This is actually the sort of thing FemAku writes in her diary. Slashfic.
Um so this is really unedited and unspellchecked...my brain just vomited into Microsoft word and IT'S NOT MY FAULT IT'S KAT AND LIN'S FAULT. I'm not very good at writing long things I always get distracted or lose my train of thought;;;
I also don't know how to write lesbian porn even though I dream of you guiz every night, making sweet sweet love infront of the fire.
I think it's ok though maybe kind of sort of. :x
It had started out innocent enough.
It really had.
Irie Shouka had never been popular, sociable, or even liked- although she was never disliked, exactly. Despite a messy head of flaming red hair, the universe seemed content to keep her invisible amidst the sea of dark haired Japanese students all throughout middle and high school. Even as an excelling student, she wasn’t noticed, even as a technical genius, she wasn’t noticed. She ate alone, headphones blaring, and no one ever saw fit to bother or bully her.
It was the same even with her family. The words exchanged were mechanical, generic ‘hello how are you I love you ok thank you bye’s, murmured day in and day out between the routine of school, home, room, dinner, room.
This didn’t change when she graduated, won several scholarships to excelling schools overseas, not even when she was boarding the plane to America to attend a prestigious institute of engineering. ‘Good luck I love you goodbye’, and that was it.
Irie Shouka had never been popular- and this didn’t change when she was now amidst a sea of blondes, brunettes, and dark haired foreigners. She had a roommate she never saw, professors who didn’t know her names, and still ate lunch alone. It was usually in the librarian, which was really no different in America than it was in Japan. The thick vibration of oversized headphones. The occasional raucous guffaw from a group of girls. The echoing sound of coughing and pages turning. All the same.
At least for a while.
The sea of blondes and brunettes and dark haired strangers had deemed it fine for Irie Shouka to be invisible, but it seemed one day there was someone who didn’t.
White hair. And white skin. White nails, white smile, and white clothes. All of this, and a set of very, very lavender eyes, are what one day decided to noisily pull out a chair next to Shouka, flop down in it, and tug her headphones off without permission.
Her mouth was a quarter open in indignant surprise when the voice spoke for her.
“Irie Shouka, right? Fuu, I’ve seen your work! Very impressive stuff~”
A popular girl, foreign exchange like herself, all curves and smiles, the type of girl that made boys’ heads turn and girls’ mouths flap. The one that everyone thought to invite, to ask out, to recall. The girl who was visible, the most visible of all in the hectic campus.
And this visible girl, she drummed her ring less fingers on the table, smiled, and said,
“I’m Byakuran. Let’s be friends, Shouka-chan.”
Part of her wonders if it shouldn’t be annoying, the way the invisible girl who always had so much space and solitude, only spoke to by the beat of her headphones, was suddenly touched and grabbed and slung along in an all too friendly manner.
Byakuran’s voice is bright and cheery, almost always ending with a sing song like quality to it, and it drowns out her loud music even though it should be the other way around.
When Shouka gets lost in her thoughts, and can’t even hear the music, it’s Byakuran’s sudden touch- on the shoulder, the arm, the back- that starts inevitably jolting her. She finds it harder to work. To eat. To sleep.
The first is because Byakuran, despite the lack of Shouka’s agreement, has decided the scrawny redhead was now her ‘one and only true friend’, and ‘shouldn’t strain herself so much’ with work. “Play”, she’d say, dragging the flustered Japanese to an arcade, to a music store, to a park, “You’re too serious!”
The second is because Byakuran is a glutton. Despite the other’s curvy, petite frame of more than perfect proportions, Shouka is hard-pressed to find her without some greasy, sugary, or dripping confection being stuffed into her mouth. She constantly comments on Shouka being to skinny, but always follows it up with the other being ‘beautiful anyway’. It seems like a joke, an embarrassing one, but Byakuran always tries to feed Shouka with the same spoon she herself has been using.
The third, is because after two or three weeks of this, Shouka’s roommate disappears. She’s not sure how long the girl had been gone, since she never saw her that much to begin with- but one day she steps into the dorm, sets her backpack down, and finds Byakuran on her bed.
When she looks around questioningly, almost panicked, for her blonde, faceless roommate- who maybe let Byakuran in?- she’s only greeted with the sight of white white white, Byakuran’s bedding and clothes and then her body when the girl bounces up and hugs her tight tight tight.
“Let’s be roommates, Shouka-chan!”
Byakuran never talks about herself very much, Shouka soon notices. Nor does she ever really spend time with anyone but Shouka. The girl who seemed so popular only ever gives other people short, chipper greetings, and doesn’t seem to have any friends. Though she certainly thinks of Shouka as one, the way she bumps into the other giggingly while they walk, the way she girlishly links fingers with her, and milks her of every single iota of knowledge about herself. Shouka-chan’s favorite food, color, ice-cream, her family, her hobbies, her dreams. All of Shouka’s answers she nods to, and seems to somehow have some preexisting knowledge on.
When Shouka asks about Byakuran, the other girl deflects it, says something vague and material. “I like white. Marshmallows are best! Hoodies are comfy.”
One day Shouka learns something deeper though, when they are in a park, walking aimlessly with dripping ice-cream cones (both Byakuran’s, actually, Shouka can’t stand the sugar-) and discussing time and space and robotics. Or, really, it’s more Shouka who’s talking- Byakuran listens eagerly, asks bright questions, and does a lot of nodding. Then suddenly she stops, reaches out, and takes a hold of a flower. White and purple, strange in shape- Shouka wouldn’t have really looked twice at it if Byakuran hadn’t suddenly taken interest in it.
“This is a phalaenopsis,” she said. Shouka doesn’t even know what the word means, is actually surprised the other girl does, but she stands to look at the flower alongside the girl- that begrudgingly, with embarrassment- she had begun to call friend.
“It’s pretty.” Is what she dully responds, and then Byakuran turns and smiles at her, gives her a cold, icecreamy peck to the cheek that leaves her hot and sputtering with confusion and mortification.
“It’s just a weed!”
It’s not long after that that Byakuran, she starts to realize, is really weird. She openly rejects invitations at friendship from anyone else, and- when the spotlight is suddenly on Shouka for the first time in years ever, as a backdrop to Byakuran’s own popularity, the girl can be -scary-. She glares at a girl who sneers at Shouka, and says something under her breath to her that makes the other pale. She gets right up next to a boy who was eyeing the scrawny girl’s form, and brightly smiling says something that makes him break out into a cold sweat. Shouka wonders if it’s because of the kiss on her cheek- that shouldn’t have meant so much- that she’s suddenly noticing these things, but she is and in addition to being embarrassing and pushy, the girl is sometimes -scary-.
And even though she’s never ‘scary’ to Shouka like she is towards the other students, Shouka finds that no matter what Byakuran suggests, she has a hard time refusing. Even when she says no, Byakuran will just talk her in circles until no becomes yes.
Like she doesn’t even have an option- let’s be friends, let’s be roommates-
One night she’s very stressed, agonizing over a huge report due in a week, trying to find the proper way to illustrate a physical example to aid her proof- when Byakuran comes up behind her, and kneads tense shoulders in a way that makes her sigh and shake.
“Shouka-chan, let’s be lovers.”
It had started out innocent enough.
It really had.
Irie Shouka had never been popular, sociable, or even liked- but now she had somehow, despite being all these things, won the heart of a white monster.
Though she didn’t know she was a monster yet. And when Byakuran pressed her soft lips against Shouka’s for the first time, and a strange zap of something like satin lightning goes through her mouth to her stomach, she hardly seems like one.
The hands on her sides make her stomach hurt with needle butterflies, and her head is dizzy with all the blood rushing to her cheeks, but her legs are cold and motionless, hands heavy and awkward and she lets Byakuran kiss her on the bed, holding her like a prize.
Maybe she is. Shouka doesn’t know why Byakuran liked her so much. She never did anything special to warrant the girl’s attention. When she tries to ask, Byakuran only says excessively affectionate things, compliments her until she’s sputtering and red faced, and gives some vague reference to liking her work, too.
Byakuran’s hands are soft and cold, but the sheets are warm and Shouka is warmer. Her stomach winds and twists when Byakuran rubs her palms across inner thighs, smoothes her lips across a thin, pasty neck. She doesn’t have the courage to touch Byakuran back, just rests her hands on the strange girl’s shoulders. Sheets wrinkle beneath them, and meek protests come from the redhead’s lips when Byakuran’s hands slide under her shirt.
But like always, Byakuran always seems to turn ‘no’ into ‘yes’, and Shouka finds herself holding onto the other girl’s head, breathing hard and stomach writhing as Byakuran kisses across her small breasts, takes her dusty pink nipples between her lips and sucks and nips and licks until they’re hard and sore, and Shouka’s shaking. She shakes harder and harder, when Byakuran kisses between her breasts, over her heart, and then down the center of her body, down down to her belly button. All her being seems to be in the surface of her skin suddenly.
It’s when she stops breathing, her panties half down her thighs, that Byakuran goes back up to look at her, and runs pale fingers through auburn hair in a soothing way that was so unlike the unsoothing girl. “Shouka-chan,” she says, smiling. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you-.”
And when she kisses her this time Shouka kisses back. The atmosphere is suddenly nothing but oxygen, her heart’s pumping like a humming bird’s and she doesn’t need to breath. It turns right around when Byakuran cups her palm against soft red pubic hair and slides one of her slender fingers down between Shouka’s flushed lips. Byakuran’s skin is cold and dry, so much different from her own, and it makes her gasp, especially when she dips the tip of the digit into her entrance, covering it with the ink of arousal.
Slippery and beguiling, Byakuran began to press the redhead’s swollen clit back and forth, making her gasp for the sudden lacking oxygen, and squirm and kick across the bedsheets.
“So noisy, Shouka-chan…”
Everything else is suddenly a blurry mist, Byakuran’s whispering against her neck, touches on her chest, it all becomes a cold mosaic as that finger slides down and pushes inside of her, touching someplace that has only ever been touched by Shouka herself, and even then in awkward, unsure ways. This wasn’t unsure at all though, when Byakuran buries herself in to the knuckle, presses her thumb against her clit, and starts to wiggle inside of her.
Shouka’s thighs are clammy when they snap shut around the pale girls wrist, but no matter how much her body screams, her lips move, or her legs kick Byakuran keeps wiggling and wiggling and wiggling until her whole body finally turns as hot as between her legs and she gasps out loud, back arching off of the bed and everything is white.
It’s a numbing heat, and her body is more relaxed than it has been in months. Her hair is sticking to the pillow and to her forehead, breath deep and fast but even. Everything is a pleasant haze, even when Byakuran reappears in her line of sight- glasses smudged- licking Shouka’s orgasm off of her fingers, and purrs to her-
“Shouka-chan, let’s be gods.”
And for the first time, breathless and dazed, Irie Shouka says yes.
I also don't know how to write lesbian porn even though I dream of you guiz every night, making sweet sweet love infront of the fire.
I think it's ok though maybe kind of sort of. :x
It had started out innocent enough.
It really had.
Irie Shouka had never been popular, sociable, or even liked- although she was never disliked, exactly. Despite a messy head of flaming red hair, the universe seemed content to keep her invisible amidst the sea of dark haired Japanese students all throughout middle and high school. Even as an excelling student, she wasn’t noticed, even as a technical genius, she wasn’t noticed. She ate alone, headphones blaring, and no one ever saw fit to bother or bully her.
It was the same even with her family. The words exchanged were mechanical, generic ‘hello how are you I love you ok thank you bye’s, murmured day in and day out between the routine of school, home, room, dinner, room.
This didn’t change when she graduated, won several scholarships to excelling schools overseas, not even when she was boarding the plane to America to attend a prestigious institute of engineering. ‘Good luck I love you goodbye’, and that was it.
Irie Shouka had never been popular- and this didn’t change when she was now amidst a sea of blondes, brunettes, and dark haired foreigners. She had a roommate she never saw, professors who didn’t know her names, and still ate lunch alone. It was usually in the librarian, which was really no different in America than it was in Japan. The thick vibration of oversized headphones. The occasional raucous guffaw from a group of girls. The echoing sound of coughing and pages turning. All the same.
At least for a while.
The sea of blondes and brunettes and dark haired strangers had deemed it fine for Irie Shouka to be invisible, but it seemed one day there was someone who didn’t.
White hair. And white skin. White nails, white smile, and white clothes. All of this, and a set of very, very lavender eyes, are what one day decided to noisily pull out a chair next to Shouka, flop down in it, and tug her headphones off without permission.
Her mouth was a quarter open in indignant surprise when the voice spoke for her.
“Irie Shouka, right? Fuu, I’ve seen your work! Very impressive stuff~”
A popular girl, foreign exchange like herself, all curves and smiles, the type of girl that made boys’ heads turn and girls’ mouths flap. The one that everyone thought to invite, to ask out, to recall. The girl who was visible, the most visible of all in the hectic campus.
And this visible girl, she drummed her ring less fingers on the table, smiled, and said,
“I’m Byakuran. Let’s be friends, Shouka-chan.”
Part of her wonders if it shouldn’t be annoying, the way the invisible girl who always had so much space and solitude, only spoke to by the beat of her headphones, was suddenly touched and grabbed and slung along in an all too friendly manner.
Byakuran’s voice is bright and cheery, almost always ending with a sing song like quality to it, and it drowns out her loud music even though it should be the other way around.
When Shouka gets lost in her thoughts, and can’t even hear the music, it’s Byakuran’s sudden touch- on the shoulder, the arm, the back- that starts inevitably jolting her. She finds it harder to work. To eat. To sleep.
The first is because Byakuran, despite the lack of Shouka’s agreement, has decided the scrawny redhead was now her ‘one and only true friend’, and ‘shouldn’t strain herself so much’ with work. “Play”, she’d say, dragging the flustered Japanese to an arcade, to a music store, to a park, “You’re too serious!”
The second is because Byakuran is a glutton. Despite the other’s curvy, petite frame of more than perfect proportions, Shouka is hard-pressed to find her without some greasy, sugary, or dripping confection being stuffed into her mouth. She constantly comments on Shouka being to skinny, but always follows it up with the other being ‘beautiful anyway’. It seems like a joke, an embarrassing one, but Byakuran always tries to feed Shouka with the same spoon she herself has been using.
The third, is because after two or three weeks of this, Shouka’s roommate disappears. She’s not sure how long the girl had been gone, since she never saw her that much to begin with- but one day she steps into the dorm, sets her backpack down, and finds Byakuran on her bed.
When she looks around questioningly, almost panicked, for her blonde, faceless roommate- who maybe let Byakuran in?- she’s only greeted with the sight of white white white, Byakuran’s bedding and clothes and then her body when the girl bounces up and hugs her tight tight tight.
“Let’s be roommates, Shouka-chan!”
Byakuran never talks about herself very much, Shouka soon notices. Nor does she ever really spend time with anyone but Shouka. The girl who seemed so popular only ever gives other people short, chipper greetings, and doesn’t seem to have any friends. Though she certainly thinks of Shouka as one, the way she bumps into the other giggingly while they walk, the way she girlishly links fingers with her, and milks her of every single iota of knowledge about herself. Shouka-chan’s favorite food, color, ice-cream, her family, her hobbies, her dreams. All of Shouka’s answers she nods to, and seems to somehow have some preexisting knowledge on.
When Shouka asks about Byakuran, the other girl deflects it, says something vague and material. “I like white. Marshmallows are best! Hoodies are comfy.”
One day Shouka learns something deeper though, when they are in a park, walking aimlessly with dripping ice-cream cones (both Byakuran’s, actually, Shouka can’t stand the sugar-) and discussing time and space and robotics. Or, really, it’s more Shouka who’s talking- Byakuran listens eagerly, asks bright questions, and does a lot of nodding. Then suddenly she stops, reaches out, and takes a hold of a flower. White and purple, strange in shape- Shouka wouldn’t have really looked twice at it if Byakuran hadn’t suddenly taken interest in it.
“This is a phalaenopsis,” she said. Shouka doesn’t even know what the word means, is actually surprised the other girl does, but she stands to look at the flower alongside the girl- that begrudgingly, with embarrassment- she had begun to call friend.
“It’s pretty.” Is what she dully responds, and then Byakuran turns and smiles at her, gives her a cold, icecreamy peck to the cheek that leaves her hot and sputtering with confusion and mortification.
“It’s just a weed!”
It’s not long after that that Byakuran, she starts to realize, is really weird. She openly rejects invitations at friendship from anyone else, and- when the spotlight is suddenly on Shouka for the first time in years ever, as a backdrop to Byakuran’s own popularity, the girl can be -scary-. She glares at a girl who sneers at Shouka, and says something under her breath to her that makes the other pale. She gets right up next to a boy who was eyeing the scrawny girl’s form, and brightly smiling says something that makes him break out into a cold sweat. Shouka wonders if it’s because of the kiss on her cheek- that shouldn’t have meant so much- that she’s suddenly noticing these things, but she is and in addition to being embarrassing and pushy, the girl is sometimes -scary-.
And even though she’s never ‘scary’ to Shouka like she is towards the other students, Shouka finds that no matter what Byakuran suggests, she has a hard time refusing. Even when she says no, Byakuran will just talk her in circles until no becomes yes.
Like she doesn’t even have an option- let’s be friends, let’s be roommates-
One night she’s very stressed, agonizing over a huge report due in a week, trying to find the proper way to illustrate a physical example to aid her proof- when Byakuran comes up behind her, and kneads tense shoulders in a way that makes her sigh and shake.
“Shouka-chan, let’s be lovers.”
It had started out innocent enough.
It really had.
Irie Shouka had never been popular, sociable, or even liked- but now she had somehow, despite being all these things, won the heart of a white monster.
Though she didn’t know she was a monster yet. And when Byakuran pressed her soft lips against Shouka’s for the first time, and a strange zap of something like satin lightning goes through her mouth to her stomach, she hardly seems like one.
The hands on her sides make her stomach hurt with needle butterflies, and her head is dizzy with all the blood rushing to her cheeks, but her legs are cold and motionless, hands heavy and awkward and she lets Byakuran kiss her on the bed, holding her like a prize.
Maybe she is. Shouka doesn’t know why Byakuran liked her so much. She never did anything special to warrant the girl’s attention. When she tries to ask, Byakuran only says excessively affectionate things, compliments her until she’s sputtering and red faced, and gives some vague reference to liking her work, too.
Byakuran’s hands are soft and cold, but the sheets are warm and Shouka is warmer. Her stomach winds and twists when Byakuran rubs her palms across inner thighs, smoothes her lips across a thin, pasty neck. She doesn’t have the courage to touch Byakuran back, just rests her hands on the strange girl’s shoulders. Sheets wrinkle beneath them, and meek protests come from the redhead’s lips when Byakuran’s hands slide under her shirt.
But like always, Byakuran always seems to turn ‘no’ into ‘yes’, and Shouka finds herself holding onto the other girl’s head, breathing hard and stomach writhing as Byakuran kisses across her small breasts, takes her dusty pink nipples between her lips and sucks and nips and licks until they’re hard and sore, and Shouka’s shaking. She shakes harder and harder, when Byakuran kisses between her breasts, over her heart, and then down the center of her body, down down to her belly button. All her being seems to be in the surface of her skin suddenly.
It’s when she stops breathing, her panties half down her thighs, that Byakuran goes back up to look at her, and runs pale fingers through auburn hair in a soothing way that was so unlike the unsoothing girl. “Shouka-chan,” she says, smiling. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you-.”
And when she kisses her this time Shouka kisses back. The atmosphere is suddenly nothing but oxygen, her heart’s pumping like a humming bird’s and she doesn’t need to breath. It turns right around when Byakuran cups her palm against soft red pubic hair and slides one of her slender fingers down between Shouka’s flushed lips. Byakuran’s skin is cold and dry, so much different from her own, and it makes her gasp, especially when she dips the tip of the digit into her entrance, covering it with the ink of arousal.
Slippery and beguiling, Byakuran began to press the redhead’s swollen clit back and forth, making her gasp for the sudden lacking oxygen, and squirm and kick across the bedsheets.
“So noisy, Shouka-chan…”
Everything else is suddenly a blurry mist, Byakuran’s whispering against her neck, touches on her chest, it all becomes a cold mosaic as that finger slides down and pushes inside of her, touching someplace that has only ever been touched by Shouka herself, and even then in awkward, unsure ways. This wasn’t unsure at all though, when Byakuran buries herself in to the knuckle, presses her thumb against her clit, and starts to wiggle inside of her.
Shouka’s thighs are clammy when they snap shut around the pale girls wrist, but no matter how much her body screams, her lips move, or her legs kick Byakuran keeps wiggling and wiggling and wiggling until her whole body finally turns as hot as between her legs and she gasps out loud, back arching off of the bed and everything is white.
It’s a numbing heat, and her body is more relaxed than it has been in months. Her hair is sticking to the pillow and to her forehead, breath deep and fast but even. Everything is a pleasant haze, even when Byakuran reappears in her line of sight- glasses smudged- licking Shouka’s orgasm off of her fingers, and purrs to her-
“Shouka-chan, let’s be gods.”
And for the first time, breathless and dazed, Irie Shouka says yes.