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File 139935282052.jpg - (265.66KB, 849x972, aya is love.jpg) [iqdb]
35076No. 35076
Just some practice. Haven't done anything /at/ in a while.

Aya Shameimaru had never been a patient one. Always running around on her whims, she usually got what she wants – and fast. And yet here she was, kneeling on the covered mats of a single story home, her back erect. The reporter rested her thighs on her lower legs, twitching with impatience. Only the scribbling of pen on paper broke the silence in the night, a meticulous report to be written to the higher-ups. A man was to write that report, a human to be exact. And the human had no qualms about writing it. It was just Aya that was annoyed.

“Sit.” The human didn’t even turn around from his chair. Aya, who had attempted to sneak in through the window, shamefully tucked her knees on the mats and hung her head. The man was not to be bothered during work – she knew that. But she wanted to hunt him – to catch him unaware. Aya was the fastest, not so much the sneakiest. Who knew that the large, glass window would creak when opened? Certainly not Aya. She scooted closer to the human.

“Wait.” The human, still focused on his work, commanded Aya to her knees again. Aya pouted, hoping that the man would sneak a look at the tengu and succumb to her womanly charm. Aya needs to be showered with attention, otherwise she’ll whine and complain. She knew this, and so she inched a few centimeters closer. But she did as she was told. She’ll wait. Even though she wasn’t good at it. Was she a dog? But here she was, waiting for her treat, her reward.

She’ll wait. Even though the thoughts of the man’s lips on her neck, his fingers entwined with hers, sent Aya into an unyielding fervor, she’ll wait. Good things come to those who wait. And the tengu, restless as she was, sat down like a good girl.

The man held the pen in his hand, unassuming in its design. A single black crow sat on top of the pen, outstretching its tiny wings. Other than that, the pen was just a pen. He pressed his lips to the crow out of contemplation, but Aya blushed. She had done the same when it was her pen. Aya redirected her attention elsewhere out of her sudden bashfulness. The man’s clothes were, for the most part, traditional tengu attire. A robe of white, save for the dark-red sash that was more of a belt than obi.

Considering how much time he spent with the tengu, it was only natural, Aya mused. Despite all this, he was exclusively her human. And she was exclusively his tengu. She tried not to think too hard about it. Waiting was slightly harder when one was as giddy as a schoolgirl.

The pen clicked shut. She pounced, toppling over the man with eager anticipation. Grinning impishly, Aya rested her head on the man’s shoulder.

“Shall we?” whispered Aya, teasing the man’s lips with hers.

The man balked, shaking his head once. “One moment.” He sidestepped Aya, moving over to the open window and shut it closed. He then slid the blinds down and covered them with the curtains for good measure. The reporter, none too keen about voyeurism, blushed at her mistake. “Now then.”

He didn’t wait another moment. He swept Aya off her legs and threw her on top of the bed, provoking a surprised yelp from the tengu. Two predatory eyes meet Aya’s. Apparently, she was the hunted, not the hunter. She averted her gaze, flustered with desire. But she waited no longer. The tengu pulled her human down into the bed, covers strewn all over the mattress. Soon, the covers were on the floor and her clothes were on the covers. But not his.

Aya, in an almost perverse want, pleaded for him to keep his robe on. He obliged. And then he attacked.

The tengu gasped sharply, shivering at each touch. He guided his hands to her hair, her breasts, her everything. He traced imaginary shapes on her back and nuzzled the side of her neck. Aya, unable to contain herself, succumbed to pleasure. She attempted to restrain her voice but to no avail. She wondered how much sound travels past the walls of this room. But she didn’t have time for any more conjectures. Instead, the man drew her in for a touch of the lips and reached elsewhere, far below the breasts and the stomach.

Aya, unaware of his plans, suddenly found herself clutching the back of his robe. She buried her face in his shoulder to dampen her whimpers. Her face was flushed, her breathing ragged, and her self-dignity gone. She wasn’t usually like this. It must have been the waiting.

Aya glanced at the man. For a moment, their eyes remained in contact. But just for a moment. He responded to her with a series of kisses on her breasts. Her hands, weak from the overwhelming sensation, somehow tightened their grip on his robe.

He moved his lips to where his hands were. Upon contact, Aya completely forgot the quiet of the night and let out a complete, thorough moan. Her sense of tact went under as soon as he did. Her inhibitions disappeared the moment he kissed her lower regions. And her lover did more than just kiss her there.

She felt herself nearing the edge. It became hard to formulate exact thoughts. Instead, varying pitches of “Ah!” echoed around the room. But Aya didn’t notice, too focused on not biting her lip off. Her body convulsed, her moans becoming soundless gasps as he slowed down to let her finish. Her hands moved to the very sheets of the bed, grasping at them until her knuckles her white. With one last exhale, she leaned on her lover’s shoulder.

He pet her head, stroking her hair gently. Aya clung to him, wrinkling the folds of his robe. The entire scene was embarrassing. At least, she thought it was. Her guile may be sharp and her wit may be quick, but Aya was still a romanticist at heart. Though she had finished only a minute ago, the tengu wanted more.

But she waited.

And he rewarded her.

Already he was nibbling at her ears and stroking her bare breasts, greedily wanting more of the tengu. Aya reciprocated by throwing off his robe and granting him rite of passage. He whispered in her ear and she blushed and gawked and stammered.

Until she felt him pressing against her, and then she quieted herself. Save for her scream, which ricocheted off the walls. A hand quickly covered Aya’s mouth. The man, red-faced, whispered in her ear. “I’m glad you’re excited, but I’d like to keep our personal matters private.”

His hot breath against her ear did wonders to her basic survival needs as she forgot to breathe. But only for a second. She recomposed herself and retorted. “As you know, I’m not good at keeping affairs private.”

His look was of puzzlement and Aya quickly wanted to retract her words because of it. But he kissed, he thrusted and all of a sudden her words were the last thing on her mind anymore. He moved inwards and outwards and every time he moved outwards, Aya would beckon. Instead, he pushed her further into the bed’s sheets and gripped her wrists. The tengu was helpless. She could have easily broken free, but then the show would be over and she wouldn’t get what she really wanted. So she was helpless. Not to say that it wasn’t enjoyable; Aya secretly wanted him to push her over and have his way with her. Her unstifled moans at his movements made her desires not so secret anymore. But her needs were still unfulfilled. She, with tears in her eyes, beckoned once more.

The man, caught by her sweet trap, obliged to her demands.

He pulled her close and she bit at his shoulder, grasping at his back and waist, desperate for intimate contact. She cried for mercy and squirmed and wanted her lover to continue, though her half-hearted protests said otherwise. Her voice was weak when she resisted and yet so strong when she gave in to her own passion. Despite her verbal rebukes, she did nothing but hold his shoulders and clench her teeth to prevent the whole neighborhood from barging in. Not that it wasn’t loud. Because it was.

Aya whined at the slightest change in angle, panting with undisguised pleasure after every movement made inside of her. The whining only stopped when he kissed her with rough force and brash embarrassment. Aya closed her eyes for the duration. Though unsubtle, though callous, she did not object.

She breaks off the kiss, for she had to breathe. She stared at his eyes. Two resilient brown eyes they were. The more that Aya looked into them, the more womanly she felt. She was still a girl, after all. Staring into her lover’s eyes while making love was the exact sort of thing that she liked. But she wouldn’t dare tell, not even he. He probably knew but didn’t ask, lest he incur Aya’s wrath. He was like that.

She wrapped her legs around her lover, in a fit of whim and desire and feel-goodness. He in return caressed her hips, grunting in warning and keeping himself steady. His pace then quickened, the man desperate for release. Aya took it all in, arching her own back in deep want and bucking slightly in contentment. She had nearly bashed her head against his, but she had luckily missed.

She lay there, gasping for breath. Her lover did the same. She, in the overflowing afterglow, grabbed at him and held him close. “…Mine.”

But he was already dozing by that time.


A rather noisy shuffling of pages woke Aya from her slumber. The covers were mysteriously back on the bed. Still groggy and sore from last night, she rolled over, massaging her stiff shoulder. Probably slept on it wrong. Her hair was disheveled, her back ached, and her heart was aflutter. Throwing on a single shirt, she stood up and sneaked to the man sitting precariously on the creaky, wooden chair. Draping her arms around the man’s shoulders, Aya mumbled a soft good morning.

He tapped his pen on the counter, concentrating on the paper before him. “Tea’s on the counter. I made some if you want it.”

And then she realized. “Did you not finish yesterday?”

“…No,” he gruffly replied. He blushed; he rarely blushed. “I was preoccupied.”

Smiling, she threw herself back on the bed, draping her body with the covers. Tea will have to wait, she thought. There were more pressing matters to attend to. Aya, ever the impatient one, watched him scrawl his scrupulous handwriting.

And she waited.
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>>No. 35077
File 139941880181.jpg - (193.04KB, 858x873, ehehe~.jpg) [iqdb]
Well done.
>>No. 35091
>>No. 37181
File 143521506735.jpg - (212.58KB, 849x1202, sentiment fully appreciated.jpg) [iqdb]
The eyes of Momiji Inubashiri have the capacity to discern any intruder from as far as a thousand ri. Inubashiri's impressive vision is nothing less than an asset to the tengu village. Truly, she is the most vigilant, the most dutiful, the most capable of any guard in the white wolf tengu squadron.

And yet such eyes of Inubashiri search the lands devotedly not for potential intruders but for a specific individual. Her back is turned to the entrance of the mountain; her front faces the tengu village.

The air is calm, the sun is setting, and Momiji is frantically pacing back and forth at her guard post.

Many say patience is a virtue. Momiji thinks little of such verbiage. Patience is wonderful... if only she had some. How eagerly did she wait for the time to tick by so she could return to her quarters. Yet her desire did little to pass the time. And how slow it passes.

The village need not necessarily be guarded. Tengu are more than capable of defending themselves against any real threat. Even then, they could count on the shrine maiden. Village guarding is archaic. Still, tradition is tradition, no matter how unnecessary the tradition. Even if it means that Momiji cannot return to the comforts of her home at a reasonable time.

So Momiji waits, consciously counting every passing second with strained tension. She waits for the sun to wane, sinking into the depths of the horizon. She waits for the dusk to arrive with its cool breeze and along with it the sounds of the night. She waits for the next guard to take her post. She waits and waits until she can wait no more.

And lo, Her time is done.

Then with speed in likeness to Shameimaru, Momiji disappears from her wretched guard post and charges straight to her housing. She barrels through the door and slams it shut, deftly locking it with a flick of the wrist.

A man, awaiting her arrival, waves to the tengu gently. “Welcome home.”

Momiji, already half disrobed, pushes him to the bedroom. The two wrestle on the mattress, the man desperately attempting to wriggle out of the tengu's grasp but to no avail.

“Um...” He nervously laughs, his partner pinning him to the bed with her knees. “Do you need something, Momiji?”

She contemplates the man's statement, musing over her own thoughts. “I need patience.”

“... Do you need something from me?” he clarifies, still straddled by the tengu.

“My desires have yet to be satisfied.” She glances coquettishly at the man. Hopping off of his chest, Momiji sits down on her knees, arms reaching towards her human. “For now, you can make do by hugging me.”

His mind takes a moment to process the information. Then he smiles and complies, pulling her close to him.

Momiji, with her insatiable want, demands more. “Next, you are to kiss me.” She levels her gaze with her partner's, gruffly waiting for her request to be fulfilled.

“Ever the demanding one,” he replies, gently brushing aside a stray lock of Momiji's hair from her face. Chuckling, he kisses her forehead, her nose, and lastly her cheek. But he does not kiss her lips.

Momiji pulls her human close, frowning. “More,” she orders, bumping foreheads.

He grins and gives her a peck, brushing against her lips just briefly.

The tengu scoots back, blushing furiously at the sudden contact. She considers retribution for his impudence but thinks better of it. “...More,” she commands, resolving to be firm with her selfish demands.

So he indulges her, gratifying her request with another kiss, one that might have buckled Momiji's knees were she not already sitting down. He pulls away from Momiji, allowing her just enough time to breathe.

But she forgets to.

Momiji, in earnest fervor, touches her lips with her left hand in a rather transparent attempt to mask her panting. She too knows this, chewing on her index finger in frustration. During this time, her partner eagerly coaxes her out of her already loosened top, flinging it away. The tengu waits in anticipation for what happens next.

But nothing happens. The man only stares, scouring her figure with his eyes.

“Well?” impatiently asks Momiji.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, scratching his head. “I really enjoy looking at you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she replies crossly. Still, the tengu can't help but feel slightly pleased at his flippant praise, though she'll never admit it to the man.

He doesn't reply, instead faithfully caressing her breasts. Momiji insistently requests for more. The man lays a few kisses on her nape, causing the tengu to shiver. She loosens her modest skirt but the sash catches her rear, snagging the skirt halfway. She struggles, wiggling her behind to free herself from her own trap. Momiji, scowling, finally unravels the tangled sash, letting the skirt drop to the covers of the sheets. Her partner stifles a snort, doing his utmost best to look solemn and appropriately lustful.

“Do you have anything to add?” she questions, voice laced with self-loathing.

Grinning, he nods. “You should be proud of your healthy figure.”

Momiji glowers at the man in undisguised irritation. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Immensely,” her partner serenely breathes.

He undresses Momiji fully, discarding her undergarments with little care. Momiji, as annoyed as she may be, did not have the will to stop him from doing so.

He holds free rein over her body, touching her above and especially below, eliciting stifled whimpers of his beloved tengu. He pulls Momiji close to him with his free hand, exploring her body with the other. She grows increasingly quiet in verbal assertion with every passing second, instead crying out in heated expression. Unable to take it anymore, she squirms, twisting her legs closed in a vain attempt to steel herself from her own pleasures. His touch got to her; the white wolf falls back on the covers, unable to choose between biting her lips and remembering how to breathe. But still she is not satisfied.

Momiji, red-faced from her human's little session, grabs him and pulls him down with her. Initially surprised, the man blankly stares into Momiji's face. There comes a moment where he realizes the nature of her action, making him glance brusquely to the side in embarrassment.

But without demur, he takes her.

Momiji whines, surprised by the immediate contact of skin. Her face is completely flushed, looking towards her human with teary eyes. With an unexpectedly human force, the man grasps Momiji’s shoulders and claims her. She, fully pressed to the sheets of the mattress, supports herself with twisted sheets and rogue pillows.

In this moment, Momiji forgets all about her selfish demands and lets out a moan, stifled purposefully with a nearby pillow. Her body rocks to the man’s rhythm, shaking the bed with ease. Momiji gasps heavily, raising no protest to his steady motions. He brushes his hands against her naked flesh, running them down her sides and waist. When he reaches her hips, he clutches them and pulls the tengu closer, pushing into her as much as he can.

Momiji responds by clawing at his back and voicing her bouts of pleasure. She tries to keep her breathing steady but is interrupted by her own gasps and cries. At this point, Momiji wistfully realizes that her successive climaxes will do little to solve the issue that is her shortness of breath. And she is one to climax both easily and repeatedly. She does her best to hide it, but she isn’t one to hide it well. Her partner reaches over and kisses her behind the ears – Momiji indiscreetly cries out in a mix of embarrassment, surprise, and unadulterated desire.

The tengu realizes the end will come soon. Rocking her hips in conjunction with her partner's movements, Momiji doesn't bother stifling her feverish moans any more. Instead, she focuses on the exaggerated movements of her human. He quickens his pace and holds onto Momiji’s thighs, refusing to let go.

She quivers, accepting his warmth gratefully. In the height of her pleasure, she suddenly remembers how to breathe. So she exhales, letting out more of a whimper than a sigh. And then she inhales, catching her breath.

Her partner's grip on her hips and thighs loosens and she breaks free, bashfully wiping away her drool. Embarrassed, the tengu retreats to the shower, running away from the scene. But her human chases her. The water's already on but he does not care about such trivialities. Hopping into the stall, he joins Momiji in the shower.

“...It's cramped,” she complains.

“So it is.” He wraps her arms around her waist, sighing contently. “Momiji?”


“I love you.”

Her gaze meets the ground, focusing on the descending water droplets splashing onto the floor. Again, she considers retribution in the form of a quick blow to the side of the head. But her retaliation would be uncalled for and unwarranted. Finally conceding to herself, she replies brusquely, “I lo... I appreciate your sentiment.”
>>No. 37577
File 144991302133.jpg - (192.14KB, 850x560, hurry up it's getting cold.jpg) [iqdb]
The crow tengu stood in a quiet, simmering temper in the rampant snow. Her wings, cluttered in white, could be likened to an angel's. Dusting off the specks of white on her person, the angel muttered: “I despise this season.”

Hatate Himekaidou buried herself deeper into her muffler, silently cursing winter once more. She longed for a very particular kind of warmth. She did not long for the warmth of friendship, nor did she long for the warmth of a lover. Hatate longed for the sincere, pure, devoted warmth that only a blazing fire could provide. However, since she had neither friend nor fire present, the warmth of a lover would have to do.

A male appeared in a flash of white, shaking off the loose packets of snow from his coat. His complexion held varying hues of red that indicated both the sharpness of wind and his level of anxiety. Upon making eye contact with the tengu, the man breathed a sigh of relief. He had arrived.

Hatate's irritation at the weather quickly subsided at the arrival of the human. If there were anything good about the winter, mused the crow, it would be the fact that lovers tend to cuddle during a cold spell. True to Hatate's observations, the man shivered and nestled up close to her for some warmth. The crow simpered, pressing against him happily. She, seizing the opportunity, wrapped her arm around his and enjoyed the simple pleasure that was the contact between their hands.

“Hatate,” the man breathed, blowing out her name in a puff of air. “Did you wait long?”

“Longer than I would have preferred,” said the crow. She settled into the man's chest, seeking some heat before her travel. “The cold and I never seem to make peace. I always wonder how Momiji survives the night patrol when I myself succumb to the frost in nigh an hour.”

“Inubashiri is a tough one,” the man replied, his mind briefly wandering to the wolf tengu. “The difference lies in your poor constitution.”

“Just what are you insinuating?” frowned Hatate, her irritation creeping up her cheeks. She pouted, breaking off and walking ahead of the man. “Are you implying I am weak?”

“I'd never.” The man turned the crow around, brushing aside a lock of her hair endearingly. Hatate blushed, the red reaching the tip of her ears. It put a smile on the man's face, one that was just warm enough to make Hatate cease her shivering.. “I am saying you're delicate.”

“How precious. Me,” she scoffed, “delicate.”

“Are you not?” asked the man. He pulled the tengu into a deep hug, stroking her head. “You are permitted to lie, but it is obvious when you utter falsities.”

“I am not,” denied Hatate. In a sudden fit, the crow pushed the man away, reeling back for a sneeze. Still, she held her head up high. Eyes watery and nose slightly running, she repeated herself. “I am delicate in no such fashion.”

Her human merely nodded; the tengu's pride would allow him to proceed no further. “Then,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Shall we?”

Hatate nodded, giving his hand a slight squeeze. “Let's.”

The path back home was perilous – Hatate worried that she might perish by frost. She tucked in her wings and wrapped her arms about herself. Though her partner offered up his coat, the crow would have no affiliation with it. She would rather die of cold than appear weak and frail.

Both the human and the crow arrived at the foot of the tengu village. The gate stood firm, and its gatekeeper more so. Momiji Inubashiri held vigil, her hand tapping at the hilt of her sheathed blade. “Hatate,” greeted the wolf, giving a curt nod to the two. “Safe travels?”

“By the strict definition of the word, I suppose so,” replied the crow. “The snow is an object of malice and I wish it to be gone from the world.”

“I wonder whether a winter will pass where you will not complain of it,” the wolf laughed.

The crow huffed. “I did not ask for your opinion.”

“I know you did not.” The guard stepped away, granting passage to the human and the crow. “And also,” Momiji added, a subtle smile hinting at the end of her lips. “I shall turn way from the village tonight. I believe I will not be able to hear anything from the village if I do so. Safe passage, friends.”

Hatate ignored the guard, passing by with increased pace of foot. Only the chattering of her teeth prevented the crow from uttering a biting response. Instead, she sighed and forcibly pulled the man closer to her. The road to her house was a silent one. Hurriedly, Hatate dragged along the human. She wanted nothing to do with the cold.

The crow unlocked the door to her home – she had survived. The reflection of her person marred the clear glass in the windows, a mantle of white adorning her shoulders. She brushed off the snow in a fit of irritation. “Unsightly,” she scowled to herself.

Once the door was closed, Hatate threw off her muffler and slid off her coat. She untied her ribbons and tossed the frost from her brown locks with a quick shake of her head, letting packets of snow drop to the floor. With her hair undone and her clothes disheveled, Hatate deliberately slid off the left shoulder of her robe and sat herself down on a nearby chair. She stared at the man with curious intensity. “Now come embrace me. It's too cold for you to not be here at my side.”

“Of course,” he said, lightly restraining himself from touching her in rough fashion. He laid a gentle hand on the crow, cupping her cheek endearingly. The warmth of contact allowed her cheeks to breathe, flushing red in heat. Her tiny shoulders shuddered in relief. That proved to be the tipping point. He scooped her up into his arms and escorted her over to the other side of the house.

Hatate glanced over to the bedroom. “Isn't it too early in the evening for that?” Still, she made no explicit rejection to his advances and so he took her into the room.

He threw her into the bed gently, but not too gently, and started to undress her. The robe slid off with no complication, dropping to the edge of the bed. Hatate allowed him to trace her breasts, patiently sitting on top of the covers. He undressed himself as well, preparing himself for what was to come.

“You know,” she whispered into her lover's ear, “my panties are still on. Why is that, I wonder?”

He replied with his hands, moving down her hips to pull down her undergarment. Hatate daintily lifted her legs up, allowing him to slip the panties down her thighs and out of the way. As soon as she was rid of her underwear, Hatate hid under the covers.

“Now get under the blanket already,” the crow demanded. “The cold will take me before you do.”

The man complied, joining Hatate under the sheets. He kissed her chest, playing with her nipples with his hot tongue. He leaned up to nibble on her nape, fondling her modest and soft breasts.

“...You've an odd fixation on my chest.” Hatate, shivering in pleasure, pushed the man away for a moment. “Every time, you do this. You know how I feel about them. I pray to the gods above that my breasts will one day fill your hands. But again and again, I must acknowledge that we live in a cruel and unforgiving world.”

“Your chest is fine,” he smiled, rubbing her cheek affectionately. “I actually like your chest. I like everything that you are.”

“U-Uhm, ah...” Hatate stammered, smitten with desire. But she recovered quickly, pulling the human closer and harrumphing. “I wouldn't settle for anything less.”

He chuckled and pressed his fingers below. She sank lower into the bed, gripping the sheets tightly. Hatate trembled in pleasure as he used his other hand to caress her breast. Her moans prompted him to quicken in pace until Hatate could take it no longer. She arched her back, crying out in ecstasy. The human let her wind down from her orgasm. When she was finished, he glanced at the tengu lovingly.

“Well? Continue!” Hatate finally said, tears brimming in her eyes. “I know you love to dawdle, but let's keep going.”

“Of course.” He pinned her down on the bed, kissing her roughly. In response, she wrapped her legs around the man, letting him do as he pleased to her. The man pushed into her, forcing out a sweet moan from his partner. Hatate rocked with his rhythm, pressing her body into him as tightly as possible. He shook the bed, viciously pushing into her hips.

Hatate wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She reached out for a kiss, leaning up to her partner's face. He kissed her full lips and prodded his tongue with hers, reaching behind her. He distracted her with his left hand on her breast, his right going for Hatate's back. In one motion, the human slid his index finger down the base of her wings.

Then the crow yelped, letting out a scream of pure bliss. The human derived satisfaction from that. He ravaged her entire body mercilessly, renewed with burning lust from her shouting. Gripping Hatate's wrists, he increased his tempo and pushed her down roughly, about to let everything out. “C-Can I?” he asked between grunts.

“Yes, you idiot! Yes!” The crow let out one final cry. He twitched, filling Hatate fully. She panted to catch her breath, basking in the afterglow. The human pulled up the sheets and stroked Hatate's hair gently.

Then the crow shuddered, prompting the man to envelop her in his arms. As quickly as the heat between bodies came, it disappeared shortly after. Now Hatate was shivering. After a moment of silence, she asked her partner, “Shall we take a hot bath?”

“I do not mind.” He sat upright in the bed, grinning at the tengu still in his arms. “Cold again?”

“Very much so,” she sniffled. Hatate hurried out of the bed to snatch her robe from the ground and dress herself. “Now go warm the water.”

“As you wish.” With a final laugh, he added, “I have such a cute princess to take care of.”

“You are lucky that I love you,” Hatate spat out.

“You are right. I am a very lucky man.” He put his own robe back on, kissing her on her forehead. “I love you too, Hatate.”

“Hurry up and go warm the bath, you.” Hatate shooed away her lover. She still hated the winter. But with him, she felt a little better about the season. Just a little. At that time, Hatate realized something.

“Oh,” she said, blushing to herself.


Momiji wondered if she could guard the tengu village with earplugs.
>>No. 37578
AND SO ENDS THE PURPLE PROSE SAGA: LEWD TENGU EDITION. It only took me an entire year and a half to write these shorts.

Now I retire from /at/ forever. Or write about hand-holding exclusively.
>>No. 37579

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