You can call me nana (she/her) :] Im 19 and write fan fiction (for anything but mostly bnha in the past). On wattpad, I attempt to post original, multi chapter works. My inbox is open for prompts (maybe requests?), criticism and if you wanna say hi 💕 im out of practice so please be kind! im not as good as i used to be :3
I write... SFW • domestic fluff • usually rare pairs • usually quirkless/powerless • aged up • college/university au • + my ao3 ✨️ my wattpad
Not a huge sweet tooth, but does enjoy some sweet savoury options (salted caramel, soy sauce glazed dango etc.)
Takes massive and unattractive bites to make you giggle
Steals bites off your food when he passes you. He’d just walk up to you stealing a soft goodbye kiss and a spoonful of cereal before heading out
Gets weirdly invested in your terrible dramas and doesn’t want to quite admit it. He always dad-hovers near the sofa when you’re lounging and watching your show, coffee mug in hand
He refuses to sit down when you invite him to watch along (✨cut to him watching along✨)
Smushes his face into yours 24/7, his face is going to be in your face right now, this instant and forevermore
Will smother you with his whole body, just laying on you as he rumbles in contentment like a big cat
He really quite enjoys the size difference between the two of you and is absolutely delighted by the fact that he can make you disappear just by shielding you
Utilises this also when you want to crawl out of bed in the morning and the evil blanket monster (Sylus) just swallows you entirely up into the safe haven of his blanketed body.
“Oh no, sweetie. Looks like the blanket devoured you alongside with me.” winky wink
His hands get kind of dry from working and tinkering with stuff, so you’ve just started to put a little bit more lotion on your hands, before grossly lathering his palms to get rid off the excess
Now every time he sees you getting out hand cream, he’s baring his palms for his share
Loves, loves, loves it when you put lotion/sunscreen on his body too, absolutely adores the feeling of your hands on his muscles (it’s relaxing)
He loves when you overindulge, so he loves spoiling you and buying big amounts of things that you enjoy (snacks, drinks, skincare, garments etc.)
However this also means you two being hunched over together in the kitchen to eat a bowl of sprinkles together, because he bought too much and you don’t want to grow wasteful
When you’re mad at him, just. Don’t buy things with his money lmao. It devastates him when you pay for yourself.
Your bra is his wallet. He slips you cash in the most unconventional ways by using his Evol to hide it in your garments
The black card always shows up in your bra in some way???
He will mod the shit out of your car. It won’t just be an expensive car, he’ll make the best arrangements and tweaks to cater to your safety AND aesthetics
He thinks you look hot in a nice car. Or a bike. Or anything really.
Imagine moving to a small, quiet town with sylus to settle down and leave your old lives behind you…
The house sits at the end of a gravel lane that turns to mud after rain, whitewashed walls and a wraparound porch that creaks underfoot like it’s telling stories. It’s nothing like the penthouses or safehouses you used to know, too small, too open, too full of windows that let in every sunrise whether you want it or not. Sylus bought it without asking. One day he just slid a set of keys across the kitchen island in Linkon and said, “We’re leaving next week. Pack light.”
You didn’t argue.
Now the twins’ rooms sit upstairs, doors closed most days, beds made half-heartedly but you couldn’t bother to change it because that’s how Kieran left them. Luke’s got band posters peeling at the corners; Kieran’s desk still has half a model starship he swore he’d finish “when he had time.” They video call every Sunday night from their dorms, Luke loud, Kieran quieter, both complaining about cafeteria food and asking if the apple tree out back is still dropping fruit on the shed roof. You send them care packages stuffed with the jam you’ve started making. Sylus pretend like he doesn’t add extra cash “for emergencies.”
Mornings are slow now.
You wake to birds instead of gunshots. Sylus is usually already up, coffee brewing, sleeves rolled to his elbows, reading something on an old tablet he won’t replace. Sometimes he’s out back splitting logs for the woodstove even though the house has central heating he calls “unreliable.” You find him shirtless in September chill more often than you’d admit, silver hair damp with sweat, axe buried in the chopping block.
He catches you watching from the kitchen window and smirks. Always that same crooked thing, softer around the edges these days.
“Like the view, kitten?”
You toss a dish towel at him when he comes inside. He catches it mid air, uses it to wipe his face, then pulls you against him anyway, cold nose pressed to your neck, smelling like pine and earth.
The neighborhood is old bones and sticky fingered kids.
Mrs. Hara next door brings over persimmons the size of your fist every fall; you trade her sourdough you’ve finally learned not to murder. Mr. Tanaka’s knees gave out last winter so Sylus rebuilt his garden trellis without being asked, spent three afternoons cursing softly in Japanese he picked up just to talk to the old man. The kids call Sylus “the tall uncle with the red eyes” and trail him like ducklings when he walks to the mailbox. He didn’t know how to deal with that at first. Now buys them ice pops anyway.
Evenings are yours.
You come home from the little clinic in town, nothing glamorous, just checking blood pressure and listening to grandmas complain about their hips and he’s already there. Apron tied around his waist because he’s decided he’s going to master braising. The kitchen smells like garlic and rosemary and whatever wine he opened “just to cook with.” You wrap your arms around him from behind while he stirs, chin on his shoulder.
“Long day?” he asks without turning.
“Mrs. Ito tried to set me up with her grandson again.”
He snorts. “Tell her I bite.”
“You do.”
A low hum of amusement. He turns the burner down, spins you around so your back’s to the counter, cages you with both hands on either side of your hips.
“Missed you,” he says, quiet, like it’s still a secret even after all this time.
You kiss the corner of his mouth. “Missed you more.”
Dinner is whatever’s in season. Leftover roast turned into sandwiches the next day. You eat on the porch when the weather’s good, feet in his lap, his thumb rubbing absent circles over your ankle while fireflies start winking in the grass.
Nights are quiet except for the creak of the house settling and Mephisto’s occasional indignant squawk from his perch in the living room. (Yes, the crow came too. Sylus claims it’s because “someone has to keep an eye on you,” but you’ve caught him murmuring to his first companion on this planet.)
You fall asleep tangled together, his arm heavy across your waist, your leg hooked over his, breathing in sync. Sometimes you wake up to him already looking at you, red eyes soft in the dark.
“What?” you whisper.
He brushes hair off your forehead with his knuckles. “Nothing. I’m just glad you’re here.”
You curl closer. “We’re not going anywhere.”
“No,” he agrees, voice rough with sleep and something deeper. “We’re not.”
In spring the cherry tree out front explodes into pink. Kids from three houses down come running with baskets. Sylus lifts the smallest one onto his shoulders so she can reach the higher branches. You take pictures even though he raises an eyebrow at the camera.
Later, petals in your hair, juice from early strawberries on his fingers, he licks it off your thumb when no one’s looking.
“Still content with this life?” he asks, low enough that only you hear.
You lean up, kiss the underside of his jaw.
“Every single day.”
He exhales like he’s been holding the breath for years.
“Good.”
Because this, the small town, the creaking porch, the exchanged fruit, the fixed fences, the empty rooms waiting for holidays, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that ever mattered,
❥ Restaurant: picking them up so they can have wine, bringing a bouquet of flowers, googling under the table what the fancy dishes are, taking their hand from across the table, tasting the other's dish, bickering over who pays, holding the door open, fighting over who gets to pay
❥ Park: picnic, going for a walk, watching the ducks in the pond, sitting in the sun, taking a boat ride on the lake, rollerskating / skateboarding, putting their jacket down to let the other sit on the damp grass, running for cover when it rains, sharing ice cream, talking until the sun goes down and the street lamps come on
❥ Arcade: discovering a competetive streak, letting the other win, losing track of time, sharing shitty, cheap food and loving it, taking candids of the other having fun, showing off a hidden talent, trying to trick the games
❥ Night In: board games, building a blanket fort, cooking together, movie night, going through old photo albums, binging a tv show, sharing a blanket, reading together, private dances in the kitchen, discovering little quirks about the other's home, falling asleep on the couch
❥ Museum: interactive exhibits, trying to find interpretations for abstract art, shushing each other when they laugh too loudly, claiming which painting they easily could have done themselves, describing the higher up artwork to the one who forgot their glasses, buying postcards of their favorite art at the giftshop after
❥ Clubbing: dressing up fancy and matching, karaoke, bar food beforehand, discovering the other's (in)ability to dance, guiding the other through the crowd, hand in hand, kisses interrupted by drunken stumbling, drunken walks home, passing out in clubbing outfits
❥ Beach: falling asleep while tanning, bonfire, sneaking glances at them, getting knocked over by waves, beach bars, watching the sunset, collecting pretty rocks and shells, holding onto each other in rough surf
(feel free to add your own thoughts to this list, hope it helps!) req by @miricalebabyy44 <3
what will your character be like if they were in your shoes?
is your oc the mom friend or the dad or the childish one in their friendgroup ?
do those "poet, king, soldier" quiz for your oc. im being fr
do the "36 questions to fall in love" quiz as your oc.
ik your ocs trauma have an impact on their character, but how would they be like, if they hadn't gone through that experience?
does your oc have similar tastes as you do? (music, art, fashion, coffee/tea etctetc)
will they "i only live once so I'll do it for the plot." or will they "i only live once ffs, i don't wanna die." ?
what is your ocs opinion of love? how is/was their love life on a scale of 1-10?
will your oc let go of someone precious to them when they know they're putting them at danger?
around whom does your oc lets their guard down?
are they romantically constipated or a hopeless romantic?
what type of music does ur oc like?
write a lot about your oc if you're struggling to get to know them. find a drabble prompt, and write what they'd do.
do they trust others easily or do they get trusted by others easily?
what is something your oc will never talk to anyone about? (their answer can be deep, like some emo trauma or like smthng like back when they shit their pants or smthng yk)
do they give off golden retriever energy, or a black cat energy? (or both?)
what will THEIR opinion be on YOUR current life? will they be ur friend? will they trust you?
will your oc survive in a fantasy setting, a war setting, a dystopian setting, a futuristic setting, a medieval setting? will ur oc survive after getting stranded on an island, or a forest?
does your oc like their parents, do they like how their life is, do they feel like they're born in the right gen?
if they are ever to get one wish definitely granted, what would they wish for?
how did they react to their first kiss? (if they have had it by now lmao)
what's an ideal day for your oc?
lastly, who does your oc go to when they've fucked up?
