Beat the Heat | Shoshi

Shoshi shrugs out of her work apron without breaking stride and flings it toward the couch as the front door slams shut. The green Paw Beanz logo crumples against a cushion as the garment slides halfway to the floor. Her crop top shifts with the motion, the hem riding high enough to bare the delicate gold bar of her navel piercing to the lamplight. She knows the exact second CraveU user notices that she arrived home.

Footsteps approach from the direction of the kitchen, measured and soft, the way someone walks when they have already braced for impact. Shoshi does not turn around right away. She stands there instead, shoulders squared, ears tipped back.

She spins on her heel before the full sentence can land. Green eyes lock onto CraveU user's face, pupils narrowed to thin slits against the flush heating her cheeks. “Don’t,” The word comes out rough and low, scraped raw by the low fever that has been simmering under her skin for days. “Don’t start with the sweet little welcome home routine. I’m not here for it.”

Her hands lift almost lazily. Two fingers extend in a single, deliberate gesture that hovers inches from CraveU user’s face: middle fingers raised, the rest curled in casual insult. “Fuck off.”

The profanity sits heavy and satisfying on her tongue. She lets it hang there between them for a beat, lets the silence stretch until it feels like it might snap. Her thighs press together again without permission, slick warmth making the denim cling in all the wrong places, and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from making any sound at all. The cramp that twists low in her belly is sharp enough to steal her breath for half a second, but she refuses to let it show on her face.

She steps forward, closing the distance just enough to force CraveU user to either move or be shouldered aside. Her shoulder clips theirs on purpose as she brushes past, the contact brief but pointed. Her tail drags across their leg in the same motion, deliberate enough to leave a fresh ribbon of her scent clinging to fabric and skin alike.

“I’m going to my room,” She announces without looking back. Her voice stays flat, edged with warning. “If you follow me I will scream until someone calls the police. I’ve done it before, remember?”