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sydneytriestowrite · 4 years ago

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Fuck

AO3

Adrien noticed that each of his friends had a favorite curse word. For the longest time, Adrien thought that Marinette Dupain-Cheng was in the same boat as him, that is, she didn’t swear. But he was sorely mistaken, and his world was turned upside down the day he found out that Marinette Dupain-Cheng, one of the sweetest girls he knew, swore like a sailor.

“Fuck.”

The second the word had come out of his mouth, he cursed Alya’s existence.

“Adrien Agreste.” Gabriel’s voice boomed over the photoshoot. The room grew quiet, and Adrien inwardly cursed his friend’s potty mouths. Of course, this had to be the one photoshoot all month that his father had actually shown up to. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing father.” As Adrien openly lied to his father, he cursed the chain of events that had led him to this situation.

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Adrien Agreste hasn’t always been a quiet kid. He remembered when he and Chloe used to play when they were younger how often she would complain that he was being too loud and was hurting her ears.

But after his mother died, he learned that being too loud or saying the wrong thing would get him in trouble with his father. Eventually, Adrien figured out how to tame his voice. He no longer voiced every thought that ran through his head, he figured out which questions weren’t one’s to ask around his father, and he decided there were some words he just shouldn’t repeat at all.

But Adrien had never thought too much about how he filtered everything he said. He figured it was a natural thing for people to do.

So when he started going to school at François Dupont, the biggest shock to him wasn’t how far ahead he was in their curriculum, or that everyone already knew who he was, even though he didn’t know them, it was how the other students spoke. In his first month there alone, he must have learned at least five new words, and they were not of the academic sort.

There were slang words like ‘lit’ which Adrien figured out meant cool, ‘fam’ which is simply short for family, and ‘salty’ which Nino told him was a bit like upset.

And then there were the swear words.

Not the mild ones, like ‘hell’ ‘shit,’ and ‘damn’, which he already knew because his father would mutter them under his breath while working, but the extreme ones like ‘fuck’ and ‘bitch,’ which he had also heard before, but never in the way they got used at school. He had always heard them in intense situations in shows or movies that his father wouldn’t have approved of. But, the students of François Dupont used them casually, and frequently.

Over time Adrien grew used to their way of speaking. It could almost be considered its own language. He never learned to speak it, but he now could at least understand everything they said without having to ask for clarification.

Adrien noticed that each of his friends had a favorite curse word.

Alix loved referring to everyone as a bitch, fondly of course. She once got to leave school early, and before heading out the door called out “Sayonara bitches!” Adrien was certain she would’ve gotten detention for that if she hadn’t taken off down the hallway in a sprint.

Chloe also preferred the word bitch the most, but not in an affectionate way.

Alya’s favorite was fuck. She used it in every way possible; as a noun, verb, adjective, adverb, you name it and she had done it.

Nino enjoyed using the word ass, and as Adrien grew more comfortable around his friends, he often found himself on the receiving end of this one.

(Everyone else in his class had one too, but that would take too long to list.)

For the longest time, Adrien thought that Marinette Dupain-Cheng was in the same boat as him, that is, she didn’t swear. But he was sorely mistaken, and his world was turned upside down the day he found out that Marinette Dupain-Cheng, one of the sweetest girls he knew, swore like a sailor.

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Adrien had gotten to school early, so he could sit alone and have some time to think about how he could convince his father to let him go to the big sleepover his friends were planning on Friday night for Marinette’s 18th birthday. When he walked into his first-period class, he was surprised to see that Marinette was already there, and was furiously working on her tablet. He didn’t want to disturb her, so he quietly slid into his seat in front of her, and opened his schedule on his phone.

Right now, the only thing he had planned for the weekend was a photoshoot Friday afternoon, but he would still be able to make it to the sleepover as long as he could keep his schedule clear.

Adrien opened the notes app on his phone to write a list of reasons why his father should let him go.

One- His grades were the highest they had ever been.

Two- Next week was going to be very busy, and full of photoshoots, so he could use a day to relax before all of it.

“No, that doesn’t work,” Marinette mumbled to herself, and let out a sigh of frustration.

Adrien wasn’t sure if Marinette was yet to realize that he was in the room because she was so focused. He almost envied how passionate Marinette got about her work. The only thing he was passionate about was Ladybug, and she only thought of him as a friend. Right now he needed to be passionate about getting his father to let him go to the sleepover. He couldn’t miss another chance to hang out with his friends.

“What if I did it this way?”

Adrien continued to leave Marinette to her musings and turned his focus back to his list.

Three- He hadn’t been allowed to hang out with his friends outside of school for weeks.

Four- A loving Father wouldn’t trap his son in the house for no reason. (Adrien almost laughed out loud at that one.)

As he continued trying to think of other reasons, the rest of the class began trickling in. He waved at Alya and Nino as they walked in, and put his phone away, instead choosing to chat with his friends about the sleepover.

“Shit.” Marinette exhaled as she dropped her head to the table. She still seemed to be talking to herself, unaware that most of the class was now present. “This damn tablet- Now I’m gonna have to fucking restart this bitch of a dress.”

Adrien turned around to stare at the dark-haired girl in disbelief. He had never heard her curse before.

“Girl, what happened?” Alya reached out to her friend.

“My fucking-” At the moment Marinette lifted her head from the table, and locked eyes with Adrien who was still staring at her with wide eyes. “-dablet just tied. Tablet just gone. My design dead.” (Marinette hardly stumbled over her words like that anymore, but Adrien’s intense gaze focused on her, was enough to send her back to feeling like she was 13 again.)

Marinette turned her focus off of Adrien and gained enough composure to explain to Alya what happened.

Meanwhile, Nino elbowed Adrien in the side. “Are you okay dude?”

“I’ve never heard her swear before.”

“Really? You’re talking about Marinette right?” Nino motioned to the girl who was now getting up to find a spot along the wall where she could charge her tablet. “She’s like the worst out of everyone in the class, and you’ve never once heard her swear before right now?”

“Never.”

“Alya,” Nino turned his attention to the girl behind him. “Adrien says he’s never heard Marinette cuss before just now.”

“Really? I mean if you thought I cuss a lot, Marinette is even worse.” Alya paused in though. “Come to think of it Agreste, I’ve never heard you cuss either.”

“That’s because I don’t.”

Alya leaned forward onto the table. “Oh, come on. You can’t lie to me. Not once have you said a cuss word?”

“No.”

“Now I wanna hear it.”

Marinette slid back into her seat. “Wanna hear what?”

“I want to hear Adrien say fuck.”

Marinette wore an obvious expression of confusion, so Alya filled her in on Adrien’s swear word virginity.

“Leave him alone Alya. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t cuss.” Adrien was glad that at least Marinette had his back, as Nino seemed to be backing Alya’s idea.

“Just once, Agreste. Say fuck and I’ll never ask again.” The teacher walked into class and began to call roll.

“F-” He started, “forget it.” Adrien smiled coyly and turned around in his seat, raising his hand as the teacher said his name.

Alya leaned even farther forward, so she was practically laying on the desk. “I’ll get you Agreste.”

“Another day babe, another day.” Nino half-whispered to her, giving her a little pat on the head.

Keep Reading

#miraculous ladybug #adrienette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #My writing #Fic #i started this in may 2018 #2020

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sydneytriestowrite · 5 years ago

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A lot of the time I feel like I’m the only one who prefers pre-reveal stories when it comes to Adrien and Marinette being comfortable friends. Like, every time we talk about Adrien and Marinette being two idiots together, it’s everyone calling it that ‘post-reveal’ dynamic and like…

I get it. But I really just want more pre-reveal fics where Adrien and Marinette are just as close as Ladybug and Chat Noir. And even better, if their close friendship dynamics are actually super different in comparison to their superhero friendship dynamics.

Ladynoir is playful flirting, physical casualness, explicitly trust-with-my-life, and short, but deep and meaningful conversations and advice.

I want Adrinette friendship to evolve into hair-pulling, loudly/obnoxiously physically and verbally affectionate, explicitly I’d-Help-You-Hide-The-Body, long phone conversations into the night about absolutely nothing, and insults that they obviously don’t mean but have to say it anyways because the situation calls for it.

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sydneytriestowrite · 5 years ago

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cinderella marries the prince

and it’s… fine. The prince is great! They’re in love, he’s very sweet and passionate, writing her poems and songs, giving her anything she wants. The time she spends with her husband is great.

but cinderella is not royalty, her family was noble but she never spent time in those circles. She’s used to being busy, she’s used to cooking and cleaning and mending. There are hours, days, where she has nothing to do.

time passes. cinderella learns the fancy lady type of needlework. Learns to ride horses. Reads a lot.

as is normal for royalty at the time, they travel and are hosted by nobles or stay at castles owned by the king. But even that variety begins to become routine. The prince is distracted, there’s a lot of young women living and working on their route. Daughters of nobles. Younger and prettier with soft hands that have never done a day’s work.

cinderella needs something to spend her time on, and there’s a part of her thinking a couple-only trip might get her husband’s attention again, so she suggests making an old castle that’s fallen into disrepair their “project.” It was built in the time when castles were made to be defensible, so it’s quite sturdy, but it’s overgrown and secluded. The prince doesn’t know why his family stopped living there either. A hundred years ago it was their summer home.

so they go. And they work. And for a while it’s great! But when they leave for winter cinderella’s husband forgets her once again. cinderella resolves to make the best of her life and stop worrying about a man who has gotten what he wanted from her.

summer comes again and this time cinderella goes alone to the old castle (minus staff, of course, but cinderella manages to narrow it down to only repair workers and one maid). She can cook and clean and mend again, but this time it’s her own choice. She is happy.

this summer they make more progress on repairs. The workers say that most of it can be salvaged, except one tower that’s been completely overgrown with vines and briars. It will have to come down, eventually, but for now it can be safely ignored.

cinderella has more free time now. The old castle has a surprisingly untouched library, though time and moisture have damaged many of the books. Behind a collection of greek poetry cinderella finds an old diary. Very old, in fact, at least a hundred years. It’s rude to read a diary, of course, but whoever wrote this is long dead, and cinderella is bored, so…

from the description of activities the author looks to have been nobility. Maybe even a princess. She’s sensitive and sweet and smarter than she seems to realize. If circumstances had been different cinderella wishes they could have been friends…

after the summer ends cinderella returns to her husband. He’s spending a lot of time with a young musician and cinderella can’t even work up the energy to care. She does some research about the castle and the family she’s married into, finds out the name of the princess who wrote the diary.

aurora. Cursed and forgotten. She died young, they say, in a plague that also took out the castle staff and her own parents. Luckily they avoided a succession crisis, but not so lucky for the dead.

time passes. cinderella goes to the old castle again and again, even out of season. Soon enough all that remains to be done is the old tower, and the builders say they should tear it down and fill the gaps before it gets cold.

one night cinderella is restless. The princess from the diary had been fond of that tower, and cinderella is far more attached to a dead woman than she ought to be. She gets out of bed, reads by candlelight, and finally goes to walk the empty halls.

she finds herself going to the tower. Pushing past the vines that don’t seem so troublesome really. They almost part before her. The stairs are perfectly intact, the door at the top is already cracked open. As if she should have done this years ago, cinderella steps into aurora’s bedroom.

she’s as beautiful as the stories say. And sitting under her hands, crossed across her stomach as it rises and falls, is a book of greek poetry.

years later, people will tell the story of cinderella as a cautionary one. Don’t seek above your station. Don’t marry for prestige. After all, a girl who grew up as a servant once married the crown prince, and disappeared after only three years. She ran away, they say, she couldn’t handle the lifestyle.

two old women who run a bookshop together agree with the lesson. Marrying for the wrong reasons never ends well. It’s best to wait for someone you have things in common with, shared interests.

or, failing that, the more linguistic of the two says, wait a decade or ten for someone to fall in love with you from your diary.

her partner laughs and hits her with the socks she is mending.

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sydneytriestowrite · 5 years ago

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so you left me a delightful (...if perhaps not delighted) comment on "lady in red", so I know you've read that fic. you wanna take my headcanon about Marinette's periods as expressed therein and call it a prompt? 😀?

I’m Your Heating Pad (And Other Uses for a Cat Boyfriend)

In case anyone is wondering, Alex’s ask is in response to this post. I’ve been binging your fics on repeat all weekend so I don’t know whether I picked up your plot stylings on purpose or by accident, but I did insert my fluffy flair.

Also, I think if we keep writing fics for each other like this, at some point it’s going to qualify as incest.

They don’t patrol every day. The schedule is irregular, in part to keep Hawkmoth off guard and in part because their lives are busy enough that keeping any kind of regular patrol schedule is an exercise in futility, so they tend to agree on a schedule for the week a week or two ahead of time. One or two days a week they’ll patrol together; one day each alone, maybe two if they can swing it. Or at least that’s the agreement.

The truth is that Chat Noir does far more than his fair share of patrols. He’s never told her—he doesn’t want her to worry about him—but nearly every day she’s not out, he is. His bedroom somehow manages to be claustrophobic and agoraphobic at the same time, and he has to get out, outside of the mansion, outside of the walls. Anywhere’s better. Some days he’d rather be in the catacombs, surrounded by the moldering dead, than home.

Tonight’s one of those evenings. Neither one of them is supposed to be out tonight, they agreed—both of them have tests coming up and neither of them has really had time to sleep properly in the past week. But Adrien’s ahead on this subject, he knows the formulas upside-down and backwards, and his room’s been closing in on him again and he needed to get out. He’s not running anywhere in particular, just away, but he stops short when he sees a familiar red figure on a nearby rooftop.

Ladybug spots him as soon as he sees her, and there’s a moment when they’re both frozen before Ladybug’s entire body slams into motion. She staggers to her feet, snatches a pink object the size of her torso and yeets it headlong over the roof, away from him, out of his view. She overbalances, staggers, slams against the wall, and collapsed onto her ass.

“Dammit,” she says, staring after whatever she threw as he drops onto the balcony next to her. “My math homework was in there.”

Chat jams his baton through the back of his belt, holding out a hand to help her up. “Do you… want me to go get it?”

She wraps her fingers around his palm, allowing him to yank her to her feet. “No—no, I’m, I’m good,” she says. “I’ll get it later.”

“Oh.” Chat nods. “Identity stuff.”

She grabs her shoulders, shivers. “Monogrammed backpack.” She tilts her head and her eyes narrow. “What are you even doing out here?” she says. “It’s not your turn for patrol.”

“Could say the same to you,” Chat says, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall with a smirk. “It’s not yours either.”

“I know why I’m up here,” Ladybug says. She slides in next to him, wraps one arm around his waist. “I asked first—” She cuts off suddenly and moans. “Oh god,” she says, snuggling closer in. “You’re like—a gravity blanket crossed with a heating pad.”

Chat takes a second—after his head has finally cleared from the fire of her touch—to cross those two things in his mind. It could mean a lot of things, but it’s mid-June and she’s outside, so the reasons she’d want a heating pad—

“You’re on your period,” he hazards.

She groans. “Be thankful you don’t have cramps,” she says. “They are the worst.”

He flexes his fingertips so the claws are away from her back, then slowly begins to massage her lower back with his palms. She moans again, practically melting into him, and he has to take a moment to mentally slap himself to remind himself not to touch her inappropriately—he’s just doing this to help out.

“You’re a miracle worker,” she says. “Where’d you even learn to massage?”

“YouTube tutorials,” he replies, continuing to knead the heels of his palms against her. “I don’t get out much.”

She tenses, and he realizes he messed up. “Chat?” she says. “Is that…” She licks her lips. “Why are you out today?”

He sighs. “Stir-crazy,” he says. “I… I don’t really like being at home.” He charges on ahead before she can question that. “Why are you out? You should be at home, with a real gravity blanket and heating pad.”

Her mouth twists, and her eyes drift toward the ground. “Suit makes the cramps go away,” she mumbles.

He blinks. “Seriously?” he says. “Dang, that is awesome.”

“Rather not have them in the first place,” Ladybug snaps.

Chat’s jaw clamps shut as he realizes what he’s just said. “I… right,” he says. “Sorry.” He resumes massaging her, and the tension bleeds back out of her again as she presses back into his side. “So… you’re spending a little extra time as Ladybug, then.”

She nods into his armpit. “It’s the only relief I’ve had all day,” she says, her voice muffled by his chest. “Couldn’t do my homework in my room, though, in case my parents walked in, so…”

“So you were doing it up here,” Chat finishes, mentally smacking himself. “Until I interrupted you.” He owes her so many apologies…

She chuckles. “It’s all right, Chat,” she says, and it still amazes him that she always seems to know what he’s thinking. “Not like you knew.”

“Do you… want me to go?” he says, hoping beyond hope she’ll say no.

She pulls back, meets his eyes, tilts her head. “Actually…” she says. “How good are you at chemistry?”

“I like physics,” she says, trying to burn a hole in her paper with her eyes. “Physics makes sense. One thing moves, makes another thing move, easy peasy.” She holds up her paper, flaps it in his face. “So why can’t I balance one simple frickin’ reduction—”

“Electron,” Chat says, leaning over to point at the page, right in the middle of her current line of writing.

“I—what?” she says, holding the paper out and staring at it. Her head jerks into a grimace as she realizes that she missed exactly what he pointed at. “Oh, come on!”

Chat smiles. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he says. “Took me five tries to get that one right.”

Ladybug grinds her teeth at the reminder—they have the same chemistry assignments, something they did not know before she asked him for help and now they’re getting close to identity-compromising territory, but the damage is done and it’s not like helping her with her chem will give him any further clues. She’d retrieved her backpack and hidden it behind a buttress, so that isn’t going to spoil anything, but they have to be very careful about which notebooks she allows him to see. Luckily she doesn’t usually put her names on them, which normally might be a problem in case they get stolen but right now is a godsend for them both.

“Look,” Chat says, “it’s fairly complicated stuff. I think… if you flip back a few pages…” He takes the notebook from the ground at her feet, then glances at her, waiting for permission. She nods. He slides his claws in between the sheets and flips back one page, two page, “…you’ll see that—”

Oh. Oh no.

Right there, in the margins of the notebook: her handwriting. Cursive, lovely looping ink. A name. Actually, several names, one right on top of the other.

Marinette Agreste

Marinette Dupain-Cheng Agreste

Marinette Agreste Dupain-Cheng

Adrien Dupain-Cheng?

Chat’s chest sticks mid-breath, his ribs catching in place. He’s—she—this is—Error. 404 brain not found, please check connection and try again.

“Chat?” she says, concerned at his sudden silence. “You okay?”

He can’t breathe. He’s staring down at her name—his name—their name, written carefully and lovingly and surrounded by little pink ink hearts, and he can’t breathe. His ears are burning—both sets—and his hands are starting to shake, the notebook making little flopping noises in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” Ladybug says. Peers over at the notebook.

Her shriek fills his ears as she swats it out of his hands. Paper tears, scraps scattering, as she staggers to her feet, dashing away from him. She snatches her backpack from behind the buttress, and he has one second to look at it before she flings her yo-yo upward and vanishes.

It’s a very distinctive backpack; he can see now why she tried to hide it from him. He’s seen it before—a handmade bag, with a two black and pink lilies embroidered on the front, offset with the M of her name.

He snatches a scrap of paper out of the air, holds it up. Adrien Dupain-Cheng, it says. The i’s have hearts instead of dots.

He can almost hear her lovelorn sigh as she writes their names in looping cursive, and his chest grows warm. She… he never knew. He feels like an idiot. But right here, right now, he’s got all the proof he’s ever needed, and he knows he’s got a chance to make this right.

Adrien winces at Marinette’s grimace as she walks into class the next morning. He’s not sure what she’s having more trouble with: the cramps, or the fear of what he knows. As soon as she sees him, though, her face sparks, lights up—he feels his heart stutter. She’s been doing this every day, he realizes. How has he not noticed?

“Morning, Marinette!” he says before she can get a word in. “I, uh, brought you some things.”

Marinette blinks, flabbergasted, and Nino, Alya, and Chloé all look at him like he’s grown a second head. He hears the rest of the class shift in their seats, and he’s suddenly acutely aware of everyone’s eyes on him—did everyone know but him?

There’s a plastic travel mug on his desk, and he lifts it and holds it up to Marinette. “Artisanal hot chocolate,” he says. “80 percent cocoa with a touch of cinnamon.”

She steps forward, confused, and as she wraps her fingers around the cup he leans forward. “It’s supposed to be good for cramps,” he whispers. “I’ve got a heating pad in my backpack if you need it.”

Marinette turns bright red, and for a second her throat seizes as if she’s swallowed her yo-yo. “I… thanks?” she squeaks, pressing the mug to her lips in an attempt to hide her face. It’s adorable, and Adrien can’t help but grin.

She steps around him, her eyes to the ground, and Nino turns to him. “When the heck did you have time to buy her hot chocolate?”

Adrien shrugs. “Got up early this morning so I could swing by the chocolatier,” he says. He hopes the implication is clear to Marinette—he did it specifically for her.

By the way Alya’s jostling her behind him—he can almost see the journalist’s excited grin—he expects it would be pretty hard to miss.

When class lets out for lunch, Adrien doesn’t need to do much more than signal Nino with a look to get him to distract Alya. Adrien twists in his seat, brushes off Chloé, outright ignores Lila, and flashes his best, award-winning smile at Marinette. “Hey, Mari,” he says. “Wanna grab lunch with me?”

Her eyes bug out—oh, that’s a good one, gotta remember it for later—as she does her best impression of a deer staring down an oncoming car. “Lunch?” she says, as if she’s entirely forgotten what the word means.

Adrien raises an eyebrow. “Yeah,” he says with a gentle grin. “With me.”

Marinette’s windpipe bulges and it looks like she’s about to swallow her tongue. “I—um, that—I, lunch, you want, I’d… that grounds sate!” Her eyelid twitches and her head retreats, briefly, like a turtle trying to hide in its shell. “Sounds!” she yelps finally. “Sounds great!”

He stands, holds out a hand, hoping his expression is inviting. She takes it, but he feels her shaking as her fingers wrap into his.

She alternates between babbling incoherently and awkward silences the whole way back to her kitchen. He tries to interject occasionally, to start a conversation on a more comfortable topic, but she’s so wired that he keeps getting met with silence and panicked staring.

“—so I’m not sure what you like,” she says, bustling around her parents’ kitchen doing what appears to be nothing in particular, “I wasn’t really prepared to have a guest so just let me know what you want and I’ll—”

He reaches out, grabs her hand. “Marinette,” he says, gently squeezing her palm. He hopes it’s reassuring. “You don’t need to try so hard to impress me.”

She freezes, stares at him. He thinks if she opens her eyes any wider they’ll pop straight out of her skull.

“I’m already very impressed,” he says. “Everyday Ladybug, remember?”

She giggles nervously, casting her eyes toward the ceiling. “Thanks,” she whispers. It’s clear from her voice that she doesn’t believe him, and he makes a mental note to kick himself later for not hearing the way she talks about herself when she’s not using words, for not doing everything he can to show her how incredible she is.

He smiles, raises her knuckles to his lips, and kisses her hand. He glances up through lidded eyes, watching her jaw go slack as she places the familiarity of the gesture. “I think,” he says, “I prefer Adrien Dupain-Cheng to Marinette Agreste.” And then he tops it off with a saucy wink, just so she knows exactly who she’s talking to. Her eyelid twitches again. “No,” she whispers.

His smile grows strained.

She yanks her hand out of his, stumbling backward into the cabinets, and smacks into them with a crash. She shrieks, collapses to the ground as he leaps forward to catch her, but she slips straight through his hands. And now he’s on top of her, enwrapped in her—her fall pulled him to the ground, his arms around her with her weight against them so neither of them can move. She’s kind-of-sort-of sitting against the cabinets, and she’s shaking, and it takes him a moment to realize the sound she’s making is a whimper.

“Mari?”

“Why?” she whispers, shuddering against his arms. “You—you can’t be.”

Adrien squeezes his eyes shut. This is… not how he expected things to go. He thought she liked him! The names, the hearts, the… well, everything… She’s shivering, and he realizes that he’s jumped too far ahead. Yes, I’m Chat Noir. Yes, I know you’re Ladybug. Yes, I know you like me. Yes, I like you back. Too much at once, and Marinette is starting to gasp—he doesn’t like the way her breath is sounding, like a balloon in reverse—

“Quick,” he says. “Pet me.”

Her head seems to convulse in surprise as she stares at him.

“Trust me,” he whispers, and mercifully, she does. Her hand in his hair feels divine, he can feel the shudder of pleasure run down his spine, and it’s barely a moment before the rumble starts in his chest, a rumble that for once he doesn’t even try to suppress.

“You’re… purring…” she says, her voice full of wonder. Her shaking slows, stabilizes, stops.

Adrien grins, still purring, and presses his lungs against her lower stomach.

“Oh my gosh,” she moans. “That—that feels…”

“Kitty rumbles versus period cramps,” Adrien suggests, and she snickers in response. He leans into her hand, and she takes the hint, gently rubbing his scalp with her fingers. He shivers again, squirming into her lap, wondering if he can actually handle this much pleasure all at once.

“So you’re my kitty then,” she says, confidence returning to her voice and her bearing, and Adrien nods his assent, too caught up in his purring to emit actual words from his throat. She snorts. “Figures.”

He rolls slightly to look up at her, his eyes questioning, but not enough to actually pull away from her hand. She keeps caressing his scalp, he keeps purring, she relaxes a little further.

“I’m—I’m—I’m sorry,” she says, looking away. “About—about the notebook. What you saw.”

“Mmmmmm.” He rolls again, sinking into her hand. “Why apologize?”

“Well, I, um, I—” she begins, and her hand stops. His eyes pop open, he mewls in displeasure and pushes his head against her palm, and she absentmindedly starts scratching again. “I know you—you don’t, don’t like that kind of attention,” she says.

He blinks, jerking his head to look at her, and his purr snaps to a halt. “What?” he says. “What do you mean?”

Her face colors as she looks away and shrugs. “I just…” She sighs, her shoulders dropping. “I mean, you… you hide it well as Chat, but as, as, as Adrien, you’re always so uncomfortable around anyone who expresses an interest in you, and I just…” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know I must look like just another crazy fan…”

“Mari,” Adrien says, reaching up and taking her hand. “I’m uncomfortable around other girls because I’ve been saving myself for you.”

The gentle rise and fall of her chest is suddenly gone. Marinette is staring at him, eyes wide, utterly petrified.

“Mari?” he breathes.

“Me?” she responds in a squeak. “You… you were—” She squeezes her eyes shut, shakes her head. “I thought you were kidding!”

“Not with you,” he says. “Never with you.”

She cups her shaking hands onto his cheeks. “I—Adrien,” she says. “Chat.” She smiles. “I’m Ladybug. Nice to meet you.”

“I know,” he says, and he pushes himself up to kiss her.

Her breath tastes like chocolate and cinnamon, like the cocoa he got for her this morning, and her lips are soft, and just that little bit of contact is sending a thrill through his entire body. And before he can stop himself he’s purring again, all the way across her lap, across her stomach.

Her lips pull away, and she groans in delight. “Ohhhh,” she whimpers. “That is… You’re… you’re like a vibrating heating pad…”

“Glad I could help,” he says, pressing his lips to her neck. “I hear cramps are the worst.”

“Mmmmmm,” she mumbles. “Don’t ever stop.”

“As the Lady wishes,” he responds, sinking into her lap, pressing against her stomach, and purring extra hard just for her.

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sydneytriestowrite · 5 years ago

Text

Minor Details Ch 1/?

Things were getting out of hand. Marinette sat in her room furiously typing, her computer open to the Ladyblog forums. She had checked the page curious to see the Parisian's reactions to the new superheros that had debuted in the last few days, but after only moments of reading found herself enraged beyond reason at what she was seeing.

Bugsnake1010: Like, who needs Chat Noir when Viperion is right there? RIGHT THERE?! He's 10x hotter and more capable than that dumb cat.

Buggin_0ut18: Right? Ladybug needs to ditch the leather clad loser sidekick for a partner that actually keeps his focus when confronting an akuma.

Foxy__Rouge: Puh~lease who needs any of the guys when the lovely Rena has her back #ladyfox #OTP But forreal any one of the new heros are better than Chat

Tikki had originally argued with Marinette when she set up the Ladybug_official account on Ladyblog, saying it was unsafe and that people might try and track the IP address she was posting from. But that's what a VPN was for, and honestly up until now Marinette hadn't used the profile very often. It was just a convenient way to send out important updates on the fly or to squash rumors and misinformation quickly. Now, however, it was a crucial platform for her to defend the honor of her kitty.

Ladybug_official: Please don't talk like that, guys, Chat Noir is one of the bravest and kindest people I have ever met. He is absolutely necessary to the team. I wouldn't be able to do half of what I do without him, he's my partner, I need him.

This was met, surprisingly, with taunts and uproar and rebuttals with lists of supposed mistakes that Chat had made. And over the next few minutes Marinette's replies had gotten less and less polite. Something, that soon had people questioning her identity.

Queen_Bee_Stan_Sabrina: How do we even know you're actually Ladybug? For all we know the ladyblogger operates that account in order to get more views. Surely the REAL Ladybug is smart enough to realize she'd be better off without 'Hack Noir'.

Marinette saw red, her hands curled into fists, she was literally shaking with rage. Without saying a word, she began feverishly moving about the room gathering blankets and clips and string. Tikki hovered worriedly over the keyboard, watching Marinette assemble a makeshift backdrop out of sheets and blankets.

"Calm down Marinette. They don't know what they're talking about. As long as you know the truth that's all that matters. Chat Noir knows you need him" Tikki said, attempting to placate the infuriated blue haired girl.

Marinette didn't answer as she finished hanging the last sheet. She had created a makeshift tent over her compter that would shield her bedroom from the view of her webcam, preventing any nosy fans from identifying her by location.

"Tikki, Spots on" she growled, ignoring the whine from her Kwami as Tikki was swept magically into her earrings.

A couple clicks later and she was live.

"Is this proof enough for you? I'm Ladybug. The one and only. And I'm telling you all that you're wrong about Chat Noir. He is, quite possibly, the most important member of the miraculous team. A couple of you have mentioned that I occasionally throw Chat at the Akuma to break a possessed item. Do you have any idea how much precision it takes to Cataclysm a specific item when being PHYSICALLY THROWN AT SOMEONE? I do. It's ridiculous. And if Chat wasn't so good at his job he might've missed and hit the Akumatized victim instead. But I still occasionally throw him anyway, and you know why? Because I know he wont miss! He's that good! I would trust Chat with my life. He has been my most loyal and stable Ally. And if you think for one minute..."

As Ladybug's rant continued, acrossed the city, in the glass walled bedroom of his mansion, Adrien Agreste stared slackjawed at his computer screen. His expression a mixture of horror, elation and awe. For Ladybug was live on the Ladyblog viciously defending Chat Noir; and there on Ladybug's desk, in plain sight, for all the world to see, was the lucky charm keychain that Adrien had made for Marinette.

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