Chapter Text
Pyrrha Nikos was used to eyes following her. It had been the truth of her life since childhood: first in the training arenas of Mistral, later in the tournament stadiums, and now, at Beacon Academy. Admiring gazes were an old companion, but they had always felt distant – spectators seeing an idea, not a person. What unnerved her now was the closeness of it, the sudden intimacy of attention that pressed against her like a weight.
It had begun after that night in the gym. She remembered it too clearly, the scent of sweat and polish, the sound of Jaune’s soft laughter as he fumbled with weights, he barely had the coordination to balance. She had smiled at him then – too fondly, too wistfully – and in a reckless, foolish moment, she had tried something she had never dared. Her semblance, her polarity, had always drawn and shifted metal, but Jaune was full of metal, wasn’t he? His armour, his weapons, the buckle of his belt, even the iron coursing through his veins. What if, just for a Heartbeat, she could… nudge him? Not his heart, but the boy himself?
Nothing had happened. He had blinked at her with that familiar clumsy smile, oblivious as ever, and she had felt her own face burn with shame. She had fled the gym soon after, heart tight, cursing herself for trying to force something that was not there. Jaune’s heart would never bend to her semblance. She had already chosen who he pined for, and it was not her.
But what Pyrrha had failed to notice in that moment, too distracted by the sting of rejection, was the ripple it left behind. Almost everyone else in the gym had turned their heads to her. Their eyes lingered. Their bodies leaned subtly closer. And in the days that followed, she began to feel their stares like heat against her skin.
At first, she thought it was nothing. A trick of her own imagination. Students smiled at her often enough, offered greetings in the halls, the little courtesies of living among peers who respected her reputation. But lately, the smiles had grown warmer. Compliments slipped more easily from lips that had once been shy. In sparring sessions, partners crowded closer than necessary, hands lingering on her shoulders as they corrected her stance, eyes flicking down her figure as though pulled by a magnet.
Pyrrha tried to ignore it. She tried to pretend it was her imagination, but the pattern was undeniable. Something had shifted. And the worst of it was the hollow ache in her chest whenever she realised Jaune alone remained unchanged, still smiling at her with the simple, guileless affection of a friend.
She sat alone that afternoon in the Beacon library, half-pretending to study a thick volume on aura theory. Her mind was elsewhere. She traced the lines of ink with her finger but couldn’t make herself absorb the words. The murmur of voices around her only sharpened her distraction. Two second-year students sat a few tables over, stealing glances at her in what they thought were subtle. A group of first-years passed by, one of them tripping over his own feet as his eyes locked on her. She flushed and buried herself deeper in the book, wishing she could vanish.
“Distracted?”
The voice was low, smoothed, and laced with a quiet amusement. Pyrrha lifted her head, startled, and found Blake standing at the end of the table, a book tucked under her arm. She wore her usual calm expression, but her amber eyes lingered on Pyrrha in a way that felt… different.
“Oh – Blake,” Pyrrha said, fumbling for composure. She gestured awkwardly at the book in front of her. “Just, uh, reading.”
Blake raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. She set down her own book on the table, a collection of Mistrali poetry Pyrrha recognised by its spine. “You’ve been staring at the same page for the last ten minutes.
Pyrrha blinked, caught, and offered a sheepish smile. “I… suppose I have.”
There was a pause. Not the strained silence of disinterest, but something softer, heavier. Blake lowered herself into the chair across from her, skirt neatly tucked beneath her and thighs pressed together. Her gaze was set on the redhead like she had all the time in the world to simply watch Pyrrha. And Pyrrha, for once, found herself unable to look away.
Heat bloomed in her cheeks. She knew this feeling – someone’s attention, direct and unflinching. But from Blake, it unsettled her in a new way. This wasn’t the shallow awe of a stranger admiring the Invincible Girl. This was personal. Blake’s eyes were sharp enough to cut smoothly through a mirror.
Pyrrha swallowed, lowering her gaze to the page again though the words still blurred. She wished desperately that she understood what was happening to her semblance. That she knew whether Blake’s sudden interest was real… or something she had foolishly unleashed that night in the gym.
“I was thinking,” Blake said after a moment, voice softer now, “that you might want a change of scenery. It’s a beautiful evening. The courtyard is quiet this time of day.”
Pyrrha's heart skipped. An invitation. A simple thing, and yet the way Blake’s eyes held hers made it feel weight. She hesitated, nerves tangling in her chest. She wanted to say yes. She wanted someone – anyone – to see her. But at the same time, guilt whispered in her ear, reminding her that her heart still ached for someone else.
Still, she found herself nodding. “I… I’d like that.”
Blake’s smile was small but genuine, and Pyrrha felt a stir of something dangerous and sweet inside her chest. For the first time in days, she wondered if the attention surrounding her wasn’t entirely unwelcomed.
The beacon courtyard always felt different in the evening. By day it thrummed with noise: students racing to class and friends gathered in laughter beneath the shade of its old stone arches but at twilight, when the sun slipped low and the lamps began to glow faintly against the encroaching dark, it transformed into something gentler. The paths gleamed with soft light, the air cooled with the scent of grass and stone, and the whole campus seemed to exhale.
Pyrrha walked beside Blake in the silence, the sound of their footsteps mingling on the flagstones. She kept her hands folded in front of her, unsure what to do with them, caught between the nervous flutter in her chest and the quiet calm that seemed to radiate from the cat. There was no destination spoken aloud, but Pyrrha followed willingly, grateful for the escape from the library’s restless eyes.
They found a bench at the courtyard’s edge where the hedges opened into a view of the sky. Blake sat first, legs crossed neatly, skirt dipping somewhat between the wooden slats. Pyrrha lowered herself beside her, smoothing her skirt over her knees, feeling acutely aware of how close their shoulders were.
For a long moment, neither spoke. It was not an awkward silence. Rather, it was a stillness that seemed to ask her to breathe, to let the world soften. Pyrrha tilted her head back, and only then did she notice how the stars began to appear one by one, pinpricks of pale fire against the darkening velvet sky.
“You can see them better out there than in the city,” Blake murmured, following her gaze. “Vale’s light drowns most of them. But here…” her voice softened, almost reverent. “They remind me of home.”
Pyrrha glanced at her, curious. “Of Menagerie?”
Blake nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. “The skies there are clearer. My mother used to take me out to the cliffs and watch them. She’d point out constellations, tell me their names. Most people see only shapes. She taught me their stories.”
There was a pause, then Blake lifted a hand and pointed. “That one, see the arc of stars there? That’s the Huntress. In Mistrali legend, she chases the shadow of a great beast across the sky. My father used to tell me it was a reminder to never give up what you’re pursuing.”
Pyrrha followed her finger, tracing the curve of the constellation. She felt a pang in her chest – so many of her own childhood memories were lost in the roar of crowds. In the endless cycle of training and tournaments. There had been no one to side beside her and whisper stories under the stars. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly, and she meant it.
Blake’s hand lowered but lingered against the bench between them. Her fingers brushed the edge of Pyrrha’s, not quite touching, as if offering rather than taking. Pyrrha felt her breath hitch.
The warmth of Blake’s presence pressed gently against her. It was subtle – Blake was not Yang, not bold or boisterous – but there was an undeniable gravity in the way she leaned closer, in the steady way her amber eyes flicked to Pyrrha’s lips before returning to the stars. And Pyrrha, for all her uncertainty, found herself leaning back.
Her thoughts tangled. She could not forget the strange pull of her semblance had taken on, the way people had started to orbit her as though compelled. Was this real? Was Blake here because of something the redhead had done, however unwittingly? Or was this different – Blake choosing her with clear eyes, unaffected by whatever new aura clung to her skin?
She wanted to ask, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she let the question drift into the night like smoke. For once, she allowed herself not to worry. She allowed herself to simply be.
Blake’s voice drew her back. “Do you know any constellations?”
Pyrrha shook her head, embarrassed. “I’m afraid not. I spent more time in the arena than under the night sky. My training didn’t leave much room for… stargazing.”
Blake tilted her head, studying her. There was no judgement in her eyes, only a look of understanding. “Then tonight can be your first lesson.” She pointed again, her voice weaving soft stories with each star. The lion of Vacuo, who guided his pride against the storm. The Twin Blades, said to represent two warriors who fought so fiercely they cut even the heavens. The Broken Crown, a reminder of hubris and downfall.
Pyrrha listened, enraptured, not only by the stories but by the cadence in Blake’s voice – low, steady, intimate. Each constellation was another reason for Blake to lean closer, to guide her gaze, to brush their shoulders together until Pyrrha’s heart raced with every subtle touch.
The night deepened around them. The courtyard lamps glowed faintly, fireflies drifted lazily above the hedges, and the stars multiplied until the sky seemed alive with light. Pyrrha let herself sink into the moment. The ache of unreturned affection for Jaune was still here, faint and dull, but it no longer consumed her. Instead, she felt the warmth of Blake’s presence, the steadiness of her attention, the sharp thrill that came from being seen not as a symbol, not as a title, but as a girl sitting beneath the stars.
At some point, Blake’s hand slipped fully over hers. It was not a bold gesture, not a conquest, but something quieter, more deliberate. Pyrrha’s pulse leapt, but she did not pull away. She turned her head, letting their fingers intertwine. The contact grounded her, made the world blur at its edges.
“You’ve been carrying something,” Blake said quietly, not looking at her now but at the constellation overhead. “I don’t know what it is, but I can see it.”
Pyrrha swallowed. For a moment she almost confessed everything – the foolish attempt at her semblance, the weight of attention pressing in on her, the gnawing uncertainty over whether any of this was real. But the words failed her. She was too afraid of breaking the spell, too afraid of watching Blake’s warmth vanish into the distance.
“I…” she began, then stopped. Her throat tightened. Instead, she let out a shaky breath and whispered, “Thank you.”
Blake finally turned to her, eyes gleaming in the starlight. There was no demand in her gaze, no pressure. Only patience, only the quiet certainty of someone willing to wait. Pyrrha felt her chest loosen. She did not need to explain herself tonight. Tonight, she could simply accept.
The silence stretched, softer now, until Blake rose gracefully from the bench. She extended a hand. “It’s getting late. Will you walk back with me?”
Pyrrha hesitated only for a heartbeat before taking it. Blake’s grip was firm, guiding her as they left the courtyard behind. The path to the dorms was dimply lit, the hum of crickets rising around them. Pyrrha’s nerves twisted, but beneath them lay a fragile excitement. She knew where this was leading, though fear prickled at the edge of her thoughts. She found herself leaning into it, drawn forward by the promise of something more. Something she had been wanting for a while.
The walk back to the dorms was quiet, their hands still loosely joined. As the dormitory came into view, Blake slowed. Her amber eyes flicked toward the entrance, then away, her expression thoughtful. For a moment Pyrrha wondered if the spell would break here – if Blake would release her hand and bid her goodnight with only that. But instead, Blake’s grip tightened, and without a word, she tugged gently, leading Pyrrha away from the path.
“Where are we…?” Pyrrha began, her voice filling with confusion.
Blake glanced back at her, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Somewhere quieter.”
They wound through side corridors and across a narrow courtyard until they came to one of the older wings of Beacon – a training hall Pyrrha had only seen in passing, its doors heavy oak and long forgotten by most students at this hour. Blake pushed one open with little effort, and hinges gave a muted groan. Inside, the space was dim, lit only by the moonlight streaming through high windows. The air smelled faintly of wood polish and stone, the floor marked by snuffs from countless sparring sessions.
Blake guided her in, the door closing with a low thud behind them. The world outside seemed to fall away, leaving only the echo of their footsteps.
Pyrrha’s pulse quickened. “Blake, I–”
“Shh.” Blake’s voice was gentle. She stepped closer until Pyrrha could feel the warmth of her body just inches away. “If you don’t want to do this, tell me now. I won’t press.”
The words struck Pyrrha like a chord, vibrating with reassurance. Her nerves fluttered wildly, but beneath them was a clear, steady want she could no longer deny. She shook her head, voice barely a whisper. “I do.”
Blake’s expression softened with a smile, and then she leaned in.
The first kiss was tentative, a brush of lips more question than answer. Pyrrha’s breath caught, her body tensing with the shock of it. Then Blake tilted her head, deepening the contact, her lips warmer, surer, coaxing Pyrrha to relax. Pyrrha’s eyes fluttered shut, and she leaned into it, feeling the heat surging through her chest.
When Blake drew back, her hand rose, fingers brushing against Pyrrha’s cheek.
Pyrrha gave a shaky laugh, embarrassed at how much her cheeks were heating up, but it died quickly as Blake’s thumb stroked her lower lip. The intimacy of the gesture made her heart stutter. She wanted more.
The second kiss was hungrier. Pyrrha pressed forward this time, lips parting, a soft sound escaping her throat. Blake met her with equal fervour, one hand cupping the back of her neck while the other slid down her arm, fingers finding her waist. The redhead gasped into her mouth at the contact, heat flooding low in her belly.
Blake’s hands traced lower still, skimming over the curve of Pyrrha’s hip before pulling her closer. Their bodies aligned, and Pyrrha felt the unmistakable press of something hard against her thigh. The realisation jolted her – startling, confusing, and yet oddly thrilling. She pulled back slightly, breathless.
“Blake…” her voice wavered.
Amber eyes met hers steadily. The faintest smirk curved Blake’s lips as if she already knew the effect she was having.
Pyrrha’s hands wandered low, hesitant at first, brushing down Blake’s toned stomach and then resting just above her waistband. Blake tilted her hips forward in invitation. Pyrrha’s breath caught as her fingers pressed down, encountering the hard, unmistakable ridge straining beneath the cat’s panties and into the skirt hanging in front. The heat that rushed through her at the discovery left her feeling dizzy, knees weak, and yet she couldn’t stop herself – her hand pressed firmer, squeezing Blake, and the low groan that rumbled from Blake’s throat made her shiver.
Her cheeks burned crimson. From want. From the sudden knowledge that she could make Blake sound like that, that her touch did it. She stroked slowly over the fabric of the skirt and through the panties below, testing, learning the shape of her new partner.
Blake’s lips pressed back into hers. Every gasp Pyrrha made was swallowed into the deepening kiss – slow, then deeper, faster, slow again, tongues tangling as if they had all the time in the world. Blake’s hand skimmed up her back slipping beneath her blouse, fingertips tracing the line of her spine until she arched into the touch. The other hand moved off her neck, pulling around to the front and cupping a breast, thumb brushing through the clothes and across the shape of her nipple until it hardened beneath the thin cloth.
“Sensitive,” Blake murmured in observation.
Pyrrha whimpered, unable to deny it, clutching at Blake’s shoulders as her body betrayed her, pressing desperately into every touch.
Blake rewarded her with more. Her hand slipped lower, beneath the rucked-up hem of Pyrrha’s skirt, palm sliding over warm skin until her fingers brushed the edge of her panties. The contact made Pyrrha’s thighs tremble, a strangled sound catching in her throat. Blake didn’t push further, not yet. She strokes teasingly along the crease of her thigh, the promise of what lay just out of reach far more maddening than immediate relief.
The pace was deliberate, torturous in its slowness. Kisses deepened, clothes shifted askew – Blake’s jacket slipping from her shoulders, Pyrrha’s blouse half unbuttoned, skirt bunched high. Nothing was discarded just yet, but every layer loosened like another veil falling away. Each touch mapped new territory, each breathless sound from Pyrrha coaxing Blake’s hands and mouth further.
Pyrrha thought of her semblance only fleetingly – how strange it was that all of this attention had come so suddenly. But here, with Blake’s mouth hot on hers and her hands exploring boldly, the worry seemed to dissolve. She didn’t need to understand the why. She only needed to feel.
By the time the cat finally drew back, both were flushed, lips swollen, clothes dishevelled. Pyrrha’s eyes shone with desire, her body humming with need, every nerve alight.
Blake leaned her forward against hers, whisper-soft. “Shall we keep going?”
Pyrrha nodded, trembling, the answer already in her body if not in her words. For the first time in her life, she felt no fear for letting someone else take the lead over her.
Blake’s skirt rode higher as she shifted back against one of the benches lining the side of the sparring ring, letting her legs spread just enough for Pyrrha to settle between them. The cool night air brushed against her bare thighs, contrasting with the heat that pulsed beneath her skin. She looked down at Pyrrha – her partner, her friend, her would-be-lover – kneeling there with a look in her emerald eyes that was at once nervous and determined.
It wasn’t a position Pyrrha had ever imagined herself in. She had fought Grimm, stood triumphant in tournaments, worn laurel crowns and smiled for cameras. But none of that had prepared her for the weight of this moment – the taste of anticipation thick on her tongue, the way her heart beat out of rhythm as she pressed her hands gently to Blake’s hips.
Blake’s breath hitched when Pyrrha hooked her deft fingers under the waistband of her panties and tugged them aside, just enough to reveal the hardness she’d already felt through the fabric. It sprang free, flushed and straining. Beacon was full of women like this – huntsmen and huntresses both carried steel and fire in their veins, their bodies shaped by different fates. But to Pyrrha, it was utterly singular. It was Blake.
She glanced up, checking for hesitation. Instead, Blake’s hand came down to rest lightly against her chin, thumb brushing her skin in silent encouragement. “Go on,” she murmured, voice low, steady, but charged with want.
Pyrrha leaned forward, kissing along the soft skin of Blake’s inner thigh first, letting herself take it slow. The taste of her sweat, faint and salt-sweet, lingered on Pyrrha’s lips. She nuzzled higher, lips brushing close enough to make the cat shiver. Only then did she lower her mouth to the length of her, tongue flicking experimentally against the tip.
Blake exhaled sharply, hips twitching despite her control. Pyrrha took that sound like a victory, a cue to continue. She wrapped her lips around the crown. And sank down, slowly, carefully, letting her mouth adjust to the unfamiliar shape. Her tongue traced along the underside as she drew back, her hand following to stroke what her mouth couldn’t yet take.
The reaction was immediate – Blake’s back arched slightly, a quiet groan slipping out despite her effort to stay quiet. Her fingers threaded into Pyrrha’s red hair.
For Pyrrha, it was overwhelming. The heat, the weight, the way every muffled sound from Blake sent a shiver through her body. She found a rhythm, bobbed her head slowly, one hand graced against Blake’s thigh while the other stroked in tandem with her mouth. Each pass grew easier, smoothing, her confidence building with the way Blake’s breath grew rougher, more ragged.
She pulled back just long enough to look up, lips shining, cheeks flushed. Blake’s amber eyes met hers, heavy-lidded and glowing in the dim light. There was no judgement there, no doubt – only desire, only need. Pyrrha smiled faintly, then leaned in again, taking her deeper this time, swallowing around the thickness with a quiet hum.
Blake’s jaw clenched, a hiss breaking past her teeth. “Pyrrha…” the name was almost a plea.
Encouraged, Pyrrha worked faster, her hair brushing against Blake’s thighs as she moved, her tongue teasing every sensitive ridge and vein she could find. One of Blake’s hands slipped down, cupping her cheek again, thumb stroking along her skin.
By the time Blake’s thighs trembled either side of the redhead’s head, Pyrrha’s own body was burning, need coiled tight in her stomach. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold back. Yet she didn’t stop, didn’t want to stop – not when ever sound spilling from Blake was proof that she was wanted, that she was the one making her unravel.
Pyrrha’s lips sealed tighter, her strokes quickening, the wet sounds of her mouth filling the quiet edge of the sparring room where Blake had led her. Every breath she drew was thick with Blake’s scent, every swallow letting her know just how close she was to pushing her over the edge.
And Blake was close – Pyrrha could feel it in the way her hips rolled in shallow thrusts, the way her thighs tensed against her shoulders. The low, throaty groans that spilled from her lips had lost their restraint, fraying into sounds far too raw to be hidden behind her usual reserve.
“Pyrrha–” Blake gasped, her voice breaking on the name. Her fingers clenched into red hair, anchoring herself as the pleasure broke.
Heat pulsed against Pyrrha’s tongue in the next breath, sudden and overwhelming. She startled at the first thick spurt of release, salty and slick, but she didn’t pull back. She swallowed on instinct, the taste unfamiliar yet intoxicating, part of Blake and wholly hers in that moment.
Another pulse followed, filling her mouth fuller, and Pyrrha tried to keep up – but Blake, undone at last, lost the precision of control she carried everywhere else. With a low groan, she pulled Pyrrha back suddenly, her length slipping from those reddened lips as another rope spilled free.
It streaked across Pyrrha’s cheek, hot against her flushed skin, a strand catching the corner of her mouth. She blinked up at the cat, breathless, lips swollen, and wet, strands of hair sticking to the mess now marking her face. The sight of her like that – kneeling, cheeks painted, green eyes wide and shining – made Blake’s chest heave, her last shuddering spurt landing across Pyrrha’s jawline before the tremors eased.
For a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the ragged sound of their breathing. Blake’s hand lingered at Pyrrha’s face, thumb brushing the mess she’d left there as if it were something precious.
Pyrrha swallowed hard, tongue darting out to catch the drop clinging at the edge of her lip. She blushed deeper at her own boldness but didn’t look away.
“You’re… beautiful,” Blake whispered, voice still rough from release.
Pyrrha’s chest tightened. She had been wanted before, admired, even idolised – but never like this. Not for herself.
She managed a trembling smile, cheeks still burning as she whispered, “Did I… do well?”
Blake leaned down, kissing her forehead tenderly, a stark contrast to the heat still crackling the air between them. “Better than well.”
Pyrrha closed her eyes and savoured the warm feeling that washed over her – the praise, the intimacy, and the simple fact that she was getting the attention she so desperately craved. Even if it was coming from another woman instead of the boy she had been chasing for so long.
Blake slid back onto her feet, the bench creaking faintly under her weight. She glanced down at Pyrrha, whose cheeks were still flushed, lips glistening from the taste she had just swallowed, and the streaks of Blake’s release smeared across her skin. Amber eyes held hers for a long, suspended moment, the heat between them thick and almost tangible.
“You’re beautiful,” Blake repeated, hoarse with lingering desire.
Pyrrha’s chest tightened, and she let out a small, breathless laugh. She reached up to brush at the streaks on her cheek, but Blake’s hand intercepted hers. “Leave it,” she said softly. “You look perfect just the way you are.”
The words were enough to make the redhead’s knees go weak again, and she was thankful for being on her knees already. She swallowed hard, heart hammering. Blake moved with a casual decisiveness, glancing over at the empty sparring ring that held echoes of countless past fighters, now just theirs.
Without a word, she strode to the side of the hall and rolled out a single training mat, then a second one beside it. The sound of the material scraping against the once-polished floor filled the dim space, the moonlight catching on the fibres, making them glimmer faintly in a silver wash. Pyrrha’s gaze followed every motion, her own body aching in response, hips shifting involuntarily, nipples tightening beneath her blouse.
Blake finally turned, giving her that sharp, knowing look, one that made Pyrrha’s stomach flutter in anticipation. She still hadn’t wiped her face, still more the marks of Blake’s release, and the way Blake’s gaze lingered on it made heat flood low in her belly.
“Up,” Blake said, her voice calm but commanding, and Pyrrha’s knees bent automatically as she stepped up toward the mats. Her hands lifted to grip the edges as Blake moved behind her, amber eyes following the curve of her back, the well of her hips, and the soft arch of her neck.
Blake’s hands slid to Pyrrha’s waist, fingers tracing over the small of her back before settling firmly on her hips. The warmth of her touch, the steady pressure, made Pyrrha shiver, leaning slightly forward as she let herself lower onto all fours atop the mat. The padded surface gave slightly beneath her, a soft contrast to the firmness of Blake’s hands, and she felt both grounded and exposed at once.
A deep, low growl rumbled from Blake’s chest. She leaned close, brushing her lips against the nape of Pyrrha’s neck, tongue flicking along the sensitive skin. Pyrrha’s head tilted back instinctively, a soft gasp escaping her throat as Blake’s hands kneaded her hips, thumbs pressing against the curve of her lower back.
Blake’s body pressed closed behind Pyrrha, the heat radiating from her making Pyrrha’s back arch slightly, breath hitching. Amber eyes watched her every movement, fingers brushing along her hips, teasing at the curve beneath her skirt without ever lifting the fabric.
The first contact was subtle – a hard press against the thin cloth of Pyrrha’s panties, nudging against her thought the soft fabric. Pyrrha shivered, the sensation igniting a coil of heat in her belly, and she pressed back instinctively, letting the teasing friction speak to her.
Blake’s hands guided her gently, thumbs brushing over the waistband of her skirt, sending shivers down Pyrrha’s spine. The pressure was insistent, urgent enough to make her whimper softly, but careful, deliberate, enough to ease the redhead into it.
Pyrrha’s fingers gripped the mat beneath her, knuckles whitening slightly as she leaned into the sensation, hips shifting under Blake’s guidance. Every brush of Blake’s exposed hardness against the thin barrier of fabric made her pulse quicken.
Slowly, the bat slid the fabric aside, revealing the warmth beneath, and Pyrrha gasped. The anticipation was almost unbearable. Every nerve ending seemed to ignite as Blake’s hands roamed over her thighs and hips, guiding her, the pressure and friction teasing her into desperate need.
Blake’s shaft pressed against the exposed skin, nudging over the slick warmth that had pooled, brushing just enough to make her whine quietly. Pyrrha’s hands gripped the mat tighter, every fibre of her being alight with tension and desire, entirely absorbed in the slow, deliberate build.
Blake’s fingers drifted along her hips, brushing at the crease where her thighs met her body, teasing, coaxing, letting Pyrrha’s reactions guide her. The hall was silent except for their breaths, the faint creak of the mats below them, and the rising symphony of Pyrrha’s quiet gasps and Blake’s low, satisfied growls.
Pyrrha tilted her hips, granting Blake the access she craved. She was fully aware that this was only the beginning – the bridge from teasing to the release she’d been aching for since the moment she offered herself on her knees.
The faint moonlight streaming through the tall windows caught on the curve of Pyrrha’s back, the well of her shoulders, and the line of her spine. The first press of Blake’s length further against her exposed slit made her gasp. Blake’s amber eyes met hers over her shoulder, dark with desire, and the whispered, low and steady, “Relax. Let me take care of you.”
Pyrrha nodded, breath caught in her throat, lips parting in a soft, trembling exhale. She felt herself being guided forward, the teasing pressure building, until Blake finally pressed inside her. The stretch was delicious, new and overwhelming, and Pyrrha’s hands braced against the mat as she tilted her hips, letting the cat sink deeper with each careful push.
Every movement was measured, intimate. Blake set a rhythm, starting slow, letting Pyrrha adjust, letting her body learn the pace. Pyrrha moaned softly, the sound filling the quiet hall, every nerve ending alive. The friction against her wall, the press of Blake’s warm, soft chest against her back, the brush of hair against her shoulders – all of it combined into a dizzying, exquisite tension.
Blake’s hands roamed from her hips to her waist, thumbs brushing where they could, sending shivers down Pyrrha’s entire body. One hand slipped forward, cupping her breast through the fabric of her blouse, thumb teasing at the nipple until it hardened sharply beneath the touch. Pyrrha gasped, arching into the contact, her body moulding to Blake’s with a hunger that was both urgent and tender.
As Blake began to move, slow and patient at first, Pyrrha’s whimpers grew louder, breath coming in ragged pulls. Her hips rolled instinctively to meet each thrust, the friction building heat low in her belly that pulsed and ached in equal measure. Blake leaned close, pressing kisses to the nape of Pyrrha’s neck, along her shoulder, whispering her name in a ragged murmur that made the redhead’s stomach clench with pleasure.
The rhythm increased gradually, a slow, steady cadence that allowed Pyrrha to feel every inch of Blake’s body as it moved inside her. Every press, every withdrawal sent delicious shocks along her nerves. Her hands, still gripping the mat, flexed and curled as she gave herself over entirely to the sensation, her mind blurring with pleasure and warmth.
Blake’s amber eyes flicked to the streaks of cum still marking Pyrrha’s flushed cheeks and lips each time she looked over her shoulder, a faint smirk tugging at the cat’s lips.
Pyrrha whimpered with need, softly, hips tilting back more, pressing herself harder into Blake with each thrust.
Eventually, Blake shifted slightly, her hands sliding from Pyrrha’s hips to press against her thighs, lifting her just enough for her to lean forward, chest brushing the mat, and dove into her harder, deeper. Pyrrha cried out, the sensation almost becoming too much for her, muscles clenching, gripping, surrendering completely to the raw, exquisite fullness.
Her body shuddered with each precise stroke, back arching, breath hitching. Blake’s low groans punctuated each thrust made into the redhead’s cunt, matching her cries, each sound binding them closer, the intimacy of their connection building they began to move together in perfect synchrony.
And when Blake finally reached the peak, pulling Pyrrha into a trembling, gasping climax, Pyrrha’s own body followed shortly after, shuddering and quaking atop the mat. The heat, the fullness, the shared ecstasy left them both breathless, bodies pressed together, heats hammering in tandem.
Blake eased herself out, still holding Blake close, brushing strands of hair from her flushed face, leaning over and pressing soft kisses along her temple and cheek. Pyrrha’s body was still shaking, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes half-lidded in the afterglow, and yet she couldn’t stop a small, awed smile from spreading across her lips.
“You… were perfect,” Blake whispered, voice hoarse, fingers lingering on the curve of the redhead’s waist.
Pyrrha blinked at her, turning her head to look over her shoulder. A faint laugh escaped her. “So were you,” she said back in a whisper, the warmth of the moment, the closeness, the utter trust between them still settling in her chest.
They stayed there for a long moment, pressed together atop the mat, listening to each other’s breath, savouring the quiet intimacy of the aftermath, before finally pulling apart just enough to look at one another with flushed, smiling faces.
The training hall was hushed again, the echo of their earlier cries faded into silence, leaving only the sound of their breathing. Pyrrha lay sprawled on the mat, her chest rising and falling in quick succession. Blake had moved to stretch beside her, one arm draped lazily across her waist, her face half-buried in tangled strands of Pyrrha’s long hair.
For a moment, Pyrrha let herself bask in it. The warmth of another body so close, the weight of that arm pulling her into a quiet embrace, the taste of intimacy still fresh on her lips. It was a kind of closeness she hadn’t allowed herself to imagine, not until she had met Jaune, and now that she had it, it felt addictive.
Her thoughts drifted. She remembered the way people had been looking at her in the days since the gym. Weiss, Yang, Nora, even strangers she passed in the hall – eyes lingering too long, voices softening when they spoke her name. Was this what they were all feeling? This hunger, this pull that Blake had given into – had she given into it? Was this real, or just something she had manifested without knowing? Would they press her down against a mat, a bed, a wall, with the same urgency, the same need? The thought made her shiver.
But then the cat shifted again, grounding her back to the present with a blush of lips against her neck. Soft, deliberate kisses trailed along her throat, her collarbone, slow enough to make Pyrrha sigh and tilt her head to grant better access. Blake’s hands slid upward, supping her breasts with a reverence, thumbs brushing over her nipples in a way that made Pyrrha arch against her.
“You’re so beautiful,” Blake murmured against her skin. “You don’t even realise how much.”
Pyrrha’s breath caught. She felt worshipped – as if every curve, every tremor in her body was something Blake needed to explore, to savour. Hands traced over her ribs, her stomach, her thighs, each touch unhurried, as though Blake had all the time in the world to map her out. Pyrrha trembled beneath the attention, biting her lip as pleasure sparked anew, the exhaustion of their first encounter fading under the renewed heat.
When Blake’s hand drifted lower, teasing against the sensitive swell of her sex, Pyrrha moaned softly, her body responding eagerly despite the ache of their earlier fucking. She turned her head slightly, pressing a kiss Blake’s temple, whispering her name like a prayer on her tongue.
Blake pulled back just enough to meet her emerald gaze, amber eyes molten with desire. There was a pause, a breathless weight between them, before she whispered, “Can I try something different with you?” her hand slipped lower, brushing along the cleft of Pyrrha’s ass and making her meaning clear.
Pyrrha’s heart almost stopped. Heat rushed her cheeks, the boldness of the suggestion was startling – and yet, the warmth of Blake’s body pressed against hers, the reverence in her eyes, softened the sharpness of the idea. She swallowed, uncertain, but the thought of denying the cat when she was looking at her like that felt impossible.
She hesitated, then nodded slowly.
The answering smile on Blake’s lips was enough to melt the last of her hesitations. Another kiss pressed to her mouth, tender, before Blake gently guided Pyrrha down, coaxing her into a new position on the mat. The shift of the redhead’s body made her cheeks flush hot, but Blake’s steady hands and soft murmur soothed the moment, easing her onto her stomach.
Her chest pressed into the mat, arms folded beneath her chin, hair spilling over her shoulder in fiery waves. Blake’s touch guided her hips upward, coaxing her into a pose that left her face down, ass raised, thighs parted just enough to frame her vulnerability.
The angle made Pyrrha’s skin prickle with awareness at how exposed she felt. Yet Blake’s low, reverent hum broke through her nerves. “Gods, Pyrrha…” she whispered, palms sliding over the curve of her ass. “You are so perfect.”
Blake’s hands roamed with a deliberate slowness, thumbs brushing at the hollow where thigh met hip, then spreading wide to cup the firm swell of her cheeks. She squeezed, gentle, testing the give of the soft flesh over taut muscle, as if to memorise the feel. “So strong~” she murmured, “and yet so soft. You don’t even know what you do to me.”
Pyrrha whimpered softly, pressing her cheek against her forearms so she could look over her shoulder, breath hitching as Blake’s lips ghosted over her skin. The first kiss landed high, just below the small of her back. Then another, lower, following the curve until Blake’s mouth reached the crest of her ass. The contrast of soft lips against sensitive skin made Pyrrha shiver, thighs trembling faintly beneath her.
Blake kissed one cheek, then the other, as if she were paying homage. Her tongue darted out, a teasing lick made Pyrrha gasp and bite her lip, hips jerking subtly. “Beautiful,” Blake breathed against her, and then she spread the redhead wider, leaning in to press her mouth more firmly against the tight star of her ass.
Pyrrha’s breath stuttered, a cry muffled against her skin as Blake’s tongue flicked against her with a wet motion. The sensation was new, raw and startling, unlike anything she had imagined – but it was Blake, her warmth, her carefulness, that made the shock melt into heat. Pyrrha’s thighs quivered as pleasure bloomed through her, every movement of Blake’s tongue sending sparks dancing along her nerves.
Blake’s hands stayed firm on her hips, spreading her open, kneading gently as she worked her mouth over Pyrrha’s winking hole. Between her legs, her cock jutted hard and aching, and she stroked herself slowly as she rimmed Pyrrha, groaning into her flesh as if she was tasting something forbidden and divine.
The hand still of Pyrrha’s body slipped lower, fingers training down to tease the tight ring as her tongue worked, pressing gently until the muscle gave just slightly. Pyrrha whimpered at the intrusion, clutching at the mat, her boy torn between shyness and the raw, melting pleasure coursing through her. Blake coaxed her with patience, one finger slipping shallowly inside, circling, stretching, preparing.
“Relax for me,” Blake whispered, lifting her mouth just long enough to press a kiss to the trembling flesh before diving back in. A second finger joined the first, stretching her carefully, filling her with a slow, insistent rhythm that left Pyrrha moaning helplessly, her hips pushing back without thought.
By the time Blake finally drew her hand away, Pyrrha was shaking, slick with sweat, thighs trembling with exertion and need. Blake kissed her ass once last time, tenderly, before moving herself, adjusting, and lining and pressing the head of her cock against the ring of muscle. She groaned low, almost guttural, at the sight of Pyrrha’s perfect ass framed before her, ready and waiting with small winks and flexes.
Pyrrha’s breath caught as she felt the blunt pressure against her entrance, the promise of what was to come. Her fingers dug into the mat, nails scraping against the fabric as anticipation coiled tight in her belly.
Blake leaned in, lips brushing her ear, whispering, “Are you ready for me?” as her hips rolled jut enough to nudge the tip into place, perfectly aligned for the first push inside.
The blunt head pressed insistently against her entrance, and Pyrrha trembled beneath the weight of it. Her breath stuttered, hips twitching, every muscle taut with both anticipation and nerves. The pressure was different here – sharper, deeper, a place her body wasn’t used to being filled – and for a moment she wondered if she could truly take it.
Blake’s hand slid over her hip, grounding, steady. She bent low, kissing Pyrrha’s shoulder, voice husky against her skin. “Breathe. Trust me.”
Pyrrha nodded, biting down on her lip, and tried to relax her clenched muscles. Slowly, inexorably, Blake pushed forward. The first stretch was overwhelming, a burn that made Pyrrha gasp into the mat, her nails digging into the surface. But Blake did not rush; she held there, letting her adjust, hands stroking over her waist, down her thighs in a calming motion.
Inch by inch, the fullness grew. Pyrrha’s eyes fluttered shut, her cheeks flushed crimson as the sensation transformed – still sharp, still tight, but tinged with a raw pleasure that coiled in her belly. A moan broke free, muffled but unrestrained, and Blake groaned low in response, her hips shuddering as she sank deeper.
“Gods, Pyrrha,” the cat rasped, fingers digging deeper into the redhead’s hips. “You’re so tight, it’s – unbelievable!”
The words sent another rush of heat through Pyrrha, and she pressed her cheek harder against her arms, trying to steady herself. Each slow thrust of Blake’s cock seated her further, filling her in a way so different from before. There was no easy glide, no natural rhythm at first, only the steady, consuming stretch, the sense of being utterly possessed, wholly taken.
And yet, as her body yielded, pleasure began to replace the ache. Each movement sent sparks racing up her spine, building into something new, raw and addictive. Pyrrha found herself pushing back, testing the sensation, and the sharp cry that escaped her lips was half shock, half delight.
Blake growled softly, the sound reverberating against Pyrrha’s back as she leaned forward, her chest pressing to Pyrrha’s shoulders. Her thrusts grew more confident, deeper, her hips snapping with restrained force. The mat creaked beneath them, the sound swallowed by Pyrrha’s helpless moans and the wet slap of flesh against flesh.
Her hands gripped the redhead’s ass more firmly, spreading them wider, claiming every inch of her as she drove down into her with a rhythm that was both punishing and deliberate. Each stroke seemed to scrape fire along Pyrrha’s nerves, filling her in ways that left her gasping, shuddering, clawing at the mat for purchase.
The rawness of it – the utter exposure, the way Blake used her body with such intensity – sent Pyrrha spiralling. She couldn’t form words, only broken sounds, each thrust dragging them out of her throat. The pleasure was deeper, darker, each wave sharper than before, leaving her shaking.
Blake’s voice cut through the haze, low and tough. “Taking me so well… every inch. Gods, you feel incredible back here.” Her hands kneaded Pyrrha’s ass possessively, her cock driving deeper.
Pyrrha’s body quaked under the praise, the heat in her belly mounting with every relentless thrust. She was barely aware of anything but the sensation – the fullness, the friction, the way her body was being broken open and rebuilt in Blake’s rhythm.
When Blake shifted, angling her hips just slightly, the next thrust sent Pyrrha into a cry so loud it echoed off the stone walls. The spot she struck made her vision blur, her body clenching down hard around Blake’s cock, trembling with the edge of release.
Blake groaned, voice ragged, and tightened her hip on the redhead’s waist, thrusting harder, deeper, losing her last restraint as pleasure overtook them both.
The rhythm grew savage, Blake’s hips slamming hard and rough enough to rock Pyrrha forward with every thrust. The redhead’s body yielded and clutched her all at once, the tight, perfect grip of her ass dragging ragged groans from the cat’s throat until she was near shaking with the effort of holding back.
“Pyrrha–” Her voice cracked with strain, her nails digging into the somewhat tanned skin as she rutted unto her, chasing the inevitable. “I’m close… gods, you’re going to make me–”
Pyrrha pushed back against her desperately, the noise spilling from her throat nothing but broken pleas, half-moans, half-whimpers. She wanted more, wanted Blake to give in, to lose herself completely inside her. The raw pressure, the unrelenting fullness had her head spinning, but the daze came in an intoxicating thrill – knowing she was the one pushing Blake to the edge.
Blake’s thrusts turned erratic, harder, deeper. Her teeth grazed Pyrrha’s shoulder as she slammed forward one final time and came. Her cry was muffled against the skin, her cock buried to the hilt as hot spurts of cum pulsed deep into Pyrrha’s ass. The redhead gasped at the sensation, the thick warmth filling her in sharp waves that only heightened her own trembling release. Her body clenched desperately around the cat, milking every last drop as her partner shook above her, hips jerking with aftershocks.
For a long moment, the world was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing, the press of sweat-slicked skin, the dizzying afterglow of being stretched and filled and claimed so completely.
Eventually, Blake eased back, slipping free with a soft groan, her seed seeping as Pyrrha collapsed forward onto the mat, boneless, dazed. Blake gathered her close almost immediately, lowering herself to the floor beside her, pulling the redhead against her chest. She pressed soft kisses along Pyrrha’s temple, down her jaw, onto the delicate curve of her throat – reverent again, worshipful, nothing like the raw ferocity that had just shaken them both.
“You’re incredible,” Blake murmured, voice hoarse but with a sense of tenderness. Her hands strokes down Pyrrha’s back, tracing the strong lines of muscles, then settling over her hips in a gentle hold.
Pyrrha hummed faintly, basking in the warmth of the other girl’s arms, the tenderness after such intensity. Her body still quivered with aftershocks, her mind floating somewhere between exhaustion and elation. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine staying like this forever, cocooned in touch and closeness, wanted and cherished.
But reality tugged at the edge. The gym would not remain their secret haven forever. Eventually, the world outside the walls would intrude.
Blake seemed to sense it too. After long, lazy minutes of simply holding and kissing the athlete, she shifted, bushing a stray lock of crimson hair from Pyrrha’s blushing face. “We should… get dressed,” she whispered with a soft smile.
Reluctantly, they pulled apart, though not without a final kiss – a slow, lingering thing filled with tongues bushing in a promise that this would not be their last time. Clothes lay scattered across the floor, flung aside in haste earlier. Pyrrha picked up what she had thrown off with an almost embarrassed laugh, while Blake tugged on her uniform once more, glancing sidelong at Pyrrha with an unmistakable hunger still in her golden eyes.
When they finally stepped toward the exit, Pyrrha caught Blake’s hand in her own, squeezing it gently before letting go. Her cheeks still burned, her body still ached, but there was a new light in her eyes.
Pyrrha woke in her own bed. The familiar ceiling of Team JNPR’s dorm greeting her instead of the moonlight and stone walls that had been above the night before. For a few moments, she lay still, waiting for her mind to separate dream from memory. Then her body reminded her. The soreness in her thighs, the faint ache deep in her hips, the warmth that seemed to hum in her even now – it was all real.
She pulled the blanket tighter over herself, hiding her face even though no one was watching. Jaune was still asleep across the room, tangled up in his sheets and snoring softly. Ren sat at his desk with a book open, quiet as ever, while Nora was nowhere to be seen – probably already tearing through the cafeteria. Everything looked normal, the same as any morning at Beacon Academy, and yet Pyrrha couldn’t shake the knowledge that she wasn’t the same girl who had crawled into this bed yesterday.
Her thoughts drifted back unbidden. Blake’s lips on her skin, the way her body had been touched, filled, worshipped. Heat crept over her face, and she pressed her thighs together beneath the blanket, feeling the echoes of it. She had wanted so badly to be seen, to be wanted, and Blake had answered that call in ways Pyrrha had never dared to imagine.
But even beneath the warmth of those memories was something else. A question that gnawed at her. Was it truly Blake’s choice? Or was it her own semblance, reaching out, twisting the feelings of those around her? she thought of the sudden looks in the gym, of the way people she cared for had started dropping hints and circling closer. Had she pulled them in without meaning to? And if so… how far would it go?
Pyrrha swallowed hard, forcing her breathing back into a steady rhythm. She couldn’t think like that now. Not with Jaune stirring in his sleep, not with Ren only a few feet away. She needed to hold it together.
Still, as she sat up and swung her legs from the bed, she brushed her hand through her tangled hair, forcing herself through the routine of dressing, of buttoning her blouse and lacing her boots. The motions were steady, practised, but inside she felt anything but steady. Every stretch of muscle reminded her of the night before; every breath carried a flicker of heat.
By the time she slipped into the hallway, the morning rush of students had already begun. Voices echoed off stone walls, laughter and chatter carried on the air. Pyrrha lowered her head, hoping to vanish into the ride of uniforms and shoulder bags. She had almost made it down the corridor when a hand brushed against her arm. Firm, warm.
“Morning, champ.”
Yang’s voice, smooth and teasing, slid over the redhead like velvet. Pyrrha turned, startled, and found herself staring into bright lilac eyes. Yang stood too close, as she often did, golden hair spilling over her shoulders in a careless braid. Her grin was easy, but there was a spark there – playful as always – that made Pyrrha’s stomach knot.
“Y-Yang,” Pyrrha managed, the name catching in her throat.
Yang winked, her hand giving the faintest squeeze before she let go. “You look like you didn’t get much sleep. Jaune snoring again?”
The words were casual, morning small talk. The usual. Yet Pyrrha felt a rush of heat across her face all the same, her mind betraying her and conjuring images of the night before in quick flashes – Blake’s weight, Blake’s hands. Did Yang know? She couldn’t know. And yet the look in her eyes, the half-smile curling at her lips, said otherwise.
“See you around” Yang added, already moving past with the same lazy confidence she wore into every sparring match.