#technically an izycrossover

[fragileizywriting]

idk if we're on the same wavelength but im certainly not judging you or anything im just gonna say marinette for simplicity but as far as i understand it its like in every au luka and marinette meet but not every au has them meet adrien. so while sas marinette would recognize all luka's and adriens as different iterations. 4am marinette would recognize different luka's but would be like who the fuck are these blond guys xD i just thought that it could be an interesting crossover scenario to see 4am/locker talk/cest la sea marinettes and lukas meet an adrien for the first time cuz adrien would know them but they wouldnt know him but im yapping now dont let me derail your train

HELLO!!!! INTERESTING!!!!!! i have thoughts on these.......

i'm going to add to these soon. i prommise.

oh my godddd could you imagineeee. i've never written any of these girlies meeting an adrien but i did technically come up with excuses why adrien isn't in these fics, did i ever share them??

4am ginseng tea is that adrien doesn't exist, but felix graham de vanilly/fathom/whatever the hell his name is DOES. i always headcanon the graham de vanilly family as old-money chocolatiers from england, and in this particular AU i had the family used to do deliveries to the dupain-cheng bakery when he was a baby boy (8 years old) with his mom and dad. rn he's an alpha virgin, about the same age as kitty.

locker talk adrien is the one in the casket, not emilie :3

i was going to actually c'est la sea adrien a little bit more mean than the other ones— he was going to be the stereotypical "doesn't understand why main character doesn't want to date him" but he's not an asshole about it. i was just going to make him confused on why marinette is so interested in a deep sea dweller instead of him, a beautiful betta-like reef dweller. he's, like, gorgeous. and doesn't understand why he can't get this girl to like him.

[fragileizywriting]

what gets me EVERY TIME is knowing that adrien in my au's can play the piano— sas adrien absolutely will play the nerdiest things on the piano just to bide time. he'll play breath of the wild music. the little tune that plays when riding a horse across hyrule? he's on it. it's like elevator music for him, he just does it without realizing. he genuinely enjoys playing piano, and has a lot of fun with it. it's like stimming. he's just going ham, bapping out the funnest of tunes, and whoever recognizes the songs whenever he's playing are always so impressed at how nonchallant he is when he does it

(i have a headcanon he plays 'this is halloween' in front of flp chat and no one but kitty and sas luka get it, and are trying to stop giggling in the background)

[fragileizywriting]

[dancing] Hi this has been in my drafts since uhmmmmm the beginning of February, hi. I don't know when I'll publish this but it's already like two weeks since I made this and who knows when I'll actually publish it. Anyway!

I have an idea for a fic that I’ve wanted to write since even before the idea of potentially writing the crossover fic(s). I'll just write a draft of it here, just in case I never actually write it...

Marinette has an accident. No, seriously. She trips/falls/hits her foot on something.

I even have a title for it: Fallin' for you (and you, and you, and you)

SAS fic is easy. Kitty is climbing through adrien’s window like she always does, when she misses, and slams her foot into the window just as she slips through. It makes a noise. Like, a noise. Adrien’s half expecting for the window to shatter from how loud it was, but nothing happens except Kitty rolls on the floor with her hand on her feet and cursing up a storm.

Well. Cursing in the way she usually does.

“Holy fudging hell beach has—” Kitty takes a breath, rolling into a pretzel of some kind as she cradles her foot to her chest in a way that shouldn’t be possible. He can't tell what is Kitty's hand and what is Kitty's foot and what is Kitty. She's a ball of terror with the way she's positioned, something out of a horror movie as she doubles over her foot and holds it. “Oh, dicks, sunshine. Straight up dicks.”

Yikes. Must’ve been a real hit, then.

“It sounded like it hurt a lot,” Adrien offers, crossing the bedroom to look at her. He leaves his math homework behind-- Pythagorean identities are hard to do when there's a girl in distress, and he's more fond of her than he is of Trigonometry. It's an easy trade-off. “Are you okay? Isn’t your suit supposed to protect you?”

“It is, but... holy... I’ve hit concrete softer than your windows,” she whines. “What the hell is with your windows? It’s a meter thick or something, it has to be. That impact was so hard that i clicked my jaw.”

“The first time Stormy Weather hit, back in middle school, my window broke and never got fixed.” Yeah. Mister bug was kinda in the middle of being sick that day. He could barely get to the Akuma in time, of course he didn’t miraculous cure anything. As soon as he healed the butterfly, he hopped right back into bed and wasted away. He hadn't even noticed the window problem until the time to recover Paris was over. “Dad got a guy to install a new window.”

Maybe. Somebody had come into his room to repair it, but he was far too delirious to recognize anything other than vague shapes. He'd never been so disoriented in his life during that fever, to the point where he was sure that Master Fu had shown up even though the man feigns dead most of the time whenever he brings it up. Even Tikki stays quiet about it, giving a little shrug.

Kitty exclaims: “Being rich has its perks, doesn't it? It’s bulletproof! My foot is gonna be broken for the rest of my life! Not even hexleather kept me safe from that, holy dicks!”

“It’s kitty-proof,” he snorts.

"What's your dad have against me?"

"Nothing that I know of? Maybe he doesn't want his only son to be whisked away on adventures with a superhero."

"Why? I'm a nice gal."

"I don't know what goes on in my dad's head, I'll be honest." It's a sad sentiment, but seeing his Kitty flop over in distress makes the tightness in his chest unravel like string. “Come here. Let’s get you to the couch. We can ice over the suit, yeah?”

She perks up instantly. Her ears go straight as she looks up at him, dropping her foot out with a heavy clunk, like Kitty is made out of cinderblocks and not air. "Ooh. Yeah, ice sounds nice. Carry me?"

"Wh-- Kitty, the couch is right there. You could hop and you'd be there."

"I'm injured. I have no foot. My toes have gone missing."

He bursts out laughing, clutching his sides, as Kitty continues to meow her pains and sorrows like she's singing. "I can't believe you're this whiny."

"My foot is in so much pain that I don't think I'll ever be able to walk again." She flops onto the floor, spreading her arms and legs into a star position, looking up to the ceiling. "My crime-fighting days are over."

"Because of a window?"

She nods, sighing to herself. "Because of a window. Hawkmoth couldn't beat me, but a stupid window... please, my dear Prince, carry this damsel in distress to a place of safety?"

As if Kitty would ever be a damsel in distress. Her? Kitty? The one who sees an Akuma and instead of running away she runs towards it? Sure, sometimes she does it without thinking, so impulsive that he has to grab her by the scruff of her collar when he's Mister Bug, and make sure she pays attention to his idea and plans, but even still-- Kitty has never been a damsel in distress. He can joke about it all he wants, but it's pointless-- it's more likely that she'd be the one to save him, black hexleather and all, from something dangerous. A few things come to mind. Sharks. Two sharks. Many sharks. An Akuma with sharks for hands. "I think, if anything, you'd be the night in shining armor than me."

She props herself up on her elbows to look at him, barking out a laugh that makes him feel comfortable and warm. Her grin is huge, full of teeth, full of that explosive humor that crinkles her mask into joy, something that curls hard in his stomach at the sight. "Ha! Good one, Sunshine! I liked that one."

"Are you going to get up? Your couch awaits."

"If you carry me," she teases, wiggling her mask up and down with her eyebrows.

"Are you serious?"

"Like the plague."

"Fine, okay, hold on. Let me pick you up without you acting like a dead body. Wrap your legs around my hips, here--" and he grabs her, of course, finding it way too easy to wrap Noire's legs around his hips. She clings to him like a monkey, braid whipping around with them when he lifts her higher with an arm underneath her thighs, giving out a laugh that bubbles out of her as she clambers up towards his shoulders. "Better?"

She weighs like nothing. It's strange-- Adrien doesn't really want to spend a lot of time thinking about this, but he's watched his Kitty body Akumas about the size of fridges with these same exact legs. Wrapping the backs of her knees against a man's neck, twisting her body, using her lower center of gravity in order to flip people twice as tall as her down to the ground...

She weighs like nothing.

How? How is she so talented at something she shouldn't be able to do?

Her claws are long and sharp but harmless against his shoulders as she rights herself into a better sitting position, going quiet for a second or two, humming to herself at whatever she sees. He tries not to stumble, tries not to take in the way she automatically purrs as she grips him tight, nuzzling into his forehead with her cheek as a thanks. Her tail, semi-sentient thing, wraps around his middle and attempts to squeeze.

He can't breathe. Not because of the tail, though.

It's hard to remember that Kitty is a girl. Okay, obviously he knows that she's a girl. He knows that her laughter is girlish, and that she's interested in makeup, and that she does her homework in glittery pens. He knows that she doodles hearts in her notes, because he'll find some of them in his notebook after she's spent the entire day over, silly little pictures of cats and bugs and princes and princesses written over his displacement formulas for Physics.

But it's hard to remember that... it's hard to remember Kitty being a girl girl when he knows her so well. She refuses to mix her food and eats her spaghetti first and then her meatballs. She overdoses on sugary coffees. She's admitted to kissing Mister Bug's abs inside of her special edition magazine, and has written poetry about him.

Yeah, she's a girl. But she's also just... Kitty.

"I'm so much taller now," she remarks, completely ignoring the way he turns darker and darker the longer he holds her, trying not to lose his mind at girl, girl, girl, being pressed up against him. "Is this what you see at your height?"

"Welcome to the world of tall people," he grins. Play it cool. Play it cool. "You like it?"

"It's so much better. I'm King of the world up here. How much would I have to pay you in order to have you carry me around like this for the rest of my life? I want to be tall for the rest of my life."

"Maybe smack Viperion in the face a little, too, now that you can reach?"

"God, I love you," she laughs. If she notices him darkening even more, she doesn't mention it at all. "You're speaking my language, Sunshine. You're my best friend forever."

-*-

DL Marinette falls and hits her kneecaps on the wooden floorboards in their apartment. One second she was walking down their hallway from the magic room into the living room right in front of Luka, the next, she was on the floor on her hands and knees. Luka didn’t even have time to blink before she was on the ground, and she looks dazed as if she was thinking to herself about how she got there.

There's an aftershock. It bleeds through him like a chill, that wave of magic pushing up against the walls of their apartment. He's seen this happen before, when something about Marinette just cracks and her magic escapes. Like gas from a pipe-- it's so similar-- he already starts looking around to see what she's accidentally changed around them on complete accident.

The rug looks newer. There's more purple and more green in it now. The design is still the same, but it looks newer, fresher, just made, instead of hundreds of years old. He doesn't have to look up to know that the lightbulb in the hallway has been changed to something different, and yet he finds himself giving a little smile at the sight of an architect's dream of a ceiling light hanging above them. It's gold, thin, like it's a branch of a tree with lightbulbs instead of leaves. An interesting choice.

Oh, and of course, she bleeds instantly. Clearly god wants her to just feel it instantly. She feels that ache as she tries to move, how her shoulders and hips are stiff from the impact. Her phone’s tossed, too, down the hall about a meter away, telling her she’s running out of time for the level she’s trying to complete, but Luka barely pays attention to it while he collects her from the ground. Picking up the pieces that make up a Marinette isn't usually so complicated, but she seems insistent on not moving, only whining out: “How the fuck—”

"Up," he tells her.

"Ow, ow. Wait. Give me a second, this really hurts."

Hmm. Interesting. "You break something?"

"Just my ego," she groans. "Jesus. Not to mention that my magic is still going all fireworky. My body feels like a seltzer. Carbonated water from how fuzzy it is."

"Are you getting the pricklies from it, too?"

"The pricklies? That's fun, I like that-- oh, I know. A bath fizzy. That feeling of a bath fizzy dissolving in your hand in the tub."

He knows what she means.

“I get you. How did you do that? How'd you actually fall over?” he asks when he successfully picks her up from behind by the hips. She wobbles in his grip, like her legs are made of rubber and dough, and leans into him instinctually like she knows he'll stabilize her. Her head hits up against his sternum, looking at him with wide eyes like she's disoriented. “You were walking totally normally. You okay, Mousey? Want me to ask how many fingers I have up?”

“I’m fine, I'm totally fine, I just... scraped my knees, I guess?” she looks down to the reddened, ruby skin. It’s not a lack of glamour. There's a trail already of blood steadily leaking down her shin, and Marinette lifts her leg at an angle so that she doesn't drip on the rug she just ended up using magic to make new again. “Oh, ow, oh fuck that’s going to be such a bitch to disinfect. Ah, no, not the rug-- hold on, ah! Don't stain the rug, Meimei!”

He picks her up again into his arms. Her head snaps up, a thankful smile on her face, her arms wrapping around him for support as he walks her out of the hallway.

“What happened? Did an ancient artifact break?” Adrien comes out of the kitchen, meeting them in the living room, a teasing look on his face. He pockets his whisk into one of his apron holes as Marinette snorts, trying to look busy.

"Very funny, Kitty-cat."

"I like the new look of the hallway," he teases with a grin, following them as Luka sets her back down. "Mid-century modern?"

"Our old boob light was causing me grief," she deadpans. The scent of her blood makes Luka's nose sting, something raw and wrong about it, almost to the point that it hurts. He recoils from it, just enough to give her some space to look back down at her legs, completely unaware that Luka's blinking a stinging tear out of his eye-- but Marinette just... laughs. She just laughs at her injuries. It's light, airy, completely diffusing the weirdness and strangeness of what just happened with a smile.

"What broke?"

"Just my kneecaps. I'm thinking about wearing knee guards for the rest of my life. Sexy, isn't it?"

"I've always liked the idea of dating a volleyball player," Adrien adds softly. "You're too short, though."

"I don't know. I've been told I'm pretty good with balls." She cackles when Adrien flattens his face, going to go pick up her discarded phone back in the hallway.

"You hitting doors and chairs is one thing, little one, but you completely just slipped. Can we talk about it? Are you okay?" Who would've guessed that Marinette actually has faulty motor control?

"I'm fine--"

"You're not sick again, are you?" Adrien asks. He fiddles with the game on her phone, trying to match up a couple of the patterns for her so that she doesn't lose the level-- the prince is always so much quicker and swifter to learn and strategize and plan ahead. Who knew that centuries of military training would accumulate to him being able to play mobile games so efficiently he gets top scores?

"Not sick."

"Princess..."

"No. No. I'm not sick, I swear." She grabs for Luka's arm before he even moves. "Don't you dare get the honey out."

"I wasn't--"

Her eyes go dark. "You're lying. I can feel it. Luka doGooder--"

"--'Do gooder'?--"

"Don't you dare lie to me and get the honey. I'll go searching for a way to turn myself into a human if I even see a spoon come out and touch near my mouth."

"Why'd you fall over, then, if you're not sick?"

"I don't know, I have no idea why that happened." She shrugs. "Glitch in my brain? Thinking too much about dicks? Didn't watch where I was going?"

"You haven't been this lost since we've known you. You've been acting strange ever since your fever broke the last time."

"I'm fine. I'm not sick anymore, and there's definitely nothing wrong. I promise. Maybe I'm a little disoriented, but..." She definitely looks dazed. Her eyes are unfocused, slightly crossed, and she wipes at her eyes to get them to straighten again. "Totally healthy. No honey. I beg you, no honey. I might have lost some bone-density, but that's fine-- who needs them in this modern age?"

Luka's not convinced, though. And one look over to Adrien tells him that the prince isn't convinced, either.

-*-

Fire Lily Petals Marinette falls ontop of Chat.

"I am so sorry!" she squeaks out, struggling to untangle herself from him. There's ribbon and string all over them-- the basket on the shelf completely upturned when she'd tried grabbing for it in an attempt to stabilize herself. "Oh Tikki, I am so sorry, Chat. Are you hurt?"

"Not hurt."

"Your arm-- oh, Chat, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-- you took most of the impact, didn't you? How is your head? Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" he asks back, blinking up at her, wincing when another ball of yarn falls off the shelf and bounces onto the rug just to their side. He looks back at her, pulling her hair away from her shoulder in order to stop its attempt to curtain them. His hand finds nothing but glossy strands. There is no silk in the world that feels as soft as her hair-- he'd be stupid if he didn't admit that his other hand isn't tightening on the thinnest part of her waist because it feels natural. She molds into him in the way that wine accompanies bread. "What were you doing with that ladder, my Lady? You knew it was too old and overworked. You were the one to even mention how it was old enough to be my uncle."

As if the ladder's heard them, it dashes to make a fall on top of them-- Marinette stops it with magic blistering out of her hands that makes Chat's mouth taste fuzzy and his tail fluff out. The ladder seizes, glowing a bright haze from her magic as she snatches it from midair. She angles her hand in a way to push the ladder back up against the shelves, gently receding her magic back into her palms, lowering it until there's nothing causing his tail to plume. Concern written all over her face, she's quiet when reaching behind his head to check for anything damp.

He doesn't smell blood.

And yet, it's hard to smell anything at all, when he's got an arm-full of his witch on top of him. He feels electric with her gentle touches, and he knows that if he were in his cat form he'd be running about, trying to lose the jitters and the energy building up between the joints of his bones.

Luckily, he is no cat at the moment. He's simply demon. Just large enough to cushion them and make sure she doesn't slip and hurt herself-- truly, what kind of a familiar would he be, if Marinette had simply just sprained her ankle while being in his own house? What kind of a mess would that be?

He purrs in her hands, breath escaping him, leaving him accosted and alone, with nothing to do but stare at her as she checks him for an injury he's certain he doesn't have. He squints when she curls his hair between her fingers, feeling shy from how his foot kicks out on instinct, but does absolutely nothing as his trembling fingers follow the contour the columns of whalebone inside her stays create. He's careful with his claws. Even now, receeded as he is, he knows better than to be careless with his love.

The idea that he could hurt her, even if on accident, is too much to bear. She's nothing but paper-thin. Glassine. Gossamer.

"Oh. Well. I'll be honest... I thought the ladder could still support my weight," she bites her tongue between her teeth, something pretty stamping across the bridge of her nose that makes her freckles disappear. Scrambling to sit up is no use, the string and yarn are tied around them both, so she stays still, picking ribbons out of her hair so gently, wrapping the ribbons around her fingertips to tie them into knots and bows and organizing, only to stop and look at him shyly. "I'm so sorry, I can't believe I was so... stupid."

"It was an accident," he smiles. "I'd hate for you to get injured."

"I trust you to know the irony is not lost on me," she groans. "You're not bleeding, thank the stars, but you look rather... dazed...? Headaches, Kitty-cat?"

"No. No headaches. I'm perfectly clear at the moment."

"Is it me, then? Am I crushing you?"

"No. Not you. You weigh less than you think," he murmurs, sliding his empty hand up her side. He cannot feel her warmth from how many layers she wears, but it seems as if she can feel him from the way she shudders, something escaping her mouth that makes his ears twitch. "Even with all of your layers, you weigh as if you're made out of silk. You feel like silk."

She purses her lips. "I weigh just enough, thank you. How's your arm?"

He looks back up at her. "I'm not made of glass, my Lady."

Something hurt starts to flash in her eyes, knowing what he's implying. "Chat..."

"My arm is fine."

"Your arm is injured," she frowns. "Shattered."

"I'm very aware."

"And here I am, putting weight on you when you shouldn't even be out of bed."

"Princess, it's alright. I'm not dazed because of..." Oh. Oh. The stringed beads in her hair finally fall forward just enough to click and jingle above him-- he lets go of her hair in order to pick it off of her, letting her hair drape over them. It's quiet, in this little moment, and he knows that his fortune means that they'll be walked in on soon, because the Universe grants Chat many things, including terrible timing... but he's allowed to have this bit of reprieve. They both are. He won't push-- he definitely doesn't have enough strength to, not yet, with his shattered arm and bruised mental state-- but being able to hold her is just enough. She's the gentleness that he craves. "Alright, I'll admit. It might be you. I might be a little dazed because of you."

"It's because I'm crushing you?"

"No. I'm just thinking about how thankful I am to have you."

She softens in his arms, something lulling and quiet in her eyes. Honey. Molasses.

"How is it that you've broken every rule possible for me and continue to be so lovely?" he asks her.

"What do you mean?"

"I've heard that people who break the cardinal rules of magic end up transforming into something unwanted, and yet I find myself yearning for you anyway."

"I have a god's preferential treatment," she teases. "Two, actually. I gave them a son. Perhaps they're being lenient with me and not punishing me for breaking the rules. Although, that's not to say I'm not transforming because of my... disobedience, either."

They share a laugh.

"You're so pretty with all these ribbons in your hair."

"It'll be all the rage back in Paris. Alix will love it."

"Marinette?"

"Yes?" her eyes narrow. "You look like you're building up to a joke. Don't you dare."

"Tell me, and don't lie-- did you fall for me, Princess?" he grins, something wide and stupid looking, going still when she kisses him to shut him up. Just long enough to get him to tighten his hands on her waist. Just short enough to stop anyone from accidentally walking in on them, because the Universe always wants to ruin a Chat's day.

"Unfortunately," she muses, when she pulls away for a laugh. "Far too much, too."

-*-

Locker Talk Marinette...

She's drunk. It's so obvious. She sways on the Liberty with a bottle of something in her hand, grinning at him with absolutely no shyness at all. He likes seeing her all happy, all squinty-eyed and flushed. She's world's sweetest girl when she's drunk.

"Where's Rose?" she asks when he's close enough to catch her by the elbows before she tips over and conks her head on the deck. She's like liquid, all squirmy, damp and ridiculously attractive in her tight jeans and blouse. Her hair is out of that high pony she'd put it in earlier tonight, just as shiny as her cheekbones. "I told Rose that I would fix her skirt for her."

"What happened to her skirt?"

"She caught it on one of the chairs out here, the one that I--"

"--the one that you keep telling me to throw away because 'it could give someone Tetanus', yeah, I know--"

"--yes, that one! She has a rip in the tulle part. I said I would sow it for her but she's gone missing? Is she with Jules?"

"I have no idea, but I'm not letting you get near a needle when you're like this," he laughs, attempting to pry the bottle out of her hands.

"Why not?"

He catches her on the waist with a snort when her knees buckle. "That's why, Mousey. You can barely stand up."

"Pfft. This? This? I'm fine."

The music is loud, hot, and humid, and their neighbors know better at this point than to go complaining about it to the cops. They don't even have to pay them anymore. They're usually on board with his friends, exchanging popular bottles of wine and stories. Or playing games.

Speaking of.

There's a card game going on below the deck, and he can hear the cheers as someone wins and someone loses, raking in the chips from one side of their kitchen table to the other-- knowing the sound of the loudest cheerer, it sounds like it's his mother. She's always so excited when there's a party on the Liberty, always so happy to see her two kids being extroverted even though they're anything but.

Honestly, people always clock him as the one who's going out and partying and making friends. He's approachable in a way that Viperion just isn't, which makes people gravitate towards him. But his little sister, Juleka, is much more extroverted than him.

The things he does for his friends...

They're everywhere all over the houseboat. Playing cardgames, winning money, reloading their cups with safe booze-- no one here is someone they don't know. And by now, their neighbors come over so often, they might as well be considered friends too.

He can hear Alix and Max tinkering with one of the amps to make it louder. He knows that Mullo and Sass are hiding in his mother's room, probably in her closet, just to make sure that none of their friends find them-- poor Sass. The noise must be critical to him.

But honestly... he wouldn't have it any other way.

He leans over, talking into her ear and over the noise: "You having fun tonight?"

"The best part about the Kitty Section concerts are the afters." And he knows she means it. His poor girlfriend is always so strung up and anxious before his shows, wanting to make sure that everything is in order. It's how she cares about him and his work, always putting it as her most important item of the day if she isn't doing anything else. She's first one to get to the concerts, last one to leave...

Always running herself to the ground, just to make sure that everything is perfect. He just wants to kiss her until she complains.

So he does. He's not drunk, not like her, and he doesn't have that hazy, stampy blush on his face like her, but he's just buzzed enough to feel euphoric when he tips her head back and presses their lips together. Soft, gentle, sweet, even though his girlfriend's trying to dance and sway to the music that's playing, it's a pretty nice night. He kisses her, over and over again, until she squirms out of the way he cups her jawline, yelling out the words to the song with perfect accuracy. She refuses to believe she can sing, which is such a shame.

It's so pretty.

Just as he successfully snags the bottle out of her hands, she uses the opportunity to slide her fingers underneath his shirt, teasing out a hiss from him with a smile and a laugh.

"We should go to your room," she hums, batting her lashes up at him. She finds his abs, heated fingers grazing his front, all the way up to the chest.

All he can do is raise a brow. "How many have you had?"

She makes a noise, not quite a eh, not quite a nah, but something in between. A nyem. He has no idea what to make of it. "A bit."

"Are you even sober right now?"

"I could win against Hawkmoth right now, if that's what you're saying. Kick his patootie. Papillion...ootie."

Not her best. But endearing nonetheless.

He grins at her when she grabs onto one of his necklaces, just enough to pull him down to kiss her again. There's humming involved, just as she slides her tongue into his mouth-- he pulls away when there's a hand on his belt. "Nope. Nope. You're way too drunk for what you want to do."

"But I always want you," she pouts as he puts her bottle on the glass table. "Sober or not, it doesn't make a difference to me, I always want to kiss and love you and put my hands down your pants--"

"--so you admit you're not sober?"

She doesn't let him savor the mini-win for long, pouting and plumping up her lips in a way his sight pin-holes onto just how pretty her mouth is. It's just so pink. "Get drunk with me so we can both have drunk makeouts? It'll be so good. Lots of tongue. Teeth. Use your teeth."

Mmmmm. "That is absolutely not what you're planning in that head of yours."

"I want to kiss you."

And yet. "Your hand is very much on my jeans at the moment, isn't it?"

"I want kisses. Other things, too, but I want you. Teeth, neck, my neck, hickey? What do you think?"

Well. It sounds fucking delicious. "I--"

"It's a good plan," she nods her head, hard enough to pop a screw loose. "It's so good. Such a good plan. I have it all ready in my head and it's such a good plan. Get drunk with me so we're in the clear and can goof off in your room?"

"'In the clear'? It doesn't matter. Anyway, I don't think that's how that works? I think the rules are--"

"--do we need rules?"

She's definitely more drunk than he thought, if she's trying to break the rules. She's a goody-two-shoes, after all. Docile little Marinette...

Jesus Christ. He can't believe he's saying this. "You're dehydrated from all the alcohol, so we'd need lube."

"That's fine, I don't mind lube, you know I don't--"

"We ran out yesterday, remember?"

She quiets. "Oh, sugarsnaps. We could just--"

"Nope. That would hurt you. Also, you're still drunk."

"Teeth. I'll settle on teeth. Mouth. Teeth. Transform into Viperion for me."

"Mousey."

"Please," she whines. "Come on, please? Bite bite bite? Hickey? Kisses. Smooch. Love me?"

"Let's get some food into you," he laughs. "I'll love you when you're well-fed, not as drunk, and aren't stumbling in my arms all over the place. Come on."