An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Yet another new chapter of my ChloNath fic, Dream, though oddly plot-y today...
NSFW
He had to be cursed. Or carrying around a cursed item. Or something. He liked wearing a bracelet he’d picked up at a street fair last year, maybe that was it. Malevolent energy was probably packed tight in those lava stone beads.
Because there was no way that a normal person with normal luck would be on the receiving end of the sheer amount of bullshit Nathaniel encountered. Mild concussion from trying to intercept an akuma? Only the beginning. Uncontrollable sex dreams? Novice tier. Nathaniel had reached S rank in bullshit when he’d been robbed of all of his artwork and supplies—things that were not only his life’s blood, but also a large chunk of his income. And while that may have been the peak (hopefully), it certainly wasn’t the end.
He doubted today would be either.
“Crystal, I already said I’m sorry.” His hopeless attempts at reasoning with the akuma were halfhearted at best, his monotone surely revealing just how tired of this he already was. He supposed he should probably be panicked, perhaps at least a little bit worried about the fact that he was blindfolded, tied up, and suspended in the air above a comically large cup of hot coffee. But honestly? The coffee smelled good, so. Whatever.
“Shut up,” she snapped. “The only reason you’re not dead yet is because butterfly man wants me to lure out the heroes. So just stop talking and be a damsel.” He didn’t really understand the logic there. Was Papillon under the impression that killing a civilian would make the heroes less inclined to stop the akuma? It seemed to him like that would up the stakes, maybe even pressure them more to give into his demands and hand over the miraculous.
But uh. He definitely wasn’t going to point that out and thereby encourage his boss to kill him faster, so. Damsel it is.
“And Crystal is dead,” she went on. “My name is Café Queen now.”
Even her name was boring.
It wouldn’t even be that bad if he was at least hanging comfortably, but the way she had him tied left him tilted at an awkward angle where he had to strain his neck just to keep his head upright. He gave up with a sigh and fell slack, letting his head hang in a way that was marginally less uncomfortable.
Reevaluating his life choices, Nathaniel waited patiently with Café Queen for about 5 minutes before the heroes finally showed up.
“Can’t you chill!?” That sounded like Rena Rouge. “This is the third one this week! The tenth one this month!”
It was true, there had been a lot of akumas in the news lately.
“You hanging in there, Nathaniel?” Chat Noir. There was a collective groan from all present company, himself included.
“Oh yeah,” he replied, “just another day.”
Someone snickered while someone else sighed. “Alright,” Ladybug sounded tired, “let’s get this over with.”
There was a yelp from Crystal Café Queen as she was presumably yanked or thrown or something. The sounds of battle very quickly started to move further away while a familiar buzzing approached, coming to hover right in front of him.
He didn’t have to see her to feel her judgment. “What did you do?”
“Broke the espresso machine.”
There was a pause. “That’s it?”
“I mean,” he shrugged, “it was the busiest time of day and the only one we have, so.”
Another pause. “And people think I overreact,” she muttered bitterly as she came closer. Nathaniel tried not to think too hard about the arm that encircled him while she sawed at the rope above his head. But that was easier said than done, especially when the breeze shifted, wafting the subtle scents of vanilla and rose his way. Why did that smell familiar? “It’s not like I go and get myself akumatized every time one of my employees fucks up.” The tether snapped, leaving him wholly at the mercy of Queen Bee’s hold. He did his best to focus on her words instead of her arms.
“Can you even get akumatized?”
“Yes.”
The answer was immediate, leading him to wonder, “Have you ever been before?”
Another pause. “Enough questions.” Oh she’d definitely been akumatized before. Interesting. Nathaniel idly paged back in his memory, trying to think of any akumas who— “Why do you work in a coffee shop anyway?” she interrupted, effectively derailing his thoughts. “Aren’t you an artist?”
She very unceremoniously dropped him and he hit a bed of grass with an oof. “Yeah,” he groaned as she rolled him onto his side. “It’s uh—,” he flinched, a sharp hiss interrupting his words as cool gloves suddenly came into contact with the fresh burn on his hand. She withdrew her touch, but then softly traced her fingers just outside the burn’s domain.
“How’d you get this?”
“The espresso machine.”
Mumbling so quietly he almost couldn’t hear her, “And she still had the audacity to…?” With a huff, Queen Bee resumed untying him, this time careful to avoid the injury. “I repeat, why do you work there?” She almost sounded personally offended.
“Uh…” What had he been saying? Right. Art. “My art hasn’t always been the most stable source of income.”
“Isn’t it now?” There was a strange sort of judgment in her tone, like she knew for a fact that it was.
“Yeah…” he answered slowly. He supposed he’d mentioned it to her once before. Did she just have that good a memory? “It has been recently. But a few months of stability doesn’t exactly warrant quitting my day job.”
“Maybe not, but,” he sighed his relief as the bonds loosened, “your boss trying to kill you probably does.” He was just sitting up and starting to pull his arms free when the cloth around his head fell away, leaving him staring into those eyes like a summer sky. “Quit your day job,” she said in a strangely gentle sort of command.
Nathaniel blinked as if in a daze and before he could think about it, mumbled, “Yes, my queen.”
Her gaze narrowed the slightest bit and a fraction of a smirk curled at the corner of her lips. He only had the expression for a moment, however, before she was gone, flying off to join the fight and leaving Nathaniel very warm and very confused.
–
Didn’t he know who she was?
As Nathaniel sank into his queen, he couldn’t remember why he was wearing a blindfold. Was it for secrecy or for fun? A game that she wanted to play or a precaution to maintain her identity?
He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember.
What he did know was that it drove him further into insanity with every breath and every moan. As he picked up speed, harshened his movements, the vocalizations he drew out of her became deeper, louder, more genuine. Gone were the delicate sighs that were more show than release, leaving behind only those beautiful sounds coming directly from her soul. The ones she couldn’t hold back even if she tried. The ones that told him he truly pleased his queen.
Each one he got was sure to be coupled with a gorgeous face. He could only imagine the way her brows might pinch, the way her eyelids might flutter. The parting of her lips around his name and the flush of her cheeks under his gaze. He wanted to see it all. He knew her expressions to exist just as well as the wind, but they were also just as invisible to him.
Why? Did she like working him into a frenzy with her voice alone? Did she want his focus on the feeling of her—the nails drawing red lines down his back, the thighs hugging his hips, the tongue on his pulse?
It had to be her game, right? Because he definitely knew her…right?
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
New chapter of Dream, my endlessly self-indulgent ChloNath fic.
NSFW.
“Fuck, I love your perfect little body.”
The latest in a stream of muffled moans was the only response from where Chloé lay before him, face buried in a pillow. She curled the sheets in fists, muscles in her arms tense from trying to hold herself in place against his relentless thrusts. With the sides of her waist so perfectly grasped in his hands, Nathaniel leaned forward even more, pressing her down into the mattress and reveling in the way she tightened around him as he continued at a bruising pace.
His wife worked hard to maintain an image of perfection, from her figure to her clothing to her makeup—all the way down to the attitude with which she held herself. But all that poise came crashing down whenever he got his hands on her. Nathaniel took great pride in making a mess of her. Popping buttons off designer dresses, smearing once crisp lipstick. He knew how to fuck Chloé until she couldn’t muster any mask—until she couldn’t hold back those cries and moans that rose from deep in her gut and all that showed was the slut underneath who was weak to his touch.
She may display a feigned perfection to the world every day, but the perfect reality underneath belonged only to him.
He recognized a change in her breathing, an urgency to her moans. “Are you ready to come for me so soon?” She nodded with a muffled mhmm. “Very well.” Without letting up on his thrusts, Nathaniel let go with one hand to lean down over her, snaking his arm around her neck in a gentle sort of headlock. With her face pulled away from the pillow, there was no hiding those pleasured cries. Nathaniel breathed heavy in her ear. “You can come, but just know—,” he snapped his hips harder for emphasis, rocking her whole body with one hit, “—I’m not done with you yet.”
–
If someone poured ice water over his head, it would evaporate in an instant.
The heat wave was dragging its feet, and the madness that came with it had hardly shaken its hold. By the time Nathaniel found himself sitting outside their café awaiting her arrival, he was getting dangerously close to breaking.
So of course she showed up in a sundress.
“Okay, I don’t have a lot of time.” Thank God. The less time he spent with her, the less opportunity there was to attack her like a wild animal. To rip that dress off her body and taste every inch of her. To sit her on the table, hike her thighs up around his hips, and—
Chloé smacked an envelope down on the table as she took a seat across from him. “Ladybug and Chat Noir, sunset, Eiffel Tower. Medium is up to you, but don’t post any—,” She interrupted herself to grab a waiter’s arm. “Mango iced tea in a to-go cup.” She immediately let go of the man and turned back to him, pushing the sunglasses up on her head in the process. That icy blue had only the effect of fire in his veins. “Don’t post any progress pictures of it on your social media. It’s a gift that needs to be a surprise.”
There was smudged makeup under her eyes again. And while today’s bun seemed more purposefully styled atop her head, there were definite strands falling loose. All well within normal limits of an average person, but for Chloé?
“Hello??” Nathaniel blinked as she snapped her fingers in front of his face impatiently. “I just said I don’t have a lot of time; don’t waste it. Do you understand or not?”
Clearing his throat in a desperate attempt to focus on the conversation, Nathaniel nodded. “Yes—Ladybug and Chat Noir, Eiffel Tower, don’t show anyone.”
“At sunset.”
“At sunset,” he quickly repeated. “When do you need it by?”
“I’ll pick it up two Thursdays from now. What other commissions do we have in progress? I don’t remember.”
She didn’t remember? Chloé? The hyper-organized control freak? Her??
“Uh…” Nathaniel shook himself and got out his phone. He needed to shut off that part of his brain that got hung up on details or she was going to kill him. “I’m almost done with the floral piece; sorry it’s been taking so long.”
“As long as there’s a shit ton of flowers, I don’t care how long it takes.”
He chuckled as he slid his phone across the table to show her the latest picture. “Definitely accomplishing that. I lost count somewhere around 850.”
“Good, good,” she mumbled as she zoomed in on the phone. She sat up straight as the waiter returned with her tea. “Thank you,” she said as she handed him a stack of euros that was well over the cost of the drink. “Keep the change and go away.” Nathaniel had seen her interact with service staff in a similar manner multiple times and still couldn’t seem to decide if the behavior was rude or oddly generous. It kinda depended on the day.
Her first sip seemed to relieve her in that way a cup of coffee relieves caffeine addicts in the morning. Nathaniel took a sip of his own drink and tried not to think too hard about that delicate vocal sigh she had let slip.
“What else?” she asked as she pushed the phone back to him.
“Right, um…” He flicked through the photos on his phone until he arrived at the next one that was hers. “The farmhouse.” A rustic country piece she’d requested with little instruction aside from that fall harvest feeling. “I actually made a few different rough drafts.” Setting the phone in front of her, he swiped through the four different pictures in turn. “You can pick whichever you want me to proceed with.”
Chloé absently chewed on her straw as she swiped back and forth between them, taking the time to zoom in on the finer details of each one. They were all drastically different pieces from one another with a wide variety of angles, animal selections, and scenery. One of them didn’t even show the building from the outside, instead depicting a farmer sleeping while propped up against the stable door while his horse nibbled on his hat. Or at least, that’s what it was in Nathaniel’s mind; the messy sketch was probably a little less obvious.
Chloé spent the longest staring at that one. He still couldn’t tell whether or not she liked what she was seeing.
“All of them,” she eventually declared. When she looked up again, there was something about the way her eyes sparkled that knocked the wind out of him. “I’ll pay you for four paintings instead of one. Take your time. I want them all.” Not trusting his voice, Nathaniel just nodded. “Do we have any others?” He shook his head. “Great.” Chloé stood and resituated her sunglasses. “See you next week.”
And just when he might have started to regain his bearings, she patted his shoulder.
It was the sort of gesture that would be considered normal if it was any other person, any other situation. But it wasn’t. It was Chloé Bourgeois patting the shoulder of Nathaniel Kurtzberg in the middle of a heat wave when he was only wearing a tank top. And worse? Her nails trailed over his skin for just a second before the touch was gone entirely.
What would you think if an evilized villain(maybe a wishmaker-like villain or maybe even a villain that's unrelated to the butterfly miraculous) caused Chloe and Zoe to switch bodies somehow, and nobody fully understands what's going on, so Zoe(in Chloe's body) is taken by Audrey back to New York, despite Zoe desperately trying to explain things. But Chloe enters a fugue state(heavily due to trauma caused by the neglect of her parents) and genuinely thinks she's Zoe, and is even able to recall some of the things Zoe did due to being in Zoe's body. The class thinks "Zoe's" change in behavior is due to the psychological effects of method acting, since "Zoe" is playing Chloe in Astruc's new movie, but they gradually convince "Zoe" to let them help her relearn how to be "herself" again. Meanwhile, in New York, Zoe is trying to get back to Paris, but when she gets there, “Zoe” thinks she’s there to try to hurt people.
Y'know, truth be told, I am not caught up on the show and only know who Zoe is through the splashes I've seen in the fandom. My understanding is that she's Chloe's (twin?) sister who's perfect or something?? Because Astruc really hates Chloe that much????
Anyway, I'm always down for a freaky friday; love body switching stories. And Chloe--my fucked up little fallen angel--switching bodies with her ~perfect~ sister and convincing herself she is that person and probably getting all sorts of fucked up because of it? Hell yeah.
I would imagine that when they have that confrontation when they see each other again, Chloe (in Zoe's body) would probably have something akin to a psychotic break, and I could easily see it manifesting through violence. Would be an interesting battle for sure.
Thank you @ilsemes for this request! I can't believe I'd never done a blind date of these two! Hope you enjoy a couple of 20-something-year-olds being children (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
--
This…has to be a mistake.
Nathaniel's eyes dart around the room, trying in vain to spot anyone—anyone else—wearing a gold dress. It's a new year's party for fuck's sake; there's no way—absolutely no way—she's the only one wearing gold.
But she is. His search yields nothing, gaze always making its way back to her. Plenty of people dressed in black, white, blue, purple, red—but only Chloé Bourgeois is golden.
It has to be a coincidence. The person Adrien set him up with just hasn't arrived yet, and Chloé just happens to be wearing gold, because of course she is, she's Chloé—
But he knows the look in those blue eyes when they lock with his across the room. He's sure it's the same look he's wearing right now, because it just screams the words only a person set up on a blind date with their childhood nemesis would say.
There's no way.
--
"So we can agree that this is a bad idea, right?"
"Absolutely."
"And that Adrien clearly lost his mind?"
"Definitely."
"Great, so I see no reason why we should go through with it, do you?"
His breath catches for just a second at the passing thought, Is a stunning gold dress a reason? "...Nope."
"Wonderful. Enjoy the party, happy new year, blah blah blah. Later, Red."
As he watches her walk away, Nathaniel immediately wonders if he made the right decision.
For about two seconds. Then he moves on.
--
"That's the last lemon tart."
"Chloé there are a million other desserts on this table."
"But only one lemon tart."
"You can't be serious."
"Give me the lemon tart, Red."
"Why do you keep calling me that?"
She looks at him as if he'd just asked what the date was. A purposeful glance at his hair. Back to his eyes. "...You really need me to explain that one to you?"
Seven years apart and she still knows how to get under his skin. She takes a step closer, just barely toeing the line into personal space. "Trust me, Red. You do not want to get between me and something I want."
"It's a lemon tart."
"The only lemon tart."
He's taller than her now, but that doesn't make her glare any less scary. Somehow though, the threat in that bright blue only makes his resolve stronger.
He doesn't even like lemon tarts that much.
But she clearly does.
Holding her glare with a challenge in his own, Nathaniel raises the pastry to his mouth and takes a bite. Rather than the explosive outrage he might have expected, Chloé's eyes narrow in a seething, simmering resentment, and he knows he's just renewed their status as enemies.
“You’re going to regret that.”
Never has he felt so satisfied by a simple dessert.
--
"What?? You can't be serious!"
"That's my line."
Adrien has the audacity to look wounded. "Did you even consider it?"
"Yeah, for like, two seconds. Then we agreed that it was clearly a bad idea."
"Rude."
"Adrien. Seriously. Me and Chloé?"
He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "You don't know her like I do. I want you to know her like I do. If you did, you'd understand."
"We just got in a fight over a lemon tart."
"...What?"
"I took the last lemon tart, she demanded to have it, so I ate it in front of her."
Adrien stares at him with a blank look on his face before shrugging and walking away, shaking his head as he mumbles, "I don't know why I set you up on a date; you're already practically married."
--
"Chloé, come on, give it back."
"No, I think I'll keep it."
"It's mine."
"Just like the lemon tart was mine."
"No it wasn't!"
"That's a matter of opinion."
Chloé dangles his bumblebee keychain in front of him teasingly, clearly baiting him to chase.
He does.
Nathaniel weaves through the abandoned tables and chairs littering the outdoor patio with not even half as much grace as her. He follows that devious giggle nonetheless, relentlessly pursues her mischievous smirk, until she finds herself at a dead end.
Or maybe the balcony was the exact destination she had in mind, he realizes as she holds the charm up in the air.
Gasping for air, he stops about a meter away from her. "This is crossing a line."
"An eye for an eye, Red."
"This is more like an eye for a kidney."
"I think that's an over exaggeration."
"It was just a lemon tart."
"It's just a keychain."
"It's…a special keychain,” he says awkwardly.
"Really?" She cradles it in her palm to take a closer look before that impish smile is back. "All the more reason for me to keep it."
Nathaniel darts forward and catches her with an arm around her waist as she tries to run again. She shrieks as he tries to reach for her hand, but the sound is interlaced with a laugh and something about it has a sort of juvenile excitement taking to his chest. He finds himself laughing along with her as Chloé twists to face him and clasps the bumblebee in a fist behind her back.
He captures her hand in his own, and only then realizes he has both his arms around her. Mischievous eyes lock with his from only a breath away. A thundering heart beats against his own. Some instinctual part of him steals a glance at glossy red lips, still curled in that devious smile.
“You got me,” she mocks. “Now what?”
Voice still slightly winded, but calm, “Give it back.”
“No.” She says the word so simply, but something about it melts under his skin, sinks into his bones.
“Why?”
“I told you I’d make you regret it.”
“I regret…” he glances her over, a speck of doubt in his own words, “...nothing.”
Her gaze trails down somewhere below his eyes. “...I might.”
“10! 9! 8!”
Electric blue eyes snap back to him. “We’re missing the countdown,” she warns in a low tone, but she hardly seems to care herself.
“7! 6! 5!”
He only tightens his arms around her, voice dropping to match hers. “I’m not letting you walk away until you give me back my keychain.”
“4! 3!”
“Tell you what,” she says as that devious curl returns to her lips.
“2!”
Cool fingers slide into place at the back of his neck. “I’ll trade you for it.” And she tugs him in.
“1!”
The kiss is so breathtaking it’s stupid. He sinks into it more than he would like to admit, even recaptures her lips for another when it breaks. There’s cheering and popping and clinking in the background, but the first moment of his new year is occupied solely by a stunning gold dress, a challenging blue gaze, and a devious red smirk.
They part slightly winded, but he still doesn’t let her go. “Are you going to give it back now?”
That smile is toying with him and a greater portion of himself than he would like to admit is very okay with that. “I said I’d trade you for it. I never said what for.”
“So that kiss was…?”
Tantalizing words ghosting his ear, she leans in to whisper, “Just for fun.”
A tiny huff of amusement escapes him before he can think to stop it. “So what do you want?”
Chloé takes a moment to look him over, glancing between his eyes in some kind of assessment. Her gaze drops to where her thumb traces his bottom lip. “More,” she eventually decides before looking back up at him. “I’ll give you your keychain back if you go on another date with me.”
“Another?” A slight grin cracks at the corner of his mouth. “Implying this was one?”
“If you want to argue semantics, that’s your problem.” The way she tilts her head all but demands he kiss her again and she knows it. “I’ve stated my terms. Do you accept?”
He’s already leaning in again before he speaks the words against her lips.
A side drabble from my ChloNath hate square fic, Where It Wasn't Supposed To Be. Taking place short after the drabble Skin, Le Paon shamelessly takes advantage of the peacock's ability to learn just how his queen likes to be touched.
NSFW. Explicit Sexual Content.
--
He was absolutely drowning in her.
Le Paon shoved his queen up against the wall of the pitch black room, reveling in the waves of bliss that rolled off of her at the simplest of touches. Letting down his guard was dangerous, but so irresistibly intoxicating when he got her alone.
It was just gloved hands up her shirt, a thumb peeking under her bra, lips and tongue on her neck—but the touches were novel for the two of them, and she so very loved how greedy he was with her. She craved his every touch almost as much as he craved her every response.
He dragged his teeth along her skin and her gasp accompanied a spike in excitement, an electric heat crackling through her veins. He slipped his hands in her back pockets to pull her in and the way her grip tightened on his shoulders complimented the tightening of her system, the way she was getting worked up, craving eventual release.
As he reclaimed her lips, he hooked a finger under the waistband of her jeans and dragged it around to the front. She breathed in deep, she stood on her toes, her heart rate sped up, and every nerve ending fired off at once, intrigued and begging to be touched. She wanted him to continue.
Still, Paon separated from her kiss just enough to brush the words against her lips. “I want to touch you.”
Oh he really loved the way those words tumbled through her, threatened her composure, left her absolutely weak.
“So touch me,” she whispered back, and if he couldn’t feel everything, he would never know how desperate the request was.
Her anticipation built as he unbuttoned her jeans, lowered the zipper, and pushed the pants further down her hips to grant him access. His tongue found hers before his fingers found sensitive flesh, just grazing lightly, only a tease of what he knew she wanted. On the surface, his queen was well practiced in maintaining an image. She breathed slow and deep and kept up rhythm in her kiss, an effort to conceal from him just how on edge he had her. If he was anyone else in that moment, it might have worked.
But he was Le Paon, wielder of the peacock miraculous and shamelessly abusing that fact to learn just how his queen liked to be fucked.
There was a sharp change in her breathing when he let his fingers move lower, press a little harder. The physical sensation of it was dulled by his gloves, but he knew it the second he grazed her clit. Never in his life had he experienced anything so pinpoint yet so overwhelmingly pleasant. The feeling was intense but gentle, enticing but relaxing. He had to break from the kiss just to breathe—to catch himself enough to do it again. And again. And again.
Le Paon took a firm hold in her hair and held her close as he pleasured her with his fingers, hiding his face in the crook of her neck to breathe her in as he soaked up every drop he could in her sea of ecstasy. The feeling of it was overwhelming—drowning in her bliss as if it was his own, but with the added knowledge that he was bringing it to her, that he made her feel this way. His grip tightened on instinct and again she stood on her toes, a crackling just under the surface hinting at subtle desire. He focused on it, reached for it, found it whispering suggestions to…
Using his hold on her hair, he tilted her head to the side and returned his lips to her neck. It was different this time, more exciting. There was an aspect of control taken away, and the idea that he was the one to take it was…dangerous. Dangerous and seductive.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Nathaniel wondered how much she must trust him to relinquish control like that. To choose to wear her hair down, to grant him that access in the first place.
Losing himself to her ecstasy, he automatically gave into the subtle plea trickling from the back of her mind to slip a finger inside her.
“Ah!”
“Shh,” he whispered gently in her ear. “Someone could hear you.”
Fuck, he felt that exhibitionist streak raced up her spine. Not a wanting to be discovered, but a want for that risk. An exhilaration at the necessity of being quiet—at the necessity of being kept quiet.
Curious and enthralled, he let go of her hair, bringing his palm around to cradle her jaw while his thumb pressed to her lips. A subtle heat simmered under that touch, laced with a thread of desire for him to…
Her lips parted for him to slide his thumb in and she sucked. “Fuck,” he whispered under his breath. It was such a simple thing but it was so very intoxicating—in part from the thought of her sucking him, but more so from the submissive pleasure it brought her. She liked being muffled, she liked being seduced, and she even liked being used—but only by him. She was and wanted to be his.
The thought had him redoubling his efforts. His kisses grew heavier and her breathing grew labored. Dragging his tongue along her neck kept her head swimming, but closing his mouth and sucking— “Mnh!” —threatened to pull her under. Something primal in him stirred at her tiny vocalizations, craved to hear more, to see how far he could push her voice under threat of discovery. He took hold of her hair again and tugged her head further back to let his teeth sink in this time.
“Paon—,” she whispered between gasps, “—you’re going to leave a mark.”
If all he heard was her voice, a part of him might think she was complaining. But even then, the way she held onto his shoulders, stood on her toes, pressed herself into him—body language alone was enough to reveal her wanting. And underneath? Underneath she was having trouble silencing a screaming demand for him to leave his mark.
“Your suit will cover it,” he mumbled into her skin.
“But my—ah—my day clothes won’t.”
He hummed as if considering, and noted the way the vibrations seemed to dance along her nerves. “Guess you’ll have to hide it then.”
She didn’t want to admit how much she loved the thought.
“You can’t,” she whispered, breathless. Still she held him tight. “Marks could be a—mhn—problem.”
His queen was a stubborn one, tough to yield even to herself.
A subtle loss hollowed in her stomach as he removed his finger, returning it to just gliding along sensitive flesh. Le Paon dislodged his mouth from her neck, but didn’t let go of her hair. Yanking her head to the side, he reveled in the submissive thrill that burned like fire in her veins. How he wished he could see her face—commit to memory the dueling desire and defiance in her eyes, learn to recreate the delicate parting of her lips. For now he would have to settle for feeling her inside and out.
“You’re a terrible liar, Bee,” he murmured into the spot just below her ear. Her grip tightened and her muscles tensed, every nerve standing on edge with anticipation. “I don’t even need the miraculous to tell how much you love this.” He ran a leisurely rhythm over her clit, a touch that pleasured and soothed, but would never push her over the edge. “But I do have it,” he continued as her heart rate picked up from his teasing alone, “which means I can feel the way you crave my touch.” She bit her lip to muffle a whimper as he kissed her neck again, all too soft. “How you want to mark me just as badly as I want to mark you. And above all—,” Without warning, he sank two fingers inside her. The relief and satisfaction behind that gasp nearly doubled him over. It took all he had just to channel that breathlessness into a steady voice as he groaned in her ear, “—how much you don’t want me to stop.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
New chapter of my very self indulgent, very NSFW ChloNath fic, Dream.
cw: this is porn
--
The heat wave wasn’t letting up. Hot and humid even as evening arrived, the golden light of the sunset bleeding through the windows continued to scorch Nathaniel’s skin. Even with his hair up and only wearing a pair of shorts, he could do little to stave it off. It had been three days of this already and the weather forecast predicted at least three more. Three more days of dripping sweat and fans on high and the all too fleeting relief of cold showers. Three more days of pure inspiration coursing through his veins with a brush in his hand, but pure maddening lust without.
The dreams were spiking in intensity, the fantasies bleeding into reality. He was staying up at all hours of the night painting just to keep his body occupied for fear that if he didn’t, he just might give into the burning need whispering in his ear traitorous suggestions that Adrien may have the right idea. He had to set paint to canvas because when he didn’t, the thoughts of Chloé’s body started to spiral out of control. He had to color blue eyes so he wouldn’t seek them out. Had to shade perfect skin so he wouldn’t try to touch it.
It was working, but only just barely. He was holding on by a thread. Those moments when his muscles grew heavy and his eyelids began to fall were where the true danger lied—because those images that haunted him behind closed eyes, even with his head well situated on the pillow, begged for her. Begged him to find, to taste, to fuck.
It would pass with the weather. He knew it would. It wasn’t the first time it had happened; it was just a little (a lot) worse than usual. But he didn’t have another meeting with Chloé for four more days, so he should be safe from—
The bell over his studio door rang. Pausing with a paintbrush in hand, Nathaniel turned to look and found exactly the wrong person walking toward him.
He set his brush down.
Sweat slicked skin shone in the golden light, barely covered by a breezy tank top and tiny shorts. The tease of indigo lace peeked out from the open sides of her shirt and—just kill him now—even the waistband of her shorts, showcasing a hip that would fit so perfectly in his grip. Typically pin straight platinum was slightly frizzy for the first time in history and twisted into a bun sitting atop her head, with little hairs curling at the base of her neck. He watched as a bead of sweat escaped from behind her ear to traverse down the length of her neck.
“I wasn’t expecting you.”
Along her collarbone.
“Clearly.”
Between her breasts.
Nathaniel cleared his throat and forced himself to look up only to find Chloé staring unabashedly at his naked torso. It was almost the same way she looked at his art—completely impartial. And just as she kept commissioning, she kept staring.
“I texted you a couple hours ago,” she casually went on even as her gaze didn’t budge, “but I’m guessing you didn’t see it.” Glowing electric blue finally found his eyes and the tension in his nerves grew ten times worse. “I’m here to pick up the skyline painting. You said it’s already finished, right?”
“Yeah, it’s finished,” he replied with a pinch in his brow. “But I thought I was delivering it on Saturday?”
“Change of plans.” With a tired sigh, Chloé lifted the hem of her shirt to dab away a dot of sweat from her face. Nathaniel reached behind him to occupy his hands with a metal work table so as not to put them on her perfect taut waist. “The auction got bumped up to Friday instead. Is it here?”
“Uh…” he swallowed thickly and had to force his gaze away from her in order to focus on the question. “Yeah, yes, it’s here.”
As Nathaniel crossed the room to retrieve the painting, he didn’t miss the way she tracked his movements. He wished he missed the way she watched him, wished he didn’t feel the path those eyes seared across his skin. Because the reality was that she was watching him, ogling him, finding apparent value in his appearance, and that simple fact threatened to break him entirely. Worse, as he walked back over to her, she didn’t hide it. She made no effort to conceal the way she was shamelessly sweeping that burning gaze over his bare chest, his abs, his arms.
The high pitched echo of Adrien’s ‘Weeeelllllll’ rang in his ears like a persistent tinnitus.
Nathaniel made sure to keep at arms length as he held out the painting for her, even that much proximity threatening his sanity with the subtle scents of vanilla and rose rolling off of her. “Thanks.” The word sounded tired and it was only then that Nathaniel noticed the makeup around her eyes was just the slightest bit smudged. He supposed the heat was probably making it hard to maintain, but it still struck him as odd that Chloé would ever allow herself to be seen as anything less than flawless.
A bigger portion of him than he would like to admit craved to make even more of a mess of her.
He was careful not to touch her hand as he accepted the payment. Her gaze swept over his form one more time, as if she had a personal vested interest in testing his self control, before she turned with an all too easy, “See you on Saturday,” and left.
–
He chased that line of sweat with his tongue.
She had him absolutely high on the sounds she made. Every gasp and every sigh sank him deeper and deeper until all he knew, all he could feel, all he could think about was her. Skin slick in the summer heat and so very warm under his palms, the intoxicating scent of her perfume, the taste of salt on her neck. So very enraptured in her, there was no room for thought left in his mind, only want and need.
The want to cover her in marks. The need to hear her moan. The want to tear her clothes off. The need to have them out of his way. The want to be inside her. The need to make her his.
Chloé gasped when he sat her bare ass down on the metal work table. “This isn’t— what I— came here— for,” she breathed the words between gasps, her air coming short with his teeth at her neck. His fingers only dug deeper into the flesh of her thighs, pulling her tight as he pushed himself into her. A helplessly relieved moan of a sigh ghosted the shell of his ear, only inebriating him more, dragging him ever further into this burgeoning high. He withdrew and pushed himself in again just to hear another—and another after that and another after that. Again and again and again—forever motivated by an endless want for more, an endless need to hear every sound she could make.
He lay her down with a palm flat on her chest before lifting her legs to rest on his shoulders. The cry she released when he dragged her by the hips to meet his thrust was music to his ears. The sight was his every dream. Brows drawn together with a helpless pleasure in her eyes, mouth ajar with wordless praises, cheeks flushed in a heat of ecstasy—every bit of Chloé’s expression screamed her wanting, her desire, her arousal, her need.
She needed to be fucked just as badly as he needed to fuck.
His hand moved from her hip to her lower abdomen, fingers peeking under the hem of her tank top to drag it up, up, up until that indigo lace was on display for him. He shamelessly pushed the bra out of the way to grasp at her breast and drank in the way her back arched and eyelids fluttered. It enticed him further, intensified his hunger.
Holding her hips up and leaning forward, he lay into her without restraint. Her cries were loud enough to be heard in the shop next door, but he had no intention of silencing her. If anything it made him want to go harder. He craved those pleasured screams, burned for her ecstasy at his hand.
The high reached its crescendo when she granted him the symphony that was his name interlaced with a moan.
“Nathaniel!”
He opened his eyes to bright sunlight and heavy heat. Three more days, he told himself as he went to take a cold shower. Just three more days.
Zelink prompt- link is so in love with his princess but has no idea how to show it other than persistent devotion/dedication (poor boy has done nothing but train to be a knight and practice swordsmanship now he’s realizing too late he has no idea how to talk to a pretty girl)
This is low key a companion piece to this post, but can easily be read on its own.
***
“It’s such a shame.” The words were spoken on a heavy sigh and when Link turned to look, he found his princess gazing wistfully out to the jungle beyond. As far as the eye could see, the land was a plethora of vibrant green foliage—tall grasses, exotic flowers, and big leaved trees that didn’t grow anywhere else—all interspersed with the scattered ruins of a civilization long past. “We’re here in the center of a land rich with history and I’m stuck at the dragon's maw praying to deaf ears.”
The excursion into the Faron Woods had so far lasted about three days, and was planned for another four, but already he could see her giving up. He couldn’t blame her. Everyone in the royal guard knew the story of her last trip to the Spring of Courage. Not two years ago, the princess had stood in the holy water praying with such focus and determination that even when a storm rolled in and the water grew frigid, she refused to budge. It took her fainting from exhaustion after staying put for 14 hours straight to finally get her out, and by that time her arms were covered in goosebumps and her lips had gone blue.
Praying like that isn’t going to work. Not for her.
He imagined if it hadn’t worked then, it wouldn’t now.
“It’s like this no matter where I go,” she continued. “The Great Plateau, for example? Those buildings have been in place for centuries—as far as we know, they predate the last calamity and the golden age of the Sheikah. It is considered the birthplace of the kingdom of Hyrule! I cannot tell you how much I would love to just…go for a walk! Around the plateau! Stroll through that central courtyard or explore the abandoned abbey or—obviously—investigate that cavern of Sheikah technology Purah uncovered! But no, every time I’m there, it’s straight to the Temple of Time to beg at the goddess’s feet, and not a step outside until that sealing power is unlocked.” She crossed her arms with a huff, glaring at the jungle as if it were her father.
Link was still getting used to the princess talking to him like this—talking about real things. It wasn’t as if she had been quiet before—he was pretty sure that was impossible for her—but it was always just her thinking out loud, and never about anything personal. It was queries on the divine beasts or deliberation over the best routes to take. Not venting frustrations and sharing her true aspirations.
She feels comfortable with you.
That was a relief. It certainly hadn’t been pleasant to practically stalk her against her will. He’d wanted to give her the privacy and autonomy she deserved, but faced the king’s wrath if he did. He had thought there would be no coming back from that. But now, to have her not just accepting of his presence, but even opening up around him, allowing him to share in her thoughts…
You like being with her.
He loved being with her. He loved to watch her explore or listen to her ramble. He loved that excited ring in her voice when she spoke about the things that fascinated her, or the way her eyes brightened at her topics of interest. Those moments when she allowed him to witness her musings on history, technology, botany, were the moments in which he felt he was truly seeing her for who she was. Like she was granting him a glimpse at the girl under the crown—not the princess, but Zelda. And what he saw? Zelda?
She was beautiful.
“I would understand, of course, if it was getting us anywhere,” she went on. “But it’s all fruitless, and it has been for the entire decade that I’ve been trying.” Looking down at the ground, she idly dug her bare foot into the dirt. “It became obvious to me long ago that if there exists a way for me to unlock this sealing power, endlessly praying to a goddess who does not hear me isn’t it.”
With another heavy sigh, Zelda reached up and started pulling her hair back into an intricate braid, fingers manipulating the strands with a dexterity he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. There were little beads of sweat gathered at the base of her neck, and even if she was dressed down to only her prayer dress, there was still a flush in her cheeks and a sheen over her skin. It seemed despite the fast approaching sunset, the heat and humidity characteristic of the Faron region wasn’t letting up.
“I should be out there, exploring Zonai ruins, or at the very least, getting to see Hyrule. Do you know I’ve never even been to Lake Floria?” He was genuinely surprised by that, and it must have shown in his expression because she immediately nodded her confirmation. “Oh yes. One of the most popular sightseeing destinations in the entire continent and the princess has never been.” Tying off the end of the braid, she flicked it over her shoulder in annoyance.
Temptation itched at the back of his mind. With all other things, he was well used to shoving it down, but this? Her?
Link turned to survey the makeshift camp behind them. They were nestled safely in the clearing outside the Spring of Courage, surrounded on three sides by tall mountains, with the fourth an easily guardable river. Four of their royal guard escorts were sitting around a fire, just starting to prepare for dinner, while the other four were out of sight, patrolling the area. He knew their patrol patterns well. It would be easy enough to slip past unnoticed. The only trouble then would be explaining their absence, but he could always—
Like being doused in cold water, the ever present reminder of his responsibilities brought those thoughts to a halt. What was he thinking? Sneaking the princess out into the jungle at night? He was her personal guard—sworn to protect her and keep her safe.
She would be perfectly safe with you.
That still didn’t make it an acceptable behavior.
It would make her happy.
…
He glanced again at the princess, still staring at the trees with a mixture of frustration and longing. Link had sworn oaths—to the princess, to the king, to Hyrule. He had standing orders and codes of conduct and strict rules and regulations to follow. He had been following them to a T without issue for years.
And yet…when it came to Zelda, suddenly none of that seemed to matter, because all he could think about when faced with a look like that was how badly he wanted to make her smile.
***
Link rehearsed the words on endless repeat in his head as he approached the campfire, but that didn’t stop the wave of nerves from hitting him the moment the soldiers looked up.
Gerard, one of the longest members of Zelda’s guard, was the first to speak. “Where’s the princess?”
Be resolute in the knowledge that you only lie for her sake. You are not betraying your princess nor your people, and you know that she will be safe.
“She decided to turn in early.” The words came out smoother than he expected, lending courage from the sword on his back. “She’s…frustrated.”
Four sets of downcast eyes spoke their understanding.
“If it’s alright with you, I’m going to go take a walk around.”
Gerard was his superior in age and experience, his mentor and teacher, and yet with an amused grin threatening the corner of his mouth, he reminded, “You’re our captain, remember?”
Link couldn’t help but laugh with the others. A hundred years could go by and he would still never remember that.
He found Zelda waiting behind a tree exactly as he’d directed. Holding a finger over his lips in a silent instruction to keep quiet, he used his other hand to take hers and began guiding her through the trees. Even as he shushed her, he couldn’t help but smile at her excited little giggle.
As he thought, slipping past the guards was no trouble, and once they were finally a good distance from Dracozu River, he nodded to let Zelda know she was safe to speak.
“See, this is exactly what I meant.” Even in the evening’s twilight, the spark in her eyes couldn’t be brighter. She smoothed her palm over a weathered owl statue, gazing up at luminous stone eyes reverently as she calmly strolled past. “The Zonai were thought to be a very spiritual people, so in tune with the land and the goddesses that they even had an intimate understanding of the world’s magics.”
Link decided to be bold and walk alongside her rather than his typical two steps behind. Noting him in her peripheral, she looked up and greeted him with a smile that he knew already made everything worth it.
“So given my failing efforts to unlock this goddess power of mine, does it not seem logical that I should learn more about their culture? To try and glean what understanding I can of their spiritual ties with the goddesses so as to strengthen my own?” She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye with a sheepish grin. “Or am I just making up excuses to justify my frivolous research?”
With a solemn, lonely sort of smile on her lips, Zelda fell quiet, eyes downcast.
“I mean…” Even if he spoke softly, that didn’t prevent the surprise with which her head snapped up at the sound of his voice. She still wasn’t used to the talking either. He shrugged, “…prayer isn’t working.”
The look she gave him wasn’t convinced, but it did look a small bit relieved.
The moon was high by the time they reached Lake Floria. He regretted that he couldn’t bring her here during the day. To watch the way the golden sun reflected off the numerous falls, to feel the refreshing mist under the afternoon heat. Maybe someday he could show her. But for now, the reflection of the moonlight sufficed it seemed.
“Wow,” she whispered, a look of wonder in her eyes. She had stopped just at the clearing where the trees gave way enough to appreciate the falls. “I’ve read descriptions and seen paintings, but nothing compares.”
He found himself mirroring that joy in her expression as he took her hand and kept walking toward the bridge. Zelda allowed herself to be led by him, taking advantage of his guidance by looking all around her, similar to how a rider could appreciate the view when atop a well trained horse.
She trusts you.
He hoped so.
Link finally came to a stop at the center of the bridge, where a semicircular viewing platform allowed the perfect vantage spot to take in the whole of the lake and its various waterfalls. Almost immediately, Zelda decided to give him a heart attack by running up to the edge of the bridge to peer down at the water below. He very nearly pulled her back, but just before he would have, he caught the wondrous smile on her face.
How could he possibly steal that moment from her?
Link instead chose to take a seat next to her, dangling his legs over the edge. It was only meant to put him in position to catch her should she fall, but Zelda seemed to take it as a suggestion, and soon joined him.
“I have half a mind to jump in.” The panic must have shown on his face because she immediately laughed, holding up her hands in defense. “I won’t! A jump from this height would be dangerous, I know.” A wistful smile took to her lips as she stared out at the waterfalls. “But there’s something…enchanting about the idea of swimming under the moon, don’t you think?”
He didn’t have to think. His own memory could attest to the subtle magical quality that the water took at night. How in complete darkness, one could almost trick themselves into believing they were swimming through the stars themselves.
Not a moment later, the laugh she made was almost heartbreaking in the way it drenched the fires of her own mind. “I’m sure it isn’t really. Just my mind glorifying the idea of something I can’t have.”
And there it was again. That touch of sadness weighing down green eyes.
The whispers of temptation returned. Back the way they came, there were only tall cliffs at the water’s edge, but on the opposite side of the bridge…
Link stood up to get a better view. Down off to the right at the far end of the bridge, he could appreciate eroded walls denoting some sort of Zonai structure that used to sit directly on the water. Perhaps—
“Link?” Zelda stood and walked up next to him out of some mixture of curiosity and concern. “What is it?”
Yet again, just a single look at her was all it took to seal his decision. With a friendly smile, he gestured for her to follow as he started walking down the bridge. “What?” There was a subtle excitement in her voice as she trotted along after him. “Where are we going?”
Taking an immediate right at the end of the bridge, Link held out a hand and guided Zelda down a gentle rocky slope. From there, it was an easy grass trail down to the bank.
In an almost childlike manner, Zelda gasped and ran the rest of the way upon realizing where they were headed. At the lake shore, Zonai bricks stacked intermittently along the water’s edge, protecting the remnants of some sort of house or temple nestled in the small clearing. Making her way to a break in the barricade, Zelda didn’t hesitate to pull off her sandals. She immediately bunched up her dress in a fist and took a seat at the edge to dip her legs in the water.
“It’s so cold!” She leaned her head back to look at him as she said it, almost as if seeking to share the excitement of the discovery with him.
She is.
He smiled back as he took a seat next to her, crossing his legs underneath him. In answer to the question she hadn’t asked yet, he purposefully lifted his gaze to the waterfall behind her.
“Of course,” she giggled as she followed. “It’s only natural that the water flowing directly from the mountain would be cold.” She continued to swish her legs, appearing to take simple joy in the feeling of the water on her skin. “Even if it is a warm night, I suppose it’s not quite warm enough for a swim. Still,” when she looked up again, the absolute sincerity and gratitude in that gaze slammed hard into his chest, “thank you.”
Link would do absolutely anything in the world to protect that joyous glow.
With a long, relaxed sort of sigh, Zelda plopped back so that she was lying down in the grass, calves still idly stirring the waters. Link could spend an eternity counting the stars reflecting in her eyes.
“I’m sure it’s just some sort of placebo—just wishful thinking on my part—but…I swear, I have never felt closer to the goddess than I do in moments like these.” As she spoke, Zelda threaded her fingers through a tuft of grass over her head. She stroked individual blades with her thumb in that same way she always caressed the petals of flowers in her study. “Lying in a field of grass, staring up at the stars, swimming in natural waters…” Her head rolled to stare up at him instead of the sky. “Am I so crazy to believe that the answer lies out here somewhere, and not cooped up in endless prayer?”
The goddess has never thrived in a cage.
Link shook his head.
A gentle smile on her lips, she returned to the stars. “My father thinks science is the opposite of spirituality, but what he doesn’t understand is that my studies are simply a way of seeking to understand Her world. If there is any magic in me, I’m going to find it immersed in this land that She loved, not isolated in a temple, standing in the shadow of Her statue.”
She used the word “if” as though there could ever be any doubt that the purest of magics resided within her. As though the stars would reflect constellations in anyone else’s eyes, as though the sun would create a halo about anyone else’s head. No, Link had recognized his goddess in her from the very start—in the way her voice echoed memories of a life he hadn’t lived and the way her smile made the world make sense.
How she could possibly doubt that presence in herself when it was so clear to him was a wonder beyond reason.
She has to find it for herself.
He wished he could show her the way.
You have.
“Do you think…” Her fingers nervously fiddled with the grass as she looked up at him, eyes full of hope and weighed with hesitance. “…we could go out for a walk like this again?”
Doing it just this once was already a risk. Twice would be begging to be caught. Three times a death sentence. But looking back and forth between those green eyes glowing under Hylia’s moon, Link knew he would take her out like this every single night if she wanted.
He nodded, and that brilliant smile made whatever punishment was to come all the more worth it.
When y’all are writing is there ever a point when you’re like “if someone does not lose their mind over this specific bit right here then what am I even doing?”
HUGE fan of the enemies forced to work together trope. not even in an enemies to lovers way just 2 ppl who absolutely despise each other being forced to tolerate the others presence and being like once we’re done with this i won’t fucking hesitate. top 10 tropes of all time
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
New chapter of the ever increasingly self indulgent smutty ChloNath fic, Dream.
NSFW. Explicit Sexual Content.
cw: more dom Nath, more sub Nath, more sub Chloe, more dom QB, some demeaning, swallowing
--
The sight was an absolute dream. Kneeling on the ground before him, blindfolded by his own black tie, soft curves adorned in the white lace lingerie he had specifically picked out for her while her hands stayed planted on her knees, wrists bound in padded black cuffs. Chloé’s mouth was wet and warm and welcoming of his cock as he relentlessly thrust into her, holding her head in place with a firm grip on her hair. Nathaniel braced himself with his free arm on the wall behind her and held nothing back as she very obediently let him use her for his own pleasure. He could see the flush of her face and the swell of her breasts with every labored breath, her body betraying her pleasure. She loved this. The spoiled brat of Paris loved being used and abused, as long as it was by him.
Climax was rapidly approaching. He felt more than he heard the low whimper in the back of her throat as she no doubt felt the strain of him growing harder in those last few seconds. The sensation drove him over the edge and without warning, he released, holding her in place with every inch of him buried deep in her mouth. He didn’t let go until she swallowed every last drop.
Chloé gasped for air as he slipped out of her. Not giving her a chance to catch her breath, Nathaniel took her chin in his hand and dragged her to her feet before backing her up against the wall. Retaking that grip on her hair, he angled her head back and her lips automatically parted for him. She gladly met his mouth in a languid kiss that gave him a taste of himself on her tongue. She was still breathless when they parted.
“That’s my good girl.”
—
“So how are the dreams going?” Adrien’s shit eating grin said he already knew the answer to his question, but just to really rub it in, he added, “They getting worse?”
Nathaniel’s only response was a sharp glare.
“How often is it Chloé now?” he went on, smiling like an asshole.
“About 75% of the time,” he answered through gritted teeth. Somehow, those eyes managed to brighten with even more excitement. “I’m still not interested in her though!”
“Aha,” he brushed past the comment as if it were nothing, “and on a scale of one to ten, how dominant would you say you are with her?”
Nathaniel forced a sip of iced coffee down in a futile attempt to prevent the heat rising all the way to his ears. “Ten.”
“Oooh spicy. Just to be clear, when you say ten, you mean dominant, like BDSM dominant, like–,”
Finally giving up on even maintaining a shred of dignity, Nathaniel burst, “Like possessive jealousy sex, demeaning names, handcuffs and blindfolds, using her as a plaything dominant.” His forehead found the table with a thud. “It’s despicable and I can’t,” he picked his head up just enough to thunk it down again, “get it,” and again, “to stop,” and one last time for good measure.
“It’s not stopping because it’s unresolved. You know what would resolve it?”
“Adrien, I swear to god–,”
“Having sex with her.”
He leased a long, agonizing groan. “Why are you like this?”
“I just want my friends to be happy.”
Nathaniel sat back up to stare at him with his dead, lifeless eyes, and indicated to his own face. “Does this look happy to you?”
“No, because despite having frequent wet dreams, you have not actually gotten laid in a while, and that is exactly what I am trying to help you with.”
“Yeah, by telling me to have sex with a woman who I have hated–and who has hated me–since early childhood!”
Adrien frowned curiously. “Do you still hate each other?”
“W-Well–,”
“Because while sex dreams are one thing, dreams where you’re married to her are another.”
“I mean–,”
“And she is choosing to commission you on a weekly basis, and has continued to do so for a couple months now. That doesn’t really sound like hatred to me. If anything, it–,”
“Okay fine!” Despite cutting his rant short, Adrien looked very pleased with himself at Nathaniel’s outburst. “Maybe we don’t hate each other, but that’s still far from liking each other. I highly doubt I’ve ever even crossed her mind in that regard.”
With a tilt of his head and a high pitched sort of squeak, Adrien responded with a very suspicious, “Weeeelllllll…”
Rather than form any real sort of sentence with that word, he just took a sip of his drink, eyeing him expectantly.
“Well, what?”
He offered no further explanation than a devious smile. Oh, he did not like the implication of that. And he definitely did not like the gnawing curiosity inside himself that begged to dig further, to seek confirmation for a thought that he was not willing to acknowledge.
“Okay, well, whatever you’re trying to imply here doesn’t matter, because I am still not into her.” The words may have been directed at Adrien, but they were as much meant as a reminder to himself.
“If you say so,” Adrien shrugged, not even trying to pretend he believed him. “So how often are you married in the dreams?”
An impish laugh resounded as Nathaniel buried his face in the palms of his hands. He missed the days when it was just Queen Bee.
–
He wished he could use his hands. Explore the soft skin of her thighs under his palms, squeeze that all too perfect ass. He could taste her on his tongue, could hear the delicate sighs and moans just his mouth alone could give, but he knew there was more to be had. There were sounds only his fingers would draw out of her, and he couldn’t hear those sounds so long as his hands remained bound behind his back.
Nathaniel stopped just to breathe the name, “Bee–,” before she used her grip on his hair to hold his head still and repositioned herself over his face again.
“Don’t stop,” she moaned, and a relieved sigh escaped her as he dove his tongue in again. Fuck, he wished he could see that. “Be good and get me off like this or you won’t get your reward.”
He leased a muffled whine but did as he was told, closing his lips over her clit again. As if a reminder to himself, he rolled his hips, grinding up against the air, just to feel the presence of the butt plug nestled deep in him. He absolutely ached against his boxers, that fabric acting as far greater restraint than the cuffs on his wrists, and he wanted nothing more than for her to take him, one way or another.
The queen hadn’t explicitly stated what his reward would be. Would she sink down on him and ride him into the night? Would she bury her strap on up to the hilt and wait until he begged for more? Would she use her hand on him while thrusting? Maybe his reward might be so simple as to just watch her face as she cums.
Perhaps that was the thought that had him ravaging her with renewed vigor. “That’s it,” she groaned. “Just like that.” He wanted to see the flush of her cheeks, the fluttering of her eyelids, her mouth hung open in a pleasured smile. He wanted to see an orgasm take to those blue eyes; wanted to memorize every little detail she would grant. Nathaniel was but a humble artist who wanted nothing more than to appreciate the work of art that she was.
“Yes,” she gasped, and he recognized the sound of her approaching climax in that voice. Cool fingers found the edges of the blindfold and his heart rate tripled. Would she really–?
The blaring of his alarm ripped Nathaniel from his dream once again, and for once he actually felt relieved upon waking.
…And then felt appalled at that relief.
What was he thinking? That the sex dreams were okay when they were Queen Bee? As if this were some sort of faithfulness issue!? At least when it was Chloé it was theoretically someone within reach, but to have sexual fantasies about a literal superhero!? It seemed it was getting so wildly out of control now that he was settling for Queen Bee dreams as an acceptable new normal, when they most certainly were not.
A steamy ChloNath drabble. I thought I was writing it for a request and then it didn't end up incorporating the prompt OOPS guess I'll just have to write even more ChloNath ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
cw: NSFWish, mild sexual content, BDSM, light bondage
--
“Hey loser, where are you?”
The sun was just starting to set when Chloé arrived at the studio, the bell at the entrance signaling her arrival before she promptly shut and locked the door behind her. She didn’t care if the sign in the window claimed his shop was open for another hour; she flipped it over to the Closed side and pulled the blinds shut. After the day she’d had, anyone else who wanted her boyfriend’s attention could wait.
“What are you doing?”
When she turned back around she found that messy bun of red hair poking out from behind an easel, teal eyes looking at her with a confusion that after so many years was honestly unwarranted at this point. There was a streak of yellow across his cheek and flecks of pastels clinging to his bangs that matched the palette cradled in his left hand while the right held a brush suspended in midair.
Just the sight alone already had her breathing the slightest bit easier. Leave it to Nathaniel to make the arid scent of paint a comfort.
Rather than answer the question, she asked, “Is anyone else here?”
“No, why?”
“Good.” She dropped her purse on the floor and kicked off her heels as she made her way over to him. “I’m horny, and I’m frustrated, and I need you to fuck me, because if you don’t, I might just go back to work and murder my concierge.”
His response may have been to scowl at her, but as she released her hair from the tight ponytail and shook it out, she didn’t miss the way his eyes tracked the movement. “I’m working,” he stated, as if that were an argument when his interest was clearly piqued. He didn’t move from his place sitting atop his work stool, but he also didn’t stop leaning over at an awkward angle so that he could watch her approach.
She left her top with only three buttons open by the time she reached him–the tease of her bra strap and glimpse of cleavage an invitation. With practiced ease, she tossed a leg across his lap, pencil skirt hiking up as she came to straddle him. Bare thighs hugged course ripped jeans and her hands immediately found his shoulders, taking advantage of the loose tank top he wore to skim her nails along the soft musculature of his arms. “You’re freelance,” she reminded.
Teal eyes flicked up from her collar and narrowed with a frown. “That’s not how it works.”
Chloé’s only response to that was a vacant hum. With just the brush of her knuckles along his jaw, his head automatically tilted back, lining up with hers as she leaned in. “It is today.” The first kiss was soft and smooth, a simple suggestion, and he met it naturally out of habit. It was followed by a second and a third before he seemingly remembered to pull away.
She could already hear his will weakening as he complained, “Chloé, I’m serious.”
“Me too,” she replied simply before kissing him again. “Do you want Antoine’s blood on your hands?” This time it was four or five more before a soft whine sounded from the back of his throat.
“I need to get this commission done by tomorrow.”
A nod. “You will.” Their lips met again and the sigh he breathed at the introduction of her tongue was music to her ears.
“I’ll get paint on your clothes,” he whispered, a half hearted last ditch argument made even as he finally set his tools aside.
“Good,” she mumbled into the next kiss. “I wanted to shop for new ones anyway.”
His hands settled at the small of her waist, no doubt staining her white button up with pastels, and a breath of relief escaped her as the warmth of his palms sank through to her skin. “Have I ever told you,” he murmured, interrupting his own words with a kiss, “that you’re kind of an entitled brat?”
Taking up hold at her sides, Nathaniel pulled her in until there was no space left between them. She breathed in slow and deep, sinking into the comfort of having him nestled between her legs. “Mhmm,” she hummed. As his fingers came to curl under her thighs, Chloé hooked her arms behind his neck, and in one practiced motion, he stood, taking her with him.
The metal work table was cold underneath her as he set her down, but that hardly mattered when Nathaniel was situated between her legs, the gentle grind of his hips giving her a taste of what she so desperately needed. He soon took up the invitation laid out to him, paint stained hands unfastening buttons at a leisurely pace. Chloé was far less patient though as she tugged on his shirt. He was forced to halt his movements in order to remove the article, but very quickly tossed it aside and set his hands on her again.
His skin was warm under her palms as she hastily pulled him back in. Nathaniel hugged her thighs to his waist and broke from her lips to press all too gentle kisses into the sensitive skin just under her ear. “You seem impatient.”
“I am,” she sighed, eyes fluttering as he just skimmed his lips along her neck, breath ghosting her skin. He was clearly in a slower, more sensual mood than she was and frankly, she needed him in the right-here-right-now-fast-and-hard mindset.
Instead, he hummed into her shoulder. “That just makes me want to go slower.” As if demonstrating his point, he reached up to unfasten just one more button on her shirt before returning his hand to her leg and keeping it there.
Chloé let out a long frustrated groan as he continued to dot her skin with light kisses. “Nathaniel, I swear to god, if you don’t fuck me right now I will burn your Magma T.”
He huffed a laugh before bringing his mouth back to hers. His kiss this time was still slow, but more charged, hungry. He pushed her skirt up the rest of the way to bunch around her waist and hooked his fingers under the waistband of her thong. Chloé briefly leaned back on her hands so she could raise her hips for him to remove it, then immediately went for his belt while he unbuttoned the rest of her top.
She had just managed to release the buckle when she was forced to stop by Nathaniel pushing the shirt from her shoulders. As she went to remove it, he took up the job of pulling his belt completely free, but rather than drop it on the floor, he set it on the table beside her.
“Lay down.”
A shiver ran up her spine at that tone, and when she opened her eyes she found that his had darkened, taking on a hungry, commanding quality. Biting her lip in anticipation, she did as told and laid back on cool metal while Nathaniel walked around to the other side and took her hands, pulling them up over her head. Chloé breathed in deep and slow, her arousal spiking at the familiar touch of leather on her wrists, and she delightfully twisted to test the restraint once he was done wrapping the belt around her. Nathaniel proceeded to grab her abandoned shirt, tying one sleeve around the belt, and the other to one of the legs of the table behind her. He then finally returned to stand between her legs.
Warm palms smoothed a path up along her bare waist to caress her breasts, thumbs tracing over lace. The movement was shameless, tantalizing, and once again far too leisurely for her liking. Impatient and wanting, Chloé wrapped her legs around his waist, using them to pull him in. The table was at just the right height; if he would just unfasten his jeans, he could–
“You want me to fuck you?”
As he spoke, he moved one hand up along her chest, her collarbone, her neck, until it settled into place at her jaw, thumb running along her bottom lip.
“Yes.”
Leaning down over her, Nathaniel’s kiss this time was agonizingly drawn out, measured, but absolutely intoxicating in its heat and demand. Holding her chin between forefinger and thumb, he parted from the kiss and turned her head to the side. Lips brushed her ear as he murmured in a low tone, “Then be a good girl and wait until I’m done working.”
“...What?”
With a smirk that was all too smug, Nathaniel stood up straight.
“You can’t be serious!”
He casually ran his hands along her legs, slowly disentangling himself. “Don’t worry, it’ll only take another hour or so.”
“An hour!?”
“Do you want me to go slower?” Just to torture her, he pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her leg. His voice dropped to a warning tone that matched the look he gave her. “Because I will.”
She believed it.
“A-At least untie me. Don’t just leave me here for an hour.”
He fully stepped away then, leaving the space between her legs cold and empty in his wake. “What’s the fun in that?” She watched as he walked around the table, picking up his shirt off the floor to put it back on. “Besides, I can’t have you running off and killing Antoine now, can I?”
“But–!”
“You’ll have to be quiet if you want me to get my work done quickly.” Leaning his elbows on the table at either side of her head, he came to hover over her and once again traced a thumb over her lips. Dropping to that seductive tone that shot right through her he added, “Or do I need to gag you?”
Fuck.
She pressed her lips together in compliance and he smirked before leaning down to give her a kiss that was all too fleeting.
So @terrible-miraculous-ladybug-aus posted this, and I may have gotten a little too into the idea, so here have some chlonath~
So imagine, the gang got the peacock miraculous back from Papillon and one day during battle, for ~reasons~ Chloé was the one who had to elect a new miraculous holder to help them. They didn’t know the peacock was damaged at the time, and her gut or magic or whatever led her to give it to Nathaniel.
So she knows Nathaniel is Paon while no one else does (and like canon, everyone knows who she is). After the battle she went to get it back and he had a slight cough. They both just brushed it off as him coming down with a cold or something.
She continues to give it to him every once in a while to help them in battle, and after maybe the fifth or sixth time, when she’s taking it back from him, she realizes that it’s making him cough like that, and it’s getting worse. She decides not to give it to him (or anyone) after that.
One day there’s one particularly harsh battle. They all take a pretty hard beating, and barely come out on top. The next day while walking out of school, Nathaniel asks her why she didn’t ask for his help.
She looks at him like he’s crazy. “It’s making you sick, you idiot.”
He shrugs. “I don’t mind a little coughing if it keeps Papillon from defeating you.”
She steps in front of him, stopping him dead in his tracks, and points a finger to his chest. “Listen up, Kurtzberg. We fight to protect Paris and that includes you. So, no, I am not going to ask for your help if it means endangering you.” She walks away without another word, and Nathaniel wonders why his cheeks feel warm.
Reblogging this for no reason other than it is still one of my favorite things I've ever written in the ML fandom and that's stupid because it's based on what is SUPPOSED to be a BAD AU
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