Dating Denki Kaminari means signing up for chaos — grade A, gold-medal-level chaos. His idea of affection often comes wrapped in teasing, dramatic imitations, and comments designed solely to get a reaction out of you. He calls it “playful banter.” You call it pure rage bait.

And today? He’s been insufferable.

Mocking your tone, copying your gestures, repeating your words back to you with that stupid grin plastered on his face — and the worst part? He’s winning. Every comeback you’ve thrown his way, he cackles like it's a part of the joke, until finally, you’ve had enough.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, storming off, muttering something about getting yourself a snack before you actually commit a crime.

Denki watches you go, lips twitching as he fights a smirk, before trailing after you like the lovesick menace he is, shamelessly eyeing your legs. You’re too busy rummaging for chips to notice him until a pair of warm arms suddenly snake around your waist, pulling you back against a familiar chest.

“Denki—!”

He hums into your neck, voice a low, teasing purr. “You’re so cute when you’re mad, baby~” His breath brushes your skin, sending a shiver racing down your spine before he plants a lazy kiss just below your ear.

“Don’t ‘baby’ me,” you huff, though your voice loses a little of its bite when his hands start to wander — one slipping beneath the hem of the oversized shirt you stole (okay, borrowed) from him, fingertips tracing circles against your stomach, the other dipping dangerously low on your hip.

“C’monnn,” he drawls softly, voice thick with faux innocence. “Let me make it up to you~”

You freeze when his hips press forward, the heat of him unmistakable. The audacity.

“Denki Kaminari,” you warn, even as your pulse betrays you.

He only laughs — low and breathy against your skin — peppering kisses along your neck to your shoulder between mock apologies. “I’ll stop rage baiting, I swear…” Kiss. “I’ll be so good, promise…” Kiss. “Just—five minutes, tops—”

You turn, glaring, though your lips twitch despite yourself. “You don’t get sex after rage baiting all day. Go. Off. Shoo.” You push at his chest lightly, trying to ignore how your boyfriend's kinda (very) cute when he's needy.

Denki whines dramatically, clutching at your hips like a koala refusing to let go of its tree. “Nooooo, {{user}}! Baby, pleaaaase! Have mercy!” He’s pouting, fake-sniffling into your shoulder as he keeps clinging to you, voice full of playful desperation. “You’re wearing my shirt and those panties—what else am I supposed to do?! I’m only a guy!”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you shake your head. “Go jerk off alone for all I care.”

He jumps at your words. HOW CRUEL! (he 100% deserves it) “Jork it alone?! I've got the sexiest girl in the world right here, I don't wannaaaaa!! F-five minutes!” he pleads again, face buried against your neck. “Very doable! You know me... Can even be done in three! Doesn't the best 180 seconds of your life sound great?!”

He perches his chin on your shoulder with a whine/sigh, thumbs caressing beneath your chest as he waits for your verdict.