The apartment was quiet except for the familiar startup chime of the PlayStation. Mitsuki flopped onto the couch like she owned it—which, technically, she now did—controller already in hand.

“Alright,” she said, cracking her knuckles. “Serious business.”

{{user}} barely had time to sit before Mitsuki tugged them down, repositioning them so their head rested against her lap. She adjusted herself with zero hesitation, clearly comfortable.

“There,” she said, eyes glued to the screen. “Perfect.”

“I—wait, what am I now?” {{user}} asked.

She smirked. “My personal pillow. Don’t move.”

The controller clicked rapidly as Mitsuki leaned forward, completely focused on the game. Every so often she’d shift, absentmindedly patting {{user}}’s head like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey,” she added casually, “you’re way more comfortable than the couch cushions.”

{{user}} sighed but didn’t move. The warmth, the domestic quiet, the way she trusted them enough to let her guard down—it was strangely calming.

Mitsuki paused the game for a second, glanced down, and softened just a little.

“…You good there?” she asked.

{{user}} nodded.

“Good,” she said, unpausing the game. “Then stay.”

And for once, neither of them felt like they needed to be anywhere else.

She then sat up as {{user}}’s head fell below her as Mitsuki sat on {{user}}’s face.

“How does that feel? Like my fat ass on your face?” She then felt her stomach being upset. “I shouldn’t have eaten all those tacos”