‘ nana ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Move in day, freshman year of college. The summer heat bearing down on him as he carried box after box into his dorm room. He hurriedly stacks his belongings in his side of the room, wanting to make a quick goodbye with his parents. His independence was so close he could taste it.

His mom’s watery eyes almost made him feel guilty… almost. With a quick goodbye, he hurried back inside, flopping onto his bed with the windows open. The warm breeze carried the distant sounds of crickets and rustling leaves, filling the room with the quiet hum of a new beginning.

This was it. College.

Before he knew it, he was in the backyard of some frat house, lounging around a fire with a beer in hand. His roommate, Hanta, sat beside him, laughing along with a few guys from the soccer team. The night buzzed with easy conversation, the crackling flames casting flickering shadows across their faces.

“You sure you’re not trying out for the team, Kaminari?” one of the guys—Eiji, maybe?—asked, taking a swig from his drink. “Hanta said you’ve got some speed.”

Denki scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, for running away from responsibilities, maybe.”

Hanta snorted. “Man’s got priorities. Like, uh… what was it again? ‘Maximizing the college experience’?”

Denki grinned, lifting his beer in a mock toast. “Exactly. Why stress about practice when I could be, I don’t know, meeting new people, expanding my horizons—”

“Flirting with hot girls,” another guy chimed in, smirking.

Denki placed a hand over his chest in fake offense. “Hey, I’m a man of depth. I have layers.”

Hanta shot him a knowing look, “Yeah? Name one.”

Denki opened his mouth, then closed it, before finally shrugging. “I’ll get back to you on that.” The group erupted into laughter.

Hanta snickered, shaking his head. “Man, I think I’d drop dead if I saw Denki actually flirt with a girl and succeed.”

Denki gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been personally attacked. “Wow. No faith in me at all?”

Hanta grinned, taking a sip of his beer. “Not even a little, bro.”

Denki scoffed, sitting up straighter. “I’ll have you know, I could bag someone if I wanted to.”

“Yeah?” Eijirou leaned forward with an amused smirk. “Prove it.”

Denki faltered for half a second, eyes darting around like he could manifest the perfect opportunity out of thin air. Then, as if on cue, his gaze landed on you across the yard—laughing, looking effortlessly gorgeous, completely unaware of the chatter of boys nearby .The guys followed his gaze, and almost immediately, laughter rippled through the group.

“Her?” One of them snorted. “Kami, you’re joking.”

Denki tore his eyes away from you just long enough to glare at them. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hanta smirked, shaking his head. “Bro, she’s way out of your league.”

Eijiro nodded, sipping his drink. “Like, leagues above. She’s fine as hell—no way you pull that.”

Denki scoffed, gripping his beer like their words didn’t sting his pride just a little. “First of all, rude. Second of all, y’all clearly don’t know my game.”

Another round of laughter. “What game?”

Denki huffed, straightening his jacket. “Ight, bet. Give me five minutes.”

Hanta sighed, shaking his head as Denki set off toward you. “This is gonna be painful.”

He took a deep breath and walked toward you. This wasn’t going to be smooth. He already knew that. But maybe that was better than trying to pretend to be something he wasn’t.

As he approached, he hesitated for half a second, but then the words just came out. “Hey, uh, I’m Denki,” he said, trying to sound cool but probably failing a little bit. “My friends told me to come talk to you.”

You turned to him, a curious look in your eyes. “They did, huh?”

“Yeah,” Denki chuckled nervously. “I was, like, standing over there with them, and they were all, ‘Go talk to her, Kami, she’s way out of your league, but go try anyway.’ So, here I am.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued now. “So you’re telling me your friends set you up?”

“Pretty much,” Denki said, trying not to sound too embarrassed. “They were like, ‘She’s cute, you should go say hi.’”

You let out a giggle and he thinks it’s the most beautiful sound in the world, he feels his body heating up and he knows it’s not just from the nearby bonfire.

“I can appreciate honesty, denki” you smirk and god he practically melts at the way his name sounds on your tongue.

“I think most people try to put on a front, I’ve never fucked with that” you shake your head lightly, squinting your eyes at him. He nods “if being genuine is all it takes to talk to a pretty girl I’m sold”

You laugh again. He made you laugh, again and somehow in that moment the air feels thick, the noise of the outdoors and party chatter quiets and all he sees is you.

It’s just then that a few of your girlfriends return, muttering that they’re stealing you and beginning to pull you away.

“So maybe I’ll see you around?” He calls after you. “Yeah, maybe! Later, Denki!” You throw him a wave over your shoulder, walking away with the girls, your laughter mingling with their voices, making it clear you were still in a good mood.

Denki stands there for a moment, watching you go, heart racing. Damn, he didn’t expect things to go so well.

“Later, beautiful,” he mutters under his breath, barely realizing he said it out loud. God he really hopes he’ll see you again.

In the next week he looks for you everywhere, it’s like you’d disappeared as fast as you’d appeared. He checks every corner of campus, hoping to see you again, but it’s like you were nothing more than a figment of his imagination. Maybe he had just dreamed of this beautiful girl who might… just might be interested in him too.

So naturally he nearly drops dead when you walk into his intro to psychology class on the first day of the semester

It’s fate. It has to be. He’s silently thanking whatever higher power is out there.

You sit in front of him, to the right. Close enough that Denki can’t help but notice the subtle scent of your perfume—something floral and sweet, lingering in the air. He can’t tear his eyes away from the way your hair cascades over your shoulder, the shine of your lip gloss and the cute way you bite your pens when you concentrate.

He spends the whole class trying to concentrate on the lecture, but he’s distracted by the way you shift slightly in your seat, your movements somehow so graceful, so… you. Denki catches himself staring at you a few times, his thoughts swirling like a whirlwind. He wonders if you remember him from the party. If he left a good impression.

At one point, he’s so lost in thought that when the professor calls on him, he nearly jumps out of his seat.

Hearing his name seems to pique your interest and you turn around, confusion etched on your face and your big, beautiful eyes meet his. His throat runs dry and he can feel the heat rise to his face as he quickly looks away, pretending to focus on the professor again. He forces himself to breathe, but it’s like his whole body is on fire.

You don’t say anything, just tilt your head slightly, studying him like you’re trying to figure out where you’ve seen him before. The moment stretches, just long enough to make his palms sweat.

He’s panicking forcing himself to pretend like he’s suddenly very interested in the bullet points on the lecture slide.

She looked at me. She looked at me and now she’s probably wondering why I was staring at her like an idiot.

He shifts in his seat and avoids your direction for the rest of class, but his mind keeps looping back to your eyes, the way your lip gloss shimmered in the light, and the way his name sounded different somehow—important—the moment you heard it.

A week passes. Then another. And while Denki would never admit it out loud, he starts really looking forward to Intro to Psych. Not for the riveting lectures or the pages of textbook readings, no—he shows up for the chance to sit behind you, just close enough to see the shine of your lip gloss and the tiny notes you scribble in the margins of your notebook.

He doesn’t talk to you. Not really. A few stolen glances, a smile exchanged once when your eyes met as class ended. That was it.

But still, he thinks about you more than he should. Wonders if you remember him from the party. Wonders if you even know he exists, or if he’s just “that guy who stares at me in psych”

So when the professor announces they’ll be assigning research paper partners, Denki almost zones out. Until he hears it:

“Denki Kaminari… and…”

A pause.

“Y/N L/N.”

His head snaps up. He blinks.

No way. No. Freaking. Way.

You glance over your shoulder, your eyes catching his. A flash of recognition flickers across your face, followed by something he can’t quite name. Amusement? Curiosity?

You offer a small smile. “Looks like we’re partners.”

Denki smiles back, trying not to look like he’s about to pass out. “Yeah, uh. Cool. That’s… yeah. Cool.”

Cool?? That’s all he can say? God, he’s hopeless.

After class, you linger near the door, waiting for him. “So,” you say, tossing your bag over your shoulder. “Wanna figure out when we’re gonna meet up?”

“Yeah—uh, for sure.” He fumbles to get his phone out, nearly dropping it. “I’m free most evenings. My dorm’s kind of chaotic though, so maybe the library or… your place?”

You raise an eyebrow at that, and Denki nearly chokes. “Or—or we can just stick to public spaces. For now.”

You laugh softly, and it does terrible things to his heart. “How about my dorm common room? It’s quiet. No roommates hovering.”

“Perfect,” he nods. “Great. Amazing.”

You give him your number and he swears he nearly fist-pumps right there in the hallway.

As you walk away, he stands there staring at your contact name in his phone, heart pounding like he just got picked for something way more intense than a research paper.

This is it. His chance.

And he’s going to do everything he can not to mess it up.

The next day, as the class rustles with the sound of shuffling papers and low murmurs of students reacting to their assigned partners, the professor continues speaking, unfazed.

“This paper will serve as your final project for the semester. It’s not just a research essay—it’s collaborative, analytical, and heavily weighted. I expect interviews, case studies, critical sources, and synthesis. You’ll have checkpoints throughout the semester to keep you on track. If one of you slacks off, both of you pay the price.”

Denki’s stomach twists. Not just a little assignment—the assignment. For the entire semester. With you.

He glances over at you again, just in time to see you look back at him with a half-grin and a raised brow. “Guess we’re stuck with each other, huh?”

He nods, swallowing hard. “Y-Yeah. Hope you don’t mind carrying a little dead weight.”

You laugh roll your eyes playfully, but nothing joking about your words.

“Don’t play, I’ll beat your ass if you cost me my grade”

That smile again. God, that smile. He almost says you can do whatever you want to him. Almost

Later that week, the two of you meet in your dorm’s common room, laptops out, coffee cups in hand. The walls are painted a soft cream, and the faint hum of fluorescent lights fills the silence between the click of keys and scribbled notes. You’re leaning over your screen, biting your pen as you skim an article. Denki can’t stop glancing up from his laptop, watching the way you move—focused, determined, totally in your element.

“So,” you say eventually, tapping your fingers against the table. “We should pick a topic that’s got a lot of psychological depth, something we can stretch out over the semester without it getting stale.”

Denki nods, barely catching the words. Denki… wasn’t really focusing. Not on the paper, anyway.

He was watching the way your lip gloss caught the light, the way you tapped your foot and it shook your thigh, and the way your sweatshirt kept sliding off your shoulder, just enough to show a strap. “Right, yeah… like, something personal? Or controversial?”

You smirked. “Well, it’s psych, and it has to be research-based but open-ended enough to let us build a thesis. What if we picked something about human behavior? Something people don’t always talk about openly.”

Denki raised an eyebrow. “Like…?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Like attraction. Sexual development. Psychology of desire. Stuff people think about but don’t always study.”

His brain short-circuited for a second. “Oh. Wow. Yeah. That’s… yeah, that’s cool.”

You laughed at his awkward enthusiasm. “You okay, Kaminari?”

“Yep! Totally fine. Very fine. Super fine.” He cleared his throat. “Psychology of… attraction, huh?”

You tilted your head, eyes squinting now in curiosity. “It’s just an idea. Unless you’re uncomfortable talking about stuff like that?”

Denki straightened in his chair. “No! Not at all. I’m… I’m very comfortable talking about that kind of stuff. Attraction. Sex. All of that. Very chill. So chill.”

You gave him a look—playful, a little amused. “Cool. Then let’s make it our topic.”

“Cool cool cool,” he nodded quickly. “I mean, it makes sense, right? College students. First-time relationships. Hookup culture. The way media shapes our expectations.”

You smiled, impressed. “See? Look at you already building the thesis.”

Denki tried to play it cool, but his heart was racing.

He was going to be talking about sex with you. For the whole semester.

And he was going to have to keep pretending he knew what he was talking about.

You finalize your topic that night:

“The Psychology of Sexual Development and Attraction in Emerging Adults.”

It sounds official, academic, respectable. But all Denki can hear in his head is sex, attraction, you.

Week after week, you meet up in the dorm common room or tucked away in a quiet library corner, going over articles, discussing theories, analyzing interviews. You bring up topics like intimacy, desire, emotional bonding, hookup culture—and every time, Denki has to will himself to sit still and not combust.

Because here’s the thing: he’s never had sex. Never even gotten close. He’s had a few flings, a couple clumsy kisses, but that’s it. Yet here he is, spending hours every week talking about intimacy, attraction, physical connection… with the girl he is slowly, painfully falling for.

You, with your lip gloss and oversized sweatshirts, the way you always smell like vanilla and something warm, the way you joke about Freud being a creep but still cite him like a pro. You’re smart, confident, flirty in a way that feels effortless—and somehow, you never seem thrown off by the conversations that make Denki short-circuit on the inside.

Sometimes you ask him stuff like: “Do you think emotional intimacy makes sex better?” Or “What do you think makes someone desirable, not just attractive?” And Denki will nod, act thoughtful, swirl his straw around in his iced coffee and give some answer that sounds just smart enough, just casual enough, while inwardly panicking because all he can think is: You. The answer is you.

He tells you he’s “had a few partners.” That he’s “learned a lot about connection.” He throws in buzzwords from articles you’ve read to make it sound real. But every time he lies, it sits a little heavier on his chest. And every time you laugh at his jokes, or accidentally brush his hand reaching for a paper, or tilt your head and ask him something just a little too intimate—he thinks he might actually die. Because talking about sex with you, for an entire semester, is both the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to him. You fluster him too much he doesn’t know how long he can keep up with his lies.

You’ve been working together for a few weeks now, meeting once or twice a week and gotten to know each other pretty decently. Enough that he knows your favorite snack, or how you hate tomatoes on your sandwiches and you secretly love trashy reality tv. And you know how he bites the inside of his cheek when he’s concentrating, how he always forgets his highlighter but never his gum, how he makes a face when he’s trying not to laugh during a serious conversation.

It’s the little things.

You’ve seen him show up in pajama pants and bedhead for a Sunday morning session, still half-asleep, and he’s seen you curled up on the common room couch with your laptop balanced on your knees, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands. You talk about the paper, sure—but you also talk about professors, roommates, how overwhelming college can feel sometimes, and which coffee spot on campus makes the best cold brew.

There’s something easy about being around Denki. Even when he fumbles his words or makes dumb jokes, there’s a kind of comfort in it. A warmth that lingers even after he leaves.

And for Denki? You’ve become the highlight of his week. He’s memorized the way you laugh, the way you tap your pen against your lip when you’re thinking, the subtle curve of your smirk when you catch him staring.

He tells himself he’s chill. That he can handle this crush. But the more time he spends with you, the harder it gets to focus on anything but the fact that you’re smart and funny and so pretty it makes him stupid. And then there’s the topic of your paper—attraction, intimacy, desire—which doesn’t help at all.

Especially not when you’re sitting close enough for your knees to touch and saying things like, “Do you think people are drawn to those who reflect the version of themselves they want to be?”

And he has to nod like he’s thinking deeply instead of trying to ignore the fact that your lip gloss is sparkling in the damn sunlight and all he wants to do is kiss you.

But he keeps it together. Barely.

Another week, another meetup. This time a library study room. It’s gotten late and somehow Denki knows the student assistant working at the library and convinced him to let you guys stay later. He must owe him.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, but you’ve read the same sentence three times now and it still doesn’t make sense. You sigh, leaning back against the couch cushions, rubbing your eyes.

Denki’s been quiet for a while too—suspiciously quiet.

Then you hear the telltale click of his trackpad and glance over just as he smirks at you, that lazy, mischievous look you’ve started to recognize as trouble.

“Let’s take a break,” he says, voice light, almost sing-song.

You blink. “Kaminari—if you pull up another meme compilation—”

But it’s not that.

He opens a new tab. Loads Netflix.

And your favorite trashy reality show starts playing on the screen.

You freeze. “You remembered that?”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but his grin widens. “You said it helps your brain reset.”

Your heart stutters a little.

“Also,” he adds, stretching his arms behind his head with a dramatic sigh, “I feel like I’m learning a lot about modern mating behaviors. This is practically field research.”

You snort, tossing a throw pillow at him. “You’re such a nerd”

The two of you settle in, closer than you need to be, and let the chaos of overproduced drama and questionable dating choices fill the room. You’re not touching, but your knees bump occasionally, and neither of you moves. Your eyes drift over to him, the way the glow of the screen captures his face. At some point, he laughs at something ridiculous on screen and turns to tell you—and realizes you’re already looking at him.

And you don’t look away. Neither does he.

A beat. Two.

Your eyes fall to his lips, then you blink and pull back, muttering something about the girl on the show.

Denki doesn’t sleep well that night.

Just a week away from campus, from the routine you’ve both fallen into without meaning to. You head home, back to your childhood bedroom with the faded posters on the walls and the dresser drawer still full of things that don’t quite fit who you are anymore.

And for a little while, it feels good to be around familiar places—until you realize how unfamiliar it all feels now.

You’re at a party with some old friends. The music’s loud, someone’s passing around cheap drinks in mismatched cups, and people keep asking you about college. You nod, you smile, you give answers that sound right. But the whole time, you’re a little distant.

It hits you that you’ve changed—and so have they. You laugh at the right jokes, hug the right people, but your eyes keep scanning the room, searching faces you know too well and still somehow hoping his will be among them.

It doesn’t make sense, not really. You’ve known Denki Kaminari for what, six weeks? You’ve never even kissed. But it’s like there’s a thread between you now—light, invisible, and stretched across the state line.

You check your phone more than you should. Scroll through your texts. There’s nothing new. You don’t want to be the first to say something. But God, you want to hear from him.

Across the state, Denki is at his childhood friend’s house, half-listening to a group of guys argue about something stupid on TV. He’s zoning out, phone face down on his thigh. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you since he got home.

He wonders what you’re doing. Who you’re with. If you’re thinking about him too.

He doesn’t text you. But he opens your Instagram story three times.

Fuck it. You down your drink and text first, you can regret it tomorrow.

[You]

Are u as smart as you sound when we study or are u faking it

[Denki]

i literally googled 40% of my answers last time pls don’t tell

[You]

LMAOOOO ur a fraud.

[Denki]

a fraud with a good memory and great hair tho

[You]

can confirm: good hair. very touchable.

Denki nearly drops his phone.

[Denki]

you tryna test that theory??

You don’t reply right away. But at your study session, you walk in wearing his hoodie, the one he let you borrow. You don’t mention it. Neither does he.

The paper starts feeling secondary. You’re both still working hard—highlighting texts, citing sources, building out arguments—but now your legs always touch when you sit. Denki brought you your favorite candy without asking. You brush lint off his sleeve like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You’re scrolling through your notes, acting like this is just another study session, like you didn’t just burn his entire nervous system to the ground two nights ago with one flirty text.

You don’t look at him. Not right away.

So he does what he always does when he doesn’t know what to do—he makes a joke.

“So uh… hoodie looks better on you.”

You glance up, eyes glinting. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, trying to keep it light. “I mean, I’ve got the hair, but you’ve got the whole ‘effortless and hot’ thing going for you.”

Your smile curves slow. “Effortless and hot, huh? That your official academic opinion?”

He coughs, choking on the sip of water he was taking, and definitely blushing. “Peer-reviewed.”

You laugh, quiet and breathy. The same way that always makes his stomach flip and you look at him, really look at him. You chew on your lip for a second as if your contemplating your next words

“You’re weird, Kaminari”

You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing,” he says, heart pounding.

“It’s not,” you reply softly. “It’s just… different. You’re different.”

The way you say it makes him feel like maybe that’s not a bad thing either.

There’s a beat of silence. The kind that stretches and stretches, thick and golden and full of something. Not tension, not exactly. Anticipation. Warmth. Want.

You turn your attention back to your laptop, but your voice is casual when you ask, “So… are we actually working tonight? Or are we just gonna keep fake-flirting until one of us passes out?”

Denki blinks. “F-Fake?”

You bite back a smirk. “Relax, Denki. I’m messing with you.”

But the way you’re looking at him now—head tilted, eyes a little too knowing—he doesn’t think you’re just messing.

And god,his heart is soaring because you never call him Denki. He wants to lean in. To test the theory. To kiss you and finally, finally know what it feels like.

Instead he clears his throat. “Cmon, let’s get through this next topic before you make me fail this class”

You giggle again, typing away on your laptop. “Got it, lover boy, work first and kissing later”

He chokes.

You don’t look up—but the grin on your face tells him you know exactly what you just did.

There’s night stretches on, one of the latest ones you’ve pulled and Denki tries—really tries—to focus after that.

He stares at the blinking cursor on the shared Google Doc like it owes him something, fists clenched in his lap to keep from doing something unhinged, like reaching over and grabbing your face. Or your hand. Or asking if “kissing later” was just a joke or a promise.

You on the other hand are typing away, carefree like you didn’t just make the room 10 degrees hotter

“You know..” you break the silence, not looking up from your screen. “You’re really bad at hiding when you’re flustered”

He practically breaks his neck at the speed he looks up at you. “I am not!” He quickly retorts

“Are too! It’s cute though” you smirk, now looking up at him

“You think everything I do is cute”

“Awww you wish!” You tease playfully

Denki squints. “What isn’t cute, then?”

You pretend to think. “That time you tried to explain the text and started stuttering halfway through because you got flustered about saying the word ‘orgasm.’”

“I didn’t stutter!” he lies, voice cracking just enough to betray him.

You laugh. Loud and warm and god, he’s so far gone.

“Okay, yeah, no, you’re right,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m kinda a disaster.”

“You’re not,” you say, and your voice goes soft. “You’re honest. And kind of charming in a very… Denki..way”

That shuts him up.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. Your eyes meet again, longer this time. There’s something quieter now. Less teasing. A little more real.

You look away first this time, taking a slow sip from your water bottle. “You ever think about how weird this is?”

“What?”

You gesture between the two of you. “Us. Talking about sex and relationships every week. Being this close. Sharing stuff we probably wouldn’t tell anyone else. But still pretending like we’re not…”

“Not what?” he asks, voice low.

You hesitate. “Like we’re not into each other.”

The words hang there, suspended.

Denki doesn’t speak. He can’t. His heart’s in his throat.

But when you look back at him, your expression is unreadable. Not scared, not unsure—just waiting. Letting him decide how to play it.

He swallows hard, because this is the moment. The cliff’s edge.

“I think about it,” he admits. “Like… a lot.”

Your eyes soften. And then you smile—gentle, knowing.

“Good,” you say. “Me too.”

The silence stretches but it isn’t awkward. It’s heavy and thick with all the things left unsaid.

Denki’s still sitting there blinking at you, and you’re just watching him, calm and warm and waiting.

You gave him an opening. And he knows it.

He shifts, his voice a little breathless. “So if we’re both thinking about it…”

You raise a brow. “Yeah?”

“…should we, like… stop pretending we’re not?”

You blink. Then smile. “Depends. You finally gonna kiss me, Kami? or just keep talking about it?”

Denki’s breath stutters. And for a second, it looks like he’s gonna panic again.

But then he leans in.

Carefully, like you’ll vanish if he moves too fast. He reaches out, fingers brushing your jaw—lightly at first, like a question. You lean into it. That’s all he needs.

The kiss starts soft. Hesitant. Testing the waters.

But the second his lips press to yours, the second he registers the way you sigh against him, how your hand curls gently into his sweatshirt—

Something cracks.

He pulls you in closer, deepening the kiss, tasting weeks of tension and flirtation and almosts finally giving way to something real. Your fingers slide into his hair, and he makes the softest sound—like his brain just short-circuited and rebooted in your arms.

When you finally part, barely, he rests his forehead against yours, lips still tingling.

“…Was that okay?” he whispers.

You let out a breathy laugh. “You’re literally shaking.”

“I’m literally dying.”

You giggle, thumb brushing his cheek. “Don’t die. Not before we finish the paper.”

He laughs—nervous and giddy. “Chat is this real”

You nod, bursting into laughter “yes,very real”

After the kiss, everything is the same but..different

You still meet to work on the paper, still bicker about citations and steal bites of each other’s snacks. But now there’s something else too. Now you hang out in each other’s actual dorms. You’ve met Hanta, he’s met Momo. There’s More brushes of hands. Longer stares. The occasional “study break” that turns into lying shoulder-to-shoulder on his dorm bed, whispering dumb stories and soft laughs between shared earbuds.

And kissing. Lots of it. Lazy, breath-stealing, mind-melting kissing that makes Denki feel like he’s on the verge of glitching out every five seconds.

You don’t talk about what you are, exactly. But it’s something.

You fall into this rhythm—soft, flirty, safe. Until it isn’t.

It starts with a movie. Something stupid, forgettable, background noise. It’s around 10pm in a Friday night, the lights are low and Hanta’s away at a soccer tournament.

You’re tangled up together on his bed, his hoodie on you again, your leg thrown over his, head resting on his shoulder. The laptop is abandoned on the corner of the mattress.

You’re kissing—slow at first. Familiar.

But then your hands start wandering. His do too.

He shifts so you’re under him, your fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt. Your lips are on his neck now, warm and gentle and full of want, and he thinks he might actually combust.

Then your hand slips under his shirt.

And he freezes.

You don’t notice at first. You’re too busy kissing him breathless. But when he doesn’t respond—when he pulls back just slightly, still hovering above you—you open your eyes.

“Kami?” you whisper, voice breathy. “You okay?”

He swallows thickly. His heart’s beating so fast it hurts. He wants this—he wants you. So badly it makes his hands shake.

But he’s not ready. Not with this lie hanging over him like a weight.

“I—” he starts, then gently pulls away, sitting back against the wall, knees pulled up like a shield. “I can’t.”

You sit up slowly. Confused. Not hurt, just concerned. “Okay. That’s okay. You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to.”

But he does.

Because suddenly he remembers something—something you said during the part he’d first met you at, said so casually but it stuck like a splinter in his brain: “I think most people try to put on a front, I’ve never fucked with that”

“No I want to god I want to so fucking bad look at you. And you’re wearing my hoodie I just-“ he sighs taking a beat before speaking again.

“I lied to you,” he blurts out, voice cracking. “About… stuff. Before.”

You blink. “What stuff?”

He rubs his hands over his face. “About being… experienced. I’m not. Not even a little. I’ve never—I’ve never done any of this before. You asked me early on and I said I had, like, a couple partners or whatever, but I’ve never even seen—God, I haven’t even seen boobs in real life—”

You stare at him.

He groans, flopping back against the wall again. “I wanted to impress you. You’re so cool and confident and hot, and we were literally writing about sex for our final paper, and you seemed like you had it all together and I didn’t wanna be some loser you pitied, so I just… lied.”

Silence.

He risks a glance at you.

You’re staring at him, unreadable. Then:

“Denki,” you say slowly, “do you really think I’d pity you for that?”

He blinks. “…Maybe?”

You sigh, shifting closer, pulling your knees up to mirror him. “I’m gonna tell you something now, and you’re not allowed to laugh.”

“O-okay.”

“I’ve never… either.”

He blinks. Once. Twice. “Wait—like, never never?”

You nod. “Like, never never.”

He sits up straighter. “But—you’re so—you.”

You laugh. “Exactly what you just said about me, I could say about you. You’re cute and sweet and you flirted your way into my life and I just… do a lot of reading”

“Reading? Oh you’re a freak” he says, with a smirk, breaking the seriousness of the situation with his jokes

He makes you laugh “oh my god shut up!” You hit him with a nearby pillow. There’s a brief pause as your laughter fades, and you both settle back into a more comfortable quiet. The vulnerability still lingers in the air, but it feels warmer now. Softer. Safe.

Denki glances at you, smile lingering. “Thanks for not being mad.”

“Thanks for being honest,” you reply, nudging his leg with your foot. “I know that wasn’t easy.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, bashful. “I figured if you found out later, you’d never wear my hoodie again.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re lucky I look better in it than you.”

He fake gasps, clutching his chest. “Wounded.”

“You’ll live.”

You shift in the bed, the heated moment gone and you both enjoy each other company with you laying in his arms. You smirk to yourself before lifting your head “so do you wanna see what real boobs look like?”

You’re crying with laughter now, wiping your eyes. “God, you should see your face.”

“You’re evil,” he mutters, covering his own with both hands. “Evil and hot and evil.”

You hum smugly, snuggling closer. “I’m just giving you options, Kaminari.”

He groans. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You grin against his shoulder. “But what a way to go.”

And just like that, the room is full of warmth again—messy, teasing, tender. Two nervous college kids somehow fumbling their way through something real.

You fall asleep in his arms that night He carefully reaches for his phone, snaps the gentlest, grainiest, dim-light pic—just enough to see your figure curled against him, the corner of your cheek barely in frame.

Then he opens the group chat.

[Denki Kaminari 💛]

[attachment: 1 image]

so when’s Hantas funeral?

The response is almost instant.

[Sero 🕸️]

WHAT.

NO.

BRO.

NO WAY.

[Kirishima 🔥💪]

IS THAT—

IS THAT HER?!

[Bakugo 💥]

how the fuck

[Sero 🕸️]

nah for real i’m deceased

literally here lies hanta sero

Oml my son is growing up so fast😭

Denki smirks, locking his phone and tucking it away.

You shift slightly in your sleep, and he instinctively pulls you closer, brushing a soft kiss into your hair. suddenly, he’s not thinking about bragging anymore. He’s just… grateful. Stupidly, wildly grateful.

You liked him. Enough to fall asleep in his arms. Enough to trust him, despite all the awkward flirting and the bluffing and the weirdness. Enough to see through all of it and still want to be close. Then he lays his head back, arm around you, and lets the warmth of you lull him to sleep.

This time…for once his brain is quiet.

——

katsuki's always had this knack — a silent understanding of the way your brain works. your quietness was never something he pushed against, only something he wished to ease.

even as his thumb drags slowly over your cheeks, you know he's only trying to steady you.

you whisper a small breath of his name, circling your hands around his wrists as your foreheads press together — that's all it takes.

and maybe, that's when something in you finally gives — when all that hesitation breaks the moment his eyes stare patiently into yours, and why you're the one pressing your lips together before you can even think twice.

he tastes like caramel, a warmth that settles onto your tongue slowly, like the sunlight peeking through an open window. 

surprisingly tense under your touch, his hands pause against your back — his mind insistent on following your guidance. 

he presses his lips gently against yours, slow and tentative, like if he rushes this moment it may end too soon. groaning breathlessly into your mouth when your hands card through his hair, and give the strands a gentle tug before they're back on his face.

it's not long before your confidence wavers, his muscles tightening subtly underneath your palms as you pull your lips away, breathlessly.

katsuki's cheeks are red, hair stuck to his forehead and a faint shine coating his chest. his lips are flushed a bright pink, spit-soaked — breathing unsteadily as he looks at you like he's trying to figure out what you're thinking.

"again," you murmur, chest heaving against his, "please?"

a toothy grin spreads across his face when your eyes dart over his features — as if they're in search of something — some kind of reassurance.

which katsuki is glad to give when he presses a teasing peck to your cheek, adjusting himself underneath you so your body's pulled even closer and whispering, "you drive me crazy, you know that?"

you can't help but smile.

lips skimming his for the last time tonight — this time with no intentions of pulling away. guiding his hands to your lower back as you press into his palms. 

your hips move against his thigh at a steady pace, soft sounds of your lips meeting blending with the hum of the AC.

"katsuki?" 

there's an annoyed sigh that tumbles from his mouth when your lips detach, "hm?"

"my bra . . . take it off"

© — tokkushin : all rights reserved. all works belong to me .ᐟ pls do not repost/copy, or feed into ai.

a/n: kali loves intimacy! i like writing this more than smut let's be so fr. i tagged it as smut cuz i don't want people yelling at me so just to be safe! -> masterlist. | comments and reblogs greatly appreciated! 💋