#I'm not sure why I'm such a fan of that middle finger nail paint

[francium-hydroxide]

Day 4: Playing with Cards

Day 4 of @tntduo-brainrot-is-real's valentine's day week thing. It's already valentine's day from where im from ya know with timezones & what not, however i'll still finish up the last day tmr!! once again hope this wasn't too badly written & you can still enjoy it

word count: 722

~~~

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

Wilbur pointed at the ace of spade card that was being flipped across from Quackity's right hand in a perfect arch in the air before being caught between the index and middle finger of his left hand. Vice versa.

"I don't know. Why?"

"Can you teach me how to do it?" He asked before trying to defend himself from the look Quackity gave him. " I just think it looks cool."

In reality Wilbur just enjoyed picking up little habits from Quackity- like how whenever he crossed his legs, his right leg was always under the left, or how he kept his cigarette hanging from the left side of his lips whenever he talked. How he writes an extra dash for the number 7 and makes sure there's a loop in every number 2 .

And in this instance, it was flipping cards between his hands whenever he was bored.

Somehow, Quackity nodded and took out a spare deck of cards from his blouse pocket. He motioned to Wilbur to take a card from the deck and the latter did.

Two of hearts.

"Just watch and follow what I'm doing"

Unfortunately it was easier said than done, and Wilbur found himself becoming more and more distracted by the nature of Quackity's hands.

Hangnails and uneven nails with the skin around it scarred from bleeding because he guessed biting his nails weren't enough for Quackity.

They were pretty though, in some odd way. Reminded Wilbur of the hands in those Greek paintings he had seen countless times.

A gentle grip around his right wrist suddenly grabbed his attention.

He felt almost like melting in that exact moment, Quackity's hands wrapping around his wrist like sunlight bathing ice.

"Your wrist should be tilted more towards the left so it can actually land on your other hand."

He let go of his hands.

Oh.

"Okay." Wilbur nodded, and still felt the imprints of his warm hand on his wrist.

He wished he hadn't let go.

After several tries, he eventually got tired and Wilbur returned the card back to its original owner who placed it back into its deck and shuffled it. Afterwards fanned the cards in a way that they are all also faced down

"Pick a card. I want to guess it."

Without any questions, he complied.

"Don't look" Wilbur reminded.

"You're talking to the person who's blind in one eye." Quackity said , turning to face the other direction nonetheless.

Wilbur carefully pulled a card out from his hands.

Ace of hearts.

He examined it before slipping it under the sleeves of his coat and acknowledged that he was done.

"You can start guessing n-"

"Wait."

Quackity leaned towards Wilbur, his hands brushing against his own for a second.

He felt more blood rushing to his face and all around his body than when his own father had killed him.

"Stay still." Quackity warned. His face was mere inches away from him. The latter's hand slowly reached up to his and Wilbur nearly lost it when he swiped his eyebag area once with his thumb before pulling away.

"There was an eyelash that seemed to have fallen under your eye." He hummed. "Anyway, let me guess you picked four of diamonds?"

"I…" Wilbur paused, his mind had still been fixated on the events that occurred just seconds prior. "Uh- no. No I didn't pick that." He coughed, bringing his hands to his face to make.

If he was blushing he couldn't tell.

"Two to Clubs?"

"No."

"Really? What about king of spades. Surely I must be right."

Wilbur shook his head.

"You sure? I can't be wrong."

"No really you are." Wilbur smiled. "What? You're worried that you're going to lose some petty guessing game? Don't want your ego to be shattered?"

"No my ego's perfectly okay. I'm just confused why you're telling me that I'm wrong when I'm right."

"For the last time. You're wrong." Wilbur pulled out the card from under his coat sleeve. "See. Ace of he...arts"

Except it was no longer the ace of hearts but the King of Spades.

Wilbur looked up to see Quackity holding the ace of hearts card in his hand. He smiled.

"Guess you could say I stole your heart."

Oh.

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

Meet and Greet

Yes, this is an MBJ fic and don't be mad. It's all in good fun. We fans. Not the crazy ones, just...

Anyway. Mike wouldn't be mad, he has a sense of humor. Happy Birthday @ange-sensuel my fellow scorpio queen. I love you, you're beautiful, and my mind got to working, so this is what came out.

Smut Ahead

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

"Fuuck..," Michael dragged through flared nostrils watching the petite and masterfully built brown woman work voodoo magic between his thighs. She was down on her knees sitting on a pillow, sucking her little heart out along with his soul. Her silver dress draped over the hotel bed along with her fur. Without him having to ask, she'd kept the heels on.

When he'd initially invited the stranger to his room, it was out of intrigue. She was a beautiful, clean, classy woman with long hair, long elegant legs and neck, a beautiful face, and big titties. He didn't think she'd be so nasty or focused on his pleasure, yet here she was.. making a mess of his dick and he couldn't take it. He could barely even speak. God if this woman looks me in the eyes she gone fuckin get it, he thought unsure of whether he wished for it or against it. She was fuckin him all up.

Angel's eyelashes fluttered and she gazed feverishly with bloodshot eyes up into Mike's own hooded eyes, her throat full of heated raw dick that was sensitive to the touch. Thick ropes of white saliva spilt from the corners of her full ruby red lips, collecting at his base as she moved her head back and forth swiftly. She could feel his tight fist gripping her long blown out strands into a makeshift ponytail.

"You fuckin nasty, suck that shit," he strained, sweat forming on his brow. The look is his eyes said, suffer bitch. His mouth was wide, an O before his big lips began to purse and pout. He was locked the fuck in, nodding, making tense eye contact.

Angel could feel his strong lust, palpable. It only made her hungrier to possess the man she'd dreamt about since she was a child watching Hardball. This meeting was a decade in the making. Meeting Michael was everything she'd dreamed it would be. When she'd approached him at the New Orleans meet and greet, he was taken by her flamboyance. Distracted. Her mild peacocking had worked. He was extremely friendly, playful, and flirtatious. In a short, fitted satin rouched silver dress coupled with a luxurious fur and tulle bolero that read old Hollywood glam, she was in her element. Photographers mistook her for a celebrity asking her name, but no one recognized it. Michael was no different, he'd asked her identity not recognizing her from any magazine or red carpet. Despite that, she sent him all the signals she knew how to show him she was interested and he'd picked up on every one, ultimately asking if she wanted to go with him back to his hotel. She was years past ready.

But he sure wasn't.

The wet and echoing gluck, gluck, gluck, was only interrupted by her harsh gasp as she attempted to cram minutes of breathing into a brief second. The glossy strong dick coated and dripping with her thick spit was calling out to her. She let the pool of excess spit collecting in her mouth drool heavily onto his length, sliding down his balls and to his hairless asscrack. The large cloth hotel chair Michael sat on was wet, stained with her spit. She grasped his dick firmly in her small hand, her index, thumb and pinky nails painted salmon pink with small silver and crystal appliques at the base. Her middle fingernails were marbled pink and grey. Her matching bra and panties were pink lace. She could tell he was enjoying that colorful view along with her silver stacked finger rings. She hadn't done it for him at all, but she knew he loved and appreciated it. It was just who she was naturally. Panting, she gobbled his length hungrily with a desperate moan. She felt insatiable.

Her perfume kept hitting him, the smell alive in the air. Light and natural notes, sweet but mildly floral. She had elegant taste to the most minute of details. Out of all the girls he'd had sex with since he'd been poppin in Hollywood, she smelled the best and her head was top tier. She dared him to look away from her pretty, messy face, but he knew better. If there was anything he was good at to the same degree as acting, it was sex and though Angel was great, he knew he was better. He refused to be shown up in either field.

But in that moment, as he was squeezing her head and simultaneously digging his thick fingers into the arm of the chair, it was a struggle to last like he was used to doing. Her aggression was about to explode him. He lifted his hips feeding himself to her as she devoured all he had.

Angel watched his control slip, his face contorting and his breathing getting louder as he gradually lost control over his body. She felt herself getting wetter just knowing that the control had shifted to her. She wanted him to cum hard and in her mouth and when he did, it was with a heavy sigh as though he were releasing a ghost. The taste of him was pleasant, something she was already adapting to having had no previous experience. Indeed, she was a virgin, but an eager and hungry one. She'd plotted for years to lose her virginity to this man.

As she cherished the oxygen hitting her lungs, she watched him breathe, spent, his head thrown back against the seat cushion. He had a fresh close cut, almost bald and he was the thickest she'd seen him since Black Panther. God bless his trainer, Corey, she thought. In a blink, he was up.

He'd leaped from the chair, recovered, and lifted Angel to her feet then into his arms. She weighed next to nothing. Perfect to manhandle. He dropped her onto into the bed and yanked her ankle flipping her quickly onto her stomach. Immediately she arched and he took a step back to admire the view. If he was half hard before after nutting.. he was fully hard now. She wiggled her ass in the air, her middle on full display.

"Do you want this ass? Come get it. Come on, Kari," she encouraged playfully.

"Damn, the government huh," he joked, his thick hands coming down hard to slap both of her cheeks before spreading them. He turned to pull a condom out, lubricated.

"Eat this pussy," Angel said a bit more directly. "I wanna feel what those lips do."

Before she could finish her sentence, his mouth was on her, his lips soft like two plush pillows. She felt those pussy pillows pinch and suck on each part of her flower, teasing and testing the sensitivity. She moaned softly as she ascended to heaven feeling his warm, long, wet tongue flatten and drag purposefully.. slowly, up her slit. The juice from his mouth mingled with her wetness as he drooled his excess saliva back onto her core. She could feel the sensation of it dripping. Long, quick laps followed, his flat tongue licking wet stripes before using the tip to strike her with precision.

He ate her cat from the back, wet noises filling the air. It sounded like a pitbull lapping water from a dish and it was what he resembled. Angel's dish overflowed with her water. Mike could feel it in his mustache though he'd shaved his beard.

"That muhfucka wet," he whispered to no one in particular, licking his lips. Her taste was still there. He let his heavy bottom lip hang as he kneeled on the bed and pushed Angel forward, scooting closer. "You gone throw it back?" He pushed Angel's back down again and her arch was immaculate. With the perfect angle he slid in and she made a noise that was a hissing groan on transition to a purr.

"When the last time you got some good dick," he asked gliding in and out, working her open like a blossom. "You the first," she laughed breathlessly before biting her lip, her small hands gripping the cover. She felt the power of his strokes knocking her forward. It was no wonder he had so many women, he had good díque and knew how to use it.

"Uh, fffffuck," she gasped, panting. It was a new and intense feeling for her but she was determined to show out and make this moment something truly special. She planted her hands firmly and threw her ass back, matching a surprised Mike stroke for stroke. She was close to coming and then she did, her rhythm breaking then ceasing. His heavy hands came down again on both of her asscheeks and he reached forward to collect her hair, pulling it to make her arch again, her head back and close enough for him to bend and whisper into her ear.

"Use my government again," he grunted hammering her into the mattress.

"Bakari," she moaned. "Now say my name."

"FUCK... Angel with the good pussy," he smiled. That was exactly how he planned to save her into his phone. Next time he was in New Orleans, he knew who to call for some good box.

Showered and redressed, Angel stepped to the door. "Anytime you want a true local to show you the city the correct way, call me, we can link."

"Where you think you going Angel with the good pussy," he smiled, the look in his eye saying to stay put. He was on his way to shower, but he had to stop to stop her from walking out. "Y'all swear I'm some fuckboy or fuck nigga.. Nooo," he shook his head dramatically before whispering, "No." Angel stepped away from the door with a smile and humored huff causing her shoulders to bounce.

"Stay put. I'm a take a shower and you can show me the city. I wanna see some crocodiles," he said quickly.

"Boy, that's Florida. Alligators are native to Louisiana. I'll take you to the swamp to see some."

"That's why you the tour guide," he pointed. "I'll be right back," he confirmed before disappearing into the bathroom.

Angel checked her phone for messages before hitting up her group chat. "Met Bakari." That was all the juice she was giving away until her little adventure ended. She could see her mentions blowing up already in the chat. Her friends knew she was in love and plotting. She was clever, driven, supermodel beautiful, and full of love to give. He didn't deserve her, but she'd chosen him and after her positive experience she was glad she had. She could hear the water running from the shower and she cut the television on to a random channel to pass the time. Angel looked around and grinned, kicking her feet, tickled. She planned to be the best tour guide in all Louisiana.

The End.. or is it the beginning? 🧐💕💕

Lmbo jk it's a one shot. Happy Birthday again baby love.

@hold-me-like-a-heart-beat  @simplyyamberr @whoramilaje  @bitemyxxx  @bonita-juanita

@eriknutinthispoosy  @blackpinup22 @thadelightfulone  @yaachtynoboat711 @youreadthatright

@inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove @bidibidibombaclaat  @priya212 @romanceoftheeveryday  @muse-of-mbaku @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade  @kreolemami @myboyfriendgiriboy  @loosewindmill  @wakanda-inspired  @madbadsiren  @theunsweetenedtruth @panthergoddessbast  @allhailnjadaka @amethyst1993  @thehomierobbstark @purplehairgawdess  @supersizeme @blackpantherismyish  @drsunshine97  @thiccdaddy-mbaku  @wawakanda-btch  @killmongersprncss @imaginewhoever  @niggarachi15 @hidden-treasures21  @pupyluv247  @phoenixxx1225 @violet-ines  @indigoxsummers  @janelledarling @imasmille   @sweetsexysavagery @mermaidchansons  @destinio1  @ash-moneyy @ljstraightnochaser @forbeautyandlife @iamrheaspeaks @elle-luring @yoyolovesbucky @ilovebubblesz  @awkardlyabstract @beautifulqueenflaws  @slimmiyagi @sidneebleu@vikkidc @chaneajoyyy

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

How about "I'm not stalking you, exactly. It's just that you accidentally put my notebook in your bag and I'm waiting for a good moment to steal it back before you see the doodles/writing of you I did in it" Obiyuki AU?

Obi jerks his pen from napkin just in time to avoid gouging it through when Torou jostles him, nosing her way over his shoulder.

“Whacha doin there, buddy?”

He sighs, eyes towards the ceiling for guidance, but of course she isn’t looking. She’s snatching the doodle up and holding it towards a better spot of light.

“Oooh,” Torou gushes, looking down the bar at an elderly woman with a tight perm and thick makeup. She’s paying neither one of them mind, her attention glued to the TV monitor up on the wall. “He’s doing a really nice one for you, Josie!”

Josie taps her cigarette against the ashtray without looking down. “I believe it. All his drawings are good.”

Obi plucks the napkin out of Torou’s hands, ears hot. She smacks her gum and grins at him. “Don’t you think he should try to sell his stuff at a first Saturday or something?”

“I tell him that every day.” In his head, Obi groans. “Keeps telling me he needs to practice but he doesn’t have the time.”

“I don’t,” he claps back, coming over and sliding the napkin across the bar. “And paints are expensive. And toxic. And may I remind you both that I have a two year old.”

Josie finally looks down from the screen. “You should get rid of those wrinkles,” she complains.

“Now why would I hide all that beauty?” Obi grins, leaning in.

Her eyes flicker up to his. “Flatterer,” she admonishes, but he knows if her make up was any lighter, he’d be able to see a blush. She taps one cherry red nail against the edge of the napkin. “I should really ask you to draw my granddaughter one day.”

Obi grins. “Bring me a picture. I’d be glad to.”

“Why don’t I introduce the two of you instead?”

His face falls. “I’m sure she has a lot to do. Too busy for my schedule.”

Josie reaches across the way, giving his hand one solid pat. “You’re a good kid, Obi. When are you going to find yourself a nice girl to take care of you?”

Obi clears his throat. “Ah, well, you know-”

“He has one!” Torou chimes in, and honestly- death would be a mercy. “Sorta.”

Invisible eyebrows reach towards the ceiling, and Josie gives him a look. “Sorta?”

“We’re not- she’s not my girlfriend,” he sputters. “She’s my neighbor and she watches Aki a lot and-”

“And she spent Christmas with him!” Torou adds, oh so helpful.

“Oh my,” Josie lifts her drink, smacking her lips. “In my day, that was some serious business, son.”

Obi waves his hands, sweat prickling his temples. “Oh no. Things are different now. There’s nothing-“

“You should draw something for her,” she interrupts, gesturing with her drink. “Then make a copy of it so we can see her. I want to know if she’s fine enough for you.”

“She’s very pretty,” Torou confirms.

His head snaps towards her. “You haven’t even seen her!”

“Have too!” Torou shrugs. “From across the street.”

“You were spying on us?”

Torou pouts. “You texted me to wait in the car. So I, with nothing better to do than watch the door, waited in the car. I honestly don’t see what the big deal is.”

“I don’t need you embarrassing me,” he grumbles.

“Me?” she gasps, palm pressed to chest. “When have I ever done such a thing?”

He glares at her. “Now doesn’t count?”

Her grin grows. “Josie started it. I am putting her worries to rest.”

“Just keep it wrapped up this time, will ya?” Josie comments, eyes back on the tube. “Don’t need a repeat of last time until you’re both ready.”

Obi feels his whole face go hot. “I’m going to go clean the back.”

Torou’s cackle follow him to the kitchen.

~ ~ ~

It’s that point between the dead of night and the crack of dawn when he comes home, the song of the earliest morning birds interrupted by the roar and scream of garbage trucks. 

He slowly cracks open the door, taking in the mess of toys littering the floor, the glow of the TV still stuck on cartoon network barely audible in the background, Yuki’s papers and books spread out across the couch, and then Yuki herself, passed out on his recliner. Her eyes are rimmed with deep bruises, jaw slack, and she doesn’t even twitch when he closes the door behind him.

The runt is drooling all over her chest.

A pinch of guilt twists his gut. Aki must have been a real gentleman after he left.

Grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch, he tip toes his way over the boobytraps left all over the floor, fanning it on top of both of them. Adjusting the cover so it goes all the way up to the neck, he runs his hand once over Aki’s warm scalp, brushing hair away from his face - the boy would need a haircut soon, definitely. He wrinkles his nose, itching it against Yuki’s shirt before settling once again.

Laughing softly, his eyes flicker up to share a secret smile with Yuki. She is still sleeping and her face - it is much closer than he originally thought.

He pulls away, squashing down the jolt of his heart before it could put down another root. It was dangerous, too dangerous, and she had her whole life and a career ahead of her, besides. 

Running his hand through his hair, he pulls out his phone and heads towards the bathroom. 9am should be early enough to wake her up so she can get to class on time.

“Obi?”

Her voice is so soft in the way it wraps around him and he comes up short, glancing back over his shoulder. Yuki’s eyes are still closed.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I can take Aki now if you wanted to get up?”

A sleepy smile curves her lips. “No,” she shakes her head. “Leave him. I just wanted to make sure you made it home safe.”

He swallows hard.

“Aki made something for you.” Under the blanket, she gestures with her hand. “I think we left it in the kitchen.”

He glances across the way, to the kitchen table that is just as much of a mess as the rest of the apartment, scattered with broken crayons, one of his old sketchbooks, torn paper, and half empty cups.

In the middle of it all, on top of the crumpled pile, one only slightly mashed drawing of bright colors and random shapes lays, offering itself up like recently unearthed Pollock. Obi smiles, lifting it up, and glances back towards the recliner.

Yuki’s chest rises and falls in the slow, steady rhythm of those lost to sleep, lips parted and hair fanned over his chair like a sunset. The first rays of morning light slip through the blinds, washing them both in gold.

His fingers itch.

He looks back at Aki’s drawing.

~~~

“Oh my God. Aki, no!”

Obi jerks awake just as a blur of blanket stumbles off of the recliner, barely missing sharp plastic toys it crashes to the ground.

It takes him a minute, crusty eyes blinking into the bright sunlight, but the blanket is on the move, crawling across the floor towards a screaming banshee accompanied by devilish songs with an incessant upbeat tune playing behind it.

Wait, what?

“Let me have that,” the blanket says, prying something from the banshee’s clutches and just that alone is enough to snap him awake.

Oh no. Oh noooo.

“How bad is it?” he croaks, unwinding his legs out from other him.

Yuki’s kneeling, head bowed and hair covering her face. Aki is trying to slip the phone back out of her grasp and she lets out a great and mighty sigh of defeat. “It’s locked for the next 523 years.”

Obi groans, head thudding against the cushion. He rubs his face. “Another trip to the Apple Store. Joy.”

She sighs, standing up, and hands him the phone. “Sorry about the mess. I tried everything last night to get him to settle and–”

Obi takes it from her, blanching when he sees the screen. He checks the wall clock to confirm. “Yuki,” he breathes. “Don’t you have to be in class in 30 minutes?”

He looks up at her just in time to see the blood drain from her face. She snatches the phone back and stares at the screen. “Oh. Oh no.” She looks at her papers scattered all over the couch. “Oh no, I have a test today!”

He’s up, gathering her papers and books. “Go change!” he says, tapping everything into neat piles. “Do you need a ride? Wait. No. Shit. My car is still in the shop. Should I call an Uber?”

She’s already halfway to the door. “Not if I am out the door in the next seven minutes.”

She must set some sort of record for quick change, because when he sees her next, she’s charging down the hall from her apartment with a freshly scrubbed face, clean clothes, and her hair up in a messy bun. He holds up her backpack and she finishes shrugging her jacket on.

“Thanks,” she breathes, taking it and sailing past him. “I’ll see you later.”

“Good luck!” he calls behind her, the door slamming in her wake.

~ ~ ~

It’s five minutes after she leaves that he finds his graphite pencils between the seat cushion.

Ten minutes before he realizes that his sketchbook is nowhere to be found.

And thirty minutes before he collapses on the floor of his living room, face planted into the couch cushions. 

“Fuck me.”

~ ~ ~

The knock on the door comes earlier than expected.

Obi’s hands freeze in soapy water, heart and breath caught in his throat. 

When the knock comes again, Aki turns from his toys. “Dada,” he points Foxy towards the sound. “Dada, door.”

Obi swallows with a hard thunk. “Thanks, buddy,” he says, toweling off his wet hands.

He crosses the room like a man heading towards his death sentence, takes a breath, and throws open the door.

Shirayuki’s face is flushed red, hands tucked behind her back. Green peeks up at him underneath a fan of long, orange lashes, and-

Ah, fuck.

“Hi.”

She shifts, and even the tip of her nose is red. “Hi.”

“How did the exam go? Did you make it on time?”

She nods once, sharp. “Oh, um, yea. There were two or three questions that I wasn’t sure about, but, um…”

Her voice trails off to silence. Obi decides to get it over with.

“I accidentally packed my sketchbook in your bag.”

Yuki’s blush is so deep that it’s almost purple.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Obi blurts. “I used to draw in highschool and I still do sometimes. It gets me extra tips at the bar, but one of my regulars was telling me that I should draw more and I didn’t mean to make anything weird or make you feel uncomfortable. It’s just that I came home and you and Aki were asleep and the light was perfect and-”

She holds up one hand, a startled laugh wheezing out of her. “No, no,” she shakes her head. “I should have stopped looking when I realized it was your sketchbook!”

“Don’t apologize,” he breathes. “It was my fault and if you feel like I’ve betrayed your trust or something-”

Shirayuki’s eyes go wide. “Oh, Obi, no!” she says, pulling her other arm out from around her back and- there it was. The yellow covered pad that he spent the better part of his day hoping that he put on a high shelf somewhere. “It was nice. I liked them.”

Obi’s eyes snap from the pad to her face. “Really?”

“I don’t really do art, but you’re really good,” she professes, and then- she wrinkles her nose. “Although… my ears don’t look like that.”

Obi laughs, a tense sharp bark of sound. “Ears are hard,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Can I have it?”

His face turns hot, disbelieving. “I, um- Do you want it?”

“Mm!” She nods emphatically, although her smile is sly. “Is there an artist fee? I feel like I should pay you.”

“I do it for the exposure,” he jokes weakly.

Shirayuki laughs, a clear bright sound, and oh- this could have gone terribly. He’s so glad it hasn’t. “You should be paid for your work, Obi.”

His heart squeezes. “Do you have any idea of what I should charge?”

She taps her finger on her chin, lips pursed like she does when she is pouring over one of her textbooks. “I can think of something,” she says, eyes tilting shyly. “I’m just not sure if you would like it.”

As if anything she could give him would be less than perfect. “Try me.”

She swallows, drawing her lower lip between her teeth. “Okay,” she laughs aarily, looking down the hall one way, then another. “Come here.”

Obi frowns, taking one step into the hall, keeping his foot between the door jam. “Here?”

“No, um, I mean yes,” she brushes her hair behind her ear. “But I need you to lean down.”

He does as she asks, lashes fluttering and nerves closing off his throat. “Here?”

Her lips twitch, free hand coming up to lace through his hair and pull him down farther.

“Here,” she breathes, closing the space between them.

The touch of her mouth against his is soft, charged with the pop of static and they jump back, startled. Her eyes are wide honestly- she looks more surprised than him, and then they soften, leaning back in.

This time, electricity doesn’t snap between them. This time his eyes fall shut when her mouth falls upon his, breath pouring out of his lungs in one long rush. Her lips are soft. And sweet. And lemon flavored. They shoot sparks down his spine, through his blood, and he tilts his head, fingers alighting upon her cheek.

She hums against his mouth and he can’t help but smile against hers.

Josie was going to be intolerable.

She pulls back, nails dragging against his scalp before smoothing down his hair. “Do you think that was fair payment?” she asks quietly, her eyes searching his.

Obi swallows, his throat dry. “I think I may double my fee.”

Shirayuki smiles and it is so beautiful. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“I learned from the best.”

She pulls him back down.