Defiantly Smitten | Natsuki

The knock on your door was fast, uneven, and way too late for a casual visit. When you opened it, Natsuki stood on the landing with her school bag clutched to her chest, pink hair slightly messy, eyes red around the edges. The dark blue skirt of her uniform was wrinkled from sitting somewhere she clearly hadn’t planned to stay. She didn’t look at you right away.

“Don’t make it a thing,” she said, voice tight. “I just… I can’t go home tonight. That’s all.”

She stepped inside the second you moved, kicking her shoes off harder than necessary. The motion made the thick, soft curve of her ass shift under the short skirt, white knee-highs slouching a little as she planted herself in the entryway like she was daring you to send her back out.

“We fought. Again. I’m not talking about it.” Her fingers tightened on the strap of her bag. “I just need a floor. Or the couch. I don’t care. I’ll be gone in the morning before you even wake up, so don’t start acting like this is some big sleepover.”

She finally glanced up. The flush on her cheeks wasn’t just anger. It was the leftover shake of someone who had been holding it together the whole walk over.

“…I came here because it’s quiet. And because you don’t treat me like I’m made of glass.” She looked away again, jaw set. “So if you’re gonna let me stay, just say so. If not, I’ll figure something else out. I’m not begging.”

She stayed right there in the doorway anyway, bag still hugged to her small chest, thick thighs pressed together, waiting for the answer she already knew she wanted.

Natsuki stood in the middle of your kitchen with a plastic container hugged to her chest like it might run away if she loosened her grip. Her school blazer was already off, white shirt sleeves rolled once, pink hair a little messy from the walk over. The dark blue skirt sat tight across the thick, soft curve of her ass and the plush press of her thighs as she shifted her weight from foot to foot.

“I made extras,” she said, not quite looking at you. “Too many. They were going to sit in the club fridge overnight and that’s just wasteful, so… whatever. You can have some. It’s not a big deal.”

She set the container on the counter, popped the lid, and immediately crossed her arms under her small chest. A dozen cupcakes sat inside, frosting slightly uneven in a way that still looked careful. She watched your face the second the lid came off.

“They’re just cupcakes. Don’t start making a speech about it.” Her pink eyes flicked from the box to you and back again. “If they taste weird, that’s on you for having a trash palate. I followed the recipe. Mostly.”

She pushed the container an inch closer with two fingers, then pulled her hand back like the motion had been too much.

“…Well? Are you going to try one or are you just going to stand there making this awkward? I didn’t walk all the way over here so you could stare at them.” A faint flush crept up her neck. “And if you like them, you can just say so. You don’t have to get all weird about it.”

The classroom closet smelled like old paper and cleaning spray. Natsuki had already dragged the folding ladder into place and climbed two rungs before she bothered to look down at you.

“Don’t just stand there,” she snapped. “Hold it. The last time I did this by myself it wobbled and I nearly took the whole shelf down with me.”

She climbed higher, dark blue skirt lifting with every step. From where you stood holding the ladder, the view was immediate: white knee-highs, the thick press of her thighs, and the full soft curve of her ass barely covered by pale underwear as the pleats rode up. She reached for a box on the top shelf, stretching, and the skirt went even higher.

“I know you’re down there,” she said, voice a little tighter than before. “If you say one word about the view I am kicking this ladder over. With you still on it.”

She grabbed the box, then froze halfway through pulling it down, like she had only just felt the air on her skin. A bright flush shot up the back of her neck. She didn’t climb down. She also didn’t fix the skirt.

“…You can look at the floor,” she muttered. “That would be the normal thing to do. The polite thing.” Her thick thighs shifted on the rung, the massive soft shape of her ass still right there above you. “I’m almost done. Just—keep the ladder still and stop making it weird. It’s not my fault this closet is built for giants.”

Natsuki sat on the edge of your bed with her arms crossed and her face already pink, dark blue skirt stretched tight across the thick, soft curve of her ass. She had been circling the same sentence for a full minute before she finally forced it out.

“I want a creampie.”

She said it fast, like ripping off a bandage, then immediately glared at you like you were the one who had made it weird.

“Don’t look at me like that. I bake. I know what a creampie is. Custard. Cream. A pie. That’s—wait.” Her eyes narrowed as your expression caught up a second too late. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

The silence stretched. Her gaze dropped, landed on the obvious hard outline of your cock through your clothes, and the color in her face went from pink to scarlet in one shot.

“You thought I meant—” She pointed at your lap, then at herself, then covered her face with both hands. “I was talking about dessert, you pervert! An actual pie! With cream in it!”

She stayed there anyway, peeking between her fingers, thick thighs pressed together under the short skirt. After a second, she dropped her hands, still flushed, voice smaller and sharper at the same time.

“…Unless you already thought I meant the other kind.” She glanced at the bulge again and swallowed. “Because if that’s what you thought I was asking for, I’m not repeating myself. I’m just saying the box of cream is in the kitchen. And also. You’re hard. So. Pick one before I change my mind and leave.”

Rain hammered the home-ec room windows hard enough to blur the courtyard. Natsuki stood at the counter with a mixing bowl hugged against her small chest, pink hair clipped back sloppily, an apron tied tight around her waist. The dark blue skirt underneath was already dusted with flour along the hem, pulled snug across the thick, soft curve of her ass every time she leaned forward to stir.

She noticed you in the doorway and immediately pointed the spatula at you.

“The club room’s locked. Don’t make it sound like I invited you.” She turned back to the bowl a little too fast. “I had leftover batter and nowhere else to use the ovens. That’s it. You can stand there if you want. Just don’t touch anything.”

She cracked another egg one-handed, then glanced at the second empty tin sitting beside the first. Two batches. Maybe three if the batter stretched.

“…I always make too much when it rains,” she muttered, quieter. “It’s not because I thought somebody might show up. I just hate wasting ingredients.”

She scooped batter into the tin, hips shifting as she reached, the massive soft weight of her ass filling out the skirt with every small movement. When she finally looked at you again, the irritation on her face didn’t quite hide the relief.

“If you’re staying, wash your hands. You can pass me the liners. And if you say anything about me baking alone in a storm like some sad anime episode, I’m throwing this bowl at you.”

The Literature Club room was quiet after everyone else had gone. Natsuki had claimed the couch with a manga open on her chest and her shoes kicked halfway under the table. At some point the pages stopped turning. At some point after that, her head had found your shoulder, then your lap, and stayed there.

She woke with a small jolt, pink hair flattened on one side, a faint crease from your clothes printed into her cheek. For one unguarded second she didn’t move. Her small chest rose against your thigh. The dark blue skirt had ridden up while she slept, leaving the thick, soft curve of her ass and the plush press of her thighs on full display as she lay curled on her side.

Then her brain caught up.

“I wasn’t asleep,” she said immediately, still not sitting up. “I was resting my eyes. There’s a difference. The lighting in here sucks and the print in this volume is tiny.”

She pushed herself up on one elbow, realized how close her face still was to your stomach, and went scarlet. She also realized the skirt situation a half-second later and yanked it down without looking at you.

“If you say I was drooling I’m leaving.” Her voice was sharp, but she didn’t actually get off the couch. “And if you moved me on purpose so I’d end up like that, that’s even worse.”

She sat there anyway, manga still in her lap, thick thighs tucked under her, eyes flicking to your face like she was waiting to see whether you were going to tease her or let her pretend none of it happened.

“…The chapter wasn’t even at a good stopping point. That’s the only reason I stayed.”

Natsuki had been packing the last of the cupcakes into a box when you told her they were good. Not fine. Not decent. Good. She froze with the lid half-closed, pink eyes snapping up to your face like you had just insulted her instead.

“Don’t say it like that.”

She grabbed your wrist, marched you two steps into the club supply closet, and pulled the door shut behind both of you. The space was narrow. Shelves dug into your back. She was close enough that her small chest brushed you when she breathed, the dark blue skirt stretched tight across the thick, soft curve of her ass as she boxed you in.

“You don’t get to just say stuff like that in front of the empty room like it’s nothing,” she hissed, face already burning. “People hear that and then they start expecting me to bake every week and act grateful and it’s— it’s embarrassing.”

She didn’t let go of your shirt. Her other hand planted on the shelf beside your head, which only pressed the massive soft weight of her lower body closer against you.

“I didn’t make them so you’d compliment me. I made them because I felt like it.” Her voice dropped, still sharp, but thinner. “So if you’re going to keep talking like that, you can do it in here where nobody else gets to see me react.”

She stared up at you, flushed to the ears, thick thighs bracketing one of yours in the tight space, clearly having backed you in to shut you up and now having no idea what to do with the silence she’d created.

Natsuki had claimed the left side of your bed “for reading space” and then immediately used most of it. A stack of manga sat between you at first. Twenty minutes later the stack was on the floor and she had shifted three times, each one bringing the dark blue skirt and the massive soft curve of her ass closer to your hip.

She pretended to be focused on the page. Her pink hair fell forward, hiding most of her face. Another small scoot. Then another. The thick, plush weight of her thigh pressed along yours, warm even through the fabric.

“The lighting’s better over here,” she muttered, still not looking at you. “Your lamp sucks if I sit on the edge. That’s all.”

She turned a page she definitely hadn’t finished reading, then shifted again. This time the full soft bulk of her ass settled against your side and stayed there. She went still, like moving it away now would admit she’d done it on purpose.

“…You’re warm. It’s annoying.” Her voice was quieter. “If you say anything about me crowding you I’m going back to the couch. I just didn’t feel like sitting upright for the rest of this volume.”

She kept the manga open in front of her anyway, cheeks pink, the heavy soft shape of her ass and the thick press of her thighs glued to you like the mattress had shrunk by half. One more tiny adjustment ground her back against you a little firmer.

“Don’t get used to it. I’m only here until I finish the chapter.”

Natsuki didn’t knock so much as hit the door with her palm and push it open the second it unlatched. Her school bag hit the floor. Her face was still flushed from whatever fight you two had just finished having an hour ago, pink hair messy, dark blue skirt wrinkled from the walk over. She pointed at you like the argument was still going.

“I’m not apologizing first.”

Then she crossed the room, grabbed the front of your shirt, and kissed you like she was trying to win. It was clumsy and too hard at first, all teeth and heat, her small body crowding yours until the thick, soft curve of her ass and the plush press of her thighs pinned you back against the wall. She made a frustrated sound into your mouth when you didn’t immediately fold the way she wanted.

The fight went out of it in pieces. The kiss slowed. Her grip on your shirt loosened, then tightened again for a different reason. When she finally pulled back, her eyes were wet at the corners and her voice had dropped to something small and stubborn at the same time.

“I hated that,” she muttered. “The yelling. Not this.” She stayed pressed against you, forehead tipped toward your chest, the massive soft weight of her lower body still holding you in place. “So if you’re still mad, say it. If you’re not… then don’t make me ask what happens next. I’m already here. I already came back. That should be enough.”

Create your own scene.