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amandaoftherosemire · 4 years ago

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And Hell is Just a Sauna -- Part Two

Fandom: Marvel/MCU AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7,490

Format: Short Series (Complete)

Warnings: Smut, 18+ only, language, angst.

Summary: You meet Bucky Barnes upon your mysterious and deadly escape from a power obsessed cult leader and his followers. Though you carry a secret in addition to the wariness of trauma, you can’t help your attraction to Bucky and his irascible demeanor. As for Bucky, he is drawn to the light he sees in you while he fears the things you’re hiding. Can you trust him with your secrets, and your life? Will you have a choice?

A/N: I like to keep each part of a series under 10,000 words, so that means this is now a four-part series! The ending is taking more words to tell than I’d expected, but this is not a new thing for me. Right now is an absolute buffet of content for us Bucky stans, so I’m very inspired and that means even more florid prose. Lucky you?

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four

And Hell is Just a Sauna -- Part Two

"Buh," you said as Bucky walked past you in nothing but his underwear, rubbing rain from his hair with a towel as he walked from the laundry room through the kitchen back to his own room.

"Sorry, doll," his amused voice came out muffled from under the towel. "I got soaked and filthy on my run and figured you'd rather I not track mud through the house."

"Mm-hmm," you answered absently, your attention not on his words, but on the sight of his body stripped down to almost nothing right in front of you. You were only human, after all, and he was beautifully built. All of him was roped in tight muscle, his shoulders broad, his chest and stomach taut, his thighs temptingly thick. You couldn't pry your eyes away.

"I took it all off in the mudroom,” he continued to rub at his hair as you took the opportunity to enjoy the sight of all that velvet soft skin, your mouth dry and your heart pounding, “and put it straight in the washing machine. Is that okay?"

“Uh-huh.” No more attentive to what you were saying than the first time, your eyes were on the tight ass clad in skimpy boxer briefs as you answered again. Your gaze jumped up when Bucky stopped in the middle of the kitchen and turned to face you, but your eyes, drawn by temptation, caught and held on a drop of rainwater poised at the crest of his left Adonis line.

Bucky’s eyes were bright and amused as he pushed the towel back to sling it over his shoulders. That amusement only deepened when he saw where you were looking and the heat in your gaze. His own gaze sharpened when he saw your breath catch as you bit your lip to hold back a whimper at the sight of that drop sliding down his skin and being absorbed into his waistband.

“You're staring at me, doll,” he purred and preened, his voice rich with arousal as he leaned against the kitchen counter, muscles rippling before your eyes and making it impossible to look elsewhere. “Are you sure everything's alright?”

You realized you were egregiously and blatantly ogling your houseguest and your eyes snapped to his. You found in that searing blue both affection and desire and it made your stomach tighten with lust. You flashed a reckless grin, unrepentant, at the eyebrow he’d arched in amused question.

The others had left only a couple of weeks ago, but you and Bucky had already fallen into an easy routine. He’d start the day with a run through the forest behind the house while you started the coffee. He liked to have the lay of the land in any given situation should a hasty escape prove necessary, so he spent every morning familiarizing himself with the area.

Most mornings he came in soaking wet and surly, so you tended to hang out in the kitchen waiting for your fix. You’d become downright addicted to starting the day with the buzz from watching him angrily toss all that wet hair out of eyes that blazed with irritation. He’d snatch up the cup of coffee you set out for him and guzzle it before stomping upstairs to the shower. By the time he came back down, he was usually in a much sunnier mood, helping you throttle back the lust that was making you crazier every day.

You didn’t know how you’d stopped yourself from jumping him, but that didn’t mean you were any good at hiding that you wanted to.

“Everything is just fine.” You spoke the words slowly, with a suggestive leer that had Bucky dissolving into helpless laughter. He leaned, elbows on the counter, to brace himself as he snickered, delighted with you.

You were struck by the first sight you'd ever had of Bucky in the grips of full-blown eye-squinting bent-over laughter. Dazzled, you stood smiling happily at him, grateful to see the gruff, grumbly bear of a man you’d welcomed into your home taken over by mirth, unafraid to express his joy out loud.

When Bucky opened his eyes to find you smiling helplessly at him, his heart started racing in reaction. Whatever was happening here, inside him, between you, he was as emotionally invested as he was physically interested. Whether he liked it or not, you'd become important to him. The only thing that had held him back from acting on the physical was the threat of the emotional, afraid to risk. The shine of affection in your eyes, however, the warmth with which you smiled at his happiness made it clear that you were as caught in him as he in you.

Bucky's face went pink, melting into something adorably bashful. The corners of his mouth curled up and his true smile was so sweet, you stood stunned and weak-kneed, quivering with lust tangled around something far more dangerous.

"May I have a cup of that to take to the shower?" Bucky ducked his head as he flushed even more at the dazzled look on your face. It made you want to move closer so that you could look under the tousled curtain, maybe duck under there with him to see if you could kiss that smile back. "I’m freezing."

I'll warm you up, you thought, completely distracted by the conflicting and yet complimentary desires to attack and adore him. "Cup of what?" you replied, spellbound and starry-eyed.

Bucky couldn't stop himself from easing around the counter towards you, drawn by the sweet shine of your eyes as you looked at him like he'd hung the moon even as your teeth worried at your lip in hunger. The dichotomy had him rock-hard and feeling reckless. His smile twisted as one corner lifted higher than the other in something feral and hot. "The coffee you got there."

The size of the man struck you once he was past that minor barrier and now fully in the kitchen with you. As he came near, approaching both you and the coffeepot, you turned to the cupboard behind you to reach for a mug, flustered at the temptation of his skin, the charm of his seductive smirk. "Oh! Uh, yeah." You pulled down a mug and filled it with coffee, turning back to hand it to him, black, as was his preference. He told you when he'd first come to stay with you that he'd learned to drink shit coffee in the army, so what you made tasted like gold.

Breath fast and a little tight, you tried to stop imagining what he'd do if you stepped forward and tasted him.

His eyes were both soft and hot when they met yours over the mug you handed him. He was only about a foot away, close enough that the smell of him was making you dizzy. The scent of him mixed with the rain and moss scent of the forest, lifting off his skin and into your head, muddling your mind and leaving you feeling weak and needy.

Bucky had once known when a dame was ripe for kissing, but that was a long time ago. He was almost certain you'd respond well should he move in. But he also couldn't bear it if he was wrong and he offended or frightened you. He would keep his hands to himself until you issued an invitation to touch.

"Thanks, doll," he rumbled, and it was all he could do not to respond to the shiver that visibly ran through you. He took a sip of coffee to stay close to you just a moment longer. Smirking over the rim of his cup, he murmured, unable to resist, "You smell almost as good as this coffee."

Your mouth quirked up and you snorted, amused by the almost compliment. Bucky turned to walk away, tempted nearly past endurance and needing a break before he gave in and reached out for the first thing he'd wanted for himself in decades. Heart still pounding, dizzy with want, he tossed over his shoulder, "Think about what you want to do this afternoon while I'm in the shower." What he wanted to do was clear in the growling dare of his voice, but he'd leave it up to you. "I'm in a good mood and I want to share it."

The desire in that sexy growl shuddered down your spine and made you laugh, "I think I like Broody Bucky in a good mood." When you laughed, you hoped he couldn't hear how breathless you were.

"I think I like you a little breathless."

Dammit, you thought as he started climbing the stairs up, watching his perfect ass and powerful legs as he went. "Oh, fuck you," you whispered at the cocky bastard once you thought he was out of earshot.

Only to hear what sounded like a whispered, "Okay," so faint, you couldn't be sure you'd heard it at all, though your body quaked in reaction like you had.

Bucky’s big warm palm was pressed against your neck as he cupped your throat and brushed his lips over yours. Considering the tension that had built and built to this inevitability, you’d expected something explosive when you both finally gave into it. Instead, you were being softly seduced by this sweet meshing of mouths.

He didn’t touch you other than that hot palm and the caress of his thumb over the line of your jaw. Your eyes were closed against the soft sprinkling of rain that came down from the soft gray sky. You stood underneath that cool mist in the backyard clearing where you'd been refilling the bird feeders and let the power of this simple kiss rock you to your foundations.

You'd been chirping and whistling at the birds and making jokes about what you imagined they thought of your undoubtedly atrocious accent when you'd caught Bucky giving you this particular look. You'd caught him smiling at you in this way more than once in the months you'd known each other, but today the lovesick grin on his face had finally become clear to you for what it was. Now that it was gone, you understood what had been holding you back all this time.

You'd stepped forward, a soft smile playing around your lips, unafraid for the first time of how he'd react, certain of your welcome. You'd tilted your face to his, inviting his touch, his kiss. He'd accepted with a sigh of gratitude, of relief, his hand coming up to cup your face and draw you closer without pressing his advantage.

You smiled against his mouth, parting your lips and lifting your hands to his chest as you pressed your advantage and your body against his. With a groan he tilted his head to kiss you more deeply as his tongue swept between your lips and his metal arm swept around your waist to hold you tight against him. You slid your arms around his neck and held on as he fed from your mouth with teasing nips of teeth and soothing sweeps of his tongue. You’d never been kissed like this, with both a voracious hunger and an aching tenderness. Whatever this was, it couldn’t, wouldn’t be just sex.

The two of you were way past that.

You kissed him back with abandon, ready, willing, and eager to have your way with him, to let him have his way with you. The time you'd spent together, the friendship you'd built had created a trust that allowed you to lose yourself in him. You used your arms around his neck to pull yourself as close as possible to rub your body against his in provocation, in invitation. Bucky couldn’t have resisted if he’d wanted to.

You squealed a very little against Bucky’s mouth when his arms tightened around your waist and he lifted you up. When you wrapped your legs around his hips, he shuddered with need and growled, “Y/N, tell me I can take you to bed. Please?”

With a nip at his lips that had them curving in appreciation even as he started to walk towards the house, carrying you all the way, you retorted, all sultry tease, “From first kiss straight to bed? You don’t waste any time.”

Bucky slowed in concern but continued to move forward thanks to that heated tone and the teeth you closed around the lobe of his ear, scraping gently as you moved to fix your mouth on his neck below. "When my luck is good," he apologized, worried that he'd misread what you wanted, "I can't afford to risk asking a lot of questions.”

Bucky could hardly believe how weak his knees felt as he climbed the steps to the back deck, but your mouth was unbelievably soft as you pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to his throat, humming with pleasure at the taste. His knees buckled when you sank your teeth in with a growl. "Shit, Buck, I'm not complaining." You lifted your head to grin recklessly into his face and he wanted you more than air. "Like we haven't been circling this for a while." You quirked your eyebrow as you tightened your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck to rub against him in temptation. "My bed's bigger, by the way."

The next moment, your back was against the mudroom door and Bucky's mouth was against yours in a kiss that felt unleashed. Until this instant, he'd been holding back, afraid he'd been deluding himself. His hands tightened, rough and exciting, around your ass as he pinned you to the door with his body to devour you. His lips firm but soft, he drank from your mouth like a man parched.

You hummed and kissed him back fervently, delighted with the situation in general. You didn’t know how or why, but this felt right, as though in this moment you were meant to be in this man’s arms. You twined around him, arms and legs as tight as you were capable as your hands dove into his hair. Tearing your mouth from his to drag in air, you moaned when his mouth, denied yours, immediately moved to your throat to taste your skin.

You gripped his shoulder and arched your neck into his mouth as your other hand scrabbled at the door behind you. When you found the knob and turned it, your combined weight pushed the door open and sent you stumbling into the mudroom.

Your cheerful cackle in response tempted Bucky nearly to his limit. Part of him wanted to let the two of you fall to the floor, unconcerned with where or how he made love to you as long as you were fine with it. The only thing stopping him was his determination to have you in a bed this first time. He wanted to take his time with you.

Fortunately, Bucky had spent a lifetime keeping his footing through uncertain terrain. He easily adjusted his grip as he took two long steps forward into the house. Those steps took the two of you to the washing machine where he stopped. He set you down on top of the machine so that his hands could race over you as feverishly as his mouth drank from yours.

He released your lips to close his teeth around your jaw at the same moment he filled his hands with your breasts. His hands gently kneading, you shuddered as his mouth ghosted down your throat and over your collarbones. "How do you make it all so easy?" He murmured the words against your skin and sent more shivers through your body and into your core.

You arched into his hands, his mouth as you slid your arms around the barrel of his chest to finally get your hands on all that tempting skin, skimming your palms up and under the still rain-damp cotton of his t-shirt. "There's a lot of difficult in the world." You paused to hum in pleasure at the sensation of velvet skin under your greedy fingertips, the give of the muscle underneath intensely satisfying. Your touch came together with the sound of your pleasure in that touch and rocketed through Bucky. “Why add to it?"

You smiled as Bucky’s mouth grew more avid, the metal arm around your waist more possessive, the hand racing over your body rougher with passion. Using the leverage of your legs around his waist and your hands against his back, you rocked against the erection pressing insistently at the juncture of your thighs, determined to pull him as deeply into the fire as you'd fallen.

Your voice low and rough with desire, you turned your head to whisper across Bucky's ear. "I was gonna use the word 'hard,'" a slow twist of your hips punctuated the word as his eyes lifted to yours, "instead of difficult, but I didn't want you to think I was complaining again."

The quiver of humor at your mouth was in stark contrast to the fire in your eyes. The rush of feeling that blew through Bucky felt both carnal and sublime as he shook with a need to both worship and profane. Holding you, being held by you inspired a tender sort of desire that sought to give and give. That tenderness, however, warred with something dark and mindless that thrilled to the glowing promise on your face, the twisting taunt of your body as you tempted the animal in him to ravish, to take.

Bucky bent slightly to slide his metal arm under your ass as his other hand closed around your thigh to boost you up and carry you into and through the kitchen. As you wrapped your arms around his neck to hold on, he squeezed you tight and, nose to nose with the blue flames of his eyes, you shuddered as he growled, "I swear, I've never known anyone like you."

Your eyes fluttered as each step through the house and up the stairs facilitated the caress of your body against his. Breathless, you started feathering your mouth over his ridiculously beautiful face as your hands combed through his hair. "And probably never will again, if you're lucky," you teased in a sultry murmur. "We're heading toward my bed, right?"

Bucky turned at that moment into your bedroom, so he didn't bother to answer with words, but by dropping you into said bed. He would have never refused the fist you'd clenched in his shirt to drag him down onto the bed with you, stretching out on top of you with a sigh of aching need. Bracing himself on his elbows on either side of your head, he took your mouth in another of those long drugging kisses of his, the kind that left you lightheaded and heavy-limbed with lust.

"Are you kidding?" he gasped as his beard scoured the skin of your neck and sent shivers running over you. His flesh hand moved to pull at the collar of your shirt to bare your skin for his feverish mouth, his breath feeding the fire beneath your skin. "I think you might be my lucky charm."

"You've also had really, really bad luck." Your hands were back under his shirt and working it steadily upward as you arched to help him push your clothing off or to the side. You wanted his skin against yours, wanted to know if the friction, the heat could burst into open flame.

Bucky had the buttons on your shirt flipped open startlingly fast and was shoving the edges aside as you were tugging his shirt over his head. He pressed your breasts in your bra together so he could skim his lips over the curves he made with his kneading, plumping hands. The sensations he was creating with those relentless hands and gentle lips had your belly tightening with need. The rumble of his voice seeped from his chest where it pressed into your stomach and had you rocking fretfully against him. "Which is how I know my luck's changed," he purred.

You laughed and started pushing to tip him over. His face wide with that true, sweet smile that made your heart do things you didn't have time to examine, he let you shove him over onto his back so you could scramble on top of him. That smile stretched into a lecherous grin when you straddled his hips, a knee on either side as your hands came up behind you to unhook your bra. You bent down to take his plump lower lip gently in between your teeth as you tossed the garment away and impatiently went to work on the button of his jeans.

Bucky could hardly believe how amazing he felt in the softness of your bed, under the softness of your body. Since he'd been returned to himself, with the help of Princess Shuri and her team, he hadn't been promiscuous, but he'd hardly been celibate. Some of the women he'd met in Wakanda had caught his eye, and he'd caught a few eyes back. As lovely as those experiences, those women, had been, those memories were seared away in the inferno he'd found in you.

His hands skimmed over the skin of your back to press you closer, to feel the softness of your breasts brushing against his chest. His head tilted as his mouth caught yours to draw you down into a kiss both fierce and tender. Hands skimmed back down to close over your ass and squeeze tight, rocking you against him even as your hands pushed insistently at his jeans and underwear.

"I want you naked." You sounded almost offended when you tore your mouth from his to gasp the words, pushed past endurance by the fact that you were both still half clothed. You'd decided to allow yourself this indulgence; you were going to enjoy it fully and you'd been dying to see him in nothing but all that lovely skin.

Bucky laughed, his gorgeous eyes crinkling. He looked more carefree than you'd ever seen him, and your heart sang at the sight. You giggled when he brought his hands around your body to flip the button on your jeans. "Ladies first?"

He thought his heart would burst out of his chest when you grinned at him, your face shining with friendly desire. You rolled to the side and started kicking your jeans off with merry glee, prompting Bucky to prop himself up to watch you shimmy out of the last of your clothing.

"What is your problem?"

Bucky shook himself out of the trance into which he'd fallen at the sight of you bared and beautiful and about to be his. The hostile tone to your voice coupled with the scowl of irritation on your face made his blood run cold in panic that he'd done something to upset or offend. He opened his mouth to beg forgiveness when you cut him off with a scoffed, and insistent, “Why aren't you naked yet?"

"Sorry, doll," he laughed in relief as he lay back down to push at what was left of his own clothes, "I got distracted when you took your pants off.”

“I wish I could say the same.”

Bucky’s neck went limp with laughter. He couldn’t stop himself; your rudely irritated attitude in the midst of this passionate interlude tickled his sense of humor in a way he couldn’t explain but also couldn’t help but enjoy. Still chuckling, he shoved the last of his clothing to the floor and looked to you.

You sat naked in the middle of your bed, legs curled to the side, an arm crossed over your chest to shield your breasts in an instinctual gesture of modesty. Though your posture communicated shyness and vulnerability, your eyes burned with desire. Bucky stretched, smugly, and folded his hands behind his head with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Speaking of distracting,” you murmured as your eyes raked over him, your gaze lighting fires as it went. He was big and muscled and scarred and your body yearned even as your heart ached at the reminder of the pain he'd endured. You reached out with the hand that had been protecting your modesty, needing to counteract that pain with pleasure, wanting to find out once and for all if his skin was as soft as it looked.

Bucky wanted to smile, to tease you back, but he’d never been touched like he was made of spun glass, like he'd shatter should you grip too tightly. Your fingertips against his skin were as light as the brush of butterfly wings, heat and pleasure spreading out from that delicate touch. Your face was soft with tenderness as you skimmed your fingers over his collarbone and up his arm, testing the firmness of his bicep as you went. Your eyes warm with appreciation as they skimmed over his body, you smiled even as flames seemed to flicker in the depths of your irises. He lay on his back looking up at you thinking you the prettiest, sexiest woman he’d ever seen.

Unable to resist another moment, Bucky reached up to pull you down across his chest, cupping your face to draw your mouth to his. You tipped over eagerly, past ready to have his skin against yours, to try him on for size. You kissed him with glee, with abandon, giving yourself up to the moment without hesitation.

Bucky didn't know if he'd ever wanted anyone the way he wanted you, but he also didn't know if he'd ever been kissed with such hedonistic enjoyment, like his mouth was literally delicious. He also didn't know if he'd ever been touched like the texture of his skin was an indulgence. He was almost certain he'd never made love like it was something pagan and luxurious.

He was one hundred percent certain, however, that he loved every minute of it.

As you devoured Bucky with careless greed, you pressed closer and closer until you were laying on top of him, knees on either side of his hips, elbows on either side of his head. His hands were holding you tight against him as they moved over you, kneading the muscles of your thighs and your ass, skimming his palms over your back. Those calloused hands were making you crazy, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine to your center.

You had your hands in his hair, scratching your nails over his scalp and making him shudder with the thrill of it. You were undulating slowly, deliberately, petting his body with yours even as you broke the kiss to bury your face in his throat, your panting breaths and velvet lips like heaven against his skin. Soft humming moans sounded in your throat and shot straight to the base of his spine, prompting him to rock up into you where his cock was pressed against your center.

That gentle motion caused him to slide through your folds, your clit rubbing against the backside of his cock and sending shockwaves of sensation to rocket from your core out through your body to your tingling fingertips. The sensation had you both moaning in unison and rocking more forcefully against each other.

Bucky didn’t know where the smooth lady-killer he’d once been had gone, but his hands were shaking as they moved over you in desperate need. He’d never felt so overheated or out of control. Somehow, you’d driven him to madness and he couldn’t get enough.

“I love how wet you are.” The words rumbled in his chest, and his voice, low and heated, felt like it was shivering up your spine and into your brain. You shuddered and rocked harder and faster against him, tempting both him and yourself with the tip of his cock at your entrance as you lifted to straddle his waist.

Bucky’s hands immediately skimmed up and over your hips and torso to cup your breasts in his hands, palming them almost roughly, teasing your nipples with his thumbs. On a gasping moan, you tilted your hips and felt the first inch of his cock slip inside you.

Both of you shuddered and moaned at the sensation, the sound of which made you grin cheerfully at Bucky in appreciation. For his part, he looked up at you like you were an angel come to earth and made your heart sigh.

You kept pressing your hips down and into his, the feeling of his cock pushing into you so delicious you couldn’t stop. He tilted his head back and released such a beautiful, heartfelt groan of pleasure you could hardly believe he was real. He was too pretty, too sexy, and you could swear you needed him more than your next breath.

Thankfully you didn’t have to choose, and you gasped in air in tight little pants of need colored by humming whimpers. Bucky’s hands traveled from your breasts down to your hips to grip as the sound of your pleasure melded with the feel of slick, wet heat wrapped around his cock, drawing him in to drown in ecstasy.

You felt like you were going out of your mind as you began to rock your hips in a slow pivot that sent him rasping deliciously out and satisfyingly back into you. His hands were racing over you as he sat up to crush you against his chest and take your mouth in a kiss more scorching than anything you'd ever known.

You'd known it wouldn't take much of a spark to make you burn for him, but you'd never expected the friction between you to become a fully involved conflagration so quickly. You'd known heat the likes of which most couldn't imagine and still, you were astonished.

But you'd never burned like this before.

You buried your hands in his hair and held on as the fire inside you ate him alive. Your body an undulating twine of flame around him, you caressed him with every inch of your skin that you could, wanting to share the heat that had become so much a part of you.

His muscles bunched beneath you as his arms banded tight and the next thing you knew, you were on your back in the middle of your bed. At the same moment Bucky's hips were sliding between your legs and the sensation of his cock gliding smoothly back inside you made you arch in ecstasy.

Bucky could barely breathe in the heat pumping off of you and warming him down to his bones. He'd been so cold for so long, he'd forgotten what it felt like to be truly warm. In your arms, he remembered.

He buried his face in your throat to taste your skin as his hips moved faster and harder into you. The sensation of your muscles clenching around him to hold him tight sent a shudder of reaction through him, prompting him to sink his teeth into your flesh as he used his body to drive you higher and higher.

Tingling shivers of pleasure spread out from your core through your body into your fingertips as Bucky's skin brushed over yours with every delicious motion. You locked your arms and legs around him to rock harder up into him as he thrust more and more forcefully. The sound of his pleasure humming in his throat as he panted against your skin only fanned the flames that his relentlessly moving hips had ignited.

Lost in heat, basking in the glory of it, Bucky held back even as he felt your pleasure start to take you in the clenching, fluttering feeling around his cock. He held on, however, not ready to be done. He couldn't let himself go yet, couldn’t let this moment end when he felt better, happier, freer than he could ever remember. His voice warm and rough, he growled into your ear. "Come for me, doll." He nuzzled into your neck as the sound of his voice drove you crazy. "I want to burn with you."

At his words, the coil of ecstasy that had tightened with every touch, every movement snapped and with a shuddering moan, you tipped over the edge into the most powerful orgasm of your life. Your limbs trembled as your muscles flexed to hold on to him in the swamping wave of pleasure.

Bucky lifted his head to look into your face as his thrusts slowed to give you both room to enjoy your climax, enthralled with the warm glow of your skin and panting breaths of smug satisfaction. When your eyes fluttered open to focus on his and your grin flashed, he thought you heart-stopping in your sensuality. When your fingers stopped digging into the muscles of his back to skim tenderly over his skin, he'd swear he lost his mind.

His metal hand clamped around the back of your thigh as he hiked your leg up over his hip and began to pound into you with abandon. The sight of you coming in his arms had nearly dragged him over the edge with you, but the sight of your smile went to his head in a different, even more potent way. He needed to make you smile like that again.

"Bucky!" Your voice was a sultry laugh even as your muscles went soft and pliant in bliss though your core was clenching in response to the passion in his touch. He was clearly not content that you merely burn, but that you both be incinerated. You skimmed your hands greedily up his back until they were buried in his hair. Once you had your fingers tangled in the thick locks, you used the leverage to pull his face to yours for desperate kisses.

You wanted to speak, to beg for mercy from the almost painful pleasure he was raining down upon you, but you were breathless in the heat of it, speechless in the glow of bright blue eyes scorching your face like the hottest flames.

Bucky, however, had words bubbling up inside him for you, pouring out of him into you. "Again, doll," his grin flashed, and he looked so pretty and carefree you could feel yourself start that climb to peak once again, "if you don't mind." One side of his grin lifted higher than the other and gave his smile a feral, cocky edge that had your thighs tightening around his hips as he lifted up onto his knees. "Watching you come all over me is the most fun I've had in a long time."

As he spoke, Bucky took your hips in his hands to hold you in place for his swift, gliding thrusts and the smooth rhythm was sending warm tingles of ecstasy to spread out from your core in shuddering waves before the end of his sentence. With a laugh at his admittedly justified arrogance, considering how quickly he'd learned the cheat code to your body, you moaned as your body arched and stretched with your climax.

The sight and sound of your pleasure combined with the bright beauty of your laughter had Bucky close to the edge, his every muscle drawn tight, wanting to make it last as long as possible. His breath ragged, he kept his rhythm steady to push you up to peak and keep you there. Nearly mindless with the effort, he rocked into you as you moaned and shuddered, tossing your head back and forth on the pillow

As soon as your moans became fretful, the pleasure becoming too much to stand, he let go, his thrusts speeding and stuttering with the release of control. You opened your eyes when you felt the change, the sight of Bucky lost in you even more beautiful than you'd imagined. His eyes were bright and blurred and open on yours as he came with a groan of pure rapture.

You were fairly certain that you'd never seen anything more gorgeous than Bucky in the throes of ecstasy, all taut muscle and smirking smiles.

Until he fell forward to brace himself over you, his hair curtaining your face as he bent close to kiss you tenderly. Gentle lips adored your face before sinking into your mouth with a sigh of happiness. His mouth drank from yours with a delicate kind of fervor, one that came from needs satisfied. As he came up for air from a kiss that made your heart ache, the soft, affectionate smile on his face was gorgeous enough to make your throat ache in tandem.

"Thank you," he whispered, a sweet smile and rosy blush spreading over his face.

Your arms squeezed the barrel of his chest with friendly affection as you laughed, delighted with him. "I’m not normally this accommodating to my guests," you replied in a voice gone hoarse, "but fuck I’m glad I made an exception in your case."

"Well, this isn’t where I expected to end up when I asked if I could stay." He grinned, unrepentant, at your raised eyebrow. "But I’m not gonna lie, I was hoping like hell."

Bucky felt ten feet tall when your laughter turned into a gasp of surprised delight at the feeling of him hardening inside you once again.

You stood at the window over the sink and watched Bucky jog into the woods. You had a cup of coffee in your hand and a smile on your face. He'd spent every night for the past two weeks in your bed, and so you'd woken every morning to bright blue eyes searing into yours and big gentle hands wandering over your body.

You were currently wearing the t-shirt you'd torn off of him the night before and nothing else, hoping you could tempt him when he got back. The smell of him was making you grateful that he'd probably be delighted to go again when he got back from his morning run, regardless of the fact that you'd had sex twice the night before and once again this morning. The man was shameless in his sensuality and perpetually delighted to indulge it.

You were perpetually delighted to indulge him.

The months prior to the afternoon you'd first fallen into bed together, you and Bucky had forged a friendship that had endured and deepened in the weeks since. You were pretty sure you were falling in love and didn't know how to feel or what to do about it. You were fairly certain about him, but you were not at all sure of yourself.

"I want to tell him."

The hissing, popping, crackling response was a language, and one you’d begun to learn in a hurry the same night you’d met Bucky. This was a denial, one you’d expected.

“I know I promised,” you sighed. The promises you’d made to cement your alliance with your incendiary friend had been necessary at the time, but they’d gotten uncomfortable quickly. Hiding your friend’s existence from the others, especially at the beginning, had been excruciatingly difficult. Her chattiness hadn't helped the situation. "I’m not gonna say anything unless we’re cool, but I’m sure we can trust him."

You rolled your eyes when the hissing pops grew louder and more frantic. Your little friend and ally had a penchant for the dramatic and fear of discovery set her off faster than almost anything else.

"I sincerely doubt exorcism is gonna be his go-to."

The sounds your friend made didn't really correspond to words so much as concepts. You could communicate fairly effectively, but sometimes an idea came through so drenched in meaning that you could almost imagine what she was thinking. You could understand why she was concerned that Bucky would misunderstand her, see her as a threat, but that didn't mean you were going to entertain her wild flights of fancy.

"Seriously?" you scoffed when she responded with even more over-the-top hysteria. "You know a Catholic when you see one? Do you hear yourself?"

You let her mutter for a while behind your ear while you smiled and sipped at your coffee. She'd lost so much, had become so attached to you, there was no way you could blame her for her neuroses. You were indulgent with her because she needed it.

When she wound down from her muttered rants about demon hunters and exorcists and inquisitors, you raised an eyebrow and retorted with a smile rich with that indulgence. "Maybe the argument that you have to be a bigot because you're sure he will be isn't as compelling as you think it is?"

The complete silence that followed your question was broken by your snort of humor in response. You grinned outright when the low, petulant hiss came quietly wafting across your ear. Your friend was high-strung and easily enflamed, but she wasn't evil. You could reason with her; she was just stubborn.

"I just really hate lying to someone I care about," you said with a sigh. "Even by omission." You set your coffee down and spread your arms to brace yourself against the counter, your head down as you tried to bear up under the weight that had settled onto you when you'd taken responsibility for her.

She hissed softly, and you heard a wealth of apology, worry, sorrow in the sound. Your heart throbbed in sympathy. None of this was her fault, either; Joseph had done this to you both. She wasn't your burden; she was your partner. You knew she often felt like a millstone around your neck, but your sorrow came from your own inability to help her.

"Think about it, okay?" You made the request gently, careful to keep the exhaustion from your voice. Keeping this from Bucky had become untenable, making you feel gross and wrong, but you didn't want to put that off on her. "I don’t think he’s gonna freak out, and he should know the whole story." Your tone carefully modulated to comfort, you smiled with all the sisterly affection you felt for your strange friend. "I wouldn't risk you; you're too important. But he's important, too, you know?"

The crackle at your ear conveyed warm amusement and gentle commiseration. She’d been with you, had watched from a front row seat the development of your relationship with Bucky. She’d been your confidant from the beginning, had encouraged you to pursue him. She wasn't into humans, but she understood why you thought him so sexy.

She also agreed that he was at his hottest when he was all surly and murder-y.

Fortunately, that meant she was rooting for you to be and stay together, which meant she could be persuaded. Her soft hiss of reluctant assent made the muscles in the back of your neck release for the first time in months. With a sigh of relief, you let your shoulders sag and laughed a little. “Thanks, Keek.”

“Who are you talking to, doll?”

You squeaked and whirled at the sound of Bucky’s warm voice expressing confused amusement. “What the fuck?!” Your hand on your racing heart, you laughed breathlessly. “I just watched you run into the woods.”

That heart-stopping grin flashed, and you went weak at the knees. You weren't completely shallow; if he hadn't turned out to be as beautiful inside as he was out, you could have walked away without a backward glance no matter how gorgeous he was. To your surprise, however, the inside of the man had turned out to be as attractive as the outside. To your delight, this attractive man seemed to think you beautiful inside and out as well.

His movements smooth as butter, he eased toward you with rain in his hair and lust in the feral edge to his smile and each taut muscle. Your heart kicked in excitement as you braced yourself against the counter behind you. “I couldn't stop thinking about you," he rumbled as he eased close, the scent of him mixing with the rain and going to your head, "warm and soft and all alone in that big bed. I changed my mind almost as soon as I started and came around to climb back in with you."

As he’d spoken, he’d eased close enough to touch. You didn’t see any reason why you should resist, so you placed your hands on his chest, running them greedily over the firm muscle under the plain cotton t-shirt he wore. His eyes fired at your touch and his arms slid around your waist to pull you flush with his body.

“I was talking about you.” Your voice was hoarse with the desire he could kindle at a look. “I'm pretty sure it's not fair to be this sexy.”

That cocky grin flashed, and you knew you were going under for the third time. His smile, his tone rich with appreciation and affection, he snatched a kiss from your mouth as his hands slid down to your ass and boosted you up into his arms. “You'd know.”

Part Three here >>>

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onebatch2batch · 4 years ago

Note

kastle + "“Is that.. my shirt?” please and thank you❤️❤️

HI, I KNOW YOU SENT THIS A MILLION YEARS AGO BUT I JUST FINISHED IT SO HOPEFULLY YOU LIKE IT <3

If there’s one thing Karen hates most in the world, it’s laundry. Which isn’t entirely warranted, because a majority of her things are dry clean only, and she usually only has to do a load or two herself every other week—but still. She hates that it feels like an all day affair, she hates folding everything, she hates the feel of the lint of her fingers when she removes it from the filter. So when a warm Saturday in June arrives and she’s low on clothes, like really low on clothes, Karen realizes she should start a load.

Unfortunately, her body is not on board with the idea. She wakes up slow, eats some late breakfast, and lethargically gathers the clothes strewn about her apartment. It’s a Saturday, so she has nothing to do but procrastinate. Procrastination forces her into the shower, and procrastination has her drinking coffee in a towel at the edge of her bed as she realizes that she has nothing to put on. It’s either she wears a skirt and blouse around the apartment or a towel until the first load is done.

Or, her brain supplies helpfully, there’s Frank’s drawer.

Karen’s eyes slide unwittingly towards her dresser, where the bottom drawer remains firmly closed. He’s been out of town for the last week or so with Curtis, up in the mountains with absolutely no reception. She knows it’s good for him to get away every once in a while, especially with his friends, but part of her—the smallest part, the only part not thinly veiled in denial—wishes he would have asked her along. It’s a thought she’s had a lot in the last couple days, accompanied by the hollow ache left by his absence.

God, she misses him.

She misses his surprise visits that turn into too much wine and inevitably leading to his crashing on the couch. She misses waking in the morning to freshly brewed coffee and he at the kitchen counter, head bowed over a book. She misses walking into the bathroom and inhaling Frank’s steamy post-shower smell: cedarwood, something earthy, something subtly metallic. It’s both a blessing and a curse to have him stay the night at her place; she only wishes it was in her bed, not on the couch.

Karen sighs. Goosebumps are starting to pebble on her skin from the AC, and so she steels her resolve and kneels before Frank’s drawer. She’d casually offered it to him months ago over breakfast. You spend the night enough, she tells him while staring resolutely into her mug. Might as well have a change of clothes here just in case you need them.

She had felt his eyes on her, all intense heat and wariness, long enough for her to fidget. And then finally he’d said: Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thanks, Karen.

The drawer is filled with a myriad of things, and not just clothes. On the top of the pile there’s a paperback by Jack Kerouac, a box of ammo, and a pair of spare keys she suspects is to that intimidating black van he drives. Underneath is a pair of socks, boxers (that she hurriedly paws past), some grey sweatpants (that look absolutely sinful on him, she recalls), and a pair of dark jeans. At the very bottom is a long sleeved henley and a plain black t shirt—Karen pulls out the t shirt and slips it over her head before she can talk herself out of it.

It’s comfortable, if a little too big. The hem hangs just past her hips when she stands, so Karen slips on a pair of underwear and leaves it at that. The rest of the afternoon she spends doing laundry and pretending as if she can’t smell him on her with every inhale. And when the guilt starts to eat at her, she tells herself that the shirt will be cleaned and replaced before Frank even knows it’s missing.

—

Except it isn’t, because of course it isn’t.

Hour three of dragging herself through the slowest washing machine cycle in the world (she’d splurged a little on an apartment with a hook up, too unwilling to deal with the laundromat down the block) and the worst dryer to accompany it (she hadn’t so much splurged on the actual machines)—finds Karen on the couch, flipping through the television channels. It’s nearly four o’clock and the temperature outside has finally broken, so the air is off and the windows are open. A soft breeze occasionally brushes over the exposed skin of her legs. And there’s absolutely nothing on the television.

So she does what any sane person would do, and returns to Frank’s drawer for the book. Not that she doesn’t have plenty of her own reading material, but she’s never read Kerouac and she’s a little curious what Frank sees in him. It’s halfway through the first chapter that she realizes there’s a key turning in the lock, and that Frank’s back.

Because of course he would walk in to this: her, clothed in underwear and his t shirt and no bra; sitting with her legs stretched across the couch cushions, back against the arm; his book in her hands as she struggles to parse the casual run-ons of Kerouac; a basket of half folded laundry on the floor. And he does—his face appears at the end of the hall leading to her front door and he pauses, bag slung over his shoulders and eyebrows raised to his hair.

“Hi, Frank,” Karen greets, carefully closing the book. “How was your trip?”

His eyes glance quickly at her exposed legs, and then up to his t shirt, back down to her legs, and then up to her face. Karen relishes in the warm flush that spreads across his cheeks, even if it is partially covered by his beard. “It was, uh, it was good,” he tells her roughly, unmoving. His eyes stray back to her lower half. “Is that...my shirt?”

Karen realizes that she should be embarrassed by her lack of clothes or admonished for going through his things without asking. But the only thing she really can feel is frustrated as a thought strikes her. That day in the hospital when she and Frank were alone--before Amy had interrupted--after Karen had all but blurted her feelings into the stale, tension-heavy room. His entire body had been covered in lacerations and zig zagged with stitches; his face was bruised and battered. He’d been so evasive with her, gaze hardly connecting with her own before darting away again. She’d been so afraid for him. Hopeless. And frustrated.

“You could love someone else instead of another war.”

“I don’t want to.”

At the time he’d been so determined, so set in his jaw as the hoarse declaration hung in the air. She wonders if that’s changed now, months of spending the night and phone calls and take out dinners later. If she were to ask the same question now—what he would say?

“It is,” she tells him evenly.

Frank’s hand tightens on the strap of his bag, a nervous gesture. “Why?” he finally asks.

“I haven’t been pining after you, if that's what you mean. I was out of clothes.” Karen offers him a small smile, trying to quell the bout of butterflies that erupt in her stomach at the rough edge to his voice.

To her relief he smiles. The tension eases from his shoulders. “You don’t seem like the pinin’ type.”

“I’m not.” Liar, liar, no pants on fire. “You just got back?”

He nods, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Was thinking about gettin’ dinner.”

“You find the take out menu, I’ll put pants on,” she wages.

Frank’s blush rises. He coughs and then turns, walking into the kitchen at a pace quicker than usual. Karen fidgets with the hem of the shirt, waiting until she can hear the telling sound of the coffee machine being manhandled. She grapples for a pair of leggings in the basket beside her and hurriedly puts them on.

“Sorry about the shirt,” she says loudly. “I was completely out of laundry and I figured you wouldn’t be back for a while. I’ll wash it for you.”

Frank reappears in the doorway, eyes on the floor until he’s sure she’s fully clothed. “Don’t worry about it,” he mumbles. “It’s nothin’.”

“I went into your things, Frank, I hardly think that’s nothing.”

At that, he meets her gaze.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he counters, shooting her a grin.

Karen huffs out a laugh. “Whatever. Hang on, I’m going to change out of this and then I'll order the food.”

“No.”

Karen swivels her head to give Frank a surprised look. The intensity of his no is startling but he seems as shocked as she is. There’s a beat of silence, and then he clears his throat and looks away as his finger starts that familiar rhythm against his leg. “I mean. You don’t have to. If you’re comfortable.”

She considers pushing it. She doesn’t. Not yet.

“I am. Thanks.”

—

Several hours later, Karen realizes their bottle of wine is empty. She’s sitting against one arm of the couch with Frank against the other. Her legs bridge the gap between them, and if she were to point her toes she could touch the strong muscle of his thigh. Their take out boxes sit empty on the coffee table, and Frank has his head tilted back, eyes on the ceiling. The apartment is quiet.

“So what did you and Curtis do in the mountains?” Karen asks into the silence, hesitant to break it but curiosity finally getting the better of her.

Frank sips his wine, and then turns his head to look at her. Karen is struck by how handsome he looks, the setting sun’s orange rays highlighting the curve of his nose and the warmth of his eyes. “Stupid shit,” he tells her with a chuckle. “We chopped up some trees, went hikin’--that asshole’s still faster’n me even with that leg--I read a lot. Talked. Drank some.”

Karen waggles her eyebrows. “Does that mean you guys got hammered in a cabin?”

His mouth curves into an amused smile. “Takes a lot to get me hammered, Karen.”

“When’s the last time you were?”

Karen is always careful about asking questions regarding his past. She knows it’s dangerous territory--one small slip could turn their conversation from lighthearted banter to emotional warfare. That’s the last thing she wants for him, for them.

Thankfully, Frank has a quick answer. “Can’t remember. Years.”

She hums, curiosity piqued. She wonders what an overabundance of alcohol does to someone like Frank Castle--someone who is already so intense, so physical. Someone who already isn’t afraid to cry in front of her, who isn’t afraid to show emotion--would he close himself off, shut down? Would he laugh more? Would he touch her more than the casual touches she already receives? Would he kiss her? A thrill runs through her at the thought. She stays firmly planted on the couch, fighting the urge to grab the whiskey in her cupboard and put her theory to the test.

“What about you?”

“What?”

Frank fixes her with an amused look. “The last time you were sideways.”

“Oh. A couple weekends ago, Foggy came over.” She smiles, remembering. “Marcie was out of town so he brought over the wine and we did--well, this. Take out and wine. A lot of wine.”

There’s an expression on his face she can’t figure out. A mixture of forced casualness, of caution, of amusement. “So this is--...” He pauses, takes a drink of his wine, starts again. “This is what you do with your other friends?”

Two thoughts settle into the sudden ache in her chest at his words. That on one hand he does, in fact, consider her a friend. She’s not just a warm body to keep the loneliness at bay. Which she’s known that for a long time, of course. They trust each other in the way that only two people who have gone through a number of life-changing and dangerous ordeals together can--why wouldn’t they be friends? The second thought is how carefully he speaks the word friends, as if solidifying the idea. As if reminding her of their relationship status. As if to say, we’re friends, and I know you want more--but I can’t. So we’re friends.

“Yep. This is what I do with my other friends. All two of them.” The joke falls flat, overshadowed by the catch in her voice. Karen finishes off her glass of wine and decides she will get out the whiskey after all. Even if he doesn’t drink it, she needs something a little stronger than just another Rosé. She starts to get up, but his hand catches her ankle and keeps her firmly in place.

“You’re upset.” He looks at her cautiously from under a furrowed brow. His hand doesn’t lift from her skin, and it sends an unfair thrill through her. Karen’s toes curl before she can stop them, pushing against his thigh.

“I’m not upset.”

He frowns. “And now you’re lying. Did I say somethin’?”

She doesn’t want to lie to him. She also doesn’t want to tell him the truth. There’s a nagging thought in the back of her mind that says if she’s honest with him, he’ll be scared off. He’ll decide her feelings are too much for him to handle, and then he’ll leave. Again.

Her heart couldn’t bear it.

Karen tugs her leg out of his grasp and sets her feet on the carpet. He sits forward, trying to capture her eyes again. “Karen,” he says gently. It’s cautious and worried, and so completely Frank in the way he grinds out her name that the words escape her before she can stop them.

“It’s nothing, Frank. We’re friends, and that’s all, and I’m being selfish wanting more. I’ve just been--I’m not trying to--...” she glances over helplessly, but he’s giving her a look that she can only describe as stricken. She looks away quickly, desperate for a change of topic. Desperate to pull herself out of the hole that she’s dug for herself. There’s a brief moment of silence where she tries to decide what to do, outside of leaping from her fire escape, and then she hears Frank move. The cushion dips next to her. Warm fingers intertwine with her own, and then his lips are pressed to the back of her hand.

“Shit, Karen,” Frank murmurs, exasperated. “For a smart woman, you’re bein’ pretty stupid.”

She’s still stuck on her fact that his breath is dancing over her skin, and that he’s pressed against her side, and that he still hasn’t released her. That he hasn’t gotten up and made a hasty exit. His words barely register. “What?” she asks weakly.

“Curtis and I did a lot of talkin’ this weekend,” he says, staring to look her in the eye. The sudden change of topic throws her off balance. Before she can get a word in, he’s continued on. His thumb strokes her palm. “And a lot of it was dumb shit. We talked about his new apartment, the one he had to get after Billy shot up his old one. He says it gets a lot of sunlight. He talked about how the vet group is going and what team he thinks will win the World Series this year. It was good, and easy. We talk about some hard stuff too. We talked about Maria and the kids, and the war, and you.”

She’s not sure she likes being in the ‘hard’ category, but he seems to be edging towards a point, so Karen remains quiet.

“And after we talked through all that other stuff, Curtis told me I was bein’ an idiot. He told me that you’re a good woman, and an even better friend. That I needed to make a decision before someone else made it for me.” He pauses, looking away. In the following silence, she digests his words and tries to keep the hope from blossoming in her chest. His hand is still warm in hers, and the earthy, woodsy smell of him fills her nose.

He doesn’t speak long enough for Karen to finally hedge, “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Frank.”

He turns back to her and offers a tiny, nervous smile. Not many things make a man like Frank Castle nervous, and the thought eases some of the tension from her body. She grips his fingers and holds her breath.

“I’m tryin’ to tell you that I’m yours, if you’ll have me. I don’t want to be friends, Karen. I want you. I want more, too.”

In retrospect, her next words could have been a little more eloquent. She could have taken an extra second to think of something romantic and elated. Something that matches his earnestness. What she actually says is, “Frank Castle, you’d better quit keeping me waiting and kiss me.”

His eyes widen briefly, and then he’s grinning at her. His free hand cradles her cheek and between one breath and another he’s doing just that. Karen wont admit to herself how often she thought of this moment, but she does think about how every imagining doesn’t come close. She never could have pictured the tenderness with which he kisses her or the feeling that swells inside her. There’s no daydream in the world that compares to the softness of his lips or the sensation of his beard against her chin. She fists one hand in his coat, letting the other drift up into his hair. It’s longer, curling at his temple, and when she gently tugs he lets out a groan that makes her shiver. His tongue swipes at her bottom lip and she grants him access eagerly. The kiss devolves into wandering hands, heaving breaths, and the distinct feeling that Karen is being carefully, intimately devoured.

After some time, Karen forces herself to pull away. Frank backs off immediately, a flash of concern in his gaze, but she gives him a small smirk, smoothing her hands over the hard planes of his chest.

“How do you feel about me taking off the shirt now?” she asks casually.

Her meaning sinks in quickly. His fingers grasp at the hem, dancing along the bare skin on her hips. Frank gives her a mischievous, sinfully attractive smile. “If you’re comfortable,” he repeats, and then drags his shirt up and over her head.

The buzzer on the dryer goes off in the background, but Karen has never been less inclined to attend to it than she is now. In fact, she thinks, if wearing his shirt gets this reaction, I may never do laundry again.

It’s a nice thought, but then Frank lips meet her shoulder and she doesn’t think about laundry for a long, long time.

#kastle #my writing #kastle fic #kastle ff

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thirsty-x1 · 5 years ago

Text

Neighbors Know My Name | Han Seungwoo

Request:

Can you do a highschool Seungwoo smut where he gets all jealous after he sees her hanging out with Seungyoun, her best friend, too much🥺 Sth like Seungyoun walks her back home from school everyday ever since they were kids because they live next to each other and it was raining that day so Seungyoun used his coat to protect her head from being wet and Seungwoo saw all of that

↬ Pairing: Seungwoo x fem!reader.

↬ Genre: Smut.

↬ Warnings: explicit language, fingering, exhibition, unprotected sex, creampie.

↬ Word Count: 1.8k+

Being a college student wasn’t easy, especially when it came down to time management, but Seungwoo somehow was able to handle it. Maybe it was because he had the biggest source of motivation; you. With that in mind, he would always work hard in order to be able to spare some free time and get to see you after his classes, just like today. Of course your schedule was different considering that it was the last year of high school, but he thought that by now you would be at home, so it came as a shock when he noticed that the house was completely empty, the rain not making the situation any better.

Feeling restless, he just waited on the entrance, taking out his phone to send you a message although it might ruin his plan. Trying to keep it as a surprise, he simply sent “are you still at school?” while tapping his shoe against the concrete street, his hold on the umbrella tightening with each minute that passed. The reply never came, but the sound of laughter caught his attention, especially since he recognized it quite a lot.

It was you, running under the rain with another guy covering you with his coat. Even if your relationship was pretty recent, it still annoyed him a bit. This was the first time he met your so called best friend in person, and the fact that he was holding your hand, swaying it all over the place and making funny faces to you wasn’t making him too fond of your friendship. Seungwoo had heard enough about him, more than he would have liked to hear even, the slight twinkle in your eyes whenever you mentioned his name making him slightly insecure each time.

As soon as you saw Seungwoo, you let go of the other to run towards him instead, not minding the pouring rain as you surrounded him with your arms. At this, the younger couldn’t help but to frown, standing wet with his coat in the same position as before, hovering over an empty space. It was pretty obvious that being best friends was just a cover… at least in your boyfriend’s eyes.

“Why are you here? I thought you had to give an exam today.” The sweet tone in your almost made Seungwoo relax. Almost.

He pointed at his phone. “I sent you a message.”

The guy got closer, clearing his throat as he gave you your phone back, the action striking the older. “Sorry, sorry, she asked me to hold it for a second while picking up her stuff.” His voice was slightly high pitched, the smile on his face unwavering. “I assume you are “Wooya”, then?” Ah, so he read my message.

Whether it was the slight sarcasm or the way his hand brushed yours delicately for longer than necessary didn’t matter for Seungwoo: he just didn’t like that guy at all. Besides, was he faking not knowing about him or had you never mentioned the fact that you had a boyfriend now? Uncertainty was taking place in the pit of his stomach and he definitely wasn’t fond of the feeling.

“Ah! Yes, I have to introduce each other. This is Seungyoun, my best friend, and this is–”

With a slight wave, Seungwoo interrupted you. “I don’t have much time today but still want to spend it with you.” Wrapping an arm around you, he turned to look at the other. “See you next time.”

“Huh? Oh…” The younger let out a laugh, jogging to the house right next to yours. “Y/n, you should come over later so that we get to work on that.”

Suspicion and a weird unsettling sensation filled Seungwoo, but he wasn’t going to show it. He waited patiently for you to greet your friend before getting inside the house with you, but still his concentration was completely off trying to process the whole situation right now. Sure you had mentioned Seungyoun many times before, avoiding that he was your neighbor apparently.

“So he walks you home often?”

Oblivious, you answered while walking to your room, grabbing a towel and drying your hair. “Yes, he’s been doing it for years now. Doesn’t like it when I go on my own because “it’s not safe” and my parents feel more at ease that way, so…” Ah, so he has their approval as well.

“And he knows I’m your boyfriend?”

“Of course he knows, it’s just that…” You turned your back to him as you left your bag on the floor. “I might not have mentioned your name or showed pictures of you.”

… Huh?

“Why?” Just as he was about to get sulky about it, your answer surprised him.

“Protection. He would have found some way to tease me, or you.” His eyes were on you until he noticed the window behind your desk showing the house in front, a figure walking around and he got closer to open it while you fixed your hair in the mirror. “So what do you want to do–!”

Interrupting you midsentence, he turned you around, kissing you in an almost rough way. The kiss got more passionate as you corresponded him, his tongue against yours slowly warming you up, as if his intention was to have you completely melted in his arms, and it was working. His hands held your hips as he pressed you closer to him, humming at the cold feeling of your wet clothes. The second he pulled apart he smiled sweetly, not letting go of your body.

“I just missed having you like this.” His fingers came to the front of your shirt, unbuttoning it slowly. “But I don’t think you should keep these on much longer.”

You chuckled at his phrase. “Someone seems to be needy.”

The bridge of his nose traced a line on the side of your neck, his voice dropping lower. “Don’t play with me baby.” One of his hands dropped, sliding between your thighs to cup your core. “I’m pretty sure this wetness isn’t because of the rain.”

A shiver ran down your spine, suddenly feeling shy at his boldness before wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers locking with his hair and yanking it softly. Your hips started to move, a breathy moan leaving your lips at the friction against your womanhood, smiling when you noticed his eyes fixed on your expression.

“I missed you too.”

Seungwoo let out a groan, his mouth against yours as his hands took of your shirt followed by your bra, leaving the uniform skirt on as he picked you up and placed you on the desk. Taking a few steps back, he slowly took off his shirt, smirking as he noticed you ogling his toned muscles, your legs opening instinctively as he got closer. He got rid of your underwear with a quick motion and started to rub your entrance, teasing your clit with circles before slipping two of his fingers inside you.

“Said you miss me yet you don’t talk about me and let someone else touch you…” It was hard to pay attention to his claim when all of his movements were so distracting. “You should know by now that you only belong to me.”

Realization suddenly hit you, understanding the recklessness in his attitude. “Is this because of Seungyoun–” His fingers curled right after the mention of the name, pressing on your soft spot.

“Don’t say someone else’s name. Just mine.”

Childish. Seungwoo knew he was being childish by kissing you and pulling his fingers out of you, by asking you to beg for him. He knew that it wasn’t proper to be looking at the guy that was frozen on the other side staring at your naked frame while he entered you. He knew that he shouldn’t be smiling at him, that his attention should be on you, but it was inevitable: he was going to make sure to put your best friend in his place, and if the only way was fucking you until your throat hurt, then that’s what he would do.

His thrusts were hard and precise, his arms holding you close, both to keep your body steady despite the force of his penetrations and to avoid that you realized the show he was giving to the other.

“Seungwoo… I’m too close…” Your moan broke his concentration, his eyes on you again.

The pace got faster, his cock shoving into you deeper each time. “I will let you cum under one condition, babygirl.” His hand came up to your throat. “Scream my name.”

Your cheeks blushed at his request, but your body obeyed automatically, at first trying to control the volume of your voice so that only he would hear it but as your orgasm got closer and closer, all self-control simply left, your whimpers soon being loud enough for anyone to hear even through the rain. As you reached your high, Seungwoo slowed down, and you knew him too well to know that he was going to pull out. Since he had his fun, you could too, right?

“Cum inside me.”

By the way his eyes got wide, you could tell he wasn’t expecting it.

“I… I, f-fuck… Don’t ask me that…” He dropped his head in the crook of your shoulder, trying to gather whatever strength he had in order to hold back.

But you weren’t having it. If Seungwoo wanted to be possessive, then he might as well go all the way in.

“Make me yours, Seungwoo.”

Mentioning his name was the last straw, his pride shattering when he stayed still, his length throbbing as he filled you up with his sperm, the sensation making you bite your bottom lip in delight. For a few minutes, he didn’t move at all, simply enjoying the closeness before looking up again, the window that had challenged him before now closed and covered by a curtain. Since he wasn’t hotheaded anymore, the realization suddenly hit him, pulling out of you almost hurriedly and grabbing the towel you had used before to dry yourself to clean you up.

Afterwards, you took a shower obliged by your overprotective boyfriend trying to take care of your health. It still felt like you would end up getting sick, the wet clothes had been on your body for too long and the air outside was cold when you came running with Seungyoun… at that you reminded his suggestion, quickly grabbing your phone to check if he had messaged you any of the details for the plan you two had been building for a while.

Youn-ah 🦊:

Ask Seungwoo if he wants to help with Wooseok’s party too.

Your eyes quickly went to the window, noticing it was open and also that Seungyoun’s was closed and covered by his curtains, a silly face drawn on the glass that made your blood boil when you turned to your boyfriend.

Showing him the screen, you called him out. “Han Seungwoo, you better explain this right now.”

“Guess that he knows my name now.”

This idea is so good... Sure, that Seungyoun saw the whole thing wasn’t in the request but it added to the thrill. Also Seungwoo would definitely panic to cum inside in a situation like this because they haven’t been dating for a long time but...

~Nani

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sincerelybubbles · 4 years ago

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Soft || Eijiro Kirishima x Reader

Summary: You and Eijiro have each other, and that’s enough to battle even the most tiresome of days

2k words of pure fluff

Warnings: fluff, cuddles, kissing, the works

You were exhausted. A full day of hero work would do that to anyone, and at this point, you felt you should have been used to it, but you couldn’t deny the fact that you were so tired that your boots felt like weights tied to your ankles. Every step drained more and more of your energy as you unlocked your apartment door and threw your things down in the hallway, your boots quickly joining the pile before you turned and locked the door behind you.

You walked further into your apartment, pulling off pieces of your hero uniform and not bothering to turn on any lights as you went. You knew that you were making a mess, a trail of dirty clothes tracking your movements to your bedroom, but you told yourself that you would pick up later.

The tired was clinging to you, it’s arms circled around your neck and dragging your head down. Your limbs felt swollen and you knew that there were probably some injuries that you should attend to - you had fought several villain's that day, from petty thief’s to arsonists, leaving your body sore and beaten up - but you instead shed your last article of clothing before throwing yourself on your bed, barely bothering to ensure your head was on a pillow before shutting your eyes.

Before this hero business, you always found it hard to catch sleep. She always danced just out of reach, taunting you. Even still, there were days that she avoided you, the daunting events of the past embracing your mind and making long nights inevitable. But nights like these, sleep was already waiting for you, her hand on your cheek, ready to consume you and bring well-deserved rest. The minute you allowed your eyes to close, the heaviness weighing down on your body pressed you into the mattress, warmth enveloping your chest as you quickly fell into a deep sleep, your body almost weeping in relief.

Eijiro always left work feeling invigorated, as compared to your leaden sleepiness. He opened the door to see your pile of things and fought back a laugh, bending down the clear his path before shutting the door. Carefully, he picked up your bag and returned the items that fell out of it in your effort to get inside as soon as possible.

“Babe?” Eijiro called, hesitant to yell in case you were awake. When he didn’t receive a response, he bent down to untie his own boots and set them on the rack by the door, gathering your shoes and doing the same.

His eyes widened at the trail of clothes that greeted him once he entered the apartment. You were typically tired when you came home, and he was used to the pile of items half-hazardly thrown in the entrance, but the trail of clothes leading to your room was new. He followed them to your room and gently pushed open the door and fought back a large grin at the sight before him.

You had stripped down to your underwear and were laying on your stomach in the dead center of the bed. Your cheek was squished against your arm and your legs were splayed out in a way that definitely did not look comfortable to Eijiro.

There was a lump in his throat as he looked at you, peacefully asleep on your shared bed. You were gently snoring and a slight trail of drool was leaving your mouth, and yet Eijiro couldn’t help but think he had never thought you were more perfect.

Walking quietly as to not disturb you, Eijiro picked up a blanket thrown on the chair in the corner and gently placed it over your sleeping body, daring to press a soft kiss to your head before grabbing a shirt and shorts and leaving the room.

He changed out of his hero costume in the living room, gathering all of the clothes strewn about the house and putting them in a slightly neater pile in the corner before making his way to the kitchen.

Eijiro made noodles, sticking a serving in the fridge before settling on the couch and eating his own bowl, scrolling through his phone. The sound of a door opening had Eijiro looking up and spotting you wearing one of his shirts and still looking tired. Eijiro set his noodles down on the coffee table before smiling at you and opening his arms wide.

You wasted no time making your way over to him and crawling into his lap, his arms wrapping securely around you, rubbing your back as you pressed a kiss against his shoulder.

“Hello.” There was a laugh somewhere in Eijiro’s voice, but it was almost entirely hidden behind the smile he was still wearing.

“When did you get home?” You mumbled against his chest.

“About twenty minutes ago. You were completely out, snoring and everything.” Eijiro teased, leaning back slightly to see your face as your nose scrunched up.

“I do not snore. But I was tired.” You rolled your eyes at Eijiro’s chuckle, making your way off of his lap as he told you about his day.

You found your serving of dinner right where you knew it would be and sat cross-legged on the couch, facing him. You tried to listen to his story, you really did, but you kept finding yourself distracted. He smiled when he talked, teeth fully on show. As he got more excited, he gestured with both arms, chopsticks in one hand, his bowl in the other, pausing only to ensure he didn’t spill any noodles.

He had thrown his lags up on the couch so that you two were facing each other as you talked and traded stories, one of his legs tucked in between you and the back of the couch, the other tucked up so that he could place his bowl on it when he wasn’t gesturing wildly.

You let Eijiro clean up after dinner, knowing that the fight of who would do the dishes was one you wouldn’t win: you were obviously still tired and ready to sleep. Instead, you grabbed his phone as you waited, scrolling through his apps.

“Hey,” Eijiro said from behind you, arms circling around your shoulders as he set his chin on your head, “let’s get you showered and in bed. You look like you’re going to pass out on me any second now.”

“Thanks.” You said, sarcasm dripping like honey from your voice. “Just what everyone wants to hear.”

“You make it work, don’t worry.” Eijiro kissed the top of your head before leaving and starting the shower, you following soon after.

“Join me?” You asked, testing the water temperature on your palm and sending a glance over your shoulder.

“Sure.” Eijiro undressed, joining you under the spray of the water. “Can I wash your hair?”

“No! Last time you got it in my eyes.” You pouted, reaching past him to grab the soap, “But I’ll wash your for you.”

The soft scent of soap filled the air as you ran your fingers through Eijiro’s hair, working though the gel that kept it up throughout the day. The two of you talked softly, the quiet and serene atmosphere only broken occasionally as you two made the other laugh.

It only took a slight pout gracing Eijiro’s features before you relinquished the shampoo and turned around, allowing him to gently work it into your hair, fingers moving against your scalp.

The shower was warm and Eijiro was quiet as he worked, allowing you to tell him about the family dispute that erupted into a fight you had to break apart today as the pair ended up using their quirks.

“He was really using a fire quirk! In the middle of the street with people and buildings everywhere. Luckily he didn’t set anyone on fire aside from me, but really, how stupid can people be?”

“Apparently, very stupid.” Eijiro pressed a kiss into your shoulder before turning and grabbing the shower head, gently rinsing your hair. “No wonder you’re so tired, if you had to deal with all of that today.”

You nodded, focusing on the feeling of the warm water running down your back. Eijiro repeated the process, raking conditioner through your hair and rinsing it, the two of you talking in quiet tones as he worked, before he shut off the water and the two of you started to dry off.

You started to make your way into the room when something soft hit your head. You turned around to see Eijiro smirking at you, a towel on the ground.

“Dry your hair! You’ll get sick.” Scoffing you picked up the towel and threw it over your head before continuing to your room and pulling on one of Eijiro’s shirts and a pair of underwear. “Do you not own our own clothes?” Eijiro whispered into your ear, his hands resting on your hips as his chest rested against your back.

“I prefer yours.” You admitted, turning around in his arms to return his hug, noticing that he had pulled shorts on again.

“Hmmm. I guess I’ll allow it, but only because you look much better then I do in it.” Eijiro said, voice still soft as he bent down and pressed his lips against yours.

The kiss was gentle, Eijiro lifted his hand up to cup your cheek as he took his time. He pulled away for a second only to return to place several small kissed on your lips until you were giggling and reaching up to grab his face.

He leaned into your hand as you held his face, smiling at you before placing one last kiss on your lips. You returned his smile, feeling full to the brim with happiness as he wrapped both arms around your waist tightly.

“Eij!” You squealed as he lifted you up and spun you around, making his way over the the bed and throwing you down, gentle enough that you only bounced slightly.

Eijiro joined you on the bed, opening his arms wide for you for the second time that night. Just like before you gladly crawled into them, pulling up the blanket to cover the two of you.

Eijiro played with your hair gently as you rested your cheek on his chest, listening to his breaths and allowing them to lull you to sleep.

He waited until he was sure you were asleep before leaning his head back and allowing his eyes to shut, keeping his arms firm around you.

Tomorrow, you would both have to wake up early and pull on your uniforms. Eijiro would have to start patrol before the sun has even considering touching the sky, and he knew that you were expected to be in meetings at the same time.

Tomorrow, you two would see each other for a few minutes in the morning before spending the day apart, and you two would repeat the cycle over and over.

Eijiro buried his nose in your hair, allowing his senses to become overwhelmed with you, and pushed away his thoughts of tomorrow, because you were here in his arms, and after tomorrow, after the sun had set, the two of you would come home and he knew that you would be back here, in his arms, no matter what.

Content with the knowledge that he had you, and you had him, Eijiro was lulled to sleep, holding you tight in his arms.

A/N: it’s probably time that i’ve mentioned that, even though Izuku has my heart, soul, and entire life. . . i 10,000 percent simp for kirishima

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strawberrysoup · 5 years ago

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Let’s Review || Chapter 8

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark rating: Explicit/18+ warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con elements, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, very dark

Penny had only calmed down after being threatened with another sedative. There was no fucking way she was letting them put her under again, she refused to be unconscious and vulnerable around them. JARVIS, an AI invented by Stark apparently, had alerted them that Tony had requested they attend breakfast around 5am, which was insanely early but it wasn’t like she would be getting any more sleep anyway.

Bucky and Steve had insisted she shower and dress before they went to breakfast. In any other situation, she would’ve told them to get fucked, how dare they tell her what to do— but it was heavily implied that Peter would be there for breakfast. So she walked docilely into the bathroom, slamming the door shut in Bucky’s face before he could follow her, and flipped the lock.

Creepily, the shower was stocked with everything she would’ve used at home. The same brands, same items. It was another little invasion that made goosebumps erupt over her skin despite the warmth of the water. She was halfway through the arduous process of washing her when a knock came at the door.

“Penny! You need clothes and towels, I’m coming in,” Steve called in warning and she would’ve rolled her eyes if she hadn’t had them closed.

“You can’t, the door’s loc—”

Her words were cut off by a metallic crunch. Dread spread through her, had he just broken the lock?

“We’ll never complain about you locking a door, doll, but it’s only fair that you realize it doesn’t make any difference,” there was a sharp inhale and then she could hear the salacious smile cross his face, “what a fuckin’ view.”

Like most people with natural curls, Penny washed her hair upside down. Bent at the waist, back facing the bathroom door, she realized he was staring directly at her bare ass through the glass door.

“Now that is a pretty pussy, sweetheart,” Bucky’s voice broke her out of her horrified, frozen state and she stood up so fast she lost her footing on the slick tiles.

She landed roughly on the hard floor, shoving her face back into the spray to clean the soap away from her closed eyes as fast as possible. She could hear a pile of fabric hit the counter at the same time the shower door was pulled open. Frigid air blasted over her for a second before it was pulled closed again. There was only time for a moment of anticipation before arms wrapped under her bust and pulled her up and back into a very naked body.

Shock pumped through her, one of the arms was metal. Like some sort of super advanced prosthetic. It moved just like the flesh arm, tightening around her rib cage in what was probably supposed to be a reassuring squeeze.

“Let’s get all of that soap out of your hair before I get too distracted, huh babydoll?” Bucky was the one with the metal arm and he shuffled her forward while he spoke, back into the stream of water, “don’t want you to get any in your eyes.”

The shower door opened again just as her head was plunged under the spray and she had to clench her eyes just against the spray and soap. Knowing they were both in there with her had her muscles all pulling taught. It was a fight she couldn’t really afford but she started gearing up anyway. She’d give them Hell before—

“Shhh, precious, breathe,” Steve came to stand in front of her, blocking most of the spray and wiping her eyes gently with his thumbs, “you’re alright, we’re not going to hurt you. We’ll never hurt you baby.”

She could feel his body contort as he reached behind him, grabbing the detachable shower head and pulling it down to position over her head. Multiple sets of gentle fingers began combing through her hair, rinsing the shampoo. They were silent as they proceeded to put conditioner in it.

“We’re gonna buy you better stuff than this,” Bucky said softly, twisting the long rope of her hair up into a bun before using a hair tie off his own wrist to secure it out of the water while the conditioner soaked in, “fancy stuff for your curly hair. Bath wash that smells better than plain soap. Whatever lotions and products that you want.”

When she didn’t answer, Steve pressed closer to her front. One of his arms joined Bucky’s around her waist while the other came up to her face, thumb brushing across her jaw bone. A shiver passed through her whole body as he came to rest seamlessly against her, the skin to skin contact as foreign as everything else that had happened over the last 48 hours. The blonde was murmuring something against the top of her head, his lips brushing against her wet hair and down to her forehead before she could actually hear his words.

“—so beautiful, precious girl, we’re so glad you’re with us now. We’re gonna take such good care of you, baby—”

Bucky’s had shifted over her rib cage, one going high to cup her breast and the other, the metal one, going low. His fingers curved over her skin, slipping between her legs to caress the crease of her thigh. The hand on her breast mimicked the soft touch, the pad of his thumb sliding against her nipple.

“S-Stop,” her words came out in a panicked breath, “don’t touch… don’t touch me—”

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I’m not Brock,” the brunet cooed into her ear, “when I take you it’s gonna feel so good, that pussy’s gonna come all over my cock.”

“We’ll be as patient as we can be, doll,” Steve’s lips continued their path down the side of her face, coming to rest on the delicate skin below her ear, “we know you’re sensitive after what he did to you. Do you wanna see a therapist about it baby? We can make that happen.”

It was surreal, the words coming out of the man’s mouth. Bringing up a nasty sexual assault while she was being sexually assaulted. Could he not hear what he was saying? Did the words not sound the same way to him? Offering therapy, as if that was what she needed therapy for. That was the squeaky wheel in her psyche.

She didn’t respond, ignoring the pair as Bucky pulled his hands back to her hair and began pulling out the ponytail. Apparently they’d been in the shower long enough and as they began to rinse the conditioner out she wondered just how long it had been. It felt like a life time. She’d been trapped in that stupid shower for ages now, being touched and fondled against her will. Her stomach felt like it had settled into her throat.

Nausea continued to well in her as they turned the water off and Steve retrieved towels, gently wrapping a giant purple one around her. He held on for several moments after tying it, rubbing her back up and down through the fabric. Would it matter if she asked him to stop touching her?

“You’ve got about twenty minutes to get dressed, sweetheart,” Bucky settled his hands on her shoulders, passing his thumbs idly over her bare skin, “do you need a blow dryer? An extra towel?”

She literally couldn’t even decide what to say, couldn’t figure out if she could keep herself from screaming if she opened her mouth, so she shook her head. The look they passed each other was lost on her, too distracted by her own thoughts.

Had Peter been treated the same way she had? Was that pedophile putting his hands on her baby brother while she couldn’t stop him? The age of consent in New York was 17 but it didn’t matter, he was still a kid. He hadn’t even graduated from high school yet.

“Let’s get you dry baby,” Bucky said quietly when she continued to stand in place for another half a minute, unmoving, “into some soft clothes, huh? We’ll go eat breakfast and you can see Peter and then you can rest all day. Maybe we can do some shopping online for our place, get some stuff you like.”

They once again went without a response, the brunet sighing slightly at her unyielding silence and unwound the tie in the towel Steve had made. She barely shifted as he carefully ran the fabric over her damp skin, listening as his boyfriend requested JARVIS change the temperature in the bathroom and turn on the fans. Living in such an automated place would take some getting used to, for both Penny and Peter.

Bucky turned Penny to face him, tugging her close and forcing her to lean most of her body weight against his chest, “lift your legs so Stevie can get your panties on baby.”

She did as directed without hesitation, Steve sliding the soft material up her legs gently. The underwear were almost too small and he had to stop himself from groaning at the way her ass peaked out from the bottoms. Buck met his eyes from over Penny’s shoulder and gave him a careful smirk.

“Again baby, let Steve help with your pants.” Soft sweatpants came to cover the boner inducing panties, the blond standing up in the process to press against her back.

Skin contact might’ve been what inevitably broke down Penny’s walls. They could tell she was touch starved, the way goosebumps rose on her arms anytime they tucked up close. There would be a careful shiver, an almost instinctual curl against the heat source offered. She was desperate for contact but fighting out of principle.

Steve ran his nose gently along her bare shoulder, one arm wrapped around her rib cage and the other tugging Bucky closer to her front. She sunk, inch by inch, into the embrace until they were holding up the majority of her body weight.

“So sweet, baby,” the blond murmured quietly, enjoying the way her body curved around his arm slightly, “precious.”

Reluctantly, they helped her into the shirt Steve had brought in from their closet, one that they both wore but Bucky usually claimed. It was soft and long sleeved, leading the brunet to roll the sleeves up several times to reveal her hands and forearms.

“Captain, Sergeant, it’s been requested that I inform you that it is five minutes past 5am and that Mr. Parker is having difficulties behaving in the absence of his sister.”

Penny’s head shot up, eyes going to the ceiling, “What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with Peter?”

“He misses you something terrible, Ms. Parker,” the AI informed her calmly, “he is otherwise perfectly fine.”

“Can we go?” Dark brown eyes flitted between Steve and Bucky’s faces as she pulled out from between them both, anxiously inching towards the bathroom door, “please? Please can we go?”

“Hold on baby, let us get dressed real quick,” Bucky grabbed a pair of jeans off the bathroom counter, tugging them on while Steve did the same with a pair of joggers.

The blond tossed a t-shirt to Bucky as they both began moving, tugging on a tank top as he did so. His hand came to rest on Penny’s back, gently leading her out into the hallway and towards the elevator.

“ETA?”

Bucky looked at him in confusion for a moment before he hummed, “0800.”

Penny hardly spared them a glance as she stepped into the elevator, ignoring Bucky’s attempt to draw her closer and stared at the numbers changing on the panel above the doors.

Steve leaned against the wall, “sitrep?”

“All clear so far.”

Really, they didn’t need to speak in code. Penny wouldn’t have cared even if she could understand what they were saying. All she could think about as the elevator came to a stop several floors up and the doors opened, was getting to Peter. She desperately needed to make sure he was okay.

“This way sweetheart,” Bucky put his hand back on her back and led her through the doorways to Tony’s private kitchen, “He’ll be in here—”

Penny disappeared from under his hand a second later, hurtling herself at Mach 5 across the kitchen. Peter had come flying from the opposite direction at the same speed and they collided spectacularly, ending up in a heap on the tiled floor. Their weight distribution ended up with Peter hovering over her, clutching Penny to his chest while she clung to him with both arms and legs.

“Are you okay? Peter, baby are you okay? Are you oka—” the words were whispered, barely audible if it wasn’t for enhanced hearing, and repeated over and over again.

He was answering her, yes Penny, yes I’m okay, yes, I’m okay Penny but she wasn’t truly hearing him. Bucky and Tony made quick eye contact before nodding, the shorter man moving forward to remove the teenager from the floor and subsequently, his sister. Bucky was quick to follow, picking Penny up but quickly setting her back on her feet while Tony did the same.

They collided again, this time both staying on their feet. Penny’s head was tucked into her brother’s neck, still murmuring to him but this time in another language. He was nodding along with whatever she was saying, holding her so tightly against him that they almost worried about her spine. Both were openly crying, Penny’s nose turning bright red.

“Come on you two, let’s sit down and eat,” Steve managed to coerce the pair into chairs, barely managing to get them to each sit by themselves.

“Penny—” Peter’s voice cracked, disappearing into a whisper.

“It’s okay, Peter, it’s okay,” it didn’t sound like she believed what she was saying, Penny’s voice was trembling and it struck Steve right in the heart.

He carefully lifted her out of her chair and sat down in her place, having her come to rest in his lap. Peter reared back as if struck, only to have Tony wrap an arm around his waist from the end of the table and tug him close, chair and all. The extra foot of space between the siblings was nearly nonexistent but they both immediately started to reach for each other, like they were being pulled to opposite ends of the Earth.

“Calm down,” Tony ordered gently, reaching up to stroke Peter’s hair, “you’re fine, Penny’s right there, just breathe.”

Steve carefully nudged Penny’s head to rest against his wide chest, hushing her quietly, “we’re not taking you away, we’re just gonna eat breakfast. Aren’t you hungry, baby? It’s been almost a full day since you ate.”

Bucky started piling food onto the plate in front of her and Steve immediately, his seat at the end of the table making it easy to reach everything, “let’s get you fed, angel, I know you’re tired.”

Tony had done the same for him and Peter, nudging the boy to pick up a fork and start eating. Penny wasn’t quite so lucky, as Steve was the one who grabbed the fork in front of them. For a moment she wasn’t sure what to expect, but then he brought the loaded fork to her lips and she had a moment of rage.

They could all see if play over her face, even Peter, as she considered the food in front of her. How Steve was trying to feed her, how Tony had dragged her brother out of reach, how she was being carefully restrained. For a moment it looked like the eruption of anger might spill out, but Tony cleared his throat and Bucky shifted in his seat. He reached out with metal fingers and brushed her cheek, pressing her head closer to the fork.

“Be a good girl, Penny. Eat your breakfast, talk with your brother,” his gaze was imploring and stern, “good girls get rewards, baby, naughty girls get punishments.”

“Your sister takes good care of you, doesn’t she Peter?” Tony directed his attention at the boy sitting so close he was nearly in his lap.

“Y-Yeah,” Peter gulped, anxiety drying his mouth, “always, s-she always takes care of me.”

“Does she take care of herself, baby boy?”

Penny called herself a dumb ass on a regular basis but she immediately saw through the manipulation. Her eyes homed in on the genius and she felt her lips contorting into a snarl, especially with the way Peter seemed to hesitate. His eyes seemed to rake over her, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, the too thin column of her neck emphasized by the oversized shirt.

“I take care of myself just fine, stop trying to lead him like that,” she spat, “stop trying to put things into his head.”

“I’m not putting anything into his head, precious,” Tony smiled coyly and shook his head, “Peter’s a smart boy, he’ll come to his own conclusions.”

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Pete?” Steve asked kindly, letting his hand come to rest under the hem of Penny’s shirt and enjoying the tremor that ran through her at the contact.

“Penny takes care of me first and herself second, no matter what,” the teenager answered, sad brown eyes settling on his sister’s face, “education, money, food, all of it.”

“Peter, stop, don’t let them get to you,” she tried to shift closer to her brother but was brought back by Steve’s firm hold, “get off! Peter—”

“Hush doll,” the blond ordered sternly, bringing his hand up to cup the side of her face, pressing her cheek to his chest and resting his thumb somewhat forcefully on the joint of her jaw, “take a bite.”

A moment of indecision visibly passed through her before Penny allowed herself to be fed. The fight over food wasn’t worth it, wasn’t worth being potentially dragged away from Peter. The debate though, that was worth it, the look in Peter’s eyes was enough to convince her.

“Nothing I’ve ever done for Peter has been a burden,” she locked eyes with her little brother, determination clear, “there’s nothing I regret.”

“Of course not, precious,” Tony shook his head, “I’d never imply that Peter was a burden. I know you love him unconditionally. But you have to admit, you’ve made a lot of sacrifices for him. Don’t you think you might’ve let your own health and happiness fall to the side?”

“No.” There was no hesitation or thought before she answered, forcing herself to chew another bite when it was held up to her, “Taking care of Peter makes me happy.”

“We know, sweetheart,” Bucky reached over and took one of her hands, “but other things will make you happy too. You can love Peter without having to devote every minute of your life to him, you know?”

“That’s why you don’t have to worry about taking care of Peter anymore, angel,” Tony smiled, the look on Penny’s face was full of disdain but it didn’t dampen his affection for her, “you still get to be with him, you still get to love him, but he’s not your responsibility anymore. You don’t have to break your back over him, all you have to do is love him. Doesn’t that sound nice? Not having to constantly worry about money and paying for his school? Or about making your eighty different schedules work together?”

“Bite, baby,” Steve directed her attention once again, making her eat before she could answer.

Tony directed Peter to eat too, while she was chewing. She watched as the older man filled his plate, pulled a cup of juice closer to him. He touched Peter with reverence and adoration. She hated it. Hated his hands on her brother. Hated that he thought he could tell Peter what to do. Simmering rage was building under her skin, ready to erupt.

“I want to take care of Peter,” her teeth were clenched, hands tightened into fists in her lap, “I don’t care what I have to do, I want to take care of him—”

Steve’s hand came to rest directly over her sternum, having set down the fork while she spoke, and he pressed down with just enough force to make her nervous, “me and Bucky are going to do everything we can to make you happy, Penny, but you’re not always going to get what you want. Things are different now.”

“He’s my broth—”

“She’s like a chihuahua.”

Heads snapped up all around the table, Penny and Peter watching in disbelief as the vent cover over the stove wiggled violently for a moment before abruptly falling off. It hit the floor with a clang, a man tumbling out of the air vent a moment later. He also hit the floor, after bouncing off the stove. Steve had to restrain Penny from running over to check on him out of instinct.

“Congratulations dumbass,” Tony deadpanned as the man groaned and shifted in a heap on the tile, “you’re officially the only person to continuously injure themselves falling out of air vents in the tower.”

“Wrong!” He argued, flopping onto his back and pointing in the vague direction of the table, “Barnes has also ate shit falling out of the vents multiple times.”

Penny and Peter watched as the two men sitting at the table leveled Bucky with questioning looks. The brunet was very carefully avoiding their gaze, cutting the pancakes on his plate into precise triangles. Usually, as the guardian of a teenage boy, Penny took avoidance as a sign of guilt and she felt her lips curl.

“You’re too bulky to be in the vents Buck,” Steve gave him a stern look which his boyfriend continued to ignore, turning his eyes on the smirking Penny instead.

“Wanna bite, doll?” He held up a fork with pancake on the end and Penny narrowed her eyes slightly before giving in and taking it.

“Is that why you have a huge bruise on your back?” She asked pointedly, realizing that getting the man in trouble was likely her best bet to deviate their attention from her.

Bucky looked stricken at her words, eyes quickly darting to Steve who looked less than pleased, “JARVIS keeps dropping the vent covers without warning!”

“That’s because you’re not supposed to be in the vents!” Stark literally threw his hands up in exasperation, looking taxed to the core, “it’s meant to dissuade you!”

“Physical deterrents don’t work on some children,” Penny stated with a snarky smile.

“See, a chihuahua; the most vicious attack dog on the planet.”

“Peter, Penny, this dumbass is Clint Barton, who was told to fuck off for at least the next two days,” Bucky waved a flippant hand in the blond man’s direction, a glare on his face.

“I won’t be kept away from my children!”

“Clint, they’re not your kids.”

“I’ve claimed them, they’re mine.”

“They’re not—”

“DIBS!”

“You can’t dibs people, Clint!”

“Fuckin— you assclowns dibs-ed people, that’s why we’re in this situation.”

“But if they dibsed us,” Peter frowned slightly, “you can’t dibs us again, we were already dibsed.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Penny muttered quietly, covering her eyes with a hand, “Peter, really? Kidnapped. The word you’re looking for is kidnapped.”

“Oh,” the teenager blinked several times, as if replaying the conversation in his head before twisting his lips into a frown, “good point. Dibsing a person is like, actually illegal. Super illegal.”

“Super fucking illegal,” she groaned, ignoring the way Steve’s arm tightened around her waist, the one on her chest coming up to run through her hair only for her to bat it away, “Stop! My hair is curly, you can’t do that when it’s dry or it’ll tangle!”

“That’s true actually,” Clint stated, walking around the table to drop into a chair opposite of Penny and Steve, “you should never comb or brush curly hair when it’s dry, it’ll frizz and tangle. Makes it hard to manage.”

“You’ll have to help Penny pick out stuff,” Bucky waved his fork in her direction, “she needs special shampoo for her hair right?”

The conversation was, once again, surreal and Penny couldn’t decide if she wanted to shoot herself or them. They wanted to talk about hair products, as if she and her brother weren’t literally being held against their will by a rich pedophile with too many connections and his psycho soldier buddies.

“I can hear the wheels turning in your head babydoll,” Steve murmured quietly in her ear, the hand around her waist sneaking up under the hem of her shirt again to settle on her skin, “take a deep breath and try to relax for me, okay? Just try to calm down.”

She willed her entire body not to tense as fury shot through her, not wanting to instigate a fight but seriously what the fuck. Try to calm down, relax, everything’s okay, I know you’ve been kidnapped but chill the fuck out—everything since she woke up had been the same mantra, deep breaths, calm down, it’s okay, you’re safe. Over and over again.

“Are you full, sweetheart?” Bucky asked softly, seeing the barely contained anger trembling through her, “we can head back to the apartment, you can rest?”

“I want to stay with Peter.”

“Peter’s gonna be resting all day too, precious,” Tony patted the teenager’s shoulder gently, “you guys’ve been through some emotional upheaval, you need time to relax.”

“We can relax together.”

A sigh escaped the genius and he shifted to rest his elbows on the table, levelling Penny with a serious expression, “Alright Penny, real talk: you two need time to adapt to your new situations and being in each other’s pockets isn’t going to help. You’ll see each other every day, multiple times a day, but you need time apart—”

“N-No we don’t, please,” Peter looked stricken, turning in his seat to face the man dead on, “p-please Mr. Stark, we don’t need time apart, please—”

“Your lives are changing and your behaviors have to change with them,” Steve cut him off gently, both hands coming to rest on Penny’s skin under her shirt now in an attempt to keep her calm, “you both need to learn to rely on us for your needs and that won’t happen if you keep clinging to each other. Imagine that you’re living in different houses, that you’ve each got your own separate lives. You’re still going to see each other regularly but you’re going to be independent of each other from now on.”

The two siblings had very different temperaments and it became extremely apparent in their reactions. Peter, who was certainly less mature but generally more logical, looked crest fallen. Tears gathered in his eyes and his lip wobbled but he didn’t argue or fight, he knew there was no point. It didn’t make sense to freak out.

Penny on the other hand, lost her goddamn mind. Steve had excellent reflexes but the level of batshit crazy she displayed was hard to account for. She’d snatched a fork off the table and slammed it down into the man’s leg without hesitation, screaming obscenities and threw the cup of coffee he’d been drinking in Bucky’s face. Clint dove across the table just as she brought her elbow up and back into Steve’s face, breaking his nose with a bone chilling crunch. She’d shot to her feet, knocking Steve off the chair, but Clint grabbed her arms tightly from behind before she could go anywhere.

Unfortunately he only managed to give her the leverage to raise both of her legs and slam them firmly into Tony’s chest when he tried to get closer to her, sending him flailing across the kitchen. The force sent Clint off balance and he released her on instinct to prevent her from falling on top of him. She landed with a heavy thud, crying out at the sharp pain that shot through her whole arm.

“Penny!” Peter shot to his feet but Tony grabbed him before he could go to her, holding him back and whispering something that she couldn’t hear in his ear.

She barely had time to process her position and situation before Bucky grabbed her by the legs and hauled her up off the floor, holding her upside down. Her shriek was enraged and she flailed but was unable to pull herself into any sort of defendable position, her core muscles weren’t strong enough.

“You okay Stevie?”

“Damn baby,” the blond groaned slightly, holding his nose between both hands as blood gushed down his front, “shattered my nose.”

“I’m honestly more impressed than upset,” Clint called from the floor, “how’d she get the drop on a super soldier? Holy fuck there’s a fork sticking out of your leg.”

“Better head to see Bruce,” Tony jabbed a thumb over his shoulder towards the elevator, “Barnes, you got her?”

“Yeah, I got her,” the man rolled his eyes, adjusting his grip on her ankles so he could meet her eyes, “Remember when we said no hitting or kicking? Naughty girls get punishments? I know you can be sweet, Penny, why won’t you be sweet for us?”

“I’ll fuckin kill you mother fuck—”

“Ohhkay,” Bucky swung her up abruptly, catching her over his shoulder and effectively knocking the wind out of her, “Steve, you head to see Bruce, me and Penny are going to go learn a lesson.”

#steve rogers x oc x bucky barnes #steve rogers x oc #bucky barnes x oc #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #dark!tony stark #dark!mcu #let's review #let's review chapter 8

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kinkyquirk · 6 years ago

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*Cracks knuckles*

---

Idle was not a word one would use to describe your boyfriend. If it wasn't to sleep, sitting down and doing nothing irritated him. Being "a bum ass loser" as he liked to put it. That being said, most of your time together was spent studying or training.

You parried a blow meant for your face, simultaneously using your opposite had to grab your boyfriend's wrist and yank him closer, ending with a sharp jab to the sensitive ribs just beneath his armpit. He hissed as the punch made him stumble, rushing at you as soon as he caught his footing again.

The blows flying by your head came in such quick succession that you had a hard time dodging them all, and he inevitably landed a hefty strike to your chin that had such power behind it, it sent you to the ground.

As soon as you hit the floor, you slid between his legs and knocked his feet out from under him, causing him to fall as well. He cursed loudly, grabbing onto your arm as you attempted to stand and rolling the both of you until he came out on top, an arm around your neck.

"Ha! Gotcha now, little mouse," he gloated, no doubt grinning down at your prone form.

You gave a strangled yelp at a sudden constriction of your airway, weighing your options before admitting your defeat and tapping his arm. He was quick to let up on the constriction, but didn't move. Before you could question him, he sent a rolling jolt of butterflies through your stomach by planting a kiss just below your ear.

All at once, the atmosphere did a complete 180° flip and you were suddenly very aware of the position you were in.

You, helpless on the floor. Him, in complete control above you. The idea created a feverishly hot blush on your cheeks, fueling something primal within you to be completely and totally at his mercy. No matter the consequences of your thoughts, you couldn't keep them from coming to you rapid fire.

Finally, and you were ashamed of how disappointed it made you feel, he released you and stood, offering a hand to help you to your feet when you rolled onto your back.

"Fuck, you're red," he noted aloud upon seeing your flushed skin, the smirk falling off his face. The comment only served to deepen the blush in question, and you swallowed nervously.

"It was a good training session," you shrugged, rubbing your neck and hoping he didn't catch the way your voice cracked. Cold water. You needed cold water.

He studied your face for what felt like an agonizingly long time before turning and making his way to the bench where your towels and water bottles sat, "That's it for today, let's head out.

Ever since then, you hadn't been able to train with him the same way. You found yourself anticipating the moment he'd wrestle you to the floor, trapping you beneath his strong body and setting you with a victorious gaze. The prey-like feeling of being caught by a powerful predator made your skin tingle and toes curl every time, and this time - your skin ablaze as he sat atop you and gripped your wrists to the floor - he finally caught on.

"You," he paused, scanning your face questioningly one last time before something seemed to click in his head, "You fucking like being pinned down?"

Dread washed through you at having been caught, scrambling to form some kind of excuse that didn't sound like a straight lie, "I, no- It just- you-"

"Have you been letting me win for this?" he growled furiously, the grip on your wrists tightening. You flinched, quickly shaking your head.

"No! No, I-" you deflated a bit, seeing no way around it, "You've always beat me fair and square, I just...," you fell into silence, shame warming your face once again.

He gauged your reaction carefully, seeing no lie in your words and the anger melted off his face slowly, "You just what?" he demanded, his voice considerably lower now but his hold on you remained firm.

The heat warmed your ears, and you squirmed uncomfortably, "..I uh, I dunno," you finished lamely, heart thumping away in your chest in panic. What would he think of you if he figured it out? Would he be annoyed? Disgusted? To want to be dominated by him the way you did, it was...well, if anything, it was kinky. And you weren't sure if he would be comfortable with it.

He gripped both your wrists in one hand, grabbing your face with the other to force you to look at him, "You want me to hurt you?" he asked. It wasn't a threat, he was simply asking.

You shook your head, "N-not really..."

Suddenly, he had flipped you to your stomach, pressing his weight into you and cupping your chin while he kept your hands secured behind your back. His voice was a low growl in your ear, "You want me to fuck you like this?"

You nearly squeaked as he trailed a hand down your side, grabbing possessively at your hip, "You want me to make you scream, little mouse?"

The whimper that left your throat was downright mortifying. Here you were, wiggling and moaning beneath him like some cat in heat, and he hadn't even touched you yet.

He sat up, releasing you entirely. For a second, you were sure you had put him off when he suddenly gripped your hips and dragged your ass into the air like he owned it. Hell if he didn't as far as you were concerned. He pressed into your back again, hands dipping into the waistband of your workout pants teasingly shallow as his lips ghosted over your ear.

"Tell me you want me to fill you up," he murmured, reaching down to pet you through fabric. Your thighs quivered violently at the sudden pleasure, your cheek pressed into the cold floor as you moaned shamelessly. Fill you up? Why did that do so many things to you?

"Tell me you want me to completely wreck you, baby," he said, fingers moving to pull at the tie in the drawstrings of your sweatpants and diving beneath to continue his assault skin to skin.

"Fuuuuuck," you whined pathetically, hips jerking spaztically at the feeling of his calloused hand working you so possessively.

"Damn it," he spat, yanking your pants and underwear down in frustration. You jumped, moving to sit up in surprise when his hand grabbed the back of your neck and forced you back down where you had been. The action might have alarmed someone else, but it had you melting needily under his grip.

"Don't you dare move," he warned, curling back over you and grinding against your entrance with his now unclothed cock. His voice in your ear was rumbling and harsh, vibrating in his chest against your back, "You're mine little mouse. Understand? Mine."

You nodded fervently, pressing back into him eagerly.

"Say it," he demanded, the tip of his cock now prodding teasingly into you, "I wanna hear you say it."

"Yours! I'm yours, Katsuki," you gasped, every attempt to push back into him and sink him deeper into you thwarted by his powerful grip on your hip and neck.

Pleased, he sank into you with a deep grunt, hips meeting your ass and thighs in a rough slap that jolted your whole body forward. The sudden pressure widening you and stretching your walls drew a startled yelp from you, but you were glad he didn't take it as a sign to stop, rutting into you hard and slow. He reached for your sex again, stimulating you roughly while he kept a hand around your throat.

"You belong to me!" he ground out, curling down around you until your body was caged in his own, completely under his control, "You're gonna take everything I give you like a good little mouse!"

"Katsukiiii," you nearly sobbed, so incredibly turned on by this new side to him. The rocking of your bodies sped up, and a sudden bite to your shoulder nearly made you jump out of your skin. You definitely hadn't expected it, but oh fucking god did you want him to do it again. Harder.

"Take it," he growled in your ear, biting the sensitive lobe there, "I'm gonna cum deep inside you... and you're gonna take it all! Every. Last. Drop," he punctuated each word with a harder than usual thrust, drawing a cry from you every time.

It was building so fast, you knew you couldn't last any longer. His hand gripped your throat tighter and you grit your teeth against the strain.

"Cum for me, baby," he gasped, spasming inside you already, "Cum while I get you pregnant!"

True or not, the words made you fall so hard. Your orgasm hit you with such force, you couldn't see for a second or two and when your vision faded back in, it was blurred. Without realizing it, you had screamed his name, thrashing as he held you down through the rolling aftershocks.

"Fuck, baby," he gasped for breath, littering your shoulders and neck with kisses and bites while you laid there twitching, drool dripping carelessly from the corner of your mouth to the ground below.

Your body kept jolting even as he gathered you in his arms and pulled you into his lap, petting your hair and back as you calmed.

"You should have told me," he huffed, a shit eating grin on his face and in his voice, "If you wanted me to get dominant like that, all you had to do was ask."

#fuck i gotta end this here #boy did this take me a long time to write #bnha imagine #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha smut #poppy prattles

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ahgaseda · 6 years ago

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made of stone || chapter 15

⇥ synopsis : when you return after years apart to pursue a divorce from your husband, Mark, you fall back into a contentious relationship because your partner still refuses to give up his dangerous fighting career...

⇥ warnings : this story in its entirety includes but is not limited to strong language and dialogue, descriptions of blood and violence, alcohol or drug use, and explicit sexual content, and is intended for an adult audience only!

After a well-deserved hot shower, you dressed in a simple white tee and towel-dried your hair before heading toward the kitchen in search of something to drink. Glancing around the corner to see if Mark was in the living room, you were disappointed to find you were alone.

With a sigh, you fixed a glass of ice water and downed it, battling internally with how to feel. The last person on earth who could tell Mark not to be angry was you, after all the hell you had given him for fighting. But it hurt your heart that he couldn’t at least speak to you.

With a shake of your head, you grumbled to yourself. How hypocritical was that? “Pot meet kettle,” you chided under your breath.

The back door opened and Mark stepped inside. You immediately froze in place, feeling understandably awkward, and said nothing.

“Hi,” your husband greeted in a tone gruffer than he intended.

“Hi,” you replied.

Mark met your eyes and you studied each other. The bruising on his face was bold, but the swelling had gone. Bandages remained taut over his knuckles, but you knew the gashes were steadily healing.

Still, it all served as a visceral reminder for what you were doing.

Mark broke the silence by asking, “Nice shower?”

Reminded of your damp hair, you nodded politely. “Mm-hm.”

“Good,” he said, stripping off his jacket and draping it over the back of the nearest chair at the kitchen table.

Biting your lip, you questioned timidly, “Are we finally gonna talk?”

“Not too much,” your husband replied, blunt as usual.

You blinked. “Oh.”

Mark slipped his hands into his pockets, gazing at you through messy hair that had fallen into his eyes. “Actions speak louder than words.”

“That they do,” you sighed.

Mark began moving toward you, his voice low and husky when he said, “Don’t fight.”

“Mark, please,” you whispered, glancing away. You were too exhausted to argue with him. The last thing you wanted was another shouting match. All you wanted was for him to hold you close and tell you everything would be okay.

Mark kept advancing until he had backed you against the wall. You swallowed the lump in your throat, tension filling the room, and you waited with bated breath for him to say what he was after.

“Baby,” he crooned in your ear, voice softer than a feather. “Don’t fight.”

Oh, you thought. Well, he had never taken that approach before. “Mark…” you trailed, searching for words.

Mark cupped your cheek and pressed his lips to your pulse point, the innocent touch a far cry from the explicit thoughts racing in his head.

You hummed softly, lashes fluttering as he kissed your neck with abandon. Hands moved of their own accord, your fingers roaming down his back and slipping underneath his shirt. His skin was always a stark contrast to yours, burning like he had spent every waking hour in the sun. Maybe a fire burned inside him and the flames licked at your flesh whenever you touched him.

His lips moved slowly and deliberately against your skin. You could feel your body reacting, every nerve standing at attention. Your mind wandered back to the days Mark couldn’t keep his hands off of you. The honeymoon never seemed to end for you and your first - and only - love. Until fighting worsened and you realized Mark couldn’t play such a deadly game forever.

Now, here you stood; the roles reversed.

“Mark,” you warned, but the thunder was long gone.

“Don’t fight,” he murmured, nipping at the base of your throat.

Your lashes fluttered. His tongue was hot and wet on your skin. A hand grazed up your stomach, coming to settle on your clothed breast. After the shower you had opted out of putting on a bra. Mark clearly appreciated that and gave your mound a squeeze.

“I don’t want to fight,” you finally confessed, your voice weak and airy.

Mark pulled back, his hand firmly cradling your cheek as his thumb rubbed your nipple over the shirt. His eyes burned into yours, the fire in his gaze threatening to devour you whole. Your husband leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in the gentlest of kisses.

“Then don’t,” he said. Mark pictured himself standing at the edge of the ring, watching you take a head-splitting hit and landing on the concrete floor. He couldn’t stomach it.

Irony was a bitch, wasn’t it?

You broke away, the back of your head landing against the cold wall behind you. “I have to,” you replied.

Mark pressed closer, determination bold on his face. Then, he did the last thing you ever expected. He smirked.

His leg moved between your knees, making room for his hips to fit between your thighs. “I will just have to convince you,” Mark growled darkly, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and tugging.

You grabbed his head in your hands, smashing your mouth on his for a real kiss, knowing damn well he had been intentionally avoiding giving you what you wanted most.

The two of you became a hurried mess of tangled limbs, caressing and exploring as you could feel a dampness in your underwear. Should’ve waited to take that damn shower, you quipped to yourself.

Mark pushed you against the wall none too gently and slipped his tongue into your mouth, pinning your hands on opposite sides of your head and lacing his fingers through yours. You kissed him back with all you had, matching his anger and frustration as only you could.

A small whimper made you break from his kisses when Mark began rolling his hips, grinding himself into your clothed heat. You didn’t know why he had yet to throw you over his shoulder and escort you to the bedroom or at least bend you over the counter and get to work.

His kisses muffled your whines when you tried to loosen your hands, wanting to free his hard cock still trapped in his jeans. You could feel his erection with the movements of his hips and impatiently wanted it buried inside you.

“Take me,” you whispered.

Mark groaned, wet lips brushing over your cheek to find your neck once more. He tightened his grip on your fingers and sank his teeth into the base of your shoulder.

“Mark,” you pleaded, voice a little stronger with need. “Take me already.”

Your husband released your wrists and went to work on his jeans. By the time you had discarded your panties and hiked up your shirt, Mark slipped his hands under your thighs and lifted you into the air. You locked your ankles behind his back and carded your fingers into his hair.

When he finally pushed inside, you let out a shaky breath on his neck, clinging to his shoulders tightly. Mark whispered your name as he penetrated you slowly, sinking in until he could go no further. You moaned softly when he began to bob you up and down.

Your nails scraped down his firm arm, biceps flexing as he supported your weight. Resting your head against his, you closed your eyes and focused on how he felt in your arms and between your legs. Tears burned behind your lashes, but you fought them back.

Mark seemed to feel your emotions and he parted from your neck to meet you face-to-face, chest-to-chest. “Look at me,” your husband said.

Opening your eyes, a tear or two inevitably escaped.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked worriedly.

“No,” you answered, stroking your thumbs over his flushed cheeks. “I just… love you so much it kills me.”

“Baby, you know I love you more than life,” Mark told you, moving his hips languidly and coaxing in and out of your warmth.

You sighed, “I know.”

Mark stole a kiss from your lips and tucked his face in the bend of your neck, bracing you against the wall and thrusting deep into your velvet walls. You bit your lip and stifled your sounds, wanting to purr at how good he felt inside you.

With each push of his hips Mark picked up the pace. You grit your teeth as your back met the wall in a steady rhythm and moaned when the coil in the pit of your stomach clenched tighter and tighter. Mark sank his teeth into your sensitive skin rather than cry out your name for the neighbors to hear and tongued over the reddening bruise he had made.

Throwing your head back, you mewled, “Mark, I’m gonna come.”

Mark had been waiting for that warning and promptly wrapped his arms around your waist, moving to the counter with you in his clutches. You gasped in surprise, holding him for balance, but when he set you down on the granite surface, you licked your lips.

“You can come,” Mark started, pinning your hands over your head and drilling into you hard. “If you don’t fight.”

Your eyes widened, both from that admission and the way he pounded into your tight, wet cunt. “I…” you hesitated.

Mark slowed his pace, running his hands down your arms to grasp your hips lazily. You undulated as best you could, trying to build yourself back toward the edge of climax. Your husband gazed down at you with no pity to be found and said, “Say it.”

You whimpered, but said nothing.

Mark frowned, brow stitching with the effort of holding himself back. Each exhale that passed through his lips was heavy and loud. Pumping his cock into your folds, Mark shifted his attention to where your bodies connected.

This clearly worked better on him than you, Mark realized, thinking back to all of those times you rode him until he couldn’t think straight. You always tried to make him late for fights or miss them entirely because of a rough round in bed.

Seeing him lose some of that resolve, you brought a hand up your body, dragging your shirt upward to expose your bouncing breasts. Raking your tongue across your teeth, you crooned, “Make me…”

“Fuck,” Mark swore under his breath.

This was one fight he should have known he could never win.

chapter 14 ⇤ chapter 15 ⇥ chapter 16

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

#got7 fanfiction #mark tuan smut #got7 smut #mark smut #got7 scenarios #mark tuan scenarios #got7 fanfic #mark tuan fanfic

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netflixmomma516 · 6 years ago

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Her Secrets 4 - 13RW Series

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

I pull out my phone and see 20 missed calls all from Jeff, Jess, and Scott. Only 8 voicemails though. I decide not to listen to them. I pull myself together enough to drive home.

I still see the unfamiliar car in the driveway, but at the moment I don't care. I cut the engine by the car, and I take a deep breath. My body is so exhausted. I touch my belly, "we're okay." I whisper to the growing baby in my belly.

I make my way into the house, and see my dad and the woman standing in the kitchen. I don't care about my father's love life, it's his life, he's plenty old enough to make his own decisions without telling his 18-year-old daughter.

"Oh hey YNN, I wasn't expecting you home so soon." My dad looks shocked that I just caught him in an affair. "The smell of alcohol didn't agree with the baby," I said not trying to hide anything from this woman, even if my dad was probably trying too. "Oh well, YN this is Janet." I half smiled at her. She had beautiful chocolate brown hair, with hazel eyes and tan skin; looking about my dad's age. "Nice to meet you, I've heard a lot about you." Oh great. Those words are never good to hear. "Nice to meet you, but don't let me interrupt, I'm going to bed." I quickly say backing up to the stairs

"Do you want food YNN? I know my grand-baby needs something to eat." I smile at my dad, a real genuine smile.

I feel like the first time in 16 years my dad is actually concerned about me. "Sure." Food does sound really good since I did throw my lunch up. "Give me 5 minutes and I'll bring it up to you." My dad tells me as he was opening the fridge to pull out leftovers. I smiled at him.

I made my way to my room to change into pajamas. I curl up in bed and turn on the TV.

I hear a knock on my door, "come in." I yell to who I'm assuming is my dad on the other side. The door opens to reveal my half-gray-haired father. He has a plate of food in his hands and hands me it. I gladly take it. "So what happened at the party?" He asked concerned. "Nothing, we got there and I just smelled the alcohol and bugs didn't like it," I said finally taking a bite of the delicious food in front of me. "Did you just run off or did you tell your friends why you threw up?" "I just ran off," I answered with some food still in my mouth. "I know you want me to keep the secret too, but it's going to get out eventually." My dad makes a good point. "I'll take the risk," I tell him. He looks at me with understanding and kisses my forehead.

"YNN wake up!" I hear my dad yell from behind the door. I roll my eyes and yell groggily, still half asleep. "What?" My dad opens the door, "you have a visitor by the name of Jessica." Dad looked at me confused as I gave him the same look. I walk down to the front door and see my friend looking at me. She runs for me and embraces me in a bear hug. I stumble backward at the hard contact.

She grabs my shoulders and looks at me in the eyes, "are you okay?" I smile at her. "Yeah." I laugh and pull her into my room. "We've all been calling and texting you like crazy." She informed me like I didn't know. "I know." I huff sitting on my unmade bed. "Why have you been ignoring us? Especially me. I thought we really had a bonding moment last night." She said sitting next to me. "I didn't mean to Jess, I must've eaten something bad for lunch, and I didn't want to be sick around everyone. When I got home I went straight to bed." I lie straight through my pearly white teeth. "Oh, I completely understand. You should've told us you didn't feel good." "I didn't want to ruin the mood, everyone was so ready to party," I confess. I didn't want to ruin the mood.

"Well, Jeff and Scott were worried sick about you." She confesses to me. "Do you feel better today?" She asks hopefully. "Yeah, a lot." "Well good, because you need to be ready for your date with Jeff." I looked at her confused. How the hell did she know about my date, because I didn't tell her?

"Jeff told me he was taking you to the lake." She said as if she read my mind. "You should feel special he's taking you to the lake." I looked at her super confused this time. Why should I feel special? What is so special about a lake? "The lake is about an hour drive from here, when he gets super stressed out or just needs to be alone he goes up to the lake." I used to have a spot like that but mine was a creek about 10 minutes from my house. No one knew that was my place to escape except one person. That one person ruined my life.

- I start running, I run til my legs give out from underneath me. Sam and I had a fight, ever since I was 14 I go to the creek. I'm sitting by the waterfall, listening to the water rushing down the rocks, an owl hooting up in the trees. The moon seemed to light everything up.

I see a black truck make its way down the road. I instantly freeze. The truck stops, "YN?" I hear a male voice slowly approach. "Andy?" I ask recognizing the voice. "What are you doing out here?" He asks as he takes a seat next to me. I shrug, "Sam and I got into a fight again." I huff wiping the tears away.

"Whenever I need to get away from life for a little bit, I come out here. No one rarely comes out here." I confess and shrug my shoulders. My hands go in the water and make circles. Andy quietly sits next to me.

"I promise I won't tell anyone about this place for you." He smiles at me. "Thanks, Andy." I lean on him. -

I looked at her with a smile. "I'm ready," I say unsure if I believe my words. I'm scared. I'm scared of getting hurt again. "Good, let's go eat and then I'll get you ready." I smile, "okay." We walk out of my room and walk down the stairs to see just my dad in the kitchen on the phone. I smile at my dad as he looked super stressed, yelling at whoever is on the other end. Probably work stuff that I don't get.

I shrug at Jess as she gave me a questioning look because of my dad. She shakes off her look as I open the fridge and freezer. I hand her some waffles. I feel my stomach rumble. I quickly pop the waffles in the toaster. "Do you want some coffee?" I whisper to her, trying not to interrupt my dads yelling match on the phone. "Sure," she smiles at me. I quickly start the coffee maker.

My phone rings on the counter, indicating a text. I grab it and see it's Jeff. My smile instantly appears on my face. There's just something about this guy.

Jeff; Hey YNN, are we still on for tonight?

I feel a surge of guilt about last night.

Me; Absolutely.

I will apologize on the drive to the lake.

I want to see if he will believe a bullshit lie I come up with. I might stick to the lie I told Jess that I just ate something bad for lunch and didn't want to ruin the party. "I'm going to pick an outfit for you while you go shower." Jess pushes me into my bathroom. I laugh. "Okay. Nothing too over the top please." I smile at my new best friend. "Of course." She flips her hair over her shoulder. I shut my bathroom door, and strip down and turn on the water. Not too hot. I turn sideways in the mirror to see if I can tell if I'm gaining any weight. A little pudgy but nothing drastic yet. I rub my belly as I smile at my growing baby bump. It doesn't matter what happened, I still love this little baby that is growing inside me.

-- I run to the nearest bathroom, thankfully it's empty, I lock myself in the stall and lost control. It all came out. I sink beside the toilet and start sobbing. "Why?" I instantly knew. -

Jess hands me my underwear and bra first as I stand before her in just my towel. "Okay here," she hands me a really cute outfit. "Thank you. It's so cute Jess." I hug her as I finished zipping my jacket halfway. "You're welcome. Now sit." She pulls out my vanity chair. --

"You look perfect. You don't look like you're trying too hard at all." Jess smiles at me, as I smile back at her in the full-length mirror. I'm still super nervous about this date with Jeff. I look at my reflection, my curly hair cascading down my back. My natural makeup complementing my eyes perfectly. "Jeff will be a fool if he doesn't think you're beautiful right now." I smile at Jess and plop onto my bed next to her. I have 20 minutes left before he was going to pick me up for our date. I pull out my phone and scroll through my social media.

"So did you tell Scott what happened?" Jess interrupts my reading about something not important.

To be honest, I haven't even thought about Scott in the last 24 hours, my date with Jeff has gotten me too preoccupied.

"Honestly haven't thought about it," I say truthfully. "You at least need to let him know you're okay." Jess retorts. I huff thinking back to seeing him and Chloe flirting at our lockers.

"Why? It's not like he cares he's probably with Chloe anyway." I say bitchy, at the ache in my heart that wasn't there 1 minute prior. "Why would you say that?" She asks worried about my switch in demeanor. "Jess you didn't see the way Scott looked at her or Chloe looked at him yesterday in the hall or even lunch." I huff trying not to be too butthurt about this stupid crush. "YNN, Chloe is just jealous because she found out that Scott kind of likes you, and he invited you to guys night at Bryce's place earlier this week." She confesses. "No girl is allowed at guys night, not even me and I'm Justin's girlfriend." She continues. "Chloe sees you as a threat." She looks at me sympathetically. "But honestly you have nothing on her. At least you're not a conniving bitch." She laughs. "Hey, you don't know me that well yet," I say half-joking.

What will everyone think when my secret does come out. I know it's inevitable that it will get out. What do I say when I gain 20 pounds in the next 3 months? I've been binge eating because my dad actually cooks homemade meals.

I hear a knock on my door, knowing it's my dad, I casually say, "come in." Sure enough, it was my dad, "So am I meeting this boy before he goes out with my daughter?" He smiles at me. Wonder how he knew I was going out tonight? Maybe he overheard Jess and mines conversation. I smile at my over-protective father, "If you want." I shrug, not really caring if my dad meets Jeff. Jeff is a great guy and he seems like a boy my dad would love to see me go out with. "Of course I want to meet the young man that is taking my daughter out tonight." He smiles the same smile I have. "Okay," I smile back.

I look back down to my phone and quickly type.

Me; Hey Jeff so my dad wants to meet you before you take me out.

I send it.

Jeff; Of course.

My butterflies come back. The first date since everything happened 2 months ago.

-- Sam hands me a red solo cup, "what is it?" I ask. "Try it." He says. I take a sip, my nose scrunches and I instantly get a warm feeling. I smile knowing exactly what it is. I take another drink. --

I hear the doorbell and I hurry to the door, but my dad beats me to it. I huff as my dad opens the door revealing the tall man. He immediately smiles at my dad, "Hello Mr. YLN, I'm Jeff Atkins." He holds his hand out for my dad to shake. "Nice to meet you Jeff, but you can call me YDN." He takes his hand and shakes it. My nerves quickly subside seeing my dad impressed with his handshake.

My dad looks at me just as they let go of their handshake. "Hi YN," Jeff smiles his perfect smile at me. His plain white shirt covered by a black jacket. I smile at him. "Hey Jeff," I casually say, trying to calm my butterflies in my belly. "Hey Jeff," Jess interrupts our moment. "Hey, Jess." He smiles a friendly smile. I didn't know guys had a different smile for everyone, my dads was a nervous one, mine was a relaxed perfect smile, and Jess's was a friendly one.

I couldn't help but feel more compelled by this guy.

"So where are you going?" My dad interrupts everyone and turns his attention to Jeff. Jeff's eyes immediately meet my dad's gaze. "The lake, it's about an hour North of here." He says honestly. My dad quickly shakes his head, "What time should I expect YNN home?" He presses again, "11?" Jeff says as more of a question. "Okay, have fun." I let go of the breath I didn't know I was holding. I smile at my dad. This is the first time I've ever seen him act like a normal dad to an 18-year-old daughter.

"Are you ready YNN?" Jeff asks holding his hand out to me. I smile a relaxed smile and grab his hand. "I love you, dad." He bends down a little so I can kiss his cheek. "Love you, be careful." "I will take good care of her I promise," Jeff answers for me. My dad shakes his head in confirmation at Jeff.

We walk out to Jeff's Chevy Silverado, Jess trailing behind us. "Have fun guys." She says to us as she climbs into her Rover. "We will," Jeff answers. I smile. He opens the door for me to climb into his truck. He closes the door when I'm securely in. I blush, no guy has ever done that for me. He climbs into the driver's side. He huffs. "Hi YN." He looks over at me and smiles to me. "Hi, Jeff." I smile at his nervousness. He starts backing out onto the main road.

"So how are you?" He asks confident, all the nerves that were surrounding us just seconds ago disappear. Relaxed. That's a good word to describe how I feel. "I'm good, I feel a lot better." Remembering my run out last night. I huff preparing myself to lie. "I'm sorry about last night..." I trail off.

He grabs my hand that was in my lap, he intertwines our fingers, "It's okay, Jess told me your lunch didn't agree with you." I smile guilty, hopefully, he can’t see the guilt in my smile. "I completely understand YNN. I just wish you would've told me, I would've gone with you." He looked at me with a sympathetic look and looked back to the road. His fingers still intertwined in my mine. I smile at his huge hands that swallow my child like hands.

"What are you thinking about?" He asks taking me off-guard. I cant tell him what I'm really thinking about, which is if only he knew the truth would I be going to his favorite place to hide out. The answer is no. He's 18 years old he has his whole future planned out; I assume. "Thinking about how you're taking me to your place." He looked at me confused, "What do you mean my place?" I huff, remembering my place, and how that place is now a haunted memory of what happened to me. "The place no one knows about, the place you go to too hide out from the world. When the world gets to much for you to take, you go there and feel like everything is good with the world again."

I huff remembering when my dad told me he was leaving I ran for a half hour to the creek. I just heard all the sounds of nature, the creeks water talking to the birds in the trees. "Everyone knows about it. Just no one is allowed to come with me when I go up there." His grip tightens on the wheel, like I hit a huge nerve saying that. "Why?" I simply ask. That was like me, no one was ever allowed to go with me down there. "Because when I'm in a bad mood, no one wants to be around me." He confesses. His grip loosens just a little bit. I drop the subject. I'll ask a little more later. I might confess my secret place to him. I'll keep one little detail out though.

- "YFN!" My dad yells. "No, dad you're leaving me!" I scream with tears streaming down my freckled face. "To make a better life for us." He explains. "No, to make a better life for yourself. To get away from me, my mom."

I cant stand here anymore. I run out the front door. "YN! YN!" I hear my dad scream after me. I run, I run til my little legs cant do it anymore. I continue to walk. The trees get thicker. The creek is rushing past me. I collapse next to the creek. The birds whistle all around me, the sound of the creek rushing past without a care in the world. No one can find me.

#13 reasons why #13rw #13 reasons why gifs #13 reasons why imagine #13 reasons why imagines #jeff atkins #jessica davis #jeff atkins imagine #scott reed #scott reed imagine

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debu-neko-kun · 6 years ago

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Annual, Part 3

This is a huge male stuffing/weight gain commission for Doom7951 from over on DA. This chapter, the year wears on, and Dorian finds out Delta’s special (and filling) talent. Enjoy!

January 2nd Dorian awoke, belly having calmed after the gentle dinner of the night before. A mint salad to cool his tum, a plate of thinly sliced fish, and a small portion of caramel-drizzled coffee cake. Delicious, and unexpected, considering the agonizing gauntlet just a few hours prior. “Morning, sweetness! Hope you don’t frighten easy, because there’s a load of crepes waiting for you down here!” Dorian couldn’t help but smile out of the corner of his mouth. He rolled out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom, yawning as he flicked on the light. In one corner was a simple yet spacious shower with a stainless-steel shower head. Besides the toilet and sink, the rest of the room was dominated by a massive bathtub which looked more like a small pool. It had four faucets for quick filling; it seemed perfectly usable for daily use, if not expensive and impractical with a shower so near. Dorian just shrugged it off as another fanciful amenity that may see some use for bubble baths and de-robed, climbing into the shower for a quick wash with the expensive gels provided. In a few minutes, he had toweled off, re-dressed, and had headed down to the first floor. His nostrils were filled with promises of sugary sweet treats waiting for him in the dining hall, readily confirmed by the assortment of plates that waited at the head of the table. Delta placed the last of the plates down as Dorian walked through the door. “Good morning! Sleep well?” the pink chef smiled, slithering over to him. “Definitely. The bed is super comfortable.” “Great, because there’s a big day ahead of us! I’ve sent for a gardener to harvest the orchard, though I’ve got to head back to the restaurant for a few hours before lunch. I hope you won’t be too lonely without me, darling.” Delta gave him a little pat on his back. “O-Oh, uh… I’ll be fine, I think.” Dorian reassured. “Good, good. Well, let’s not let the food get cold, shall we?” Delta led Dorian to the table and pulled the chair out for him. As soon as he sat down, he was scooted forward, getting a face full of delicious crepe steam. “It smells really good…” he salivated. He picked up the knife and fork and cut off a small slice drizzled in fresh strawberry sauce, and brought it to his mouth. His vision pulsed as the bite flooded his senses; it was bliss in crepe form. Dorian couldn’t help but cram the rest into his mouth, his cheeks puffing with food as he chewed. “I’ll just leave you to it~” Delta giggled, retreating back through the entrance. The next hour was bathed in warm, sweet flavors. Strawberry, chocolate, cinnamon, all graced his lips with their decadence one by one. And, in turn, his stomach was packed with six plates of thin pastry, turning his smooth, average belly into a tight basketball. He could barely finish the cider set out for him, yet the warm smoothness of it soothed the aching in his belly. After the last gulp, he let out a long sigh and rested back in the chair for a while, eyes closed. Ten minutes later, sufficiently recuperated, Dorian pushed himself back out of the chair and slowly roamed back into the main hall. With his hands in his pockets, he examined the portraits along the walls. The city’s history stared back at him, painters and architects, explorers and nobles. It was hard to ignore their sizes; soft rolls, prodigious bellies, arms like turgid pastry bags, chins and folds and dimples all carefully rendered on canvas by skilled hands. Dorian’s mind connected the theme to Delta’s love of cooking, but inevitably chalked it up to the fact that nearly all of the city’s famous contributors just happened to be big and left it at that as he moved on to the lounge. He was immediately drawn to the bookshelf. Recipe books and handwritten cooking guides lined the top, some embellished with fancy leather bindings and others just collections of notes tied together with cooking twine. Further down was a collection of classics; The Legend of Vander, Empire of Hunger, Claritser’s Guide to Magical Afflictions (and the sequel, Living with Transfigurative Curses: It’s Not so Bad, by Claritser.) The rest were combinations of easy-read adventure stories, amorous fireside romances, fantastical sci-fi tales, guides on proper self-care, and enthralling fantasies with beautiful covers. ‘Not a bad collection’, Dorian thought, and wandered past the tall shelves of films that comprised the less-literary library. He couldn’t help but stare at the twinkling, colorful bottles lining the back wall of the bar. On first glance, they just seemed to be liquors in overly fancy decanters, but on closer inspection Dorian found that most of them were simply fruit syrups and candy toppings. There were a few fine alcoholic beverages, yes, but the majority seemed to be sugary sweet dessert treats. Dorian spotted a dual-doored freezer below him and crouched down to open it, revealing dozens of ice creams, sorbets, and various other chilled treats. Dessert bar. Huh. He shut the fridge and meandered about for a while before finding a comprehensive bestiary from the library and a particularly cushy couch in the corner. Halfway between the human species listing, he fell asleep, the fire gently crackling away. February 1st A month into his vacation, he found himself building a daily rhythm. First, breakfast with Delta, then a trip to the library where he’d read for an hour, then off to the pool where he swam until his belly stopped hurting from the mass amounts of food he couldn’t help but stuff into himself. Then, he’d join Delta for lunch, and after that he’d take a book outside to the orchard and read in the chilly evening air, the scent of berries swirling around him. At the end of the night, a comparatively light dinner, thirty minutes of pushing piano keys, a cup of fresh red tea, and a shower. Dorian had yet to explore the rest of the spacious manor-nor had he even visited the greenhouse-but still felt in bliss. Nothing had changed particularly, but the relaxed familiarity was fine enough to live comfortably with. Nothing had changed. That is, until today. The sleepy boy finished toweling himself dry in the steamy bathroom and pulled on his underwear. However, where they usually hung around his posterior baggily, the fabric was pulled snug. Not enough to pinch, but unfamiliarly tight. “Hmm.” He frowned to himself, turning to look himself over in the mirror. His rather average physique had gotten decidedly more “average” in the past month, his whole body having attained a thin layer of pudge. He didn’t think he could call himself chubby yet, but if things kept progressing he was sure he could soon. “Maybe a little more time in the pool could help…” he shrugged to himself, and tossed on his shirt. “There’s certainly enough time for it.” Delta was waiting in his usual spot by the time Dorian arrived back in the dining hall. “Good morning, my adorable friend! How are you feeling today?” he spoke, putting a touch of sauce on the edge of the omelet plate. “I’m alright.” Dorian replied, and plopped down in the chair. “Well I hope you’re alright and hungry, because I made just a little too much this morning. I’m a little nervous about this to be quite honest, it’s a new recipe and I’d hate for it to go to waste…” Delta quickly unveiled the dish just beyond the omelet, a cloud of steam rushing out to the air. Sitting in a bed of powdered sugar sat a slab of French toast so large it looked more like a pillow than simple egg on bread. A light brown-sugar sauce was drizzled across, hints of maple wafting through the room. A single strawberry was perched atop. “Woah…” is all Dorian could think to say, awe-struck by the massive meal. “I’m so sorry it’s so large!” Delta clasped his gooey hands together, seeming more than a little distraught. “I’d hate to think I’d have created a meal that somebody couldn’t finish. Please, try your best for me!” “A-Alright! Let me just… finish these eggs first.” Dorian spoke, an uncertain grin wavering on his face. He shoveled in the thick warm omelet with his eyes focused on the main course, as though it would suddenly walk across the table and crush him at any moment. Eggs vanquished, he hesitantly pulled the large platter towards him, letting it rest in front of him. He had an urge to hug it in all of its soft, plush glory, but resisted and raised his knife. “I believe in you!” Delta cheered as Dorian cut off the first minuscule sliver which seemed like a meal in its own right. He brought it up and stuffed it into his mouth, syrup smearing across his lips. Ecstasy again, as to be expected from his cooking by now, but this felt… different. Like the winter season had divined it right there on the table, a warm, sweet shield against the frosty air outside. It was a sunny window, a close hug, a comfort. Simply put, it was the greatest breakfast Dorian had ever eaten. “W-Wow…” he gasped, forcing another large chunk into his mouth. Delta watched with glee, thick tail wiggling slowly behind him like a happy gummy worm. Dorian’s belly stretched into a now-familiar ball, yet not even half of the food was gone. Fifteen minutes later, he was no closer to being done, and felt more stuffed than a refurbished teddy bear. His jaw ached, and his resolution waned. “I-I… I don’t think I can finish this…” he groaned, sinking into his chair. Before Delta could even ask if he’d undone his belt, Dorian lifted his shirt gently to reveal that he hadn’t even worn one, and his tight-as-a-drum tum pushed the open flap of his pants out. “Are you sure? Maybe you just need some help…” Delta inquired, leaning forward to place a soft hand on his reddened belly. Dorian flinched, cheeks flushing. “H-Hey, wait- ahh…” he sighed, Delta’s fingers rubbing the intense aches into calm pulses. For as embarrassing as it was to have his host giving him post-meal massages, it undeniably felt fantastic. “Better?” he purred, kneading his belly like a cat on wool. Dorian nodded, leaning his head back. “Then… do you think you could finish it?” Dorian looked at the still-massive pile of syrup, sugar, and toast, then back to Delta. “I… don’t think so. I can’t keep chewing.” He rubbed his mouth gently for effect. “Oh, I can help with that! Here, watch this.” Delta picked up the platter and dumped it right onto his chest, the slime cleaning the platter into a shine, which was easily deposited out of his back and placed back on the table with his tail. The food swirled around within him like a small hurricane, quickly dissolving into his very core. He stifled a tiny slime belch, and raised his hand. “Open wide, please!” “Uh, okay…” Dorian opened his mouth hesitantly, and Delta pushed two fingers against his tongue. Dorian opened his eyes wide in stunned response (or lack thereof) as his hand melted into his cheeks, capturing the decadent flavors of the dish he’d consumed. It was like drinking warm chocolate: luxurious, flavorful, and comforting. He gulped the first mouthful of goo, and before he knew it another mouthful had taken its place. It didn’t take long to build a rhythm, cheeks refilled and quickly emptied down his throat one after the other. His belly grew ever larger, yet somehow felt no more irritated than before. It was practically a beachball in his lap before Delta withdrew his hand, rosy finger drawing down the center of his lip, leaving behind a pink trail. “Good, right?” Delta grinned a catlike smile, rubbing his belly in wide circles. At this size, small circles just wouldn’t do. Following on the thought of his size, Dorian looked down in drowsy awe to the tight orb of flesh in his lap. His shirt buttons had migrated upwards with the rest of the cloth, dangerously stressed and inches from snapping. He looked like he’d swallowed a great melon; however, he felt like he’d swallowed a whole patch. With hands splayed, he gripped both sides of his belly, and even with each finger stretching far apart, he could contain scarcely little of the turgid ball. Delta’s soft rubs kept it from aching terribly, and relieved him greatly; in fact, it almost seemed like his stomach was retreating ever so slowly. Was it?… His pants slowly filled out with plumping cheeks and thickening thighs, growing like a baking roll until it filled out his pants to skin-tight quality and pushed up ever further, giving him a muffin top just big enough to pinch and arms only slightly rounder. It felt inconsequential; just a small amount of fat here and there… nothing that wouldn’t come off with a bit of exercise. He felt like a blimp reveling in post meal rapture, as one does after an exceptionally large meal. It would be gone in the morning, he thought, but for now? He’d enjoy being round and warm. Delta leaned on his belly, holding himself up with one hand. “Why don’t I help you to the lounge so you can rest the rest of this off while I prepare lunch? Can’t have you too full for my special stew~” Dorian simply nodded his head, for as full as he was, a part of him looked forward to that stew.

#male stuffing #male weight gain #male weight gain fic #slime weight gain #slime stuffing #sorta??

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smolfangirl · 7 years ago

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Please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere

A sound so sweet of you and me - 14 - First goodbye

Word count: 2.2k

Since Tumblr mobile is messing around since the update, I tried to fix this but as long as support doesn’t help, I decided to not give a duck and post this anyway. I’m sorry to clog your dashboards, but welp, I tried to avoid it. And I’m really sorry for the new, non-matching structure of the chapter...

///

“How many minutes until we definitely have to get up?”

Her hand rested on his chest, drew traces and lines that formed letters confessing her love. Matteo reached out for his phone, half smirking at the groan Luna produced as he shifted.

“One hour won’t hurt.”

“That’s a lot of time…” Her voice trailed off. The sun already sneaked through his curtains, it hit her eyes and painted them into an emerald sea.

“You say that like you already have an idea on how to spend it”, he echoed, smiling at the kiss she planted to his cheek. Luna chuckled, even more at his surprised moan when she lifted herself up to settle down on his lap. “I might.”

One kiss. A second. Third.

“A very good idea”, he said after she broke away for a moment. Nodding, her fingers followed the trails of his cheekbones down to his collarbones. “I think I’ll give you a small gift before you go.”

Matteo frowned, not sure what she meant – she’d already given him a little photo album of their time together on the goodbye party two days ago.

It’d been a surprise for him, and his first goodbye party at that, which provoked tears all too easily. Luna sniffed too at some point into the evening, while Gastón outright looked like he attended a funeral. Matteo enjoyed the party though. It warmed his heart to know he’d be missed. And after midnight, they sneaked away from their friends to watch the night sky and kiss the last breaths out of their lungs. He had tried not to cry, not to think of where he’d be in barely three days and where he wanted to stay.

He almost had succeeded.

Now, he still wondered what Luna could get him. “What do you have in… oh.”

He closed his eyes.

///

One hour and a quick shower later, Matteo stared at the purple masterpiece spreading on his neck. “You really gave your all, huh?” he asked a smug Luna entering the bathroom.

“Of course. Only the best for my astronaut.” Wrapping her arms around his waist, she watched him doing his hair. “Hey, can I have that t-shirt you wore before we went to bed yesterday?”

“What if I need it in Italy?”

“You said it’s winter there, you won’t need t-shirts.”

He shook his head, simultaneously checking the mirror to see if his hair stayed in place. “But you do?” She loosened her grip while he grabbed the remaining toiletries and threw them into his opened suitcase. “Can you give me that towel?”

With a pout, she handed it over. “Of course I need t-shirts. Especially the ones that smell like my boyfriend and are way too big.” He trailed behind her as she walked back into his bedroom, hips swinging and reminding him she only wore one of his shirts and underwear, and he really, really wanted to dread going to the airport.

But they were out of time, although they pretended the opposite with their banter.

“And why don’t you just buy them?”

“Oh, right, okay, I will get them right when I go shopping for a new boyfriend”, she said, laughing. If he listened closely, it sounded different, not half as joyful as usual.

A knot appeared in his throat, or what felt like a stone wearing his voice down. This sorrow clouding her mind wore a name, his name when he had claimed to never cause her any harm.

Matteo cleared his throat.

It wasn’t his fault, he told himself, it was a matter out of his hands. So, instead of apologizing, he pulled her close to let her get a taste of where he’d go to keep her by his side. “On second thought, you can have the shirt.”

“Awesome.” Her voice sounded like she almost meant it.

///

His legs got heavier with every step further down the stairs. Every step could be a last one, and the echo from Luna’s feet told him she said goodbye too. Just in case.

With a few hours left till take-off, his parents still kept them in the dark about a possible return to Buenos Aires. Whether it’d be the worst case or only a few weeks of vacations, Matteo had grown eager to know. Saying his farewells to his friends – and Luna especially – without knowing how long it’d take him to come back damn near killed him.

Not that his parents seemed to care.

When Matteo and Luna walked into the living room, his suitcase neatly stored in the hallway, the swing their mood completed could have won an Olympic gold medal.

Everything about his parents screamed stress. His mom hurried through the house, packing their last belongings and throwing angry glares at whoever stood in her way. Meanwhile, his dad began one phone call after another, sometimes in Spanish, sometimes in Italian. Once an angry mix of both.

A silent sigh on his lips, Matteo waved Luna over to the couch. From his experience, there was nothing left for him to be done, so they might as well get the most out of the mere two hours remaining on the clock.

Luna curled up next to him. Buried her head in his shoulders, hand stroking his stomach. With closed eyes, he saved the sensation in his heart. Who knew how long it had to last him…

“Are you coming to the airport too?” His dad threw them an impatient look, finger tapping on the back of his phone. As he spotted Matteo’s hickey, his eyebrows raised too.

“Yes, I’d love to bring”, Luna began but he cut her off. “Okay.”

Then he yelled at another poor person at the end of the line.

Matteo slightly shrugged at his little moon before he gently kissed her forehead. She smiled. Soon his parents faded into a minor detail in his perception, meaningless over the sweet encouragements and love confessions she whispered into his ear. He replied with more kisses. Her hands, neck, face… wherever he could reach her. Not one part of her body should be left without knowing how much he adored her.

“Matteo! Stop being glued to her for one second and help me!” his mom shouted out of the kitchen. Before he got up, Luna threw him an apologetic look. Matteo shrugged once more. To be honest, just her presence eased this loaded atmosphere his parents radiated.

///

As soon as they sat in the car, a sickness moved into his stomach pit, one that couldn’t be fought with one of his mom’s pills. Not with being close to Luna either.

She chose the middle seat, so she was closer to him, and their hands intertwined the very second they put the seatbelts on. Yet it didn’t feel like enough, he craved to be buried by everything her one last time, like a junkie searching for one last hit before going into rehab.

But Matteo knew he had to be satisfied with what he had now, despite the desperation in his heart that ran as deep as the ocean.

Every attempt to not think about leaving her only caused him to think about it more. Before he met her, his grudge about moving steamed from a general frustration. Over having no say in his life, over having to adapt to yet another city, another language, another life without any other options.

Now it was so much more pain than just being fed up with changes.

Now he wished he could chain himself to his little moon, so his parents had no choice but to leave him with her.

Instead, Matteo had no choice but to leave her.

///

“Come back, okay?”

Two meters till they hit the queue for the security check. Luna clung to his side like she counted as a handbag if she just pressed herself close enough to him. Matteo knew he needed to let her go, his dad already warned him with his gaze.

Yet he lacked the strength to.

“There isn’t a world where I wouldn’t”, he promised. Stealing a kiss from her mouth, he couldn’t stop dreading the inevitable. “I love you. We’ll make this work.”

She stood on her toes, reached for his lips, a bittersweet peck, before she tousled through his curls. The smirk she attempted nearly worked out. “I love you more.”

“Doubt it”, he countered while he repaid her the messy hair favor.

His mom cleared her throat, an impatient click of the tongue ensued. Luna glimpsed at his parents. Looked back at him. The shimmering teardrops in her eyes stole his breath, crushed his heart.

“Don’t make me fight you”, she mumbled, a weak try of a smile on her lips. Sadness leaked into her tone in the same pace it spread all through Matteo’s chest.

“You wouldn’t. Not today.”

“Matteo��, his dad snapped. But he focused on Luna, his moon and stars, the fixpoint his life revolved around. One last time, he traced the soft skin on her cheek with his thumb, watched her eyes flutter shut at his touch.

“Chico fresa?”

“Yeah?”

A green sea in which he discovered himself, just to get lost again.

“I think you should go now.” The end of her sentence faded into the last breaths of air they shared.

“You’re right”, he admitted as much as he hated to. A hug, another kiss. The last one.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

///

While Matteo waited in line, Luna never left her place in the terminal, as close to him as the glass walls separating them allowed. She wiped her tears away whenever his gaze strayed from her for a moment, but in the endless stream of her grief, she drowned again before her hand even sank to her side.

When he disappeared out of her vision, a pained smile on his face, she wondered how she had grown so attached to what used to be a stranger twelve months ago. And how her heart could hurt so much without ever being broken.

///

Novia delivery: Have a safe flight! And text me when you landed

To novia delivery: Thank you, solare, you’ll be the first to hear from me

And thanks for coming with us

Novia delivery: Always ♥ Is your dad mad at you? Bc of our goodbye?

To novia delivery: Not more than usual, don’t worry solare

Novia delivery: I miss you

To novia delivery: I miss you too

///

Gastón called ten minutes before boarding started. Matteo was standing by the windows, staring at the incoming flights and wishing he sat in one of them.

As he picked up, he hoped his voice wouldn’t reflect exactly how miserable he felt.

“Hey.”

At the sigh that followed, he must’ve sound as if he walked the edge to a mental breakdown. “You’re already at the gate?”

“Yeah.”

“Have a good flight, okay? And message me when you’re there, I wanna know you got there safely. And try to sleep on the plane or watch some movies and tell me if I should get any of them on DVD. Where do you sit? Nina said in the front is safer in case something happens. Not that I hope anything will happen, I’m counting on you to be back for the last school year, okay?”

His best friend’s ramble finally elicited a chuckle from him. When they moved to Buenos Aires, Matteo never thought he’d find a friend who worried enough to call him before take-off. Or a soulmate, and most definitely not two of them. Still, here he stood, heart swollen from all this love and bittersweet homesickness.

“Take a breath”, he told Gastón (and himself), chuckling, “will you? You’re worse than Luna.”

“Good. That is my job as your soulmate.”

“She is too, remember?”

His best friend snorted, not a surprise as this was a nerve Matteo could always hit if he wanted to get some payback for a particularly stupid pun. “Details. I am your better soulmate either way and you can bet your cute little ass I won’t let you forget that.”

Before the comeback sitting on the tip of his tongue could slip out, his mom motioned him to walk back to her. Matteo sighed. “I have to go, but don’t think this means I agree with you. Except for my cute ass.”

Something along like “Buzzkill” reached him from the other side of the phone. “Whatever. Have a nice flight, love you.”

“Love you too”, Matteo replied. Then the line went dead.

///

Underneath him, the houses shrunk to the size of Lego pieces. Cars first resembled the toy ones from his childhood before they transformed into moving pinpoints on blurred lines.

Somewhere down there, Luna walked the streets, perhaps staring at the sky, perhaps spotting this very plane, thinking of him. Somewhere down there, a piece of his heart remained, tied to the people and places he loved.

Somewhere on the other side of the ocean, there was a place his parents called home. But it wasn’t Matteo’s home no more, no matter whether he returned to Argentina for the new school year or not. Whether his parents accepted it or not.

Home was in Buenos Aires now, and with the sight of it vanishing, homesickness hit him. And he knew it would stay by his side until he came back.

#soy luna #lutteo #my sl fanfiction #a sound so sweet of you and me #sighs at the new update and the mess it made out of my posts #staff I hope you fix this soon #and also mari and tika please don't hit me with la chancla okay

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rwbyremnants · 7 years ago

Link

WARNING: Nsfw for lesbian reasons.

NOTES: Hey! So this shortish oneshot is actually older than SWTD, and is the first that’s a joint effort between me, BangAYang and YangingAround. It was lost in the recesses of my external hard drive but I dusted it off and gave it a makeover, and now here it is. Happy Yuletide!

H O T S T U F F

The door to the Beacon Academy dorm room slammed open, bouncing off the wall with a deafening thud. Framed in the doorway was Weiss Schnee, and she did not seem at all amused.

"YANG!"

Having been fully captivated with her task of fixing the damage her beloved Ember Celica had taken in their last battle, Yang Xiao Long had not heard Weiss's footsteps and was caught completely off guard. In her startled state, she managed to fall from her perch upon her bed and land on her face.

"Ow…" After a moment of laying there in her shame, she looked up at the petite woman before her, the scar over her left eye seemingly throbbing with rage. "What the hell?"

"What, pray tell, do you suppose this is?" Dangling from her delicate hand was a pair of yellow ‘boy shorts’ underwear. The words "Hot Stuff" were emblazoned across the rear in huge red letters, the tops stylised to look like flames.

"Hm?" Yang's eyes scanned the piece of cloth before her and a smile spread over her face. "Oh, yeah. I thought you could use a gift, and who doesn't need a pair of confidence-boosting panties? I mean, really, it's a must-have for your drab days of grey clouds – and lets face it, all your days are covered in grumpy clouds." She smirked cheekily.

Weiss's eyes flew wide, incensed. After a long moment, she stomped a few feet further into the room on her prissy heels and snapped, "Really? Is that why you left them hanging on the doorknob of the bathroom? An odd place to leave such a personal 'gift', isn't it?"

"Sorry, did you want me to personally put them on you?" Yang asked as she got back up to her feet, adjusting her clothing and straightening up.

Sputtering, Weiss flung them at Yang, who caught them easily. "N-no! What?! Why would you even say something like that, you dolt?! I am perfectly capable of dressing myself, thank you very much!"

"Oh come on, lighten up; it was a joke." She smiled coyly. "So you don’t want them, then? I think I might be a little hurt. I spent three days trying to find just the right ironic pun to give the Ice Queen."

"Stop CALLING ME THAT!" Weiss whined, stamping her foot. "And no, I don't want your smelly old panties! You probably left them there because you were afraid we'd kick you out if we had to suffer with the stench any longer!"

Her brow rose and her slender arms crossed over her ample chest. "Wow, rude. You think with all that money you have, you could at least purchase some manners?"

At that, Weiss looked as if she had been slapped. Regaining her composure, obviously with great effort, she said, "My manners are impeccable. And what would you know? You're just an odorific street thug who happens to have a decent weapon and a decent semblance. I don't know how you and your sister even made it to Beacon, really."

"And you're just a scared little girl who bought her way in here with good looks and daddy's money. Now that we're on the same page, I'm starving. Would you like to grab lunch?"

The offer to go eat caught Weiss off-guard. "I... but we were..." Then her eyes narrowed. "This whole time, you've just been trying to upset me, make fun of me! Like you hate me! Why would you DO that?!"

Yang let out a short bark of laughter. "Yes, because you buy gifts for the people you hate! Remind me to pick up a lovely necktie for Cardin!"

At that, Weiss glanced down at the panties on the floor, then back up to Yang's face. "Are you... those really were for me? You didn't forget them in the bathroom?"

"Yeah, they really were. Brand new and just for you." The tall blonde gave a shrug. "But if you don't want them, that’s cool. I was just trying to be friendly. Seems like most people don’t like to extend their hand to you for fear of getting slapped – and gee, I wonder why! I figured it was at least worth a shot."

Weiss's face began to redden with combined irritation and shyness. "But it's such a personal... do you know where panties GO?"

Yang flashed her a big cheeky grin as she spoke. "Oh, God no! I mean, they came with instructions but I’ve never used them before, so I got intimidated and just decided to leave it all up to you."

"You ignoramus!" Knowing that her cheeks were bright red by now, she turned and folded her arms. "Why did you think I needed panties, much less ones that say something so, so... crass?!"

“I figured the ones you have must always be up your ass, with the way you act; figured these might make you a little less grumpy."

The slow turn of Weiss's body was like the inevitable movement of a glacier. "How... dare you! I... how dare you, how DARE you!" By the end of this, she was literally jumping up and down. The tantrum brought the widest of smiles to Yang’s face, and when she started jumping she couldn’t help but laugh so hard her whole face was red.

"Oh man, was that worth it!"

Weiss reared back and slapped Yang across the shoulder with the heel of her palm, just hard enough to let her teammate know that the comment was not appreciated. "I do not have anything up my- up there! You take that back!"

Yang, still laughing, gripped her now sore arm and rubbed it. "Oh don't be so stiff, that was gold! Just put some ice on that burn and lets go get lunch."

"STIFF?!" She huffed and puffed for a moment, staring Yang in the eyes –her laughing, violet eyes. Then she rolled her own. "Your sense of humor is not appreciated, Xiao Long."

Yang attempted to pout but she was still laughing a little too hard for the full effect. "Lighten up, Princess! One of us has to have a sense of humor."

A scoff escaped Weiss’ throat as she strode from the room, not bothering to check if Yang was coming as well. After wiping the tear from her eye, Yang noticed that Weiss had stormed off and promptly scurried after her. "Hey! Wait up! Aren't you supposed to move at a glacial pace?!"

The two of them were getting better, even if it was difficult to believe. Yang could well remember the days when their fights were actual fights, and not just petty bickering over trivial matters. Weiss Schnee was the heiress to an entire fortune in Dust, and she acted like it; snooty and spoiled. But she was a good teammate, and down deep beneath the whining and the entitlement, she seemed to be a halfway decent person. It would just take them some time to find middle ground on a regular basis.

Having just spent a good two hours in training, Yang made her way into the locker room, ready for a shower. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted movement; turning her gaze, she noticed Weiss fidgeting with something in her locker. "Hey there, what are you up to?" she asked, using a towel to dab the sweat from her brow.

"AAAH!"

After a flurry of movement, Weiss was holding a towel in front of her body as she peeked around the locker door. "Who is- oh no, it's YOU!"

Offering a smirk in return for the expected greeting, Yang gave her a wink. "Sure is, the one and only."

"I m-mean-" Weiss cleared her throat and tried again. "So. Did you have a good, um... whatever it is you thuggish types do with yourselves?"

"Training session? Yes I did. Beat my personal record on targets taken out in thirty seconds." She beamed oh-so-proudly. "What are you up to, besides being very nude?"

"I'm not nude! I'm just... not fully clothed yet. It wouldn't be decent for me to prance around like this." Then she tried to shift the topic back again. "H-how many targets?"

"200 targets, thirty seconds, 360 degree range." Yang nonchalantly began stripping herself of her sweaty workout clothing.

"Im- impressive." It was clear Weiss was trying not to care about the damp tank top being flung on the bench, or the sneakers that thudded into the bottom of Yang's locker. But when she saw the panties once her shorts had joined the tank top, she pointed and yelped, "HOT STUFF!"

Mildly surprised, Yang glanced over her shoulder at the woman. “Why, thank you! Not so bad yourself, Schnee!” She flexed her glutes for good measure, and laughed when she saw Weiss’s cheeks get a little rosier.

“No, no! Those underwear you’re wearing!”

"Oh…" Yang craned her neck to see her own butt. Sure enough, it was the same proclamation emblazoned across her cheeks. "Well yeah, you didn't want them so I figured I'd make them look good, instead." Her tone was light and her facial expression coy.

"No, but... then whose are these?!"

When Weiss stomped over with her towel hanging to one side, it became obvious that, against all odds, they were wearing matching underwear.

"HAH! You did take them! I knew it!" Strategically, Yang had bought two pairs, hoping a situation like this might have come out in the end. "Man, was I right about picking those out for you."

“Nooooo! But- you-" Only then did Weiss realize how ludicrous it was to believe someone else – anyone else at Beacon Academy might own the exact same panties, and that she might have stumbled across them. Also, that she was still standing there in nothing but those and an undershirt. "I..."

Stripping herself of the last of her sweaty clothing, Yang picked up her towel and rubbed her sore shoulder. "I’m gonna grab a shower. You’re welcome to join me, Frosty." She spoke in a teasing tone, still half admiring the way the garment sat on Weiss's hips.

It was clear Weiss didn't even know what to think or where to look. Firstly, she was nearly bare. Yang was bare. For some reason, knowing that they had both been wearing the same design of underwear a moment ago – and that Yang had touched them both – was making it hard for her to think rationally. But that was ridiculous! They had seen each other in the locker room plenty of times. Why should matching underwear make any difference? What was the matter with her?

"I... had a shower this morning, I just wanted to change out of my uniform."

"Suit yourself." Yang shrugged, taking a few steps in the direction she needed to go before she paused with a devilish grin. "You'd probably end up more dirty than clean, anyway."

"Wh-what?" Weiss felt her mouth run dry as she glanced around at the rest of the locker room, desperately hoping no one else could hear her. They were alone, luckily; most people either showered much later, or in the morning. "Just what are you implying, Yang?"

The coy smile turned into a cheeky grin. "Oh, I don't know. You'll just have to wonder, Princess."

She didn’t bother to wait around for Weiss's rebuttal, but instead disappeared behind a curtain. The sound of a squeaky faucet being turned broke the thick silence she had left, and soon after the familiar noise of running water hitting tile followed.

A deep confusion settled over Weiss as she looked down at the towel she was squeezing in a death grip. First, they're wearing matching underpants. Next, Yang invites her to shower together. Together! And the phrase “end up more dirty than clean” heavily implied something that did not normally transpire between two women. And why did she keep thinking about Yang's body? She had seen it before, but this was not the same. There had to have been something different about it from before, but what?

It was imperative that she checked. Walking as softly as the cold tile could allow, she paced forward and nipped the curtain aside slowly, just enough to peer through...

Yang's muscular and slim body shone in the fluorescent light, the water having reflected it off the contours in all the right places. Idly, she scrubbed the sweat and grime from her gorgeous pale skin, blonde hair clinging to her body as it became heavy with water.

'This is wrong,' Weiss thought to herself with sudden realization, pulse ticking up a notch. 'Yet... I must observe her. Something is different about her, I know it!'

Yang let it go for another couple of seconds before she opened her mouth. "You know, for a privileged girl that claims to have manners, you’re certainly not using them. It’s rude to stare."

Every drop of blood in the younger girl's veins froze. Yang didn’t even bother looking back; the cool air slipping in through the opened shower curtain had alerted her to Weiss's presence a while ago. She had been discovered – Weiss Schnee, heiress to the Schnee Dust Company, was peeping!

No. No, she was not peeping. There had to be something else she could do besides let that accusation stand.

"I..." Desperation forced the words out of her mouth. "I was j-just thinking about joining you, after all!"

If the way she dressed wasn’t any indication that Yang had nothing but confidence about her body, then the fact that she turned around and faced Weiss fully certainly was. "Well, I'd suggest taking the rest of your clothes off for that."

There really was no choice. Either she got into the shower, or she admitted that she was staring at Yang, which had implications that could not be allowed. "I… Okay. You promise not to make any more jokes like that one you made a moment ago? Because I can't tolerate that! I won't have people thinking such things about me!"

Yang's brow rose. "Like what? I don’t recall saying anything uncalled for."

"You know," Weiss went on as she hid her body behind the shower curtain while unclasping her bra. "Th-that comment about getting... d-dir... dirtier." Why was it so hard to finish that single word?

Yang grinned like a predator, wide and toothy. "Again, totally not uncalled for."

"But you can't! You can't say things like that while we're in there together!"

"And why not, Princess?"

“It's undignified!" Weiss yelped as she hooked her thumb over the hem of her underwear. Until the topic had been resolved, however, she couldn't follow through on the action. "People might get the idea that we're... that we've been..."

Yang stepped forward and pulled the curtain back and away from in between them. "What? Dirty? What’s wrong with that? Live a little."

Weiss gasped, pulling the towel over her chest again, backing up a step. "Wait, I- I'm not a- are you saying we should?!" Then she narrowed her eyes. "You're saying you don't care if people think we're doing things like that? What kind of harlot are you?"

"I'm not saying we should ‘do’ anything, Schnee. I’m just offering for you and I to get to know each other a little better – offering for you to unwind a little. No one else has to know, but it’s totally up to you." This entire time her tone had been teasing and nonchalant simultaneously.

Weiss decided she had enough of being the one everyone teased. It wasn't acceptable that she always got angry because she had been raised with elegance and refinement, and meanwhile everybody else got to have a laugh at her expense. It was infuriating and unfair. At the same time, Yang really did sound like she wanted to talk, to exchange ideas. Ruby was her partner, but Yang was on her team as well, and this could only help them function better as a unit. Disgusting insinuations and teasing aside, what could it hurt?

"Fine. I will shower with you and we'll see just how honourable you can be in there, harlot."

Raising a brow, the blonde held the curtain open for her. "Fine. We'll see, indeed."

Weiss merely stared at her for a long moment. "Well?"

"Well get in here! You have to be in the shower to shower!"

"Aren't you going to turn around while I finish undressing?"

"You're going to step into the same shower as me, and you think me seeing you undress is gonna change anything once you get in here, anyway?"

Weiss knew her face was already as red as it was going to get. The only way for her to save face was to pretend to be a lot braver than she felt at the moment. "Fine!"

Heart in her throat, she draped the towel over her shoulder and grasped the sides of her panties, eyes locked with Yang's the entire time as she slowly slid them down and stepped out of them. Never once did the tall blonde's gaze stray from Weiss's. It was almost like she was challenging her back.

"Great! Bravo, good job, so proud. Now hurry up and get in here; water's a-wastin'."

Jaw set, Weiss held the towel out to one side and hooked it over the nearby peg, then stepped a pace closer to Yang, fists at her side and chest heaving as they stood bare before each other. Her every action issued a challenge. Impressed with the proper girl's gall, Yang stepped aside and let her pass untouched... for now.

They headed into the twin streams of fresh water and Yang grabbed the shampoo. Upon closer inspection, it was revealed that Yang's body was covered in various scars – each one a mark of a fight she'd survived, a battle she'd lived through. A reminder that she was only human, that her world was hard and real and her spot at this academy had been earned through toil and bloodshed.

"Y… " But Weiss let the word die before she finished it. What else could she say that might possibly be of any use after the hundreds of days that must have passed since Yang received each of those marks? Her finger drifted to her own scar as she finally stepped under the water and allowed her hair to begin soaking it up. They had all been through a lot, it was true, but Yang seemed content to bear hers with a smile, to forget all about it instead of… doing what Weiss did. Using it as an excuse to shut everyone out.

Stepping aside to lather the soap in her hair, Yang made sure to actively keep her gaze from lingering – especially to keep Weiss from seeing her doing so. She was letting the younger girl’s curiosity build, and thus her strategy would unfold.

"Yang?" she finally spoke up.

“Mhhm?" came the absentminded reply as she worked the rest of her long hair into a manageable mess, tangled in the suds of the perfumed shampoo.

"You can tell me this is none of my business," Weiss continued as she edged close enough to grab the soap, doing her best not to look at her teammate again. "But... all those scars on your back..."

Yang seemed unfazed by the question. Her upper body followed her hair’s example and was soon covered in the lather. "What about them?"

As she started churning the soap in her hands into a cloud of suds, Weiss asked softly, "Where... did you get all of them? That seems like a lot for someone so close to my age."

“I'm a street thug, remember? " she answered idly. "A ruffian, with no place at this school." Every once in a while, Yang's super confident and altogether high-energy personality took a passive aggressive turn in a subtle manner. This was one of those times. The small satisfaction that came from making Weiss eat her words in such a somber moment brought a light smirk to her face. "How do you think I got them?"

"Apparently, you really did get them in street fights," Weiss snapped – but even she heard the lack of bite to her tone. Stripped of both her entitled air and her clothes, she was vulnerable. She didn't like it. "Did they hurt much?"

"Some of them." Others stung more with emotional pain than physical. As some scars do. However, she didn't feel like Weiss had earned that much insight into her quite yet.

"Right."

"You don't like me much, do you?" A simple question, but one with a complicated answer, she was sure. Yang knew there was more to Weiss than the girl let on, but they had to start digging if they ever wanted to find the rest.

"Whether or not I like you is irrelevant," Weiss answered easily, rubbing the soap along her limbs, over her stomach. "We're a team now. Our grades and our futures depend on us finding a way to cooperate. But... you said that, too." She fidgeted slightly, hoping the unspoken apology would be enough.

"You'll get more clean if you use this." Yang half-smiled, offering her a loofah for scrubbing purposes. She wasn’t one to hold a grudge for too terribly long, and everyone on her team had some sort of baggage. Ultimately, she hoped their scars would only bring them together; she had hopes of being the best team they could be.

"Right." Weiss reached for the scrubby, then instinctively covered her chest with the other arm when she felt it jiggle slightly, causing her hand to miss the loofah and slide gently over Yang's. "Oops, I- sorry."

The blonde's smile only widened as she relinquished her hold on the object. "No worries."

This wasn't good. Weiss felt like a fumbling child in all the ways she normally felt like a poised and self-assured adult. "Thank you," she whispered belatedly as she used the gift to form more lather.

Having an extra one in tow, Yang returned to scrubbing the rest of her workout away, only struggling when it came to reaching a specific part of her back. "Hey, Weiss, do you mind helping me out?"

"Me?" Instantly kicking herself for asking such a stupid question, she recovered. "I m-mean, I suppose, in the spirit of diplomacy, I could."

Hanging her own scrubby from the hot water spigot, she nervously approached Yang's back, watching as she pulled her wet blonde locks further over her head to allow access. One hand was holding the spongy item over her shoulder for her to take, and she did.

"Um... just all over?"

Yang beamed over her shoulder, grateful for help with the difficult task. "Yeah, that'd be great, thanks."

Lips pursing to keep from making another biting comment, since Yang hadn’t earned it this time, Weiss reached out with the loofah at arm's length and just barely brushed it up and down the center of Yang's back, eyes half-closed as she tried to touch and see as little as possible.

"Nah, you gotta scrub it, exfoliate the skin, really get in there," Yang urged, wanting to be as clean as possible. Sure, that’s what she wanted. Sure.

"Hmph," Weiss grunted as she stepped closer. "Aren't you the demanding one?" But she did as she was told. Pushing in a little harder than she would on her own skin, she dragged it up and then down to her tailbone, where she paused. "Exfoliated enough?"

Yang smirked. "Come on, a little more than that. Don’t forget the sides, not just the middle."

Growling, Weiss braced her other hand against Yang's hip as she began scrubbing up and down, finally focusing on the work instead of her own insecurities. As she scrubbed, she asked, "You really do get filthy out there. What do you do, wrestle Beowulves for sport?"

Backfired – oh, this plan had backfired. Yang's cheeks sported a soft blush at the feeling of Weiss's hand gripped so tightly on her hip. It was just a little too close for comfort, even though that was supposed to be the idea in the first place. "Hhm? What? Oh yeah... lots of dirt. Targets. Dirty."

"Dirty seems to be a theme with you," she accused. When she noticed Yang was wobbling slightly from her movements, she raised her hand to a shoulder instead to steady her. "You didn't answer me about your scars, so I apologize if I was insensitive. I don't like talking about mine, either. It's just that... there are so many..."

“Life outside of glamour and fame is a lot harder, Weiss. People don’t constantly try to get on your good side to ride your coattails; they try to take everything from you by force instead." Yang didn’t go into detail. She would rather leave it to the other's imagination.

Weiss's movements slowed and then stopped. She wasn't sure why; she only knew that Yang had a deep hurt buried under that carefree attitude, and that she was scraping the attitude away. It wasn't kind and it wasn't showing interest. It was cruel.

"But you didn't let them," she told her teammate's back softly, hoping it would help. "And now look at you; you're at Beacon, you're going to be a huntress."

"Of course I didn't let them. I didn’t have a choice; I couldn’t let them walk all over me in front of R-" A short pause. "I couldn’t let them take me down so easily. So I took them down instead."

Panic rose in Weiss's chest. She wasn't good with people – and she was even less proficient in comforting them in times of grief. What could she say that would help? Had she ever done such a thing? Yes: once before, with Ruby. But she had coffee for a prop then, and a scrubby sponge wasn't nearly as effective. Or was it?

"You did what you had to do, Yang. It was the admirable course of action. You..." Her hands felt tingly now from where they were placed, but she pressed on, trying to finish the job. "I am proud to fight alongside you."

Few words meant more to the blonde dragon than "I’m proud of you"; for someone with such an extroverted personality, her waters ran deep. She smiled over her shoulder at Weiss. "And I'm honoured to watch your back."

Weiss's heart was pounding in her ears as she met Yang's eyes, grimacing fiercely. They both understood the importance of knowing someone would not desert you in the heat of battle... but Weiss had a feeling that her teammate had seen a lot more combat outside of mere practice.

Then she smiled wryly. "Is that 'watch' or 'wash'? I could use a turn."

The blonde gave a smirk and a small wink. "Why not both?" Promptly after her words, she swiped the scrubby from her shower companion and motioned for her to turn around. "Lets try to make you less dirty, shall we, Princess?"

"Hmm," Weiss said with false annoyance, eyebrows rising. "Princesses don't get dirty." It only occurred to her after she said it that in doing so, she had accepted the nickname. Frowning at herself, she turned away because it was easier than confronting her misstep. "You may cleanse me, pleb."

Being the cocky shit that she was, Yang slid a finger down the pale skin of the winter-haired woman's spine. "Thank you for the opportunity, Your Majesty."

"Hey, hey!" Weiss snapped, looking back over her shoulder at Yang. "No funny business, please! Just... wash!" Then she turned away once more, also pulling her hair over her shoulder the way Yang had as an afterthought.

"Oooh, excuse me! I was only paying homage to your perfection." The fire dragon chuckled coyly before setting to the task of scrubbing the skin she had admired moments before. "Is this better?"

Sighing, Weiss relaxed into the sensation. "Much, thank you." After a few more seconds of silence, she began, "Have you... no, never mind."

Pleased with Weiss's growing curiosity about her, Yang smirked. "No no, please ask, Princess."

"Okay, but don't blame me if this is too personal." Rolling her shoulders as an unconscious physical manifestation of shedding her irritation, she went on, "Have you done this a lot? For Ruby, I meant – not just for random strangers, obviously."

"Which part? Showering together, or washing each other's backs?" Yang inquired idly, scrubbing little circles against her smooth skin.

A little sigh of contentment escaped Weiss's throat as she said, "Either one... but I suppose I meant washing backs."

"I used to wash hers a lot when we were younger. As we grew older things subtly started to change, and she depended on me less. Which is fine. It's what happens when younger siblings get older." The scrubbing had gradually grown a little faster, as if the task could distract her from the subtle sting of reality.

"Oh." Very quietly, Weiss added, "I can relate. Family is like that." Then she winced and said, "Hey, um... not to seem ungrateful, but that's starting to sting a bit."

“What? Oh, right." Yang smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of her head in embarrassment. "Sorry about that, wanted to make sure you were really clean. You know, keep up your image as the cleanest slate on campus."

"Your tireless efforts are appreciated, peasant." Then she blinked, turning with her hands on her hips. "Wait, what do you mean, 'cleanest slate on campus'? What is that supposed to mean?"

Yang let out a chuckle and winked at the flustered and confused girl. "Princesses aren't dirty, remember? I'm just keeping up the image."

Both of Weiss's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure you weren't implying that I'm mentally deficient in some way?"

It was too easy. "No, I'm implying you're inexperienced." She enjoyed being cryptic just to keep Weiss asking questions.

"Hey!" Weiss jabbed a finger into Yang's shoulder, not particularly hard, but just hard enough to be felt. "I'll have you know that I have been in formal training to be a Huntress since I was ten years old! Even before that, I took fencing, and was practicing my semblance! In what way am I inexperienced?"

Yang, with a much more devilish grin than before, stepped forward into Weiss's space, closer than she had dared before. Barely a breath between them, Yang whispered, "In all the best ways."

With an automatic step backward, Weiss began to stammer, "Oh, s-stop that, I told you not to make jokes like these! You promised to behave yourself!"

With a mock pout, the blonde cooed, "Awww, I was just trying to be friendly and answer your question." With a light chuckle, she turned from the paler woman and stepped under the stream of heated water, rinsing her skin and hair, ridding it of the suds that blanketed the surface.

"I do not think that is a 'friendly' way to approach any situation!" Weiss insisted, stamping over to Yang so hard she left little splashes in her wake. "Insinuating that you... that you and I c-could... no, no, and no!"

"Eh, you're right. You'd be horribly noobish at it, and it'd be a waste of my skill and talent." Her tone was aloof and she didn’t even bother to look at the woman that had addressed her.

"N... noobish? What does 'noobish' mean? How can we even have this conversation if you won't speak coherently?" Hopelessly flustered by the entire situation, Weiss stood as boldly as she could by Yang's side, leaning over slightly to catch her eye. "And who says your 'skill and talent' is anything to be proud of?"

“For a princess, you don’t know your kingdom well. Noobish, newbie, unskilled, green. Got it now?" She tried to keep her expression unreadable. "As for who says I have skills... well, certainly everyone that's experienced them. Five-star reviews across the board."

Deciding to ignore the comments about her being inexperienced in such things – especially because, come to that, she was – Weiss mulled over the implication. "So... one could infer from the way you say that... that you have previously... well..."

A small smirk broke through Yang’s unreadable mask. "One could infer, yes," she answered with a cheeky tone. "Or one could see for themselves."

"Stop that," Weiss said, more softly this time. She was becoming conscious of how close she was to Yang, how quick her pulse had become due to the subject of discussion. "What's it like? And don't say 'why don't you find out' again, I'm merely curious. For academic reasons."

Yang didn’t hesitate to answer, speaking with a self-satisfied grin. "It's exactly like when you touch yourself – except better, because I'm doing it."

At that, Weiss rolled her eyes, though this was somewhat undermined by her steady blush. "Don't be ridiculous. Only degenerates touch themselves like that."

"Oh my God," she breathed as if she had seen the light of truth itself, turning to gape at her.

"Wh-what?" Weiss asked, folding her arms over her chest.

"I totally get it now; you're so grumpy because you never get yourself off! Well, have no fear; it is now my personal mission to get you laid." Yang grinned widely, adding a cheeky wink to the end for effect.

"Wh-WHAT?!" Funny how the same exclamation could sound so different a second time. "To get me- did you say 'laid'?! What does that mean?!" When Yang opened her mouth, she snapped, "Never mind, I figured it out - and that is SO CRASS!"

The blonde gave a light shrug. "Hey, my words may be crass but the mouth that conveys them tends to make it all better... when put to proper use."

A long moment passed with the water falling on the two women, Yang looking smug, Weiss looking completely nonplussed. Distantly, a bell sounded, indicating the beginning of a meal period. Finally, slowly, the shorter of the two teammates found her voice again.

"Are... you aren't joking at all, are you?"

There it was, the first sign the curiosity was outweighing her resolve. "Not at all, Princess," she idly replied, subtly running a brightly-coloured washcloth over the length of her body to draw Weiss's gaze. This tactic worked, and Weiss jerked her eyes away when it drew closer to her lower half.

And then it crashed over her. She was naked, in a shower, with someone asking to do things outside the normal bonds of friendship. This was a terrible situation, indeed.

“O-oh.”

"Is that offensive in some way, Princess? That the dirty street thug would have experience in dirty street thug things?" She gave a self-satisfied smirk and then set about washing her thighs.

"W-well, no," Weiss said anxiously, watching the washcloth move up and down one well-muscled leg. "I... not the thug things. Dirty, however, I... why would you and I ever t-touch each other the way you're suggesting? We're both women!"

It took everything she had not to throw her head back and laugh at just how naïve Weiss was. "Because, Weiss, no one knows a woman's body like a woman. All the right places to touch, the exact amount of pressure to place here… or there." Her tone was husky at this point; she was laying it on thick, no longer hiding behind a playful tone. "Men use women for their own pleasure, and sometimes give some back. Which is fine, I guess. But women pay homage to other women, and worship them like they deserve. You’re never gonna have your mind blown with a guy the way you could by a woman-loving-woman, Schnee."

This was beginning to become too much for the poor, pampered girl to take in. Yang was serious! Not just serious, but insistent, and trying to get her to agree! This was a disaster!

But she shouldn’t panic. This was just another dangerous situation to navigate, just as with her training. Pulling her hair down over her shoulder to at least cover half of her chest, she said, "I-I've never even truly w-wanted to be with any guy, let alone a..." She had been about to say something offensive, but only just managed to stop herself. "And anyway, you don't have the proper equipment to satisfy a woman! Perhaps I'm not as worldly-wise as you, but I studied basic biology!"

The fiery woman's brow rose and she failed to keep all of her offense in check. "Excuse me, but I've never had any complaints. Lots of screaming, sure, but no complaints."

In a rare moment of boldness, Weiss reached forward and lightly slapped the pubic region of her teammate a couple of times. "I don't feel anything here that could do what you're suggesting, Yang! You're not making any sense!"

The taller girl was taken aback slightly by the sudden boldness, needing a moment to blink and suppress a slight groan of detached pleasure, but she grinned all the same. "Oh, you're halfway there. I keep telling you that I’ll show you, but you don't want me to, so I guess your burning curiosity and need to see if I'm right will go unattended forever."

"I just don't see what you have to show me," Weiss growled, already regretting her misstep after seeing the taller girl's reaction to it. This was mortifying. "Y-you won't explain what you mean, and you know I'm not going to let you d-do a 'demonstration', so it's not my fault I'm still uninformed, now, is it?"

"No, you're right; it's mine. Oh well." Yang didn’t say anything after that; she simply ran her body under the stream of water again, relieving herself of the dirtied suds that covered her pale skin. She had baited the lure; now she had to see if the big mouth bass that was her teammate would bite.

"I... but... you..." Both of Weiss's hands went to her scalp and tugged. "ERURGHH! Can you please just tell me how two women can do such things?!"

Her irritation was adorable and amusing. Yang looked thoughtful for a moment before she reached forward and grabbed the smaller girl's hand gingerly, raising it to her mouth, keeping eye contact as she did. "Sure. Y'see, there are plenty of ways to pleasure a woman… without a dick. And these are one of those ways." As she spoke, she brought Weiss's fingertips to her lips.

Instantly, Weiss jerked her hand away. She was no longer furious, or annoyed, or demanding. Clearly she was afraid. Both the unambiguous language and the feeling of soft lips on her fingers were far more than she had been expecting in the next instant.

"O-oh," she merely breathed, clutching the hand to her chest, eyes wide as saucers. "Without a... wh-what kind of ways?"

Calmly, Yang leaned her shoulder against the wall and spoke in a laid-back, nonchalant tone. "Ways with your fingers… tongue… hell, even foreign objects can be fun."

"Foreign- are you out of your mind?! I'm not putting anything in there! Not ever! I don't even use tampons!" Then, utterly ashamed she had just admitted that, Weiss blushed an even deeper shade and looked away. "I use p-pads." It wouldn't do to allow Yang to think she just allowed the blood to fall where it may.

Now Yang couldn’t help but laugh. "Okay, good to know! File that away for a rainy day."

This time, Weiss truly tried to think through this. She supposed one day she would be expected, as an heiress of the Schnee Dust Company, to take a husband. In that event, there would have to be at least one item allowed within her sacred place, whether she was ready to accept it or not. Logically, what was the difference?

But Yang was her teammate. Plus, she was such a brutish barbarian, full of herself. Furthermore, she was a woman. Her parents had taught her for all her life that men marry women, and even when she heard the inevitable whisperings that it wasn't always true, the Schnees quashed them with "what nonsense" and "deviants" without truly discussing the matter. Yet here was Yang Xiao Long, determined to convince her otherwise.

"Have you... really? With other women, I mean?"

There was no hesitation in her reply; she was pretty straightforward in this regard. "Hell yes. I prefer them to men, actually. Men don’t listen to your body's needs like women do."

Swallowing thickly, Weiss looked down at herself briefly before looking back up at Yang's. "Bodies? I mean... my body has needs? I haven't felt any. I'm not really sure what you mean."

"Oh yeah, your body has lots of needs. See, Weiss, it’s not enough to take care of your body nutritionally; there are other tasks it needs. Like washing, and those pads of yours. And more."

"Yes, of course," Weiss said casually, hoping to wrong-foot her teammate, regain the upper hand. Perhaps stop her legs from trembling the way they were at that moment. "Training. And showering, as we are currently pretending to do."

Was she serious? "Weiss, your body has sexual needs, as well," she stated flatly.

"Not my body. Maybe yours does, but perhaps I have evolved beyond such trivial matters." Though she turned away with her arms folded in front of her chest, she continued to watch Yang out of the corner of her eye, curious.

"Tell you what: what if I showed you, by letting you touch me? That way you can stay pure, and you get your answers." She had elected to ignore Weiss's previous statement about being evolved. “What do you say?”

At that suggestion, Weiss felt her jaw drop open. "You- with my- are you INSANE?! You want me to push my hand into your filthy..." At the last second, she somehow managed to rein in her tirade. "Alright. So maybe it isn't filthy, especially because we're currently showering. So I apologize for saying that."

Yang's brow had never risen, and then risen higher, faster in her whole life. An apology from the Ice Queen herself? Deciding to grant her a small mercy, she didn't focus on that and instead went on, "Also, I'd like to point out that you’d be lucky to fit three fingers in me, let alone your whole hand. I don’t know what you got going on, but I run a pretty tight ship – if you know what I mean."

"That isn't..." Weiss sighed, shifting uncomfortably as her eyes unwillingly fixated somewhere in the region of Yang's hip. "Wh-why do I suddenly feel like I'm bathing with a boy?"

"Because you stepped into a ring with a big dog and you were wholly unready to run with the pack," Yang told her matter-of-factly.

"Dog is right," Weiss scoffed. "You... on a scale of one to ten... how serious are you about letting me do that? Not that I care."

"A very solid thirteen."

That made her head feel a few ounces lighter. "Really? Wait... are you... experiencing those kind of urges? With me in here? Right now?" All she gave Weiss was an aloof shrug and a cocky smirk. "Because of me? No, not because of me." Weiss shook her head firmly. "You've just been toying with me because you're already, um, in that type of mood. Right?"

The grin just got wider, watching the normally self-absorbed heiress fumble over her words. Yang gave a very obvious leer down at Weiss’s body as they stood there. And then, though it was the tiniest flicker, Weiss felt something like a hot prickling in her lower regions. None of these sensations or possibilities were familiar, and they terrified her.

"Why?" she whispered softly.

For a moment, Yang was caught between being a complete cocky ass and being a real sweetheart. "Because you're beautiful," she spoke softly. "And my god, that ass of yours." In the end, she had decided somewhere in the middle was best.

Instinctively, Weiss's hands whipped back to cover said ass, but then she realized how silly that was when she was facing toward Yang and moved them back in front of herself, folding them in front. "You... a thirteen out of ten isn't mathematically possible, but if you mean that... if you really want me to... no, no I can't! How could I? This just sounds wrong in so many ways! I wouldn't even know how to start!"

"Why, it’s simple! Just start with a single touch." She spoke as she took a step forward. "A simple caress, that leads to a spark... that leads to a fire... that leads to a blazing inferno." Wow she was laying it on thick.

"Really?" Weiss said in what she hoped was a deadpan. "I just touch you? Fine, here." She raised one hand and laid it on Yang's elbow. "When do the fires start?" "When you place the other hand on the other side, and I lean in real close..." As she spoke, she stepped even further into the younger girl’s space. Yang’s face was two inches away from Weiss's as she spoke. "And tell you how beautiful you are… and how lucky I am to be here, this close, with you." Saying the right thing at the right time was like an art for her.

Suddenly, Weiss felt very small and very weak in the shadow of the taller and more self-assured woman. Yang oozed confidence in equal part with sensuality. That Weiss even noticed her sensuality was cause for alarm. "Lucky? Being in the room with me makes you feel that way? I... why?"

"Because you are one of the strongest, most confident, refined, pedigreed women I know, and you have no reason to waste your time talking to street trash like me." Her lips barely brushed Weiss's ear. "But here you are..."

"I... I know." Weiss couldn't move. Her hands lifted to push Yang backward, but she couldn’t manage it. The caress of air on her ear was paralysing somehow. "I m-mean... all those things you said are true, of course. I know objectively that people consider me to be pretty, and, um… whatever. But why... when you say things like that, why does it sound so different?"

Then, slowly, she moved the hand from Yang's elbow to her side and simply held it there, not even sure why she had. Testing the waters. It was smooth and warm to the touch. Something in her heart felt sick but it was too late to back down.

"Because I mean them," Yang answered simply. "Contrary to popular belief, I’m not just blowing wind up your skirt." And in a way, she really wasn’t. She had been interested Weiss for quite a while, and begrudgingly liked her spunk even if it was with a side of entitlement. To what extent she liked her remained to be seen.

"Just... sorry if I'm being repetitive, but this is so new to me. How much did you mean it when you said I could... could try it out on you, to know what you mean?" Weiss tried to swallow. It didn't work. Her next words were raspy as a consequence. "Because... if you're sure, then... I..."

Yang smirked and let her breath tease the smaller woman’s ear again. "I meant every word of it. You can do as you please." She lifted her fingertips to trace the contours of Weiss's arm idly.

A shiver passed down Weiss's arm at the touch. She was so far out of her depth... but Yang wasn't forcing anything. Teasing, yes, forcing, no.

"Okay," she whispered as her hand drifted down over Yang's hip. "Stop me. I mean... stop me if you should wish to change your mind, of course."

For a moment Yang's heart stopped. This was happening; it wasn’t a game anymore, she had won… hadn't she? "Of course," she reassured the white-haired woman. The blonde took a deep breath and awaited whatever Weiss would allow herself to do.

Belatedly, Weiss realized she had really meant it when she said "stop me". She wanted to be stopped by some outside force, because her body seemed to be determined to follow through. And follow through it did.

It was like a shock of electricity when her fingertips waded through the thicket of blondeness above Yang's center. Her heart sped up and her breath came faster once her brain registered where she was touching. Of course, she had touched there scant moments ago in a moment of jest, but this was not the same. This would lead elsewhere.

A soft exhale wafted over Weiss's neck as her fingers inched downward towards her most sensitive area. "Mmhh…" Yang was careful not to touch Weiss too much; she didn’t want to push the girl into anything. If this was going to happen, it was going to happen on Weiss's terms.

"I... I'm going to go further." She didn't know why, but instinct was telling her to put her other hand on Yang's back – so she did, just in the center, feeling wet hair under her palm. Her fingertips inched lower, listening for any change in breath, any protestation. This couldn't be something Yang really wanted, could it?

Instinctively, Yang's hips rolled into the other's touch, a soft moan escaping parted lips as Weiss's touch lowered. "Please do," she chimed lightly.

"This is completely insane," Weiss breathed shakily as she continued to advance. "Don't know why I let you talk me int- into... o-oh, I think I f-found you." The softness that her middle finger came into contact with was strange enough without the sheer amount of moisture that clung to its surface. That couldn't just be from the shower they were in, either.

"Please, Princess, of all the crazy things you could be doing, this is by far one of the less insane ones." The last word was something more of a whimper. "And y-yeah, that’s me..."

Of course the sensation was familiar; there had been a time or two when Weiss came into contact with herself when washing or adjusting her underwear. However, when she did so, she did not make sounds even remotely close to the ones Yang was making. Biting her lower lip to keep from asking another inane question, she slowly moved her hand further inward until she could feel Yang running the length of her finger, feel it on the fingers to either side.

It was hard for the blonde not to grip Weiss's shoulders, but she kept her hands to herself anyway so as not to scare the smaller woman off. The sensation felt better than she had expected, if she were honest with herself; it apparently had been longer than she thought since her last escapade. "Mmmhhh… that feels good…"

"Of c-course," Weiss breathed, struggling to keep the complete and utter shock out of her voice. "You're being touched by a Schnee. We don't do things halfway."

Of course, they didn't do things like this at all. Biting her lip harder, she slowly moved her hand backward and then forward again, watching this ghastly show play out in front of her and listening for Yang to protest.

A subtle blush overtook the pale skin of the taller woman as the sensations echoed through her nerves. Yang was careful not to make to many noises; didn’t want to freak the newbie out. However, this was proving to be very difficult. Unable to stand it any longer, Yang's hand slowly lifted to run her finger tips down Weiss's arm, a soft moan escaping her lips.

A nervous laugh escaped Weiss's throat. "Okay, y-you can't do that while I'm doing this," she squeaked as she felt her other hand ball into a fist against Yang's back. "Don't touch me. I'm s-supposed to be touching you, right?"

"My bad, Princess," she half-chuckled as she was scolded, withdrawing her hand. "Its just hard not to with your fingers doing such a good job."

"Am I?" Licking her lips nervously, Weiss stepped a few inches closer. "This is my first time trying anything like this, so if you were to, uh, direct my movements somewhat, I would appreciate some instruction. That is, if I need any." Trying to recover her pride, she added, "Perhaps I really am doing it perfectly already."

A soft snort broke the awkward silence that fell between them, and on its tail, the blonde said, "Quick circles and a thrusting motion in the right spot, it's... pretty simple." She paused to grin wider. "I'm sure someone as skilled and perfect as you would have no problem catching on."

Weiss allowed herself a light chuckle, but it sounded more like a cough due to her nerves. "Yes, yes. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some circles to attempt." Which she did. The way the thin ribbons of flesh slid over her knuckles felt so unnatural that she shivered, but she persevered, determined to see why Yang cared so much about this activity.

"Well, excuse me, your majesty," Yang jested. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her hands to herself, so instead... Yang kept her hands to herself. Slowly, she slid her fingertips up her stomach and over to grip her own breast firmly, humming happily at the added sensation.

It was with morbid and detached fascination that Weiss watched Yang touch the rest of her body. She wondered for a second if this meant she was doing something wrong, hurting Yang, but that didn't seem right. Therefore, she simply kept at it, watching intently for any sign of change. Meanwhile, her own heart was hammering in her chest, and the heat she had been trying to ignore further down on her body was becoming more insistent. This wasn't really something a person could just do to another person, was it?

Practiced fingers worked her breast expertly as Yang bit her lip, trying to stifle any sounds of pleasure that came from the mix of the two touches. Even still, she couldn’t hold back the low needy groan that slipped past her lips.

Another step closer. Weiss felt her hip just barely brush Yang's and froze in place, shivering; this was too close, but she couldn't back up now without seeming like a coward.

"Are... you doing okay?" she asked uncertainly as her fingers continued to drift in lazy circles.

Another cheeky grin disturbed Yang's expression of ecstasy as she replied to her momentary companion. "Oh yeah, doing… mmhhh… just f-fine… you should go a little faster."

"Alright." Her fingers began to trace a quicker circle, feeling both them and Yang's body getting warmer with each movement. "Just, um, tell me when I'm supposed to go inside. Still can't believe you really do that."

Yang's hips slowly started to roll into the attentions. "Y-you can go inside now if you’re brave enough, Snow Angel."

"Really?" Trying to distract herself from her building panic – and other things building elsewhere – Weiss readjusted her stance again but felt herself standing on Yang's foot, so she hastily stepped over. Alas, that put her body even closer than it had been, her stomach pressing into Yang's side. They were so near now. "Um... h-how do you know? When it's ready, I mean. For academic purposes."

"How do you know what?" Yang inquired, wholly enjoying Weiss's closeness more than she intended. "When you’re ready to go in?" Weiss merely nodded as her body began to adjust to Yang's mild and comforting heat against her front. When had it become comforting? "Slide your fingers further down; you should be able to feel a substance of different consistency than the water. Thicker. When there's plenty of that... mmhh... that's when you know you're ready."

That wetness was an indicator of that? "I see," Weiss said softly. "You know, I was going to ask about... nevermind." Then she cleared her throat as the tip of her middle finger began to edge the soft lips aside. "Just... put a finger right in there? Just like that?"

"Y-yes, just like t-that," Yang mused, exhaling softly, heart racing in her chest.

"Well, you're the expert, I suppose." Then, biting her bottom lip hard, she began pushing the finger inward, just a tiny fraction of an inch at a time, her movements more like a thief trying to break into a house without waking anyone rather than someone being intimate.

"Don't be afraid of it, Weiss; you're not going to hurt me."

If it had been anything else, Weiss would have shoved the finger in roughly in protest of Yang's goading. Still, she did take this as a cue that she could move faster. When the finger was in to the second knuckle, she whispered, "H-how's this?"

The elder girl bit her lip, head spinning dizzily. "Yeah, that’s good... n-now curl your finger slightly, and continuously do that..."

Weiss did as she was told, purely because she had no other notions. The strangely rumpled-feeling insides of her teammate caused her some concern, but she supposed she would feel less confused if she had ever explored her own body in this way. This was probably very natural.

Then she felt gentle resistance against her fingertip. "Oh! I... did I go the wrong way? What is this?"

"N-no! Not the wrong way!" Yang all but moaned. "The very, very right way... tha-that's what you want to stroke..."

"Okay," she whispered as she continued to do so, trying not to think too deeply on the murky wetness she was feeling all around her finger, about what she might or might not be prodding inside Yang's body. "Okay, I- and this feels good to you, does it?"

"Mmmhh, that's called th-the g-spot. It's a s-sweet spot of n-nerves."

"G-spot, hmm? Wonder what the 'g' stands f- you know what? Don't answer that." Purely out of nerves, Weiss quickened her movements, listening for whether or not that was pleasurable to her teammate. How could this possibly be something she wanted to pursue? It seemed irrational... and yet Yang's head lolled back and her hands slipped into her hair, a low moan telling Weiss that her actions were doing what she had intended.

It was all Weiss could do not to flee the shower and hide under one of the locker room benches. In truth, however, she didn't want to. This encounter was too intriguing, too scintillating to completely ignore. Her hand was curling as she stimulated this "g-spot" which Yang swore gave her so much pleasure she was barely rational.

She could feel it building. So soon? Too soon. The blonde was already close to her end and Weiss's lightning strokes were not helping in the slightest. "G-geez, I-I'm getting... c-close already. Wow!"

"Close to what?" Weiss asked, almost entirely focused on what her hand was doing, her own breath coming slightly faster from the effort.

Was she really this naive? "T-to orgasming!" she spat out. "My God, what d-do you think?!"

"Orgasming? Y-you mean that thing that people do when they make a baby?!" A squeezing sensation hit Weiss in the chest but she forced herself to ask rational questions instead of panicking. "But we can't make a baby, we're both girls! Right? Right, Yang?!"

It was almost enough to kill the whole mood, had she not already been so close. But Weiss's movements only grew more jerky and strong in her state of near-panic, which practically tore the next words from Yang's throat. "No! No babies! Don't st- don't stop!"

Nearly in tears, Weiss did not relent and heightened her pace. Yang's words shouldn't have been all that surprising; still, it was a relief. Having put that worry to rest, she whispered, "Okay... okay, I won't stop! You sh-shall have your orgasm!"

It wasn’t even a full two seconds later that Yang’s climax ripped through her, and she sang Weiss's praises to the gods, one hand having instinctively gone to rest at Weiss's lower back. It was more than the shorter girl would be ready for but it was impossible for her to do anything else in the midst of her passions.

"A-AH!" The fingertips in the small of Weiss's back caused her to gasp aloud, a trembling shooting down to her knees. Why did she feel so strange when it was Yang receiving the treatment?

Nearly a full minute passed, filled with nothing but panting and shivering. When they had both regained their breath, Weiss glanced up at Yang, trying to ascertain whether or not she had recovered. "Well, that was... I hope you are s-satisfied now. A-are you?"

It took the blonde a while for her to resist panting, only a quick nod following her question. Instinctively, she pulled the girl in closer to her, recovering from the height if her climax. She swallowed, finally regaining her voice. "Satisfied's an understatement. Damn… how have you not done that before? That was... Wow."

"Of course I haven't done that before!" Weiss snapped, positively trembling in Yang's arms. Much more discomfiting than her closeness was the way her most intimate area was now pressing quite hard against her the taller woman's hip. Heat blazed into her cheeks. It felt... not altogether bad.

However, she couldn't let that be too obvious. "Wh-what are you trying to do to me now? Do you want a kiss or something?"

"Well, if you're asking." The taller girl looked down upon the heiress, noticing how she was pressed up right against her. How her legs were brushing against hers. Was it the fact it was The Weiss Schnee that made her blush or the fingers that were still inside her.

Speaking of which... "You can take your hand away now, Princess. All done."

"I can wha- OH!" Never had Weiss's hand withdrawn from any surface as fast as it did from Yang’s wet folds. "Yes, of course I could! I'm just... all of this is very new to me, okay?"

Now she wasn't sure what to do with said hand. It ended up on Yang's hip, which made her feel as if she were returning the embrace, despite the fact that she was only doing it so her arm wouldn't be flapping about in midair. Then she looked meekly up at into the violet eyes above her and waited.

Although somehow she knew the placement of the heiress's hand was unintentional, she couldn't help but look down at it. Why did she like it so much? It wasn't even a sexual touch, and yet it was something she craved. Her closeness.

Something else was running through her mind. Although she had teased Weiss about it, she had no idea it was actually true. "You didn't know what an orgasm was? Really?"

Rolling her eyes, Weiss pinched Yang lightly for good measure. "I knew, but… I just didn't fully appreciate that it happened... you know, outside of procreation." Then she fired up again. "Don't make it sound like you know so much more than me, okay?! I'll have you know my education cost thousands of Lien and was tended to by the top professionals in the-"

"But not one of them gave you ‘birds and the bees’ talk, huh?" The thought made her chuckle, but in a way she felt terribly sorry for the girl. For someone who stood her ground firmly, who had all the book smarts, she was terribly misguided when it came to the affairs of love. It was all the more obvious that while Weiss had the book smarts, Yang had the street smarts. "Look, an orgasm's perfectly normal. You can even do it on your own. It's actually really good for you."

"Really? And how is that?" She swallowed. "I mean, s-sure, it looked like you enjoyed yourself, but I can't imagine many health benefits arise from... from braying like a donkey!"

"You know when you work out really really hard and you're out of breath? It's like that. Your heart is faster, and it kinda clears out the pipes."

The look Weiss was giving her was still heavily skeptical. All the same, she found she was swaying slightly back and forth. Why? The answer did not readily present herself at first; perhaps it was just a nervous tick. But the longer she did it, the more she began to suspect that it was because Yang's thigh meat was grinding against her.

"Can you... do me a favour?"

"Hmm? Whatcha thinking?" she asked, looking down at the girl.

"Could you... describe it?" One shoulder shrugged an inch as she averted her eyes. "Not the, um, orgasm. But wanting one; arousal. What does that feel like?"

“Kinda wondering if you'd be feeling it right about now." Though confident, it took her a while to come up with the right words. How does one describe a sensation like it? "It's like… hunger. A tingling sensation, below your stomach. You feel an urge to do things... To have things done to you. It feels good, but satisfying it is even better. That answer your question?"

Weiss took a long moment to absorb that. Along the way, she was still pressing herself against her teammate. "Suppose... hypothetically only, of course... that I were feeling warmth down there, and the tingling you described. That would mean I was aroused, wouldn't it?"

"Sure would. Tends to be the longer you go without getting off, the worse it gets." Noticing the girl was brushing against her, Yang pushed her leg forward onto Weiss, managing to guide it between her legs. "My guess is, right now, someone's a real horn-dog."

"Ah!" Weiss gasped as she clenched her thighs together to stop Yang from pressing against her. "Nn-no, Yang, wait! Wh-what should I do?"

From seeing Weiss's reaction to her advance she hesitated a moment. But she was good at reading her teammate's expression. The crimson blush, the questions; it was obvious that she truly didn't know about any of these feelings. Even until that point, Yang had wondered if Weiss was feigning ignorance, but clearly she was not.

"If you really have never gotten yourself off before, might be a good idea to start. Would relieve the stress, and would stop you feeling aroused for a fair while."

Scoffing, Weiss tried as hard as she possibly could to keep her hips from grinding against the leg beneath her. It wasn't working. "Like it's s-so easy. Just reach my hand down and do what I did to you a minute ago, huh? I'm so sure."

Yang nodded, however heat rose to her cheeks again when thinking of what she could do. She could show her how, or better still, do it for her. She could watch the heiress unwind before her. "That's how you'd do it alone, yeah. Or…" The leg pressed up against her again, hands reaching to her lower back to hold her closer. "Like I said, having another person help out is way better."

A loud cry burst from Weiss's throat when she finally felt Yang's thigh flush up against her inflamed sex. Her defenses had failed. Her protests had fallen on deaf ears. Yang had not pushed her out of her comfort zone too quickly, but rather used time, patience, and persuasion... and it yielded the same result.

"I-I'm scared," she admitted without meaning to. "B-because I don't know what to compare this feeling to, it's s-so weird! Does it hurt? Do you have to hurt me first to make it feel good?! I don't understand!"

"No. If you're aroused enough, it shouldn't hurt at all – especially if you’re with somebody as good at this as I am." Regardless of if they would or wouldn't initiate said act with one another, she felt the need to say such a thing. Yes, it could be that Yang would show her what it was like, what an orgasm was. But she cared enough for the girl to let her know this in case she wanted to back away, to go off and experiment with a boy instead.

And yet she wasn't moving any time soon. Weiss was curious, wanted to know how it felt. Wanted to satisfy herself, or the knowledge of how to do so. And Yang could show her.

"If you're curious, I can take care of it for you,” she whispered when the Ice Queen didn’t respond. “Just like with me, no one needs to know. You'd just feel what I felt. You'd understand why I was making those sounds. But, you can walk away if you don't want to."

Even as Yang was still talking, Weiss began to shift her hips back and forth ever so slightly, feeling the pressure amplify that tingling sensation, the taut heat that blossomed everywhere it touched. The need to continue was starting to outweigh her misgivings.

"Wh-what happens... if I just do this?" the heiress whispered as her thighs shifted farther apart, as she widened her stance to accept more of her teammate's leg. "What do you even call this? It has to have some k-kind of offensive name."

"Grinding?" The girl asked, pressing her leg firmer up against her hot sex. She was able to feel the intense wetness of the heiress, regardless of the shower. She needed this. "If you want to do that, go ahead. That's one of the things they don't teach ya at school."

"B-but I feel like some kind of animal!" Nevertheless, her hips were moving faster, and she wrapped both arms more securely around Yang's waist and rested her face against the side of her chest. Noticing this last part, she whispered, "I... is this okay? My face being here, I mean."

"J-just shut up and enjoy the ride, Princess," she encouraged. Truth be told, the feeling of having someone pressing right up against her breast was quite nice. She enjoyed the attention of it. Which reminded her of another method she had to teach her. "Put your hand on your boob like I did. That can help, sometimes."

"Put what where?" One of Weiss's hands released Yang's hip to reach up and squeeze her modest asset. "Mhhh... but that... why do I like that? Touching my boobs has never felt remotely pleasant before, I... do you like that, too?"

"Who wouldn't love mine? Look at them!" Although she laughed, she knew that wasn't what the girl meant at all. The sensation was indeed something she enjoyed, it helped her reach her peak. And kept her hands busy. "But yeah, if you're not going deep, it's an extra thing to help get you to the finish line."

But in order to help Weiss further, she pressed her leg up against her sex even firmer, hands wrapping around her back to help her push back and forth.

"Yeah... look at them..." Almost without any conscious thought, Weiss released her own breast and caressed Yang's. It was smooth round, and had a pleasant buoyancy to it that worked in tandem with its weight. Perhaps it was only because she had just been doing the same thing to herself, but knowing how it would feel to Yang when she did that only served to strengthen her arousal.

And that gave Yang an idea. "If you wanted... We can make this really intense. For both of us."

A humourless laugh threaded through Weiss's tentative moans. "Your ideas seem to lead to a l-l-looot of trouble!" Unable to help herself, her teeth clamped down on the side of Yang's soft breast for a half-second as she rode an unexpected flare of heat. "I... what did you have in mind?"

She moved her hand to Weiss's lower back, holding her in place as she shifted her spare leg across; trapping one of the heiress's legs between her own. She would be able to feel it pressing against Yang's sex, the wetness that was coating her fingers now pressing firmly against her legs. She rocked back and forth herself against it, mimicking Weiss's movements. "If we both do it, at the same time... I mean, no reason we can’t make this a two-player game, right?"

"O-ohhhhh, but you feel s-so..." Weiss had been about to say "slimy", but instinct told her this would be a bad moment to say as much. Worse still, she found she didn't mind at all. Now her face was resting against two pillowy mounds that jiggled slightly with every motion, and she wasn't sure if she was comfortable with that.

"Yang? Do you... are you ready for another one? Is that why y-you moved my leg?"

"I am, if you think you can handle it." She moved Weiss closer still, encouraging her to continue her previous movements. She found when she did so, and when she moved forward herself, the two would meet in the middle. And bodies pressing up against one another only heightened her arousal. God, was she ready for it. "So do you wanna feel an orgasm or not?"

"I... I think I…"

Something was distracting Weiss from being able to finish her sentence. An urge she had never anticipated. It was very odd, indeed, but then again, so was everything else that was happening. The biting had planted the seed. Now all that was left was to explore what fruit it bore.

As they shifted against each other's thighs, Weiss moved the hand still on Yang's breast to raise it higher. Trying hard not to weep in frustration at her own strange yearnings, she then took the nipple into her mouth.

"Wha-AH!" She hadn't expected that at all! Not for Weiss to suddenly seem to dominate her, to stimulate her even more. The feeling added to her grinding against the heiress's leg was phenomenal, and bought forth heavier breathing.

"I'm sorry!" Weiss burst out immediately, head drawing back to gaze up at her friend. "Did- was that too much, are you okay?"

She shook her head. “Fuck no! Weiss, you’re so good!” If anything, she wanted to return the favour. But in the midst of pleasure, in the middle of pressing her sex against Weiss's leg as close as she could, in feeling her do the same; she didn't know how.

Instinct took over. She couldn't help herself. The blonde leaned forward, mashing her lips against the Heiress's in their heated exchange, tongue flaring out to meet it's partner right away.

Instantly, Weiss was screaming. Screaming louder than she had ever screamed before - but all the sound was going into Yang's mouth, there was nowhere else for it to go. Her first kiss! Her first ever romantic kiss, and it was with Yang?!

Hot anger and sadness tried to overpower the arousal, but they only served to drive it onward, to make her hips shift faster and faster as a foreign tongue wrapped itself around her own, as her hands raised to alight upon the head and back of the woman showing her things she had never imagined in her wildest nightmares. The hand on the back felt numerous scars and slid over them, feeling her anger ebb slightly with every single one she touched until that hand was resting on on a firm backside, her fingertips pressing in to hold Yang's shifting hips even harder against herself, to spur both of them onward.

Moans poured forth into the heiress's mouth as Yang pushed herself faster and faster, matching her pace in order to spur herself on, to have a second climax. It wouldn't take long, not after the first one. The tongue brushed everywhere it could; the underside of Weiss’s, and even the roof of her mouth and the bottom of her lips. A hand of her own slipped down to Weiss's backside, squeezing gently as she brought the girl under her own power, pushing her back and forth against her leg instead. What was happening to her? Why was she so desperate for her teammate to finish rather then herself? Why did she care?

Something was about to happen: something big that couldn't be easily overlooked. Of course, Weiss had a feeling it was an orgasm, but never having felt one before she couldn't be completely sure. What should she do? Keep going? Ask Yang to stop? Ask Yang to go harder? The sounds coming from her and vibrating against the tongue tangled up with her own gave plenty of evidence that this was going to be spectacular, whatever it was.

In the end, all she was capable of doing was going harder herself, hips nearly slamming against the leg under them as she tried to coax every last bit of pleasure from every last action.

They were both close. Yang felt every movement, the twitching in her leg, the warmth of her sex, the vibration of her mouth; Weiss was close to her climax and she knew it. So what could she do to make her first orgasm magical? In the end, she redoubled all efforts. She grasped her backside firmer, pushing her against her even more forcefully, whilst her spare hand went up into her hair, grasping some and pulling it rather firmly. Her tongue then began to brush against the underside of hers, continuing to do so until she reached her climax.

It was like a freight train running over Weiss when she finally reached her end. Shaking and vibrations, and heat, and sensations that she had absolutely no words for that were stronger than the ones for which she already had no words. In that second, everything was beautiful, and she wanted to stay in it, to hold Yang against her body and never let go until the world fell apart.

Then the heat began to dwindle downward, her heart slowed. The screaming she had been doing finally became apparent to her, and she stopped. Breathing ragged, she withdrew slightly from the kiss, her teeth raking over Yang's lower lip as she did so.

In that time, Yang’s thrusting tapered off and stopped. Although she wanted to continue, to reach her own climax once again, she was more concerned with her teammate. It was her first time, whilst in comparison, Yang had done it far more times. She could always finish herself off later. Finally drawing her lips from the ice queen's, she pressed her forehead against hers, allowing them both breathing space as her grip loosened from her backside and hair. Between ragged breaths, she spoke.

"And that… is an orgasm."

"What... what did you do to me?" Swallowing thickly, Weiss's hand came up to rest on Yang's collarbone. "All of that... that wasn't me, I... it was like something took over my body, my brain, it..." Her back shivered and she nearly collapsed. "A-ah! I'm so weak now, why..."

"You're worn out, don't push yourself!" The girl couldn't help but laugh, holding her upright against her, allowing her to use her leg for support rather then to continue grinding against it. "I barely did anything; that was all you and your instincts. Listen to your body and it will rarely steer you wrong, dude."

Then Weiss buried her face against her own hand, shaking as she sobbed quietly, "Y-you kissed me. How dare you. How dare you take that liberty while I... there was nothing I could do, how could I have stopped you? D-did you know I've never been kissed before? Did you? I... I wasn't expecting that!"

The once confident expression vanished. The blonde then moved her head away from Weiss's, softening her grip even further just so it was holding her upright, nothing more. She had no idea. "Shit, I… I'm so sorry. Really, I thought you at least had tried that! But... I was running on instinct, too – when I did that, I mean."

"WHO would I have kissed?!" Fire brought her back straight again and she glared up into Yang's eyes. "Do you think anyone in my life has been worthy of receiving a kiss from Weiss Schnee? Of course not! So what, you decide you're just going t-to..." But Yang had already told her she didn't expect it to be her first kiss. That it had been unintentional. She wanted to scream, to flail her fists against the amazonian anchor of their team, but it wouldn't do any good; what was done was done.

"Fine. Then you'd better make it up to me."

"H-hey, it worked, didn't it? Like, it made your orgasm a lot stronger, right?" Although then Yang remembered that she had nothing to compare it to. She didn't know the difference. She could have gone as normal and NOT ruined Weiss's first kiss.

Weiss gave an exaggerating shrug. "How should I know? Am I the kiss-expert?! Do I have a degree in kissology?!" Then she seemed to deflate, even though she was still huffing and puffing like she had run a mile. "Why... why do you still look all... I don't know, tense? What's the matter?"

"Look, I feel bad I messed up your first kiss. And I'm sorry, alright? I guess my first kiss didn't mean a lot to me, so I thought everyone else was the same." There was no pun this time. No innuendo, no jokes. Yang was pouring her heart out to the girl before her, apologising truly from her heart. Something very out of character for the blonde.

But it didn't last long. "Told you the shower would only make you dirtier."

"You weren't wrong." This identity crisis wasn't going away any time soon. The longer Weiss stayed in the shower with her teammate, the more she was going to succumb to these odd new emotions, and she wasn't sure if she wanted it. However, she wasn't sure she could leave even if she tried; curiosity was holding her there, next to the person who at least MIGHT have some answers.

"Can we..." She knew it sounded stupid even before she asked. "Can I kiss you this time, and we pretend the other one didn't happen, and say this is my first kiss?"

Her brow raised. "Wait, you want your first kiss to be with me? The street thug who bought you the ‘hot stuff’ panties?"

"No!" Weiss snapped. "But I don't have any choice now, so... so if I can't have it with somebody else, at least I can have it on my terms, right?!"

"Whoa whoa whoa, calm down, Ice Queen!" She raised her arms defensively, slowly lowering them onto Weiss's shoulders. Keeping eye contact, she smiled. "Go ahead. Kiss me how you want."

"Fine!" Of course, the instant Weiss said this to her, she felt terrified of what she was about to do, but there was no backing down. Perhaps she didn't want it to be Yang Xiao Long in front of her at this moment in her personal history... but after the passionate embrace they had shared moments ago, she knew it could be a far worse candidate.

Her hands moved up to softly grip the taller woman's shoulders, drawing her down; Yang moved easily under her touch, ready to accommodate. Mouths drew closer, pulses raged.

"I... I'm gonna do it," Weiss whispered.

"Then do it already," the blonde egged on, gazing into her eyes whilst doing so.

For several long seconds, nothing happened. The small enclosure was simply filled with the sound of water droplets pounding against tile. Weiss shifted her weight from foot to foot. Her thumb rubbed over Yang's shoulder. She blinked several times. This wasn't getting them anywhere, or so Yang thought. Guilt continued to gnaw at her mind that because of her actions, Weiss had to force herself to this. How could she make it easier for her? So Weiss could have a decent first kiss?

She closed her eyes slowly, thinking the lack of purple irises staring at her would make it easier. Holding her breath, Weiss convinced herself to lean in. Just an inch. Then another inch. Then she dropped back an inch, shaking from head to toe, trying to swallow as she closed her own eyes.

"Oh, whatever."

Then Weiss's lips collided with Yang's again, slower and sweeter than last time. Taking every moment as it came with great relish. To her own great surprise, she channeled every last drop of desire and passion she had into the contact, practically singing into the contact.

It took a short while until eventually Yang returned such contact. Lips curling around hers slowly as she very slowly brushed her tongue against her lower lip, goading her into more. How could this woman have never kissed before? How could this be her first time? Though baffled, the rough, thuggish woman enjoyed every minute of grace that the Schnee heiress honoured her with. It was only fair for her to try and make her experience all the better.

This time, when Yang's tongue searched out Weiss's, she was not as forthcoming with returning the gesture. She did, in the end; just not as readily. It was on her terms, and she wanted that to continue to be the case.

But completely unbidden, her hand wandered up to Yang's cheek and caressed it. The skin was surprisingly soft, supple. Almost as much as Weiss's, and she doubted that the rough-and-tumble blonde moisturised as much as she herself did.

Or perhaps she did? What did she really know about Yang Xiao Long? Apparently, it was time for her to learn as much as possible. She was beginning to think she wanted that more than anything.

Of course, she responded to the heiress's gestures. But where could she touch? Could she touch her cheek? Or would she be overly sensitive about the scar? Sure, Yang had many scars all over her body, but none as visible as Weiss's. In fact, it was something she felt rather sorry for her having.

In the end, she wrapped her arms around her waist, pulling her in closer as they continued their soft embrace. There was something gratifying about kissing someone so soft, compared to the tougher company in the past.

The longer they kissed, the more Weiss felt her heat beginning to grow again. That shocked her; could it be done more than once? How long did one have to wait before doing it again? She wanted to ask Yang these things, but it suddenly seemed inelegant to ask them during the moment. Therefore, instead she simply pulled back just enough to lean their foreheads together and whisper throatily to her newfound partner in experimentation.

"Do you... are you feeling like... doing more?"

"Why? Do you?" she asked through ragged breaths. Truth be told, she was still pent up from grinding against the woman's leg; she wanted to finish when Weiss did. But if her own heat was building yet again, it was all the better.

"See, I thought you might have been... from the w-way you were standing before, I just d-didn't want to assume." Her hands trailed down over Yang's chest, staring at them as if mortified at her own actions. "I think I might be, too, but… I mean, I'm still so new at this that I didn't know if it meant we SHOULD do more or if it was just some kind of lingering side effect!"

"Hey, if you've never gotten off before, you're gonna be horny as fuck, Princess. Best to let it all out now so you're not distracted from studying later..." She darted forward, kissing Weiss's unmarked cheek softly, only to then lean toward her ear, whispering, "Do you want me to make you scream again?"

"I... well, okay I guess, but you didn't seem to get much out of it last time." Shrugging, she took a half-step backward. "Give me your leg, then."

She looked at the heiress a moment, before taking her arms away from her. "How about something different?"

Weiss's eyes narrowed as she felt awkward, standing somewhat alone again. "Different is bad. I don't know if I like different."

"Well so far it's worked out well for you." She chuckled. "Don't suppose you're familiar with a 69?"

The stare that Weiss returned was fairly blank. "I... know of it as the number between 68 and 70?"

'Wow, this girl really was sheltered,' Yang thought. With a raised brow she explained, "It's also a position. Usually you use your mouth for it, but if that makes you uncomfortable, we can just use hands."

"Use your mouth for- wait, wait. Just... I'm so confused right now. How is a number a position? Is this in a book?" Then her mouth dropped open and she goggled at Yang. "Have you done the other 68 positions, too?! Just what degree of promiscuity do you have going for you?!"

Instantly, she slapped the palm of her hand against her face. "One, there are way more then 69 positions. Two, I have lost count of how many I have tried. Three, it's the shape of the numbers. Get it? Like one person is facing one way the other person is on top of them facing the other and you both sorta just lick-"

"Oh MY God!" Weiss blurted, covering her ears. "What am I hearing right now?! STOP!"

"I seriously can't believe it took you THAT much explanation!" The blonde erupted with laughter. Of course, it was hilarious to her, but the heiress may consider otherwise.

"Don't make... FUN of me!" Weiss punctuated her words by sliding her leg slightly inward and shoving Yang down by the shoulders.

The laughter was slowed down by Weiss's sudden movements as she barely caught herself from crashing h ard. Feeling herself getting pulled down by her brought on a wave of desire. "Someone's more eager than I thought. So what do you say? Like I said, we can just use hands. Whatever floats your boat."

It still stunned Weiss that she was now perched on top of her teammate on the floor of the shower, their naked bodies flush with one another, desire coursing through their veins. This was completely atypical. "I... I was just mad, but I g-guess we... how do we start, oh Knower of Sexual Things?"

"Well, you gotta get down here." From her knees, the girl slowly laid back, fully pressed against the soaking wet tiles as she stared up at the girl before her. "You gotta get on top of me."

Crawling hand-over-hand, Weiss was now lying atop Yang and staring into her eyes - and thereby clearly demonstrating she had misunderstood a lot of what Yang had explained. "Done. N-now, what are we doing with our hands?"

It took a lot to keep from slapping her own face again. Instead, she gently lifted the girl back up. "Other way around, Princess."

"You want on top of me? Or..." She tried to think back through what Yang had said. "H-hey, you said we didn't have to do licking!"

"And we're not going to, it's just the position! Do you wanna try this or not?"

"But I still don't..." Sighing, she sat up, not thinking about how she was literally sitting on Yang's hips. "Just tell me what to put where? You know I haven't done this before, I'm doing my best, okay?!"

"Alright, alright. I guess I should explain it clearer." The blonde swallowed. Feeling Weiss straddling her sent all the more heat to the union of her legs. Oh, how she wished she was able to thrust upward into her, but she lacked the equipment for that. Perhaps if the two experimented again, she could come prepared. "Okay, you want to be pushing your nose into my snatch, pretty much. You use your fingers, basically doing what you just did; I do the same on my end. So you're receiving as much as you're giving."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, you..." The blush was not only pronounced, it was legendary. "Are you... going to put them in? I'm not sure if... if I can handle that yet, I've never..." Then she shook her head. "No, I'm sure you know what you're doing. You wouldn't dare push me beyond what I'm ready for, would you?"

"No way. That's why you're on top, so you can roll off if it gets to be too much." She couldn't help but shuffle beneath her. The tiles certainly weren't comfortable, but the woman above her was.

With a hesitant nod, Weiss climbed off Yang and stood over her for a moment, taking in a good eyeful of the beautiful woman laid out beneath her. It was odd how she was thinking at the moment; unnatural. Yang was voluptuous and desirable to most males she knew – but she was not a male. Why did gazing at her pronounced curves set her off?

Then she turned around and backed up until she was straddling Yang's middle, gazing down at wet knees as she lowered her own to the floor. Once there, she placed her hands on Yang's thighs and whispered, "Are you sure this is going to b-be okay? For both of us?"

She placed her hands on Weiss's thighs, attempting to reach forward. Though she realised with a reluctant sigh the heiress was too far away. She'd have to more or less lie down on the top of her to be level. "Well you're gonna have to back up a lil more, I can't reach you yet."

"I'm really supposed to... p-put my rear in your face? I didn't think we'd be getting THAT personal." However, she did as she was bidden, reversing until her center was hovering several inches above Yang's face, her calves sliding beneath arms. "B-better?"

"Yeah, that's it." Although she wanted to make a comment on the view, she suspected in their current situation the heiress wouldn't take it too kindly. Her hands slowly caressed the girl's thighs. Slowly reaching back up to her rear again in order to work her up further, she continued her instructions. "Just as you did before: slow rubbing to get me warmed up, then enter..."

"O-oh, right! Sorry!" Weiss felt embarrassed that she had nearly forgotten to return the favour being bestowed upon her. But when she leaned down between thighs, she realised something she wasn't expecting. Yang's organ was very pleasing to the eye. That shouldn't have been a thought that was even in her lexicon, but she truly appreciated the sight below her; soft folds and smooth skin. Her hand passed over it unbidden, just to take a more measured stock of the feeling than she had before when she was merely trying to get things done.

Likewise, Yang was also enjoying the sight of the heiress. As expected, completely perfect. Although she did say, "So hey… you can say no, but what if I tried using my tongue on you? Just to show you how a 69 is supposed to go for a second."

The little laugh Weiss let out held a marginal amount of her previous condescension. "Oh, I think I'll pass. That sounds quite unsanitary." Clearing her throat, she allowed her hips to sink a few inches lower. "Just, um... b-be gentle and go slow? This will still be the first time anyone's... well, you know."

"You got it, Princess."

And with that, soft fingers began to press against Weiss's wetness. Slowly at first, they began to move back and forth through the wet folds, attempting to stimulate the entire area. Resisting licking the folds instead of touching wasn’t easy, but she respected her teammate’s wishes. The young Schnee swayed visibly, heart shooting into her throat as she experienced pleasure unlike anything she had ever conceived. Now, she was extremely grateful that her first experience moments ago had been something easier and less overwhelming, because it made this so much more pleasurable.

"Hnnhh!" she breathed as she rocked her hips back against Yang's hand. "Oh, I... ohhHHHhhh!"

Her movements continued to tease her wet folds, cheeks blossoming with red at the sounds of Weiss's moans. How she wished she could see her face, watch as her expression went from that of her usual grumpy self to completely given over to this moment. She pushed her hand slightly more upward, her middle finger beginning to circle her clit.

"OH! Oh, fffffantastic!" Weiss whimpered as her own hand clutched more desperately at the folds beneath her. Sheer luck kept her from doing any damage to the sensitive organ with her well-manicured nails.

"Aah! C-careful!" She winced, toes curling up when feeling her firm nails contact the softer skin of herself. Once the heiress calmed down her movements again, she let out a small moan of her own. She was too stubborn to allow Weiss to undo her faster then she could undo the heiress herself.

A half-chagrined, half-elated laugh erupted from Weiss as she petted Yang's wetness with a more delicate hand. "My apologies, but this IS my first time..." She then watched the curling and uncurling toes for an idle moment. "Did you... kind of like that, though? It seemed to cause a pretty strong reaction, one way or another."

"Hey, I'm a kinky girl, but being scratched THERE isn't my thing." The emphasis was on the location, rather then the act; trying to make it clear that scratching wasn’t completely off the menu. Although another moan was let out again as she trailed her hand back downward, fingers firmly pressing up against the wet folds by her entrance, one single finger teasingly rubbing around it.

"Mmhhh," Weiss sighed as Yang began to stimulate her again, and she laid her hand flat and resumed her ministrations. After a moment, she brought the other one into play, only using it to hold her friend open so her first hand could reach more of her surface, tease between each fold.

As she gazed into the glistening textures, it dawned at her that this was the first time she had ever truly looked at a vagina. Even having one herself, she had always been told they were dirty places that were merely functional, and that the less time spent worrying about them, the better. Therefore, she felt forbidden heat of the taboo prickling along her spine as she examined it, prodding gently when she could but mostly just trying to touch all of it, to give Yang what she desired.

"Ah... Yeah..." Her breath could be felt against Weiss's hot sex, adding a new sensation of air brushing past her folds. But now came the tricky part. Feeling wetness coating her fingers, she brought her middle finger forward. Weiss was ready, she could feel it and sense it. Testing, she slowly pressed her middle finger against it, dipping the tip into her warm sex.

"MmmhhM? Oh-OH, whoa, what is- you're..." But Weiss did know what was happening, and any questions would be useless. Literally shaking at the sensation of something going inside of her for the first time, she twitched her thighs together - only to feel them being held apart by Yang's body between them. There was no way to shield herself just a tiny bit; it was either let this happen, or roll off entirely.

"Do you… want me to do that again? While you are?"

"That's the idea. Lemme know if this is okay, though."

She said between heavier breaths, bringing her other hand back to Weiss's sex as well. Whilst one stroked her wet folds and clit, the other slowly slid the finger even further inside, starting a gentle movement in and out to get her used to the sensation of friction.

A moan swelled and reverberated from Weiss's lungs as she began to roll her hips a little at a time to the sensation of Yang's finger inside of her. It was an entirely new and beautiful feeling, even if she was still partly scared of what it all might mean.

Belatedly, she began to ease one of her fingers between the folds in front of her, feeling more acutely what was transpiring than she had before. It was delicious. That was an odd word to be using, but it fit; there was a strange pleasantness to the feeling of moisture all around her fingertip, of watching it sink so gently into the welcoming flesh. How often did Yang do this?

"Oooohhh…"

The movements Weiss was making felt amazing. Despite the uncomfortable floor, the water still pouring over their bodies, it felt a lot better then the first time she tried. Her breath continued to pour forth heavily, toes curling with every sensation. Weiss felt every gust of air upon her most sensitive skin. Something about this had been bothering her slightly all along, and this more than anything else drove it home to her. Not knowing how else to phrase things, she merely swallowed and did her best.

"Are you... looking at me?"

"Uuuuhhh..." The blush rose to her own cheeks when that was asked, her movements freezing for a moment. "You bet. Why, do you want me to stop?"

"I don't care." That wasn't strictly true; she cared a great deal, but she was finding that she didn't mind. Shivering from head to toe, she allowed her thighs to drift a little farther apart. "Is it... don't make fun of me, but I want to know what you think. How does it look to s-somebody like you?"

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

“Not that you’re- I just meant… someone experienced.”

“It’s a pussy.” She didn't really know what else to say. Weiss was rather pleasant to look at, but she preferred to allow her hands to do the talking; especially as she pushed her finger a little further inside, pushing in and out a little faster.

"AH!" she gasped. "No, I... you've d-done this before, you must have looked at vaginas previously to mine, s-so how does mine compare with- NHH! Oh, God!"

Though Weiss did wish an answer to her question, the sensation was becoming too intense to ignore in favour of logical thought. In fact, she was already so close to collapsing on top of Yang's body with sheer weakness. How could performing such silly acts lead to this much enjoyment? How had no one told her before now?

"What can I say?" she said between breaths. “Your little pink curtains are pretty cute. I’m a fan.” Able to feel how close she was, her finger thrust faster into her, another working her clit in unison with her movements. On instinct, her own hips thrust against Weiss's hands, wanting more from her. She needed more.

With every thrust of her hips against Weiss's hand, she felt her finger sink deeper, saw the softness arching up toward her nose. When they had begun, she was holding herself so much higher than before, actively trying to put space between her face and the filthy organ below. Now?

Why had she stopped paying so much attention to the distance? Too much pleasure; that was the reason. Yang was caressing her every inner wall, coaxing more heat and more joy with every movement. It was intoxicating… as was the heady scent wafting up toward her from where her finger was. It mingled with soap and sweat that had not been rinsed away before, but very minimally; she knew now that almost everything filling her olfactories was arousal. The smell was something she was certain would normally sicken her.

Why did she like it in the moment? Why was it making her mouth water, her heart beat faster, her lungs rattle?

It was getting more difficult by the minute to resist Weiss, to resist leaning right up and taking her with her tongue. She probably would have, had she been with someone less reserved. But the last thing she wanted to do was frighten the heiress, not when she was in the middle of treating her like a queen. Her moans began to grow more intense, already pressure was beginning to build in her stomach.

"G-god! Weiss!"

"Yang!" Swallowing, she cleared her throat and leaned closer as she pressed her finger further and further inside. "What... what was it you said people normally do... in this position? Lick things? Is that really something… people d-do?"

"W-whatever, just don't stop!" she begged.

"Dust forgive me," Weiss breathed quietly before she allowed her tongue to dip down and press very slightly against the soft hood at the top.

"W-WHOA!" Her eyes snapped open in surprise, overwhelming pleasure beginning to seep over her at the sudden contact of her warm wet muscle. The pressure began to build even faster and instinct took over. Her tongue surged forward toward the wet folds before her, taking long licks from side to side.

A strangled "HNAH!" burst from within Weiss when she felt the same treatment being directed upon her own body, and much less hesitantly. Had Yang been waiting for her to try it first so she could respond in kind? Was it so much better?

It was. Tasting the strong and salty flavour of the taller girl below her somehow heightened every last drop of pleasure, while the source of the scent being that much closer was driving her wild. Nevermind how having such a wet and fluid thing drifting back and forth across her own opening made her feel! Another orgasm was building already, and she could not have been more pleased to know that's what it was.

Wasting no more time, Weiss wrapped her lips around the hood and its tiny occupant, suckling gently as she began to thrust her finger in and out, hoping to reach everywhere and give Yang as much pleasure as she was getting, to bring them both off in one glorious moment. There could be no better fate.

"MMMYAAAAHHH!!" She moaned loudly against her teammate, back unable to help but arch her back in pleasure. In turn, this pushed her firmer against Weiss, allowing her to press her tongue right against her clit. Finally she began to push her finger in further, curling it in the hopes of hitting another sensitive spot.

She succeeded.

"MMNHHHH!!!" Weiss cried out against Yang's folds, tongue swirling and dipping further down in to meet her own finger before she set her lips to suckling on the erect nub again. That had seemed to satisfy Yang the most, and it was the least she could do to return the joy she was experiencing throughout her entire body in that moment.

The pressure became too much, as finally Yang's legs began to shake uncontrollably. White hot flames seemed to flow through her veins, pleasure searing through her very bones as she reached her climax. But she was determined to take the heiress with her. Through one more effort, she withdrew her finger, only to then add another when pushing back in again, curling yet again to hit the sensitive spot within her. She continued to devour her clit and folds in turn, trying to tease every bit of pleasure out of her she possibly could.

A scream ripped through her body and into Yang's as she felt herself being penetrated with two fingers. Hard. Between that and the tongue torturing every other part of her sensitive flower, her second orgasm in the same shower stall crashed over her, and she felt her own toes curling, back arching, stomach muscles clenching and releasing over and over as she held her hand deep inside the body beneath her.

That was that. Weiss Schnee was no longer a virgin; she had her very first sexual encounter and it was with another woman. No one could have told her this was how it would be and been able to convince her they were telling the truth, but she found it no longer bothered her overly. The extreme levels of joy rocketing through her system made it difficult to care.

The blonde's head fell back against the wet tiles, allowing her to finally breathe. As she waited for the pleasure to cease pulsing through her, she gently pulled her fingers free from her lover's sex. A pronounced whiplash could be seen as Weiss was exited, and she tried not to sob at the feeling of having nothing inside of her anymore.

"Well?" she managed to groan out, still light-headed.

"Wh... at the end there, you d-did something differently. Was that more than one finger?"

Managing to lean to one side, she held the two fingers in the hair, both coated in her bodily fluids. "One didn’t seem to be doing it for you."

"Oh, it was doing it for me," she laughed uneasily. "But th-thank you for your consideration." Carefully, she began to slide the finger out of Yang, as well, trying to be slow and gentle about it.

"H-hah..." She couldn't help but gasp when feeling the finger removed, a sudden wave of emptiness sweeping across her. Although when seeing how close the heiress to her, it was all forgotten. She and Weiss had sex. On the list of things she expected to be doing, that was not on the list. Especially not after she found out the girl had never done it with anyone before.

"Congrats, Ice Queen. You just lost your V-card!"

For a brief second, Weiss attempted to stand. That proved impossible, so she flopped back down on top of Yang, rubbing her face idly against her thigh. "Wh-what card?"

"Mrrmimermy?" The voice was muffled by her thigh. She brought her hand back up, helping push the heiress upwards. "Virginity?"

"Oh." She swallowed, turning to help Yang up as well - unsteady on her own feet though she was. Her free hand braced against the wall of the shower for good measure. "I... was thinking about that, and I suppose you're right. Should I be... what, worried? Excited? Embarrassed? I've never been in the position to lose it before so I literally have no frame of reference."

Once standing, the woman immediately got back to her routine. It was almost as if it had never happened. Sure, her breathing was still heavy, but anyone could mistake it for someone who had just had a heavy workout if they were to see her scrubbing herself with the bar of soap.

"Eh, it's not really a big deal to be honest. You don't feel any different – at least, I never did. We just had some fun, right?"

Weiss took that in as she also set about washing herself again, following Yang's lead. "I do feel different, though. Not drastically, but it's as if... my body has been awakened in a way it never has before. Also, you and I have this new… bond, I suppose." The soap squirted out of her hands and bounced off the wall before skidding to a halt in the middle of the drain. "Does this make us lovers?! Are we t-together now?!"

“Whoa, settle down there, eager beaver,” Yang laughed, staring at the bar of soap on the floor. She managed to resist making a crude joke that probably would have pissed off the sensitive girl. In fact, she bent down to retrieve the soap for her, passing it over with a smile. "That's up to you if you think you can handle a dragon. But yeah, I’m not opposed."

Why did Weiss find her eyes being drawn to Yang's form as she bent to pick up the errant bar of soap? Shaking her head out, she took it and went back to her washing. "Handle it? Please. I just... well, would you want that? You seem to be alright with a sort of 'passive' arrangement."

Of course, the woman went straight back to scrubbing her own skin again, eyes remaining on the icy blue ones staring back at her. Somehow, they worked. It shouldn't; they were entire opposites. In personality, appearance, even semblance! Yet they clicked. Yang could fire Weiss up into having fun, and likewise Weiss could cool her thuggish self down. Even in sex, the two seemed to pair quite well if this first time was any indicator of their potential future.

"Look, I've done the 'passive arrangement' as you called it before, and if you wanted to do that, I'd be totally down. But… if you meant it as in you and I being a couple? Well… I guess… that might not be so bad, either."

"I see." Slowly, Weiss's cheeks began to glow red again. "You mean that, don't you? That we would d-date and kiss and all those things. Do more of wh-what we just did, but also hold hands while we go shopping, and try on makeup and clothes together, and cuddle at night?"

The very words caused her movements to slow right down. There wasn't a sarcastic comment this time, or an instant denial of her suggestion. It was sincere, or so she assumed. Not only that, but it was an offer Yang hadn't had before. The majority of her relationships only lasted the length of a single night together. This was the chance for something more, something meaningful.

Not that she would admit how much it meant to her so easily. "So, there's a warm heart in there after all, huh, Ice Queen?"

At that, Weiss smiled smugly and turned away, rinsing off her torso. "Hah! Dream on, Hot Stuff. You'll have to work a lot harder to wrap this Queen around your little finger like that." As she leaned against the wall to scrub her right calf and foot, she glanced at Yang out of the corner of her eye. "Though we might begin those 'arrangements' henceforth. If you're as open to it as you claim to be."

Although a little disappointed Weiss hadn’t accepted the offer for something more, she couldn't blame her; this was brand new. Maybe they should take it slow and see where things led.

Her teasing attitude returned as she went to leave the shower. Running a finger gently across her shoulder blades, she leaned over to whisper into her ear, "I'm looking forward to it, Princess."

With that, she finally exited the stall, leaving the flustered heiress to finish her shower alone.

The end of the Ice Queen's rather eventful day was nearing. For Yang, it had already ended, if the rather loud snoring coming from her bunk was any indication. Weiss shook her head as she got ready for bed. It wouldn't be too long until their other teammates would return to the dorm room; even Blake wouldn't be able to stay in the library ALL day.

The door swung open, their leader stomping back into their room after a sparring session with Jaune. At first, she wanted to question her sister's loud snoring, but something else caught her eye.

"Hot stuff?!"

At the sound of her bunkmate's shrill cry, Weiss whipped around, pulling her nightgown hastily over the rest of her body. "Ruby Rose! D-don't you know how to knock?! What is wrong with you?"

Ruby kicked the door shut behind her. "Oh come on, you don't have anything I haven't seen before! Well, besides the ‘Hot Stuff’ undies!" As usual, her annoyingly inquisitive nature began to show, as she stared back at the underwear. "I didn't think you were the type wear something that, y’know, flirty!"

"I'm not," Weiss grumbled, finishing covering herself with the nightgown and holding her hands in front of her pelvic area to further reinforce the message that the show was over. "It's... these are special, alright? Besides, why does it matter?"

"Special… undies?" She tilted her head. "Ooookay, if you say so. And it doesn't matter, I'm just curious."

"They were a gift! Who died and made you the panty police?!" Sighing irritably, she turned and began to crawl into her bed. "Can't even wear whatever I like anymore..."

The girl raised her arms defensively, heading to her own drawers to fetch her pyjamas and letting the subject go. Although, once she had gotten changed fully and was about to get into her own bed, that was when the penny dropped. Who gets underwear for a friend?

"Wait, undies for a gift? From a special friend, maybe? Like a partner?"

Rolling over just enough so she could be heard clearly, Weiss growled, "Did you give them to me, partner?"

"No! Why would I call you 'hot stuff'? I meant a special boyfriend kind of partner!"

"You asked if there was a partner, and my only partner is you, and if you did not give me the underpants, then no, I was not given them by a partner. Now GO. TO. SLEEP."

"Aww come on, you can tell me. Is he cute?"

It took all of Weiss's willpower to avoid glancing over at Yang in the neighbouring bunk beds, peacefully snoring away. Instead, she merely picked up her pillow and smooshed it over her head, trying to blot out the sound of the bunkmate now hanging over the side of her top bunk and staring at her upside-down.

"Whaaaat? You can tell me, I really wanna know!" she chuckled, managing to sway back and forth whilst looking, before finally gasping. "Is it Neptune?”

"You're Neptune," Weiss grumbled, knowing full well how juvenile she sounded. Seized by inspiration, she rolled over and shouted, "YANG!"

Of course, her sleeping teammate's eyes snapped open to try and find where the noise came from. Though of course Ruby then looked over to her from her awkward position, grinning innocently.

"Hey Yang, Weiss has a boyfriend!"

"Yang, can't you keep your sister under control?!" Weiss was complaining. "I am trying to sleep and she is being simply intolerable!"

"Pleeeeaaaase?" Ruby begged, swaying back and forth again.

Her sister was unable to help but chuckle, rubbing her eyes. "I swear you should have been a bat Faunus, Rubes. But she has a point; it is getting late. Besides, Ice Queen's got to have SOME mystery about her."

"Yes, thank you," Weiss said, rolling away… only to immediately roll back toward Yang to say, "And do NOT call me 'Ice Queen'!"

"So what would you like instead? Snow-Senpai? Cutie-Patootie?"

Although this was obviously flirting, it was the type that would go straight over her sister's head. After all, Yang gave people silly nicknames all the time, and was flirty with everyone. It would make sense for Ruby to take it in a friendly manner. It was a success in getting her little sister to return to her own bed, tucking herself down into her own sheets.

"Next time we spar, I want to know, though," Ruby grumbled, facing the wall away from her sister.

"We'll see," Weiss sighed, glaring steadily at Yang. It was the response that would get Ruby to quiet down the fastest. After that, of course, she winked at the blonde. "Goodnight."

Thankfully, that was what the blonde wanted. It at least allowed her to wink back at Weiss as she snuggled in to sleep. "Goodnight, Hot Stuff."

The near-darkness of the room hid Weiss's blush so well that not even Blake's night vision could sense it when she crept in fifteen minutes later. The heiress was eternally grateful for that, even if she found it almost impossible to sleep.

THE END

#hot stuff #freezerburn #rwby smut #lesbian smut #yang x weiss #rwbyremnants

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writingnoe · 8 years ago

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[Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four]

Chapter Five: The labyrinth of threads

Maximiliano was alone in the room. He was awake, barely, with the cold and his heavy eyelids closed, with his head buried in the pillow and a beautiful autumn dawn filtering through the blinds, which Maximiliano could not -refused to- see.

He was terrified of that dawn, of this new day. He was terrified of that now, of those seconds, of the time passing.

Adrián had awakened with him and by his side, hours ago and after a few moments he had unbound his hand from Maximiliano’s, becoming intangible for the world.

"You shudder too much" Adrián had said, unconsciously twisting his mouth to one side and looking away.

Maximiliano had watched the action, still feeling the coldness in his fingers and watching Adrián. It was amazing (Maximiliano had thought with his drowsy gaze and clouded mind) how he could perfectly see the other boy, how those brown eyes so obsolete and useless in everyday life could discern every detail, every feature of Adrián.

"It's the fever," he had solely replied, in a hoarse voice.

It was a statement without passion, an automatic answer. Maybe even a lie. Adrián was, physically, the coldness of his death, a frozen body, a polar wave, an entity that did not emit heat but destroyed it, and yet Maximiliano had never let go of his hand in those nights sleeping together.

Now, Adrián was outside, in the house or out of it, "having a stroll" and Maximiliano trembled without cold and without reason, eyes and cheeks damp. Up to there, up to his cheeks, the tears stretched. It was better that way, with tears tracing irregular and transparent lines on his face, never reaching his lips.

He had not cried until now, and that useless escape of his own collapse, that resistance to look at the gears moving, to recognize the pressure of them crushing him, had come to an end. The tears had caught up with him, and they had trapped him in the dawn of the morning and in Adrián’s absence. He cried, he knew, because of that insufficient wall he had built days ago, because of the things he had pushed and removed and that were now free and loose, and they were sharp and piercing like needles.

He cried because of Adrián, too—due to his presence, and perhaps his absence. And he cried, as well, for something, for a motive, a reason he could not define.

Adrián, Maximiliano knew, wasn’t like Leticia or like any other before, but he had slightly suffocated him; he had locked him unintentionally. Maximiliano had decided to give him a place in the room, to accept the bond that tied them together, to approach Adrián and try to help, try to save him. But this, these tears that were not the fear that other experiences had caused him, with him clinging to a cold hand—this, and his fascination, his interest and concern for Adrián, were virtually a hazard.

Maximiliano was going through things the wrong way. He could feel it. He could foresee it in the same fashion one senses a tornado in the change of the wind, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what he was doing wrong. He couldn’t define the danger or consequences, causes and mechanisms.

Mentally he drew his previous experiences as a map, trying to find an answer, a path. His stomach growled convulsively. It was his body, he knew, remembering, but he went ahead anyway because they were scars from wounds that hurt every now and then but which no longer bled.

He tried to draw a parallel between Adrián and the others. There were, of course, radical differences. None of the others had died with Maximiliano in mind and none of them had been able to touch him.

It was more than that, he knew. It was more than what Adrián had done or could do. It was what he, Maximiliano, was doing. He had never come so close to one of them. Not even Leticia, who had been a snake curling around his neck, a nightmare, a hell, had been so attached to him. Or rather it had been him, despite being too childish, too gullible, too weak, who had not let the woman get this close.

It was that bridge again. With Maximiliano on one side and Adrián on the other, with the possibility of the two remaining motionless, with the possibility of steps from one or the other moving forward, of the two meeting in the middle, of Maximiliano succeeding in making Adrián completely walk over to his side, or of he, Maximiliano, crossing the bridge to get to Adrián.

The day cleared and so did his mind, and Maximiliano wanted the night, the darkness, the absolute coldness that Adrián was.

He wanted to go back to Adrián and never, beyond initial curiosity or mandatory clashes that couldn’t be postponed, or attempts to help, had he wanted, had he desired to see one of them.

He was finding it difficult to position Adrián with the others, to leave him in that category, in that box, and to attribute to him the same label as the rest. But Adrián was dead, like the others, and he had approached him uninvited, without consideration and without permission, just to give him orders, to impose requirements and use him as a means, as a tool. And no, Adrián wasn’t—Maximiliano chose to assure himself for the moment, without evidence or trust—like them, but he was still one of them.

He laughed. Or at least he thought of doing so, but what came out from him was a choked sound, almost animal. Perhaps it was the fever, or confinement, or the messages from Melisa he hadn’t replied to, or the ones from the twins and their absence. He missed them, the three of them, even though Melisa was in the same country and the same city, but he also didn’t want to see them. He almost regretted having told Melisa about Adrián, although he knew that the girl had foreseen their encounter.

He wanted to keep Adrián a secret, for some reason. He could see the twins’ reaction, the indignation, the anger, the overprotection, and Melisa’s wise eyes. Adrián was cold and it was a wound, and perhaps he was also a fever, but now Maximiliano felt the urge to hide it, to cover the bruises, to hide the blood.

The day kept on dawning, kept on advancing just as it had on the previous day and not for the first time, Maximiliano wanted to take the batteries out of the alarm clock, to paralyze the needles, to slow down the seconds and minutes and find a way in which time would continue, but in much slower fashion. The possibility of an advance in time and space petrified him, but the reality of the hours passing pulled him. He didn’t know what he was getting into, what he was being dragged into.

And he didn’t want to see that swamp or the lake, and he didn’t want to think of lifesavers or ropes, of danger, or of anything related to this nebula of possibilities and questions that had been awakened by Adrián’s absence.

Maximiliano rose, finally, matching his slippers and walking to the bathroom.

Under the shower, he let the falling of water silence the questions he couldn’t answer. He was aware, as always, of everything. And he was also aware of his own inability and limitations. This delayed collapse was too intense, too huge. And it was too soon to draw escapes and getaways or to invest in possible solutions.

Adrián hadn’t proposed his contract yet—he hadn’t even mentioned it. That was the next step, the only established one. He would have to wait and react accordingly, moving after each action, contemplating one or two or three steps forward but not the future, not the whole picture.

When Maximiliano returned to the room, with his underwear under the towel, Adrián was there, again, looking at Ushuaia, beautiful, autumnal, out the window.

There was an uncomfortable pause, with Adrián lowering his gaze and Maximiliano adjusting the towel.

"Do you want me to go?" Adrián asked, breaking the silence

"No, there’s no need," Maximiliano said, "as long as you don’t spy on me." He sounded involuntarily shy.

Maximiliano dressed up with his back turned to Adrián, and Adrián went back to staring through the window.

"Adrián," Maximiliano began, completely dressed but maintaining his position, holding that posture in which it was impossible for them to look at the other.

It was, and he recognized so, extremely cowardly on his behalf to take advantage of the situation, with Adrián’s gray eyes still fixed in the opposite direction.

"Yes?"

Maximiliano turned around, pulled by the fear and anxiety of that single syllable, and contemplated Adrián’s back. The boy had learned to change the appearance of his clothes and was no longer wearing the school blue jacket or the orange pullover. He wore, instead, a black sweatshirt with a hood he would never use.

"On television," Maximiliano said, still not telling Adrián that he had finished dressing, that they could look at each other now, "they said that...that it was an accident."

Adrián turned around quickly and there it was, inevitably—in those grey eyes filled—the look filled with confusion, anger and pain that Maximiliano hadn’t wanted to witness.

"An accident?"

Maximiliano nodded slightly. They had not talked of that day and Maximiliano therefore didn’t know of the state in which Adrián had left his house, of the photographs, of the wrath reflected in rooms. However, Maximiliano had sensed that Adrián had said or done something before jumping into the lake, that he had left some sort of sign, some proof, some incrimination that spelled suicide.

The silence in the room lasted until Sofía’s fist banging on the door echoed through the room.

"Yes, Mom?"

Sofia opened the door, smiling. Since he was ten, Maximiliano had made it clear that he always knew whether it was her husband or she who knocked on the door. Occasionally his parents would try to trick him without success.

"Ah, you're already up," the woman observed entering the room, taking in the wet towel on the chair and his dark wet hair.

"Dry your hair with the hair dryer, as redundant as it is," she said, taking the towel, "and then come down to have breakfast."

Maximiliano looked much better this morning, Adrián noted. He was less tired, less pale and only the red eyes, probably because of the shower or the shampoo, were a sign of concern. Sofía however said nothing about her son's eyes, and if for his own mother the state of his brown eyes was normal, Adrián could only agree.

"I’ll go downstairs in a minute," the boy replied, watching his mother go.

The silence had returned to the room, noticeably heavier over Maximiliano. Adrián looked at the boy and then to the open door of the room. He resolved first to close it and then talk.

He wanted to apologize for some reason, for the news or for having said it. But he didn’t know what words or tone he should use, with which right or authority he could talk about something that was so private and yet so his, too. He didn’t have to say anything, though.

"I think it's better this way," Adrián said.

Maximiliano didn’t question how or why. He preferred not to fathom Adrián’s logic, not to try to decipher it, refute it or understand it.

Adrián didn’t want his opinion or to talk. What he had said had been a statement, a final sentence that left no room for any comment or a queue to any conversation.

Perhaps, Maximiliano mused, they were more alike than they had believed. Perhaps Adrián also needed occasional silence and calm to assimilate, plan and face something. They were teenagers, after all. Despite the differences and above of that false singularity complex, of the notion that they were quite different from the rest, that they were impossible, unique, carriers of feelings that no one else had experienced or suffered. Beyond the concepts that were installed and egocentric, there were inevitable and traits shared between the two of them, and between them and the rest of the adolescent population.

"I'm going to the bathroom to dry my hair," he announced, because the silence was too heavy, because he had nothing to contribute and he didn’t want to leave the room, and leave Adrián, without saying anything.

Adrián smiled that polite and forced smile, adopting a gesture that he had unconsciously copied from Maximiliano, and Maximiliano took his glasses from the bedside table and left the room, producing the second physical separation between them that day.

Adrián sat on the bed, even though he couldn’t feel it or affect it. He knew that he was not sitting, that, at best, he was floating over the sheets, blankets and bedspreads, but it seemed easier, simpler and more acceptable to claim that he could still make these small, everyday actions that he had been able to carry out a week ago.

He raised his right hand, that incorporeal and invisible mirage for the rest of the world, and recalled the conversation he had had with Maximiliano the day before. He could technically become partially corporeal if he concentrated his energy on a specific point and gave it strength enough to move objects or even touch living creatures. But that, Maximiliano had stipulated, would require a certain amount of time, effort, dedication, and in some cases urgency.

Maximiliano was a completely different factor. No other ghost, Adrián thought—and the word seemed so incomplete, so inaccurate—had been able to turn tangible by touching the boy. Maximiliano turned him real, in a way. He made him able to feel the weight of blankets and the heat of the environment, able to affect the world of the living and be affected by it too.

He closed his eyes and took refuge in the darkness for a few seconds. It was better not to reflect on his bond with Maximiliano, on his dependence on the other boy. He had yet to define the conditions of the contract, and now he had information about public treatment of his own death. He wasn’t entirely surprised by the news. A part of him had unconsciously expected his suicide to be publicly described as something else, labeling him as another accident or attributing it to the curse that had characterized his maternal family.

"Just like with mom, right?" He said aloud, talking with a poison which he himself wasn’t completely immune to.

Victoria Luz Iriarza Bayer had died ten years ago, drowned in the same city, in the same lake. It had been an accident, like Adrián’s, without witnesses or evidence. A closed and stored investigation in a police station, another tragedy for the Iriarza family. Another lie with his father’s seal.

Adrián remembered his home, as he had left it, with scattered photos of his mother, children's drawings covering the walls, and that drawing of the lake in his room.

He imagined the police, and then his father in the scene. He articulated in his mind conversations, conspiracies and cover-ups. Something alike must have happened to his mother, with that beautiful blond hair that Adrián had tried in vain to imitate with dye combinations. At least he had died, dyed and blond, and with no traces of the abhorrent jet black roots that resembled so much the hair of Alejandro Bayer.

He thought, suddenly but not for the first time, of his maternal uncle, of that boy who had died long before his birth. He sought those few memories of his mother, and heard, in a mixture of his voice, Melisa and his, Adrián’s, proudly comparing uncle and nephew.

"Just as handsome as Uncle Héctor," Victoria had announced, again and again, smiling and full of life, showing, occasionally, a picture of a serious-looking boy in impeccable attire.

That last evening, Adrián had not found the photo and now the memory showed a more serious guy, almost a man. The same age, he thought, the same age separated by decades. His gaze went to the window again, to the world and the buildings outside Maximiliano’s house.

That morning, after getting out of bed, he had not gone far. He had walked through the house, noticed photographs in the living room of Maximiliano and his parents in Buenos Aires. The photos with the obelisk, the Pink House, the Cabildo, and other characteristic places of the Federal Capital had given the impression that their stay in Buenos Aires had not been an experience of years, more than half of Maximiliano’s life, but rather an extended vacation. Adrián had smiled unintentionally at that child with dark curls, and at the kid’s parents, together and smiling. He had passed through a frame when he had tried to pick it up to and then he had looked at the closed shutters, aware that neither the walls nor doors were obstacles for him because death had given him the power to cross through the whole world.

Even so he had decided to stay in Maximiliano’s dining room, in that house that was not his. And he was also running now, still and motionless, with a question, a chance waiting outside in an abandoned building, safe in a room that he supposedly shared with the boy that he had sickened nights ago.

Maximiliano's cell phone rang on the bedside light, strong and insistent, and Adrián could only throw a glance at it. The previous day the boy had received messages almost all afternoon and had answered some. Sometimes he had raised his eyes and looked at Adrián before typing. For one reason or another Adrián had always been close to Maximiliano when the messages sounded or were answered and Maximiliano had never tried to move away before answering.

Even so, Adrián hadn’t read the messages. He had been curious about the Maximiliano’s popularity but that curiosity had moved from the cell’s sound to Maximiliano’s face while he wrote, when he stopped or erased something. Maximiliano needed the glasses to answer, Adrián recalled again and again, but to see him, Adrián, he didn’t need anything.

Maximiliano, according to his own words, could see ghosts and spirits clearly—as long as they didn’t try to deliberately hide, creatures that danced and escaped from the human eye, but couldn’t see the bus number.

"I learned what irony is before knowing the word," Maximiliano had said, showing one of those smiles, so rare, that without permission pushed the corners of his mouth and lit up his eyes.

Adrián stopped looking at Maxi’s cell or the city outside of the window and stood up. He could cross the floor and get to the dining room directly. He could even, though he hadn’t mastered yet, come and go within the earthy plane, but he chose to go down the stairs just as Maximiliano had done minutes earlier.

In the dining room, Sergio and Sofía were already clearing up the table. Judging by what Adrián had seen, both worked from home. Only Sofía had made a trip, which was not an errand, dressed in a suit, with her brown hair neatly pressed and carrying a briefcase.

"Your boyfriend won’t stop messaging you," Adrián said as a greeting.

At some point by the end of third year, it had become fashionable in Adrián’s court to say that phrase every time a cell sounded, regardless of whose phone was it. Over the years the tendency had ceased, but every now and then the phrase would resurface, bringing memories and causing, thanks to heteronormativity, more laughter when directed to male students.

Maximiliano stifled a laugh and gave glanced at him, and Adrián felt inexplicably proud of his achievement.

"I have no boyfriend or girlfriend..." he finally answered in a whisper, clearing the table too.

That day, it seemed, Maximiliano wasn’t going to attend school. He didn’t seem worried about the time, and nor had he prepared his backpack or put on his uniform.

Adrián wasn’t entirely surprised. In the short time before this stage, he had observed the other boy, and Maximiliano had always had a slightly sickly appearance. That morning he had had breakfast outside his room for the first time, and last night the fever lines had gradually disappeared, but even so Maximiliano still kept traces of tiredness in his face and Ushuaia mornings could be particularly cruel to the convalescents. There was, however, something else, something slightly worrying about Maximiliano. Something that had not been there the day before. Perhaps he had received bad news from his parents. Perhaps he feared the covenant or maybe it was something as mundane as a test coming soon, or a subject in which he had fallen behind. The Economy teacher, Adrián remembered, was known even in the other disciplines for the exorbitant amount of homework she tended to give.

Maximiliano returned to the room and Adrián followed him, commenting that surely Maximiliano’s imaginary boyfriend had heard that the boy had shared a bed with someone else. It seemed so easy to joke this way, commenting on the routine that they had fallen into without discussion, without resistance and let every expressed proof, every recognition, be reduced to jokes.

On the bedside table, Maximiliano’s cell was vibrating. The boy checked the screen, reading over notifications and opting to reply to a particular message.

"This afternoon...we’re going to see a friend," he announced, looking tentatively at Adrián.

"You want me to go, too?" Adrián asked, just as confused by Maximiliano’s “we,” his gaze, as by the proposal.

"We want you to go," Maximiliano corrected, "Melisa and me."

Adrián’s world was torn partially apart again. Melisa, something in him repeated, Melisa—but it seemed impossible that it was that Melisa, and there, in the abyss of confusion the rest of the sentence sounded like an echo with no origin, with that "we" that made no sense. What relationship could Melisa and Maximiliano have, and how could the girl know of him, Adrián, of this ghost, this being in which he had become?

"Melisa Galia, yes," Maximiliano confirmed, answering the question in Adrián's eyes, feeding his fear.

Adrián didn’t want to see the girl. He didn’t wanted to see her in this shape, as he was now. He felt terror and shame and couldn’t explain why.

Maximiliano watched him with a mixture of pain and guilt but Adrián couldn’t yet understand the relationship of that boy, his place in this nonsense puzzle that had appeared with incomplete pieces and no guidance.

"She goes to the agriculture one," was all Adrián could say.

"Yes, Meli goes to agricultural school," Maximiliano confirmed and sat on the bed, sinking, "but I met her all the same, though mutual friends, and she...she's slightly like me. Not the same, but up to a certain point, similar.”

"I know you two know each other, though she didn’t say from where or how, but she wants to see you, wants you...to come out of the house for a bit. Actually she wants the two of us to come out. "

Adrián nodded, not understanding and not comprehending at all, and Maximiliano decided, on an impulse without direction, to take the boy's left hand in his right, to turn him corporeal and yank him back to him, to the bed.

"Look, Melisa didn’t say anything about you, didn’t say anything wrong. She’s not angry or, well, I don’t know exactly how she is, but wants to see you."

He said the words without looking at Adrián, but without letting go of him, either. Adrián settled in the bed, then sitting next to Maximiliano and letting his weight sink the mattress a bit more.

"If you don’t want to go with me, I’m not going to make you. But I'd like you to go, and I think it’s also important for her too that you go."

It was not fair, Adrián thought. There were gaps in the information that Maximiliano had given him, and too many questions he did not know if he wanted to resolve or to leave unanswered. What did Melisa know about him, Adrián, of this thing in which he had become? The girl wanted to see him, but how exactly? How could she when he was corporeal but not visible only Maximiliano touched him? How, if his body was underground, with no autopsy, no investigation, rotting and crumbling?

He thought of Melisa as an actual person, not as a memory, and for the first time in years, he recalled those attitudes that had marked them as "weird" among their peers, of that child smiling unrestrictedly at trees and plants, and at him, Adrián, too.

With his right hand still held by Maximiliano, Adrián rested his left elbow on his knee and buried his hand in his dyed blond hair. He wasn’t surprised, not completely, by the notion of Melisa being like Maximiliano. Those green eyes had always seemed able to see beyond the rest, to find traces and lives where for the rest there had been only emptiness. In seventh grade, when they had read Isis by Silvina Ocampo in Language, Adrián had seen in certain features of Melisa in Isis, and he had imagined her, too, staring at a creature, becoming it. But the one who had mutated, who had lost his human traits, had been him.

The idea of Melisa glimpsing at invisible creatures was, all in all, acceptable, even somewhat predictable. The frightening and immobilizing factor lay in Melisa knowing about him, about this, and especially in the girl wanting to see him. There everything fell, there he fell, dragged down by fear and shame, by the anticipation of words or tears, of questions and recriminations.

He couldn’t decline, however, this sort of invitation. Now that he couldn’t hide, now that Melisa had made it clear she wanted to see him, he had to face her.

Maximiliano’s hand in his was, perhaps, the only steady thing at that time. He raised his head slowly, turning to Maximiliano.

The other boy lowered his gaze for a second but finally looked directly into Adrián’s eyes.

"I didn’t know how or when to talk about Melisa," he confessed.

"Why did you tell her about me?" Adrián asked, and he felt, for the first time, that Maximiliano’s hand was a handcuff, that it tied him down, but he didn’t try to escape.

"I didn’t tell her. There was no need. When it happened, she knew it, felt it. Not like me, but she felt it."

Adrián blinked, out of habit.

"Like you? What did you feel?"

Maximiliano suddenly wanted to cry but was content with biting his lip and remaining silent, with stealing a few seconds to stabilize his voice and hold back the tears.

"I felt the lake and the cold in my lungs. I felt the water trapping me and life fading away."

Adrián stood up suddenly, involuntarily pulling Maximiliano. Still, Maximiliano didn’t let go of him.

"But don’t worry, Melisa didn’t feel it," Maximiliano hastened to add. "She just felt a change in the air, as if the wind had told her."

Adrián nodded because it was clear that Maximiliano didn’t want to talk about it, and he, Adrián didn’t know what to say. He had not foreseen, he hadn’t read anywhere, that Maximiliano would feel his death, that he could go through the same thing. That he’d suffer for him.

"You're crying," he said, slowly.

And it was true. Maximiliano could feel the tears falling for the second time that day. He cleared his face with his left hand and tried to smile.

"Oh yeah. Sorry, "he apologized, and finally let go Adrián’s hand. "Sometimes it happens. "

He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, and Adrián thought, for the first time and for a moment, about his own funeral. He thought of his classmates, of his teachers, of Cintia who had been the closest thing to a friend, and of Lucy at her side. He thought of Melisa, and he thought of Maximiliano, but not of the Maximiliano he had "known" when he was alive—that fifth year boy in whose face he had blown cigarette smoke as the only way of interaction—but of this Maximiliano with whom he had spoken for hours.

"I'm going," he agreed, "this afternoon I’ll go with you."

Maximiliano nodded, too tired to talk. He almost smiled, without thinking, at the choice of Adrián’s words, at that "I'll go with you" that could have been "I’m going too," and yet it hadn’t been.

The rest of the morning fell in silence. Maximiliano turned over his notebook and opened his folders, copying the homework Gustavo had sent him by email. The homework hadn’t been copied in a text but rather it was composed by photos, Adrián noted, that Gustavo had taken with his cell and among them was an urgent phrase screaming, “ECONOMY micro ¿SCARVES? ¿Souvenirs?”

The last word reminded him of his father and of his plan. He contemplating for a second, whether to mention the school economics fair, emphasizing souvenirs and connecting it to tourism. But it was too soon, too forced and too fake.

He said nothing, then, as Maximiliano caught up with his homework, his school life, with that ordinary and mortal life of which Adrián was no longer part.

Maximiliano left the house for the first time in days after assuring, for ten or fifteen minutes, that yes, he felt alright and that yes, he would send a message once he met Melisa. Moreover, he was carrying enough coats to cover both him and Adrián, and walked in slightly restricted movements.

Adrián had watched Maximiliano put on layer after layer of clothing, and he had also observed Sergio and Sofía evaluate their child in silence. In their eyes there was still a vestige of the fear they had experienced that night of fever, a mark, a stain of concern written in the way they looked at their son and looked at each other without saying anything. They hadn’t presented, however, any objection to their son leaving nor had they insisted after he had declined their offer to drive him to the greenhouse. They had parted with a kiss and a hug, and Maximiliano had looked for a second, at Adrián, in a gesture of shame and guilt.

They hadn’t spoken for hours and now, as they walked down the sunny streets, with Adrián passing through walkers, the silence of both seemed to be extended by the noises of the outside world.

Maximiliano stopped walking suddenly. The sea wind ruffled the dark bangs that had escaped from his wool cap.

"Adrián," he began, without lowering the scarf that covered half of his face and yet absolutely clear over the cars and the wind. "Are you mad at me?"

And Adrián was mad, he realized, slightly. But there was actually no reason for this anger. Maximiliano hadn’t told him about Melisa before that day, before that invitation and Adrián felt strangely betrayed by that. He himself, he acknowledged, would have had some trouble finding, in Maximiliano’s place, the appropriate moment to mention the girl, but he still bore a grudge for that secret, which had never been actually a secret and that Maximiliano himself had revealed.

Adrián stared at the other boy, at the expectant brown eyes, and saw the consequence of the past few days, of Leticia’s nightmare, of the fever and the revelation of that morning. He envisioned Maximiliano being thrown into the lake, the glasses floating in the icy surface and the water drowning him.

"I have no reason to be angry at you," he replied and it was true.

"I didn’t ask you that."

And that, too, was true but Maximiliano didn’t keep on asking. He just looked aside with a sigh full of frustration before resuming walking.

The greenhouse, as Maximiliano had called it when he had talked to his parents, consisted of a two-story building, though the wooden ceiling of the ground floor covered only half of the first floor. From the outside, through the glass walls, Adrián could see tables and pallets predictably filled with plants. There were also some plants in the ground, a coffee table, a sofa and a library. The library, half full, seemed to also function as a wall, marking a division between plants and the back of the greenhouse.

Melisa appeared behind the library with her hair up, wearing a green apron and carrying two cups. She was mouthing something, Adrián noticed, perhaps singing. And she smiled as she placed the cups on the coffee table and it seemed to Adrián that none of this was real, that Melisa didn’t know anything about him, that it was still that girl, that little girl, who talked to plants and looked up at the sky and anticipated storms.

Melisa smiled without seeing him, inside the greenhouse, and Maximiliano, Adrián noticed, was slightly smiling, too.

"Ready?" Maximiliano asked, and the distance between them had decreased but there were still remains of a wall, of a barrier.

"Ready," Adrián said without any confidence.

Maximiliano opened the greenhouse door, causing Melisa, who was sitting on the couch, to look up and smile. For a moment the girl looked around Maximiliano, as if in trying to see something else near the boy, as if looking for Adrián, but her green eyes never met his. She stood up when she saw Maximiliano approaching, and Adrián followed, with a tinge of disappointment and imprisoned, still by anxiety.

Melisa greeted Maximiliano with a kiss on the cheek and Adrián realized that he didn’t know this girl, not really. For years he had thought of Melisa only as that elementary little girl, and he had preserved her there in that memory. Even when they had accidentally bumped into each other, he had never thought about who she had become, or about asking about her life, how she was doing at school or what she planned to continue studying. He hadn’t bothered to know her, clinging instead to that distant image, to that memory, to another time. And he didn’t understand why she wanted to see him, or if she really wanted to see him because of him, and not because of Maximiliano.

"Hi, Adrián," the girl waved, at Adrián’s general direction.

Adrián said nothing. On the one hand, he doubted that the girl could hear him, but on the other he had renounced being greeted, being acknowledged, or any social interaction, and he didn’t know how to get back, how to say again an automatic and systematic "hello,” not when the only person with whom he could still talk was almost always at his side.

"I can sense him but not see him, and if he’s speaking, I can’t hear him,” Melisa explained to Maximiliano. "Three spoons and a half," she added, pointing to a mug with the emblem of a baseball bat on it.

Maximiliano nodded and looked at Adrián and then at his hand.

"May I?" He asked in a low, timid voice,

Adrián reached out in response and Maximiliano took off his right glove, holding Adrián’s hand.

"Ah," said Melisa, clearly looking at Adrián.

"Hello," the boy finally answered, still unsure.

Melisa looked at him with a smile similar to the one she had given him on that last morning. But it wasn’t exactly the same. There was a faint sadness in her eyes and her lips that hadn’t been present on that Monday or, at least Adrián hadn’t noticed before.

"The tea is getting cold," Maximiliano said, breaking the silence.

Maximiliano looked a little uncomfortable and heated as he drew with his left hand his hat and scarf, throwing them on the couch, and the zipped down his jacket.

They three sat down, with Maximiliano and Adrián still holding hands with Melisa at one end, and Adrián at the other and Maximiliano in the middle, like a wall, a mediator.

Melisa took her cup, watching the boys, setting her gaze on one and the other, and occasionally looking at their hands, but said nothing.

"We will have to change hands," Maximiliano announced, looking at his mug.

Adrián nodded, suddenly realizing that he had two choices. Or Maximiliano and he exchanged seats, an action that would leave him directly next to Melisa, or he could, somehow, take Maximiliano’s left hand in his.

It would be awkward, he noted, to follow that option but for some reason he didn’t want to trade places. He didn’t want to be so close to Melisa and have those eyes that had not changed at all looking at him directly, without Maximiliano in the middle, without a shield.

Maximiliano seemed to read his decision and finally let go of Adrián’s hand. Adrián returned to the intangibility that reminded him that he had no body, to that cloak of invisibility that blinded Melisa’s eyes. The hiding vanished within seconds, and Maximiliano, now without a jacket, sat down in his place, taking Adrián’s left hand in his, making Adrián visible and corporeal again, tugging him slightly towards him, and Adrián’s left hand was suddenly wrapped in Maximiliano’s left fingers and laid tightly over his right.

Melisa observed the scene in silence but with a firm and confident look.

Only when Maximiliano finally raised his cup and took his first sip did the girl open her mouth.

"Did you know I was Adrián’s first girlfriend?"

As an answer, Maximiliano spat the tea and choked slightly. Judging by Melisa’s grin, that had been the exact response the girl had expected.

Maximiliano looked at Adrián, and at the confusion in the eyes, at the raised eyebrows and the mouth ajar that seemed a novelty, a discovery.

"Actually, she was my first wife," Adrián said, and smiled even though in that day he had felt betrayed, angry and frightened, and he and Maximiliano seemed to have set kilometers in between them.

"And now you're jealous," Maximiliano said, recovering from his astonishment, and smiling at Melisa.

Maximiliano drank his tea slowly, looking at Adrián and Melisa, and taking note of every movement of the girl’s mouth, expectant of any sudden statement.

"It was in second grade, right?" Melisa began, "just after Miss Nelly got married. First you declared to me that we were dating, then asked me to marry you."

Melisa smiled as she spoke, grinning like a mother telling her child’s exploits, now already grown, to his new girlfriend, but Melisa wasn’t his mother and Maximiliano was definitely not his new girlfriend. And there were no more deeds to talk about, no more embarrassing memories, first words or first steps. Melisa hadn’t seen him grow, nor had he seen her. They had only a handful of memories, of shared experiences, of dancing a chacarera together in some school act, then they had had that brief courtship, and that even shorter marriage. But Melisa made it so easy to talk about the past as if it were yesterday, as if it were normal. And it was better than a scolding and better than silence, something unexpected and unplanned that reminded Adrián of the boy he had been once.

"We were going to go to the Bermuda Triangle as a honeymoon," he said, remembering.

They were going to get married at the port and then they were going to get on a ship, on a cruise made just for them, in a house on the water, an adventure for home, and then they were going to travel from the end of the world to the other, from the southernmost city in the world to the Bermuda Triangle and then the North Pole.

They had married in late spring and they had separated before the start of summer. Adrián had spent the entire three months of holiday in Buenos Aires, Rio Grande and Ushuaia, following his father’s schedule, making, at first, friends that lasted days, and only then had he come back to start again in an unknown school, with unfamiliar peers and teachers, and with an eternal double shift schedule. Everything previous to that new life had vanished—everything had left him, and there had been no honeymoon trip. That ship had sunk without sailing.

"And then time passed, as always,"

Melisa's voice sounded suddenly strange, and Adrián could sense the danger, the sadness and the tears. But the tears never came. Melisa remained firm and strong in front of him, and he thought about that morning again, about the last time they had seen each other, but the girl seemed to have no intention to talk about it.

"I don’t know what happened, Adrián," the girl said, "nor why it happened, and I don’t want you to tell me anything you're not ready to or simply don’t want to say. I was not there, and I know nothing. I can’t say anything, nor judge you or understand you. I can’t look at what you did and say something about it but I can talk about now."

"I don’t know what happened with your life, Adrián. In the last great stretch I wasn’t part of it, but right now I'm back and if you want or need to come and talk, I'll be here. Or if you want to look at the plants and get out a bit and be in a place where they can hear you. "

Adrián contemplated her and he contemplated the words ringing in the air. He had renounced to Melisa years ago. It had been his decision, perhaps his mistake, but now they were facing each other, and he knew nothing about this girl who was waiting for others to drink tea, to surprise them with a joke or a comment. He didn’t know this girl who could see him, this girl who didn’t reproach him for his death.

"I'm here," the girl repeated and didn’t wait for an answer, "and that was the first thing I had to say."

Melisa stopped for a few seconds and looked at Maximiliano and Adrián and at their hands. The second thing the girl wanted to say, Adrián predicted, was about them.

"I don’t know what you talked about with Maxi," she began, "what happened in these days. I know that the first encounter was a bit hostile and that things seem to be better. And I can’t say anything about something that I didn’t live, but Adrián, in this sort of mission, you're not alone. Maxi is here, too, and I guess that it won’t be easy, that it isn’t easy, but you must remember, the two of you—you too, Maxi—that you are together, but you are still two different people."

Adrián looked at Maximiliano. He had understood, to some extent, all except the last part. Maximiliano, however, seemed to have understood it completely.

"I don’t think we’ll get to that point," he responded but something about his slightly defensive tone told Melisa that a limit had already been erased.

"Well, you too behave and I won’t have to scold you," she concluded with a smile and there was a fun and light tone in her voice but also a clear seriousness in her words.

She stood up suddenly, taking the empty cups, and leaving without saying anything, but humming softly, into the kitchen

"Would you like another tea?" she asked casually, while Adrián heard the sound of a faucet.

"Yes, thank you."

"And something to eat?"

"Okay."

Adrián heard the distinctive sound of an electric kettle on, and then a drawer being opened. He again noted the glazed building and thought of Melisa and the location, and of how suddenly strange it seemed, the idea of a girl in charge of such a large greenhouse, with a library half full and a set of Christmas lights placed in shelves above.

Honestly, except for a trip to an agricultural farm, Adrián had never seen a greenhouse but he was pretty sure most of the greenhouses had no shelves and sofas, or Christmas lights, or kitchens. There was also a building outside, with green and concrete walls and a door painted bubblegum pink.

He was going to ask what exactly that place was, that unlikely greenhouse, when Maximiliano’s phone broke the silence, sounding in perfect sync with Melisa’s.

"The twins."

Melisa had returned from the kitchen with a cup in each hand and a packet of biscuits poking from the pocket in her apron. She left the steaming mugs on the table and took out the cookies package before sitting.

"What do they say?" The girl asked, as she took her bag and searched for her cell.

Adrián watched, with an unasked question without making other. It wasn’t the first time he heard about "the twins" but having them there, too, in that impossible greenhouse, with Maximiliano’s and Melisa’s phones ringing at the same time made him feel invaded, and he knew he had no reason to feel like this, that twins were not even in the country, but somehow they seemed to be there. They seemed to be displacing him.

He squeezed Maximiliano’s hand without realizing and the boy, who had been talking, stopped and looked worried. He was about to say something, to ask some questions for which Adrián had no answer but Melisa’s voice reached him first, cautious and clear.

"Adrián, you know Erica and Micael Steger?"

And Adrián actually knew them. His father, he thought—and there was something bitter in the thought, something nauseating in his memory with his business events and parties—had introduced him to the Steger twins. They'd coincided in inaugurations and quinces, in impersonal and superficial events that Adrián had transited as if he were escaping from everyone, escaping at times with Cintia, and the Steger twins, so beautiful, so talented had been almost another figure, two people fused in one.

All Ushuaia, thought Adrián, knew of the Steger twins, of the rising fortunes of their family, of their former work as models, of their clothing line, of their parades, of the performances. They were stars, somehow, a kind of fictional and brilliant duo that Adrián had seen in the way one sees a picture, one looks at an artificial and constructed work, at a combination of shapes and colors with no sense and with no relation to him.

"They are like you?" He asked finally, as a response.

It was the only possible explanation. The only link he could find between Melisa and Maximiliano and the twins.

Maximiliano and Melisa looked at each other, exchanging a silent conversation that Adrián could not decipher.

"Yes and no," Maximiliano said and took a deep breath before continuing. "The twins’ perception is superficially less intense than mine or Melisa’s—and it’s worth clarifying that Meli and I do not have exactly the same perception. In the case of Erica and Micael, their perception is almost a translation, an interpretation of the world. They can see what others don’t, but above everything they can feel in relation to how these unseen things alter the environment. They see it in dreams, only in dreams, and just like a dream. Or as they say, "a kind of surreal swirl, composed of dimensions, of events and threats, of ...."

"…the real thing, the possible, the sleeping, of causes and consequences of words and silences," Melisa finished.

"All this while they sleep," concluded Maximiliano.

"Then they saw me die."

Maximiliano nodded although it hadn’t been a question and Adrián felt more exposed than he had felt in life. He thought of the lake, of the solitude of the last minutes in the open air and the absolute absence, of that death that had been intentionally planned away from the eyes of Ushuaia, and yet Melisa had seen, and Maximiliano, in a way, lived. Now the Steger twins were in the picture, too, invading his death through dreams, invading the greenhouse from another country.

"They know you're still here and nothing else. They don’t know about our bond, and if they suspect it they haven’t said anything."

"I didn’t tell them about this, either, Adrián."

The last sentence had sounded like a promise, and Maximiliano’s voice had changed, employing a sincere and gentle tone. It was all that Adrián needed to know, it was all that he could handle at the time. He didn’t want to think about the twins; he didn’t want to get stuck with them. He wanted to be left with Maximiliano promising him a sort of secrecy and pronouncing his name in an honest and warm tone.

Maximiliano’s phone, and only the Maximiliano’s, broke the silence. It wasn’t the twins, Adrián knew immediately and smiled without realizing it and without knowing why. Melisa smiled at the scene, curving her lips with a hint of honest fun, and continued drinking their tea.

Maximiliano, however, was not smiling. He contemplated the text message from his father and reread the lines, petrified, hoping for some miracle, for some magical and sudden change in the content. Beneath him, under the weight of everything—of Melisa, and the twins and now this—the timbers of the bridge trembled and creaked.

"Maxi, you're scaring me," Melisa said.

"Adrián," Maximiliano began, ignoring Melisa’s concern because he had to say it immediately, "I don’t know whether you know it or not, if you forgot it or never paid attention, but my parents know Alejandro...."

Maximiliano stared at him because Alejandro was a common name, but in that context it could only refer to only one and no, it made no sense. It couldn’t be true. The connection between Maximiliano and Melisa had been gradually acceptable, but this link couldn’t be possible. And yet it was. Maximiliano’s eyes, his downcast gaze, the indecision in his face and lips told him that yes, it was that Alejandro.

Maximiliano looked at Melisa and then at Adrián, as if suddenly regretting having said something, as if it were something private between them, something that he had made public.

"What about my father?" He said at last, and there it was, clear and overflowing, the resentment and the poison.

Maximiliano looked for one last time at the screen of his cellphone before answering.

"He’s coming to dinner. Tonight."

#influence #original story #finished work #english #queer fiction #tw: suicide #5/12 #influencia

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