#now i sometimes use concealer if i have a little zit but i barely need to and im honestly still amazed by it

[buddyapologist]

I always thought that my self esteem problems with my face would disappear when my acne went away but as with all things i simply shifted to hating other things about my face. cool!

[chloebeale]

GRADUATION DAY

Summary: PP4 wishful thinking opening scene expanded because y’all are animals and I love you.

Rating: M for masturbation (and head too but head doesn’t begin with M)

Words: 4K | Read it below or on ao3

Never before has the sound of a hand on a door caused quite such a sudden, deafening silence. It’s broken quickly, of course, by the sound of idle chatter, of Aubrey promising Emily that it doesn’t even look that bad.

Finally, what seems like a lifetime after the rest of the Bellas graduated, their Legacy is now sporting a cap and gown, her years of hard work at Barden University coming to an end, paying off. It’s difficult not to feel like a proud parent, truth be told. They were there to welcome Emily into the school, into the once upon a time failing Bellas, and they’ve gotten to watch her grow and flourish, so today is a big deal. It’s a really, really big deal.

“Why does it have to be right there?” Emily whines, her tone exasperated. “On the end of my nose? Of all places? Today?!”

“Emily, focus,” Aubrey demands, and it’s evident she’s preparing for one of her motivational, sometimes helpful (sometimes not so much) speeches. “It’s a zit. Everybody gets zits. You can barely see it underneath your concealer, and nobody is focusing on that today. This is your graduation, this is your day. So I want you to go out there, forget about that tiny blemish and walk with your head held high. You did it, you’re a college graduate! That’s a huge deal. Can we please, please just focus on that?”

There’s a slight groan, the sound of a defeated sigh most likely followed by heavily slumping shoulders, then Emily seems to calm. At least as calm as Emily Junk ever can be, anyway.

“Fine. Fine, you’re right. I’m gonna go out there, and I’m gonna own this day.”

“That’s the spirit!” Aubrey chirps, hands probably resting against the younger girl’s shoulders as if she’s ready to send her off into the boxing ring. “Let’s go.”

There’s a pause, possibly while Emily looks over her reflection one more time, and then the sound of hurried footsteps fills the room, the door swinging open and then creaking it’s way all too slowly back shut.

And there’s that silence again. Silent, save for the sound of suppressed breathing, of a small pant that’d been held back for the last few moments.

“God,” Beca mumbles, her words followed by a relieved sigh of her own. She’s pressed back against the closed stall door, faded jeans halfway past her knees. Her line of sight moves downward, a look of worry gracing her pale features. “Do you think they heard us?”

Blue eyes drift upward to meet with the other’s, a hunger glazing her stare, and Chloe quickly shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

It would be so easy right now to end their moment. For Chloe to pull herself up from the floor, where her knees rest uncomfortably against the cold, hard white tiles. Nothing screams ‘mood killer’ quite like two of your oblivious best friends talking about zits when you’re about to fuck your girlfriend, after all.

But then Chloe’s gaze meets with Beca’s, and she’s reminded of only a few moments prior, when the two had hurried in here with their fingers intertwined, bodies craving one another’s touch. So much so that they’d made do with a (probably not the most hygienic) bathroom stall, because they’d just needed each other that damn badly.

She thinks about how she’d pushed Beca up against the door, the brunette’s fingers fumbling to slide the lock as their lips pressed hungrily against each other’s, barely room to breathe between them. Chloe’s fingers had worked their way messily into Beca’s previously neatly styled hair, and she’d heard that familiar, desperate whimper rise from the back of the other girl’s throat as she’d tugged just a little too harshly on mousy locks, and God, Chloe is back in that moment all over again.

Beca doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to stop this, either. Her fingers haven’t moved from where they’d been tangled up in auburn curls, though Chloe feels a brief tug, an almost pleading stare shot down her way, and she knows the mood’s still there for Beca, too.

“Shh,” Chloe places a long finger in front of her lips, “Not too loud, okay?” Her voice is soft and husked, a need behind it in spite of the quiet volume. Normally, her goal is to pull the loudest, most exaggerated sounds she can from her girlfriend’s tiny frame. If people think Beca Mitchell sounds good when she’s singing, they have no idea just how incredible she sounds when she’s moaning Chloe’s name, begging for her release.

But they’ve kept this up so far. They promised they’d keep this between them, just until after Emily’s graduation. They’ve wanted to take the time to get to know one another as girlfriends, and not just friends.

(Then again, have they ever really been just friends? If you were to ask them, then yes, but many would say otherwise.)

While Chloe’s gaze remains up on Beca’s face as she begins to peel her skinny jeans further down her legs, she can’t help but let her eyes lower, heart pounding in anticipation of what’s to come.

(Quite literally.)

“Step out,” she instructs, aware that she could do this without entirely unclothing her girlfriend’s bottom half, but where’s the fun in that? They already have only a small, compact space to work with, and Chloe will be damned if she doesn’t make the most of what she can.

Beca doesn’t question her, she simply follows instruction, until her jeans are laid in a heap on the floor by Chloe’s knees, pouty lips finally meeting with the warm, soft skin of the other girl’s inner thigh.

“Do you know how sexy you are?” Chloe questions in a hushed tone, lips pressing their way in an upward path until she’s ghosting kisses along the fabric of her panties.

“Says the girl between my legs,” Beca breathes, head tilting back some against the door. Her fingers bunch a little more tightly in Chloe’s hair, almost like she’s trying to guide her, and the redhead lets a soft, breathy chuckle fall from her lips, vibrating rhythmically against pale skin.

“Easy, Bec.” Chloe pulls back just a fraction, just to gaze up at her favorite face. She notices that Beca’s stare is still intently on her, and feels a swell of pride rising inside of her chest. “I’m the one fucking you, remember?”

“Fine,” the brunette grumbles, grip loosening just a little bit, and Chloe smirks to herself as she presses her lips to the soft skin of Beca’s hip bone, the placement causing her body to tense beneath her touch.

If they had more time, Chloe would take this more slowly. She’d tease and really work her up, but considering where they are and why they’re actually here, they have to be smart.

They have their hotel room to completely violate later, anyway.

As her fingers curl under the hem of tight panties, slowly beginning to peel the fabric down the other girl’s thighs, her gaze drifts downward, and Chloe realizes she doesn’t really have to do too much to get her worked up. Beca is there all on her own.

“Damn, Becs.” Her teeth sink down gently into her lower lip, the taste of her gloss bitter against her tongue. “Who knew you were such an exhibitionist?”

She can try to deny it all she wants, but the evidence is right there before her eyes. Her arousal is streaked across the top of her thighs, glistening against soft, pale skin.

“Maybe we’ll have to do this public stuff more often,” Chloe teases, lips reconnecting with hot skin before Beca has the chance to retort. All she manages is a muffled whine, her back relaxing against the door as Chloe slides her panties right the way down toward her feet. She nudges her ankle gently until Beca gets the hint, and then she’s stepping out of the damp material, the inviting sight before Chloe’s eyes causing a familiar ache between her legs.

Beca opens her mouth to say something, though she doesn’t quite get to start, because Chloe has hooked an arm underneath one of her legs, and is lifting it to rest lazily over her shoulder, tongue finally meeting with the sensitive bundle before her.

“Fuck,” Beca hisses quietly, the initial contact clearly something she’d craved. Chloe wants to comment on how good she tastes, on how smug she feels for how wet her girlfriend already is, but she’s too preoccupied in the moment, tongue flattening to lick a heavy strip right the way up her clit.

Each time she tastes Beca Mitchell, it’s like the first time all over again. She’s something she craves, so badly that Chloe thinks about it when she’s alone, her own fingers the only thing she has to satisfy her desperate need. And each time they’re in this position, each time her tongue is free to explore, it’s always so much better than her imagination, so much better than she remembers.

Already, she can feel the way Beca’s hips have begun to move, her body tensing beneath her touch. Chloe has one hand holding onto the other girl’s thigh, her thumb tracing small circles against her skin, though she brings the other over to slide a long finger between her folds. Already it’s slick with arousal, and Chloe can’t resist letting herself get lost in the moment, her tongue burying its way inside of her center.

“Fuck, Chlo,” Beca whimpers, her volume a little louder this time. Chloe really can’t bring herself to care, the sound of her girlfriend’s voice only drives her to move faster, to slide her tongue more harshly inside of her. Her finger, still coated with Beca’s arousal, slides idly along her clit, until she’s beginning to rub tight circles against the sensitive flesh, a quiet moan of her own vibrating against her clit as Beca tugs more harshly onto her hair.

If ever there was a bad time to get a phone call, it would be right now. With Beca’s hips moving to the point of her practically fucking Chloe’s face, thighs clenching as her tongue curves inside of her.

“Ignore it,” Beca breathes, words desperate and broken, and while her tongue is buried deeply inside of the other girl, Chloe can’t help the way a soft laugh falls from her lips, a puff of warm air evidently hitting Beca in just the right place to pull a drawn out moan from the back of her throat.

Like she’d even question answering right now? No, Chloe is having way too much fun, she’s too turned on by the feeling of walls clenching around her, of her finger sliding so easily over her girlfriend’s swollen clit.

Chloe is wearing a skirt. A short one, at that. And it’s so hard to keep from reaching a hand between her legs and touching herself, because her desperate aching is growing only more and more intense the longer this goes on. But she refrains, wanting to focus solely on the other girl. Her fingers grip a little more tightly onto Beca’s thigh, tongue savoring the taste as she pulls her girlfriend nearer to her orgasm.

By the time she comes undone, they’re both a panting, moaning mess. Chloe licks the traces of Beca’s release from the tops of her inner thighs, fingers still working her slowly down from her high. She loves the way her girlfriend squirms, how her body reacts to every touch, every movement. Beca’s fingers are still caught in her hair, repetitive moaning falling almost lazily from her lips.

It really doesn’t matter that they’re in a public restroom, and that this should probably be considered dirty more so than anything else, Chloe always finds that there’s something so sensual about the two of them together. She can fuck her girlfriend so hard that she’s screaming her name, begging for more, yet it’s still so sensual, so passionate. Because it’s them.

“Holy fuck,” Beca finally breathes out, her body slumping back against the door as Chloe pulls back and gently rests the other girl’s foot down on the floor.

“I agree,” Chloe smirks as she presses a small kiss to Beca’s inner thigh, before finally standing to meet her face to face. She takes pride in the way Beca’s chest is moving faster with her heavy breaths, her expression saying as such. Beca can’t even make some sarcastic comment, because it’s clear she’s still trying to come down from the cloud Chloe’s tongue has apparently put her on. “You are seriously so sexy,” she repeats her earlier sentiment, fingertips reaching out to settle delicately beneath Beca’s chin. Chloe tilts her face upward, until she can press her lips gently against Beca’s. Her voice is soft and quiet as she continues, lips ghosting across the other’s. “You taste so good, huh?”

It doesn’t matter how many times they do this, how many times Chloe tells Beca just how much of a turn on she is, the brunette always seems at least slightly bashful in return, and right now is no different as a tinge of pink washes across her pale cheeks.

“I’m serious, Bec,” she reaches for her girlfriend’s hand, lifting it up to drape her arm around her neck, “I was literally almost fucking myself to the way you taste. God, and the way you sound...”

Somehow, it’s like her words have sent a shot of confidence through the shorter girl, maybe a little inspiration, even, and Chloe watches the way glistening eyes scan her face, arm tightening some around her neck. “Oh yeah?” Beca questions, the briefest hint of a smirk threatening her lips. “Just almost?”

“Mhm,” Chloe chuckles quietly, “Just almost.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where Beca’s mind is going. Where it’s already gone, in fact. And by the time slender fingers reach out to graze slowly across her own, Chloe is already resigning herself to the fact that this is happening. Her gaze catches Beca’s, their eyes staring deeply into one another’s, and that air is returning, that moment coming back all over again.

“What if I wanted to see that?” Beca just above whispers, palm cupping the back of Chloe’s hand. The redhead glances down briefly, though brings her gaze back up to her girlfriend’s, the corner of her lips curved upward slightly as she allows Beca’s hand to guide her own beneath the short material of her skirt.

“Mm,” Chloe pretends to think for a moment, voice lowering to that same soft husk all over again. “Is that what you want? You want me to fuck myself for you?”

Having relinquished control (at least for now) to the other girl, Chloe feels the fabric of her own panties beneath the tips of her fingers, Beca’s hand still curled around her own. Presumably, Beca thinks that’s all the response she needs, but Chloe has other ideas.

“You have to ask me nicely,” she teases, though she knows that the feeling between her legs, the way it builds with each passing second, won’t actually let her stop.

“Please,” Beca nods her head, strands of mousy hair falling in her face. Chloe brings her free hand up to brush them aside with her fingertips, stroking it gently behind her ear.

“Please what?”

“Touch yourself.” Beca’s voice is small but strong, there’s a power behind it that causes the arousal to pool only more heavily between Chloe’s legs. “Fuck yourself. For me.”

And that’s the response she needs. That’s the motivation that has her tugging her hand away from Beca’s to slide the damp material of her panties aside, two fingers immediately met with the result of her fucking her girlfriend only moments ago.

Beca watches. No, she stares, and the sight of her girlfriend watching her so intently, waiting for her reaction is just about the biggest turn on Chloe can imagine other than Beca being the one touching her herself. She isn’t going to disappoint her, she’s going to give her a show. And it won’t be forced either, because Chloe has been desperate for this release the entire time, and it takes only moments of her fingers making tight circles against her clit, spreading her arousal between her folds, for Chloe’s teeth to sink into her lower lip, a soft moan to rise from the back of her throat.

Chloe is learning a lot about Beca today. She’s learning that she likes the danger of a public place, and that her eyes sparkle when she gets to watch, to take in the sight of something like this.

Blue eyes stare back, though the faster she begins to move her fingers, the tighter the circles she begins to make, the more difficult it becomes for her to focus, and soon her lids are fluttering shut, coated lashes resting thickly over hooded eyes. And Chloe doesn’t even care to hold back the sound, the way her body responds to the feeling of one finger slipping easily inside of her, her girlfriend’s arm tightening a little bit around her neck. She allows a soft moan to fall from her lips, though it’s muffled by the sound of Beca closing the gap between them, lips parting to press firmly to her own.

Apparently, as much as Beca seems to be enjoying this, she can’t quite hand over full control, because it’s only seconds later that Chloe feels a hand nudging her own out of the way, and soon her fingers are replaced by the feeling of her girlfriend’s pressing down against her clit, coating themselves in arousal and sliding side by side into her center.

“God, you’re so wet,” Beca breathes against her lips, their kiss a little more lazy now; they’re both evidently a little preoccupied elsewhere. Without the need for her own fingers anymore, Chloe presses her palms up against the door, either side of Beca’s head, and pushes her legs further apart to give her girlfriend more room to work, more space to curl her hand and stroke her fingers along her walls in exactly the right place.

Beca knows Chloe’s body by now, the same way Chloe knows Beca’s in return. She knows exactly where to touch her, exactly how hard to pump her fingers in and out, exactly where to curl the tips to touch just the right spots, and Chloe responds with a deep moan into their kiss, her knees already beginning to give way.

It was never going to take long to get her off, not with how turned on she’d been while going down on Beca, so when the pad of Beca’s thumb presses firmly to her clit, tight circles kneading against the sensitive bud, they both know that this is almost over. If they didn’t, the way Chloe’s body reacts, her hips moving in a rhythmic pace, throat emitting desperate moans and pleading whimpers does the talking for her, and soon she’s letting out a longer, louder moan, her walls clenching tightly around slim digits as she reaches her high.

“I thought we were staying quiet,” Beca whispers, the smugness in her tone evident in the way it rings against Chloe’s lips. Even with her eyes closed, she can feel the way the brunette is smirking, the way she’s so openly proud of herself as she slides her fingers back out and coaxes her down from her orgasm.

“And I thought I was doing it myself,” Chloe retorts, voice soft as it vibrates against Beca’s lips. Finally, she forces herself to pull back, gives Beca the view of her chest rising and falling faster, the same way her own was only moments ago. Sweat has begun to bead lightly across her forehead, and it’s clear they’ll have some cleaning up to do before they get back out there to join the other girls as if nothing has happened, as if they haven’t just fucked each other to orgasm in the middle of a public restroom, almost caught by two of their own.

Now that her eyes have opened, she can finally look at Beca’s face, finally study the way she looks so pleased with herself, so euphorically happy with the last few moments.

“Not complaining, are you?” Beca teases, brow arching slightly as she brings her hand from inside of Chloe’s skirt and lifts two fingers to her mouth, lips parting to suck them clean. Though, Chloe gets there first, reaching up a hand to take ahold of Beca’s wrist, then wraps her lips around her wet fingers, gaze locked on the other girl’s the entire time.

Beca lets out an almost pained whine in response, and Chloe’s lips curve into a smirk at the sound of her fingers popping from between her lips. “And I’m the sexy one?” Beca comments, watching her in awe.

“You sure are,” Chloe nods, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to the tip of Beca’s nose. “But I’m pretty sexy, too.” She shrugs a shoulder, her expression somewhat amused.

“I can’t even explain how badly I don’t want to leave this bathroom right now... Which is kind of a weird thought,” Beca frowns, nose wrinkling in slight disgust.

Chloe responds with a short, breathy laugh, her head nodding in agreement. “I know, but we’re here for Emily. We should probably get back out there.” There’s a soft, exaggerated pout on her lips as she finally takes a step back, forcing herself not to look down -- Beca is still half naked, and Chloe knows she won’t be able to resist her if she lets herself take in that sight again.

“You should get dressed,” the redhead states, her forehead wrinkling into a slight frown. It’s the last thing she wants really, but they’ll have time to undress one another later. They’ll have time to pay better attention, to really focus on one another’s bodies. Maybe she can give Beca a real show then, in fact. She leans forward to press a small kiss to Beca’s pouted lips. “I’m gonna go clean up. I’ll see you in a sec?”

It would be their luck to walk out of there and find the Bellas all standing around, mouths hanging open as they realize what they’ve just inadvertently witnessed, so Chloe is almost somewhat surprised to learn that it’s still just the two of them in here. That their secret is still safe, it’s still theirs.

She’s really in no hurry to wash her girlfriend off of her fingers, but she does it, and greets the shorter girl with a knowing smile once she walks back out to join her, straightening out her shirt to fall over her newly fastened jeans.

“Remembered your panties, right?” Chloe grins, Beca’s playful eye roll in response pulling an amused chuckle from her lips.

“Of course I did. Gotta give you something to take off later, huh?”

The wink sent her way through the mirror’s reflection has Chloe melting all over again, but they don’t have the time right now. They’re not so wrapped up in one another that they’d actually miss such a big day, such an important event. They just... Needed a little something to tide them over, that’s all.

As Chloe tugs open the door to the restroom, motioning Beca out before her, she thinks they’re still alone, thinks they’re still in the clear. The sound of a voice coming from behind her as she exits the room almost makes her jump, and Chloe pauses to turn around and eye its owner.

“Took you long enough,” Amy says, arms folded across her middle. The door finally clicks shut, and Chloe wonders how soundproof it really is, how much Amy has actually heard. The blonde motions toward the now closed door as she pushes herself up from the wall. “Smells like sex in there, by the way.”

Chloe can see the way Beca grimaces, even from behind. She can just picture it so clearly, so much so that it causes her to grin in response, though she bites it back, and sends a small shrug over her shoulder in Amy’s direction.

“It does?” Chloe questions in a bright, casual tone. “Hm. Can’t imagine why.”

[ao3bronte]

Smutember: Fingering

Masquerade on Ao3

16: Fingering/handjob

A sex scandal, a PR nightmare and an akuma attack all in one day; just a typical afternoon for Paris’ dynamic duo.

Or, as La Parisienne had so aptly put it:

CONFIRMED! Cities Having the Most Sex…Can You Guess Who’s on Top? (And it's not Ladybug!)

Marinette smashes her face into her pillow and screams as loudly as she can, kicking her feet hard enough to make her bounce around on the mattress. Alya had finally, finally pulled the video from her website but the damage had already been done. The screenshots were everywhere on Instagram, the GIFs all over Tumblr; it seems that everyone and their dog was talking about Chat Noir and Ladybug’s ‘nooky in the nook’ (thanks Cosmopolitan) and the press was having a field day.

Surprisingly, the reaction wasn’t entirely negative. It’s not like they were being praised or anything, but much of the focus was on their bodies. Considering the skin-tight nature of her suit, Marinette wasn’t entirely unaware that her physique was a constant source of interest on the internet and she figured the same fanaticism could be applied to Chat. After all, he had just as many raving fans as she did; the fan art and fanfiction on the internet could attest to that.

After that, the more pragmatic side of the world was looking into how their transformations took place, which had obviously never been captured on film before. It took away a lot of the initial sting since the television news stations couldn’t exactly air the footage due to the subject matter; instead, they had to focus on other aspects of the incident.

There were the haters of course. The American organisation One Million Moms was arranging protests in their country, declaring a television boycott on the two Parisian superheroes in order to save the decency of their children. Others were saying Chat was being too rough (somehow forgetting that Ladybug had been just as rough, if not more so) and that they were too young to be having sex. After all, the press didn’t know their ages and their reports varied wildly, pegging them anywhere from fourteen to twenty-two.

And that wasn’t even the worst part.

Marinette had been forced to wear a kerchief around her neck all day to hide the hickeys and even Alya had told her that she looked like she just walked off an Air France Boeing 747. Alya had tried to tug the scarf off and Marinette had clung to it like her life depended on it, so of course Alya was curious. Marinette tried to explain that she was covering a nasty zit with it and, when the bell rang, she escaped as fast as her feet could take her. She’d managed to evade Alya’s sticky fingers for the rest of the day, but the bruises wouldn’t be fading for at least another few days and no amount of concealer was going to save her.

And that wasn’t the even worst part either.

In true Le Papillon fashion, the supervillain decided today would be a great day to re-emerge from his two week absence and infect an angry lawyer, which meant that Marinette had to somehow sneak out of calculus to nip that in the bud. Mind you, the purification had been simple enough; the lawyer’s razor-sharp dossier of death had been no match for Chat’s cataclysme and they had everything tied up within ten minutes.

“So,” Chat attempts to break the ice, “How’s school?”

Marinette grabs his forearm and steers him away from the oncoming hoard of journalists, disappearing into a covered passage and running up the fire escape, “Oh, let’s see. Everyone in my school has seen me naked. So, you know, it’s been great.”

Chat ricochets off the stone wall and pulls her up with him until they’re on the roof, “I know. The girls in front of me in econ wouldn’t stop talking about my butt.”

“Yikes.”

Chat looks just as dazed as she feels, “It was…well, you had to be there. It was creepy.”

Marinette shivers and they set off towards the general direction of her school, “You’re telling me. My best friend won’t stop talking about it.”

“Mine too,” he dives between a clothesline and makes the next few bounds on all fours, easily keeping up with her, “It’s been surreal.”

She takes a sharp right and pauses at the brink of the boulevard, “Patrol tonight?”

“As always,” he replies, slipping his hand into hers for a moment, “We’ll talk later. I’ve got it get back to class.”

She gives his fingers a brief squeeze and waits until Chat has disappeared behind a building before yoyoing back to her school.

Back in her bedroom, Marinette sighs. That part wasn’t so bad, but still, sometimes it feels good to scream into a pillow and be dramatic, especially when pictures of your naked body are still trending worldwide.

When she’d ran home from school and opened the door to her parent’s bakery, her parents had been oddly subdued. She figured it had something to do with the oppressing heat making all of the measurements for their pastry recipes fall out of whack. It was extremely humid in the kitchens and her father asked her to try and fiddle with the air conditioning to get it flowing properly again.

“Is the cold air coming out?” Marinette hollers from the boiler room.

“Not yet!” her father booms from the kitchen and she jabs her fingers into the thermostat again, hoping to beat the ancient thing into submission by brute force alone. She wiggles the tiny handle and smacks her fist down over the top of it and all it does is pop, sputter and shut back down with a heaving clunk.

Marinette throws her head back and glares reproachfully at the ceiling, “Could this day get any worse?”

And now, with the house feeling more like the surface of the sun, Marinette screams into her pillow again and throws the offending cushion across the room for no better reason than that it feels good to do it.

“Marinette?”

She listens as her mother cracks open the trapdoor and reluctantly turns her head to acknowledge her, “Yeah?”

“Are you alright? I…heard screaming.”

Marinette sighs theatrically, “I’m fine mum. Just hot. And tired.”

Sabine makes her way into the bedroom and shuts the door behind her, “Are you sure? Do you need to talk about it?”

She barely keeps herself from snorting, “No, it’s okay. It’s just school and the heat, that’s all.”

“Alright,” Sabine nods but looks far from convinced. She pins Marinette with a knowing look, “Just remember, I’m here to talk if you need to. About anything, I mean it. I won’t get upset.”

The way she says it speaks of things Marinette has long suspected but never acknowledged, “I know but I really don’t want to talk about it right now. Maybe later.”

“Okay.”

Marinette closes her eyes and Sabine retreats back into the bakery, leaving her blissfully alone. She turns her head and peels one eye open, taking note of the time and closes it again.

Three hours left until patrol.

~

“Good evening,” he calls from behind her, landing on the railings of the Hermès building in the 8e arrondissement. They’ve long used the building’s private rooftop gardens as a meeting place and have spent many a warm evening tucked in behind the trees and shrubs, chatting the night away.

“It’s a terrible evening,” she sulks, crossing her arms over her chest. She’d brought a water bottle with her this time, determined to stay hydrated in this life sucking heat.

“I heat to agree with you but I’m feeling the burn.”

Marinette briefly fantasises about throwing said water bottle at his face, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Not in the mood for jokes?” he smirks, “I never would have guessed.”

“It’s been a rough day all right? I want to relax.”

“I can help you with that.”

“Good. Close your eyes, I need to get out of this suit.”

She drops her transformation as soon as he turns and sighs in relief when her skin is finally exposed, wearing only a soft tank and a pair of cotton shorts underneath. He opens his eyes and drinks in the length of her legs and the creamy skin of her thighs, so perfect and yet almost always covered. He’d only ever seen her in a skirt for the first time this week, his steady suspicions only confirmed further, especially since she’d disappeared during calculus at the same time he had. He wishes she would wear skirts more often, wishes he could dress her in some of the items in his father’s summer collection, all soft fabrics in flowing designs.

She lays down on the soft sod and closes her eyes, giving him a chance to detransform. He does so gladly, slips his mask on, and sighs when he finds himself back in the clothing he’d returned home in after the Versace fitting, perfectly tailored but altogether stifling in this heat.

Whoa.

“Ladybug?” he calls and his voice startles her, snapping her back to reality.

“What?”

He wiggles an eyebrow, “You’re looking a little red under that mask.”

“I am not,” she responds and flushes even more.

“I love it when you blush,” he hums, “Even your ears turn pink.”

She snorts, “Speak for yourself. You’ve swooned so hard I’ve had to scrape you off the ground before and you know it.”

“I have not,” he scoffs and sits down beside her. She tries to stay composed on the outside and bites her lip, conscious of the way she’s clenching her inner muscles and thighs together to relieve some of the pressure.

She sneaks a glance at him, dressed to the nines, and finds him watching her, a little grin spreading on his lips. She feels the familiar rush in her stomach that comes with the sudden onslaught of arousal and god, she wishes he would just crawl between her legs and be done with it. She doesn’t know whether it’s the heatwave or the itch beneath her skin but she can’t help the way she reacts as she inches closer and he leans in, his breath ghosting over the shell of her ear, “Let me make you come.”

She nods and turns her face towards him, their noses brushing, and he cups her face in her hands. He kisses her then, soft and hot and everything she’d been craving, burying his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck. She responds, expert and bruising, and brushes her hands up his chest and neck and cheeks, rough with facial hair.

“Slob,” she chastises teasingly, grazing her knuckles against the rough texture.

“It took me a while to get ready this morning,” he blushes.

“Did I tire you out last night?”

Her teasing only makes it worse, “Yes. It was the best sex of my life.”

She may be the queen of baiting him but he’s always been able to knock her down a few pegs with his sheer and brutal honesty, “Oh.”

She’s falling back into the grass and his body slots between her legs like it belongs there and now, after all this time, she’s starting to believe it really does. Like Tikki had told her a thousand times already, a Chat Noir always finds his Ladybug eventually, no matter the odds against them.

Crawling over her, he hitches her legs upwards and hooks them around his hips, slender and addictive. She kisses him breathless and lets her mouth travel down his jaw and neck and collarbones, dissolving him into a puddle between her arms. She loves that these simple gestures, these effortless acts of adoration make him melt like putty in her grasp and smiles into his skin, transferring every ounce of her newfound love into her kiss.

She undoes his dress shirt, a slim fitted cotton poplin with mother of pearl buttons, and tries not to wince as she slips it off his shoulders and throws it into a shrub. She eyes the tag as she does so and tries not to choke at the fact that the Burberry shirt probably cost more than her three month bakery allowance.

She breathes out and slowly surveys him with starving eyes, revelling in the way he squirms under the appraisal of his body and she flattens her hands to his exposed abdomen, running them slowly upwards until they graze his rib cage and nipples.

He gasps, “Ladybug…”

“Make as much noise as you want,” she breathes into his ear, wishing she could rub her thighs together to diffuse the intense arousal she feels, “I want you to be loud for me tonight.”

“Loud?” he gulps.

“Well, all of Paris knows we’re having sex. What’s there left to lose?”

Marinette cannot believe the words coming out of her mouth. Who is this person and what has she done with her common sense?

He gasps as she rolls them onto their sides and leans into him, running her tongue and lips over his collarbones and chest. She nips at one of his nipples lightly before laving it with her tongue, bucking her hips against him. He groans, his eyes fluttering open and he feels hard and urgent against her core, turning her on even more.

He pulls her on top of him and his hands circle her waist, pulling her towards him and her clit is unequivocally throbbing at this point; she's been aroused for hours ever since she watched that stupid video and being around him doesn't exactly help stifle the heat and the itch.

"Up," he urges and she raises her arms, kissing him as he pushes hr shirt up and over her head. He unclasps her bra and she grabs the back of his neck, nuzzling him and enjoying the way her bare chest feels against the texture of his skin. He smiles into the kiss and runs those long, slender piano fingers of his through her hair, seemingly content to hold onto her for as long as he can.

He hooks one of his arms around her body and pushes her back against the grass, rolling a nipple between his fingers and drawing a gasp from her lips, "Our lives are insane," he mutters against her skin and she chuckles breathlessly.

"It could be worse," she admits, pulling back to press a kiss to the side of his neck, "I don't know how, but it could be worse."

"At least we looked good," he clutches her head against his neck and wills her to continue sucking marks into his skin. He’d spent a half hour covering them with concealer this morning but he couldn’t care less about that now, bucking his hips and sneaking his hand beneath the waistband of her shorts.

He pops the button open and slides the zipper down, slipping his fingers beneath her lace panties, "Have I told you how much I love you today?"

She's practically vibrating with anticipation at this point, watching eagerly as he sits up to pull her shorts down her thighs. He tosses them behind him and pulls her panties off as well, chuckling as she waves them around when they get caught on her ankle. He eyes her appreciatively, completely naked before him, and lets his fingers explore her body, ghosting over her inner thighs.

"You haven't," she replies, leaning back into the greenery. She whines as he just barely skims the sensitive skin there, her lips parting in pleasure.

"Let me make it up to you," he purrs, laying on the grass between her legs. He rubs circles with his thumbs on the crease where her thighs meet her hips before slipping back down to spread her knees. He raises one and Marinette catches on immediately, hooking them up and over his shoulders.

Without so much as a word, Chat dives in and cleaves her open with his tongue, pressing it against her clit. Her hips buck upwards from the sod and he grins against her, tucking one hand under her ass to squeeze and sliding the other up towards his face.

"Hng!"

He slips a finger inside her as he strokes her clit with his tongue and pumps them in and out experimentally, drawing the most delightful sounds from her throat. He explores her, his tongue thorough and languid, roaming over her clit with practiced ease, having found himself between her thighs so many times before. It was becoming their default and Chat couldn’t find it within himself to complain, not with the way his cock is reacting. Alone, he’s finding that his fantasies seem to revolve around getting her off this way, coming to the memorised sounds of her rasps and screams.

Marinette’s eyes threaten to roll to the back of her head as he nibbles on her clit, sending her reeling. She gasps his name and fists a hand in his hair, tugging and yanking and he seems to enjoy it, speeding up his movements in a way that’s making her soaked with need and passion and oh, he’s moaning against her clit and she tightens her thighs around his head because ah!, he’s slipping another finger inside her and he’s pumping in and out in fervour and fuck, this feels so good, so good and she’s so close, so close and—

“Oh! O-h! Chat!”

She shudders and can’t help the way her hips react, bucking off the grass and he holds fast, scissoring his fingers and prolonging her orgasm until all she can do is pant and stare in a sex induced daze at the stars above them, her body throbbing in post orgasmic bliss.

“So? Did I make it up to you?”

He crawls back up her body and she slams her lips against his, tasting herself and sending another pulse of heat between her legs. He moans and presses himself against her, still trapped in his perfectly pressed trousers that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

[beccalovesdarling]

Reach for the Stars Part 7

Who’s ready for some Ladynoir agnst? 

Previous Parts

Marinette finished with the dance preparations about an hour later. She kept replaying her time with Adrien to pinpoint what had made him mad at her. She sniffed her blazer as she walked home but found only the constant smells of sweets that were embedded in her very soul from living above a bakery instead of body odor or some other nasty smell that might have chased him off. She knew she had the beginning of a few zits from her tear fests, but unless her concealer was flaking they should have been covered. As she entered her home, she still had no idea what she had done.

Pushing it on the backburner, Marinette greeted her parents as they closed the bakery for the night. As she slipped into the familiar role of helping her family, she glanced at the ornate clock hanging on the back wall of the shop. It was a little after six so it was too early to call on Chat. She needed to clear some of the air between them after her actions Monday and then she still needed to think of some way to broach the topic of their…relationship.

As much as she wanted to fight it, Marinette supposed it was her destiny and she needed to own up to it. She had thrown her temper tantrum like a toddler and after last night with Chat-

She almost dropped the bowl she had been cleaning.

Her tiny mother swooped in and snatched the bowl before Marinette could damage it. “Are you okay, dear?”

Marinette mumbled out an excuse about a headache before tossing her towel into the sink and sprinting to her room. Once there, she collapsed on the floor and Tikki appeared before her voicing the same question her mother had minutes ago.

“Adrien’s mad at me because I told him about last night,” Marinette wheezed out passed her dry lips. “He must find me so fickle to cry one day about a boy and then be over it the next. Not that I’m over it,” she hastily added at Tikki’s confused look. “I mean, I’m still upset that I’m being forced to be with Chat and I can’t just stop my feelings for Adrien, but to Adrien it must have looked like-“

“Marinette,” the kwami interjected. “I don’t think he’s mad at you. From what I’ve seen, Adrien is a sweet boy. I think he’s just concerned.”

“He danced with me,” Marinette whined. “And then he ran away! I don’t want to chase him away! I don’t want him to hate me!” She pulled on her pigtails. “I want to be selfish just this once, but if I do…” The tiny girl visibly deflated with a heavy sigh. “If I’m selfish, Adrien will get hurt and Paris will never be safe.”

Tikki floated closer and hugged Marinette’s cheek with her stubby paws. “Oh, Marinette…”

“Tikki,” she mumbled. “Spots on…”

XXX

Chat joined her atop the Tower minutes after she arrived. As usual during their joint patrols, she reached into the bag from her family’s bakery and handed him a chocolate croissant. Chat practically purred in delight as he plopped down next to her and took the sugary treat. She grinned as he slowly ate the delicacy. When Chat was eating, he was quiet. And sometimes, most of the time, that was a good thing. Especially today. Her nerves were frazzled after dancing with Adrien. And she wasn’t quite sure how to act around Chat considering her revelations about him.

Thoughtfully, he swallowed his bite and licked his lips. “My Lady,” he began. With a sigh, she hummed for him to continue. “Tom and Sabine’s daughter, Marinette…”

She tensed. “Um, what about…her?” He tossed the last bite of his snack into his mouth. Chat’s silence was eating away at her as he leisurely ate. “Chat!” She finally snapped.

He swallowed. “She…I think she hates me? Like, both Chat Noir and regular me? And I don’t know why. Does she know who I am?”

Ladybug snorted. “I doubt it.”

He wiped at his mouth with the back of his gloved wrist. “Whatever the reason, there’s something wrong. She’s…” His hand dropped to his lap and fisted. “I think Hawk Moth is targeting her.”

Ladybug blanched. “What? Chat, I really doubt that-“

“Monday night I found her crying,” he interrupted. “I was patrolling and I ended up at her house. She was talking to herself and she kept apologizing and using my name,” His face heated and he avoided her gaze. “I ended up on her balcony and we…kissed,” he peeked at her from the corner of his mask. “And I kissed her last night, too.”

Ladybug looked hard at her lap. Drawing in a deep breath, she let it out through her nose slowly. “Why are you telling me this?” She whispered lowly.

“Adrien Agreste.”

Her head snapped towards him so quickly her neck popped. “Adrien?” Her eyes were wide.

Chat nodded. “I’m upset about what happened Monday on the Tower,” he admitted. “I know you like Adrien and it was really stupid of you to do what you did.” Neither hero could meet the other’s gaze as they watched the city below them. “I wish you had listened to me,” she barely heard his murmur. “I wish you had trusted me. But you didn’t and we can’t change what happened.”

Guilt flooded her. It was stupid of her. It was part of the reason he had found her crying that night. She had caused an akuma and nearly got herself killed. She should have never acted that way. Especially considering the entire cosmos wanted her to be with the guy beside her. No matter how much she fought the pull. “Adrien-“

“Let me finish, Ladybug.”

Ladybug.

He called her Ladybug.

Tears welled in her eyes. She had truly hurt him. Her lip quivered and she bit down on it. She would not cry in front of him. Ladybug didn’t cry.

“I know how you feel about Adrien because…” He finally looked at her and she saw the serenity in his chemical eyes. “I like Marinette. I don’t know when it happened or why, but I love her and she’s in danger.”

Ladybug closed her eyes against the warmth dripping from her eyes. She could not hold the boiling tears back any longer.

He’d fallen for her twice.

He’d fallen for her on both sides of the mask and she could not stop thinking about another guy. She kept overthinking their time together when they were Chat and Marinette. She kept pushing him away as Ladybug. She had to be literally the worst person ever.

But something else he had said finally plucked at her mind. She roughly scrubbed away her tears with her palms. He said nothing as she collected herself. “You said,” she hiccupped. “Does she know your civilian side?” Did she know this sweet, kind boy?

He nodded. “Yeah, but I swear I’ve not told her anything.”

Ladybug inched closer to him and peered into those eyes. She forced herself to make a connection. To see the boy who set before her. The boy who visited her. “I know what I did was…wrong,” she started sluggishly. “I don’t expect you to forgive me or understand. But Adrien and I…” She licked her lips. Would she be revealing herself if she admitted she knew Adrien? If Chat knew Marinette, if wouldn’t be hard to guess he also knew Adrien. This was a big risk. Could she take it?

“I don’t want to know,” he looked away from her and lithely pushed himself to his feet. He stepped a few paces away. “He’s a model, so I’m sure you have a massive crush on him. And if that’s what I was competing against…” He shook his head, his shaggy hair brushing his shoulders. “Just please,” he whirled around to face her again. “Just please, help me save Marinette.”

Her throat tightened at his begging. “I can’t save her, Chat. She’s not in danger.”  

“Yes she is!” He insisted. “Hawk Moth is using her as bait to lure me. And I’m certain he’ll use Adrien against you.”

“No one is baiting Marinette,” Ladybug snapped. “Maybe she’s just going through a really hard time! And Adrien is perfectly safe! I’m not gonna let that happen to him again!” She flipped onto her feet. “I asked you here to talk about something important, but I can see now’s not the time.”

“You don’t know Adrien!” Chat screamed at her. He honestly screamed to the point his voice cut out from the roughness of the air pushing out. “You don’t know a thing about him! But I know Marinette! I know she’s not been herself lately. I actually talk to her! You…you…” He cut off on a growl. He turned, his hand reaching for his baton.

“I know Adrien better than you think!” She hollered back. “I know he’s impossibly lonely and kind. He’s super smart. I’ve been in love with him for months! You have no right to tell me I don’t know him!” She paced after him and gripped his firm shoulders and roughly twisted him to face her. “And yes, I would give up my Miraculous to keep him safe. I’m aware that it’s stupid and brash, but I’ve been watching him. I won’t let Hawk Moth use him against me again! But you,” she jabbed a finger in his chest. “I should have never trusted you to watch protect Marinette! She’s just some stupid, silly girl! And she will never love you!”

POP.

Ladybug stumbled backwards, her hand flying to her stinging cheek. The horror in her eyes reflected in Chat’s. Chat’s hand still hung in the air from his slap and his terrified eyes traveled to it; his mouth hanging open. Ladybug let out a barely contained sob as she continued to stagger backwards drunkenly. Chat watched silently and numbly as she vaulted away with her yo-yo.

XXX

Chat had hit her.

Marinette was borrowed under her blankets with Tikki resting by her side. The kwami offered her menial warmth and comforting friendship she was certain she didn’t deserve. She did, however, deserve Chat’s wrath, but she never expected him to physically hit her. Was that the proof of his feelings for her—for Marinette? Was their partnership over? Their friendship?

The girl let out a choked sob as more tears freely poured across her cheeks.

“Marinette,” Tikki began pitifully.

Marinette shook her head against her drenched pillows. “No, Tikki. I deserve this.”

“No, Marinette, you don’t,” the little ladybug tried again.

“Tikki,” Marinette muttered dishearteningly. “I hurt Chat. I was wrong.”

She heard scratching from the trapdoor above her and knew it was a certain stray begging to come in. Marinette kept quiet and prayed he would leave under the impression she was asleep. He scratched again with a whisper of “Princess?”

Marinette sniffled. Would he still call her that if he knew who she really was? That she was Ladybug? “Go away, Chat,” she pled.

His scratching paused. “Princess-“

“Just leave, Chat Noir!” Marinette yelled through her tears.

Buy me a coffee??