#I should have given Luka a snake back tattoo

[katydoodles]

This was supposed to be a simple drawing, I swear.

It was supposed to be a sketch with some color and then it turned into this 😵‍💫

Well this is just a tender moment between a pirate and a mermaid

#Pirate Luka AU #I should have given Luka a snake back tattoo #it’s been a long time since I’ve drawn for this AU #Lukloe #luka couffaine #chloe bourgeois #mermaid Chloe #miraculous #ml AU #procreate #if you wanna look at my layers let me know #I was just drawing a pose I like from Pinterest and then I got a semi full drawing

[fragileizywriting]

locker talk (chapter 2) is out now!

pairing: Luka / Marinette (Viperion / Multimouse) word count: 8,961 / 16,208 (in total) chapter: 2/3 rating: E summary: “Is everything okay? You’re looking a little lost. Did something happen at Uni, again?” “I’m peachy,” Multimouse wheezes, snapping back into focus. What was she even doing here, again? What was the point of showing up? She can’t even remember. Right. Right. Seduce him. Sort of. Or at least confess. Or at least get to kiss him again… “Perfectly peachy. Everything is so much wetter— better— now that I’m here. Nothing happened at school— I just— oh gooseberries.” Luka barks out a laugh, running his fingers through his hair. She wonders if his hair is as soft as it looks.

AO3 | Start Here | Chapter One Link | You Are Here! | Chapter Three Link

Thank you so much for the love you've given me for this fic! I appreciate every single one of you so much 💕💕💕💕

The third chapter will be posted very soon!!!

She’s showered. She’s shaved. She’s gotten shampoo in her eye.

She hopes the redness isn’t noticeable.

Multimouse is many things— friendly, approachable, known as Paris’s sweetheart with many sweet bakery treats named after her using puns, such as Multi-feuille, or Multideleines— but they have no idea that she sits on top of the Liberty’s roof, wiggling her toes over the Seine, trying not to bite her lips raw at the thought of trying to seduce the guy she’s already had a feverish moment with.

It’s a soft night, with small dots of twinkling stars that burn and force their way through the light-polluted Parisian night, but she doesn’t mind how it’s dark enough out that no one can really see her unless they purposely go looking for her. She’s practically invisible, with the closest street lamp to her still being too far away for her to be illuminated by it. No one knows that she’s here— no one knows that she’s hiding in the shadows.

Quiet— quaint— small and hidden away like an actual mouse that sticks to the shadows so that she isn’t seen. She’s not sure if it’s Mullo’s instincts that coerce her to stick to the shadows or if it’s just her nerves.

After all— getting here, onto the Liberty, was half of the battle for her.

She’s never done this before. She’s never even considered this an option… how does she do this? She doesn’t even have a solid plan.

And Multimouse never not has a plan.

Even if she knows that Viperion— no, Luka— likes her, thinks about her sexually— she just can’t shake the feeling that her confession isn’t going to work out in her favor, that she’s going to walk away embarrassed and humiliated.

She can prepare and prepare again and over prepare for whatever she’s planning all she wants— but it’s the actual doing part that she usually gets stuck on. She can shower, she can shave, she can get shampoo in her eyes— she can text Juleka to maybe casually imply that she’s going to try to confess to her brother, not mentioning that she’s going to do it as her superhero identity instead of Marinette, and actually get Juleka to push everyone out of the house on one nice and evening Friday night— but none of that matters if she doesn’t actually get here.

She got here.

And now is dawdling on the next step— actually talking to him.

She has to try. Juleka had cleared the boat of stragglers in record time when she found out that she’d been planning on confessing to her brother— Multimouse seriously has no idea how the girl managed to get her mother off the boat, but she’s gone. It’s just him in there now. She’s grateful that she doesn’t have access to her nails to chew them through, because she’s shaking like a battery from how much her nerves consume her.

She plays with her necklace between her hands as she leans forward to put her elbows on her thighs, looking out to the water below— looking down at how the only open-blind window on the boat flickers with light as he passes next to it.

It sounds like he’s finished taking his shower— but all of it is really muffled, given that he lives in the equivalent of a metal can with sails— but either way, she stands up and starts to creep her way towards the front entrance of his house before she can convince herself that this is a bad idea and that she should turn around and book it and pretend that she never thought of this idea in the first place. Besides, it can’t be that bad of an idea, right?

This is a bad idea.

This is a very bad idea— oh— oh no.

She barely finishes knocking on the window next to the door before he pulls it open with a yelp and a curse spilling out of his lips, halfway through putting on his shirt. She stands there, transfixed, trying not to burst into flames as she catches the sight of toned and defined muscle from years of hard-earned wins against Hawkmoth disappear behind the widest shirt in existence with a heavy-metal band logo she’s never heard of, and how those muscles trail down and disappear into very low-riding sweatpants.

She knows he has muscles— she knows how big his arms are and that the pattern of his scales on his suit aren’t just to give the illusion of abs— because she’s seen him many times before with barely anything of a shirt on when the summer heat in Paris is too rough and everyone piles onto the Liberty to attempt to catch a draft.

She’s seen the way his back muscles move when he’s helping tear down stage sets for his band— she’s had many glass bottles of soda slip out of her hands at the sight of him naturally keeping up with Ivan and Kim’s strength— she’s seen all of it. Luka is nothing short of strong.

But now she knows just how it feels to have those same muscles pressed up against her. She might faint. “Uhm.”

“Hey! Sorry— I didn’t know you were going to come over tonight— you scared me with that knock. I thought I had the whole boat to myself.” Luka smiles at her, using his arm with the snake tattoo that wraps and coils around his forearm to pull out a couple necklaces of his own from underneath his shirt. Even though the shirt is wide, it seems to have a bit of a problem wrapping comfortably around his shoulders— and the neckline is wide enough to show his collarbones.

What does she even focus on? What does she want to look at the most?

“Sorry—” She blinks fast. Shirt. Chest. Arms. Sweatpants. Smile. Lips. Lips that bruised her neck so badly she had to keep her hair down for the entire week just to hide it from Alya’s enthusiastic gaze. Kissable lips. Lips she imagines all over her body all the time. Lips that— “S-sorry! Uhm. I’m just, uh— I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“I’m kidding, Mousey—” He’s all teeth when he smiles. She knows how those feel on her skin now, too— she knows how it feels to have him drag his mouth and lips all over her jaw— she has to lean against the door frame to stop herself from collapsing from how much she wants to feel it all over again. Her skin feels sensitive just at the thought. “I just got out of the shower and it was totally quiet out there. Really did think it was just going to be a quiet night by myself. Even mom’s out— probably went to go harass that last cop that gave her warning for the noise complaint. What do you think?”

Had he thought about her in the shower? He’s not flushed at all— nothing indicative of anything he had said inside the closet about how he’s always thinking of her— but Luka’s usually not one to lose his cool. It’s impossible to get a gauge out of his emotions when he hides it— something he’s incredibly good at when he’s Viperion. She’s shown up after his shower— presumably the time where he thinks about her in the most private way— and there’s absolutely nothing telling her that it’s true.

She never would’ve known if he hadn’t told her in the closet.

Assuming he even was telling the truth…

“Mousey?”

She snaps back into focus. “Oh! Right! Uhm— are you busy? D-do you want me to leave? Come back another time? When you’re not busy? Very busy?”

“Busy? Yeah, right,” He snorts good humoredly. “Busy on my laptop watching videos, probably. This place is an absolute bust when there’s no one here— you’re doing me a favor by being here.”

“S-so you don’t want me to leave?” She eeps. If he even makes one single implication that he doesn’t want her to show up, she’ll turn around and leave with no hesitation— her nerves are eating at her to the point where she’s ready to run anyways.

“No, of course not. Stay. Please.” He adjusts his necklaces to stop tangling with each other. They jingle when they hit together— a pleasant clinking noise on a pleasant night, but she’s busy taking in how shiny and pearlescent his arm is with the beautiful blue color on the coils of the snake’s body and how it matches the gold diamond shapes in strategic places. “You’re always welcome here, you know. I love it when you’re here.”

“Yep— yes. Totally.”

His hair is so much blacker and so much more bluer when it’s wet. She can’t stop staring at him, her mouth shaped into a circle, as he looks down at her with a shift in his brows when he’s stopped focusing on his necklaces. “You okay?”

“Wet.”

He blinks very slowly, speaking to her so softly, almost as if she’ll scamper off if he startles her. “Oh. Are you?”

“I meant— I meant your hair—” She squeaks, trying her best not to catch on fire from the way her cheeks heat and steam, waving her hands in the air, steaming harder when he laughs. “Sorry— oh my gooseberries I’m so sorry— that was so weird I didn’t mean to say that outloud, I mean, I just, I didn’t know you wash your hair at night— uhm— it just caught me by surprise!”

“Take a breath,” He smiles.

“Sorry,” She does.

“You need to work on your meditation again, you’re not focusing as well as you usually do.” He tilts his head with a wink. She tries her best not to follow the drops of water down his neck, down to where there’s a very obvious bruise on the side of his neck. Oh. Oh. She did that. She… she did that. She bit him. And grinded on him. And listened to him talk about how much he wanted to finger her— “Is everything okay? You’re looking a little lost. Something happen at Uni again?”

“I’m peachy,” She wheezes, snapping back into focus. What was she even doing here, again? What was the point of showing up? She can’t even remember. Right. Right. Seduce him. Sort of. Or at least confess. Or at least get to kiss him again… “Perfectly peachy. Everything is so much wetter— better— now that I’m here. Nothing happened at school— I just— oh gooseberries.”

He barks out a laugh, running his fingers through his hair. She wonders if his hair is as soft as it looks. “Alright, let’s backtrack for a bit so you get your focus back. Do you not wash your hair at night?”

She’s so thankful for this man.

“My hair is too thick for that, I need to wash it in the mornings or it’ll never dry.” She ignores her voice crack. What is she doing, talking about hair care at his door, eyes missile-locked onto the bite mark on his neck? Why is she like this? “A-anyway! Sorry to— drop in on you— I know it’s really late— uhm— I just wanted to, uh— talk? To you? Maybe? But, again, it’s okay if you’re busy— watching videos is always really fun, isn’t it? I totally won’t mind—”

“You’re thinking too much, Mousey.” He grins. “It’s fine. I’ve never not wanted you here before, right? Let’s shut the door before someone sees you.”

As if Paris would believe anyone gossipping about Paris’s sweetheart dropping by a houseboat in the middle of the city, chatting up a man only a year older than her during the night time. She’s pretty sure that everyone is convinced that she’s perpetually stuck at the age of fifteen, instead of twenty four— always too small and too cinnamon roll and too pure to be sneaking into men’s houses, because that’s not what Multimouse does.

Sometimes being adored by millions and being put on a pedestal by this city is taxing. She doesn’t mind being considered sweet and friendly— but it’s exhausting to have to hear the slight infantilization the city ends up pushing on her. Maybe she should try cursing in public during a fight— see how many people she ends up disappointing.

She wonders if Luka hates being considered the silent, brooding type. He’s approachable— but most people on the internet and Alya’s commenters on the blog assume that he’s dark— mysterious— handsome and well spoken almost like a prince.

If only.

He has a mouth of a sailor. She’s seen him get coffee foam up his nose from laughter whenever she tries the aerial rope and continuously ends up failing. He doesn’t know how to swim, even though he lives on a boat— he writes so much music in his notebooks that his room is an absolute mess of paper that he tries to keep organized using folders and binders and sticking loose leafs of poetry on the walls.

The last time they watched a documentary about penguins, he’d cried the whole way through, talking about how he wishes he could help all the exhausted and freezing little chicks. Not to mention whenever there’s a documentary about rodents on the television, he ends up crying too, smothering her in hugs that makes her face burst into flames.

The comments did get it right about the handsome, though. Very handsome.

“A-are you sure?”

“Come on. I want you inside.”

She closes the door behind her, making sure that her tail isn’t snipped off on accident, trying not to loop the words come and I and want and you in her head. Even with all the nasty, absolutely dirty things he’s said to her already— somehow that manages to get her knees to almost buckle.

“So, uhm, is your family home? Juleka? Maybe?” Her voice is absolutely not this high! Get it together!

He blinks at her curiously, thinning his lips as he no-doubt tries to keep his laughter in. Luka’s always been a tease. “You know the answer to that, don’t you?”

Does he mean that he knows that Marinette was supposed to show up to his house? Oh, no. What has she done? Was it a bad idea telling Juleka to possibly go to Rose’s house, and maybe spend the night there, if all went well? How does she get out of this one? “W-well— I—”

“Best hearing in Paris, after all, right? You’d be able to hear if anyone else was on the boat with us.”

Duh. God, she feels like an idiot. “Y-yeah. I know. I just— I just wanted to know. To hear you say it, I mean.”

“Did you?” His face transforms into one full of humor, and she can do nothing but bite her lip raw at how handsome he is when his eyes crinkle in that boyish way of his. “What did you want to hear me say, Mousey?”

Anything. Everything. As long as he keeps talking, she’ll be miserable— but loving every moment of it, and he’ll have no idea because Luka doesn’t know that she knows he’s Viperion and thinks about his voice so often that she’s constantly balancing on a hair trigger.

“Uhm—” She taps her fingers along her thighs. “I— you know— I just wanted to hear you say that we’re alone.”

“Only that?” He hums, turning around to go probably drop off his towel back in the bathroom.

“Yes?” She’s never been so unsure before in her life, and she flounders as she follows him further into the boat, following him into his room just past the kitchen. “I mean yes obviously— why would I— need or want more— uhm— that would be— weird and definitely wouldn't make any contextual sense— I mean it’s not as if I—”

He pauses to look at her. She does her absolute best not to burst into flames. “You know, I’ve never realized it until now— you are absolutely one horny girl, little mouse. Dropping by and immediately asking me to start pillow talking you—”

She doesn’t even hear him, bouncing on the balls of her boots, squeaking a floorboard that is always loose no matter how much the Couffaines try to glue or hammer it down. She’s certain she’s watched them rip out just to put back a new floorboard— and yet it still continues to squeak. “That’s not true! That’s totally not true I’m— you know— I’m just—”

“Yes?”

“It’s just that your voice is melodical— it’s so soothing and you know I have anxiety and things but being able to hear your voice always makes me calm down— it’s so nice to just— just relax— and let someone else think of things for me—”

“Breathe, Mousey.”

“Thank you.” She gasps in air, proving his point for him.

His eyes shine with something as she sucks in her breaths. “How long have you been waiting for me to pull you inside and take care of you?”

She whines, crossing her arms. “You’re being totally unfair right now, Luka, you can’t just start talking dirty to me—”

He laughs, pulling open the door to his room. “I’m not talking dirty to you, not yet.”

“And just assume that I’ll listen—”

He pauses again to look at her, and it’s enough to make her bite her lip by how absolutely jaw-dropping he looks. “Oh, you won’t? And here I thought that’s what you wanted. Is that not what you wanted?”

“What do you—”

His eyelashes are black smudges against his cheeks as his gaze drops to her lips when he brushes her jaw with the back of his hand. “Do you not want me to take care of you in the way you want? Do you not want me to tell you all of the filthiest things you want to hear?”

“Gooseberries you have no idea how much I’ll listen if you do because I will— I promise you I will— I mean I’ll do anything as long as you keep talking— I promise— I’ll be good for you, I promise—” She almost smacks her forehead in an attempt to stop squeaking out her words, instead choosing to nearly rub her cheeks raw with her gloves.

Gentle and giant hands reach for her wrists with such slowness it almost boarders asinine. “Hey. Don’t hurt yourself— that looks like it hurts.”

She drops her hands from her face without question, letting him pet and smooth away the redness from her skin. “But— I— come on, I have to focus first! At least let me try to say what I came here to say, don’t just immediately flip the script back on me!”

He turns to walk into his room, leaving her standing there, looking around and wondering if that was an invitation to start talking. He’s cleaned his room a bit— there’s no laundry on the floor this time— but his room still continues to look like a snake’s den from how cluttered it is.

He sits down comfortably in that pouf chair of his, the one she’s always wondered how it fit through the front door. Maybe they floated it in through the window, she’s not sure. It’s massive— huge— full of stuffing and fun to sit on whenever she’s here for a party and is starting to feel drunk, or here to goof off in his presence whenever it’s just the two of them and she has nothing better to do. It’s close enough to Luka’s bed that it feels like a challenge, for her, and she always feels victorious whenever she manages to convince herself to sit there.

“How long have you known, Mull?”

“K-known what?” She freezes at the doorframe, finally realizing what’s happened when he simply spins the leather strap of his miraculous on his wrist, looking at her with raised brows. “Uhm.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh oh. Oh no. Oh no. How did you—”

“I don’t think you make it a habit of begging any man you come across, unless you know who they are already.”

“I— yes— only you, Luka. I’ve only begged for you.” She nods very slowly.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” Some form of a thought twinkles in his eyes as he says it. “Not yet, at least. Don’t freak out, it’s okay that you know. I kind of figured you knew. It’s okay.”

“Y-you did?”

“Of course.”

“But—” She gestures around. “How?”

He tilts his head, looking at her with such a curious face. “Intuition, I guess. Or maybe paranoia. Hey, have you known for longer than a year?”

“Ah—” She shifts on her feet. “No. Sort of. I kinda was guessing it, but— I mean— I got genuine confirmation about a month ago.”

“Have you been showing up because you knew?”

“No, no. I didn’t know when I first started showing up— I’ve been showing up because I really like you— you as in Luka, that is. And then I found Sass playing hide and seek with Mullo when I went to the bathroom, and, well I totally didn’t know what to do when I found out that you were actually in fact my partner— and then I couldn’t stop thinking about you and by then I— I had already— fallen in— uhm— with you on both sides—”

This takes him by surprise. “You’ve been here detransformed?”

She pinches her eyes shut. “Uhm—”

“We know each other, don’t we?” He exhales. “That— I mean— that does make sense. You are always so conveniently close by whenever there’s an Akuma that attacks the Liberty— and only god fucking knows why it’s always the Liberty. You’d think my mom would learn after a while to stop picking fights with the cops. Or the government in general. This place is a breeding ground for Akumas— Hawkmoth is one day just going to set up camp around here, I think.”

He taps at his jaw as he thinks. No doubt he’s trying to place her as one of his friends— or maybe his sister’s.

“It’s a good thing Couffaines know how to party, right?” She eeps into the silence, trying not to bolt for the door. Would he try following her? Would he grab her and pin her down so she can’t try to give up from how embarrassed she is? Would he let her go? She’d be far too easy to catch, if he did go after her— she’s weak at the knees at the idea of being in his arms again. “I mean— It’s always so much fun being here but I understand if you don’t want me to— to show up— anymore— and—”

“Little mouse, I hope you know I’m not mad. I can’t be mad at you.” Those six little words makes her legs weak by how thankful she is. She could weep— already starting to feel how her eyes water at the words. “I’d never be mad at you for knowing. I just— I wish I knew sooner, too.”

“I didn’t know what to do—” She hunches her shoulders, trying her absolute best not to curl in on herself but not having too much of a say in it as her body goes through the motions on its own. “I couldn’t just stop showing up, cause then you’d suspect it—”

“It would’ve been okay if you had told me, just like there’s nothing wrong with you telling me now.” He extends out his arm, asking for her hand.

She hides her face in her gloves. “I’m sorry. I really, really am sorry, Luka— I really f-fucked up.”

“No you didn’t.”

Those words fill her stomach with butterflies, stopping her from forming any more tears. “I— I didn’t?”

“Of course not, Mull. It’s okay.”

“But I—”

“It’s alright— I know why you didn’t tell me— it’s okay. I’m not upset at you— I’m not disappointed.” He gives her a smile. “Come here. You look like you’re about to cry— I don’t want you to cry.”

She crosses into his room, making sure to step over the scattered amps and repeaters— his guitar case, too— willingly reaching for his hand by giving him four of her fingers. His smile widens when she makes contact with his hands— his fingernails nearly as black as her suit.

His thumb rubs against the hexleather that wraps around her knuckles, and she tries her best not to sound so needy when she drops to her knees so they can be at a better height with each other. She doesn’t like it when she’s taller, so she fits between the opening of his legs just enough so she can place her forearm on his thighs, looking up at him with what she hopes is a thankful smile, even as her eyesight wavers.

“Congratulations on saying your first curse word,” He pets underneath her eyes with a laugh. She can’t feel it, because of the domino mask, but it’s comforting enough to her that her eyes squint at the sensation. “I never thought I’d be the one to hear it first.”

“I’ve cursed before,” Her smile twitches as she tries not to giggle despite the tears that collect at the sides of her eyes. “I just don’t make it a habit.”

“Oh yeah? What other curse words have you said?”

“I think I’ve said ‘ass’ before.” She has to think about it, much to his amusement. “Well. If I hadn’t before, I guess I have now.”

His laughter consumes him. “What a milestone.”

“You’ve been many of my firsts,” She smiles with him. “Maybe hopefully all of them can be with you, too?”

His face blossoms in color— she’s never seen him caught so off guard before. Maybe he isn’t as cool and collected as she’s always thought— maybe he does actually get satisfaction when she says what’s on her mind about how she’s wanting to have everything with him. “God, who are you, Mull? Who’s the girl of my dreams who keeps telling me she wants everything I can give her? Is it even a good idea to tell me?”

“You can know,” She nods, shivering as he brushes her jawline with his black nails and back of his palm. She likes these gentle touches— she likes the way it feels to have such a loving hand on her. “It’s only fair.”

“Hmmm, no. I want you to tell me if you want to tell me.” His eyes narrow at her. “Don’t tell me just to even the playing field. If you want to remain anonymous, I don’t mind.”

It always worries her at how plain kind and loyal he is. He would be completely right if he decided to kick her out— or to turn her away— but instead of any anger or resentment he’s simply there.

He’s always there for her— always making sure that she’s okay. If she’s eaten. If she’s going to get home safely, when the Akuma attacks are at night. It’s hard not to fall in love with a man who cares about her in the way he does. He’s always been a nurturing man— he’s never hard on her, even when he has the right to be.

Well. He’s only hard on her when they’re stuck in a closet together.

“You don’t?”

“Okay, maybe that’s a bit of a lie,” Luka smiles as he looks down at her. His sweatpants are soft against her cheek as she continues to blink slowly up at him, trying not to purse her lips in want. “I’m very curious about who you are, Mousey. I’ve always wondered who’s the girl underneath— I’ve known you since we were fifteen. Of course I want to know more about the girl who takes up so much of my notebooks.”

“I don’t mind you knowing.” She eeps.

“You don’t?”

“No— not at all! I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, really, Luka. Our friends kept telling me to try asking you out— god, Jules especially, but I— I really couldn’t do any of it, I kept chickening out.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“And then I found out that it’s so much easier to talk to you when I’m in the suit— so I— I kept trying to get the courage to ask you out in the suit and then I found out that you’re Viperion and I just didn’t know how to handle it— so I just— and then the closet— and I made up my mind to tell you— you— today about my feelings. Pretty sure your sister was going to fillet me alive if I texted her saying I couldn’t do it. ”

Something clicks in his head, she can see it. “Marinette.”

“Well, yeah, I mean I could’ve tried as myself but I mean I don’t have any faith in myself at all—” She almost bites her tongue. “What?”

“Marinette?” He tilts his head. “The only person I know that could be your height— could be your size— and a girl I’ve barely been able to get a couple of sentences out of.”

“Hi.” Multimouse says, trying to swallow, but somehow not being able to. “Yes. That’s me?”

“Hi,” His smile softens. “That makes sense, you know. Juleka even thought that the hickey on my neck was from you when she saw it, and I didn’t understand why.”

How mortifying. “S-she did?”

“Oh. Oh. That’s why you ended up in my bed that one night, isn’t it? Because you like me and you were too drunk to stop wanting to cuddle?”

She worries her lip between her teeth. His gaze drops to watch her chew her bottom lip almost raw. “Oh. Yes— that’s— uhm. Please don’t hate me— I’m sorry— your bed has always looked so comfortable— and I really wanted to sleep next to you—”

“Take a breath, Mari.” His eyes glitter when she sucks in a breath on command. She would feel embarrassed by how easy it is for her to comply, but all she feels is warmth that starts to coil in between her legs whenever he tells her to do something. “It’s okay. I’m so happy it’s you.”

“You are? You don’t hate me?”

“Absolutely don’t hate you. I’d never be able to hate you— how could I hate you?”

“No?”

“Never.”

“Not even if I got us stuck in a closet together for an hour—”

“Definitely not then, either.” He grins. “Fuck, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that. About you.”

“M-me neither,” She confesses easily, trying not to shift too much between his legs. “I— I’ve been wanting— uhm—”

“Ah, yes. That. You can say it, can’t you?” He leans forward so that she has to lean back in order to not get her face shoved into his chest from the angle. “Can you say it for me? I want to hear you say it, if you’re willing.”

She cranes her neck up to look at him square in the eyes, still sitting on her folded knees and calves, looking at the way his mouth quirks to the side as he licks his teeth. His necklaces dangle— jingle like dog tags between them— hitting her lightly on the collarbone but with just enough pressure to make her make a noise that sounds like an unf. “I— uhm— I’ve been wanting more. Ever since we did it in the closet.”

He almost looks surprised at her admission. “Good job, Mull.”

She feels a little brave. “I want to— if you’re willing— spend the night with you. Please.”

He groans. “Of course I want to spend the night with you. Every night. Keep you here in my room for weeks— you don’t have to ask if I’m willing— but it’s nice to hear it. It always reminds me at how good of a person you are.”

Warmth explodes on her cheeks as she blushes. “I’ve— I’m— I have to ask.”

“I know.”

“I know that I’m the one that is always so shy and timid— but— you deserve to have your boundaries respected too, Luka.”

“I think I like this better than when you call me Vai,” He laughs. He kisses her on the cheek— below the eyelids— where the lip of her domino mask meets skin— missing her mouth entirely even as she turns to try to meet him. She tries not to whine as she grips the fabric that bunches at his knees. “Not that the nickname isn’t good— it’s perfect— but you don’t understand just how many times I jack off while thinking about you calling me by my real name, Mousinette.”

She squeaks at the nickname, trying not to blossom into a full-body red. “I— how many times?”

“Every night,” He says simply, like he’s relaying the weather. He has no idea how his words burn in her core— why her tail becomes so agitated, even if it’s only half sentient— why exactly she gasps as she feels a sharp zing that settles between her legs. “I’m so glad that Marinette ended up being the little mouse I think about every night.”

“Every—?”

“Imagine my surprise, getting out of a shower after thinking about nothing but you and all the noises you made in my ear and seeing you stand there in front of my door.” He grins against her skin. Will he bite her? Snatch her and keep her? Use her as nothing but a bed warmer? “Fuck, Mousey. If I hadn’t been debating on whether or not you knew I would’ve dragged you into my room and onto my bed without even saying hello.”

“Please. Please.” She swallows, the idea of never leaving his burrow almost making her want to pounce on him. “I want that.”

“It’s getting harder and harder to stop thinking about you when you’re gone.”

“W-why?”

“You don’t think I can forget about you after that wonderful performance you gave me, do you?” Even when not transformed, and he doesn’t have any fangs, his teeth graze along her skin in a way that makes her toes twitch in her boots. She shivers as he follows her neck up to the patch of skin behind the ear, nosing into the sensitive area to the point where she pants. “I’ll be honest, I came home that night wanting more.”

“I— I can— give you more,” She tilts her head to the side, letting him kiss and suck bruises into her skin. She bruises like a peach, usually, and for the second time in her life she’s so thankful for how pale her skin is. “S-so much more.”

“Can you?”

“Please— I can give you anything you’d like, just tell me what to do and I’ll do it—”

“Within reason, of course.”

“Within reason,” She parrots, but more out of politeness than anything else. It’s only fair for her to agree— she obviously doesn’t want to be uncomfortable throughout any of this— but her list of potential no’s is definitely dwindling as the nights go on and she is subjected to fantasy after fantasy of what she wants him to do with her. To her. The preposition isn’t important anymore. She wants it all. “But I’d do anything for you, Luka. I— I may not have done much— any— at all before, but I want to. I trust you not to do anything damaging, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

“No— of course not. I wouldn’t dream of putting you through pain.”

Something cold whooshes in her stomach. “N-no?”

“I’m not a brute, you know— you deserve something gentle— I want to be gentle with you— I’m still worried you’re afraid of me. Besides, I don’t like the idea of hurting you in general, it wouldn’t feel right.”

“No? Not… even a little tiny smidge? Maybe?” She squeaks out that last part, feeling self conscious about the way he pauses. There’s a question forming, she can tell by the way his brows pinch together— she bites her lip to stop herself from making a noise.

His gaze drops to her lips, and instead of responding to what she’s proposed, he whispers out: “Don’t hurt yourself, Mousey.”

He kisses her. Hard— almost painful, ironically— with the way he clicks their teeth together as she whines. He slides his hand to keep it at the back of her neck, kissing her in the same way they had in the closet. There’s a pull at her wrist, and an arm snaking underneath her shoulder, and she finds herself being deposited onto his lap.

Oh, she’s missed this.

Sweet gooseberries. She can already feel how stiff he’s starting to get in these criminally low sweatpants of his— and she hasn’t even done anything besides kiss him a bit and just tell him how she really feels. The man underneath her is honest, and never would be able to lie to her about his feelings— he really is enjoying this.

She wants him to enjoy everything.

Everything.

“What kind of hurt are you into, Mousinette?” He hums. His voice feels like pure ecstasy in her veins as he rumbles out his words, and she nearly loses feeling in the very same legs that prop her up when gives her a swat on her ass, causing her to gasp. The impact is lessened by the properties of her hexleather— but it’s enough to make her face flush and lashes flutter. “Oh. Oh. So you mean that kind?”

“Luka—”

“You’ve never done anything and yet you already know that you like getting spanked. Incredible, little mouse— do you practice on yourself with the things you like?”

She nods. “I’ve only been able to— to try out things on myself, but, yes— I know a lot about what I like— and— and don’t, by trial and— error—”

“Fuck that’s hot. Just how far do your fantasies go, I wonder?” He laughs. “Tell me, please. I want to know all of it— you know, I never got to hear what you think about when you’re fingering yourself— even though you promised.”

“I did. You’re right— I really did. But maybe later, we have other things to do—” She tries kissing him again, but he tilts his head enough so that she ends up kissing the corner of his mouth, and she whines. “Luka, please— I want—”

“I can’t do what you want if you don’t tell me what it is,” He mouths against her jaw. “Please tell me. What was the last idea you fingered yourself to?”

“I thought about how I want you to pin me down—” Her breath hitches when he follows the curve of her spine with his fingers. “I thought about how I want— I need— you to bend me over— and— and take off my clothes— I can be totally naked for you and you can wear every single piece of clothing on you, I promise it’s okay— let me be yours, Luka—”

He hisses. “Shit, Mousey. Where do you want me to fuck you?”

“On your bed— your kitchen table—” She scrambles to come up with answers as he continues to move his fingers up and down her back, petting her so gently it almost feels like a tease. “Outside, too, o-on the— on the deck—”

“Oh, you liked the outside idea, didn’t you?”

“Yes— yes—”

“What do you want me to do to you?” At her whining and begging, he smiles at her with such gentility she feels like she’s melting. “Please. Please tell me.”

She whooshes air out of her lungs. “I want you to finger me like you said you would— finger me until I come three times.”

“Four, Mousey.” He amends. “I won’t be satisfied until you’re gushing all over my fingers. I’ll make a fucking mess out of you.”

“F-four.” She parrots, feeling her eyesight go hazy at the idea. She hears her tail hit something— probably the side of his bed— but she can’t focus enough to pay attention to it. “Eat— eat me out, too. Please. Uhm. M-maybe finger me and— and maybe suck my— my clit at the same time.”

She has to pause so that he can kiss her, coaxing her tongue into his mouth. He sucks on her tongue like he’s trying to prove something to her— she’s not sure what— but regardless of whatever it is, it’s enough for her to whine and pant, gripping his wet strands of hair between her fingers to stop herself from rubbing herself all over his chest and abs.

“You’d do this all outside on the deck of the Liberty?” He hums when he breaks away, licking the bridge of saliva that formed between their mouths.

“More than just that, but, yes—”

He gives a noise of approval that makes her wetter. “What do you think Paris would say if they ever caught a glance of Viperion breeding Multimouse on rooftops across the city, or finding out that you beg for it and don’t stop begging until you’re satisfied? Do you think they would be upset with you because you weren’t behaving like the proper princess everyone thinks you are?”

She wants it. She wants it so badly. The idea is so tantalizing that she can feel that low buzz of an incoming dry-orgasm, never even touched— never even fingered. Oh, how this man is everything she’s ever wanted. Just being able to sit in his lap is enough to get her to want to stain her suit.

“I don’t care,” She breathes, and she really does shift, then, her knees not being able to handle holding her up in any way any longer. She sits on his thighs, her legs spread wide so that they can go over his— everything about him is massive and so much bigger than her. “Anywhere— anywhere you decide on taking me, Luka— I want to do it anywhere you want to, I don’t care if people find out that I’m not their sweetheart— that I’m not their sweet little angel saving the city—”

“Oh, you’re all of that for sure— you just happen to be one horny little mouse, too.” He laughs against her mouth when she moans and grinds her sex against one of his thighs like she knows how to do. Sparks of color bleed against the back of her lids as she chases the orgasm that continues to build and build and build.

He shifts his leg, giving her a better angle. There’s a gasp trying to spill out of her mouth— heat curling between her legs as she continues to rub herself almost painfully hard on the thick muscle that makes up his thigh— trying not to exhaust herself as she rubs and rubs and rubs and— “Luka? Please?”

“Are you asking me permission to come?” He says it like he doesn’t believe her, looking at her with almost an awed look to his face.

“Please,” She repeats, nodding her head hard enough for it to hurt.

“Alright,” He whispers. “You can do it. Come for me without me even touching you— go on.”

She does.

He tightens his grip on her waist and the curve of her spine as she places her forehead down on his shoulder, riding wave after wave of heat that washes over her. Her legs feel like liquid— the space between her thighs even more so. She’s completely and totally doused in a fever that almost makes it claustrophobic to stay in her suit.

“That’s it,” He kisses her ear— her temple— whatever’s closest to him on the side of her face. “Good job, Mousinette. Very good job. You did so well—”

“Luka—” She sighs, trying not to accidentally crush the charms on his necklaces with her fist as she grips them with a hand, trying to get her strength back. “Luka, I want more.”

There’s a bit of an edge to his voice, “Oh, do you? Are you unsatisfied?”

“No— not unsatisfied— I want more. I just want you.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” He laughs. His voice feels like satin on her sensitive skin. “Not that watching you wasn’t good— I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sit in this chair ever again without thinking of you fucking my leg. That was fucking hot, Mousey.”

“Sorry—” She doesn’t really mean it, feeling like she’s on the edge of her seat, even as her body continues to slow down and fill her with good emotions, making her feel as viscous as honey as she curls in his lap. “I’m so sorry— I just— I need— more— Luka— one isn’t enough— I need you—”

“Detransform for me so we can do exactly that, Mousey.” His eyes look dark, pupils blown wide open as he smiles. “Let me fuck you.”

She’s never nodded harder in her life. She calls off her transformation, the necklace that rests on her chest glowing before unleashing her kwami. Mullo blinks wide at the sight of the two of them in an obviously precarious position— the little mouse kwami grinning wide as the suit is done unstitching from Marinette’s body, leaving her in her clothes she wore before leaving her house, her hair falling against her ears and down her back. “You confessed? You confessed! You actually did it!”

“Lolo—” She mumbles into Luka’s collarbone, trying to hide her blushing cheeks. “Come on. Don’t embarrass me.”

“Oh— but— I’m so happy, Princess! I can’t believe you did it! You spent so long freaking out in your room I thought I was going to have to force a transformation on you!”

“Lolo!”

“Hi, Mullo. Sass is upstairs, I think, probably near the sails.” Luka grins, cutting Marinette off with a hand to her mouth before she can continue responding. She squeaks behind his hand— how the rings on his hands feel cold against her skin. “No doubt trying to cover his ears from the noise.”

“A sensitive one to sound, isn’t he?” Mullo winks, giggling behind her paws. “Well, well, you know what to call out if you need us! Try not to be too loud for Sass’s sake, okay?”

Luka makes her lean back from his lap when Mullo disappears through the ceiling. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She whispers back, muffled by the hand that covers her giggles.

“So. You really are the girl of my dreams and fantasies, huh?” There’s a tilt to his head as he says it, looking her over appreciatively. “Give me a second to look at you— I can’t believe I missed all the obvious signs of you being the girl I love.”

Something flatlines in her head. “D-dreams?”

“And fantasies,” He adds, shifting her in his lap with a laugh. “Come on, little mouse. You already know that. You can definitely feel it, too. I’m not lying when I said all I can think about is fucking you.”

“I— I know. I did just spend— I totally just grinded on you until I came, but I mean— it’s— it’s a little harder to believe— when I’m not—” She’s blushing, finally able to feel just how exactly stiff he is in his pants— she cuts herself off with a needy whine. “Oh, gooseberries, I’m sorry, Luka— you know I stutter a lot when I’m very shy.”

He kisses his palm over where her mouth is. “It’s okay. You’re doing okay— great, actually. There’s nothing to be shy or afraid of, Mousinette, even if you’re willingly walking into a snake’s den while being this cute.”

She giggles.

“You really do need to get out of your boat more often, Luka,” She pouts behind his hand. “You’re going to spend so much time on this boat that you’re going to end up landsick if you ever get off of it.”

His eyes drop to her shirt, a teasing look on his face. “Well, if that was your goal for tonight, I’m sorry— I have other plans involving you. You smell so good— are you wearing the perfume that I said I liked on you?”

“I might be.” An impulse buy for sure at the makeup store, but worth every single cent with the way he looks at her now. Ever since she’d worn it that first time and Luka had complimented it in passing when hauling a subwoofer the size of Rose’s full height outside to the deck of the Liberty, she’d known that she’d wear it every day of her life if it meant to get him to look at her for even a smidge longer. “You remembered that?”

“Of course I did. You always smell expensive when you have it on— you went stiff as a board the first time I complimented you. I thought I broke you, and I didn’t get why Jules just kept laughing when you ran off to go help Kagami with the banner— I understand why now.” He laughs. “So, what are you wearing, then? If you went through the hassle of smelling good…”

It’s a shame he can’t see the smile she gives him, a shy and teasing quirk of her lips. “Just my pajamas.”

“Uh huh. I don’t believe you, you’ve got something up your sleeve, I know that look in your eye. Show me what you’re wearing,” He doesn’t pull his hand away from her mouth, and quirks his lips to produce yet another boyish smile when she kisses his palm. “It doesn’t look like you’re wearing anything under that shirt, little mouse.”

“I have something under it,” She mumbles under his palm, but it doesn’t come across well enough.

He takes in the wide shoulders of her shirt— how she’s absolutely swimming in the sleeves that end up at her elbows. She can tell the moment he recognizes the band shirt’s logo on her shirt— a fun and edgy screen-printed design with neon blues and neon pinks with the word kitty section below a logo— because his breath stops.

“Oh, shit—” He uses his free hand to hold her at the rib cage, pressing his thumb inwards, presumably trying to find the band of her bra that she’s potentially wearing— he almost seems to relax when his fingertips finds the wire. “Marinette, I like this.”

She preens under his words, sitting in his lap at a better angle to let him continue petting her heavily under her bust, thumbing at the wire under her breasts. “Oh. Do you really?”

“Fuck— I can’t believe this— this is such a turn-on. As if I needed to get any harder. Whose shirt is this?”

“I don’t know,” She tries to stay still in his lap to no avail when he moves his palm so that he can pet at her lips with a thumb. She melts in his touch, how each touch feels like heaven and soft. “It was one of the leftovers of the first batch we made, I’m pretty sure. I’ve kept it for years.”

“Really?”

“I like sleeping with it,” She tilts her head to the side, letting her hair fall behind her shoulder. The shirt is soft— comfortable— it’s gotten a very lived-in feel to the fabric after the long years of gentle care. She hand washes it to make sure that none of the colors chip away. “Makes me feel comfortable, thinking I’m with you. I— uhm— I—”

“Don’t hesitate, little mouse,” He smiles easy. “You’ve been doing so well already.”

“E-ever since I found it, I’ve been pretending it’s yours,” She tries not to steam red at her confession. She’s grinded on him in a closet, grinded on his leg mere minutes ago, begged for him to fuck her— and yet she still feels embarassed to admit this, too?

Well, to be fair, it is his band’s shirt. After all, what kind of a— best friend? Lover? Budding-relationship partner?— is she, if she doesn’t support his band with all their friends? Even if she didn’t have any romantic or sexual feelings for the man who continues to blink wide at the sight of her in the shirt, she’d still keep the merchandise for sentimental values. It’s one of the few originals— a homemade shirt that they had bought in a batch so that they could at least have merch to sell.

Every time they leave for a tour, now that they’re much better in terms of fame, she keeps it close to her. She nuzzles into the fabric, dreaming that it’s actually him in her arms and him in her cunt as she masturbates to the thought of him, wishing she was in his hotel room across the hall instead of hers.

His face turns pink. “Have you?”

She blinks at the way he seems to turn pinker and pinker the more he continues to look at her. Is that— is he blushing from the idea of her wearing his clothes? “Uhm— I— I mean I obviously don’t have any of your shirts for real, but, it’s nice to pretend—”

“You now have free reign of my closet whenever and wherever.” He almost twitches underneath her. “Please wear my actual shirts anytime you want, little mouse, holy shit. Fuck. Fuck. I’ll start begging if you need convincing— god.”

“Y-you don’t need to do that.” She laughs.

His smile curls dark. “You’re right. Your begging is much prettier than mine.”

She nearly jumps when his hand at the top of her shirt smoothes down her spine, teasing the hem of the shirt, making her shiver from how gentle he is. “I’ll wear whatever you want me to wear.”

“What’s underneath?” He asks, his eyes glittering with a tease that she can read he’ll come back to her request later. “Do you want to show me?”

She nods, giving his thumb a kiss. “Maybe just a peek. I h-have something I want to do, too— i-if you’re interested?”

AO3 | Start Here | Chapter One Link | You Are Here! | Chapter Three Link

#lukanette #fragileizyfic #fragileizyoneshot #vipermouse

[duskowithapen]

Day One: Tattoo Artist/Flower Shop AU

Writers Month 2020: Day One

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Pairing: Luka x Marinette

Of Flowers and Tattoo Needles

Miraculous AU where Marinette is the tattoo artist with some very impressive ink and Luka is pining from across the way where he works at his sister’s flower shop. Day One of Writer’s Month 2020 – Tattoo Artist/Flower Shop AU

Read on AO3

Read on Fanfiction

“You’re drooling.”

Luka straightened quickly, wiping a hand over his chin. “No I’m not.” He turned around to see his sister walking in from the back room, a sprig of lavender tucked behind her ear.

“You might as well have been,” she says, walking closer to lean beside him at the counter. “Not that I’d blame you – Marinette’s cute.”

The Marinette in question was the owner of the tattoo parlour across the way. On quiet days like today, she could be seen sitting outside her shop with a sketchbook. Luka swallowed dryly. The sun was shining off her impressive tattoo – a full sleeve that wound around her wrist and up over her shoulder in a tangle of flowers and vines that he couldn’t see clearly.

“Well?” Juleka’s dry voice snaps his attention back.

“Well what?”

She waved a hand towards the door. “Are you going to get a tattoo?”

Luka splutters. “W-What? Why would I – what makes you think –” How’d she known I’d considered it?!

He’s saved by the bell – literally – as Rose walks in. “Jule’s, what are you doing to your poor brother this time?” She asks, joining them at the counter which was suddenly feeling a little cramped.

Pecking her partner on the cheek, Juleka smiles innocently. “Trying to convince him to get a tattoo.”

“Oh, you totally should!” Rose claps her hands. “You have to go to Marinette – between her and Nathaniel, you’ll get the coolest tattoo! Marinette was the one who designed ours!”

“Really?” Luka glance at Juleka’s uncovered wrist. It was ringed by a flower wreath – red and purple roses (passionate love and love at first site), hot pink dahlias (commitment) and bright red gladiolus’ (strength and integrity). Rose had one exactly the same. It was a beautiful representation of their relationship – one Luka was waiting for them to consummate with a marrige. It was also a nod to their shared brainchild.

The Secret Garden might have only been a few years old, but it had blossomed into one of the most successful flower shops in Paris, often completely selling out around any holiday, and with a reputation for incredible flower arrangements, which Luka was proud to say he had a hand in.

Luka smiled. “I wouldn’t mind a tattoo,” he said after a moment, “Maybe something for you and mum – like her raven tattoos.”

Juleka’s smile was small, but no less terrifying for it. “Then go talk to Marinette now. Doesn’t look like she has any clients.” She was still sitting outside her shop.

As Luka was pushed out the door, Rose shoved a small posy of cherry blossoms into his hand. “Give Marinette these – they’re her favourite!”

How does she know her favourite flowers? Luka thought wildly as the door locked behind him. Slowly crossing the narrow avenue, he could feel their gaze burning into the back of his neck, and his hands became sweaty. They were making him nervous. He didn’t normally get nervous. He normally wasn’t going to ask a very cute girl to give him a tattoo.

Marinette looked up as he approached, and he couldn’t help but notice how adorable the freckles dotting her nose and cheeks were. Luka dug his fingers into his leg. You’re here for a tattoo, he reminded himself, not to check out the artist! But he couldn’t stop himself from taking in the blue sheen to her pigtailed hair, the welcoming smile stretched across her face, the impressive artwork which looked even better close up. Spiralling around her arm on pale green stalks and vines were cherry blossoms, pink orchids, blue morning glories, larkspur, hyacinths and bright yellow daffodils. Renewal, fertility and abundance, affection, cheer and goodwill, sincerity, luck and good fortune… he thought absently. After so long working with flowers – and even longer hearing about them from Rose – the symbolism came to mind automatically.

“Uh… hello?”

Luka blinked. Her eyes are really blue. Then he remembered himself and smiled. “Sorry. Are you Marinette?”

Her grin became wider. “Yup! Are you Juleka’s brother?”

“Yeah. She and Rose said that these were your favourite flowers?” He held out the blossoms. “They asked me if I could give them to you.” Well, technically they did. Even if it was meant to be more from me than them.

“Awww, thank you!” Marinette buried her nose in the pale pink petals and breathed deep. “They’re beautiful!”

“You’re welcome,” Luka said numbly. Her smile was almost blinding. “Uh, there was something else.”

Marinette’s head tilt made her pigtails bounce. It should be illegal for someone to look this adorable. “How can I help?”

“I was wondering about getting a tattoo.”

“Oh, of course!” Marinette leapt to her feet. “What else do you come to a tattoo parlour for? I’m so sorry, come in and we can get started right away!” She babbled. “Or should I say, welcome to Charmed Ink! Do you have any ideas for what you want? I’m partial to flowers as you can see, but I’m good at more tribal stuff too, and lettering, but Nathanial’s the best for portraits and a lot of the animal stuff..”

She continued to talk even as Luka took in Charmed Ink. The art on the inside of the tattoo parlour made it look larger than the comparatively small storefront suggested. The back wall was painted with an incredible mural of cherry blossom trees in full bloom, framing a red bridge arching over a river. The side walls were white and in scattered groups were photos of tattoo art – in one clump was a variety of dragon tattoos, in another was various words in all different fonts. The two tattoo stations were set in the back corners, with a small waiting area directly before the entrance. This was where Marinette led him, stopping quickly at a desk partially hidden by a folding screen.

She noticed his awed look at the back mural and smiled, a little calmer now. “That was a collaboration between Alix and Nathanial – he’s my other tattooist. They were all in my class in collége and lycée – same with Juleka and Rose, actually.”

“They did a great job,” Luka murmured. “And I’ve seen your work before – the tattoo you did for my sister was incredible. I was kinda looking for something similar.”

“Were you wanting a tattoo on your wrist too?” Marinette sat on one of the plush couches, and Luka sat across from her.

“No, I was thinking of something on my shoulder – my left shoulder,” He gestured, “Maybe going down my arm a little? I don’t want to go for a full sleeve now, but looking at your tattoo, I’d definitely consider it for the future.”

Marinette’s blush travelled across her cheeks and up her ears. “That – that’s a good plan. I can definitely work with that.” She made a note before looking at him under he lashes. “Were you wanting flowers?”

At Luka’s confused look, she continued, “You said you wanted something similar to your sisters, but you didn’t want it on your wrist…?”

“Ah, that’s right.” Luka tapped at his knee a little, quick staccato beat. “Yeah, I was thinking blue iris, gladilous and maybe daffodils.”

“Is there a meaning behind those flowers, or…?” Marinette made another note.

Luka nodded. “Yeah. Gladiolus’ are mum and Juleka’s birth flowers, not to mention their symbolism – strength and integrity. Blue Iris’ are my birth flower, meaning faith and hope, and daffodils are good luck and good fortune, but I also like the yellow.”

Marinette hummed. “I take it your favourite colour is blue?” She asked, waving her pencil at his blue hoody and matching Jagged Stone t-shirt. With a wince, he realised he was still wearing the Secret Garden apron over his faded jeans. Whoops.

“How did you guess.” Luka deadpanned, and he grinned at Marinette’s chuckle. “But seriously, yeah, I like blue and yellow. And, if we’re going for something like the start of a sleeve… think you could incorporate a snake or something in there?”

“Snakes are transformation and renewal, aren’t they?” Marinette murmured as she wrote. “There was this one symbol I remember, with a snake biting its tail…”

“The ouroboros,” Luka nodded, “It’s an eternity symbol.”

“Hmmmm…” Marinette started sketching in earnest. “So we’re going for something that can be added to later, definitely going for a circling snake – probably around your arm – but should the head be going up or down – put the flowers in colour clusters, or mix them up… maybe have them growing out of the snake? But if the snake is blue… you’ve got the more teal tips to your hair, so I could go for something more on the green side of the spectrum to help tie it in, but the snake should also stand out…”

All Luka could do was watch as Marinette seemed to get lost in a creative haze. Her pencil moved rapidly over the page as she sketched, occasionally going back over a line with her eraser, muttering about her hand not listening to her brain. Once or twice she looked something up on her phone before continuing – at one point, she leapt out of her seat to go and stare at one of the photos on the wall.

This process went on for about twenty minutes, Luka browsing through social media in between watching Marinette with what Juleka would probably class as a ‘disgustingly lovestruck’ look on his face. He couldn’t help it! She was just so vibrant, pouring all this passion into her work. Not to mention the cute little wrinkle between her eyebrows as she seemed to struggle with something at the bottom of the page.

Marinette slammed her sketchbook down with a bang that made him jump. “So! I have a tentative outline – tell me what you like and don’t like, and we can work from there.”

The sketch – and Luka didn’t know how Marinette could class this as an outline given the level of detail – featured all the aspects he wanted. On the front and back sketch of his arm and shoulder was a winding snake, the head sitting just under his collarbone and the rest of its body circling his arm before ending just above his elbow. But it didn’t just circle his arm. It also twisted around the gnarled and knotted stems that supported intricate bursts of flowers. An iris sat directly below the snakes head before more flowers dotted the stem around his shoulder to a larger, more detailed flower on his shoulder blade. Gladiolus’s tangled with the main body of the snake, interspersed with tiny iris’ and leaves, merging with daffodils close to his elbow. Each flower differed in size, though the iris on his back was the largest, probably about the size of his palm if he got the proportions right. Notes on both sides of the sketch were arms with arrows and a frankly scary amount of question marks. Luka looked away when he saw the words ‘dark coffee brown’ and ‘burgundy vs wine’.

“This… this is incredible Marinette.” He looked up at where she was wringing her hands. When she bit her lip, he had to refrain from reaching up and biting it for her. Concentrate Couffaine!

Marinette giggled, the sound high with nerves. “Thanks Luka. It’s a bit rough, and I’d want to go over the colours with you before we start anything, but I’m glad you like it. Anything you’d want to change?”

“Not really,” He hummed. “How would you continue this, if you were going for a full sleeve?”

When Marinette took a seat at his side, leaning into his shoulder a little, Luka stiffened. He hadn’t noticed before, but she’d split the posy of cherry blossom flowers into two and attached them to her pigtails – their scent wafted over him, and he tried not to breathe too deeply. “Well, if I was going to do a full sleeve with the snake, I’d make the snake the body of the tattoo,” she said, pointing at various parts of the sketch, “Probably make the circuits wider and accentuate the gaps a little more with the flowers. The head would have to be a little bigger, to make it proportionate, but otherwise not much would change.”

Luka nodded slowly. “So, say, if you maybe did that – the thing with the head and the – the circuits? And then have the snake ‘end’ in a clump of flowers above my elbow.” It was his turn to point, dragging a finger along the clump of daffodils and trying very hard to ignore the way Marinette pressed just a little closer to see. “Maybe if you added some of the gladiolus and iris here as well, and then if I add more to the tattoo later, you can have the rest of the body kind of emerge from there.”

“That would work really well actually,” Marinette said as she took the sketchbook back. Luka tried not to pout as her warmth moved away. “I can make a wreath just above your elbow – kinda like what I did for Juleka and Rose – and have the snake’s body ‘disappear’ into that. It would be easy work to make it ‘reappear’ beneath it later.”

Marinette scribbled these notes in as she spoke, before turning back to him. “So, about price… for a piece like this – half sleeve, colour and design… you’re looking at about one and a half grand.”

His eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline. “That low?” While he hadn’t seriously thought about getting a tattoo before today, he’d spent time with a lot of people who had. A full sleeve tattoo could cost as much as four grand – a half sleeve would be at least two.

“You’re getting the friends and family discount.” Marinette shrugged. “And I’ve been in a bit of a designing rut lately – all people seem to want are dragons or family names. This is a bit of a godsend, actually.”

Luka smirked. “Friends and family discount, huh?”

With her nose in the air, Marinette sassed, “Of course. Juleka’s my friend, and you’re her family.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Luka leaned in a little. “That’s why, huh? I’m hurt Marinette.”

“Hopefully you aren’t so sensitive when it comes time for me to break out the needles, Luka. I don’t want to listen to you crying for the six hours this is going to take.” The smirk she shot him sent a thrill through his chest. She’s got some fire.

“Oh believe me, Marinette.” Luka steadied himself on the couch back behind her shoulders and gave Marinette his best stage-ready, sweet-talking, come-hither bedroom eyes before growling out, “I don’t think six hours with you will be any hardship.”

#WritersMonth2020 #tattoo artist/florist au #miraculous ladybug #lukanette #tattoo artist marinette #ao3 #fanfiction #I'm a day late #sorry

[fragileizywriting]

friends (part two)

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

This… this is not fun.

He wants to be in bed with Marinette.

He wants to be under the thick covers on a cold and freezing morning and curl into her warmth and never leave. Is it the cat part of him, or the demon part of him that means this? After all, demons don’t like the cold— it burns through the hellfire that covers their soul and makes them all almost insufferable. His dad, too, is inconvenienced by any amount of freeze— he doesn’t get snippy but he’s seen the way that frown has transformed his father’s face into a disgruntled god.

But cats are no different, either— making it a habit to curl up in the warmest place and hide until it’s warm enough to move. Winters are hard for Chat when he’s not in hell, and Marinette always teases him for him retracting into his cat form almost for days at a time, trying to use his fur to keep the frost from seeping into his body. The cold and Chat Noir do not do so good.

Whatever it is that makes him hate this, he listens to it, souring his mood by thinking of all the things he’s missing without Marinette near.

Why hadn’t they just invited Marinette along? It’s not like she doesn’t ever come with them sometimes. She enjoys the experience of being on Luka’s boat, even if it is to collect ingredients on her own, and Chat Noir has always very much enjoyed her company. If Luka’s feeling up to it, which he often is, he goes collecting for her. Marinette’s list is never that long, given that she stocks up on everything she can get her hands on, but sometimes she’s in need of more.

Algae, rocks, a specific crystal that regrows every two weeks or so. Snails, any bottom-feeders that Luka can lure and trap for her, and definitely whatever type of ocean or lake plant she’s looking for. Every time Luka resurfaces with a new item, Marinette is so quick to smile and so quick to thank him, turning and spinning around on the deck to show Chat the new item before she puts it in a jar for storage.

But without her, this whole fishing moment is just… exhausting.

Truly, of all things he’s done in the past week and a half— this takes the cake as both the most mundane and the most unnecessary thing to do.

He’s built fence posts, he’s seen his mother and almost passed out from dehydration— he’s seen his father and gotten his whole world tilted onto its side and backwards— not to mention the bite marks and suture in his skin. He’s kissed Marinette— done more than just that, actually— and finds himself rubbing at the tattoo on his chest the more and more he thinks about being away from her. The seal burns purple against his hand, reminding him that he’s far from his witch’s magic, and that his entire body and soul misses her.

Today’s fishing is just too much.

Luka agrees with him— he knows it— because the naga’s eyes are closed as the sun beats down on their shoulders, warming their skin and bodies to the point of laziness. Chat can barely keep his eyes open, looking out to the lake, his eyelids getting heavier and heavier as the sun continues to bake them alive.

Just their luck. The two people who struggle the most to focus when there’s a patch of sun are now subjugated to an entire afternoon of it— what he wouldn’t give to just transform into his cat form and lounge for the rest of the day, yearning to be in his witch’s lap as she pets through his fur.

“Why is it so sunny?” Chat complains into the silence, trying not to close his eyes for too long. This is perfect napping weather— all he has to do is just rest his head and… “Of all days for it to be ridiculously sunny.”

“It’s good for the festival,” Luka answers, looking just as out of it as he is. It’s laughable, of course, that a water creature such as Luka would absolutely go frozen stiff at the prospect of baking under the sun. Even though he’s not a snake— or at least, that’s what Luka always argues whenever he brings it up— he certainly acts like one. He looks ready to lay down and coil up, let his blood be warmed up by the sun, and stay that way for days.

“What’s going on with the weather this week?” He sniffs, not exactly stopping himself from laying back down on the deck of Luka’s boat. The Liberty doesn’t even budge under their weight— she’s a solid, heavy barge that is more long than tall— it offers barely any protection from the elements coming from the sky. It’s a floating platform, essentially, which is perfect for nagas who frequently spend most of their time in the water and have a tough time climbing up the sides of their boats from how slippery they are— and the boat is also long enough to house a superfluous amount of nagas, as well as their long tails comfortably, should they feel the need to curl up instead of letting their tails hang off the boat.

And it fits the fish as well.

Lots and lots of barrels of fish.

“The constellations are starting to move.” Luka answers, almost sounding a bit too serious. The tip of Luka’s tail sways in the water with the gentle current that is too soft to genuinely make a dent in the barge’s lazy course to the middle of the lake. His plumes open instinctually wherever his tail meets the water— a sway of fins that only come out when there is enough moisture. He is more sea serpent this way, than an actual snake— and his tail glitters with sparks of gold underneath the clear water. Fish swim by next to him, curious as to whose fins are swaying like a tree in a breeze, and Chat Noir admits— even if it’s to himself and safely away in his head— that he understands why nagas consider themselves sea serpents instead of just snakes. “There’s a celestial storm coming. Did you not know?”

“This sounds like a horoscope,” Chat doesn’t let the idea settle into his head. “Celestial storm? Don’t pull at my tail, Luka. You won’t believe that my parents are gods, but you’ll believe in celestial storms?”

He snorts. “No one believes you when you say your parents are two divinities.”

“At least it’s more believable than hearing you talk about how a ‘ tornado will come from Orion—’ or ‘ an earthquake has been predicted because of Antares—’”

Luka smiles good-humouredly. “Idiot, nothing of that sort. Naga use constellations to guide themselves across the sea, you pruned lion.”

“‘Pruned lion’,” Chat mutters, resting his clawed hands against his chest. Rubbing and rubbing and rubbing away at the seal. “I’ll show you a ‘pruned lion’.”

“There’s not much paper we can use on the sea. Clay is a good substitute, but they’re too heavy when using as maps, so we navigate by using stars. We can tell when stars aren’t in their place,” Luka continues, as if he’s barely heard him. “And they are most definitely not in their places. Just last night, eight northern constellations moved closer south.”

Chat’s feet dangle off the edge of the platform that makes the Liberty, and his toes sink into the water. It’s lukewarm, heated by the sun that beats down and down and down, but much easier and cooler than the damp and still air above.

He has half a mind to dunk himself body and whole into the water just to cool off, but knows that his hair will dry in the shape of a dandelion if he does that, so it’s a stern no. There’s no way in hell he’s going to worry about how his hair dries while trying to fish with a naga by his side. Besides, getting ready for the festival will take him a lot longer if he has to tame his hair— he doesn’t mind getting brushed by Marinette when she corners him, but his fur usually snags into knots and it’s painful. “Fine, fine. I believe you— you don’t need to get all technical on me. I’ve just never heard of a celestial storm before.”

“Probably not, since you don’t need to use stars to see like we do. The celestial storm just brings indication that there will be a large magical gathering soon— it’s nothing inherently serious.”

Interesting. “You mean like the festival?”

“Exactly. It’s something to be cautious of, that’s all— it just ends up confusing lots of naga who are trying to travel somewhere new for the first time. There might be a lot more naga at the festival than usual, since the stars are pointing in this direction.”

“That’s not too bad— no one has anything against your kind, anyway. Witches and magic-users from all places are coming here to see the infamous Ladybug, after all— they want to get her good wishes on behalf of my mother— so it’s not like a big deal to see more of you.”

There’s laughter in his voice. “‘The one who can cast good fortune on even the sick and the dying’, yes, I know. But unfortunately, no— the magical gathering isn’t the reason for the stars warping. It’s something bigger than that. Bigger than her. Constellations only move when sages or gods show up.”

Well. Well well well. He doesn’t really need to think about it, now does he?

“How long have they been moving?”

“They only started four days ago.”

“Have they shifted back?”

“No.” Chat doesn’t need to look at him to know that there’s a question forming on his face. He knows Luka too well by now. “Your questions are oddly specific for someone that never heard of this storm before.”

“Well, good to hear. You don’t need to worry about all that— but thank you for the confirmation.” He spreads his good arm out as far as he can reach it. He ends up hitting Luka in the chest, and the naga hisses out, startled— but other than that, they match each other by slowly cooking in the heat. Luka’s heartbeat is slow against his palm, and Chat has no real reason to pull away, so he just leaves it there on his jacket. “Everything will go back to what it once was after the festival.”

“I thought you said you didn’t believe in horoscopes. Why are you fortune-telling?”

“Because my dad isn’t going to set the festival on fire just because he’s up here.” Maybe. There’s a strong likelihood he won’t, given that he’s already caused too much mischief.

“Right, right. Your ‘father’. You think Plagg is here?”

“The stars said so, didn’t they?” He flashes a smile, even though they’re not making eye contact. It’s instinctual to try to get a rise out of the man sitting next to him. “Relax. I won’t let him set fire to things— Marinette’s been making all of those charms for the past three months, it won’t go to waste.”

“Remind me to get a handful of them, since I’m going to be spending most of it next to you,” The driest thing in the world is hearing Luka’s voice go flat. “The last thing I need is to catch fire from your terrible luck.”

“Wh— rude. I don’t have bad luck, that’s just a myth— but I’ll gladly walk underneath a ladder for you in order to give you what you deserve. Anyway, I thought you were going to find yourself someone new to fancy? What was the whole point of the molting?”

“The two people that I actually cared to court are currently taken. I’m not disappointed, but I’m rather bored of humans otherwise.” Luka’s breath deepens as if he’s falling asleep at the idea of spending that much energy finding someone else. “If someone were to approach, I’ll at least give them the benefit of listening, but you won’t find me looking for new people.”

“You’d make a good familiar to whatever witch shows up to you tonight,” Chat oof!s hard when Luka’s hand does the exact same and hits him on the chest. He snorts on instinct, thinking a second or two longer on the idea. “Do you have an animal form like I do?”

“I’d rather not tell you, just in case you get ideas. But I would hope that she would like me for more than just a pet, unlike Marinette.”

He ignores his comment. “Most magic users can create some sort of animal form for themselves, no? Humans can’t, but I’m sure a naga could. Are you sure you don’t have a snake form?”

“I’m still not telling you the answer.”

“I’m imagining a faceless witch wearing you like a scarf as she brews,” For some reason, he imagines a white snake wrapped around a neck, even though Luka’s tail is very much blue. “You’d be happy getting to laze around while your lady works.”

“I should give it a try with Marinette one day. You wouldn’t mind sharing, would you, kitty-cat? After all, she doesn’t mind sharing you with me.”

“Funny.” He tries his best not to laugh, but he’s weak to the comedy of this whole day. It’s beyond painful to keep the laughter in, of how this day has been just another bizarre domino in the whole scheme of the week.

“It’s good to hear you laugh,” Luka sighs. “I was beginning to worry you actually hated me. Ever since this morning you’ve been snippier to me than usual— you’re not actually worried I pose a threat of some kind, do you?”

Wait. “Are you insecure?”

“You two are my closest friends.” Luka doesn’t meet his eyes when Chat lifts up from his spot to look down at him with furrowed brows. “After Adrien passed, I didn’t have many people, you know.”

Wait. “Hold on, you knew Adrien that well?”

“I didn’t know you knew who that was.” Luka raises a brow.

“Marinette talks about him.” Never mind the other things…

“He was my first friend when I was very young.” He shrugs, still giving Chat the stink eye like he doesn’t actually believe him. “Naga aren’t as scary as people think, but humans are prejudiced to their own kind all of the time, so it’s not hard to believe that they won’t be to nonhumans too. Adrien brought me into the friend group before he got sick.”

Adrien, Adrien, Adrien. Always Adrien, isn’t it? “Was he the closest friend you had?”

“Probably. Nino and I were always really good friends, back in the day. But Marinette and I got rather close after Adrien’s passing. I would see her almost every day if I decided to stay nearby.”

Oh. Oh. “No wonder you were so uncomfortable with the idea of her moving a demon into her house.”

His eyes go flat. “A girl I liked suddenly bringing a demon home? Anyone would’ve been worried.”

Chat can’t force himself to stop chuckling. “I guess I can see why you were… not the nicest person to me at first.”

“She’s never been afraid of you, but I think that just made me even more worried.” Luka gestures towards Chat’s direction, as if that helps explain better. “It doesn’t take much brainpower to realize what a Ladybug needs a Chat Noir for. Forgive me for not buying the little nonchalant act between the two of you, but I can read the little pearl like the back of my hand, after all.”

“So you know about the miraculous cure.”

“Yes. Anyone with reading eyes can put two and two together, kitty-cat. Information isn’t kept that hushed about it.”

He ignores the needling smile gracing Luka’s features. “How well exactly did you know Adrien?”

“Well enough to know that his sickness was strange. His death was stranger. The smell on Marinette’s clothes was horrid, when she’d ran into me in the woods while stricken with grief and crying. We were all terrified by it, obviously, but Marinette seemed to be the most affected— probably because she was the one to try to see him the day he died. Nino, Marinette, and I were the most affected.” He sighs. “I don’t think Nino’s ever actually talked about it that much, but they were best friends.”

“Smell.” Chat winces. “What smell?”

“Same smell that’s coming off your stitches on your arm. I recognize the smell of hellfire anywhere, it sticks to my nose for weeks. I’ll never forget the first time I smelled it sticking to Marinette’s clothes.” Luka laughs bitterly. “Running down the path in the woods towards the ocean like she was crazed. Death clinging to her dress like she was his daughter.”

“Hellfire. You smelled hellfire? Are you sure?”

Luka’s looking at him curiously, now. “I’m positive. What’s on your mind?”

Adrien’s room had been covered with the smell of… hellfire? That’s just further proof that something definitely happened— one more thing pointing to his own relation to Adrien. One more damning evidence that his past life could be tied to Marinette’s wish. If only he could get his memories back to actually prove it as fact, though…

He flattens his ears across his head, looking back out on the water. “Don’t— don’t mention this to anyone what I’m about to tell you. Promise me you won’t. This can’t start a crowd.”

Luka’s eyes turn to gold as he squints. “Of course.”

“Marinette and I found out that there could’ve been foulness in his death. Odor or otherwise.”

The naga pauses. “Are you saying a demon of some kind could’ve been the reason for the smell?”

“I don’t want to tell you something only for it to be wrong later, but the basic answer is that Adrien most likely didn’t die from an illness after all.” He licks his lips.

“You’re saying that Adrien’s father might have summoned a demon for some reason?”

“No. I have no idea what it could be, but, if there was hellfire involved, there’s definitely something to do with hell in this poor boy’s death. We don’t have all of the information yet, but I think it’s a little bit more difficult than just pointing fingers.”

Luka’s quiet for a long time. There are gears turning in his head too, no doubt, trying to piece together all of the information. “Gabriel could… most likely be at the festival tonight.”

His head snaps up. “What? He will?”

“A couple of my kind saw his ship sailing close by the shore and where our dens are. He left— or, rather, fled, now that there’s an implication that he could’ve been responsible for something to do with Adrien— town years ago, and never came back. It’s been completely silent from him, deciding to even move countries, but I think he’s here for a blessing of some kind by a Ladybug.”

“Shit.”

“Agreed.”

“Shit.”

Luka sighs. “It’s just speculation, of course. I have no idea if he even knows that Marinette is Ladybug, never mind the fact that he might not be stopping by after all. He could just be here to visit family friends, and is using the festivities as a genuine and good excuse. What will you two do? Confront him?”

“I don’t know.” Chat answers honestly. “I genuinely don’t know. My dad doesn’t know much of the story, either— and he’s usually on top of his game on paying attention to these types of things, but got distracted the day it all happened. It’s not often you hear of a human getting caught in the crossfire of hell matters— but we’re all stumped, so it’s not like we can pin it directly on Gabriel with no reason. I’m going to need more information.”

Luka is surprisingly not as agitated with the whole thing as he’d expected. He’d expected surprise, or confusion, not genuine contemplation like he is now. The naga hums at the back of his throat, attempting to piece things together himself. “Do you think Adrien is still out there, maybe?”

“Well… He’s not dead,” Well. Are demons considered alive in the first place? Is this a moral or philosophical question? At what point is Chat Noir even considered alive? And if he really was Adrien, would he consider Adrien to be dead in this case? Rebirthed as Chat Noir? His head hurts. “As far as we know. Maybe in a sort of limbo state. What a mess.”

“This sounds a lot more confusing than I thought it would be. I can’t imagine this is any easy on the two of you. Adrien was my best friend and it’s hurting me to hear about it, I can’t imagine what it’s doing to the little witch.”

“She’s been… a little bit confused about it, too. I can’t wait for the festival and get her to relax about it— yesterday it was nonstop. The both of us, honestly, need to stop thinking about this for just a bit. You and I should keep an eye out for Gabriel just in case. I don’t know what he looks like, but, anything that’ll get us closer to the truth I’ll do it.”

But Luka’s smile is kind, and Chat can sense he’s trying to skirt the subject away and get him to think of other things. “Sure. I didn’t have plans, anyway, so that’s fine. And I’m sure you two managed to distract each other at some point yesterday, right?”

“By the grace of my mother,” Chat mutters under his breath. “This entire week has been monstrous to us, Luka. Every day has been a discovery, I don’t even know what to do or how to handle it. Not to mention that even my father thinks you and I are a good match together, did you know that? The amount of years I’ve aged each day in this disaster of a week would’ve turned a human into dust by now.”

Luka turns, belly-side down, hiding away his pale under-scales in favor of showing his long blue-and-diamond-patterned back. He ends up dunking more of his tail into the water, and those ghost-like fins blossom from underneath his scales like a billowing sheet. The water is hazy from all the glittering gold and those glossy, feathery fins. “Perhaps I’ll listen more often to what you have to say about your family, after all. Is he truly the king of the underworld?”

“Shut up,” Chat really can’t stop himself from laughing, because he doesn’t have any emotional handle on any of this. “If you have any luck, you might see him visit the festival and actually find out. Maybe I’ll have all my friends meet him, so that you all can stop making fun of me when I say it.”

“What in the world is the king doing here?”

“Visiting his son, you noodle.” He slips his eyes shut.

Ah, this is more natural territory for them both, isn’t it? He can almost feel how easy it is for the two of them to slip back into banter. “Careful, now. You’re implying that I’m tasty.”

“And also very easily chewable, what do you think about that?” He’s bit into Luka’s tail a few times, and each time he’s felt how the muscles had shifted under those hard scales. It’s amazing his teeth can even penetrate the scales from how genuinely hardened they are, but he supposes that anything is possible with a jaw strength like his. He cracks back open one of his eyes, looking at Luka, who continues to just look at him with humor swimming on his face. “Hey, how come you aren’t fishing?”

“I am fishing, you idiot.”

“Bullshit. Where’s your fishing pole?”

“I’m not fishing with a pole today.”

“What?” This gets Chat Noir to sit back up, looking around. He blinks hard in the sunlight, willing his eyes to focus without hurting his vision. His pole at the far end of the barge is completely still, resting in a small divot carved into the boat, the fishing wire still swaying with nothing grabbing onto the bait. He narrows his eyes at the single pole, looking around for Luka’s, which is no doubt somewhere on the boat, only to come up with nothing. “Have you been using your net this entire time?”

“And if I have?”

“I thought we said no fishing with nets this time.”

“We said no fishing with Marinette this time.” Luka’s eyes are absolutely vibrant and gold as Chat Noir turns to look back at him in the eyes. He looks a little bit more awake than he does, but that’s probably because Luka’s cooling off in the water with most of his body in it, while Chat continues to bake. “You and I get too distracted around the little pearl, you especially more now. And the festival needs fish— the last time I went pole fishing with you, I got a hook stuck in my dorsal fin.”

“That was your own fault, noodle.”

“Again with calling me tasty,” Luka sighs. “Honestly, Chat Noir, it’s a miracle Marinette’s fallen in love with you when you’re so keen on flirting with me, instead.”

“At least I don’t injure myself while flirting with her, and don’t realize that my hook was next to one of my fins before trying to cast out my line.” He rolls his eyes. He remembers the nasty gash, and how the translucent fin had bled for what looked like to be far too long for a simple cut, and how Marinette had spent so long carefully stitching the feathery membranes back together with suture, willing for the fins to heal. There’s a scar still left behind on that fin, but it’s hard to see unless he’s close enough to really look at the little veins and how they’re slightly wobbly.

Luka snorts. “Of course, of course.”

“That’s what you get for flirting with my Lady.”

“So childish. You’d think I’d be allowed to talk to a good friend of mine without her familiar puffing up his chest.” Luka sighs, unraveling his jacket on the waist. The pearls on his sleeves shine all sorts of colors as his shoulders shift, and he folds the garment carefully with his long claws. Every bead is delicately sown in, and he knows that Marinette has obsessively looked over the pattern work, as well as the stitchwork, with amazement and gluttony.

Would she be happy if he bought a naga jacket for her? Maybe in a dark red color, or a white as similar as Luka’s and a red sash? Something pearlescent, though— a plain white jacket wouldn’t match the paleness of her skin. It would look as if she’s wearing nothing at all.

“Loverboy, I’m going to go check up on my net. Stop swimming in your thoughts and focus on fishing. Cast yours as well, won’t you?”

He registers that he’s been drifting off into thought, rubbing at his tattoo across his chest, still thinking of her. He thinks about what Luka’s said for a little while, trying to remember if he’d been making a point, only to realize: “I didn’t bring mine.”

“Use my spare, then.” Luka laughs. “I’ll be back in a second— try not to get lonely, kitty-cat, okay?”

Luka slips off the boat entirely with a gentle splash noise. Chat watches with mild interest as Luka’s long and elaborate tail starts to plume again, filling out with all sorts of fins now that he’s entirely in the water, disappearing under the boat into the shade where no doubt many fish are hiding. He reminds Chat very dimly of a betta fish, with how gentle and fanish the fins are. No doubt that naga are incredibly good hunters in the water, but Chat Noir can’t help but wonder why they look so delicate and so easily tearable once they’re subjected to a humid environment.

He looks back to the empty barrels behind him with a sigh. Maybe his mother will bless him with good fortune, although, in all honesty— it’s doubtful. Very doubtful. He’s just going to have to do this by hand, it seems, to which he sends a quick prayer to his father— hopeful that instead of blessing him with good luck, he gives Luka enough bad luck for him to win.

And maybe he’ll be able to stop thinking of it for a few more minutes, too.

She finally finishes with the first stack of charms when Alya ends up knocking on the door. There’s a breeze gentle enough to kiss her cheeks brushing up against the windows— she’s let the panels of the house open enough to catch the draft. It’s light, as gentle as a cloud against her skin as she works, and barely stirs the fire from its slow attempt to reignite from the coals. The breeze is good for her heart, she supposes— every once in a while stopping in her attempt to complete her task in order to bask in how content she feels.

Her heart is full.

Of thoughts of Chat Noir, of thoughts of them, of thoughts of being happy. The thoughts she hadn’t given the chance to breed and fester are suddenly in full swing in her chest and mind, allowing her to gaze longingly out the window, wondering about him. There are many things to do in order to get the festival up and ready, and many of them will have to be done at the fields on the other side of town, but she’s certain that she’ll be able to finish a second or third stack of charms before she has to slip out of the cottage and go start the physical preparations.

Alya’s here to collect her, no doubt, just like Luka had said she would.

She’s brought Nino along, too, and Marinette is quick to grin and pull the two close enough to smother them into her shoulders. “Hello!”

“Hello there, Mari!” Nino twirls her, pressing their foreheads together. As like many people in her life, Nino is much taller than her— he makes up for it by bending his back as much as possible to be at her height. “I haven’t seen you in so long. How have you both been?”

“We’ve been well,” She laughs, cupping his cheeks with her hands. He lets her, eyes squinting behind his glasses, looking at her with friendly affection. “Much much better now, recently. The rain finally letting up is much better for the farm— oh, but I’ve missed you both. When was the last time we spoke?”

“Far too long.” He muses, breaking away enough to allow Alya to crush her into another hug. Her friend’s arms are warm, and comforting, and so definitely sweet. Living in the cottage away from town is mostly good, and allows her to work on her potions in peace— but it doesn’t allow her to see her friends as much as she wants to. The two of them are always so busy running their tavern, and renovations to Marinette’s own shop have made her daily check-in to their eatery almost impossible. “Where is Chat? Don’t think I forgot about him— I haven’t seen him in forever, either. Where is that cat?”

“Out fishing with Luka, unfortunately. They’re at the lake, if you’d like to go join them?”

“Absolutely not,” Nino breaks out into laughter as he unlaces his boots. “The last thing I need is to be caught in the crossfire between the two of them. It’s usually fine, I enjoy their banter and their desperate attempts to find reasons to touch each other without making it weird, but I’m trying to look my best for the festival.”

“And I’m sure you can’t do that when you’re in the middle of getting your hair scorched off.” Marinette can’t stop laughing.

“You and everyone else,” Alya rolls her eyes, letting go of her so she can breathe and not cough into her sleeve. Alya hugs like she has a vendetta. “What are you trying to look good for, anyway?”

“The more presentable I look, the more likely people are willing to give us tips in the end, my dearest.” He waggles his brows. Oh, the two of them are so lovely— Marinette watches with a yearning and heartful gaze as Nino bends Alya back in his arms, dipping her low, a firm arm underneath her waist. Even with only one shoe on, and his feather in his cap dangling dangerously low to brushing against their faces through the entire action, he’s nothing short of having heart eyes for the woman in his arms instead of dissolving into giggles like Marinette is. “I may be a good player, but we all know that only the truly most handsome get the money at the end of the day.”

“Then it’s good fortune for us that I have the most handsomest man in the world by my side,” Alya smiles so warmly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Oh, the two of them— Marinette is helpless to give a little sigh at how perfect the two of them are. “We’ll be rich in no time.”

Love. Love love love.

By far one of the most important things that Marinette has ever been able to witness firsthand is the way the two of them look at each other— her heart is ready to explode. She hasn’t touched the cookies in a couple of days, still trying to get the bitter taste of love sick out of her mouth and away, and looking at the cookies gives her a slight nausea, but the core principle is still there.

Love.

She’s so giddy and warm.

“Oh! Come on, come into the house for breakfast, join me at the table. I’ll get a new pot of tea out, does that sound good?” It’ll be good for her, too— it’s a good thing she has those herbs on hand, or else she would be worried about any developments in her body she isn’t ready to have— the problem now, of course, will be to make sure neither of them pick up on her dropping additional leaves into her cup. Alya is persistent and keen and notices just about everything there is to notice, which means that unless she’s genuinely distracted by Nino, it’ll be impossible to dissuade her from asking questions.

Marinette readies herself, turns to the kitchen, and beckons the two of them to finish unlacing their boots while sitting the iron kettle on the oven to heat.

“Awh, I’m sorry, Mari. We’ve already eaten breakfast,” Nino has to help Alya, of course, because her petticoats are far too long and her stays are too thick with boning for her to bend properly for her feet.

“Oh? That’s alright. I think I have something you both will enjoy snacking on while I continue working on my stuff.” Marinette grins when they finally make it to the table. She moves the charms away and clears most of the space for there to be enough room for the three of them— she drops the unfinished charms into a corded bag, for now, tying the little string. “So. Do you remember the lover cookies?”

“Do I? The same cookies that made Nino realize that he did, in fact, have feelings for me?”

“Hard to imagine a time that you two didn’t date,” Marinette giggles. “But yes, those exactly.”

“I always knew I loved you,” Nino pouts. “My problem was I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Telling me ‘I love you’ would’ve been enough, you know.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Nino sighs. “We were all so caught up with the loss of Adrien that I didn’t know how to do anything.”

Marinette stops wiping at the table with her apron. Alya and Nino always remind her that she’s not the only one who misses their old friend. She never wanted to bring Adrien back because of her love— she wants to bring him back for everyone’s sake. Luka, Nino, Alya— their friends miss him. So dearly and so much— and talk about him as if he’s simply moved town, instead of being gone forever— but she’s never actually… explained that she plans on bringing him back. And now with the complicated mess of Chat Noir possibly being Adrien…

Oh, her head hurts. Just when she thought she could survive five more minutes not thinking about this tangled web. It’s as difficult to navigate as Plagg’s magic.

“Right, yes— I remember.”

“Mari?” Alya tilts her head, looking at how she massages her temples. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes— yes I’m okay. I just wish he were here.” Marinette smiles small, trying her best to ignore the way the seals on her ears burn. The two of them look at her with knowing gazes— they know she’s consumed some of the cookies herself. What they don’t know is that her heartache is actually pointing in an entirely different direction… or, perhaps, the same direction after all— just the person has a different name now. “I miss his laughter. I miss him— so I made lover honey cookies a couple of days ago, but I’m still in the process of making more, along with the charms. Would you two like to try them?”

Nino looked pained. “Are you making them for the festival?”

“Just in honor of our friend,” Marinette shares a private smile with herself. “It was his favorite, after all. It’s almost been ten years since he’s been gone.”

Alya’s eyes widen, looking down at the plate that Marinette puts in front of her with wide eyes. “Oh, how interesting. A cat shape?”

“Chat’s idea,” Marinette eagerly waits for them to try some, smiling a little bit wider. The cookies don’t snap in their mouths— still moist enough and sweet enough that it’s more of a chew than a crunch. The two of them hum appreciatively as Marinette takes a bit of time to pat off her apron clean of dirt. “What do you two think? Still good?”

“This tastes wonderful.” Alya sighs. “How is it that you make things taste like a whole fantasy? I feel like I’m biting into a cloud.”

“Guess it’s just part of my luck,” She giggles. “What do you think, Nino?”

“I think that, if I weren’t already with Alya, I’d confess my love to her on the spot all over again.” Nino’s face pinks. “This cookie is so strong. Did Chat try some?”

“He did.” She tries to hide her blushing and focuses instead on some dried-up flour on the edge of the table. “We both got love sick from all the cookies we ate. We probably ate a whole batch and a half, honestly— don’t do it. You’ll get overwhelmed with love.”

Alya hums with the cookie in her mouth, sharing a look with Nino. “Oh, really?”

“There’s no need to act all mysterious,” She shies, hiding her hands behind her, wringing her fingers through the laces of her apron. She looks to the single fire lily in the vase, how beautiful the blossom’s orange petals are, smiling to herself. “The cookies don’t make you feel love, but rather just amplify the feeling, and you two definitely know that. It wasn’t hard to put the context of his purring together with why we were getting overwhelmed.”

“Y—” Their eyes widen. Alya gasps. “So— he— you—”

Are there stars in her eyes? It feels like there are stars in her eyes. “We… talked about it.”

And other things. Lots of other things. Where was that bag of herbs, again?

“Chat Noir finally managed to confess?” Nino has to sit down from shock. “Holy hell!”

She sets out three tea trays, ignoring the way Alya looks at her knowingly when she sprinkles ginger root into one of the porcelain cups. Alya will accost her for that one later, that much is certain. “Wait, you— uhm. You knew?”

“Everyone does! Everyone knows that your familiar’s affections for you are much more than just friendly. Chat Noir has always— always— had his eyes on you, and has never concealed it.” Alya rolls her eyes. There’s a glitter in her smile, something that wasn’t there before, just proving to Marinette that she is absolutely going to get hounded the moment the two of them are alone. “I didn’t even need gossip for that one. His eyes follow you everywhere.”

“Oh. So, everyone, huh?” She blushes.

“Anyone with eyes can tell, yes.” Alya takes a seat next to Nino. She grabs for another cookie, nibbling on the tail, “Everyone could tell your affections for him, too. I was hoping something good would come out of it. Good to see that everything is well, in the end!”

“So are you two… together?” Nino doesn’t let Marinette steam behind her hands for very long. “Actually actually?”

“Uhm— well— I hope so. I think so. We talked about it—” Alya’s snorts cut her off, hiding a ‘yeah, and more’ under her breath. Marinette steams harder. “Uhm— and I really do think we’ll be together for a long time.”

“Is that even allowed for demons?”

“I don’t think we’re breaking any rules,” She rubs at her earlobes. Yet another thing to consider… “Uhm. Maybe I’ll have to talk to him about it. Who knows? He could be fine, considering his father—”

“Is 'the king of hell'.” Alya curls her smile. “And so, with a kiss, Marinette has accepted his propaganda.”

They have no idea how confusing it gets, do they? To know that Chat Noir could absolutely be telling the truth, and furthermore— the shenanigans that Plagg caused? She snorts behind a hand, thinking of how to even begin breaching the topic of a god stopping by to prank a witch and his demon son. Even if he really isn’t the king of hell, he’s certainly showing that he’s living up to the name… she can’t stop giggling. “Let’s hope he’s telling the truth. Why don’t you two enjoy some more cookies while I work on more of my charms? Or should we go to the field now?”

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#marichat may #marichatmay2021 #marichat #chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #fire lilies au #fire lily #fire lilies #oh wow i actually finally caught up to all the chapters i've posted!