I have been half-writing this fic for the last year, but since the love square is flipping, I figured it was finally time to share.
Hope you enjoy!
Is This Not What You Wanted?
By: The Hat Potato
"Breaking news, terror is striking Paris yet again in the form of— "
Marinette's phone glitched, the volume cut out, and the screen flickered to black.
"No, no, no!" She jammed the power button a few more times, but it was no use. Her phone had died. In the middle of an akuma report.
She glanced around the nearly deserted locker room when her eyes settled on Adrien, leaning against a wall with his fencing bag.
It was the obvious solution except for the fact that it required she actually speak to Adrien, which was more difficult than any Akuma she'd ever beaten. How did the Ladybugs of the past get their information? She'd ask Tikki later because surely there was a better way.
And yet.
A single deep breath filled her lungs before she launched herself off the bench, forcing her stiff legs to walk towards him. He looked up as she approached and smiled gently, the action threatening to make her melt from the waist down.
"Hey, Marinette!"
"Hey, adorable—I mean, Adrien. Could I phone your borrow? Borrow your phone? Really quick?"
"Oh, yeah, sure." He pulled his phone from his back pocket and handed it to her.
She shuffled quickly to find Nadja Chamack, watching the report intently. Adrien perked up at the sound and hurried to watch it over her shoulder, which was only extremely distracting. She took a deep breath and stubbornly ignored the scent of cologne surrounding her. Akumatized hairdresser. Giving everyone bad haircuts. On the corner of Gustave and Anatole. Got it.
"Thanks." She shut the phone off and turned to hand it back when his lock screen appeared, a woman donned in red with her hands on her hips and a snarky expression gracing her features.
His lock screen of Ladybug. His lock screen of her. She was Adrien's lock screen. Adrien had a lock screen of her.
"No problem!" he said cheerfully.
"Why is your lock screen Ladybug?" The question escaped her lips before she had time to process.
He looked down and laughed. "Oh, it's kind of funny, promise not to laugh?"
Not trusting her words, she urgently nodded instead.
"I know this sounds weird, but I kind of have a massive crush on her."
Her brain dropped onto the floor and shattered into a million pieces. "Ladybug?"
"Yeah." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly and looked to the side. "I know that makes me sound like a creep."
"N-no, not at all."
"Oh. Well that's good, I guess."
She nodded rapidly, and he picked up his fencing bag.
"Well, I've got to go, but glad I could be of help! Bye!" He sprinted off, and she watched, jaw slack, frozen in space and time and eternity.
Adrien liked Ladybug. Adrien liked her. She could die right there, on the spot, and she would be happy.
Corner of Gustave and Anatole. Right.
She shook her head and ran out.
oOo
She managed to make it a whole twenty-six hours before she cracked, and, to be fair, it was longer than she had expected. But this information was too potent, too fresh, too wild to ignore.
If she didn't know for sure, she would die.
Besides, he said he liked her. He would be happy. Hopefully. Either way, she had to find out. The idea of him thinking about her, liking her, wanting her was eating her alive. Massive crush. He'd be happy.
She hurled her yo-yo towards his open window and swung inside.
She'd been in his room before, but it seemed different now, echoing her intentions back at her. It was intimidating, and a shudder ran down her back.
He was there, sitting at his desk, doing the calculus homework that she probably should have been finishing instead of confronting him here against all of her better judgment. She spied his white button-down sprawled over the arm of his chair, leaving just his black t-shirt to stretch over the muscular planes of his broad back. He was way too hot. Otherworldly. Inviting.
Hers.
She could do this. It would be fine.
He was wearing headphones, his blonde hair bobbing in time to the music. She tried to move, to reach out to him, but her legs refused to function, gluing her to her spot on the floor until all she could manage to draw his attention was a weak, "Adrien?"
He spun around immediately, removing his headphones to stare wide eyed at her. "Ladybug?"
And suddenly the floor turned into the ceiling and the walls were closing in and words weren't a thing her brain knew how to do.
"What are you doing here? Do you need help? Is there an akuma?" he asked, a look of genuine concern spreading across his features.
"Uhh." Her stomach lurched. He was so sweet. So sweet and considerate and gorgeous, and she wanted nothing more than to take him in her arms and never let go. But her brain was betraying her, and the words that bubbled in her throat popped before she could voice them. She shook her head instead, and the tension in his body relaxed slightly.
"I- " Her voice caught and her skin tingled with warnings of "bad idea, bad idea, bad idea." Screw that. She was Ladybug right now, not Marinette. And Ladybug could do anything. Anything.
She squared her shoulders and shut down the clumsy, bumbling part of her brain that was still insisting there was no way Adrien liked her, regardless of form.
Ladybug was bold. And brave. And never stepped down from a challenge. And Adrien liked Ladybug.
She took two deep breaths, clenched her fists, and walked toward him determinedly. She could do this.
She halted just short of his chair, her hands twitching with the urge to either grab him or push him away. He stood quickly, stretching to his full height, and why was he so tall? Her chin tipped up, staring into his glimmering green eyes, his slightly parted pink lips, the soft contours of his face. There was nothing she would change, not a single imperfection to be found. And he liked her.
"Hi," she whispered.
He grinned, that glorious tilt of his lips, lips she wanted to kiss, to devour, to feel tracing along each and every inch of her. "Hey."
Shaky breaths flooded the air between them and no more words were coming to her. A red hot blush branded itself to her cheeks as she scrambled to assure herself that her reasoning was sound. Just do it, her mind screamed,something, anything!
"I– can I…" She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling, then lifted a gloved hand and pressed it to his cheek. Delight rushed through her, because oh my gosh she was touching Adrien, and the thrill that shot through her nerves was better than she had ever imagined. She cursed the fabric that separated their skin, because, as necessary as it was, she would give anything to feel him directly.
Her fingertips trailed upwards, past his wide awestruck eyes, to glide through his flawless blonde hair.
It was now or never, she realized, to fulfill the desperate desires that had been blossoming within her mind for years. Getting to this point had nearly done her in, and if she pulled away now, she knew she would never return.
She nodded once to herself, gathered all the courage her Miraculous offered, and raised herself to the tips of her toes. A beat passed between them, then she pulled him to her, their lips colliding in delicious intensity.
oOo
He hesitated for a moment, stunned by her actions, then cursed himself for wasting a single second of this good fortune.
Ladybug was kissing him. Him. In his room.
Calculus homework could wait.
His arms circled her slim frame immediately, drawing her against him, and she gasped against his mouth. Her lips were warm and soft and supple, everything he had imagined time and time again. He was not prepared, however, for the way the curve of her hip fit like a puzzle piece to the palm of his hand or for the tantalizing sensation of her frame squirming against his front, promising touches he wouldn't dare to anticipate.
His perverted craving of never-ending daydreams was now tangible in front of him, and if his hands weren't so busy in other locations, he would have pinched himself to wake up. Ladybug was his, she was in his room, in his arms, because she chose to be.
The thought shot fevered lust straight to his core like a flaming arrow. Choosing him must be a dangerous game, then, because he wasn't sure how much control he had left to muster.
He backed her into his wall, as gently as he could manage, and pressed her against it, wanting to feel every inch of her up close, wanting her to feel just how badly he longed for this. And she let him.
She let him.
Her lips broke away from his with a whiny sigh, panting into the heat that encompassed them, and he set to work kissing and sucking down her jaw, savoring the sweet taste like the delicacy she was.
…Why was she letting him?
He could count on one hand the number of times they'd interacted like this, her as Ladybug and him as Adrien. And while, sure, he'd analyzed those moments inside and out, memorizing her every slight word and mannerism, she had no reason to. And yet she was here, with absolutely no prompting, making out with him? On a whim?
Her costumed hands fisted in his hair, pulling tight at the roots, and he did his best to suppress the moan that followed. He felt a single step away from mental collapse.
Maybe she just thought he was hot. Maybe she'd seen all the many posters scattered across the city and decided she needed to experience him for herself.
But if his looks were all that attracted her, then why had she rejected him as Chat Noir so many times before? Blonde hair and green eyes remained, no matter what mask he wore. So how could she have given him a chance instead of Chat Noir, her trusted partner who he'd proven over and over again to be forever devoted to her? Where was the justice in that?
Maybe she just liked that he was a model, the object of thousands of girls' affections, as surface level as their feelings were. Famous and romanticized and made to look like the ideal man, when, in actuality, he was anything but. She couldn't be that superficial, though; he wouldn't believe it.
She released his hair to find his hand, tugging it tentatively to her ribcage just below the soft swell of her breasts, an invitation of sorts, and, oh, he was one second away from shattering. This wasn't right, really, really, it wasn't. His fingers swept upward to where she needed him and tightened reverently around her, exploring, too desperate to deny himself this fulfillment. She moaned, long and insistent in his ear, and this must be what it was like to encounter perfection, to reside amongst spotless beauty.
He held her close for a second longer, tattooed the moment to his mind for fear he would never experience it again, her again, then gathered whatever remaining resolve he could and pulled away entirely, leaving her shuddering against his wall.
Words tried to escape, but he found himself breathless, so he stood there panting instead, fighting the urge to return to her. Then, finally, "Why are you here?"
"Wha— "
Her brain seemed dazed, and her eyes were unfocused, gazing in his general direction, but not actually seeing him. He tamped down the strange pride that bloomed in his chest for reducing someone as powerful as her to this.
He continued anyway. "You barely know me. Why are you here? Doing this?"
He watched the words register within her, realization beating against her like a series of sharp slaps, and she tensed further with each one, lovely blue eyes wide with awareness. Good. Let her realize that there was a brain and a heart behind his facade of perfection. Ones that she was hurting, unintentional or not.
Ladybug, his Lady, the everlasting love of his life, only liked him as Adrien, his fake, manufactured, manipulated form. Why would she love him like this, in the manner he was forced to be? Why not as his true self? The part that was continuously loyal to her, that had worked unendingly to win her requited affection? Why not kiss that half of him?
"Why do you like me?" he spit, then squeezed his eyes shut against the hostility in his tone. He'd meant to hold back his temper, no matter the painfully biting nature of his thoughts.
Her shock shifted suddenly to resolve, and there was the courage he knew to expect, pushing her off the wall to point an accusing finger at him. Her voice was trembling despite her strength, and it did nothing to stop the raw lust that still coursed through his veins. "I know that you like me. I know that for a fact. I know you barely know me, and yet I'm your crush? And I was… I was—how else am I supposed to interpret that…"
She was rambling now, words jumbling out in a desperately familiar sense, and he needed her to stop talking before he did something stupid, but her words just kept flowing, torturous, until finally she swung the final blow, "Or can you only deign to imagine being with another celebrity, someone of your 'caliber'? Is that it?"
Spite fueled him as he huffed, stuttering for words, then gave up, because how could she accuse him of that? "You don't understand."
"Oh please, what don't I understand?"
"How it feels to love someone who refuses to love you back!"
Her eyes hardened, voice strained. "Don't pretend you love me. You're right—you don't even know me."
Whatever fragile thread was holding together his restraint snapped, a slash like lightning piercing his sky and logic and brain and, "Plagg, claws out!"
The transformation cast through him, green light flashing, familiar mask materializing, and he stretched to his full height, gloved fists balled at his sides. "This. This is what you'll never understand."
He sought her eyes, to watch the reality spread across her countenance, but she just gasped, frozen in place for an eternity. Then, the shaking began, subtle at first, growing until she trembled like an autumn leaf stuck on a tree. Something like tears welled in her beguiling eyes, threatening to tumble down the red slope of her mask.
Her breath quickened to the point of hyperventilating when she finally broke eye contact, blinking rapidly, then, unable to face the truth anymore, turned away from him, her hands cradling her head as she curled into herself.
But he needed her to look. To look him in the eyes and face her mistakes, her treachery.
The guilt should eat her alive.
Her fragile form had nearly slumped to his floor, and he lunged for her, grabbing her by the wrists and pinning her hands high above her head. They were so close, arms and legs and chests pressed together and lips so near that either could bridge the gap. Their breath mingled, and he stared her down, admiring the way her blush flowered even in the space below her mask.
"Chat, I— "
But he didn't want an explanation, a plea for rationality. He cut her off, leaning down close and breathing in her ear, "Is this not what you wanted, M'lady?" Sharp teeth bit just beneath her ear, then he slammed his lips to hers again, possessive and angry and demanding of answers he didn't want to hear.
oOo
Her body and brain were set aflame, battling to see which would burn out first.
Everything about him was heavy, crushing against her in a delicious manner, blurring her senses and silencing her worry. His tongue plunged into her mouth, controlling, demanding, and she moaned against him.
Adrien was Chat Noir. A million memories clicked into place. Of course he was.
But he told her.
Screw it, she could deal with that later. She was far too occupied with his hands sliding up and down her backside, from the low slope of her back to the sensitive tops of her thighs, to worry about silly things like Guardian rules.
He was angry—she could tell—but he seemed determined to work out their issues physically, and she wasn't about to complain. She pressed her hands to his chiseled front, felt his muscles through the black leather of his suit, heard his sharp hiss in her ear, and knew with absolute certainty that this is where she belonged, molded to him like clay to a potter. Adrien.
Adrien liked her.
Adrien liked her because Adrien was Chat Noir and Chat Noir loved Ladybug. Those were indisputable rules of the natural universe and everything made sense. They could be happy now.
He wasn't, of course. Not yet. His motions were harsher than she imagined they would be if this had been discovered under normal circumstances. She always figured he would be overly gentle, sweet nothings and whispered touches. The reality of his rough hands and bruising lips was too tantalizing to resist. These were the fantasies that only appeared late at night when her mind was too tired to avoid them any longer, and she adored it.
His hips ground up into hers, frantic, strumming a harp of friction exactly where she needed him, and her breath caught in her throat as he moaned.
But then he was gone again, pulling away with a grunt while he pressed his fist to his forehead like he was trying to solve a problem without a solution.
He collapsed into a chair, head in his hands.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "That was—I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."
Her unsteady voice came as a single breath when she answered, "For what?"
"For," he gestured sadly in her direction, face still turned away, "everything."
She strode to him, crouched beside his chair, and delicately placed her hand on his back, desperate for contact, contact she would never again be without.
He peeked out the side of his hand, green eyes flashing as he studied her. "Why him? You don't even know him." Then, quieter, "I barely know him."
Her heart lurched as she finally comprehended the root of his anger. The root of his sadness. Because he still didn't know. He didn't get it.
"Kitty."
He looked away, brows scrunched together in something resembling regret. Maybe restraint.
"Kitty, look at me. Please." He complied, his gaze shifting, and she examined the blatant, undeserved shame defacing his gorgeous features. And maybe she still wasn't thinking clearly, but no other solution presented itself, so she grasped onto his hand and took a deep breath of finality. "Spots off."
She could feel him freeze as her costume vanished, as she answered the question that had haunted him for so many years. He placed the tip of his clawed finger under her chin and nudged her face up, forcing her eyes to meet his.
"Marinette?"
Suddenly, she was nervous, wrestling with all matters of worry and fear. What if he still didn't like her?
Then his arms were flung about her back, pulling her in like he'd never get enough. His strong hands caged her sides until her ribs ached, yet she'd never felt more free. "It's you." She could hear the smile in his voice, even pressed against his chest, and she couldn't help the relieved laughter that bubbled from her throat.
Everything was as it should be.
He kissed her cheek and forehead and nose, chaste, simple, loving kisses. He was methodical about it, coating every inch of her skin in his adoration, a physical manifestation of an obsession finally resolved.
"Adrien, I—you have to understand—I love you. That's why I couldn't love you like this. I already loved you too much to ever dream of moving on. But now!" She broke off, a wide smile spreading across her face. "Is that okay?"
His eyes widened with awe, voice laced with childlike discovery. "You mean I was the other boy?"
"And I was the other girl."
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. If I'd known, I– that must have been so hard for you."
"No harder than it was for you, Kitty. At least I never had to be fully rejected by you."
He shook head. "But all those times I'd go to your balcony, when you said you had your heart broken, that was about me?" He looked like his own heart was on the verge of shattering.
"Yes, but that wasn't your fault! Adrien, don't you get it? We don't need to worry anymore. Everything is exactly perfect. We won't have to worry about this or have our hearts broken ever again!"
"Huh." His hand stroked down her back absentmindedly, and she waited patiently for all the same realizations to connect in his mind. An all-consuming smile began spreading across his face, his green eyes shining with it.
Finally, "How lucky are we?"
"What?"
"I mean, you could have been anyone. Someone I'd never met or even heard of. But instead you're you. And I'm me. I think that's pretty lucky."
She smiled again because how beautiful was that, and pressed her lips to his once more, gentle and sweet and everything that something as pure as their love deserved.
He kissed her back, a little harder, and pulled her fully over him on the chair so she sat comfortably on the tops of his thighs.
There was something addicting in his taste and the way that he looked at her. In knowing that if she opened her eyes, she'd be staring at the mask she'd rejected so many times before. When she thought about it, this seemed wrong, the roles reversed. The sides that neither had wanted. Yet, here they were, clinging to each other like they'd die if they were separated for a moment longer.
His movements were animalistic, fueled by instinct and desire left steaming for too long, begging for outlet. "So beautiful," he muttered. "You're so, so beautiful."
The sentiment shot her mind into a frenzy. She, Marinette, was beautiful to him, mask or not. "Kitty." Her voice was light and airy. "Why did you visit my balcony so much?"
He smirked, an agonizingly attractive motion. "Beauty is beauty. I guess some part of me was… curious about you, about this, you know?"
The frantically denied memories of their past now bubbled violently in her brain. She squirmed against him, placed a kiss on his jaw. "Of course I know. Why d'you think I always let you stay?"
He growled in delight and reclaimed her lips.
She was an idiot.
So was he.
His lips traveled across her jaw and down her neck, sucking and nipping at her sensitive skin. "Marinette." He murmured it against her, humming, testing the name on his tongue. "Couldn't get to your neck before. I want to be able to look back in school and see evidence of this. That this actually happened, and I'm not dreaming right now."
She nodded vigorously and held him close, bare hands playing with his leather cat ears. "Anything. Anything and everything for you."
oOo
"Dude, your favorite music is classical? I gotta put you on some better… " Nino's voice trailed off in Adrien's mind as they walked into class, far more pressing matters there to occupy his thoughts.
There sat Marinette, just like she always had, right behind him. But now he could spy deep red marks scaling her neck, half covered with makeup and the collar of her jacket to dissuade suspicion, but exposed just enough that he could spot them in an instant. Every fiber of his being sang with elation.
She blushed, and he smirked, whispering in her ear as he slid into his bench, "You look purr-fect, M'lady."
He was so unbelievably in love.
She smacked the back of his head.
The End
Thank you so much for reading. Please let me know what you think!