Closed RP Hot Singles in Your Area

[HighVoltage]

Mari stuck her tongue out in response to Spork’s extended finger, finally taking a bite of her own sandwich as her friend dug into theirs with wolfish glee. Ah, the simple love between a Spork and their food. Truly, it was a wonderful relationship, however short-lived. An errant hashbrown flew her way, softly thudding against the couch as Mari made no move to catch it. She was bad enough at catching things when Spork purposefully tossed them to her, let alone when they were digging through a bag of McDonald’s remnants for a lost drink.

She, of course, immediately spotted the culprit, who snatched up the sugary beverage in an instant. Mari raised an eyebrow at Freyja’s attempt at deception, a slight shake of her head, a warning in tandem; this wasn’t going to end well, and to leave her out of it. She could already tell this was going to go poorly, just by the way the edges of Spork’s voice crackled with frost. Freyja, to her stupid credit, simply made things worse, a lead foot as they were already hurtling towards a cliff edge.

Mari barely had a chance to shout “Spork! My food!” in what they’d called her ‘mom voice’ as furniture shrieked against floor, a rogue sandwich smacked the wall behind her, and Spork had their hands on Freyja, the both of them crashing to the floor below.

Mari would have been content to let them fight. She’d considered warning Freyja that she was not only barking up the wrong tree, but indeed at the wrong forest entirely. But the girl had to learn at some point. There was an art to aggravating Spork, and at its core was knowing when to not push their buttons.

She was going to leave Spork to teach Freyja that lesson before she heard the click of Spork’s teeth snapping against the air along with what sounded suspiciously like a growl. After an (admittedly token), “Hey, stop it”, Mari got up off the couch with a sigh and headed to her lab. Of course this would happen. Where there was pitch, there was ash, and who else really would be able to tug the reins on Spork when they got too caught up in the more physical aspects of kismesitude?

All this drifted through her head as Mari grabbed the spray bottle she kept by her whiteboard and walked back into the living room, twisting the knob to ‘stream’ before sending several squirts of water towards the caliginous couple.

“Knock it off.” Mari deadpanned, ensuring that both of them had been properly drenched before going back to her spot on the couch and returning to her now-cold sandwich. The first one, not the one that had been tossed at her in haste. That one was probably behind the couch already. She’d make Spork get it later.

 

[HighVoltage]

Freyja managed to avoid jumping at the sudden noise of Spork’s hand slamming down onto the table, their chair screeching at them in protest as Spork climbed halfway onto the table. There was a look in their eyes, nestled just this side of hatred that had her baring her teeth in a wolf’s grin. Her eyes flicked to Mari as she called out a warning. Not for Freyja’s sake, but for her own. At least she knew where Mari stood, then. She would give Spork her fair share of hell, but when lines were drawn, she would always stand on their side.

That was as far as her train of thought went before it was promptly derailed by a scruffy, topless gremlin launching themself at her across the table.

Spork hit Freyja like a sack of bricks, sending her flying backwards in her chair. Instinct kicked in as she tucked her head in just before she hit the ground, keeping her from cracking it against the floor. Then they were on top of her, a jagged mass of limbs that was very familiar. Freyja struggled against them, the familiar pitch-black flame lighting in her stomach as she wrestled against Spork, her perception narrowing until all her awareness was focused on the blond above her. A growl ripped through the space between them; Freyja wasn’t sure whose it was, dimly aware of a hand tangling in blond hair and yanking it back, gnashing teeth just fueling her further.

A yelp quickly followed as Freyja felt cold water splash against her. It was followed by several more streams, and the manly noise Spork made let Freyja know that she was not the only one to suffer the aqueous assault. Mortification flooded Freyja’s whole body, a crimson tide that quickly covered her face as she remembered there was a third person in the room.

She couldn’t bring her eyes to look up at Mari, unable to shift her gaze any higher than her ankles. Fortunately, she moved away quickly, leaving Freyja to contemplate what the fuck just happened and what she’d done in front of Mari. She pushed back at Spork’s shoulder, the gesture passive and dull, the opposite of the flint-and-steel she’d been striking earlier.

“Get off.”

She grumbled, dimly aware of something cold and wet seeping into her shirt from the floor. A quick glance showed a casualty of their scuffle; the frappe was on the floor, upended, its contents spilled and melting, trickling along the ground towards the two of them. She pushed a little firmer this time, trying to sit up properly, eyes still avoiding the couch where she’d heard Mari settle herself.

 

[Katpride]

They fall to the floor in a tangle of limbs and chair, and Spork can hear the moment their miscalculation lands - the frappe hits the vinyl with a crack-sploosh, presumably spilling everywhere, and their triumphant grin turns to horror in an instant. “My mocha-caramel frappe with extra whip!”

They reach a hand out towards it, but check the motion before they can get a handful of slop and curl their fingers in the shoulder of Freyja’s shirt instead, tugging sharply to keep themself from being thrown off by her squirming. “What the hell- hey!”

With some kind of twisty shoving maneuver, she finally manages to toss them aside, but they refuse to let go, dragging her along and using the momentum to roll further than they think she intends, ending up on top again and attempting a proper pin out of - they don’t know, reflex or something.

It doesn’t work like they want it to, and they can feel the situation spiraling out from between their fingers even as they bare their teeth, frustration spilling over into pure aggravation, and give up on proper tactics, grabbing one of her arms and leaning over with the simple, shining goal of biting her as hard as they fucking can.

She can take it. And, further, she deserves it, dammit.

Their first attempt is foiled, and they’re just gearing up for a second when lukewarm water splashes against their bare skin, the suddenness of it making their teeth clack together in a hiss. They jolt away from Freyja, only partly gratified when they hear her yelp, and turn to frown at Mari, still halfway glaring.

She sprays them again, in the face this time, and they splutter, turning quickly away from the assault and attempting to both wipe the water out of their eyes and shield their face as she walks in a quarter-circle around them, the spray bottle working overtime to fuel her watery rampage. They can hear the trigger squeaking on every pull, protesting its abuse.

“Maaari,” they complain, finally, when the attack winds to an end, raising their head just slightly from its defensive tuck as they listen for where best to aim their frown.

A single step draws their attention, and they turn their head in that direction - just in time for her to pour approximately half a spray bottle’s worth of water directly into their hair. They shriek and swat at her as soon as they realize what’s happening, but she’s standing just out of range. All they can do is duck behind their hands, a stream of grumbled curses steadily losing steam as the water runs out and they listen to her walk away.

Flicking water off their hands, they continue to grumble under their breath even as they shift off of Freyja, expression near mutinous but with their earlier fire thoroughly quenched. “Yeah, yeah.”

They stand, kicking ineffectively at the puddle in an attempt to find solid footing before offering a hand down to help her up as well. They say nothing of it, still frowning lightly, an expression that deepens when they shift their face slightly in Mari’s direction.

“C’mon,” they say, once she’s up, jerking their head towards the hallway, and, by extension, their room. Giving the puddle one last kick and a genuinely irritated one-finger salute, they turn on their heel and stalk off in the direction they’d indicated, flicking water at Mari when they pass her on the couch.

Their raised middle finger disappears around the corner, and they rustle around in the hall closet for a moment before finding a towel for themself and another for their guest. The first is wrapped around their shoulders, the second lobbed in her general direction as they beeline back to their room, even more rustling and furniture-slamming following as they track down a decently clean set of clothes.