#bechole

[rezzivl]

does anyone else go through their fan fic bookmarks and comes across this “This has been deleted, sorry!” And you are like what the fuck! What was it! It was good enough for me to bookmark! Where did it go? Why did it get deleted? Did the author become famous? Like…….I’m just on a downward spiral trying to figure it out.

[volandis]

I love when pretty woman love pretty woman

[sp-by-april]

Kinktober: Bondage/Shibari.

Bebe x Nichole

[Read all my Kinktober fics in Sour Candy on Ao3!] [All South Park Masterlists]

The ropes were red.

Not the cheap, scratchy kind, but a lush, high gloss silk Bebe had special ordered because “Aesthetics are, like, ninety percent of romance,”

The room looked like something you’d see in a photoshoot.

Lipstick, vintage perfume bottle, a single heel abandoned at a scandalous angle and neat coils of crimson silk.

Nichole laid back against Bebe’s pillowed headboard, her heart thumped in an ecstatic, pounding rhythm.

The kind that always made her overthink every tiny movement.

The air shimmered with that specific twilight hush. The lamps were dim, the snow piled up on the ledge outside the window.

South Park was still and endless. There was something about the scene that felt like a high budget production.

Red rope coiled on the bedspread, beside a gold tray full of toys as candles burned down around them.

Bebe was in her element, wearing a little slip that looked more expensive than Nichole’s entire skincare routine. Her golden curls were left wild just to show she didn’t care about neatness when she was winning.

She didn’t posture. She didn’t monologue. She just watched Nichole’s face as she looped the rope, fingers precise.

“Are you nervous, or just mad you can’t solve me?” Bebe said, low and deep.

Nichole could feel her cheeks getting hotter by the second, “Are you going to do the whole shibari tutorial on me right now, or is this improv?”

“I’m not a try-hard, Nichole. I only do as much as you can handle,” Bebe’s mouth grazed her temple.

Her nails scraped a gentle trail from Nichole’s wrist up to her elbow.

The rope wove in and out, wrist to wrist, behind her back, over her thighs, crosshatched and deliberate.

Bebe’s focus never wavered. When she was done, she made a soft, satisfied sound.

She reached for the slim gold tray.

Nichole felt her pulse surge when Bebe selected the bullet vibe.

Her pale thumb ran over the button, “You trust me, right?”

“I trust you more than literally anyone,” Nichole exhaled.

It was true. She’d trusted Bebe with her worst secrets, her last ugly cry, and even her cringiest high school feelings.

This was just one more thing to hand over.

Bebe knelt between her knees, rope taut over Nichole’s skin, a red lattice that was both armor and invitation.

She cupped the back of Nichole’s thigh, “If you want me to slow down, say so. I don’t need you pretending for me,”

Nichole shook her head, “Don’t,”

Bebe’s laugh was genuine and delighted.

The bullet buzzed to life before she pressed it between Nichole’s thighs, over the thin lace of her panties.

It wasn’t enough to make her squirm but enough to tease her into madness.

The rope flexed with every twitch, every accidental arch of Nichole’s hips.

Bebe pressed her free hand to Nichole’s chest, pinning her. “Hold still for me, beautiful,”

She did.

She held her breath, back arched, wrists trembling in the silk, mind spinning with the twin onslaught of pleasure and embarrassment.

She wanted to crack a joke. She wanted to drag Bebe back down with her, but every nerve was on fire and her tongue was caught on her teeth.

She could only whimper as Bebe leaned down, kissing the corner of her mouth.

The only things that existed to Nichole where the rope, Bebe’s perfume and the buzzing on her clit.

Pleasure rushed up her body like she’d been waiting just for this.

She bit her lip, thighs shaking, every muscle singing and tightening.

When she finally broke, it was silent, almost holy.

Bebe kissed her again, deeper, softer, lips sticky with red lipstick.

“That’s my girl,” she whispered as her hand slid into Nichole’s hair, “Let me see you,”

Nichole’s head was fuzzy and her skin was feverish as she smiled up at her, “You’re not done with me yet, are you?”

Bebe’s grin was proud, “Not even close,”

[chairhere]

what fandoms are you in?

Hey!

On here, I mostly joined for Supergirl as a supercorp shipper. But I also occasionally pull my head above that madness (affectionate) to mess with Rizzoli and Isles, Pitch Perfect, League of Their Own, Venom, Ted Lasso, Grey’s, Percy Jackson, aaaaaand I’m sure a few others.

As one can guess, most of my ships from those medias are Queer but not always.

[godzillachloe]

The fans do it better

[thelotusflowers]

hello, please send me prompts and I will write a little snippet! my writers block has been bad and I think this will help? maybe

[justwritethatdown]

"Fiction gives us the second chance that life denies us." — Paul Theroux

I started writing this story with this quote in mind, it is pretty much about a very important period of my life — or rather about how I wish things had turned out — I obviously adapted my story to the characters which inevitabily caused fiction and reality to blend in together.

I usually don't like canon divergent fictions, or at least I don't like to write them, but I needed to get this story out and that's the only way I know how.

There's a girl who gives a shit, behind this wall (you just walked through it)

High School AU set in 2009 - 2020

Please tell me what is taking place (‘cause I can’t seem to find a trace)

I don't need much of anything, but suddenly…

Summer after high school (when we first met)

[charmingcentry]

Excerpt

Enjoy a couple of lines from an HP AU where Chloe is the first Hufflepuff death eater. Slowly coming back into writing:)

-

Being ridiculed for being a proud member of Hufflepuff is what Chloe became accustomed to. She recalls how her fellow peers in the Great Hall would let out a string of sneers and insults for those sorted into the house known for its loyalty. The redhead didn't seem to bothered at first, after all, they were just poking fun... it's "tradition."

But, where in tradition does it say that her Quidditch uniform has to be stolen before a game commenced? Where in tradition does it state that she was to be frequently ignored and exiled from other house's members? Chloe wanted somebody to give her one chance - just anybody.

She so desperately wanted to fit in.

Even if it meant for a mark that would plague her for as long as she will live.