If They Were Househusbands

over 1k likes?!?!! are y’all being fr right now this is actually so insane. tears might be coming to my eyes🥹. thank you for your support!! i’m glad that you liked something i wrote <3

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).

Hellooo, i really love all your bnha fics! And i was thinking that if you could write a little something about like class 1-A as a pack, maybe? Any dynamics you want in any kind of genre. I just really lack bnha pack fics and i want some😅😭

(most of) 1-a pack dynamics

alphas: bakugou, kiri, shoto, izuku, mina, tenya, momo betas: hanta, jirou, asui, tokoyami, shoji omegas: denki, ochaco

domestic setting, fluff, sexual implications at the end

bakugou is the designated cook ⟶ when he's not training, he's in the kitchen cooking up a storm

always piling heaps of food on the omegas plates

"why're you not eating?! i made that fresh just for you, ungrateful brat!" (affectionate)

who gets to sit at the head of the table? the alphas had a brawl a few hours after moving in to settle the issue

shoto, bakugou, and izuku were left standing, bruised, bloody and ready to rip out each other's throats for that seat

hanta and asui insisted on a truce ⟶ a daily roster where one alpha gets to sit at the head of table for one day and then a different one sits there the next day

any slightest disagreement between the alphas = brawl outside

i think baku would also shove izuku any chance he gets ⟶ izu's just tryna hang up some laundry while chatting with asui when he gets pushed into the linen sheet rippling in the wind

the culprit walks away with that lopsided grin

honestly, i think baku would shove everyone but he just shoves izu extra hard (and then baku would brawl with anyone who shoves izu because only he gets to shove izu, duh)

one time, kiri accidentally shoulders ochaco in passing ⟶ man is on his knees begging for forgiveness as hanta and denki give him shit for being unmanly

ochaco just stands their rubbing her sore shoulder and insisting that she's fine

on hot summer days, asui, denki, and shoto would make snowcones ⟶ denki coaches shoto on current slang while asui cooks the syrup on the stove and shoto shaves the ice

kiri helps them distribute the snow cones to everyone

for the rest of the afternoon, shoto says the most out-of-pocket things ⟶ "these snowcones are so good! what flavour is this one?" "chat, is this skibidi rizz?"

denki gives him a thumbs up before cackling and choking on his snowcone

i'm sorry (i'm also cackling), i think tokoyami would try to imitate the alphas (biting off more than he can chew, a bit brash, physical ⟶ so like baku basically)

tenya calls a family meeting one night when tokoyami isn't home ⟶ baku thinks it's funny, ochaco feels bad for tokoyami, and izuku thinks someone needs to tell him

and then tokoyami just opens the door and all eyes are on him

"WHAT'RE YOU DOIN' BACK ALREADY?!" bakugou yells at him

izuku invites him to have seat and starts with, "you're not in trouble, we just noticed that [heroic inspirational speech about accepting yourself]."

tokoyami's blushing so hard from embarrassment and so grateful that no one can see it

he would lean on the other betas for direction in his life and self-acceptance ⟶ looking back, he's really grateful that everyone said something and didn't let him continue to make a fool of himself

i think shoto would be the family credit card ⟶ any purchases 1-a wants to make has to go through him

denki cries when shoto rejects his request to buy a $400 anime figurine (shoto gets it for him for his bday)

on that note, shoto would also track all of the pack's expenses ⟶ sitting at his desk late into the night, reading glasses slipping down his nose (gnawing at the bars of my enclosure)

izu convinces him to come shower with the rest of the alphas arkjnwjnfnwqfbj

yes, the alphas shower together ⟶ tenya was very hesitant at first, especially since mina wanted to join, but with some convincing (a pros and cons list), he was in

the testosterone levels are suffocating when more than one alpha is rutting ⟶ like imagine baku + shoto + kiri all rutting at the same time

betas would be working overtime neutralising those pheromones

orgys are definitely on the table (there's no such thing as monogamy in this household) ⟶ alphas n' omegas supporting each other😁

and on that note, rut + heat cycle calendar on the fridge

denki and ochaco bonding when one of their heat's is approaching ⟶ painting each other's nails while gossiping, cute lil bunny and bear headbands, doing their skincare routines together, cuddling together in their respective nest's and watching romcoms

but when their heat arrives... i would imagine it's like a frothing at the mouth control yourself situation for the alphas

like... who gets it first? who does the omega want to soothe their heat?

i think ochaco would obvs go for izuku, but she has a sweet spot for baku🫣🫦

baku brat-tamer when denki's in his heat convince me otherwise

a/n: i hope this has fed you well, dear nonnie. i really liked this request. it's different to anything i've written before. sloppy kisses for you mwah!

upgrade epilogue

pro hero! midoriya izuku x fem!reader⋆｡°✩ — fluff, 1.2k words, hope you like the ring

pt.1, pt.2, pt.3

You and Izuku were sitting on the couch in your cosy apartment. It’s been almost nine months since the quirk breeding rescue incident, and Izuku’s recovery has been swift. He’s taking time off from being a pro hero whilst adjusting to his cybernetic arm. That was part of it. Another part was that he wanted to spend some time training One For All. And the final part was that he wanted to spend some quality time with you. Which was hard because you were still working full-time as a biomed engineer.

His cybernetic arm was currently resting on your lap. The compartment beneath his inner wrist was popped open, and you were adjusting the screws with a screw driver, magnifying goggles on giving you big, adorable [e/c] eyes. He could feel his heart racing from how cute and talented his girlfriend was. He watched quietly, other hand resting on your knees that were curled up beneath you. He caressed the soft flesh with the rough pad of his thumb.

You hummed the beat of that song that had been stuck in your head for days as you worked away. Bobbing your head unconsciously and sucking in your cheeks (making ozempy face) when the screw wouldn’t screw or nut refused to nut (you are most welcome for that btw). You were so focused that you didn’t notice Izuku beginning to blush.

The truth is, he’s been waiting for this moment for months. Not this specific moment. I mean, you’ve done maintenance checks on his arm many times since it was attached. No. The moment I’m talking about is the moment he intended to propose you. Which was this moment, right now.

He just couldn’t wait any longer. Man had to wife you up this instant.

He took his right hand off of your knee, rubbing the back of his neck with it as he sighed quietly. You were furrowing your brows, completely oblivious, at a particularly difficult screw to unscrew. Izuku was tempted to smooth the lines with his thumb, but stopped short, hand ghosting your brows. What was he doing? Overthinking every little thing?

He cleared his throat reflexively. The silence draws on. Comfortable for one person and rather tense for the other. Once you’re finished screwing the compartment back, his cybernetic arm roaring and ready to go, you sit back and sigh happily. You use one hand to drag the heavy goggles off of your face, which unfortunately (and expectantly) leaves your [h/c] locks sticking up in a few places. Izuku laughs nervously, running his fingers through your hair much to your delight. You smile up at him lazily. Once he stops, you get up off of the sofa, grabbing your tools from the cushions and low coffee table.

His eyes dip to your cleavage mindlessly as you lean over to grab one of the smaller screw drivers that’s gotten squished into the cushion creases next to his thigh. He looks up and away, blushing, once realising what he’s done (which you have absolutely no idea of or problem with). He clears his throat again, hand scratching an existent-non-existent itch on his cybernetic arm.

Once you leave the lounge room to put your tools away in your bag, Izuku lets out a frustrated sigh he’s been holding in. He stands up, shaking his hands nervously and watching your figure with anxiety as you re-enter the room. You’re still oblivious to his nerves, too caught up in thinking about what you were going to make for dinner that night. You two had ran out of white radish, a staple in your household, so you were thinking of what other veg you were going to have. Probably steamed broccoli or—

“Honey.” You look at Izuku, like, really look at him, and notice how on edge he seems. Shifting from one foot to the other, left hand on the back of his neck, looking at you then away from you and then back at you.

You step towards him, taking his right hand in yours, interlacing your hands so your palms press together. “What’s up? You seem tense.” Your soft lips stretch into an even softer smile as you try to ease his nerves. He just shakes his head, looking down momentarily before meeting your gaze once more.

What he does next leaves your eyes popping out of your skull and mouth half open in shock. He gets down on one knee and cups both of your hands with his much larger ones. You just stare at him, blinking slowly, trying to process what’s going on — if this is going on — when he starts, “Honey, I love you. I love you more than you’ll ever know. You’ve been there for me during the hardest times. You’ve supported me and given me hope even when I felt hopeless.”

He takes a deep breath in, resolve clear in his eyes. He takes out a navy velvet ring box from the pocket of his sweatpants. You watch intently as he opens it, placing the box in your hand. Oh my gosh, is he about to-to…?

“[Y/n]-chan, I love you and I want to be your husband. Will you…” He licks his lips, feeling their sudden dryness. Your eyes follow the movement. He lets out another breath, “Will you marry me?”

You don’t say anything for a few seconds as you try to process if this is actually real and not a dream. “M-marry you?” You stutter. You see his resolve shatter a little as he nods, biting his lip. You breathe out, a smile forming on your face. “Of course, I’ll marry you Izu-chan!”

Grinning wide like you are, he pulls the engagement ring from the box and slips it onto your ring finger. It fits perfectly. You admire the ring. It’s stunning! Dainty silver band with a shining rectangle cut emerald. You’re actually obsessed with his choice as it really suits you and you love how the emerald is green like his features.

He wraps your smaller frame in a tight embrace. You start crying from the sheer joy of this moment. You’re so happy right now. Nothing can describe how good this feels. He rubs your back in circles, gently soothing you.

You two stay like that, whispering “I love you’s” to each other as you both process this emotional high. After a few minutes, you start giggling and pull back, cupping his cheeks with your hands. You take the side of your lower lip in-between your teeth, still grinning. It releases, the flesh bouncing back perfectly supple. “I love you so much, Izu-chan.” You pull his face closer to yours, bringing your forehead to his. He hums, “I love you, honey. Forever.”

You don’t think you can handle anymore of the teeth-rotting sweet things he’ll say to you for the rest of the night, so you press your lips to his. He eagerly responds, head angling with yours and hands moving so his right grips your upper back and left your waist. You smile into this kiss, unable to stop, knowing that you’ll be Mrs Midoriya soon. And that your pookie bear will be your pookie and only your pookie for as long as possible.

they see you in lingerie v.3

lov x fem!reader⋆｡°✩ — implied smut, 770 words

ua students, pro heroes

todoroki touya (dabi)

⭑.ᐟ you don’t get a chance to walk out of the wardrobe as dabi barges in. he was getting impatient with how long you were taking. as soon as he lays eyes on you, his usual smirk stretches across his phase. his gaze is filled with pride and lust at how sexy his girl looks for him. you’re in blue, the set matches his sharp eyes.

“well, what do you have here?” he teases. you giggle as he slowly steps forward, charred fingers slipping from the doorknob.

“you gonna spin for me?” he asks in the lazy drawl. he’s standing a little way in front of you, hands slipping into his pockets. he stares at you expectantly. you nod and twirl slowly for him. you love the feeling of his undivided attention on you.

dabi can’t resist it when you wear blue. makes him feel something when he sees how much you adore him, enough to drape your body in the colour of his eyes and flames.

he can’t take it anymore. he closes the gap between you and grabs your roughly by the waist. you’re giggling coyly as you fall into his chest. his hand is already on your jaw, fingers pressing hard into your flesh and forcing your head back and up to look into those ocean eyes.

that night he claims you for himself in more ways than just physical.

shimura tenko (shigaraki tomura)

⭑.ᐟ when you step out, you catch sight of shigaraki. he’s sitting on the edge of your bed, fully engrossed in the video game he’s playing. he got impatient and decided to resume his game as you were taking your sweet time.

he doesn’t notice you step out cause he’s about to win. you couldn’t care less though. in fact, you’re a bit annoyed that he couldn’t just wait until you were done showing him the lingeries set you had got for him, to resume his game.

you stalk over to him, coming to stand right in front of him, blocking his view of the TV. your arms are crossed over your chest. your boyfriend glares at your frame momentarily before putting the controller down with a sigh and looking up at you. you’re staring down at him harshly.

“what?” he huffs. you narrow your eyes at him. “really? you couldn’t wait.” you say, your pretty forehead creased. at this, shigaraki looks away for a second before focusing back on you. “no," he says as he leans forward, eyes trailing over your curvaceous figure. he does so for a few moments before standing up and heading to the drawer beside your bed. he pulls out a pair of black drawing gloves and you know that tonight’s gonna be good.

he used to fumble a lot in the beginning, when you two were becoming more intimate. but, he’s a fast learner. the gloves are there just in case shigaraki’s control over his quirk falters.

bubaigawara jin (twice)

⭑.ᐟ when you come out, there’s at least six of jin’s clones crowding the bedroom while the real jin sits on the bed. you can tell it’s him as he’s just staring at you, silently appreciating the breath-taking sight that is you. he’s still in his villain costume.

jin’s clones start coming up to you, telling you how gorgeous you look. one takes your hands while another wraps their arm around your waist. you giggle, flattered by all of the attention. you look over to the real jin, tilting your head to the side as he continues to stare at you.

you wanted it to just be you two tonight, as usually his clones are always around.

jin just keeps looking at you beneath the white sockets of his mask, admiring you. confused as to how such a perfect goddess could possibly be interested in him.

as another clone fingers the lace of your panties, you turn slightly and whine at it. looking back at jin, you run slightly to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and coming to straddle his lap.

“jin,” you pout. “jin, can it just be us tonight?” his covered hands come to your waist and upper back.

“just us?” he questions softly into your ear. you nod, leaning back and cupping his face in your hands. you stare into those white sockets, searching for his gray-blue eyes beneath.

“just you and me,” you say smiling at him. he gently rubs your upper arms with his thumbs. you can here the incessant chatter of his clones cease as they melt, dripping onto the carpet to disintegrate.

you give him a kiss through his mask, knowing that it’s too much to ask his to take it off. he’s doing enough right now, choosing to love you like this.

this is too cute omg i’m kicking my feet and giggling

3 times bakugou tried to kiss you + 1 time he actually did !!

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ teddy’s notes: i can never not write something cute with katsukiii, actually no it’s most of my faves ngl. anyways no warnings here! reader is gender neutral and this is just pure fluff!!

1.

the gym was hot and noisy, filled with the sound of fists hitting pads and shoes squeaking against the mats. bakugou wiped the sweat off his face, barely winded, but when he turned around, there was you, standing at the edge of the ring, smiling at him like he’d just won a damn medal.

“what the hell are you smiling at?” bakugou barked, storming over.

you blinked up at him, your hands clasped in front of you. “you’re really amazing, you know that? you’re so strong!”

bakugou’s heart stumbled over itself. His brain screamed, say something cool, idiot, do something cool! instead, he muttered, “tch. whatever,” and leaned closer, his face hovering inches from yours.

your smile faltered. you took a step back, eyes wide. “sorry, katsuki! did i do something wrong?”

the words hit bakugou like a slap. this was totally going in the wrong direction. “what? no! you—” he cut himself off, growling in frustration before spinning on his heel. “forget it!” he snapped over his shoulder, storming out of the gym.

behind him, you continued to stare after him, completely baffled.

2.

the rain pattered against the umbrella as bakugou held it over both your heads. it wasn’t a big umbrella, which meant that you had to stick close to his side, your shoulder brushing against his every few steps.

“thanks for walking me home,” you said, your voice soft, almost drowned out by the rain.

bakugou swallowed hard. “whatever. not like i had anything better to do.” liar.

the warmth of your presence was messing with his head. his eyes flicked to your face, droplets of water clinging to your fluttering lashes. his heart kicked into overdrive.

he shifted the umbrella slightly, leaning closer under the guise of adjusting it. your lips were right there, soft and pink and—

“oh!” you crouched suddenly, eyes wide as you scooped something off the ground. “it’s a kitten!”

“eh?” bakugou froze mid-lean, almost dropping the umbrella.

you cradled the soaked little animal in your arms, smiling. “look how cute it is! poor thing.”

katsuki gritted his teeth. “yeah, cute,” he muttered, glaring at the oblivious cat like it had just personally insulted him.

3.

the room was dark except for the faint glow of the tv screen. the others were all passed out on the floor or slumped against the furniture, leaving bakugou and you alone on the couch.

you were snuggled under a blanket, your eyes glued to the movie. you weren’t even paying attention to him, which was just as well, because bakugou could barely breathe with you sitting so close.

his fingers curled into the fabric of his sweatpants. come on, just do it. it’s not a big deal. just lean over and—

you shifted suddenly, yawning as you stretched your arms above your head. one of your hands smacked him right in the face.

“ah! oh my god, i’m so sorry!” you gasped, sitting up straight.

bakugou clutched his face, cheeks burning. “what the hell?! watch where you’re swinging those things, idiot!”

“i didn’t mean to! are you okay?” your fingers tried to pry off his hand, but he reflexively waved you off.

“i’m fine!” he snapped, scooting to the far end of the couch, crossing his arms, and glaring at the screen like it was the movie’s fault. he didn’t look at you for the rest of the night.

+ 1.

the city stretched out below them, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. you sat on the edge of the rooftop, your legs dangling over the side. you looked sad, your usual brightness dimmed, which really concerned bakugou.

“i just… don’t know if i’m good enough,” you said softly, your hands twisting in your lap.

bakugou leaned against the railing a few feet away, his jaw tightening. “that’s stupid,” he said gruffly.

you glanced up at him, surprised. “what?”

bakugou rubbed his face, tugging his mask higher over his forehead before directing his gaze at you.

“you’re good enough,” he said, his voice low and rough, like he was choking on the words. “you’re better than good enough. you’re—” he cut himself off, scowling.

your lips quirked into a small, tentative smile. “thanks. that means a lot. you’re… nicer than you act, you know.”

katsuki’s chest felt too tight, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. “screw it,” he muttered under his breath. before he could lose his nerve, he crossed the space between you and him in two quick steps, cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you.

you gasped softly against his lips, but didn’t pull away. instead, your hands found their way to his arms, holding on gently as you kissed him back.

for the first time, bakugou felt like he wasn’t completely screwing everything up.

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).

if he wasn't a hero

denki, baku, tenya, shoto

wc: 530

kaminari denki

he would be a vet!!!! i feel like he and yoosung from mystic messenger are very on par

i think he would love taking care of the animals and talking to them about brainrot content and tiktok trends

would probably get attached to the animals up for adoption and be upset when they’re bought

found it really hard to do euthanasia at first ⟶ he’s learnt to trust himself and his decision to relieve the suffering of the animal this way

sometimes though, i think it would really get to him, and he’d be a shell of himself until you remind him he’s okay

you’d pull him into your arms and cuddle on the couch, suffocating him with your affection until he’s whining and pleading with you to let him shower (he smells like dog all the time)

bakugou katsuki

mechanic, ice hockey player, chef, all great professions for our fav man

i think he’d be such a hot mechanic, covered in soot or whatever and fixing up cars

he’d show you how to change a tyre, change your engine oil, the best car wash products, etc

if he was a hockey player, you’d go to every single one of his games

he’d make sure you were all layered up before stepping foot into the ice rink

and when his team wins, he’ll skate over to you and give you lots of kisses, showing everyone who his girl is (the fangirls are super envious of you)

chef katsuki… need i say more? makes you the most gourmet yummy food, packs you gorgeous bentos with the little squid sausages and star-shaped fruit

iida tenya

robotic engineer

i imagine him sitting at his desk late at night, a single lamp illuminating his technical drawings and endless pages of equations

his hair is dishevelled and he pushes up his glasses every so often

you wake up in the early hours of the morning to him pulling back the covers and climbing into bed with you

you like watching him work ⟶ you’ll sit on the couch, watching him out of the corner of your eye as you scroll through your phone

he’ll be sitting on the floor, building a robot on your coffee table

of course, he’ll test them all at home, leading to quite a few accidents and minor explosions

todoroki shoto

hear me out… news reporter (its giving kole, ya know who i’m talking about???? shibuya street interviews)

he’s a gossiper at heart change my mind

i think he would make the best documentaries by representing both sides nonchalantly

he wouldn’t be first on the scene, but he’d get the most valuable information and outshine any other news broadcast on the issue

he’s very pretty, which makes him quite popular on tv

you try to tug him back to bed whenever he gets those late night/early morning phone calls for work ⟶ he’ll give you a kiss on the forehead, murmuring for you to go back to sleep while he stumbles in the dark to put on his suit

you’ve never missed one of his broadcasts ⟶ if you miss it on tv, then you’ll watch it online before he gets home so you can compliment him

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 ⟶ 19, infj, she/her

#★’s works for all of my works, #★’s recs for my recommendations, + #★’s thoughts for my unhinged thoughts about fic

𝐛𝐧𝐡𝐚 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 rules ao3 ⟶ has my longer fics + fics i don't think tumblrs would like

currently working on: like drabbles ig but i need some ideas so if you have any send them my way

⭑.ᐟ looks best in light mode

do not plagiarise, copy, repost, or translate my works!

rut suppressants pt.1

alpha!todoroki shoto x omega!fem!reader⋆｡°✩ — smut, p in v, masturbation, voyeurism, knotting, oral sex, swearing, 5.2k words

pt.2

You were typing away at your computer, responding to some dry work emails about tomorrow’s presentation. You had been working in a small team to design a new marketing strategy for your company’s latest hero gadgets. And of course, you had been pulling the weight of the team, you little hard worker. Or maybe your HR team didn’t hire the right candidates, you decide. It was easy enough though. The hard part was just getting your colleagues to look like they knew what they were doing by 10am tomorrow.

After responding to another email of “What does this mean?”, you heard the front door click open, grocery bags scraping against it. Ah, your mate is home. Finally, you smile.

You set your desktop to sleep before leaving the study. As you walk down the hallway, half-white half-red hair comes into view. He’s got his back to you. Black shirt clinging to his sweaty muscles. Must of been to the gym too, you thought. You rest your shoulder against the fridge, arms crossed underneath your chest, taking in the sight of you husband. He’s going through the bags, rummaging through them restlessly, clearly on the hunt for something.

“Need some help?” You smirk.

He turns around, blue-grey eyes wide. His expression visibly eases, slightly opened mouth forming a closed smile. “No, I’m fine. How was work?” He returns to his scavenger hunt in the bag right at his feet.

“Fine. I’ve got it under control for tomorrow’s meeting.” You push off of the fridge and come up behind him, hand on the edge of the island bench. You look over his shoulder, curious about what he could possibly be looking for. Shoto always gave you a kiss first thing whenever he came home, regardless of what had happened during patrol or of what you were doing. For him to neglect you like this was rather odd.

“You didn’t do all the work again, did you?” His voice had an edge to it… It made you bite your lip ever-so-slightly.

“You know how it is—”

“Well, it shouldn’t be,” he almost growled. “You should all be doing it, not just you.” He cussed under his breath.

Okay, this was getting weird. Agitated over you working hard? I mean yea but, he usually reins it it, accepts that this job is just that for you, a job. One that you’ve talked to him about leaving. And swearing? Not Shoto. Only when y’all are… you know.

“Shoto, babe, what’s up?” You say. You're standing directly behind him, you run your hand through his locks. He hums.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine," you whine.

You watch as he starts going through the fourth bag, pulling out a small box with the label “Rut suppressants. Take as needed. Maximum dosage: five per day."

This little fucker. You snatch it out of his hands immediately, sprinting from the scene into the back of your apartment.

“[Y/n]! [Y/n] stop!” You can hear him coming after you, the sound of his feet hitting the floorboards. “Give that to me now!”

You’re running frantically, heart pounding in your chest, hands getting sweaty around the evil cardboard box. You dash into your shared bedroom, slamming the door shut. Fuck! Where should I hide it?

You look around, [e/c] eyes settling on the dresser. You race over to it, emptying the contents of the box into the first draw, beneath your bras and panties.

“[Y/n]!”

Shit, he’s close to the door. You slam the drawer shut and run-stumble into the ensuite. Leaning against the door, you lock it. Okay okay, think! Think! The door knob rattles.

“[Y/n]! Open this door right now or I swear—” The silver handle is shaking now.

The toilet! You open the lid and crush the box in your hands; it makes those crinkling noises before you toss it into the trash bin and flush the toilet. At that moment, the door bursts open.

Shoto’s chest is heaving. His eyes are unfocused, frenzied. He’s panting… with anger you decide as there’s no way that little sprint could of worked up the number 3 pro hero that much. He stalks towards you, grabbing your wrists and leaning down to meet your eyes.

“What did you do with it?” His tone shocks you. His voice is so low now… and hoarse. It throws you off. “With-with what?” You breath out. You’re pretty puffed. “Don’t play dumb. You didn’t actually flush ‘em down the toilet, did you?” His face is now inches from yours.

You remain defiant, eyes staring back into his. The heat radiating from his left tickles your skin. “Um… well yea, yea I did. They’re um, yea, they’re down the toilet.” He laughs. More like barks. His breath hits your face. All you can smell is his sweat interlaced with his fresh scent.

“You’re so bad at lying, you know that?” He smirks, straightening back up. His muscles pull taut as he runs pale fingers through that snowy, silky hair. You watch as he looks around the bathroom.

“Where’d you really put ‘em?” He looks back down at you, scrutinising you beneath his gaze. Your ragged breathing now hitches.

“I don’t—”

“Don’t deny it!” He shouts. You shrink back instinctively.

You’ve never seen him like this before. He’s always so controlled. Even when you’re in heat, he’s always got it together. Always able to draw back or change the pace when you need him to. That’s why you took the pills off him in the first place.

You’ve been getting suspicious for months now since the two of you got married that he’s been on rut suppressants. It just didn’t add up. After your first heat together, you had actually asked him about his ruts so you knew when you had to return the favour.

“I don’t really rut, babe.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck, heterochromatic eyes averting from yours.

You laughed in response. “You don’t rut?” Your eyebrows raised. “Should I be concerned or…”

“No,” he said shyly, “it’s not like that.”

You waited for him to continue, watching as his eyes fluttered from object to object.

“I don’t get very intense ruts.”

Your brow was still quirked. “You don’t get ‘very intense ruts’? Like, you don’t get super aggressive and horny when you rut.”

His muscles relaxed upon hearing that. He looked back at you now. “Yea, it’s a minor annoyance. Nothing to worry about.”

You relaxed too, seeing that he was more comfortable now. “Trust me.” He took your hands in his larger ones. The temperature difference of both something you weren’t used to yet. “You don’t ever have to worry about control with me.” He gave you a sweet reassuring smile.

“Are you sure? I mean—”

“Trust me.” He squeezed your hands and leaned over, planting a small kiss on your lips. You grinned as he pulled back, trusting his word, however strange it seemed.

Had he lied to you? When you had announced to your friends that you and Shoto were (finally) getting married, they had warned you about that post-wedding baby fever. The endless marathon sex you two would be having once your cycles synced up. You had been waiting your entire relationship for that to happen and it hadn’t. So, once you two tied the knot wink, you had been hoping that the talk of pups would come up, but it just hadn’t. That’s when you had begun to think something was off. Even if he didn’t have “intense ruts”, he would still be feeling the urge to breed you, wouldn’t he? Or maybe he just didn’t—

“Where did you put my suppressants?” He stared you down, thin brows furrowed. “Babe…” His hands are trembling at his sides. Pupils dilated so only the rims of his irises are visible. It strikes fear and-and something else into you. Attraction? Excitement? Maybe you should try something else. Something else that’s gonna get you the result you want.

“Make me.”

At this, he frowns even more. “Make you what?”

“Make me tell you.” You take a step forward, feigning confidence, coming close to him again and tilting your head to the side, challenging him.

He scoffs. Those beautiful eyes, like solar eclipses, flickering away from you for a moment. “Make you…” He says quietly. He stares at you even more intensely now as he’s thinks it over.

It’s time to get cocky. “Yea, make me.” You stretch up towards him, arms wrapping around his neck. “I want you,” you move to whisper in his ear, your lips brushing his earlobe. “My sexy Alpha,” you run both of your hands through his hair now. He groans right back into your neck, large hands palming your lower back. “To make me submit to you.”

In an instant, you're over his shoulder, his palm smacking your right cheek. He’s carrying you out of the ensuite. You’ve done it now hehe.

As he crosses the threshold, you notice the door knob was coated in ice, hanging there, limp. Looks like you’ve gotta add fixing that to your to-do list tomorrow. He throws you like a stuffed toy onto your plush bed. His shirt’s already coming off, rippling contours all for your pleasure. Yea, make that a ‘to-do next week’.

Large hands already besides your head. Lean arms, meaty thighs, delicious toned frame caging you in. You’re forced to stare into those mismatched eyes. Not like you’d want to do anything else anyways.

Your breaths intermingle, just like your scents. He just stares at you, licking his soft, full lips. Afternoon light from the adjacent windows makes your figures glow. You love the way it streaks through his hair, and he loves the way it catches on your pretty pink lips. He thumbs your lower lip, pulling it down to reveal your teeth. You lower your chin, taking his thumb into your mouth. You circle your tongue over the top of his thumb before tasting the pad of it. It’s cold, like a popsicle you suck on in summer. You can think of another ‘popsicle’ you’d rather be sucking on right now.

“I… I-I don’t…” His brows are knitted together once more. Pupils wavering between dilated and contracted, showing off those blue and grey hues you love so much. You stop what you’re doing with your tongue, opting to place both of your hands on his cheeks. His thumb leaves your mouth but rests on your chin.

“I don’t know if… if this s-safe.” You can’t stop yourself from giggling a little. What a cutie.

“Pookie, of course this is safe. I was made for you. You know that, right?” You smirk. You’re a feelin’ like a cocky little shit today btw if you didn’t get that. This man’s shyness inflating your ego.

“Of course I do but…” He averts his gaze, looking at your ear instead.

“But?” You continue. However, he doesn’t respond. He just moves his hand from your chin and tucks a strand of [h/c] hair behind your ear, which has suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room.

“You don’t wanna hurt me? You do wanna hurt me but don’t wanna admit it?” You tease.

“No! No, of course I don’t want to hurt you.” His eyes shift back to yours.

“Shoto.” You squeeze his cheeks gently. “I’m your omega. If you hurt me then you can just make it better.” You bring his face closer to yours. “You can make it better, can’t you?” You whisper.

He gulps, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down with the motion. “Y-yea,” he replies, voice low, “I can.” That last part coming out with more confidence.

“Good, then don’t make me dom you, Alpha. That’s kinda embarrassing for you.” You giggle whilst leaning up to him and finally, kiss him.

You both moan into it, feeling the relief washing through you two. But quickly, it’s not enough. It’s far from enough. He growls into your lips, changing his tilt. You follow his lead. You like that. His tongue grazes your bottom lip and you part immediately for him. The tangle that ensues is soul-gripping, bone-shaking, mind-blanking, breath-taking…

Your fingers are gripping his locks. His fingers are gripping the hem of your thin white tank top. Saliva, don’t know don’t care whose, if dripping from the corners of your mouth. His exhale is your inhale and vice versa. He catches your lower lip between his teeth. His sharp canines sending tingles throughout your entire being. There’s nothing that gets you slicked up like a lip bite from your Alpha.

He pulls away, you two panting. Not that the reprieve is sufficient or long-lived. Soon his lips are sucking and nipping your earlobe and that sensitive spot beneath your ear. You whimper out his name. “Shoto”, “Alpha”, “Daddy”, maybe “Babe” or “Honey”… yea, those, they’ll be the only words you know for the next week.

He nips at your mating mark, the beautiful white scar just above your left collarbone. He continues biting it, almost re-piercing the scar. You can’t help the moan-mumbles that tumble out of your mouth. Already, your wetness is soaking your blue lace panties and beginning to slide down your inner thighs.

“Fuck,” Shoto breathes out into your other ear. You shudder at the word, one hand sliding down to his shoulder.

He continues at it, licking and sucking and kissing and biting at your neck. Soon, his fingers are tearing through your top. You mewl at the sensation of him ripping the torn, flimsy fabric off your body. His hands reach for your bare breasts, cupping them completely. Those long fingers begin pinching at the sensitive flesh. Your body responds instinctively, moaning, small hands grasping his wrists, breaths catching in your chest and throat.

He fingers your nipples before bringing his mouth down to you, lips ghosting the hard peaks between his fingertips. He takes one into his mouth, eliciting a delicious whimper from you. His warm tongue circles your nipple as you did to his thumb, but just so much better.

You’ve barely gotten started and yet, you know never get enough of this. No matter how many times he’s done and will do this to you, and so much more, you’ll never be forever satiated. You just can’t be.

He moves to the other, keeping your now wet left breast covered by his cool palm. Fuck, that feels good. More moans spill from your mouth as he continues his ministrations. That slick is at your knees, probably. You can’t really tell cause it just feels like a wet, sticky mess down there at this point.

“Shoto,” you whine. He groans in response. “Hurryyyyy up,” you drag out that ‘y’ as you mewl. You shudder as he chuckles against your tender skin. Tender from his bites and sucking, of course.

“You want me to go faster?” He pulls away from your breast, face coming back close to yours. You whine and nod your affirmation.

“But if I go faster,” he strokes your cheek softly with the back of his index finger, “you’ll miss out on all the fun.” His finger trails down to your chin, gripping it tightly but playfully with his other fingers.

Damn, you’re getting wetter by the second. He’s doesn’t usually tease you during your intimacy. Prefers that slow, soul-binding kinda love-making.

He just smirks at you before moving back to his painstakingly slow kisses and sucks on your breast. He only moves down to your ribs once he’s satisfied and you’ve probably soaked the bed sheets with how much he’s turning you on. It’s driving you insane. No. He drives you insane.

Shoto’s hands wrap around your ribs, feeling their rise and fall and their ridges. “Beautiful,” he mumbles, kissing each rung. He keeps those eyes on you. All cocky. He knows what he’s doing to you and he likes how pathetic it makes you for him. And you can’t help but like it too.

After thoroughly kissing and touching every part of your torso, your arms, your everything really, he’s finally fingering your low waistband. You sigh relief and begin wriggling, trying to get those pants off as fast as possible, but your Alpha is still having none of it.

“Be patient,” he growls as he squeezes your clothed inner thigh, your flesh perking up between his fingers.

“But Alpha—”

“I said,” he stares you down, this dark look in his eyes, “be patient.”

You whine, “Yes Alpha.”

Hearing your compliance, he loosens his grip on your thigh and begins kissing your hip bones and skin just above the band. Fuck, he’s really killing you this time. I thought alphas were all, “Let’s bang. Now. Hard.” when they’re rutting but, I guess not. Maybe, Shoto didn’t completely lie to you by saying that his ruts were different to other alphas. Or maybe, he just wants to tease you for once.

You’re brought back to reality when you gasp reflexively to him biting into your inner thigh through your wet pants. Wet as in soaked and clinging to your hot skin.

“You’re not focusing on me.” Shoto’s voice is low, raspy. Fuck, you love it when he talks like that. Especially just after he’s woken up and you two have some fun together before getting up.

“And you’re not even focusing on me right now.” He bites even harder into your thigh, breaking through the fabric and pulling little red dots to the surface of your now swollen, marked flesh.

“I,” you breath out. “I thought you wanted me to be patient.”

“I want you to do both. Can you manage that? Or is that too much for my little girl?” He’s got a shit-eating grin across face. Since when was your husband such a tease, and such a good fucking one at that? It’s the years of pills, you decide.

“N-no, I can’t manage. Help me m-manage.” You imagine that you must look like some blubbering, whimpering mess right now, and you’re not even naked yet. And he’s not even naked yet.

“Okay,” his grin widens.

Licking those glorious lips, those lips that you want on yours and not the ones on your face if you know what I mean, he pulls away from your thighs. He gets up from the bed, taking off his grey sweatpants and briefs. And fuck, you’re not ready for what meets you. For real. Swollen, hard, precum dripping down the shaft.

He smirks at you as he grabs his cock with his hand, moaning on impact. His other hand comes up to his face, finger pointing to the side of his mouth. At this point, your sitting up, thighs to calves, legs spread wide, dragging your wide eyes up and down his body.

“You’re drooling.”

I would say that you blushed at hearing this, but you’re already red as fuck in the face with how hot he’s been making you. You’re embarrassed and laugh it off, hand coming to wipe that spit from the side of your mouth. Yea, that was definitely yours and not his from earlier. That had already dried.

“W-well, how can I not when,” you take a deep breath in and look back up at him, “when my husband looks this good.”

“Have I got your attention now?” That rasp. That will be the end of you. Or the end of these bed sheets, whichever comes first. You nod feverishly. “Good girl.”

Ah fuck. He’s praising you. Fuck. That’s it. If that dick isn’t in you within the next three minutes, who knows what will happen next. You start shuffling over toward him when he stops you.

“No. You stay there. I want you to watch.” His eyes crinkle as he smiles, amused by your reaction as you realise what’s going on. Is this how this twisted fucker wants you to help you 'be patient' and 'focus'? By not letting you touch him? And by not touching you?

“I can’t. No. Babe. No please.” You’re shaking your head vigorously, already rising from the bed when his hands find your shoulders and push you back to sit down on the edge.

“Watch.” His voice is commanding, absolute.

You’re forced to obey your alpha and sit there helplessly as he pumps his veiny cock with those veiny hands. The precum now all over his dick with even more leaking from the tip. His dick that should be in you right now. His eyes are trained on you, observing every stuttered breath you take in, every time you bite the side of your lip, how focused you are on how he’s pleasuring himself. That feels even better than his hands ever could. Fucking hell.

“Can I—” You start.

“No. Just watch."

“Not you but my—”

“No. Watch.” His tone is stern. His voice strained.

Fuck. If your hands were bound then this would be so much easier, but no, you’re forced to hold back from touching yourself by your alpha’s command and your own self-discipline. You doubt that you’re even allowed to rock your hips right now.

You watch as his movements get faster and now he’s panting. His eyes half-lidded and tongue darting out across his lower lip every so often. You can see the sweat beading on his chest. You start whining, wanting to be the one touching him like that. What you wouldn’t give to just… just have him right now.

“Please,” you begin. Which becomes a slew of please daddy, please, please let me touch you, please, I’m sorry that I took your suppressants, I’m sorry okay, I’m sorry Alpha, I’m sorry that I wasn’t being patient or f-focusing on you, please Alpha, please let me touch you, please, please, please, please… You don’t stop. You can’t stop. All you can do is sit there, slick drenching the sheets below you even though you’re lower half is still clothed, and plead for your alpha to fuck you.

His pale hips jerk forward and you can tell he’s really close. Would he even let you swallow it? But he stops. He stops and comes over to you, collapsing onto you, arms around your shoulders and neck.

“Shoto,” you squeak, but it’s muffled by his weight falling onto you. He huffs into your ear and you just rub his back.

“Tired already,” you jest, but he’s not in the mood to play with you anymore.

“Enough. I can’t cuddle my wife?” He mumbles grumpily into your shoulder before taking the flesh between his teeth.

You hum, “You can always cuddle your wife, but I’d like it more if you fucked me.” He chuckles low, right below your ear. You feel it vibrating through his throat and chest.

“Yea, I bet you would.”

He holds you for a little longer before pulling back, peeling his sweaty body off yours.

“Alright, I’ll give you your reward,” he smiles lazily, even showing off one side of his pearly whites.

You squeal with delight, “Finally!”

“Oi, settle,” he says as positions you so that he’s between your legs, spread wide, slowly pulling both pants and panties off you. Oi?

“So, you’ve been on patrol with Dynami—”

“Don’t mention him,” Shoto growls. He’s been doin’ a lotta that today and you like it. A lot. “Or anyone else right now. It’s just you and me.” You nod submissively. You really should stop riling him up sometimes. But you can’t help it. You’re a cheeky little shit after all.

The relief that engulfs you once those dreadful clothes are off brings out a sigh of pleasure from you. He doesn’t make you wait any longer. He’s already at the source of your heat, lapping up your slick like it’s the elixir of life. To him, it is. You whimper and mewl as his tongue makes its’ way between your folds. It feels so warm and wet, perfect against your swollen lips. You relish in the feeling of what he’s doing to you.

Shoto eats you out like he’s been starved. Greedily, hungrily, in a frenzy. Without a break for air, he keeps going. That tongue, those long digits curling inside of you, his lips, all making you shake and mew. The whimpers and words leaving your mouth are unholy and impure, some real nasty shit.

Only he can get you like this. Only he can have you saying shit like, “Fuck me however you want, daddy.” Or, “Knot in me, alpha! Breed your little omega!”

Once he’s had his fill, he moves away from your core, grabbing your hips and flipping you over, onto your stomach. His fingers are back at your folds, playing with your clit and teasing your entrance, drawing more filthy moans from you. You feel him move on top of you, straddling you. He withdraws his fingers, replacing them with what you’ve been craving for this entire time.

You moan loudly as he fills you up, completely, inch-by-inch. He groans as you draw him in, tight walls clenching around his girth. He stays still for a few moments, allowing you to get comfortable, before he sets a brutal pace. You hands are by your shoulders, gripping the sheets as he fucks you.

Your body is shaking, contorting to his every rough thrust in and out. It’s got your mind absolutely filled with how only your mate can do this to you. You can’t even form a sentence. You mewl, over and over, to the sound of your skin slapping harshly together. Your mingled groans and moans, all that dirty shit dripping from your mouths fill the room. It’s humid. Sweat coating your bodies. Your hair is stuck to your forehead.

Your favourite part — besides from how tight he’s gripping your hips, likely (and hopefully) leaving bruises on your soft skin — is how deep he gets. His tip reaches that perfect spot, making your toes curl and knees bend, before he draws back out, and he does it again and again.

“Sh-sho-shot-to." He grunts out in response. “Sho-sho-I—” Fuck, you can’t even get the sentence out. That’s how brain fucked, how body fucked, this man’s got you.

“What?” He growls. He’s breathing hard, you can hear it, and it makes you drip even more and he can feel it.

“Use your words, baby. What is it?” He groans.

The filthy sounds of him pounding you fills your ears. The squelching of your juices around his length. You can’t even remember what you were trying to say. Oh! That’s right!

“I-I Shoto-Sho fuck I’m-I-I’m gonna,” your voice is quiet and breathy, but he still hears you clearly.

He can feel your thighs beginning to shake, the way your pussy tightens and then releases, and he knows what you mean. “I know,” he grunts again. You continue to moan, feeling your climax coming in hard n’ fast. You gotta know if—

“Just hold on for me, alright. Just-just hold on.” You whimper in response. Not cum yet? You don’t know if you can do that.

“I’ll try—”

He cuts you off, saying, “You will wait for me.”

Your moans and mewls get louder as you get closer, as does his growls and grunts. Even if you can’t wait for him , it doesn’t really matter, you still benefit.

He picks up the pace. You never even realised he had this kinda stamina. But, you should of known. He is THE pro hero ‘Shoto’.

It feels impossibly more pleasurable. It’s like he’s surrounding you. Every thrust is godsent. You couldn’t escape the pleasure of this moment, even if you tried. Your orgasm is building and building, threatening to crash down on you any second now.

“Shoto!” You cry out. You’ve got tears in your eyes. Your shaking, trembling, convulsing as you climax. You squeeze around him hard, sending him over the edge with you. You’re sobbing and screaming at this point, as you feel his knot swell and plunge into you. Thick, white, hot ropes spilling into you. Filling you completely with his seed. Fuck.

You ride out the high together, him rocking into you and you rocking as much as you can manage back into him. Breathing out, he leans down, pulling you back and laying you two on your sides. You groan at the movement, still experiencing those last minute tremors of your orgasm. His legs intertwine with yours, arms wrapping around you. He strokes your head, drawing you close into him as you both calm down. You sniffle and he takes this opportunity wipe the tears from your eyes.

You giggle, “Thanks, honey.” The words dampened by your sudden emotional outburst.

“Anything for you, love," he responds as he kisses the side of your forehead and moves to grab the blankets, pulling them over you two, up to your chin. You snuggle back into him, hands grasping his forearms, a mindless smile spreading across your face.

You say, “You’re not done with me yet, are you?”

He remains silent for a few seconds, before groaning into your hair. It still smells like fresh cut strawberries in the midst of all the scents filling the room.

“Only if you tell me where you hid my suppressants.”

“Than I’m never telling you!” You squeal. There ain’t no way you’re gonna give up this side of your alpha just yet.

“Hey, that’s not what you should be saying,” hey says. His voice is low, bordering on a growl.

“Sorry for not following your script," you say. And now you’re the one wearing a shit-eating grin.

“You know,” he shifts, now leaning over you and narrowing his doe eyes at you, “if you insist on acting up, then maybe I will just have to fuck you through this rut of mine.”

“I hope you do,” you say with a smirk even wider.

“’Course you do,” he grumbles, laying back down again, nose buried in your hair.

You two lay in silence until his knot goes down, and he can finally pull out. He turn you back onto your stomach and pulls the blankets back, drawing out slowly, making you moan. His cum gushes out, further eliciting moans from you.

You can feel it dripping down your the back of your thigh. Shoto watches, enjoying the sight. Though, before he’s realise it, he’s got his fingers inside of you, finger-fucking that cum back into you. You can’t help but start whimpering and moaning even louder as you feel him fingering you.

“Shoto…”

He draws his fingers back out, letting the cum drip out again. He’s tempted to slide them back into you so that no more escapes, but he refrains from doing so, knowing that you two need to talk a bit more about kids than just “Do you want kids? Yea, I want kids. Do you? Yea, sounds good.”

He clears his throat before saying, “I hope you’re ready, baby.” He wraps his hand around your waist and turns you over, onto your back. Your eyes find each other. The sun’s setting, illuminating how wet and dewy and bruised your soft flesh is.

You breathe out, smiling happily, “I’m ready.”