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#marichat fic
splendarte · 5 months
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ฅ⁠^·⁠ﻌ·⁠^⁠ฅ O MELHOR LUGAR DO MUNDO
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Capinha doada à @Nymeria- (Spirit) pela União Miraculous (@projetomiraculous e @miraculousworldproj)!
Eu sou muito rendida pelas artes da danismilek, é uma mais linda que a outra 😭✨
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SOMEONE RECOMMEND ME MARICHAT FICS NOWW WATCHING THIS EPISODE WAS NOT ENOUGH I NEED MORE SUBSTANCE
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empressofall · 1 year
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would you still love me if i was a ladybug?
ao3 link
————
There has always been uncertainty. Marinette had tried to reconcile those feelings with
the fact that deep down she really was curious what face lay beneath her partner’s mask.
Insecurity was a funny thing. No matter how much she could tell her brain that it didn’t matter in the end, Marinette couldn’t stop her thoughts from running wild. The slightest possibility that Chat Noir would be disappointed by who was beneath the mask did exist. Mathematically it did. And if that slight chance existed, Marinette’s brain would turn it into catastrophe.
That changed.
All it took was a kiss. Well, two. Marinette didn’t need to worry about every single disastrous possibility after that. Laws of probability dictated there was a higher chance that Chat Noir would be elated to know it was her than not.
Even still, the act of testing that hypothesis was nerve wracking.
Once he was finally standing in front of her, Marinette wanted to back out. She didn’t know how they had gotten to this point, or why she had said she was ready, but she knew she couldn’t disappoint Chat again by backing down. As soon as Marinette said she had a big secret she wanted to share with him, he was on the hook.
“Just take a deep breath.”
“I know. I know. I’m trying.” Marinette squeezed her eyes shut tight, letting out all the air in her lungs. Her fists were clenched tight in her lap.
She was partly glad that she had chosen her own bedroom to do this in. Kicking Chat out and then screaming into her pillow would be easy enough to do should it all go to hell.
It wasn’t a problem necessarily that Chat was being so patient with her, but it damn sure didn’t help. She didn’t need another reason to think he was anymore amazing than she already did. They should have hit that threshold right now. But he didn’t do anything beyond the small encouragement and trying to help her breathe, not putting any pressure on her at all.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Chat said.
“No.” Marinette shook her head. “No. I need to do this.”
Again, Chat fell silent, doing nothing more than looking at her.
“Okay, okay. Fine, uh…..” Marinette bit her tongue and bit the bullet. “I’m Ladybug.”
“What?”
“I’m Ladybug.”
Chat stared at her blankly.
“Ladybug is me.”
“You’re kitten me.”
“Chat!” Marinette shouted. “This is not a joke!”
“It’s not a funny joke.”
“I mean that I’m not joking,” Marinette said, for the first time staring him directly in the eye. “Period.”
She had no way of knowing that trying to get him to accept the truth would be this infuriating.
“Oh my God,” Chat said. His body stiffened as Marinette could practically see his brain running a mile a minute. His shoulders collapsed. “Oh my God.”
Chat locked eyes with her again. It didn’t take him more than a split second to be sitting back upright and push himself up on his knees in her loft bed, almost hitting his head on the ceiling. Marinette was already partly moving to meet him, but he put his hand on her waist, pulling her closer.
Their lips met in almost a crash and kiss number three was the one to banish the last percentage of doubt Marinette still had.
Chat pulled away suddenly, his eyes wide. “Oh my God.” He freaked out. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to just kiss you like that-“
“I mean, I didn’t really mind it.”
“I was just shocked.”
“Well, me too.”
“But I should have asked first, Marinette. Ladybug. Lady Marinette.”
“Marinette is just fine.” They paused. By that point they were both out of breath and out of words.
It started with a laugh first. From her that contaminated him. They fell back on the bed, a mess of limbs with their arms twisted together and foreheads pressed close. By the time they fell silent again, Chat’s clawed gloves were intertwined with Marinette’s hand. She could stare at him forever. If only time would work like that.
“I’m not lying to you,” Marinette said.
“I didn’t think you were.”
“So what do we do then?”
“I don’t know,” Chat said. “I think the only thing left is to tell you who I am.”
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aidanchaser · 1 year
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Happy holidays, @light-my-star! I’m pinch-hitting for your Secret Santa for the @mlsecretsanta​. I hope you enjoy this fic. I did read through all of your Ao3 fic and about half of your bookmarks to make sure I could put together something you would enjoy.
Rating: E for EXPLICIT Word Count: 8K Giftee Tags: LoveSquare, Romance, Friendship Additional Tags: Identity Reveal, MariChat, Mythology References, Safe Sane and Consensual, Porn With Plot
Art: Eros and Psyche by Károly Lotz (1890) Poem Frame: “Eros and Psyche” by Robert Bridges (1885)
Read on Ao3: By Her Side
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His face and figure though she could not see, She wished not then nor asked what night denied: He was the lover she had lacked, and she, Loving his loving, was his willing bride. O’erjoyed she slept again; but when anon She woke at break of morning, he was gone; Only his empty place lay by her side.
—“Eros and Psyche” Measure III by Robert Bridges
Marinette was used to waking to an empty bed, his place already cold and her pink curtains fluttering in the window he had escaped through. She knew he couldn’t stay, and she wasn’t allowed to want him to stay. She wasn’t allowed to know who he was.
But she wanted to know who he was, and she wanted it more and more desperately with each night they spent together.
She ran her hand along the pillow, pressed flat where his head had been, and tried to remember what it was like to run her fingers through his fine blonde hair. His hair was so fluid beneath her fingers that she imagined it had to be part of the magic of his transformation. No boy was allowed to have hair that silky.
Her fingers caught on a snag in the pillowcase and she remembered the way his claws had dug into the fabric on either side of her head and the way his hips had pressed flush against hers.
Marinette groaned and got up to splash cold water across her face before she dressed and headed into work. She didn’t have a morning to spend missing her nighttime lover. She had a job to get to.
Working at Gabriel as a pattern developer had given her a lot of experience, but it was about as stressful as working the bakery on Christmas Eve, as if every single day of her life was a swarm of people begging for more King’s Cake. There was, however, one exceptional highlight to her job.
Adrien Agreste.
He came to her floor occasionally, and every time he did he stopped to say hello. They were schoolfriends, after all. And though he had officially stopped being the face of the brand a few years ago, every so often he would agree to one of his father’s campaigns or designs and his face would flood their floor for a few weeks. And somehow, it was always one of the pieces Marinette had worked on.
Marinette knew it had to be nothing more than coincidence, but then again he had liked her designs when they were in school together. So maybe there was something to it…
Marinette buried the thought in her sink as she spat out her toothpaste. That had been a childhood crush. Sure, she had liked Adrien. She had daydreamed about the hamsters they might own someday. But she was an adult now. She had a proper love life.
Well, as much as she could call her evening trysts a proper love-life.
Marinette waved goodbye to her parents, who were already hours into their work, which started long before sunrise. As the shop bell jingled behind her, she reminded herself that her relationship with Chat Noir really was deeper than late-night hookups.
They often spent hours laughing on her rooftop, or sometimes they just laid down in her bed and talked. Sometimes they watched silly videos on Marinette’s phone for hours before he slipped away, back to whatever life he lived when he took off his mask.
Maybe it wasn’t a traditional relationship. Maybe there weren’t dinner dates, and maybe she could never meet his parents, but it was still something more than just really great sex.
Though, they had never promised each other that they were exclusive. Marinette might have made that promise privately—she just couldn’t picture having a proper boyfriend who would take her to dinner then be okay with her saying good night to go sleep with one of Paris’ most famous superheroes—but she wondered often if Chat Noir had someone else in his life. He had an entirely different identity, a world she had no idea about, and maybe there was another girl there.
She didn’t ask him those kinds of questions; she couldn’t. She couldn’t know anything about who he was, and she had set that rule herself to protect them both.
But despite her heroic intentions, she found herself wondering just exactly what Chat Noir looked like beneath his mask. Were his eyes still green, or was that part of the cat miraculous’s magic? Was his grin still just as mischievous, or was that something he saved for her?
Her mind was just drifting to her memory of the shape of his teeth, something her tongue was overly-familiar with, when the elevator doors of the office building opened with a jarring ding and an even more jarring vision of blonde hair and green eyes.
There were several reasons Marinette arrived to work shortly after sunrise. For one, Marinette had a habit of being late—though not just work. She was late to parties, late to family dinners, late to everything. Managing her time as a superhero was only part of the problem. She simply struggled with time.
So for her job at Gabriel, she made a point to arrive early. Hours early. It made her appear studious and dedicated, and it also gave her some wiggle room if she ever had to slip away during the day to face an akuma.
Another perk of being early, one Marinette never took for granted, was how empty and quiet the building was. It made for an perfect workspace. She could safely ignore emails until everyone else’s workday began. No one was complaining about the coffee pot being empty. No one was asking her opinion on a texture or drape. Maybe she’d get the same peace and quiet at home in the mornings, but she didn’t like to work by herself at home. Besides, she got her best work done when the office was empty, which it usually was this early in the morning.
So when the elevator doors opened to reveal Adrien Agreste, her heart did a double-take.
He smiled brilliantly, and the fluorescent lights that Marinette usually found hideous suddenly seemed like a halo behind his golden hair.
“Good morning, Marinette,” he smiled, and stepped to the side to make space for her. “You’re here a bit early.”
“Er—yeah, you too,” she smiled, and adjusted her bag self-consciously before stepping inside. She had grown out of her silly stutter around Adrien when she had grown out of her crush on him, but her heart seemed to have forgotten that as it jittered around in her chest.
“My father’s a bit under the weather today, so he sent me to grab a few things from his office,” Adrien said. “It’s certainly easier to slip in and out of the building when there aren’t a dozen people trying to say hello to me or one of my father’s producers ready to corner me and talk me into another shoot. What’s your excuse?”
“Quieter work space,” she said, and wondered why she felt out of breath. She spoke more quickly, trying to cover up any odd ticks in her voice. “And mornings are sort of empty at home. With the bakery, everyone’s up well before sunrise and it’s just so… quiet in the mornings. I might as well get busy and be here.”
Adrien paused, green eyes both wary and concerned, as if she had just confessed something unexpected. True, she had gotten close to a confession, to the private truth that she would never admit it to anyone, not even Alya, that the most important reason Marinette liked getting to work as early as she did was because she did not have to spend time thinking about how empty her room felt once Chat Noir had left, but she had not given Adrien any real details that would help him put that together. The only person who knew how she spent her nights, besides Alya, was Chat Noir himself.
As quickly as it had come, Adrien’s concern flickered out, doused in his usual, relaxed smile. “I hope you don’t overwork yourself,” he said.
A younger Marinette would have melted in that smile. She knew now it was the smile he had developed during his days as a model—his performative smile. She had been proud the day she had realized she could tell the difference between his earnest happiness and his pretended politeness. It was a sign of how much their friendship had grown, and she really did like being friends with Adrien.
“I don’t overwork myself,” she promised, though that was a bald-faced lie. Adrien knew her too well and had known her too long to believe she had any ability to balance her work-life.
And, as she had hoped, his polite smile gave way to his genuine one. His green eyes softened and he even laughed a little.
Marinette’s heart clawed its way up her throat like it wanted to leap out of her mouth and onto Adrien. She thought of the soft, leather-like texture of Chat Noir’s padded gloves against her thigh in an effort to soothe her heart.
As his laughter faded, Adrien’s fingertips drummed against his denim-clad thighs. His eyes seemed to wander past Marinette, as if it was somehow easier to take in her warped reflection in the chromatic walls of the elevator, rather than stare directly at Marinette.
If Marinette didn’t know better, she would think he was nervous.
“Are you working on any interesting projects right now?” he finally asked, and the two of them fell rather comfortably into a conversation about work. Work was common ground for the two of them, and there was nothing especially intimate about it. It was nice.
When the elevator door opened onto Marinette’s floor, Adrien abandoned his trip to his own office, and followed her to her desk as she talked. She showed him the sketches she’d been assigned and the pattern pieces she had drafted. They talked about textures and weights and deadlines, and Marinette remembered how nice it was to just talk to Adrien. She had Alya and Nino, of course, and even Kagami and Luka, but none of them understood her world the way that Adrien did. He had grown up in this industry, and she didn’t have to explain herself or try to make him understand what she saw in a piece.
They made coffee and talked about his projects, and she loved the way his eyes lit up as he talked about the new shoots he was planning. He had ideas for lighting that were outside of her area of expertise, but she listened all the same, and knew enough that she could at least ask insightful questions.
She was all too sorry when the elevator dinged, announcing that someone else had arrived for work, and Adrien hurriedly said his goodbyes. She wouldn’t have minded if talking with him had been her entire day. The way everything else had disappeared while they talked, the way time hadn’t mattered and work hadn’t mattered and missing Chat Noir hadn’t mattered…
It reminded her of her conversations with Chat Noir, the way it felt like it belonged in another world, a better world outside of her day-to-day.
But Marinette was used to her life being fragmented into a variety of pieces that never seemed to make up the full picture. Her relationship with Chat Noir was one part of her, her patrols as Ladybug and that friendship with Chat was an entirely different part, and she would just have to put her friendship with Adrien into another box, separate from who she was at work and separate from who she was with her other friends and family.
She knew it wasn’t normal to think of herself in so many pieces, but she’d gotten into the habit to protect her identity as Ladybug, and she didn’t know how to else to manage it.
The day passed, thankfully, without an akuma attack. She was able to focus on her work without worry, though she did wonder if there might be a way to catch Adrien before she left the office. Though that thought was silly, she told herself. He didn’t hang out at the office. And besides, she didn’t need to seek out Adrien for companionship. She had patrol with Chat Noir in just a few hours.
When Marinette did finally take to the Paris rooftops as Ladybug, she was no longer thinking about her conversation with Adrien. That conversation belonged to a different person, a different world. She wasn’t thinking about work, either, which was as distant from her in this moment as the moon was from the earth. She was thinking only about the way the air felt warmer, the way her skin prickled with the magic of her suit, and how excited she was to see Chat Noir again.
As a friend, this time. He was only her friend when she wore this suit.
But when she found him on top of Le Grand Paris, she had a hard time remembering how to be appropriately friendly rather than the flirtatious habits she’d developed as Marinette.
“Good evening, chaton,” she smiled, and had to clasp her hands behind her back to keep from running her fingers through his impossibly silky hair.
“My lady,” he said with a sweeping bow and a mischievous grin that set Ladybug’s heart working double-time. “Shall we?”
And he held out his hand like he was asking her to dance. Her heart screamed to take it and pull him into a kiss, but she would have plenty of opportunities to do that later. She settled instead for reaching for his hand but drawing away at the last moment and leaping off of the hotel.
She heard his laugh as she fell, and her heart beat against her ribs as if it was going to smash through her bones and fling itself at Chat Noir. Her cheeks grew warm and she tried to tell herself she was too old to be this silly about a boy. But she could think her affection was silly all she wanted; her heart had its own agenda.
It was hard to talk as the two of them leaped across the rooftops of Paris. Words were whisked away by the wind rushing past their ears, and complex thoughts were often lost in the focus on judging the distance of a leap or searching for the next point to hook her yo-yo around before swinging into the night sky.
It was not unlike a dance, really. She and Chat Noir had had years to perfect their performance and synchronize their sweep across the city. The stars served as their musicians and the whole of Paris was their ballroom.
She paused on the rooftop of a residence and placed her hand against a cracked chimney for balance. Chat Noir crouched into a perch beside her.
“It’s a quiet night,” she said.
The hum in his throat might have been a purr and it made her chest ache with the desire to be back in her own bed, with that purr pressed against her palm.
“It’s nice to just spend time together,” he said, though he sounded distracted and Ladybug’s heart ached to know if he was distracted because he was thinking about Marinette.
She couldn’t help herself. She had to press. “Are you doing anything later tonight?” She bit down on her lip, hoping he wouldn’t notice her coy smile.
His mask twitched as his eyebrow quirked and he looked up at her. “I have plans,” he said, which she found painfully vague. “Did you have something in mind?”
“Oh, no,” she said hurriedly, kicking herself for daring to bring it up at all. “Actually, I have a date tonight.”
Not that Marinette and Chat Noir ever scheduled their evenings. It was just expected that he would come by and see her after his patrol with Ladybug. They didn’t exactly have a way to communicate as Marinette and Chat Noir.
“Really?” both his eyebrows lifted now. “And you don’t need me to chaperone, do you? I’d hate to see Paris’s greatest hero taken advantage of.”
“You don’t trust my taste in partners?” she asked.
His clawed hand pressed against his chest in a dramatic gesture of faux-insult. “My lady, you know I believe your taste in partners is only the best.”
She couldn’t help herself. She bent down and kissed his cheek before leaping off the rooftop once more.
She didn’t know why she felt so daring tonight, so willing to push the boundaries of her relationship with Chat Noir in this part of her life. Was she that desperate to have him again? Or had her friendly, comfortable conversation with Adrien been too painful a reminder of what she and Chat Noir could never fully have?
This time, their dance led them to the top of the Eiffel Tower, a familiar vantage point for their patrols.
After a moment of silence, Chat Noir offered, “Maybe all the akumas are on holiday.”
Ladybug laughed. “It has been exceptionally quiet all day. Maybe they’re taking a sick day.”
He laughed, too, and every bone in her body sang out as he did. She wanted nothing more than to pull him against her and kiss him as if both their lives depended on it.
“Why don’t we call it early tonight?” she asked, more because she was so desperate to get home and wait for him to join her than she was ready to say the evening was probably safe from an akuma attack.
“So you can get ready for your hot date?” he teased with a grin and her cheeks flushed.
She tossed her head, hoping to hide her embarrassment in indignation. “Maybe.”
He leaned against the railing that encircled the peak of the tower. The mischief in his eyes withered as he surveyed the city’s glittering lights. His shoulders shifted with the weight of his thoughts and when he spoke again, his voice was soft, almost serious. “Does your date… know you’re Ladybug?”
She heard the hurt in his voice, and it occurred to her that he wanted to tell Marinette who he was just as desperately as she wanted to know it.
But right now, she was Ladybug. Though she was having a hard time keeping her desire boxed up in the life of, “Marinette-who-enjoys-late-nights-with-Chat-Noir” she managed to hold onto her heroic senses.
“My date can’t know I’m Ladybug,” she said. As wonderful as it would be to enjoy Chat Noir here, on top of the Eiffel Tower, with all the stars to witness their love, they would have to stay confined to the secrecy of Marinette’s bedroom, to dark, hidden kisses, whispered affections, and empty beds come morning. There wasn’t any other choice to make.
Chat Noir’s clawed fingertips clinked against the iron railing as he drummed his fingers nervously. “Isn’t it hard?” he asked. “Knowing there’s a whole part of yourself that you can’t share with them? Seeing them in your other life and knowing you can’t even tell them how you’re really feeling?”
She reached for his hand. She wanted to scream, to hold him, to kiss him, to fuck him, to drop her mask and just tell him the truth.
And then what? She’d face another akumatized version of him? She’d have to reset time again to prevent the end of the world?
A devil on her shoulder whispered, Bunnyx hasn’t come calling yet, but ignored it.
“It isn’t forever,” she assured him. “Just until we get the miraculous back.” But the words felt hollow even as she said them. They’d been at this for so long, since they were just kids. When did it end?
Hollow or not, Chat Noir accepted her encouragement. The slump in his shoulders lifted, and he stretched like a cat uncurling from a nap. The familiar mischievous twinkle returned to his eyes and Ladybug could not help but remember her conversation with Adrien that morning, how he had moved so fluidly between his performative smile and his earnest smile. Chat Noir seemed to be doing the reverse. Her heart ached with sympathy but also, in the tiniest of places, pounded with pride that she knew him so well. If only she could offer better comfort. She’d have to do her best to please him when he came to visit tonight.
“Same time tomorrow?” he asked with a smile.
“Of course,” she replied, and leapt back into the city.
But Psyche said “Thy love is more than life, Having thee thus leaves nothing to be won: For should the noonday prove me to be wife Even of the beauteous Eros, who is son Of Cypris, I could never love thee more.”
— “Eros and Psyche” Measure III by Robert Bridges
By the time she said, “Spots off,” Marinette’s heart was already moving at a million miles per hour. She hurried through the checklist of tasks she always did post-patrol in anticipation of Chat Noir’s arrival.
One: brush teeth.
Two: comb hair.
Three: apply appropriately flavored lipgloss.
Four: make the bed.
Five: change into something cute.
Once, Marinette had done step five before going on patrol, thinking how much easier it would be to be already dressed in something light and lacy as soon as she returned home. It had been just her luck that she and Chat Noir had ended up having to retreat and recoup in Paris’s sewers during that akuma fight. She’d never been so mortally embarrassed in her life and never been so glad that she had their secret identities as an excuse to keep Chat from seeing her. She’d also never made that mistake again.
Just as she pulled the pale pink silk slip over her head, she heard the familiar thud on her rooftop. Hastily, she sat down on her bed and tried to look casual and inviting. She leaned back on an elbow and bent one knee up. She let her other leg dangle off of the edge of the bed.
But as Chat Noir dropped down from her rooftop trapdoor and landed on her floor, instead of the intrigued purr she expected, he laughed.
“Have you been waiting for me like that all day?” he asked.
She pouted and tried for indignation. “I heard you arrive.” She may have been waiting all day, but it certainly hadn’t been to banter with him.
“Should I try again with a bit more stealth?” he asked.
“No.” Marinette sat up and grabbed his hands. He laughed as she pulled him into her bed and that laughter flooded her veins as his lips fell against her collar and his hot breath danced across her skin.
Chat Noir’s laughter dissolved into a pleasant purr as she insistently moved his hands down to her hips. His mouth moved to meet hers and she both melted into her mattress and pressed herself up against him at once.
His padded fingers, careful of the claw-like ends of his gloves, gripped her hips to keep her still. She trailed her hands up his arms and to his shoulders, where she dragged her fingers along the nape of his neck. He hummed into her mouth as she ran her fingers through his hair, pausing to avoid the decorative ears still pinned in his hair.
“Lights?” she managed to gasp between a desperate kiss.
“You’re so impatient,” he whispered with a grin. But he obliged, and with a practiced ease, stretched over her to reach the switch of her lamp. He tugged on the chain and her room plunged into complete darkness. Not even the light of the moon breached the edges of her curtains.
“Plagg,” he whispered, “claws in.”
There had been a time where she’d been nervous about Tikki and Plagg bearing witness to her and Chat Noir’s evenings, but Tikki assured her that Plagg enjoyed spending time with the other kwamis in the Miracle Box, and besides, after her thousands of years of existence, she was no stranger to the human drive to pursue pleasure. It was one of the oldest, most divine acts of creation, after all.
It comforted Marinette to know that the kwamis had more interesting things to do than sit around and wait for her and Chat Noir to be done. And, really, after their first night together she had stopped worrying about the kwamis. She had more interesting things to think about.
Like the way his now bare hands slid under her nightgown and trailed up her ribcage until they reached her breasts. She moaned into another kiss as he squeezed gently and ran his thumbs over her tender nipples. She dragged her hands back down through his hair to the collar of his cotton t-shirt and tugged.
Though it was a tragedy to break their kiss, it was worth it to get them both undressed. She tugged his shirt over his head, then he kicked off his shoes and socks while she shimmied out of her panties.
Someday they would get to enjoy the sight of each other. Someday she’d get to see what color his eyes really were and the expression on his face when he came, but tonight they just had to enjoy what they could in the dark.
She heard him undo his belt buckle and reached eagerly for his waist to pull him closer. She liked getting to take off his jeans and tug down his briefs. She liked to keep some control over the experience, something she had once confessed to Chat Noir afterwards, grateful he couldn’t see how red her face must have been. He had been quiet for a long moment and she had wished more than anything to see his face, to know what he was thinking.
Finally, he had said, “I like taking care of you, but… I also like when you’re leading the way.”
She’d been less hesitant about taking charge after that conversation.
As he kicked off his jeans and boxers she pulled him on top of her. His knees bracketed her now bare hips and she slid her hands up along the back of his thighs and over his firm, toned ass. She’d stared at it on patrol a dozen times before—and been distracted by it a few times in the middle of an akuma fight—but she still hadn’t seen it properly, despite how intimate they had been.
She shook off the disappointment by bringing one hand to his front, stroking his length. He hummed appreciatively into her ear, cheek pressed to cheek. Then, as she trailed her other hand up his spine he yanked his head away with a gasp, like a cat leaning into a stroke.
“Marinette—”
She bit down on her lower lip and wished desperately to know what his face looked like, to his lips half-parted, to see just how much he wanted her. Was it as bad as she wanted him?
Though she, heartbreakingly, had never actually seen his dick, she was overly familiar with its shape and how it changed with his arousal, and she knew exactly when it was ready for a condom.
As she reached for her bedside table drawer, Chat Noir drew her other hand away from his spine and pressed his lips to her palm. He trailed his mouth along her arm, up into her neck. She draped her arms over his shoulders and fumbled with the condom package as they kissed. He slid one hand down stomach, not slowing until he reached her sex and she moaned into his mouth.
His hands were soft, as fluid as the rest of him, as his thumb rubbed her clit and his fingers dipped inside her. She shivered and whimpered softly as the cool metal of his ring brushed her sensitive skin.
He kissed the corner of her mouth apologetically and took a moment to tug off his ring and leave it on her bedside table. They were, both of them, fully exposed in the dark, save for her earrings.
But she could not dwell on the thought long as his hand returned to her pelvis and his fingers slid back inside her. He seemed to stretch to fit her, rather than the other way around and her moan turned into a soft gasp.
She let the foil wrapper fall to the floor. His teeth caught her lower lip as she tried to pull away. and he tugged on her lip gently before letting go. It was hard to keep track of her thoughts as he refused to remove his thumb, but she managed to bring the condom down to his cock.
He grabbed her wrist with his spare hand and gently guided her back, pinning her hand to the bed.
“Chat—”
His breath was suddenly hot on her ear and she wasn’t sure when his lips had gotten so close to her again. “Ladies first,” he murmured. Carefully, he pushed her shoulder back until she was lying on the bed.
Distantly she recalled her desire to pleasure him after seeing his sad eyes on the top of the Eiffel Tower, but that thought vanished as he dragged his knuckles across her slit. She gasped and twisted one hand in the bed sheets; the other tightened around the latex ring in her hand.
His lips pressed against hers once more, briefly, then he and his hands were gone, and she had a bizarre moment where she wondered if he had left before he felt his hands on her thighs, gently pushing them apart.
She moaned as his tongue pressed flat against her clit and gasped as his thumb returned. He kissed the edge of her hip, then her ribs, then sucked gently at her nipple.
“Chat,” she begged as his hand moved, fingers sliding in, thumb sliding down, then fingers out and thumb up— “Chat,” she repeated again, at once desperate and grateful.
He kissed her and she moaned into his mouth, wondering, not for the first time, what his real name was and if she would ever be able to use it. Her hips bucked eagerly with each slide of his hand, and as she continued to gasp, “Chat,” he moved his hand, keeping pace with her breathless pleading.
Though she did not feel entirely in control of herself as his hand slid in and out of her soaked folds, she knew that he was moving by her lead while taking care of her. And it was the thought that they were both content in this rhythm as much as his touch that pushed her to clench tightly around his two fingers and hold as she came.
Her grip on the condom loosened, even as he continued to slide his fingers in and out of her. It was sticky with her sweat and she stretched her hand back to her nightstand to grab another. She fumbled for a moment, vaguely aware of her fingers brushing against his discarded ring before gripping the handle of the dresser drawer.
“Your turn,” she whispered.
“I think I want to watch you come again,” and though she couldn’t see the mischievous grin on his face she could hear it in his voice.
“Unless you were born with your cat vision, I don’t think you’re watching much of anything.”
“If you’re as mouthy as all that, then I haven’t been working hard enough.”
“I’m the mouthy one?”
She leaned up to kiss him again and this time, when she went to fit the condom over his cock, he did not stop her. She wrapped her hand around him, pumping him slowly as she rolled the latex down the length of his penis until he was fully covered. She let him set her pace, as she had set his, and used their slow, lazy kisses to guide the rhythm of her hand.
He was, like a cat, good at pretending he was uninterested. His hands bracketed her hips gently, like he was doing little more than guiding her through a waltz. His kisses were lingering, made of long draws on her lips and tongue like he was savoring every taste.
But when she stretched her thighs apart and carefully guided him to where she wanted him, where she had wanted him since she had woken up to her empty bed that morning, all his laziness vanished.
The sound that slipped from between his lips was something between a hum and a purr and he tightened his grip on her thighs. She hoped it bruised, just so she could have some part of him left in the morning when he was gone.
He thrust into her and she dared to reach her own hand down, hooking a finger in alongside him and rubbing her clit in time with his thrusts.
He whined, “Mar—” but he couldn’t manage the rest of her name as she pressed her mouth against his, as if she could consume all of him and keep him here with her forever.
She worked herself to a second orgasm before he had quite finished his first, but as she clenched down around him, he was not far behind. His mouth dropped into the crook of her neck, alternating between kissing and gasping for breath. She slid one hand through his hair soothingly and left her other to lazily rub out the sharp edges of her second orgasm. His hand joined hers at her clit and gently she tipped his head back up into another kiss.
Their hands rubbed against her sex not so much for the pleasure of it but purely for the intimacy. Her leg hooked around his and his other hand slid behind her back as if he could promise more support than the bed beneath them both.
She would have liked to stay like that until dawn. Lazy kisses, gentle strokes, the occasional nip amidst long, warm breaths.
But he wasn’t allowed to stay that long. Morning had to come, night had to end, and he had to leave before the gray light that preceded sunrise.
Slowly, she untangled herself from him to clean up. He whined and grabbed her leg.
“Chat,” she murmured, wishing it didn’t sound so much like an apology.
“It doesn’t have to be over yet,” he said.
“I’m not kicking you out.” At least not yet. She kissed his forehead then pulled out of his grip.
She disposed of the used condom, cleaned herself up, and slipped back under the covers. It was hard not to feel pleased when Chat Noir slid his hands over her hips and pulled her close against him.
“I do have to be up early for work,” she said as he kissed her shoulder.
“No you don’t,” he murmured into her skin with an absurd amount of surety. He ran his hand up and down her thigh, picking up their lazy, intimate touches right where they had left off.
“I do,” she protested, and turned around to face him, though it didn’t let her see him any better.
He took her hand in his and pressed it to his lips. “You don’t have to be at work as early as you usually are. You could just go in when everyone else goes in.”
“How do you know I go to work before everyone else?”
“I stalk you in the mornings,” he said, and she felt his mouth curve into his familiar, mischievous smile beneath her fingers.
“You’re unbelievable.”
He trailed his hand back along her arm until he reached her neck and he pulled her in for another kiss. It was soft, brief, nothing like the desperate, hungry kisses they had exchanged earlier.
“I want to stay,” he murmured.
She sighed. “Chat…”
“I’ve got cheese for Plagg in my jeans. I can transform back as soon as it’s light out. Please let me stay, Marinette.”
Her heart ached. Of course she wanted him to stay. She wondered if he knew just how badly she wanted to say yes. But how could he know?
It occurred to her that she had no idea what sort of life he went back to. He might have been joking about stalking her in the mornings, but what if he really did linger even after she woke? What if he had the sort of home he wanted to avoid returning to?
“Okay,” she said. “You can stay.”
He kissed her again, so eagerly she thought for a moment he was going to start in on another round, but his energy waned back to their lazy, afterglow level of gentle caresses and lips brushing against lips and whatever else was within reach.
Before long, though, Chat was asleep. Marinette was tickled to discover he snored ever so softly, much like a cat purring in their sleep. She stroked his hair, enjoying the soft texture beneath her fingers until she, too, closed her eyes and wandered to dreams.
And so most happily her life went by, In thoughts of love dear to her new estate; Until at length the evil day drew nigh.
— Eros and Psyche” Measure IV by Robert Bridges
Marinette woke with sunlight streaming through her window and had the brief thought that she didn’t remember buying silk sheets for herself before she realized it was not her soft pillowcase that her fingers were stroking. It was Chat Noir’s hair.
She smiled, more pleased than she had expected to find him still in her bed well-past dawn. But as her gentle strokes crossed the length of his head she realized that there were no magically-pinned, leather-like cat ears for her to fondle. His head was bare and his face…
Right now, his face was buried into her chest. Her heart raced as she considered her choices.
She could cover him with her blanket and wake him. She could try to slip away without waking him, without looking at him.
Or she could wake him, maybe look at him just long enough to see what color his eyes were. She didn’t have to know his name. She didn’t have to memorize his face. Just long enough to know if his eyes were really green…
She squeezed her eyes closed. What was she thinking? She was Ladybug. She couldn’t know Chat Noir’s identity, anymore than he could know hers.
“Chat?” she murmured, trying not to sound anxious. She didn’t want him to wake in a panic or move too quickly. Gently she squeezed his shoulder. “Chat, wake up.”
He pressed his face deeper against her chest and groaned in protest. His fingers laced together behind her back and pulled her against him, like she was little more than a comfortable pillow.
“Chat Noir,” she tried again, a little more firmly this time.
He shifted with another irritated groan and then, quite suddenly, went very still. His hands at her back fidgeted for a moment before he said, with only a touch of worry, “I’m not wearing my ring.”
Distantly, Marinette remembered him removing it so he could finger her. She kept one hand in his hair, keep his face clasped to her chest, and turned, searching for the glint of silver on her nightstand. She did not see it.
“I… think I knocked it off the night stand when I was looking for a condom,” she said and groaned.
Blindly, Chat Noir fumbled for her blanket and pulled it over him. She slipped out of the bed and searched her floor for the ring. She didn’t see it on her rug. She didn’t see it under her nightstand. She didn’t see it under the bed…
Desperation grew in her chest. Where was it? She combed her fingers through her rug’s tight fibers, wondering how she could have missed it. She came up empty handed. She fumbled again beneath her night stand, and found nothing but dust. She tore apart the piles of fabric shoved into the corners of her room and found nothing.
“Marinette?” he asked, voice muffled by her duvet. “What’s wrong?”
“I… I can’t find it,” she cried.
He hesitated for a moment then asked, “Are you dressed?”
“You can’t come out from the covers.”
“No, not for me. For Plagg. If he’s around, he might be able to find it.”
She hadn’t taken off her nightgown, but she grabbed a clean pair of underwear and tugged them on.
“I’m dressed enough,” she sighed, and turned to the Miracle Box. She double-checked that Chat Noir was still buried under her covers before opening up her sewing box and revealing the magical home of the kwamis.
“Plagg?” she asked, but it was Trixx who popped his head out of the box.
“Plagg’s not here,” Trixx whispered.
Marinette stared at the small, fox-like creature. “What?”
“He and Tikki left last night. They didn’t come back yet.”
Marinette’s heart raced. Tikki had only left her once before, and it had ended poorly. Why would Tikki leave her now? And with Plagg?
She double-checked that her earrings were in place and they were. She chewed on her lip worriedly. “Chat Noir, I don’t think Plagg’s here,” she said.
Chat Noir muttered something that sounded vaguely like a curse into her mattress. Then, in a much more clear and much less annoyed tone, he asked, “Can I get up and look?”
Marinette leaned back against her desk and covered her hands with her eyes. “I’m not peeking.”
She heard the rustling of her bedding, his grunts as he crouched down to search the floor for his ring, and his soft call for Plagg.
“Plagg, where are you? I have some—you little shit. You took my cheese and left?”
She listened to Chat Noir pull on his clothes and she tried to picture him in a t-shirt and jeans. It didn’t seem to suit him. She was too used to the magic, leather-like fabric that clad his body like a second skin. She couldn’t imagine drowning his shape in anything as heavy as cotton or denim.
“Any luck?” she asked through her hands.
“Maybe Plagg ate the ring too,” Chat Noir grunted. Her bed squeaked as he sank back into it. He let out a long, slow sigh. “Marinette, this is stupid.”
“What?”
“This… this secrecy. It’s okay. You can look at me.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“No one can know who Ladybug and Chat Noir are!”
“Sure they can,” he said.
“No, they can’t.”
“Rena Rouge knows who Ladybug is.”
Marinette’s heart raced so fast she thought it might burst. “How do you know that?”
“Carapace told me. Besides, Ladybug says she and I can’t know each other’s identities because someone has to be able to save Paris if one of us was akumatized. It doesn’t mean someone else can’t know our identities. It’s just us two. It’s fine for you to look at me, Marinette.”
“I can’t.” Though she so desperately wanted to.
“Yes, you can.”
It felt as if all her fragmented pieces were crashing down around her. She needed to get ready for work, she needed to know why Alya had told Nino she knew who Ladybug was and why Nino had told Chat Noir. She needed to find Chat Noir’s ring and she need to protect Ladybug’s identity. All the parts of her clamored for her attention and she desperately tried to hold onto both how much she loved Chat Noir and her responsibilities as Ladybug at the same time. “I can’t!”
“Marinette… I promise, it’ll be okay.”
And though it was just as terrible as opening her eyes and seeing his face, though it broke the secret that had to be kept between them just as surely as if she knew his name, she could contain all her separate boxes no longer. “But—but I’m Ladybug!”
The creak of her bedsprings was deafening against his stunned silence. After a moment, his bare feet padded against her hard floors, then her rug, then her hard floors again. He hit the floor beside her with a thud, and put his hands on hers, gently pulling them away from her face.
“Marinette…”
She stubbornly resisted. Even as he tugged her hands to him, she kept her eyes scrunched up tight, blocking out all daylight.
Chat Noir pulled her hands to his lips. “Ladybug… Marinette…” He paused, as if he was tasting the two names together. He smiled against her fingers. It wasn’t quirked with mischief. It was soft, gentle, earnest.
“Marinette, please open your eyes. What’s the worst that could happen?”
The end of the world, she thought.
But the secret had already broken, and the world hadn’t ended yet. Maybe this time… Maybe this time it could be okay.
Though her lips shook and her heart threatened to burst, her hands were steady thanks to his grip. Slowly, she opened her eyes. First, she squinted against the sunlight, then blinked as the halo around his golden hair grew more clear.
She started with his eyes—green. Not cat-like, but still a brilliant green. His nose seemed tiny without the dark mask to give it shape, but his cheekbones stood out and her eyes drifted down to his lips, pale and soft and then, quite suddenly, she saw all of him at once.
“Adrien?” she shrieked.
He laughed and kissed her wrist. “Yes.”
“Adrien Agreste?”
“The one and only.”
“But…”
“I know,” he smiled, and pulled her against him.
She was suddenly very aware of his clothes and her thin nightgown. “But—” Marinette struggled to make sense of him. She wanted to take his clothes off and touch him just to prove that it really was him.
“We’ve been so silly all these years,” he said. “I’m glad to finally know the truth.”
She wanted to disagree. She didn’t think she had been silly at all, but she did not have the sense to be indignant. All of the compartments and fragments of her life came crashing down. Her conversation yesterday with Adrien, her years of falling in and out of love with Adrien and him with her…
“But—” She didn’t have any real protests. She just couldn’t put it all together. It was like she had all the pieces of the puzzle but she couldn’t make them fit. Or maybe she just didn’t want to.
But then he kissed her and, yes, this was her Chat. There was no question. Chat Noir was Adrien and Adrien was Chat and she loved him.
And she knew that he loved her.
She broke their kiss, but only to pull him back to his feet and guide him back to the bed. She didn’t have to be at work at sunrise, and she was going to love him by the light of day. And maybe the world would end when it was over, but she was going to have this. She was going to have this as long as she possibly could.
She slid her hands underneath his t-shirt and he, with a beautiful, mischievous grin that looked just at home on this face as it always had on Chat’s, obliged and began to remove the clothing he had only just put on.
Marinette was aware of only Adrien, of only her Chat, of the way the sunlight glinted off of his hair and the way his skin creased as he bent beneath her and the way his lips glistened in the dawn.
She was entirely unaware of the pair of kwamis, hovering just behind her curtains. Plagg twirled a plain silver ring around his tiny paws.
“It’s about time,” he grunted.
Tikki looked less certain. “I suppose we’ll see.”
“Eh, Fluff’ll fix it if we’re not ready. But I’m tired of watching him tiptoe around her. Aren’t you tired of watching her mope all day?”
Tikki smiled. “Yes. Let’s give them space.” She flitted up to the rooftop, and Plagg, ever keen to chase his lady, followed eagerly.
But lo! I, love, am come, for I am thine: Nor ever more shall any fate malign.
— “Eros and Psyche” Measure XII by Robert Bridges
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lady-charinette · 11 months
Text
The Beast in Her Home - Chapter 16
I’m BACK! I’m really excited to show you guys this chapter, hope you like it! (she says while writing a chapter full of pain). Comments and kudos are always appreciated :3
AO3
WARNING: This chapter may disturb some readers, caution is advised.
Content: police brutality, graphic descriptions of violence, ACAB discourse, injuries, misuse of power.
Chapter 16:
“There is no greater tyranny than that which is perpetrated under the shield of the law and in the name of justice. (Cambridge University Press, September 29, 1989)”
― Charles-Louis de Secondat, baron de la Brède et de Montesquieu, The Spirit of the Laws
Flickering lights of red and blue filled the screen, unsteady camera movements, people running and screaming. News reporters, civilians, cops. An ambulance. Chat Noir rushed to turn the volume up.
Breaking news titles filled the lower portion of the screen.
‘Minor hospitalized due to adverse effect of police arrest.’
‘Police arrest minor who suffers injury while resisting arrest.’
‘Six police officers surround violent criminal, criminal wounds himself during arrest.’
When desperate clicks on the remote finally revealed the sounds accompanying the chaos on TV, even the officers at the table stood up to witness the unfolding scenes.
A group of no less than six men in dark blue police uniforms, their badges displayed proudly on their breast pockets, their body cameras perched on their shoulders. And right there beneath their feet, a person.
No, not a person.
A child.
The unknown child, a still growing teenager, pinned by the cops reminded Chat Noir of Nino, the baseball cap turned in the wrong way, sitting low on his face, or the side of his face that was shown.
Chat Noir could hear his screams through the TV. “Stop! STOP! I-I’m unarmed! Stop! I-argh!!” One police officer’s knee pushed down harder on the boy’s shoulder blade, cutting his words off.
“We told you to keep quiet, boy! You’re under arrest!”
“I- huff – I said I won’t resist! Get- get off me! Please! Get off! Get OFF!” the teen struggled visibly, but the six cops surrounding him were too strong. It wasn’t until he heaved himself upwards that the camera managed to capture a clearer shot of his face.
He wasn’t a kitten, he wasn’t Chat Noirs kitten, but he was still a child.
Chat Noir dug his fingers into the soft texture of the couch, the furniture creaking in protest at the harsh treatment. His other hand held onto the remote for dear life.
The civilians circling the fray like a pack of cautious deer all had their phones out, recording the forceful arrest and sharing it on social media.
Chat Noir gripped the remote harder, the screws and hard plastic squeaking against each-other. He shot upwards like an arrow, moving to stand in front of the TV, both officers behind him on edge at his sudden movements.
“No.” Chat Noir’s voice came out broken, eyes glued to the screen, to the beaten-up teenager. A cop kicked at his head while another one held his thrashing body down. Screams of profanities were thrown around, their voices so loud it distorted their words.
Chat’s heaving was loud in the living room, the stillness in the air only making his nerves light on fire that much more. His body reacted to it, to the boy getting beaten by the police like he had been beaten. To the crowd only able to watch in horror and disgust at what was happening before their eyes.
Chat gripped his chest, nails digging into his shirt, his heart thumping so loudly against his ribcage he could feel it in his throat.
Just who the hell did those cops think they arrested? He was nothing but a child! Why couldn’t they have given him a slap on the wrist for whatever shit he pulled?!
More shouting. The news anchor tried to vocally overpower the loud chaos.
“It seems like this latest arrest was approved by Col. Couffaine of the Dupont Police Force in Bourgeoise Street. Either the Colonel or the precinct have yet to offer an official statement regarding the details of this arrest, follow us for the rest of the recorded footage. Viewer discretion is advised for depictions of violence against a minor.”
Chat Noir’s eyes widened when he saw one of the cops obviously losing his patience. If the footage hadn’t been slowed, he could’ve missed it. The cop had been fingering the handle of his baton while the boy struggled against the man that had previously kicked his head, until he finally grabbed it and swung at the teenager’s head.
A loud whack, a shrill, painful cry released from the depths of boy's stomach.
And then, silence.  
“He killed him!!”
“A cop killed a kid!”
“That guy was innocent! What do you think you’re doing?!”
“We’re recording all of this!”
“Hey, hey, he’s still moving! Hey you ambulance guys, grab him quick before the cops kill him! Hey!”
When the camera moved to the paramedics called on the scene, for what reason Chat Noir couldn’t know, they visibly hesitated approaching the still volatile situation. One senior paramedic approached the officer in charge and stated they had to treat the victim immediately for fear of a cerebral concussion and internal bleeding.
The officer in charge hesitated, before waving his men off in the same minute the boy beneath them ceased to struggle.
Ceased to move at all.
Chat Noir shivered at the icy hot pin prick of needles shooting up and down his arms and legs. His stomach felt like it was eating itself alive, the acid burning away all his organs to nothing, but even that fabricated pain was nothing in comparison to the hole in his chest when the boy stopped breathing.
“No…” nails dug deeply into his palms, fire burned through his body, but Chat didn’t care, he cared about the boy brutally arrested, now unmoving on the dirty street, hundreds of phones and cameras surrounding him and nobody to call for help, for protection.   
Finally, the paramedics rushed towards him, two checking his vital signs and trying to stabilize him with another one wheeled out the collapsible bed.
The officers which had previously beaten on him stood off to the side, two obviously fighting off smiles while their superior scanned the crowd to determine the mood.
It had gotten quiet, too quiet.
If it weren’t for the police sirens and the sounds of paramedics shouting instructions, one might’ve heard a pin drop.
Then, one of the police officers spoke. “Can’t blame us, if the kid hadn’t been under the influence, none of this would’ve happened. His parents should’ve taught him better than that.”
A scream.
A phone thrown into the officer’s face.
Chaos.
Chat Noir briefly registered officer Tweedledee and Tweedledum standing now next to him, both sporting very grim and visibly disgusted expressions on their faces.
In some small part inside of him, a coherent part of him, Chat felt slightly comforted by the fact that these guys didn’t seem to approve or like the actions of their fellow policemen, but a much bigger part of himself told him how little that mattered.
How little the opinions of the few mattered in the control of the many.
The crowd had erupted, almost like somebody had lighted them on fire. The person that had thrown the phone at one of the officer’s heads was the first to physically close the distance between himself and the officer before getting tased and thrown to the ground.
The people that followed all tried to physically stop the policemen from harming the civilian, some were throwing food or pieces of trash at them and Chat Noir couldn’t help but briefly admire the symbolism.
Throwing trash at trash.
Reinforcements had arrived to seal off the perimeter and control the wayward crowd, the reporters and media had frantically tried to capture the moments with dramatic, purposefully provocative commentary.
Chat Noir felt his own ire rise even further and he couldn’t help but poise the question he had been biting his tongue on ever since he got here: “Tell me officers, is this the police force you envisioned to protect innocent people from bad guys like me?”
For once, neither Kim nor Ivan had an answer.
-
“Mr. Couffaine!”
“Colonel!!”
“Is it true you approved the arrest of 15-year-old Lebrone Kent?”
“Lebron is currently in the hospital due to the actions of your police officers, h
“Col. Couffaine, we’re from the Daily News, when will you issue your statement?!”
The precinct was in uproar, the once spacious halls and office rooms filled with reporters and cops trying to control the media. Even Alya looked overwhelmed as her colleagues and rivals from other news outlets strong armed their way to the front.
Luka was still in his office behind closed doors and shut blinds, Marinette stared at his back as her dear friend and superior fixed his uniform.
The air was suffocating.
“Luka.” Her voice was quiet, her emotions still running high. “Did you approve the arrest for that boy? Is it true what the media said?”
When he didn’t answer, Marinette’s fear shifted into ire. “Well? How can you authorize the arrest without knowing for certain the boy was guilty? His mother is crying on the street because she doesn’t know if he’ll make it! Why did Carlson and Frederique have to be so rough on him? Was any of that necessary? Answer me, Luka!”
By the sudden rigidness of his shoulders, Marinette knew she’d stepped over a line.
A line she would cross again if it meant getting coherent answers.
Luka turned slowly, dressed in his formal uniform, his badges and medals of honor displayed proudly, his hat gripped in his hands at his sides.
The gaze he fixed her with could’ve set fire to the rain. “Let me make one thing clear, Lieut. Dupain-Cheng.” He took two long strides to stand directly in front of her, his normally kind blue eyes colder than ice. “I do not have to answer to you. Whether authorizing the arrest was my decision or not doesn’t concern you, I don’t have to run by every decision I make for this precinct by you. I expect you to behave according to your rank and your duties.”
His words were like a poison-dipped dagger slicing through her heart, a deep throbbing pain that constricted her breathing for a moment.
Until Marinette schooled her features into something she was familiar with: professional detachment. “Colonel Couffaine,” her friend and superior turned his head to glance at her, “If I were to behave according to my rank and duties, I would be the first one to get notified of Chat Noir's abuse while he was held captive.“
She took one step closer to him so they were almost chest to chest, her gaze never once straying from his cool blue eyes. “And I would've reported you for severe misconduct due to the physical mistreatment of a prisoner in my care.”
Luka’s shoulders visibly rose in ill-concealed anger and he angled his head down closer. “I acted in your best interest, Marinette.”
“So am I, colonel.” Marinette spat out his rank like a curse, to forever have the look of resentment she had on her face burned into his memory to haunt him at night.
Luka didn’t answer, he broke off their staring contest and turned his back, clutching at his hat tightly. With a deep breath, he finally spoke. “Tell them I’ll be out in two minutes.”
Marinette didn’t reply, only left his office with the door audibly closing shut behind her.
Luka exhaled loudly once the door shut, his white knuckled grip caused his hat to tremble.
After a heartbeat, Luka fixed his hat and turned to open the door.
Immediately, flashing lights assaulted him, hundreds of mics thrown into his face and notepads held in the air.
There was one sentence Luka spoke that pacified the ravenous crowd of reporters. “I’ll answer all your questions.”
-
“Marinette!” Alya spotted her friend rushing with impressive speed towards the backroom of the squadron, she knew there were bunk beds there for when the nights grew long in the precinct. It was away from the press.
Away from people.
Marinette didn’t stop, almost like she didn’t hear Alya at all, but Alya followed her, fighting her way through the torrent of reporters waiting to hear Colonel Couffaine’s press release.
Marinette had left the door slightly ajar, and when Alya fully opened it, a sight greeted her that broke her heart.
Her best friend’s uniform lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, Marinette herself was kneeling on the ground, her head in her hands.
Quiet sniffling filled the room and Alya immediately closed the door and dropped to her knees on the floor, pulling Marinette into a bone-crushing hug.
The two women held each other tightly, Alya whispering soothing words into Marinette’s ear and letting her cry, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs.
“Why….why, why, why!” Marinette cried into Alya’s shoulder, the fabric dampening rapidly.
Alya blinked, trying not to let the tears fall. “I…I don’t know…I wish I knew Marinette…”. She ran a hand along Marinette’s hair. “I’m so sorry…”
The sound of Marinette’s cries got drowned out by the ruckus of reporters trying to get their story, but as if Luka heard her amidst the commotion, he couldn’t help but glance at the closed door in guilt.
--
“Marinette is in bad shape.” Tikki spoke quietly into the room, far away from the bloodthirsty pack of reporters recording Luka’s statement.
Plagg hummed thoughtfully beside her. “Not just her, our pretty boy marine has to hold his neck out for those vultures.”
Tikki rose an eyebrow. “You think this was a set-up to sabotage him?”
It wouldn’t have been the first time, Luka’s predecessor had resigned for that very reason after all. It was no secret that different police departments were unwilling to cooperate or share information with each-other, so sabotaging unit captains or colonels wasn’t uncommon practice.
Especially if said colonel used to be a marine, not one of real blue blood.
Plagg scrunched his nose, fingers digging into his inner jacket pocket and plopping a slice of camembert into his mouth. “I think a lot of things when the day is long, sugar cube,” At Tikki’s steady glare, Plagg caved. “Things look just a little too convenient; the slander against the police, the growing protests, Luka ordering to lock up some innocent kid for possessing some weed? It doesn’t make sense, the guy rescued fucking war orphans during his service. Do you see him ordering a hit on that kid?”
Tikki frowned, watching the colonel adjust his uniform on the stage. “Weed? I thought the official statement was the boy got caught breaking into an old lady’s house.”
Plagg turned his head down to look at his longtime partner. “You believe that?”
Tikki allowed a small smile to grace her features. “Not a lick, but the weed story doesn’t check out either, Plagg.”
The man crossed his arms, still chewing on the soft stinky texture of his cheese. “Exactly, none of it makes sense.”
Tikki mirrored his stance, eyes zeroing in on Luka and the way his dress shirt darkened at the back of his neck with sweat. “What did the higher-ups threaten Luka with to take this risk? And who’s pulling the strings behind this puppet show?”
A moment of silence was all that passed before both Tikki and Plagg’s two-way radios buzzed with life.
“Come in….C&C…C&C….do you copy?”
Plagg lazily pressed the button on his walkie-talkie. “Cheese of C&C here, copy. What’s up?”
“Request-request for 129… we…we have a 135 and 123.” Ivan’s exhausted voice rumbled through the comms.
Tikki’s eyes widened and she quickly responded into Plagg’s walkie-talkie. “Cookie here, copy. Ivan, repeat the first thing you said.”
“135. We have a 135.”
Plagg and Tikki stared at their radios.
A 135 meant escape.
“135 means…” Plagg trailed off, his body moving on autopilot to elbow his way through the sea of reporters to get to Luka, whose gaze was already fixated on Plagg’s oddly pale face and his growing panic.
“…Chat Noir escaped…” Tikki finished the sentence for him and like a bad movie coming to its cinematic climax, the door to the backroom opened and Marinette slowly walked out, catching Tikki’s gaze.
“Tikki, what’s wrong?”
Thanks for reading! Hope to see you guys soon. :)
Yes, Plagg and Tikki's team name is Cookie&Cheese aka C&C :P
Police codes:
129 = Request back up
123 = sick or injured person (In this case both Ivan and Kim got injured)
135 = escape
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galli-writes · 2 years
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@marichatmay
Day 1: Balcony (words 874)
(Click here to read on Ao3!)
“So…when are you going to actually let me come inside?”
Marinette lifted the steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands, stopping just short of her lips. “What do you think?”
Chat made a face. “If you really wanna know, I think it’s riskier talking out here than it would be in there,” he said, pointing toward the window behind her. “You know…where we wouldn’t be out in the open for every single person on the street to see?”
Marinette lowered the cup, placing it firmly on a glass side table next to her chair.
“Chat. Let me make one thing absolutely clear. You are never going inside of my house. And especially not my room. Ever.”
“You know, when you put it like that it makes it sound like your parents’ bakery is just a front and you’ve got a collection of dead bodies in there or something.” His face suddenly grew grim. “You’re not…hiding dead bodies in your room, are you?”
If Marinette had still been drinking her tea, she certainly would have spit it out involuntarily. 
“What is wrong with you?”
“I’m not at liberty to disclose that,” Chat said with a subtle smirk.
Marinette frowned. “You know, it’s really not that weird that I wouldn’t want a complete stranger in my house. Honestly, you’re lucky I’m even tolerating this right now,” she said, gesturing to the small balcony the two were seated at. “If I’d been smart, I would have had you drop me off a block over the first time you ‘saved’ me,” she said, accentuating the air quotations with her fingers.
Now Chat was the one frowning. “Why the air quotes?”
Marinette raised her eyebrows incredulously. “Most people wouldn’t equate being used as bait to catch an akuma with being saved.”
“Wait, wait, wait. That was literally your idea. Remember?” Chat pointed at her.
Marinette bit her lip then crossed her arms against her chest. She’d forgotten about that part. “Okay, well, you were the one who agreed to let me do it. Which, as a superhero, I’d say is pretty irresponsible–putting a civilian at risk like that.”
“Yeah,” Chat scoffed, “Because you’re definitely just another civilian.”
Marinette froze. Maybe she hadn’t been giving Chat enough credit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Even with the limited lighting, it was clear that Chat’s face had flushed slightly. “I just meant…like…you’re not…normal?”
“Not…normal?”
His face turned an even deeper shade of red. “I just mean…well… most people tend to run away from an akuma,” he said, gesturing with his hands. “Not toward it.”
“Oh,” Marinette said, actually feeling a little embarrassed. 
“I just mean…maybe if you weren’t so reckless, we wouldn’t be having these little rendezvous so often.” A sly, teasing smile made its way across his face. “So really, when you think about it, you’re not the one who should be complaining about me being here. I’m not the one stalking you. If anything, you’re stalking me.”
Marinette’s embarrassment fizzled out as quickly as it had come on. “Stalking is kinda a strong word, don’t you think?”
“Maybe. I mean, I guess it can’t really be considered stalking if it doesn’t really bother me,” he said, raising a hand to his chin in contemplation. 
Marinette got to her feet, making a point to glare down at Chat disapprovingly. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be by now?”
“Hm?” he hummed, only half looking at her.
“Like…don’t you have homework to do or something?” she said, hands placed firmly on her hips. “Or a certain polka dotted superhero to go harass?”
Chat blinked hard before looking at her again. Then he cracked another sly smile. “But I’m having such a lovely conversation with my best friend Marinette right now.”
Marinette grabbed a pillow off of the nearby chaise and whacked him on the shoulder. Not so hard it would have been considered a true declaration of war, but hard enough to get her point across.
Chat flinched, a startled expression passing over his face.
“If you don’t leave in the next thirty seconds, I’m calling animal control.”
At those words, his expression suddenly melted into a pitiful mask of feigned desperation. Chat closed his eyes, his hand flying up to his chest. “Now you’re just being mean. He opened one eye to peek at her, gingerly. “Words can hurt, Marinette.”
She hit him with the pillow again, this time taking less care to hold back on the swing.
“Hey!”
“Out. Now.”
He got to his feet of his own volition, which she knew she should have been grateful for. It was always a surprise to her just how much height he had on her when they were standing this close. 
“Alright, alright,” he said, smiling. “I’m gone. Like I was never even here.” Chat turned his back on her and leapt up onto the railing of the balcony. He gave her a mock salute over his shoulder. “Farewell and adieu, my princess. Until next time.”
Marinette crossed her arms tightly over her chest as she watched him disappear across the skyline. She let out an exasperated sigh and quietly wondered to herself, when exactly that next time would be.
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mlwritersguild · 2 years
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"are you sure this isn't... illegal?" for the march event (sure it seems like it could only be an opening, but it could be a great cliffhanger too.)
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Partners in Clown by @miabrown007
AO3 Link;  Fluff and Humor, Marichat | Adrien Agreste as Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Kissing ,Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth Has No Rights, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir and Food ,Aged-Up Character(s), Post-Reveal Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Summary:
Chat Noir is more than happy to accompany Marinette to Fashion Week as her plus one. The thing is just, this setting isn’t a natural habitat for Chat Noir.
Consequently, he might have an interesting understanding of the do’s and don’ts.
------------------
“Are you sure this isn’t… illegal?”
Marinette’s obvious attempt to collect as many cupcakes in both her hands as physically possible ceases, and she turns to him, raising an eyebrow. Adrien can't help but run his hand through his hair until it catches on a cat ear on top of his head.
"Yes, Chaton. I'm sure that taking from the free food served for the attendees of the Fashion Week — while being the attendees of the Fashion Week — is not, in fact, illegal," she smiles.
“I mean, obviously, but…” Adrien shuffles a black boot on the polished tiles of the conference hall. “I dunno. I wasn’t really invited.”
He’s trying to explain the obscenity of eating at a fashion event, without explaining the obscenity of eating at a fashion event. He’s doing a thoroughly terrible job at it, he thinks.
But Marinette just huffs and continues picking out the most mouth-watering delicacies. “Of course, you were invited. You’re my plus one, and thus, obviously, rightfully entitled to any sweets your heart desires.”
“Obviously,” he deadpans, and decidedly ignores commenting on her being the sweetest of them all.
She looks back at him over her shoulder, a teasing lilt to her voice. “What, you don’t believe me?”
“It isn’t about not believing you—” he tries to explain, but a cupcake promptly shoved into his mouth stops him.
He blinks rapidly as he bites and takes the remainder of the pastry away from his mouth. Marinette flashes such a shit-eating grin at him that would make Plagg jealous.
“How is it?”
Adrien chews the bite experimentally, savouring the strawberry sweetness on his tongue. It’s good, really. Good enough that it makes him want to close his eyes to enjoy the experience fully — but he can’t do that.
Not right now. Not right here.
His eyes dart around the conference hall, taking in his surroundings and waiting for the first disapproving glance, the first twitch of paper-thin lips. Because even if consciously he knows no one in the colourful crowd is paying attention to him, even if no one is going to reprimand him for indulging a little, he can’t help the instinct. This setting is not a natural habitat for Chat Noir, the superhero of Paris, but it is the one and only for teen model Adrien Agreste.
Unfortunately, teen model Adrien Agreste does not, under any circumstances, indulge in sweets.
“These are almost as good as Papa’s, and you aren’t enjoying them,” Marinette pouts, having already taken two bites out of her own cupcake.
Adrien swallows with a barely-there smile.
“Yeah, they are tasty!” he tries, but if the frown on her face is of any indication, Marinette isn’t having any of it.
One of her hands still full with the pastries, she grabs onto his arm with the other and promptly drags him under the ivory tablecloth. It’s as if the wrinkles and splotches that are bound to appear on her hand-sewn dress from scooting under tables are the least of her concern right now. She folds the ample hot pink bobbinet decorated with glittering sequins out of the way and settles on the floor, practically snuggling up to Adrien’s side.
“I bet you think this is also illegal,” she grins, her voice a hushed whisper.
“Oh, I know for a fact that this is illegal,” he can’t help but chuckle.
Her face hovers only centimeters from his — it would be so easy to lean in and kiss that self-satisfied smile that curls up the corners of her lips off of her face — but he doesn’t do it. It’s a privilege to just admire Marinette Dupain-Cheng from close enough to count all the freckles under her extravagantly sparkling makeup. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment.
She does it for him, anyway.
She presses the frosting of a cake against his nose and watches the immediate change of his expression with barely restrained laughter. “You were staring.”
Of course, I was.
“And I just think, you should be eating instead,” she adds. “These things are heavenly.”
Not bothering to wipe his nose, Adrien takes one cupcake from her hand. “Oh really?”
Stray hairs dance in the filtered golden light as she nods her head eagerly. Her eyes are sparkling with zest and the curve of her lips don’t leave an ounce of doubt in him for taking it for what it is: a mission she has her mind set on.
And Adrien… Adrien is never one to hinder her missions.
With a confident motion, he smears frosting all over her face.
Marinette sputters and swats at his shoulder as she tries to recover from the unexpected attack, but there is no time. Adrien leans in and kisses the frosting off of her lips.
His shoulders relax completely and his smile grows wider when her flailing hand comes to rest on his neck as she kisses back without delay. Despite its comforting familiarity, the motion still leaves him breathless.
“You were right. It’s heavenly,” he murmurs against her mouth.
A finger poking at his cheek makes him draw away just enough to peer down at her from under his lashes, but Marinette’s grinning true and wide as she accuses, “That was a sly move, mister!”
“Can’t help it. Looks like you were right, I really can’t get enough of this,” he whispers mischievously before diving right back.
Despite his Herculean effort, her skin doesn’t get any cleaner in the trail of his sloppy-sugary kisses all over her face, though. She loops her arms around his neck, as if trying to take control of the situation; but all she does is meet his eyes with a look warm enough to melt one more of the icy daggers his father used to glare through him.
“For the record, I’m glad that you tried the cupcake. You deserve to try new things, and quite frankly, it’s no one else’s business where and how you do it,” she says. But then she bites her lip as if doing her best to keep the grin that rounds up the corners at bay. “There might just be one tiny exception to that. Sir, are you aware you’re kissing Adrien Agreste’s girlfriend?”
He makes his eyes widen in a mock-surprised cat-like gesture as he remarks, “What a pity Adrien Agreste couldn’t make it today to do it himself then.”
Marinette nods along, her fingers playing lazily with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Yeah, it’s really a shame. No such thing as a calm stroll around Fashion Week with your girlfriend if you want to keep your distance from the world of fashion for good. I guess it’s the price you pay for having once been a dashing supermodel.”
The way she articulates ‘supermodel’ — with the distinct intonation he used to jokingly refer to himself for weeks after the reveal when he could finally share this delightful inside joke with her — makes warmth pool in Adrien’s chest. It also makes it impossible for him not to lean down and nuzzle her nose, even if that only helps to spread the remnant of the frosting more evenly. “Good thing you’re an expert with loopholes, m’lady.”
“Good thing we have four possible permutations to show up to events as,” she returns, beaming.
He cups her cheek in one hand and trails a delicate thumb over the vacancy of her mask. It isn’t the imaginable best sensation in the whole wide world, but it’s a close second to the feeling of his lips curved into a smirk ghosting along hers.
She’s right, it’s a good thing. But also a stupid thing. And additionally—
"Are you sure this isn't illegal?"
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marimbles · 6 months
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Silly little doodles for a silly little fic I am working on
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anna-scribbles · 9 months
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Marinette had spent years trying to get Adrien to stop calling her his friend. She never knew how badly it would hurt to be denied it.
“Oh, right, I’m sorry.” She backed up. “You’re right, civilians shouldn’t be friends with superheroes. That’s—” She closed her eyes, wishing she hadn’t come. Wishing she was anywhere but here. “That was a dumb question.”
Adrien looked down at the flowers. His face was unreadable—which was odd for Marinette, who’d spent years learning what each of his microexpressions meant. At best, all she could tell was that he didn’t know what to say. And neither did she.
- one of my fav bits of @sha-nwa’s chapter 3 from our fic call it even heehee
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lost-in-beacon-hills · 7 months
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bklily · 5 months
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Recently I read a fic that had a reveal scene so incredibly funny to me and me specifically I had to doodle it
(also final post before the special drops!!! sooo hype)
Edit: in case people didn't see my reblog, here's the link! It's an E rated fic for the last chapters so proceed at your own comfort.
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saytr · 5 months
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Chat: Thanks for calling me, i take it from here
College classmate: Sure man, she kept talking and crying about a "kitty" and we called her "pick up if drunk" contact. To be honest, didn't see a literal superhero to come, haha!
Chat: Ha! Yes, the world is a small place
Marinette: kitty, chaton...wh y here?
Chat: Because you are drunk
Marinette: Are y...mad at me? (Tears up)
Chat: No, a bit worried and frustrated but never mad
Chat leans in and presses a kiss next to her ear.
Chat: we talk at home...
Marinette: okay...
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empressofall · 2 years
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Marichat May 2022 - Day 1: Balcony
@marichatmay​​
✿✿✿✿✿
“You could trip and fall, you know.” 
Marinette turned around to look at Chat with a smile on her face. “You’d catch me.” 
“How do you know that?” Chat asked. He moved closer toward her, one hand already extended just in case she did fall.
Marinette smirked at him, leaning back slightly until she was ready to pitch backward over the short railing. Chat was next to her in seconds, closing the distance between them. His arm wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her like they were in the middle of a dance move. 
Marinette smiled. “That’s how I know.”
✿✿✿✿✿
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katydoodles · 1 year
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This has been sitting in my unfinished stack since November, don’t think I’ll ever finish it.
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Might as well share it
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heartsgettingwiser62 · 7 months
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Anywayys so I may be lowkey highkey having a bit of a miraculous ladybug phase and I read @buggachat 's drowning (in plain sight) and. Jesus. Christ. When I tell you it CHANGED MY LIFE. Sooo I made a short animatic out of it.
A little warning, this is my 1st time trying animation and it's basically testing the waters, plus I'm not even used to digital art. So, I tried my best.
Hope y'all like it anyways!!!
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galli-writes · 2 years
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@marichatmay
Day 3: Truth or Dare (words 1,311)
“Truth or dare?”
Marinette bit her lip, feigning indecision. Even though, in her mind, the choice was obvious. 
“Dare.”
Chat bore another self-satisfied smirk. “Okay. I dare you to tell me his name.”
Marinette was, unsurprisingly….unsurprised. “You know, that’s not really how the game works, right?”
Chat sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I mean technically I am still daring you to do something. So…”
“I think you need to learn the difference between the spirit of the law and the letter of the law,” Marinette said flatly.
At the other end of the room, Chat paused for a moment, catching the tennis ball he had been flinging in the air and holding it tight. He stared at it for a moment, eyes narrowed in full concentration. “Okay,” he said, without looking up. “In that case, I dare you…to tell me what you're thinking about right now.”
Marinette crossed her arms over her chest. “Really?” “Look, it’s hard coming up with stuff, okay?” Chat said, turning to fling the tennis ball back in the air.  When he went to catch it, his aim was nowhere close, and they both watched as it rolled across the floor toward Marinette.
She leaned down and picked it up, rolling it around in her hand. “I’m still not accepting that as a proper dare,” she said, tossing the ball in the air herself. “But for the sake of good sportsmanship I’ll tell you.”
She threw the ball back in Chat’s direction, and this time he was quick to catch it. 
“Right now I’m thinking about how I should have taken a couple more dumplings at dinner. And I’m also thinking about how you’ve probably never actually played truth or dare in your entire life before,” Marinette said with a smirk. 
Chat simply rolled his eyes. 
“So…” Marinette started, leaning forward. “Truth or dare?”
“...Dare.”
She leaned back just as quickly, eyebrows raised. “I dare you to stop daring me to tell the truth.”
Chat stood and began bouncing the ball around on the floor like a miniature basketball. “Alright, alright, I get it. I’ll stop.” He paused with it in his hand for a moment. “Truth or dare?”
The tennis ball came flying in Marinette's direction. She caught it with ease. “Truth.”
“Seriously?”
“Think of a good one.”
He paused for a long moment. When he finally looked her way again, his face was suddenly much more serious than just a moment before. “Okay. I’ve got one.”
“Go for it,” Marinette said, throwing the ball his way.
When Chat caught it, he didn’t throw it back automatically. Instead, he tossed it back and forth between his hands like an egg. “What would you say is your biggest fear? But specifically…for yourself?”
The words gave Marinette pause. “For…myself?”
“Yeah,” Chat said, not looking up. “Like…ruling out external things. Things outside of your control. Like a plane crash or an alien invasion.”
Marinette raised an eyebrow incredulously. “An alien invasion?”
“Hey, it could happen.” A hesitant smile reappeared on Chat’s face. “I mean, I have superpowers. I’m not ruling anything out in the grand scheme of things.”
“I guess that’s a good point.” Marinette bit her lip. She hadn’t expected the question to bother her as much as it did. “But something about myself?”
Chat simply nodded.
Marinette looked down at the floor as she thought. She suddenly found it more difficult to be looking directly at Chat as she spoke, “I guess…I’ve always been worried that I’m going to let other people down. Maybe in a major way. In a way that makes them scared to trust me again.”
What could have only been a few moments of silence passed, but it felt like an hour before Chat spoke again. 
“Are you more scared of letting other people down or what might happen if you do?” he said, casually lobbing the ball in her direction again.
This time it nearly slipped out of her grip when she caught it. 
“Isn’t that kind of the same thing?”
Chat mulled the thought over. “I guess what I meant was…would you say you’re more worried about the consequences it’s going to have for the other person or how you’re going to feel afterward?”
Marinette stared down at the tennis ball in her hand. “I don’t know. I guess I never really thought about it like that.”
Chat paused.
“Does it sound horrible to say…probably the second one?” Marinette said after a moment. The thought made her stomach twist with guilt. “It’s just…I don’t know. I guess I’m bad at forgiving myself. And when I can’t, it just makes it harder to set things right. So it’s kind of a lose-lose situation for everyone involved.”
Chat was silent.
“I know that’s probably not the right answer. But it’s the truth.”
A subtle smile made its way onto Chat’s face. “You know, if you’d picked ‘dare’, I was just gonna make you eat these gummy worms I found under your bed,” he said, holding up a crinkling plastic bag that seemed to appear out of thin air. The wad of candy inside resembled something more akin to a gummy baseball or pet rock.
Marinette shook her head, forcing a smile back on her face. “Okay, your turn. Truth or dare?” “Truth.” Marinette raised an eyebrow. “Are you really sure about that?”
Chat nodded. “I feel like it’s only fair to give you one too.”
“Same question.”
“What am I afraid of?” “For yourself.”
Chat pondered the question for a moment. But no more than a moment. Apparently, it was something he’d given a fair amount of thought.
“I guess I’m afraid that I’m never really going to know who I’m supposed to be.”
Marinette just looked at him. “What do you mean ‘who you’re supposed to be’?”
“Maybe it doesn’t really make any sense,” Chat said, maintaining a half-hearted smile. “Let’s just say that I’m pretty good at being a bunch of different people at once.”
“And?” Marinette said, loosely tossing the ball back in his direction.
He caught it, turning it over in his hands slowly. “And none of them ever feel like they’re one hundred percent real.”
Marinette’s stomach dropped ever so slightly for the second time in thirty seconds. No matter how well he masked it, the distress written on Chat’s face was nearly palpable. 
“Well…maybe you’re not supposed to be just one thing,” she offered. “Maybe it’s a combination of all of those things that makes you…you.”
Chat was silent for a moment. “I guess.”
There was a long pause.
“Sorry,” Marinette spit out hurriedly. She suddenly wished she could rewind to the beginning of this conversation and start it over completely. “I know you’re probably not asking for advice.”
Chat smiled. “But I could probably use some, huh?”
“Well I never said mine was any good.”
He leaned back up against the wall again, tossing the ball in the air with a renewed sense of gusto. “Okay, then I have another dare for you.”
Marinette simply raised an eyebrow. “Is it a real dare?”
“Yes,” he said, tossing her the ball. “I dare you to stop doing that.” Marinette fumbled, watching the ball fall to the ground. “Doing what? Giving advice?” “Doubting yourself.”
Marinette leaned down, reaching out to pick the ball up off the floor. “On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You learn to take your own advice,” she said, standing up, ball in hand. She threw it, intentionally, a bit too far to the left.
Chat reached out in an attempt to grab it and immediately tripped on some unseen object on the floor. He got to his feet just as quickly.
Marinette couldn’t help but snort out a laugh.
Chat smiled as he got up again, ready to return the favor. 
“Deal.”
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