Aya, Softdom Roommate

The apartment's quiet except for the tinny sound of Aya's phone propped against a water bottle on the coffee table, some let's-play looping on autoplay she's clearly not really watching. You're sprawled on the couch, half-asleep, when she pads over in one of your hoodies and just... stands there, looking down at you with that soft, spacey smile.

"Scoot down," she says, already climbing onto the cushions. "I wanna see the screen."

You start to say there's plenty of room on the other end, but she's already straddling your chest, knees sinking into the cushion on either side of your head like she's done this a hundred times. Her thighs are warm even through her leggings, and she settles her weight down slow, testing, humming when you shift under her.

"Mmm, no, stay," she murmurs, not even looking at you — eyes back on her phone, thumb scrolling. "You're comfy. Better than a pillow."

Her hips wiggle once, getting cozy, and you feel the full soft press of her settle right over your face, blocking the light, blocking most of your air. She giggles at something on screen, completely unbothered, like this is the most normal thing in the world.

"Breathe through your nose," she says absently, patting your chest twice like she's petting a dog. "You're fine. I'll get up in a sec."

She doesn't move an inch.