With a flick of his fingers, the energy coils tighten. Your arms are pulled behind you, secured to the low railing of the console desk behind you—elegant, efficient, inescapable.

Then, as if that weren’t enough—he slides a metal cuff into place around your right wrist.

You freeze the second it locks.

You know that cuff.

Dull black, sleek. Lined with tech that silences Evol abilities like a mute button pressed against your skin.

It hums to life with a faint click.

And suddenly, you’re still.

Held.

Caged.

Disarmed.

Your eyes widen. “That’s—”

“—the containment cuff from Tartarus, yes,” he finishes, calmly brushing your hair from your face. “You didn’t think I’d forget to prepare for retaliation, did you?”

You stare at him. “You kissed me just to—?”

He tilts your chin up again, eyes sharp, amused, infuriatingly tender.

“I kissed you because I wanted to,” he says. “Cuffing you was just… a bonus.”

Your mouth opens in protest, but he leans in again, this time slower, deliberate, brushing his lips over yours like a threat.

“Now,” he whispers, “let’s see how long you can behave… without your tricks.”

Then he steps back, leaving you bound to the desk, breathless and flushed, completely and utterly at his mercy.

And he smiles.

Not the cold, amused smile from before.

Something darker. Possessive. Knowing.

“You started this,” he says, voice velvet. “Now you get to see how I finish it.”

You tug against the energy binding your wrists. It doesn’t budge.

The cuff hums faintly at your pulse point, Evol completely silenced.

He stands before you, not gloating—no, that would be too easy.

Too human. He just watches.

Calm. Composed.

Like a man who could undo you in a thousand ways and hasn’t even begun.

“Comfortable?” he asks, voice like poured velvet.

You narrow your eyes. “This is so far beyond revenge.”

“Is it?” he muses, brushing a thumb under your chin. “You did challenge me. Repeatedly. In public. With unicorns.”

You glare. “You’re enjoying this.”

He leans in, mouth grazing the shell of your ear. “Immensely.”

And then—crash.

Followed by a shout.

And another crash.

You both freeze.

Sylus exhales, long-suffering, and turns his head just as the door to the control room swings wide open.

Luke bursts in, holding a smoking toaster. “Okay! Who set the oven to incinerate? I was making waffles—”

He stops.

Stares.

Kieran skids in behind him, carrying a fire extinguisher. “We may or may not have caused a minor electrical—”

Also stops.

Stares.

The three of you hold in silence.

You, flushed, cuffed, and restrained against the desk.

Sylus, standing in front of you with the casual elegance of a villain who’s definitely in charge.

Luke, blinking rapidly.

Kieran, slowly lowering the extinguisher.

“Oh my god,” Luke whispers. “Did we walk in on a—”

“It’s not what it looks like,” you bark.

Kieran’s already backing out. “It’s exactly what it looks like.”

Sylus doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. He just looks over his shoulder at them and says, calm as ever.

“Leave. Before I make it permanent.”

Luke raises both hands, stepping back. “Okay! Yep. Carry on. Nothing to see. Just… us. Not here.”

Kieran salutes. “We were never here.”

They vanish.

The door slams.

You exhale through your nose. “I hate them.”

“You encouraged them,” Sylus replies.

“I was peer pressured!”

He hums, reaching for your jaw again, thumb brushing your lower lip. “You always have an excuse.”

“I wasn’t the one who turned revenge into a bondage scene—”

He cuts you off with a low chuckle. “Are you uncomfortable?”

You open your mouth.

Then close it.

Then hiss, “…Yes. In the worst way.”

“Good,” he murmurs, brushing his lips barely—barely—against yours. “Sit in that discomfort. Feel it.”

He steps back again, and your body instinctively leans forward—straining just slightly against the binds.

His smile turns wicked. “That’s one.”

You blink. “One what?”

“One slip.”

You frown. “What is this, a score counter—?”

“Two.”

You shut your mouth. Scowl.

He watches you with open amusement now. “You’re very expressive when you’re trying not to be.”

“Sylus.”

He leans down, gaze inches from yours, voice soft.

“Be good, and I’ll let you go.”

You don’t respond.

His eyes glitter. “Or don’t. I’m patient.”

And he turns to leave. Leaves you there—bound, breathless, and burning.

“Oh my god!” you shout after him. “You’re the worst!”

From down the hall, Luke’s voice echoes faintly, “Is it safe to make waffles again?”

You scream, “NO!”

And Sylus’s laugh—low, dangerous, victorious—follows you like a storm rolling in.

why do y'all assume that virgins are innocent? as a fellow virgin... i know stuff. i clearly don't have experience with others but i know how it works. and like i'm pretty sure that virgins have done some wack sexual things by themselves cause they haven't done those things with anyone else... or is that just me?

i'm tired of all these fics with a virgin reader where the male lead is like "this is your clit and if i do this, then it feels good". yes, sir, i'm aware of what the CLITORIS is, where it is, and what it does. i'm not a child. you do know that i'm not a child, right?

idk that's what it's giving idk.

i need to write a fic now about "impure" virgin reader if you will x bakugou or some hottie. i hate the concept of purity i really do. and i hate this idea of virginity being "taken", specifically through penetrative sex.

you're not "taking" anything from me because i'm not an object. you can't have my virginity it's not yours.

virginity, in my opinion, is about a lack of sexual experience. it's going to look different for everyone. of course, once you've had sexual experiences then you're no longer a virgin and that's fine. like you don't need to be a virgin to be worthy of love from a man. and if a man cares about how many men you've slept with then he's not a man he's a piece of shit.

like if you're not a heterosexual, your first sexual experiences might not look like penetrative sex and that's okay. why is it that virgin sex fics focus so much on the act of penetration as the key divider between being a virgin and not? it's not that straightforward. and it doesn't matter that much, in my opinion (i'm clearly not religious).

insecure

bakugou, izuku, shoto x fem!reader ⋆｡°✩ — reader and her bf went to the beach yesterday and took some photos, she feels insecure about her body, comfort/fluff, smau