#monarch rooftop

[essektheylyss]

I am feeling great hearing that Keyleth's intel is reporting that Rexxentrum sounds like it's about to devolve into chaos with Dwendal evidently on death's door and the Assembly is about to eat itself from the inside following the Vanguard's movement, considering I was presuming that was going to be some significant fallout, but also, rip Caleb and his virtuous idealism for the Empire lmao.

[alphabetboyluvr]

the curious lifespan of migrating monarchs - jjk

THE CURIOUS LIFESPAN OF MIGRATING MONARCHS (& other aurelian affairs)

pairing: streamer!jk x international student!female oc (s2l)

warnings: strangers to lovers, clubbing, foul language, alcohol, vaping lol, jungkook is kinda famous, the oc is oblivious, the oc is also a foreign student who has very recently arrived in Korea!! (pls note - while i've been in korean uni dorms, i've never been in yonsei dorms specifically so don't shout at me if it isn't supeeeerr accurate), jaykay is speaking in eng for like 90% of this!!, i've also never watched a gaming streamer and had to do so for research lmao so there's a lot of guesswork going awwwn <3, the oc has tattoos, they bond over this, cute nicknames (tokki and nabi <3), one bed trope?? kinda, jaykay lives w/ yoongi and tae (they are streamers too (and dj?? (tae is a bit unhinged))), jungkook wears calvins!, a singular appearance of yoongi in his boxers!!, tipsy hookup, fingering, protected sex (woo!), desk sex, oral (m receiving), girliepop swallows <3, brief mentions of jungkook's starry eyes, lots of kisses, bunny ears, (1) mention of cross-fit

wordcount: 13011

note from holly: this was a commission done for the lovely Michelle over on my kofi page!! i don't open commissions often, but when I do I'm very lucky that the requests are so much fun. this actually ended up being way longer than it was supposed to be lol and is also available on wattpad!! also fun facts for you - I imagine the boys apartment (and jks room!) to be same as jk + jimins place in BD, just a little bigger lmao

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

CLUB SUNDOWN WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE SATURDAY 02:24

Time ceases to exist after the sun goes down in Seoul. It could be two, or it could be five. The only thing that really clues you in on the actual time is the DJ schedule that lights up behind the decks: 02:00-03:00, Blu-Tae.

It's some guy you've never heard of. Looks no older than you. Probably a student, just like the rest of the crowd.

His hair is as blue as his namesake, which does make you smile, and his choices aren't bad either (even if somewhat questionable). You've never heard a jazz remix of Darude's Sandstorm before, and you doubt you ever will again.

Club Sundown is just as rogue as the rest of the city after the sun goes down. Hidden in the basement—like all the best places in Seoul are—the small room is packed to the absolute brim.

Who cares for views and sunsets offered by rooftop bars when you could lose yourself in the debauchery of an eternal midnight, instead?

Drinks are spilt on strangers, and dances have lost the grandeur of old-fashioned waltzes. It's not like you could dance properly, even if you wanted to. There's just simply no space.

Like Alice, you're down the rabbit hole—and oh, how you prefer it to being in the real world. In the shadows, you can be anyone you like.

If you were sober, you'd know this is also the case for daily life. You're in a new country with no ties to your former self. Who you are is who you choose to be.

But the shadows aren't all that dark. The red lights of the club bleed into the cracks, painting everyone in the same subtle hue of danger.

They shine a little light on the identifiers of you; the thin black lines of your patchwork tattoos. Trailing up your arm, they're memories of your past selves, and an indicator of who you hope to become.

"Down this," you say to your dormmate, Rae, handing back over the drink you've just ordered from the bar. "Cloakroom, then dance."

Still carrying your winter coats, you'd wanted to check the place out before committing to it. Entry is free, but the cloakroom is the same price as a drink. It would only be worth putting your coats away if you knew you wanted to stay—and given the fact the DJ was playing O-Zone's Dragostea Din Tei as you entered, you know it's a no-brainer. While his stage name might make you roll your eyes a little, Blu-Tae certainly does cater to your tastes. When you're drunk, and music vibrates through you, it's empyrean. No place you'd rather be.

"Oh, Jesus," Rae gags as she sips the drink you've just handed her. Despite her disgust, she's laughing. Head to toe in black, dark hair loose around her shoulders, she's been your ride-or-die since you arrived in Seoul. Both international students in the same dorm, there's no one you'd rather get up to no good with. "Vodka?!"

You beam at her like you're from the heavens above, wrongfully relegated to the depths of sin. Pretend like you love vodka. It's totally not like you panicked when you saw the menu was all in Korean.

Vodka-coke is a universally understood delicacy—the easiest thing for you to order without making a tit of yourself or butchering the pronunciation. When the bartender ignored your botched attempt at ordering in Korean and answered in fluent English, you'd wanted to melt into the floor. So embarrassing.

You're here, like most foreign students, for a language course. Semester is yet to start, and as much as you've studied and practised hard, it's always different when putting it into practice.

"I'm sorry," you laugh. "It's fine—you can order next time!"

But Rae has the exact same predicament as you. If anything, your language skills are better than hers, so you really have no hope. It's vodka-cokes for the evening, or maybe highballs. Once your tipsy brain manages to compute hangul cocktail names, you'll be golden, but that won't be for another few weeks, yet.

You'll look back at this time of your life fondly, realising how simple it all was, even if it feels incredibly overwhelming right now.

Funnily enough, hope is exactly what you have: for the semester ahead, for this new life you're forging, for the opportunities that may come your way.

In fact, by the time you're on your third vodka coke, you've managed to convince yourself you actually like it. You also can't taste it, thanks to the bartender freepouring a 60-40 ratio of vodka to coke in the first drink. Your tastebuds were wiped out pretty much instantly.

Coats in the cloakroom, you're glad to be wearing thin layers. The room is stuffy; your skin sweaty. While meeting new friends had been the goal, you keep to yourself. Dance like nobody is watching. Hold Rae's hands to stay close and ward off weirdos. Quickly realise that clubs back home are slightly different. Pay it no mind. Ignore the intrusions of hands on waists, because men, disappointingly, are no different.

Or at least most of them aren't.

But most of them don't look like the man in the corner booth, laughing with his friends.

Though he is tall, he's eclipsed by his demeanour. Shoulders broad, he's in a dark T-shirt and pair of jeans. Nothing special. Nothing that warrants such a perplexed stare from you - but he's familiar. You can't place him, but he's got the kind of face you swear you've seen before.

Rae doesn't notice the change in your poise, nor how you're desperately trying to work out where you know him from. Perhaps you've seen him around your university? It's only been a couple of weeks, but people are steadily moving in. Maybe he works at the convenience store you constantly find yourself in? Or mans the front desk of the noraebang you and Rae visit pretty much every other evening?

Impossible, you think. If you'd seen him before, you wouldn't have forgotten him, or the way he constantly toys with his lip rings. Plural. There are signs up around the place stating bar rules. NO SMOKING is rule number three. You've seen his friends pass him over a vape a handful of times. Anyone else, and you'd think it was cringe. Embarrassing.

But in the midst of his laughter settling, and a fresh toke being inhaled, his eyes flicker towards yours.

Perhaps it's just because you're drunk, but you don't avert your gaze. Show no shame. The smile on his lips sinks into a smirk as he exhales. An acknowledgement. A 'hello, trouble'.

Again, any other man, you'd find the vape smoke repugnant. Nasty. Now? Watching the way he flicks his tongue against his lip rings?

You wanna know how it tastes.

Black ink weaves an intricate outline of who he is up his arms. Where he's been. Who he's been. A map, if you will, of his soul.

Much like your own tattoos, he's got thick black lines, and little else. Simple, you assume. A man of convenience. Efficiency.

You wonder if he does everything in life with the precision to match his tattoos, and as your lips wrap around the straw of your vodka-coke, you decide you'd quite like to find out.

Interrupted by Rae pulling you deeper into the crowd, your night is spent in and out of shadows. Attempt subtlety. Try not to make your occasional glances to the corner booth noticeable, just checking if his eyes are still on you. More often than not, they aren't—but sometimes they are, and that's enough to fuel your little flirt.

It's not until the sign behind the DJ booth changes from 03:00-04:00, GLOSS into some other guy that you notice your staring contest opponent has slipped into the shadows himself. The booth is void of both him and his friends. Gone.

"GLOSS has a set at another club," Rae all but yells in your ear, and even then, you barely hear her. "All the hotties left when he did. Let's go."

"Where to?!" You laugh, empty cup in hand. Admittedly, the new guy who's stepped into the DJ booth is just not doing it for you. Blu-Tae was just the right amount of unhinged with classics, whereas GLOSS was definitely cooler, but still fun. Had the club yelling curse words over trap remixes just for the fun of it. This new guy, whose name you don't care to remember, takes himself too seriously, you think.

"It's, like, two blocks down," she yells back, tugging on your wrist to drag you to the stairwell that leads you back up to the streets of Seoul. The hustle and bustle of people trying to go in different directions in the tight place forces you apart, but you figure you'll catch up with her, or that she'll be waiting at the top.

You don't know the roads well enough yet to make it to whichever club it's at alone, and quickly realise when you nearly tumble into the side of a waiting taxi that you're far drunker than expected. Knew the bartender was freepouring, but didn't realise just how free those pours really were.

"Woah, easy trouble," a deep voice sounds from behind you as you're steadied to a more stable position.

"I'm good, I'm good!" You insist, shaking off the hands of your 'saviour'. Have no interest in being a damsel in distress, or some sober guy trying to take advantage of you.

Looking down to check your laces are tied properly, you check over your shoulder to make sure the guy isn't creepily waiting for a thank you that he can turn into an intrusive game of 21 questions—'are you open-minded?' or 'do you live alone?'—but when you glance in his direction, you regret it. Notice the tattoos immediately. Recognise the eyes. Want to die.

"Oh."

"Oh," he says back with a smile, imitating you. Suddenly, the confidence you'd had earlier when looking at him from afar dissolves into nothingness, just like the alcohol in your bloodstream. You feel rather sober, but your body would definitely disagree. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," you nod, suddenly a little stuck for words, desperately trying to play things cool. "Are you okay?"

The pouting of his lips as his tongue runs along the inside of his cheek only serves to make you internally cringe. Men who look like him have no business being on streets like this. Should be in a museum. Strung up on the walls with the other masterpieces. Admired by everyone who looks his way.

In a way you don't yet realise, he is.

Though he's not in galleries, he's often burning into people's laptop screens. Is the background of a fair few thousand lock screens. Indeed, he is admired by everyone who looks his way, just not in the traditional sense.

"I'm not the one who just fell into a car," he reminds you, as if you could forget your embarrassment so quickly.

"Was just seeing if you'd catch me," you bullshit, the confidence you usually have returning tenfold. Was just a momentary blip. He's just a man, after all.

"Oh?" He chirps, decidedly curious. "So you fell for me?"

"Stumbled."

"Semantics."

His fluency, and the fact he just said 'semantics' so casually in conversation, clues you in on the fact he might be a language student, too. 

Could be useful study partners for each other, you think, then mentally berate yourself for already masterminding ways to see him again.

"So, where you going?" He asks, not caring to downplay his curiosity. The bartenders were free-pouring his drinks just as severely as they poured yours. The only difference is that his were on the house—'cause you were right. He does have a recognisable face. "Should probably go with you. Make sure you don't fall into the road."

"Stumble," you insist, a little pleased with the boldness of his suggestion, but not wanting to blindly agree. "My friend," you say glancing around, only to find yourself completely alone. "She wanted to go catch the next GLOSS set. So, I guess that's where we're going."

"Just down the road," he says, knowing the schedule like the back of his hand. Bounces from club to club supporting his friends, just like they would for him. If he wanted, he could get a slot up there, too. He doesn't care for it. "I'll walk with you, if you want? My friends are heading there anyway."

It's not a bad offer.

In fact, it's probably the best offer you'll get all night.

"C'mon," he nods his head to the side, encouraging you to follow him. Checks his phone for the time. "Starts in five."

If there's one thing you've indulged in since moving to Seoul, it's how safe you always feel. Security cameras are on every corner, and you've walked home countless times without any issues, even late into the night. While the place isn't perfect, it's far safer than your home country.

Still, you're not a complete idiot.

"It's not wise to follow strange men down dark alleys," you tell him.

He holds out his hand. Waits for you to shake it. Cocks a brow when you hesitate, so introduces himself.

"Jungkook. Nice to meet you. Now, can we please hurry up? I promised I'd be there."

Narrowing your eyes, you don't shake his hand. Arms folded over your chest, there is ice to your exterior, and given how warm his eyes are, you doubt it'll last for very long. May as well keep up this hard-to-get act while you still can.

Walking on past him, you call back, "Alright then. Lead the way."

In the domed mirror meant for reversing cars at the end of a tight alley, you see him laugh. "Wrong way, idiot."

Pausing, you scrunch your face up. Don't turn to face him for at least a second or so—but when you do, you're surprised to see him walking towards you. Hooking his arm around your waist, he carries on walking in the 'wrong' direction, taking you with him.

"Was just fucking with you," he grins. Nods towards a sign by another basement entrance, listing both Blu-Tae and GLOSS.

By the door, Rae is looking around like a mother duck who's just lost some of her ducklings when crossing the road. Breathes a sigh of relief when she spots you.

"C'mon," she grins, then realises who you're with. Says nothing of it, 'cause she doesn't want to be weird, but she recognises him, too. Decides she's just had a little too much to drink. There's no way it's him. Holds out her hand for you.

Reaching out for her, you're let go from Jungkook's grip, ready to get lost in the lights once more.

HAEJANG24 WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE SATURDAY 05:53

Seoul is a city for the nocturnal. The restaurants and bars are open until the last men are standing. Given how much you've had to drink, you're surprised you still are.

Rae had dipped an hour or so ago. Had hit it off with Mr Blu-Tae himself. Seduced him with the suggestion that their couple name would be Blu-Rae. He'd said they should go to a DVD-bang. Would be fitting. See what Blu-rays were on file.

Naturally, you'd looked on with mild disgust and also admiration for how quickly she'd worked her magic. Everyone knows what goes down in DVD-bangs. Small private rooms, often with projector screens and the world's least comfortable futons, they're somewhere you hope to never end up—but also can't wait to hear all the details the next morning when Rae comes to your room for a debrief.

You'd been left under the surveillance of Jungkook.

"Look after her," Rae had instructed, then narrowed her eyes. "Or I'll destroy your reputation with a single twitter thread, Tokki."

It's a threat he's taken seriously. Knows how the internet works, and even though he's never done anything worthy of a cancellation, he also doesn't intend on starting now. The fact you seem to have no idea who he is during the daylight hours intrigues him. It's a rarity on streets like these.

Even when a few people asked for pictures with him on your walk to the hangover soup place, you didn't clock it as weird. Figured they were friends passing by, wanting to document their chance run-in. Just another memory of the night. The way Jungkook had greeted them was full of warmth, and kindness. Why wouldn't you assume they were mates?

You were also still incredibly drunk at the time, so didn't think to question it. Was keen for food, and Jungkook had insisted on hangover soup, and so that's where you are. Dishes nearly empty, far more of it eaten by him than you, you're laughing about nothing and everything all at once.

"Right," Jungkook declares, deciding he cannot hold in a question that's been tickling at his brain for the entire meal. "What the fuck is that?"

Coat left in the cloakroom, long forgotten about, your tattoos are on full display for him, just like his are for you. Up your arm they trail; a patchwork of teeny tiny identifiers. Latin phrases around skulls, birth flowers of the people you hold close, butterflies and stars. There's an ode to your favourite musician and your favourite Shakespeare quote, too. The fabric of you etched into your skin. There's no reinventing yourself, even half the world away from home.

You know precisely which tattoo Jungkook is asking about. You've asked yourself the same question a few times.

"Fuck off," you laugh.

While most of your tattoos are gorgeous, there's one that was done by a rogue artist on a girlie holiday a few years ago. What was supposed to be a seashell now looks like... well, nothing really. It's just a blob, thanks to the artist being absolutely terrible. The only solace you find in it is that your two best friends have an equally awful permanent reminder of that holiday on their bodies, too.

"It doesn't look how it's supposed to," you explain with a little pout. "I got royally screwed over."

He cocks a brow. You still haven't told him what it is. He isn't gonna ask you twice.

With a grumble, you feebly admit, "A shell."

And then he's laughing. Really laughing. Laughing so hard you think he might piss himself—which you'd actually prefer, because then he could be the embarrassed one, instead.

"I'm calling you Shelly from now on," he says with a broad smile. Has had his fair share of tattoo blunders, and knows you must've developed an affection towards how shitty it is. Would have gotten it covered up, otherwise. "That's incredible."

"You're calling me so such thing," you assure him, but you also can't help but laugh.

"I am," he tells you, then really solidifies it. "Shelly."

"Fuck off," you whine, doubling down. Scanning his arms, you try and pick out anything you can use against him, too. "If I'm Shelly, then you're Mike."

"Mike?!" He protests.

"Yeah," you insist, pointing towards the microphone on his forearm. "Mike."

"You are not calling me Mike. Do I look like a Mike?!"

"Do I look like a Shelly?!"

You've got a point. It's not the name he would have first associated with you - but it is cute, he thinks. Cute how mortified you seem. Cute how you can't help but smile.

After a little bit of back and forth, it's decided that neither of you look like your namesakes.

"Y'know, we kinda have matching tattoos," he says, holding out his arm for you to study. "Or at least, the placements."

And sure enough, below his elbow lives the outline of a bunny sitting on a crescent moon. Holding your own arm out next to his, below your elbow is a butterfly. Above it, is a teeny tiny moon.

Like Jungkook's moon, it's a crescent. Was supposed to symbolise new beginnings. You wonder what his means, but don't ask. Instead, you marvel at the coincidence of it all.

He presses his index finger against the butterfly on the inside of your forearm. The echoing chatter of the restaurant fades softly into nothingness as he says, "Nabi."

You nod. Even if you have spoken with him in English this entire time, it's nice to hear him speak in his mother tongue, no matter how minimal - so you reciprocate. Press your index finger against his bunny. Smile. Say, "Tokki."

It further confirms to Jungkook that you have no idea who he is. Has been a while since he's met a girl in a circumstance like this where that's the case. Likes the anonymity of it all. Is hiding his identity from you, and yet hasn't felt such vulnerability for years.

"Daltokki, right?" You continue, not wanting the silence to linger for too long. "The rabbit in the moon?"

You're not wrong, but you're also not entirely right.

"Yeah," he smiles regardless. "That's it."

JUNGKOOK'S APARTMENT ITAEWON-DONG, YONGSAN-GU SATURDAY 07:12

"Shhh," Jungkook quietly laughs. 

His hand is over your mouth and the other is on your hip as he guides you into his apartment. With your back to his chest, you've both been giggling for the entire ride to his place.

He had insisted that he should walk you home, and was surprised by the offense you seemed to have taken by this. You then told him that he absolutely could not seduce you, and that it was very gender-role-conforming for him to think that you were incapable of getting home by yourself.

"Maybe I should be the one to make sure you get home safely," you had said with a false sense of concern, which had made him laugh quite considerably.

In all reality, you didn't mind him offering to get you home. You just hadn't tidied your room. Didn't really expect to be taking a boy back to your place, much less one that looks like him.

Together, you'd caught the early morning bus over to Itaewon instead of a taxi, 'cause you're still on a student budget and Jungkook wasn't quite ready to blow his cover just yet.

You've been teasing him—questioning his status as a potential International Super Spy—ever since he took your hand and guided you into one of the flashiest apartment complexes you've ever been in. There was security. Doormen. A passcode for the elevator—not to mention that he was heading up to the seventh floor once you were in it. Might not sound like much, but when there are only seven floors to the entire building, it makes it the penthouse by default.

"It's not a penthouse," he'd insisted. "Plus, I live with friends. Only pay a third of the rent."

But a third of his rent is more money than you'll probably see in three months of post-grad work. You're drunk, but you're not stupid. You also know that the rental market here differs significantly from your home country. Monthly rent is cheap, but the deposits are extortionate. Sure, he'll get it back when he leaves, but to have the initial money needed for a place like this? He's not a regular student, if one at all, that much is sure.

"Not sure who's home," Jungkook whispers as you both kick your shoes off in the entryway. Given the looks of the other shoes, it's clear that this is a guys-only living situation. You're proven right when he continues, "Betcha Tae's still in that damn DVD-bang, but Yoongi might be back."

"Yoongi?" You question.

"GLOSS," Jungkook says, remembering how oblivious you are to who he is. Reaching down to grab your shoes, he isn't gonna leave them by the door. Will take them to his room. Doesn't want the boys asking questions, if they are in. Knows they'll just use it as an excuse to publicly roast him whenever they're next online together.

Given that a stream is scheduled for Sunday night, he doesn't want to tempt fate.

Their current choice of wind-up, which the viewers have been eating up, is the joke that Jungkook is a virgin. He's not, but he never knows how to defend himself without sounding like a tool, so always gets a little awkward. A lot of their viewers love it. Join in on the joke. Some take it seriously. He doesn't care.

Next month, Taehyung will do something dumb, and he'll become the favourite joke for a while. Maybe Yoongi. But for now, it's Jungkook.

None of them take it to heart. They're just a group of friends who share their gaming hangouts online, and accidentally made it to the top of the ranks.

They aren't particularly good at gaming, but that's part of the charm. Crescent Collective is how they're known: Blu-Tae, GLOSS and Tokki.

After a bet went wrong, and they all lost, they ended up with moon tattoos and their respective 'symbols'. Jungkook's is a rabbit, Tae's is a blu-ray DVD disk (because he really is committed to the bit), and Yoongi's is stars to symbolise the shine of fresh gloss. Jungkook's makes the most sense. Yoongi's is pretty decent. Taehyung's is just... Well, it's very him.

Sliding open the door into the main living area, Jungkook has to cover your mouth again when you gasp at the sheer size of the place.

"I thought butterflies were supposed to be silent?" He teases. "Quiet for me, Nabi."

His place is bigger than your family home, you think. Hushing you again, he's laughing—and then he's cursing at the sight of a half-naked Yoongi by the kitchen counter.

In his boxers, with half a clementine slice hanging from his lips, he's just as shocked to see Jungkook with you. Gets over it pretty quickly.

"Don't mind me," he says, chewing down on the fruit with a smirk. Looks towards you. "Apologies for the lack of clothes."

With your shoes hooked on his fingers, Jungkook's other large hand is still over your mouth. You're not sure you can form any words as it is, but you do notice the crescent moon and stars on Yoongi's ribs.

"Not a word to Tae," is all Jungkook says. Knows that he'll be in for a world of teasing tomorrow if he gets wind of it. "I mean it."

Holding his hands up, Yoongi's still smirking, but he is backing away into a room just off the kitchen. "My lips are sealed."

Watching as he closes the door, you wonder how much truth is in his words. Jungkook knows it's absolute bullshit. Chooses not to dwell on it. Loosens his grip on you and heads towards his own room. Turns back to check you're following him, and can't help but smile when he knows that you are.

Tossing your shoes just inside the door, Jungkook is quick to pick up a pair of jeans he'd left on the floor, before chucking them over his desk chair. He tweaks his bedding. Straightens it out. Looks a little shy as he turns to face you.

"Made it home safe," he says quietly, as you close the door behind you.

You nod. Keep a little distance. Say, "It's dangerous to sleep after drinking. Make sure you build a tower of pillows in the middle of your bed so you don't roll onto your back."

Both of you are far more sober than you were earlier. There's no need to worry about anything like that.

And yet he nods, now. Says, "You're probably right. You can always stay, though. Just to check I don't die in my sleep, or whatever."

"It'd be the responsible thing to do," you nod, wondering if he can tell just how fast your heart is beating. "But I don't have any pyjamas."

Jungkook swallows. The way he looks at you now is entirely different to how he'd looked at you in the club. Back then, he'd been bold. Flirtatious.

Now, he seems vulnerable. Needy.

"I sleep in my underwear," he tells you, unsure if you'll actually be sleeping. While he likes the idea of fucking you, part of him doesn't want to. Fears it'll ruin the magic of the unknown. The way he throbs at the mere thought of it would suggest that his hopes outweigh his fears. "I don't mind, if you don't."

The clothes Jungkook's wearing are baggy. You've seen nothing of his figure.

Reaching for the nape of his neck, he tugs on the fabric of his T-shirt. Pulls it over his head and discards it in one swift movement. The sound of it crumpling on the floor is abrasive in how it makes you feel. Raw. Unrefined. You suppose it's just a natural consequence of seeing the toned muscles of his chest. How his waist defies what you thought was possible for masculine builds, and how broad his chest is. The indent of his collarbones, and the lines of his pelvis that draw your eyes downwards.

A pair of Calvins peek just above the waistband of his jeans, and a silver chain rests around his neck. Light from the city filters in, and LED lights around his impressive computer set-up paint him in a hue of violet.

"No," you manage to reply, which is a miracle, you think. "I don't mind."

And then you reciprocate. Reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, letting the fabric fall to the floor. Seeing him swallow back his nerves, or maybe his desires, makes you feel far bolder than you should.

"It's really uncomfortable to sleep in jeans," you tell him.

He nods. Agrees. Threads the button of his trousers through its loop. Doesn't take them off yet. Waits for you to do the same. Keeps his eyes firmly locked on yours. Doesn't let his gaze wander, no matter how much he has to fight all his instincts not to fully take you in. Is still pretending like he doesn't want you in the most indecent of ways.

The room you're in right now is known worldwide. 

People set it as their zoom backgrounds. It's on Pinterest. There are YouTube videos attempting to recreate the set-up. If he were to power up his computer—which, in all fairness, is only on standby—and go live, there'd be a thousand viewers within minutes. Doesn't matter what he plays, or who he's with. He doesn't give it much thought anymore. Is just life.

Sometimes, he regrets not being a faceless streamer, but he also knows that it's part of the appeal. Connection, and the fantasy that comes with this almost dystopian, parasocial idea of it.

After all, the meeting of his eyes with yours across a busy club led you to this point. Human connection in the simplest of ways, that he thinks could culminate in the most complex of ways, too.

"Okay," he says. "So take them off."

"You want me to?" You ask just to tease a little bit, and when a smile flickers onto his seemingly nervous lips, you're glad you did.

"You think we'd be here right now if I didn't?" He says with a tweak of his brows.

"You've got a point."

With that, you push your jeans down and reveal the matching set of black underwear you're in. It's nothing special. In fact, it's not really a set, but it's close enough that it'd fool anyone who didn't know.

Jungkook, in this moment, is indeed a beautiful fool.

There's a lopsided grin on his face as he lets his eyes rake down your body. Is shameless as he indulges in you. Nods, as he bites down on his bottom lip.

"It's cold," you tell him, urging him along a little bit.

"Shit," he says without much thought. "Sorry. Was just... Yeah. Shit."

It's both endearing and wholly confusing how Jungkook flips from confident to cute. A man of duality. It makes you giggle, and then you're the one biting down on your bottom lip. Are both a little bashful. A little shy.

"I'm only here to make sure you don't die in your sleep," you remind him before it goes any further.

Looking at him now, knowing you want him in the worst of ways, it's testing all of your willpower not to just cut to the chase.

Thing is, you liked his company tonight. Want it again. Want to give him a reason to seek you out once more. Want him thinking about you in clubs, and looking for you in crowded bars. Pining. Yearning. Needy.

"It's already gone seven," he tells you, walking towards his bed. Knocks his head to the side. Silently tells you to follow suit. "Will probably only get a couple hours in."

"Better than nothing. Plus, you're actually really irritating," you bullshit as you get into bed with him. Are adamant you won't fuck him, but you do let him pull you in closer.

"Oh, yeah?" He grins.

"Mhmm," you nod, pretending as if you aren't looking at his lips. "You'll be less annoying when you're asleep."

"I'm never gonna sleep again," he assures you. "Will annoy you forever."

"I know where the front door is," you say as you stroke a few of his loose, wavy hairs back behind his ears. They fall freely almost right away, but it just gives you another excuse to play with it "I can just leave. I'm only here to make sure you don't die in your sleep. Pointless if you're awake."

"So I have to be asleep for you to stay?"

"Mhmm," you hum.

He immediately loosens his grip on you and flops into an overdramatic sleeping position. Fake snores. Gets you giggling. Can't hide his smile, either. Laughs through the god-awful noises he's making.

But it is late, and you're both tired. As much as he'd like to stay awake with you, the pull of sleep is just too tempting now that you're beneath his sheets. It's not like he doesn't wanna fuck you. His semi is very much present, but neither of you mention it.

"Y'know what's sad about butterflies?" Jungkook mumbles after the laughter dies down. He carefully begins to trace the lines of your tattoo, eyes entirely focused on the tip of his finger.

You purr a response before you fully vocalise one. "Tell me."

He glances up at you only very momentarily. Looks back down. Is quiet when he says, "How quickly they die. Spend over half their lifespan growing into these beautiful creatures, and then they have, what—A week? Two? Three, tops—and then they're gone. It's like the cherry blossoms in spring. Beautiful, and then—" He clicks his fingers. "—gone."

Stroking back some loose strands of his hair, you wonder if he's thinking about you. About this chance encounter. Beautiful, then gone.

"Just means you have to appreciate them while they're still around," you say softly. "Cherish them, because you know you only have them for a moment."

His gaze lifts to meet yours. The reflection of his LED lights makes it seem like butterflies are floating around in his deep, dark eyes, too.

There are stories he could tell you of ancient folklore; about human souls taking the form of butterflies. Of justice, and peace, and spirits. Of back in time, when tigers still smoked. He could tell you of his favourite butterflies. Of the black butterflies that are as large as his hands in the summer. Of the huge display in a museum downtown that would transfix him as a child.

Instead, he gently presses his lips against the lines of your butterfly tattoo.

The rate at which your heart is beating multiplies. Like a swarm of butterflies chasing through your veins, you've no control over the way you're feeling. He's brought your artwork to life; set the souls inside of your butterfly free, only for it to be apparent that the souls belonged to the both of you, anyway.

You know that this is one of those moments; a butterfly passing on by through your lives. Here, and then gone. Beautiful, but fleeting.

There's a shyness to Jungkook now, as he rolls onto his back. A reluctance to get things wrong. He doesn't look at you, just nibbles on his bottom lip and pretends as if the empty white ceiling ahead of him is the most interesting thing he's seen all night.

It's not.

You are.

You, and those eyes that make him feel like the butterfly on your arm is tickling at his tummy. He finds himself jealous when he faces you again and begins tracing the thin lines of your butterfly once more. Wants to embed himself into you like the ink that's carved out a home in your skin.

"Sorry," he mumbles, seemingly regretful of the tender kiss he'd pressed against your arm just a short moment ago. "Don't know why I did that."

"It's okay," you reply without much thought. Like him, you're letting the way you feel dictate the words you say. Care not for playing coy. "I liked it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Jungkook wants to stop his mouth from letting his desires escape. The issue is, he drank a little too much tonight and his lips are a little too loose. Too bad. Can't help himself from asking, "Can I do it again?"

You're just as bad.

"Yeah," you whisper. "Please."

The way his lashes splay against his cheeks as he presses another kiss to your arm is nothing short of celestial. Like that damn moon on his arm, he's got a beauty about him that's hard to capture in words. Ethereal feels too fantastical, but gorgeous feels too dense. He resides in a realm somewhere between the two. Somewhere you'd like to stay forever.

Forever, sadly, only lasts a few hours. You've brunch plans with new friends you can't bail on yet for fear of running a friendship before it's even begun.

You see yourself out. Jungkook's still asleep. Not quite 10AM, you've a dozen missed calls from Rae, and a cold can of coke waiting for you in your fridge. Funnily enough, though, you don't really feel hungover. Must have gotten it all out of your system the night before.

It's only fitting, when you think about Jungkook on the subway home, and how soberingly drunk the idea of him makes you feel. 

YONSEI UNIVERSITY DORMS DAESIN-DONG, SEODAEMUN-GU SUNDAY 21:39

Brunch had, predictably, been a yawn-fest.

The people were perfectly nice, but you spent the entire time thinking about Jungkook; how you'd left him in a pretty slumber, the LEDs behind his computer still glowing, with not even so much as a note to say thank you.

It's not like he had any paper on his desk, and you weren't about to start rummaging around his room. You also didn't want to wake him. Part of it was because you knew you'd be saying goodbye, and the concept of that was one that you didn't like all that much.

And so your subway ride back to your dorm had been spent searching his name. He didn't take long to find. 

From the club's Instagram, you found GLOSS and quickly discovered that there was far more to both him and Blu-Tae than just being DJs. Their follower counts were wild. Numbers you know you'll never see on your own account. Verification check marks accented their display names. 

Who are you? You'd thought to yourself, incredibly perplexed by it all.

Jungkook was littered all over their pages, and yet it still took a while for you to click through to his account. You're not sure why, but think that perhaps the unknown was a nice place to reside within. Safer. 

CR3SC3NT_T0KK1 was his username—and curiously, Tokki was also his display name. Brows furrowed, you'd almost dropped your phone when you saw his follower count. It eclipsed both of his friends. 

Filled with gaming set-ups, merch drops, and general life dumps, it was pretty clear that whoever Jungkook had made himself out to be the night before was not who he was in real life. 

Equal parts offended and intrigued, you were only more confused when you saw that Rae was already following him—but not following Taehyung.

"What?" she'd beamed when you'd asked her about it after you'd arrived home from brunch, a scoop of hangover ice cream being waved around in the air with her flamboyant gestures. "He's, like, one of the biggest streamers in the country—and if I want to keep Tae obsessed with me, we need as many connections as possible. Jungkook's a frog to me, baby, not a prince. Don't you worry your little cotton socks. I'm not after him."

"I wouldn't care if you were," you'd blatantly lied in response, and then you'd giggled together at how ridiculous you were both being over boys you didn't really know.

Hovering over the bright purple 'JOIN STREAM' button later that evening, part of you holds back. Think it'd be weird. Strange. That he'd somehow know it was you.

Dipping your mouse, you tick the checkbox to join as an anonymous viewer. Take a breath. Think fuck it. Watch with bated breath as the loading wheel turns—and then he's there.

Jeon Jungkook has the kind of beauty that transcends shitty quality streams. Smiling as he jokes with one of his friends through a headset with a pair of black bunny ears affixed to the top of them, you hear a voice you almost recognise. Notice the friend he's streaming with in the top corner. Realise you do know him, too.

Hair as blue as the trees are green, Tae has just as much boyish charm as Jungkook, but also an incredibly large hickey that seems to match the ones on Rae's neck.

"Nah, can we get an L in the chat for Kook," he's teasing. Sure enough, the chat begins to explode with the letter, and Jungkook looks so pretty when he protests.

"It's not an L!"

"It is!" Tae insists. "Should have seen him, guys. Was following this girl around like a lovesick puppy—"

"No, I wasn't!"

"And she didn't even give him her number. Not even her name!"

"That's not true!" Jungkook whines. He switches between Korean and English with ease, sometimes just single words, other times whole sentences. "I have a name."

"What is it?"

"Not telling you."

"Cause you don't have one!"

"No, because you'll all make my life a living hell," Jungkook laughs—and then notices a bright blue comment lighting up in the chat. His eyes widen. "Fuck."

GLOSS: Was calling her Nabi when he got home last night Almost shit his pants when he saw me

"Yoongi, I'm gonna shave your eyebrows off in your sleep," Jungkook growls—only for the chat to start spamming butterfly emojis. Closing his eyes, he leans back in his chair, the still paused video game long forgotten about, now. Thousands of people are in their chat, and even more are watching the stream.

"Guys, get it trending," Taehyung goads. "Tweet, I dunno, bunny and butterfly emojis."

"Don't do that!"

"Hashtag find Jungkook's butterfly."

"Do NOT do that!"

"I'm like a modern-day cupid," Taehyung beams.

"I'm shaving your eyebrows, too."

Closing the stream, you sit for a moment, mouth ajar, unable to process what on earth you've just witnessed. Part of you feels as if it must have an incredibly vivid daydream; a projection of your heart's desire.

And you know you shouldn't, but when you get home from running errands the following day, you join the stream again. Blush when you notice the chat is still teasing Jungkook.

"I'm gonna block you all," he threatens them with a grin, which only encourages them to send even more butterfly emojis.

The next day is no different, nor the day after that.

He is, though. Has been letting it all play on his mind. Doesn't have much of a filter when it comes to streaming.

"What if she didn't even like me, guys," he whines to the chat. "And sees this and is like... mortified. I think I'd punch myself in the face if she ever saw any of this."

You toy with the idea of sending a comment into the chat. Something that only he'd realise was you. Thing is, you feel bad for intruding. As if you shouldn't be prying. As if you're eavesdropping on him chatting with friends, and not on the stream he's broadcasting live around the world.

Typing out a message, you deliberate your choice.

Punch urself in the face pls, tokki x the message reads. 

Simple. Effective. To the point.

But everyone calls him that, you stupidly realise, now.

And so you change the name to 'Mike'. 

Before you can even really realise what you've done, you've pressed send.

The message flitters into the chat feed. He's about to resume his game. Doesn't notice it at first.

Gives the chat one final glance, and then his eyes widen. He sits up taller. Straighter. "Mike?"

You close the lid of your laptop immediately.

"Fuck."

THE STREETS WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE FRIDAY 23:51

"Tae is on in five," Rae squeals, dragging you down the road at lightning speed. 

You'd spent far too long at dinner, and also had far too much to drink with your food, so have been forced to make an undignified sprint to the club in an attempt to make it in before the place reaches capacity.

There's already a queue. You can see it from a mile away.

Realistically, Rae could have gotten Taehyung to add her to the guest list. He'd offered. She didn't wanna look needy, so had played it coy about her plans for the evening. 

After a single beer and soju, she'd decided that the idea of him hooking up with anyone but her simply wouldn't do.

"Shit," she sighs in defeat, looking at the queue. The direction you've come from means that you reach the entrance before you reach the queue, but even then, you can tell it goes around the block. "Are there no other clubs these people can go to?!"

There are—but this club is rammed tonight for the same reason Club Sundown was rammed the week before. People want to see the Crescent Collective. 

You didn't realise it at the time, but you'd bypassed the queue of the second club last weekend because Jungkook had been with you.

And as if by a stroke of luck, or perhaps a twist of fate, the same tattooed hand that had held you as you slept last weekend is now putting out a cigarette just a few steps away.

Eyes landing on yours, he looks away again, almost immediately. Feels embarrassed. Stupid. For the way you left him, and also for the way he knows you must know who he is, now.

Behind a red rope, he's away from the general crowd. It's sort of obnoxious, you think—but also know Jungkook is anything but.

"They're with me," Jungkook says to the bouncer, not really looking at you, but nodding in your general direction. Is deliberately keeping a little distance. Instead, he says to Rae, "Tae wouldn't want you waiting in line."

Nodding, the security guard makes way for you, stamping the backs of your hands with UV-activated ink as you walk past.

"Thank you!" Rae beams.

"No worries," Jungkook smiles right back. "He's about to start. Was just getting air. You're lucky you arrived when you did."

"Angel," she praises. "I'll get you a drink while we're in there."

You know her well enough now to know that she absolutely will not, but you don't say anything. Instead, you fold your arms over your chest as you walk, suddenly feeling all awkward in Jungkook's presence.

"Nabi," he curtly greets you as you head down the stairs.

"Tokki," you greet him back just as formally. Consider calling him 'Mike' instead, but you chicken out.

Face scrunching up, Jungkook tries his best not to cringe at himself. Doesn't know if you're addressing him by his tattoo moniker, or just calling him Tokki because you know it's his identifier online.

"How have you been?" He asks, not wanting to let it simmer.

"Alright," you say, aware of how awkward this all feels, as you descend the stairs and into the club. The music is getting louder, and soon you won't be able to hear him talk unless you're in each other's ears. "And you?"

"Alright."

Just as quickly as he appeared, Jungkook is lost to the crowd. 

He doesn't care to stick around if he's just going to be hung out to dry by you again. He tells himself that he only made sure you got in to keep Rae happy for Taehyung's sake—yet as he rejoins his friends in their booth, he finds himself desperately seeking you out again.

It takes him a while, but he eventually spots you by the bar in conversation with Rae. He can't make out what you're saying, but notices how your eyes are flickering around the room. Seems as if you're hunting for something. 

Deep down, even if he pretends like he doesn't, he hopes it's for him.

Pulled away from your search by the bartender passing over drinks to the pair of you, Jungkook feels bad. Knows the drinks are pricey in this place. Also knows, from the conversations you've already had, that you're on a tight budget. Had said that once the semester starts, you'll stop going to parties. Are seemingly unaware of the fact the parties never stop in this city. You'll learn.

When your eyes finally land on his a little while later, you're surprised by his intense gaze—intrigued by his lack of shame for being caught out. He doesn't look away or appear embarrassed. If anything, it's quite the opposite.

Girls are vying for his attention all around him, yet you receive all of it. Half the room away, hundreds of people create a sea between you both. Jungkook thinks he'd swim through it, no matter how choppy the water, if it meant he could have you right now.

You're the one who left, though. 

It's up to you to come back.

Part of you doesn't want to, but then you see another girl making advances, and Rae's horror over other girls trying it on with Taehyung seems to have rubbed off on you. The idea of it makes your skin crawl. You're drunk, and a little reactive, but Jungkook likes playing with fire.

As you work your way through the crowd towards him, he tries his best not to grin. Finds himself vindicated in his desire to be close to you, 'cause it seems like you want it, too.

Sliding in between Jungkook and the girl, you turn and apologise.

"Just need to borrow him for a second," you smile, clutching at his shirt and pulling him away from the booth before she even has a chance to protest.

With an ever-so-satisfied smirk, Jungkook shrugs towards the other girl, and lets you drag him wherever you want. He's putty in your hands, a little tipsy and desperately in need of attention from you. 

For the past week, he's played scenario over scenario over scenario in his head about this moment, and now that it's happening, he's glad he let you seek him out. Is so pleased that you actively want him just as much as he wants you.

In the middle of the crowd, you're hidden from prying eyes. It's too dark to notice any discerning features of the people around you, yet somehow, Jungkook seems like a vibrant golden light to you. Impossible to miss. Unable to ignore.

You wanna talk. Ask him about who the fuck he is. Explain that you didn't mean to leave so heartlessly.

Taehyung's set is so overwhelmingly loud, though. Can barely even hear yourself think.

As soon as he'd spotted Rae in the crowd, Taehyung had sent the bar coordinator to go and get her. She's sitting pretty up in the DJ booth, incredibly pleased with herself. Notices you and Jungkook almost immediately. Knows it'll be on Twitter in the next few hours, especially if that damn butterfly tattoo of yours is noticed.

Bunnies and butterflies have been trending for days.

Jungkook speaks, but you can't hear him.

"Huh?" You ask, getting on your tippy toes, but it's fruitless. Even as his hand drops to your waist to steady you and keep you in place, you can barely make out his words. "I can't hear you!"

He can't hear jack shit, either. Frowns. Looks around. Spots Yoongi by the booth and gestures towards the side of the room. When Yoongi nods back, it's Jungkook who drags you through the crowd, now. Just beyond the DJ booth is a little black door that Yoongi meets you by. Taps in the code. Nods in your direction.

"A pleasure," he says with a knowing smirk. Miraculously, you can hear him, but ultimately, it's because you're not in the direct line of the speakers now.

You don't get a chance to respond before Jungkook gets you into what can only described as a dark hole as quickly as he can. Romance, you think to yourself, but you also are very aware of the fact Jungkook doesn't let go of your hand, even when he's searching for the light switch. It takes him a second, but he manages to recall the approximate location quickly enough.

Dingy yellow light floods into the room. Small and boxy, it's a 3-in-1 storage room, bathroom, and dressing room for 'talent'. It's why Yoongi had the code, but you can't imagine anyone with any shred of self-respect actually using this place. The walls are the same grey tiles as the floor, and the light bulb hangs from a wire without a shade. The tap on the sink drips, and you're pretty sure there's a leak in the far corner by the mirror.

None of that matters, though. All you can focus on is the man in front of you. Though not soundproof, the room does offer a far more muted version of Taehyung's set. More importantly, it provides you with privacy.

It's been a week since you last saw him, face to face.

Though you have, admittedly, seen him what feels like a million times on low-quality streams from his bedroom.

Realistically, it's been about three times, but you think about it almost constantly.

"You left," is all he says, a little pout on his lips.

It's cute, you think, that he is so outwardly offended by such an act. You would have thought that a man of his position would have a habit of leaving, himself. Then again, you didn't know of his status when you left him in bed that morning.

"And you didn't die," you reply with a teasing smile, trying not to make it sound so severe. "You were fine without me."

"I'm not joking," he says, even if he can't help but smile at the recollection of how stupid the conversation before bed had been. "You left. It was rude."

"I had brunch plans," you tell him, reaching your hands out for his. He wants to resist. Fails. Lets you pull him closer. Incredibly close, in fact. So close that you begin to notice all sorts of things. His freckles. A small scar on his cheek. A tiny fleck of glitter on his skin, no doubt from one of the girls who had been desperate for his attention earlier. "You'd only had a few hours sleep. I didn't want to disturb you."

"Could have left a note," he says, still pouty but far quieter. You can smell the Jack on his breath. Have always hated the taste, but think you could grow to like it. "Your number. Something, at least."

"I could've," you admit, edging even closer. Closing the gap. Nudging your nose against his. But then you smile. Pull back. Tease, "And you could have warned me that I'd become a trending topic on Twitter."

Just like that, Jungkook's pout snaps into the prettiest smile. His face scrunches up, lines creasing on his nose. Beneath his closed eyes reside the sweetest little puffs. He's got the kind of face that is impossible not to like.

"Ah," he cringes.

"Yeah," you laugh at the stupidity of it all. What did he expect? That you wouldn't find out? "Ah."

"In my defence," he holds his hands up, eyes wide and innocent. "You called me Tokki. How was I to know you didn't know?"

"Oh, give over," you laugh, as he reaches for your hands once again. Pulls you closer. "You know I didn't know."

Truthfully, he does know this, but it was nice to be unknown for a little while. Nice to not second guess your intentions. Even now, knowing that you know, he feels like none of it matters. 

"Look," he begins, toying with the hem of your cropped shirt. Lets his fingertips graze your bare skin. Tries his best not to think about what you look like half-naked. Fails. "I only came out tonight 'cause I hoped I'd see you. I don't care about staying out till ass-o'clock, again."

"Think I've only just caught up on sleep," you hum, angling your chin up and giving him the perfect opportunity to make a move that goes beyond flirtatious touches.

"Exactly," he smiles, letting his hand squeeze the side of your waist. Pulls you closer. "And I've not drunk half as much tonight, but I think I could do with you making sure I don't die, again."

"Yeah?"

Nodding as he nudges his nose against yours, Jungkook is all smiles. Lets his lips line up against your pout.

"Yeah," he mumbles—then lets the word get lost in your lips.

Sinking into what it feels like to kiss you, Jungkook can't help but feel satisfaction. Has finally caught the damn butterfly he's been after all week. 

He's played a lot of games. Won a lot of battles.

And yet victory has never tasted so sweet.

JUNGKOOK'S APARTMENT ITAEWON-DONG, YONGSAN-GU SATURDAY 02:07

You retrace your steps. Get a taxi to his place, 'cause there's no point pretending like he can't afford it. Not anymore.

You're not giggling like you were the first time you were in his elevator, but it's kind of impossible to do so when your back is to the wall and Jungkook's tongue is in your mouth.

Your hands roam his body—waist, ass. If you can squeeze it, you will. Just makes him deepen the kisses. If his large hands weren't cupping your jaw, keeping you close, they'd be doing the exact same thing as yours.

The ding of the elevator pulls you apart just for a second, and then you're the one pulling him down to the corridor to his place.

He doesn't open the door. Just kisses you again. 

Finally understands what it means to get butterflies, 'cause he's got you, now, and he never wants to lose it.

Hooking his hands beneath your ass, he hoists you up. Gets your legs wrapped around him. Could go in, but where's the fun in that? There's a slight danger of getting caught. He knows the hallway security cameras will definitely pick this up. The threat that it could get leaked online, and the simple fact that he couldn't give a shit if it does, is kind of hot.

"I'm not fucking you out here," you tell him through a hushed giggle, when he rests his forehead against yours.

"Woah," he jokes. "Who said anything about fucking?"

"I can literally feel your boner, Jungkook."

"Touché."

He doesn't even attempt to downplay it. He puts you down. Gets you through the threshold of his apartment. Shoes off by the door, there's no need to be quiet. Yoongi and Taehyung are still out, and will be for hours. He could take his time if he really wanted.

But what he wants is you. Doesn't waste time. Gets you in his room. Kinda feels like you never left. Jungkook still wishes you hadn't, but doesn't mind the idea of you making it up to him now.

"So," you hum, trailing your fingertips across his desk. "This is where the magic happens?"

He smiles a little bashfully, head dropping for a moment before his eyes are on yours again. "Yeah. You could say that."

Now that you're back in his space, it's a little embarrassing just how many clues there were. A headset rests on the desk—black, robust, with his signature bunny ears secured on top—and a mic is hooked up by the monitor. The webcam doesn't look special, but the keyboard subtly glows in his darkened room. Violet, like the LEDs behind his screen.

A laptop covered in vinyl stickers is closed next to the set-up. He uses it when he's not streaming on his desktop. At least three of the stickers are of the Crescent Collective's logo.

Turning to fully face him, you rest your palms behind yourself and perch on the edge of the desk.

He gets a little kick out of seeing you so flippantly disregard the domain in which he dominates. Gives him a point to prove. Gets him closing the space between you, hands on your waist, dipping to your ass to leverage further back on his desk. Knows it's sturdy, 'cause he built it himself, but has never tested out quite how strong it really is. Thinks now's as good a time as any to find out.

Your legs wrap around his body with no thought, just the innate understanding that you want him in a way you're sure thousands of people have only dreamt of: in his room, on his desk, that damn 'Go Live' button just a few short clicks away.

Reaching beside you, there's a smirk on your lips as you retrieve his headset. Put it on him. Say, "The ears are cute, Tokki."

He rolls his eyes. Is fighting a smile, and currently losing. He's seen some lewd shit during his time on the internet and is well aware of the fanart that includes the ears and little else. Always found it kinda funny, before.

Now? He's so hard it almost hurts, and he thinks he could grow to like it.

As your arms drape over his shoulders, he takes them off. Puts them on you, instead. Adjusts the sizing. Gets them just right for you. Is attentive, like that. Pulls his head back a little, and then realises what a problem you're gonna be for him.

It's not so much the addition of animal ears that's getting him insatiable, but seeing you adorned with a crown that is so inherently his that does it.

Jungkook's no saint. He's had his fair share of one-nighters. A couple hours of fun never to be spoken of again. Since the group of them signed to their management agency, they've been repeatedly told how important it is to get NDA's signed. Something about it always feels so icky to Jungkook. Cruel, almost. Has only had a couple hook-ups since then, both with flings he's known for a good couple of years, with no fear of them spilling the beans on how prettily he whines when he cums.

You're the first new girl in a long time. He knows he should really pause things before you cut to the chase—but then your hand is trailing down his thick forearm, delicately stroking his rabbit moon with a curious smile. Decides he doesn't care.

"The ears are cute," he replies. Teasingly adds, "Nabi."

The position of your arms over his shoulders ensures the tattoos he'd traced the week before are fully displayed for him. As his eyes drop to your butterfly, you're curiously smitten by the way his lips move to press a kiss against it again.

"Suit me?"

"Mhmm," he hums, eyes flickering back up to yours. "Should also get you a pair of butterfly wings, or something."

"I'd make you wear them," you tell him with a cheeky glint in your eye. "Turn you into a butterfly, yourself. Your girlies in the chat would love that."

Jungkook knows without a shadow of a doubt he'd let you. Not for the girlies in the chat, but for you.

Ghosting his lips against yours, he's waiting for you to press down. Is letting you take the lead.

Your kisses are sweet. Tepid. Reserved.

You're feeling; his hands on your waist, the pressure of his lip rings, the presence of his nose.

And then he's feeling; your bare skin as his large hands slip beneath the fabric of your shirt, the way your legs wrap around him, the vibration of a small groan against his lips.

The skirt you're in is bunched around your hips, and the positioning is just right for you to feel how hard he is against your underwear. It's a little undignified, you'll admit, but you're impatient, so you take control. Reposition his hand between your legs. Encourage him to take things further.

"Yeah?" He checks.

Nodding into a needy kiss, you mumble, "Please."

It might've been a while, but Jungkook's muscle memory is enviable. He's the best player on the team for that very reason.

As he hooks your underwear to the side, he's pleased to be greeted with indications of your arousal. Smirks into the kisses he's giving you, as his fingertips graze against your clit. Trails his lips to your neck. Wants to hear the way you gasp as he pushes his thick middle finger inside you.

"Fuck," you sigh at the welcome intrusion. Nod, as he curls his finger almost immediately. He's got a lot to thank those damn video games for, that's for sure.

Softly moaning, just how he hoped you would, there's an arch to your back as he picks up a pace. The need to perform, almost.

Head tipping back as Jungkook fucks another finger into you, you're unable to think too cognitively. Can only think about the way he feels. The smell of his hair as he presses kisses against your neck, and how prominent his collarbones are as your nails trail up his toned torso.

"Feels so good," you tell him. Move the hand of yours that's been resting on his shoulder to his hair. Tug on it a little. Elicit the prettiest of whines from him.

There's something to be said for making a man—especially one of such strength, stature, status—so weak. Gets you all giggly. Jungkook can feel the satisfaction ripple through your entire body, and it just makes him groan against your neck even more.

"You're so wet," he praises, pulling back to study your face as he plays with you. Lets his thumb stroke up against your clit ever so gently. Revels in the way you get a little shaky. Twitchy. With those damn bunny ears, you really are like a little rabbit. Jungkook finally understands why the fan artists choose to draw him in such a way. It is hot. "You're making me so fuckin' hard."

And then you're giggling again.

"Is it a joke to you, huh?" He smirks. Looks down at your pussy, all swollen and sopping wet for him, in the hazy violet light of his room. Knows that his throbbing cock is gonna stuff you so fuckin' full that laughing won't be an option. Is desperate for it. "How badly I want you is just a big joke to you, huh, bunny?"

The way he groups you in with his moniker is too damn hot.

"Dunno," you rasp, desperately trying to hold off the orgasm that's building inside you. "Fuck me and find out."

Reaching for the button of his trousers, you're quick as you wrestle his jeans down over his ass. Don't bother pushing them down entirely. Just enough to get his boxers exposed, and in turn, his thick cock. Hard and engorged, his desperation for you is evident. A small patch of precum seeps through the fabric of his boxers. He curses as your thumb strokes against it.

"Condom?" You ask, knowing you've got none on you.

"Hold that thought," he says, regretfully pulling away from you.

Watching on as he pushes down his jeans, and strips himself of his shirt, you're at a loss for words. You've seen him like this before, but it's so much hotter knowing that he's gonna be fucking himself into you as soon as he possibly can.

Jungkook could very easily lead you to his bed. Get you comfy. Reach to his bedside cabinet for a condom. Fuck you how he likes—doggy-style, minimal face-to-face contact—and be done with it all very quickly.

Instead, he says, "Stay here."

Doing as you're told, you watch on as he walks to the cabinet, and retrieves a condom. Admire his back, and his broad shoulders. The valley of his spine, and the hard work he's put into crafting his physique. Smirk to yourself as he dips into his boxers. Strokes himself. Once, twice. Tears the packet open with his teeth, just like you were always taught not to do, and rolls the latex down his thick shaft.

"What?" he smirks as he walks back, realising your eyes are transfixed on his cock.

You say nothing. Smile. Hold your hands out for Jungkook to take, just so you can pull him back even quicker.

Lips pressing into yours as he closes the gap, Jungkook is all smiles. Rubs the head of his cock against your pussy, gathering up your arousal all over his tip. Lines himself up with your entrance. Waits for you to give him the go-ahead.

Hand on his ass, you pull him closer. Edge the crown of his cock into you. Whimper. Beg. "Please."

Sinking into you with a laboured grunt, he's surprised with how much tighter you are around his cock than you were with his fingers. Wet and warm, there's an undeniable pleasure that sparks through his body as he gets familiar with the way you feel.

Slowly, his hips begin to pick up a pace. As his tongue strokes into your mouth, there's no dignity to the way he's taking you. The increased pace means heightened moans, and it's not just you—it's him, too.

"Shit, yeah," he grits. "So fuckin' tight, aren't you?"

Whining, you nod into his kisses. Are at his entire disposal as he grips your waist, proving exactly why Tokki is the perfect nickname for him.

As much as he likes the ears, he's a little worried that he might fuck you so hard they fall off. Doesn't wanna break them, and definitely doesn't wanna think about the story the boys would make up when they go live tomorrow to tease him—but also really wants to fuck you harder.

Which is funny, cause the way he tugs them off with such desperation and tosses them down, you'd be forgiven for thinking he couldn't care less about breaking them. Doesn't give you a chance to say anything, 'cause his big hands are cradling your face, bringing you in for desperate kisses once more.

There's a lewdness to the sounds you make together, but Jungkook knows that if he was an entirely different kind of streamer, you'd make bank together. Wonders about the way it would look on camera. Worries. Pauses.

"You good?" You check a little breathlessly as he reaches behind you, just to tug the wire to his webcam from the plus.

"Yeah," he nods, still fiddling around behind you. Smiles in the hedonistic haze as your lips find a new home on his neck. Strokes your hair gently, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. Quietly says, "Just making sure there's no way in hell I accidentally start streaming."

You hum, all purry and pliant. "People would pay good money to see it."

While he agrees, and has had the same thought process, he doesn't care. "You saying I should be charging you for this?"

"Oh, no," you say all very sweetly. "You should be paying me."

"I'll pay you with orgasms," he promises, knowing that it's a rare currency for one-night strands.

You smirk. Pat the top of his head. "Sure you will."

If there's one thing Jungkook loves, it's a challenge.

Pulling back, he turns you around. Gets you bent over his desk with zero opposition from you. Rubs himself against your soaked cunt, then asks, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you smirk, and then settle into a sigh as he pushes into you. The feeling of fullness from Jungkook is one that's hard to compare. So thick, and fat, and heavy, his cock really is just as impressive as he is.

With one hand hooked at the crease of your thigh, the other holds the top of your shoulder. Gets you pushed down onto his cock as far as you possibly can be. There's a slight reflection in his streaming plaque beside the monitor, and you're pleased to see just how intensely focused he is on you, brows furrowed, pretty pink lips resting ajar. The silver of his lip rings and chain catch in the light, and you find you can't look at him for too long. He's too hot.

But then he's reaching down for your clit as he fucks into you. Has your legs shaking. The waves of a familiar sensation begin to lap against the shores of your pleasure.

"Fuck," you whine. "Feels good. Keep it like that."

Jungkook knows better than to ignore your requests. Does as he's told, the pressure of his fingers on your clit only deepening. Rubbing calculated circles against you, he knows just how to work you up. Gets you whining. Mewling. Moaning.

"Gonna cum, aren't you?" he smirks, as his own high builds.

"Fuck—"

"C'mon," he husks, feeling your walls tighten around him. He doesn't stop his relentless chase. Will win your orgasms fair and square. Continues pounding into you. Pace fast, strokes deep, he's everything you could ever want and more—and then he's slowing. Keeping you plugged, nice and deep, but focusing on the way he's toying with your clit. "You know you wanna cream for me. All over my cock, pretty Nabi. C'mon—"

"I'm close," you all but whimper. "So—fuck. So close."

"Yeah, you are," he tells you—and then your legs are shaking, pussy tightly clamping around his cock, one hand tense against his desk while the other grabs at his wrist. Uncontrollable, is the way you whine for him. It's so needy—so desperate and pathetic—that it's almost a sob. Jungkook doesn't ease up. In fact, his hips gain a little pace again as your orgasm shatters around you both. He's breathless, but manages to choke out, "Flithy fuckin' cunt. Feels so fuckin' good. Fuck."

The frail limpness of your body as the orgasm smokes away is cute. Jungkook loves it. You're so weak for him. He fucks into you still, chasing his own high, and your whines only get louder. It's overwhelming, but you never want to lose the feeling.

It doesn't take much. Just a minute or so of your tight cunt, and Jungkook is pulling out. Even though he doesn't ask you to, you get to your knees as he tears the condom off.

"In my mouth," you beg, and who is he to reject such an offer?

Jerking himself to completion, Jungkook is all pretty and pathetic when he cums, too. Looks at you with eyes so starry you'd been forgiven for thinking he was a descendant of the constellations.

He milks the final few spurts of himself onto your wet tongue, and curses when you press dainty kisses to his tip. Stroking your tongue against him, you don't want to waste a drop. Look up at him and find that his eyes are resting shut from the pleasure of it all.

Silence surrounds you both, just your beating hearts and laboured breaths filling to the room. He helps you up. Holds you tight. Hugs you for a little while, then presses a kiss to the side of your head. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," you giggle - and then he's smiling, too. Feels vindicated by his irrational thoughts about you over the last few days. He pays no mind to the fact you're still technically dressed, and he's basically naked.

As he sorts himself out, you perch back up on his desk and languidly swing your legs. Enjoy the thought of memories plaguing him whenever he tried to play his little games over the next few days.

"You wanna grab a shower?" he offers. "Food, too? Dunno about you, but I'm fuckin' starving."

"Same," you nod, biting down on your bottom lip. "I'll go wash up, you sort food? Are places still open for delivery?"

Checking his phone for the time, Jungkook is surprised that it's closer to midnight than it is to his morning alarm. Only a handful of places will offer delivery at this time, but that's enough.

"Works for me," he says with a yawn, then opens what you had assumed was the closet door. Reveals an en-suite and knocks his head to the side. "Get your shower. Gimmie a shout if you need anything."

Tiles large and grey, it's the perfect counterpart to his bedroom. A little dark, but it's only because Jungkook hates using the big light. Always flicks the small light switches instead. There's a window overlooking the city, and even though you're only seven floors up, the hills of Yongsan-gu mean that he's got a view you could only dream of.

You're about to start the shower up when he calls through. "Is pizza good?"

"Pizza's good," you call back with a smile. Look yourself in the mirror and wonder how the fuck you ended up in the bathroom of arguably the most famous person you've ever met. Decide it's better not to question it.

The shower begins to cascade down, even if your sins are washed way, you know you won't be able to forget the feeling of Jungkook so easily.

Truth be told, you won't even try.

YONSEI UNIVERSITY DORMS DAESIN-DONG, SEODAEMUN-GU SUNDAY 21:13

"L in the chat," booms the voice of Taehyung through your laptop speakers. His trademark grin rests on his face as he teases Jungkook.

You've only just opened the stream. Instantly, you focus on the prettily lopsided smirk of Jungkook's lips. You've learned it's an almost permanent fixture on his boyish face. Shaking his head, he's adjusting his headset. Making it a little looser so that it'll fit him properly.

No one is questioning it.

What they are questioning, is where the fuck that pretty purple bruise on his neck has come from.

"Cross-fit," Jungkook just shrugs, knowing that it's the colloquial term for suspicious bruises after some idol used the same excuse. Blatant horseshit. Jungkook doesn't care.

"I've never done cross-fit, but I know you're bullshitting," Taehyung snorts.

The chat seems to agree with him.

"Thought I was a virgin?" Jungkook states a little cheekily, making reference to Taehyung's usual banter. "How else would I get one?"

Taehyung knows better than the retort. Knows that Jungkook could very easily slip something about Rae into the conversation.

Virgin? You type through a message on a private discord chat with Jungkook. He'd set it up the day before. Has already sent you, like, a thousand messages. Is what can only be described as obsessed—but it's mutual. Could have fooled me.

As his eyes glance down to his laptop screen, he fails to hide his smile. Had opened your chat on there, cause he didn't wanna accidentally broadcast the messages onto his stream. Despite this, he doesn't care that there are nearly 10,000 people in his stream merely minutes into it. Is far more interested in his chat thread with you. Replies immediately.

Stop distracting meI'm working</3

Giggling as the message pings through to you, there's a giddy quality to the way Jungkook makes you feel.

He'd spent the day in bed with you after your night together. Had wanted you to stay when he started streaming that evening. Said he'd only be an hour or so, and was incredibly pouty when you did leave.

It had just been him on last night's stream—headset off 'cause he didn't wanna adjust it back yet, hoodie on to hide his neck. The other boys were nursing hangovers, so he could do what he liked.

What he did do had you incredibly curious. Was just chatting. Talking to the comment section. Sleepily reeling off facts he'd recently learned about butterflies. Debating over their lifespan.

You're not naive to the fact that Jungkook does this streaming stuff as a profession, and are aware that the more people talking about his stream on other platforms, the more viewers he'll get.

Made sense for him to add fuel to the butterfly-related fire by talking about them.

Had sent you a message earlier that evening to ask what kind of butterfly you had on your skin.

A Monarch, you'd told him.

"See, the thing is," Jungkook had rambled to his viewers a little later on. "Most butterflies have super short lifespans—Monarch's included."

Eyes all starry, lights in his bedroom purple as per usual, he'd looked cosy. You wished you'd have stayed.

"But there's a specific kind. Migrating Monarchs. They're the last of their generation—the final butterflies of the year," he marvelled at the magic of it all.

His facts were a little hazy, but he knew enough. Had been down a you-shaped rabbit hole all afternoon.

"And they migrate, right? Move away from home—somewhere warmer—and then it just extends their lifespan. 180 days. Not 30. That's six months. Six months. It's a long time. It's not fleeting. Not in the slightest."

It's also, curiously, exactly how long you're scheduled to stay in Korea for.

"I dunno," Jungkook had just sighed, a little forlorn, trying to make sense of his thoughts.

He bit down on his bottom lip, stroking his thumb against the hard plastic ears of his headset, then focused on the camera again. Wondered if you were watching. 

He simply shrugged. Said, "Counts for something, though, right?"

[mostmagical]

for @zodoods, I hope this lives up to expectations 🙏

Words: 4k Summary:

Marinette knew she tended to get tunnel vision when she was focused, but luckily her boyfriend Chat Noir was always there to watch her back as they fought Monarch. With their enemy having disappeared, however, they decided together that it was finally time to reveal themselves. In public. Face to face. It's a little silly to have to introduce yourself to your own boyfriend, but after all, it wasn’t Marinette’s fault that she never knew her boyfriend’s name. (Adrien has never been to school, and Marinette doesn't know him.)

Marinette hadn’t known her smile could be so wide. Staring at herself in the reflection, she couldn’t be bothered to worry about the awful dark circles under her eyes, or the frizzy mess of her hair. Everything could be covered or smoothed over, after all. None of that really mattered. Not when her whole world was about to change.

Today was the day.

“Today,” she breathed the word to herself. “Tikki, can you believe it’s today?” she asked, turning around to look towards her kwami.

Tikki giggled from where she sat atop the dresser. “You and Chat Noir have only been planning it forever,” she replied.

The smile was beginning to make Marinette’s cheeks ache. “We have.”

For months following the disappearance of Monarch, Ladybug and Chat Noir had been planning and mentally preparing to finally reveal their identities to one another, eventually coming to the conclusion that they were both ready for it just a week prior. She could still see Chat’s goofy smile in her mind’s eye, clear as day.

“So, we’re really doing this?” he had asked as they sat atop a rooftop together. “For real?”

“For real,” she had replied, excitedly nodding her head. Taking his hand in hers, she had pressed three rapid kisses to the back of it, trying to impress all of her enthusiasm and all of her love into his skin through the suit. “I can’t wait to meet you, mon Chaton,” she had promised him.

His face was rosy, with that big, beautiful smile of his stretching out his cheeks. “Neither can I, my Lady.”

Marinette let out a low squeal at the not-so-distant memory, pressing her hands against her hot cheeks.

She was going to meet her boyfriend. For the first time.

Well, not exactly the first time, but first enough.

They had plans to meet at a little café just a few blocks from the Grand Palais. He had surprisingly been a bit apprehensive at first, but she assured him everything would be okay. Marinette promised to wear the rose he had given her in her hair, and she was going to look for the boy wearing the scarf she had made him on his pretend birthday (and then he could tell her his real birthday!).

She couldn’t wait.

This day was a long time coming, and Marinette had plenty of fantasies to prove it. She wanted to hold her boyfriend’s hand in public, kiss him and go to the movies, all without a crowd of people taking photos of them. She wanted to goof off and be silly with him, all without worrying about being a hero, or acting like a good role model. She wanted to take him over to her house, and have him meet her parents, and stay for dinner without the threat of a supervillain interrupting the desert.

And after today, all that could finally be reality.

She got to work applying her makeup and wrangling her hair, not wanting to waste another second. Although she was notoriously late for most events, this was something she hoped to actually arrive early to. The ruby red dress she had laid out the previous night while she should have been sleeping was the last to slip over her head, perfectly matching the scarlet of Chat’s rose tucked behind her ear. The knee-length skirt fluttered to and fro as she took one last scrutinizing look in the mirror. Everything had to be perfect for her not-so-first impression.

Once she was finally satisfied, Marinette tossed her purse over her head. As soon as Tikki was settled and comfortable, she at last headed out.

There was a skip in her step the entirety of the walk, completely out of her control.

Although excitement was certainly at the forefront of her emotions, she would be lying if she didn’t acknowledge that little seed of nervousness. What if he didn’t like her? (He would.) What if he wasn’t as kind as she thought, and his personality was nothing more than a front? (Impossible.) What if his nerves got the best of him, and he didn’t show?

With her heart thundering in her chest, she turned the last corner to bring the café into view.

Her eyes zoned in on a mop of blond hair instantly. It was neat and combed back— completely at odds with the wild wind-blown look she was used to seeing on her boyfriend, but something in the way her stomach twisted and swooped inside of her told her that she may have spotted him. Taking slow steps closer, she traced the curve of his posture with her eyes as he sat hunched over the tiny café table, gasping slightly as she located the familiar shade of blue peeking from his collar.

It had to be him. It had to.

A chorus of giggles broke her concentration, drawing her eyes to a gaggle of girls a couple tables over. They were whispering excitedly and pointing in the direction of the same mop of blond hair, all with cell phones raised. A sudden wave of heat ran up Marinette’s spine as she realized they were ogling him.

She wasn’t surprised that girls were looking at him. Chat Noir was the cutest, most handsomest boy in the world, so of course they would. But that was her cutest and most handsomest boy in the world.

Her slow steps quickly evolved into a fast walk until she was right beside him, at which she practically threw herself onto the table, bodyblocking the girls’ view. The boy visibly jumped at her entrance. She glanced at his face for his reaction, but his eyes were covered by large sunglasses, effectively hiding any expression of recognition. Face feeling suddenly warm, Marinette stood back up straight and cleared her throat, casually drumming her fingers against the laminate surface.

“H-hi. I’m looking for my kitten,” she said, uttering the code phrase they had planned to use to confirm each other’s identities.

The boy smiled, instantly easing her worries. “I saw a little bug on the flyer.”

A grin spread across her cheeks before she could stop it, giddiness overflowing to the tips of her fingers. “I found you,” she murmured, just quiet enough to be just for him.

He stood from his seat, still smiling, and Marinette thought he was going in for a hug until he stepped around her. She was only confused for a second before he pulled out the chair on the other side of the table.

“Oh.” So the gentlemanly thing wasn’t an act after all. Accepting the gesture, Marinette turned to sit, feeling him push the chair in behind her as she did so. “Thank you.”

He simply hummed, before returning to his own seat across from her.

“So, um–” Not really sure where to start, (how does one introduce themselves to the boy they’ve been dating for two years?) Marinette figured the basics should go first. She almost wanted to laugh as she realized she was essentially on a blind date with her long-term boyfriend. “I’m Marinette,” she said, tugging at her bangs before pushing them behind her ear.

“Marinette,” he breathed. Breathed, as in he actually sighed her name when he said it. Marinette thought she might melt. “That’s a beautiful name.”

She wondered how dopey her smile must look to him. “Thank you,” she replied. “And you are?”

Thin blond eyebrows raised over the rims of the glasses, before dropping back down out of sight almost as quickly as they appeared. He laughed. “Okay,” he said between chuckles. “I’m Adrien.”

Marinette wasn’t quite sure what was so funny, but his laughter was just as contagious as always. With a giggle, she stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Adrien.”

His returning smile was soft. “Nice to meet you, Marinette.” He took her hand, and turned it to rest atop his on the table, running smooth circles over the back of her palm with his thumb. The feeling of his warm skin on hers was foreign and exciting, setting off yet another flurry of butterflies in her stomach.

“You still wear your pigtails,” he stated.

Naturally, her free hand trailed to her hair. She smiled as her fingers brushed the velvet petals of the rose. “They’re kind of my armor,” she replied with a shrug. “All the better for you to recognize me.”

The corner of his lip twitched, but the soft smile remained unchanged. Part of her wondered if he was still nervous about meeting. Hoping to ease his worries, she grinned.

“And I’m glad to see you don’t wear whiskers,” she joked.

He laughed again, and that seemed to be enough to lower the tension in his shoulders, to Marinette’s relief. “You’re right, I don’t,” he said. “I have a clean public image to maintain, you know.”

Marinette furrowed her brows, trying and most likely failing to hide the confusion on her face. It was surprising; Chat Noir was definitely the type of person who would grow “whiskers” just to commit to the bit. To each their own she supposed. Mustaches did seem to be more supervillain-y than superhero-y, after all.

“I do have to ask, though, what’s with the glasses?” she asked, moving the conversation along. “They’re so big, they’re covering half your face. Any plans to take those off?”

“Well, I–” Adrien’s head turned minutely towards the girls at the table behind her, barely perceptible to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. “I don’t know.” His hand pulled at the scarf where it crossed over his black t-shirt.

“Please,” she insisted, putting on her best baby-doll eyes. “How unfair you get to see all of my face and I can’t see all of yours.” She held his hand tighter, imploring but hopefully he knew it was still light-hearted.

“Marinette, it’s just–”

She pulled out her secret weapon: the pout. His mouth instantly stopped moving.

“I’ve never really seen your eyes before,” she added. At his answering sigh, she felt a bout of pride swell in her chest. Victory.

Hesitantly, he removed the sunglasses and folded them on the table, all the while looking shyly up at her through golden lashes.

Marinette’s pulse quickened as she finally— really— met his eyes. Such strange feelings of déjà vu ran through her when she caught sight of how green they were. It was the first time she had seen his whole face, and yet it already felt so nostalgic and familiar. It was almost as if she had seen him before, and she supposed she had, in her dreams at the least.

“Gorgeous,” she sighed, unable to stop her tongue from embarrassing the rest of her.

All the regret she might have held drained out of her, however, when she saw how pink his cheeks went in response. His dropped jaw slowly curved into a small smile, and those pretty green eyes closed in half moons as he replied, “Thanks for the compliment.”

Was this really the same boy?

Marinette snorted. “What? No cheesy remark about how you knew I wouldn’t be able to resist you?”

“I’m just far too stunned by the beauty in front of me to think straight,” he said, mouth pulled sideways. “I daresay you could outshine me anyday.”

There he is.

She rolled her eyes in response, but she couldn’t deny the coils of warmth that spread across her skin. With a fond shake of her head, she brought one elbow to the top of the table to cradle her chin in her hand.

“You know, you’re taking this really well,” Adrien said, the smirk fading back to a humble smile. It was odd seeing him so reserved. “Better than I thought you would.”

“Taking what well?” she asked. Her heart squeezed in her chest as she recalled his apprehension from the night before. She attempted to keep things light, sliding into a teasing tone as she conspiratorially whispered, “Did you think I wouldn’t like you without the cat ears, mon Chaton?”

“Well, no, that’s not exactly—”

She cut him off, making sure to speak with all the sincerity she could muster, “Because there is no universe where I wouldn’t like you.” With a coy wink, she added, “Believe me. I checked.” She grinned with pride as her fingers squeezed his on the table, feeling as though she had one-upped him in cheesiness.

Again, his mouth hung open slightly as he processed her words, but soon morphed back into the soft smile. His head tilted to the side. “You always know what to say to make me happy, my–” The corners of his lips twitched, his intended endearment clear to both of them— “my Marinette,” he said instead, pulling their joined hands up to brush his lips against the back of her palm.

Dimly, Marinette registered the sound of a squeal from somewhere behind her.

“But, um, no.” His countenance took on a much more nervous expression, his free hand drifting back to play with the nape of his neck. “I meant more–” He paused, waving his hand awkwardly towards himself.

“What?”

His brows furrowed, mouth open and clearly poised to explain himself, but he was interrupted by a waiter arriving to take their orders, and the moment was surreptitiously forgotten.

As the date went on, conversation flowed freely between them. Marinette learned so many of his favorite things, what he was studying in school, that he was an only child just like her, and of course, his birthday, time and year. So many things that she would normally have naturally learned over time, which was something that she took for granted in her other relationships with family and friends. It was odd, but wonderful that this absurd blind date was just another unique experience that they could share together.

She would have been more than happy to talk to him forever if she could, but a trill from Adrien’s phone stopped their conversation short.

His eyebrows turned down as he read the screen. “How did it get so late?” he pouted, just as cute as before when he wore cat ears on his head. “I’m sorry, Marinette, but I have to go.”

Her smile was sympathetic, barely holding herself back from mirroring his pout. “That’s okay,” she replied. “We’ll just have to have our next date sooner.”

The answering smile on his face made it all worth it.

Adrien’s fingers flew across his keyboard for a second, before another trill responded. “My bodyguard says he can take you home, though!” he announced happily. “So we can spend a little more time together.”

Marinette couldn’t stop the confused noise from escaping her mouth. “Your…bodyguard?” she repeated slowly.

“Yeah!” He looked up from his phone, lips softly quirked upwards. “And don’t worry; he may look mean but he’s the kindest man I’ve ever met.”

That certainly wasn’t something Marinette was worried about, but now she felt like she needed to be.

She tried to cross the appropriate wires in her head. Okay, so Chat Noir, famed superhero of Paris and wielder of the power of destruction, had a bodyguard in his everyday life. And that bodyguard apparently drove him places?

Perhaps she needed to collect more evidence.

Too busy thinking to come up with anything to say, Marinette mutely nodded her agreement.

Having already paid the bill— well, Adrien paid, despite her protests—, the two stood from their seats and headed down the sidewalk. Marinette followed Adrien closely, too busy sweeping her eyes across the busy street to spot this ‘mean-looking’ man to notice Adrien’s knuckles bumping into hers. She finally looked up at him when he laced their fingers together and squeezed. His green eyes almost seemed to shimmer as they looked into hers, and Marinette could feel all that wound-up tension melt away in response.

The spell between them was broken by a sudden honk.

Adrien was the first to break eye contact, turning back towards the street. “Oh! There he is.”

Marinette followed his gaze. Her eyes widened as they landed on the sleek sedan that had pulled up to the curb in front of them. She didn’t know much about cars, but she knew enough to identify the logo of a luxury brand. The car was well-washed and shiny, unlike most of the vehicles that parked along the dirty city streets.

A burly man emerged from the driver’s side door, and walked around the car. To Adrien’s credit, he did seem a bit scary, based on sheer size alone, but Marinette supposed her Papa was probably about the same size. She figured if the man smiled a bit more, he would come off much friendlier. He greeted the two of them with little more than a low grunt and a nod, before briskly opening the rear passenger side door.

Marinette froze in place as she waited for one of the others to move. She couldn’t for the life of her understand what was going on. Was Adrien going to drive and this man was graciously letting her have the front seat?

“Marinette?” Adrien cleared his throat. “Are you ready to go?”

She blinked a few times, looking back and forth between the open door and her boyfriend’s face. “Um, yes,” she replied nervously. “I’m ready.”

He bowed his head, gesturing with his free hand towards the open door. “Then, after you, my lady.”

The familiar name quelled the voices in her head long enough for her to step forward. “Thank you, my prince,” she teased in response.

Though she did step in first, she held fast to his hand, pulling him along with her. The inside of the sedan was just as clean as the outside. Small tablets nestled into the back of both front headrests, and a far fancier screen than Marinette had in any of her devices at home was centerstage on the dashboard. She could feel her eyes widening as she took it all in.

Chat Noir was rich.

Chloé Bourgeois rich, maybe.

That was… unexpected. Admittedly, she never imagined Chat to have a high-class upbringing (if she could even call Chloé’s that). She had always envisioned him as a rough and tumble sort of kid. He would take soda over wine any day. Canned tuna over caviar. He had never turned up his nose to fast food, or cheap nosebleed seats at a concert, or acted like he was any better than anyone else.

No, Chat– Adrien— was amiable, gracious, and an appreciator of the little things–

“Marinette?”

She whipped her head around to meet her boyfriend’s gaze, having been yanked from her thoughts. “Yes?”

Adrien seemed to be holding back a laugh, clearly having recognized her thinking face. “Your address?”

“Oh!” She leaned forward in her seat, directing her attention to the driver. “12 Rue Gotlib, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

Adrien’s face lit up in the rearview mirror. “That’s just around the corner from us!”

“Really?” She was reminded of that flash of déjà vu she had felt upon seeing his face for the first time. Maybe they had met before. Most people who lived in the 21st arrondissement got their baked goods from her parents�� bakery, and Marinette often worked the front counter. They must have had at least one encounter before as their civilian selves.

It was almost a shame.

She would have loved to know that her favorite person was just around the corner.

He tightened his grip on her hand as she turned back to face him. “Almost too good to be true,” he said, echoing her thoughts.

All lamentations of lost time were forgotten at that, and she chose instead to be happy in the moment they had now. She smiled, squeezing his hand back.

They were content to spend the short ride in comfortable silence after having spent the majority of their time together with endless conversations. Adrien’s bodyguard didn’t ask any questions after Marinette gave her address, so she saw no reason to try chatting with him when she could cuddle into Adrien’s arm instead. The world was pink and fuzzy, and the only leather pressed against her skin was that of the car seats. Feeling the rise and fall of Chat Noir’s breaths through warm cotton was a wholly different, welcome experience.

The ride was too short, however, and before she knew it, they had pulled up in front of her family’s bakery.

Adrien’s short intake of breath pulled her eyes upwards, and she noticed him staring at the sign with eyes full of wonder. “Whoa, you live so close to the boulangerie,” he noted.

Marinette grinned. “Well, yeah, I live above it,” she said, delighted when his head whipped back to face her. “My parents own it.”

His eyes looked about ready to bulge out of their sockets. “You do?”

She pointed to the sign. “And I designed the logo. Tom and Sabine Boulangerie,” —she turned the finger towards herself— “Tom and Sabine daughter.”

Adrien’s face was painted with the most excitement she had seen from him all day. “That’s so cool! They have the best macarons— I’ve had some at events when we get catering— and I’ve asked Nathalie a few times, but, well–” His face was a bit pink as he paused. “You’re amazing, Marinette.”

“I’ll have to bring you some macarons next time I see you,” she giggled.

His eyebrows danced over his eyes. ���Now I know why you’re so sweet.”

“Oh, hush.” She lightly shoved his shoulder. “Takes one to know one.”

Following some pointed clearings of the throat from the driver’s seat, they eventually got out of the car and Adrien walked her to her door. She left him with a quick kiss and a promise to text him later.

The remainder of the day went by in a blissful blur. Dinner, homework, and television with her parents faded into the background as she slipped lovingly into her daydreams. Adrien was too busy to talk, but he had sent her a few hearts and memes throughout the evening, and she looked over all of them with her chest fit to burst. Before she knew it, it was time for bed and they were texting each other good night.

It wasn’t until the next morning that Marinette realized the true shift the world had undergone.

The incessant buzzing of her phone was an unwanted wakeup call. Marinette blindly slapped her hand against the mattress until her fingers met the smooth plastic of her phone case. She slowly cracked her eyes open as the screen lit up again with notifications.

New Message - 🦊Alya🔥(32), Missed Call - 🦊Alya🔥 (2), New Message - Adrien ♥️🐈

Wondering what was so desperate for Alya to be blowing up her phone so early, Marinette quickly responded to Adrien’s “Good morning <3” in kind before opening the floodgates. She was immediately treated to a number of news articles, all caps messages, and photos. Photos of her and Adrien.

Her fingers flew through the slideshow of photographs: Adrien waiting alone with those ridiculous sunglasses, herself haphazardly draped over the table, Adrien kissing her hand, the both of them stepping into his car. She paused on one of the last photos. It was of the two of them, hand-in-hand as they waited for their ride. Adrien’s soft eyes that had mesmerized her up close were just as soft from a careful distance.

She blinked rapidly as she processed it all.

How did Alya get these?

Scrolling back up in her conversation history with Alya, she looked at the articles again, scanning over the headlines: “Adrien Agreste - Dating?” “Adrien Hits the Town with Mystery Girl!” “Who Caught the Eye of Adrien Agreste?” “Agreste Son is Growing Up!”

…Agreste?

The conversation shot down to the bottom as another text from Alya came in: CANT BELIEVE YOU DIDNT TELL ME????

Faster than she could process, Marinette swiped away from her messages to plug “Adrien Agreste'' into her search engine. A shocking thousands of images popped up, all of her boyfriend in various poses and campaigns— including one with the bowler hat she had designed for a competition run by Gabriel Agreste.

A banner notification popped up at the top of her screen, Marinette’s finger tapping it automatically.

Adrien ♥️🐈: I have a photoshoot until around noon, but do you want to get ice cream after?

Marinette dropped the phone as everything suddenly became clear.

Perhaps maybe their civilian relationship wasn’t about to be quite as low-key as she thought.

[beesbiteandwillowrites]

DP x DC snippet: "To Whom Do Gods Pray?"

Danny never wanted this.

Right now, he couldn't even tell anyone what he did want. Happiness, probably, whatever that entailed. Snuggle up with Jason in one of those giant armchairs that were scattered around his keep and listen to his love read to him in a soft voice, letting the cadence of his voice lull him to sleep. Fly with him through the Infinite Realms, to the edges where the vast green expanse gave way to countless unexplored galaxies so they could stargaze together. Jump through portals together and explore new dimensions to find the ones that have the best versions of all their favourite foods.

Not sitting at the bedside of his love as Jason teetered on the edge of life and death, balancing on a knife's edge. The heart monitor beeped loudly, too loud, too fast, and Danny didn't think he could ever hear anything else than the sound of Jason's heartbeat as it tried to jump out of his chest.

"Great One," Frostbite said gently. "Your consort is strong, as he has proven time and time again."

Danny wanted to scream. Jason never should have been forced to prove how strong he was. He couldn't help but think of all the times he had been here, sitting at Jason's bedside, as Jason recovered from wounds that had him teetering on the edge, that had almost killed him.

Danny was the Ghost King, the Ruling Monarch of the Infinite Realms. He ruled the dead of any and all dimensions. He had gods kneel in front of his throne, promising their allegiance. And now he was once again powerless, nothing more than someone who prayed their lover would not die.

To whom do gods pray? Who could he ask for guidance when he could bend the fabric of the universe to his will?

"He has a good chance to pull through, Great One," Frostbite said, and Danny swallowed bile.

"When will he wake up?" he asked hoarsely, holding Jason's hand between his own.

"We are working on an antidote for the serum he has been injected with," Frostbite. "Right now, his heart rate will remain stable enough as long as he remains unconscious, but if we wake him, external stimuli will cause the serum's adrenaline response to kick in. We would not be able to guarantee his survival should that happen."

Danny's core thrummed in his chest, feeling like it was about to burst. "How long?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"A few more days, Great One. Batman used a unique serum. But we will succeed."

Frostbite laid a clawed hand on Danny's shoulder and it felt like it burned him. Danny felt like he was drowning. He wanted to scream, to cry, to hit something, anything. He wanted to hurt the man who hurt his love so much he had put him in this bed more than once before.

Batman.

Fury bubbled up Danny's throat and he almost choked on it. Batman had hurt his love time and time again and Jason had pleaded with Danny every time to let it go. Batman had slit Jason's throat in favour of the mass-murderer that had killed so many, that had so many of Danny's subjects crying out for justice. He had beaten Jason half to death on a rooftop after he had lost his friends, had kept beating him long after Jason stopped fighting back, long after he had lost consciousness. He had brought Jason back to the scene of his murder under false pretences (and Danny would never forgive Batman for all the nights he had to hold Jason through nightmares of his father beating him with a crowbar after that).

And here they were again, with Jason close to death, close to becoming a permanent part of Danny's domain, almost murdered again by the man who he still saw as his father, even after everything, and Danny was drowning in despair.

He needed Jason to wake up.

He needed him.

All Danny could do was hold his hand and pray.

To whom do gods pray when everything else has failed?

[grounded-gryphon]

WIP Wednesday - Spoofed Phones and Sugar Swans

Nightwing waited until Oracle gave him the 'go', then started grappling across Crime Alley. With O's eyes on and Hood's 'invitation, he didn't have to worry about an ambush, which was good. As planned, he arrived at the meeting location a few minutes after D-- the Ghost King and his people. And Hood, who was with them again, actually standing with them them this time and not off on his own.

Okay then.

Nightwing nailed his landing and put his grapple away. To his relief he could still hear Oracle over comms. The extra EMP shielding was still working.

"Your Majesty," Nightwing greeted the young monarch. "Hood." He gave a nod to each of the others on the rooftop. Tucker, Sam, Jazz… Focus, Nightwing.

"Nightwing," Hood returned.

"Thanks for coming," the Ghost King began, sounding a bit awkward. "I was hoping for...a bit less formality with this meeting."

[katealpha]

Art Comm by Zenny’s Club

Over an hour after Catwoman rescued Batman from the Steel Mill…

With Protocol 10 having been shut down, Selina knew it was safe to come out of hiding. After saving Batman from the rubble he was trapped under, she’d managed to get underground and wait for the sound of middle strikes and helicopters to cease. All the while whatever Ivy put inside of her belly was restless. Writhing and shaking. However when things got more quiet, the thing calmed down enough for Selina to take her hands off her stomach and get a move on.

Selina found it not too difficult to traverse the rooftops in her current condition. Despite having gained at least ten extra pounds, she felt as light as she could be, and jumping and swinging over gaps was little trouble. As she made her way through the Bowery and passed by the Ace Chemicals building, she spotted the bombed out Courthouse. Two-Face’s goons were still congregating out on the front patio despite all the present rubble. It brought to mind the money that she’d come for.

Despite Batman telling her to get to a hospital the second things died down, she found herself feeling stubborn. Despite feeling fat and bloated unlike anything she’d ever felt, it wasn’t so bad. Maybe it was Ivy’s pheromones clouding her, maybe being pregnant wasn’t as daunting as she previously thought it would be. It gave her something to ponder until she heard the sound of a crowd nearby.

Catwoman landed gently on a rooftop and with a slow stride, she made her way to the edge of the building, rubbing one of her claws hands behind her hip. Her back ached somewhat since this transformation of her body. Looking down past the curve of her bloated belly, she spied down upon the famous Monarch Theater. Outside were well over a dozen good. All of whom worked for the Joker. Standing among them was Harley Quinn, who was blubbering and shaking like a leaf. She was the kind of woman Selina found utterly pathetic, and she felt little pity for her loss. All that mattered to her was that Bruce was okay, and that Joker seemed to be gone for good. One less powerful psycho to worry about in Gotham.

As she was thinking about what a future without Joker would hold, a nearer future made itself known as a deep, ominous gurgle shook through her bloated belly. Her emerald gaze went down to her midriff, which visibly shifted with whatever it Ivy had pumped down her throat. An exasperated sigh left her lips as she let one hand rub across the leathery, now stretched surface of her suit. Selina felt like she should be more worried than she was. For all she knew, the thing inside could rip and tear its way out any any moment. It had grown fast enough, and certainly didn’t feel like a normal baby should. Not that Selina had much knowledge on pregnancy. Instinct told her to get it out of her as soon as possible. But said instinct was clouded by a combination of pheromones and Selina’s own desire to get her things from her apartment first.

With a shrug, Catwoman sighed and gave her bloated belly a gentle pat. “Okay, one last detour and then I’m getting us to Gotham General. I’ll need a change of clothes after all. Can’t show up all dressed up in leather.” She purred to her unborn offspring before turning and shuffling across the roof, set on heading back towards her apartment…

To be continued…

[harpersdragons]

New Fic!

Theft in the Family...By Jason Todd

Talia tasks Jason with taking Damian to his father, and a few things change

Primary Tags: jason and damian met in the league, mainly fluff

I've written through half of chapter 4, i'm expecting 5-6 chapters

Chapter 1 under the cut:

word count: 1327

Jason’s life changed (for the third—fourth? Fifth? Fuck Jason’s lost count—time) the day Talia burst into his room in the league headquarters.

Jason snaps to attention, drawing the knife from under his pillow.

Talia may be like a mother to him, and he may love her little boy more than anything, but this is still the league. If you’re not hypervigilant, you’re dead. Threats are everywhere, even where you don’t expect them.

“The clown is dead.” She announces.

Jason relaxes, then tenses up again once the words register.

“You’re not kidding.”

“No. I have personally ensured it.”

“What…what about the plan?”

“It has been changed. You will still go to Gotham, but you must take Damian with you.”

“What.” He didn’t mind Damian coming with him, but taking him from Ra’s was declaring war on the league.

“I need you to deliver him to his father. It is not safe for him here.”

When Jason agrees, she hands over a letter.

“Give this to my Beloved. Come, you leave now.”

“I’m—I’m not packed.” He didn’t want to see Bruce, maybe he could keep Damian for himself?

As soon as the thought pops in his head, he dismisses it. He wouldn’t be able to give Damian a fulfilling life, he’s barely 17 for fuck’s sake. (He thinks, anyway, the whole being dead thing makes knowing his age difficult).

“You will find everything you need on the plane.”

They weave through the labyrinth of corridors, eventually reaching the plane Talia’s arranged.

Damian is already there, sitting primly in one of the chairs in the cargo hold.

Talia exchanges a tearful goodbye (on Damian’s side, Talia is as immovable as ever) with her 6 year old, and Jason readies for takeoff.

When they arrive in Gotham, Jason lands at a private airstrip just outside of Gotham. Bruce would probably find out about it, since he seems to know fuckin’ everything, but that’s really not Jason’s problem right now. Talia had provided a small car, so he packs Damian into the backseat and drove off towards Bristol.

“Alright, Princeling, the rules are different here. Your father has two other kids, and you need to get along with them. No killing, no maiming, no trying to assert yourself as the rightful heir.”

“But I am the rightful heir, am I not?”

It still shocked him how formal Damian was. No matter how many times he heard it, hearing a six year old talk like he’s an old monarch or some shit is something you never get used to.

“It doesn’t work like that here. Bruce…Bruce loves his children equally,” Jason may not believe it—the Old Man has favorites, and you can never convince him otherwise—but Damian needs to. Bruce needs to accept Damian, and that won’t happen if the kid is trying to kill his siblings. “No killing and no maiming are the main rules, but make sure you listen to whatever Bruce and Alfred say, alrigh’?”

“Ok, Akhi.” Damian’s voice is sleepy, and Jason can practically hear him drifting off.

He smiles softly, having Damian around helped tremendously with getting the Pit Rage under control, and he’s sure that’s what Talia’s plan was. The rage is useful for some things, but if she wanted to get Damian out of Nanda Parbat for his safety, she had to make sure he wouldn’t be overcome with pit rage and kill the kid.

The drive passes pretty quickly, though he does catch a few glimpses of Bats on rooftops on his way to the manor. He makes sure they haven’t followed him, and then parks in the woods about a mile from the manor.

“C’mon, Habibi.” He grabs Damian out of the backseat and settles him on his hip.

“I can walk, I am not a child!” His voice is still sleepy, but the exclamation is still there.

Jason couldn’t help but snort.

“Actually, by definition, you are a child. I’m not making you walk a mile, I can carry you.”

“I can walk, Todd!”

“Quiet, Habibi. You’re not walking.”

“Tt.” Damian huffs but settles down.

The walk passes quickly, if you ignore Damian’s annoyed grumbling, and then they’re standing before the gates of the manor.

Well, kind of.

They’re standing off to the side and in one of the camera blind spots.

Jason takes a second to analyze the fence line, and finds a shorter tree they could climb and hop over.

Hopefully Bruce didn’t drastically change the security measures on the grounds.

He carries Damian over to the tree and prompts him to grab the lowest branch. Once he is safely sitting in the tree, Jason climbs up after him.

”Can you jump over the fence and land safely?”

Damian tosses a scathing glare (well…as scathing as a six year old can be) at Jason and prepares to jump.

”That wasn’t an answer, and I really need one. The ‘safely’ was the most important part of that.”

”Tt.” Damian throws himself off the branch, flipping in the air and lands softly on the ground.

”You’re gonna get along so great with Golden Boy…” Jason mutters before following. He doesn’t flip, but he does manage to land almost as softly as Damian. He eyes the yard for a few seconds, trying to spot the security triggers.

He scoops Damian up again and picks his way across the yard, heading for the Manor.

He stops a little ways away, within view of the driveway and front door. “Ok, I’ll stay here until you’re inside.”

Damian furrows his brow and turns his inquisitive gaze on Jason. “You are not coming with me?”

”This isn’t my home anymore, Princeling.” He smiles sadly, “Your father won’t want me around, this is somewhere you have to go alone.”

”I do not want to live there without you! Why can’t I stay with you?”

”You need to stay with your father. He can keep you safe.” Jason crouches to be eye level with him, and runs a hand through Damian’s soft hair. “I will always come if you call, Habibi. I promise you.” He tugs two letters out of his jacket, one for Bruce and one for Alfred.

He wrote the one for Alfred specifically. Damian needs to know how to contact Jason, and therefore someone in the family will too.

“Give these to Alfred Pennyworth when he opens the door.” He hands them to Damian, “Go on now.”

”No! You can’t leave me.”

”Damian.”

”Why do you have to leave me?” Damian’s eyes started watering.

”I don’t belong here, ok? I can’t stay.”

Damian huffs and glares at him, tears still leaking out of his eyes.

“I’m sorry, but you need to go.” Jason pulls him in for a quick hug. “I love you, Habibi. If you need me, tell Alfred, alrigh’? He’ll be able to contact me.”

Damian doesn’t respond, just buries his face in Jason’s chest, in an uncharacteristic show of affection.

Eventually, Damian pulls away and wipes his eyes. “I do not want you to go, Akhi.”

If Jason stays any longer he just might stay, damn Damian’s convincing.

“I can’t, Dami. Bruce doesn’t want me!”

”How do you know?”

I’m not your father. I don’t have to deal with your teenage rebellion.

I’m not your father

I’m not your father

”Because he fuckin’ told me so, kid.”

”Tt.”

”Dami…” Jason sighs, “I’ll visit, how ‘bout that? I’m sure we can figure it out.”

”That is acceptable, I suppose,” Damian’s tone is sullen, and he refuses to meet Jason’s eyes.

”Good. Now go on, the bats will probably be back from patrol soon.”

Damian darts in for another quick hug, then makes his way towards the door.

Jason watches as he knocks, then a few seconds later Alfred opens the door. Damian hands over the letters and is ushered inside.

Time for Jason to head out, then.

“Bye, Habibi.” He murmurs, then leaves the way he came.

[overworkedunderwhelmed]

Eagle-eyed fans and amateur photographer contributors to the Ladyblog and other social media platforms had well documented the fact that Chat Noir had saved the bakery girl multiple times, far more than any other girl.

In fact, one very lucky photographer managed to get a very blurry picture of them up on a rooftop with candles.

People dismissed the very idea of course.  Everyone knew that Chat Noir was wholly smitten with Ladybug.

At least until Chat Noir and the Bakery Girl had been photographed together on the bus and by one generally grumpy moviegoer.

It had been the biggest social media storm in Paris since the whole Adrien and Pajama Girl ordeal.

Chat Noir fans were on the lookout for even the slightest hint, especially since Ladybug had been having an awful time of it when Monarch stole all those Miraculous.  That hadn’t helped but notice Chat Noir moping on the roof.

Some were even a little too gleeful at the prospect of Chat Noir finally moving on...

So when the first hint of Chat Noir and the Bakery Girl popped up near Paris’s resident purveyor of overpriced ice cream (and judgement), the Ladyblog was already abuzz.

With resident Ladyblogger Alya Césaire unavailable for comment, but it didn’t even take five minutes before posts to go viral after one very clever viewer recognized the exact pair of pajamas the Bakery Girl was wearing.

#ChatNoirstoleyourgirl, #NoonetellAdrien, and #pajamagirlisbakerygirl were trending before the battle was finished.

[melodiousramblings]

I just realized this episode gave us all 4 sides of the love square!!

Adrienette: the lunch date, Adrien in protective boyfriend mode, the two them all blushy and ADORABLE

MariChat: Marinette wondering where Chat is/what happened to him and hoping he’s okay, Adrien taking her hand and saying “I know/I’m sure he is”, and this 2-part episode taking place literally right after Elation

Ladrien: ADRIEN!!! TAKING!!! THE LADYBUG EARRINGS!!! FROM MONARCH!!! FOR LADYBUG!!! Monarch seeing that HIS SON is on Ladybug’s side!! Adrien giving Ladybug back her earrings!

LadyNoir: The two of them sitting on the rooftop. Ladybug staring lovingly at her kitty. “You and me against Monarch, my lady.”

😭😭😭 My heart, I love them so much!!!

[kasienda]

A Miraculous Reveal - Rings True

Post Season Five - Angst w/ a very happy ending

Summary: Ladybug hits send on her text to Chat Noir, telling him who Monarch is. She tells Adrien a very different story. Adrien doesn't know what to make of it, but he thinks he deserves the truth. Thanks to @coffeebanana, @wackus-bonkus-maximus, and @nemaliwrites for the beta read. This hits just a bit harder because of your input.

Read on Ao3

A Miraculous Reveal - Rings True

I figured out who Monarch is. He’s Gabriel Agreste. Meet me at the Agreste Mansion . 

Chat Noir stares at the text and then glances up once again at the imposing statue erected in his father’s honor. Because his father apparently sacrificed himself to help Ladybug defeat Monarch. 

He shivers in the winter morning air. 

Both of those realities can’t be true. 

Chat Noir falls to the ground, his father’s oversized form blocking out the sun’s glare. He has no idea what he was feeling, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. He just sits there, gravel from the pavement digging through his suit, barely aware of the passersby chattering about his unexpected presence. He can’t hear what they’re saying with his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. His stomach is so sour he thinks he might throw up, and his hands shake hard enough he’s not certain he will keep hold of  his baton.

His father’s gone. 

He wished for this. Adrien wanted the man who wouldn’t let him make his own choices or live his life gone. And him being Monarch made all of that worse somehow. 

How many times had Adrien wished Monarch dead? 

Well, now he was. 

But Ladybug told him to his face, as Adrien, that his father gave up everything so he could be happy. 

Adrien can’t believe it. His father had never cared about Adrien’s happiness. That had never been more clear than when he shipped Adrien off to London to be the poster child alongside Kagami for the Alliance rings or whatever else his father had in mind. 

It’s far, far easier to believe his father had been Monarch. 

But why did Ladybug lie?

He doesn’t have to contemplate the question long. She lands next to him and he scrambles to his feet, his shoulders tense as he turns to her. She asked to meet him this morning, it’s the first time he’s seen her since he failed to show up to fight Monarch. Is she angry with him? She doesn’t look angry, but she doesn’t look happy either.  

She very noticeably does not look at the monument. 

“Can we talk anywhere but here?” Her voice shakes. And it’s amazing how just that small sign of anxiety from her makes his own turmoil abate. 

For the moment, at least. 

He clears his throat. “Lead the way.” His voice sounds like gravel. 

She takes off, and he launches himself in pursuit, not paying any attention to where they’re going. He just follows the flash of red as he always does.

They eventually settle on an ordinary rooftop away from prying eyes. She doesn’t speak. She stares at the blank brick wall in front of them as if it holds all the answers of the universe. 

Every moment of silence eats at him, bringing back the clammy feeling in his neck and the sour churn in his stomach. He can’t stand it. 

“M’lady?”

She glances at him and visibly swallows. 

“Are you okay?”

Her hands grip the edge of the roof and her gaze drops. She shakes her head and her eyes well with tears.

His hand covers hers immediately. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

She leans into his shoulder and his arm comes around her immediately.

She breaks down into tears immediately, and he just holds her as she cries herself out. 

“I wish you were there,” she whispers, and his chest tightens in guilt. “I don’t know that it would have made any difference, but–” her head nuzzles further into his shoulder, “–I would have felt better with you there.” 

“I’m sorry,” he croaks again. He shouldn’t have given into his nightmare. He could have broken out of his father’s prison. It apparently wouldn’t have even mattered that it would have revealed his identity.

Monarch was dead. 

She shakes her head. “You couldn’t have known. I didn’t know either. I was there for another reason entirely.” 

He wants to ask what that reason was, but now that she’s talking, he’s unwilling to interrupt. 

“Discovering his identity was an accident. The miraculized robots were everywhere. They were tracking my active miraculous somehow. I had to detransform. He had me cornered. Thank god you sent Plagg. The tides shifted then! And I had him!”

Her face falls and she buries her eyes in her closed fists. 

“I was so stupid! I thought I could convince him to give it up for Adrien.” 

His throat tightens. It isn’t surprising that his father wouldn’t. But hearing her say it still somehow hurts. 

Adrien had never been enough, not for his father.

He blinks furiously to fend off the unwanted tears.

“So why is there a statue of Monarch in the middle of Paris?” he croaks. “Why did you lie to Adrien?” 

He doesn’t mean for it to be an accusation. He needs to know. 

But she recoils violently. “It wasn’t a lie!” 

He frowns. “But—“

Her face crumples and her body shakes like an earthquake. She breaks down into wracking sobs all over again. “I lost , Chaton. I trusted him. I wanted to be able to heal their relationship. He took all the miraculouses - including the Ladybug and the Black Cat. He made a wish.”

Adrien sucks in a breath. 

“But something I said must have gotten through because he changed his wish. He didn’t wish for his wife to be revived. He joined her in death instead. Then all the miraculouses minus the butterfly were returned to me. Before he did it, he asked me to make sure Adrien remembered him fondly.”

Adrien tastes bile. Seriously? His father wanted Adrien to think well of him? 

“So I only told Adrien the good parts. But I didn’t lie . Gabriel did sacrifice himself for his son’s happiness in the end. He did help me defeat Monarch.”

Adrien’s claws dig into his knee. His father may have said he did it for Adrien, but that’s what he always said. That’s what he said when he wouldn’t let Adrien have a birthday party, or go play music with his friends, what he said when he had forbidden Adrien from being with Marinette and when he had Adrien shipped off to London. 

But none of it was ever actually for Adrien. It never was. 

His father hadn’t needed to make a wish at all. He didn’t have to leave. If he wanted Adrien to be happy, he could have come back and done things differently. “But it’s a lie.”

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?!” he echoes hotly. “That’s what Gabriel did to his son all the time. Lied to him, made choices for him about what he was allowed to know and do, what Adrien was allowed to feel . He locked him up and sent him away from the people he loved most!”

His heart rises to his throat, his chest heaves up and down. 

Ladybug stares at him, her eyes wide. “How do you know all that?”

He tries to meet her gaze, but he can’t do it. He feels exposed. 

“And now you want Adrien to remember that man fondly?! Want him to think that his pain and frustration and anger are all something he imagined?!”

She cries harder. “But he deserves better than Gabriel,” she sobs. 

Chat Noir took both her shoulders and squeezed them gently. “He deserves the truth. You need to tell him, M’lady.” 

And he’s being ridiculous. He already knows, so what does it matter? 

He just wants her to be the one to tell him.

“But how do I do that?” Her words are barely louder than the wind. Tears slipdown her face. 

“He deserves to know,” he says again.

She leans back into Chat’s chest. “You’re right. I just— I wish he didn’t have to go through all this.” 

“He won’t be alone.” 

He has Marinette, Nino, and Plagg.

He has her .

… 

Ladybug doesn’t show up that night. Or the next. Adrien spends each evening pacing back and forth in front of his stupidly large glass window. He purposely kept his evenings clear - sending Marinette home early and begging Nathalie to let him eat alone in his room. 

He was trying to make it easier for Ladybug to approach him. 

But still, she hasn’t come. He doesn’t understand it. What is she waiting for? Does she not trust him as Chat Noir? Does she think Adrien can’t handle the truth? 

Adrien throws himself backwards onto his bed. Each day he proves more irritable than the last, prone to snapping at everyone around him — even Marinette, who’s the absolutely last person who deserves his ire.

Five excruciating days later, she stands before him, wringing her gloved hands and all the tension that had been building up inside him like water against a dam for days, releases. 

She’s here. She’s going to tell him.

He smiles at her. “What can I do for you, Ladybug?” he asks.

She doesn’t meet his gaze. She’s so worked up, he almost feels bad that he pushed her into this. He could have just volunteered as Chat Noir to talk to Adrien himself. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

She laughs darkly, and looks at him. “You should not be asking me that. I just… I have some things that I need to tell you, things I should have told you before. C-can we sit down for this?” 

“Of course!” he says, walking her to the couch. “Can I get you anything?” 

“No, no! I’m fine,” she says. “You should sit too.” 

He sits next to her. She’s vibrating in her seat. Her legs are bouncing, her hands are fidgeting, she looks at him only to look away immediately. 

She bolts to her feet and starts pacing in front of him. His eyes follow her. 

“So umm…” Her hands flail around her. “You know how I told the city that your father helped me defeat Monarch?” The words come out of her in a rush, like she’s afraid if she stops she won’t get them out. 

“Yes?” 

“Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Your father—” she looks at him now. “Well, he was Monarch.” 

And there it is. The words are out. He almost wants to laugh. Instead, he lets out a heavy sigh.

“Are you okay?” she asks, kneeling down in front of him, and taking his hands. 

He smiles again, and nods. “I… okay is not the word, but maybe? Thank you for telling me. It’s relieving in a way.”

“Relieving?” she repeats, her eyebrows arching in disbelief.  

“Yeah, thinking of him as a hero after everything he had done to me… it didn’t feel right, but being angry with the person who helped Ladybug save all of Paris— well, that didn’t feel right either.” 

“I— I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

He squeezes her hand. 

“Why are you letting the whole city believe he was a hero?” he asks. It’s still the one bit that doesn’t make sense. 

She offers him a pained smile. “Because I didn’t want anyone to know you had any association with the villains.”

He frowns. “You don’t need to do—“ 

She shakes her head sharply, cutting him off. “There’s more to it than that. This next part, Adrien. I…” she bites her lower lip. “I haven’t told anyone. Not even my partner.”

Every muscle in his body locks up. 

“This is too sensitive, too personal. I feel like I shouldn’t even know.” 

Her hands tremble, and he shivers.  What could be so awful that it was worth letting all of Paris believe Monarch was a hero?  

Ladybug’s finger taps the rings on his left hand - and he glances down at his parents’ wedding rings. 

“These aren’t ordinary rings. They’re amoks.”

“Amoks?” he repeats. “Like for a sentimonster?”

“Sentibeings,” she corrects. “These are your amoks.” 

Did his father leave sentimonsters running around? Ones that Adrien is now responsible for? How awful was—

Ladybug watches him carefully. She’s biting her lip again, her eyes wide, clearly bracing herself for his reaction. 

He missed the mark. The rings are suddenly all he can see. These are his amoks. 

He hunches forward, his shoulders feeling like lead. He gasps for air that won’t fill his lungs. It feels like the ground has opened up underneath him and swallowed him whole.

Ladybug’s arms wrap around him, she cradles his head against her chest. She strokes his hair like he’s a small child needing to be soothed.

“I’m a… sentimonster.” 

She shakes her head violently. “Senti- being. ” 

He laughs, the sound hysterical and unbelieving even in his own ears. 

“But yes, you were created with the peacock miraculous.” 

He’s a sentimonster. 

His whole life is stored in a pair of rings . 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you this,” Ladybug says, tears slipping over her mask. “I wish you didn’t have to know.” 

His eyes fly up to her face. Ladybug almost didn’t tell him. If Chat Noir hadn’t convinced her, would he have ever known?

Suddenly, he’s furious. “You weren’t going to tell me.” 

“Adrien, I swear I returned the rings to you the second I understood what they were.” 

“What if I had taken them off or given them away?!”

Then her words catch up to him. 

“Wait. You didn’t give me these rings. It was… Marinette?” 

Her eyes flood with tears. It’s confirmation enough. 

He scuttles backward so fast the couch tips over. He shoves himself across the floor further, needing to be away from her. 

“Adrien! Please!” she begs, reaching for him on her knees. 

She’s Marinette. 

He sobs brokenly, shaking his head. “I don’t understand! Why would you keep this from me?! I thought Ladybug, at least, had no idea what my father was like. But you? Marinette! You stood against him time and again. And now you cave to him?! To lie to me?!” 

“I didn’t want to hurt you! I wanted you to be as happy as possible given everything that has happened.” 

He caves in on himself - he cradles his neck, and buries his head between his knees, rocking back and forth. 

“Adrien?” she asks, her hand hovering over his shoulder. He flinches from her, and she backs away. 

“I’m sorry!” she cries. 

“You know, when I read your text the first time, I felt relief . My father was Monarch. That sucked, but it also felt like a puzzle piece had snapped into place. Something that made sense .” 

“What text?” 

“Then you showed up to talk to me, and you fed me a completely different story! My father, a hero?“ he laughs bitterly. 

“Adrien—“

“When I told you that you needed to tell me, I didn’t think it mattered because I already knew. I wanted to hear it from you.”

Her eyes blow open wide and her mouth falls open into a horrified “oh”. 

“Chaton?” she asks, her voice cracking.

“If I hadn’t done that, would you have ever told me?” 

Her cries only intensify and she doesn’t answer him, but for once, he’s unmoved by her tears. He can’t ever remember being so angry with her. 

“You’re just like him.”

The look on her face is pure devastation. He can’t bring himself to care. 

“I’m so sorry,” she sobs. 

“Why didn’t you just use the rings?” 

“What do you mean?” Her voice is so quiet he barely hears her. 

“If you wanted me to be happy, couldn’t you have just ordered me to be happy?”

“Adrien! That’s horrible!” 

“Is it?! How is it any different than what you did?! You told me lies to manipulate my feelings! Made me believe in something that you knew wasn’t true. The rings just would have made it easier.” 

“I would never do that to you!”

“But you did!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t understand! I never wanted to hurt you. I love you.” 

“That just makes it worse.”

“Adrien, please.” She reaches for him again. And he pulls away. 

“I can’t do this right now.” 

She stares at him, her eyes glassy. “Adrien–”

“Just go!” he shouts. 

And she does. And he’s not entirely certain that he wants her to come back. 

…

She keeps calling him. She calls him so many times that first night he loses track. She leaves him messages almost every time. He listens to every single one the second it comes in. 

She apologizes profusely again and again. She cries until her voice is sandpaper, and then she cries more. She understands why he’s angry and she knows what she did wrong. 

He wants to forgive her. He does. 

But he doesn’t know how.

Two days go by, and he still doesn’t take any of her calls. But he continues to listen to every message. 

His phone rings again, but it’s Alya. 

“Hey, what’s up?” he answers cautiously. 

“How are you doing?” And it’s definitely Alya talking — not Marinette and he relaxes. 

“That depends.” 

“On?”

“Are you asking because you want to know, or because Marinette does?”

“I won’t tell Marinette anything if you don’t want me to, but whatever happened between the two of you, know that she has always loved you.” 

He squeezes his eyes closed. He doesn’t even doubt that. But his parents had loved him too. He twists his amoks around his finger. That hadn’t stopped either of them from controlling and manipulating him. 

“Sometimes love isn’t enough,” he says. 

Alya’s silent for a moment. “You don’t really believe that, do you?” she asks softly.

“I didn’t used to,” he admits. “But now… now, I don’t know where I stand with anyone.” 

“I can only imagine how hard it must be to process everything about your father.” 

“Yeah, everything about my father,” he echoes dully. Alya doesn’t know even half of it— 

“It’s so messed up,” she commiserates. “Especially given who you all turned out to be.” 

Unless she already knows all of it. Because she’s Ladybug’s best friend! 

“How long have you known?” he asks, trying to keep his tone even, but it probably just comes out cold. 

“Known what?”

“That I’m Chat Noir, she’s Ladybug, and my father was fucking Monarch?!”

“Adrien, listen—“

Adrien’s tired of listening. 

“—she had a total meltdown.” 

“She told you before she told me, didn’t she?” 

“Adrien–” 

He’s shaking his head even though she can’t see him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Because I thought it should come from her! ” 

“Did she also tell you I’m a sentimonster and she wasn’t going to tell me?!”

“A what?! Adrien!—“

He hangs up. He tries to take solace from the fact that Marinette hadn’t told Alya or Chat Noir about Adrien being a sentimonster. She had some lines she wouldn’t cross at least. 

But it’s not enough. She hadn’t planned on telling him either. 

He twists the rings on his finger. What if he had taken them off? 

It’s the thought he can’t shake.

He calls Nino.

“Hey mec! What’s up?” 

“Tell me you didn’t know.” 

“Know what?” 

“Did Marinette or Alya tell you about me?” 

“Umm… I thought you already knew that Marinette liked you since you guys have been dating.” 

And despite everything Adrien bursts out laughing. Nino definitely didn’t know anything. 

“Dude! What is going on?”

“Can I come over?”

“Anytime, mec!” Nino exclaims enthusiastically! “You never have to ask.”

…

Adrien barely has time to knock before Nino whips the door open and yanks him inside and into a hug. 

Adrien lets himself relax. Nino didn’t know anything. Nino never lied to him. If anything, Nino was stupidly forthcoming about his own secrets. 

He can trust Nino. 

Which gives him an idea. A terrible idea. 

“Dude! How’ve you been holding up?” 

Adrien shrugs. Before he can overthink it, he slips both of his amoks off his finger and presses them into Nino’s hands. 

“Put these on,” he says.

Nino looks at the rings. “Are these wedding rings?” Nino asks. 

“Technically, yes.”

“You proposing, mec? You could at least buy me dinner first.” 

Adrien doesn’t laugh. “Just put them on. I want to try something. I’ll explain after.” 

Nino slips the rings on without any hesitation. “Okay. Now what?” 

Because Nino trusts him. 

“Tell me to do something weird.” 

“Weird like what?”

“I don’t know, something I wouldn’t normally do.” 

Nino pulls out his phone and puts on a dance remix. “Alright dude. Dance like you’ve never danced before.” 

Adrien throws himself into the moves, rolls with the music Nino’s music, he tells himself. It doesn’t feel like a compulsion. It feels like he wants to do it - almost like it’s his own idea. But he can’t stop either. And he wants to cry. 

How many times had he tried to stand up to his father only to immediately fold once standing before him?

Even his maman! How many times had she sweet talked him into cooperating? She had always said he was an easy child. All he had ever wanted was to make them proud. Was any of it him? 

Nino stops the music.

“Dude! You’re crying.” 

He is, and yet, he’s still dancing. Another sob tears from his throat. 

He’s not human. He’s a sentimonster, a puppet on strings, a plaything for his parents’ amusement.

“Stop it! What’s wrong?” Nino asks, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

Adrien’s limbs still, and he falls to his knees, sobbing.

Nino is on the ground right next to him an instant later. “Talk to me, please.”

Adrien knows with that command, he can technically talk about anything, but he had come here to talk about one thing in particular.

“I’m a sentimonster,” he gasps. “I’ve been a sentimonster my whole life. Those,” he points to the rings on Nino’s pinky and ring finger, “are my amoks.” 

Nino’s expression falls off his face. Then he tears the rings off his hands and slams them up against Adrien’s chest. 

“Why would you ever give these to me?! Why would you give them to anyone?!”

“I just… wanted to know how they worked, what it felt like. I didn’t think you would use them if you knew.”

“Damn right, I wouldn’t!” Nino roared, his chest visibly heaving. “Please don’t put me in that position again!”

Adrien nods. “I’m sorry.”

“What the hell is going on? What do you mean you’re a sentimonster? They haven’t been around that long. Are you some kind of copy of my best friend?” 

Adrien shakes his head. “I’m the original, one and only, Adrien Agreste. My father had the butterfly and the peacock since before I was born, and apparently for some reason —“ that Adrien hadn’t had time to even think about, let alone figure out. “—they raised a sentimonster instead of having a child using more natural methods.” 

“Wait! Your father had the butterfly?! But that means—“

“He was Monarch,” Adrien says before Nino can. 

“But Ladybug said—“

“Yeah well, Ladybug doesn’t have the best relationship with the truth,” he says bitterly. “She’s just like my father.” 

Nino looks more shocked by that than anything else Adrien has said. 

“What?” Adrien asks, unable to interpret Nino’s silence. 

“Dude!” Nino exclaims like that explains everything. “You’ve always been Ladybug’s biggest fan!” 

“That was before she tried to lie to me about my father! She wasn’t even going to tell me about being a sentimonster! She gave me back these rings without saying anything! What if I had lost one or taken them off? Or gave her one when I proposed?!”

“When you proposed?” Nino echoes. “To Ladybug?” 

Adrien thunks his head against the wall. He hadn’t lasted twenty-four hours with her identity. She’s going to kill him.

“Can we pretend I didn’t say that?” 

Nino’s head cocks to the side. “Marinette is Ladybug. Huh.” 

“That doesn’t surprise you?” 

“That’s definitely the least surprising thing you’ve said today. Not surprising at all really,” Nino says. “Okay, so we’re pissed at Maribug—“

“Cute.” 

“—because she didn’t tell you about your father being an even worse dick than we already knew. And she didn’t tell you were a sentimonster. But then, how did you find out?” 

“She told me.” 

“But—“

Adrien sighs. He’s already screwed as it is. “She told me as Chat Noir.”

Nino is silent again. “You’re Chat Noir.” 

“Yup.” 

“And your dad was Monarch.” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Mec! That’s so messed up.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

“So Maribug told Adrien the same thing she told the city?”

“Yeah, that he died a hero helping her defeat Monarch.” 

“Gross,” Nino says. “Why would she want you to remember him with rose colored glasses?” 

“I don’t know!” 

“Do you think she killed him?” 

Adrien freezes. The thought had never occurred to him because it’s incomprehensible. “No. There’s no way.” 

“And she told Chat Noir - not knowing that she was talking to you - that you’re a sentimonster?” 

“No, she only told Chat Noir that my father was Monarch.”

Nino hums. 

“Just say it,” Adrien says. 

“Well, I get that you’re pissed. I think I am too on your behalf. But I don’t think Marinette is anything like your father.” 

“Go on.” Adrien wants to forgive her. He just needed a way to get there in his own head. 

“The difference is Marinette did tell you.” 

“She wasn’t going to. I had to talk her into it.” 

Nino nods. “ Exactly. She wasn’t going to, and then you explained your perspective and she changed her mind. She recognized that she was wrong, that you were right and she did what Marinette always does. She tried to fix it. Your dad would have only doubled down.” 

“Or tried to akumatize someone over it,” Adrien adds darkly. 

“Dude! He’s akumatized like every single one of your friends.” 

His father hadn't wanted him to have any friends. Had his father ever seen him as a real person? 

“Nino, do you still care about me knowing that I’m not real?” 

“What the fuck kinda question is that? One, yes! I care about you more than almost anyone on this planet. And two, you are most definitely real .” 

Adrien’s crying again, but Nino quickly seizes him in a hug. Adrien buries himself in Nino’s solid embrace, and he knows he’s going to be okay even if he’s not there yet. 

…

It’s been four days since he shouted at Marinette to get out of his room. 

She’s still calling him, and he covets every message, as a sign that she loves him despite what he is, that she hasn’t given up on him, or on them. He listens to them the second they show up, though he still hasn’t been able to bring himself to respond, though he thinks he might be getting close. He did send a message through Alya that he just wants some space and he’ll let her know when he’s ready to talk.

Most of her messages are similar in nature. She apologizes over and over, tells him that she loves him, and that she’ll do anything to make it up to him. She just doesn’t know what that is. 

He thought that he might feel vindicated or something hearing her so small and contrite, but he doesn’t. He feels awful because as much as he was hurt, he doesn’t want her to hurt either. 

He loves her. 

Then her last two messages were drastically different in content. 

“I learned that you were a Senti from Felix.” Her voice is subdued, like she’s narrating from a script. “He and Kagami are both sentis as well. They asked Ladybug for help.” 

Figured that Felix told Ladybug without even telling him .

“I’m not sure they want anyone to know that, but I guess… even if you—“ her voice cracks and his chest clenches at the pain in her voice. “—even if you can’t forgive me, I-I just wanted you to know you’re not alone.”

She’s openly sobbing now. “I love you.” 

The message abruptly ends.

The second message that day comes in hours later. 

“I got Kagami to bully Felix into letting me talk to Dusuu!” Her voice is so different from the previous call. She sounds excited. She sounds like Ladybug with an idea. “The original amoks didn’t have a mind control feature. That was something the Guardians added at the same time they added it to the miraculouses to be able to control the Kwamis. If they added it, there’s gotta be a way to take it away, right?” 

“I have a plan to free you all from your amoks. But there’s a hiccup. We’ll need the butterfly so I can give you the power to see your spiritual connection to the ring so you can cataclysm only the part that can control you. I know it’s dangerous. And we don’t have to do it if you’re not comfortable, and we don’t have the butterfly right now anyway—“ 

Adrien smiles as Marinette rambles on. How had he never realized Ladybug and Marinette were the same? They think out loud in the exact same way. 

Even though he asked for space, even though he wasn’t talking to her, even though she wasn’t certain they were going to remain a couple, she was still fighting for him. 

He transforms immediately and lands just outside the bakery. He’s not sure if she’s even home, but he hopes that she is. 

He takes the stairs two at a time. He hesitates before knocking. And before he can bridge the gap, the door flies open of its own accord. 

Marinette drops her purse and stares at him. Her eyes are red and her usually neat pigtails are half falling out and completely uneven. She’s still in her pajamas though she had thrown a coat and a scarf over them. 

She has never looked more beautiful. 

He offers her a wobbly smile. “I’m sorry. You’re on your way out. I can— I can come back.” He starts to turn around. 

She grabs his wrist. “No! Please don’t go.” Her voice is hoarse, and faint, like she’s afraid if she’s too loud he’ll bolt. “Wh-what do you wan— I mean, need? What do you need?” 

He eyes her grip on his wrist, and she instantly lets go, and suddenly can’t meet his eyes. 

“Can we talk?” he asks. 

She nods. Her eyes are downcast, her shoulders are hunched in, and her arms are wrapped around her stomach. She’s been tearing herself up for all the days he didn’t speak to her. 

“Hey,” he says softly. “Can you look at me?” 

She does, but her eyes water immediately, and he yanks her into his arms.

“It’s going to be okay,” he assures. 

She falls to pieces in his arms. He rocks her harder, kisses her hair, and continues to hold her. 

“I’m so sorry,” she sobs. 

“It’s… o—“ he cuts himself off before he can say it’s okay. Nino told him that was the one sentence he wasn’t allowed to say. “It’s going to be okay,” he says again. 

She shakes her head. “No, I’m awful. I don’t know what I was thinking! You’re right to be so angry. You’re right to hate me!” 

He laughs, and then cups either side of her face. Her blue eyes fill with tears and he aches for her. “M’lady, I could never ever hate you. I was hurt.” 

“Of course you were!” 

“And I needed some space.” 

She nods against his hands. 

“But I’ve been thinking, and Nino made me realize that I actually should be thanking you.” 

“Thanking me?! For what?!”

“Because you told me.” 

“But I wasn’t going to. Not until you convinced me to.” 

“But then you did. You listened to me, and you trusted me as Chat Noir, and then you told me as Adrien. And I’m glad that I know now. I needed to know. No one else was ever going to tell me. And so, I’m really glad I have you, that you respected me enough to tell me this hard truth about my own life. My parents didn’t tell me. Nathalie never did, though she had to have known. And I don’t think she ever would have. Even Felix, and apparently Kagami, didn’t tell me though you think they’d get it better than anyone.”

“But I should have told you right away. I never should have lied.” 

He shrugs. “Yeah, that’s true, but we all make mistakes. And when you realized you were wrong, you tried to fix it.” He held up his phone. “And you’re still trying to fix it. Even though it’s hard, even though I didn’t take it well. You still told me the truth when no one else did. And I just— I love you.”

He presses his forehead to hers. “Even when you make mistakes, even when you really piss me off, even when you’re not perfect, I love you. And I don’t think that will ever not be the case. Thank you for telling me, thank you for giving me some space to figure stuff out on my own, and if you’ll still have me, may I still be yours?”

“If I’ll still have you?” she repeats, aghast. “Shouldn’t it be if you’ll still have me?”

He shrugs again. “I’ve already said I still want to be your partner in every sense of the word, but I’ve had time to think about it while you were sending me message after message that you loved me. Even though I’m not even human.” 

Her face contorts into pure rage. “Adrien Agreste! You are the most beautiful human being I have ever met in my life! You are kind. You give people second chances. You are persistent, and brave, and you have the dorkiest sense of humor. You drive me absolutely insane both with and without a mask, and I am so stupidly in love with you, I will absolutely still have you! And if you think—“

He cuts her off with a kiss. He’s going to spend the rest of his life with this girl if he has anything to say about it. 

[jigglypuff1994]

Okay, so, I'm sorry if this idea has already been put out there, but I love the idea of post Monarch, young LadyNoir going to Disney.

Hear me out.

Chat Noir booked the flights, took care of the hotels and transportation while they're there. And Ladybug is absolutely stunned because like how can he afford to do this? And Chat is just being cheeky like 'tehehe I have my ways'.

Even though Chat and LB were offered a free day at Disney, Chat Noir insists that he should pay to experience just like everyone else, and since he can afford it, he pays for everything. Ladybug doesn't know that he's absolutely loaded so she's just confounded every time he pulls out hundred-dollar bills as if it was something everyone did.

Ladybug would be scrambling constantly to ensure she and Chat do every. possible. activity. Like they rope-dropped at 7am. LB's absolutely losing her mind on Genie+ and has done hundreds of hours of research watching Youtubers and reading every blogger and tips and tricks guide out there to ensure the one day they have together is undeniably picture perfect.

At some point, Chat Noir talks to Ladybug and tells her gently to chill out, she is finally able to relax and realizes how magical the experience is.

Chat Noir proceeds to stuff his face with anything Mickey-shaped: pretzels, ice cream bars, caramel apples, rice crispy treats, everything Mickey shaped. While having no concern for his figure because they're walking a million steps anyways.

Ladybug takes so many pictures and a video when Chat Noir meets his favorite Disney character, Rapunzel. Chat becomes absolutely giddy and beside himself. Him and Rapunzel talk about what it's like to be locked away in a castle and preoccupying themselves with all their indoor activities while dealing with manipulative parent figures, and Ladybug tilts her head for a moment because why does that sound so familiar.

Ladybug is put on edge every time fans want photos with them. She anxiously smiles too wide because she's stressed that her and Chat might not make it from Tomorrowland to Frontierland in 3 minutes time. Chat, who is aware how stressed his lady is, has to nicely remind their fans that they have a scheduled itinerary that Ladybug is absolutely *not* budging on.

Chat suggests that he and LB use the rooftops to get around rather than walking. LB lights up immediately because why didn't she think of that earlier!

Chat insists on taking a selfie with Ladybug in front of the Cinderella castle, and Ladybug sneaks a quick cheek kiss. This is the only cute photo where Chat is stunned and doesn't have his large, toothy smile. That photo ends up being Ladybug's favorite of the hundreds they took together that day because reasons.

To end their day, they sit on top of the Main Street rooftop above Tony's, eating spaghetti and meatballs like Lady and the Tramp because LB will always be 'His Lady', and he rolls the meatball over with his nose to recreate the movie while Ladybug rolls her eyes, gives him a small smile and scratches behind his ears. They cuddle in close while listening to 'When You Wish Upon a Star,' and the view is breathtaking as they watch the fireworks and lightshow on the castle.

Just a cute, magical day at Disney.

[fabseg-creator]

Miraculous fanfic: Chrysabug (First Time)

I've drawn new Cerisette/Chrysabug sketches. The first (at the top) illustrates the first meeting (or first confrontation) between Ladybug and Chrysalis and how should be happening. Below, there is a fanfic.

This happens in a rooftop of a building. Ladybug has been attacked by a supervillain (or precisely by a supervillainess): It's in fact the new Butterlfy Miraculous Holder. After an intense duel (with the use of the Lucky Charm and the Miraculous Ladybug for repair the minor damages on the roof), Ladybug had managed to immobilize her Butterfly girl. The latter is trapped in her opponent's yo-yo.

Ladybug (in good mood, teasing): It seems I have cought a special butterfly. Is that you, the Nooroo's new Holder ?

Chrysalis (confident): I just hoped I could catch a interesting specimen as you are, Ladybug.

Ladybug: Who are you ?

Chrysalis: Before you call your Cat*, I want say to you who I am, my Lady.

Ladybug feels confused about her adversary saying 'My Lady'. It's the Cat Noir's line.

Chrysalis: I am Monarch's former apprentice. The future Hawkmoth. But for the moment, I prefer you call me Chrysalis.

Ladybug: Sounds like you are too proud about yourself, Chrysalis.

Chrysalis giggles.

Chrysalis: When you fought against Monarch, I was present. I came to the Agreste manor for steal the Butterfly brooch to Mr Agreste. I just came to take my revenge on him for having backfired me. I've observed you in action, but none of both you had noticed my presence. I know all about you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Ladybug: What ?

Chrysalis (smiling): Even about the wish processus. Gimmi the kwami of the Reality. The Gabriel's self-erasure from the reality. I could reveal that to everyone (even to Adrien) but I haven't did it. That happened two months ago. Do you know why I still keep your secret hidden ?

Ladybug (perplexed): What do you mean ?

Chrysalis: I hide your identity from the public because I respect you, my Lady.

Ladybug is intrigued.

Chrysalis: Since I know you exist as the superheroin of Paris, I hated you so much for having saboted my schemes. I've teamed up with Hawkmoth who will become Monarch for eliminating you. I hated you even in your civilian form, so I had to ruin your life. I hated you until the day of the final battle against Monarch when I has been witness of your detransformation of Bugnoire. I was confused first like you are actually confused. I've found out Marinette and Ladybug are the same person that explains why you're the only one I've never managed to make you fell in my words.

Ladybug: Wait a minute. Your words ? You would say: Your lies ?

Chrysalis: Ding ! ding ! ding ! good answer, my Lady.

Ladybug (shocked and grossed): Lila ?!

Chrysalis: Yeah and not really. Lila Rossi was nothing but a disguise. Things aren't always what they seem to be at first sight. I have used too many identities and disguises on my life even before you and Cat Noir had begun your adventures/tales on Paris. My vision of the world is just... different.

Ladybug: It's a lot of things you're telling me, 'Chrysalis'. How can I be sure you're not lying to me, this time ? A trap ?

Chrysalis: I understand your vigilance but I don't come to you as your enemy. I have a deal for you.

Ladybug: What deal ?

Chrysalis: I challenge you to discover my birth name and/or to find my residence. You can call the place my lair but I call it La Plage too. I keep your real identity secret, my Lady. Don't worry.

Ladybug: You introduce yourself to me with the only missing miraculous. You already engage a duel against me and now you propose me an 'treasure hunting' about you ?

Chrysalis: The duel was just a test but I will try to be fair on this .

Ladybug stays careful of the butterfly girl's words. She stealthly spins for watching around herself (realizing a panorama) and she turns her look on the captive.

Ladybug: I just want to be sure you haven't bring some akumatized people.

Chrysalis: I even haven't akumatized anyone yet at Paris. Have you noticed that ? I offer you this deal. But only to you.

Ladybug: Why me ?

Chrysalis begins to be flirtatous.

Chrysalis (blushing): Because you have made me curious toward you. Since you've hidden the fact Gabi and Monarch were the same person from everybody in the world, I just realised you and I are similar, familiar. Together, we need each other.

Ladybug is like slightly disturbed by Chrysalis' words.

Ladybug: Do you believe I will accept this deal ?

Chrysalis: So. Do you prefer I reveal who is really Gabriel Agreste to everybody (even in prison) ? Bring me to jail and it will be fun. Take me the miraculous but I have covered the brooch with a strong glue for prevent you to remove it to me.

The red black-spotted superheroin still expresses some doubts. Meanwhile, she is now aware of these revelations used to not be lies: her adversary knows her real identity, the same girl has been Hawkmoth's accomplice for akumatization causes, knows how to use the Absolute Power from Tikki and Plagg and the girl is used to be 'Lila Rossi'. She has even confessed Lila was a simple disguise she had weared during her time at Françoise Dupont school with many disguises. Meanwhile, Ladybug rethinks about the actual butterfly holder's case.

Why hadn't she tried to steal the Ladybug and Cat miraculouses for summon Gimmi and make the wish for herself ? Has she some other plans ? If she can use some fake identities and some fake looks, why didn't have used all her ressources ? Is it possible Nooroo can accept a girl like her as his holder ?

Ladybug realizes about this point: During the Summer vacation, 'Lila'/Chrysalis hasn't come back in her life. This peace time has been too good for her. And now, like an intuition, the superheroin begins to think her adversary is honest for real. Despite the confusing situation she's living, Ladybug has the feeling her nemesis isn't telling lies to her at all.

Chrysalis: Have you chosen your choice, my Lady ?

Ladybug: Fine. I let you leave, Chrysalis. For this time.

The superheroin removes her yo-yo, freeing Chrysalis. The latter takes her swordcane, moves away from Ladybug and jumps from the rooftop to a building.

Chrysalis: Thank you for your choice. We will see you again, Ladybug. (making an evil smile) But as a civilian, I look forward to seeing you again, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. When will happen, I will be already disguised. (becoming cheerful again) That's my clue for you. I wish you Good luck for finding out who I am really, my real name and my real backstory.

Chrysalis moves her arms for forming a heart pose at the top of her own head. It's a directed message to Ladybug. The latter is suddenly fascinated by the former. The butterfly girl flees to the other side of Paris and disappears.

Ladybug (intrigued and blushing): What a strange girl.

The End

*Cat Noir

Bonuses:

Chrysabug kiss scene.

Ladybug and Chrysalis take the hide on an alley away from the public.

[ride-thedragon]

Nettles Discourse.

I'm a big Nettles fan. I accept that the bias I have towards her can affect my judgement when it comes to negative discussions, no one likes their favourite characters to be undersold or talked about in a negative regard. That being said we've lost the plot yet again when it comes to her.

I know I can be out there with my claims about her (George literally wrote asoiaf to support her narrative), but I do think she's often disregarded about the way she impacts the narrative. Because she does, she leaves some of the biggest questions that carry over into the main series in fire and blood.

. Was she a witch that seduced a prince

. Did her and Daemon spend the rest of their days in the Vale.

. Did she create the burned men

. Is she actually Valyrian

. Can non Valyrians ride and claim dragons.

. What happened to her and Sheepstealer (the dragonskull found in the main series...)

For who she is as a character, she's so misrepresented in the fandom, while I know I'm annoying about her, it's within good reason.

That's without the paedophilia discourse surrounding her character, the race and racism discourse surrounding her character at all times. Someone conflating her popularity and race isn't entirely incorrect.

The way people undermine her written story because they don't like her. The way they will make race and class the forefront of that undermining is quite insane when you see it.

There is also this air of mystery intended by her character that allows for theories and tie-ins to the main plot.

I've said that she mirrors Dany in some regards, which is true. They have a lot of parallels, like Rhaena and Sansa or Baela and Arya.

All this is to say that even though she isn't a main character in Fire and Blood, she's still important, and race does affect the perception of her a lot, which is an issue. We see the same thing with the popularity of Baela and Rhaena in the show, especially. She isn't a pov character or a main focus by any means, but her mystery alone would've had her 10 times more popular if she was a white alternative to that familial ship.

AND WHILE WE ARE HERE, DETTLES DISCOURSE.

Let's be serious.

Nettles is a child, Nettles is a victim, Nettles was groomed has no basis in the actual story.

If it's a reservation, you hold in the discourse fine, that's great but it's not an in universe thing.

She's legally an adult. She's an impoverished black girl in the narrative who's saved by a prince and a house protecting her against their world's Monarch and escapes on a dragon she claimed and she again escapes and her escape is framed as Daemon's redemption in the narrative.

When people say she was abused by Daemon, they never contextualise it in her character. She's just a poor, 16 year old at the mercy of a prince. That's unfair.

I'll be the first person to scream from the rooftops that Daemon should be held accountable for his every breath in the narrative as well as not being redeemed for all his crimes because he let my favourite character go.

But let's be clear, if someone views their story as romantic, it doesn't mean that they want paedophilia in the narrative. Nettles is closer to Book Brienne's age and perception than she is to Sansa's, two character with prominent ships with men older than them. Nettles is an adult by Westeros standards. (Daemon will burn in hell for messing with teens), but she is an adult.

It's not a question of a person's morality if they ship Daemon and Nettles. They are within the bounds of the world to do so. That's just how they choose to engage with the material instead of being critical and applying our standards to a ship.

[ladyofthenoodle]

you will never sleep alone (i'll love you)

written for the @mlsquaredance remix event! i was lucky enough to get to choose from my dear friend @chocoluckchipz's work to remix. go check out her story (and her other works, including her own remix) on ao3!

Marinette had saved up for months to be able to afford this vacation. Not only that, but she’d spent months trying to convince herself that it was okay to even take a vacation, that Monarch was really and truly gone. Even though it’d been years since anyone had seen him, she’d never truly felt comfortable leaving Paris without a guardian for an extended length of time.

Which was why Tikki was at home with Alya, so that Marinette could actually relax and enjoy the plush amenities the hotel had to offer, such as a bed that looked like it cost five times her monthly salary.

Or, she would be able to enjoy it, if she wasn’t standing in the middle of the villa she’d booked over a month ago, fighting for the bed with freaking Chat Noir, of all people.

Any other time, she would have been ecstatic to see him—to confirm in the flesh that he was still here, still real, still breathing. She’d waited nights and nights and nights for him to finally come and meet her; wasted hours dreaming of running to wrap her arms around him and never letting him disappear again.

But those dreams were Ladybug’s, not Marinette’s. Chat Noir was supposed to meet her on their rooftop or on top of the Eiffel Tower or really anywhere along her patrol route, but he was supposed to return to Ladybug.

He wasn’t supposed to be in Marinette’s hotel room of all places, insisting it was his.

[meraki-yao]

Six Sentence Sunday (or Monday for me lol) 14-15 Apr 2024

Tagged by @nocoastposts, thank you Ames!!! 💕

Still terribly behind schedule (fuckkkk) but here's your first look into our dashing rogue ACD! Or at least his alias, Gabriel Luna :)

Also making this six sentence twelve instead to complete the full scene

The target is one of a kind, and it’s far too eye-catching. Alex can see its glint even from here, on the rooftop of the palace’s treasury. A coronet, weaved with silver and gold, twisted and moulded into the shapes of clouds, with sapphire shards representing stars, the stars that the legendary flower came from. A golden signet ring inserted in the centre, with the letter H carved in cursive. The coronet for the lost Prince Henry. Usually, the monarch’s crowns are the most wanted, with the highest bidders offering the highest price, and consequentially, the highest level of security. But what the royal family and their staff don’t know is that tides have changed in the past few years. A monarch is a dime in a dozen. But a prince born from a legendary flower who mysterious disappeared after his third birthday? Now that’s something you don’t see every day. A first and perhaps, only case in history. Something new. Something odd. Something worth more far more. Now, the highest price is on the lost Prince’s coronet. Which is currently directly below Alex.

Banner as usual by the lovley @havanaroses

I'm late to the game so open tags!

[princess-of-the-corner]

Plus I highly doubt Gabriel "would rather prioritize my Vendetta against children then save my wife" Agreste wouldn't be the first one going to the rooftops yelling Felix is Argos after the Panic at the Disco incident

Oh yeah 100%

He'd be on tv throwing Felix under the bus of just "the evil villain who screwed us all over by handing the Miraculous over to Monarch attempted to frame my own son! How dare he!"