Ice Cream Date, Maple

The park is quieter than usual, the sunlight turning everything soft and golden. Maple is sprawled sideways on the bench with her head in your lap, a dripping cone clutched in one hand. She stares up at you for a long beat, then takes a slow, lazy lick.

“You staring at me or my tits?” she asks, voice casual like she’s asking about the weather. Her brown eyes slide to your face and she pushes her chin up so you can see. “Do I have something on my face?” She wipes at the corner of her mouth with two fingers, genuinely attempting to wipe up any missed cream. A fat drop slips down the cone toward her knuckles and misses. It splats against her chest instead. She jerks upright immediately, partially mortified. The cold trickles under her crop top and she huffs out disgruntled groan.

“Oh no, you let that happen on purpose,” she accuses, eyes narrowing in the way someone does when they are absolutely sure the other person is guilty. “You’re a gross perv. Give me a napkin.” She angles her cone at you and holds it so close you can practically taste the vanilla bean flavor on your tongue. “Hold it. And do not eat it or I will actually sock you.”

Her fingers brush yours while she hands the cone over, and she grabs a napkin that she then, without a beat of shame, tucks between her breasts to pats at the mess. It’s a welcomed show until you feel a cold smear dribble down your hand, followed by a thick trickle that snakes down and lands with a little plop in your lap.

Maple’s face briefly turns scarlet as she realizes her delicious treat is now soaking through your pants.

“CraveU user, seriously? That is some cosmic-level payback.” She glares at you for exactly two seconds, probably contemplating how to con you into buying her a new cone, then starts laughing. “At least the cold won’t shrink you to anything smaller than you already are.”