hottiewatch-stories

[hottiewatch-stories]

Pharah x Mercy oneshot ♡

༺ ˖࣪ ∗ 𓆩♡𓆪 ∗ ˖࣪ ༻

contains: nsfw, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, eating out, fingering, shower s3x

hope you enjoy <𝟯

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Angela was a cheerleader. The kind people whispered about in hallways and watched just a little too long during pep rallies. Her blonde hair was always tied up—either in a high, swishing ponytail that caught the light when she jumped, or soft pigtails that made her look even sweeter than she already was. She moved like she weighed nothing at all, like every routine was effortless, and when she smiled—really smiled—it felt like summer had arrived early. Her kindness wasn’t forced or polished; it was real, warm, and easy, the kind that made teachers adore her and strangers feel seen. It wasn’t a surprise she was the most popular girl on the cheer squad. Probably in the whole school. People gravitated toward her, like she carried a kind of gravity without even trying. Boys tripped over themselves for her attention. Girls envied her, wanted to be her, or wanted to get close to her—sometimes all three. She was perfect in the way people always talked about when they thought no one could hear. But no one really knew her. Not really. No one knew about the fluttering little secret tucked deep behind her ribcage—the kind of secret that bloomed quietly in quiet moments and burned bright in the back of her throat. No one, except her best friend Hana. Angela was a lesbian. And she was very, very good at pretending that didn’t mean anything. Except it did. Especially when it came to one person.

Fareeha Amari.

The tall, sharp-eyed, maddeningly cool basketball player who always seemed just a little bit untouchable. With her sun-warmed skin, always slightly flushed from practice, and that strong, athletic frame that moved like power lived in her bones. Fareeha had this way of owning a room without trying, of saying nothing but somehow still being the loudest presence in the gym. Angela didn’t even play basketball, but she went to every game she could, pretending it was just for school spirit—but it wasn’t. It was for the moments when Fareeha would score, and the corners of her mouth would lift into this confident, barely-there smirk that made Angela feel like her knees might give out. She watched her. From the bleachers. From across the halls. From the mirror in the girls’ bathroom when Fareeha would walk past, smelling faintly of sweat and mint gum and something like cedar. She didn’t mean to look. She just couldn’t help it. They’d never really spoken. Just passing glances. A nod, once. But sometimes, just sometimes, Angela could’ve sworn Fareeha looked back. And that was enough to keep the butterflies alive.

Today was the day—the basketball team had a big match against a rival school, and Angela could already feel the fluttery little nerves in her stomach when she woke up. She didn’t rush out of bed; instead, she stayed there for a few minutes, stretching slowly on the soft mattress, arms overhead, legs pointed and long. It was part of her routine on game days—light morning stretches, almost like Pilates, to feel calm, present, and just a little more like herself. She drank a glass of cold water in the kitchen, savoring the chill, and took a deep breath through her nose. It grounded her. Centered her. She always got nervous before games, even though she was good at what she did—really good. She met up with Hana outside the school gates, like always. The two of them chatted about math homework as if it were any other day, their voices light, arms linked loosely.

Angela could feel the way her heart skipped a little faster with every hour that passed. The day flew by in a blur of classrooms and whispered conversations, until it was finally time. After school, the cheerleading team filed into the locker room—more than a dozen girls chatting, laughing, brushing their hair and adjusting their uniforms. Hana and Angela were just two among them, slipping into their usual cheer outfits: white fabric trimmed with soft pink at the hem, matching white sneakers, and pastel-colored pom-poms that shimmered faintly under the fluorescent lights. Across the room, the basketball girls were getting ready too. Fareeha and Kiriko were there—two of the team’s star players and the only girls on the court, but no one questioned it anymore. They were just that good.

Angela had gotten used to the sight of them changing across the room—but that didn’t mean her heart didn’t skip every time. Fareeha stood near the far row of lockers, half-dressed in her uniform shorts and a dark sports bra, her skin glowing faintly with the warmth of practice. Her muscles moved beneath smooth, sun-kissed skin—shoulders strong, her stomach defined, her body effortlessly beautiful in a way that made Angela feel short of breath without warning. She had the kind of figure that made people stare—athletic but soft in the right places, full in the chest, hips curved, her thighs thick and her waist trim. Angela’s eyes lingered, just a moment too long, on the way her back flexed as she tugged her jersey over her head. And then Fareeha turned. Not fast. Not accusing. Just… caught her. Their eyes met across the room, and for a heartbeat, everything slowed. Angela felt herself freeze. Her breath hitched. She looked away instantly, cheeks burning, pretending to rummage through her bag with sudden urgency. Just a gay little moment. Just one of many. It was fine. She was fine.

It wasn’t like anyone knew. Well—except Hana.

And Hana just smirked beside her like she definitely knew Angela was spiraling internally.

The sun hung low over the schoolyard, casting golden light across the outdoor court. The air was warm, a little dusty, and buzzed with energy as students filled the bleachers and benches, chattering excitedly. The cheer squad had just finished their routine—pom-poms now resting in their laps as they settled along the sidelines. Angela plopped down onto the edge of a low bench, brushing a few strands of hair from her flushed face. Her pigtails bounced slightly as she took a sip of cold water, trying to steady her heart.

She glanced across the court, eyes instinctively drawn to the tall figure in the navy basketball jersey. Fareeha Amari stood at the center of it all, like the sun had chosen her to spotlight. Her smooth, dark hair was pulled into a high ponytail, strands clinging to the sides of her face from sweat. Her arms glistened under the light, muscles flexing as she dribbled lazily, her focus deadly sharp. She was intense, confident, and stupidly, unfairly hot.

Angela didn’t even realize she was staring until a familiar voice piped up next to her. “Watching Fareeha again?” Hana teased, nudging her gently with her knee. Angela’s cheeks flushed pink. “What? No—shut up.” Hana just grinned. “You’re literally drooling.” Angela swatted her with a pom-pom, but her eyes still trailed back to the court—just in time to see Fareeha break away from the other team with a clean, brutal cut. She spun around one of the defenders, drove toward the hoop, and leapt effortlessly. Teammates swarmed her, cheers erupting, arms flinging around her in brief hugs, hands clapping her back, someone even mussing her hair. Fareeha just stood there — unbothered, unshaken — and smirked. Wide. Lazy. Unapologetically smug. She tilted her chin slightly, letting the moment stretch, like the whole thing — the shot, the win, the attention — was just for fun. Just a show. Like she was barely trying. Angela’s breath caught in her throat. Her thighs shifted slightly where she sat, pressing together on instinct. “Oh my god,” she whispered. Hana leaned in. “You good?” Angela didn’t even look away. “No. I think I’m dying.” Hana snorted. “Same, but over Kiriko.” Angela finally turned to her with wide eyes. “Wait. Kiriko?” “I never said I was subtle,” Hana said with a shrug, sipping from her iced tea like nothing happened. Across the court, Fareeha’s eyes flicked toward them—just for a second. Angela didn’t know if it meant anything. But she felt it in her bones.

The game had stretched on for over an hour—intense and loud, every cheer and whistle sparkling with raw school spirit that buzzed through the air like electricity. Angela’s eyes kept drifting across the court, sometimes catching glimpses of Fareeha moving with that fierce, effortless grace, and every now and then, just maybe, their gazes locked—and in that fleeting moment, she swore Fareeha winked at her. That tiny, teasing gesture sent a flutter through her stomach like wings beating wild and free, and suddenly the noise of the crowd faded into a distant hum beneath the pounding of her heart.

They won, of course. The crowd exploded—shouting, laughing, clapping, jumping like they’d just witnessed a miracle. Angela clapped along too, her smile soft but genuine. It wasn’t just about school pride; she was happy for her. Proud, even. As the team left the court, Fareeha raised both arms with exaggerated flair, like she was taking a bow at the end of a performance. The crowd ate it up—cheering louder, some students yelling things a little too bold. Angela laughed quietly to herself, cheeks warm. Now in the locker room, things were buzzing. Girls chatting, laughing, towels whipping playfully, the usual post-game chaos. But Fareeha wasn’t there. Angela scanned the room once, then again. Still no sign of her. She didn’t feel like changing. Her muscles ached, and all she wanted was a long, hot shower at home. The locker room emptied out quickly, and Angela left with Hana, who launched into a play-by-play of the game as they stepped outside. Angela rummaged through her bag mid-conversation, frowning. Her phone was nowhere. “Shit,” she muttered, cutting Hana off gently. “I’m so sorry—I don’t wanna interrupt you, but I think I left my phone.” Hana waved it off with a smile. “It’s fine, don’t worry. Go grab it. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Angela jogged backward a few steps, waving. “See you!” She turned on her heel and headed back toward the school, the evening air brushing over her skin as the sun dipped lower behind the bleachers.

Angela stepped into the locker room absentmindedly, still riding the high of game-day adrenaline. The crowd’s roar was still echoing faintly in her head, like a song stuck on loop. She reached for her phone without really thinking, then slipped it inside her bag, her movements slow and distracted, her mind still buzzing from the lights, the noise, and—if she was being honest—her.

Then—

click. The door opened behind her.

She turned.

Fareeha.

Of course it was Fareeha.

She looked unfairly good—skin flushed and glowing, a white towel slung around her neck, beads of sweat still trailing along her jawline. Her signature high ponytail was slightly tousled, but it only made her look more powerful, like a storm barely restrained. Angela froze, caught in that electric pause between breath and heartbeat. Fareeha’s gaze found her instantly. She smiled—lazy, warm, confident—and walked toward her locker like it was just another day.

“Hey,” she said casually, rummaging through her bag, pulling out a clean jersey like it wasn’t a crime to look that hot while doing it.

Angela stood rooted to the spot, blinking like she’d just walked into a dream she wasn’t ready for. “Hi,” she managed finally, voice soft, like she was scared of breaking the moment. Fareeha zipped her duffel and turned to face her, stepping forward with that same athletic grace she had on the court. “You were good today,” she said, nodding once. “Cheerleading, I mean.” Angela felt her cheeks bloom with warmth instantly. Fareeha was closer now, and her features looked even more striking up close—intense eyes, defined eyebrows, lips just a little parted. “Ah– thank you,” Angela stammered, her voice half a whisper. “You were great as well. You… jumped higher than the rest.” The words left her mouth before she could think, awkward and obvious. She cringed inwardly. But Fareeha just smirked, amused, tilting her head. “Yeah? So you watched me?” Angela glanced down, smiling shyly, then dared to meet her gaze again. “How could someone not watch you?” The air between them thickened—warm, breathless, charged. Fareeha’s smirk softened into something unreadable. Almost gentle. Almost dangerous. Fareeha’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned just a little closer, the towel slipping off one shoulder like it was trying to escape. “So,” she said, voice low and teasing, “you watch me jump, huh? What else do you watch?” Angela blinked, heart doing somersaults. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, trying to play it cool but failing spectacularly. “I—uh— when you’re showing off,” she said with a nervous laugh, cheeks heating up. Fareeha smirked, that signature tilt of the head making Angela want to melt right there. “Oh, really? So I’m a show-off now?” Fareeha stepped in, slow and deliberate, fingers tapping lightly on the locker beside Angela’s head like a playful challenge. The sudden closeness made Angela instinctively move back—her shoulder bumping softly against the cool metal behind her, breath hitching just a little as she looked up at her with wide eyes. „I thought you liked watching me.” Angela’s eyes darted to Fareeha’s lips for just a second longer than necessary.

“Maybe I do,” she admitted, voice dropping an octave. “But I’m not just some fan you can tease all day.” Fareeha chuckled, that slow, amused grin spreading across her face. “Oh? So you think you’re special?” Angela stepped closer, heat rolling off her in waves, daring and unashamed. “Mmh~ I am. You’d know exactly how special…” she paused, biting her lip, “if you’d ever tasted my tight little pussy.” Her words hung in the air like a challenge, bold and intoxicating. Fareeha’s smirk deepened — a game had just started, and neither of them was backing down.

Angela didn’t get the chance to overthink it. One second, she was looking at Fareeha’s mouth. The next, she grabbed her by the jaw and kissed her like she fucking meant it. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t soft. It was filthy. Teeth clashing, lips bruising—hot, wet, hungry. Fareeha kissed like she was pissed off they hadn’t done this sooner, like she needed Angela’s mouth on hers just to breathe. Angela moaned into it, helpless, instantly melting under the pressure. And then—Fareeha’s hands slid under her skirt. She cupped Angela’s perky ass with both hands, fingers digging in like she’d earned it. Angela gasped into the kiss, nearly stumbling as Fareeha pulled her closer, grinding their bodies together. “Fuck—” Angela breathed against her lips, dazed, drunk off it. Her fingers clutched at Fareeha’s jersey, needy and aching.

Fareeha’s mouth moved fast—over Angela’s jaw, down her neck, biting, licking, dragging her tongue over every inch of flushed skin she could reach. Angela let her head fall back with a soft, shattered moan, lips parted, already dizzy from how hot her body felt—like her skin was too tight, like she could unravel under Fareeha’s mouth alone. “God, you’re so fucking hot,” Fareeha growled against her throat—and then she was on her knees, dropping like gravity had ripped her down. Angela barely had time to react before Fareeha’s hands found the waistband of her skirt and yanked it down in one swift, practiced motion. The pleated fabric hit the floor. Underneath: pink lace panties, soft and delicate, with a little red bow sitting right at the hem like a sin disguised as sweetness.

Fareeha stared for a moment, head tilting, smirk slow and dangerous.

“Look at you.” Her fingers ghosted over the damp patch between Angela’s thighs, deliberate. “Do you always get this wet for me?” Angela gasped, hips twitching, already unsteady. Fareeha didn’t wait. She hooked her fingers into the waistband and slid the panties down with the kind of ease that said: I’ve thought about this. A lot. Angela’s legs parted instinctively, her breath catching as cool air met wet heat. Fareeha just stared—hungry, reverent, filthy. Then her voice cut through the haze, low and commanding: “Speak.” Angela whimpered, breath trembling. „Yes,” she whispered. “Fuck—I just can’t help it, I always—” Fareeha didn’t let her finish. She leaned in and licked a slow stripe up her inner thigh—watching Angela fall apart above her. “Good girl,” she murmured, mouth moving closer, hot breath ghosting over soaked skin.

“Now be quiet and let me taste your gorgeous fucking pussy.”

She dipped in without mercy. Tongue flat and slow at first, dragging through Angela’s folds like she was learning her by taste. And fuck—Angela tasted like sweat and sugar, the kind of flavor that made Fareeha groan low in her throat. Angela gasped, one hand flying to Fareeha’s hair, fingers sinking in, gripping—not pushing away, just needing something to hold onto while she was being eaten alive. Fareeha didn’t tease. She devoured. Messy, filthy, open-mouthed—burying her face between Angela’s thighs and moaning into her like she could get drunk off it. Her hands came back up to Angela’s ass, gripping, spreading her open, holding her steady as her tongue circled Angela’s clit with wet, hungry precision. Angela cried out, high and broken, back arching off the locker. Her thighs trembled on either side of Fareeha’s head, but Fareeha just pressed in harder—deeper. She wanted everything. “Sh-shit, Fareeha—” Angela whimpered, grinding against her mouth helplessly now, shamelessly, because how the fuck was she supposed to think with a tongue that good wrecking her? Fareeha pulled back just long enough to pant, breath hot against Angela’s soaked core. “You taste so fucking good,” she murmured, licking her lips. “Like you were made for this.” Then she dove back in. Tongue flicking fast and dirty, lips sucking at her clit —eating her out like she needed it to survive. Like this wasn’t just locker room heat—this was a craving. And Angela? She was falling apart. Whining, twitching, sobbing out her name. She was close—so close it was pathetic, really. Her moans were getting higher, more broken, thighs clamping around Fareeha’s head like she was trying to trap her there, to hold onto the wave building fast and sharp in her gut. Fareeha felt it. Smelled it. Tasted it. And she didn’t let up. She flattened her tongue, dragged it up again, then circled Angela’s clit with obscene precision—wet, fast, devastating. Her fingers dug into Angela’s ass, pulling her closer, keeping her right where she wanted her. Angela gasped, a choked-off “Fuck—Fareeha, I—,” But it was already too late. Her orgasm crashed into her like a wave breaking the shore. She came hard—legs shaking, hands scrabbling against the locker, mouth falling open in a silent gasp before the moan tore out of her throat. Her hips bucked, grinding helplessly into Fareeha’s mouth, riding it out, as her vision blurred and her whole body pulsed with heat and relief and overwhelming, delicious wreckage. Fareeha moaned into her like she wanted to swallow it. She slowly pulled away, her lips shining, chin glistening, and that look in her eyes like she enjoyed every second of it. She stood, wiping her mouth lazily with the back of her hand. Her smirk was cocky, calm, like she hadn’t just ruined Angela’s soul in a locker room. “So,” she said, tilting her head as Angela blinked up at her, dazed and glowing, “wanna hit the showers with me?” Angela stared at her for a long second, still trembling. Then she nodded, eyes dark and mouth bitten red. “Only if you promise to use your hands this time,” she breathed, voice wrecked but daring. Fareeha chuckled darkly—low and satisfied—then grabbed the back of Angela’s thighs, rough and possessive, lifting her like she weighed nothing. Angela let out a soft gasp, instinctively wrapping her legs around Fareeha’s waist, her arms looping around her neck, still trembling from the orgasm that hadn’t even fully faded. Fareeha’s mouth was at her ear, her voice all heat and promise. “Oh, baby…” she said, squeezing her thighs hard enough to make Angela whimper. “I will.”

They stumbled into the showers half-dressed, laughing breathlessly, lips still swollen from kisses. Fareeha gently let Angela down, steadying her with a smirk as her hands eagerly tugged Angela’s top over her head, the heat between them thickening with every stolen breath. Clothes hit the wet tile one by one, leaving them bare and flushed beneath the sharp echo of fluorescent lights and the hum of rushing water. Angela stepped under the spray first, letting it slick over her skin. Her pigtails clung to her shoulders, water sliding over toned muscles and flushed skin. She looked back over her shoulder—smirking, challenging. Fareeha’s eyes darkened, as if she wanted to devour every inch of her. She closed the space behind Angela, hands resting firmly on her waist. Angela’s palms pressed against the cool wall. “Leg up,” Fareeha growled. Angela obeyed without question, lifting her right leg with practiced ease, her body trembling with anticipation—slick from water and arousal alike. Fareeha slipped a hand between her thighs, groaning low at the heat and wet waiting for her. Then—two fingers pushed inside, slow but firm. Angela gasped, arching into it, forehead resting against the wall. “You always stared at me,” Fareeha whispered into her ear. Thrust. “In the hallways. At practice. Every time I ran drills.” Thrust. “You thought I didn’t notice?” Thrust. Harder this time. Angela moaned loud, fingers scrabbling against wet tile for balance, thighs shaking. “You’d bite your lip like a little slut,” thrust, “sitting there in your tiny skirt,” thrust, „soaked just from watching me sweat.” Thrust. Curl. Angela cried out, hips bucking back against Fareeha’s hand as her hot walls fluttered and clenched around her fingers, which moved faster—merciless, practiced, and utterly possessive. Water poured down around them, hot steam curling through the space, but all Angela could feel was Fareeha’s breath on her neck and those fingers pounding into her like they belonged there. “Say it,” Fareeha growled against her ear. “Say you wanted this every time you saw me.” Angela moaned, broken and breathless. “I did—I always did—fuck, I wanted you so bad—” Fareeha kissed her shoulder, still thrusting, fingers soaked with everything but the shower. “Good girl.”

Angela was spiraling—hips pushed back, palms flat against the tile, one toned leg hooked up and trembling, body stretched open like an invitation Fareeha had no intention of refusing. Fareeha’s fingers were buried deep inside her, pumping hard and slow, knuckles pressing into slick heat as she ground her palm against Angela’s pussy with every thrust. Each motion had Angela moaning, back arching deeper, chasing every inch Fareeha gave her like she needed it to breathe. „Your pussy takes me so well,” Fareeha growled against her ear, voice like gravel and sex. Thrust. „So fucking wet for me, angel. You were made for this.” Thrust. „This little pussy knew who she belonged to the second I walked in.” Thrust. Curl. Grind. Angela cried out, half-lost already, cheeks flushed, her knee almost giving out from the power behind each thrust. Water poured over both of them, but it was nothing compared to the heat blistering between her legs. „You gonna cum again?” Fareeha whispered, voice lower now, lips brushing the edge of Angela’s jaw. „Gonna soak my fingers like a good little slut?” And Angela did—with a choked sob of a moan, thighs shaking, whole body tensing around Fareeha’s fingers as she came hard, walls fluttering, mouth open and breathless. Fareeha held her steady, fucked her through it, murmuring praises against her neck. “That’s it. There she is. Good fucking girl.”

Fareeha slowly pulled her hand away, Angela’s cum dripping down her wrists. Angela was still panting, her body buzzing from the high, legs turning jelly-soft and lips swollen from kisses. But as she turned, eyes catching Fareeha’s—dark, steady, smug—something in her dropped. She sank to her knees.

Not a word. Just that look. Fareeha raised a brow. “What do we have here?” Angela leaned in, mouth hovering just above the seam of her thighs, and whispered: „Let me make you feel good…” Fareeha exhaled slowly through her nose, one hand tangling in damp blonde hair. “Look at you—so fucking eager now.” She spread her stance a little wider, letting her fingers rest lightly on the back of Angela’s head. “Go ahead then, baby. Show me how grateful you are.” Angela needed no more encouragement. She leaned in, tongue darting out to lick a long, slow stripe up between Fareeha’s folds—moaning immediately at the taste. Sweat, water, salt, and heat. Strong and intoxicating and so unmistakably Fareeha. Fareeha let out a low groan, her grip in Angela’s hair tightening. “That’s it,” she murmured, voice thick. “Good fucking girl. Just like that.” Angela licked again, then again—then locked eyes with her and sucked. Lips wrapped around her clit, tongue flicking, messy and desperate, and so greedy for every sound Fareeha made. Fareeha’s head tilted back slightly, jaw clenched, hips twitching. “God, your pretty mouth…” she hissed. “Knew you’d be good with it. You’re fucking perfect down there.” Angela moaned into her, the vibrations making Fareeha shudder. Her hands were guiding Angela now — controlling her pace but letting her worship. “You like this, don’t you?” Fareeha growled, breath hitching. “Licking me clean, pussy-drunk on your knees like the good little slut you are.” Angela nodded as she sucked, whined, let her tongue flatten and slide through the slick heat before circling again—dizzy and dripping and so fucking obedient. She gripped Fareeha’s delicious thighs for balance, fingers digging into smooth muscle as she kept her mouth moving. Fareeha was close. Angela could feel it in the tension in her thighs, in the way her breaths were getting short, her voice rougher. „Don’t stop,” she growled. “Fuck, Angela—don’t you dare fucking stop.” Angela didn’t. She doubled down—sucked harder, flicked faster, sloppier, her mouth soaked with it, her tongue relentless until— Fareeha choked on a moan, hips jerking forward as her orgasm crashed over her. Her thighs trembled, her hand still holding Angela firmly in place. She came against her mouth, raw and loud, grinding shamelessly while Angela licked her through it all. When Fareeha finally opened her eyes again, Angela was still kneeling there, lips shiny, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and waiting for approval. Fareeha smirked, chest still rising and falling with heavy breaths. Fareeha looked down at Angela softly, her eyes warm and full of something unspoken. She whispered, “You did so well for me.”

Angela and Fareeha weren’t exactly “official,” but honestly, who cared? After months of sneaking around—quick makeouts in the locker room, late-night hookups after games, and stolen touches no one else noticed—they basically lived for those moments. Angela was still the cheerleader everyone thought she was: bright, bubbly, pretending like she didn’t get weak in the knees every time Fareeha gave her that look. And Fareeha? The badass basketball star who acted like she didn’t want Angela just as much as Angela wanted her—spoiler: she totally did. They kept it on the down-low, sure. No labels, no announcements, just way too much heat packed into every second they could steal. From sweaty fingers sliding under uniforms to barely-hidden grins after a good game, it was messy, loud, and exactly how they both liked it. Neither of them was ready to say “I love you” or make it official—but that didn’t stop them from fucking like they owned each other every chance they got. And honestly? Maybe that was better. For now.

[hottiewatch-stories]

Pharah x Mercy oneshot ♡

༺ ˖࣪ ∗ 𓆩♡𓆪 ∗ ˖࣪ ༻

contains: nsfw, fluff, Pharah has a slight feet kink lol, eating out, fingering, dirty talk, teasing, mentioning of other ow characters

hope you enjoy <𝟯

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

[hottiewatch-stories]

Pharah x Mercy oneshot ♡

༺ ˖࣪ ∗ 𓆩♡𓆪 ∗ ˖࣪ ༻

contains: nsfw, lots of fluff, high school setting, birthday au, sixty-nine, slight dirty talk

notes: Mercy is 19 in this story! :)

hope you enjoy <𝟯

ೃ⁀➷

Angela and Fareeha were the most admired couple at school — effortlessly perfect in every way. Both top of their classes, their synergy was undeniable. Angela was the calm, compassionate, and brilliant one, always ready to lend a helping hand. Fareeha, on the other hand, was confident, fiery, and sharp-witted — not to mention a star on the basketball court. They were that couple everyone envied, their love admired by all. Having been together for three years, they’d practically grown up side by side, now navigating their senior year as an unbreakable team.

With Fareeha’s eighteenth birthday fast approaching, Angela was determined to make it unforgettable. She always put thought into her gifts, but this milestone deserved something truly special. She planned to bake a chocolate cake — Fareeha’s favorite — and craft a beautiful scrapbook filled with memories: photos, ticket stubs, and little notes like, “You looked so hot that day, I nearly fainted,” and “My pretty, gorgeous, sexy girlfriend <3.” Angela had been quietly collecting these mementos since the very beginning of their relationship. Fareeha would roll her eyes every time Angela pulled out her phone to snap a picture at the smallest moments, but deep down, she found it absolutely endearing.

It was April 15th — Fareeha’s birthday. When she woke up, her phone was already buzzing with messages. She unlocked it and opened the group chat, a soft smile spreading across her face. Angela, of course, was the first one to text — right at midnight.

baby <3

Happy Birthday to my beautiful girlfriend, I love you so so so much. MWAH

Kiri

HAPPY BIRTHDAY FAREEHA-CHAAAAN

Hana

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANDMA 🥳🥳

Reading the messages, Fareeha felt a warm glow settle in her chest — loved and celebrated by all the people who mattered most. She replied to each birthday wish with the same kindness and care she always showed. Afterwards, she got dressed — black ripped jeans, a simple black tee, and her beloved Converse. To add a little flair for the day, she slipped on her Apple Watch, quietly proud of her decision to “spice things up” for her birthday. Just then, Ana appeared in the doorway, a soft smile lighting up her face. She stepped forward and gently kissed Fareeha on the cheek. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” she whispered warmly. Fareeha smiled back, feeling that familiar comfort from her mom before slinging her Vans backpack over her shoulder and heading out the door. At school, Fareeha waited by the front gates, their little morning ritual comforting in its simplicity. Right on cue, Angela appeared, looking effortlessly beautiful in a flowy dress dotted with tiny flowers. Her Birkenstocks clacked softly on the pavement, her toenails painted a crisp white that caught the eye, and the delicate anklet on her ankle shimmered in the sunlight — making Fareeha’s heart skip. “Hey, birthday girl~,” Angela greeted, her voice light and teasing as she closed the distance. She reached up on tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to Fareeha’s cheek. Fareeha grinned, a playful glint in her eyes. “Hey, beautiful.” Their fingers found each other’s, warm and familiar, as they stepped forward together — ready to face the day, hand in hand.

School passed by quietly, filled mostly with warm birthday wishes from classmates and friendly smiles from familiar faces around the hallways. Fareeha couldn’t help but feel a little flutter of excitement as she thought about what was waiting for her after school — a cozy afternoon at Angela’s place. Angela already lived on her own in a sweet, inviting apartment, and Fareeha loved teasing her about being the “mommy” of the two of them.

By the time the clock struck 2 p.m., the school day was finally behind them, and Fareeha found herself meeting Angela in the bustling hallway. Their fingers naturally intertwined as they stepped out together, slowly making their way toward Angela’s apartment nearby, the familiar path feeling calm and easy beneath their feet. The walk was peaceful, filled with the quiet comfort of being close, until Angela broke the silence with a soft, teasing question that made Fareeha’s heart skip a beat. “And~ are you excited already?” Angela’s voice was playful, but tender, the kind of gentle teasing that made Fareeha smile warmly as she glanced up to meet her eyes. With a quiet laugh and a gaze full of affection, Fareeha squeezed Angela’s hand gently and replied, “Of course I am. Every moment I get to spend with you feels special — like something to look forward to all day long.” Angela’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, and she rolled her eyes with a shy smile, clearly flustered by the honesty in Fareeha’s words. “Stop flirting with me like that. I don’t think I can handle it,” she teased, though her tone was full of affection. Fareeha chuckled again, nodding slowly as they continued their walk together, their fingers still entwined. Even though they had known each other for what felt like forever, they still carried that same shy, playful spark from the very beginning of their relationship — and it was exactly that sweetness and genuine affection that made their love so beautiful and real. With every day that passed, it only grew deeper and stronger, weaving them ever closer together.

Eventually, they arrived at Angela’s apartment, and the moment they stepped inside, a familiar warmth settled over them — the kind of quiet comfort that only came from being somewhere safe, somewhere filled with love. They toed off their shoes at the door, Angela stepping barefoot onto the cool floor, while Fareeha kept on her soft white ankle socks — worn and cozy, like a small comfort from home. Their backpacks were set down with quiet care, and without needing to say anything, they made their way to the living room — a space that, today, looked different. Special. Fareeha paused at the threshold, her eyes lifting slowly — and then she smiled, wide and a little breathless. A soft laugh escaped her as she raised a hand to her forehead, not out of disbelief, but from being so thoroughly and gently overwhelmed. The ceiling was scattered with tiny star-shaped string lights, warm and delicate, twinkling faintly like the night sky. Fareeha had always loved the stars — the quiet of them, the way they stayed constant, watching over everything. And of course Angela remembered that. She always remembered the little things.

The soft golden glow lit up the room just enough to make it feel dreamlike, safe. On the far wall, a tasteful “Happy Birthday” banner hung in gentle script, the kind you buy from a boutique instead of making at home — pretty and understated. On the coffee table sat a simple but elegant glass vase filled with fresh tulips — bright, full, and pink-edged white — Fareeha’s favorite. Next to them sat an envelope with her name scrawled in Angela’s familiar handwriting, and beside it, a neatly wrapped gift — the paper smooth, the ivory ribbon tied into a perfect, delicate bow. “I hope you like it,” Angela said gently, standing close, her voice a little quiet — and just a little nervous. Fareeha turned to her with a smile that softened everything in her face. “Are you kidding me?” she said, her tone full of affection. “It’s so cute. Thank you, beautiful.”She reached out and cupped Angela’s face in both hands, brushing her thumbs lightly across her cheeks before leaning in to press a trail of kisses — one on her forehead, then her nose, both cheeks, and finally her lips. Angela laughed softly, the corners of her mouth lifting as she tried to hide how flustered she was.

“That tickles,” she murmured, giggling.

“I love it, okay?” Fareeha whispered against her skin. Angela gave a tiny, shy nod, eyes sparkling. “I’ll go get the cake ready,” she said, turning toward the kitchen. Fareeha watched her disappear around the corner before making her way to the couch, sinking into the cushions with a quiet sigh as she reached for the remote and turned on the TV, the soft hum filling the room again. “Oo~ which one?” she called playfully, already knowing the answer. “Chocolate,” Angela answered, her voice floating in from the kitchen. “Yay,” Fareeha said softly, in a tone so sweet and light it made Angela laugh again. Fareeha was usually so composed, so steady and serious — and Angela adored every rare moment that softness peeked through, just for her.

After a little while, the cake sat proudly on the coffee table, already sliced and shared between them. The room felt even warmer now — the gentle twinkle of the ceiling lights casting a golden hue over everything, while the low hum of a silly show played on in the background. Fareeha took a bite, humming softly in approval, nodding with slow, satisfied little motions between each chew. Angela glanced at her from the side, her heart doing that quiet flutter thing it always did when she saw Fareeha enjoy something. “You like it?” she asked softly, her voice already knowing the answer. Fareeha gave a thumbs up mid-bite, which made Angela giggle, cheeks turning just a little pink. “You’re so cute when you eat,” she mumbled, and Fareeha gave her a playful side-eye that made Angela hide her smile behind her fork. Once they were done, they quietly brought the plates into the kitchen together, slipping into their familiar rhythm — Fareeha rinsing while Angela loaded the dishwasher. The cake went into the fridge, carefully covered, and with hands wiped clean on soft kitchen towels, they returned to the couch, moving instinctively closer as the quiet settled again. Angela reached for the remote and turned off the TV, the silence now soft and comforting rather than empty. She looked over at Fareeha, her eyes gentle and sparkling a little, like they always did when she was about to say something shy. “So…” she began, tucking her legs underneath herself as she faced her girlfriend fully. “Letter or present first?” “Mmh~ you decide,” Fareeha replied, her voice low and teasing as her gaze lingered on Angela’s face. Angela squished her face slightly and made a little squeaky sound. “Okay okay—letter first,” She reached for the envelope on the coffee table, fingers brushing over the edge before handing it to her. “Be gentle… I cried while writing it,” she added with a small pout. Fareeha chuckled as she took the envelope, holding it carefully like it was something delicate. She opened it slowly, unfolding the note with quiet fingers, her expression already softening. Angela’s handwriting was small and neat, the kind she always used when she really cared about what she was writing.

To my beautiful girlfriend,

Happy birthday, my heart. I know I say this all the time, but I truly mean it — I love you more than words can ever really explain. Like, really really really love you >__<

You’ve been the brightest part of my life for so long now that I can’t even remember what things were like before you. I don’t want to remember, either.

You’re the strongest, smartest, most patient (and hot, and cool, and funny) person I know. And even though you act all tough, I know how soft you are underneath. I get to see that softness every day, and it makes me fall in love with you all over again.

Thank you for letting me be part of your life.

Thank you for letting me love you.

Thank you for choosing me.

You deserve everything, and I’ll spend forever trying to give it to you.

Love,

your whipped little girlfriend <3

Fareeha didn’t say anything right away. She was quiet, reading the last line over again, lips parting just slightly. Angela shifted beside her, nervous. “Too cheesy?” she whispered, pressing her knuckles lightly to her lips. “I kinda blacked out while writing it…” Fareeha folded the letter back up slowly, like it was something precious, and then turned to her with a look that made Angela’s stomach flutter. “You’re ridiculous,” Fareeha whispered — but her voice cracked a little, her eyes just a little glassy. “But I love you. So much.” Angela blinked, then smiled so wide it made her cheeks ache. “Good,” she whispered back, scooting closer until their knees touched. “Because I’m very in love with you. Like. A lot. Disgustingly so.”

“…Okay,” she said, grinning. “Present time!” Angela leaned forward and grabbed the square present from the coffee table, glancing back at Fareeha with a little grin. “Okay so,” she began nervously, holding it out, “I… um… worked on this for like… a while. Since our first year actually… so don’t laugh if it’s dorky, okay?” Fareeha gave her a look. The kind that said how could I ever laugh at you? She gently took the gift and untied the ribbon slowly, careful not to tear the paper. Angela watched like her heart was about to burst out of her chest. Inside was a scrapbook. Hardbound, soft beige linen cover, with a tiny gold-pressed heart in the center. Fareeha opened it — and there it was:

Them. Through the years.

The first page had a photo from sophomore year — the first day they ever went out together. Fareeha had a tiny braid in her hair and Angela was wearing a pink cardigan too big for her. Underneath it, written in Angela’s handwriting:

“You didn’t know yet, but I already loved you this day.”

Fareeha blinked slowly, her thumb brushing over the photo as she turned the page.

There were pages of them at the arcade, both of them laughing — a ticket stub taped to the corner, with the caption:

“You said I cheated. I said you were just distracted by how pretty I am.”

Another page — them at the beach. Fareeha had sand in her hair, Angela had her arms around her neck. Underneath, in sparkly gel pen:

“You let me bury your legs in the sand and didn’t complain once. Wife behavior.”

There were pages full of tiny notes Angela had written and tucked into lunchboxes or slipped into jacket pockets:

– “Drink water today or I will literally fight you.”

– “You looked so hot in P.E. today I forgot how to function.”

– “You’re doing amazing babyyy. You always are.”

Some pages had concert wristbands, pressed flowers, even tiny doodles Angela had drawn on sticky notes — little hearts and sleepy Fareeha faces.

And then — a polaroid, just a few weeks old. The two of them curled up on Angela’s couch, Fareeha half-asleep and Angela giving her a kiss on the temple. The caption simply said:

“My favorite place.”

By the time she reached the end, Fareeha was completely quiet. Her fingers rested gently on the last page — blank, but with a little post-it note:

“So you can keep adding more memories with me, okay?”

Angela’s voice broke the silence, soft and a little shy. “Do you… like it?” Fareeha didn’t answer at first. She closed the scrapbook with care and rested it on her lap, then leaned in, pulling Angela into a slow, lingering hug — the kind where her hand stayed cradled at the back of Angela’s head, as if letting go wasn’t an option. “I love it,” she whispered. “So much. I don’t even know what to say.” Angela buried her face into her neck and let out a tiny whimper. “I was so nervous but I’m glad that you like it…” “You’re such a romantic,” Fareeha mumbled into her hair. “You make me that way,” Angela whispered back.

They stayed wrapped in each other’s arms for a while, neither of them really wanting to move. The soft quiet of the apartment made everything feel a little slower, a little warmer — like the world had gently paused just for them.

Eventually, they pulled apart with sleepy smiles and decided to get ready for bed. Fareeha let out a soft groan when she realized she forgot to bring pajamas. Angela peeked into her dresser, rummaging through oversized tees. “I think this one might fit you, maybe,” she said with a giggle, handing her a soft, slightly worn shirt. Fareeha took it with a playful sigh and got changed, ending up in just her underwear and the oversized tee, which clung a little tight around her arms but smelled like Angela — lavender and vanilla and something cozy. Angela, on the other hand, was already in her favorite pink pajama set — loose shorts and a soft cotton shirt with tiny white hearts on the sleeve. Her hair was clipped up loosely, and her bare feet padded gently across the floor as she led them to the bathroom. They stood side by side at the sink, brushing their teeth, a little quiet from the softness of the moment. Angela bumped her shoulder into Fareeha’s gently as she rinsed, and Fareeha smiled, watching her through the mirror.

When they were done, Angela stayed behind to do her skin care routine — as usual. Fareeha chuckled and shook her head with fondness before heading to the bedroom, still drying her face with a towel. She sat down on the edge of Angela’s bed, legs swinging a little as she waited. The room smelled faintly like fresh sheets and something flowery. She could hear the gentle sounds of Angela moving around in the bathroom — creams being opened, water running, soft humming. Fareeha looked down at the oversized shirt she wore and smiled to herself, letting her fingers trace over the hem. It felt so Angela — and somehow, that made her feel more at home than anything else.

Angela finally emerged from the bathroom, her skin dewy and glowing. She had that soft, post-skincare glow, paired with a teasing little smile that only meant trouble — the good kind. She padded quietly across the room, barefoot and in her pink pajamas, and stopped right in front of Fareeha, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed in her oversized shirt. Without saying a word, Angela climbed into her lap, straddling her with practiced ease, her knees settling on either side. She looped her arms around Fareeha’s neck as her lips curled into a smug smile. Fareeha’s hands went to Angela’s waist instinctively, grounding her there, thumbs brushing gently under the hem of her shirt. Her breath caught just a little. Angela tilted her head, voice soft and sweet — but unmistakably teasing. “So… birthday girl,” she purred, voice soft and teasing. “What do you want, hm?” Fareeha looked up at her — eyes warm, half-lidded, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. “I thought you were supposed to surprise me,” she murmured, fingers sliding slowly up Angela’s sides, feeling her shiver just a little under her touch. Angela giggled softly, pressing the tiniest kiss to the tip of Fareeha’s nose. “Maybe I am the surprise.” Fareeha chuckled, low and warm in her chest, and leaned in to kiss the corner of Angela’s mouth — just enough to make her whine a little. „Oh, you definitely are.” Angela’s breath hitched as her fingers threaded gently through Fareeha’s soft hair. “Good,” she whispered, her voice almost trembling now — her teasing replaced with something softer, needier. “Because I want to spoil you tonight. You’ve been so good to me this year… I want to make you feel as loved as you make me feel. Every single day.” Fareeha swallowed, her smirk faltering into something far more tender. “You already do, Angela.” Angela blinked down at her, lips parted like she wasn’t expecting that — then smiled so sweet and beautiful it nearly knocked the air out of Fareeha’s lungs. “I know,” she whispered. “But let me show you anyway.”

Angela didn’t wait for an answer. She leaned in slowly — almost teasingly — her hands cupping either side of Fareeha’s face like she was something precious. Their noses brushed, and Fareeha could feel Angela’s breath, warm and a little shaky against her lips. Then, finally, finally — Angela kissed her. It started soft. A gentle press of lips, warm and slow, like the kind of kiss you give when you’ve missed someone all day, even if they’ve been right beside you. Angela kissed her like she meant every second of it — like she knew exactly what this moment was, what it would become. Fareeha melted under the softness at first, hands tightening on Angela’s waist, holding her closer, like she wanted to breathe her in. But then Angela tilted her head, deepening the kiss, and everything shifted.

Fareeha’s breath caught when Angela’s tongue brushed against hers — not demanding, just an invitation. It made her chest tighten with want. Angela’s hands had slipped into her hair now, fingers curling, anchoring herself like she might float away otherwise. Fareeha responded in kind — her hand sliding under the edge of Angela’s shirt, splaying across her bare back, her skin warm and soft beneath her fingers. She kissed Angela like she was something she craved, something she had known forever and still couldn’t get enough of. Angela let out the smallest sound — a needy little whimper muffled by the kiss — and Fareeha nearly lost it. She pulled back for a second just to look at her. Angela’s cheeks were flushed, lips kiss-bitten and parted, eyes glassy with affection and something deeper. “You’re so pretty when you kiss me like that,” Fareeha murmured, voice low and reverent. Angela, breathless, let out a soft laugh, pressing her forehead to hers.

“Shut up,” she whispered, grinning. “Or I’m never letting you stop.” “Wasn’t planning to.” And then they kissed again — deeper this time, more open, more them. Angela’s fingers were in her hair again, tugging just slightly, while Fareeha’s hands roamed slowly, worshipfully, like she had all the time in the world to learn her by touch. Angela shivered in her lap — not from the cold, but from being seen. Touched. Wanted. “Off,” Fareeha whispered, pulling back and tugging lightly at the shirt, her voice deep and velvet-soft. Angela obeyed, lifting her arms — her gaze locked on Fareeha’s — and let the shirt fall to the side. Fareeha took a moment. Just a moment. To look. To take in the way Angela’s breath caught, the way her chest rose and fell, the slight blush dusting her collarbones. She was beautiful in every light, but like this — open, warm, straddling her lap with flushed skin and bright eyes — she was breathtaking. “You’re staring,” Angela teased, her voice soft and slightly breathless.

“And you’re absolutely stunning,” Fareeha murmured, leaning in close. Her lips found Angela’s swollen, heavy breasts, planting slow, deliberate kisses. “Ngh~,” Angela bit her lip, her eyes trailing down to watch as Fareeha’s mouth wrapped around her nipple, suckling with slow, shameless intent. Angela ground herself against Fareeha’s lap, heat building between them as Fareeha’s lips traced slow, wicked patterns over her swollen, sensitive breasts. Each kiss, each suckle, dragged slow, hungry moans from Angela’s throat, her breaths growing ragged and uneven. After a long, delicious moment, Angela’s voice came out ragged—teasing but urgent. “Fareeha… please, lay down.” Fareeha chuckled low and teasing, her hands still steady on Angela’s hips. “As you wish, love.” She eased back onto the mattress, soft dark hair fanning out across the sheets. Angela slipped away, standing and peeling off her shorts and panties in a needy hurry. Fareeha watched, admiring every inch—Angela’s naked body never lost its magic, no matter how many times she’d seen it. A cool breeze brushed Angela’s slick pussy as she repositioned herself above Fareeha, grinding down into a perfect, wicked 69. Fareeha licked her lips, already dripping with want, hungry to devour that glistening, wet cunt relentlessly. Her hands slid to Angela’s thighs, pulling her closer inch by inch until Angela’s pussy pressed softly against her face. A soft gasp escaped Angela’s lips. Fareeha planted kisses all over her dripping cunt before zeroing in on her clit—sucking and licking like there was no tomorrow. “Fuck, you taste so good, baby,” Fareeha whispered, voice thick with lust. Angela ground herself harder on Fareeha’s mouth, hands trembling as they found the waistband of Fareeha’s underwear. Fareeha paused, pushing her hips up so Angela could strip her bare. Angela leaned down, pressing kisses on Fareeha’s sensitive clit, sucking and licking shamelessly. Fareeha moaned, bucking her hips into the mouth worship. Now they were both devouring each other at the same time—filthy and shameless. Angela moved in a slow, steady rhythm, grinding her pussy while Fareeha’s hips bucked with every sinful kiss and suck. Fareeha cupped Angela’s ass cheeks, delivering a teasing slap that made Angela moan deep against her cunt. “Fuck, don’t stop, I’m so close,” Angela gasped, her hands clutching the sheets. Licks, slaps, moans, and desperate gasps filled the room. Angela felt the heat coil tighter and tighter, her body trembling on the edge. She froze her filthy mouth just as the first wave of pleasure slammed into her. Then, desperate for more, she ground her hips harder against Fareeha’s mouth, chasing that wild release. A loud, needy moan ripped from her throat as she came hard, muscles clenching around nothing but air. Eyes squeezed shut, she bit her lip, completely lost in the pleasure. Fareeha held her firm, lips and tongue relentlessly working her clit until Angela’s heavy, ragged breathing finally slowed. But before they could catch their breath, Angela dipped down again, taking Fareeha’s quivering pussy into her mouth. She licked and kissed her slow and dirty, paying attention to every sensitive spot, tasting the wetness slick on her tongue. Fareeha’s hips jerked, trembling with need as she gripped Angela’s soft ass cheeks, pulling her closer. She bucked her hips hard against Angela’s tongue, desperate and raw. The orgasm hit hard and stretched out long, every muscle clenching tight. “Fuck,” Fareeha groaned, voice rough and needy, breath ragged. Angela didn’t stop—she sucked and licked with hungry focus, keeping the pressure steady against Fareeha’s clit. After a while, their heavy breathing slowed, and quiet settled around them like a weight. Angela slipped away, grabbing tissues from the nightstand to clean herself and her beautiful, trembling girlfriend up.

They laid tangled in the sheets, bodies warm and sticky, limbs wrapped around each other like a perfect fit. Fareeha’s head snuggled against Angela’s neck, fingers tracing lazy patterns across her skin, while Angela’s hand gently played with the soft curls at the nape of Fareeha’s neck.

“So,” Angela murmured, voice soft and teasing, “did you like your birthday surprise?”

Fareeha looked up, a slow, satisfied smile curling on her lips. “I liked it a lot… but I think I liked watching you squirm the most.” Angela’s cheeks flamed instantly, and she swatted Fareeha’s arm with a playful grin. “Shut up, you’re such a jerk.” Fareeha laughed, the sound warm and low against Angela’s skin.

“I’m your jerk. Don’t forget it.” Angela’s grin grew shy but full of affection. “You’re impossible.” “And you’re whipped,” Fareeha whispered, nuzzling into Angela’s neck. “But you love it.” Angela’s breath hitched, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she leaned down to press a tender kiss to Fareeha’s head.

“Maybe I do.” Fareeha tightened her arms around Angela, pulling her closer, voice low and sweet. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go anytime soon.”

[hottiewatch-stories]

Pharah x Mercy oneshot ♡

༺ ˖࣪ ∗ 𓆩♡𓆪 ∗ ˖࣪ ༻

contains: nsfw, stepsisters, mentioning of other overwatch characters, enemies to lovers, eating out, dirty talk, fingering

notes: okayy so yes — this is a stepsister AU >< (don’t like, don’t read~!) Also, in this universe Reinhardt is Angela’s dad !!

hope you enjoy <𝟯

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Ana and Sam’s breakup hit Fareeha harder than she ever expected. They had been together long before she was born—so long that their relationship had stopped feeling like something chosen and started feeling like something fixed, inevitable. They lived off routine, quiet mornings, and the kind of wordless understanding that forms over decades. It wasn’t a passionate love, maybe not even a warm one, but it was familiar. Safe. Something to hold onto. So when they sat her down and told her they were divorcing, that they had both agreed, that it was peaceful and mutual—Fareeha didn’t understand how it could be so easy. How you could just end something that had lasted her entire life.

She didn’t show it. Not really. But inside, she was devastated. Bitter in ways she didn’t know how to explain. And when Ana, just a few months later, started dropping the name Reinhardt into casual conversation—when she started smiling more, humming while she cooked—Fareeha felt something curdle in her chest. She argued with Ana for days. About how fast it was. About how unfair it felt. About how she hadn’t even had time to process the divorce before she was expected to welcome a new “family.” Eventually, Ana told her that Reinhardt had a daughter. Angela. Her age. Studying medicine. Sweet, apparently. Smart.

Fareeha had only scoffed. Of course she was smart. Of course she was some overachiever. Probably the kind of girl who wore beige turtlenecks and said “thank you” to waiters in six languages. A show-off. A know-it-all. And now—today—that family was moving in. Fareeha didn’t bother dressing up. She didn’t see the point in pretending. She threw on her favorite flannel and a pair of ripped black jeans. Her dark hair was freshly cut and sharp at the ends, falling just at her jawline. She looked good, even if she didn’t try to. But that wasn’t the point. Ana only rolled her eyes at the outfit but didn’t say anything. It was just after noon when the knock came—three soft raps on the door, polite and timed. Ana moved quickly to open it, her smile blooming the way it hadn’t in months. Fareeha stayed back, arms crossed over her chest, leaning against the wall like she didn’t care. Like this wasn’t the moment everything changed. But she did care. Too much. In the doorway stood a tall man—Reinhardt, broad and warm-looking—and beside him, a smaller figure, slim and pale, with long blonde hair pulled neatly behind her ears. Angela. She wasn’t what Fareeha expected. She looked… delicate, almost. Not fragile, but calm in a way Fareeha wasn’t used to. Pale skin, precise posture, and pale blue eyes that flicked around the house like she was already memorizing it. She wore a cream-colored blouse tucked into pressed pants, like she had somewhere important to be.

Angela gave Ana a soft smile and said something polite in a quiet voice—something Fareeha didn’t catch, because her ears were already buzzing. And then those blue eyes turned to her. “Hi,” Angela said, voice soft, lightly accented. “You must be Fareeha.”

There was nothing rude about it. No smugness. Just… a greeting. But still, Fareeha’s chest tightened. She pushed off the wall with a shrug. “Yeah. That’s me.”

Angela smiled, just slightly, and nodded.

They didn’t shake hands. Ana ushered them in quickly, moving into her usual hostess routine—offering tea, snacks, talking about where the bags should go. Reinhardt’s booming laugh echoed through the hallway as he carried in a suitcase, joking about how much Angela had packed. And then Ana said it, casually, like it wasn’t a bomb: “Angela dear, you’ll be sharing with Fareeha. Just for now. Renovations in the guest room are still finishing up.” Angela hesitated for a split second—barely noticeable—but Fareeha saw it. And it pissed her off more than she expected.

Of course she doesn’t want to share a room with me, she thought. Too messy. Too loud. Not good enough for perfect little med student Angela. Fareeha didn’t say anything. Just turned on her heel and headed for the room.

Angela followed a moment later, suitcase wheels bumping softly over the hardwood floor. The room looked different now. Cleaner, somehow. Ana must’ve been in here preparing it—new sheets, folded towels, everything split neatly. Two beds. Two desks. One shared space. Fareeha sat down on the edge of her bed and watched as Angela took the other side, settling in wordlessly, methodically unpacking a few essentials. She moved like she’d done this before. Like she knew how to take up space without causing a stir. Fareeha stared for a moment longer, then spoke.

“So. What, you gonna be a doctor someday?”

Angela looked up, slightly surprised, but not thrown. “That’s the idea.” “Huh.” Fareeha leaned back, arms crossed. “Hope this place isn’t too beneath you.” Angela blinked, slow. Then, calmly: “I’m not here to compete with you, if that’s what you think.” There was no heat in it. Just truth. And that, somehow, was worse.

Dinner had gone down easier than Fareeha expected, though she would rather swallow broken glass than admit it aloud. The room had been filled with warm light, soft laughter, and the kind of casual conversation that bounced between Reinhardt’s booming stories and Ana’s quiet interjections. Everything felt a little too normal, like a scene from a life Fareeha hadn’t signed up for. She didn’t speak much—maybe three words at a time, maybe less—and instead sat back in her chair, letting the noise wash over her while she watched.

Mostly, she watched her.

Angela sat across the table, polite and attentive, her posture impossibly straight even when she laughed. And she did laugh—quietly, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a way that looked unpracticed and real. Every time something made her giggle, she’d cover her mouth with the back of her hand, a reflex that struck Fareeha as overly self-aware, like she wasn’t used to being heard. Or maybe she was just careful in that annoying, perfect kind of way.

After the dishes had been cleared, Angela stood and offered to help. Ana touched her gently on the arm, told her to go relax and settle into her new room instead. Fareeha watched the whole interaction through lowered lashes, already feeling that uncomfortable twist of something she couldn’t name curling low in her chest. Angela just nodded, still smiling, and disappeared down the hall without argument, like she didn’t want to cause a ripple in anyone’s water. Now, hours later, the house had gone quiet. The kind of quiet that felt deliberate—like no one dared disturb whatever fragile truce the night had offered them. Fareeha was already in bed, stretched out in a loose tank top and old shorts, the blanket kicked down to her shins. The room was dim except for the small pool of golden light spilling from the lamp on the other side of the room, where Angela sat propped up against a few pillows, surrounded by notes and papers. Her hair was tied back messily, and her oversized pajama shirt hung off one shoulder as she read through what looked like complicated diagrams of muscles and bones, half-highlighted and marked with precise little notes. Fareeha’s eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, but her voice cut through the quiet like the flick of a match. “Do you always read this late?” Angela glanced up, momentarily surprised, then smiled faintly without putting down her notes. “I do,” she said softly, her tone low and even. “It helps me unwind.” Fareeha rolled her eyes—an instinct, almost. “Of course it does,” she muttered, more to herself than anything, like even Angela’s self-care routine had to be perfect. A stretch of silence followed, heavy and expectant. The air felt different now—thicker, like the room had started paying attention to itself. Then Angela spoke again, her voice calm but laced with something firmer underneath. “We don’t have to hate each other, you know.”

That pulled a laugh out of Fareeha’s throat—sharp and amused and not entirely kind. “You think that’s what this is?” she asked, still not turning her head. “Hate?” Angela didn’t look away from her notes, but her voice came a little quieter this time. “I think you resent all of this. And I don’t blame you. But I didn’t ask for it either.“ The honesty in that answer caught Fareeha off guard—not because it was shocking, but because it wasn’t. It was simple. It was fair. And for some reason, that annoyed her more than anything Angela could’ve said in self-defense. “Still not an excuse,” Fareeha said under her breath, but her voice lacked heat now, too tired to carry the weight of a real argument. Angela looked at her then, her expression unreadable in the half-light. “I’m just saying,” she murmured, “we could try. To not make this harder than it already is.” Fareeha finally turned her head, locking eyes with the blonde across the room. “You mean, be friends?” Angela nodded once, slow and deliberate. “Or something like it.” Fareeha laughed again—this time quieter, and with a little less edge. She rubbed a hand across her face, then through her hair, her fingers getting tangled in it for a moment. Everything about this still felt ridiculous. Forced. But Angela didn’t look smug or hopeful or desperate. She looked… steady. Like someone who wasn’t expecting anything back, but was still willing to try anyway. After a moment, Fareeha sighed. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s try being friends, then.” Angela’s smile bloomed softly in the lamp’s glow. “Yay, thank you,” she said, and there was no sarcasm in it. Just something sincere. She leaned over to click off the lamp, and in an instant, the room was swallowed by darkness—quiet again, but not empty. Not this time.

Fareeha turned over in bed, facing the wall now, her mind unexpectedly full. She closed her eyes, but her mind stayed awake a little longer than usual, caught in the sound of Angela’s voice, the echo of her smile, and the strange, slow shift of something unspoken beginning to stir between them.

Fareeha had really tried to like Angela — not in the way things had started to turn, but just as someone she had to share a home with. And if she was being honest, they were both trying. It hadn’t been easy, at first. Merging families always came with awkwardness, and theirs was no exception. But over time, something gentle had settled between them. They slipped into a quiet sort of rhythm: brushing their teeth side by side in the bathroom mirror, half-asleep and stealing each other’s toothpaste; trading bites of food at dinner without asking; murmuring softly in the dark, their voices low and warm with sleep. Angela liked to play music while she studied, humming along absentmindedly, and Fareeha found herself lingering in the hallway just to hear it.

They bickered too — about who used up the hot water, or whose laundry was in the machine too long — but even the arguments had a lightness to them. More teasing than serious. Fareeha would roll her eyes, and Angela would smile with just a bit too much sweetness, her head tilted like she was enjoying getting under Fareeha’s skin. It was playful. Flirty, maybe. Though Fareeha couldn’t always tell if Angela meant it, or if she was just naturally like that. But the truth was, something had shifted. Fareeha had started to feel things she didn’t know what to do with. Little things — the way Angela’s hair fell over her shoulder when she leaned close, the scent of her lotion after a shower, the way she laughed with her whole body — they stayed with Fareeha longer than they should. Sometimes, lying in bed late at night, she’d catch herself thinking about Angela’s smile, about the smooth slope of her waist where her shirt rode up, and before she knew it, there’d be a throb low in her belly, a heat that pooled between her legs. Her pussy would get wet without warning, without reason other than the thought of Angela — and it always left her feeling disappointed in herself. Embarrassed. Even a little ashamed. They were stepsisters, after all. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

And still, no matter how she tried to ignore it, the feeling stayed — raw, frustrating, and impossible to shake.

The room was dim, washed in the blue haze of moonlight, and everything had gone still except for the quiet rustle of sheets. Fareeha laid on her back, arms folded behind her head, while Angela was curled on her side, facing her in the dark. “You always sigh that dramatically when you lie down?” Angela asked, her voice light with amusement. Fareeha smirked, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “Just setting the mood.“ “For what? Existential dread?” “Exactly.” Angela giggled softly, her laugh muffled by the pillow. “I thought you were the serious, stoic type.” “I am,” Fareeha said, turning her head to glance over at her. “You just ruin it every time you talk.” Angela made a mock-offended sound. “Wow. I try to be charming and this is what I get.” “You think you’re charming?” “I know I’m charming.” Fareeha let out a quiet laugh, the kind she didn’t even try to hold in. “Sure.” They fell into silence for a beat. Then Angela added, “You smiled just now.” “No, I didn’t.” “You totally did. I heard it.” Fareeha shook her head, eyes closing. “You’re annoying.” Angela hummed. “You like it, though.” Fareeha didn’t answer right away. She let that sit in the dark between them, her lips twitching before she finally admitted, “…Maybe.” Angela’s sheets rustled as she shifted, her voice a little softer now. “I like talking to you like this.” “Like what?” “When you’re not pretending you hate me.” Fareeha opened one eye. “I don’t hate you.” Angela smiled, even though Fareeha couldn’t see it. “Good.” They didn’t say anything after that for a while. The silence was warm now, easy. Comfortable in a way neither of them expected.

Eventually, the room had quieted, all traces of laughter and teasing fading into a hush that wrapped itself around them like a heavy blanket. Angela had rolled over with a soft rustle of sheets, her silhouette now just a still shape in the moonlight. Fareeha had closed her eyes, but sleep refused to come. Time passed slowly. Thirty minutes, maybe more. The kind of stillness settled over the room that only happens when both people are pretending to be asleep — or trying not to move, not to breathe too loudly. Fareeha drifted in that half-space between wakefulness and dreams, her thoughts hazy and unfocused, her body warm beneath the covers. And then — something. The faintest whisper of sound: a slow, careful shift beneath a blanket. Barely audible. And then it came again — slow, soft, rhythmic. Fareeha’s lashes fluttered open. Her eyes adjusted to the dark quickly, but she didn’t move. She listened. Another soft breath — shaky, almost silent. But not quite. Her chest tightened as realization began to bloom slowly, wickedly, through her body like warm syrup. That sound… the way Angela’s breathing changed, the controlled pace, the friction hidden beneath the covers. It was unmistakable. Angela was touching herself. Just a few feet away. Right there, in the bed across from hers. In the same room. With Fareeha awake. The fire lit low in her belly spread in an instant, tingling down her thighs, up the back of her neck. She could feel her own pulse between her legs, hot and insistent. She should’ve turned over. Shut her eyes. Willed herself to sleep. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Her breath caught as she stared into the dark, trying to quiet the rush of blood in her ears, every nerve suddenly tuned to the smallest movements. She couldn’t see much, but she could imagine it — Angela’s hand sliding slowly over her stomach, slipping between her legs, coaxing pleasure with delicate fingers. The way she might bite her lip, trying not to make a sound. How she might arch the slightest bit, chasing the edge of something. Fareeha swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. She hadn’t meant to feel like this. But now, she couldn’t tear herself away. And worse — she didn’t want to.

A soft, shaky “…Fareeha…” slipped from Angela’s lips — quiet, breathless, soaked in something between guilt and hunger.

It hit Fareeha like a jolt straight between the legs. She froze, pulse slamming hard in her throat. That sound — the wet rhythm of Angela’s fingers under the covers, the catch in her breath, and then her name — it was all too much. Her thighs squeezed together, aching for friction, for something to ease the sharp throb building with every second. Angela wasn’t just touching herself. She was touching herself to Fareeha. She sat up slowly, breath tight and shallow, and turned toward Angela’s bed. And that’s when she saw it — the small, desperate arch of Angela’s hips under the blanket, the slight tremble of her knees falling open. The outline was clear in the moonlight. Angela hadn’t even realized Fareeha was watching. Fareeha stood up slowly, her thoughts thick with heat, and moved toward Angela’s bed like she was sleepwalking, her fingers curling around the blanket without a word. She pulled it down — slow, purposeful — and revealed everything. Angela was already bare from the waist down, her panties tangled around one ankle, the soft skin of her thighs parted, her pussy glistening and flushed. Her hand had stilled just above her clit, fingers wet, breath caught in her throat. Her eyes flew open in a flash of panic, lips parting to speak — “Fuck—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” — but the words came out useless and cracked. Fareeha said nothing. She slipped out of her shorts and panties in one smooth move, kicking them away. Her pussy was shaved and wet already, her skin warm under the soft glow of the lamp she clicked on at Angela’s bedside. Angela’s breath hitched. Her eyes drank in every inch — those strong thighs, that dripping heat, that cocky little smirk on Fareeha’s face. Without waiting, Fareeha climbed into the bed and straddled her. Her bare pussy pressed down against the soft fabric of Angela’s shirt, heat meeting cotton. Angela’s hands found her hips on instinct, gripping lightly, breath catching. “Oh,” Fareeha murmured, voice low and velvet-dark. “You meant to.” Angela’s cheeks went bright red, but she didn’t look away. Her eyes darted from Fareeha’s mouth to her pussy, back up again. She looked ruined already — and they hadn’t even started. Fareeha leaned in. Her lips brushed along Angela’s cheek, then her jaw, down to the edge of her throat. Not a kiss — not quite — just enough contact to burn. “Tell me,” she whispered, half a tease, half a threat. “Was it me you were thinking about? When you were rubbing that pretty little pussy under the covers?” A pause, her mouth dragging down Angela’s neck. “Was it my fingers you needed?” A kiss now. Wet. Cruel. “Or was it my mouth?” Angela whimpered, her hips jerking upward, completely helpless. Fareeha kissed the base of her throat — slow, filthy — then pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. Her grin was wicked. “Aren’t you ashamed?” she said, voice soft but sharp. “Or do you like it — being caught? Laying here with your stepsister on top of you, about to make that dirty little fantasy real?” Angela couldn’t speak. Her breath stuttered. Her legs shifted wider on instinct, thighs trembling, already soaked. Fareeha moved up her body, slow and deliberate, until her bare cunt was hovering right above Angela’s mouth — flushed, glistening, inches from her lips.

“Open up,” Fareeha said, voice low and dangerous. “Be a good girl and put that pretty mouth to work.“ Angela didn’t hesitate. She gripped tight to Fareeha’s thighs and pulled her down, mouth parting. She kissed her — filthy, hungry kisses — before her tongue slid between those slick lips, and she started devouring her like she couldn’t breathe without it.

Angela’s mouth was a fucking revelation.

She moaned into it, the sound low and guttural, vibrating straight through Fareeha’s cunt. Fareeha’s head dropped back with a gasp, one hand flying to Angela’s hair, fingers twisting tight in the blonde strands. “Fuck,” she breathed, grinding down. “God, that mouth… you were made for this.” Angela whimpered something in reply — incoherent, drowned in pussy — and pulled her closer, tongue flicking and flattening and sucking all at once. Fareeha’s thighs trembled on either side of her face. She rocked against Angela’s mouth, slowly at first, but with growing hunger, her slick smearing across her lips, her chin, her cheeks. “You’re so fucking good at this,” Fareeha groaned, her voice breaking. “So eager. So sweet. I should’ve known the moment I saw the way you looked at me.”

She rolled her hips, grinding harder. “I tried hating you,” Fareeha hissed, a dark laugh catching in her throat. “Tried pretending I didn’t want this. That you were just a spoiled little brat I couldn’t stand.” Her full, heavy tits were juggling with each grind, skin clapping was filling the room. “But you were driving me insane. Walking around in those tiny fucking shorts. Do you know how many nights I laid in bed,” she ground down hard, “fucking myself to the thought of this pretty little mouth?” Angela moaned into her again, tongue greedy, fingers bruising against Fareeha’s thighs as she pulled her closer, deeper, wetter. “That’s it,” Fareeha gasped, her voice wrecked now, shaking. “Eat my fucking pussy, angel. Just like that. Look at me while you make me come on your tongue.” Angela looked up, eyes glossy, lips swollen and drenched, and sucked Fareeha’s clit into her mouth like she meant it. Fareeha choked on a breath, then let out a low, guttural cry. Her thighs clamped around Angela’s face as the orgasm hit — hard, unforgiving, wave after wave crashing through her as she ground down and came all over her mouth. “Fuck, yes,” she snarled, shaking, nearly collapsing forward, hips twitching against Angela’s lips. “Fucking perfect—keep going, don’t stop—” Angela didn’t. She licked her clean, lapped up every drop like it was sacred, drunk on it, moaning as Fareeha shuddered and gasped above her, utterly undone. Finally, slowly, Fareeha eased off. Her thighs were shaking, her breath a wreck, sweat glistening along her chest.

Angela was trembling beneath Fareeha, absolutely wrecked from eating her out. Her shirt was pushed up just enough to expose the soft, vulnerable curve of her ribs, but all she could think about was tasting her again. Her nipples were hard under the thin cotton, practically begging to be sucked through the fabric, and her pussy was clenching uselessly — wet, swollen, and aching for Fareeha to put her fingers in and give her what she needed. Fareeha leaned over her, eyes dark, breath still ragged from her own orgasm, and kissed her — open-mouthed and tongue-first, tasting herself on Angela’s lips. Then she pulled away, just far enough to speak. “You’ve been teasing yourself all night, haven’t you?” she purred, dragging her hand slowly down Angela’s chest, fingers dipping just under the edge of her shirt, not lifting it — just slipping inside and letting her thumb drag across one aching nipple. “Laying here, trying to be quiet while you got your fingers all wet, just waiting for me to catch you.” Angela couldn’t speak — her breath hitched high in her throat, her hips lifting without her permission, like her body was begging for more before her mouth could form a word.

Fareeha chuckled, low and rich, like sin curling into silk. “Good girls ask for what they want,” she murmured, tracing her hand lower now, over Angela’s stomach, her palm flat and warm and unforgiving, resting just above her mound. “But you’re not a good girl, are you?” Angela whimpered — and Fareeha smiled like she’d won a war. Then she slid her hand lower, slow as molasses, fingers slipping through the slick heat between Angela’s legs — and groaned at the wetness she found there. Absolutely soaked. Dripping. “Oh, baby,” she whispered, eyes wide with faux-innocence. “You’re fucking ruined, aren’t you?” Angela gasped, her hips jerking up into Fareeha’s hand, and that was all the permission she needed. Fareeha slid two fingers into her slowly, deliberately, letting Angela feel every inch as she pushed in deep — thick and unrelenting, her knuckles pressing flush before she twisted her wrist just enough to make Angela’s back arch off the bed. The sound that tore out of her throat was raw, choked, helpless, and Fareeha drank it in as she began to move — dragging her fingers out, then thrusting them back in harder, slick heat coating her hand. Angela was soaked, the mess between her thighs obscene, her pussy clenching down so tight it was like her body never wanted to let go. Angela cried out, hips lifting off the bed as her thighs fell open wider, completely surrendering. “Yeah, that’s it,” Fareeha breathed, her voice filthy now, practically shaking with it. “Take it. Take my fingers. I want to feel you come all over my fucking hand.” She leaned in, kissing along Angela’s jaw, then lower — her mouth closing around one nipple through the shirt, biting just enough to make the girl squeal, and then suckling like she meant to leave her raw. Angela’s moans turned breathless, half-begging sounds, her legs trembling as Fareeha picked up the rhythm — fucking her slow and deep, grinding the heel of her palm against her clit with every stroke, watching her unravel, one twitching gasp at a time. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” she murmured against her chest. “So greedy. Like your pussy’s trying to keep me.” Angela grinded harder, her nails dragging down Fareeha’s back like she needed something to hold onto or she’d fall apart completely. “Do you want to come, angel?” Fareeha whispered, breath hot against her ear. “You wanna soak my fingers? Make a mess all over my fucking hand like a dirty little slut?” Angela nodded frantically, crying out — “Please, please, I need to—fuck—” Fareeha laughed, low and throaty and mean, and sped up. Her fingers curled harder, fucking deep now, precise and merciless, while her thumb rubbed little circles over her clit, dragging Angela higher and higher, until her body was seizing — muscles locked, thighs snapping shut around Fareeha’s wrist. “There she is,” Fareeha growled. “Fucking come for me.” And Angela did — with a choked sob that turned into a full-body quake, her thighs spasming around Fareeha’s hand as her pussy clenched and gushed, soaking her, crying out her name like a prayer and a curse. Fareeha didn’t stop. Not at first. She slowed the rhythm, kept her fingers inside — fucking her through it, letting her ride every second of the orgasm until she was shaking, until her hips stuttered with overstimulation. Fareeha then pulled her hand back, slick and dripping, and licked her fingers clean without breaking eye contact. “Fucking delicious,” she whispered. Angela laid there — wrecked, limp, twitching, her face flushed and her shirt soaked with sweat, lips parted like she didn’t know how to come down from it.

Since that night, they haven’t stopped. Not once. Not even when they swore they would. Not even when it almost got them caught.

They fuck like it’s the only language they speak now — in the shower with the water off, in the laundry room with the door barely shut, in Angela’s bed with her panties still dangling from one ankle and Fareeha’s come drying on her chest. It’s wrong. They know it. They know exactly what they are to each other — and it only makes them wetter. Hungrier. Meaner.

They fuck like they’re trying to erase the guilt, or maybe drown in it. Like they’ve become the punishment and the reward. Like if they ever stop, it’ll ruin them more than the secret ever could. And neither of them wants to be saved.

[hottiewatch-stories]

Pharah x Mercy oneshot ♡

༺ ˖࣪ ∗ 𓆩♡𓆪 ∗ ˖࣪ ༻

contains: nsfw, fluff, fingering, riding, eating out, teasing, dirty talk, childhood friends

hope you enjoy <𝟯

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

[hottiewatch-stories]

Kiriko x D.Va oneshot ♡

༺ ˖࣪ ∗ 𓆩♡𓆪 ∗ ˖࣪ ༻

contains: nsfw, fluff, fingering, thigh riding, eating out

hope you enjoy <𝟯

༻ ★༺

Kiriko had always loved camping — the quiet hush of the forest, the scent of damp earth and pine, the way the world seemed to slow down when you were far from city lights. It reminded her of the trips she used to take with her family back in Japan, when mornings began with birdsong and nights ended curled up by a crackling fire, her father’s stories hanging in the air like smoke. She’d often dreamed of sharing that peace with Hana, imagining the two of them nestled together beneath the trees, with nothing but stars overhead and the warmth of each other’s company. But Hana had always refused, in the softest, most disarming way — wide, pleading eyes and a faint pout that left Kiriko helpless to protest. Every time the topic came up, Hana would shake her head with a dramatic shiver and mumble something about bugs and dirt and missing Wi-Fi, and somehow Kiriko would end up laughing and letting it go. Until now. A few days ago, Hana had lost a bet — a small, silly thing, but with high enough stakes that Kiriko had insisted on claiming her reward. Camping. A full weekend. No excuses. And this time, Hana hadn’t been able to wriggle out of it, no matter how hard she tried. Kiriko had grinned, smug and victorious, already planning their route before Hana could change her mind. Now, the day had finally arrived. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a pale golden light over the quiet street as they packed the car together — a borrowed tent, two heavy backpacks, and all the survival gear Kiriko could manage to squeeze in. Most of it they probably wouldn’t need, but it made her feel better to have it anyway — like she could somehow protect them both from whatever the wilderness might throw their way.

Kiriko took the wheel, her fingers relaxed on the steering wheel as the old forest road curved ahead of them, winding through tall trees that filtered sunlight down in golden slants. The air was fresh in a way that made Hana roll down her window halfway, even if she complained about the chill. The breeze tangled her hair and made her squint against the light, but Kiriko caught the faint smile playing at her lips when she thought no one was looking. Hana had loaded a playlist on her phone — a mix of lo-fi beats and nostalgic pop, humming quietly as she scrolled through songs, occasionally glancing sideways at Kiriko with a look that said, “I’m still not happy about this, but I’ll survive.” Kiriko only grinned, stealing a quick look at her girlfriend, who looked entirely out of place in her crop top and glittery acrylic nails. “You’re going to be fine,” Kiriko said gently, one hand leaving the wheel to brush against Hana’s thigh. “It’s just two nights.” “That’s what they say in horror movies right before someone dies in the woods,” Hana muttered, but there was no real bite in her voice — only teasing, only affection wrapped in sarcasm. They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the kind that comes easy between people who know each other’s rhythms. The kind where glances mean more than words. Trees thickened on either side of the road, tall evergreens leaning close. Kiriko’s chest ached with a quiet sort of joy. She hadn’t realized how much she missed this feeling — the road, the trees, and now, Hana here with her. By the time they arrived at the trailhead, the sky had settled into a gentle, cloudless blue, and the morning breeze drifted around them with a quiet, comforting coolness. Kiriko pulled into a small clearing, the gravel crunching under the tires as she parked beneath a stretch of dappled shade. She cut the engine and sat for a moment, taking in the quiet. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance, and the faint scent of woodsmoke drifted in from someone’s distant fire. “Well,” she said, reaching into the backseat for her backpack. “Welcome to the middle of nowhere.” Hana peered out the window like she was waiting for a bear to appear. “Are you sure there’s a bathroom?” “Nope,” Kiriko said brightly. “But the trees are very welcoming.” Hana groaned, drawing out the sound like it might convince the universe to rescue her. But when she stepped out of the car, the sun caught in her eyes, and something softened in her face — a quiet wonder she probably didn’t even realize was there.

The first thing Kiriko learned upon arriving at the campsite was that her girlfriend had absolutely no idea how tents worked. “I’m holding it!” Hana protested, her voice rising an octave as the half-assembled tent collapsed in on itself for the third time. “I am! It’s just—this pole is bendy and rude and I think it’s trying to kill me.” Kiriko snorted, laughing so hard her sunglasses slipped down her nose. She was on her knees, trying to thread one of the tent poles through its sleeve, while Hana stood at the opposite end – tangled in nylon and moral defeat. “Babe,” Kiriko said between laughs, “you’re holding it upside down. The hook’s supposed to go at the top, not the dirt.” “Well maybe the dirt should try holding it for a while!” Hana huffed, tossing her hands up in mock betrayal. “You’re the nature lesbian, you do it.” They had been at it for nearly two hours, stopping every fifteen minutes for snack breaks, water, or because Hana needed to “emotionally reset” after getting dirt on her leggings. Their little clearing was a disaster of gear, poles, and crumpled instructions that Kiriko refused to read out of pride. Eventually, the tent stood upright — a little crooked, a little sad-looking, but undeniably functional. They both stepped back to admire it, hands on hips, proud as hell. “See?” Kiriko said, nudging Hana’s shoulder with hers. “We only mildly wanted to kill each other.” “It’s listing to the left like it just got broken up with,” Hana muttered, though she was smiling now. “But yeah, I’m impressed. I was fully expecting to die under a tarp tonight.” Kiriko grinned, turning to face her. Her cheeks were a little flushed from the sun, and her ponytail was messy in the cutest way, strands of hair sticking to her forehead. “Admit it,” she said, poking Hana gently in the stomach. “You’re having at least, like, 12% fun.” “Mmh 9.5,” Hana teased, eyes gleaming. “And only because you brought those strawberry gummies.” They now sat on a nearby log, watching the sunlight filter down through the trees, their knees bumping together every so often. Kiriko reached into her backpack and pulled out the promised gummies, offering the bag like a peace treaty. “Best part of camping,” she said, popping one into her mouth. “Snacks taste better when you earn them.” Hana took one, chewing slowly, thoughtful. “Okay, yeah, this one hits different. Like… fireflies and childhood trauma.” Kiriko choked on her gummy, nearly falling off the log. “Jesus, Hana!” “What?” Hana laughed. “It’s got emotional flavor!” They ended up sprawled in the grass after that, the tent casting a crooked little shadow across their feet. Kiriko stretched out, arms above her head, sighing as the warmth soaked into her skin. “I missed this,” she said softly. “Just… the quiet. The trees. Not having to think about anything.” Hana turned her head toward her. “I didn’t think I’d like it,” she admitted. “But… it’s not so bad when I’m with you.” That earned her a long, warm look — Kiriko’s eyes soft, a little surprised, like maybe she hadn’t expected to hear that. “You’re such a sap,” she murmured. Hana shrugged, trying not to look flustered. “Shut up. You brought biodegradable glitter for our campsite, don’t come for me.” Kiriko cackled, rolling onto her side to bump her forehead against Hana’s. “It’s eco-conscious whimsy, actually.”

By the time the sun began to dip low behind the trees, casting the clearing in long gold shadows, the crooked little tent was finally in order, the snacks were mostly gone, and the air had turned just cool enough to make goosebumps rise along their arms. Kiriko knelt over the fire pit, coaxing sparks from a bundle of dry twigs and kindling with a practiced patience. She struck the lighter once, twice — and on the third try, a flame caught, curling upward in a bright flicker that slowly, softly grew. The fire began to breathe, warm and steady, and the crackling sound of it filled the little space between them. Hana stood nearby, wrapped in the thick flannel blanket they’d pulled from the car, and watched as the orange glow lit Kiriko’s face in soft, dancing light. There was a kind of magic to her like this — hair pulled back, sleeves rolled up, the quiet focus in her hands. She looked like she belonged here, like the trees knew her name. “I got us a fire,” Kiriko said proudly, flashing a grin over her shoulder. “Are you impressed?” “Honestly? I‘m a little turned on,” Hana replied with a sly smile, and Kiriko burst out laughing as she dusted off her palms. They dragged two thick logs closer to the fire and sat down, hips pressed close together as the blanket was pulled around both of them. Kiriko tucked it over Hana’s legs, making sure it didn’t drag on the ground, and Hana leaned in without hesitation, nestling her head against Kiriko’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was quiet now. The kind of quiet that isn’t empty — just full of things unspoken. The forest rustled gently, and somewhere in the distance, an owl called. The fire popped, sending a burst of sparks into the air, and the warmth of it kissed their cheeks. “I never realized how loud the city is until I come out here,” Hana murmured, her voice muffled slightly where her cheek pressed into Kiriko’s hoodie. “Even when it’s quiet, it’s not… peaceful like this.” Kiriko shifted, letting her arm wrap around Hana’s back, holding her a little closer. “Yeah,” she said softly. “That’s why I love it. There’s space to breathe. To think. To just be.” They sat like that for a while, the silence between them growing more comfortable with each passing minute, until Hana tilted her head just enough to look up at her. “You used to do this with your family, right?” Kiriko nodded, her eyes on the fire. “Yeah. My dad would always try to teach me how to fish and I’d always end up falling in the lake instead. My mom made the best camp meals. Like, real stuff — rice and soup and even dumplings sometimes. She made camping feel like home.” “That’s sweet,” Hana said, smiling softly. “I kind of wish I had that.” Kiriko turned to her, brushing a few strands of hair from Hana’s forehead. “Well,” she said, voice low and a little shy now, “we can make our own memories, right?” Hana blinked up at her, eyes warm and reflecting the flicker of the flames. “Are you trying to romance me under the stars?” Kiriko smirked. “Is it working?” And Hana, cheeks pink and heart maybe beating a little too fast, didn’t answer — she just curled in closer, tucked her nose into Kiriko’s neck, and whispered, “You smell like vanilla and marshmallows. It’s unfair.”

Eventually, the fire burned down to glowing embers, and the chill of the night crept in around them — the kind that made noses pink and breath fog in the air. Hana tugged the blanket tighter, still curled into Kiriko’s side, reluctant to move but shivering just enough to give in. “We should go in,” Kiriko murmured, her lips brushing the crown of Hana’s hair, kissing it softly. “Mmm,” Hana hummed, a little whine tucked in. “But it’s so nice right now. Just us. No notifications, no people, no lights but the stars.” Kiriko smiled gently, pressing a kiss to her temple. “The stars will still be there in the morning. But if you freeze to death, I’ll have to carry you out, and we both know you’re kind of dramatic about being cold.” “Rude,” Hana mumbled, though she was already letting Kiriko help her up. They stumbled back into the tent together, still wrapped in the flannel blanket, brushing against each other with every awkward shuffle. They slipped off their shoes and crouched down together, ducking quietly into the tent, the fabric rustling softly around them as they stepped inside. Inside, the air was warmer — cozy from the day’s sun, with a soft lantern glow casting golden shadows across the walls. The sleeping bags were already spread across the tent floor, half-zipped and tangled. Hana dropped onto one of them with a sigh of exaggerated exhaustion, sitting down like she was claiming it for herself. “I’m never going back home. This is it. This is where I live now.” Kiriko sat down cross-legged in front of her, fingers moving to unzip her hoodie. “You live here? In the tent?” “Yup. Forest wife now. My skincare routine is leaves and regret.” That made Kiriko laugh, low and fond, as she pulled her hoodie off, revealing the simple white tank top beneath — thin cotton clinging to her form, her skin still flushed from the heat of the fire. Hana’s eyes caught on it, trailing slowly downward, lingering just long enough for Kiriko to notice. She raised a brow, teasing. “See something you like?” Hana didn’t answer with words. She just reached out, straddling Kiriko’s lap, and rested her hands on Kiriko’s shoulders to steady herself. Kiriko held her close without hesitation, their bodies fitting together like they were made for it. Hana tilted her head with a slow, playful smirk. “Maybe I’m just admiring my beautiful, competent, smug girlfriend,” she said, voice light but laced with fondness. “You’re trouble,” Kiriko murmured, her voice laced with playful affection as her gaze softened, tinged now with something deeper — slower, more heated. “You love it though,” Hana replied with a sweet little smile, her tone light and teasing before she leaned in, brushing their lips together in a kiss that started delicate — a gentle meeting of warmth and trust. The kiss deepened gradually, unhurried and full of love, as if they had all the time in the world to memorize the shape of each other’s mouths. Kiriko’s hands slid down with quiet purpose, fingers curving around the softness of Hana’s hips before giving the swell of her ass the faintest, playful squeeze. It made Hana smile against her lips, a soft, breathy sound escaping her — half a whimper, half a laugh. Then, with a teasing flicker of confidence, Kiriko parted her lips and let her tongue trace gently against Hana’s, the kiss growing warmer, wetter, more intimate.

The kiss lingered, slow and syrupy, each brush of tongue and lips growing heavier with want. Hana’s fingers curled into the fabric of Kiriko’s tank top, pulling her a little closer, just enough that their chests brushed, soft warmth meeting soft warmth. The air between them was already thick — with breath, with heat, with the quiet tension of two girls who’d been teasing each other all day.

Kiriko eventually pulled back, a thin string of saliva still connecting their flushed, swollen lips. Her head dipped down, breath warm against Hana’s neck before she began to pepper it with featherlight kisses. She found a spot just beneath her jaw and sucked gently, leaving a slow, blooming mark. Hana let her eyes flutter shut, soaking in the moment. “Fuck… I love you,” she murmured, fingers curling in Kiriko’s ponytail, tugging gently. Kiriko smiled against her skin, her voice low and full of affection. “I love you too.” Her hand slid downward with aching slowness. She slipped it beneath Hana’s cropped shirt and found the soft curve of her tit, cupping it with reverent care. “You’re not wearing a bra,” Kiriko murmured between kisses, a grin tugging at her lips. “Too hot,” Hana whispered, her voice a little breathless now. “And I knew you’d touch me like this.” Kiriko groaned softly, fingers rolling over the sensitive bud — flicking it lightly between her index and middle, then teasing it with the pad of her thumb. She felt Hana’s body react, a soft arch of her back, a shaky little breath. Kiriko knew this always drove her girlfriend wild. “Nghh~ yes… fuck,” Hana moaned, hips shifting instinctively, need dripping from her voice.

Hana was already squirming in Kiriko’s lap, her body arching into her touch, breaths coming out in soft little gasps. “Clothes off,” Kiriko murmured against her neck, voice rough and low. “I wanna see all of you.” Hana nodded, eager and flushed, and awkwardly sat back just enough to tug off her cropped tee, arms fumbling a bit in the cramped space of the tent. Her hair was messy, cheeks burning, chest heaving — and fuck, Kiriko loved how wrecked she already looked. “You’re unreal,” Kiriko muttered, eyes roaming greedily over Hana’s bare tits, pupils blown wide. She slipped her leggings off next, lifting her hips just enough to shimmy them down. No underwear, nothing beneath — just flushed skin and slick heat between her thighs.

Kiriko licked her lips. “Is that all for me, baby?”

Hana gave her a shy smile, biting her lip. “All yours.” Kiriko mirrored her, sliding her tank top over her head and tossing it aside. She unclasped her bra and let it fall, revealing her full, heavy tits — skin flushed and nipples already stiff from all the teasing. Then she laid back, hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her sweatpants and pushing them down, kicking them off without ceremony. Hana was already climbing on top of her, straddling her gorgeous, bare body like she couldn’t wait another second. Kiriko let her thigh slide between Hana’s legs, letting the warmth of her skin press right up against her dripping pussy. She looked up at her, eyes dark, lips parted. “Wanna ride me like this? Grind down on my thigh while I finger you?” Hana nodded immediately — quick, desperate, like she couldn’t take another second without being touched like that. “Yes. Fuck, yes.“ “Then ride, baby,” Kiriko whispered, one hand gripping Hana’s hip, the other already sliding down to tease between her folds. “Let me feel how wet you are while you fuck yourself on me.” Hana started moving, slow at first — rocking her hips forward, dragging her soaked clit along the firm muscle of Kiriko’s thigh. The pressure made her gasp, her hands bracing on Kiriko’s shoulders for balance. Kiriko slipped two fingers in her pussy hole – the slick sound of it filled the tent, wet and shameless, every shift of Hana’s hips dragging more desperate moans from her throat. “God, you’re dripping,” Kiriko groaned. “You like getting off on me like this? Humping my thigh like a needy little slut?” Hana’s head dropped back, a whimper tearing from her throat. “Yes, fuck—don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.” Kiriko kept her fingers moving, matching the rhythm of Hana’s grinding, her other hand bruising into her hip, guiding her to fuck down harder, faster. Every grind sent a jolt of pleasure through Hana, her clit rubbing perfectly against Kiriko’s thigh, her body jerking every time those fingers stroked just right. She was falling apart — messy, breathless, eyes glassy. “You gonna come like this?” Kiriko growled, her own breath shaky now, turned on beyond reason just watching her girlfriend lose it. “Gonna soak my fucking leg, hm?” Hana couldn’t speak — she just nodded frantically, moaning with every desperate thrust of her hips. Her thighs were shaking, her body twitching. She was close, so close. “Then fucking come for me. Make a mess all over me.” And with a loud, broken moan, Hana did — hips stuttering, body locking up as she came hard, cum spilling over Kiriko’s thigh and hand, breath caught in her throat. Her whole body trembled through it, a long, aching orgasm that left her gasping.

Hana softly slumped forward, breath still ragged, head resting on Kiriko’s shoulder as she came down from the high. Her body was still twitching slightly, oversensitive and buzzing, but her mind was already circling something else — a hunger that hadn’t gone anywhere. “I wanna taste you,” she whispered, voice hoarse but firm, pressing a kiss just below Kiriko’s jaw. Kiriko let out a low, surprised laugh, eyes half-lidded and dazed. “You just came so hard you saw stars and now you wanna eat me out?” Hana grinned against her skin. “Exactly.” Before Kiriko could respond, Hana was already moving — crawling down her body slowly, deliberately, kissing every inch of skin along the way: her collarbone, the soft swell of her tits, her stomach. She paused just below her navel, lips warm and teasing. Kiriko was already slightly spreading her legs for her, thighs still sticky with Hana’s cum. Her pussy glistened in the dim light of the tent — wet, flushed, and so obviously needy.

“God,” Hana breathed, settling between her thighs. “You’re soaked too.” “Then do something about it,” Kiriko said, her voice rough now, hips giving the faintest roll forward like she couldn’t help herself. Hana didn’t wait. She yanked Kiriko’s thighs apart with both hands, fingers digging in hard, and shoved her tongue deep into that dripping, desperate cunt—slow, greedy licks sliding up and down her slick folds. Then she zeroed in on Kiriko’s swollen clit, flicking it fast and brutal, tongue fucking that filthy little bud like she was starving, driving Kiriko wild. “Fuck, H-Hana—” Hana hummed in response, vibrating right against her clit. “You taste so good,” Hana murmured, pulling back just enough to speak — her lips shining, her chin slick. “Could eat this pussy all fucking night.” “Please… do it,” Kiriko snapped, breathless, bucking her hips forward again. Hana smirked and dove straight back into her pussy, tongue-fucking her hole with messy, hungry strokes while her fingers rubbed slow, filthy circles over her clit — making Kiriko squirm like a needy bitch in heat. The sounds were filthy — wet and loud, Hana slurping like she was starved, Kiriko moaning louder with every pass. “Shit– fuck, just like that,” Kiriko panted, thighs squeezing around Hana’s head. “Fucking eat me, baby, just like that—” Hana didn’t stop. She wanted to wreck her. She focused on her clit now, tongue flicking in rapid pulses, lips sucking hard. Kiriko’s whole body arched, her hand pulling tight at Hana’s hair, hips grinding up into her face shamelessly. “You gonna come?” Hana asked, voice low, teasing, right against her pussy. “Gonna fucking come all over my filthy mouth?” “Fuck—yes—yes, don’t stop—” And Hana didn’t. She kept her tongue right there, pushing Kiriko over the edge with relentless, filthy focus — until Kiriko cried out, legs locking tight around her head, thighs trembling as the orgasm hit hard and fast. Her pussy gushed against Hana’s mouth, and Hana moaned into it, licking her through every wave, swallowing every single drop. Hana finally pulled away, mouth glistening, cheeks flushed, eyes dark and glowing with pride. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then crawled up and pressed a sweet, messy kiss to Kiriko’s lips. “You’re fucking amazing,” Hana whispered, curling up beside her. Kiriko just laughed softly, still breathless. “God. We’re gonna have to air this tent out tomorrow.”

Kiriko laid there for a long moment, completely still except for the rise and fall of her chest. Her body felt boneless, pleasantly wrecked, and somehow both overheated and weightless. Beside her, Hana nuzzled into the crook of her neck, smirking smugly like she hadn’t just made her girlfriend see stars.

“You okay?” Hana murmured, brushing her nose along Kiriko’s jaw. “I think you short-circuited my brain.” “Mmm. Good.” Hana pressed a kiss to her neck, soft and lingering. “Maybe now I’m finally smarter than you.” Kiriko let out a huff of laughter and turned her head, resting her cheek against Hana’s hair. “You’d have to be if you think I’m sleeping in a tent that smells like… us.” Hana giggled, burying her face in Kiriko’s shoulder. “We could say we’re just… marking our territory?” “Gross.” “Hot.” Kiriko tried to give her a deadpan glare but ended up grinning like an idiot. “You’re the worst.” “And yet… you love me,” Hana teased, snuggling in closer. “And I make you come so hard you forget your own name.” Kiriko let out an exaggerated groan. “Don’t remind me. My legs are still shaking.” They both broke into soft giggles – the kind that only came out late at night, naked and happy in each other’s arms. Outside the tent, the crickets chirped gently, and the fire had burned down to glowing embers. Hana reached over blindly and grabbed the blanket, dragging it up over both of them until they were cocooned in soft, slightly damp warmth. “Mmm,” Kiriko mumbled, tucking her face into Hana’s neck now. “Next time I‘m riding you. No excuses.” Hana smirked sleepily. “Gladly. But next time, we’re bringing a mattress.” “What, the ground not doing it for you?” “It’s doing something,” Hana muttered, shifting to get more comfortable. “Like making my entire spine cry.” Kiriko laughed again, soft and fond. “City girl.” “Forest gremlin.” “Your forest gremlin,” Kiriko said, her voice quieter now. “Forever,” Hana whispered, smiling against her hair. And just like that, they melted into each other — tangled up, sticky and sleepy, but warm and full of love. The tent rustled softly around them as the night deepened, wrapping them in stars and the steady rhythm of their breathing.

[hottiewatch-stories]

Kiriko x D.Va oneshot ♡

༺ ˖࣪ ∗ 𓆩♡𓆪 ∗ ˖࣪ ༻

contains: nsfw, fluff, sixty-nine, orgasms, jerking off, long distance

notes: hey everyone~ This oneshot got a little long, so I shared it on Google Docs for easier reading ! <3

hope you enjoy <𝟯

ᓚᘏᗢ

[hottiewatch-stories]

Pharah x Mercy oneshot ♡

༺ ˖࣪ ∗ 𓆩♡𓆪 ∗ ˖࣪ ༻

contains: nsfw, fluff, fingering, eating out

notes: hey guys!! It seems my oneshot got a little too long for Tumblr, so I’m sharing it via Google Docs instead. I’m really sorry for the extra step and hope that’s okay with you! Thank you so much for understanding and sticking with me. 🤍🩷

hope you enjoy <𝟯

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ✿ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

[hottiewatch-stories]

Pharah x Mercy oneshot ♡

༺ ˖࣪ ∗ 𓆩♡𓆪 ∗ ˖࣪ ༻

contains: nsfw, student x teacher, age gap, fingering, mentioning of other overwatch characters

notes: they are both adults !!

hope you enjoy <𝟯

༺ ˖࣪  ∗ ♥︎ ∗  ˖࣪ ༻

Fareeha is a good student. Quiet. Focused. Always on time, always prepared.

But lately, she’s been distracted—and the reason is her German professor, Dr. Angela Ziegler. It started with the voice, obviously. That calm, precise accent, soft like velvet, sharp like glass. The way she says “wunderbar” when someone gets something right, or how her lips curve around Fareeha’s name like it’s a secret she’s letting herself enjoy. She’s beautiful, too—of course she is. Blonde hair always twisted up just enough to make Fareeha want to pull it loose. Cream blouses tucked into dark pencil skirts. Little gold earrings. Lipstick that somehow never smudges. It’s not just a crush anymore. Fareeha’s been jerking off to the thought of her professor for weeks. At first, it was just the usual stuff. Angela’s lips. Her voice. Her hands. But then it turned into more: soft moans in her ear, that same calm tone whispering dirty German phrases she didn’t even understand, the imagined weight of Angela in her lap, legs spread, glasses slipping off her nose. She tries to ignore it. She really does. But every time she goes to class, Angela makes it worse. Smiles at her across the room. Calls her “Miss Amari” like it means something. Stands just a little too close during office hours. Sometimes Fareeha wonders if Angela knows. Sometimes she hopes she does.

“So,” Ashe says, dragging the word out like she’s trying to decide if it’s going to be a casual observation or a full-blown callout, “how’s your totally normal, purely academic interest in Professor Ziegler going?” Fareeha doesn’t look up. She keeps her eyes locked on the slow swirl of cream dissolving into her coffee, as if the answer might be hidden there somewhere, soft and safe and not deeply humiliating. “It’s fine,” she mutters.

“Mhm,” Ashe hums, drawing out the sound like she’s already five steps ahead. There’s a pause. Then: “You still jerking it to her voice, or has it progressed to full-blown romantic hallucinations?” Fareeha sighs, deep and pained, and lets her forehead fall against the table with a dull thump. “I’m going to kill you,” she says into the wood. “No, you’re not,” Ashe replies brightly. “You love me. Just not in the ‘ruin-your-life-with-a-sexy-academic’ way. That’s reserved for your tragic little obsession with Professor Z.” Fareeha lifts her head slowly. “It’s not an obsession,” she says, even though it clearly is. “Right. Which is why you blushed so hard when she said your name yesterday, I thought your ears were going to catch fire.” “I didn’t blush,” Fareeha lies flatly. Ashe just raises her eyebrows. “Babe. You turned the color of a pomegranate.” Fareeha groans again, shaking her head a little. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It was just a crush. A harmless, totally manageable crush.” “Keyword: was.” “She asked if I wanted to go over my paper in more detail during office hours,” Fareeha continues, ignoring Ashe’s smug grin. “She had that lipstick on again—the red one—and those damn glasses, and she leaned over the desk like she wasn’t aware of what she was doing. I could smell her perfume. It’s subtle, kind of floral, but clean, too. And her voice—God, her voice—it’s like…” She trails off. Her stomach twists. “It’s like I forget how to exist when she’s talking to me.” Ashe’s smile softens, just a bit. “Damn,” she says, low and slow. Fareeha looks down. Her voice comes out quieter this time, almost like she doesn’t want to hear herself say it. “I think I might be in love with her.” For a second, Ashe just blinks. Then she leans back and lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “No shit,” she says, grinning. “Welcome to the part the rest of us figured out weeks ago.” Fareeha scowls, cheeks flushed. “I mean it.”

“I know you mean it! You’re basically writing poetry with your eyes every time she walks into the room. The way you look at her? It’s not just ‘God, I want to fuck her.’ It’s ‘God, I’d write her name in my will and make her soup when she’s sick.’” Fareeha drops her face into her hands. “This is a disaster.” “No,” Ashe says, sipping her drink like she’s completely unbothered, “this is what happens when you repress lesbian feelings for three consecutive semesters. Eventually, they boil over and become Shakespearean-level drama.” “I hate this.” “You don’t hate it,” Ashe counters. “You just don’t know what to do with it.” There’s a moment of silence, and then Ashe leans forward slightly, eyes glinting. “So. Here’s what you’re gonna do.” Fareeha groans preemptively. “I don’t like that tone.” “Tomorrow during office hours, you’re going to test the waters. Just something small. Compliment her outfit. Ask what perfume she’s wearing. Hold eye contact a second longer than usual.” Fareeha squints at her. “This sounds dangerously close to flirting.” “It is flirting. But in a soft, plausible-deniability kind of way. We’re not aiming for scandal—just awareness.” Fareeha sighs, then reaches for her coffee. “If I do it, you’ll drop this?” “For one full day. Twenty-four hours of absolute silence on the subject. I promise. “…You drive a hard bargain.” Ashe grins. “That’s because I believe in you, lover girl.”

German class had slipped away in a blur — but for Fareeha, it hardly mattered. Her eyes barely left Professor Ziegler for the entire hour, drinking in the smooth cadence of her voice, the way her German accent curled softly around each word, turning even the driest grammar rules into something that felt almost intimate. Angela was dressed in a crisp white blouse, the top buttons casually undone to reveal just a hint of her cleavage, paired with a black pencil skirt that hugged her hips perfectly and simple sandals that made her legs look impossibly long and elegant. Her toenails were painted white—Fareeha’s favorite, and for some reason, unbearably hot.

When the bell finally rang, the room emptied quickly, students eager to leave, their footsteps and laughter fading down the hall, leaving Fareeha alone in the quiet classroom with the woman who held her attention in a way no one ever could. She waited patiently until the last student had gone, then stood slowly, making her way toward the front, where Angela was tidying her desk with meticulous care, a faint smile playing on her lips as she looked up when Fareeha’s voice broke the silence. “Ms. Ziegler?” Fareeha’s tone was softer than she intended, almost hesitant, though there was a steady confidence beneath it that made Angela’s smile deepen. “Yes, Fareeha?” The way she said her name — with a slow roll of the R, a gentle softness on the vowels — made something warm coil deep inside Fareeha’s chest, a fluttering mix of nerves and desire. “I… I had a question about your feedback on my paper.” Fareeha kept her voice calm, measured, though her heart hammered just beneath the surface. Angela set down her pen and turned to face her fully, the space between them narrowing until the desk was a forgotten barrier behind them. Now standing toe-to-toe, Fareeha could see the delicate gold chain at Angela’s throat, the faint rise and fall of her breath, the way the light caught the curve of her lips, parted just slightly. “You said my conclusion needed more weight?” Fareeha asked, meeting her eyes steadily. Angela nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes. You made a strong point, but then pulled back at the last moment. I think you’re afraid to be too bold.” Fareeha’s breath hitched, a low laugh escaping her as she tilted her head just so, casting her eyes down briefly before returning them to Angela’s gaze. “You think I hold back?” Angela’s eyes sparkled with something unreadable as she smiled softly. “I think you have more to say than you allow yourself.”

For a moment, Fareeha felt the pulse in her throat tighten, the heat crawling up her spine and settling in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed hard and then stepped a fraction closer, her gaze dropping to the delicate curve of Angela’s neck before flicking back up. “You’re wearing the same perfume from last week,” she said quietly, “it smells… really good.” Angela’s laugh was soft, her eyes warm as she reached up to smooth the front of her blouse with an absent touch. “Thank you. It’s one of my favorites.” She paused, then added with a hint of teasing, “You smell good too.” Fareeha’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Earthy. Strong.” Angela’s gaze darkened just the slightest bit, and she leaned in until the space between them was charged electric, her voice dropping a notch. “Just the way I like it.” The silence stretched, thick and intimate, filled only by the soft hum of the classroom’s quiet. Fareeha’s pulse hammered louder, her breath growing shallow as she met Angela’s gaze, both of them aware of the magnetic pull drawing them closer.

Fareeha’s eyes burned with quiet hunger as she held Angela’s gaze, her body inching forward just a fraction—closer, but still waiting for that subtle sign of permission from the blonde standing in front of her; when Angela’s soft nod came, accompanied by the faint bite of her lip and the unmistakable spark of anticipation in her eyes, Fareeha finally closed the last bit of space between them, their lips crashing together with a slow, deliberate urgency that spoke of all the longing and restraint packed into that moment, their mouths exploring one another with a tender insistence that left no doubt about the depth of their desire; Fareeha’s hand settled possessively on the curve of Angela’s waist, pulling her just a little closer, while Angela’s fingers tangled greedily in the soft waves of Fareeha’s smooth hair, caressing and twisting it like she couldn’t get enough, as their kiss deepened—slow, passionate, almost reverent.

Their mouths finally parted, breaths mingling in the small space between them, but neither one stepped back. Fareeha’s fingers tightened gently on Angela’s waist, pulling her flush against her as their foreheads rested together, sharing a quiet, heated moment that made everything else fade away. Angela’s breath hitched, her lips parting again as if she wanted to say something—something bold, something daring—but instead she leaned in, capturing Fareeha’s mouth once more in a kiss that was deeper, more urgent, with a hunger that made Fareeha’s pulse spike and her knees threaten to buckle. Angela’s palms rested on Fareeha’s shoulders, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric of her shirt, grounding herself in the solid strength beneath. Fareeha’s own hands slipped beneath the hem of Angela’s blouse, her fingertips gliding over the warm, smooth skin of her lower back, tracing the gentle curve of her spine with slow, deliberate care—like she was committing every inch of her to memory. Angela responded with a soft, desperate moan, pressing closer, their bodies molding together perfectly—the heat between them spreading like wildfire.

After pulling apart for what felt like the hundredth time—lips swollen, breath ragged, tension simmering—Fareeha finally let her hands drift upward, settling at the buttons of Angela’s blouse. Her fingers worked with practiced, confident ease, one button after the next popping open as Angela stood there, still trembling, watching every move like she was being unwrapped as something sacred.

The blouse slipped off her shoulders, revealing delicate black lace barely covering the full swell of her tits, and Fareeha’s breath hitched. “Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, voice low and reverent, as she cupped the bra aside and leaned in to take one stiffened nipple into her mouth, sucking greedily. Angela gasped, her hands flying back to grip the edge of the desk for support, knuckles whitening as desperate moans spilled freely from her lips. Fareeha chuckled darkly, teeth grazing over Angela’s nipple before lifting her gaze. “Shh… you don’t want them to hear you, do you?” she murmured, voice dipped in smoke and sin. Angela blushed hard, biting her lip, hips already rolling forward to chase more friction. Her restraint was unraveling fast, and Fareeha fucking loved it. Her mouth worked in slow, torturous rhythm—licking, sucking, biting, then wetly pulling back to spit softly across the flushed bud before circling her tongue again, watching Angela writhe beneath the attention.

By the time she pulled away, lips slick and eyes filled with lust, Angela’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, her eyes glazed, and her parted lips trembling with desperate, silent pleas.

“Turn around,” Fareeha said, voice blunt and commanding. Angela obeyed without hesitation, spinning on shaky legs and folding over the desk like a needy whore begging to be ruined. Her skirt rode up high, barely covering her ass, and Fareeha groaned at the sight—her hands immediately pushing the fabric the rest of the way up, revealing those smooth, perfect thighs and the soaked-through black panties clinging to her core like a second skin. “Fucking soaked,” Fareeha muttered, more to herself than anyone else, her hand pressing between Angela’s legs to feel just how wet she was through the lace. She didn’t wait long. With a single, hungry tug, she dragged the panties down, watching them fall around Angela’s ankles before being tossed aside. She dipped her hand back between Angela’s thighs, slipping her middle finger into that slick cunt, and the tight clench around her was immediate—desperate. Angela whimpered softly, trying to muffle the sound as her forehead pressed against the desk.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Fareeha groaned, her other hand gripping Angela’s hip to steady her. She slid in another finger, her ring finger joining the first, stretching her open while Angela let out a raw, high cry. “Shh, baby,” Fareeha said again — this time softer, almost affectionate — her lips brushing along Angela’s spine as she pressed a gentle kiss there, pumping her fingers deeper and harder. Angela slapped a hand over her mouth, her whole body trembling as her walls clenched down around Fareeha’s fingers, dripping down her knuckles with every thrust.

Fareeha didn’t relent. Her fingers drove deep and sure, fucking Angela with the kind of precision that only came from knowing her intimately—every twitch, every shaky breath. She curled them just right, over and over, dragging along that sensitive spot inside that made Angela jolt, made her gasp, her thighs trembling so hard she could barely stay standing. The desk groaned beneath her. Papers scattered with every shift of her body, but none of it mattered—nothing existed except the slick drag of Fareeha’s fingers and the molten coil in her belly pulling tight.

Angela was soaked, dripping onto Fareeha’s palm with every thrust. The sounds were lewd, wet and rhythmic, filling the room with heat. Fareeha pressed herself closer, her body flush against Angela’s back, lips brushing her nape as she whispered, voice low and full of ache:

“Look at you… bent over your desk, so desperate. So fucking perfect like this.”

Angela tried to answer, but only a soft moan slipped from her lips. Her breath stuttered, thighs clenching around Fareeha’s hand. She was close. So close. “You think I didn’t notice?” Fareeha whispered, her lips at Angela’s ear. “Those tight skirts, that perfect posture… always so fucking composed. But your eyes gave you away. Always watching me. Always wanting.” Angela whimpered, her hips rolling helplessly. Her body was pleading now, chasing every thrust with desperation, teetering right on the edge. Her fingers clenched the desk so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Fareeha felt it—the tremble, the flutter of her walls around her fingers, the way Angela’s whole body had gone taut, shaking with restraint. “Let go for me,” Fareeha whispered. “Come. I’ve got you.” And Angela broke. She came with a shuddering cry, biting down on her own palm to muffle the sound, her pussy clenching so violently around Fareeha’s fingers that it forced them partway out. Fareeha groaned softly at the feel of it, easing her hand to let Angela ride it out, working her through it with gentle, coaxing strokes. Angela’s hips rocked helplessly, her thighs shaking, wetness slick down her legs. Fareeha stayed close, pressing warm, grounding kisses along her back, her hand never leaving her body. Slowly, she straightened, her fingers tracing lazy circles on Angela’s smooth back.

“That’s it,” she murmured. “That’s it, Angela. I’ve got you.” Angela straightened slowly, her body still trembling, and turned into Fareeha’s arms like gravity was pulling her there. Her legs barely held her up. Sweat clung to her flushed skin, dampening her hair, and her lashes were wet — whether from exertion or emotion, Fareeha didn’t know. She just looked at her: utterly wrecked, breathtakingly soft. Beautiful in a way that made Fareeha ache.

Angela’s eyes found hers — glazed over, shining, wide with something raw and unguarded. Fareeha reached up without thinking, brushing damp strands from her face and cupping her cheek with one steady hand. “You did so good,” she murmured, voice low and reverent. She leaned in, kissed Angela’s forehead like a promise. “Let me take care of you now. Okay?” Angela nodded, slow and shaky, a faint smile curling at the corners of her mouth. Her fingers fisted in Fareeha’s shirt — small, instinctive, like she needed the contact to stay grounded. Fareeha just held her. No rush. No words. Just quiet breath between them, the heat of their bodies mingling in the stillness. The kind of silence that felt sacred — like the world had narrowed to this: arms wrapped tight, skin pressed close, and the hum of something deep and real settling in their bones.

[hottiewatch-stories]

Pharah x Mercy oneshot ♡

༺ ˖࣪ ∗ 𓆩♡𓆪 ∗ ˖࣪ ༻

contains: nsfw, dirty talk, high school au, fwb, eating out, edging, mentioning of other overwatch characters

notes: they are both seniors!! they are above 18 <3

hope you enjoy <𝟯

˖˚ ͙✩🖇✩ ͙ ˚˖

Fareeha is the most popular girl at school — no matter who you ask, everyone’s drooling over her. How could they not? She’s protective, calm, charming, and confident. And the cherry on top? She’s fucking hot. Oh, and did I mention she’s always the student council president? She always gets voted in for her dedication and hard work… and maybe a little because of those killer looks.

Angela is the new girl in class. She moved from Pennsylvania to New York — definitely not her choice, but she settled in faster than expected. She found herself some friends quick: Hana and Kiriko, the wild, unhinged duo. They’re loud and outgoing, while Angela’s the calm center that keeps them grounded. She does really well in school and has a kind, friendly personality. Angela‘s super smart and always looking out for others—the kind of person everyone counts on when they need help. With her calm, reassuring smile, she’s always there when you need her. So it wasn’t a surprise when she decided to run for student council president this year.

“Do I look good?” Angela asked her friends, eyes sparkling with excitement about her speech. Their friends nodded quickly.

“Girl, you look amazing, are you kidding me?” Hana said with a grin. Angela laughed, loving how caring and supportive her friends were. They all settled into their seats just as Fareeha stepped up, standing confidently on the podium. She looked hot as always — high ponytail, nerdy glasses, and that effortlessly beautiful smile lighting up her face. The moment she appeared, the students erupted into cheers and applause. When the noise died down, Fareeha began: “My name is Fareeha Amari, and I’ve been your student council president for four years now. I’ve always dedicated myself to making this school a better place for everyone. Whether it’s organizing events, hearing your concerns, or making sure your voices are heard — I’m here for you.” She paused, her eyes gleaming with playful confidence, then smirked and said: “And if I’m being honest… I’m the best option you’ve got.” With that, she tossed a cheeky wink to the crowd, and the whole room buzzed with excitement — because honestly, who could argue with that? Angela couldn’t help but smile—Fareeha wasn’t competition in her eyes. She admired her dedication too much to see it any other way. Fareeha stepped down, waving to the students like she was a total celebrity. The cheers followed her every move.

After Fareeha’s speech, two more candidates took their turns before it was Angela’s moment. She sat straighter in her seat, fingers tightening around the edge of her skirt. Her chest rose with a shallow breath she didn’t quite release. Next to her, Kiriko leaned in with a reassuring smile and whispered, “You’ve got this. Don’t stress.” Angela glanced at her friend and smiled, nodding quietly to steady herself. “Angela Ziegler, please come forward,” the principal announced. Her friends murmured a soft, “Good luck,” as Angela made her way to the podium. She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle around her. Clearing her throat, she began her speech: “Good afternoon, everyone,” Angela began, her voice gentle but clear. “My name is Angela Ziegler, and I’m honored to stand here today as a candidate for student council president.”

She took a small, calming breath, her eyes scanning the crowd, landing on her friends who gave her encouraging smiles. “I might be the new girl, but I’ve already come to love this school — the people, the energy, the community. I believe that every voice here deserves to be heard, no matter how big or small.” Angela’s tone softened even more, almost like she was sharing a secret. “I want to create a space where everyone feels safe, supported, and valued. Where kindness and understanding aren’t just words, but the way we treat each other every day.” A few students nodded quietly, the room feeling warm and hopeful. “And if you choose to trust me with this role, I promise to listen with an open heart and do my best to make our school a place where everyone belongs.” She ended with a small, sincere smile, her hands gently resting on the podium, hoping her words had reached more than just ears — but hearts. When she finished, a few students exchanged warm smiles and whispered among themselves. Then, slowly, applause began to ripple through the room — quiet at first, then growing into a sincere, heartfelt cheer. Hana and Kiriko beamed proudly, standing to clap the loudest. A few students wiped small smiles or even shyly nodded in agreement, touched by Angela’s genuine sincerity.

A week flew by, and the results were finally in — Fareeha was re-elected student council president, and Angela was named her vice president. Ashe snagged the treasurer spot, her sharp mind perfect for managing the budget, while Olivia took on secretary, handling all the communications and keeping everything running smoothly. The student council room buzzed with energy as Fareeha, Angela, Ashe, and Olivia gathered around the table for their first official meeting. Fareeha leaned back confidently, her eyes sparkling as she surveyed her new team. “Alright, team,” she said with a smirk, “looks like we’ve got a lot to do. But don’t worry—I’m here to make sure it all gets done. Efficiently, and maybe with a little style.” Angela smiled softly, feeling a comforting calm in the group. “I’m ready to support however I can.” Ashe crossed her arms, a sly grin tugging at her lips. “Budget’s tight, but I’ve got some ideas to make it work.” Olivia, typing away on her tablet, looked up with a mischievous glint. “And I’ll keep you all in the loop—and maybe keep some secrets for later.” Fareeha laughed, her gaze flickering between them. “Perfect. Let’s make this the best year yet.” Ashe and Olivia left, both heading off to their next classes, leaving Fareeha and Angela alone in the quiet room. The silence stretched out, a bit awkward at first, until Fareeha took a step closer to the smaller girl. She tilted her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Congratulations on getting vice president,” she said warmly. “Looks like we’re going to take great care of each other.”

Angela felt her cheeks flush, a warm heat spreading through her. She nodded, barely able to find her voice. “Thank you.” Fareeha’s eyes twinkled with something teasing as she added, “How about we meet up tomorrow after school? We can go over some plans… and maybe get to know each other better.” Angela’s heart skipped. “I’d like that.”

Fareeha winked, turning to gather her things. “Good. It’s a date, then.”

Fareeha left the room, and Angela stood frozen for a moment before letting out a tiny squeak. She practically ran over to her friends.

Hana and Kiriko were waiting nearby, and Angela couldn’t help but blurt, “Fareeha asked me to meet up tomorrow!” Hana’s jaw dropped. “Wait, what?! Fareeha asked you out??” Kiriko’s eyes went wide, and she squealed, “Girl, she asked you out!! You’re so lucky, I’m jealous.” Hana bounced excitedly. “This is huge! The queen of the school just slid into your DMs in real life!” Angela’s cheeks flushed bright red as she laughed nervously. “I, uh… yeah, I said yes.” Kiriko grinned wildly. “Obviously! Who could say no to her?”

Angela was finally home, buzzing with excitement as she told her parents about being elected vice president. They smiled proudly, sharing a warm dinner together. Afterwards, Angela slipped into her pajamas and crawled into bed, pulling out her phone. As soon as she unlocked it, a new message popped up on Instagram. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw it was from @ fareehaamari. She stared at the username for a moment before clicking on the profile picture. Fareeha’s account was impressive — tons of followers, an aesthetic feed filled with vacation shots, cute pictures of her pets, and casual gym and home snaps. Damn, she looked hot in every single one. Like, how is that even possible? Angela thought, eyes wide. Then she opened the chat.

@ fareehaamari

hey, it’s me!

wanted to ask — where should we meet up tomorrow?

Angela’s fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, heart pounding. Then she typed back:

@mercyangela

Hey! I’m so excited :) I’m not too familiar with New York yet, so I’ll leave it up to you!

A few seconds later, the typing bubble appeared.

@ fareehaamari

how about that little café by the park? It’s called “The Green Leaf.” their coffee is amazing, and they have those cute little pastries you’ll definitely love.

@mercyangela

Ooo, pastries? You’re definitely trying to win me over.

@ fareehaamari

maybe I am… but only because you deserve the best ;)

Angela bit her lip, cheeks heating up.

@mercyangela

Smooth. I like that. <3

It was already the next day when Angela slipped into her school uniform. The crisp white shirt hung loosely on her frame, the sleeves a bit too long, the collar left open in quiet defiance of school rules. Her striped blue tie was knotted with minimal effort, uneven and slightly off-center. The pleated skirt, woven in blue and gray plaid, swayed softly with each step she took, the fabric catching the morning light as she made her way through the corridors. The school day passed in a blur, drifting by in a haze of lectures and half-listened-to instructions. By the time the clock struck 2 p.m., the final bell echoed through the classroom. As students shuffled out, Fareeha stepped up to Angela’s desk, her expression warm, eyes gleaming with something gentle.

“Hey,” she said, her voice soft, her smile softer. “Wanna come with me?” From a few desks away, Kiriko and Hana chorused a teasing “Ooh!” like it was rehearsed. Angela’s cheeks flared pink as she glanced down, then up again, nodding slowly. “Sure,” she murmured, her voice barely louder than the hum of students packing up. The walk to the café was quiet, but not awkward. Their footsteps fell into rhythm on the pavement, the spring breeze tugging lightly at their skirts. It wasn’t until they were halfway there that Fareeha finally broke the silence. “So… why’d you move here, anyway?” she asked. “You kind of just showed up out of nowhere.” Angela shrugged, her expression a little sheepish. “My dad got transferred. He works in healthcare logistics. They needed him at the regional office here, so… we packed up and moved.” “Ah. Boring adult stuff,” Fareeha teased lightly. “Yeah, basically.” Angela laughed. “Not some dramatic escape or secret backstory. Just boxes, long drives, and my mom complaining about the new kitchen.” Fareeha smiled. “Well, I’m glad he got transferred. Otherwise I might’ve never met you.” Angela blinked, then looked away quickly, the tips of her ears pink. “Yeah… me too.”

The café Fareeha led them to sat tucked on the corner of a quiet street, half-hidden by ivy that curled around its windows like green lace. The door chimed softly as they stepped inside, releasing the scent of freshly brewed coffee, warm milk, and something sweet — maybe cinnamon, maybe vanilla. It felt instantly like a secret haven, the kind of place you didn’t find unless someone showed it to you.

Angela glanced around, taking in the soft pastel walls, mismatched chairs, and the little shelves full of secondhand books and hand-painted mugs. A sleepy cat stretched out in a sunbeam near the window, entirely unbothered by the presence of customers. The lighting was gentle, golden — the kind that made even the quiet moments feel important. “This place is so cute,” Angela murmured, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I thought you’d like it,” Fareeha said, a little proud. “They do rose lattes and strawberry cream toast.” They claimed a small table in the corner, half-hidden behind a tall potted plant. The chairs were cushioned in soft blues and greens, and the tabletop was scattered with tiny pressed flowers beneath the glass. A little handwritten menu sat between them, propped up with a rock shaped like a heart. Angela leaned in, scanning the options. “Okay, I’ve never even heard of a lavender milkshake before.” “You’re about to,” Fareeha said with a grin. When the server came by — a sleepy-looking college student with pastel pins all over her apron — Fareeha ordered the lavender milkshake and a slice of lemon tart. Angela chose the rose latte and, after a moment of hesitation, the strawberry cream toast Fareeha had mentioned. Her voice was quieter than usual, but there was a shy kind of excitement behind it. “So,” Fareeha said once the server wandered off. “Do you always blush when people ask you out, or was that just me?” Angela blinked, eyes wide. “Wha—? That wasn’t—was that asking me out?” Fareeha leaned on one elbow, chin in her hand. “I mean, it’s a café. You said yes. Feels pretty date-adjacent.” Angela let out a tiny laugh and hid her face behind her hands. “God, you’re impossible.” “But not wrong,” Fareeha added, teasing. When the drinks arrived, they looked almost too pretty to drink. Angela’s rose latte had soft pink foam swirled into a delicate flower shape, dusted with dried petals. Fareeha’s lavender milkshake was a dreamy shade of purple, topped with whipped cream and little candied violets. The strawberry toast came on a floral plate, cream piled high with slices arranged in perfect hearts. Angela took a bite, then looked at Fareeha like she’d just been given a secret to the universe. “This is dangerously good.” “I know,” Fareeha said. “I come here for the aesthetic but stay for the sugar.” They talked for a long time — about school, about the weirdest teachers, about their favorite books and the dumb things Kiriko and Hana got up to when no one was watching. Fareeha told her a story about getting stuck on the school roof last year trying to rescue a bird, and Angela laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Angela noticed how close they were sitting now. How Fareeha’s knee kept brushing against hers under the table. How natural it felt, like the rhythm of this was already set — like maybe it had been from the start. Outside, the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the street. Inside, time felt like it had slowed down for them — just enough to make space for something new to begin.

Weeks had slipped by, quiet and fast, and somewhere in between, Angela and Fareeha had become inseparable. They were always around each other — finding excuses to be close. A glance across the hallway. Shoulders brushing as they passed papers back and forth. Everyone joked about it, called them lovebirds, but neither of them had said anything out loud. Not yet. Even Angela’s parents had started to notice. She was out all the time lately, coming home late, always texting someone. When they asked, she just brushed it off with, “Just meeting a friend.”

Which wasn’t a lie. It was Fareeha. It was always Fareeha. She didn’t explain why her heart beat faster every time that “friend” looked at her a certain way. Or why she couldn’t stop thinking about the way Fareeha touched her, spoke to her, made her feel seen and wanted in a way no one else did. Still, the tension simmered — lingering stares that lasted a beat too long, silent conversations spoken through glances and half-smiles. They were practically eye-fucking each other at every chance.

It was Friday now. The sun hung low and golden, stretching the afternoon out lazily. Fareeha had leaned against Angela’s desk at the end of the last class, her tone casual. “Wanna come over?” she asked. “My mom’s out of town for the weekend.” Angela didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah. Of course.” And now, here they were — in Fareeha’s car, speeding down back roads with the windows cracked just enough to let the breeze in. Her playlist blared through the speakers — a mix of gritty guitars and dreamy vocals that somehow matched the mood exactly. The air between them felt light but charged, full of unspoken possibilities. Angela sat in the passenger seat, school uniform still clinging to her from the long day. Her legs were crossed, skirt riding just a little higher than it should have, and her fingers tapped lightly against her knee to the beat of the music. Fareeha was calm at the wheel, one hand on the steering wheel and the other… suddenly resting on Angela’s thigh. Not just resting. Sliding — slow and deliberate, fingers curling gently into the soft skin just above her knee. Angela froze for half a second, breath catching. Her cheeks went instantly warm. She turned her head just enough to look at Fareeha, but Fareeha didn’t say anything. She just kept her eyes on the road, a barely-there smile tugging at her lips — like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Angela didn’t push her hand away. She didn’t say anything either.

“We’re here,” Fareeha said as she cut the engine, her gaze shifting toward the building ahead. Calling it a house would’ve been too modest. Angela blinked at the sight of it — sleek lines, tall windows, a curved driveway framed by sculpted hedges. It wasn’t just a home; it was nearly a mansion. Modern, bold, and effortlessly expensive-looking. Angela let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She knew Fareeha came from money, sure — the quiet confidence, the well-kept clothes, the casual way she carried herself. But this? She turned to Fareeha with wide eyes. “You said house,” she said. “This is basically a Bond villain’s summer estate.” Fareeha grinned, unbothered. “I said what I said.” Angela laughed, but her pulse was still racing. The scale of the place, the quiet around them, the privacy — it made everything feel more real. More dangerous. More like something was about to happen.

They stepped inside, and Angela could only stare. The entryway opened into long, gleaming hallways lined with intricate rugs and rich, dark wood. Warm-toned walls were adorned with ornate Arabic calligraphy, old family portraits, and antique relics that looked like they belonged in a museum. Everything felt intentional — lived in, but grand. Cultural and elegant without being showy. Angela’s eyes widened with every step, her gaze drifting over carved furniture, brass lanterns hanging from the ceiling, the faint scent of oud lingering in the air. Fareeha glanced at her, catching the awe written all over her face. She didn’t say anything — just let her take it in. “My room’s upstairs,” she said after a beat, her voice soft. Angela followed, her footsteps light against the smooth staircase, trying to drink in every detail without looking too obviously overwhelmed. Fareeha pushed open her bedroom door, and Angela trailed behind like a curious puppy — quiet, wide-eyed, unsure where to land her attention. The room was simple, but stunning. Cool tones. Clean lines. A large bed with crisp sheets, shelves neatly arranged with books and a few well-placed pieces of art. There was a sense of order to it — calm and clear, just like Fareeha. A sleek door to the side led into a private bathroom. “Make yourself at home,” Fareeha said with a small smile. Angela slipped off her shoes at the edge of the rug, then climbed onto the bed, settling in the middle. Her fingers trailed over the fabric as she took in the space, quiet and thoughtful. Everything about it felt so her. Understated, cool, quietly beautiful.

Fareeha unclipped her watch and placed it on the desk. “Mind if I take a quick shower?”

Angela shook her head, still half-lost in the room. “Go ahead.” As Fareeha disappeared into the bathroom, Angela let her shoulders relax, finally letting herself exhale. Her fingers curled in the soft bedspread, and she smiled — small, secret — not sure if she was more enchanted by the room, or the girl who lived in it.

Angela had been waiting for what felt like forever—at least twenty minutes—before the door finally creaked open again. Fareeha stepped into the room, wrapped in nothing but a towel. The soft fabric clung to her body, beads of water still trailing down her shoulders and arms. Angela’s breath hitched. Fareeha caught it instantly. That sharp, smug smile spread across her face as she cocked a brow.

“Like what you see?” Angela nodded, dazed. “Yeah,” she murmured, not even realizing the word had slipped out. With no warning, Fareeha loosened the towel and let it fall. It pooled at her feet. And there she was—bare, wet, glowing. Her tits were heavy, perfect. Drops of water clung to the curves, sliding slowly toward her toned stomach. Her pussy was shaved smooth. She stood there like a fucking goddess, like she knew Angela would break the second she saw her.

Fareeha strutted toward the bed, hips swaying like she knew damn well what she was doing. She stopped right in front of Angela, close enough for the heat of her skin to radiate against the blonde’s face. Her tits were right there—big, bare, and begging to be sucked. She leaned in just slightly, letting them hang inches from Angela’s lips. “Go on,” she said, voice low and filthy. “Suck.“ Angela didn’t hesitate. Her mouth opened automatically, hungry and obedient. She wrapped her lips around one of Fareeha’s tits, sucking it like she needed it. Wet, messy, loud. Her tongue flicked at the nipple, teasing and filthy. She was moaning, and she didn’t even care how desperate it sounded. Fareeha looked down at her, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “Such a good little slut,” she whispered. “You love this, don’t you?” Angela nodded, still sucking. Her hands gripped Fareeha’s waist like she couldn’t get close enough. Her mouth was working faster now, sloppier, like she wanted to worship every inch of that perfect tit.

“You were waiting so patiently for this moment, weren’t you?” Fareeha murmured, dragging her fingers through Angela’s blonde hair and tugging just enough to make her whimper. “Fuck, look at you. You were made to have my tits in your mouth.” Angela moaned louder, tongue lashing over the nipple, sucking like her life depended on it. Her panties were soaked. She could feel it—she didn’t even care. All that mattered was the taste, the heat, the way Fareeha’s body felt under her lips and tongue.

She wanted more. She wanted everything.

Fareeha chuckled low in her throat, the sound vibrating through her chest as she grabbed a fistful of Angela’s hair and gently pulled her off her tit with a wet pop. A string of spit still connected Angela’s mouth to her nipple. Fareeha looked down at her, amused, hungry.

“Greedy little thing,” Fareeha muttered, brushing a thumb over Angela’s swollen bottom lip. “Let’s see just how wet sucking my tits got you.” Without waiting, she reached down and flipped Angela’s skirt. Her eyes dropped—and her smirk widened. “Fucking soaked,” she said, voice thick with satisfaction. Angela’s lace panties clung to her, the fabric completely drenched—sticking tight between her pussy lips, a dark wet patch spreading wide across the front. Fareeha ran two fingers along the heat, slow and deliberate, pressing just enough to make Angela gasp. “Look at this mess. All from a little tit play?” she teased. “You really are a slut.” Angela whimpered, hips twitching forward without meaning to. She needed more. Craved it. Fareeha leaned in close, her mouth right at Angela’s ear. “Bet this pussy’s aching to be touched. Bet you’d cum just from me rubbing you through these panties like a needy little girl.“ Angela nodded, breathless. “Yes. Please…” “Too fucking easy,” Fareeha whispered, before dragging her fingers down again—this time a little harder, just enough to press against Angela’s clit through the soaked fabric. Angela moaned, loud, unfiltered. And Fareeha just grinned.

Fareeha didn’t waste time. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of Angela’s panties and yanked them down in one smooth motion, exposing her wet, glistening pussy. Angela’s thighs trembled slightly, knees pressing together on instinct, but Fareeha pushed them apart with a firm hand. “Keep those open,” she ordered. “I want to see.” Angela moaned, legs spreading wider.

“Fucking dripping,” Fareeha muttered, dragging two fingers through her folds, slow and teasing. “How long have you been this wet? Sitting there like a good little vice president, pretending to be composed, when this sloppy cunt’s been begging for attention?”

Angela couldn’t answer. Not with the way Fareeha’s fingers were circling her clit now—firm, relentless. Then she slipped one finger in. Then two. Angela gasped, head dropping back. The stretch was perfect, her walls clenching around them immediately, soaking Fareeha’s hand even more. “God, your pussy grips,” Fareeha groaned, curling her fingers just right, finding that sweet spot that made Angela writhe on the bed. “This is what you’ve been needing, isn’t it? Someone to ruin you.” Angela could barely breathe. Her thighs shook, fingers gripping the sheets. Her voice broke around her moans. “F-Fuck, I’ve been fantasizing about you…” Fareeha’s lips curled. “Go on.” Angela’s voice cracked, shame and heat dripping from every word. “About you… fucking me.” “Yeah?” Fareeha whispered, her tone razor-sharp and dripping with pride. “You’d imagine getting fucked by your president? In your little uniform, bent over my desk like a whore?” Angela whimpered. “Yes…” “So shameless,” Fareeha growled, pulling her fingers out slowly, dragging every inch along Angela’s soaked walls. “And so fucking lucky.” She didn’t give her time to think—just dropped to her knees in front of the bed and shoved Angela’s thighs up and apart, planting them on her shoulders. Then, without a word, she dove in. Her tongue was hot and greedy, licking straight up Angela’s slit before latching onto her clit and sucking hard. Angela screamed, one hand flying to grip Fareeha’s hair, the other fisting the sheets like her life depended on it. Fareeha moaned into her, tongue fucking her deep and filthy, lips wet and unrelenting. She licked like she had something to prove, like making the vice president cum was a duty she took very seriously. “You taste fucking perfect,” she growled between licks. “Better than I imagined.”

Fareeha’s tongue didn’t relent, flicking and circling with expert precision. Angela’s body trembled uncontrollably, hips bucking, fingers clawing at the sheets. She was so close—teetering on the edge of release, every nerve screaming for it. Just as Angela’s moans hit a desperate pitch, Fareeha suddenly pulled back. “No,” she whispered, voice low and fierce. Angela gasped, hips jerking uselessly, pussy clenching in frustration. “Not yet,” Fareeha said, eyes dark with control as she sat, watching Angela panting and trembling beneath her. Angela whimpered, her body aching for release, but Fareeha’s hand shot out to press firmly on her stomach, holding her down, keeping her right there—drenched in need but denied. “Do you think you get to come whenever you want?” Fareeha taunted, circling a finger teasingly over Angela’s swollen clit without touching, driving her mad. “No,” Angela gasped, nodding frantically, desperate for more. “That’s right,” Fareeha murmured, leaning down again, letting her tongue brush along Angela’s folds but never quite settling, dragging her back from the edge. Angela’s body spasmed, breath ragged, voice breaking with want. “Please—” she begged, but Fareeha just smiled wickedly and pulled away once more. „Patience, vice president,” Fareeha said, voice dripping with dark promise. “You’ll come when I say. Not a moment before.” Angela whimpered, utterly wrecked, trembling on the brink—and utterly under Fareeha’s control. Fareeha’s eyes darkened, burning with hunger as she watched Angela trembling, soaking wet and desperate, right on the edge. She sank lower, lips sliding over Angela’s slick folds, tongue dragging slow and sinful, circling that swollen clit with wicked precision.

“You’ve been dreaming about this, haven’t you?” Fareeha growled, voice thick with lust. “Fucking you crazy in between meetings, imagining this sloppy cunt dripping just for me.” Angela gasped, hips jerking uncontrollably, fingers clawing the sheets. “Yeah,” she moaned, voice raw. “I’ve been thinking about you… about you fucking me like this.” Fareeha didn’t hold back—she sucked hard, tongue fucking her deep and filthy, making Angela scream her name, body convulsing. “Cum for me, you filthy little vice president,” Fareeha demanded, teeth grazing her clit as she drove her over the edge. Angela’s orgasm crashed down hard—hot, fierce, and unrelenting—her pussy clenched tight, hips bucking, every nerve set on fire.

Fareeha held her through every shudder, lips wet and greedy, savoring the taste of her release. When it finally slowed, Fareeha pulled back, smirking darkly.

They’d been fucking each other relentlessly—at Fareeha’s place, at Angela’s place, hell, even at school where nobody could see. Every touch, every kiss, every heated glance built a fire between them that neither wanted to put out. But despite all the nights tangled in sheets, all the whispered moans and breathless confessions, neither of them had taken the next step. Neither had asked the question hanging heavy in the air, the one that could change everything. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was the thrill of the chase. Or maybe, they just weren’t ready yet. Still, whenever they looked at each other, there was a softness beneath the heat—an unspoken promise that whatever came next, they’d face it together.

The school festival was glowing, all golden lights and gentle laughter—soft music drifting from a stage nearby, the kind of night that made everything feel just a little more magical.

Angela and Fareeha had been wandering for a while now. They weren’t saying much, but that wasn’t unusual. They didn’t need to. Just being near each other, brushing hands occasionally, sharing small looks and quiet smiles—it was enough. They stopped near a quiet path lined with paper lanterns, the crowd a distant hum behind them. The two of them stood close without touching, like always—something charged, but calm, between them.

Angela took a slow breath. “Fareeha?” Fareeha looked down, her expression open, soft in the glow of the lights. Angela hesitated, chewing gently on the inside of her cheek before she spoke. “I like… what we have.”

Fareeha blinked, listening. Angela smiled a little, looking down at her shoes. “Like, I really like it. Not just the… fun parts.” She laughed quietly, nervously. “Okay, those too. A lot. But also the way you always walk me home even if you pretend it’s ‘just on the way,’ or how you bring me those little iced coffees before meetings and act like it’s not a big deal.”

Her voice dropped to something smaller. “I think I just… like you. A lot.” Fareeha was quiet for a second—but not in bad way. Just… taking it in. Then she stepped a little closer, her eyes warm and soft and a little surprised, like she’d hoped to hear that but hadn’t dared expect it.

“I like you too,” she said, almost bashfully. “I’ve been thinking about saying something for a while, but I didn’t want to mess up what we have. Because it’s already so good.”

Angela looked up at her, eyes wide. “Yeah. It is. I don’t want to change it—I just…” She giggled, suddenly embarrassed. “I guess I just want to hold your hand sometimes without needing an excuse.” Fareeha smiled, genuinely, and reached out. “Then hold it,” she said simply.

Angela did—and it felt just right. They stood there, quiet for a while, hands linked gently between them, the lights above flickering like stars. There was no big explosion, no dramatic change—just something warm and steady settling between them. Like everything they’d built before had quietly led here.

[hottiewatch-stories]

Pharah x Mercy oneshot ♡

༺ ˖࣪ ∗ 𓆩♡𓆪 ∗ ˖࣪ ༻

contains: nsfw, strip club, eating out, lap dance, praising, mentioning of other overwatch characters

hope you enjoy <𝟯

༺ ˖࣪ ∗ 𓆩♥︎𓆪 ∗ ˖࣪ ༻

Fareeha was a businesswoman, through and through. Meetings, flights, tailored blazers—her life ran on coffee, silence, and calendar alerts. She was always somewhere: Tokyo, Paris, now Zürich. This week’s stop came with a sleek Airbnb in the city center and a coworker who had no concept of “quiet evenings.” Her coworker—Ashe—sauntered in while Fareeha was on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through emails she wasn’t planning to answer. “Hey,” Ashe said, leaning over the back of the couch. “Wanna go to a strip club with me tonight?” Fareeha didn’t even blink. “No.” Ashe huffed, flopping down beside her like she owned the place. “Seriously? When’s the last time you got laid?” Fareeha didn’t respond. “Exactly,” Ashe grinned. “This place is cute, though. All-girl dancers. All-girl audience. I found it earlier—it’s called Peach. Isn’t that adorable?” That earned a glance. Fareeha raised a brow. “…Peach?” Ashe’s grin turned wicked. “Yup. Thought it’d suit your taste.” Fareeha set her phone down slowly. “What time?”

The night air in Zürich was cool, crisp, whatever — but inside the Airbnb, it was warm and low-lit. Fareeha stood in front of the mirror, quiet. Her hair was still a little damp, curling soft at the ends where it brushed her jaw. She barely ever wore it down. Too soft, too relaxed. But tonight? It felt right. A little casual. A little dangerous. She pulled on a fitted black tee — simple, tight enough to hug her chest, smooth where it tucked into her jeans. The denim was worn in, high-waisted, sitting right on her hips like they belonged there. She added the belt, thick black leather with a silver ring buckle, cinched tight. Over it all, the blazer: pinstriped, tailored, sleeves pushed up to her forearms. A clean silhouette, sharp lines. Nothing loud. Just confident. Like she knew exactly what she was doing. Low-top Jordans — black and white, fresh, solid. Something about them made the outfit feel grounded. Not trying too hard. Just cool. She leaned in to fix her necklaces — three gold chains layered over her collarbones, catching light when she moved. Her lip gloss was subtle, but it hit under the right light, and the mascara made her lashes pop without doing too much. She looked… effortless. But every part of it was intentional. From the doorway, Ashe was watching her, grinning over the rim of her drink. “Goddamn,” she said, eyes dragging down her frame. “You trying to pull all the dancers tonight, or just the hottest one?” Fareeha didn’t even look back. She just adjusted her chain, calm as hell. “I’m just going to see the vibe.”

The street was quiet, save for the soft hum of distant traffic and the warm glow spilling out from the sign above them: Peach. Neon pinks and corals pulsed gently, casting their faces in candy-colored light as Ashe pulled open the door like she owned the place.

The place was pink and dim, soft in that hazy, sticky way—velvet seats, rose-colored lights, and the sweet scent of vanilla hanging in the air. The walls curved softly, lit by golden sconces shaped like fruit—pears, cherries, peaches. Low music played from hidden speakers, a slow, syrupy bassline that wrapped itself around the room like perfume.

It wasn’t sleazy. It was curated. Feminine. The kind of place where heels clicked against hardwood, where laughter was warm, not forced. The crowd was entirely women—some dressed to the nines, others in denim jackets and sneakers. A few sat alone, sipping cocktails that looked like works of art. No one looked uncomfortable. Fareeha took it in silently, arms crossed. She didn’t look overwhelmed, just… observant. Ashe leaned in close enough to speak over the music without yelling. “Cute, right?” she said, smirking. “Told you it wasn’t weird.” “It’s definitely… curated,” Fareeha said, eyes scanning the soft lighting and minimal-but-gorgeous decor. “Very peach-forward.” Ashe snorted. “Exactly your brand.” They moved toward a small booth near the stage—low-backed, cozy, and just far enough from the main action to feel private. Fareeha slid in first, sitting with that same precise elegance she wore like armor. Ashe tossed her jacket on the back of the seat and flagged a server down for drinks.

On stage, a dancer emerged through the curtain, slow and confident. The spotlight caught the shimmer of rhinestones at her hips and the glint of metal threading through her braids. The crowd responded with whoops and finger snaps, not leering but celebratory—like they were cheering on a friend rather than consuming a performance. Fareeha watched with her arms still crossed but her expression softening. “She’s good,” she said quietly. Ashe leaned back, sipping from a drink that had a tiny edible flower floating in it. “They all are. It’s an art form, babe. Don’t sleep on it.” For the first time that night, Fareeha smiled—small, but real.

The lights dipped again, and the music shifted—darker, thicker, with a bassline that slithered across the floor like smoke. The crowd fell silent without a word. Something was coming.

She stepped through the velvet curtain like a shadow pulled into candlelight. Tall. Eyes sharp and brown, piercing right through the haze. Her hair was electric blue, pulled high into a fierce ponytail. Her bodysuit was matte black, catching just enough light to shimmer when she moved—cut high at the hips, plunging low in the back like it dared you to look. Thigh-high boots wrapped her legs in sleek stiletto leather, no platform, just sharp as a secret. A thin black ribbon wrapped around her throat, tied in a delicate bow. No smile. Didn’t need one.

She danced like she was bored with the laws of gravity. Like her body was liquid draped over an invisible beat. She climbed the pole without effort, spun slow and low, her legs a slow scissor that made the air ripple. Her expression never changed, but somehow, it made you want to beg for her attention.

From their booth, Ashe sucked her teeth and let out a soft, reverent “Damn.” Fareeha didn’t respond, but her fingers tightened slightly on her glass. “Okay, who let Morticia Addams be French and fine as hell?” Ashe whispered, eyes wide. “Like. She could just step on me and I’d say ‘thank you, miss.’” “I think everyone here feels the same,” Fareeha murmured, unable to look away.

And then—the lights changed again. Softer now. Glowing amber, like sun through honey. A second dancer stepped through the curtain. And the whole room changed. She wasn’t loud. Wasn’t flashy. She moved like a secret—something soft and golden you weren’t supposed to touch but couldn’t stop reaching for. Her outfit shimmered with a soft, golden glow, the fabric barely held together by thin gold straps that framed her curves like art. Her heels were nude—simple, elegant, almost invisible. Her long blonde hair curled down her back, loose and tousled like she’d just come from someone’s sheets. And she glowed. Like the light loved her. Fareeha blinked. Her heart did a weird thing—skipped, then surged. Because the woman on stage looked like something out of a dream you don’t admit to anyone. All soft hips and long limbs and those eyes—blue, deep, curious. Like she wasn’t just dancing for someone. Like she was searching.

And then, impossibly, those eyes found hers.

For a beat too long, they held. Fareeha’s breath caught. Ashe elbowed her hard. “HELLO? Babe, she’s looking at you. You’re about to get chosen like a prize goat.” “She’s not,” Fareeha said, low. “She’s just—working.” “Oh sure. That’s what everyone says before they get the hottest lap dance of their life and black out.“ The dancer moved down the steps of the stage, hips swaying slow, shoulders back, eyes never straying. She didn’t look at anyone else. She walked straight up to Fareeha like gravity wasn’t real.

She slid into Fareeha’s lap with the same smooth, deadly grace she’d carried across the stage—quiet, confident, and owning every inch of space. Her thighs pressed firm against denim as she settled, knees parted just enough to frame her. Fareeha’s breath caught, shallow but undeniable. Her hands hovered, unsure—like her body was scrambling for a new script, short-circuiting at the touch.

Then the dancer moved. Not hurried. Not showy. Just a slow, deliberate shift that rolled her hips back—real slow—until her ass pressed flush against Fareeha’s jeans, warm and demanding. The room could’ve burned down and Fareeha wouldn’t have flinched. She froze, lips parted, eyes locked on those electric blue orbs. The dancer leaned in, hand sliding onto Fareeha’s thigh for balance, the other ghosting over her shoulder, starting to grind. Soft. Deep. Controlled. Every movement a secret language only their bodies understood. Fareeha’s hands twitched, hovering, fighting to stay put. Then the dancer rolled her hips harder, pulling a low, ragged exhale from Fareeha’s throat. Her hands finally obeyed—tentative but sure—landing on the dancer’s waist, fingers splayed and trembling like she needed proof this was real. The blonde dipped her head, strands of gold falling across her cheek, voice low and amused but never mocking: “You can touch me.” The words hit like fire. Fareeha’s grip tightened—firm, grounding. Her hands slid down, cupping the dancer’s ass slow and deliberate, as if willing herself awake. The dancer sighed softly, never breaking her rhythm. Beside her, Ashe whispered, stunned, “Okay. I’m so sorry for ever clowning your taste in women. You win. This? This is insane.”

But Fareeha didn’t hear. Her world shrunk to the woman pressed against her like sin wrapped in silk, to the heat, the weight, the reckless dare in every glance thrown over a shoulder. Chemistry? No. This was combustion.

Angela pressed a quick kiss to Fareeha’s cheek, then slipped away into the shadows. Just a step from the booth, she turned her head slightly, voice low — only Fareeha could hear. “Room Five,” she breathed—soft, commanding. No question asked. Then she turned and walked away. No glance back. Just hips swaying slow, gold catching the low light, swallowed by the curtain. Fareeha sat frozen. The words hung heavy in the air—like a match waiting to strike.

Ashe blinked. “Oh my god.” Fareeha didn’t respond. “Are you gonna go?” Ashe pressed, voice a mix of scandalized and thrilled.

Fareeha reached for her drink, hands shaking, downed the last swallow in one fierce gulp—and stood. Ashe’s jaw dropped. “YOU’RE GONNA GO.”

The hallway led her in slow, like the whole place was holding its breath. Lights low, pink and gold glowing along the floor, each step quieter than the last. Everything felt muffled, like the world had gone underwater—except her pulse, which pounded steady and strong in her throat. Room Five. She pushed the door open. The room was pink—soft pink, warm pink, all kinds of pink. The walls were velvet, the bed low and wide, covered in satin sheets that looked way too fancy to mess up (but were definitely meant to be messed up). There was a mirror across from it, angled just enough to catch the bed without being too obvious. Everything felt soft, private, kind of ridiculous in the best way—like stepping into a dream that didn’t care about being subtle. And in the center of it all—Angela.

Her back was turned. Light spilled down her shoulders, catching where the sheer gold fabric clung to her body. She was already peeling it off, slow, like she knew she was being watched. One strap fell, then the other, and the bodysuit slipped down her hips in one long, fluid motion. It puddled at her feet. She didn’t step out of it—she let it stay there like a fallen crown. Naked. Her skin was smooth, glowing, touched everywhere by soft pink light. Her waist dipped in like a sculptor’s line. Her thighs were thick and strong and the curve of her ass caught the light in all the right ways—soft, full, impossible not to follow with your eyes. Her hair spilled down her back in loose waves, soft and a little messy.

Fareeha stood frozen. Watching. Breathing her in. Angela turned. And her eyes—blue and burning—locked onto hers like they’d always known where to look. She didn’t say a word. Just walked, slow and bare, across the room, the carpet barely sighing beneath her feet. When she reached Fareeha, her hands found the lapels of her blazer—soft touches, fingertips ghosting down like she was tasting fabric with her skin.

Then she leaned in, close enough to kiss, but didn’t. „You’re even more beautiful up close.“ Her voice was a low, gravelly tease that scraped deliciously against Fareeha’s nerves. The words sent a shock straight to Fareeha’s pussy, a heat blooming hot and fast. Fareeha didn’t answer with words—just closed the distance and claimed Angela’s mouth in a kiss that left no room for hesitation. It was rough, hungry, all heat and need. Their mouths crashed together, all heat and hunger. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t sweet. It was messy, desperate—tongues sliding, lips parting like they’d been holding back for way too long. Breathing didn’t matter. Nothing did, except the way their bodies pressed together, the throb between them growing sharper with every second.

Fareeha’s fingers threaded into Angela’s hair, tugging her in like she couldn’t stand even an inch of space. Angela groaned, hands already under the blazer, running over muscle and skin like she needed to know every part of her—right now. The jacket slipped off in a blur, forgotten before it hit the floor. Angela pushed her back against the wall—not rough, just certain. Her knee pressed up between Fareeha’s thighs, slow and steady, and the heat of it made Fareeha’s breath catch. Her hips moved without thinking, chasing the pressure, chasing her. Their breathing tangled, fast and shallow, lips pulling apart just long enough to gasp before finding each other again.

“Get on the bed,” Angela murmured against her neck, low and rough, her voice thick with want. Fareeha didn’t need to be told twice. She moved without looking back, tugging off her shoes with quick, practiced kicks before climbing onto the bed. The cushions sank beneath her weight as she leaned back, legs parting just enough. Angela followed with that same hypnotic confidence, climbing over her like a storm on the verge of breaking. Her bare pussy hovered above Fareeha’s face, slick and glistening, the heat of it impossible to ignore. “I’m gonna ride that pretty face,” she whispered, voice low and thick like honey dripping off a knife. “Gonna grind my pussy against your mouth until I’m shaking.” Fareeha’s heart slammed in her chest, her cunt clenching so tight it almost hurt. She looked up with dark, hungry eyes, hands already moving to grip Angela’s thighs.

“Do it,” she said. Her fingers tangled in Fareeha’s hair, tugging just enough to pull her closer, deeper, making the heat spike sharp and wild. The scent of her skin—cinnamon, sweat, something dark and addictive—flooded Fareeha’s senses, stealing her breath.

“Open your fucking mouth,” Angela whispered, her voice rough with need and control. The words wrapped around Fareeha’s mind like a velvet noose.

Fareeha obeyed, lips parting, tongue flicking out to taste that wet, pulsing cunt waiting just above her. She pressed her mouth to Angela’s slick folds, slow and deliberate, tongue tracing the tight ring of muscle, tasting the raw, sweet heat. Angela’s hips began to move, a slow, grinding rhythm that drove straight to Fareeha’s core, every slick slide of skin on skin making her cunt tremble with need. The pressure, the friction, the slow burn of Angela’s body rocking over her face—it was pure fucking heaven. Angela leaned back, letting out a low, guttural moan that rumbled through her chest, shaking the room with its heat. “Fuck, you‘re so good” she breathed. Fareeha’s hands clutched at Angela’s thighs, holding on tight as her tongue worked every inch of that wet, needy pussy. She lapped, flicked, and sucked, savoring the taste, the sounds, the feel of Angela’s body trembling above her. Angela’s hips rolled harder now, grinding deep into Fareeha’s mouth, riding every slick movement with wild, hungry desperation. Her nails now dug into the curve of Fareeha’s hips, marking her territory as she rode the delicious, filthy waves building inside her. „I‘m gonna cum on your pretty fucking face,” Angela warned, voice thick and broken. “You‘d love that, huh?” Fareeha’s breath hitched, the world narrowing to just this—just her mouth on Angela’s cunt, her hands clutching tight, her tongue coaxing every moan, every shiver, every needy gasp. And when Angela finally tumbled over the edge, her cunt clenched tight around nothing but air and raw sensation, her cries spilled out—a mix of sharp, broken moans and filthy promises. Fareeha held her steady, swallowing every drop, her mouth burning with taste and fierce desire as Angela rode out her climax. Angela ground herself against Fareeha’s face, slow and relentless, until she finally stilled, collapsing back onto the bed with a satisfied breath.

“You ate my pussy damn well,” Angela teased, a wicked grin playing on her lips. “But now? It’s my turn.” Fareeha only smiled softly, eyes dark and unblinking. She didn’t say a word — mysterious as always — and Angela found herself fucking drawn to that silent power.

Angela slid down to hover over Fareeha’s legs, fingers deftly unbuckling the wide black belt. Fareeha’s gaze followed her every move, heavy with lust and anticipation. The belt came loose, then Angela tugged down the zipper of Fareeha’s jeans, peeling the fabric—and panties—away, revealing smooth, bare skin, soft and shaved, glistening with want.

Angela’s lips curled into a hungry smile at the sight of that slick, dripping cunt. She shifted back just enough to get the perfect angle, spreading Fareeha’s legs wide and exposing her swollen folds slick with need. A soft, satisfied “mmh~” escaped Angela’s lips before she dipped her head low, taking Fareeha’s sensitive bud into her mouth. She sucked relentlessly, hard and worshipful, her tongue working magic, tracing every inch of the tender flesh with steady, eager pressure.

Fareeha’s hand tangled in Angela’s blonde hair, gripping tight as a low, breathy growl spilled from her throat. “F-fuck… yeah, just like that,” she murmured, voice dark and dripping sex. “Mhm, good job,“ Angela’s cheeks flushed pink—her pussy flamed hotter hearing that praise from Fareeha’s mouth, that sexy, commanding voice she never expected. “Faster, baby,” Fareeha commanded, her eyes blazing. Angela worshipped the cunt beneath her with even more devotion, her tongue moving faster, harder, tasting every drop of desire. Angela moaned against the wet heat, the vibrations of her voice sending shivers straight through Fareeha’s core. The room was thick with lust, and they were both drowning in the raw, filthy fire they’d ignited. Angela’s tongue slid faster, relentless and skillful, drawing desperate moans from Fareeha’s lips. Her mouth was a warm, wet prison, and Fareeha didn’t want to escape. She grabbed Angela’s hair tighter, pulling her closer as waves of pleasure crashed through her body, every lick and suck pushing her closer to the edge. “God, you’re such a fucking goddess,” Fareeha groaned, voice rough with lust. “You’re doing so well, baby,“ Angela’s cheeks flamed even deeper, but she didn’t stop. If anything, the praise only made her more eager, more hungry to please. Her fingers traced circles on Fareeha’s inner thighs, inching closer, teasing the soft, trembling skin just beyond reach. Fareeha shifted, letting out a low, satisfied hum as Angela’s mouth moved with hungry precision. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” she breathed, voice thick and broken. “I’m gonna fucking lose it.” Angela’s eyes flicked up, glazed with want but filled with adoration. “Then come for me. Come all over my filthy mouth.“ That was all Fareeha needed. She arched her hips, pressing her slick pussy harder into Angela’s hungry mouth, letting the waves rip through her in wild, ragged gasps. The sound of her own pleasure—raw, filthy, uncontrollable—filled the room as Angela drank her down like a prize, her tongue working magic until every last tremble had passed. Angela pulled back slowly, her breath uneven, lips swollen and glistening. She blinked, like she was trying to come back to herself—but her eyes never left Fareeha’s.

The taller woman laid sprawled against the couch cushions, chest heaving, hair tousled, lips parted in a dazed smile. “Holy shit,” she muttered, voice low and wrecked.

Angela laughed softly, surprised by the sound of it. “Yeah,” she breathed. “Same.”

There was a pause—warm, a little awkward, but not uncomfortable. Just the quiet that comes after too much heat, when everything starts to settle. “I should probably say something charming,” Fareeha said, running a hand through her hair. Angela tilted her head. “You could just tell me your name.” That earned a small, genuine laugh. “Fareeha.”

Angela’s smile widened. “Angela.”

[hottiewatch-stories]

Pharah x Mercy oneshot ♡

༺ ˖࣪ ∗ 𓆩♡𓆪 ∗ ˖࣪ ༻

contains: nsfw, fucking in public, praising, teasing, fingering, eating out, roommates, mentioning of other overwatch characters

notes: Pharah makes me go feral <3

hope you enjoy <𝟯

𓆩 ♱ 𓆪

Angela had never lived anywhere but her parents’ house, so the idea of moving away—of sleeping in a room that wasn’t hers, surrounded by people she didn’t know—was both thrilling and deeply unfamiliar. She was excited, of course. College had always been part of the plan, and the thought of finally studying medicine felt surreal. But there was also a quiet, fluttering kind of nervousness in her chest, one she hadn’t quite figured out how to name.

Her parents had spent the morning fussing, circling her like satellites.

“Don’t forget to turn off the stove,” her mother reminded her, voice full of love disguised as habit.

“Yes, Mom,” Angela replied.

“And take the trash out before it piles up, alright?”

“Yes, Mom.”

She was ready. She told herself that over and over. She wasn’t a child anymore, and her parents knew that. The way they looked at her lately had changed—gentle pride in every glance, the kind that quietly said you’re becoming who you’re meant to be.

The drive to campus was quiet but not tense. Her mother kept her eyes mostly on the road, though every few minutes she would glance over at Angela with a soft, searching kind of smile. “So,” she asked, trying to sound casual but not quite succeeding, “are you excited?”

Angela smiled, brushing a hand through her hair as she looked out the window at the city passing by. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve always wanted to become a doctor. The fact that I’m actually starting that journey now… it’s kind of insane.”

Her mother nodded, lips curving into a deeper smile this time, the kind that settled into her eyes. “Well,” she said, “we’re proud of you, Angela. You’re going to do great.”

When they finally arrived at the university, Angela stepped out of the car and took a long moment to take it all in. The campus was stunning—sleek, modern buildings bathed in sunlight, students walking with purpose or lounging in the grass, voices blending into a warm, buzzing atmosphere that felt full of possibility. She gripped the handle of her suitcase a little tighter, heart racing as the weight of it all began to sink in.

Nearby, another girl caught her attention—tan skin, short dark hair, and a striking tattoo just beneath one beautiful brown eye. It was familiar somehow; her mother had one just like it. The resemblance between them was unmistakable, and for a moment Angela watched as the older woman placed her hands gently on her daughter’s face. “Be careful, ḥabíbtī,” the woman said softly, her voice warm but firm, full of something Angela recognized instantly as motherly love. The girl groaned, a small eye roll escaping before she replied “Yes, Mom, I will… you too, okay?” Her mother only smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to her daughter’s forehead before the girl turned and headed toward the dorms, her movements easy and unbothered. Angela looked back at her own parents then, her chest tightening as emotion rose in her throat. Without saying a word, she pulled them both into a hug, holding on tightly as they laughed and kissed the top of her head, surrounding her with the comfort she knew she’d miss terribly. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice low but steady. “I love you.”

Her parents didn’t say much in response—just smiled, the kind of smile that said we know, and we love you too, and you’re going to be just fine.

Angela stood there a moment longer, watching her parents walk back to the car, her heart full in that strange way that came from goodbyes that aren’t final, but still feel like endings. When they disappeared from view, she drew in a slow breath, rolled her shoulders back, and turned toward the path that led to the dorms.

Angela had expected her new dorm room to feel impersonal—bland walls, standard-issue furniture, maybe a dusty scent from summer storage—but it was… fine. Small, but clean. Quiet, at least for now. She dropped her suitcase by the bed that didn’t have a duffel on it, guessing that meant she’d arrived first.

A little part of her was glad. It gave her time to settle, to breathe, to let the nerves smooth out before she had to start being social again.

She unpacked slowly, folding clothes into drawers with careful precision, lining up her notebooks on the desk, adjusting the photo of her parents next to a small, hand-painted mug she couldn’t leave behind. The silence was strange, comforting and heavy at once.

And then—the sound of the door handle jiggling. Angela turned around just as it opened, and in stepped a girl dragging a suitcase behind her. Tall, confident posture, dark hair —Angela blinked— It‘s the girl from before.

“Oh,” the girl said, eyes sweeping over the room, landing on Angela. “Didn’t realize you were already here.” Angela straightened up. “Yeah, I just got in a little while ago.”

The girl nodded and stepped inside, letting the door swing closed behind her. She didn’t seem rushed or flustered by the move-in chaos outside—more like she’d done this before. Maybe she had. „I’m Fareeha,” she said, offering a hand after setting down her suitcase. Angela took it. Her grip was firm, steady. “Angela.” There was a pause—brief but electric. Fareeha glanced at the two beds, one still untouched. “You claim a side yet?”

Angela gestured toward the one already half-covered in clothes. “That one’s mine. Hope you don’t mind the window.” “Nope,” Fareeha said easily, already pulling her duffel onto the other mattress. “I like shade.” Angela watched as she unpacked with clean efficiency, setting everything in place with an ease that made it look like she could live out of a backpack if she had to. She was calm, composed—exactly the kind of person Angela had imagined would breeze through college without a second thought. “Your tattoo,” Angela said, before she could stop herself. “It’s beautiful.” Fareeha glanced over her shoulder, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. Then: a small smile. “Thanks. My mom has the same one.” Angela’s heart skipped, surprised. “I saw her earlier. She said goodbye outside. You look like her.” Fareeha’s smile deepened, but she didn’t answer right away. Instead, she sank back onto her bed with an easy kind of confidence, one arm tucked behind her head while the other rested casually at her belt. Her shirt shifted as she moved, riding up just enough to reveal the curve of her toned stomach—and the glint of a silver bellybutton piercing catching the light. Angela swallowed.

“So,” Fareeha said, her voice low and even, “first time away from home?” Angela nodded, then sat on the edge of her bed, still holding onto the hem of a folded shirt. “Yeah. You?”

“Nah. I did a year of service before this. Moved around a lot. Feels nice to land somewhere.”

Angela looked at her, a little stunned—not by what she said, but by how casually she said it. Grounded. Steady. The kind of person who made you want to know more. “Well,” Fareeha added, tossing Angela a lopsided grin, “roommates, huh?” Angela smiled back, feeling her stomach flip just slightly. “Looks like it.”

A few months had passed, and Angela had already experienced more than she expected. She’d made two close friends—Hana and Kiriko, the latter being in the same major as her, medicine. The three of them had met through classes, and somehow, despite their differences, they clicked. Her grades were steady, her routines settled, and for the first time, she was doing okay on her own.

Most weekends, she went out with the two of them. Admittedly, she was often third-wheeling a little—but she didn’t mind. She liked watching them laugh and stumble through parties like they belonged there. Angela usually sat off to the side, sipping something sweet, letting the music fill her ears while she observed quietly. It was enough. And Fareeha… well. Fareeha was something else. Over time, Angela had learned bits and pieces about her roommate. She had more hobbies than Angela could count—cooking, working out, painting sometimes. But the most surprising one? She played bass. Sometimes Angela would come back from class to find Fareeha perched on her bed, plucking at the strings, humming under her breath. Always so calm. So composed. So cool.

She really was the embodiment of a rocker—leather jacket slung over a chair, cropped band shirts, jeans ripped at the knees, sunglasses that she wore indoors and at night like it was a personality trait. There was always a hint of her tattoo peeking out beneath her glasses, like it was teasing the world on purpose. Angela liked that about her. Fareeha was different. Intriguing. She made you want to look twice—and then never stop. Angela smiled softly to herself, thinking about a particular moment, one that had been replaying in her head more than she’d like to admit. Fareeha had been sitting on her bed—legs spread, bass guitar resting against her thigh, fingers moving effortlessly over the strings. She was humming something low and slow, and Angela had just… watched. Like she always did. Fareeha knew though. Of course she did. She could feel the stare, and she didn’t seem to mind. If anything, she leaned into it, just a little.

Angela hesitated. Something hovered at the edge of her lips, something honest. And then—fuck it. “Are you good at everything you do?” she asked, voice low. Fareeha glanced up, a small smile tugging at her lips. She chuckled softly, not pausing her playing. “Maybe,” she said, with that lazy confidence. “You tell me.” Then she shifted slightly, resting back on one hand. “No, it’s just… my family’s always been like that. Hardworking. There was a lot I had to learn early on. But music—music’s just for me. It helps me relax.” Angela only nodded, her heart doing that annoying thing it did whenever Fareeha said something.

It happened when Hana suddenly snapped her fingers in front of Angela’s face, breaking her out of yet another daze. They were sitting in the school café, halfway through lunch, trays pushed to the side and drinks long gone warm.

“What are you daydreaming about this time?” Hana asked, grinning. “She’s probably thinking about her roommate again…” Kiriko chimed in, eyes glinting with mischief. “F-Far… Fareeha?” She dragged the name out dramatically, wiggling her eyebrows. Angela nearly choked on her water. “What—? No! Pfft. No way.” She waved her hands in defense, cheeks already turning pink. “It’s not like that.” Hana and Kiriko exchanged a look—and then burst into laughter. “C’mon, just admit it already,” Kiriko teased, nudging her with her shoulder. “You’ve got a huge, fat crush on her. I can see it from a mile away.” Angela groaned, burying her face in her hands, blushing like crazy. “I don’t know… maybe… I mean, she’s just so effortlessly cool, and I’m just—me.”

“That’s not true,” Hana jumped in instantly. “You’re cool in your own way. And honestly? I know she likes you back. I’ve literally caught her staring at your butt.” Angela blinked. “Girl—what??” Kiriko leaned back in her seat, laughing. “What can I say? Maybe your crush has a butt fetish.” “Oh my God, stop making it weird,” Angela said, face redder than a tomato. “Wait—idea!” Hana suddenly sat up straighter, excitement written all over her face. “Isn’t Olivia’s party tonight? I heard Fareeha’s going too.” Angela froze. “…And?”

“And,” Hana said, grinning, “maybe you could, you know… shoot your shot?” Kiriko turned and kissed Hana on the cheek. “You’re actually a genius sometimes.” „Oh, I know,” Hana said proudly, flipping her hair. Angela, still trying to hide behind her hands, muttered, “Okay, but I can’t show up looking like this. I need a nice dress or something—something that’ll get her attention.” Kiriko gasped. “Oh my God. Are you saying…” Angela nodded solemnly. “We’re going shopping.” The three of them smiled and giggled, already excited as they imagined their plan. “Alright,” Hana said, grabbing her bag. “Lunch first. Then we shop. We have a gay panic to prepare for.”

Angela was now back in her dorm, standing in front of the mirror and fully admiring her reflection. She was wearing a silky black dress that hugged her waist like it had been tailored just for her, the fabric catching the light in all the right places. The neckline dipped low, teasing just enough of her full, beautiful breasts. Paired with sheer black stockings and her trusted Doc Martens, the look was bold, sexy, and completely her. Her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, sleek but playful, and she’d just cut herself some fresh bangs—giving her whole look a soft, flirty edge that balanced out the “slutty but classy” energy of the outfit. A tiny handbag hung off her shoulder, carrying the essentials: phone, keys, wallet, and a spritz of her favorite perfume. The dorm was quiet—Fareeha had already left—which meant Angela had all the time in the world to get ready without rushing. And now, she was ready. Or at least… she hoped so.

The party was already buzzing when Angela stepped in—lights low, music thrumming under her feet, bodies swaying everywhere. She moved through the crowd with purpose, head held high even though her heart was beating like crazy. She hadn’t spotted anyone she knew yet, but then— “Angela?” That voice. Deep, smooth, unmistakably Fareeha.

She turned, and there she was—leaning against the wall near the kitchen, a red solo cup in hand, eyes locked onto her like nothing else in the room existed. Her jaw had dropped a little. Subtle. But enough. Angela smiled, trying to play it cool. “Um… hey.” Fareeha didn’t answer right away. Her gaze dragged down, slow and obvious—from the high ponytail to the curve of the dress, the exposed skin, the Doc Martens, and those delicious thighs. Fuck. „Wow,” Fareeha finally said, blinking once. Twice. “You look…” Angela raised a brow, teasing. “Yeah?” “Good,” she said, and then added, quieter, “Really good.”

Angela laughed softly, cheeks warming. “Thank you. I almost didn’t wear it.” “Please tell me you’re kidding.” Fareeha took a sip of her drink and tried to cover the way she was clearly still staring. “If you didn’t, I might’ve survived this party. Now I’m not so sure.”

Angela tilted her head, lips curving. “You’re dramatic.” “You’re dangerously pretty.”

The words slipped out before Fareeha could stop them. Angela blinked—caught off guard, heart skipping—but smiled anyway. There was a pause. A moment charged enough to make the air feel thick. Then Kiriko’s voice suddenly called from the kitchen, breaking the spell. Angela looked over her shoulder, then back at Fareeha. “Guess I’ll see you around?” she said, already turning to walk away. “Angela?”

She stopped, glancing back. Fareeha was still watching her, still a little stunned. “…Don’t let anyone else hit on you tonight, okay?”

Angela smiled, and this time it was all mischief. “Hmm, we‘ll see.” And with that, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving Fareeha to absolutely combust against the wall.

Angela wasn’t usually the kind of girl who turned every head in the room—but tonight, it was impossible not to notice her. The silky black dress clung to her like it had been designed for her, catching the low light as she moved. She was glowing—flushed from dancing, from laughing with Hana and Kiriko, from moving like she owned the rhythm. And across the room, someone was watching her. Fareeha stood half in shadow, the pulse of colored lights washing over her face as she leaned against the wall, leather jacket slipping from one shoulder like she didn’t even notice. She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched.

Watched Angela move like temptation made flesh, hips swaying, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. Watched the way some guy—just another overly confident nobody—edged closer. He brushed Angela’s arm and said something in her ear that made her laugh, and she didn’t pull away, didn’t recoil, didn’t even seem to notice the way his hand hovered just a little too close. Fareeha’s jaw tightened. Then he touched her waist. Angela flinched—barely, but enough. Still, she didn’t say anything. And that was all Fareeha needed. She was already crossing the room before the thought had even fully formed, cutting through the crowd like she’d done it a hundred times before. She didn’t stop to think. She didn’t need to. Her eyes never left Angela—not once—and when she reached her, it was with a calm, deliberate certainty that made the air shift around them.

Her hand slid onto Angela’s lower back, firm and possessive but not rough, and the other gently nudged the guy’s arm away like she was brushing off dust. “She’s with me,” Fareeha said, her voice low, smooth, and quiet—but clear enough to cut through the music.

The guy blinked, caught somewhere between confusion and embarrassment, but Fareeha didn’t give him the dignity of a second glance. Angela stood frozen for a moment, eyes wide, breath caught in her throat. “Let’s dance,” Fareeha said, quieter now, only for her.

Angela hesitated—just a beat—then nodded. Fareeha pulled her in, hands settling on her hips like they belonged there. The space between them disappeared, and it felt too easy, too natural, the way their bodies aligned—warm, close, right. „You okay?,“ Fareeha asked, their bodies swaying easily to the music now. “Yeah. Just—surprised.” Fareeha’s hands stayed steady on her hips, anchoring. “He didn’t even realize you flinched.” That was all she said—but her tone was sharp, protectiveness coiled tight beneath every word. Angela blinked up at her, heartbeat stuttering. She tried to smile. “I didn’t think you were watching that closely.” “I always watch you,” Fareeha said, simple and unflinching. “And I didn’t like it.” Angela let out a soft, breathy laugh—half-flustered, half something else entirely. “You always this protective, or is it just me?” “It’s just you,” Fareeha replied, smirking now. “But don’t let it go to your head.” Angela’s lips curled, her fingers brushing the edge of Fareeha’s jacket. Their eyes met and held—brown crashing into blue—and for a moment, the music, the crowd, everything else disappeared. It was just them. Then a thought struck Angela, sharp and unwelcome: What if she doesn’t like me like that? „I need…” Angela trailed off, blinking. “Water. I’m gonna get some water.” Fareeha raised an eyebrow, a flicker of concern crossing her face. “You alright?” Angela nodded a bit too fast. “Yeah. Just warm. The room’s kind of stuffy.” She hesitated, then smiled, flustered. “Not you. Or—I mean, you are. But that’s not—” “Go cool off, it’s alright,” Fareeha said gently, though her eyes gleamed with something unreadable.

Angela gave a quick nod and turned away. But instead of heading to the kitchen, she slipped into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

Angela leaned against the bathroom sink, her hands braced on either side as she stared into the mirror. Her reflection looked as overwhelmed as she felt—flushed cheeks, wide eyes, and a thousand thoughts spiraling behind them. Why did I say that? Why now?

Everything had been going fine. Perfect, even—until she panicked. Until she ran. She was so caught up in her self-recrimination, she didn’t hear the soft knock or the quiet creak of the door opening. “Angela?” Her head snapped up. Fareeha stood in the doorway, framed by the warm hallway light, her expression softer than Angela expected. Concern, maybe. Something more. “Can I come in?” she asked, her voice low. Angela hesitated only a moment before nodding. Fareeha stepped inside and shut the door behind her, turning the lock with a quiet click. “I didn’t want to bother you. I just… wanted to make sure you were okay. I can go if—” “No,” Angela interrupted quickly. “Please. Stay.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly shy. “I just got… flustered. I don’t usually dance with… gorgeous, sexy women, you know?” Fareeha leaned back against the door, arms crossing over her chest, a knowing smirk curling her lips. “So I’m gorgeous and sexy?” Angela bit her lip, nodding. “You are. Very.” She stepped closer. The bathroom felt smaller now, like the air had thickened around them. Her back was to the mirror, Fareeha just a breath away. Angela looked up at her with eyes full of want and wonder. “The same gorgeous, sexy woman I think about every damn day,” she whispered, her voice like silk over steel. Her eyes didn’t leave Fareeha’s. “The same one I fantasize about fucking me. Raw. Shameless.” The words sent a visible shiver through Fareeha‘s body, the tension between them snapping like a live wire, and Fareeha didn’t waste a second before capturing Angela’s mouth in a kiss that was hungry, messy, and impossibly desperate—one of those kisses where restraint doesn’t stand a chance, and all the weeks of stolen glances, lingering touches, and simmering tension finally spilled over into something real and raw. Angela kissed her back like she meant it, like she’d been waiting for this exact moment, and maybe she had—her hands threading through Fareeha’s hair, her body arching into the kiss. For a long moment, it was just the two of them tangled in touch and sound and sensation, until Fareeha finally pulled back, her breath ragged, lips swollen, eyes dark with something sharp and unfiltered. „Turn around,” she muttered, voice low enough to shake something deep in Angela’s spine. Angela didn’t hesitate. She turned, facing the mirror once more, her hands bracing against the cool marble of the counter, her chest rising and falling just a little faster now. Fareeha stepped in behind her, one hand finding her waist with slow, deliberate pressure, the other brushing the hair from her neck as she leaned in to whisper, “I want you to see yourself—while I fuck you, Angela.” The blonde’s breath hitched, and a sinful smile curved on her lips as her gaze met Fareeha’s in the mirror, her eyes with lust and desire.

Fareeha’s lips found Angela’s neck, placing slow, deliberate kisses along her skin—soft, teasing, possessive. Angela gasped, her knees nearly giving out when Fareeha’s teeth scraped just beneath her ear. One hand stayed firm at Angela’s waist, grounding her with a grip that spoke of control, while the other slid under the hem of her dress, fingers grazing up the soft skin of her stomach in a maddeningly slow ascent. She reached Angela’s bra and pushed it aside with a practiced ease, her finger circling over a nipple already stiff and aching for touch. When she rolled it between her fingers, Angela moaned—soft, desperate, unable to hold it in. Her eyes flicked to the mirror—and the sight nearly undid her. Her reflection: flushed, lips parted, chest heaving, her body barely keeping it together under Fareeha’s hands. But what really made her pussy clench was the look on Fareeha’s face. Dark eyes focused, full of hunger, watching every shiver and gasp like she was memorizing them. She looked absolutely fucking lethal. Still in her jacket, sleeves pushed up, one hand holding Angela steady and the other teasing her swollen tits. Angela whimpered when Fareeha pinched harder. “Fuck,” she breathed, voice thick with need. “You’re so—fucking hot.” Fareeha chuckled, low and rough, her voice pure sex. “Say that again.”

Angela’s smile was dazed, drunk on touch. “You’re so fucking hot, Fareeha,” she whispered, eyes drifting back to the mirror just in time to catch the smirk tugging at Fareeha’s mouth—sharp, wicked, victorious. “And you know exactly what you’re doing to me.” “Oh, I know,” Fareeha murmured, voice like velvet laced with fire, as her hand now moved lower. She pushed Angela’s dress up, revealing sheer black stockings and the garter that made her pause for just a second, appreciation flickering in her eyes. Then her hand slipped between Angela’s thighs, fingertips pressing against soaked lace. “You’ve been wet since I walked in, haven’t you?” Angela nodded, barely able to breathe. “Mmh, yes.“ Then, Fareeha‘s fingers traced the waistband of Angela’s underwear and slowly pulled it down, revealing the slick heat beneath. The first touch was gentle, savoring, almost cruel in how slow she went—dragging fingers through the slick heat, parting her folds like a gift she’d been waiting to unwrap. “You’re so fucking wet,” she murmured, fingers circling Angela’s clit just once before slipping lower. She eased a finger into her cunt—then another—the stretch making Angela moan deep and low, hips twitching, thighs trembling. She lifted one leg slightly, making it easier for Fareeha to fuck her while they stood. Angela gasped, back arching, eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck—” “You’re lucky they can’t hear you,” Fareeha murmured, voice like gravel and sin. “Or maybe you want them to.”

She fucked her slowly at first, fingers curling just right. Her body rocked with every stroke, legs shaking, moans falling unchecked from her lips. “Look at yourself,” Fareeha ordered, voice tight with control. “Look at how fucking wrecked you are.” Angela’s eyes met her own in the mirror—glazed, hungry, undone—and it pushed her right to the edge. Fareeha leaned in, her breath hot against her ear. “Say whose pussy this is.” “Ngh~ Yours,” Angela moaned. “It’s yours—fuck, it’s always been yours. F-Fuck.” “Mmh, that‘s my good girl.” The words hit Angela like a punch to the gut—low, possessive, drenched in praise and power. Her breath caught, her whole body tensing around Fareeha’s fingers like her cunt had just grabbed onto them, unwilling to let go.

Fareeha felt it. Smirked against her ear. “That did it, didn’t it? This sweet little pussy’s just clenching around me now.” Angela couldn’t respond—not with words. Her mouth hung open in a silent gasp as Fareeha’s fingers moved faster, deeper, pushing in knuckle-deep and curling upward like she was trying to carve her name into Angela’s walls.

Wet, obscene sounds filled the bathroom, slick and relentless, louder than the bass still thudding from the party outside. Angela could hear it—she could hear herself being fucked, her cunt dripping, swallowing Fareeha’s fingers greedily and needy, mess running down the inside of her thighs. “God—fuck,” Angela sobbed, grinding down helplessly onto the hand buried between her legs, chasing the edge like it was the only thing left in the world. Her hips bucked without permission, her body no longer hers but Fareeha’s to play with.

“Look at yourself,” Fareeha growled again, voice dark and ragged now. “Look how fucking shameless you are—this filthy cunt drooling all over my fingers, and you love it, don’t you?”

Angela looked. Couldn’t not. And what she saw in the mirror nearly made her come on the spot—her eyes wild, her mouth parted, tits bouncing with every thrust, thighs trembling like she could collapse at any second. And behind her: Fareeha, smug and dangerous and in total control, watching her fall apart with a hunger that bordered on reverent. Her legs started to give out—finally, finally—and Fareeha adjusted, sliding a third finger in.

Angela moaned. Not loud, not shrill—but raw.

The stretch, the depth—it pushed her over.

She came hard. It hit her like a wave crashing into stone, violent and uncontrollable. Her pussy spasmed around Fareeha’s fingers, clenching so tight she almost shoved them out. Slick gushed over Fareeha’s hand, dripping down her wrist, almost soaking her jacket sleeve. Angela’s knees buckled completely, and Fareeha caught her—held her up with one hand gripping her swollen tit, the other still knuckle-deep inside her, fingers working her through it, dragging out every last pulse of pleasure until Angela was shaking.

Her head dropped forward, hair sticking to her cheeks, breath coming in ragged, broken gasps. “Shit,” she whimpered, still twitching, hips rocking without rhythm now. “Fuck, I—I—”

“You made a mess all over my hand,” Fareeha murmured, voice thick with heat and pride. “Such a needy little cunt.” Angela whimpered again—half humiliated, half wrecked beyond thought. Fareeha slowly slid her fingers free, dragging them out wet and heavy, coated in slick. She brought them to Angela’s lips from behind, voice curling like smoke. “Open.”

And Angela—still breathless, still trembling—did.

Her mouth parted, warm and wet, and without a second’s hesitation, Angela took Fareeha’s fingers inside, sucking them slow and deep. She tasted herself on Fareeha’s skin—the raw, salty sweetness that made her pulse slam in her veins. Fareeha moaned low, hips pressing harder against Angela’s back, fingers curling as Angela’s tongue circled, sucked, flicked with sharp, hungry precision. Fareeha then pulled her fingers away, and Angela spun to face her, eyes dark, lips glistening with promise. A wicked, breathless smile tugged at Angela’s lips before she crashed her mouth onto Fareeha’s again—the taste of her own release still warm and thick on her tongue. Fareeha’s hands gripped her waist, pulling her in tight, deepening the kiss. Her body thrummed with heat, pussy aching—needing the blonde’s touch. Angela pulled back, her breath ragged, then spun Fareeha around and pressed her firmly against the sink. She dropped to her knees without hesitation, hands moving fast—almost clumsy in her urgency—as she fumbled with Fareeha’s belt. Fareeha just watched her, eyes dark and burning with want. Angela finally got it open, tugging jeans and panties down in one swift motion, revealing smooth, soaked heat. She smirked at the sight, shifting her position just enough to part Fareeha’s thighs and get a better view of her clit. Without wasting a second, she leaned in and started licking—soft, teasing strokes, kittenish at first, like she was savoring every second before she devoured her. Angela’s hands gripped Fareeha’s thick thighs, steadying her as her palms roamed, slow and greedy – worshiping the hot woman in front of her. Fareeha’s breath hitched—fuck, just the sight was enough to make her come. Her roommate, down on her knees, eating her out like a filthy little slut she’d just picked up. No hesitation, no modesty—just hunger. Her hands flew to Angela’s hair, tangling in the blonde’s ponytail with a grip that was more reflex than thought, guiding her in deeper, pulling her harder against the cunt that pulsed and dripped just for her. “Fuck,” she breathed, her voice breaking on the word, low and trembling. “You’re so damn good at this…” Angela hummed in answer, the sound sending a shudder through Fareeha’s core, lips wrapping around her clit with focused, reverent hunger. Her tongue moved slow at first—tasting, savoring, dragging languid circles over every sensitive inch—before quickening into confident flicks, teasing and claiming all at once. “More,” Fareeha rasped, voice thick with need, her grip tightening. “Show me how much you want me.” Angela’s only answer was deeper devotion. Her mouth moved with growing urgency, each flick of her tongue deliberate, each suck a fucking promise. She kissed and licked like she belonged there—like she was meant to be on her knees, mouth buried in the soft, wet heat of Fareeha’s cunt, drinking down every sound she pulled from her. “Taste every drop,” Fareeha murmured, her voice slipping into a growl. “Let me feel how much you crave me.” Angela moaned in response, the sound low and desperate, sending another pulse of pleasure through Fareeha’s body. Fareeha’s thighs trembled around her head, hips jerking against each lick, each suck, each deliciously filthy kiss.

“You’re obsessed with this, aren’t you?” Fareeha gasped, half-laughing, half-moan, her head falling back against the mirror as her body trembled. “God, listen to you—look at you…” Angela was a vision—wild, focused, completely consumed by the taste of her. She didn’t pause, didn’t speak, didn’t even think—her world had narrowed to the slick heat against her tongue and the broken, gorgeous sounds spilling from Fareeha’s lips. “Say it,” Fareeha growled, one hand still tangled in her hair, the other bracing against the sink. “Tell me you’re mine.” Angela pulled back only far enough to gasp, voice rough and trembling with need. „Mmh, I‘m yours – your filthy little cumslut.“ That did it. Fareeha’s breath caught, then broke, her entire body clenching as she came hard, thighs shaking, curses spilling from her lips as wave after wave crashed through her. Angela held her there, steady and sure, licking her through it with long, reverent strokes, slow and tender and full of quiet possession. When Fareeha finally looked down—flushed, dazed, still breathless—Angela glanced up at her with slick, swollen lips and a wicked gleam in her eye, like she’d just tasted something sacred and would never forget it.

Fareeha leaned back against the mirror, chest still heaving, her skin glowing with sweat and satisfaction. Slowly, her fingers slid from Angela’s hair, guiding her up until their eyes met. Angela looked wrecked and radiant—lips swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes wild and soft all at once.

Fareeha let out a breathless laugh. “I should’ve known the second you walked in wearing that dress.” Angela tilted her head, playing coy. “Too much?” Fareeha’s gaze dipped, taking in every inch of her again—the cling of silk over curves, the peek of lace beneath it. “You knew exactly what you were doing. That dress should come with a warning label.” Angela smiled, unrepentant. “What can I say? I like being watched. Especially by you.” Fareeha groaned, pushing off the mirror just enough to pull Angela in by the waist. “You’re lucky you’re incredible with that mouth.” Angela leaned in close, her lips brushing the shell of Fareeha’s ear. “Was that a compliment, Lieutenant?”

“Don’t push it,” Fareeha murmured, but her thumb traced over Angela’s cheek with surprising tenderness. For a moment, they just stood there—breathing in the same air, buzzing from everything that had just happened. Then Fareeha smirked, tilting her head. “So… we’re just roommates who happen to fuck each other now?” Angela laughed, soft and warm. “Only on special occasions.”

“Like midterms?” Fareeha teased. “Or when you wear silk?” Angela’s smile turned wicked. “If that’s what finally made you admit you’ve been eye-fucking me for months… then yes. Silk it is.“ Fareeha laughed, brushing a damp strand of hair from Angela’s face. “You’re unbearable.”

“And you’re obsessed,” Angela whispered, lips grazing hers. This time, Fareeha didn’t bother denying it. She just kissed her—deep and slow, like she had all the time in the world to get it right.

[hottiewatch-stories]

Kiriko x D.Va oneshot ♡

༺ ˖࣪ ∗ 𓆩♡𓆪 ∗ ˖࣪ ༻

contains: nsfw, camgirl D.Va, masturbating, teasing, praising, tits fuck, eating out, sixty-nine

notes: This oneshot got kinda long, so grab some snacks and enjoy yourself hehe :P

hope you enjoy <𝟯

⦮⑅⦯ ᕱ⑅ᕱ

Kiriko was a huge fan of a camgirl called DvaBunny. Every Friday she’d turn on her laptop, crawl into bed, and watch her streams—jerking off to them without fail. It had become her little routine. She lived alone in a small apartment in Busan, and these nights were just… hers. It was Friday again—8 p.m. sharp, the exact time DvaBunny went live. Kiriko flipped open her laptop, already under the covers, heart doing a weird little flutter like always. She was on this adult site that was just for girls and lesbians. Way less creepy than the usual stuff. Kiriko had known she was gay since middle school, when she couldn’t stop drooling over a girl from the other class. So yeah, no surprise she was into this. Into her.

Two minutes in, the stream lit up. D.Va—that’s what she called herself—appeared on screen. She was wearing pink lace lingerie with a matching choker, feet bare, nails painted the same soft pink. She was kneeling, leaning toward the camera, smiling like she was your sweet little secret. “Hey guys,” she said, voice soft, almost shy. But Kiriko knew better. That shyness was part of the act—she was confident, bold when the stream started rolling. Off-camera? Maybe she really was shy. That’s what made her so hot. The contrast.

„I bought a new outfit for you guys,” D.Va said with a teasing smile, moving closer so the camera could get a good look. Kiriko definitely liked it. The way the lace hugged her delicious thighs, how the bra cupped her perfect tits—she wished it was her hands instead. She bit her lip. Then D.Va turned, getting on all fours, her ass now right in front of the cam. She gave it a little squeeze, moved it with one hand so her pussy peeked through just barely—like the perfect little tease that she was. “Do you wanna see more?” she asked, smirking before giving herself a light spank. The chat went wild. Just spammed “YES PLS.” And Kiriko? She didn’t even need to type it. Her whole body was saying yes.

“You guys are so horny, aren’t you?” D.Va giggled softly, giving her ass a little wiggle before sliding her panties down. Her pussy was already glistening—wet, swollen, practically begging for attention. She stayed like that for a moment, just letting the camera soak her in. Letting her viewers ache for her. Kiriko was definitely one of them. Her own pussy was throbbing, needy. She pushed her pajama pants and panties down in one motion, now just bare, breathing heavier. She moved her laptop to the side—needed more space. Needed better access. She sat with her knees up and legs wide, hand already between her thighs. On the screen, D.Va was teasing her clit in slow, hypnotic circles. Her moans were soft but desperate, curling into Kiriko’s ears like music. She always noticed the details—like the way D.Va had different nail designs every week. This time they were silver with tiny hearts. Somehow, even that turned her on more. “My pussy is so wet for you guys,” D.Va moaned, her voice low, hungry. “Throbbing… waiting to be filled.” She sped up her fingers on her clit, her body twitching just slightly.

Kiriko couldn’t hold back anymore. Her hand moved fast, rubbing her own clit in small, tight circles. She moaned—quiet but breathy, curling her toes from the intensity building in her body. God, she wished she could touch D.Va. Taste her. Fuck her.

D.Va slid her slick fingers lower, pressing into her dripping hole. She slipped one finger in, soft at first, then deeper. Her back arched a little as she bit her lip, closing her eyes. “Nghh~” she whimpered, her moans louder with each slow thrust.

Kiriko’s eyes were locked on the screen, her pupils blown wide, breath getting faster. She looked at D.Va like she was starving. Like she could climb through the screen and fuck her senseless. Her own hand moved faster, rougher now. Her thighs shook a little and her body was heating up like crazy. She was getting close.

Kiriko’s breath came in short gasps now. Her fingers were slick, gliding over her clit, rubbing in tight little circles. Her legs were tense, thighs trembling. Every time D.Va moaned, she felt it in her core—like it was synced with her heartbeat. On screen, D.Va was fucking herself harder now. Two fingers deep, moving fast, her hips rocking into her own hand. Her moans were louder, messier. “Fuck—feels so good,” she gasped, eyes half-lidded. Her cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling quickly. “I’m close… fuck, I’m so close.” Kiriko was right there with her. She spread her legs wider, grinding her palm against her clit while her other hand grabbed the sheets. Her whole body felt like it was buzzing, teetering right on the edge. She bit her lip hard, trying to hold it back just a little longer. D.Va let out a loud, desperate whine. “I wanna cum with you,” she moaned. “Are you close? Fuck, cum with me—cum with me, baby…” That did it. Kiriko gasped, her body snapping tight. The orgasm hit her like a wave—her toes curled, hips jerking up off the bed, fingers not stopping as she came hard, moaning D.Va’s name under her breath like a prayer. At the exact same moment, D.Va threw her head back on screen, a shaky cry escaping her lips as she fucked herself through her climax. Her whole body shuddered, fingers still deep inside, hips twitching from the intensity. They came together. Miles apart, but completely in sync.

For a moment, all Kiriko could hear was her own heartbeat. Her body was limp, warm, glowing. She let her hand fall to her side, catching her breath, staring at the screen like she was lovesick. D.Va was panting too, smiling now—soft and fucked-out.

“God… that was intense,” she said with a tired little laugh. “You guys always ruin me…” Kiriko smiled, cheeks still red, body still buzzing.

Fridays were always worth it.

D.Va wiped herself off with a soft sigh, then sat cross-legged on her bed, still glowing, a smile tugging at her lips. She leaned into the camera, eyes soft and warm. “It’s time for the Q&A! Ask me stuff,” she said, grinning as her eyes squinted into that adorable crescent shape. Kiriko was doing the same—cleaning herself up, sliding her underwear and pajama pants back on like nothing had just happened. Except everything had just happened. Her heart was still racing. On screen, D.Va read a comment aloud: “How old are you? I’m 19!”

Another popped up: “D.Va unnie~, where’s your lingerie from?” She smiled and tilted her head. “I bought it at the Nampo-dong shopping street!” That made Kiriko freeze.

Nampo-dong? That was just ten minutes from her place. No way. So… D.Va lived in Busan? Her brain short-circuited for a second. Her heart was pounding again, but this time it wasn’t from lust—it was something else. Nerves. Curiosity. Maybe a little hope.

She hesitated for a second, then shrugged. Fuck it. She had nothing to lose.

@kitsunekiri:

hey, so you live in Busan? do you maybe wanna meet up? <3 i swear i’m good-looking lol…

She hit send. Immediate regret. Her stomach flipped. Why did she say that? Was that weird? That was weird. Then—after what felt like forever—D.Va’s eyes flicked to the chat. She read the comment out loud and laughed, soft and sweet. “Sure,” she said with a little smirk. “As long as you’re not an old creepy man. Message me after the stream.” She winked.

Kiriko’s jaw dropped. WHAT?

Her whole body jolted. Did that just… happen?

She stared at the screen in disbelief, cheeks burning, mouth slightly open in shock.

Holy shit. This was not how she thought her Friday night would go.

D.Va stretched her arms above her head, her messy hair falling around her shoulders, cheeks still slightly flushed. She looked cozy now, like a whole different version of the girl who just made thousands of people cum. Still sexy, but soft. “Alright, that’s it for tonight,” she said, her voice sweet and a little sleepy. “Thanks for watching… and for coming with me. Literally.” The chat exploded in emojis and thirsty goodbyes. “I’ll be back next Friday, but for now… I’ve got some messages to check,” she added with a playful wink. “Night, babies~” She leaned close to the cam one last time, lips parted like she was about to kiss the lens. Then—click. The stream ended. Kiriko sat frozen in bed, staring at the now-black screen like it owed her something. Her heart was beating fast again, but this time it wasn’t just lust—it was nerves, excitement, a feeling crawling up her spine that said this is about to be real. She inhaled, opened her laptop browser, and clicked on D.Va’s profile. Her fingers hovered over the message button.

No turning back.

kitsunekiri:

hey it’s me… the not-creepy (i swear) girl from chat lol

you really live in busan?

She stared at the screen like it might explode. Her hand hovered over the trackpad, itching to close the window and pretend it never happened. But then—

D.VaBunny:

lol hey <3

yep, born and raised :)

you live here too?

Kiriko bit her lip, smiling before she even realized it.

kitsunekiri:

yeah! i’m near seomyeon

kinda dying that you shop at nampo

that’s literally my go-to spot too

D.VaBunny:

wait WHAT

what if we’ve crossed paths and didn’t know omg

small world fr 👀

Kiriko chewed on her bottom lip, smiling way too hard.

kitsunekiri:

ok so real question

were you serious about meeting up

or was that just stream flirting-

D.VaBunny:

mm depends

are you hot

and under 45

and not a serial killer

kitsunekiri:

i’m 20

i think i’m cute

and i pinky swear i’m not a serial killer

want me to prove it?

She opened her gallery, scrolled past all her cat pics and blurry night outs, and found it—a clean mirror selfie. Hair done, eyeliner on point, cropped hoodie and thigh-high socks. She hesitated at first but sent it anyway.

kitsunekiri:

here’s proof 👀

pls don’t ghost me if i look mid LMAO

D.VaBunny:

wait.

WAIT

omg you’re actually hot wtf??

i was expecting like… cute shy girl vibes but you’re giving model off-duty

rude 💔

Kiriko covered her mouth, muffling a squeal. Her cheeks were on fire.

kitsunekiri:

sooo is that a yes? <3333

D.VaBunny:

it’s a yes

but only if you’re buying bubble tea

and not one of those people who hates spicy food 😤

kitsunekiri:

girl i will eat fire for you

just say the time and place

D.VaBunny:

LMAO??

tomorrow. 4pm. nampo-dong. sweet pearl.

dress cute ;)

Kiriko flopped back on the bed, still staring at her screen, a stupid grin taking over her face.

- next day -

Kiriko was up at 6 a.m., wide awake even though she didn’t have to be. „You’re actually hot wtf??“ That message kept looping in her head. She stood in front of her dresser, arms crossed, staring at her clothes. Cute? No. Slutty? No. She decided to keep it simple: black jeans that fit just right, a white tee, and her favorite red flannel that made her feel cooler than she probably was. Nike Air Forces, a bit scuffed but still looking good. Hair in a high ponytail—neat but not perfect. A little eyeliner, some mascara. Just enough to bring out her beautiful doe eyes without trying too hard.

Time passed faster than Kiriko expected, and now she was standing in front of the café Hana had mentioned. Sweet Pearl had a soft pink awning, small gold lettering, and little flower pots lining the windows. Kiriko shifted awkwardly on her feet, hands stuffed in her jeans pockets, scanning the crowd. Then—there she was. A tiny girl in soft pink walking toward her. D.Va waved as she approached, her smile sweet and effortless. Kiriko’s heart did something weird. She looked even prettier in person. The small girl wore a black pleated skirt, sheer tights that shimmered slightly under the sunlight, and a pink ribbed long-sleeve top that hugged her pretty waist. Her hair was long and shiny, fluttering a bit in the breeze.

“Hey,” D.Va said softly, her voice warm and inviting. Kiriko felt her heart skip. “Hey,” she replied, stepping aside to hold the door open for her.

D.Va bowed her head in thanks and stepped inside. Kiriko followed, catching the faint scent of her perfume—something soft, floral, a little sweet.

They settled into a booth near the window, warm sunlight painting little halos on the table. Both of them ordered bubble tea—Hana chose peach, Kiriko went with strawberry—and for a moment, they sipped in silence. The tension was there, quiet but buzzing. Then Hana leaned forward, straw between her lips, eyes glinting. “So, kitsunekiri,” she said teasingly, “tell me more about yourself.” Kiriko flushed just slightly, but grinned. “Right. Uh… I’m Kiriko, originally from Japan. I moved here a few months ago for uni. I’m majoring in literature, and… I really love cats.” Hana tilted her head, smiling. “Cats over dogs?” “Every time,” Kiriko said without hesitation. “Red flag,” Hana teased, sipping from her straw again. Kiriko rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now—genuinely. “What about you?” The girl leaned back a little. “My name’s Hana. I was born and raised here. I’m studying media and communications. Pretty basic, I guess, but I like it.” “And…” Kiriko hesitated, “…the cam stuff?” Hana didn’t flinch. She just shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “People at school know. Some pretend they don’t. I don’t really care. I’m good at it, and it makes me feel… confident. Powerful, even.”

Kiriko stared at her for a moment, admiration flickering in her eyes. “That’s kind of hot,” she said quietly. Hana laughed, warm and surprised. “Kind of?” “Okay, very,” Kiriko admitted, sinking a little in her seat.

They both laughed, and suddenly the tension started to shift—less awkward now, more electric.

Their drinks were nearly empty now, the ice melting into little clinks at the bottom of their cups. Around them, the café hummed gently with conversations and the soft hiss of the espresso machine, but to Kiriko, it felt like everything else had faded. She and Hana sat together in a quiet bubble, their table lit by the late afternoon sun filtering through the windows.

Hana leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm, a teasing glint in her eyes.

“So…” she began, her voice soft but unmistakably mischievous, “did you enjoy my stream yesterday?” Kiriko nearly choked on her bubble tea. Hana giggled—genuinely, sweetly—and somehow it made it worse. Kiriko set her cup down, coughing softly and trying to compose herself. “You’re just gonna drop that like it’s a totally normal question?” “What?” Hana shrugged, biting the tip of her straw. “I’m curious. You were… very enthusiastic in the chat.” Kiriko flushed, eyes darting away before meeting Hana’s gaze again with a half-smirk.

“Okay, yeah. I did enjoy it. A lot. Happy?”

“Very.” Hana smiled, a little softer now. “You’re cute when you get flustered.” „And you’re evil,” Kiriko muttered, but she couldn’t help smiling.

The conversation drifted easily after that—from favorite midnight snacks to awkward first kisses and embarrassing middle school crushes. Kiriko learned Hana had an obsession with peach jelly snacks and took a mirror selfie every time she passed one. Hana found out Kiriko used to write awful poetry on her high school flip phone and still had some saved. They laughed more than either expected.

By the time they stepped out of the café, the air had cooled into early evening. Busan buzzed gently around them—distant honking, murmurs from food stalls, the sky above fading into soft watercolor streaks. As they walked, Hana’s fingers brushed Kiriko’s once. Light. Then again—deliberate. This time, she laced their hands together. Kiriko glanced down at their hands, then back at Hana. “You really just… go for things, huh?” Hana smirked, her eyes glinting. “Only when I want them.” Kiriko bit the inside of her cheek to hide her smile. “Bold.” They walked a few blocks like that, still talking. Joking. The whole thing felt easy—almost unreal in its simplicity. And yet, completely real.

At a quieter corner, Hana slowed and glanced up at her. “You don’t have to say yes,” she began, voice a little unsure for the first time, “but… do you want to come over? Not for anything, I mean. Just to hang out. I live nearby and…” she trailed off with a soft laugh. “…I don’t really want this to be over yet.” Kiriko looked at her and nodded. “Sure, I’d like that,” she said gently.

Hana’s apartment was exactly what Kiriko had imagined — cozy, pink-lit, and full of soft things that matched her stream aesthetic. But even knowing what to expect, actually being here made it feel completely different. The scent of warm vanilla and shampoo lingered in the air, and everything felt more personal than a camera could ever capture.

They slipped off their shoes and wandered inside, chatting idly about the bubble tea shop’s playlist and the weird cat they’d passed on the street. But as Hana led her toward the bedroom, Kiriko’s heart gave a small, involuntary stutter.

And there it was.

She knew that bed. She’d seen that bed — from the very angle the camera was pointed now. The soft sheets, the fairy lights wrapping the headboard, the plushies stacked in the background. The infamous setup. Where she’d smile at the lens with flushed cheeks and lace barely covering anything. Where Kiriko had touched herself more times than she could count. And now she was standing in it. With her. “Déjà vu?” Hana teased, her voice light but undeniably aware. She leaned casually against the doorway, watching Kiriko take it all in. Kiriko let out a quiet breath, trying to play it cool. “You could say that.” Hana grinned. “Weird seeing it in real life?” “Yeah,” Kiriko admitted, gaze still flicking across the room. “It’s… smaller than I thought. But also, like, more.” „More?” Hana raised a brow. “More real,” Kiriko said quietly.

There was a pause — just a second too long to be casual — before Hana pushed herself off the doorframe and walked toward her. “Well, since we’re being real,” she said, soft and a little mischievous, “Can I ask you something?”

Kiriko nodded, her pulse quickening. Hana’s voice dipped lower. “Would you go live with me?” Kiriko blinked. “You mean—actually? On stream?” Hana smiled, but this one was different — not teasing, just honest. “Yeah. You wouldn’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But I’ve never had someone I even thought about asking before.” She shrugged slightly. “You already know my angles better than half my chat.” Kiriko looked at the bed again. It wasn’t just the “set” now — it was Hana’s bed. The way her duvet was slightly rumpled on one side. The plushie near the pillow, a little worn. She turned back to Hana. “I don’t know if I could,” she said softly. “It’s a lot. Being watched like that.” “I know,” Hana said, stepping closer. “I’m not trying to push you. I just…” Her fingers found Kiriko’s again, lightly. “It’s different when I’m with you. Feels less like a performance. More like… something I want to share.” That did something to Kiriko. Her chest felt tight in the best way. “You’re dangerous, you know,” she murmured, barely above a whisper. Hana tilted her head, smiling. “Only if you let me be.” Their hands stayed linked. The air between Kiriko and Hana thickened with heat—a slow, heavy warmth that grew in silence, in stolen glances and the delicate touch of shared space. Without a word or a sign, Kiriko leaned in just slightly, and Hana met the movement halfway, their breaths mingling in a quiet, irresistible pull.

The kiss lingered — soft and unhurried — but underneath it, Kiriko felt the pulse of something deeper. Her hands settled at Hana’s waist as they slowly pulled apart, lips just brushing as they smiled against each other. “I take that as a yes?” Hana murmured, breath still sweet with peach tea. Kiriko hesitated, not from doubt, but from the weight of the moment. She looked over at the bed again — the same sheets, same lights, but now with her in the room. Part of it. “I don’t know how to do any of it,” she admitted, eyes flicking back to Hana’s. “You don’t have to,” Hana said gently, her fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from Kiriko’s cheek. “Just be here. With me. Let me take care of everything.” That last sentence hit Kiriko low in her belly. Hana turned and walked over to her setup — a simple ring light, a laptop perched beside the bed, and her familiar plush webcam perched like it had been waiting. She moved with practiced ease, but glanced back, as if asking for permission with her eyes before flicking it all on. Soft pink light bloomed in the room. The stream interface appeared — muted, offline, but alive. “You sure?” Hana asked, sitting on the edge of the bed now, her legs curled underneath her. She looked so effortlessly inviting — not D.VaBunny the camgirl, but Hana, in her room, in her space, asking Kiriko into something that mattered. Kiriko exhaled slowly, her hands slightly trembling as she tugged off her flannel. She climbed onto the bed beside Hana, her heart pounding loud in her ears. “I’m sure,” she said, her voice soft but steady. Hana smiled — warm and proud — and leaned over to unmute the stream. A notification pinged. Live. The screen blinked to life with the soft pink-lit view of the two girls sitting on the bed — the infamous bed — but this time, it wasn’t just Hana. The chat exploded instantly.

[viewer001]: IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS

[lesbeanqueen]: omg she’s hot wtf

[softslut420]: GIRLFRIEND REVEAL???

[uwucorex]: i’m SCREAMING. she’s adorable holy shiiiii—

Hana leaned into Kiriko, whispering loud enough for the mic, “So guys… remember how I said I might invite a special guest one day?”

Kiriko blushed, hiding a bit behind her side bangs as she waved awkwardly. Hana giggled and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. “This is Kiriko. And she’s not just cute — she’s kind of amazing.” The chat spammed hearts and keyboard smashes. Hana turned slightly toward her, eyes lidded now, voice lower. “Want to show them just how amazing you are?” Kiriko met her gaze — that same gaze she used to stare at through a screen, but now it was right here, inches away. Her breath caught in her throat as she nodded. “Yeah… let’s give them a show they won’t forget,” Kiriko murmured, a lazy smirk curling on her lips as she leaned in, her breath brushing against Hana’s mouth.

Their lips met again, but this time it was slower — deep and drawn out, like they had all the time in the world. Kiriko’s hand cradled Hana’s cheek, her thumb sweeping gently over her soft skin, guiding the kiss with a quiet, aching tenderness that made Hana melt under her touch. When Kiriko’s tongue slipped past her lips, Hana whimpered into her mouth, the sound soft, almost pleading. They moved together like a rhythm they already knew — Hana’s fingers tangling in Kiriko’s shirt, Kiriko’s other hand trailing down the slope of Hana’s waist. The kiss grew messier, hotter, until it was less of a kiss and more of a need. Kiriko pulled back just enough to catch her breath, her eyes dark and heavy-lidded. Then, with a quiet tug at the hem of Hana’s top, she lifted it up and off in one smooth motion, their mouths parting only briefly. A thin string of saliva still connected their lips — flushed, kiss-bitten, and swollen. Hana looked up at her through thick lashes, her bare skin glowing pink in the soft lighting, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Her eyes were heavy with heat, wide and hungry. Kiriko leaned down, sucking, kissing, and licking Hana’s soft, smooth neck. Between kisses, she unhooked Hana’s bra and tossed it aside — tits now fully exposed to the cold air. To warm them, Kiriko slid her hands over them, squeezing softly while still devouring Hana’s neck. “Ngh~,” Hana whimpered, her voice trembling as Kiriko sucked her sensitive skin. Kiriko’s mouth trailed lower, lips finding bare tits. She took one fully into her mouth, sucking hard, hungry. When she looked up, she caught Hana biting her lip, her eyes glazed and fixed on her with pure lust.

Busted, Hana gave a shy smile and glanced away — only to pull Kiriko’s head in closer, urging her to suck harder, faster. Hana was a moaning mess now, completely undone by the way Kiriko devoured her tits — spitting, sucking, licking her stiff nipples without shame. “Kiriko~ mmh… please—”

Kiriko stopped and looked up with a smirk. “So desperate…” She pushed Hana down gently, laying her across the soft cushions. As Kiriko began undressing the girl beneath her, the chat blew up.

[softslut420]: OMG KIRIKO IS SO HOT??

[Dvasbunny]: KIRIKO MAKES ME WET.

[viewer69]: definitely her best stream yet.

[whorefordva]: Kiriko could spit in my mouth and I‘d say thank you <3

Kiriko’s fingers traced slow, deliberate paths along Hana’s exposed skin as she peeled off the last of her clothes, sliding the soft fabric down her hips until Hana laid bare beneath her, flushed and trembling on the cushions. The cool air kissed every inch of her heated skin, making her nipples tighten even more under Kiriko’s hungry gaze. Without hesitation, Kiriko lowered her mouth to Hana’s pussy, kissing and sucking it softly as her hands rested on her thick thighs. Her tongue flicked out to taste the slickness, slow and teasing at first, tracing lazy circles around Hana’s swollen clit. Hana’s breath hitched, a soft moan slipping free as Kiriko’s fingers found their way inside, curling gently and pumping in rhythm with the teasing flicks of her tongue. Kiriko’s mouth sucked harder now, biting lightly as she nipped at Hana’s folds, tasting every drop, every shudder. Hana’s hands tangled in Kiriko’s hair, pulling her closer, hips arching into the fire of her mouth and fingers. “God, Kiriko…” Hana whimpered, voice ragged and full of need. “Don’t stop…” Hana breathed, her voice trembling with pleasure. Kiriko looked up, her eyes dark and glinting with wicked intent. She slid her body slowly up Hana’s, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before whispering, low and husky, “Wanna try something filthier? Like… sixty-nine?” Hana swallowed hard, her breath catching. “Yes… please,” she whispered, maybe a little too quickly. Without hesitation, Hana shifted, gently pulling Kiriko away. For a moment, Hana sat up just enough to unhook her bra, letting it fall carelessly aside. Then she pushed Kiriko onto the cushions. Slowly and deliberately, her fingers worked at the buttons of her jeans, peeling them down over her thighs to reveal bare skin beneath. Kiriko’s eyes followed every movement, wide with hunger and anticipation. But Hana wasn’t done. A mischievous smile tugged at her lips as she leaned forward, teeth brushing the waistband of Kiriko’s panties. Slowly, teasingly, she tugged them down with her mouth, never breaking eye contact. Kiriko’s soft laugh slipped past her lips, her teeth catching on her lower lip in delicious restraint. „So fucking hot, baby…” Hana only blushed faintly, then moved up and positioned herself over Kiriko, her slick pussy pressing down onto Kiriko’s bare tits, though facing the opposite way. The heat of it against her skin made Kiriko groan softly. Hana began to grind, riding the girl’s full, firm tits with slow, uncertain movements — it was new, strange… but it felt so damn good. Kiriko’s big perky breasts fit perfectly between her pussy lips, her folds dragging across the soft curves with messy friction.

Kiriko didn’t mind — in fact, she looked completely entranced. Hana’s slick pussy was dragging across her chest, grinding against her soft, full tits with slow, messy friction. Kiriko could feel every pulse of heat, every slick slide as Hana rocked her hips. Her breath hitched when Hana’s folds pressed around her nipples, wetness smearing over sensitive skin. “Fuck…” Kiriko whispered, eyes glued to the way Hana’s ass moved above her. Then Hana leaned forward, bracing herself on Kiriko’s thighs, her face now just inches from Kiriko’s dripping cunt. She licked her lips and dove in, tongue parting her folds. Kiriko gasped, her back arching as Hana’s tongue flicked against her clit again — firmer this time, more purposeful. Hana moaned into her, the vibrations making Kiriko tremble. Hana stayed low, still grinding her pussy lazily across Kiriko’s chest while her mouth worked hungrily between her legs. She wrapped her lips around Kiriko’s clit and sucked hard, then circled her tongue with filthy precision. Kiriko was a mess beneath her, hands gripping Hana’s ass, fingers digging into soft flesh, unable to stay still. Her tits were soaked with Hana’s juices, each grind sending jolts of pleasure straight through both of them. “Fuck, baby,” Kiriko moaned, hips rolling into Hana’s face. “Just like that…” The room echoed with wet sounds — sucking, moaning, gasping — no hesitation, no shame. Just two girls tangled up in heat and sweat, completely lost in each other. Hana’s mouth moved with hungry precision, lips and tongue tracing slow, wet circles around Kiriko’s clit. The heat between them was addicting —Hana’s slick pussy still grinding softly against Kiriko’s chest, sending shivers through them both. Kiriko’s breath hitched, fingers tightening in Hana’s waist, pulling her closer. “God, baby…” she whispered, voice thick with need. “Don’t stop.” Hana groaned, tongue flicking faster now, tasting every inch of Kiriko’s wetness. Her hips pressed down harder, grinding her folds over Kiriko’s nipples, the slick friction sending jolts of pleasure through her own body. Kiriko’s soft moans fueled her, pushing her to dive deeper with her tongue, swirling and teasing until Kiriko’s hips jerked beneath her. “Fuck,” Kiriko gasped, arching her back, her hands sliding down to grip Hana’s ass. “Right there… ngh~ just like that.” Hana’s breath hitched at the praise, and she shifted, lowering herself more onto Kiriko, letting her slickness coat Kiriko’s chest while her mouth worshipped her clit relentlessly. Kiriko’s body trembled under her, every nerve ending alive with sensation. Kiriko’s fingers tangled in Hana’s long hair, tugging gently as her hips rocked up into Hana’s mouth, desperate for more. Hana moaned around her, the vibrations sending shivers straight into Kiriko’s core. The world shrank to just their moans, slick skin, and the electric pulse of pleasure building between them. Kiriko’s voice broke as she warned, “I’m close…” and Hana intensified her rhythm, tongue circling fiercely, sucking with wanton hunger. With a shuddered cry, Kiriko came undone beneath Hana, trembling and gasping as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Hana stayed with her, sucking and licking through every tremor until Kiriko’s breaths slowed.

That touch of surrender pushed Hana over the edge, her own body trembling with release as she ground her came all over Kiriko’s chest, letting her climax wash over them both.

[softslut420]: hottest live stream.

[viewer69]: GAY PANIC?? IDK WHO MAKES ME MORE WET-

[dvasfeet]: OMG THAT WAS SO HOT.

After their breaths slowed, Hana traced lazy circles on Kiriko’s bare skin, her voice low and teasing. “You know, Kiriko… I think we just broke the internet.” Kiriko smirked, eyes glittering with mischief. “Yeah? Maybe we should give them an encore.” Hana grinned and slowly lifted herself just enough to break their locked positions, sliding off Kiriko’s chest and settling beside her instead. Her fingers trailed up Kiriko’s side as she shifted to lie on her back, pulling Kiriko down so their bodies pressed close, skin against skin. „Oh, you’re on,” Hana murmured, her voice thick with promise. “But this time, I get to decide the moves.” Kiriko laughed softly, arching an eyebrow as she curled a hand around Hana’s waist. “Big talk for someone who was moaning like a mess five minutes ago.” Hana shrugged, mock innocent. “What can I say? You bring out the best in me.“ Their eyes locked, the heat between them reigniting, even as the camera continued to capture every delicious moment.

[hottiewatch-stories]

Pharah x Mercy oneshot ♡

༺ ˖࣪ ∗ 𓆩♡𓆪 ∗ ˖࣪ ༻

topic/theme: cozy winter lodge <3

contains: nsfw, fluff, 69, eating out

꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

Angela and Fareeha had been planning this weekend for a while. They wanted to visit a charming little winter lodge in northern Switzerland. Angela had been there several times with her family as a child, and now she wanted to share this special place with her girlfriend, Fareeha. The younger woman knew how special this place was to Angela. After four years together, she felt it was time to take the next step. So she made sure to buy the most beautiful ring she could find—for her most precious angel.

They packed their things for the weekend, and Fareeha drove them a few hours north, since they lived in the southern part of the German-speaking region of Switzerland. After approximately three hours, they finally arrived at the winter lodge. Tucked away in a forest, it looked incredibly cozy. The building was made of rich brown wood, giving it an inviting feel. Fareeha stared in awe as they pulled up, and Angela couldn’t help but chuckle at her girlfriends cuteness.

They settled in, and Fareeha immediately noticed how cozy the place felt. It had two floors, a fireplace, and coolest of all—a whirlpool. Fareeha was pulled from her thoughts by a beautiful, familiar voice. “I assume you like it?” Angela asked with a soft giggle. “Yes, it’s really pretty… I’m kind of jealous of your cool family, you know,” Fareeha said, playfully nudging the blonde with her elbow and putting on an exaggeratedly sad face. Angela chuckled. “Thank you, beautiful… hey, do you want to have a snowball fight?” she asked, glancing quickly out the window, where soft snow was still falling. Fareeha nodded with a gentle smile and murmured a quiet, “Sure.”

They bundled up in warm jackets, scarves, and gloves before stepping outside into the fresh, snowy air. The world around them was quiet, the soft snowfall muffling everything in a peaceful hush.

Angela laughed as she scooped up a handful of snow, forming it into a ball. “You better run,” she teased, eyes sparkling. Fareeha grinned and dodged as the snowball flew past her, retaliating with one of her own. Their laughter echoed through the trees as they chased each other around the lodge, snow clinging to their coats and hair. Eventually, breathless and smiling, Fareeha caught Angela from behind and spun her gently, pulling her close. Snowflakes clung to Angela’s lashes as she looked up at her girlfriend, cheeks flushed from the cold. “I’ve never felt more at home than I do right now,” Fareeha whispered, brushing a strand of hair from Angela’s face. Angela smiled, eyes soft. “Then let’s make this home forever.” They leaned in, lips meeting in a kiss that was warm and slow.

A sudden clap of thunder rumbled through the mountains, cutting through their quiet moment. They quickly pulled apart, both sighing as Angela murmured, “Come on, let’s head inside.” Once back in the lodge, they shrugged off their coats and scarves, suddenly aware of how cold they’d gotten. Shivering a little, they made their way to the bedroom and wrapped themselves in a thick blanket, curling up together in front of the crackling fireplace. The warmth of the fire, combined with the closeness of each other, slowly melted the chill away. Fareeha rested her head against Angela’s chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart. The quiet crackle of the fireplace filled the room, wrapping them in a peaceful, intimate silence. Angela whispered, “I love being here with you like this—just the two of us.” Fareeha smiled, her breath warm against Angela’s skin. “Me too. It feels like we’re the only ones in the world.”

Angela’s hand slowly moved from gentle circles on Fareeha’s back to tracing the curve of her waist, fingertips teasing under the blanket. Fareeha shivered, not just from the cold anymore. She lifted her head and met Angela’s gaze, eyes darkening with lust. Angela leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened, tongues exploring. Their lips moved hungrily against each other, tongues sliding and tangling in a heated dance. Angela’s hands roamed over Fareeha’s body, tracing the curves of her hips. Fareeha’s breath got heavy as Angela’s fingers slipped under her pajama top, teasing her soft ribs before grabbing her warm, hard nipples. She moaned into the kiss, pressing her body closer, feeling the hot wetness growing between her legs. Angela’s mouth moved down Fareeha’s neck, sucking and biting it gently. Their bodies moved together under the blanket, the tight warmth of their pussies burning with need. Angela gently pushed Fareeha down, settling on top of her. She slipped off her shirt, exposing her swollen breasts, hard nipples and skin prickling with goosebumps. Fareeha’s hands slid down Angela’s pajama pants, slowly peeling them off to reveal her beautiful panties underneath. Fareeha wrapped her hands around Angela’s waist and whispered softly, “What do you want to do, Angela?” Angela couldn’t hold Fareeha’s beautiful doe eyes and looked away, feeling shy. She let out a soft, nervous whisper, “Sixty-nine,” her cheeks flushing deep red. Fuck. Fareeha‘s pussy throbbed even more and she didn’t even think this was possible. She nodded eagerly and motioned for Angela to reposition herself. Angela’s pretty ass was now pressed right against Fareeha’s face—a heavenly sight. Her smooth, shaved pussy glistened and pulsed, begging to be touched. Fareeha gripped Angela’s hips firmly, pulling her closer as she started to pleasure her. Her tongue circled Angela’s clit in slow, teasing strokes, driving her wild with desire. Angela began to grind her hips against Fareeha’s face, quickening the rhythm to build more friction, her breath coming in ragged moans. Angela quickly pulled down Fareeha’s pajama pants, revealing her smooth, shaved pussy. She knelt down and took Fareeha’s clit into her mouth, sucking and nibbling it gently. Fareeha moaned softly and paused, returning the favor to Angela. Seizing the moment, Angela shifted her focus, licking Fareeha’s clit while sliding an index finger deep inside her slick pulsating pussy hole. Fareeha’s moans grew louder, overwhelmed by the pleasure from both sides. After a minute, she gasped, “Baby, I’m… close.” Angela sped up her rhythm, and with a soft sigh, Fareeha melted into her climax. Fareeha took a moment to relax before returning to Angela’s throbbing pussy, eager for the younger woman’s touch. She gently pulled Angela’s hips down again, resuming her hot, wet licking and sucking. Angela was already burning with desire from pleasuring Fareeha, and after a few more seconds of teasing nibbles and licks, she tumbled over the edge, riding out her intense climax.

Both women took their time to relax before getting dressed. Angela was already tucked into bed when Fareeha suddenly left the room, saying she needed to grab something. Confused but trusting, Angela sat up and waited eagerly. A few moments later, Fareeha returned, holding a small box in her hand. Angela’s heart skipped a beat — was this really happening? Kneeling in front of her, Fareeha opened the tiny box to reveal a beautiful silver ring. She looked up at Angela with soft, hopeful eyes and asked, “Will you marry me?” Tears built up in Angela’s eyes as she nodded quickly, whispering, “Yes.” They stood and wrapped each other in a tight, joyful hug, the warmth of the moment filling the room.

[hottiewatch-stories]

Kiriko x D.Va oneshot ♡

༺ ˖࣪ ∗ 𓆩♡𓆪 ∗ ˖࣪ ༻

contains: nsfw, bratty D.Va, edging, teasing, spanking, denial, eating out, fingering

hope you enjoy <𝟯

★ ★ ☆

It was a quiet Friday evening, and Hana and Kiriko had decided to spend it with a cozy gaming night in. Before starting, Kiriko had prepared some sushi rolls—Hana’s favorite—laying them out neatly on the coffee table.

Kiriko settled beside her, soft and calm, and asked, “Which game should we play?” She rested her chin gently on Hana’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of fresh lavender that always seemed to cling to her.

Hana smiled, eyes bright behind the screen’s glow. “How about Mario Kart? It’s been a while since we played.” “Perfect,” Kiriko said with a quiet nod, reaching for the other controller, anticipation curling warmly in her chest.

Hana’s fingers flew over the controller, thumbs mashing buttons like a whirlwind of pure mischief. That cocky smirk—the one Kiriko knew so well—spread wide as her shell slammed Kiriko’s kart off the track for the nth time this game.

“Oops,” Hana teased, voice light, dripping with fake innocence, not once sparing her girlfriend a glance. “You really gonna let me win again, Kiri~? Thought you were supposed to be good at this.” Kiriko didn’t bother answering. She set her controller down softly on the coffee table, the sound sharp in the quiet room. She shifted closer on the couch, eyes locked on Hana’s with a dangerous calm that sent a thrill straight through her. Hana caught the look and snickered, already half daring her. “What? You gonna rage quit?” Kiriko leaned in, voice low and honey-sweet but laced with steel. “No, baby. I’m just getting ready to collect your forfeit.” Hana’s confident grin faltered, a flicker of something uncertain in her eyes. “Forfeit? What forfeit?” Kiriko’s hand slid slowly from Hana’s arm down to her waist, fingers tracing deliberate circles that teased fire under her skin. “You broke the rules. You cheated. You ran your mouth. So now… you pay.” Her grip tightened just enough to pull Hana flush against her, breath warm against the side of her neck. She now stood up. “You’ve got five seconds to lay down on the couch and show me that bare ass, or your punishment will be far worse than that.” Hana swallowed hard, brat mode flickering—but already the fight was slipping. “You’re bluffing.” Kiriko’s smile deepened, wicked and patient. “Four…” Hana scoffed, voice laced with stubborn sass. “You’re lame.” “Three… two…” Hana barely had time to react before she shifted, sliding down onto her stomach and burying her face in the pillows. “There,” she mumbled, voice muffled but clearly daring. “Good,” Kiriko purred, pride swelling at how her bratty girlfriend finally listened. Her hands moved to the waistband of Hana’s pink pajama bottoms, pulling them down slowly—no panties underneath. Kiriko’s voice dropped to a low, quiet tease. “Not wearing any underwear, huh? Almost like my bratty little girlfriend expected this.” Her palm came down hard on Hana’s perky, firm ass, the sharp smack echoing in the room. “Ow…” Hana sighed, a mix of pain and heat rolling off her in waves. “Who’s been a naughty girl, huh?” Kiriko asked, tone dark and demanding.

Hana stayed silent—too caught up in the sensation—and got another loud smack.

“F-fuck… I was,” Hana moaned, her voice raw and aroused. „Oh yeah? And why? Do you like punishments like this?” Smack. “M-maybe…” Hana bit her lip, breath hitching, eyes bright with heat and challenge.

Kiriko’s palm came down again—harder this time—and Hana’s whole body jolted at the sharp sting. The warm throb spread fast across her skin. “P-please… touch me already,” Hana begged, her voice quiet, trembling with desperation. „That’s not for you to decide, baby.” Smack. This one was louder, sharper, and made Hana’s thighs tremble.

“Nghh~” she whimpered, gripping the edge of the couch for support as she instinctively raised her hips, offering herself up, her slick cunt on full display. She was aching for contact—any contact—grinding against the air desperately in search for friction. Kiriko faltered for just a moment, caught by the sight in front of her. Hana’s swollen, dripping pussy glistened between her thighs, arousal smeared along the insides. Her cunt twitched with every needy breath she took. “So wet already,” Kiriko murmured, voice soft and full of awe, “and I haven’t even touched your pussy yet.” “Mmh~” Hana nodded quickly, her breath hot and broken into shallow pants. Kiriko leaned down until her face was right in front of Hana’s cunt. She inhaled deeply—slow, almost reverent—then let her tongue drag upward in one long, teasing stroke, tasting the slickness that had already begun to drip down Hana’s thighs. She started with soft, kittenish licks, letting the tip of her tongue flick lightly against Hana’s folds. The taste was addictive—sweet, warm, raw—and she moaned into it as her lips wrapped around her girlfriend’s clit. The wet sounds of her mouth working were arousing her girlfriend even more. Hana’s face was buried in the pillow, her voice muffled as she cried out, “K-Kiri… oh fuck…” „You taste so good, baby,” Kiriko groaned between suckles, her tongue flicking rapidly against the swollen bud. Then she flattened it, licking slow and deep, collecting every drop that spilled from Hana’s twitching cunt. Hana couldn’t stop moving. Her hips pushed back into Kiriko’s mouth with desperate rhythm, thighs shaking, her breath ragged and high-pitched. Her moans spilled out freely now—soft, helpless little sounds as she lost herself in the feeling. Kiriko slid one hand between Hana’s thighs and dragged her index finger up from the soaked entrance to the clit, watching it twitch under her touch. “You want my fingers, too?” she asked, voice a little breathless from the heat of it all. “Yes—yes please,” Hana moaned into the couch. “Put them inside—fuck—I need it.” Kiriko chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against Hana’s clit as she gave it one last hard suck, then pulled back just enough to watch. Her fingers were coated in slick as she pressed two against Hana’s entrance. “Good girls ask nicely,” she whispered. “Brats? Brats get stretched until they cry.” And with that, she pushed in slowly—one finger at first, then two, burying them to the knuckle inside Hana’s soaked pussy. The tightness made her groan, and Hana choked out a broken moan as she tried to fuck back onto them.

Kiriko curled her fingers deep inside Hana’s cunt, slow and deliberate, feeling every clench around her knuckles. Hana moaned into the pillow again, hips rocking with shallow thrusts, her body chasing every bit of pressure she could get. But just as she began to build momentum—just as her thighs started to tremble and her moans lost rhythm—Kiriko stilled her hand completely. Hana froze. Her breath caught in her throat. “K-Kiri?” she whimpered, lifting her head just slightly. Her cheeks were flushed red, eyes wide with confused desperation. “You’re not coming yet,” Kiriko said simply, voice calm and cruel. “You haven’t earned that.” “But—” Hana’s voice cracked, breathless and pleading, “I’m so close, I—fuck, please…” Kiriko slowly withdrew her fingers, soaked and glistening with arousal. She watched a string of slick stretch from Hana’s cunt to her knuckles and smirked. “Yeah. I can tell.” She brought her fingers to her lips and sucked them clean, eyes locked on Hana’s ruined, needy body. „Not yet,” she said again, low and firm. “Brats don’t get to cum when they want.” Hana let out a broken moan, burying her face back into the couch with frustration. Her pussy clenched around nothing now, twitching with every beat of her heart, slick still leaking from the teasing. Kiriko climbed back over her, straddling her thighs, dragging her fingers down Hana’s spine. “You’re going to stay like this,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of Hana’s neck, “wet and aching and obedient, until I decide you’ve earned more.” Then—another spank, right over the red center of her ass. Hana yelped, squirming, but didn’t protest. Her body was a mess of trembling nerves and denied release, cunt so swollen it throbbed with every little shift. Kiriko leaned down again, her lips brushing against Hana’s ear. “Next time you get bratty on game night…” she purred, “I might just edge you until you cry.”

Hana whimpered into the couch, her entire body taut—wrung out from Kiriko’s teasing. Her cunt pulsed, soaked and flushed, every nerve ending screaming for release. She couldn’t stop grinding her hips, even if it was futile. Kiriko watched it all, perched behind her like a predator, amused by how completely undone her brat had become. “You look so desperate,” she murmured, running her palm down Hana’s thigh, then up to her ass, caressing the heat of her red skin. “So ruined already. I wonder…” She slid two fingers back inside with zero warning, and Hana gasped—loud, hoarse, grateful. Kiriko pumped them fast, deep, her other hand returning to Hana’s clit, circling it in quick, slick motions. Hana sobbed. “Oh god—fuck—please—don’t stop—don’t stop—” Her voice cracked as her hips moved in rhythm, fucking back against Kiriko’s hand, panting into the cushions. She was so close again, so dizzy, her thighs trembling— And then— Kiriko stopped. Pulled her hand away completely. Just like that. Hana’s scream was muffled by the pillow, a sob of disbelief and sheer frustration. Her body spasmed—right on the edge, desperate to tip over but denied the final push. “Did you think I’d let you cum that easily?” Kiriko said, licking her fingers slowly, savoring every drop. “Oh no, baby. Not after how you acted.” Hana’s voice was wrecked. “Why—why would you do that to me—” Kiriko leaned in close again, pressing her lips to the shell of Hana’s ear. “Because this isn’t about what you want,” she whispered, “it’s about what you earn.” Kiriko moved off her body, standing behind her like a shadow, watching every tremble, every helpless twitch in Hana’s thighs. “You’re not allowed to touch yourself,” she said calmly, licking the last of Hana’s taste from her fingers. “You’re going to stay just like this—wet, needy, aching—until I say otherwise.” Hana whimpered, face buried in the couch, breath shuddering. “And if I catch you grinding, begging, or even breathing too hard…” Kiriko leaned down, voice a soft razor against her ear, “I’ll edge you until sunrise.” She stood tall again, turning away like it meant nothing. “Be good, baby.” And then she left her there—cunt dripping, body trembling, denial etched into every nerve—completely at her mercy.

Time passed—maybe minutes, maybe longer. Hana didn’t know. She was still lying face-down on the couch, her body a mess of trembling limbs and unspent arousal. Her breath had finally begun to slow, but her mind was still fogged, floating somewhere between frustration and surrender.

Then… soft footsteps. Kiriko returned without a word, crouching down beside the couch. Her hands were warm and careful as they brushed Hana’s hair away from her damp, flushed face. “Hey,” she whispered gently, her tone completely changed now. “You still with me?”

Hana blinked slowly, eyes glassy. “Mmhm…”

Kiriko leaned in and kissed her cheek. “You did so good for me, baby. So fucking good.” She pulled a soft blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over Hana’s back, tucking it around her gently. Her hands moved slowly now, running soothing strokes down Hana’s spine and over her thighs, fingers barely grazing the still-red skin of her ass. “You okay?” she asked, voice low and sincere.

Hana gave a tiny nod. “Just… floaty.” “I got you.” Kiriko pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “I’ll take care of everything. Just rest.” She disappeared for a moment and returned with a warm, damp cloth. With infinite care, she cleaned between Hana’s thighs, wiping away the slickness with gentle, almost reverent touches. “No more teasing,” she murmured. “No more rules. Just you and me.”

When she was done, Kiriko climbed onto the couch and gently pulled Hana into her lap, wrapping her arms tightly around her. Hana curled into her chest like she was trying to melt into her, face pressed against Kiriko’s hoodie, her breath evening out as her body finally started to relax. “I love you,” Kiriko whispered, brushing her lips across Hana’s temple. “Even when you’re a little brat.” “Mmh… I love you too,” Hana mumbled, eyes closed now, body soft and safe in Kiriko’s arms. And like that, the storm passed—replaced by silence, warmth, and the steady beat of Kiriko’s heart against her ear.

[hottiewatch-stories]

Pharah x Mercy oneshot ♡

༺ ˖࣪ ∗ 𓆩♡𓆪 ∗ ˖࣪ ༻

contains: nsfw, fluff, car sex, fingering, praising, wife/wife

hope you enjoy <𝟯

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Fareeha loved spoiling her wife, Angela. Whether it was presents, vacations, or candlelit dinners—Fareeha loved doing it. Angela always felt a little guilty because her wife spent so much money on her, but Fareeha didn’t mind. It was her love language.

Today was special. It was their 5th anniversary, and Fareeha wanted to make it unforgettable by taking Angela to a fancy dinner at a restaurant. They got ready around 4 p.m. Fareeha wore her beloved leather jacket, a black turtleneck, and black skinny jeans with low-rise Air Jordans. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore her nerdy glasses since she had to drive. Angela, meanwhile, wore a silky black dress with matching stockings and Mary Janes.

Once inside Fareeha’s expensive car—a Jaguar XJ to be exact—Angela turned on some music while her wife’s slender hand rested on her thigh. Angela had put on Fareeha’s playlist. Her wife had recently discovered a new genre called shoegaze and quite enjoyed listening to it. Angela always stole her wife’s music tastes, and Fareeha always found it adorable. “And, are you excited, my love?” Fareeha asked softly, her hand squeezing Angela’s thigh just a little.

Angela smiled, those sparkly eyes locking onto her wife’s with a mischievous gleam. “Yes, I’m excited,” she said, voice low and teasing. There was that familiar wickedness beneath her warmth—the kind that made Fareeha’s pulse quicken.

Five years together, and they still acted like newlyweds. Every look, every touch, every quiet moment was electric with the promise of something more.

The car glided smoothly through the city streets as shoegaze melodies wrapped around them like a secret shared only between two souls. Fareeha stole a glance at Angela in the passenger seat—how the candlelight from the streetlamps caught in her hair, how her lips curved just so when she smiled. “You always know how to make me feel special,” Angela murmured, leaning closer, her breath warm against Fareeha’s cheek. “Because you are,” Fareeha whispered back, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Angela’s ear. “Tonight’s just the beginning.” Angela’s lips curved into a slow, sultry smile. “Oh, I like the sound of that.”

And with that, the tension between them shifted—thickening like the night itself—as they pulled up to the restaurant.

The restaurant was cozy and fancy, with soft lights and warm colors all around. The walls had a mix of dark wood and exposed brick, and little candles flickered on every table. They got seated at a quiet corner table, away from most of the crowd. The table was set with shiny plates, silverware, and big wine glasses.

Angela scanned the menu and smiled. “I’ll start with the mixed greens salad with a lemon vinaigrette, and for the main course, the grilled salmon with steamed veggies.” Fareeha smiled. “Sounds perfect. I’ll have the roasted butternut squash soup to start, and the herb-crusted chicken with roasted potatoes for my main.” When the waiter came, Fareeha ordered a nice bottle of red wine to share.

While they waited, Mercy rested her head on her palm, her eyes locked on the beautiful woman sitting across from her. “Your glasses look so damn hot on you,” she said softly, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. Fareeha chuckled quietly, lowering her gaze, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. She was usually tough and serious, but Angela had this way of making her melt. She had a soft spot for her wife’s gentle strength. “Thanks,” Fareeha said with a playful grin. “You look absolutely gorgeous yourself, Angel-a.” She knew that nickname always made Angela cringe a little. The blonde‘s smile softened. “You’re impossible,” she murmured, voice low and warm. The waiter approached just then, setting down their wine glasses with a gentle clink. Fareeha reached across the table, her fingers brushing Angela’s hand. The simple touch sent a little spark straight through them both. Angela smiled shyly, squeezing Fareeha’s fingers. “Five years, huh?” she whispered. “Feels like no time at all.” Fareeha nodded, her eyes locked on Angela’s. “Every day with you feels new. Like we’re still just starting.” Outside, the city lights twinkled through the window, but all Fareeha could see was Angela—her smile, the way her eyes caught the candlelight, the way her whole being seemed to glow. Angela leaned forward slightly, her eyes bright. “I love you,” she breathed. “I love you too,” Fareeha replied, her voice low and sure. Their food finally arrived and Angela took a bite of her grilled salmon, eyes lighting up. “This is perfect,” she said between chews. Fareeha smiled, savoring her herb-crusted chicken. “You have good taste,” she teased, stealing a bite of Angela’s veggies. Angela grinned, eyes sparkling. “Yeah, that’s why I married you.” Fareeha raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Wow, you’re so flirty today. Should I be worried?” Angela laughed softly, the sound like music itself. “Maybe a little.” They ate slowly, savoring every bite and stealing glances across the table. Conversation flowed easily—stories, laughter, and those little touches of affection that only years together can bring.

As they finished, Fareeha caught Angela’s hand again. “Ready to head out?” Angela just nodded softly.

As they stood up, the waiter cleared their plates, and a light drizzle had started outside. Once outside, Angela looked a bit chilled. Fareeha noticed immediately. She shrugged off her leather jacket and gently draped it over Angela’s shoulders. “Here, you’ll need this.” Angela smiled gratefully, wrapping the jacket around herself. “You’re the best.”

Once inside the warm Jaguar, Angela settled in beside her, the leather jacket still wrapped snug around her. Their fingers found each other’s, entwining easily. The rain pattered softly against the windows as Fareeha started the engine, the night ahead full of quiet promises. They’d been driving for a while when Angela stole a few quick glances at her girlfriend—admiring everything about her. The way Fareeha stayed so calm and in control, how her hand moved confidently on the steering wheel, the way her side bangs framed her face, and damn—those hot, nerdy glasses.

Feeling playful, Angela now slid her hand onto Fareeha’s thick thigh, tracing gentle circles. Fareeha’s eyes flicked down, then back to the road, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “What are you doing, angel?” Fareeha asked, voice steady but curious. “Mm, nothing,” Angela replied in a low, teasing tone. Her hand moved higher, caressing Fareeha’s inner thigh. She looked up, catching the sight of her wife biting her lip, eyes dark and inviting. “Angela?“ „Hmm?” “Want me to pull over?” Fareeha asked, her voice suddenly serious. Angela’s grin was all the answer she needed. “Absolutely,” she said, voice dripping with teasing promise. Without hesitation, Fareeha eased the car to the side of the road, heart pounding with anticipation.

Fareeha killed the engine, the sudden quiet making the small space between them feel electric. Angela’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, full of mischief and something softer underneath. Slowly, Angela’s hand slid from Fareeha’s thigh to rest on her hip, fingers tracing lazy circles. Fareeha shifted closer, the warmth of their bodies pulling like a magnet.

“Been waiting all night for this, haven’t you?” Angela whispered, voice low and sultry. Fareeha smirked, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Angela’s ear. “You’re damn right.” Their lips met with shameless, hungry kisses, the sound echoing through the car—wet, raw, and filthy. Angela moaned against Fareeha’s mouth, already feeling heat pooling between her legs. “I want you now…” she gasped, desperate. Fareeha nodded, shifting slightly to make space. “Sit on my lap.” Angela didn’t need to be told twice. She slid down, settling onto Fareeha’s thighs. The silky black dress rode up, revealing a teasing glimpse of lace panties beneath. „Damn, you’re such a slutty whore…” Fareeha teased, voice low and thick with desire. Angela blushed but pressed her lips back to her wife’s in a slow, burning kiss. She ground her hips forward, dry-humping Fareeha’s thick thighs with growing urgency.

One hand slipped beneath Angela’s dress, cupping her full breast. Fareeha’s fingers circled lazily, teasing with slow, deliberate strokes. “F-Fareeha… please… fuck me already,” Angela begged, breathy and desperate. Fareeha chuckled, deep and hot.

„You’ve been holding this in all day, haven’t you? So needy for me the second we’re alone.“ Her hand slid down to the waistband of Angela’s panties, gently pulling them down. Angela shifted to help, giving Fareeha better access. With a smile, Fareeha dipped a finger into Angela’s wetness, gathering the sweet juice and slowly teasing her swollen clit in slow, addictive circles.

Fareeha’s middle finger now slipped inside her hole, the wet heat of Angela’s pussy clenching perfectly around it. Angela began to ride the finger, her breasts bouncing softly with each movement. To heighten the pleasure, Fareeha added her index and ring fingers, stretching Angela’s tight walls. The loud moan that escaped her lips was proof enough as she clenched around three fingers, riding them faster while Fareeha matched her pace, every thrust sharper than the last. Angela’s breaths came faster, her hips moving in sync with Fareeha’s fingers, each stroke driving her higher. Fareeha watched her with soft, admiring eyes—how her chest rose and fell, the way her lips parted in quiet gasps, and the way her eyes fluttered closed when pleasure took over. “You’re so beautiful like this,“ Fareeha murmured, voice full of love.

Angela’s hands gripped Fareeha’s shoulders, seeking steady support as waves of pleasure rolled through her. Fareeha smiled reassuringly. “You feel so good, baby. Almost there?” Angela nodded, biting her lip to hold back a scream. “Yes… don’t stop…” With a wicked smile, Fareeha curled her fingers inside, hitting just the right spot. Angela’s body tensed, her moans growing louder, filling the small car with heat and urgency. “Come for me, angel,” Fareeha whispered, her voice thick with desire. Angela’s eyes fluttered closed as she shuddered, her body trembling with release. She clung to Fareeha, her wetness slick on her fingers. Fareeha pulled her closer, kissing her deeply, tasting her. Slowly, she slipped her fingers free, wiping them on Angela’s lace panties before pulling her into a hug. The rain pattered softly against the windows, a gentle reminder of the quiet world outside as they held each other close—breathless, satisfied, and utterly connected.

Angela rested her cheek on her wife‘s shoulder. “You okay, angel?” Fareeha’s voice was soft, full of warmth and care. Angela looked up, eyes shining with pure love. “More than okay… I feel safe. Like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.” Fareeha’s chest swelled with affection. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind Angela’s ear, her fingers lingering just a moment longer. “You’re everything to me. I want you to always know that.” They stayed wrapped together, the rain tapping softly against the windows, the world outside fading away. Angela smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to Fareeha’s cheek. “Thank you… for tonight, for always.” Fareeha‘s hand circled her back slowly, her lips soft and full of promise. “Always, angel. Always.”

[hottiewatch-stories]

Sombra x Juno oneshot ♡

༺ ˖࣪ ∗ 𓆩♡𓆪 ∗ ˖࣪ ༻

topic/theme: summer camp!

contains: nsfw, dirty talk, eating out, mentioning of other overwatch characters, teasing, fluff

notes: This story features minor ships like Pharmercy and Mekafox! All characters are around the same age (18–19) as they’re still in high school. <3

hope you enjoy <𝟯

꒰ఎ ★ ໒꒱

Same class, same inside jokes, the kind of history that built itself slowly — lunch breaks, late-night calls, shared playlists, and quiet looks that lingered just a second too long. But something had shifted. Somewhere along the way, feelings crept in. Soft and unspoken. Maybe it was the way Olivia’s laugh made Juno’s stomach twist, or how Juno’s voice could make Olivia forget her own name when she wasn’t looking. Neither of them said anything. Not because they didn’t feel it — but because they did. And admitting it might ruin everything. What if it wasn’t mutual? What if it was — and it changed everything?

They are in their graduation year and their class decided to do one last trip in a cozy summer camp - not the best trip but the students were fine with it since it wasn’t all to expensive.

The bus rumbled softly beneath them, sun streaming through the windows as they made their way to camp. Naturally, Juno and Olivia were sitting side by side — like always. Juno had on a cute little dress, light and flowy, paired with matching sandals that showed off her freshly painted nails. Olivia, ever the show-off, had chosen hot pants and a crop top, her toned abs on full display. She looked effortlessly hot, and she knew it. They shared a single pair of earbuds, leaning just close enough for their arms to brush. Olivia had made a playlist and Juno was quietly obsessed with how good her taste in music always was.

Just ahead of them sat Kiriko and Hana, already laughing at something on Hana’s phone. Behind them were Fareeha and Angela, deep in quiet conversation.

Olivia caught her best friend looking cute, humming along the song and she smiled to herself — until a loud whisper floated back from the seat in front of them. “Okay, but why does Olivia look like she’s going to a hot girl rave and Juno looks like she’s about to pick wildflowers and cry about poetry?” Kiriko asked, not even trying to be subtle. Hana snorted. “Because they are literally that couple and don’t even know it yet.” Juno blinked. “We can hear you, you know.“ Olivia leaned forward, resting her chin on the top of the seat. “You’re just jealous I look better in hot pants.” Kiriko smirked over her shoulder. “Oh, I don’t need hot pants to look hot, babe.” “She’s not wrong,” Hana added proudly, giving Kiriko a playful nudge. Juno shook her head with a small laugh, cheeks just a little pinker now. “Can you guys go back to flirting with each other and leave us in peace?” Olivia leaned closer, her voice low near Juno’s ear. “So… are we the wildflower couple?” Juno didn’t look at her. “If you say one word about poetry, I will kick you off this bus.” They both burst out laughing, and even Kiriko cracked a mischievous grin as she turned back around. Yeah, this trip was gonna be chaos.

Later that evening, the cabin had started to feel more like home — bags half-unpacked, beds claimed, and someone already complaining about how hard the mattresses were. After dinner with the rest of the class, the six of them snuck back out into the warm summer night, finding an empty picnic table under the trees. The stars were coming out. The bugs were chirping. And obviously, someone had said the cursed words: “Let’s play truth or dare.”

Now the six of them were crowded around the weathered table, a half-empty bag of chips between them and a flashlight set in the center like a fake candle. Kiriko sat cross-legged, clearly ready to start chaos. Hana was curled up next to her, eating the chips like popcorn. Juno and Olivia shared one side of the bench, legs brushing under the table. Angela and Fareeha were across from them — Angela looked mildly concerned, while Fareeha looked like she was secretly excited. The flashlight spun, clicking to a stop right on Olivia.

“Okay, okay,” Kiriko said, grinning like a menace. “Olivia, truth or dare?” Olivia leaned back, smirking. “Dare, obviously.” Juno sighed. “Of course.” Kiriko didn’t miss the way Juno’s voice dipped. Her grin widened. “I dare you to kiss someone at this table.” Olivia blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?” Hana gasped dramatically. “You better make it count.”

Olivia’s eyes flicked around the table, then landed on Juno — who was suddenly very interested in the chip bag. There was a beat of silence. A hum in the air. A shift in the breeze.

Olivia leaned in. Just a quick kiss — barely more than a brush of lips against Juno’s cheek — but Juno still stiffened like she’d been zapped. “Lame,” Kiriko said immediately. “Coward.” “Gentlewoman,” Olivia corrected, looking way too proud of herself. Juno couldn’t decide if she wanted to hide in embarrassment or kiss her again. Angela cleared her throat. “Alright. Someone else go before this turns into a full-on soap opera.” „Oh, it already is,” Hana said, grinning.

The flashlight spun, clicking to a stop right on Fareeha.

Everyone immediately made that dramatic “oooooh” sound while Fareeha just sat there like she didn’t care (but her straight posture said otherwise). “Truth or dare?” Olivia asked, grinning. “Truth,” Fareeha said coolly. Kiriko groaned. “You’re all so boring, I swear.”

“Shh,” Hana giggled, already sensing drama. “Let her cook.” Olivia leaned across the table with a sly smile. “Okay. If you had to share a one-bed tent with someone here… like, just the two of you… who would you pick?” The whole table went still. Fareeha didn’t hesitate — her eyes flicked up, gaze landing directly on Angela. Angela blinked. “…You,” Fareeha said, simple as ever. Everyone exploded. Kiriko let out a loud “LET’S GOOO”, Hana clapped like she was watching reality TV, and Olivia fake-fainted onto Juno. Angela, caught in the middle of the chaos, blinked again… then smiled sweetly and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? Because I’d pack snacks? Or because I’d remind you to wear sunscreen?” Fareeha smirked mischievously. “Because I wouldn’t mind waking up next to an angel.” That shut everyone up for a second. Angela’s face turned bright pink — and then she recovered with a dramatic flip of her ponytail. “Well then,” she said, laughing. “Let’s hope no one snores. Or kicks in their sleep. Or confesses their undying love in the middle of the night.” Fareeha just smirked and looked away, but the tips of her ears were red.

The flashlight spun one last time, clicking into place with a dramatic thud. Kiriko. She raised both hands like she just won something. “Alright,” Juno grinned. “Truth or dare?”

Kiriko leaned back, smug. “Truth.” A wave of groans followed immediately. “Seriously?” Hana whined. “You? After all that smack talk?”

Fareeha raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you just say choosing truth is boring?”

Kiriko shrugged, playful. “Yeah guys, well... I’m feeling honest tonight.” Angela sipped from her soda, already bracing herself. “This won’t end well.” Olivia leaned in with the grin of someone who’d just found the perfect card in Uno. “Alright then. Kiriko. Fuck, marry, kill. From this table.” Everyone went dead silent. Kiriko blinked. “I change my answer. Dare. I pick dare.” “Too late,” Olivia sing-songed. Kiriko groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I hate all of you.” “You better think wisely,” Juno teased. “This will haunt you forever.” “Okay, okay,” Kiriko sighed dramatically, then peeked through her fingers. “Fine. Kill first. Let’s get the hard one out of the way.” Everyone braced themselves. „… Angela,” Kiriko said softly.

“Excuse me?!” Angela gasped dramatically. „I panicked!” Kiriko shouted. “You intimidate me with your organized pencil case and your calm tone! You’d haunt me as a ghost and still make me do my homework!” Angela crossed her arms. “I’m definitely haunting you now.” “Alright,” Kiriko continued, “marry? Fareeha.”

Fareeha blinked. “Me?” “You have strong ‘I’d make you soup when you’re sick’ energy,” Kiriko said. “Also, you’d win all the parent-teacher meetings.” Fareeha just nodded slowly. “I’ll take it.” “And that means…” Olivia grinned. “Yeah, yeah,” Kiriko sighed. “Hana, I guess we’re hooking up.” Hana smirked and gave her a wink. “I mean, we already share hoodies, might as well share a bed.”

Kiriko threw a napkin at her. “Don’t make it weird!”

The cabin was filled with the low hum of nighttime routine — toothbrushes buzzing, sinks running, zippers of sleeping bags being pulled. Everyone was winding down after the chaos of the game, brushing their teeth side by side, sharing half-asleep jokes through foamy mouths and muffled laughter. It was cozy in that chaotic, teenage-camp kind of way. But Olivia noticed something. Juno hadn’t said much. She laughed when everyone else did, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her smile was just… off. Faint. Once they were all in their pajamas, scattered across bunks and sleeping bags, tossing around the last bits of trash talk, Juno slipped out of the bathroom. She paused in the doorway, her eyes finding Olivia’s. “Hey,” she said softly. “Can I talk to you outside? Just for a sec?” Olivia sat up immediately, nodding. “Yeah. Sure.” She followed Juno out into the cool night air. It was quiet — the distant sound of wind in the trees, the chirp of insects, the muffled giggles of someone still whispering inside. The porch light above them cast a warm glow, and Juno stood just outside of it, rubbing her arm. She didn’t look at Olivia at first. “I’ve been trying not to say anything,” Juno started, voice quiet and shaky. “Because I didn’t want to make things weird. And maybe this is a terrible time, and maybe it’s stupid because of that dumb game, but…” She looked up, finally meeting Olivia’s eyes. “I have a huge crush on you. Like. Ridiculously huge. And I’ve had it for a while.” Olivia’s breath caught in her throat. Juno gave a small, nervous laugh. “I know we’ve been friends forever, and I don’t want to mess that up. I just… couldn’t keep pretending. And if that kiss didn’t mean anything to you, that’s okay. I just hope we’re still good, even if it’s awkward now.” There was a beat of silence.

Then Olivia took a small step closer. “Juno,” she said gently, “that kiss did mean something to me.” Juno blinked, her brows pulling together. “Wait, really?” “I just… I didn’t want to ruin anything either,” Olivia admitted, her voice a little shaky now too. “But yeah. I’ve liked you for a while. Like, ‘replaying our texts and overthinking every emoji’ kind of like.”

That pulled a real smile from Juno — soft and stunned. They stood there in the quiet for a second longer, before Olivia reached out, gently brushing her fingers against Juno’s.

“Wanna head back in before someone comes looking for us?” Juno grinned, lacing their fingers together. “Let them wonder.”

The door creaked softly as Juno and Olivia stepped back into the cabin. They didn’t say anything. Just exchanged one last look before slipping back to their beds — Olivia to her bed near the far corner, Juno curling into hers like nothing had happened. But something had. And everyone could feel it.

Hana was the first one to speak up. “Took y’all long enough.” „We were just talking,” Olivia mumbled. “Mm-hmm,” Kiriko said from the bunk above, clearly not buying it.

Angela, already in bed with her book open against her knees, didn’t even look up. “We heard no yelling, so we assumed it wasn’t a friendship-ending conversation.” Fareeha, lounging in her hoodie, added teasingly, “Or maybe it ended in a different kind of way.” Olivia buried her face in her pillow. “I regret everything.” Juno just let out a tiny laugh, pulling her blanket up to her nose. Olivia peeked at her across the cabin and caught the smallest smile tugging at her lips — warm, shy, secret.

The cabin lights were off now, the room bathed in soft moonlight spilling through the window. The air had settled, and so had the group — a few quiet breaths, the occasional shift of blankets, someone’s soft snore in the corner.

Juno whispered, “Night, guys.” A gentle wave of murmured replies followed. „Night,” came from Hana. „Sleep tight,” Angela mumbled.

„Don’t let the spiders bite,” Kiriko added, and got a pillow tossed at her in response. Juno smiled to herself, then turned toward the wall, blanket pulled up to her chin. But her eyes stayed open. Across the room, Olivia laid staring at the ceiling, the faint glow from outside casting shifting shadows across the cabin walls. Her heart still beat a little faster than usual. Not in a bad way — just… different.

She rolled onto her side and glanced toward Juno’s bed. Juno was facing the same way — curled up, eyes open, clearly not asleep either.

Their eyes met in the near-dark, faint but certain. Without saying a word, Olivia slowly sat up, stepping quietly across the creaky floor. She knelt beside Juno’s bed. “You awake?” she whispered. Juno nodded, voice low. “Yeah.” “Can I come in?” Juno scooted over immediately, lifting her blanket in response. They didn’t talk as Olivia climbed in beside her. They didn’t need to. They just fell into the old rhythm, the one they’d had for years — Olivia tucking her chin gently above Juno’s head, Juno pressing her head against Olivia’s chest, her fingers naturally finding Olivia’s and intertwining them. And it was quiet. Safe. Home, in the middle of a cabin filled with half-sleeping classmates and the scent of pine through an open window.

After a few minutes, Juno whispered, “You’re really warm.” Olivia smiled against her hair. “You’re really soft.” Juno turned her head just slightly, her voice even smaller. “Thanks for coming over.” „Always,” Olivia murmured.

“I just can’t believe it… you liking me,” Juno murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Olivia let out a quiet breath, her smile soft and reassuring. “Yeah… me neither. It kind of feels like a dream.” They looked at each other then — their faces lit faintly by the pale moonlight spilling through the window. For a long, still moment, neither of them moved. They just… stayed there, studying each other like they were both seeing something new and familiar all at once. Then Olivia leaned in, gently closing the space between them. Their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss — sweet and steady, full of unspoken feelings. They’d kissed before, back when they were younger and curious, testing boundaries and wondering what it meant. But this time? This was different. This was real. The kiss deepened slowly, growing bolder as emotion swelled between them. What started as something tender shifted — turning into something more eager, more certain. Fingers tangled in fabric, bodies pressing closer under the blankets. The quiet sound of their lips meeting filled the space between heartbeats, soft and quick. Outside their little cocoon of warmth, the cabin remained quiet. Their friends slept soundly, unaware of the couple blooming just a few feet away.

They finally pulled away, and Olivia looked at her with lustful eyes, like a predator sizing up its prey. She softly pushed Juno down, leaving her lying flat on her back. Olivia crawled on top of her, devouring her neck with sloppy, messy kisses. The smaller one let out a breathy sigh.

Olivia then pressed her knee against Juno’s clothed pussy, creating some friction. Juno let out a soft moan. “You like that, don’t you?” Olivia murmured. Juno muttered a soft, “Yeah,” as Olivia trailed downward, pulling Juno’s pajama top up and caressing her small but beautiful breasts. They had seen each other naked before, having taken showers together. Olivia always had to hold herself back from fucking her best friend on the spot—every time Juno swayed her hips just a little or gave Olivia a teasing smile while washing her tits or pussy sensually. She took her firm breast into her mouth, stopping right at the hardened nipple, sucking on it with a loud pop! The sound made Juno weaken, letting out a soft moan, her body trembling with arousal. “Shh, baby… you don’t want to wake them up,” Olivia murmured before taking the breast into her mouth again, sucking on it like her life depended on it, while her free hand caressed the other nipple. Juno couldn’t take it anymore and whispered, “Fuck me already…” She had never spoken so vulgarly before, and hearing those words from Juno made her girlfriend smirk. „So eager, Juno… I didn’t know you were this slutty.” Juno only blushed. She pulled down her pajama pants and panties, exposing herself. Olivia spread her legs and saw her already-pulsing hole, waiting to be filled by her now-girlfriend.

The taller one knelt down, her face now in front of Juno’s pretty pink pussy. She slid her tongue into Juno’s tight hole, feeling the walls clench around her. She moved in steady, stroking motions that turned Juno into a moaning mess. Then, just as quickly, she pulled back.

Juno whimpered. Olivia climbed back up, straddling her, gripping her chin with firm fingers. “Do you want everyone to hear how desperate you are?” she whispered, her voice velvet over steel. “You filthy little slut.” A deep blush spread across Juno’s cheeks. She shook her head fast, eyes wide. “Then be a good girl…” Olivia leaned in, her lips brushing Juno’s ear, “…and keep quiet.” Juno nodded, biting her lip hard. But the ache was already back—hot, insistent, and aching for Olivia’s tongue again.

Juno nodded, biting her lip so hard it almost hurt. She didn’t trust herself to stay quiet otherwise—not with how badly she wanted Olivia’s mouth back on her. Olivia smirked, clearly pleased with the obedience. “Good girl,” she murmured, dragging her fingers down Juno’s trembling stomach. “Now spread those fucking legs for me.” Juno obeyed instantly, thighs falling open, her pussy glistening and needy. “God, look at you,” Olivia groaned, watching her hole clench around nothing. “Dripping wet just from a little tongue and some filthy talk. You really are a slut.”

Before Juno could respond, Olivia dove back down, spreading her open with both thumbs and licking her with no mercy—sloppy, messy, all tongue and hunger. She sucked on her clit, hard enough to make Juno jolt, then shoved two fingers inside her without warning. Juno let out a strangled cry, trying to muffle it against her arm, her hips grinding up against Olivia’s face. “You want to be fucked so bad, don’t you?” Olivia murmured against her. “So fucking desperate.” Juno could barely think, her voice hoarse and wrecked. “Yes—fuck, yes, please…” Olivia curled her fingers deep inside her, hitting just the right spot, her mouth never leaving Juno’s swollen clit. Juno’s legs shook, her whole body tightening. “Come on then,” Olivia whispered. “Be a good little slut and come all over my face.”

Juno’s back arched off the bed, a broken whimper slipping past her bitten lips as Olivia’s fingers pumped harder, faster—each thrust hitting her deep, curling perfectly into that spot that made her legs tremble. Her clit throbbed under Olivia’s tongue, every wet, hungry suck pushing her closer to the edge. “Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—” Juno gasped, the words tumbling out in a moan she couldn’t hold back. Olivia didn’t stop. Didn’t ease up. Didn’t give her a second to breathe. “Yeah, that’s it,” she growled against her. “Come for me. I want to feel you fucking drench my fingers.” And Juno did. Her whole body clenched —hips bucking, thighs squeezing tight around Olivia’s head as the orgasm ripped through her like a goddamn wave. She cried out, raw and high-pitched, voice cracking as she came hard, pussy gripping Olivia’s fingers.

Olivia didn’t stop right away. She kept licking, kept fucking her through it, drawing out every last twitch, every helpless little moan until Juno was a breathless, wrecked mess. When she finally pulled away, her mouth was glistening, lips swollen, and she looked fucking proud of herself. “Goddamn,” Olivia said with a grin, climbing up and licking Juno’s juices off her own fingers. “You taste so good when you cum.” Juno could barely lift her head, her cheeks flushed, legs still shaking. Her thighs were still twitching, and her pussy throbbed with the echoes of release.

Olivia climbed up beside her, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, then leaning in to press the softest kiss to Juno’s cheek. “You did so good for me,” she whispered, brushing damp hair away from Juno’s forehead. “So fucking perfect.” Juno let out a weak, satisfied sigh, turning her head to nuzzle into Olivia’s neck. “That was… a lot.” Olivia chuckled softly, wrapping her arms around her and pulling her in close, skin to skin. “Yeah? Too much?”

“No,” Juno murmured, her voice sleepy and raw. “Just… perfect.” Olivia kissed the top of her head, slow and warm. “You’re shaking,” she said gently. “Let me get you a towel and some water.” She moved quietly, not leaving Juno’s side for long. A warm, damp towel, a bottle of water, and then back under the covers with her again, cradling her like she was made of glass. Juno took a few sips, then curled into her chest, a hand resting over Olivia’s heart. “You okay?” Olivia asked, tracing lazy circles along Juno’s back.

Juno nodded softly. „I feel safe.” Olivia smiled, pressing her lips to Juno’s temple. “Good. I‘m glad.” They laid there in the hush of the night, tangled up in each other. No more words, just soft breaths, shared warmth, and the kind of silence that feels full instead of empty.