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andypantsx3 · 4 years ago

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defiant | bakugou/reader

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

status: complete

length: 4,485 words

summary: There are a lot of benefits to managing your pro hero boyfriend, but dealing with the PR nightmares he generates is not one of them. After Katsuki gets way too mouthy with a hapless reporter, you take it upon yourself to put him in his place.

Katsuki, however, has other ideas.

tags/warnings: smut, arguing, possessive sex, light bondage, aged up characters, reader attempts to dom bakugou (keyword: attempts)

notes: This is based several years after the events of my fic savvy though you do not need to have read it to enjoy this one!! This is also unedited because I am too lazy, my apologies for the various mistakes within. I will come back and fix them at some point. Dedicated to @bobawithpomegranate for reminding me I was supposed to be working on this.

It was a Friday afternoon at approximately three p.m. when Bakugou Katsuki lost his fucking mind.

You knew this information because you had been watching the press coverage of your boyfriend’s latest fight, an operation in which he and Kirishima Eijirou had paired up to defeat a villain with an earthquake quirk.

Katsuki and Kirishima had taken the man down in record time, mere minutes after the reporters showed up. You’d watched them pound the villain into the very street he’d ripped up in the first place, and now Kirishima was puttering around in the background of the news coverage, smiling as he chatted up civilians against the wreckage of the city street behind him. Which left Katsuki to saunter over to the gaggle of field reporters and give the customary interview.

His blonde hair was disheveled, and his mouth was quirked up into a sharp smile, the way it always was after he’d just come out of a good fight. But he looked otherwise unharmed, just as intense and savagely handsome as always. He even looked like he might be in a good mood, pleased with the results of his fight, and you thought he might actually keep the swearing to a minimum this time.

He ducked under the police tape, flaxen hair glinting gold under the afternoon sun, and stalked over to the nearest reporter, already opening his mouth to crow over his latest victory.

Which is when something off screen caught his attention.

There was a muffled question from one of the reporters--not from the network you were watching or the mic would have caught it--and Katsuki’s scarlet gaze cut to the side. You watched in horror as his expression slowly morphed into one of apoplectic rage.

“You fucking piece of shit,” Katsuki snarled, eyes narrowing, an explosion already crackling between his fingers.

The camera jerked to the side, catching the startled expression of another reporter. He looked vaguely familiar to you--tall, handsome in a bland kind of way, teeth bleached for his job as a television personality. You thought you might have met him briefly at the last Hero’s Gala, but you didn’t have time to linger on the memory--Katsuki was already on the move, fighting his way through the pack of reporters, looking ready to commit a murder.

“--think you can just fucking talk to me, asshole?” you heard him shout.

“What did he say?” a voice murmured off screen.

“--he just asked Dynamight how he feels about his success today,” another voice uttered, closer to the camera, sounding bewildered and more than a little alarmed.

“You’re gonna wish you had never fucking been born, asswipe!” Katsuki shouted over them.

He’d nearly reached the reporter when there was a blur of red and Kirishima was there, one bulky arm seizing Katsuki around the middle. He hauled Katsuki out of the sea of journalists, even as Katsuki struggled, spitting and snarling like a wet cat.

“You fucking try that shit again and I’ll fucking blow your teeth straight into your brain!” Katsuki hollered, drowning out whatever Kirishima was muttering to him.

Your phone screen lit up next to you, several notifications pinging simultaneously. You let out a gusty sigh, glancing down at the contact names. News outlets, looking to scoop their competitors by getting the first statement from the Dynamight Agency on Katsuki’s behavior.

You swiped over a screen and dialed the number for the PR department, watching Katsuki continue to rage on screen, struggling against Kirishima’s hold. The crags in Kirishima’s skin told you he was close to going Unbreakable, and the sight sent a hot bolt of irritation through you.

You had no idea what the hell Katsuki thought he was doing, launching himself at a reporter like that. A reporter who had apparently done nothing but ask him how he felt about the success of his fight, a question Katsuki--the smug fuck--typically reveled in answering.

It had been a long time since Katsuki’s last PR disaster (tackling pro hero Deku over the side of a buffet table after an innocuous comment at one of their first Hero’s Galas), and you’d gotten him to promise you to be more careful after that. You’d honestly thought he’d pretty much moved past that sort of thing now. He’d grown somewhat calmer with age--though not less foul mouthed--and as his girlfriend, you were able to exert some level of influence over his actions, as each year, your understanding of how to play him grew deeper and deeper.

So what the fuck he thought he was doing right now was absolutely beyond you. And also absolutely not appreciated, as you had much better things to be doing than cleaning up after him for a shit fit that he definitely could have controlled.

If there was something bothering him, you were going to make him tell you. And if he was up to his old tricks, maybe he needed a refresher on exactly why it was inappropriate to go off like a bomb at every little thing.

As Katsuki’s primary PR rep picked up on the other end of the line, already speaking to you in a brisk tone, you resolved yourself to the task. You were going to get to the bottom of whatever had sent Katsuki into a fit--and you were going to remind him how and why to behave himself.

Whether he wanted to or not.

The trickiest part of your plan was catching Katsuki off guard.

That kind of a feat was nearly impossible, as Katsuki had reflexes honed by years of experience, an alarmingly keen intellect, and a single-minded determination that was frankly terrifying to contemplate. It had been years since he’d been outmaneuvered by anyone in the field, and the odds were against anyone who thought they could get the jump on him.

Luckily for you, you knew that his single-mindedness was the one thing that could also be used against him.

You left the agency slightly earlier than normal, shooting off a message to Katsuki to let him know you’d meet him at home. And then you yanked open your proverbial bag of tricks.

You helped yourself to a long shower, lathering on some of Katsuki’s body wash instead of your own, a trick that--you’d learned after once running out of your own--sent him into something like a possessive frenzy, knowing you smelled like him, that anyone you encountered would know you’d helped yourself to a man’s personal effects and understand that you were already spoken for.

Then you rustled around in your drawers for a nicer pair of lingerie--not anything super fancy that would suggest you were up to anything special, but nice enough that Katsuki’s interest would be piqued.

And then you dug around in the closet for the most essential element of your plan--handcuffs. Your face warmed with the memory of the last time these had been used--a blur of rough palms and sharp teeth all over you, while you all but sobbed for more--but you frantically quashed the thought. Tonight, if all went according to plan, you wouldn’t be the one strapped helpless to the headboard.

You weren’t the one with a lesson to be learned, after all.

The scrape of keys in the door sent you dashing to hide the handcuffs underneath your pillow, and then the stomp of boots in the hall told you your boyfriend had made it inside. You hastily yanked a sweater and jeans over your lingerie, then went out to meet Katsuki in the kitchen.

He clearly hadn’t had time to change after his fight, still slightly disheveled, blonde hair mussed and scarlet eyes sharp as they narrowed in on you. His handsome features were twisted into a suspicious expression.

“The fuck’re you up to, ditching early? Thought I was gonna get fucking screamed at when I made it back to your office,” Katsuki growled, watching you intently as he stripped off his gloves and boots. They hit the ground with a dull thud.

Your heart shot into your throat, but you pasted on your best placid expression. “I ditched because I didn’t feel like dealing with every outlet in the entire country blowing up my office line. Thought I could get more done here where it’s quieter.”

You didn’t mention exactly what you planned to get done here, hoping Katsuki would assume it was all PR and damage control.

In a way, it was damage control. Just...not via traditional methods, exactly.

Katsuki’s eyes tracked you closely. He still looked skeptical. “You gonna let me have it then, princess?”

Oh you were gonna let him have it, alright. He just had no idea.

You watched him for a while, pretending to contemplate unloading on him the way you wanted to. “Just...not now. I’m too tired, I don’t even want to deal with it.”

He scoffed. “Bullshit. You live for giving me shit. Fucking out with it.”

You glared at him. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be giving me orders. And if I was gonna say anything before I’m certainly not now. Now go clean yourself up. I have work to finish, thanks to someone.”

You retreated back into the bedroom, smothering a grin.

Nothing got Katsuki jumped up like defiance. Years into your relationship, he knew on some level that he wasn’t actually in charge of you, but he still got just as worked up when you got mouthy with him as he had on day one. It wouldn’t be long until he came back in, trying to pick the same fight, altogether too interested in the attitude you’d give back to him.

He was such a boy.

You lounged around on the bed, pulling out your work laptop and firing off a couple emails while you waited, just for something to do. Katsuki’s PR rep seemed to have things well in hand, but you helped where you could.

Soon enough, Katsuki was stalking back into your room, hair dark from a shower, looking like he hadn’t even bothered to dry off before stomping back in. He wore only a dark pair of sweatpants, the hard planes of his chest on full display--you suspected he’d foregone a shirt on purpose, knowing how the sight of him usually distracted you.

Which it still did, somewhat, but you were too heady with your own plan to truly be diverted.

You smothered a laugh at the way Katsuki’s eyes immediately honed in on the lace of your bra strap, strategically peeking out of your sweater as you had arranged it.

Two could play at that game.

“Think you’re real fucking smooth, don’t you, princess?” he demanded, stalking over to loom over you in a vaguely threatening manner. You caught the clean scent of his body wash, just a hint of his syrupy sweet quirk under that.

Your thoughts fogged a little with his proximity so you pretended to ignore him, typing out some nonsense notes into your calendar for something to keep your attention off of him. The less you looked at him, the easier this would be. You were weak to his appearance, it was true, and nothing riled him up like not having your full attention.

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” you said vaguely, doing your best to sound distracted.

A rough palm shoved your laptop closed. “Oh I think you fucking do, princess. Think you’re gonna get all dressed up for me and then ignore me?”

You looked up into his face, just as his arms came down around you to cage you against the mattress. A thick spike of arousal jolted through you, but you pushed it down. Much as you were into this, he was not going to be in charge for much longer.

“And if I did?” you asked, victory surging through your veins at the dark look that entered his eye.

He leaned down, putting his face near to yours. “Gonna be real hard to ignore me when I’m fucking you so hard you’ll feel me for weeks.”

“You’re awfully confident for someone on such thin ice,” you breathed. You didn’t even have to pretend at being affected by his choice of words, your stomach fluttering with anticipation.

Katsuki wasted no time covering your mouth with his. The weight of him pressed you back into the mattress, your laptop tumbling to the floor with a loud clatter. Rough hands trailed up your sides, gathering up the fabric of your sweater and pulling it over your head.

Carefully, you eased him over, kissing him as hard as you could, so that you were the one on top, your knees braced on either side of his slim hips.

Katsuki swore, pressing you down on him with a rough palm on your back, evidence of his interest hard between your thighs.

And that’s when you struck. Using his momentary distraction, you pulled the handcuffs from beneath your pillow, weaving them through the headboard. You grabbed his hands as firmly as you dared, pressing them up over his head.

Katsuki noticed what you were doing the second before the handcuffs snapped shut over his wrists.

“The fuck you think you’re doing, nerd?” he demanded, flexing against the tight hold. You watched with interest as his bicep pulled with the effort. “Unlock these or you’re in for it.”

You sat back on his hips, smirking down at him the way he usually did at you. Triumph swelled in your gut like a symphony.

“No, you’re in for it, Katsuki. What the absolute fuck did you think you were doing today?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “You think I was just gonna let you get away with throwing a tantrum on national television for no discernable reason?”

“That’s none of your business,” he ground out. A bright spark lit up the skin of his palm, a sharp crackle slicing into the silence of your room. “Now unlock these while I’m still asking nicely.”

You trailed absent fingers down the warm skin of his abdomen, watching appreciatively as the muscle tightened under your touch. Katsuki hissed out a sharp breath.

He might be threatening, but he ran the risk of blowing off his own hands if he resorted to using his quirk right now. You didn’t think he’d chance his own skin just to get out of this situation.

“I’m your manager and your girlfriend--it’s one hundred percent my business. You’re not getting out of those until you tell me what the hell you thought you were doing,” you promised darkly. You let your nails scrape over the skin of his hip, just under the band of his sweatpants.

You felt his hips shift in interest.

“You’re really asking for it, huh, princess?” he said, his voice rough. “I’m not gonna be gentle with you when I get out of this.”

“Keep avoiding the question and you’ll never get out of this,” you said. You let yourself lean over him, reveling in his minute intake of breath as you pressed a kiss over his neck. “You want something, I’ll give it to you. But only if you tell me why you did it.”

“It’s between me and that fucking slimeball and that’s all you need to know,” Katsuki snarled.

You let your teeth scrape over his skin, the way he usually did with you. “Not good enough,” you said.

Katsuki’s hips shifted again as you pressed back harder onto him. You felt your own abdomen coil tight with hot excitement at the unconscious little circles he was making. But you couldn’t be distracted--you had a mission to accomplish.

“Mind your damn business you fucking nerd,” he growled, defiant to the last.

Well, you hadn’t thought this was going to be easy.

“You are my business,” you informed him tritely. “And if you ever want me to take care of your business again, you’re going to tell me exactly what is going on.”

“Fuck,” he said instead. “You’re so hot when you get mouthy.”

“Not the answer I was looking for,” you told him. You shoved down the hot flush that tried to rise through you at his admission. Even years later, you were weak to his praise and he knew it.

He bucked a little under you, like he was unable to help himself. “Let me touch you, princess.”

“Still not an answer,” you intoned. You held very still, careful not to squirm like he was making you want to, even as his thrusts grew more deliberate.

If he would just hurry the fuck up and give you an answer, you both could be getting what you wanted. But everything had to be a production with him, as usual.

He was lucky he was so hot, and so charming on the rare occasion when he wanted to be, because he really was a piece of fucking work. You deserved some kind of sainthood for your service to him.

You slid forward on his chest a little when he gave a particularly strong thrust, bracing your hands over his sternum, and the abrupt show of strength had you clenching your thighs unthinkingly around him.

Katsuki’s mouth twisted in a savage grin, like he knew exactly how he was affecting you. “This is your last warning, princess. Let me out or you’re fucking in for it.”

You frantically schooled your features back into some form of haughty disregard, reaching down into your nightstand for the keys. You twirled them absently around your fingers.

“I don’t think you understand what kind of position you’re in,” you said firmly. “The only way you’re getting what you want is if you tell me what kind of stick that reporter stuck up your ass. Or maybe he didn’t, and you’re just being a fucking brat. Either way, you’re not in charge here--I am, and you are the one who’s in for it.”

No sooner had the words left your mouth, however, than the tang of hot metal met your nose. Katsuki’s savage smile was bordering on feral now. You looked up in alarm to see that above his head, he’d worked his palms over to press to each opposite wrist, but he wasn’t blowing through the cuffs like you’d known he couldn’t. Instead, he was melting them.

You swore, scrambling off of him. You threw yourself off the edge of the bed, racing for the door like the devil himself was behind you.

You weren’t fast enough.

The world upended, the white of your ceiling paint swirling up over your vision. The next thing you knew, you were thrown flat on your back in your bedding, bouncing a little from the impact against your mattress.

Katsuki braced himself over you, hands firm around your wrists, eyes alight with the challenge.

“You were saying, princess?” he asked smugly.

You wiggled underneath him, trying to work a leg underneath his hip to kick him off you the way you’d learned in self-defense. Katsuki just shifted into the cradle of your hips, huffing out a rough laugh.

“I fucking taught you that move, nerd. Think you’re gonna get me with it?”

His hips pressed forward, his body a hot line all along yours, and you suppressed a groan at the feel of him hard against your core.

“That’s right, princess,” Katsuki breathed, pressing his face into your shoulder to bite at your throat. “Now I’m going to remind you who’s in charge here, and you are going to be good for me and take every single thing that I give you.”

He gathered your wrists in one hand, reaching down with long fingers to work off your jeans.

You shivered in delight at the thought of his dark promises, but some other, more stubborn part of you resisted. You had a fucking job to do, and no way was he going to reroute you so he could get out of talking about things.

“You’re not giving me shit until you tell me exactly why you tried to blast some innocent reporter into the sun,” you said hotly.

Katsuki paid you no mind, too focused on pulling your jeans off over your ankle, so you leaned in and bit his shoulder.

“The fuck--?” he demanded, reeling back.

“I’m serious, Katsuki,” you said, irritation rising. “You tell me what is going on this second or it’s just you and your hand for the next month. I’m not fucking around.”

“He’s not some innocent reporter, he’s a piece of shit,” Katsuki said. His fingers worked at the clasp to your bra, like he thought that was enough of an answer.

“And you know this how?” you asked, trying to shift to crush his fingers underneath your shoulder.

He glared at you for a long moment, red eyes hot on your face, looking like he was strongly considering just abandoning the conversation altogether and stalking off to blow something up instead.

“I know,” he finally ground out, looking like every word cost him, “because I overheard him in the men’s room at the last Hero’s Gala.”

So you did know the reporter from the Hero’s Gala. A dim memory came to you of shaking his hand, leaning over to get Katsuki’s attention to get him an answer to some question he’d asked. You were fuzzy on the details, as you’d had other things to worry about that night--the Hero’s Gala had ended with Katsuki in some kind of mood with Kirishima, the arm of Kiri’s suit burnt off, and Katsuki had refused to say more on things. They’d patched things up almost immediately after so you hadn’t pried, but now you wondered if there wasn’t more to the story--more including this reporter.

“Overheard him what?” you asked.

Katsuki’s fingers resumed their questing, releasing the back of your bra with the ease of constant practice. You let him, considering he was still giving you answers.

“Overheard him fucking talking about you,” Katsuki growled, his fingers digging into your waist, his touch turning more possessive.

You froze. “What?”

“Saying the nastiest shit about how you looked in your dress, what he’d like to do with you if you didn’t already belong to me,” Katsuki said, sounding disgusted. “Wanted to incinerate him but fucking Kiri got in the way. Told me I’d lose my license if I attacked a civilian and he took me to court.”

“Which you would,” you pointed out, your tone going breathier than you wanted when Katsuki slid his fingers up to pluck at your nipple. “That--um--that was still the case today, too. What did you think you were doing?”

“Didn’t think,” he grunted, palming your breast. He didn’t look like he was thinking a lot now either, eyes turning on your chest with that single-minded focus he was famous for. “I just saw him and saw red.”

You were starting to see colors too--white, mainly, as Katsuki released your wrist to trail his other hand over your panties with obvious intention.

“Oh, um. Well I’m glad you didn’t kill him and have to lose your license,” you said, your breath hitching when Katsuki found his way into your underwear. “I’m gonna--have to--ah--thank Eijirou.”

“You belong to me,” Katsuki announced imperiously, leaning back in to bite at your throat again.

You couldn’t bring yourself to be annoyed with him, now. Instead, his words relit some fuse within you, your arousal sparking back to life behind your navel.

Katsuki’s fingers curled within you and you couldn’t hold back a pleased little noise, shifting your hips to allow him better access.

That was all the affirmation he needed. In mere minutes, he was working you up to the edge of your pleasure, fingers hot and skilled and exactly right inside you. He trailed soft bites and hot kisses all over your neck and shoulders, looking supremely satisfied with himself every time you caught sight of his face. His thumb worked tiny, maddening circles over your clit, just like he knew drove you fucking insane, and he had you writhing and squirming underneath him embarrassingly fast.

Soon, he was hitching your leg over a broad shoulder, sinking into you right where you wanted him.

“That’s right, princess. You’re mine. Gonna fuck you so good you’ll never forget it,” he promised, already working up to a brutal pace that left you short of breath.

Your vision swam as he ground into you. He leaned down to catch a nipple in his mouth, sucking softly, in sharp contrast to the wicked thrust of his hips.

“Look at you,” Katsuki said around your breast, scarlet gaze burning into yours. “Spread out and trembling. Look so fucking good for me, only for me.”

“Katsuki--ah!” you barely managed the syllables of his name.

“So fucking hot when you think you’re in control. So fucking mouthy--” his fingers brushed over your mouth “--I’m gonna fuck you so stupid you can’t even string together a sentence anymore.”

You rather thought he’d already achieved that, considering you could barely manage anything other than single syllable words now--nothing but there and more and please and oh!

Katsuki gave a particularly hard thrust, snarling your name--and your climax hit you like a truck.

You cried out, writhing, and his hands came up to hold you down against the mattress, still fucking into you hard like he meant to fuck the sense right out of you. He fucked you straight through your orgasm, and only when you were gasping from the aftershocks, shivering and near tears, did he follow you, flooding your insides with warm heat.

“That shut you right up, didn’t it, princess?” he said smugly as he rolled off of you, leaving another love bite over your shoulder on his way.

You groaned. It had been fucked up but kind of romantic that he’d attempted to murder a guy for you, but he was really killing the mood now.

“Is there anything that would shut you right up?” you replied, still catching your breath.

Unexpectedly, a smirk twisted your boyfriend’s mouth, and his hand trailed carefully down your thigh.

“There is, princess. Too bad it sounds like you can still string together a sentence,” he said, watching you intently.

You stared at him, wondering where he was going with this.

Until he moved, shifting backwards until his chin met your thigh, still watching you intently with those scarlet eyes.

“I can think of something that would fix both of those problems,” he said, his voice rough even as his hands came up to gently pry your thighs apart. “Now you have thirty seconds to call out of work tomorrow before I finish punishing you for that little show earlier.”

Your breath caught in your lungs again. You didn’t waste precious time defying him.

This time, you obeyed.

Deleted scene: What did Deku say to Bakugou that got him tackled over a buffet table at the Hero’s Gala?

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki #my hero academia #katsuki bakugou

1K notes · View notes

teddy06writes · 4 years ago

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A Night In Las Vegas

requested by this anon: “I had the BEST idea: CC!Quackity came up with the idea of his Las Nevadas character arc after going to Las Vegas and meeting Reader there. Maybe one night the reader decides to go and twitch and finds quackity doing a lore stream and the reader is like: no way, it’s the guy I met in Vegas.”

{I love this concept, sorry it took so long for me to get out}

Quackity x reader

trigger warnings: some swears

premise: after getting ditched by your friends on the last night of your long weekend in vegas you run into a very interesting guy who doesn’t hesitate to befriend you. But what happens months later when he still seems to be running circles in your mind?

{covid don’t exist here, no sir}

{for the sake of the story, readers favorite color is blue, if its not, either pretend it is, or get over it}

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

10:34pm

“You can’t just- you can’t kick me out!” You yelled.

Your bestfriend laughed, “Just find somewhere to go for a few hours! Me and Hunter want alone time!”

“A few fucking hours!?! Seriously?!” But your duffle bag had already been thrown at your feet, and the hotel door room was swinging closed, muffled giggles coming from inside.

Groaning, you picked up your bag, where were you supposed to go now?

“Not that I was like- listening in or anything- but damn that sucks.”

You jumped turning to see a man with black hair sticking out of his beanie standing in front of the door diagonal from yours.

“Uh- yeah. Last night in Vegas and I get ditched for a random hook up,” You scoffed, “I should’ve known it would happen.”

“That’s not cool, uh- I’m Alex.” He stepped forward, offering his hand.

Somewhat reluctantly, you shook his hand, “(y/n).”

He nodded, “I was going to head out for a late night wander, find something to do-, preferably away from all the hookups that seem to be happing around us right now. If you want to come.”

You glanced around, “Seriously?”

“Oh- god that did sound kinda creepy didn’t it,” Alex scrubbed a hand over his face, “Sorry- I- you can just forget about this then-”

“No! I mean- You don’t seem like a rapist or anything. I’ll come with.”

He grinned, “Poggers, you can, leave that, in my room, if you want. Just seems like a pain to lug around everywhere.”

You bit your lip, “Leaving my belongings in a strangers room while I go with said stranger to find something interesting to do, sure- why not?”

10:57pm

Somehow, you found yourself wandering out of the hotel lobby, and onto the crowded streets along side Alex.

“So.... whats your favorite color?” He asked as you walked.

You laughed, “What?”

“We’re like, total strangers- it was a question, to get to know you.” He tucked his hands into his pockets.

“Oh, well-” before you could finish your sentence, there was a large amount of gasps and yells from the crowd in front of you.

“What’s going on?” Alex asked quietly.

You craned your neck to look over the crowd, gasping, “The water show! With the fountains outside of Caesar’s Palace!” You grabbed his hand, tugging him with you to push through the crowd, “This was the whole reason I agreed to this trip- but we never got to it!”

You shoved your way through the crowd until you got to the front, pressing against the barrier to watch the fountain display.

“Holy shit.” You heard him mutter from beside you.

You grinned, “It’s impressive right?”

“Imagine the coding it would take to get those things to stay on time.”

11:27pm

After the show had ended, you had kept wandering for a while, up the strip, asking various questions back and forth.

You had found out that he was a Minecraft youtuber and a law student, though you’d had to admit, you weren’t too knowledgeable on either that subject.

Now you were both staring up at the Dave and Busters sign, “This is a good idea right?”

He nodded, “Definitely. Come on, I’d bet I could beat you at skee ball!”

Laughing, you followed him into the building, and up the stairs toward the arcade entrance, “Your on!”

After buying the credit cards for access to the games, you grabbed his hand, dragging him over to the skee ball lanes.

“Lets go!” He shouted, a few minutes later, upon realizing your score was a total of 10 points behind his, “I’m popping off!”

You laughed, “Okay, what game’s next?”

Nearly an hour later, you had both run out of credits, and laughing, made you way up to the prize area.

“Do you think its possible to compile our tickets?” He asked.

“Why?”

You followed his pointing finger to the large stuffed dragons sitting on one shelf.

“We need him.” You said immediately.

After picking out a bright red dragon, you began to argue over the name as you made your way to the counter.

“What about Carl?” You suggested.

He shook his head, “I have a friend named Karl.”

“How ‘bout........ Phil?”

“I also know a Phil.”

“Hmmmm, what about Sebastian?”

“He doesn’t look like a Sebastian!”

You frowned, “Well do you have any ideas then?”

Alex thought for a moment, “Albert.”

You looked down at the dragon, “Albert it is.”

At the counter Alex convinced the reluctant worker to allow you to use both the cards credit totals, and then you went happily on your way out of the building, stopping to take a picture of Albert in front of the sign, which Alex posted to twitter with the comment of, “Look at our son!”

You’d staid mostly out of frame, but he managed to get about half of your side, since you were the one holding Albert.

“Do you think any pf the buffets are still open?” Alex asked.

“I hope so, I’m starving.” You giggled.

~~ 12:06am

The buffet was somewhat deserted, and you and Alex had grabbed seats in one of the corners after getting plates full of food.

Albert sat on the table between you as you talked.

“So it’s roleplay- but in Minecraft?” You asked, barley holding back a laugh.

He nodded, chuckling, “It sounds stupid, I know, but it’s like- huge. Especially since technically I’m getting back into the main lore now, with the whole project: vegas thing.”

“Project Vegas?” You asked.

He nodded again, “My character, he’s been through almost everything that's happened, and everything always ends to blow up in his face, literally sometimes. He’s built contries from the ground up- as stupid as that sounds- but they always fail, but this one won’t fail.

“I’m partnering with another guy on the server to set up a whole economy, he’s making a bank, and I’m making- well I’m making my own Vegas.”

You took a sip of your drink, “What’s it going to be called?”

“I haven’t figured it out yet,” He admitted, “I wanted to just call it Las Vegas but the names already taken.”

With a chuckle you shifted in your seat, “What about....- what about Las Nevada's?”

He laughed, “I like that.”

“Tell me more about this server then, I still don’t understand the story.”

With another chuckle he launched into the story, “Well, it all started when this guy called Wilbur Soot decided he wanted to start a nation....”

~~ 3:18am

“Blue.”

You were back at the hotel now, still with Quackity, sitting out on the balcony of his room. Some how, you had ended up having some slightly deep talk about life and death and a million other things before lapsing into silence, simply watching the blinking lights of the city.

“What?” He asked softly.

“You asked me my favorite color, ten minutes after we met. It’s blue- that's my favorite color.” You shivered against a cold breeze.

Alex shifted minutely closer, “Why?”

You shrugged, “It can be so many things. Deep and dark and mysterious but also light like the summer sky and filled with hope. There’s a million shades from happiness to anger, and to everyone it could mean something else.”

“I like that.” He said quietly.

7:04am

You yawned, rubbing sleep out of your eyes as the car drew closer to the airport.

Alex tapped on the steering wheel in time with the music, quietly humming along.

“Oh, I see my friend, they actually waited for me.” You said as the car pulled up to the curb.

“How considerate.” He chuckled, climbing out of the car.

You followed suit, retrieving your duffle bag from the back seat.

“Well, it was cool knowing you Alex.” You said.

“Likewise.”

Before you started to walk away you remembered, and quickly turned back to where he was standing, pulling Albert out of your bag, “Here, he’s yours. You spent more tickets on him than I did.”

He shook his head, “Keep him. I give you full custody of our son.”

“Oh- okay... bye then.”

You barley made it a few steps before he was quickly catching up to you, grabbing your arm and spinning you to press his lips on yours.

“Good luck with your shitty friends.” He breathed, before hurrying back to his car, leaving you flustered and running to catch up to your friend.

One and A Half Months later

It had been over a month since the Vegas trip, but you still hadn’t gotten Alex out of your head.

You had clicked, on some level, and the late night conversation you had shared seemed to keep you thinking about him.

Now, you scrolled aimlessly through twitter, checking the trending tags until you came across one called “LAS NEVADAS”

Now that piqued your interest, and clicking on it, you found posts of people live tweeting an event- no a live stream. And not just any live stream- a Minecraft stream.

Quickly you opened a new tab, pulling up twitch as fast as you could.

What was the name of his channel? Oh god why did you forget?

Returning to twitter you searched until you found a link, following it to a new twitch tab.

And there he was.

The boy who had been doing laps around your mind was actually there, talking to another character.

“Look Sam, you and me, we could control everything. I need the bank to help fund Las Nevada’s, we can be partners.”

You sat, watching the stream, enthralled.

Once it had ended, you still could hardly believe you found him, quickly following another link back to his twitter and opening a direct message.

Y/n: Um, this is awkward, idk if you remeber this, but we met in vegas, about a month ago, and I had no idea how to find you until the stream today

quackityHQ: uh, hi?

qusckityHQ: proof?

Quickly you sent him the picture you had taken of him with Albert,

y/n: uhhh, bam, proof?

y/n: our son is sitting on my head board right now

quackityHQ: holy shit

#mcyt x reader #quackity x reader #quackityhq x reader #teddy06 writes #teddy06

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fandom-scatteredthoughtsonpaper · 4 years ago

Text

Strip Poker but with Video Games

Leviathan x Male MC

Pronouns: You | POV: Second

Tags: Soft nsfw, dry humping, handjobs, 18+

It had started out as a simple evening of gaming with Levi, playing survival horror, combative, and racing games. It was supposed to be a fun event of beatdowns and spamming the same move over and over and slipping first place out of grasp with a demonic shell, but somewhere into the night it got cranked to a competitive level a bit more bawdy than intended, and you have the pleasure of denying everything that happened afterwards as your fault.

"Like I'm going to accept that kind of challenge."

"Come on, Levi! If you're so confident, then you shouldn't have anything to worry about."

"Of course I'm confident, but that has nothing to do with what you're suggesting. I'm not Mammon. I'm not turning this into a gambling session."

"I already said we wouldn't be involving money. I think you're just scared!"

"Excuse me?"

"You're scared that when I beat you you'll be stark naked by the end. You're nervous that you don't have the skills to handle the challenge! It's so obvious. Admit it, Levi!"

"Your antagonizing isn't going to work. I'm not going to fall for such obvious bait like Mammon would. Besides, I've already told you I don't want--"

"Just admit you're afraid, you chicken!"

"Are you hearing ANYTHING I'm saying right now?!"

"Okay, if you're not nervous about losing and showing off your butt, then think of what'll happen if you win. How about that for an incentive to agree?"

"I-- Why are you being so stubborn about this?"

You just narrowed your eyes and smirked mischievously. You eventually whittled Levi's opposition down to reluctant consent. He only finally took your challenge seriously when he suffered an ungraceful loss and was the first one to remove a piece of his clothes, his pride wounded by your bragging and gloating.

The victory toll of another round sounded off as a death sentence, and you shot a shit-eating grin at Levi as he grumbled about unfair gameplay tactics. He stood, pulled off his white shirt, and tossed it with the rest of his discarded clothes.

You couldn't help letting your eyes roam and ogle over Levi's toned torso as he sat back down in his chair. A disgruntled expression eccentricated his face with a tinted shade of crimson that deepened when he saw how fixated your stare was on him.

"Hurry up and change out games."

It's a rare sight to see Levi so exposed, and you were going to etch every detail to memory. The way his stomach looked as he leaned forward, the muscles in his arms as they contracted with frustration as he held his controller, the color of his nipples, the way a tiny bit of his happy trail teased itself.

Yep, all of that was going to stay vivid in your brain.

"MC!"

You blinked out of your obsessed daze and exchanged out Fatal Konflict with Super Smash Devils. Every few rounds games were switched, so neither of you got too complacent. Fatal Konflict had been your choice, because you were superbly skilled at this game while Levi wasn't, so it gave you an edge over him.

That wasn't totally fair, you'll admit, but you had to earn some notches on your belt, otherwise Levi would easily win. He still had too much on, while you were slowly losing clothes to wear. You were down to a pair of boxers you had swindled from Levi to even out the difference of clothes over your briefs, and Levi still had his shorts and his own boxers.

Super Smash Devils was the last game on the roster, and this would be the game to settle the adventitious striping event.

And you lost the first round phenomenally.

Your eyebrow twitched as you glared at the screen, watching your character get launched off the platform and blasted out of existence as penalization. You could feel the pride swelling in Levi just from the victorious smile he was giving you, and it kind of irritated you.

But you're a gracious loser, so you bit your tongue and slipped your thumbs under the boxers and pulled them down in a quick motion, tugging down the briefs a bit in the process.

You knew Levi was glancing you over, as you were now one step away from being completely naked, but it wasn't the same ogling you had done to him. When his stare stopped at your pelvis, at the healing hickeys peeking out over the top of your underwear, you smiled teasingly.

"Curious? Wanna know what's up with these?"

"No."

"No? Are you jealous that one of your brothers gave me them?"

Levi's face flushed as he processed your words, his expression fluctuating between surprise to flustered annoyance. His eyes shifted from your partially covered bruises to your face, noticing the smug expression, and then to the TV screen as the game prepared for another round.

"I don't care about that stuff. Focus on the game."

"Hm. Maybe there'll be something special for the loser."

"What do you mean 'something special'? I thought the goal was to not lose."

"Rules change, Levi!"

"Not this late in the challenge!"

In the end, it was you who lost despite your best effort. It was inevitable, and you suspected this would be the outcome.

When you reached for the last clothing you had on, Levi suddenly turned his head away and waved his hands wildly to get you to stop.

You paused and then chuckled softly. You knew Levi would be too embarrassed to actually let you get fully naked, but you'd already come this far. Plus, you intended to claim your prize for losing.

You approached Levi and saddled yourself over his legs and hugged his neck. His room was already a cozy warm but pressing yourself against Levi in the tight frame of his gaming chair heated you up even more. You fit into Levi perfectly, and you loved that.

"Wh-What are you doing, MC?"

"Getting my reward? I'm pretty sure I said the first one naked would get something special."

"Yeah, but-- I don't think-- You can't just make up stuff halfway through, and I didn't agree to whatever you're thinking! "

"So you're telling me you're not interested in seeing what's under these? No urge to make your own?"

You snickered as you moved a hand down your stomach and slipped a finger under the rim of your briefs and stretched them forward so Levi could see the shadows of what was hidden behind the fabric. As an added incentive you lightly swayed your hips against him. His hands caught your waist immediately, but instead of pushing you off, he simply held you still.

"Are you going to deny my right to consolations? It's not a first place prize, but it's better than nothing. We both win this way, too, ya know."

Silence settled down as you waited for Levi to reply, and you could feel a slight tremor from where he was holding you. Patience wasn't your forte though, so you took the fact Levi hadn't shoved you off his lap as a response to continue. You lazily moved your hips in controlled movements. His fingers tightened into your skin and you heard a soft gasp.

From your position on his lap you had a pleasant view of his face. His eyes had dilated, his breath was becoming shallow, and glancing down you could see the physical reaction to your slight grinding. A smile grew on your face as you continued rolling your hips, rubbing your crotch against Levi's.

It didn't take long for you to find a nice, steady rhythm. The friction of the fabric was a teasing sample of what skin-to-skin contact would feel like, but the pleasure at the moment was beginning to feel too good to stop. You applied more pressure as you moved back and forth, rougher and more deliberate in your movements.

Levi moved his hands up your back, pulling you closer. With every thrust down that you did you felt Levi press harder against your back to add more strength behind your movements, and with each move back Levi bucked his hips to keep the stimulation going. It wasn't long before the both of you were rocking against each other.

You were placing open-mouthed kisses along Levi's throat, neck, jawline, anywhere you could that was available for you to reach. Levi moved one hand to the back of your neck, tangling his fingers in your hair absentmindedly, while he used the other one to run down your back, massage small spots with his fingers, and rub your hips and chest.

You wanted just a bit more though. A little more friction, a little more speed, a little more intensity. You were craving, no, dying for more physical contact. Your movements were becoming desperate and deprived as you angled yourself to find the best spots to help satisfy both Levi and yourself, but the material of your underwear was getting irritatingly unbearable.

You abruptly slowed down and stopped. You heard a pathetic noise escape Levi as you scooted back on his legs, and you chuckled.

"What are you doing?"

"You'll see."

Lifting your butt up, you slid down your briefs past your pelvis and your erection immediately popped out. You then took out Levi's dick through the hole of his boxers after shifting down his shorts, and you mused at the amount of precum at the tip. A quick glance at the spot where it had been pressing against the inside of his boxers a damp spot was very noticeable, and that stoked the heat in you more.

You rubbed your thumb over the slit a few times, spreading the fluid along the shaft of his dick to help slicken it. It wasn't very effective, aside from drawing a few hitched breaths and soft gasps from Levi as you rubbed his dick, so you accumulated spit that pooled on your tongue before licking it over your palm. You spread the warm saliva in twisting gestures, while you used your free hand to do the same to your own dick.

You occasionally looked through your eyelashes at Levi's face, memorizing every aspect, crimson cheeks and parted mouth with rugged breathing and half-lidded eyes dark with arousal, sweat matted his bangs to his forehead.

An intense emotion swelled in your chest and you called his name as a moan escaped, so it came out whiny. His eyes immediately shot up from the work your hands were doing and met yours. Something broke in your patience and you leaned forward unexpectedly, crashing your mouth into Levi's for a sore kiss.

As Levi tried to follow your pace with the sudden kiss, you freed a hand from the tight space between your bodies. You grabbed one of Levi's arms and brought it down, trailing your fingertips lightly down his forearm into his hand and placed it on your dick wrapping his fingers around it. The warmth of his hand engulfed your swollen cock, and you almost choked on the air you sucked in.

You didn't have to prompt Levi to understand and his hand immediately began moving, sliding up and down, tightening and releasing, feeling out the sensitive spots hinted at by your shivers and groans. You reciprocated with tactful squeezes and twists, applying pressure as you slid your fingers down his base and thumbing over the tender spot under the head and pressing against it.

You idly moved your vacant hand to Levi's throat, feeling his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and his quickening heartbeat under his skin, before resting it at the nape of his neck, pushing him back into the kiss whenever he tried pulling away for air. The kiss was messy as sin. Saliva was running down your chin and your lips were aching, but you wanted to keep tasting Levi, ingrain the way his tongue against yours felt, bite the softness of his lips a little harder, and, most of all, listen to the whines from his protests for oxygen that sent shivers down your spine and into your groin.

Levi eventually broke free of the prolonged kiss, gasping and light-headed. His face was red as hell, and his breath was hot against your cheeks. A trail of spit linked you to him until it broke when he dropped his head on your shoulder. You might have gone too hard with him.

You felt his grip loosen and lose tempo, so you laced your fingers with his and pressed your dicks together to continue at the same pace. The combined slickness between sweat and precum fluids made it easier to pump and thrust the hot pleasure to levels of too much.

While you concentrated on pumping the both of your dicks, Levi licked a wet trail down the crook of your neck, placed kisses that tingled your skin, and bit a spot along your collar bone, eliciting a gasp from you, and sucked hard.

Your head was going light as lust and dopamine took over. You interlocked both hands over Levi's fingers, quickened your pace, and stroked harder, swirling and kneaded your fingers. You pressed your hips parallel to Levi, pushing short yet forceful thrusts into your cupped hands to aid the physical satisfaction.

"M-MC...!"

"I know, me too..."

You weren't sure what tipped you over the edge, the sloppy rutting, the slick contact, the noises that Levi had made right into your ear, the way his body seized with spasms, or all of the above, but you definitely saw white as you hit peak climax. It was like all the compressed heat that built up and spread throughout your veins rushed back to the lower part of your stomach at once like a great wave of euphoria.

When you came back to your senses everything was uncomfortable and too hot and sticky, but you were too tired to peel yourself from Levi's body.

You think you both came at the same time, or close enough. Lingering tremors made your body shudder as you felt something warm, thick, and wet cover your hands and stomach. You reclined back in a heated daze, and your eyes noticed an angry red mark on Levi's pale skin. Oh, right, at the pinnacle moment you bit his shoulder. He was gonna be mad about that mark, but you were sure you felt his nails dig into your flesh so you're even.

Levi had slumped back against his chair, his eyes closed and breath heavy from exhaustion. Oxytocin and sleepiness swayed your emotions and, despite feeling filthy and gross, you found an angle where you could somewhat cuddle into Levi. You felt an arm wrap around you and tug you closer. You peppered indolent kisses on his face and brow before settling against him.

"I'm never going to play competitive games with you again."

"Yes, you will, Levi. Next time will be more enjoyable and fun."

"I'm not going to listen to your normie tauntings next time."

You chortled tiredly and hummed in response to Levi's weak argument. The smell of sex was beginning to become obvious to your nose and the drying sweat was a layer of mild disgust to your sensitive body, and you knew you'd have to get up and redress yourself soon, but you were content for the moment. For now you relished in the afterglow.

#I'll be honest and say idk if I wrote Levi well #if you have pointers for doing his characterization or dialogue better #pls clue me in lol #obey me #obey me levi x mc #obey me levi #obey me leviathan #jess writes #obey me smut

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kpopfanfictrash · 4 years ago

Text

s is for sexy

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jungkook

Word Count: 1,532

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An accompanying drabble to The Art of War More. This drabble takes place after the events of both TAOM and L is for Lunacy. Jungkook is included in People magazine’s Sexiest Men Alive issue, but you can’t find a copy anywhere.

[ PART OF MY JUNGKOOK BIRTHDAY DRABBLE GAME ]

“We’ve made a terrible mistake,” you complained, sinking down on a park bench to rest your chin in one hand.

Coming to a stop, Gina craned her neck to peer over her shoulder. “I agree,” she said. “We should’ve stopped and gotten donuts at that shop I pointed out.”

“Gina.” You looked up. “Read the room, alright?”

“Right, sorry.”

She grinned, plopping down on the park bench beside you. Adjusting her green and white striped shorts, Gina lifted a hand to scan the horizon. A few children played on the slide at the playground, their innocent cackles drifting over the hedges.

Utterly exhausted, you sighed. “We should give up.”

“No!” Gina turned to face you, appalled. “We’re not stopping until we’ve combed every newsstand in the city. Until we’ve harassed every bodega owner! Until our names are plastered under persona non grata in every library!”

Normally, Gina’s speeches were enough for you to crack a smile, but not today. Today was the day Jungkook’s big magazine article was released and you had woefully dropped the ball. To be fair, Seokjin had suggested you order the volume ahead of time, since the People’s Sexiest Men issue tended to sell out, but you completely forgot.

Jungkook had stayed on campus through Senior year, but then had immediately entered the NHL. This was his second full season with the team and already, he was garnering national attention. Much of this was due to a viral clip of your boyfriend removing his jersey at the end of game five of the western conference finals, but said clip wouldn’t have gone viral if Jungkook had been on the bench.

The fact that he got playing time in his first season was remarkable – let alone that he was playing in the semis and was now considered the league’s It boy. Already there were rumors of him being nominated for end of year awards. Jungkook was excited about those, of course, but you and your friends were more excited for this. People’s Sexiest Men Alive.

He wasn’t the cover, of course – that was reserved for A list celebrities – but it seemed Jungkook’s abs had been enough to land him a mention. You’d planned on wallpapering the apartment door with the photo before he got home tomorrow, but that wouldn’t happen if you couldn’t get your hands on a copy.

Unfortunately for you, the issue seemed to be sold out.

Sighing again, you folded your arms over your chest. “Has Seokjin said anything to you?” you asked Gina. “Was he able to find one?”

“How should I know?” she said, somewhat defensive. “It’s not like I know everything Seokjin does or says.”

You stared at her for a moment, unsure how to respond. “Uh – I know?”

“Right.” Gina swallowed, somewhat mollified. “Why don’t we call him?”

Shaking your head at her weirdness, you pulled your phone from your pocket. Honestly, Gina and Seokjin had been acting mad weird lately. They acted all cagey and awkward whenever you asked one about the other. If you didn’t know better, you’d almost think they were fighting.

Dialing Seokjin’s number, you leaned back on the bench and listened to his ringback tone. Kim Seokjin was one of the only people you knew – well, him and your aunt – who still had that feature, and Seokjin hadn’t bothered to update his since 2011. It was still Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen.

HEY, I JUST MET YOU! AND THIS IS CRAZ –

“Hello?”

“Seokjin,” you groaned. “When are you going to change that dumb ringback tone?”

“Whenever Carly Rae goes out of style, so never.”

Gina, having overheard, cracked up beside you.

“Anyways,” you said, switching to your other ear. “Any luck on the search?”

“Sorry, but nope. Seems your boyfriend is more in demand than that one donut shop Gina always wants to go to.”

“That, or it’s the fact that Michael B. Jordan’s on the cover.”

“Yeah, probably that.”

“Alright,” you sighed, picking a thread on your jeans. “Thanks for trying, Seokjin.”

“Anytime,” he said and hung up.

As you shoved your phone in your purse, Gina looked at you warily. “No luck?”

“Nope.”

“Hm.” Gina leaned back on the bench. “Maybe we should switch gears here, get creative. We could cut out semi-nude photos of Jungkook and stick them to the pages of last year’s edition!”

“Where would I get last year’s issue, though?”

“Good point.” Gina thought. “You could just stick semi-nude photos of Jungkook to your front door?”

“Gina,” you laughed, shoving her shoulder. “Stop stripping my boyfriend!”

“There it is!” Gina beamed. “I knew I could get you to laugh.”

Shaking your head, your smile faded a little. Gina was right though, this was silly. It would’ve been fun for Jungkook to come home from his away game to this, but it was hardly the end of the world. You would just order a copy online and wait.

Heaving a great sigh, you stood from the bench. “Okay,” you said, turning to Gina. “Let’s head out.”

Gina convinced you to go to the donut shop at least, so you didn’t arrive home empty-handed. That was the reason she gave you at least, although you knew it had more to do with her recently launched donut Instagram.

The box was precariously perched on your hip as you shoved open the door, placing the keys on the hook to kick the door shut. As you turned to walk inside, you started – nearly dropping the entire box of donuts on the floor.

“Jungkook?” you gasped.

Chucking the box on the counter, you dashed across the room.

Jungkook laughed when you reached him, immediately jumping to wrap your legs around his waist. He caught you easily, warm hands on your waist as you buried your face in his chest. Somewhat awkwardly, he walked you towards the kitchen.

“You’re back!” you blurted, pulling back to see him.

Jungkook grinned, rosy-cheeked from your touch. “I’m back,” he agreed, depositing you on the kitchen counter. “Miss me?”

“How?” you demanded, poking his chest. “How’d you get home so fast?”

“I feel so welcome,” Jungkook teased. At the look on your face, he grinned. “Coach cancelled tomorrow’s practice, so I caught a flight back today.”

“Yay,” you said happily, leaning to rest your head on his chest.

The steady thrum of his heartbeat reassured you and for a moment, you allowed yourself to enjoy this. Jungkook smelled as he always did, like light floral and cotton, and the weight of his hands on your thighs made your heart calm.

His thumbs played with the thread on your jeans, which sent your mind to other places – places involving your bed, his ass and zero clothes – but for now, you were content with this.

“What’s in the box?” he murmured into your hair.

“Oh, right,” you said and pulled back. Twisting around, you dragged the donut box towards you and popped the top. “Some might be a bit squished since I threw them. Gina and I went to the new donut place on Lakeview.”

Jungkook’s eyes went super-wide. He immediately bent to grab the closest donut, powdered sugar getting everywhere when he bit into the side.

“Yum.” Jungkook’s eyes rolled exaggeratedly back in his head. “Wow, this is the best welcome home I’ve ever gotten. There’s you, of course, but also – donuts.”

“Obviously,” you said. “There was actually supposed to be another surprise, but I kind of messed it up.”

Jungkook licked powdered sugar off his wrist. “Messed something up? You? Don’t buy it.”

“Suck up,” you teased. “But no, really. I wanted to get your People’s Sexiest Men edition! I was going to plaster it across the front door and embarrass you.”

Jungkook grimaced. “As fun as that sounds, the donuts are better.”

“What? You aren’t proud of how sexy you are?”

“I don’t care about that.” Jungkook swallowed the last of the donut. “As long as you find me sexy.”

Tipping your head back, you groaned. “Okay, now you’re seriously sucking up.”

“Mm.” Placing his hands on either side of your thighs, Jungkook’s nose grazed your jawline. “Anything else you want me to suck?”

“Jungkook!”

Drawing back, his gaze glinted darkly. “Besides, why do you need that photo of me with my shirt off?”

You frowned, perturbed and he reached one hand overhead. Still looking at you, Jungkook did that stupid-hot thing guys do where they remove their shirt with one hand. When his six pack abs were revealed, they left you a bit speechless.

Flexing a little, Jungkook grinned. “You have the real thing.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, shoving his pec. Oh – hard. Sliding down from the counter, you began walking towards the bedroom. “But since you offered…”

Jungkook waggled his brows. “I did.”

“Get in there, sexiest man alive,” you laughed. “Show me what you got.”

“Alright.” Jungkook caught himself on the doorframe with both hands. “But before we go any further, I feel compelled to clarify I’m not People’s sexiest man, just one of them. Michael B. Jordan is the sexiest man alive.”

“Jungkook!” You pointed through the door. “Bed!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a salute.

You stared after him, grinning stupidly before following.

kpopfanfictrash, 2020. Do not copy or repost without permission.

#jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #jungkook drabble #bts drabble

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deathlikesdeep-dish · 4 years ago

Text

“You’re Making Me Wet” (Zoro x Female Reader)

JUST UNDER THE WIRE BUT I FINISHED FOR BAE’S BIRTHDAY. It was not probably my best move to try and start and finish something in an evening, but here we are. A bit rushed, but I hope y’all enjoy this lil fic! I’ve been meaning to write this for a while, (specifically for the One Piece of Summer event) and haven’t gotten around to it. Inspired by the “We Can!” opening where the crew has a water gun fight, and sexy flirtation ensues.

WARNINGS: cussing as usual, heavy suggestion but no smut!

Zoro x Female Reader

Word Count: 1960

It was a particularly hot day aboard the Sunny, and the crew was beginning to get a little stir crazy. It would be days, according to Nami, before you all would arrive at the next island, and Luffy’s heavy, bored sigh every ten minutes after he’d ask how much longerrrr was beginning to wear on the entire crew.

“Goddamn it, Luffy, if I hear you ask that question one more damn time, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind,” Zoro growls from his usual spot.

“Not like there’s much there to lose,” Sanji mumbles under his breath as he walks back to the kitchen, to the great amusement of both Chopper and Usopp, though their laughter is cut short by Zoro’s sharp gaze.

“Shut up, cook,” Zoro ground out.

You giggle quietly, but don’t say anything.

“Boys,” Nami rolls her eyes from next to you. You, Nami and Robin are all lounging in the shade on the deck.

You look over at Zoro, who has uncharacteristically chosen to shed his usual gear in lieu of swim trunks and a simple white t-shirt. Though this is not out of place, as the entire crew had donned their swim gear after the third straight day of heat, it is still jarring to see the swordsman out of his normal attire. It left much less to the imagination, and made it difficult to concentrate. His brow is still furrowed in annoyance towards Sanji, his lips a thin, tight line. He doesn’t notice that you are staring, which you are grateful for. You are also grateful that both Robin and Nami seem content to occupy themselves with idle chatter. They have been giving you a hard time recently about your sometimes unabashed attraction to the greenette.

You can see the slight sheen of sweat forming on Zoro’s tanned forearms and at the nape of his neck and as he tilts his head back, your gaze follows the sharp line of his jaw. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, clearly attempting to calm himself down and you can see his facial features beginning to relax. How is it fair for someone to be this attractive, you think bitterly.

Abruptly, as if Zoro felt your gaze, his eyes open and the flash to yours. They are vigilant at first, cautious, but soften when he realizes that it is you, and not some enemy, that is looking at him. You realize, stupidly, that he has trained his Haki to notice any sort of energies directed towards him, and you could kick yourself for being so careless.

He smirks a bit, but otherwise does nothing. You flush brightly and look away, turning to ask Nami a question but you find that she is no longer in her spot.

“Hey, where’d Nami go?” You ask Robin.

“I think she went to talk to Luffy about something,” Robin replies vaguely.

“Oh,” You say, looking around. Luffy, too, has vanished from his normal spot atop the figurehead.

“Come to think of it,” You say a little more loudly, attracting the attention of the other crew members nearby. “Isn’t a little too quiet?”

“Huh, you’re right, y/n,” Chopper says. “It is really quiet...”

Before you can utter another word, you hear the loud yell of your captain from the helm. “Gum-gum….WATER GUN FIGHT.” He leaps onto the deck with a cackle and begins rapidly firing a water gun at Usopp and Chopper.

“Hell yeah! Talk about a super soaker!” Frank yells out, his Franky water cannons emerging from his shoulder pauldrons, primed and ready to go.

Nami yells out to you and Robin. “Robin, Y/n!” You both look up and see her toss a similar water weapon to each of you with a mischievous grin. You catch it with a loud laugh.

“Oh, you idiots don’t even know what’s about to happen,” You say evilly, launching up from your chair.

“Oh yeah?” Usopp challenges, and the battle ensues. Since you joined the Strawhats with Franky in Water 7, you have been through many battles with your nakama. And in some of these, you recall with unpleasantness, you weren’t sure if the crew was going to make it out all in one piece. So, it is with great pleasure that you engage in this battle, one where the only stakes of the loss are cleaning up Sanji’s dinner or helping Chopper get a mat out of his coat. You, along with Robin and Nami, are in immediate opposition to Franky, Chopper, and Usopp. Your captain is, of course, trying to take all of you on at once.

Sanji is still in the kitchen, probably preparing some sort of fruity drink for the ladies, and Zoro is to the side, being an overall dolt and spoil-sport. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the side of the ship as he curls a dumbbell.

“Nami, my sweet!” Sanji calls out, busting through the door with a tray of drinks, completely unaware of the chaos unfolding.

“FRANKY SUPER CANNON,” Franky yells, firing a jet of water directly into Luffy. The blast is so powerful, that the Luffy is launched into Sanji, who is then launched into the marimo as he sits with his weights. The three of them are also immediately drenched with water from Franky’s cannon.

“Hey, what the hell!” Zoro barks out, standing up with a menacing glare.

“Stop getting in the way, moss-head! You knocked down my drinks for the lovely ladies!” Sanji replies with equal rage.

“Why you….” Zoro replies. “Give me a fucking water gun. I’m gonna kick this cook’s ass.”

“Ha! Not a chance, you couldn’t even touch me, cretin,” Sanji says.

Luffy is cackling as Franky tosses two more water guns to Zoro and Sanji respectively.

“Don’t wreck my ship!” Frank yells out with a laugh, as Zoro and Sanji are brought into the fight. The battle continues for a while longer, Zoro wanting desperately to use his swords (aiming a gun was not exactly his strong suit) and Sanji not wanting to use his delicate chef hands too vigorously (my hands are only for cooking and women, he’d say). Zoro, turning his attention away from Sanji, who is being attacked by Luffy and Robin, looks around to find you. You’ve been hiding from him intentionally, knowing that he would show you no mercy.

“Oh, y/n…” Zoro calls. “Where have you been hiding? Don’t think I’ll let you get away scot-free.”

Hearing his voice, low and taunting, throws an unexpected pang of desire down your spine. You bite your lip in an effort to remain silent. You know that you hiding is pointless. He could find you in a second with his Haki. He’s teasing you intentionally. Does he know how desperately aroused that this is making you?

“Got ya,” You hear in your ear from behind you. You jump at the sudden closeness of his voice and yelp a bit.

“Ugh, Zoro,” You complain, hoping he doesn’t notice how breathless you are. “You’re such an ass,” You turn towards him and meet his gaze. He is much closer than you thought, so when you turn around and look up, your noses nearly touch. He makes no moves to back off, challenging you. You take a step backwards, cursing in your mind, and rip your gaze from his. This is a mistake. Your eyes settle on his torso. The white t-shirt he has been wearing is all but translucent now, soaked with water from the fight. The fabric clings to each line of his chest and abdomen, and even though you’ve seen him shirtless many times before this, there’s something particularly erotic about him being fully clothed and yet so exposed.

Your lips are parted as you let out a shuddering breath. You take a step back, trying to regain composure, only to find your back against the side of the ship. He is very close. And you have nowhere to go. “Uh,” You stutter. You look up at his face again, which was yet another mistake. You are now close enough to trace the lines of his face with your eyes. You notice, for the first time, how ragged the scar over his left eye actually was. You feel a tinge of sadness, wondering for a long moment how it happened, and hating the thought of him suffering.

That thought quickly leaves your mind, as he reaches to place a hand on either side of your head, leaning in. “What the problem, y/n?” He teases.

Since when has the socially awkward first mate become so incredibly seductive?!

“Zoro,” You start, droplets of water from his hair and his arms dripping onto your skin. “You’re making me wet.” You finish without thinking.

His grin widens and you don’t realize why until you remember the words that had just come out of your mouth. You flush bright red and you bury your hands in your face immediately.

“Oh my God,” Your words are muffled by your hands. Oh my God, please just fucking kill me now.

After a moment, you feel warm fingers wrap around your wrists, to pull your hands to the side. You try to ignore the tingling sensation emanating from his touch.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you wet,” He says slyly. “Let me fix that,” he finishes before stepping back to strip off his shirt. The two of you are far enough away from the rest of the crew to feel particularly vulnerable. Though you know, of course, that Zoro poses no threat to you, you are beginning to feel like your dignity may end up being threatened if you’re not able to get your shit together.

“Zoro, what are you doing?” You ask in a near whisper.

“Y/n,” He breathes. “You must know that I can sense you.” He looks you directly in the eye, his dark gaze penetrating. “I know your energy. I know when you’re near.”

You are disarmed, unable to look away. “I’ve trained myself to know. Because I need to know that you’re safe.” You are taken aback, not expecting to hear something so sentimental come out of the swordsman’s mouth.

“I know when you’re looking at me. I know when you stare. I can sense your heart racing right now,” He continues, leaning in so that his lips barely brush yours.

“I can sense that you want me in the same way that I want you,” He says finally.

Wait, what? You think, your mind hazy. He had never once given you any indication that he felt this way. “What did you just say?” You ask.

“I said that I want you.” He replies simply.

You don’t know what to say. You’d never even allowed yourself to consider the possibility that Zoro may feel something like this for you.

“You don’t have to answer right now,” He reassures you. “And there’s no rush. I want you to feel comfortable, y/n.”

Your heart is warmed by the gesture and you are grateful that you are going to be able to have some time to process this information. Nami and Robin are going to lose their shit, you think.

“But y/n,” Zoro says, the same sly tone back in his voice as leans down to your ear. “If I catch you staring at me while I’m shirtless again,” He gently tugs your earlobe between his teeth. You gasp, nearly collapsing. “I make no promises to go slow.” His lips trail to the hollow beneath your ear, and you brace your hands against the wall of the ship.

“I may be honorable,” He whispers. “But I am a pirate.”

#roronoa zoro #zoro #one piece #one piece reader #happy birthday zoro!!#happy birthday #reader insert #Headcanon #anime #yeah yeah i know this isn't seasonally appropriate #sexy #hnnnggg #marimo #birthday marimo

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toovirgins · 3 years ago

Text

Le Rêve - Part 3

Summary: John demands an explanation for what happened in part two. The only problem is the response that the explanation is met with.

Warning: NC-17-rated (Buckle up!)

Paul was a bloody mess.

He and John had not directly talked to one another since the car ride. Their interview answers had been chaste and polite, and they had sat as far away from one another as possible, ignoring the persistently quizzical looks from George and Ringo. Paul had desperately tried to act as typical as possible but had felt overwhelmed with humiliation and confusion—and the concerned looks of the interviewer coupled with the “get-it-together” jabs of George’s elbow didn’t do much to reorient him.

They had finished the interview in a hurry, tensions high. On the way back, the boys wordlessly altered their seating arrangements as Paul crawled first onto the floor, curling up as much as possible as Ringo now took his spot on John’s lap. Paul held his face in his hands the entire ride, murmuring a flurry of “I’m all right” and “Maybe a sort of stomach bug, that’s all” to the others’ concerns.

John didn’t seem upset with him, just… indifferent. Which was almost worse. He didn’t scowl at him or try to hit him or mutter bitter, backhanded comments in the interview. He also didn’t curl up next to him tickle his ear or thump the back of his head or straighten his tie, as was typical. He just sat there, as if Paul had never existed. A bad reaction, Paul felt, would be better than this. He had absolutely no clue whatsoever what was going through John’s mind. Was he angry? Confused? Paul’s breath hitched. Disgusted?

Maybe he was just waiting until later to confront him. Away from the others.

The thought of being alone with John made Paul’s stomach churn. God, he had royally screwed up this time. He was alone with John more than anyone in the world, and there was no way he could wholly avoid his songwriting partner for too long. A discussion was inevitable, but that didn’t mean that he wanted it to come any sooner.

Paul threw the pen and pad down on the carpet in a sudden burst of frustration, running his hands through his hair. As soon as they had exited the car upon arrival back at the hotel, he had hurried to his room, buttressing his distress with an “I’m going to be sick” call. He had been hunched over on his bed ever since, staring at the utterly blank paper pad in front of him. He had immediately locked the door—not that he thought John would try and come in anyway, after earlier. Just to be safe.

In all fairness, Paul did think he was going to be sick. His sudden infatuation with John pulled at him from every which way, filling him with questions. Notably: What did all of it mean? For him and John, yes, but more importantly: for him. For his own sexuality and future. His mind was racing at the prospects.

He had tried to get some writing done, but it was no use. Usually, it was a soothing process for him, but he was stuck at a particularly heavy part of the song and couldn’t bring himself to ask for John’s help on the verse, especially after John had approached him with the task. He had had something earlier, but today’s—ahem—disastrous turn of events had left him distracted and empty-handed.

Paul stood, pacing the room frantically and kicking John’s strewn-about clothes to the side. God, what he would give to shamelessly watch John strip them off—

No. Paul’s mind snapped in response. He gave himself a light smack on the forehead, as if to swat the thought away. That’s John, your best mate. Your best male friend. You can’t think about him in that way.

It was one thing for him to show up in the dream, and for the dream to taunt Paul’s waking thoughts. He reckoned if it had been George or Ringo in the dream, he’d be in the exact same struggle—with something that sensual and realistic and wrong playing out in his unconscious, it’d only be right to worry. To obsess over. To over-analyze.

But he just couldn’t start thinking of John in that capacity, outside of dream-state John. He had started off as a bird, anyroad. The real John could never be so eager an interested in Paul in-in that way. Paul had watched his mate bloody lads up time and again for calling him queer when they were younger. So, it would do him no good to start fantasizing about Real John. Dream John would have to be compartmentalized until Paul could get over whatever the fuck was happening to him.

Paul suddenly sighed defeatedly and gathered up the pen and paper from the ground. He rehearsed the incomplete ballad in his head, hoping that with the flow of the song would come the next few lines.

If I fell in love with you

Would you promise to be true

And help me understand?

‘Cause I’ve been in love before

And I found that love was more

Than just holding hands…

Paul groaned in frustration. Nothing. John’s verse was so natural, so pure and beautiful: hey, love isn’t what I’ve always thought. Could you help me figure it out? Paul felt he was dirtying up the ballad, every thought paling in comparison to the vision he knew John wanted. But they’d both been stuck there for a reason, and it was now Paul’s duty to push them forwards.

Than just holding hands…

“Any progress, mate?”

Paul’s head whipped around at lightning speed. He had never heard the door open, but there John stood in its frame, leaning against it with the most casual aura Paul had ever felt. His heart was pounding, chest rising and falling theatrically, almost offended by the carefree picturesque model of John in front of him.

“I—uh, no. Sorry,” Paul spluttered, holding the pen and paper out to John as an offering. “I thought I’d locked the door.”

John ignored the latter comment, slipping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “It’s all right. I kind of dug me self into a hole, there. Sounds like a definitive ending.” He took the items from Paul and set them on the bedside table.

Paul nodded, his voice shaking as it rang impossibly loud in the small room. “Yeah. Maybe launch into a pre-chorus or something, I don’t know. Shake up the rhythm a bit. But I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”

“Doesn’t always matter what I want,” John answered. Plainly.

“It’s your ballad,” Paul countered. “I know how you can get with these things. Ask me for help and expect me to read your mind, you do.”

John chuckled, almost to himself. “Sometimes,” he started, toying with the pen on the nightstand. “I’m more interested to hear what you want.”

His eyes found Paul’s, and they were curious. There was something testing in them, and Paul began to panic. He had a feeling they weren’t necessarily talking about the song anymore.

“Why?” was all he could think of to say.

John shrugged. “Because sometimes it’s something new, and daring. Something… that I didn’t think you were capable of.”

Paul cocked an eyebrow at what felt like a backhanded compliment. He almost hoped they weren’t talking about the song. Because, if they were, he was pretty sure John had just called his writing boring. A stubborn defensiveness rose in his throat. “What’s that supposed to mean, now?”

John blinked. “What the hell happened in the car, Paul?”

Paul froze. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. They were stuck in his throat, every word that had ever been. The entire alphabet circling his mind, the infinite possibilities of combinations, the skill of language on the tip of his tongue. But it all eluded him.

John continued slowly when it was clear he wasn’t going to receive an answer. “Because, based on the way you’ve reacted since then, I don’t think I’ve misinterpreted it. I think I know exactly what happened, but what I want to know is—why. Or-or how.”

Paul could lie. He could tell John that he didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. Or that it was a misunderstanding, and he had thought John was acting strange. Or that he had popped a magical pill that was also an aphrodisiac, and it wasn’t anything personal or weird, because it was magical. Or he could tell the truth.

With his options laid out side by side like that, the answer felt quite clear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Paul’s voice came out about eleven octaves higher than normal.

John quirked an eyebrow at him. His eyes surveyed the whole length of Paul’s body skeptically, as if trying to read his inner thoughts and feelings and desires. Paul squirmed under the gaze.

“That’s not true,” he decided finally. He was still standing across from the bed, his looming presence beginning to feel like one of dominance and control. He had the upper hand now, and whether Paul liked it or not, he was going to tell John the truth.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Paul tried. “But then you were acting strange, so I got nervous and reciprocated.”

“Wrong again.”

Paul was beginning to feel desperate. “I took a pill—”

John laughed suddenly, bizarrely. He cast his gaze to the side and bit his lip. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, Macca.”

Paul was quiet for a long time. The words were there, it wasn’t a matter of lexical access anymore—now he had to get his heart to say it. Because there was only one right answer to John’s question, and it wouldn’t answer a thing.

“I don’t know.”

Now it was John’s turn to be quiet. He simply stared in wonder as Paul continued unsteadily. “I-I had this dream. A few nights ago. And in the dream, I was getting on with a bird, and we were in the room, y’know? A-and we were. You know. But she was real strange at some parts, like she-she kept changing, and then…” He hesitated. “And then it was you. And you were doing everything that she was. And I woke up, w-with you, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I try, I swear, and I-I’m not gay, it’s just—”

“Why don’t we give it a go, then?” John said softly.

Paul’s words died in his throat. “I—what?”

“You heard me.”

Paul blinked wildly. “John, if this is some sort of sick joke—”

“No.” John stepped closer now, his expression impossible to read. “If it was so damn good that you can’t get it out of your head, and you can’t even control yourself around me… Let’s give it a go, then.”

Paul swallowed. When he spoke, his voice was small. “What if I don’t want to?”

John thought about this for a moment. “You can stop me at any point. We act like it never happened. You say the word, mate, and it’s off.” He paused. “But I don’t think you want that.”

To his dismay, John was right. Paul didn’t want that. His heart was pounding, blood rushing in his ears and almost drowning out the unbelievable things that John was suggesting. John had no idea what happened in the dream, and yet he was a wholly willing participant in the recreation? The idea, despite the whirlwind in Paul’s mind, sent a shock of tingles to his crotch.

“But… it’s… I’m not gay,” he tried again.

“Don’t think so much,” came John’s voice, gentle, as he caught Paul’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Paul’s breathing slowed. This was that side of John that he rarely got to see: soft, comforting, calm. Loving. It felt bizarrely out of place in the situation. “Just… just don’t worry about it. If you think, you’ll ruin it.”

Paul nodded quickly, his mind buzzing.

John lowered himself onto the bed, his gaze never leaving his mate’s face. “What did she do first?”

The question caught him off guard. “Who?”

“The bird.” John chewed his lip tentatively. “What did she do first? In the dream?”

“Oh! Erm…” Paul thought for a moment. He knew very well that the dream had started with them making out, but part of him held that thought back. For some inexplicable reason, kissing felt more intimate, more queer, than whatever was about to happen. So, he refrained from mentioning it. “She—um, sort of got in me lap, like.”

John’s eyes flashed in recognition. “The car.”

“Yeah.” Paul winced. “The car.”

“Oh.” John’s voice was curious, and he looked down at himself for a moment before his eyes reconnected with Paul’s. They were wide, intrigued, but somewhat shy, too. A nervousness that Paul had never seen in his friend before. A tremor ran through Paul’s body as he recognized that same piercing stare from the dream.

“Why don’t ya…” John scratched his face apprehensively. “Erm… move back. Against the headboard.”

Paul gradually obliged. He swung his bare feet over the side, shifting himself higher on the bed until his back comfortably rested against the cushioned headboard. John kicked his own shoes off as he did so and climbed up after him.

Both boys paused for a moment, eyes locked, and something passed between them. An understanding that wherever this was going, it was all right, because it was John and Paul. Lennon and McCartney. And everything would be all right.

Emboldened by the exchange, John swung a leg over Paul’s outstretched body and planted himself directly in his lap.

“Like this?” He breathed.

Paul’s fingers found their way to John’s hips, watching the scene in wonder. His voice was ragged and humiliating, cracking at the sudden contact that flooded his mind with millions of filthy thoughts and images. “I—yes. Like that.”

“Then what?” Their faces were mere inches apart, John’s face flushed and almost eager. His eyes continually darted around Paul’s face and body, as if he too couldn’t believe the position they were in. His lips were wet and parted, slightly swollen from his nervous chewing habit. He sucked in the tiniest breaths of the shared air between them, as if he was terrified that Paul would pull away and he’d be left to his own solemn airspace once more.

In the moment, Paul wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

But no, that was too far. The desire in his crotch could be written off as greedy, randy, sexual—a biological need, perhaps. It could be satisfied, and maybe that was all Paul needed to get over the fantasy. The wild, twisted pull in his heart was not so easily dismissed.

“Paul?” John repeated. His pupils were dilated, his chest slowly heaving.

“Right. Erm… then she started, sort of, rocking a bit, I suppose.” He cringed inwardly as the words spilled out now, both humiliated at his own forwardness and betrayed by the almost desperate response his body was giving to John’s presence.

John didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed, however. He simply shifted to where his knees straddled Paul’s hips and placed his backside directly on Paul’s hardening member. A whisper of a groan escaped Paul’s lips as John slowly began rocking back and forth, grinding down into him.

“Like this?” John said again.

“Just like that.” Paul murmured as his eyes fluttered shut, cocking his head back against the bed. The feeling was all too familiar and quite simple to deal with—if Paul closed his eyes, he could nearly pretend that it was a female. One of those ladies from a Hamburg club giving him a lap dance. While the thought was entertaining and calming, part of Paul was alarmed at how easily John mimicked those movements, how convincing it all was.

“Paul,” John said suddenly, halting his movements.

Paul’s pulse quickened again. “Hmm?”

His friend broke out into a reluctant grin, chuckling at his own perplexity. “I can feel it. Already.”

Paul looked at him uncertainly. He knew he was hard as a rock now, all of the blood having rushed dizzyingly fast to the lower half of his body. The arousal and sudden shame made it hard to think. “Is it bad?”

John took a moment. “No.” He gave an experimental twist, slotting his body against Paul’s as he grinded down again, his face in the crook of Paul’s neck. A hand laced its way up the back of Paul’s neck and into his dark locks, giving a quick tug.

Paul couldn’t bite back the “ah, fuck,” that was pulled from his throat. The dizzying combination of sensations sent buzzing shocks through his dick, which now felt as though it was frantically trying to push its way out of his slacks.

“What next?” John asked, pausing the shift of his hips. There was an edge to his voice now as shaking fingers reached up to tease at Paul’s shirt buttons. “Maybe… she got you a bit undressed, is all.”

Paul nodded lazily. Why the hell not? It would make sense. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t really recall that happening. “Yeah… yeah, I think she did.”

John continued to rock in Paul’s lap, letting out curious hums at the minute twitches and moans coming from his friend. His long, delicate fingers struggled to successfully pop Paul’s buttons free, but Paul refrained from offering any assistance. He was amazed, shocked even, by the submissive display John was putting on show. A sudden jolt shot through his chest as he realized that John might do anything he asked him too.

John inhaled sharply as he undid the last button. Paul leaned forward a bit to shrug the white dress shirt off of his shoulders, casting it to the floor as it joined its friends.

John’s eyes wandered over his shirtless frame. They had seen one another in the most compromising of positions before—hell, they’d walked in on each other in the middle of a good shag countless times—but something was different now. This looking, feeling, touching… it was intentional, and it was just them. And it felt strange: an intoxicating concoction of arousal and desire and fear and confusion. Paul couldn’t help but wonder if he had wanted this for much longer before now and simply never realized it.

John’s calloused fingertips traced their way down Paul’s jawline, onto his neck, chest, stomach. Paul simply watched and felt, felt the way the touch that ran over him made his skin prickle and his face warm. John was regarding him cautiously, deliberately, as if he was a work of art that John was afraid to mar.

“I’m sorry if she teased you for this long,” John’s voice came, breathless. His fingers found the waistband of his trousers and hooked inside them. “When do I come in?”

“Right about now,” was Paul’s reply. His mind had entirely disregarded the remainder of the dream, not recalling and not caring. It was just him and John now, real John, who somehow really wanted to do this with him just as much as he wanted it to be done. Perhaps Paul had fallen asleep again while working on the song, and this was just a recreation of the first time. Another lucid fantasy.

The feeling of his cock popping free as John undid his zip let him know that this was all but a dream, though. He arched up off of the bed to help John shimmy the remainder of his trousers down his legs, kicking them off with fervor. The sudden change in John’s mood as the reins were passed to him caused Paul to check any reserved guilt or shame at the door. The tent in his boxers was no longer a burden but a beacon, an invitation for an inexplicably fervent John to do whatever he desired.

Then, the boxers were gone too. Tossed to the side with a particular carelessness that made Paul’s skin prickle with sweat. And that was that. Paul laid there, entirely naked and exposed under the watchful gaze of his best friend, his partner. John.

“I’m going to try something, Macca,” John started nervously, shifting so that he was directly between Paul’s thighs. Paul’s eyes went wide at the implication, at the scene. John’s mouth was only centimeters away from his flushed cock. And he eyed it, almost hungrily.

The sight made Paul moan, and John’s eyes flicked up fearfully. “You can stop me, Paul. Just tell me to stop, and I will. Tell me to stop…”

John almost sounded like he was talking to himself.

“Go on,” Paul whispered hoarsely.

John shot him one last daring glance before reaching out at grasping at Paul’s dick. The sudden sensation caused Paul to arch forward, brow knitted in roused concentration. His hands clutched at the bedsheets to steady himself as John began wanking him in an encouraging rhythm. “Bloody hell, John,�� he groaned.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” A note of confidence, arrogance even, laced John’s voice.

“Y-yes. Very.”

Paul forced himself to open his eyes and jerked at the heated gaze that met his in return. John’s expression was dark with arousal, and his tongue flicked out teasingly between his teeth. The dynamic had wholly changed, John’s assuredness growing with every new step he was allowed to take, every dirty sound that was elicited from Paul’s throat.

When a bud of precum began to spill over, John wrapped his lips around the head and dipped his tongue over the slit, sucking it dry like the last few drops of an ice lolly.

Holy fuck.

“Shit. Ah, Christ!” Paul was babbling now as the sensation and notion struck him at once: John was giving him head. And it felt damn incredible. “God, John.”

The feeling of his throbbing member inside of John’s mouth was unreal. He could see it pulsing against the inside of his cheek as John bobbed his head, tongue and cheek muscles massaging him slowly to insanity. Paul cocked his head back and tossed it back and forth, unaware of how to respond to the situation.

Paul decided he had never gotten a blowjob before this. All those others were a silly game. Maybe it was John’s willingness and enthusiasm. Maybe it was that he, a male, probably knew how to best please another male. Maybe it was the taboo nature of the extremely explicit act they were engaged in, adding further logs to the fire. Whatever it was, Paul didn’t care. This—this was head.

John pulled off for a moment but continued stroking, the mixture of saliva and precum making the slide all the more easier. Paul felt lightheaded at the immense pleasure. “Christ,” John murmured, his voice unsteady. “Look at you, Paulie.”

Paul only moaned in response, hoping to draw John’s wonderful mouth back down.

John happily obliged, licking a long stripe up from his balls to the tip of his dick and swallowing it all down once more. Paul could note his inexperience, from the length he could take in and the variety in his movements, but somehow, the knowledge made it all better—the idea that John was doing this for the first time (or, one of the first times) to Paul. He made extra sure to gasp and groan loudly when John did something he particularly enjoyed, as if to almost teach the man what to do.

When John began to pull back for a breath, Paul hooked his ankles around the small of John’s back without thinking, pulling him closer.

“Fuck, Paul,” John groaned back. “God, I want you. I want you, Paulie.”

Paul hardly paid the confession any mind. John was babbling now, just like him, but Christ he would be lying if it didn’t turn him on more.

He let out another broken string of incoherent curses as John took more of him into his mouth than he thought possible. He grabbed a fistful of John’s hair and pulled him up aggressively, relishing in the light “Ah!” of surprise that escaped John’s lips.

“Dirty-talk me, John,” he practically begged, whispering into his mate’s ear. “Just—fuck—tell me what you want.”

Paul could feel John grin knowingly against his jaw. Uh-oh. The lad had an idea.

“You know, Paul, you’re not very quiet during sex.” John spoke into his ear teasingly, sensually. He began to pepper his jawline with kitten licks and nibbles. Paul only whimpered in response as John’s hand slowed to work him lazily. “Actually, you get quite loud. Make a whole fuss of it.”

“I—hadn’t noticed,” Paul panted.

John’s eyes glinted dangerously as he momentarily lifted himself. Their faces were only centimeters apart. “Paul? Do you want to know a secret, Paul?”

Paul’s mind barely registered the question. He nodded hazily, letting out another soft moan as John bent back down to lick at his earlobe.

“The thing is,” John started slowly, his hand beginning to pick up speed. “Sometimes you bring a bird up. Usually at a hotel, just like this. And we all know—me, George, Ritchie—we all know what’s going to happen when we see her come up.” John moved downward and began paying special attention to the junction of his neck and jawline. “But knowing what’s going to happen is different from hearing it.”

Paul immediately blushed, trying to discern where John was possibly going with this. Did he want him to be louder now? Or quieter later? Did he… Oh God, was John suggesting that they should—

“So here’s the secret,” John interrupted. “The other night, in Glasgow. I’m sure you remember.” He paused, as if to give Paul a chance to recount the night. His hand began pumping furiously, and he bit experimentally at Paul’s jaw. The mix of pleasure, shock, and pain, coupled with the words John was saying and the way he was saying them, was beginning to feel overwhelming. A string of filthy moans and groans were drawn out of him as he began to feel a familiar pull in the pit of his stomach. John looked at him expectantly for a moment, and Paul wasn’t sure if he was gauging his reaction or waiting for a response. Paul opted for the latter.

“I—fuck—remember.”

“Good. I do too,” John replied simply, sounding almost like a schoolteacher. Suddenly, his voice dipped low, and he placed his mouth directly in Paul’s ear to whisper the next bit. The second the words flowed out, John grinded down hard into Paul’s thigh, and Paul could feel an erection perhaps more pressing than his own.

“I gave me self a wank to it. And it wasn’t the girl.”

“Shit, John.” Paul’s mind instantly flooded with obscene images of John touching himself to the sound of Paul’s broken moans. His cock twitched in John’s hand and another series of moans and curses spilled out. He felt so close, John’s firm fist feeling so good around him, but part of him wanted to hold back. He began to panic.

If Paul let John touch him, that was one thing. It didn’t have to mean anything. They’d seen each other jerk themselves off countless times. He could convince himself that this was basically the same thing, just a slight shift of hands. He could ease his conscience by saying nothing had really happened.

But if Paul came on him, by his hand? He didn’t know if he could reconcile that one.

Paul bit his lip and tried to focus on anything but the image of John that was now burned onto his eyelids. It didn’t help that John was now rutting against his thigh and letting out involuntarily groans of his own. He couldn’t hold off much longer.

“John,” Paul started insistently. Before he could speak again, however, John pulled his face from where it was buried in his neck and pressed his lips against Paul’s own.

Paul was struck with surprise, but John wasted no time waiting for him to adapt. His tongue forcibly parted Paul’s lips and he licked into his mouth with fervor, as if this had been something he’d needed his whole life. Paul hesitated momentarily, but the roughness and intensity was impossible to ignore. He let his own tongue dance around with John’s. In a spur of dominance, Paul pushed back against John and licked into the other’s mouth, running his tongue along his mate’s teeth as if he wanted to trace every part of the man. Teeth clashed as both impossibly fought for more. When John retreated for air, Paul bit down on his bottom lip and grabbed him by the waist to pull him back in.

“Fucking hell, Paul,” John mumbled against his lips. He thrusted down particularly hard against Paul and moaned into his mouth, and Paul decided in that moment that it was the most sensual thing he’d ever experienced in his life.

“John.” He pulled back as much as possible from the kiss, turning his head so that John was met with his cheek when he went back in for more. “John, I can’t—” He thrust up weakly into John’s fist as if to emphasize his point. “John, stop, I-I’m gonna come—”

Just then, the door flew open.

Paul and John froze in their compromising position. Although it was only seconds later when John pushed himself off and scrambled to the other side of the bed, Paul grasping at the bedsheets to cover himself, it was too late.

George stared at them, open-mouthed, his hand still on the doorknob. No one spoke.

Paul, in that moment, solemnly decided they had no alibi. His mind ever-so-helpfully constructed an image of what they must have looked like: Paul, completely naked, his cock trapped between John’s skilled fingers, tongue-fucking each other as John dry humped his leg.

George’s eyes flitted between the two as their chests heaved. He made no motion, no effort to speak. Paul almost begged him to say something, watching as his mind worked furiously to come up with some excuse for what he just saw his mates doing.

Without a word, he turned and shut the door behind him.

“How could you not lock the fucking door?”

Paul turned his head towards the voice. His fingers trembled as he pulled the sheets tighter to his chin, twisting onto his side so the tent in the sheets wasn’t so humiliatingly evident. He felt dumbfounded. “What?”

“What do you mean, what?” John’s gaze looked frighteningly angry. “Are you absolutely daft? Are you actually just the pretty one? Paul, how could you not lock the fucking door?!”

Paul felt his own anger begin to rise in his chest. He felt helplessly defensive. “Are you mad? You started this! You’re the one that closed us in here. If anyone should’ve locked the door, it should have been you!”

“How was I supposed to know you were begging me to shag you? I just wanted to know what the hell was up with the car ride.”

Paul was aghast. “Begging you to shag me? I didn’t want to fucking tell you, John! I knew what would happen. You forced it out of me.” His voice grew cold. “You wanted it just as much as I did.”

John stared at him for a moment, his words faltering. Paul wondered if he had learned something tonight about John that he wasn’t supposed to know. He felt a sudden sick pride in his ability to shake him. The feeling, however, was short-lived when he noticed with a start how glassy John’s eyes were.

John sat up and ran his hands through his hair. His voice was shaking. “Shit, shit, shit. I bet he’s in the other room talking to Ringo right now. Telling him everything. There’s no other explanation for what he saw, Paul. They’re gonna tell Brian. Someone must have heard us, too, and they’ll get ahold of the press. Or the police. It’s over, everything we have is all over—”

“Hey,” Paul interrupted, softening his voice. He couldn’t bear to watch John spiral, especially in the tornado of emotions that was tearing through the room already. If John lost it, he would too. “It’s not going to get out. We’ll go get George and Ringo, and tell them what really happened, and—”

“What really happened, Paul?”

John was quiet now. His eyes were burning into him, pleading. Paul tensed up at the question, feeling his mind falling blank on any possible response. He didn’t know what answer John was pleading for. So he didn’t answer.

John met Paul’s eyes with the iciest stare Paul had perhaps ever seen. It suddenly felt as if a chill had come over the room.

“You’ve ruined everything.”

Paul watched numbly as John bent over on the edge of the bed, putting on his boots. He knew John was furious and spewing things he would soon regret, but another part of him knew that John was right. He had ruined everything.

“Where are you going?” He asked quietly, already fearing the answer.

John paused by the door. When he turned to look at Paul again, his expression was hard and unreadable.

“I’m not fucking queer.” And he slammed the door behind him.

Paul could only stare.

#the beatles #beatles fanfiction #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #beatles smut #mclennon smut #mclennon #part 3 #chapter fic #ao3 #smut warning

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aliciameade · 4 years ago

Text

Full Reveal

Title: Full Reveal Author: aliciameade Rating: E for Extra Fun Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: Chloe and her [very famous] girlfriend Beca escape into anonymity at a Las Vegas burlesque performance, though the show has other plans for them that stir up some playful feelings of jealousy and possessiveness that beg to be addressed.

Also on AO3

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“Ladies? If you’d follow me?”

“I saw that,” Chloe teases in Beca’s ear, fingertips tickling Beca’s lower back through her sheer black shirt.

Beca’s response is little more than a side-eye and a smirk as she shoos Chloe’s hand away. Chloe takes no offense, of course. They are less than alone as a concierge leads them through a dark, sultry hallway teeming with people in various states of inebriation. Their escort is an attractive blonde wearing a black three-piece suit and stilettos, though she seems to have forgotten to don the shirt beneath the vest to leave ample cleavage on display and Beca hadn’t been very discreet about looking at it.

They’re in Las Vegas for the weekend. Beca is there ostensibly for work—she’s performing tomorrow night at Mandalay Bay—but when she’s not scheduled for soundcheck, press, meet and greets, and the concert itself, the weekend is for the two of them. They’ve sacrificed the privacy and seclusion of the embarrassingly large home they share in Malibu in favor of a weekend of fun.

They’d sacrificed anonymity years ago when Beca decided, with the support of their friends, to take the leap into becoming a solo artist, leaving behind the frustrating and often unfulfilling career in music production she thought she’d been made for.

It turned out that performing was a lot more fun for her.

The paychecks were also a lot bigger.

And Chloe was by her side for the breakneck launch of Beca’s new career, quietly smiling as she trailed a few steps behind on red carpets, tucked herself into corners of green rooms while Beca entertained VIPs after concerts, and watched her girlfriend present at award shows from backstage monitors.

The general public doesn’t know who Beca is dating, or if she is dating anyone at all. She doesn’t talk about having a current relationship in interviews, just tales of bad ones in her past. There are plenty of rumors and theories, and some people are correct in their hypothesis that the friend often accompanying Beca to parties or seen grabbing coffee or grocery shopping with is more than just a friend.

It’s a privacy thing for Beca. She is out and proud, finally, and she had decided she didn’t owe the public more of her than she was already giving them. Chloe respected that decision; she waited so long for Beca, she probably would have agreed to the wildest of terms if it meant finally being in a relationship with the woman. But simply keeping their relationship status away from the public wasn’t a big ask. Their friends and family knew. Beca’s team knew. But the public was left to its own conjecture.

It helped that part of why Beca didn’t want to share that part of her life with the public was because she wanted to protect it.

It was really damn romantic for Chloe.

It’s also fun. It’s like they have alter egos and tonight they are attending the midnight performance of Luxury X Lace in a small cabaret venue in the depths of a massive casino as nothing more than two friends having a girls’ night out in the city that never sleeps. It was the hottest ticket in a town full of hot tickets, an X-rated burlesque that confiscated cell phones at the door in exchange for your choice of black, silver, or gold masquerade masks to help strip patrons of their identity and inhibitions and immerse them into a world of high-end debauchery.

Beca’s publicist had made a phone call and Beca and her good friend Chloe were invited to the Friday night performance. Phones were exchanged for masks—black for Beca and silver for Chloe—to be led into the cabaret hall.

It’s far more intimate than Chloe had expected. There are a dozen tables arranged around the X-shaped stage and three lines of booths curving around the wall behind the tables. The stage is empty save for a single black chair positioned at the center of it. Music pulses around them.

They are shown to the center booth on the first level, something Chloe suspects is likely the choice seat in the venue. She’s been with Beca long enough to recognize plenty of such perks.

She prefers other types of perks that come with being with Beca, though. Like the way Beca’s hand immediately comes to rest on Chloe’s bare knee just below the hem of Chloe’s gray pleated skirt. Chloe smiles to herself and peruses the themed cocktail menu, content with their proximity and connection. She knows there will be more tonight once they are back in the privacy of their suite at the Mandalay.

“What are you thinking?”

Chloe lets herself smirk, knowing Beca will see it and read exactly what Chloe was thinking, though she knows that wasn’t what Beca was asking. “I think I’m going to try this one, the ‘Satin Sheets,’” she says, tapping on the menu before rotating it so Beca can choose as well.

She watches other patrons arrive to be shown to their tables, the air of excitement growing around them as scantily clad waitresses start to weave their way from table to table collecting drink orders. They spend time flirting with everyone and Chloe notices the way they don’t hesitate to offer a friendly touch to their customer: a playful nudge of a shoulder, fingers through the short hair of the men, winks, and close examinations of manicures or rings on the women.

When a blonde arrives at their table, Chloe thinks that perhaps they will be exempt from this flirtation. Their seating in the booth is not conducive to a waitress sidling up next to someone as can be done at a table and chairs on an open floor, but to compensate, the waitress simply slides into the booth next to Chloe and offers a well-practiced sultry smile.

“Hello, ladies. My name is Jasmine, and I’ll be sure you’re well taken care of tonight.”

Chloe thinks Jasmine might recognize Beca, even with the mask. There’s a bit of a hesitation in the way her eyes linger on Beca. Or maybe she’s just appreciating Beca’s eyes and lips and jawline the same way Chloe does. Or maybe she’s just working on a good tip. But Chloe knows they are in the high roller seat and it wouldn’t take much for the waitress to connect the dots. And that means she and Beca need to be best friends. Not girlfriends.

“Hi, Jasmine,” Chloe offers and can’t help her smile when the attractive woman leans in to slowly wrap a lock of her red hair around a finger.

“I love this color,” Jasmine purrs and even though Chloe knows exactly what the waitress is doing, her own natural inclination to flirt responds.

“It’s natural,” she purrs right back, leaning into her space. She can feel Beca’s blunt fingernails press into her knee before her hand disappears. That is another perk to their secret romance: getting to experience Beca’s possessiveness. It rivals her own for Beca.

“Can you prove it?” The waitress lets her eyes drop unabashedly to Chloe’s lap before they’re back on her eyes.

“Yes, she can.”

Chloe sees the amusement on Jasmine’s face at Beca’s interjection and the waitress backs off, interpreting Beca’s answer as asserting her dominance.

Beca asserting her dominance is nothing new. She’s been good at that since she was in college. Taking control of situations. Putting people in their place. Making people listen to what she has to say.

She asserts it everywhere but in the bedroom that she shares with Chloe.

Jasmine is unfazed by Beca, even if she does stop touching Chloe. Her demeanor is still dark and flirtatious and she redirects her attention to Beca. “Mmm, I love your voice.”

Chloe’s sure Jasmine knows now. In fact, it’s entirely possible that every employee of the production knows that Beca Mitchell is their special guest this evening. That is often the case if they attend some type of event when Beca insists she makes the calls to get the best seats and the backstage access and whatever else she thinks Chloe should have.

Chloe’s attention shifts to Beca and her reaction, but she’s well-versed in this act as well. Chloe’s bared witness to Beca emerging from her cocoon of early adulthood and her wavering confidence and awkwardness. Chloe knows Beca can charm her way into anyone’s pants nowadays, with or without the game.

She charms her way into Chloe’s on a regular basis.

“Then you’d love how it sounds moaning your name. Jasmine, was it?” Beca’s voice drips over the waitress’s name and Chloe feels her own thighs clench at her tone.

Chloe tries to mask her reaction—arousal and amusement—by adjusting the way her hair sits over her shoulders. She knows this is a game for them. It’s hot to watch Beca flirt with other women knowing it’s Chloe’s skirt that her hand will be up on the way home. So many people wanting her girlfriend but her girlfriend only wants her.

God, she can’t wait to get back to their room tonight.

“She’s going to have the Satin Sheets,” Beca continues, ordering Chloe’s drink for her. “And I’ll take the...Pillow Princess,” she concludes.

Chloe’s no fool. She knows why Beca chose that one; she knew she would the moment Chloe saw it on the menu.

Maybe Chloe really, really likes it when Beca uses her tongue. And maybe Beca likes using it just as much. Chloe’s not ashamed one bit that she asks for it with the frequency that she does.

“A perfect combination,” Jasmine says, reaching across the table just to graze her fingers over Beca’s knuckles. Working extra hard earning the big tip from the celebrity table. “I’ll be right back.” Her exit is as practiced and graceful as her appearance was and Chloe feels Beca’s hand back on her knee, maybe an inch or so higher than it was before.

“You’re such a flirt,” Beca says with a sly smile. She knows the game, well, too.

“Well, she has great tits,” Chloe answers with a shrug, playing along with their evening of Gal Pals.

That manages to ruffle Beca's feathers the tiniest bit, and she knew it would. Cleavage is something Beca definitely excels at and it’s on display tonight thanks to the black push-up bra she’s wearing beneath her sleeveless sheer black top. Chloe had unbuttoned it almost completely while they were in the elevator, leaving only the last three buttons remaining fastened. It created a wonderful peek-a-boo effect, sometimes revealing bare skin, sometimes not, and she’d given in to the temptation to press her lips to the swell of Beca’s right breast before the doors had opened. She can still see the faint imprint of her lipstick on it when the light catches it.

Beca narrows her eyes and pointedly brushes one side of her open blouse aside as a reminder of her own assets—as if Chloe could ever forget—and Chloe lets her eyes roam over the expanse of skin, tongue wetting her lips with obvious want.

That seems to rectify the situation. The corners of Beca’s mouth twitch and Chloe has to bite her lip at the way Beca’s fingers suddenly sweep up her inner thigh to graze between her legs before her hands are both above the table to accept the drinks their waitress has already returned with.

“Enjoy,” Jasmine says with a wink before departing once more.

“Mmm, we will,” Chloe says as she takes hers in her hand. “Shall we toast?”

Beca nods and lifts her glass as well. “To what?”

“To seeing where the night takes us.”

Beca’s mouth pulls into the attractive smirk Chloe fell in love with so many years ago. “What happens in Vegas…” she says and taps her glass to Chloe’s.

They drink together as the lights dim until the room is in near darkness. Under the safety of the shadows, Beca presses herself closer, her fingers moving absently but sweetly over and along Chloe’s knee and thigh. Not progressing. Just touching. Chloe lets her arm slip over Beca’s shoulders, something that is more conspicuous, but the only people who know who Beca is are those focused on putting on a show.

A single spotlight hits the chair center stage and a figure emerges from the darkness behind it, dark hair, long legs, sparkling lingerie, platform stilettos.

They watch the performance in silence. It’s a mixture of blatant sex appeal and tongue-in-cheek humor, the performers—mostly women but a few men—each having their own unique talents and schticks, an androgynous emcee by the name of Angel guiding the audience through the evening.

Angel is funny and personable as they flirt with patrons and performers alike, cracking one-liners between performances.

Chloe watches as several performers make their way out of the wings and onto the stage until the X is occupied by eight women in matching sparkling red lace lingerie, a ninth waiting at the center wearing a black leather bustier, thigh-high boots, and holding a riding crop.

Her appearance earns a particularly boisterous round of cheers from the audience and Chloe has to admit that the woman is the most attractive person on stage, all legs and tits and long, purposely mussed blond hair.

Beca’s fingers have stopped wandering. Instead, they’re tapping along to the beat of the music. She finds rhythms woven and hidden in the instrumentals that Chloe would never hear if not for Beca’s keen ear. The soundtrack for the evening largely consists of remixes of popular songs. They’re recognizable but without the vocals, not distracting.

“And now, ladies, gentlemen, neither, both, and those yet-to-decide,” Angel says with a dramatic flourish as they slowly turn in place as if addressing each person individually, “Scarlet needs a victim—I mean, a volunteer.”

A murmur of excitement rolls through the audience and Chloe thinks she feels Angel’s attention land squarely on their table. She can’t be sure due to the lighting; it’s possible they’re eyeing everyone in the room to increase the tension. Chloe can feel it in the way the initial excitement is now silent other than the thumping bass of a remix of a remix of a song Chloe can’t quite put her finger on in her pleasantly inebriated, slightly distracted state.

Beca seems to recognize the song, the tapping on Chloe’s knee shifting to one of confidence. It registers with her just as she senses Beca turning as if to whisper something in her ear but Chloe beats her to it.

“Hey, this is your—” is all she gets out before a lace-clad woman is taking Beca’s hand to invite her out of the booth.

“It seems we have a volunteer!” Angel initiates an encouraging round of applause from the audience.

Chloe watches with equal parts amusement and trepidation as her very famous and very secret girlfriend is led—willingly, she notices—down through the tables and toward the stage while a version of one of Beca’s biggest hits thumps and swirls around the room. She wonders if Beca knew this was going to happen for as ready as she was to slide out of the booth to be taken to the stage where Chloe watches her climb the three steps.

“I didn’t tell you to sit,” Scarlet chastises as soon as Beca moves to sit on the chair in the center of the stage.

It makes Beca laugh and stand up straight, hands clasped in front of her.

“You didn’t even let me give you a proper welcome,” the new host says with a shake of her head and Chloe can tell she’s looking Beca up and down appreciatively.

“Sorry.” Chloe can’t really hear Beca; she doesn’t have a microphone as Scarlet does, but she sees it on her lips.

“Did I ask you to speak?” Scarlet scoffs toward the audience, causing laughter to bubble up from the tables. “Now, what should I call you?” She extends the microphone to Beca who hesitates before speaking.

The premise of the club is anonymity to allow everyone to indulge in their dark desires, but she still answers, “Beca.”

It makes Chloe’s heart stop. She knows it will take people a matter of seconds before they figure it out. She might be wearing a mask, but with her song playing and saying her name, there’s no hiding exactly who has been selected for the main event. She’s grateful that cell phones were confiscated upon arrival. If they hadn’t, she knows this would be broadcast on Instagram Live. The excitement in the room is palpable as the audience puts the pieces together.

“Beca? Everyone, let’s give Beca a warm welcome.”

The applause is not a polite smattering this time. It’s boisterous and full of whistles and shouts and Chloe just sits forward to prop her chin on her clasped hands. This wasn’t how she expected their night to go.

“Okay, Beca,” Scarlet says, her stance so casual despite her costume, “would you like to sit down?”

Beca moves to sit and yelps when Scarlet makes quick work of the riding crop. It was so quick Chloe didn’t even see it but she’d clearly used it to stop Beca from taking a seat.

“I didn’t tell you to sit. I asked if you would like to sit.” Scarlet shakes her head as she says it and the audience laughs, fully engaged in watching pop star Beca Mitchell get womanhandled. “You see, Beca, I’m the one in charge here.”

And womanhandled she gets. Scarlet’s hand, the one not holding her microphone, is on the back of Beca’s neck and wandering across her shoulders and into her hair in a way that makes Beca visibly shiver. It also makes Chloe clench her jaw.

“I know you’re a woman who holds a lot of power, but something tells me you like to give up control now and then. Am I right?”

There are teasing whistles when Beca laughs and says, “Yeah,” into the microphone.

“I think you mean, ‘Yes, ma’am.’”

“Yes, ma’am,” Beca repeats.

“Good. Obedient,” Scarlet praises, starting to circle Beca slowly though still managing to not stop touching her. “So you’re going to listen to me, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good girl. Now sit.” A hand in the center of Beca’s chest pushes her down into the chair. It makes the audience whistle again.

Beca makes eye contact with Chloe once Scarlet is out of the way and flashes a smile and the small hand gesture they came up with shortly after they began dating, something they could do inconspicuously to let the other know, ‘The situation is okay, not to worry, I love you.’ They use it on red carpets, at press junkets, interviews, and appearances. Chloe was always so worried Beca was being pressured into sharing more than she wanted to or getting upset that people would confront Beca about dating rumors on national television. It was a good solution and one that has grown to have a deeper meaning for them both as time has passed.

It helps Chloe relax. It means Beca’s fine. That she did, in fact, probably agree to this in advance when she made the arrangements to attend. Chloe sits back in her seat though is no less attentive to how Scarlet is touching Beca.

It’s fifteen minutes of amusement and agony for Chloe as she watches Scarlet entertain the audience by catching Beca misbehaving, taking action before being given permission to do so, or forgetting to say, “Yes, ma’am.” It’s particularly painful when Scarlet’s stiletto thigh-high boot gets planted on the seat of the chair right between Beca’s thighs. She’s instructed to kiss it and Chloe watches with rapt attention as Beca hesitates before doing so, kissing Scarlet’s knee.

Chloe doesn’t like it, not one bit. But she does enjoy it, which is more than a little confusing. The one thing she is sure of is that she wants the show to end so they can go back to their room where Chloe can show Beca just how much she enjoyed her performance.

It’s fifteen minutes of Beca being ordered to her knees, to lie down, to stand up, to answer questions, sometimes messing up and getting swatted across her ass with Scarlet’s riding crop. It’s entertaining for everyone, Beca included who is smiling most of the time, except when she’s ordered to wipe it off her face. Everyone is entertained by the sexy blond dominatrix making sexual innuendos with Chloe’s girlfriend, touching her, spanking her, making her laugh, and assuredly blush as the crowd gets way more than they paid for. Not just a night at Luxury X Lace but fifteen minutes of Beca Mitchell, whose concert tickets top out in the $500 range for premium seats, being sexually teased and willingly degraded.

By the time it’s over and Beca’s sliding back into their booth, Chloe has to check to see if her own fingernails have made her palms bleed from clenching her fists so hard.

“Was that fun?” she asks, making no effort to hide her irritation from her voice.

It doesn’t seem to bother Beca, though, who ignores the question and leans in to kiss Chloe. It’s hard and demanding and not something they should be doing in public and Beca’s hand returning to her thigh under the edge of her skirt makes Chloe forget why she was annoyed in the first place.

“Everything okay?” Beca asks when they part after a few more seconds.

“Um,” Chloe feels dazed, “yeah. Um...people?” She reminds tilting her head toward the rest of the seating area.

Beca just smiles and slides her hand higher up Chloe’s skirt. “No one’s watching us.”

It makes Chloe grab Beca’s hand to stop it and turn to look around. Beca’s right. The show is continuing and even though Beca’s cover is blown, their privacy in the booth remains in-tact. The audience is more interested in the mostly naked women and men on stage, not what the celebrity is getting up to with her secret girlfriend at the burlesque show.

“Oh, my God,” Chloe breathes. She can’t believe she’s agreeing to what Beca so immediately suggested upon her return. But something about what she watched did things to her. Turned her on. Made her want to remind Beca who was really the one in charge, and their name isn’t Scarlet. She nods and kisses Beca again while releasing Beca’s hand to let her do what she wants.

Beca’s smooth about it. They’ve had years to memorize perfect angles, perfect rhythms, and Chloe hates (and kind of loves) that Beca pulls back from their kiss to watch Chloe’s masked face respond to her fingers moving up and slipping beneath her lace thong.

Beca’s smile is annoying and Chloe knows exactly what she’s thinking: Chloe is way too wet for two minutes of kissing. She’s been enjoying the show. Specifically, Beca’s role in it.

“Fuck,” she quietly laughs, pressing a quick kiss to Beca’s lips before turning her attention back to the performance. She knows they could probably get away with a lot more than Beca’s hand up her skirt, but that’s what makes it fun. The game. Will they get caught? Will the world finally know who Beca’s talented, multi-million-dollar mouth is making come nearly every night?

She feels Beca settle comfortably next to her, one hand lifting her drink to her lips, the other pressing two fingers into Chloe to start fucking her slowly. Chloe hates that she knows Beca’s intentions: if she hadn’t done that, if she’d just kept her fingers teasing Chloe’s clit, she’d be coming in a matter of a few minutes.

But she won’t now, not like this. Not with Beca fucking her almost leisurely, a slow pace that reaches as deep as the angle allows. She hikes up her left knee to prop her foot against the leg of the table and open herself wider. It doesn’t make Beca move any more quickly, but it does help her push deeper.

It makes Chloe’s head tilt back to rest against the booth. She doesn’t need to watch the performance. No one cares. No one’s watching them. The music is loud and Angel is narrating and people are applauding and Chloe lets herself moan.

She slips her arm behind Beca’s shoulders to keep her close, playing with her hair to make her shiver as Scarlet had. But it’s Chloe whom Beca is fucking in public. Not Scarlet. The thought makes her fingers twist and they tug maybe a little too hard on Beca’s hair because she hears her gasp in her ear.

Chloe wonders how long Beca will torture her. She’s so turned on but Beca’s not driving her any closer to her climax. It’s a prolonged plateau and Chloe starts to feel that it’s less about getting her off and more about Beca wanting to do something risque when people know who she is.

It’s not the first time; they’ve snuck off to bathrooms and coat check rooms many times over the years for quick fun, but Beca has never been this bold.

She clenches around Beca’s fingers and feels them curl inside her. She thinks it might encourage Beca to speed up but instead, she pulls out completely.

It makes Chloe’s head snap up, ready to complain about the loss only to open her eyes to Beca sucking on her fingers before she’s clapping enthusiastically along with the rest of the audience and dropping a trio of hundred-dollar bills on the table to tip their waitress.

The show is over and Chloe has no idea how it ended. She doesn’t care. All she cares about is how much she needs to come and how quickly they can get back to their hotel.

People are still clapping when their escort upon arrival appears. “Ladies? Let’s get you out before the mass exodus.”

Beca finishes off her drink and scoots out of the booth, reaching back for a slow-to-move Chloe to take her hand and help her. Chloe isn’t drunk, far from it in fact. But she’s so aroused she’s not thinking very clearly and smiles her appreciation as Beca helps her out and to her feet.

Her mind clears a bit as they walk, though she can feel how wet and swollen Beca’s made her with every step she takes. She’s grateful for the early exit; Beca no longer being anonymous means she is fair game to anyone who can get to her. They’re led not the way they entered but through a side door that drops them right next to the desk where they’d checked in. Phones returned but masks retained, they turn to make their way out of the casino.

“What were you thinking?” Chloe asks as they walk with notable speed through the maze of slot machines following signs pointing toward the exit.

Beca’s smile is really more than a smirk. “Are you complaining?”

Chloe doesn’t really have an answer to that. She’s not complaining. Maybe some notice about being the featured guest would have been nice, but she doesn’t want to talk about celebrity life and privacy right now.

Right now, she needs Beca to finish what she started.

“No,” she says with a shake of her head. Then, driven by need and adrenaline and the fact that word has probably not yet spread that Beca Mitchell is in that particular casino and they still have their masks, she pulls Beca aside and up against the side of a bank of slot machines to kiss her.

She wants to do it right there. She wants to tell Beca to kneel like she did for Scarlet and put her head under her skirt and make her scream in front of everyone.

Instead, she kisses Beca hard, tongue and teeth and hands on her ass until it’s Beca who moans this time.

Chloe pulls away abruptly just as Beca had when the show ended and it’s her turn to smirk at how disoriented and aroused Beca looks. “Come on,” she says as she takes her hand and pulls them toward the path to the exit once again.

It takes longer than it should to get back to the Mandalay Bay. If they could manage to make it more than two blocks without someone being pushed against a wall, a planter, or a vending machine to make out, it would only be a fifteen-minute walk.

Instead, they’re finally in the elevator forty-five minutes later behaving themselves because there are three other people riding up with them. They both know they’ll be the last ones off; Beca’s suite is on one of the uppermost floors. It makes Chloe tingle with anticipation because she knows it’s going to be a competition of who does what first as soon as they are alone.

It’s Chloe who wins. The last person steps off and before the doors are even closed, she has Beca against the rear wall of the elevator, tongue in her mouth and hands up her shirt and under her bra. They have six floors to go which is only a matter of seconds but it’s long enough to make Beca say, “God, I need you,” when it ends and the doors open.

They’ve had their share of rushing down hotel hallways to lock themselves in increasingly upscale rooms to ravage one another and this time is no different. It’s a choreographed dance at this point. Chloe’s the one who has the key out and ready because Beca usually can’t find hers or can’t focus long enough to insert it.

Chloe’s able to unlock it by touch at this point because so often she has Beca pressed up against the door, sometimes kissing her, sometimes breathing hotly in her ear while her hand wanders to indecent places. With a quick click, the door swings open and they spill into the palatial suite. It’s a dance as well, removing shoes while careful not to trip over each other or furniture or bags as Beca pulls her mask off and tosses it aside, followed by Chloe’s before she’s pulling Chloe down onto the oversized couch in the center of the room.

“Can’t even wait ‘til we get to bed?” Chloe asks with a smiling kiss before she moves back so she can unbutton Beca’s jeans.

“Whatever,” Beca says. She arches her back and reaches under herself and Chloe watches her strip away her bra, pulling it out through her shirt.

“I was getting to that. No, leave it,” Chloe adds when Beca starts to unbutton the sheer top. It leaves nothing to the imagination, but seeing Beca without her bra, perfect curves and stiff nipples Chloe knows she’ll have her mouth on soon enough…

Beca stops what she’s doing and instead lifts her hips to help Chloe peel her jeans and underwear away.

“You were trying to make me jealous,” Chloe says matter-of-factly as she yanks the tight jeans from Beca’s feet with a little more force than is necessary.

Beca’s holding herself up on her elbows and she looks entirely too proud of herself. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“I can’t believe you let everyone know who you were.” Chloe’s hands start making their way up Beca’s bare legs, parting them to make room so she can back up and lie down between them. She settles Beca’s knees over her shoulders to kiss her inner thigh. It makes Beca shiver and sends hands down to tangle in Chloe’s hair. “And I can’t believe you fucked me.” Another kiss, higher, to make Beca’s breathing quicken. “Anyone could have caught us. Think of the headlines: ‘Beca Mitchell caught red-handed...knuckles deep in her best friend’s sopping pussy.’”

She can tell Beca wants to laugh but it comes out as a moan of impatience instead. Tired of waiting herself, Chloe shifts higher to tease her tongue against Beca’s clit.

“Oh, fuck yes,” Beca groans, pulling hair and lifting her hips as if she’s the one who had been left needing more at the show. Her impatience means Chloe’s done a good job turning the tables on her little stunt.

“Did you like that woman spanking you?” Chloe knows she’s toeing a line. They both might be, but she was jealous. And she is turned on.

Beca’s hesitation is telling and she finally nods when Chloe licks her again. “Yeah.”

“Did you like her telling you what to do?”

The answer is immediate this time. “Yes. Fuck, Chlo, please.” She lifts her hips again wanting more of what Chloe is withholding.

Chloe’s going to come back to the conversation. For now, she has needs and she needs to make Beca come. She’s never been able to resist her long, not when she begs her in that voice, not when she pulls Chloe’s face between her legs pleading Chloe to fuck her.

She’s not going to torture her the way Beca did. She has a second need which is to make Beca finish what she started, but she will deal with one thing at a time.

Beca is wet under her tongue and Chloe wraps her arms around her thighs to hold her, one hand gripping her thigh, the other parting Beca to be able to lick exactly where she knows Beca likes it. Fast. Focused. Exactly what it takes for Beca to—

“Fuck, I’m gonna come already, I hate you.” She moans as she says it and Chloe can taste the way she’s starting to unravel.

It makes her smile. Beca doesn’t hate her. Not one bit. Quite the opposite, in fact, and Chloe takes pride that it still annoys Beca that Chloe can get her off so quickly. And it’s not that she’s annoyed that Chloe’s good, it’s that she doesn’t want it to end.

(Though rarely does it end after just one orgasm from Beca.)

She savors Beca’s voice in her ears and taste on her tongue and eases her down from her quick, surprisingly intense climax.

Though maybe not so surprising when she thinks about how desperate Beca had been after her little game of Scarlet Says. Which reminds her…

“Get up.” She says it with an edge to her voice as she sits up and moves back from between Beca’s legs.

It’s clear Beca’s startled by the sudden mood change and her eyes are wide as she stares down her half-naked body, chest still heaving as she’s not yet recovered. “Dude, what the fuck?” she bites. She’s not just startled, she’s incensed by Chloe ripping away from her the way she did. It’s not normal behavior by any means.

It’s precarious; Chloe knows it. She’s springing some kind of role-play on Beca without talking about it first and she’s ready to drop it if Beca pushes back again. She levels her gaze to look directly at Beca. “I told you to get up.”

There’s the slightest twitch to Beca’s lips and Chloe knows she’s realized what’s happening. With a nod, she sits up and somewhat tiredly pushes herself up to her feet and turns around to face Chloe.

Chloe eyes her as she gets herself situated on the couch, turning to sit properly and makes a bit of a show of crossing her legs primly. She’s still fully clothed unlike her girlfriend waiting for directions wearing nothing but her half-unbuttoned sheer blouse that stops at her hips.

“I didn’t realize you like being told what to do so much,” Chloe says airly. She wants to keep Beca unsteady. They’ve played with power dynamics in the bedroom before, of course. After this long, there’s not much they haven’t tried. But they had never pushed it to the point of commands and obedience. “I guess I’m not that surprised,” she continues, smiling at memories of how Beca had reacted to simple requests in the bedroom in the past. She hadn’t explored it further. There wasn’t a need to; someone usually came minutes later. Now she understands why.

Beca takes a breath like she’s about to speak but instead snaps her jaw closed.

It makes Chloe’s eyebrows lift. She hadn’t had to do much of anything and Beca has already fallen into her role, primed, no doubt, by the events at the burlesque show.

“Did you like that woman touching you?” she asks. When Beca doesn’t answer, she has to work not to smile. “You can answer me when I ask you a question.”

“I didn’t know it was going to be like that,” Beca answers. “I thought they were just going to ask me questions and give me a lap dance or something.”

Chloe finds it endearing the way Beca’s trying to defend herself. Chloe’s not upset about it; a hair bothered, maybe, but nothing worth getting mad about. Possessive, though...it’s definitely worth reminding Beca who’s been in her bed every night. “That isn’t what I asked,” Chloe says as she leans back casually. “I asked if you liked it when that woman touched you.”

She can see Beca trying to choose the right words, which is amusingly telling. “It was...fun,” is what she decides to answer.

Chloe looks at her in surprise. “Fun? I’ll show you fun. On your knees.” She snaps and points at the floor as she says it and watches as Beca sinks to kneel obediently on the plush carpet. It’s thrilling to watch and does more for her than she thought it would. “Come here,” she continues with a crook of her finger.

“Yes, ma’am,” Beca says as she shuffles forward until she’s as close as she can be, Chloe’s right leg crossed over the left stopping her from getting any closer.

Her response is spine-tingling. Chloe wants to draw this out; she wants to see just how obedient Beca can be, but her patience is thin after being so aroused for so long with no release. She can save that for another day. “Would you like to know what I want you to do?” She teases Beca’s bare stomach with her toe as she says it.

“I bet you’re about to tell me,” Beca says as she squirms a little; she’s ticklish there and Chloe knows it.

“Sassy.”

Beca shrugs.

“Let’s give your mouth something better to do.” She uncrosses her legs as she says it and enjoys the way Beca’s eyes fall automatically to look, though Chloe knows she can’t see anything. Not with her skirt resting how it is. “You ruined my underwear at the show. The least you could do is take them off me.”

She can see the way Beca’s eyelashes flutter; she’s excited and ready as she reaches for Chloe, hands sliding up her thighs to hook her fingers into the waistband of Chloe’s thong to pull it down. She lifts her hips to let it slip out from under her and watches Beca pull it the rest of the way down her legs until she’s tossing it over her shoulder with more confidence than someone ordered to her knees ought to have, but Chloe doesn’t mind. Not when Beca’s hands almost reach for Chloe’s thighs again but stops herself and they fall back to her own naked lap.

“So patient,” Chloe smiles. Beca giving up control like this is turning Chloe on far more than she had expected and she knows she isn’t going to last very long. She parts her knees and hikes up her skirt. Not too much. Just enough that Beca will be able to see how much she needs her. “But I’m not.”

Beca’s eyes snap up to meet Chloe’s and she can see the excitement in them, the desire to please Chloe in more ways than one.

“I want you to make me come”—she pauses to glance at her non-existent watch—“in less than five minutes.” When Beca doesn’t move, she adds, “The clock is ticking.”

She can tell Beca is amused by the challenge, even excited by it as her hands do what they had probably meant to do after stripping Chloe of her underwear: land on Chloe’s knees to part them before they slide higher, pushing Chloe’s skirt with them.

Chloe leans back, relaxing into the couch as she spreads her legs wider until she decides to bring her right foot up to rest on the edge of the couch, knee fully bent, holding her ankle to keep it there. It opens her up splendidly and she watches with rapt attention as Beca shifts closer, tongue already at her lips as she leans down.

Chloe can’t help the moan that comes with the first touch of Beca’s tongue. She’s been waiting for it for hours, really since they left the hotel to attend the show.

Beca seems to take her directive seriously if the way she’s using her tongue is anything to judge by. She’s lapping at Chloe in exactly the way Chloe likes it the most: messy and lewd, her arousal audible in the way her clit slips from Beca’s lips when she sucks on it. She likes it because Beca’s so passionate about making her feel good, and her passion only makes Chloe want it more.

She weaves the fingers of her free hand through Beca’s soft hair, watching as Beca fucks her perfectly. “Just like that,” she sighs as she lets her hips start rocking. “Use your fingers, too, baby.”

They both groan as Beca sinks two fingers into her and she clenches around them. As soon as she relaxes, Beca is fucking her, hard, and it makes her gasp. She hadn’t been ready for that, forgetting for a moment about her self-imposed deadline.

“Beca, fuck,” she moans, ass coming off the couch from the sudden onslaught of pleasure and she watches as Beca ducks her shoulder under the leg Chloe isn’t holding so she can tuck herself even closer. Her fingers twist in Beca’s hair and it might be too tight but it doesn’t seem to bother her. “So good,” she says and feels Beca’s tongue flicking at her clit impossibly faster. “You’re so good,” she repeats and feels her fingers speed up, too.

She knows Beca likes being praised. It’s served them both very well in the past and it’s serving Chloe impeccably well right now. Beca moans at the comment and glances up at Chloe through dark eyelashes, eyes meeting before she closes them to lose herself in fucking Chloe.

It doesn’t take long after that. Not with the way Beca starts sucking on her clit and doesn’t let up. “Yes, yes, just like that,” she moans again, grateful for the massive room offering plenty of insulation from the prying ears of the only other room on that floor. “You’re gonna make me come, Beca.”

Beca groans in response and doesn’t change a thing; her pace is relentless and Chloe can feel how hot her body is under her leg from working so hard and she’s so, so grateful for her hard work as her orgasm crashes through her.

Beca’s moaning through it with her and it makes Chloe drop the pretense. She wants Beca. Now. Her cunt is still pulsing around Beca’s fingers when she pulls her up by her hair. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to get the point.

“Come here,” she breathes, pulling Beca in to kiss her wet mouth as she drops her leg back to hang over the edge of the couch and make room for Beca to climb into her lap, straddling her on her knees.

Beca’s hand hasn’t left her with the change in position and though she has less room to move, she’s still working her fingers against Chloe’s overstimulated clit as Chloe reaches between Beca’s legs to slide her fingers into her soaked cunt.

The way Beca moans into Chloe’s mouth through their heated kiss is sinful but not as sinful as the way she immediately starts riding Chloe’s hand. Her hand tangles in Chloe’s hair as her hips roll and grind, all restraint gone as she chases her orgasm.

She’s so far gone that she’s not paying close attention to how hard she’s touching Chloe. It’s borderline painful for a few seconds until something in Chloe clicks and the force becomes delicious and somehow not enough. She grinds the heel of her hand up into Beca, slipping a third finger into her with how wet she’s become, dripping into Chloe’s palm and Chloe knows she’s just as wet. She’s thankful she’s sitting on her skirt. She’d rather pay to dry clean it than reupholster the hotel couch.

“Fuck,” Beca whimpers against Chloe’s lips before her hips suddenly change from riding Chloe’s fingers hard to riding them fast.

Chloe can feel how close she is with the way she’s starting to tremble around her fingers. Beca’s fighting it and she doesn’t know why until she thinks maybe Beca hasn’t dropped the pretense like Chloe had.

She’s waiting for permission.

The concept quickly spools Chloe’s orgasm into a coil ready to spring at any second and she has to fight it, too.

This is hot. This is really hot. She loves when Beca is wild and desperate and there are no other words to describe her right now.

Chloe pulls back from the kiss. “Do you want to come?”

Beca’s jaw drops at the words and Chloe feels her clench hard but the climax doesn’t follow as it normally would. “God, yes,” she exhales after a few seconds. Beca is still fucking them both. Riding Chloe’s fingers. Rubbing Chloe’s clit.

Chloe’s free hand catches Beca’s chin and lifts her head to make eye contact with her. “Ask me nicely.”

She’s not sure she’s ever felt Beca as wet as she is tonight and it doesn’t stop. She thinks she can even feel it increase as soon as she says those words.

“Please,” Beca whines immediately. “Please let me come for you.” She holds Chloe’s stare as she says it and she tightens around Chloe’s fingers again.

Chloe hesitates with her answer. The moment is so intense, so erotic she’s not quite ready to end it. They’re existing on another plane of sex than most of their nights. She hopes it continues through the night.

“Not yet,” she finally answers and Beca almost sobs at the response. “Stand up,” she demands, lifting with the hand between Beca’s legs until Beca’s moving.

“What…?” Beca starts, only to say, “Oh, my God,” when Chloe guides Beca’s left knee up and past her head to rest on the back of the couch.

Chloe pulls her forward with the fingers inside her until she has Beca’s clit against her tongue. Beca’s hands immediately fall to Chloe’s head for balance as she rocks her hips forward into Chloe’s face.

It’s Chloe’s turn to be brutal with the pace of her fingers, fucking up and into Beca as she lets Beca ride her tongue. She knows Beca’s orgasm is going to be massive when she lets her have it and Chloe wants her coming in her mouth.

The change in position bought them a few minutes, distracting Beca long enough that she’s not about to lose it any second but Chloe knows it’s barreling down on her again. “You taste so good,” she says between licks.

Beca moans in answer and Chloe feels the wetness increase again. She can hear it, too. It’s obscene. It sends her other hand between her own legs to pick up where Beca left off.

“I’m going to make myself come,” she says before sucking pointedly on Beca’s clit. “Don’t you dare come with me.”

“What?” Beca laughs somewhat desperately. “Fuck, okay.”

The obedience makes Chloe moan and she fucks herself, rubbing hard circles into her clit. She embellishes her moans to make it even harder for Beca to resist until she’s moaning again and again into Beca’s pussy, coming as Beca clenches around her wantonly.

She looks up at Beca when it passes but she can’t see her face, not with how Beca’s leaning forward, eyes squeezed closed, face determined and desperate to obey as Chloe comes without her, still fucking her, not letting her let go.

“That felt so good,” she says. “You turn me on so much, Beca.”

“Yeah, same,” Beca answers quickly.

“I think after I let you come…” she says it thoughtfully even as she lavishes attention on Beca’s impossibly swollen clit, “I’m going to take you to bed,” she gives it a long suck, “bend you over,” she curls her fingers and massages them into the spot that makes Beca’s eyes roll back, “and fuck you so hard you’ll feel it at your show tomorrow,” Beca’s entire body is trembling with the need for release, “in front of twelve thousand people and you’ll remember the way you’re going to be such a good girl for me and take my strap all night.”

She knows Beca’s losing her grip on her orgasm. Chloe can feel it starting, pulsing around her fingers and she thinks she might need it as much as Beca does.

“Come for me, Beca,” she says and immediately slides her tongue into her as she withdraws her fingers, using them instead to stroke her clit. She can see Beca’s wetness and how it’s all the way to Chloe’s wrist and she groans as the way Beca’s cunt contracts so hard around her tongue she couldn’t remove it even if she wanted to.

‘Massive’ isn’t the term for it.

Beca’s orgasm is earth-shattering and Chloe’s free hand has to shoot up to press against her chest to keep her from toppling forward and over the back of the couch as it rocks her again and again, voice ringing in Chloe’s ears.

Chloe feels Beca’s knees buckling as it passes and she catches her as she folds until she’s sitting in Chloe’s lap again, slumped against her forehead-to-forehead. Both of them are breathless but Beca’s far more winded and Chloe gives her a chance to recover, hands moving slowly and gently over her back, to her hair which she lifts away from her neck to help her cool down. Her blouse sticks to her skin and she feels kind of bad she didn’t let Beca take it off before, but she hasn’t complained about it.

“Fuck,” Beca finally says with a weak laugh as she lifts her head and sits back enough that they can look at each other comfortably, her hands toying with the hem of Chloe’s shirt, still on despite it all. “What the fuck, Chlo?” She smiles as she says it. She brings her hand up to wipe at Chloe’s face. “You’re a mess.”

Chloe smiles in return and lets Beca clean her off. “Problem?”

Beca cocks her head to the side and huffs again, not quite a laugh. “Uh, no. But can you take this off now? You’re overdressed.” She tugs at Chloe’s shirt and Chloe lets her remove it, lifting her arms so she can slip it over her head.

“Better?” she asks, even though she knows it’s definitely better. Her body is on fire and the cool air is a godsend.

“Much,” Beca says as she tosses Chloe’s shirt aside to rest her hands on her bare shoulders.

“So,” Chloe starts after a few comfortable seconds of silence, hands wandering around Beca’s ass to her waist where she finally finishes unbuttoning Beca’s shirt. “Still think it was fun to be touched by that other woman?” She cocks an eyebrow as she says it.

She knows Beca knows she is the one in control of what happens next; they both know what will happen depending on her answer. One answer will send them to the bedroom and Beca onto all-fours. The other will send them to the shower to clean up while they wait for room service to bring them something to eat.

Beca rakes her hands through her own wild hair after she lets Chloe flip her shirt over her shoulders and off to leave her fully naked in Chloe’s lap. Her eyes are still dark, as are her well-kissed lips which start to curve into a smile. “Yeah, I had a great time. I wonder if she’s free. Maybe we could invite her to join us?”

“Fuck you,” Chloe laughs before kissing her. “Hold on,” she mumbles against her lips and feels Beca wrap her arms around Chloe’s neck and her legs around her waist so she can stand to carry Beca to the bedroom.

“Make me feel it tomorrow,” Beca whispers before kissing her as they cross the threshold into the bedroom.

Chloe drops her onto the bed with a smile. “You will. Turn around.”

The End

#bechloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #fanfic #pitch perfect #bechloe fic #it's smut #surprise!

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illusionjeong · 4 years ago

Text

Relax.

chan had called you on your lunch break, and he could already sense that you were having a rough day. so when you got home he made sure to run you a bath and order your favorite food for you. super fucking fluffy. maybe too fluffy for y’all idk. lots of kisses. cheesy. i was toying with this idea for awhile before i finally wrote it and it still sucks. i dunno how to write endings, this one is rushed and its wack. idk i’m depressed and tired here u go.

you kicked off your shoes at the door, grumbling to yourself as you placed them on the rack. your ears perked up as your heard the sound of running water. you followed the sound into your bathroom, surprised to see your boyfriend, Chan... running a candle-lit bubble bath? “channie...?” you questioned, your tired voice barely above a whisper. he jumped, knocking over a few bottles into the tub. “jeez, when did you get here?!” he asked, laughing slightly at himself. “just a moment ago...what’s all this?” you giggled as he leaned over to turn off the water. “well...i heard how upset and tired you sounded earlier on the phone. you’ve been working really hard lately and you haven’t taken a break in forever. and just like you take care of me when i overwork myself, i’m here to take care of you!” he smiled, grabbing the bottle of wine sat on the sink and pouring it into two glasses. “get undressed and relax. you’ve been too hard on yourself.” he smiled, kissing your forehead and turning around while you undressed. he’s seen it all before but he’s still so mindful and sweet. before you took your clothes off you wound your arms around his waist, placing a kiss on his back. “thank you chris, i love you so much.” you whispered. “i love you too. now hurry, i’m ordering food too!!” he enthusiastically replied. you giggled, taking his hand and kissing the back of it before letting go to strip off your work clothes. once you were settled in the bath you let him know that he could look. he turned around then sat next to you on the floor. “you’re gonna stay there?” you asked. “im not going anywhere until my love is feeling better.” he said, grinning at you. you thought for a moment before taking his hand again. “join me?” you asked, puppy dog eyes in full effect. “are you sure?” he asked, tilting his head. “yes, please!” he smiled, pecking your lips and getting up to undress himself. just as he did, you respected his privacy and covered your eyes, giggling to yourself and leaning forward so he could get in behind you. once he was in the tub you gently settled back against his chest, sighing in relief as you were finally able to relax. chan smiled down at you then took a sip of his wine before speaking. “so do you wanna tell me about your day? or do you wanna avoid work talk?” he asked quietly, scrolling through his phone to put on one of your favorite relaxing playlists. the light sounds of the rain outside, mixed with the song playing in the background brought you peace. so you decided to skip the work talk until you were out of the tub. chan nodded in understanding, kissing your head before gently running his fingers through your hair. “you can tell me about your day though if you’d like. your voice is calming.” you said quietly. he hummed in agreement and launched into telling you about all the events of his day, from the new headphones he had ordered earlier that afternoon, to changbin accidentally hitting hyunjin on the head with a baking tray. “he screamed didn’t he?” you said as a statement more than a question. “of course he did.” chan laughed. “how did he hit him in the first place?” you asked, amusement in your voice. “changbin wanted to help felix bake cookies. felix had put on music, and a song that changbin liked came on and he started dancing, leading to him dramatically swinging his arm out with the baking tray in his hand and nailing hyunjin right on the forehead. he claims he deserved it anyway for scaring him while he was showering this morning.” Chan laughed, taking a long sip of his wine before filling both of your cups again. you kissed the underside of his jaw in a silent ‘thank you’ and he smiled, placing a kiss on your cheek in response. “thank you for doing this for me. i love you so much...” you whispered, looking up at him and gently caressing his cheek with your fingertips. “of course, anything for my baby. i love you so much too.” he quietly answered, leaning in to kiss your lips, his arm tightening around your waist under the water. you could feel his fingers softly tracing lines on your hip as he kissed you, making you feel butterflies. he pulled away for a brief moment, glancing lovingly at you as he carefully set his glass down on the side of the tub so he could cup your face, bringing you into another kiss. you happily reciprocated, then he pulled away after a brief moment, resting his forehead on yours. “ c’mon love. the food will be here in thirty minutes.” he whispered. you nodded, and he pecked your lips before you sat up so he could get up first. you drained the water then turned on the shower to wash up, which Chan had insisted on helping you with. once he was done washing you, you helped him in return, before shutting off the water. Chan got out first, reaching for his towel and wrapping it around himself before handing you yours. you both walked into the bedroom to get dressed, where you noticed that he had layed your bathrobe out, along with a tank top and shorts. you thanked him again, and sat down on the bed, checking your phone before getting dressed. once Chan was done, he sat down behind you, his head on your shoulder before waiting for the food to arrive. once he heard the door he stood up to answer it , leaving you to get dressed. by the time you were finished, he was coming back in and setting the food down on the bed. he climbed in beside you, turning on the tv to the show you two always watched together. you rested against the headboard together as you ate, laughing and cracking jokes about the tv show. once the food was all finished, Chan grabbed your waist, pulling you closer to him and kissing the top of your head. “thank you again for everything. you really didn’t have to strain yourself so much. i know you work a lot too.” you said. “it’s alright, really, it was no strain. we’re here to take care of each other. you do stuff like this for me all the time. it feels nice to give back and finally see you at peace.” he smiled. you leaned in and kissed him again. “i love you.” you whispered against his lips. “i love you too.” he whispered back before you both settled down to resume watching tv, finally relaxing together after a long day.

#bang chan #bang chan imagine #bang chan imagines #bang chan fluff #bang chan x reader #skz #skz imagine #skz imagines #stray kids #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #skz x reader #poc kpop #kpop x poc #skz x poc

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veiledsilver · 3 years ago

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Top five moments you've felt like the universe was messing with you.

Oh boy everyone get ready this is a long list. In descending order, from mildly funny looking back on it to "oh god oh shit oh fuck":

5. Catfishing: College Edition

In 6th grade, I decided to apply to colleges early to see how they were like. I was scared that if they knew I was too young, they'd arrest me. So I created a gmail account as my persona, a white 12th grader named Emilie Alexander. Emilie was planning to go into nursing, dating a high school linebacker named Kyle Kenderson, and deathly allergic to bee stings. If she even came near a bee, she would die.

This part was of the utmost importance.

See, I was constantly paranoid that one day, the jig would be up- I might forget that my fake last name was Alexander. Or the college dean might come knocking at my door and tear up my home in his mad search for Emilie. If that happened I would fake her tragic death, presumably caused by one big fucking bee.

I secretly collected my information. What nearby states were the prettiest to visit. Which colleges were the safest and most affordable. How often they held courses that I liked. In my emails with colleges I tried to sound as mature and professional as possible.

Then, one day, a college member asked me what high school I was in, so they could check my records.

My blood froze.

It was time to bring out the bee.

In response to their question, I sent an email that was like this:

"Dear Mr. McLaughlin, I was a proud graduate of- ugh! Ah! Kyaaaa! Uwaa! W-w-what's this... huge goddamn bee doing here?! Eek, pardon my foul language! It's just that, as I told you earlier, being stung by a bee would kill me.... and now it's stung me thrice (three times)!!

What do I do?! I can't die... I've always wanted to attend your beautiful college...

But this is... the end...

Mr. McLaughlin...

*looks at you sadly*

Tell... my mother... I loved her...

*dies*"

He never responded, probably because he was rendered speechless, but I never touched that account again.

My private gmail for fun stuff like tumblr still has "Alexander" as a surname, though.

4. Wild and Authentic

Alright. Alright. So. My art teacher in middle school.

Right off the bat, they endeared themselves to the tumblr art kids- they proudly used they/them pronouns, dyed their hair vibrant colors, deeply encouraged OC creation, and was chill with any art style even if it was anime. Mx. Mason was very cool, except for one thing.

We had complete artistic freedom when it came to their assignments, EXCEPT FOR ONE THING.

Drumroll, please.

Take a deep breath if you must.

Ready?

...

Cats had to have extremely distinct whisker pores.

YES, they believed that modern depictions of cats were too streamlined. Too... idealized. As a cat owner themselves, they were convinced that society's vision of cats did not do their feral feline ancestors justice. In making their faces flawlessly smooth-furred, we were stripping the cat of its true nature.

I found this out the hard way, when I was drawing warrior cats fanart for class (it was of Firestar cuddled in the arms of an orange haired anime catgirl who was his reincarnation in my first ever comic series, Warriors Neko Desu! ♡ Heart Academy Dokidoki).

Mx. Mason came over to look at my magnum opus, and I expected them to have their socks knocked off at my artistic talent. They lifted up my drawing for all to see, and I smugly leaned back in my seat.

Only for them to launch into a passionate lecture about how, in neglecting to draw whisker pores on cats, I was DENYING THIS FICTIONAL CAT OF ITS WILD AUTHENTIC SELF.

My friends absolutely lost it when I told them this story, and there was a period of time when all our discord nicknames were wild and authentic too.

As for Firestar and his counterpart Hoshineko Orenji-chan, I never did give them wild authentic whisker holes, but that's to be expected of a kittypet, I guess.

3. Stan Jungkook Or Whatever

A couple years ago, my family and I flew to Seoul, South Korea, to visit our relatives and teach me more about my heritage. It was very nice! I got to visit shrines and festivals and palaces, and I was in awe that this was what my ancestors had once seen in their daily lives.

Then, when we went to the modern side of Korea, I realized just how much I didn't fit in.

It was clear that I didn't know how to act, or how to speak Korean, and I spent my days fumbling around and getting scammed multiple times by salesmen. But I clowned myself the most... during an interactive event with kpop stars.

They had this experimental event where holograms of the boys would sing onstage and dance in place of the actual idols. Before the show began, girls could stand in booths that scanned their appearances, and holograms of THEM could dance onstage with the hologram boys.

I didn't know this.

When Cousin Ae-cha told me to step inside one of the machines, I thought I'd be hilarious and stand backwards, so it would scan the back of me instead of my front. As I walked out, I saw other girls putting on their best makeup, cutest clothes, and most expensive accessories, and I slowly realized that I was in danger.

But the danger didn't come until halfway through the concert, where the boys looked eagerly off-stage and a holy staircase appeared and all the hologram girls descended from heaven. There were cherry blossoms. There were roses. There was me, among the crowd of beautiful airbrushed girls, walking backwards.

I felt the judgemental gazes of twenty girls and their mothers.

Each boy danced with a girl, who got a cute animated moment with special effects, and sang about how they found a dream girl to have a true love romance with. Finally, all the girls vanished except one, and it was me.

One of the boys didn't dance with any girls, and now he was all alone in the rain, feeling dejected that HE did not find his true love girl to have a dream romance with. Then the rain stopped, the sun came out, and I emerged. Still backwards.

He was thrilled and sang about how my face (that he didn't see) stole his heart, and now everyone in the audience was giggling, and he slowly brought me very close to kiss me... but because I was backwards, his nose was cutely nuzzling my hair.

The audience members- at least the adults- were now laughing their asses off. His lips met the back of my head, and together we vanished into the wind.

I'd say I couldn't show my face there ever again, but I never did show my face, so... hm...

2. Horrid Little Temptress

If I wasn't a minor, I'd need a drink before starting this story. Sadly, I cannot drown my sorrows- and neither should you after you hear this, because it's only fair.

Mrs. Appleby was my Spanish teacher in like, 9th grade. Even the wild and authentic art teacher thought she was insane. Appleby forced kids to brew tea for her and yelled at them when they didn't get it right, and I thought she had a chronic squint until I realised she just did that to mock me and my Asian eye-folds. She forced us to watch Dora the Explorer to "absorb knowledge." Everyone fucking hated Mrs. Appleby.

But the worst thing she ever did... was during the school festival.

See, whenever she's angry, she zooms right into kids' faces to scream at them. Her wrinkled flesh would blot out the goddamn sun and all you see are her bloodshot yellow eyeballs so victims just stayed rooted to the spot like cornered animals or something similar. This is important.

Because when she was sampling her own brownies (read: hoarding them so no one else could eat them), one parent foolishly decided to grab one and she thought it was a student and she grabbed his wrist so hard she could've nearly snapped it and... and... zoomed into his face.

Except she underestimated his height and kissed him by accident, but it was more like her mouth was sucking in his face like a vacuum.

His wife was shrieking like an ape. His kid, my classmate, saw his social life flash before his eyes.

In her defense, she did not mouth to mouth with him on purpose and afterwards she cried in the bathroom and when I foolishly followed her in to comfort her, because I am a teacher's pet through and through, she snatched the paper towels I got for her and wailed that she was a-

A-

HORRID LITTLE TEMPTRESS.

If I had decided to not be kind, I never would've heard that string of fucking words. But I did. And I paid for it dearly. The end.

1. Violence IS The Answer, Sometimes

Thomas, my dearly detested.

Back in sixth grade, I used to have a crush on him because he had the surfer boy look with nicely tanned skin and pale blond hair and the clearest aquamarine eyes I've ever seen. He also liked surfing and swimming. He seemed like the perfect little trophy waifu except for one absolute dealbreaker.

He and his parents were extremely conservative and so, when I told him I liked him, his response was basically "haha no you're a [slur] and would probably eat my dog."

I was horrified and ran away to cry. But then, by the next day, I decided I needed to punish him. Thomas walked in before class started and I was waiting for him with these hands. I kicked him so he doubled over, slammed his face into his chair's seat, and quickly clambered on top of him to SIT ON THE BACK OF HIS HEAD. He started shaking and twitching and trying to pry me off, but eventually he went limp and stopped moving.

I thought he fell asleep, but Mohammed, another classmate who was bullied by Thomas, told me that Thomas might never wake up again (not that he was very sad about this. I didn't know until later, but Thomas said slurs at him too).

While I was sitting on the guy, he'd straight up passed out from the lack of oxygen.

Screaming and crying, I told our homeroom teacher that Thomas suddenly fainted, and she was the type of Caucasian that thought all little Asian kids were sweet and innocent, so it didn't even cross her mind that? It might've been me? Who sat on his head when she walked in?

He was sent home early that day. I had to go to a different school next year because Thomas's mom threatened legal action. The only reason I didn't get punished further was because my rich cousins out-Karen'd her and donated a huge amount of money to the school to keep them quiet.

Anyway, I never did anything that insane ever again, because something like that is enough for a lifetime. My cousins made it clear they would never back me up again. I was sure this whole event would be put behind me, too.

But last fall, during my first day of online learning... who did I see in my zoom meeting... BUT THOMAS! I had my mic and camera off, but the moment he saw my name, his face went pale. His soul would've left his body, but then it would've gone to hell, so it wisely decided to stay inside.

Still, out of shame and embarrassment, I never turned my camera on for the rest of the school year.

#asks #there you have it #i feel like I'm confessing my sins to the pope

18 notes · View notes

authorlmfletcher · 4 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas @csulliven ! I’m your secret santa for @mlsecretsanta ^_^ Hope you enjoy it!

Also on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28383465

----------------------------------------------------------

Snow in Paris. How romantic.

Adrien sighed as he watched the large snowflakes falling softly from his bedroom windows, secretly wishing that he was sitting on a rooftop somewhere with Ladybug. An image of her rosy red cheeks in the cold air, dark hair covered in white as she laughed made him smile.

“Ready, Plagg? Time for patrol.”

His kwami grunted noncommittally, tossing back an extra piece of camembert before Adrien called him into the ring. Chat Noir pushed himself out the window almost before he was fully changed, black suit melting over his body in a familiar and comforting feeling.

From the rooftops, he watched children dancing in the streets with arms outstretched to greet the snow. Strings of lights draped over trees and over buildings, creating a warm and magical glow to the night sky. A few windows showcased trees twinkling with lights. It was perfectly wonderful, and all Chat could feel was empty.

Christmas always hit him the hardest, the memories of his mother’s smile, joy, and laughter at this time of year flooding his thoughts everywhere he looked. He missed her so much. While usually he could keep the swirl of emotions under control, the holidays pulled them so close to the surface that nothing he tried could tamper them down. At least this year he wouldn’t let himself fall into the same angst-fuelled stomp around Paris from the year before.

Reaching their meeting point, Chat Noir flopped onto the rooftop, sitting with his legs dangling over the edge. He couldn’t help the curl in his back nor the soft frown on his face as he watched a young family walking down the street, each parent holding one hand of their child in the middle, swinging him high into the air as he screeched with joy.

He missed those days.

------------------------

Snow in Paris. Crap.

Marinette’s feet slipped out from underneath her as she stepped out onto her balcony, a soft squeak escaping her lips as she frantically waved her arms to regain her balance. Tikki chuckled softly behind her. Marinette shot her kwami an unamused look.

“You’ll be fine. Go - Chat will be waiting.”

A quick set of words transformed Marinette in a brilliant flash of pink, a spotted suit appearing on her skin before she launched herself off her railing to yo-yo over the rooftops to their designated meeting spot.

Trying not to slip as she landed on their rooftop, she noted the unusually despondent position of Chat’s body.

“Hey Chat,” she called out. He turned and gave her a muted smile.

“Hey.”

That wasn’t her usual exuberant kitty. Deciding that patrol could wait, she plopped herself down beside her partner and gave him a good long stare, trying to telepathically discover what exactly was making him so sad. No answers came to her.

“What’s wrong, kitty?”

His hesitation to answer gave away a lot. Civilian issues, she realized. Something that mattered enough that he actually let it bother him when he was in his super suit. That worried her a little.

“I - “ he shifted his eyes to peek at her, “I’m just finding the Christmas season hard. It’s all bright, and cheerful, and beautiful, but - it’s not like that for me.”

Ladybug blinked, trying to process. Christmas always made her happy. The colours of the lights. The smells of fresh baked cookies. The snuggles on the couch watching a movie together with her parents. The excitement of homemade gifts. This was her favourite season! But, Chat - obviously it wasn’t the same.

“Oh,” was all she could think of to say, her brain already slipping into planning mode. Something had to be done. No one should be unhappy at the happiest season of the year! She looked around the view of Paris, pieces of an idea popping into place in a typically Marinette/Ladybug fashion.

“I have an idea.”

Chat looked at her startled when she got to her feet.

“An idea for what?”

“An idea for you. Come on. Follow me.” And then she was swinging across Paris. It took longer than she expected to arrive at her destination - a large building built like a square. Landing on the rooftop, she turned to find Chat close behind, a confused look on his face.

“What are we doing here?” he asked.

“Look,” she replied. A simple gesture brought his attention to the ice track laid out on the top of the building in a long path. “Transform to ice.”

He gave her a startled look, shocked as she gulped down one of her power up macrons. Fumbling through his pockets, he followed her lead.

“What are we doing?” he asked again. She just laughed, grabbing his hand and dragging him onto the ice.

“Come on. I think you just need some fun.”

She had to admit that the sheer look of surprise on his face was worth it. It took a few laps around the icy path before his usual boyish grin took over and he started to show off with spins and acrobatic displays. It felt like hours later when they both collapsed onto a bench with tired legs and hearts full of laughter. Ladybug felt thankful that her little plan had worked. She never wanted to see that hollow look on his face ever again.

“Thank you, Ladybug,” he said softly, dropping his ice transformation with a sigh. “I needed that. Christmas season is just … hard for me. It makes me think of someone I miss a lot.” Throwing his head back, he stared at the sky a moment before grabbing her hand for his trademarked knuckle kiss.

“Anyway, thank you for the special evening. I should probably get going - I have a crazy day tomorrow and need to get some sleep.”

Still on the bench, she watched him vault away. Detransforming, she sat there for longer with Tikki as the little kwami chomped away at a cookie.

“Oh, Tikki. I wish I knew more about Chat Noir. Who could he miss so much that he gets that sad over the holidays?”

Tikki simply chewed, not answering. Marinette sighed. “I know. I just wish I could do something to make Christmas special and happy for him instead.”

It took all of 5 minutes for a massive, crazy, totally insane idea to come together. Changing back to Ladybug, she swung home, brain whirling with plans, knowing there was little chance of sleep for her creative self yet again.

-----

Hands fussed with his hair. Others pulled at his clothes. Voices barked out orders as people raced around, moving props and backgrounds. The chaos of a photoshoot never got easier. The sooner he could get through these “fake happiness” last minute winter shoots, mostly for social media, the better. The head photographer shouted him in place - telling me which way to stand or sit, what to hold, how to pose, what face to wear. His body and expressions moved on auto-pilot. His thoughts wandered to the memories of the skating he’d done with Ladybug the night before. She understood him in a way that no one else likely ever would - able to read his REAL body expressions.

“Adrien Agreste, get your head out of the clouds and down here onto the fake snow,” someone snapped, pulling his full attention back to the business at hand.

The day promised to be one of chaos. Early photoshoot, obligatory fitness workout, rehearsal for a big presentation at an upcoming Christmas charity event, guest appearance on behalf of his father at two different events, another short photoshoot (outdoors - which sounded uncomfortable), followed by an evening at the 2nd or 3rd Christmas gala of the season. Hopefully there would be time to eat somewhere in there.

Rushing from thing to thing on his schedule, Adrien mused over the busyness. Why did Christmas obligate people to fill their lives with meaningless activities and fake smiles? He would give anything to just sit together with his family and enjoy each other’s company in quietude.

By the time he arrived home from the gala, dressed to the nines in one of his father’s top-line suits, that hollow feeling had returned. The oversized tree sparkling with lights and silver ornaments screamed how fake this holiday season felt - meaningless, impersonal, and just there because of obligation.

He was too tired to do much else, stripping down to slip into some comfortable pajamas and tossing an extra chunk of cheese at his kwami. Briefly, he transformed, mostly to check if there were any messages on his baton.

One unread message.

“Hey Chat, I have this idea. Can we get together tomorrow? Say…. 10pm? The tower?”

He typed back a quick message in agreement, mentally sifting through the day’s schedule, then flopped himself onto his bed with muttered words to transform back into his civilian clothes.

At 9:45pm, Chat Noir burst out of Adrien’s bedroom window and raced over the rooftops. The snow from two days earlier had vanished, leaving things with a slightly damp look. Crisp winter air singed his cheeks, but it felt refreshing after yet another busy day.

Ladybug stood waiting at their usual Eiffel Tower hangout, a large bag slung over her back.

“So, what’s up, LB?” he asked, wondering what exactly she hid in a bag that size.

“Follow me,” she said, jumping away. Whatever hid in the bag rattled as she took off. He hurried to keep up with her as she yo-yoed across the city, landing finally in a small park. She slipped the bag from her back, the rattling (and possible jingle?) sounding out. She unzipped it with deliberate slowness, giving him a grin.

Inside sat decorations.

“What are we -” he cut himself off as she laughed, pulling one of the silver spheres from her trove.

“We’re going to decorate this tree. Together. It’s an important Christmas tradition!”

Suddenly, he realized that he hadn’t even noticed the large evergreen tree in front of them. He must have frozen long enough with his mouth open in surprise that Ladybug had managed to hang 4 or 5 ornaments before asking if he was going to help. Springing into action, he carefully grabbed a ball and placed it onto the tree. A few ornaments later, he found himself wonderously tangled by tinsel with Ladybug laughing hysterically. He could feel his cat ears drooping as he asked for some help getting loose.

When the bag was emptied, they stood side by side admiring their work.

“Perfect.” He had to admit, she was right. They had done a terrific job. And it meant so much more to put together a tree with someone he cared about. Better than the team of professional decorators that Nathalie had hired this year.

“Tomorrow? Same time? Eiffel Tower?”

He had no idea what she planned to do, but he nodded, unable to stop the smile that crept onto his face.

-------------

Everything was ready. Flour. Ginger. Molasses. Sugar. Marinette looked around the bakery kitchen with the feeling that she’d forgotten *something* but time to meet Chat crept closer. Maman and Papa had been more than generous when she had asked to use the kitchen for a couple of nights.

“As long as you don’t touch any of the morning’s baking,” her mother had answered, not needing any other explanation.

“Time to go!” chirped Tikki, wide blue eyes twinkling. “I think he’s going to love this one.”

“I know he will.” Taking one last glance at everything laid out, Marinette transformed and raced to find her partner waiting with anticipation at the tower.

“Follow me.”

She led him back to the bakery with an elaborate explanation of how the owners had graciously let her use their kitchen. From there, Ladybug spent the night helping Chat discover the joys of making a gingerbread house from scratch. Much laughter ensued as flour ended up on faces, ginger sent Chat into sneeze fits, and Ladybug discovered her partner’s lack of skills in a kitchen. By the end of their adventure that stretched early into the morning hours, they had a pair of iced together houses, one more askew than the other.

“Go sleep now, Kitty. We’ll decorate them tomorrow night.” The excited twinkle in his eyes before he escaped made her smile when she finally crashed onto her bed for a few hours of sleep.

The next night consisted of a sugar-fuelled cat boy, happily slapping candies and decorations to his somewhat lopsided gingerbread house. The next, she set up a laptop with a Christmas video on a nearby rooftop with some thick blankets and a thermos of peppermint tea. An afternoon visit to a local library ended up with them sitting in the middle of the children’s section with kids climbing all over them as the librarian read The Grinch and other kids acted it out.

A midnight excursion wandering through Paris, taking in all the amazing light displays led to another spent window shopping well after most Parisians were sleeping. He hadn’t ever really just looked at window displays for their artistic value before.

The following night, all plans were thwarted by the Giftster - an akuma who wrapped everyone up in paper and bows out of spite over a poorly wrapped gift. It took longer than she hoped to defeat the villain,leaving her a little sad that her plan for the night was ruined - the hot chocolate bar she’d put together cold and the whipped cream melted to liquid by the time they arrived.

“It’s still purr-fect, Ladybug. I don’t mind at all. It’s the people we’re with that make the holidays special, not the temperature of the drink.” He poured himself a large mug of cocoa and piled the top full of marshmallows, syrup, and sprinkles.”Delicious.”

---

Adrien’s view of Christmas shifted. The anticipation of Ladybug’s holiday shenanigans brought him more excitement than he had felt for the holidays in a long while. Nothing would ever replace the hole left by his mother’s disappearance, but at least this made him feel hopeful again instead of melancholy. With less than a week left to Christmas, he sat in his class for the last day before the two week break. Marinette lay flopped on her desk, possibly asleep, as Nino and Alya argued the merits of their gift wish lists.

“What about you, Agreste?” Alya snapped, poking Marinette awake with her elbow. “What are you doing this Christmas? Any big plans?”

He shrugged. “Not really.”

“No running off and sending your dad into Christmas Godzilla mode this year, ok?” Nino quipped. Adrien felt himself flush.

“I won’t,” he murmured. “Listen - last year was hard. The first Christmas without my mom, ok? She loved Christmas and it just feels … I don’t know. Christmas season is just … hard for me. I miss her so much.”

Realizing that he was killing their fun conversation, he decided to turn himself around. “But don’t worry! No running off this year. I promise. I’ve actually had a friend from work making sure that Christmas is awesome. We’ve gone ice skating, watched a really fun holiday movie, and we even made these gingerbread houses - from scratch! Even Mother didn’t do that!”

He told them all about the adventures that he’d been having and how special they’d made the holidays become, carefully avoiding any mention of their superhero selves. The more he rambled on about the activities he had been doing late in the nights with Ladybug, the more Marinette’s eyes grew wide. He stopped talking when she let out a strangled sound.

“Are you ok, Marinette?”

She sat frozen, statue-like for a long moment, staring blankly at him. Suddenly she jumped with a yelp, clutching at her side.

“Oh, yep. Yep. Totally good. I’m totally fine. Everything’s fine.” She let out a wild and panicky laugh, blinking rapidly. “I’m good. Are you good? Everyone’s good, right? Ok. I’m just - I’m just - Ms. Bustier? May I be excused to use the bathroom?”

And then she bolted, racing out of the classroom in a gangly, flailing pile of limbs. The whole classroom paused in their conversations for a quiet moment as they stared at the door, then with a universal shrug, returned to what they were doing.

“That was weird,” muttered Alya, frowning. “Even for Marinette.”

-----------

“Just breathe, Marinette. Breathe. In. Out. Innnnnnnn. Ouuuuuuuuuuut. Innnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn. Out.”

From the bathroom stall she hid in, Marinette could hear and see her kwami giving anti-panic attack advice, a blurry red dot floating in front of her face, but she couldn’t process the words being said. Adrien Agreste. Chat Noir. Adrien Agreste? Chat Noir. Nope. It just had to be a coincidence that Adrien’s “friend from work” had taken him on all the same adventures that Ladybug had put together for Chat Noir. Totally a coincidence that Chat missed someone special while Adrien missed his mother. Just coincidence.

Oh crap.

Chat Noir was Adrien Agreste. ADRIEN AGRESTE WAS CHAT NOIR.

She threw up in the toilet.

-------------

Chat couldn’t quite put his finger on what was different that night as they listened from the rooftops to a group of carollers in one of the parks. Ladybug sat a little farther away than she usually did. She didn’t roll her eyes at his jokes or speak much at all. In fact, she didn’t even look him in the eyes.

“Everything ok?” he asked finally, unable to stand the awkwardness any longer. Her head snapped at that, eyes connecting with his for the first time in the night.

“Oh. Yes, sorry. I just found out something about a friend today and it’s been hard to work through, that’s all.” She smiled, but it wasn’t a real smile - her eyes skittering away from him. He frowned.

“Want to talk about it? In generalized terms, I mean.”

She shook her head.

“No. I’d rather just listen to the music, ok?”

“Ok.”

The next evening, with only 2 days left to go before the big holiday arrived, Chat found himself at a local food bank, handing out meals to families whose faces shone with so much gratitude that it made him feel embarrassed to live as he did. Ladybug still seemed preoccupied. He smiled at her every time she tried to stealthily look at him, wondering exactly what was going on behind those brilliant blue eyes.

At the end of their volunteer time, they escaped to the rooftops.

“Are we doing anything special tomorrow?” he asked, wondering if the magical sense of Christmas had worn off for her. “It IS Christmas Eve after all.”

She gave him a look he couldn’t quite define.

“Are you ok, LB? You’ve been really … off for the last day or so.”

He watched as she opened and closed her mouth like a fish for a moment before snapping it shut. She visibly straightened her back.

“It’s nothing big, I promise, but yes - let’s meet at the tower tomorrow?” When he nodded, she flashed him an almost real smile before swinging off into the distance.

Plagg had no ideas, simply focusing on his cheese and musing over whether Adrien had any stocking fillers planned. The kwami tapped suggestively at the pictures in his Gentleman’s Camembert magazine.

Adrien gave up, hoping that whatever bothered Ladybug would be resolved by the time they got together tomorrow.

---------------

Christmas Eve dawned bright and crisp, the cold smell of winter on the air. Marinette did not want to get out of the coziness that her oversized comforter provided. If it hadn’t been for the wail of her akuma alert alarm forcing her to drag herself out of bed, she might not have for the whole day.

The realization that Adrien Agreste - face of perfection and heart of gold - and Chat Noir - jokester and impulsive rogue were the same person had left her rattled. Marinette had needed a few days to process it all, but she was slowly coming to terms with how much it meant to her to discover the boy she deeply cared for was also her best friend.

She swung across the city to find a Grinch-like akuma, green from head to toe with a red hat and coat. With a single touch, the lights and decorations found on the streets of Paris simply vanished. Anyone found in his path transformed into lumps of coal.

“I think he has the wrong city. This isn’t Whoville.” Chat voice chirped happily - sickeningly so, given the early hour of the morning. “Good morning, milady.”

“Morning, kitty.” With a yawn, she searched the akuma for clues where to find their target. “I’m guessing it’s the Santa hat. But we have to keep out of range of his hands. Turning to coal sounds like a terrible way to spend Christmas.”

With a nod, he stood up and extended his baton with a grin. “40 feet.” Then he launched himself off the rooftops to place himself securely in the path of the opponent.

“Hey, is that your resting Grinch face?” he taunted, starting his usual distraction methods. She watched for the briefest of moments as the akuma threw itself at her partner with a growl. If she could just sneak in behind while it was distracted, she could probably pull the hat from his head.

Things never are that easy when fighting akumas. Realizing that a second superhero attempted to stealth attack him, the Grinch whirled around, knocking her to the ground mid-pendulum arch. She hit the ground with a roll, dodging away from the outstretched hand. Chat responded with a careful leap, vaulting himself towards the villain and narrowly missing the hat. Acrobatic flips moved him back out of the way of danger.

A few cheesy puns about the Grinch and being green later, Chat still somehow managed to keep most of the attention on himself while Ladybug attempted another grab for the hat. Failing, the Grinch growled, grabbing onto Chat’s baton and flinging the cat boy into the air. Ladybug watched in horror as her partner landed right in the akuma’s grip, wide-eyed and legs kicking.

Mere seconds felt like hours, a black heaviness overcoming Chat from his toes to his face. She screamed his name, panic clawing at her heart. No. No! Her yo-yo whirred with renewed vigour, calling her Lucky Charm. Into her hands dropped a carefully wrapped, red-polka dotted present with a tag reading “For the Grinch.”

A plan clicked into place.

“Oh, Mr. Grinch. I have something for you.” The akuma dropped the lifeless stone figure of Chat Noir to the pavement with a loud thud, turning its attention instead to her. She thrust the present at him with a smile, which made him stop and cock his head sideways with a frown. If she hadn’t been so focused on where the hands of her opponent were in that moment, she would have started singing. After all, music won the day in the story of the Grinch - hadn’t it?

“Merry Christmas.”

Cautiously, the akuma accepted the gift, settling down on the pavement beside Chat’s coal statue to rip open the paper and see what his gift was. The moment the lid popped free, a brilliant flash of light went off, blinding the akuma long enough for Ladybug to grab the hat and tear it apart. Away fluttered the butterfly, captured a moment later in her yo-yo with a snap. Bubbles enveloped the akumatized victim. In its place sat a confused man.

Grabbing the remaining pieces of the gift box, Ladybug threw it up into the air with a shout, releasing the Miraculous butterflies. They swirled around everything. Lights and decorations reappeared. People changed back from coal to themselves. She watched with relief as Chat emerged from his own coal statue, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Whoa!” he yelped, arms wrapping around her to prevent himself from falling backwards onto the pavement.

“Stupid cat,” she murmured, prying herself free to pay attention to the man on the ground nearby. Helping him to his feet, she found herself giving Chat the chance to interact with the victim - watching in silence as her partner graciously reassured the man that everything was okay now and Christmas hadn’t been ruined.

With a wave, they escaped to the rooftops.

“So,” drawled Chat, giving her the most curious of looks. “I have a question for you. Why did you shout ‘Adrien’ when I turned to coal?”

Certain that her heart stopped, Ladybug froze. She hadn’t. Had she? She blinked at him, wondering exactly what to say, brain scrambling for words.

“Why would I call you Adrien? That’s just silly. You aren’t Adrien - you’re Chat Noir. Completely different people. You must have heard wrong. I’m sure I shouted for you, silly cat. Chat Noir. Not Adrien.” Realizing that she rambled stupidly, she snapped her mouth shut and waited.

He narrowed his eyes at her, the gaze heavy and searching before he laughed. “Of course. I must have been mistaken. See you tonight then, LB?”

She nodded and he saluted before running off. Breathing a sigh of relief, she headed home, hoping to get a little more sleep before the busy part of the day before Christmas required her attention.

-------

“She knows, Plagg. I don’t know how, but she knows who I am.” Adrien lay flat on his bed, arms thrown wide, eyes staring at the ceiling. “Is that why she’s been acting strange lately? Maybe she figured out who I am and doesn’t like that it’s me!”

A million ideas and thoughts raced through his mind, distracting him through the day’s schedules. Appearances here, appearances there. Fake smiles and poses for media cameras. No family time like all his friends. His Instagram feed showcased Nino and his brother working on making cookies, Alya’s family sitting around in their PJs playing board games, Marinette hard at work in the bakery with her parents. Sitting in the back of the car that drove him everywhere, Adrien felt that emptiness that always seeped in around Christmas. Alone, isolated, and now - Ladybug knew who he was to the point of not being able to look him in the eye. Christmas sucked.

When their designated meetup time approached, he dutifully transformed into Chat Noir, stuffing the gift he’d put chosen for her into one of his pockets. Hopefully she would at least like that.

Ladybug stood on their favourite platform of the Eiffel Tower, pacing back and forth with wild arm gestures. She must have really been deep in thought since she didn’t even hear him land on the metal railing.

“Merry Christmas!” he called out, making her jump in surprise, hand clutched to her heart and blue eyes popped open wide in a strangely familiar and out-of-place motion.

“Oh, Chat. You scared me.” He chuckled. “Merry Christmas.”

“So, what’s on the plans for tonight’s Christmas adventure?” he asked. “Anything exciting?”

She blinked twice, staring at him for longer than should feel comfortable.

“Oh. Right. I thought I’d give you a special gift. It’s a tradition that my family has to open one gift each on Christmas Eve, so I thought it would be fun to do that with you.”

It would be fun, he thought. As long as she still liked him.

“Can I go first?” he asked, pulling the small package from his pocket and thrusting it at her. “It’s not much, but it seemed to scream like the gift you needed.”

Inside held two small pins. The first - a tiny ladybug with closed wings, the other - a small white circle with a set of black cat ears and green eyes peeking up from the bottom. She laughed, telling him that his gift was wonderful and that she’d find the perfect place for them.

She took a deep breath before she passed him a gift bag.

“For you.”

Carefully, he pulled out the tissue paper and unwrapped something soft. Into his hand fell a palm-sized hand-stitched doll of himself - Chat Noir. Digging into the bag more, he found a matching Ladybug. Something nagged in the back of his mind that he’d seen dolls like these before - back when Manon had been akumatized. Marinette had made dolls that Manon wanted to play with. He flipped them over to admire the neat stitching work and attention to detail.

“These are adorable. Thank you so much. Did you get these from Marinette Dupain-Cheng? I think she had some similar to these.”

She made a funny sound before answering. “Kind of? I made them for you.”

She had made them? He frowned in confusion.

Ladybug stepped forward, pulling the dolls gently out of his hands and putting them back in the bag before putting it on the ground. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and moved so that she was achingly close.

“Tikki. Spots off.”

He didn’t have time to close his eyes, other than to wince slightly at the bright and unexpected flash of pink light as Ladybug’s transformation dropped. In her place stood Marinette herself, a heavy black cat-ear hoodie pulled up over her head. An homage to himself, he realized. Two heartbeats later, she raised herself up on her tiptoes, hands clutching at his arms, warm lips pressing against his.

She stepped back before he could even react, whispering “Merry Christmas, my kitty - Adrien Agreste.”

He stared into her bluebell eyes, the pieces of the puzzle in his life clicking together in the most wonderful of ways. She did know. And she kissed him. Marinette Dupain-Cheng had turned a season full of disappointment and missing his mother into something full of memories and wonder. She had turned it into the best Christmas he had ever had.

“Thank you, milady Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Merry Christmas to you, too.”

As he dared to pull her close and kiss her for real, he realized that snowflakes were falling gently on Paris. How romantic.

#ml secret santa #miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #lyramaearcher #miraculous fanworks #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #marinette and adrien #ladybug and chat noir #identity reveal #christmas #christmas fun

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newmusickarl · 3 years ago

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Album & EP Recommendations

If I Can’t Have Love, I Want Power by Halsey

Halsey’s evolution across her career has been quite something to witness. Having begun her career in pure pop territory, her artistry has developed over time with each new record seeing the American singer-songwriter up the ambition and scope of her music. Now with this her fourth album, Halsey has gone bigger than ever, teaming up with Nine Inch Nails members and Oscar-winning composers Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross for her boldest work to date.

Produced entirely by Reznor and Ross, Halsey describes this new record as “a concept album about the joys and horrors of pregnancy and childbirth.” Naturally with any concept record there is going to be a cinematic feel, however Halsey has gone one step further and even delivered a full theatrical film to accompany the album, the trailer for which you can watch above. Although I am yet to see the film, there is no doubt that the musical portion is a mightily ambitious and accomplished project, with each song seamlessly segueing into the next despite the array of styles and genres across each track.

It may still be a pop record at the heart, but with the masterful touch of Reznor and Ross, Halsey also brings in some industrial rock elements, as well as a bit of pop punk in places too. However, it is not just sonically that Halsey pushes the boundaries but also thematically as well, using the album’s concept to press the issue of feminism and misogyny within the lyrics. Arguably what’s most striking about this record though is how tightly constructed everything is here – under the watchful eye of Reznor and Ross, the dramatic production is inch-perfect.

Most importantly, the songs here are just fantastic, from the religious imagery and glistening synths that lace the wonderful melody of Bells of Santa Fe, to the raw, grungy guitars of You asked for this. There’s also the atmospheric piano ballad 1121, where Halsey really flexes her impressive vocal cords. Pulsating, stylish electro-pop single I am not a woman, I’m a god is another standout. Once you have been amazed by all of this, the gentle plucking and raindrop like xylophone of stunning closer Ya’aburnee arrives to really blow things away.

In a year packed full of outstanding pop records, Halsey has delivered, for my money, one of the best of the lot. With Reznor and Ross holding the reigns, they help Halsey deliver on her epic vision with both style and control. It’s one thing to attempt a record like this, it’s another thing to pull it off as expertly and vibrantly as this – hats off for this one!

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Screen Violence by CHVRCHES

Also delivering their fourth album this week was Scottish synth-pop group CHVRCHES who, whilst predominantly maintaining their vintage sound, have lyrically pushed themselves into darker territory on this new record. Probably their finest work since their debut, frontwoman Lauren Mayberry takes no prisoners as she tackles sexism and misogyny, calling upon her own experiences within the industry to really illustrate the issues being put front and centre.

This is highlighted best on electric single Good Girls, a track Mayberry wrote “after listening to some friends arguing about the present-day implications of loving certain problematic male artists – I was struck by the lengths that people would go to in order to excuse their heroes and how that was so juxtaposed to my own experiences in the world.”

Other highlights include He Said She Said, a glistening synth-driven pop banger that’s contrasted against razor-sharp lyrics with a defiant message at its core – catchy, but also powerful and thought-provoking. There’s also the superb collaboration with The Cure legend Robert Smith, How Not to Drown, which is a moody, atmospheric, and synth-soaked belter of a track. Although it is incredible right the way through, the real spine-tingling moment comes during the song’s outro thanks to the ghostly vocals of Smith being cast over some hauntingly melodic guitars. Outside of the singles, the rawness of heartbreaking closer Better If You Don’t leaves the biggest impression.

All in all, this album ranks amongst their best work and although it may not be quite as dramatic or impressionable as Halsey’s album, there’s still plenty to which you’ll want to digest and ultimately keep returning.

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How Long Do You Think It’s Gonna Last? By Big Red Machine

The National’s Aaron Dessner and Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon have certainly kept themselves busy over lockdown. It seems they weren’t satisfied with just taking Taylor Swift’s music to incredible new heights on 2020’s folklore and evermore, as they have now also released their second album under their Big Red Machine guise. The most noticeable thing about this second record is that the duo have extended their collaboration further this time around, bringing in renowned artists such as Ben Howard, Sharon Van Etten, Lisa Hannigan and Fleet Foxes, as well as two more collaborations with Miss Swift herself.

Given the talent involved, it is no surprise that this makes for a really special and stunning collection of songs. There’s wonderful electro-folk track Mimi, which sees singer-songwriter Ilsey Juber join Justin Vernon on lead vocal duties. Phoenix sees Robin Pecknold of Fleet Foxes and Anaïs Mitchell join in for a wonderful, horn-backed number. This track in fact isn’t the only time Anaïs Mitchell steals the show, as her beautiful, soothing vocal performances on opener Latter Days and closer New Auburn arguably provide the two best moments of the entire album.

The two tracks with Taylor Swift are also fantastic, with Renegade offering a sweet, pop cut that wouldn’t be out of place on either of Swift’s last two records. The better of the two though is Birch, a piano-driven, string-tinged ballad which sees Swift simply providing back-up vocals to Vernon’s haunting folky croons. It’s stunning and possibly my new favourite collaboration between the three artists.

Ultimately this is just a superb album, with Dessner and Vernon thriving alongside their chosen collaborators for a collection of songs that will frequently both move and astound you.

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Donda by Kanye West

Easily the most talked about album of the week, after several launch events and many, many delays, Kanye West finally released his long-awaited tenth studio album, Donda. Now anyone who knows me knows that I am not a fan of excessive, bloated albums, so with Donda clocking in at almost 2 hours long it was always going to struggle to win me over.

As expected, this is another West project that struggles with inconsistency, with moments of brilliance balanced out with plenty of moments that ultimately underwhelm. Although it has more high points than Ye and the production is more polished than Jesus Is King, there is no track as good as Ghost Town and sonically I found it less inspired than Jesus Is King in many ways. I’m not sure just yet if this is indeed the worst West album, but it is certainly down there in the bottom half for me.

That said, there are still some great moments to be found here. Once you get passed the massively irritating Donda Chant opener (honestly, so painful!), the Jay-Z featuring Jail offers an anthemic rock-influenced gem to get the album started properly. From there The Weeknd featuring Hurricane, the Lauryn Hill sampling Believe What I Say, the heavenly melody of Kid Cudi feature Moon and the organ-backed closer No Child Left Behind provide some of the other highlights. However possibly the finest moment comes in the form of Jesus Lord, a 9-minute epic that sees West deliver some of his best bars in years, returning to the social-consciousness that made him a star in the first place.

If you are a fan of West’s recent gospel-influenced work, then this album will reward you for your patience if you stick with it. For me, although there are some moments I enjoyed, the length was just too much, with this album having the same inconsistency problem that The Life of Pablo had but without reaching the same heights as that album did when it was at its best. Disappointing, but still somewhat worthwhile.

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The Awesome Album by Mouse Rat

And finally on the albums front, if like me you are a big Parks & Recreation fan, you’ll be pleased to hear that Chris Pratt’s fictional band from the show, Mouse Rat, have finally released their debut album this week. Featuring classics such as 5,000 Candle In The Wind and The Pit, this one is a lot of fun for fans of the show.

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Tracks of the Week

Good Ones by Charli XCX

Coming off the back of the definitive lockdown album How I’m Feeling Now that earned her both a Mercury Prize nomination and a place in my Top 5 albums of 2020, Charli XCX has returned with a new synth-driven banger that packs in an insanely catchy hook and wonderful 80s vibes.

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Family Ties by Baby Keem & Kendrick Lamar

Also making his return this week was King Kendrick who delivered a fantastic new collaboration with his cousin Baby Keem. Over a brilliant horn-driven beat, the two family members go toe-to-toe and bar-to-bar across this concise hip-hop banger.

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Alone by Rag N Bone Man & Nothing But Thieves

A remix of a track from Rory Graham’s latest album Life By Misadventure, this version sees Conor Mason of Nothing But Thieves join in on vocals, along with some triumphant rock production that replaces the stripped back nature of the album cut.

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Spirit Power & Soul by Johnny Marr

The brilliant first track from his forthcoming new EP, Spirit Power & Soul finds legendary guitarist Johnny Marr in fine form, sonically calling back to his days with Bernard Sumner in Electronic. Built on a masterful central riff, pulsating synths and a big anthemic chorus, it’s a belter!

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Nothing Else Matters by Chris Stapleton

And finally this week, we’ve had plenty of great, unique covers of Nothing Else Matters by Metallica already this year, with Miley Cyrus and Phoebe Bridgers already offering their own take on the classic song. However, I’ve always got time for another and this 8-minute epic from country singer Chris Stapleton is just as dazzling, thanks to some amazing bluesy guitars and his textured vocal performance.

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