ROW @insanevampiregirl - Tumblr Blog

Older - N.K.

Synopsis. Your duties as a nanny are simple: pick Itadori Yuji up from elementary school, bathe him, feed him his veggies, and take care of him until his hot blond dad gets home. It doesn’t include something like…spending Valentine’s Day with the overworked, overstressed, absolute DlLF Nanami Kento. Does it? Does it?

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, older!Nanami, age gap, DlLF!Nanami, reader is in early 20’s, Nanami is in 30’s, he’s overworked and STRESSED, down bad!Nanami, desperation, Valentine’s Day, pùssydrùnk Nanami, oraI (fem rec.), p talking, p sIapping, punishments, dégrading but also soft Nanami, spítting, bíting, fíngering, yearning, teaching you, fírst times (yours), Iessons, talking you through it, he’s stern, he’s BIG, BRÉEDlNG BRÉEDlNG BRÉEDlNG, matíng presses, manhandIing, cervíx smoochin, overstím, vírginíty loss (yours), corruption, he’s feraI, DÚMBIFlCATION, calling you ‘momma’, mentions of kids, implied marathon, HEADLÓCKS, creampíes, cúmpIay, Yuji cameos, Papamin, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 15.7k

A/N. BOO! SURPRISE VALENTINE’S DAY POST?! HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY BABYGIRLS <33

Nanami can’t help but sigh—“One more meeting and I’m quitting.”

Even though he knows he wouldn’t.

Those boxed-in, white-collar jobs felt just as lukewarm to quit as they were to work. One learns to numb oneself to the constant drone and sputter of the office, the ceaseless fury of a microwave that wouldn’t heat, and the wail of a printer printing listlessly furlong - too far behind its service date. So was there even a point?

That stupid screech followed him even out of the office: one could ignore the cracks and jolts of joints, but that doesn’t actually stop the noise.

He feels a headache coming on.

But Nanami can’t lie- the pay wasn’t all too bad. Besides, the extra hours helped him pay for the nanny he’d recently hired for Yuji—speaking of, he could hear you shuffling about inside.

His key’s just reaching for the door before it swings wide open.

“Welcome home—!”

And Nanami Kento can’t understand that strange, sweet flutter in his heart.

mairisms-deactivated20260309

fall in love again and again . . .

pairing: desi!sevika x reader

मुझे लगता है कि तुम मेरे जीवन के प्यार हो (i think you're the love of my life) or, in which you and sevika have been dating for months now and instead of exchanging tongues like you usually would, you speak in her native one (and make her love you even more, if that was even possible).

content :: desi!sevika, sevika speaks hindi, mild cursing, mild violence/injury (sevika stubs her toe, bless her soul), reader has been learning hindi, tooth-aching fluff

word count: 3k

requested by the lovely @lasciviousbae .ᐟ

#so freaking cute #arcane #arcane sevika #desi!sevika #sevika #sevika x reader #sevika fluff #sevika x y/n #sevika x you #sevika arcane x reader #arcane x reader

loserabby

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚. 𝐈'𝐌 𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐈'𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 dbf!sevika x reader

‧₊˚ 🪦⋅𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ . ** MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THIS IS AN 18+ BLOGI DO NOT GIVE ANYBODY PERMISSION TO REUPLOAD OR PLAGARISE MY WORK. IF YOU SEE SOMETHING I'VE WRITTEN ANYWHERE ELSE OTHER THAN HERE OR MY A03, PLEASE LET ME KNOW VIA ASK **

₊˚ 𓂃 ₊ ˚ ✧ kinktober day sixteen: age gap and humiliation

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : alternative universe - modern, dbf!sevika but it's a recent friendship after reader was already 18/sevika never knew reader as the daughter, switch!reader and sevika but mainly bottom!sevika, mainly sub!sevika for this one, pussy slapping, humiliation kink, dom!reader, lowkey mean!reader, i enjoyed mentioning the fact sevika is canonically 6'1" a lot so adding that here too, strapping, cunnilingus 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 2,786k

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 : it starts off good but i could not figure out how to end it so its kinda ass towards the end im sorry, its one of those fics i started months ago and didn't know what the og idea was for the ending [ read on ao3 ]

[ divider credits: 1, 2, 3 ] [ resources for palestine ]

#god i love her #sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #sevika smut #kinktober 2025 #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #sub!sevika

sugurusbeloved-deactivated20260

(ᰔ) — EXTRA CREDIT, PLEASE?

★ — synopsis: professor satoru has a big problem—everyone wants him, but his dick wants no one. erectile dysfunction hits hard, until he stumbles into a nightclub and sees his quiet, nerdy student dressed like a sexy villain. and to his suprise, something downstairs finally wakes up.

★ — tags & warnings: MDNI. fem!reader. age gap, unprotected p in v, pūssydrūnk, oral (fem!recieving.) fíngeríng, spíttíng, overstím, dom!reader, dry humpíng, blōwjōb, chōkíng, slight tummy bulge, size kīnk. reader is an adult.

★ — author's note: HAPPY (early) KINKTOBER YAYY. thanks for 4k so consider this as a thank you gift 🫶🏼

the gojo fanart in the middle by @/3-aem !!

satoru always thought hell would be fire and brimstone. the cartoon version. little red devils with pitchforks, laughing while they jabbed him in the ribs. rivers of lava, gnashing teeth, the whole sunday school slideshow burned into his brain.

he never thought hell would look like this.

the bass rattled his ribs like someone had hollowed him out and stuffed a subwoofer inside. every beat felt like it was shaking his skeleton loose. neon lights cut across the room in sharp stabs of pink and blue, flashing fast enough to fry retinas. strangers pressed together, grinding, sweaty, blurred into one big organism that breathed and moaned in time with the music. the air was thick with perfume, cigarettes, and that sticky-sweet smell of spilled liquor clinging to everything.

and speaking of spilled liquor—his sweater vest had taken the hit. a splash of something neon and syrupy had soaked into the fabric, cooling fast against his skin.

he looked down at himself. the vest. the collared shirt. the smudged glasses sliding down his nose. he stuck out like a chalkboard at an imax theater.

jesus. what was he even doing here?

#satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #kinktober 2025 #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #kinktober

#tenya iida #hes so babygirl #iida tenya #iida tenya x reader #mha x reader #iida x reader #bnha iida #iida is the loml #fanart #mha fanart #bnha fanart #begginerartist #pls be kind #not too much on the hair yall...

andromedathefairy

:3c ranvika making inexperienced reader squirt for the first time? please and thank you so much 😻

Hey anon!

Why, of course! (Tumblr tried to eat your request so many times, but I got it.)

Also I was halfway through writing this when I realized this is the first threesome smut I have ever written, so I hope all bodyparts are accounted for. ;)

(And please be kind, I think smuts are not my forte anyway.)

The surprises of the night

(You can find Part 2. here) ranvika x reader, ran x sevika x reader smut, threesome, dominant!Sevika, dominant!Ran, fingering, squirting, nipple play, short Summary: Reader is experiencing a threesome for the first time with Sevika and Ran. Word count: 1,1k sorry not proofread

You had no idea what happened and how you got into the position you were in. Not that you wanted to complain, but when you left your home you didn’t even dare to dream that in a few hours you would end up in a bedroom with Sevika and Ran.

You made plans with your friends earlier that week, but all of them cancelled. Regardless, you went to The Last Drop alone anyway. It was a slow night, the bar was half empty, but you saw a lot of regulars, including Sevika. Maybe you had death wish, maybe you just had way too much money on your hands, but you eventually sat down to play poker with her. You even won the first few rounds, but you had a feeling she let you win, so you wouldn’t leave after your first loss. Surprisingly enough, Sevika was in a good mood. She usually just rushed in, ordered her whiskey and sat down to play with a serious face, and on that day, she was joking around, and she didn’t even have a drink in her hands.

#i need them #ran arcane #sevika arcane #sevika #ranvika x reader #sevika x reader

fraisescore

contains vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, age gap, younger reader, older Sevika, g!p Sevika, farmer’s daughter reader, dirty talk, counter sex, wall sex, mean sevika

words: 4.1k

—Farmer’s daughter

The afternoon air clings to your skin like syrup—thick and slow. You’re leaning against the doorway in your favorite, short white dress, the one that floats a little when you walk and clings just enough when you stop. Sunlight catches the hem, dust dances at your crimson red boots. You tilt your glass of lemonade against your lips and watch the truck pull up slow, heavy tires crunching gravel like bones.

Then she steps out.

Tall, broad-shouldered, a little weathered but not worn out. Her shirt’s rolled up to the elbows, collar askew like she doesn’t give a damn about anything, and that metal arm of hers glints sharp in the light. She’s got scars you want to trace and a jaw that could cut wire, eyes hidden behind dark lenses. And not once—not once—does she look at you.

Not even when you sip slow. Not even when you lean a little more into the doorframe, hips angled just right, lashes lowered like you’ve done this before.

She’s got a cigarette tucked behind one ear and a walk like she’s been places no good girl’s meant to follow.

You watch her hand disappear into your father’s—tight grip, low voices. Old friends, the kind that drink in silence and talk only when they need to. Your dad says her name once,

“Sevika.”

And still, she doesn’t look at you.

Not until your father gestures toward the porch and says,

“This my daughter.”

That’s when she turns. Slow. Head tilted. Eyes hidden still, but you feel the weight of her attention like heat across your bare collarbone. You smile, soft and sweet like honey on a knife’s edge.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” you say, voice sugar-slow and just a little too polite.

There’s something unreadable in her expression—maybe disinterest, maybe restraint. She nods once.

“Likewise.”

Nothing more.

You’ve been smiled at before—by boys who want things they don’t know how to ask for, by men who think a girl like you is just waiting to be led somewhere. Sevika doesn’t smile. Doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t fall.

And somehow, that makes you want her more.

She walks past you like you’re no different from the creaking porch wood beneath her boots. But your eyes follow the slope of her back, the swing of her stride, the way her flesh hand clenches once before disappearing into her pocket.

You want to know her. She doesn’t want to know you. Yet.

The thing is… Your daddy didn’t say much about her. Just what you already knew. “She’s an old friend,” was all you got, said around a sip of whiskey while he hauled her bag out the back of the truck like it didn’t weigh a thing. Sevika didn’t offer anything else either. Just a nod, a grunt, and a slow look at the cabin by the barn, like she knew her way around a place like already.

The little wooden cabin’s been empty for years even though your father kept it clean. Just a cot, a bathroom, a porch light that flickers sometimes. You watched her head there after dinner, boots thudding low and steady against the dry ground, metal arm catching the moonlight.

You told yourself you’d go to sleep.

But sleep doesn’t come easy when someone like her is sitting just beyond the edge of the dark.

You wait until your father’s bedroom light goes out, until the house is still, until the crickets outside grow loud in the quiet. Then you slip out from your sheets barefoot, your thin nightgown soft against your skin, hair loose around your shoulders like you forgot to care. The window gives you just enough of a view of the barn and the cabin beyond. There, barely glowing in the slightly dark sky of a summer night, a porch light.

She’s still awake.

And you’re done pretending you’re not curious. If you want it, you’ll have it.

The screen door creaks as you push through it, careful, slow. The grass is cool beneath your feet, dew soaking your ankles, and the breeze moves your hem like a secret. You walk toward the light, the smell of hay and old wood thick in the air, and you don’t stop until you see her.

She’s on the porch. Sitting back in a crooked old chair, cigarette in one hand, eyes on the field. Her sleeves are rolled up, shirt wrinkled, prosthetic arm reflecting a dull shine in the porch light. She looks tired. Mean. Like something sharp waiting to be stepped on.

She sees you. Of course she does.

Her brow tightens as she exhales smoke. “You lost?” she says, low and unimpressed.

You smile, soft and fearless, like the little lamb everyone always says you are.

“Nope,” you say, voice calm, sweet. “Couldn’t sleep.”

She says nothing. Just drags her eyes over you, slow. She doesn’t look away from the way your nightgown hangs loose around your thighs, or the shadow of your collarbone in the low light. But her face stays hard. Like she’s pissed to be looking.

“Better count sheep or something. You got no business bein’ out here this late.”

You tilt your head, stepping closer to the porch.

“But neither do you.”

Then you see it —a twitch of her mouth, not a smile exactly, but not nothing. She leans forward a little, cigarette glowing orange at the tip, her gaze sliding back to your face like she’s forcing it there.

“You come out here just to bother me?” she asks.

You shrug. “Maybe. Thought you might want to talk.”

“I don’t.”

You don’t move. Don’t flinch. You cross your arms under your chest and lean against the porch railing, unbothered.

“Well,” you say softly, “I do.”

That gets her to really look at you. Her eyes are dark, sharp, unkind. But they linger again, longer this time, on the way your hair spills down your shoulders, on your bare legs, on the sweet-lipped calm in your expression like you don’t even know what kind of fire you’re standing next to.

“You don’t know what the hell you’re doing,” she mutters. It sounds like a menace, but you’re thrilled.

You lean in a little closer, eyes bright, voice sugar-slow: “Maybe I do.”

She curses under her breath and puts the cigarette out on the railing beside her. Doesn’t tell you to leave.

“You oughta be careful,” Sevika says finally, voice like gravel. “Girls like you, sneakin’ around at night in that little thing. Somebody might get the wrong idea.”

You raise an eyebrow, mouth twitching. “And what kind of girl am I?”

She snorts. It’s not a nice sound.

“The kind who plays pretend with the farm boys, gets bored, and starts actin’ curious ‘cause she thinks someone older’ll give her what she’s lookin’ for.”

Your cheeks flush. Not out of shame, but from the sheer audacity. You step closer, just one step, hands curling on the porch rail, chin lifted just a little.

“Who told you I’m into boys?”

That makes her pause. Her eyes narrow slightly. But not in surprise—in amusement. Like you just walked right into something she saw coming a mile away. She did.

“Oh,” she drawls, smirking now, mean as ever. “You one of those girls.”

You blink. “What do you my those girls?”

She leans back, spreading her legs slightly in that way she does—like she owns whatever dirt she’s standing on.

“Cute thing,” she says, “just outta her daddy’s house, thinkin’ she’s grown. Likes the way it feels when an older woman looks at her. Makes you feel special, doesn’t it?”

Your breath catches just a little. Not because she’s wrong, but because she’s so fucking blunt. Her words hit right where they’re meant to, sharp and careless, and still…

You swallow it down and tilt your head.

“Is that what you think I want?” you ask, voice low, quiet, not backing down.

She shrugs. “I’ve seen girls like you before. Lookin’ for attention.”

You smile, there’s teeth in it now. You step right in front of her knees, not touching her, but close enough to smell smoke and sweat. It makes your knees wobble, just a little.

“And you think you’re not giving me any?”

She’s quiet. You hold her stare, the summer night wrapping around your shoulders like heat. Your voice softens.

“You’re looking at me like you want to teach me a lesson.”

A silence, just for a few seconds. Then she stands.

Slow. Measured.

And when she’s towering you, eyes half-lidded with something sharp behind them, you forget to breathe. Her metal hand rests casually on her belt, her human one lifts to brush a stray strand of hair from your face—not kindly. More like she’s inspecting something she doesn’t trust.

She leans in close, lips near your ear.

“Go back inside, little girl.”

You shiver. Not from cold. But you don’t move.

Instead you whisper, “Make me.”

She exhales slowly through her nose.

“Don’t piss me off even more,” she mutters.

She turns her back on you, like the conversation’s over.

“Thought being mean to me would scare me off?”

Your voice carries in the heat of the night. She stops on the steps, doesn’t look back.

You step behind her, close, the hem of your nightgown brushing your thighs. You’re trembling now—not from fear, but from something reckless and hungry and too full to keep quiet.

You lift your chin and say it, steady:

“Joke’s on you. It’s doing the opposite.”

She turns. Slow. Mechanical. Like she can’t believe you just said that. Her jaw ticks. Her brow drops. Her gaze drags over you again, but there’s no softness in it. Just heat, and disbelief, and something sharper.

“You think I’m playin’ with you?” she asks, low and tight.

“No.” Your voice stays calm. Sweet. Cheeky. Begging for trouble. “I think you’re trying real hard not to want what you want.”

She steps toward you—once. The ground seems to shift with it.

And suddenly you’re staring up at her again, heart in your throat, mouth dry. She smells like smoke and leather and heat. She’s scowling down at you like she could throw you over her shoulder or through a damn wall.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re asking for,” she growls.

You don’t step back. You tilt your head. “Sure I do.”

She scoffs. Mean. Bitter.

“You think some half-baked little crush on the first rough woman you meet makes you ready for this?” She gestures vaguely between the two of you. “You’re a bored little girl with a fantasy.”

“And you’re pissed off cause it’s working,” you say, voice like honey-dripping sin.

Something snaps.

In an instant, her hand—flesh, not metal—grabs your jaw, rough, firm, not quite bruising but close. Not kissing you. Not pulling you closer. Just holding you still. Her face is inches from yours, breath hot, her body radiating something dark and electric that makes your thighs squeeze together before you can stop it.

She looks at you like she’s this close to doing something reckless.

And that’s when she sees it—your pupils blown wide, lips parted, breath hitching not from fear but want.

God, you’re into it.

She curses under her breath. The sound rumbles low in her chest.

Then, just as suddenly, she lets you go. Shoves your face away gently but firmly with the flat of her palm like you’re a temptation she can’t afford.

“You don’t want this,” she mutters, menacing, stepping back. “Trust me.”

You stumble a little, but you don’t fall.

And when she turns and goes inside for real this time, you don’t follow.

But your skin burns with the ghost of her touch. And your chest aches with the weight of something you haven’t had yet.

You don’t sleep that night: And neither does she.

The next day, you just move with ease like nothing happened.

Overalls hanging loose at the waist, crop top clinging soft to your chest and cutting high above your stomach. Bare skin where your shirt ends and your jeans begin, shoulders freckled from the sun. Hair clipped back in a ponytail that’s trying to fall loose—strands curling against your jaw, sticking to your neck in the heat.

You don’t even look at her when you enter the kitchen. You just pour yourself some coffee, lean against the counter, sip slow.

But you know she’s watching.

She’s sitting at the table across from your father, boots planted wide on the worn wood floor, arms crossed. No cigarette this time, but she looks like she needs one. Her jaw’s tight. Her eyes flick up when you walk by, linger when they shouldn’t.

And you offer her a soft, polite smile. Like she didn’t have her fingers on your jaw last night.

You feel her eyes on your back as you walk out.

And you know she’ll keep looking. Every time she thinks you’re not watching. Every time you bend forward to lift something or stretch to reach a high shelf. Her ears are red. She doesn’t say a word.

But her eyes say plenty. Because you both know. You’re going to try again at night.

And later—hours later—when dinner’s over, and the sun is starting to dip below the tree line, you glance out the window of your bedroom again.

The cabin porch light’s on. Just like before.

You wait. Not long. Enough to make her wait,

Then you slip into your nightgown again, fresh from the wash, thin cotton soft against your thighs. You don’t bother with shoes. You don’t bother tying your hair up. You let it fall wild again.

She’s sitting there like she was last night—smoking, quiet, unreadable.

But this time? She looks up when you step into the light.

And she doesn’t look away.

You stop just a few feet from her.

She’s spread out in the old chair like a warning—legs wide, head tilted, cigarette burning low between her fingers. Her shirt’s undone at the throat, sleeves rolled, metal arm resting heavy on the armrest. That scar at her cheek looks darker in the porchlight. Meaner.

You open your mouth, something cocky ready to spill—but you don’t get the chance.

She moves fast. Controlled. A flash of movement, a low growl in her throat. Then her hand is around your wrist, firm and calloused, and she drags you forward.

You let out a small gasp, surprised but not afraid, as she pulls you straight into her lap.

You stumble a little, hands landing against her chest, knees straddling her thighs before you can stop yourself. You’re breathless now, lips parted, the nightgown pushed high over your legs. Her metal arm wraps low around your waist, anchoring you against her.

And her eyes. God, her eyes. Grey, dark and furious and hungry.

“I warned you,” she growls, voice low and harsh against your cheek. “I told you to stay away.”

Your breath hitches.

But you don’t try to move.

You lean in, lips brushing the shell of her ear, and whisper:

“I didn’t want to.”

She exhales sharp through her nose, like she’s pissed at herself more than at you. Her hand slides down your thigh, fingers digging into the bare skin just under the hem of your nightgown. Not soft. Not gentle.

You roll your hips, just a little, and feel how tense she is beneath you.

She curses again, low and dangerous.

“You like being treated rough, huh?” she mutters, pulling back just enough to look at you. Her face is flushed, jaw clenched. “That it?”

You smile, breathless and sweet.

“Only when it’s you.”

That does it.

Her mouth crashes into yours, all teeth and tongue and frustration—nothing gentle. Her hand fists in your hair as she devours you, pulling you tighter against her lap. You moan into her mouth, half-shocked by the force of it—but you don’t stop her. You meet her. Eager, wild, gasping.

She groans when you grind down harder, nails scraping her chest through the thin cotton of her shirt. Her fingers grip your thigh harder—hard enough to leave a mark—and she pulls you against her like she’s claiming you.

“You don’t know what you’ve started,” she mutters against your neck, biting, licking, hands under your gown now, rough and fast. “Don’t come crying when I ruin you.”

You smile through a gasp.

“Not gonna cry.”

You’re already trembling, soaking against the heat of her jeans. And she hasn’t even gotten you inside yet.

Then.

“Inside,” she rasps.

You don’t argue. She stands fast with you in her arms—effortless, like you weigh nothing—and kicks the cabin door open behind her. It swings wide and slams shut with a violent crack against the frame as she hauls you in.

The room is dark but you barely notice. She shoves you back against the counter, hand at your throat—not choking, just holding—her face inches from yours.

“You’ve been walking around all day,” she growls, “actin’ like your mouth ain’t got me thinkin’ about ruining you every goddamn second.”

You moan before you can stop it. Your thighs twitch. Her hand slides down your chest, palm dragging over the thin cotton of your nightgown until she grabs your breast, rough, possessive.

“You like that, don’t you?” she breathes, licking into your mouth between words. “You like me talkin’ to you like that.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Fuck, yes—”

She yanks your nightgown up to your waist with one hand and finds you with the other fingers between your thighs, dragging slick through your folds. Her breath stutters. Her eyes go dark.

“Wet already?” she smirks. “You walked all the way down here with this little pussy drippin’ for me?”

You nod, dizzy, legs trembling, back arching off the wall.

“Pathetic,” she mutters—but her voice shakes, just a little, and she shoves two fingers inside you like she’s punishing you for it. “This what you wanted? Huh?”

You cry out, hand gripping her shoulder, fingernails digging into her skin. She’s relentless, fucking you fast and deep with her fingers, panting against your neck as your slick coats her knuckles.

“Beg for it,” she hisses. “Tell me how bad you need it.”

“Please—fuck, please, Sevika—”

“What? You want me to fill this pretty cunt with my fingers like the desperate little brat you are?” Her mouth is against your ear now. “You want me to split you open ‘til you’re cryin’? Can’t take it?”

But then, she takes her fingers off of you, leaving you mewling at the loss. And she grabs your ass, lifts you effortlessly, and sets you down on the counter, hard enough to rattle the wood beneath you.

Sevika steps between your legs, metal hand gripping your thigh tight, her flesh hand tugging the nightgown up and over your hips in one rough motion.

She doesn’t answer with words—not right away.

Instead, she spits on her fingers and drags them through your slick heat again.

“You’re soaked,” she growls. “Came out here ready to be fucked, huh?”

You bite your lip. “Would’ve taken it last night if you’d let me.”

That earns you a snarl.

“You want it rough?” she asks, pressing her fingers into you, slow but deep this time, knuckles dragging along your walls. “That what you came out here beggin’ for?”

You can’t answer—not really—not with her fingers curling just right, not with her mouth so close to your ear.

She pumps in and out, faster now, her thumb grinding against your clit with practiced pressure, her hips pressing into the counter as she leans in close.

“Say it,” she growls. “Say what you came for.”

You moan, eyes fluttering. “You—fuck, you—I wanted this—wanted you to touch me, to—God—”

“You wanted me inside you,” she cuts in, voice dark, wicked, relentless. “Wanted me to ruin you.”

You nod, panting, gripping the edge of the counter like you’re holding onto the last bit of control.

And then you feel it.

Her hand leaves you for half a second—enough for her to spit again, then reach down, lining herself up against you. Her cock, thick, long and firm against your slick folds now. You suck in a breath, hips lifting, greedy.

She doesn’t hesitate.

She pushes in, slow but firm, the stretch making your head fall back, a broken sound catching in your throat. Sevika groans, hands gripping your waist hard.

“Fuck, look at you,” she mutters, watching you fall apart. “Open like a good fuckin’ girl.”

You moan—loud, breathy, not ashamed.

She sets a rhythm—deep, hard, precise. The slap of her hips against your thighs echoes off the walls of the cabin, and you can’t stay quiet anymore.

“Wanted it so bad,” she pants. “Now you’ve got it. Gonna take all of me, yeah?”

You nod, wild, hair falling from your clip, sticking to your damp skin.

“More,” you whisper. “Harder.”

She grins. “You’re fuckin’ filthy.”

Then she slams into you, again, again, driving you back into the counter, making you cry out as she buries herself to the hilt over and over, thumb still circling your clit, metal arm locked tight around your back so you can’t squirm away.

Not that you’d ever want to.

“Next time,” she growls into your ear, “you knock on my door like that—I’m not stoppin’. Got it?”

You sob, desperate. “Yes—yes—Sevika, please—don’t stop—”

And she doesn’t.

You come, hard. You think she’s going to pull you into a kiss—maybe even carry you to the bed—but Sevika doesn’t do gentle tonight.

She lifts you.

Like you weigh nothing.

One arm under your thighs, the other at your back, she hoists you up against her body, your legs swinging uselessly for a second before instinct makes you wrap them tight around her waist. Her strength is effortless. Like she could carry you all the way to town and back without breaking a sweat.

But she doesn’t carry you to the bed.

She slams you against the cabin wall, knocking the air from your lungs.

You cry out—sharp, shocked—but your arms are already around her neck, holding tight as her hips grind up between your thighs again. Her cock presses firm and perfect where you need it, and you’re already gasping again.

Her metal hand slips beneath your thigh, holding you open, wide, exposed. Her flesh hand grabs your jaw, tilts your head so your throat stretches for her.

“You like that?” she growls, low, harsh. “Like bein’ tossed around?”

You nod desperately, your voice barely working. “Yes—yes, Sevika—fuck—”

“That’s what you wanted, huh?” she pants, biting your neck. “Wanted someone to take it from you?”

She grinds up harder, her cock sliding against your swollen cunt, still wet and fluttering from the last orgasm.

You sob against her shoulder.

“P-please—Sevika—can’t—”

“You can,” she snaps, tightening her grip, rutting into you hard now, again and again. “You wanted this. Begged for it.”

She fucks you like she owns you, and maybe she does—at least tonight. The way your body clings to her, clenching with every thrust, every groan that rumbles through her chest. You’re pressed between her and the wall, nothing solid except her body, her strength, her control.

Your nails dig into her shoulders, and you whimper her name over and over like a prayer.

She growls against your mouth. “Come on. One more. You’re not done ‘til I say.”

And you do. With a cry that turns into a gasp, then a broken moan, your body jerks against her. Your legs tighten, your head falls back, and Sevika watches you fall apart like it’s what she was born to do.

When you finally collapse against her, twitching and breathless, she walks you to the bed.

Still in her arms. Like you’re weightless. Like she’s not even tired.

She lays you down gentle—for the first time all night—and brushes the hair from your sweaty forehead.

Then she leans down, lips brushing your ear.

“Next time you come knockin’ in the middle of the night,” she murmurs, voice rough and soaked in pride, “you say please.”

#sevika x reader #sevika smut #i need her #tears down my thighs

creampiedby

Boyfriend! Tenya, at the beginning of your relationship, Tenya always asked your permission before the slightest gesture of affection.

"Can I... hold your hand?" he would ask, a slight blush on his cheeks, as if this simple touch were a monumental step. And each time, his eyes shone when your fingers intertwined with his, as if it were a treasure he had to protect.

Boyfriend! Tenya is modest about his feelings. Even though he already adored you, he waited four long months before saying those three precious words to you. That evening, he looked incredibly nervous, his hands clenched around your coat as he breathed a barely audible but emotional "I love you."

Boyfriend! Tenya is an absolute gentleman. He always holds the door for you, makes sure you're walking on the safest side of the sidewalk, matches his stride with yours, and tucks your arm protectively into his as soon as you're outside. He does everything he can to make you feel safe, and every gesture betrays how much he literally treats you like a princess.

Boyfriend! Tenya, nothing is left to chance. If he offers you a drink, he makes sure it's exactly the right temperature. If he accompanies you, he double-checks to make sure you're not cold. He always worries a little too much, but in a way that makes you want to smile, because he does it out of love.

Boyfriend! Tenya always gets up before you in the morning to make you a full breakfast with your favorite drink. He loves seeing your smiling face every morning.

Boyfriend! Tenya can't stand to see you carrying heavy things. Even if it's just your bag, he takes it for you, pretending it's more convenient. “Please baby.. let me carry your bag.”

Boyfriend! Tenya is always reassuring you about your condition; he's always worried about you. He sends you little messages: 'Have you eaten?', 'Don't forget to hydrate,' or 'Please get some rest.'

a/n: i will write about Tenya for my three tenyagirly counting myself 😝 ⟢﹒ masterlist

#i love him so much #i wish he was real #crying because hes not real #hes so babygirl #iida tenya #mha iida #iida x reader #iida tenya x reader #bnha iida #mha tenya #tenya fluff #mha x reader #tenya iida

stellar-quirks

of warm hugs and rainy days ✴︎ iida tenya x reader

details: fluff | platonic/romantic relationship | gn!reader | ~2.2k words | based on a life-changing hug i received from a classmate + stream of consciousness blabbing about how much i love tenya <3

Iida Tenya has a stellar attendance record. Not once has he been tardy, and it isn’t surprising when he likes to arrive one hour early. Sometimes, you wish you had a quirk as speedy or convenient as his, but you make it to the classroom around the same time, nonetheless.

It’s been a habit of yours since middle school, actually. Unlike Iida, who thrives on a genuine desire for punctuality, you like giving yourself enough time to settle in and find peace of mind. The sight of the sun bathing the campus in a warm, orange glow has never failed to calm you.

For the first fifteen to twenty minutes, it’s always you and Iida. You two acknowledge each other’s presence, but choose to respect the silence of the classroom. Then one by one, your classmates pile in, and the energy of Class 1A brightens further. Before you know it, the school day begins.

It’s been a lovely ritual for you, especially with the integration of heroics classes, something that had only been a dream to you a few months ago. UA is as challenging as you expected, but you’re grateful for every chance to explore your quirk.

However, challenging has recently taken on a new meaning. The curriculum was understandable, but a surprise villain attack during a class trip to the USJ? It hasn’t even been two whole weeks, but your class was already thrown into real danger. It wasn’t anyone but the villains’ fault, of course, but that was the very first time you’ve ever tasted the fear of death.

Now, you’re constantly on your toes, worrying that someone could just jump you on the street after recognizing your iconic uniform (or worse, your face and power). It’s hard to quell the swirling of your stomach when you think about what could happen later in the day. Regular training? Or a truly terrifying experience?

So now, when you arrive at the 1A classroom, you sit down and put your head on the desk. You no longer run through your homework for a last-minute check. Your lunchbox remains closed, despite telling yourself that even a small snack for breakfast would suffice.

#HES REAL #I SCREAM FROM MY ENCLOSURE #iida tenya #tenya iida #my hero academia x reader #mha x reader #tenya x reader #iida x reader

barbieandkento

₍^. .^₎⟆ synopsis: nanami wakes up in a hospital - confused, dazed, and suddenly kissed by his attractive doctor. who turns out to be his wife that he can't remember. word count: 2.7k

nanami wakes to the sound of persistent beeping.

at first, he thinks it must be his alarm clock. but it can't be, he reasons, because it's not an uninterrupted noise. rather, it's flicking on and off in a consistent rhythm.

the next thing he notices is the smell. harsh disenfectants, a mix of citrus and bleach. it lacks the smell of his laundry detergent - sandalwood and bergamot - and now that he thinks about it, his sheets were never this itchy and dry.

when he forces open his eyes, they're immediately blinded by the flourscent lighting up ahead. his eyes blinking furiously against the white burst of light to adjust to his surroundings.

he realizes his regular suit has been replaced with a hospital gown, white and frumpy with printed blue squares. his feet are bare against the stale white sheets, the same shade of white as the walls enveloping the room. the darkness outside the window tells him that he must've woken up late at night. a quiet ticking clock on the wall confirms his suspicions - 10.28pm.

the beeping, it turns out, was his heart monitor. situated carefully next to a small bedside table with water and an untouched sandwich. there's a small note next to it, in beautiful cursive writing someone has written - 'feed yourself, kento!' - in black sharpie. examining the sandwich up closer, he can see it's turkey and pesto (his favorite).

to his left, there's a single chair with a cardigan draped over it (a cardigan certainly not belonging to him, nanami notes). on the seat, there's a newspaper open to a crossword puzzle and a pen resting carefully on top.

#nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento angst #jjk angst #jujustsu kaisen x reader

sunflwerscribes-deactivated2026

12:00am - Tenya Iida

Pushing open the door silently, you slipped through and shut it behind you. Your eyes scan the library for the person you're looking for before spotting him at the far corner on the sofa, booked propped in his lap and glasses on the bridge of his nose.

Making your way behind the furniture and towards him, you come straight up behind him and pause.

Snaking your arms around his neck you lean down, resting your chin on your arm supported by his right shoulder.

"Whatcha readin'?"

He takes his eyes off the page, tilting his head back to make eye contact with you. You're so close you can feel his slow breaths on your face and he can feel yours on his.

His eyes have a gleam of adoration as he leans his head back the rest of the way to rest on your upper chest, right below your left shoulder.

He takes a little to answer, too enthralled by looking at you like you just asked him about his favorite thing in the world instead of what book he's currently reading.

"Hmm," he hums, a filler noise for the silence of the library and the question he's been asked. "'ts Pride and Prejudice my dear."

Your face breaks out into a smile and he notices, of course he'd be reading your favorite book.

His right hand grabs yours and he pulls you around the left of the couch, never letting go, even as his arm is all the way over his head, determined to lead you the whole way. The exact same move he'd done with you a thousand times during a dance in the ballroom, but it made your stomach flutter nonetheless.

You stop in front of him and twirl to face him, sitting down just a second later and propping your legs over his lap.

His hands place the book on the couch arm before pulling your legs to a more comfortable position, his thumb stroking back and forth on your thigh as you situate.

Finally comfortable and finished with your squirming you curl up fully next to him, tucking yourself under his arm with your head partially on his shoulder.

Leaning back and draping the arm your tucked into around you, he grabs the book with his other hand.

Picking up where he left off he reads out loud this time. Flipping the pages is a struggle with one hand, but he's too content with you tucked into him to make any change about it.

"How are you this evening my dear?" He quotes from the book, and you're almost enticed to answer.

"'Very well', she said. 'Only I wish you would not call me my dear.'"

"'Why?' Was his response."

"You call me my dear." You interrupted. He smiled.

"Yes, that I do." His voices trailed off at the end as he leaned to press his lips to your forehead before resuming his prior position and continuing.

"'Because it's what my father always calls my mother when he's crossed about something'"

"'What endearments am I allowed?' His question was answered in a brief pause."

"'Well,' she paused and smiled. 'Let me think.'"

"Lizzy," he read and you joined in, having read this book far too many times to count.

"My dear." he teased with a smile. "Would you like to finish the book seeing as you probably could from memory?"

You know that was meant to be a playful jab at you but you didn't take it, only smiling up at him.

"Mmm I'm not sure yet, maybe you should continue. I quite like hearing your voice." You teased right back.

"Oh well then I shouldn't waste any time," and he dove right back into the book.

"As I was saying," he darted his eyes toward you, playfully side eyeing you. "'Lizzy, for every day. My pearl,' her smile widened at that one, 'for Sundays.'"

"'And,' she thought for a moment. 'Goddess divine, but only on very special occasions.'"

He looked over at you as he recited that line, that one look paired with his words of Goddess divine sending the butterflies in your stomach swooshing around.

He began again.

"'And,' Mr. Darcy began, 'what shall I call you when I am cross? Mrs Darcy?' He inquired playfully."

"'No.' Elizabeth stated. A breath. 'No, you may only call me Mrs. Darcy when you are completely and perfectly, and incandescently happy.'"

"Y'know I never asked," he spoke again, breaking the train of words from the book.

"How are you this evening, Mrs. ___?"

Your smile somehow brightened even more than before and your cheeks flushed a red hue. The butterflies were flying faster now, their wings weren't catching a break.

You decided not to answer, keeping with the flow of dialogue from the book.

He leaned toward you.

"Mrs. Iida." He whispered, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek.

Again, the whisper only getting softer as he goes along.

"Mrs. Iida." A kiss on the tip of your nose.

"Mrs. Iida." Right below your mouth.

Your heart was throbbing and your head was spinning with the chemicals flowing through it. One more.

"Mrs. Iida." The room was silent enough to where you could hear the softness of the final whisper.

He looked at your eyes, like you hung the stars in the sky and made the constellations just for him to look at. Like you drew them with him in mind and the stars listened. His personal Goddess above.

No wonder he glanced at you when he read the words Goddess divine.

Your breaths mixed, and what was only a few seconds seemed like hours before he closed the distance. His lips pressed to yours and you tilted your head against him slightly, fitting perfectly into each other.

Your hands came up to rest on his chest as one of his held your waist with a firm but soft grip. The one not around your shoulders came up to hold your face, thumb stroking your cheek, and when you pulled away, under your eye.

The kiss was soft but deep, emotions flowing between you two through one touch.

"I think," he started, letting out a breath as he paused. His voice is still a whisper, as if anything louder would break everything that has been made.

"I think it suites you my love, yes?"

All you could do was nod, eyes feeling heavy with emotion and heart feeling full with love.

You pressed forward again, breaking off script for another kiss.

The night ended and the new day began just like that, you two curled into each other, with soft kisses and hushed words of love.

The book, all but forgotten on the floor.

Author: Umm so I may have gotten a super fluffy idea and I'm running off no sleep, so instead of working on the three fics I'm supposed to be working on I wrote this (I'm sorry 🙏🏻)

I'm a Pride and Prejudice person through and through and I'm supposed to not make a oneshot with it?? I used the movie ending because it fit better with the situation but I had to improvise and write it like it was an actual book, the things we do.

Also I thought the little detail of he's looking at you like you asked him about his favorite thing in the world, because you're his favorite thing. Idk if anyone would catch that or if it makes sense I'm sleep deprived.

#tenya iida #i love him #hes so babygirl #iida tenya x reader #Iida Tenya fluff #Tenya iida fluff

katsukilvr

drummer!katsuki notices their die hard fan, reader. ༄ quirks don’t exist in this AU, shotoxsero, minaxkirishima, jirouxdenki, reader smokes,author doesn’t smoke so not accurate, so does bakugo, swearing ༄ pt.1,

music blares into your ears, the bass from the speakers so intense you feel it in your heart, your soul. this is the fifth concert you’ve been to of this band called, SPARKNITE. you took one listen on spotify and immediately fell in love with their music.

the band consisted of the lead singer, mina ashido, the second vocalist, eijirou kirishima, the guitarist, denki kaminari, the bassist, sero hanta, the keyboardist, kyoka jirou, and their drummer, katsuki bakugo.

you were introduced to their music because of your friend, shoto. he’s dating their bassist, sero, and ever since then, you guys have been front row, screaming your lungs and heart out, and dancing like nobodies watching. atleast you were, because for the past 3 concerts, shoto had been given backstage access cause of his boyfriend and he hangs out there instead of in the crowd during shows instead. he tried to get you back there too, but they didn’t know you well enough like they did todoroki, the least they could do was give you 50% discounts for tickets to their shows. you take what you can get and it’s not like your complaining.

it’s better upfront anyway. you hear the music better, see the light effects, the smoke, but more importantly, the band. the emotion in their faces, in their body language and the way they channel it into their own instrument and they all manage to make it sound harmonious. you and everyone in that crowd think it’s impressive, and that’s why your willing to empty your wallet just to go to these concerts. it wasn’t a shit ton of money, they weren’t huge, but big enough to be known amongst the rock and indie music community.

back to the present, you were singing your heart out at the barrier, going word for word with mina, laughing and having the time of your life. little did you know someone was watching you silently in the background, their drummer, katsuki bakugo.

when you first came in with shoto, sero’s quiet boyfriend, he didn’t seem to mind you or his friends partner. you both were quiet. mature. well-mannered. he liked that.

but when you showed up to their show, dressed with a bunch of jewelry adorning your neck, hands, arms, and hair, along with your over the top outfit that he thought was so pretty. he saw a different side of you that night. a beautiful fan girl, a real one. one that knew every lyric, every beat, every solo. one that’d only glance his way a couple times. one that’d flash him the brightest smile before going back to dancing.

the first time you did smile at him, he was stunned. time seemed to slow and he could only see you. his drum sticks ended up fumbling out of his hands and he scrambled to pick them up, muttering curses under his breath before getting back to the song, only staring straight ahead for the rest of the night except for..

the second time, he stared. he looked back, a slight flush on his face that you had just reduced was an effect of the real hot temperature that day. not because when you smiled at him, his heart would skip a beat. he ended up nodding at you as a hello.

the third time, it was your second time there with shoto, and adorning your t-shirt, was the bands logo.

their merch shirts were somewhat special, on the front, their logo was scribbled on the chest, and on the back, it was a printed signature of one of the band members. fans would usually wear their favorite on their back.

all night he had tried to see who was on the back of your shirt, squinting everytime you’d slightly turn. but when you smiled at him, he smiled back, his faint dimples showing as he gestured for you to turn around and show your back.

there. there it was. his signature on your back with little drumsticks next to it.

the smile on his face after was unstoppable, now that he knew he was your favorite, he didn’t have to be so nervous when you’d even turn his way.

he didn’t know why he felt nervous, flustered even, about you. he knew you were beautiful, and he assured himself that was the case.

it was safe to say that after that moment, he smiled back at you every single time you flashed your own.

tonight, their show ended extra late. you spent a little time collecting confetti from the floor to put in your phone case, a tribute to every concert you’ve been too. you were walking out, waiting for your uber to arrive as you shivered, standing on the curb next to the road as the cool midnight breeze crawled down your spine. you dug through your leather jacket, pulling out your box of cigarettes and taking one out along with a lighter as you let the cigarette dangle from your lips, lighting it before taking a long drag, slowly smiling as you put away your stuff.

you heard someone clear their throat, before a rough, deep, but unfamiliar voice spoke up.

“hey. y/n, right?” he grumbled, stepping beside you, his own cigarette dangling from his fingers, unlit.

your heart fluttered immediately, it was your favorite member of the band, and your favorite drummer of all time! in front of you! and he knew your name?!?! you pulled yourself together quickly, “yeah?” you managed to voice out, exhaling the smoke from your lung through your nose.

“hey.”

“hi.”

a beat of silence. a slightly awkward silence. you didn’t know what to say. should you stay nonchalant? should you geek out about SPARKNITE? should you fangirl about him? probably not. you decide to stick with the quiet demeanor.

“got a light?” he muttered out, glancing down at you. that’s when he realized your height difference, he was about a head taller than you. it made him smile.

you looked up at him, smiling back, before your eyes flickered back down, “oh. yeah—yeah i got one here.” you said, digging in your pockets for your lighter again when you finally grasped it. you took it out, holding it out for him when you realized his cig was now hanging from his lips. he pursed them slightly to hold it up for you as he leaned down to your level, smirking slightly.

you could’ve sworn your heart stopped, your hands suddenly sweaty and shaky. you flickered on the lighter, lighting his cigarette, staring into his eyes.

“thanks.” he murmured with a smile, straightening his back again, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “you got a ride?” he asked, turning back to face the road, tilting his head, taking out one hand to hold his smoke.

“yeah, my ubers’ getting here soon.” you nodded, a comfortable silence falling between the two of you as you stared at cars passing by.

“enjoyed the show?” he asked, breaking the silence. “yeah. your concerts are the best.” you giggled, nodding your head. he chuckled at that, and until that point, you didn’t know a laugh could be so attractive.

“i’m glad.” he responded with his own nod, not looking at you. “i like seeing you front row at our shows. your energy.. it’s electric.” he said, casually. you had to act casual, as if the compliment didn’t give you butterflies and make your knees weak. “thanks..—uh.. i like seeing you play.” you retorted, laughing softly.

god, he could listen to that sound forever.

“thanks.” he smiled, looking down at you. “listen—uh.. come to our next show, yeah? my treat.” he muttered, taking out his wallet and giving you a hundred and fifty bucks. more than enough for their next show, especially with that discount.

you furrowed your brows, looking up at him. “really? thank you so much.” you muttered, taking the cash, your fingers brushing lightly, a touch that gave both of you goosebumps. he nodded in response, before turning back to see him friends calling him over for a ride home.

“it’s been nice, y/n. hope to see you soon.” he said, putting out his cig with the bottom of his shoe.

“see you soon, dynamite.” you smiled, calling him by his stage name.

“katsuki.”

“what?”

“call me katsuki.”

he said before nodding, moving to walk to the rest of the band, shoto waving to you from a distance as you waved back.

soon enough, your uber arrived and you got home safe and sound, managing to freshen up and scroll on instagram before getting a notification.

dynamights.the.best started following you

#mha x reader #katsuki bakugo imagine #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugo katuski #bakugou fluff

thehoneybeestings

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲

𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚!𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐚!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

‧₊˚── Synopsis: Sevika has grown awfully fond of the owner of Zaun's only bakery; in fact, she'd do anything for her. So, when a hard heat hits the baker, Sevika can't help but offer a helping hand.

Word Count: 3.3k Content/Warnings: omegaverse! if it's not your thing don't read it; nsfw, top!sev, bottom!reader, soft dom!sev, reader is referred to w fem terms/pronouns, reader has female anatomy, sev has a dick bc i think all alpha's do?? idk im new here A/N: so... heyyyy guys... yes i know this is not on my wip list but i was struck with divine inspiration and who am i to work against higher forces! this is my first time dabbling in omegaverse so i hope it suffices...

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

#sevika x reader #alpha!sevika #sevika smut #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #sevika one shot

chososbbyg

Girl you loud! - C.K.

Synopsis: When Choso, with his label of the geekiest anime nerd on campus, somehow becomes best friends with the loudest, hottest person on campus, everyone was confused—except them. Years of playful teasing, long stares, and late-night tension finally snap in a moment too charged to ignore. One touch turns into a kiss, a kiss into clothes on the floor, and suddenly, they’re not just breaking the rules.

Pairing: Choso Kamo x fem!reader

Content: fem!reader, friends to lovers, smut, first times, oral (female receiving), cúnnilingus, pet names, swearing, tummy bulges,

wc: 6.8k

Choso was the geekiest geek you’d ever met—and not in a cute, socially awkward “oh my god he likes Star Wars” kind of way. No, Choso Kamo was deep in it. He wore the same black hoodie like it was stitched to his soul, kept a Yujiro Hanma phone charm dangling from his cracked screen, and didn’t speak to anyone unless they spoke fluent anime references first.

You? You were loud. Loud in the way that filled hallways, group chats, and Friday night parties. People knew your laugh before they knew your name. You were the person who somehow sat at everyone’s lunch table, the one professors low-key tolerated because you were smart and had jokes. The kind of person who could walk into a room and make it warmer just by being there.

So when people saw you hanging around Choso—quiet, brooding, mysterious Choso—they blinked twice. Then three times. Then again when you waved to him in the quad and he actually waved back.

"What the hell is going on?" someone had whispered once in lecture, watching you pass Choso a candy bar like it was a love letter.

The answer wasn’t dramatic. You’d been paired for a group project in second-year psychology—something painfully dry about memory retention and dopamine levels. He’d mumbled maybe three words to you that first meeting, scribbled out most of the research in precise, blocky handwriting, and then disappeared when it was time to present. You’d carried the project on your back with your voice and charisma, he’d carried it with raw academic firepower. And somehow, it worked.

You didn’t stop talking after that.

Well—you talked. He mostly listened.

But he did start sitting closer to you in class. You noticed. And he did start replying to your memes. Not with full sentences, but with “LMAO” and sometimes even an emoji. And once? He sent you a Gintama reaction image and you nearly passed out.

At some point, it just became normal. You’d swing by his dorm with bubble tea and chips during cram season. He’d send you anime recs with time stamps and emotional warnings. You’d call him late at night to rant about people who couldn’t take a hint. He’d hum in response, or sometimes say something low and dry that made you laugh until you cried.

He was calm, steady, and weirdly good at remembering the small things. You were a wildfire. He never tried to put you out.

And maybe that’s why you never noticed when the tension started creeping in.

Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered when you sat cross-legged on his bed, flipping through a psych textbook and munching chips. Maybe it was how he never pulled away when your knees bumped, or how your teasing started getting more flirtatious—more like testing the waters than just messing around.

But there was a moment. A small one.

It was late—2 a.m., maybe. You were on his bed, scrolling through Instagram while he sat at his desk, sketching something. You’d kicked off your shoes, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, and you’d said, “You ever think about how weird it is that we’re friends?”

He didn’t look up.

“You say that like you’re slumming it,” he replied, pencil moving in slow, controlled strokes.

You rolled onto your stomach, chin in your hand. “Nah. Just saying it surprises people.”

“They think you’re too loud to be friends with someone like me.”

You paused. “You think I’m too loud?”

His pencil stopped.

He looked up, met your gaze, and said in that quiet, even voice: “I think you’re loud in a way that drowns everything else out. And sometimes… I like that.”

Something shifted in your chest. Something warm. Something dangerous.

But before you could say anything else, he looked back down at his sketchpad.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Or so you thought.

If anyone asked, you’d still say you and Choso were “just friends.”

It was easy to say. Easy to laugh off the looks when you shared your snacks with him during lectures or when he let you lean on his shoulder during anime marathons without flinching. You’d make a joke about adopting a local stray goth. He’d grunt and roll his eyes like he didn’t secretly enjoy the attention.

But under all the teasing, something heavier was forming—quiet and persistent, like fog creeping under a door.

You noticed it in the way he let you talk endlessly about dumb drama in your friend group, nodding along even when you knew he didn’t care who fucked who at last week’s party. Or the way he always had your favorite drink in the mini fridge, no matter how randomly your cravings changed.

You noticed it when you were at a house party, surrounded by music and bodies and energy, and your brain glitched when someone kissed your neck from behind—and it wasn’t him. You didn’t even want it to be him… right?

And you noticed it when you caught him watching you. Not in a creepy way. But in a focused way. Like he was cataloguing your habits, your smiles, the way your fingers curled when you were thinking.

One night, after a long day of back-to-back classes and even more back-to-back people, you showed up at his door, dropped onto his bed, and groaned into his pillow.

“I hate everyone,” you declared.

He looked up from his manga. “Everyone?”

“Everyone but you.” You peeked up. “I saved you from the purge.”

A pause. Then: “I’m honored.”

You rolled over, arms splayed wide. “Do you ever get tired of being the smart, mysterious loner?”

“No.”

“Do you ever get tired of being this hot?” you teased, shooting him a wink.

His eyes flicked to you over the edge of the page. “Do you?”

You froze. Just for a second. Then laughed it off, like always. But that warmth in your chest returned. Like it always did with him now. It wasn’t a crush. Not really. He wasn’t the type you normally went for. He didn’t chase. He didn’t flirt back the way others did.

But there was something about the way he looked at you—like he saw you and didn’t flinch. Didn’t try to make you smaller or quieter or easier to deal with.

Choso was quiet, but he wasn’t soft. He didn’t pretend to be clueless when you flirted. He just held it in that deep, unreadable expression, like he was deciding whether or not to answer a question on a test that wasn’t graded.

Still, nothing ever happened—not until one night, everything started unraveling.

It started normal. Netflix, takeout, some light roasting.

“Your taste in anime is garbage,” you said, pointing to Fire Force which was playing on his tv.

“And yet you watched every episode,” he deadpanned, biting into a spring roll.

“I was waiting for it to get good!”

“It never did,” he said. “That’s the point.”

You snorted, stretching out on his bed while he sat at the edge. Your foot nudged his thigh absentmindedly. He didn’t move.

“I’m bored,” you said, phone abandoned, eyes drifting up toward him. “Entertain me.”

“I’m not your jester.”

“Not with that attitude.”

You poked his side. He caught your wrist.

You both froze.

It was the first time he’d grabbed you. His fingers were loose around your skin, thumb brushing along the underside of your wrist without thinking. It wasn’t aggressive. It wasn’t even firm.

But it made your whole arm light up.

Your breath hitched. “You’re touching me.”

“You touched me first.”

You didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

“I do that a lot,” you said, softer this time.

“I know.”

Silence stretched. Your pulse kicked up. You weren’t sure when you started looking at his mouth instead of his eyes, but it was happening. It was definitely happening.

And then he let go.

And it was over.

But not really. Not for you.

You didn’t say anything the rest of the night. You just sat closer than usual. Let your leg remained pressed to his. Laughed a little too hard at his dry jokes. You watched the way his fingers twitched, the way his jaw tightened when you touched his knee to “adjust your seating.”

And he didn’t stop you.

That night, in your own bed, you couldn’t sleep. Your skin still buzzed from that tiny point of contact. Your mind wouldn’t shut up. It felt like a circuit had closed. Like something electric was just waiting to spark.

You picked up your phone. Opened the text thread.

You: So are we flirting or am I just hot and delusional

Three dots appeared. Then disappeared.

Then again.

And again.

Then nothing.

You stared. Heart in your throat.

Then finally:

Choso: Not delusional.

You stared at the screen, lips parted.

No emoji. Just a single sentence that made your brain short-circuit.

You: Cool. Just checking. Goodnight emo boy.

Choso: Night princess.

You turned your phone over and screamed into your pillow.

It wasn’t that anything changed between you and Choso. It was just that… more of the world faded when it was the two of you.

Like tonight.

You were sitting on the floor of his dorm, your back against his bed, legs stretched out and socked toes brushing against his knee. He was slouched in his desk chair, head tilted to the side, reading over some article about cognitive bias for a psych elective neither of you actually liked.

The only sound in the room was the soft hum of his fan and the occasional crinkle of chip bag plastic between your fingers.

“Confirmation bias is fake,” you muttered. “I know I’m right because I’m always right.”

Choso didn’t even look up. “That’s exactly what it is.”

You tossed a chip at him. He dodged it with barely a tilt of his head.

“God, you’re annoying,” you grumbled, mostly for effect.

He flipped a page. “You came over.”

You scoffed. “Because you have snacks.”

“You brought the snacks.”

“…Details.”

Choso didn’t smile. Not really. But the corners of his mouth curved just enough to make you feel like you won something.

This was how it always went. You made noise, he absorbed it. You sprawled, he stayed still. Like opposite poles of a magnet — no push, no pull, just a kind of quiet equilibrium. You’d never really had that with anyone else.

The silence returned. But it was a good silence. A comfortable one.

You glanced up at him — hoodie sleeves pushed up, legs crossed loosely, glasses perched low on his nose. The warm lamplight made his skin look softer. He looked… peaceful.

“Do you ever get tired of me?” you asked suddenly.

Choso blinked. “What?”

“I’m loud. And all over the place. You’re, like, zen. Doesn’t that clash?”

He shrugged, still reading. “Not really.”

You blinked. “Why not?”

“Because you’re not just loud. You’re also consistent.”

You stared at him.

“...thanks.”

He shrugged again.

You nudged his leg lightly with your foot. “Be careful. You’re sounding dangerously close to affectionate.”

“I’ll survive.”

You didn’t push it. Just smiled a little and kept eating your chips.

Later, you ended up stretched across his bed, half on your stomach, phone dangling in one hand as you scrolled through a shared playlist of Deftones and Frank Ocean. Choso was at the foot of the bed now, typing something for his assignment.

“Do you want music or silence?” you asked.

“Whatever you want.”

“You hate that answer.”

He glanced back at you. “No. I hate it when people say it and don’t mean it.”

“…But you mean it?”

He nodded.

You stared at the back of his head for a second, then hit play on Sextape, which filled the room like soft rain.

It felt… nice.

“Did you ever think we’d be friends?” you asked out of nowhere.

“Not really.”

“Wow. Rude.”

“I didn’t think you noticed me.”

You sat up a bit. “Of course I did. You were the guy who read Parasyte under the bleachers during spirit rallies.”

“And you were the girl who led the spirit rallies.”

“Balance,” you said with a grin.

Choso gave a half-nod like he agreed.

You settled back into the bed, watching him type in silence. There was something satisfying about it — being with someone you didn’t have to perform around. You could exist as you were: messy, loud, unfiltered. And he never told you to tone it down. He just… let you be.

And sometimes, you let yourself wonder why that felt like such a relief.

You left around midnight. He walked you to the elevator like he always did.

As you stepped inside, you glanced back at him.

“Hey, Choso?”

“Yeah?”

You raised your eyebrows. “This sounds dumb, but… thanks for always letting me be weird in your space.”

He blinked, like he wasn’t sure how to answer that.

Then he nodded. “You’re never weird.”

The elevator doors closed before you could say anything back.

But you were smiling the whole way home.

You didn’t plan on seeing Choso every day. It just started happening.

A shared class here, a library session there. Then it was lunch. A late walk to campus. Then suddenly you were texting him just to say, “I’m eating a bagel and it reminded me of you because it’s kinda plain but reliable” and he’d reply with, “I hope the bagel chokes you.”

It was your love language.

You found yourself moving through campus differently, like your internal compass now tilted slightly in his direction. You didn’t even realize you were scanning the quad for his hoodie until the rare days he wasn’t there.

He never really sought you out, not first. But he never said no when you showed up either. Just slid his laptop over so you could squeeze into the booth beside him. Or held out his water bottle without being asked. Or saved the last rice cracker snack for you even though you’d made fun of it the week before.

One Thursday, you caught him waiting outside your lecture hall.

He didn’t say he was waiting for you. Just handed you an iced matcha and started walking beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t the drink that made your chest feel warm. It was the fact that he remembered you liked it “even though it tastes like grass.”

It wasn’t romantic. Not yet.

But you started to learn the shape of his silence.

Choso wasn’t quiet the way other people were. He wasn’t empty. His silences were full — like pages he hadn’t turned yet, thoughts he hadn’t shared. He spoke when it mattered, and when he didn’t, you filled the space with your noise.

It worked.

You talked about dumb anime tropes, weird professors, whether your resident advisor was a lizard person. He added one-liners here and there, deadpan but sharp. When he did laugh — really laugh — it was soft, almost like it surprised him.

You started collecting those laughs like rare cards.

You didn’t know when it started mattering this much. When the first thing you looked for in a crowded room became him. When the walk back to your own dorm after hanging out started feeling heavier.

You weren’t in love.

You weren’t.

You just liked the way his presence made you feel a little less scrambled. Like he grounded you — your chaos wrapped in his calm.

You hadn’t had that before.

One night, you showed up at his room after a crappy day. No warning, no reason. Just a hoodie, your keys, and a frown.

He opened the door, took one look at you, and stepped aside.

“You’re not going to ask what’s wrong?” you said.

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

So you collapsed onto his bed, face first, groaning into his blanket.

He sat on the floor beside the bed, legs crossed, notebook balanced on his lap.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

Eventually, you said, “I bombed my presentation. Like, full system meltdown. Word soup. Panic stammering. One girl visibly cringed. I think my soul left my body.”

Choso turned a page in his notebook. “She probably has no soul of her own. That’s why she needed yours.”

You laughed into the blanket. “Why are you like this?”

“It’s a coping mechanism.”

You rolled onto your side to face him. “You ever mess up like that?”

“Once. In middle school. My voice cracked in the middle of a debate round and I still think about it when I try to sleep.”

“Trauma twins.”

He gave you a small smile.

You watched him work in silence for a while. You liked his hands. Not in a weird way — just how precise they were. Thoughtful. You liked the way he held his pen like it was an extension of his fingers.

You thought about asking him to stay quiet with you for a little longer. But you didn’t have to.

He already was.

Things blurred after that. You stopped noticing what day it was when you were with him. The hours just slipped past.

Once, he caught you staring off into space during a movie and handed you a pillow without a word.

Another time, you fell asleep at his desk while he was studying. You woke up to a hoodie draped over your shoulders and a single post-it stuck to your forehead:

“Drool doesn’t count as a contribution to the group project.”

You kept the note in your phone case.

You still weren’t touching. Not really. A knee bump here, a hand brushed there. Nothing anyone else would notice. But you were keeping track.

And he was letting you stay longer. Later.

One night, walking back from the dining hall, you told him, “You’re my favorite place to be.”

He blinked, looked away, and said, “You’re weird.”

But you saw the way his ears turned red under the streetlight.

You’d sent Choso something dumb — a meme about anime hair physics and a “this is you” comment. Normally, he’d reply with a dry “Blocked.” Or a timestamped picture of the manga shelf at his favorite store. Or even just a dot.

But this time, nothing.

An hour passed. Then three. Then the whole day.

You didn’t spiral — you weren’t that kind of person — but you did open your chat with him a few times just to stare at the read receipt that wasn’t there.

You tried to brush it off. People got busy. Maybe he was in the zone. Maybe he’d dropped his phone in ramen broth or was saving a cat from a tree. But still — it felt off.

The next day, he showed up at your table in the library like nothing happened.

“Hey,” he said, dropping into the seat beside you like he hadn’t gone radio silent for 24 hours. “You print the notes?”

You blinked at him. “...Yeah.”

He looked at you, waiting.

You passed him the paper without a word.

He didn’t mention the silence, and you didn’t ask. But something sharp curled under your ribs.

It happened again a week later.

This time, it was at a party.

You hadn’t planned to go, but your friends dragged you out. You wore something fun, drank something pink and suspiciously sweet, and spent most of the night texting Choso memes from across the room while trying to avoid some guy who kept mispronouncing your name.

You didn’t expect Choso to show up — parties weren’t his thing — but when you looked up and saw him leaning against the wall in his usual all-black hoodie, your heart did something weird and uncalled for.

You lit up, waved. He nodded.

You made your way over.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, grinning.

“Didn’t want to come,” he replied.

“Then why did you?”

Choso looked over your shoulder. “My roommate said I never leave the dorm.”

You tilted your head. “So you’re here to prove a point?”

“No. I’m here because I thought I might find you.”

Something in your chest flickered.

But then someone called your name behind you — the mispronouncer. He was tipsy now, trying to shove a drink in your hand and make conversation you didn’t want.

You glanced back at Choso, but he was already turning away, heading outside.

You followed him a few minutes later, but he was gone.

The silence the next day wasn’t full. It was loud.

You texted him, simple: “You good?”

He replied hours later. “Yeah. Just tired.”

You stared at the screen.

You didn’t reply.

It was dumb. You knew it was dumb.

But it kept happening.

Small things. He’d stop replying halfway through conversations. Or show up late and not say why. You’d feel his eyes on you in class, but he’d leave without walking with you afterward. It wasn’t angry distance — just... murky.

You tried to tell yourself it was nothing. That you were imagining the shift.

But the thing was, you missed him. And he was still there, technically. Still in your orbit. Still showing up. But something about the way he held himself around you — tighter, quieter — started to feel like a door creaking shut.

It made you ache.

Not because he owed you anything.

But because this friendship had become your constant. Your soft place to land. And suddenly, it felt like the ground was tilting.

The conversation finally cracked open during one of your regular library sessions.

You were both half-distracted — you tapping your pen against your notebook, him staring blankly at his screen.

You glanced over. “You’ve been on that sentence for fifteen minutes.”

Choso didn’t look at you. “It’s not coming out right.”

You raised an eyebrow. “The paper or your brain?”

He didn’t answer.

You sighed, then said, carefully, “Did I do something?”

That got his attention.

He turned his head, eyes steady on yours. “What?”

“I just—” You hesitated. “You’ve been... off.”

A beat of silence.

Then: “I’m not mad at you.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He looked down at his hands.

You watched him.

Waited.

Finally, he said, “Sometimes it feels like I’m more important to you when nothing else is going on.”

That hit you square in the chest.

You sat back. “Is that really what you think?”

He shrugged, but it was stiff. “I don’t know what we are. Sometimes I think I do, and then we’re at a party and you’re flirting with some guy and I feel like I made it up.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” you said, too fast.

“I know,” he said. “That’s not the point.”

You didn’t say anything.

Because honestly? You weren’t sure what the point was anymore. Or where the line had gone between you two. Or if there ever even was one.

Choso ran a hand through his hair.

“I don’t want to fight,” he muttered.

“We’re not fighting,” you said quietly. “We’re just... finally saying stuff out loud.”

He didn’t reply.

You closed your notebook.

“Maybe we need to figure out what this actually is.”

Choso glanced at you. Not defensive. Just tired.

“Maybe,” he said.

That night, you didn’t text him.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t text you either.

It took three days of silence before either of you caved.

You thought about texting him more times than you could count. You even drafted a message once — “Want to talk?” — but deleted it before you hit send. The pause between you wasn’t angry. Just uncertain. Like both of you were standing on either side of something fragile, waiting to see who would step first.

In the end, it was him.

He didn’t send a meme or an apology.

He sent one word.

“Here?”

And that was enough.

You didn’t speak at first when you opened the door.

Just stepped aside and let him in. He walked past you like he always did, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair loose around his face, backpack half-zipped. You watched the way he dropped his stuff on your desk, sat on your bed like it was muscle memory.

It was.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t know if you wanted space.”

“I didn’t want space,” you said quietly. “I just didn’t know what to say.”

He nodded once, like he understood.

Because of course he did.

That was the thing about Choso. He always got the parts of you that other people missed. The parts you didn’t have to explain.

You sat down next to him.

Close — not touching, but closer than before.

“I don’t know what this is either,” you admitted. “But I know I want it. Whatever it is.”

Choso looked at you. His eyes didn’t waver. “I don’t want to be just a background character in your life.”

“You’re not,” you said. And this time, it came out certain. “You’re not.”

You didn’t reach for him. You didn’t need to.

The space between you shifted anyway.

You talked for hours.

Not about “us” or “what now” — just life. Stupid things. Childhood memories. What you thought college would be like versus what it was. You told him you used to think you’d marry a K-pop idol. He told you he thought Naruto was going to teach him how to make friends.

At one point, you were both laughing so hard you had nearly forgot about the events of the past three days.

Then the laughter faded, and the quiet returned. But it was the good kind again. Warm. Safe.

You were lying on your side now, facing him. The room glowed soft with lamplight. His hair was tied up messily, and you could see the little crease on his cheek from your pillow. His hoodie sleeves were pushed past his wrists, fingers curling gently into the blanket.

It would’ve been so easy to lean in.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you asked, “What changed?”

He looked at you for a long moment.

Then he said, “I think I realized I’d started needing you more than I meant to.”

You swallowed.

“That scares you?”

He nodded.

“It scares me too,” you admitted.

But neither of you moved away.

You didn’t kiss that night.

You didn’t even touch.

But when he stayed — not because he was tired, but because it felt like where he belonged — you curled up facing each other and whispered whatever thoughts came next. Little things. The kind of thoughts you only share in low light, when no one’s pretending.

And when you fell asleep, it was with the quiet understanding that something had shifted.

Not in a way that needed naming.

Just in a way that felt real.

The next few days were different, but not dramatic.

He still rolled his eyes at your chaotic texts. You still stole his fries when he wasn’t looking. But the edges had softened. The moments between you stretched a little longer. The silences weren’t full of questions anymore — just waiting.

He started sitting closer.

You started letting your knees touch.

One afternoon in his dorm, you were reading on the floor while he played something on his Switch, and you leaned your head back against his leg without really thinking about it.

He didn’t say anything.

Just rested a hand gently on your hair and left it there.

Like it had always belonged.

And one night — not planned, not dramatic — you kissed him.

Not because you couldn’t hold back.

But because it felt right.

Because you’d spent months learning his silences, earning his trust, and choosing each other over and over without needing to say why.

You were both lying on your sides again, this time in your room. His hand was next to yours, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat.

You looked at him. He looked back.

And you asked, “Okay?”

He said, “Yeah.”

So you leaned in, soft and slow, and kissed him like he was something you already knew by heart.

He kissed you back like it surprised him. Like he hadn’t let himself hope.

When you pulled back, he was still looking at you, eyes half-lidded, dazed but steady.

“I thought we weren’t doing this,” he whispered.

“Maybe we are now.”

He nodded once.

And then he pulled you closer — arms warm, hands steady — and held you like a truth he didn’t have to be afraid of anymore.

The room felt heavier than usual — not with tension, but with gravity. Like every glance, every breath, every shared silence between you and Choso was suddenly full of meaning.

It was late. Music hummed faintly from your speaker, soft synth chords that had long since faded into ambiance. You were both on your bed, side by side, shoulders brushing now and then. But neither of you pulled away. You hadn’t for a while.

Choso’s eyes flicked toward you, lingering. You met them.

And this time, you didn’t look away.

“Can I ask you something?” you said quietly.

He nodded, lips parting like he’d been waiting for you to speak.

“Do you want this?” Your voice barely carried the words. “Not just tonight. I mean… us. Me.”

Choso’s answer came in layers. First, a nod. Then his hand sliding slowly over yours. Then finally, voice hoarse:

“I’ve wanted you. For a long time.”

Your breath caught. Not from surprise — you’d known. You’d both known.

But hearing it now, said aloud, undressed something inside you.

“I want you too,” you said.

His hand tightened slightly on yours, thumb brushing your knuckles.

“I don’t want to do this unless you’re sure,” he said, brows slightly furrowed — not from doubt, but from the weight of how much he cared.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you whispered.

A quiet beat passed between you. Then Choso leaned forward, slowly, deliberately, until his forehead rested against yours.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t a feverish blur of mouths. It was steady, unshaken — like he wanted to remember it. Like he was pouring everything he hadn’t said into the way your lips met.

You deepened it, and he didn’t hesitate.

Your hands found his hoodie. He let you pull it up and off, breath catching as your fingers ghosted over bare skin. He watched you like you were unreal, gaze fixed and reverent.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, like he couldn’t help it.

You smiled, pulling your shirt over your head too. His breath hitched at the sight, eyes dragging down slowly.

You didn’t rush.

You touched — carefully at first, like memorizing each other by hand. Choso’s fingers were tender, exploring your sides, your back, the dip of your spine. Every time you exhaled, he matched your rhythm.

When you leaned back on your elbows, inviting him closer, he hovered just above you, his hair falling around your face like a curtain. You reached up and tucked some behind his ear.

“I’m right here,” you whispered.

“I know,” he breathed.

He kissed down your throat. Across your collarbone. Each movement was intentional — like he was trying to worship you, not consume you.

When your hands slid to the waistband of his sweats, he pressed his forehead to yours again.

“Still good?” he asked, voice shaking a little.

You nodded. “Yeah. I want you.”

He kissed you once more, deeper this time.

And then — you gave in to each other.

Not clumsy. Not frantic.

Just real.

Choso’s hands moved with hunger now, trembling but determined as they found the hem of your shirt. He gripped it tighter than he meant to — like if he didn’t hold on hard enough, it’d slip away. In one breathless motion, he pulled it over your head, and when your bra-clad chest was revealed to him, he stilled.

His eyes darkened.

He swallowed hard.

He needed you. Not in passing. Not for tonight. He needed you like gravity — like something inevitable.

Fumbling slightly, he fought with the clasp of your bra, brows furrowed in frustration until it finally gave way. The fabric slid down your arms, and when you tossed it aside, he stared like he was witnessing something sacred.

He ducked his head to your chest, mouth open, eyes blown wide with wonder. His lips latched eagerly to one of your nipples, licking and sucking in clumsy, tender rhythm. He was clearly inexperienced — no patterns, no practiced finesse — just the overwhelming need to taste, to explore, to learn you.

When you sat up and pulled his shirt off in return, he paused. The sudden exposure made his breath catch. His skin was pale, unmarked — years of hoodies and shyness shielding what now lay bare before you.

“hot.” you whispered.

But he was already lowering himself down your body, eyes flicking between your face and your waist. He gently tugged your sweats down, slow and reverent, only to be met with black lace.

His breath hitched.

Those were the ones he’d once caught a glimpse of through the laundry bag. The ones he’d tried not to picture. Tried and failed.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “You’re… you’re so fucking gorgeous.”

He looked to you again for permission — and when you gave it, soft and sure — he slid your panties down, the cool air brushing against heated skin.

Choso hesitated just a moment. Then he dipped his head.

He didn’t know what he was doing — but he wanted to know. He kissed you like a prayer, tongue tentative at first as he explored your folds. But as soon as he found the spot that made your hips twitch, your hand tangles in his hair — that was it.

He moaned softly into you, the sound vibrating against your core.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against your skin, voice breathless. “I’ve got you…”

When you arched, whimpering his name, he groaned — the kind of sound that came from deep in his chest, primal and undone.

“Say it again,” he begged, voice low and shaking.

“Choso—” you gasped.

“Good girl.” His praise was rough, reverent.

Every flick of his tongue, every suck, every shift in pressure — it was messy, a little desperate, but full of feeling. And when his snakebites dragged cold and hard over your clit, it was over. Your back arched. Your moans turned ragged.

The room spun.

The pleasure was relentless.

You could barely form a thought, let alone a sentence. But you managed one:

“Want you. All of you. Now.”

He lifted his head, lips and chin shining, eyes dark and wild. There was something feral in the way he looked at you — but underneath it, something soft. Overwhelmed.

He leaned forward to kiss you, messy and breathless, tasting you on your own lips. You could feel his heart racing through his chest. He kissed you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

Your fingers tugged downwards at the top hem of his boxers and sweats, pulling them just low enough to free his throbbing and twitching member.

Your hand slid down between your bodies, fingers curling around the length you’d only imagined — thick, flushed, and big. He twitched in your grasp, groaning against your lips.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

Then: “Are you sure?”

You nodded, locking eyes with him. “Completely.”

He shed the last of his clothes with a quiet exhale, skin flushed and chest rising fast. His hand trembled just slightly as he lined himself up with your entrance, nerves and anticipation flooding every inch of him. He looked at you—really looked—and found only trust in your eyes.

With a deep breath, he eased forward, sinking his member into you inch by inch. Your warmth pulled him in, slow and steady, until he was fully seated inside you.

“Ah—nghh, Choso…” you gasped, voice catching as he filled you completely. The stretch, the weight, the depth of him—it was unlike anything else. You clenched around him instinctively, and his mouth fell open in stunned pleasure.

He paused, panting softly, hands braced at your hips as he looked down at your body—at everything he was finally allowed to see, to feel.

Then his gaze landed on your lower stomach… and there it was.

A small bulge, subtle but visible, rising with each shallow thrust of his hips.

“Look…” he whispered, awe-struck, one hand sliding up to rest gently against it. He pressed down, just enough to feel the resistance. His lips curled into a grin. “Look how deep I am.”

Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering, the sight in front of you was one to behold, Choso, but he had hairs sticking to his,

He nodded, forehead pressing against yours briefly as he adjusted his grip—and then he moved.

Each thrust was deeper, harder, more confident than the last, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing between your moans. He gave you everything—every inch, every pulse, every ounce of emotion he’d buried for so long.

His thrusts were fast, a little uneven, but each one felt intentional—like he was thinking through every movement, trying to memorize what made you fall apart. You could see the focus in his expression, jaw tight, eyes locked on the way his cock disappeared inside you again and again, twitching with every clench of your walls.

“Feelin’ good, princess?” he asked, voice rough with a cocky little smirk.

As if he didn’t already know.

Maybe his rhythm wasn’t perfect yet—raw and unpracticed in some places—but he made up for it in every way that mattered. He was big, yes, but more than that… he was present. Watching every reaction. Learning you. Wanting to get it right.

And fuck, he was getting it right.

Within another minute, his pace had become frantic—desperate. Each thrust was rougher, deeper, like he was afraid if he let up, you’d vanish beneath him. His hips snapped forward with punishing rhythm, and his breath hitched in a ragged groan, loud and drawn-out, the kind that only came when he was teetering on the edge.

You grabbed his face, breathless and blissed out. “Inside, baby—cum with me,” you moaned.

And God, he listened.

The moment your walls tightened around him, fluttering at the base of his cock, he let go. A guttural, needy sound spilled from his lips as he buried himself deep, hips stuttering. Hot release flooded into you in thick pulses, his body trembling from the force of it, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he whined through the comedown.

The room fell into a hush, broken only by your ragged breaths and the faint thump of Choso’s heartbeat against your chest.

He stayed there for a moment—still inside you, forehead pressed to your shoulder, trying to catch his breath. His arms trembled slightly as they wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

“You okay?” he asked softly, voice hoarse, words barely brushing your ear.

You nodded, lips curved in a dazed smile. “Yeah. You?”

He let out a quiet laugh—more exhale than sound—and nuzzled into your neck. “Better than okay,” he murmured. “I feel like… I don’t even know. Floating?”

You ran your fingers through his hair, gently brushing the damp strands off his forehead. He leaned into your touch like a cat, eyes fluttering shut.

Eventually, he pulled out with a soft hiss, careful and slow. He glanced down, cheeks flushed at the mess, and then looked at you like you’d hung the moon.

“I’ll clean you up,” he said, already shifting to grab a warm cloth and help you get comfortable. His movements were delicate, almost reverent, as he wiped you down and pulled the blankets over both of you.

You watched him in the dim light—shirtless, quiet, focused—and felt your heart swell.

Once everything was settled, he crawled back beside you and tucked you into his chest, one arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

You could feel him still breathing a little fast, and when you looked up, he was already watching you.

“What?” you whispered, smiling.

He shook his head. “Just… can’t believe this is real.”

You rested your head against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart as it slowly calmed.

“It’s real,” you whispered. “We’re real.”

And in that warmth, in that quiet tangle of limbs and safety, Choso held you like he never wanted to be anywhere else again.

Later, when the room had settled into silence and your skin had cooled beneath the sheets, Choso pulled the blanket higher around you and brushed a soft kiss to your temple.

You turned to face him, your limbs still tangled with his, and gave him a quiet smile.

He smiled back — small, tired, but real. The kind of smile that didn’t need to prove anything.

After a long pause, you said it, barely above a whisper: “I think I’ve felt this for a while.”

Choso looked at you for a beat, then nodded. “Me too.”

There wasn’t some grand declaration, no dramatic pause — just truth exchanged in the dark.

And it was enough.

#choso kamo #choso x reader #most beautiful fic ever #ty for blessing me with this fic!

mmochammoss

can you write smth for Ida please? Lots of fluff!!! If not alg :) ill be pleased w anything, I ADORE ur writing

Of course!! Iida is one of my favs to write for, he's so cute to me!!————————————————————————

Unbecoming Behavior

The idea of a third-year house party had set Class 1-A completely on fire.

And it had all started with Mirio. The overly enthusiastic third-year had let Midoriya in on the party one of his classmates planned on throwing that Saturday night during one of their patrols. Midoriya had been on cloud nine when he approached you and Iida with that familiar spark in his eye and a very casual, “So, uh… Mirio invited me to a third-year house party. He even said I could bring friends. You guys wanna come?”

The question wasn’t really if you were going. Of course you were going. The real question was whether all of Class 1-A was going. And that was a much taller order.

You and Iida had spent the better part of the week talking logistics. As co-class presidents, it was practically law that if one of you approved something, the other had to do a full risk assessment. Still, you agreed early on: either everyone went or no one did.

“Solidarity,” Iida had declared in his most righteous tone, arms chopping with pure conviction. “If any of our classmates is uninterested in attending, they should in no way feel obligated, so we either take everyone or we take no one.”

You had leaned against your desk with a soft laugh, resting your chin on your hand. “Awfully dramatic, Mr. President. But yeah. I agree. No student left behind.”

A few students, namely Mina, Kaminari, and Sero, were desperate to go. Their eyes sparkled with the promise of upperclassman gossip, hero society tea, and the mythical presence of alcohol they’d never actually be allowed to drink. Meanwhile, Shoji, Koda, and a handful of the quieter homebodies seemed less convinced.

It took some coaxing. Some group chats. A little peer pressure. And a lot of begging.

Eventually, though, a decision was reached. Class 1-A was going to a real, upperclassman house party.

And then came the anticipation.

“Our first real high school party! What if people are like… hooking up in closets and stuff?” Mina asked in delight.

“Do you think there’ll be drinking?” Kaminari whispered like the common room walls were eavesdropping.

“Well, some of them are already eighteen, right?” Hagakure chimed in. “Technically adults. They could do whatever they want.”

By the time those murmurs had made it back to you and Iida, he was already preparing a speech.

You found him in his room, standing in front of his mirror, arms folded as he rehearsed his would be lines. His “stern and diplomatic” face was on full display.

“Tenya?” you asked, knocking gently as you peeked inside.

He jumped, spinning around like you’d caught him doing something illicit. “Oh! I was just—I’m working on my statement to the class.”

You smiled and crossed your arms. “Statement?”

“It’s come to my attention that some students have concerns,” he said seriously, falling into step beside you as you both headed downstairs. “And I think the class deserves clarity.”

You followed him downstairs and watched on as he entered the first floor common room, beckoning as many classmates over to him as possible.

“I’d like to remind everyone,” he started, glasses pushed up, brows furrowed, “that we are students of U.A. High School. We are young heroes in training, and as such, any behavior deemed unbecoming will result in the immediate termination of our attendance at said event.”

The room went still.

You tried not to laugh. He looked at you expectantly.

“Seconded?” he asked.

You gave a small thumbs up. “Seconded.”

Later, Kaminari cornered you in the hallway. “Hey… like, he’s not serious serious, right? Like… we’re not gonna be sent home just because someone’s doing shots or making out in a closet, right?”

You patted his shoulder with a wink. “We’ll be fine, trust me. I can handle Iida.”

You were used to the good cop/bad cop routine by now. Used to Iida being the stern dad and you the patient, level-headed mom. And truthfully, it worked. Because if anything got a little dicey? All you had to do was pull him aside, calm him down, flash a smile and promise him things were under control. And he’d believe you. He always believed you.

Which was maybe less about your skills as a negotiator and more about the fact that Iida would let you get away with anything if it meant you flashed that sweet smile at him.

It was a dangerous amount of power, so you tried not to abuse it.

The rest of the week passed in a blur of whispers, outfit planning, and growing anticipation. Even the usual training drills felt lighter somehow, everyone counting down to Saturday night like it was the biggest mission of the semester.

The night of the party, all the girls got ready together in Mina’s dorm room, going-out clothes and makeup flung across every surface like confetti. Hair straighteners hissed over the sound of pop music blasted from Jirou’s portable speaker. Lip gloss was passed between hands, and there was far too much giggling for anything productive to be happening quickly.

“This is either going to be the best night we’ve ever had,” Mina declared, striking a pose in the mirror, “or the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever experienced.”

“Why would tonight be embarrassing?,” Jirou muttered, adjusting her eyeliner in the reflection beside her.

“Imagine we get there and RoboCop sees something he doesn’t like and we all have to leave like a bunch of losers?!” Mina whisper-yells, fluffing her hair out with her hands. “How am I supposed to enjoy my first real high school party knowing that the tiniest thing could set him off?”

You chuckled from where you were putting in a pair of earrings. “Honestly? Even if Iida sees something ‘unbecoming’ as long as no one from the class is directly involved we should be fine.”

“We should be?” Mina questioned with a raised brow.

“We will be.” You clarified, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

You knew Iida could be a stickler for rules and morals, but you knew how to talk him down when you thought he might be going a tad too far. It was true. You and Iida had the full mom-and-dad-of-the-class dynamic down to a science. You balanced each other out. He was the voice of reason, the rulebook incarnate. You were the soft hand on the shoulder, the reassuring smile. He had a serious soft spot for you because of that, which only made it that much easier to get your way with him.

The group of you strutted down the dorm stairs in formation like it was a fashion show, shoes clicking and earrings swinging. The boys waiting in the common room turned at the sound, and their reactions did not disappoint.

But your eyes found Iida’s first, standing with his arms crossed and brows already beginning to knit.

His whole body straightened when he saw you. Not in disapproval, though he did do a double take, but in that way he always did when he didn’t know where to look. You caught him glancing once at your legs, once at your chest, and then straight into your eyes like he hadn’t just catalogued every inch of your outfit.

“I see the girls have arrived,” he said after a beat, adjusting his glasses and very deliberately looking over the group. “I’d like to remind everyone to behave accordingly. We’re representing U.A. tonight, and I expect everyone to uphold our schools standards as heroes in training.”

You stepped up beside him, slipping your hand onto his shoulder and patting it gently, both for show and for comfort.

“Yes, yes, we remember,” you said with a teasing grin. “But come on, Iida. It’s just a party, we’ll be fine. I just want everyone to focus on having fun tonight.”

He glanced down at you before turning his attention back to the group, his shoulders relaxing just a bit. “I suppose,” he murmured. “Still, I’ll be keeping an eye out just in case.”

“We know you will,” you replied. “That’s why we all feel safe going.”

He flushed at the compliment but nodded sharply. “Let’s depart, then. We shouldn’t arrive too late.”

The walk to the third-year house party was filled with chatter and nerves. Midoriya kept checking his phone for the address, and even Bakugo, grumbling under his breath, didn’t stray too far from the group.

When you arrived, the party was already in full swing. Music pumped through the walls of the off-campus house, and lights spilled out of open windows. People milled about the porch and yard, drinks in hand, laughter echoing over the bass beat.

You turned to Iida as the group hesitated on the sidewalk. “See? Just a party.”

He sighed but shook his head. “Let’s get this over with.”

Inside, the party was even more chaotic. It wasn’t a raging rager, not yet, anyway, but the first floor was packed with third years, a few second years, and now the entirety of class 1-A.

Your class fanned out naturally. Some gravitated toward the living room to dance. Others clustered near the kitchen, eyeing the snacks and drinks. You stayed near Iida for the first few minutes, watching him scan the room like a mission commander.

When Mina and Jirou waved you over to dance, you gave Iida’s hand a quick squeeze and said, “Just try and relax. Go check on Midoriya or something. When I said I wanted everyone to have fun tonight that meant you too.”

He gave you a long look. “Just call me if anything seems…unusual.”

You saluted. “Yes, sir.”

And with that, he vanished into the crowd to explore the rest of the first floor.

The kitchen was a little less chaotic than the living room. The lighting was softer, the crowd thinner. It was mostly people chatting over drinks or waiting in line to raid the snack table. Kaminari and Sero were posted up near one corner, whispering and laughing as they not-so-subtly tried to hype each other up to talk to some of the older girls.

After a few minutes, and one particularly embarrassing attempt at getting a girl’s Instagram, they were about ready to call it quits and rejoin the rest of the class.

Until something caught their eye.

A silver tray sitting on top of the stove, covered in aluminum foil. Unattended. Suspiciously tempting.

They cautiously approached, lifting an edge of the foil to check the contents.

Brownies.

Thick, fudgy squares topped with colorful rainbow sprinkles.

They exchanged a look.

“You think they’re fair game?” Sero whispered.

Kaminari peered around. “No sign, no label, no name on the tray… that’s basically an open invite.”

“Bet,” Sero said, already reaching for a butter knife.

They sliced into the slab and carved out two hefty corner pieces, carefully transferring them onto napkins. Just as they turned to leave the kitchen, a familiar voice rang out behind them.

“Excuse me,” Iida said, appearing like some kind of judgmental specter. “What are you two up to?”

They froze.

“Nothing!” they blurted at the same time. Suspiciously fast.

“You both are getting desserts already? Do you even know who made these?” Iida asked.

“Dunno,” Sero replied quickly. “But we’re pretty sure they’re fair game.”

Iida raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure? You're not even positive if you're infringing on someone else’s property?” Iida frowned. “Were those even approved by the host? They haven’t been plated yet.”

Kaminari and Sero looked at each other with matching deer-in-headlights expressions. This was bad. One wrong move and their entire night could be over. Everyone’s night could be over. And that kind of pressure made Sero do what he did best under stress: lie.

After a moment Sero stepped forward, hands raised in surrender. “Well, we had just okayed it with the host since we both felt kinda bad being the first ones to take a slice, but we’re sure it’s fine.”

Iida crossed his arms, continuing to question them. “Your positive you okayed this with the host?”

Sero paused, trying his best to think through his lies. “Yup. Totally okayed. Right, Kaminari?”

“Positive,” Kaminari nodded, probably too much. “We wouldn’t just take unclaimed food. That would be… unbecoming.”

Iida straightened up a bit, folding his arms over his chest. “Then I suppose you're both fine. Would you mind pointing the host out to me so that I can get permission as well?”

Kaminari and Sero looked at each other in panic, then back at Iida with the kind of terrified smiles that said they had already dug their own grave.

“Uhhhh you know what, Iida?” Sero said quickly. “Me and Kami have had enough snacks for right now but I would hate for these to go to waste! Why don’t you just have our brownies and we’ll just come back later once some other people have gotten their fix?”

Sero gave Kaminari a knowing look and the blonde quickly shoved the napkin-wrapped brownies into Iida’s hands like it was a bomb.

Iida hesitated, but shrugged, taking the napkin in his hand. “Thank you, it’s very noble of you both to put the feelings of others before your own!” he said, before turning toward the cooler and grabbing a bottle of water.

“No problem!” Sero said enthusiastically, ushering Kaminari out of the kitchen.

“What the hell was that?” Kaminari hissed.

“You saw how worked up he was getting!” Sero whispered. “I panicked!”

“I wanted a brownie! And that corner piece was perfect, you know those will never last in a party this packed. ” The blonde boy whined.

Sero shook his head at his friend. “Okay listen, we can just wait a few minutes then head back into the kitchen to cut another slice. No big deal. No one knows they’re there except us and Iida, right?”

Kaminari nodded as they both made their way back to the dance floor, finding you and a few of the girls to buy their time with until they were ready to venture back to the kitchen.

After a few more songs you and Jirou were getting a little hot and sweaty. You both had to drag Mina out of the dance circle to join you both in grabbing some water from the kitchen. There you spotted Kaminari and Sero, again slicing up a brownie for each of them and wasting no time, taking a hearty bite out of their desserts.

Their moment of bliss was cut short when the taste of the brownie hit their tongues.

“Oh my god this is disgusting!” Kaminari shouted, floundering for a napkin to spit his bite into. You quickly hurried over to him to tell him to lower his voice, not wanting him to freak out the upperclassman you definitely weren’t trying to impress. Sero made a similar disgusted face before struggling to swallow his own bite.

“No, he’s right,” Sero said in a pained voice. “That’s the nastiest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Kaminari was still beside you gagging dramatically as he tried to speak, “literally the nastiest! It tastes like wax crayons and dirt had a baby or something!”

Jirou grimaced. “Ew, dude.”

You looked at Kaminari’s piece, now sitting on the countertop and picked it up, sniffed it, then took a small bite.

The second the taste hit your tongue, your stomach dropped. “Oh my god.”

“What!?” Kaminari asked, frightened by your reaction. “Is it actually moldy? Is it expired or something?”

“No,” you said slowly. “This is an edible.”

The room went still.

Jirou coughed on her water. “Like… weed edible?”

“Yes a weed edible, and strong too,” you clarified. “I only took a nibble and I can taste it. These are crazy strong!”

“Imagine if you ate the whole thing!” Mina gushed. “You’d be so fucked!”

You and the girls laughed at the idea of how messed up one of these brownies could make someone.

But the boys stayed silent.

Sero turned a color you’d never seen before as he looked over at Kaminari. Your laughter died down once you noticed their shared expressions. “What’s the problem?” You asked. “You both only took a bite you’ll be fine, I swear.” You said reassuringly.

“It’s not us we’re worried about…” Kaminari said in a high pitched voice. You tilt your head at him before turning back to Sero, coaxing him to explain.

“We were in here earlier and we grabbed a piece. Iida caught us and asked if we had permission to take them so we lied and told him the host said it was fine but then he wanted to ask the host if he could have some too and I panicked and just let him take ours!” The words tumbled out of Seros mouth faster than you could process them. You blinked at him for a second before realization hit you.

“IIDA ATE A WHOLE BROWNIE?!”you asked him, far too loud.

He pressed his mouth into a line as he shook his head, slowly holding up two fingers.

“TWO!?” You yelled again.

Mina burst out laughing, clinging to the edge of the counter for stability.

“We’re so fucked.” Kaminari sighed out, rubbing his face.

You stared out the kitchen doorway, mind racing. “Where is he?”

“Last I saw?” Sero swallowed. “He was in the living room talking to Midoriya.”

You practically sprinted out of the kitchen.

You found Iida near the living room stairs, just as Sero had said, mid-conversation with Midoriya and Todoroki.

He looked fine. Still upright. Still coherent.

But the moment you approached, his eyes lit up like you’d descended from the heavens.

“(Y/N)!” he beamed. “You look radiant!”

Oh God.

He was using his soft voice. The one usually reserved for your private study sessions and early Saturday mornings. The voice that didn’t have a single shred of lecture in it, just pure adoration.

You smiled, nervous. “Thank you, Iida! Having fun?”

“More than I expected,” he said honestly. “I wasn’t sure at first. But the food, the music, it’s all very pleasant.”

You eyed him carefully. “I’m so glad to hear it! But um…what food have you had…exactly?”

“Just some chips and two brownies,” he said. “And a water bottle. I did feel guilty having dessert first, but it is a party after all.”

You laughed hollow, nodding along with his explanations. “Right. A party.”

You took a breath as you looked around the room. cook up a course of action for when his high might start to kick in.

You glanced toward the living room, mind spinning. You couldn’t let him start melting in front of the whole class. You couldn’t risk the chaos of a high-as-a-kite Iida deciding someone’s outfit or dance moves were unbecoming and shutting the whole operation down.

You needed to get him off the main floor. Now.

And that’s when inspiration struck.

You pressed a hand to your forehead and let out a quiet sigh. Not over-the-top, but just enough to get his attention.

He was by your side in an instant.

“(Y/N)?” he asked, brows pinching. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you lied sweetly. “Just… a little lightheaded. I think I forgot to eat today with all the excitement. I’m starting to feel a little faint.”

His hands found your arms, steadying you. “We’ll leave immediately. I’ll gather the class—”

“No!” You blurt out, a bit too quick. You grab onto his bicep, leaning into his grasp. You put on your best puppy dog eyes as you look up at him. “It’s okay. I think I just need to lie down. Maybe upstairs? I won’t be long, I’m sure I’ll only need five minutes”

He hesitated. “I’d prefer if you stayed down here so I can continue to monitor the group.”

“It’ll be okay,” you said, giving him a soft look. “I just need a little rest. I promise I won’t be long.”

His jaw clenched as he debated with himself. You could practically see the gears turning behind his wide, earnest eyes. And then…

“I’ll come with you,” he said firmly. “Just in case.”

He swept you up in his arms without another word, bridal style, and carried you through the party like a knight on a mission. A few partygoers cheered playfully as you passed, but he didn’t break stride.

Once on the second floor he went door to door searching for an unlocked bedroom, mumbling under his breath that people must be doing god knows what in all of the locked rooms. Once he found a free bedroom he gently laid you down on the mattress like you were made of glass.

“I’ll get you water,” he said, already turning.

You nodded sweetly. “And maybe chips, if they have any?”

“Of course,” he called as he disappeared down the hall.

You sat up and braced your hands on the comforter.

He was already being too nice. Too sweet. Too relaxed. You didn’t know how long you had before the high really hit, but it was coming.

He returned a minute later with three water bottles and a half-full bag of tortilla chips.

“I wasn’t sure which flavor you preferred,” he said, kneeling beside the bed. “But these seemed… appropriately salty.”

You tried not to giggle. “Thank you, Tenya. That’s perfect.”

He handed you a bottle and a chip bag, then hesitated before sitting beside you.

“I can stay just for a moment,” he added. “Just to ensure you’re alright.”

You smiled and scooted closer, patting the bed next to you.

“You can sit, y’know. It’s not like anyone’s misbehaving downstairs.”

He hesitated again, then cautiously sat down on the edge of the bed.

The moment he settled on the mattress, he relaxed a little. Shoulders down, back not quite so straight. He gave a small sigh, almost dreamy.

“Is it warm in here?” he asked, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt.

“Could be the party,” you teased.

Then he went quiet.

You watched him carefully. His eyes started to glaze. His posture relaxed. How he began blinking… slowly.

“Tenya?” you asked gently.

He slowly turned his head to look at you, a goofy smile on his face.

“I feel,” he said carefully, “amazing.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “That’s good.”

“I can’t feel my teeth,” he whispered, scandalized. “But in, like… a pleasant way.”

You laughed this time, hand flying to your mouth.

He gently flopped onto his back, arms sprawled across the comforter. “I feel like I’m floating.”

You shifted a bit so you could see his face. His pupils were blown wide, and his bangs were sticking slightly to his forehead. He looked more dazed than you’d ever seen him, and it was absolutely adorable.

“Do you want to lie on the pillows?”

He nodded dreamily. “Pillows sound nice.”

You scooted over and patted the spot beside you. He wobbled upright and slowly made his way toward the headboard, crawling like a sleepy toddler. You opened your arms, half as a joke, and he collapsed into them without hesitation.

He flopped face down into your chest, causing you to bark out a laugh as he was kinda unintentionally motorboating you. Once he was comfortable, he turned his head to the side and brought his strong arms around your back, and he squeezed you even closer to him.

“You feeling ok, Teny-bear?” You ask him, freely using his goofiest nickname.

That got a giggle out of him, an honest to God giggle. It burst out of his chest like it surprised even him, and you couldn’t help but smile wider at him.

He continued to stare up at you lazily as his fit of giggles calmed down. His hazy eyes looked bigger and softer by the second.

“Your face is so pretty.”

Now it was your turn to giggle. “Is it?”

He nodded. “Your whole face. All of it. Even your ears.”

You smiled sweetly down at him. “Thank you.”

He went silent again, lying quietly and contentedly in your arms as you cuddled him.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured. “Did you know that?”

“I didn’t know that. Is being soft a good thing?”

He nodded, totally serious. “A very good thing.”

You giggled again, bringing a hand up to push his hair back and out of his face to get a better look at him. “You doing okay though? You feel alright?”

He nodded again. “I feel amazing. I love parties.”

You smiled, watching him closely. His whole face was pink now, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the high or from the way he was looking at you. Another brief silence broke out between you both as you began to lazily rub his back and hum along to the faint sound of music coming from downstairs.

“You’re so pretty~,” he repeated suddenly.

You let out a light chuckle. “You already told me that Tenya, but thank you again.”

“I knooooooow,” he drawled out with a goofy little smile. “But you’re just soooooo pretty. And smart. And warm. And bossy, but only sometimes, but I like that too.”

You held back a laugh. “That’s quite the confession.”

“And your outfit tonight?” he added with a dreamy sigh. “Unfair.”

You reached over for another bottle of water, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip. “Unfair how?”

He pouted into your collarbone. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

"Oh, I see," you giggle out, still holding your water.

“I wanted to fight that third-year who was flirting with you earlier,” he said seriously.

“You did?” You ask, biting back another laugh as you continue to drink.

He nodded solemnly. “But I’m a hero. So I didn’t.”

“Very noble of you.” You say with your mouth full.

“I wanna marry you.” He blurts out.

You choked on your water.

“I said that out loud,” he realized, blinking at the wall. “That’s crazy. You’re so pretty.”

You swore you laughed until you cried. Then you fed him all the remaining tortilla chips and water as you let him snuggle into your chest like you were the world’s most comfortable body pillow.

Later, when the class came looking for you two, you shooed them away from the door so he could rest.

And Iida?

He napped peacefully on top of you until the end of the party, arms wrapped round you like he was scared you might float away.

Totally unbecoming behavior.

And you loved every second of it.

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requests are open!! <3

#oh my god #im in love with this fic #pls never die