Chapter Text
Brooklyn had a problem. She had a crush on Max Goof, which, when she says it out loud, doesn’t seem so bad. But to her, it was, especially when Maxine was one of her closest friends and most supportive allies, understanding Brooklyn in ways none of her other peers would, seeing as they’re going through the same thing. Lately, however, her thoughts about Max and how she viewed her drastically changed, and she didn’t know how to cope. Gone were the everyday thoughts of admiration and appreciation. What plagued her mind now was the sway of Maxine’s hips. The curves that are hidden under long skirts, baggy jeans, and oversized t-shirts. The way she smelled and her hands. God, her hands. Rough with labor but dexterous in ways Brooklyn couldn’t even begin to imagine without feeling heat pool in her crotch. Starting estrogen had done wonders for Max. Her jaw had softened, but the still-there baby fat from her cheeks had finally settled, leaving her face round, kind, and warm but also more defined than it had been months ago.
The hormones had changed the rest of her body as well. The toned muscle from years of skating was now covered in a plush layer of fat, most prominent at her hips and thighs. Maxine’s skin practically glowed in the sun when she remembered to wash her face. And last but certainly not least, in Brooklyn's eyes, estrogen had all but blessed Max with a chest. She was, in all honesty, a bit jealous of the size, but it was hard to stay upset when she was imagining the way they would feel cupped in her hands.
To say she was lovestruck and lust-ridden was an understatement. Sometimes, she couldn’t even hang out with Maxine without her mind racing and cheeks flushing, blood rushing down south so fast it made her lightheaded.
Currently, Brooklyn was standing in front of the new mirror she had bought for her apartment a few weeks back, biting her lip as she took in the sight of herself. Earlier that day, Brook had gone out to get herself a small treat, something to congratulate herself for officially getting moved in. Don’t get her wrong, she loves her Gammas and how they listen to her beck and call, maybe even more now that she’d come out to them, but living with them was starting to get awkward. Having all her clothes mixed up with theirs on laundry day isn’t something she ever wanted to experience again.
She had worked up the courage to go to one of the shops her oldest sister had suggested when she first came out, but her face was burning with heat before she had even stepped into the building. Thankfully, the workers were kind enough to help Brooklyn when she didn’t know how exactly to size herself. Brooklyn was also glad she didn’t run into her sister while there. She was sure that type of shop was the type of place she frequented
That’s how she ended up with what she had on now: a dark red pin-striped cage bra that accentuated what little she had on her chest naturally and a matching pair of strappy panties that hugged her hips and held her in place in a way that was secure but surprisingly comfortable. For the first time in a while, Brooklyn saw herself staring back at her. Her reflection showed who she was inside and out. She bit her lip to hold back a smile, laughing giddily through her nose. Brooklyn turned around to grab fishnet stockings, pulling them up her legs until the tops sat properly on her thighs.
Looking back, Brook is glad she went with the red and not the baby pink or soft green that the worker had also suggested to her. It went nicely with her skin. Brooklyn only because it went well with her skin and not because shades of red were Maxine’s favorite color, and it would be something hot to surprise her with if Brooklyn ever worked up the courage to ask her out. If she said it enough, it would come true. She turns back around, taking the time now to admire how she looks properly. Brooklyn was pretty. She knew that for a fact; people had said she was pretty even when she was still presenting as a carbon copy of her father. Brooklyn tosses her hair over her shoulders, taking a deep breath as she starts to run her hands along her body. She bites her lip, suddenly wishing Max were here with her. Her gaze drifts over to her dresser, eyes landing on the lipstick she purchased a few days back. A recommendation from Maxine herself. The exact shade she wore. MAC’s “Diva”. A stunning dark red that’d go well with her lingerie, deep and rich in color, the texture smooth. Brooklyn reaches for it with a shaking hand, uncapping it and letting the product glide across her lips.
Brooklyn’s face burns as she sets the lipstick down on her dresser, the color again reminding her of the woman that haunted her every waking moment. She lets out a shuddering breath, leaning forward to kiss her mirror, pretending it was Max she was kissing instead. Her eyes slip shut, and she allows herself to get carried away, stumbling backward when she comes to her senses again. Brooklyn puts a hand on her chest, looking at her now disheveled appearance: smudged lipstick, ruddy pink cheeks, a dazed look in her eyes. She looked like a mess.
She runs her hands over her body again, starting at her chest and working down her stomach, to her hips and ass, and stopping just before she reaches her crotch. Brooklyn’s eyes flutter as her mind starts to drift. Fuck, now she was thinking about what it would feel like if it was Max touching her like this instead. If her hands were Max’s. She whines, head falling back as she slides her hands into the front of her panties, taking herself into her hand.
How would she do it? Maybe fast and rough, or perhaps she’d go nice and slow and treat Brooklyn like she was made of the most fragile glass, something so precious and delicate that Maxine would have no choice other than to treat her as such. What would she say? Would she call Brooklyn pretty or gorgeous? Or shame her for being so needy, buying underwear just for her to look good before they even got together. Maybe both. She hoped it was both.
Brook starts to move her hand, greedily thrusting into it as the ghost of Max’s voice rings in her ears, telling her what to do and what not to do. It is making her dizzy.
“Look at you, pretty girl…” Max coos into her ear, trailing a hand to her chest to mess with her nipple through the fabric of her bra, causing Brooklyn to moan and arch into the feeling, her dick kicking in her - no, in Maxine’s - hand. She lightly squeezes the tip of Brooklyn’s dick, and she can feel the phantom feeling of Max grinning against her neck due to how much she is leaking.
“So pathetic you need me to touch your pretty clit to get you off? Hmmm? Is that the case, princess?” Max teases cruelly, relishing the way Brook shakes her head in denial. She starts to move her hand faster, tutting condescendingly when Brooklyn thrusts forward, “Mmmmm, no. Stay still for me. Be good for me.”
Brooklyn whimpers, nodding almost immediately, forcing her hips to a stop, “Yes - fuck oh my god, please- Yes, ma’am,” She gasps out, looking back to the mirror. Brook had a thin line of drool coming from her mouth, and her pupils were practically hearts, the fog in her brain dancing enough that her horny fantasy of Maxine truly being in the room with her seeming like reality for the time being. The hand on her chest switched sides, rolling her other nipple between its index and thumb until she was whining due to the sensitivity.
The fantasy Maxine presses against Brooks's back, forcing her to feel the plushness of her stomach, the swell of her chest, and the softness of her thighs. Brooklyn can almost feel her warmth if she tries hard enough to imagine. She lulls her head to the side, hardly able to think straight, “Please… Max… please…” She moans, voice cracking in the middle. Brooklyn could feel her stomach tightening, the heat in her core building rapidly, leaking more precum into the now-soaked fabric of her underwear.
Max giggles to herself, clicking her tongue, “Good sluts don’t beg, darling. They take everything they're given with a thank you. Am I understood, or is my pretty girl too stupid right now?” Brooklyn’s jaw falls slack as she lets out a small, pathetic sob-like moan, tears pricking in the corners of her eyes. She nods, more tears filling her eyes and running down her face when her chest is pinched yet again, and her clit is squeezed, hiccuping at the sensation, “I asked you a question. I expect an answer, Brookie, baby.” Maxine coos directly into her ear.
“Yess! Yes, mommy, I understand! MMmmgh… Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…” She chants, the title spilling past her lips without her meaning for it to do so. Brooklyn can feel her mascara running down her face. God, she felt pathetic and lived for every second of it. She throws her head back, legs shaking with the effort of standing and trying not to make a mess of herself.
Maxine shoves her panties down to expose her so she can touch Brooklyn properly, letting go of Brook to tease her finger across her tip, collecting precum and bringing her fingers up to Brook's mouth, “Open for me, sweet girl. I want you to taste yourself,” Max says, voice dropping an octave. Brook listens without a second thought, taking the fingers into her mouth, moaning pitifully. She sucks, tongue lapping up the mess she’d made, slipping between the fingers in her mouth. Brooklyn can feel her mind going numb, shelving that information for later. Maybe something to tell Max if she ever dares to ask her out.
Max pulls her fingers out of Brooklyn’s mouth, moving her hand back down to wrap around her cock once again, her other hand trailing down from Brooklyn’s chest to trace along her body, “You’re so good for mommy, darling. I’ll let you cum soon, I promise. Just a little bit longer, ‘kay? Good girl,” She purrs, smirking when Brook nods and whimpers. Brooklyn lifts her head, eyes tracing the lipstick marks on her mirror, her blush now spreading up to the tips of her ears and down her chest. The fantasy Maxine was kissing along her shoulders and neck, looking content, clearly satisfied with how much Brook was squirming.
Maxine suddenly locks eyes with her, gaze burning with desire, “Maybe, if you continue to be good, pretty girl, I’ll fuck you nice and hard until you can’t think straight,” Brooklyn swallows and nods eagerly, almost cumming on the spot, “Oooh, you like that idea, huh? Want me to fuck your pretty pussy so good it’s all you can think about how the next week?” She pulls her hand away when she feels Brook start to twitch again, tutting softly.
Brooklyn sobs, more tears and mascara running down her cheeks, legs nearly collapsing out from under her, “Yes! Yesyesyesyes, I like the idea. Please, Mommy, I’ll be so good for you… need to cum, please, it hurts..” She slurs out, drunk on pleasure, “Want you to fuck me like the slut I am. Need it.. Need it so bad, Maxie, you don’t understand…” Brooklyn chokes on her words, and if she had half the mind to find her dignity right now, she would be thoroughly embarrassed.
The ghost of soft lips meets Brook’s neck, and she swears this time she can feel the lipstick Max would have felt behind, the pinch of her teeth as they bite into her. Brooklyn shudders, “Sssooo close, Maxie, please, touch me. I’ll do anything.” Maxine giggles, her signature h-yuck ringing in Brook’s ears. She decides to take mercy on the other woman, taking Brook into her hand one final time. Brooklyn swears her mind officially turns off as Max starts to jerk her off hard and fast enough to make her dizzy. She pants, eyes going cross, her pupils practically becoming hearts. Her moans get higher and higher pitched, cressendoing into a symphony of different noises until she finally cums.
“Fuck!! Yessss, oh, my god, yes, thank you, thankyouthank you! Feels so good,” Brook whines, mind numbing due to just how much pleasure she was feeling. The hand around her slows to a stop when she starts to squirm with overstimulation, and Brooklyn gives a pleased sigh.
“Just like that. Good girl, gorgeous. Go ahead and relax for me.” Max hums, pressing a kiss to her ear.
Brooklyn finally lets herself fall to her knees, her thighs shaking so hard she couldn’t have stood for any longer even if she wanted to. She leans forward, pressing her forehead against the cool glass of her mirror, sighing happily. The illusion Brooklyn had created over the past 10 minutes slowly dissipates into what it had been: a fantasy of her deepest, dirtiest, filthiest desires. She cringes at the mess that coated her hand, mirror, and floor, grimacing as she’d have to get up and clean it. She uses her clean hand to haphazardly tuck herself back into her panties, nearly jumping out of her skin when she hears a knock at the door.
Fuck.
Brooklyn had invited Tank and Maxine over to help her finish moving things in her apartment and unpack fully, wanting to be around the two people closest to her while she did it as she sister was busy and wouldn’t be able to make it until the next week. Brook scrambles to her feet, rushing over to her nightstand to grab as many tissues as she could, wiping down her hands first before scampering back over to the mirror to clean up the rest. She panics as the knock sounds again, throwing on whatever she could find to cover herself. She glances at herself in the mirror, pouting at the way her t-shirt and jeans she had grabbed in her rush didn’t go together. As she leaves her room, she remembers the lipstick marks that still marred her mirror, eyes going wide. It was too late to return; her hand was already on the door handle.
Brook takes a deep breath as she opens the door, offering Max a weak smile. God, she was so pretty. Brooklyn has to stop her eyes from wandering to Maxine’s exposed cleavage, arms, and stomach, the cropped tank top she wore leaving nothing to the imagination.
“Hi, Brookie. Sorry I’m late. I was finishing up some stuff with Pj and Bobby. Tank texted the group chat earlier, saying he won’t be able to come until later today, but I don’t think you saw it,” Max greets, stepping inside when Brooklyn steps to the side. The older woman can only nod dumbly, her mind racing. She really hoped she got everything illicit off of the mirror and floor.
Brooklyn shakes herself out of her stupor when she hears the creak of her bedroom door. She rushes into the room when Max starts talking, “Hey, Lyn? What’s with the lipstick? Oh, you’ve got some on your face, by the way. And some mascara.” Max had a look on her face, looking at Brook as innocently as could be.
Great. She knew something had happened. She was going to die. Brooklyn could feel herself shrink in on herself, hiding her face in her hands. There was no way she’d be able to confess now.