#fragileizylukanette

[fragileizywriting]

New fic is out for this AU!

name: Pork Buns pairing: Luka / Marinette (Viperion / Multimouse) word count: 4,360 chapter: 1/1 rating: T summary: It’s instinctual for Marinette to smile when she sees him. “So, tell me, did you get them to look good?” “I’m not a professional,” he laughs as he climbs up the ladder to her bunk. “But the last couple of ones came out okay. Definitely edible. That’s huge compared to the first bun I made— god, this is hard. Who knew that a ball shape was hard to make? But your mom sure as hell teaches me better than my own does. Knowing her, she’d probably smack me with a towel for not getting it right the eighth time in a row.” AO3 | Want More of this AU? Start Here

Okay. Okay. This is fine. Everything is fine.

She just slathers herself in it, up until it starts to hurt, hissing to herself as she uses her knuckles to roll tightened flesh. Maybe ’slather’ is too harsh of a word, but butters herself is definitely applicable here. Her hands are sticky, slick with lotion rolling against her shaved and pale legs, trying desperately to work out the stiffened knots all by herself. Her itinerary is almost cleared. This is one of the last things left for her before turning in the night, and Marinette knows better to rush through this. Her legs don’t deserve that.

Shower? Done.

Wash hair? Done.

Exfoliate? Done.

Deodorant? Done.

Pajamas? Done.

She still has to brush out her hair and braid it so it doesn’t get all messy during the night since she buries her face into her pillows a lot, snuggling into the nearest large and soft object for comfort during the night, but that’ll be after the lotion. After she’s pressed every single knot out of her body, her legs begging and aching for her to calm down and relax. She still has a skin-care routine to go through, too, all six steps to make sure she’s hydrated but not enough to where she’s breaking out into hives and reddened skin from using too much product. It’s such a delicate balance, one that she’s spent so long and so much money trying to fix, and if she messes up tonight and it ends up ruining her night, she’s about to crash and burn and start kicking and screaming into her pillow.

Dinner be damned.

Even if it is… BBQ pork buns. Just when Luka had finally learned how to make them himself with her mom and wants to show her his work but she’s busy crying into a pillow and, and—

Breathe.

Breathe.

It’s okay.

Things are fine. Just a long day, that’s all, there’s no need for the knots to form in her shoulders. She’s tired, she’s hungry, she’s aching for Luka’s attention, but she wants— needs— to smooth out the knots in her legs before he’s back upstairs. If he catches her here, in such a bad mood, he’s going to get worried, and she doesn’t want to do that to him. She doesn’t want to cause him any more problems— oh, gooseberries, she’s such a crier— always crying about this and that and she doesn’t want to keep doing that to him because it feels like he’s always picking up the pieces and trying to hold her together and he shouldn’t have to do that…

But… but…

There’s nothing she can do about how her face pinches and her eyes water when she hears her trapdoor open with a gentle knock. She certainly can’t stop him from looking for her through the gentle canopy she’s made with some hanging plants in her room, him pulling up the sleeves of his sweater to stay at the elbows. She sees his tattoo on his forearm, that beautiful glistening snake that is full of blues and golds. “Mousey? Are you in here, or are you still showering?”

“No, no. I’m up here,” she calls to him, passing off a brief smile when they make eye contact. It’s instinctual to smile when she sees him, even though she’s not exactly in a happy mood. “So, tell me, did you get them to look good?”

“I’m not a professional,” he laughs as he climbs up the ladder to her bunk. “But the last couple of ones came out okay. Definitely edible. That’s huge compared to the first bun I made— god, this is hard. Who knew that a ball shape was hard to make? But your mom sure as hell teaches me better than my own does. Knowing her, she’d probably smack me with a towel for not getting it right the eighth time in a row.”

“I’m sure they came out great. And I can’t wait to try them,” she offers into the silence as he watches her continue to rub her calves. “You’re always super talented with the little things. I bet you that you tried to make a couple of shapes, too.”

“Just a couple of clams,” he laughs. His hair is so shaggy against his ears, long and black— he really does look nice, even if he does need that haircut she’s been trying to get him to agree to. It’s getting so long that she catches him stealing her hairbands. Sometimes she catches him wearing sparkly clips to keep his bangs out of the way, soft pinks and greens in his hair that definitely don’t match his hair color but are definitely from her accessories box… it’s so cute. He has one in his hair now, just a simple black clip to keep a lock of bangs out of his eyes, probably so he could learn how to make the pork buns with his full vision.

“I’m sure they taste really good, too!”

“Do you want some help?”

She blinks tears out of her eyes. Hopefully he didn’t catch that? “No, no— I— I can do this, it’s super simple.”

“Hey, Mousey? Are you okay?”

“Perfectly fine. It’s fine, everything’s... fine.”

Breathe. Breathe. Things are fine. Everything is fine. Her parents are thankful that she helped out in the bakery today, her grades in school are fine, her boyfriend isn’t upset with her, all the kwamis are full and Mullo is flying around with a basket of blueberries right behind her, gorging out on a meal before her parents go watch a movie together after dinner...

Why is she so stressed out? Why does she feel like she’s about to implode, to scatter into a billion pieces, like her head is going to fall off completely? Why does everything feel fuzzy and difficult?

“Are you sure? You don’t look okay,” Luka approaches cautiously. She looks up at him with a huff, eyes tired, pouting before she can even stop herself. He sits in front of her, right at the foot of her bed on the cat-shaped floor cushion— it wheezes under his weight, the calico patchwork warping against the pressure of his sweatpants.

“You have a hole in your pants.”

“Don’t change the subject,” he smiles. “And you know that was Jules’s fault. It’s what I get, I guess, for letting her try to do the laundry for a change.”

It’s funny to search the internet and find pictures of her boyfriend— him— Luka Couffaine, looking professional and beautiful on stage, with dark liner and wearing the jackets she’s designed, because it’s not him. It isn’t her boyfriend. He is beautiful, nearly deadly when he has his stage makeup on that makes his blue eyes look all the brighter… and certainly if she weren’t already dating him, she’d have had so much trouble talking to him, squeaking behind her hands the moment they would make eye contact… but that’s not him.

She looks to him, with that kiddie clip in his hair and the hole in his sweatpants— with the only thing giving her any inclination that he’s not usually so drabby in his clothes being his ouroboros that glows the same color as his tattoo— and she can’t help herself but bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. He’s such a sight like this. It’s so interesting. People on the internet who are obsessed with Viperion, too, have no idea that the reclusive superhero is the person sitting in front of her, tilting his head like he doesn’t know why she’s in the middle of trying not to laugh.

“Do you want me to put your hair up?” she gently offers.

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it. But that clip isn’t holding back much. Do you want me to put your hair up?”

“You need to stop planning,” he murmurs as he kisses her kneecap. He has to bend a little to reach it, even though she’s sitting on the bed and he’s sitting on the floor— he’s just so massive. They always have to get creative when they’re sleeping in his bed in his room, it wasn’t made for two people. Hell, it’s not even made for him. He’s definitely outgrown it. It’d be humorous, if it wasn’t always such a struggle to find a comfortable sleeping position that didn’t end with either of them waking up with bad backs.

“What’s wrong with planning?”

“You do it too much,” he gives her a knowing look. “Come on, focus on this right now. You’re so far off gone thinking about what you need to do that you’re hurting yourself while putting lotion on your legs— beautiful, you’re going to cause yourself to blister if you move your hands so quickly. Relax for me, Mousey.”

She stops moving her hands.

“Good. Just like that.”

Can he really tell that she’s not having a good time? “Vai…”

“You’re okay.”

“I—”

“Breathe.” She inhales on command, exhaling to the side so she doesn’t accidentally move his bangs with her breath. “Again.”

She does.

“Good?”

“Good.”

“Lightheaded?”

“No.” Even though she definitely should be, knowing her.

“Feeling weird?”

“I don’t think so. Aside from... I don’t know. This.” She points to everything about her.

“Tell me what’s wrong, beautiful.”

“I’m tired,” Marinette sighs out, like it’s a justification for the way she’s been treating herself. Her hands are ringing from how much friction she’s used against it, even with all the lotion, she’s completely and totally overstimulated. “Everything is so much right now.”

“Yeah? What is so much right now? Tell me about it.”

“I just got off one of the longest shifts of my life at the bakery,” she grumbles. “Who orders so many cupcakes? I’m going to get arthritis in my hands from squeezing that piping bag for so long.”

He lifts her leg up to place in his lap as she continues to grumble to herself, something fond on his face that she spends way too long obsessing over. “I’ll massage your hands after I help you out with your legs.”

“You don’t need to—”

He winks. “What else is wrong?”

Well… since he’s here… “There’s school, too.”

“I thought you were doing okay.”

“I am doing okay.”

“You’ve been studying so hard, too.”

“I have,” she agrees easily. “I really have. It’s cost me a full week of me without you, and I’m just so frustrated, because I don’t want my grades to slip at all—”

“You aren’t going to let your grades slip, Mousey. Your grades are more important!”

“But—” she sighs. “But what about you? Oh gooseberries, Luka, I just feel so horrible— I feel like I’m neglecting you because I’ve been busy—”

“Neglecting me? How in God’s name—”

“Like, maybe I could be doing better to be with you. Maybe I could’ve split myself into two’s. Maybe I could’ve studied as Multimouse, instead— it would’ve kept Lolo out of trouble, too. I wouldn’t have to keep negotiating with her using blueberries so that I could study, if I just kept her inside the Miraculous— I could be with you, too, but the downside is I’d probably have double the stuff to do per day, but, it’s something I’d be willing to do.”

He looks hurt. She has no idea why his eyebrows are pinched, or his frown is deep into his lips, but it is, like he’s offended by what she’s said. “But I don’t want you to split yourself into a billion different mice just to spend time with me, Mousey.”

“Why not?”

“Because you tire twice as quickly. And it’s painful to watch when you get all disoriented.”

She frowns, too. “But doesn’t it feel weird to barely be able to talk to me, even though we work in the same place? We’ve been getting the same shifts for the past week, but… I mean, aside from that, I’ve barely spent enough time with you at all, and…”

“Marinette, you don’t have to—” he sighs, slowing down his hands. “I’m not a chore, you know that.”

“You’re not,” she murmurs. They sit in the silence as she bites her lip, wondering how to salvage this conversation. It’s not a fight. But this isn’t exactly agreeable. Maybe she’s saying the wrong things because she’s already in a fragile mood. “Of course you’re not a chore to me, Vai, that’s not what I meant. I’m not trying to hit a quota with how many minutes I spend time with you, I just… want to spend time with you, even when I’m busy. I love you.”

He kisses her kneecap again, humming softly when she threads her fingers through his hair. “I love you, too. Please don’t treat me like a chore.”

“You’re not. Definitely not. I dream about being in your arms, oh gooseberries— it’s so embarrassing— I hate being apart from you. I hate not being with you all the time! I just don’t like not spending time with you. It feels weird. Like a missing limb. I feel like a bad girlfriend when I do that.”

“You’re not a bad girlfriend— of course you’re not a bad girlfriend. You’re focused. I’m watching you get pulled apart by every single little chore, Mousey, and I’m sorry. I saw your planner had me written on there—”

Oh. Oh. That’s why he thinks he’s a chore? Because he’s on her agenda— because she had to remind herself that he was going to be here? Oh, no— no that’s not what she meant by it at all!

“Oh! I was— well, I am— excited for pork bun night,” she gives a little smile when he looks up again to her eyes. “I wanted to write it down so I knew what time to stop studying— that’s not because you’re a chore, Vai! I like writing down everything in order, I like scheduling breaks and rewards, too.”

“Oh, a break or a reward?”

She pouts. “You’re telling me you weren’t looking forward to it?”

“I definitely was. I’ve missed you so much, it was driving my mom nuts. She kept telling me to get out of the house if I was going to keep shaking the boat so insistently with me walking around and moving the deck furniture back and forth.” That soft smile of his looks a little teasing. “Say, Mousey, am I a break or a reward?”

“Definitely a reward,” she exhales loudly, sagging into him with a grin. She gets off the bed, crawling into his lap, kissing him as gently as she can even though all she wants to do is tackle him and shed his pants. He doesn’t need it, anyway, not when he’s in her room— but they are going downstairs soon for dinner and she’d hate for him to be in his boxers when trying to have a conversation with her parents. Oh, his sweater is so warm under her fingertips— he probably isn’t wearing a shirt underneath, even though she always tells him to, because he’s always catching himself in situations where it’s too hot to be wearing a sweater but too cold to leave it— he’s lucky that he has a couple of his shirts stored away in her drawer. “You are the only reason I haven’t broken down into full tears by now.”

“You’re going to hit a burnout, aren’t you? You’re always so ambitious, and it’s one of the things I love about you, but I can’t help but feel you’re disappearing under the stress.”

She presses her nose into his cheek. “You noticed?”

“I love you. Of course I did.”

“What if I stopped being ambitious?”

“You? Stop being ambitious?”

“What if I did?”

"I would love you just as much. I love you in any form, beautiful.” He’s quick to kiss her on the cheeks and on the nose. His hands feel soft against her shoulders as he hugs her, taking a huge breath of her hair like it was the last breath he’d ever take. Maybe… maybe her studying has been hard on him, too. She’d left Luka to babysit Mullo for a couple of hours and let the little kwami have something to do other than stare at her studying for the whole day— an unenriched kwami is a dangerous one— but that probably wasn’t enough to keep the homesickness away in her boyfriend, was it?

Gah. They’re so much in love.

“What if I just became a bum? Or quit university and decided to just be nothing so I could be with you all the time?”

“I’d still love you. I would be a little bit upset that you threw away your degree. And maybe we’d get into a fight about it, because even though I’m your number one supporter that doesn’t mean I support bad decisions, but I’d still love you.”

“What if I stayed as Multimouse for the rest of my life? Get the mayor to set up a bank account and make him start paying me for my superhero service. Or actually, start selling those foot model pictures that those weirdos on my profile page keep asking me in exchange for money—”

“We’d be rich if you did that, and I hate that I can say that will full honestly,” he laughs. “I’ll sell pictures of my hands, too, and make us both rich— hand pictures that everyone seems to be obsessed with. Why are people obsessed with my hands? What is it? What’s so appealing about my hands?”

He takes a look at them, too, trying to understand. He turns them, palm-side up, and then the other way, showing her his polished and buffed black nails, making a noise of confusion as she laughs. “Vai—”

“No, seriously. I don’t get it. I know the messages you get for your feet is a… weird thing. But I don’t know how to feel about the hand thing. It’s flattering? I guess? But strange, too.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time, would it, that Paris has just been weird to us?”

“That’s true,” he laughs. “But I just don’t understand why.”

“I know I like your hands.” She threads her fingers between his, playing with the spinny rings that he has on his index fingers with her thumbs. “People like them because they imagine you doing stuff to them with your hands.”

“Do you?”

“I always do,” she grins. She kisses him, over and over again, until her hands are out of his and instead are on his chest, fiddling with the string of his hoodie, letting his hands free to rub her back and make her spine curl. “But I love you. So.”

“How are you feeling, Mousey? Better?”

“Tired, still. Not as lonely. And definitely excited for tomorrow.”

“I’ve missed seeing you unstressed.”

“Me too, Vai. I can’t wait. My last final is tomorrow,” she murmurs, quieting into something silent when he pets up her spine, trying not to let herself dissolve into tears. She feels that slow tightening of her throat, like she’s about to cry, and there’s nothing she can do about it. She hides her face in her hands, wincing at the wet slap she gives herself on accident— oh, it seems she still has lotion on her hands. At least her hands smell like lavender. “I— oh, gooseberries, I think I really am officially stressed out.”

“You definitely look like you’re on the cusp of burning out, Mousey.”

“I think I’m going crazy without you.”

“I’m right here,” he smiles— boyish, cute, gah— she has to look away.

“A whole week without you was torture!”

“It’s too long, isn’t it?”

“Even though I got to see you almost every day here at the bakery I didn’t get to see you see you. We barely got anything done. I barely got to kiss and hug you and—”

He kisses her with a smile. And then again. Over and over again until she’s breathing normal, until her heartrate is at a steady pace. His lips are soft against hers, gentle, even though she knows he desperately wants to bite and suck. He settles on nipping her on the jawline with his flat teeth when she pulls away, threading her fingers through his hair again. “Why don’t I spend the night?”

“Don’t you have band practice?”

“Tomorrow. Come with me?”

“But what about my final—" she winces when drags his thumbs up her sides, rolling tightened flesh between his fingertips. It’s not just her thighs and calves that seem to have a problem, but rather her whole body— everything hurts as he does it, like she’s been in an Akuma battle the entire day and hasn’t had any time to slow down.

Yeah. She might be feeling a little worse than she looks.

“Just for a little while before your final. You’ve been studying nonstop for it, beautiful. You physically can’t take any more of it. You need to get out of the house and take a breather.”

“But what if—”

“You’re going to pass your classes. The more important question is when was the last time you went outside?”

“Today? The Akuma.”

“Besides the Akuma.”

“I don’t know. I have no idea, I’ve been studying so much and for so long that I…” Oh. Oh. She’s crying, isn’t she? What else are those tears wetting her cheeks for?

“Come here,” he tells her, pulling her back into a hug. She’s cuddling into him in an instant, sliding her arms over his shoulders, hiding her face into his collar— squeezing her eyes shut until there’s something white and shapeless spinning in the dark. Everything is so hard, so distant, so hurting that she doesn’t want to move from this weird mess they’ve made with their legs against the cat pillow. He smooths his hand along her back, petting the bare part of her shoulder blades with slightly tacky fingers from the lotion, kissing her hair. As she gives a couple of shaky breaths. “It’s okay.”

“My head hurts,” she sobs. “I’m so tired. I really don’t like staying away from you, Luka.”

“I know. But you’re doing great, beautiful. Tomorrow’s the last day— it’s going to be over tomorrow.”

“I don’t even know how to explain how tired I am, Vai, everything is so tiring, I feel myself slipping—”

“I know. I know how stressed you are, I know that you’re being pulled in all directions—”

“School, work, Akumas—”

“I’m sorry.”

“I wish I could be a better girlfriend, too.”

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs. “I think that’s part of the problem. I think you’re not letting yourself be not perfect— I wish I could fix this for you. I wish I could speed up time, too, so I could get this over for you so you wouldn’t suffer so much with it and give you a break.”

She pulls away. She looks ugly, she knows, with her damp and stringy hair, her wet and blotchy face, with clouds in her eyes as she continues to sniffle, but he still kisses her all the same, giving her another smile when she hiccups. “You’d do that?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

“Anything?” she sobs. “Really?”

He laughs. “Of course I would. I love you, Mousey, and you’re not the only one who wishes they could misuse their Miraculous in order to make their partner happy. I love you so, so much. I don’t like seeing you upset.”

“You’d learn how to forward time for me?”

“And you’d learn how to only split yourself into two for me,” he tilts his head. She makes sure to not get close to the hairclip so she doesn’t pull on his hair, hiding her face back into his collar with a gasp. “I guess we’d do the impossible for each other, right?”

She sniffles. “This is going to turn into your next song, isn’t it?”

She loves the way he laughs, loud enough for it to make her laugh, even though it comes out watery and teary-eyed and full of feelings she doesn’t know how to process. “I have an idea.”

“Hmm?”

“How about tomorrow, after your final, we sleep in as a celebration? Do you want that?”

“Yes, I want that. Oh gooseberries I want that so much. I— there’s nothing physically wrong with me, I just feel like an over-pressurized soup can about to explode, I don’t think I’ll be any useful tomorrow after the test.”

He kisses her hair again. Soft, gentle, she’s going to melt into his arms if he does that again— she has no idea if it’ll be melting into more tears or melting into just plain goo. She lets him coddle her, hold her in his arms like he’s rocking her to sleep, petting at the tear tracks away that are on her cheeks. “You’re fatigued. You’re way beyond stressed from school, and I don’t think those Akumas are helping at all, but you’ve made it to the last day. Tomorrow after your test we’ll eat your favorite food, watch your favorite movie, and spend the whole day afterwards in bed.”

“But, you have more band practice after tomorrow, too— I can’t let you skip out on that!”

He snorts. “You are so much more important than a band practice, Mousey. I’ll tell Jules tonight that I’m staying over and that I might cancel both.”

“But—”

“Ah, no. Come on, come on, let me change up my schedule for you. I want to, and I’m pretty sure if I go home Jules is going to toss me out of the nearest porthole from the way I keep pacing around. She keeps signing that I’m burning a track into the rugs with all my shuffling around.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” There’s a hand in her hair, pushing back her bangs to give her a kiss on the forehead. “Let’s go eat the pork buns, okay? And try not to make fun of my designs. I tried my best, and I mimicked the buns after your hair. I hope they turned out okay.”

She wipes at her eyes with a smile, thinking about Multimouse’s hair. “I love you.”

AO3 | Want More of this AU? Start Here

[fragileizywriting]

New **SPECIAL EDITION: Valentine's Day** fic is out for this AU!

name: sweet-and-sourdough heart pairing: Luka / Marinette (Viperion / Multimouse) word count: 7,363 chapter: 1/1 rating: E summary: His eyes darken into liquid gold. “But you don’t have to feel guilty about that. I like that, you know. I like it when you’re possessive, it’s cute.” Cute. Cute. She doesn’t want to be called cute. She wants to be attractive— she’s tired of being the sweetheart. The confectionary frosting. The vanilla. The gentle, appeasable Valentine’s Day chocolate. She wants people to take her seriously when her brow furrows, when something hard sets on her jaw. She wants Viperion to look at her and see it. To see how much she wants to tie him up here and let him struggle underneath her for hours. AO3 | Want More of this AU? Start Here

There are many things that Multimouse is. She’s Paris’s sweetheart, constantly on billboards and magazines as the friendliest face there is. There are many people who claim to be her biggest fan, loving her and needing her to be at any important event. People look to her, children wave when they see her jumping across the city roofs, and babies squeal when they see her— it’s perfect. The moment that she transforms and the piece of hexleather covers her face, the city is enthralled by her personality, her looks, her demure smile and her quiet voice. She is the sweetheart, the small little princess, protected by her mysterious and intuitive knight.

Multimouse is also jealous.

It happens. It does. She’s not the only superhero in the city— her best friend, her partner, her boyfriend is also someone who defends the city from Akuma attacks on the daily. Viperion is nothing except determined to keep the cities from turning into an absolute warzone to the civilians who live in it, spending so many more hours doing it than her. Turning back the clock for him is as instinctual as it is for her to spend her time calculating every option and every rebuttal in record time. It pays to have the ability to multitask.

And with that… Viperion is considered Paris’s knight. She may be considered sweet, friendly, a pure confectionary dole whip topped with strawberries— but Viperion is not. Quiet, focused, with a startling set of fangs and flashing eyes, Paris is convinced that Viperion is the less approachable of the two. And that was fine. People not approaching him was fine— she’s always been the one to deal with the aftermath of Akumas. Helping and directioning citizens out of harm’s way has always been her specialty, if nothing else. Viperion licks at his wounds he’s sustained during the fight while she makes sure to get any victims to safety with the help of a commissioned team created to help calm post-Akumas, practically no one ever approaches Viperion for anything.

He’s silent. He’s reclusive. No one ever goes up to Viperion for autographs, too scared of anything in those liquid golden eyes to ask otherwise. They shirk, they dip their heads, out of respect and awe at the superhero who seems to know everything with his powers of intuition, and generally don’t go looking for trouble when he’s around. And yet all he does is smile, looking up at her with molten golden eyes and a gentle smile when she’s done talking to the Akuma victim and the commission agent, padding back up to him on the edge of the sidewalk where he sits until they can both move again.

Except today. For some reason. It’s Valentine’s Day, and Hawkmoth has made no attempt to be kind on this holiday, trying to send out the most saddened and emotionally-devastated Akuma yet— they’re exhausted. Fighting an Akuma about the depravity of love and how they ‘just wanted a kiss’ from Multimouse is just completely and totally exhausting.

People love her.

A little bit too much.

And Multimouse wants nothing more than some peace and quiet with her loved one after this fight and hide away from fans who think she’s single and isn’t going to reject them. She wants to cozy up with her boyfriend and leave the rest of this behind— to hide into his shoulder as they watch episodes of their favorite anime while he tries his best to toss popcorn into her mouth while they’re both in the dark— but of course there’s another obstacle.

She’s about to start cursing and flailing.

People usually leave Viperion alone— why now? Neither of them were expecting this, especially not her. And neither of them expect Multimouse to slap Viperion’s ass on complete accident in front of the news reporter who’s been twirling her hair for about twenty minutes, now, pretending that her microphone isn’t upside down as she ‘interviews’ him, asking if he’s free for a date.

This… doesn’t happen.

Ever.

Oh, gooseberries. What just happened?

Even though the two of them are covered in hexleather— a magical fabric that she can’t for the life of her find a single scrap of fabric that matches the color, let alone durability— her fingers ring like she’s cracked her bare hand against concrete. There’s a blush across her face, she feels it, but refuses to mention it at all as the reporter continues, completely unaware of what’s happened between the two of them. Viperion, too, continues like nothing has happened at all— he’d moved, a bit, with the way she’d hit him. The only indication it had actually happened. She’d recoiled herself, eyes wide and a squeak coming out of her, but they humor the news reporter for just a bit longer before Viperion decides it’s time to go. By the time they leave, Multimouse hears the way the reporter murmurs under her breath about how it was so silly of her to not record their interview, even though the conversation had been nothing except small talk, and Multimouse barely realizes she’s dragging her boyfriend by the collar and into her bedroom until it’s too late.

“Mousey,” he groans. “Come on. Don’t you want to go do something?”

It’s dark out. She can see the constellations of the sky through the latch to the patio, her little sunroof that she tries to follow around throughout the day with her plants. She’s never been able to keep them alive for more than a couple of months, always overwatering when she thinks her plant is withering without gentle care— but now, there is no purpling sky. There is nothing endless, dark night— as dark as Viperion’s hair, as dark as her hair, with twinkling bright stars as beautiful as his eyes. They’ve been here for hours, and she has no idea how she’d gotten to last this long without peeling everything off of him and finishing this the easy way.

“We’re already doing something.”

“Don’t smile at me like that, you know what I meant.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“Of course not.”

“Am I being too much?”

“No,” he wheezes, as she continues to drag her fingers down his chest. “You’re never too much. But you are teasing, Mousey. Can’t you pay attention to what’s behind you?”

Oh, she knows what he’s talking about. There’s something insistent against her ass, something hot and warm and something she can feel through her thick hexleather— something that makes the feeling in her legs wash out. But she’s busy, straddling his abs and doing her best not to rub herself all over him and make herself come just like this, instead finding it fun to watch him hiss when her gloved fingers tease the showing skin on his chest.

He has grooves against his suit that aren’t the hexagonal textures of their fabric, but he has plates, too. Like a shifting snake skin, his abs are made of slightly denser material that makes almost a thick sound when she knocks against it. His chest plate, too, made out of the same material— she’s a little upset that her superhero costume doesn’t come with claws so she can rake them down his chest to watch the lines create patterns across his suit, but this is fine, too. He feels like nothing but heat underneath her hands as he squirms, trying his best not to bite his lower lips into a bloody mess as she teases more and more.

But she’s the Mouse. The Cat Miraculous, the only Miraculous to have a set of hexsteel claws, is the only one that can rip open suits just with the fingertips. Chaos and entropy and things. It’s hard to wield something as deadly as the Cat Miraculous— and she would definitely not use it for something as indulgent as this.

She’s the Mouse. And the Mouse has a couple of tools at her disposal.

“Not yet. I’m just trying to calm down first— I don’t like it when people talk to you and flirt with you,” she sighs. “I’m sorry, Vai. I’m being really bad.”

“You’re not being bad.” Oh, gooseberries, she loves it when he looks at her with that dopey smile of his. Even though his eyes are nothing but magma and heat and liquid, there’s something soft in that smile when they make eye contact. Just so that she knows that he’s okay with this. With her driving him crazy with no release, for hours and hours, all because a girl came close to him.

“I feel like keeping you here forever so that no one does that again,” she whispers.

“Good girl, Mousey,” he murmurs— he shifts his hips, pressing his hips up and into her crotch, sending color at the sides of her vision. She warms at his words— the way he makes it rumble in his chest, the way it feels like velvet against her skin that’s hidden away by hexleather. “But you don’t have to feel guilty about that. I like that, you know. I like it when you’re possessive, it’s cute.”

Cute. Cute. She doesn’t want to be called cute. She wants to be attractive— she’s tired of being the sweetheart. The confectionary frosting. The vanilla. The gentle, appeasable Valentine’s Day chocolate. She wants people to take her seriously when her brow furrows, when something hard sets on her jaw. She wants Viperion to look at her and see it. To see how much she wants to tie him up here and let him struggle underneath her for hours.

Valentine’s Day.

The two of them are supposed to be spending time together— which, they are— but probably not like this. Watching the way his eyes fill with gold, his breath catches when she squirms, and how those ridiculously large fists of his continue to open and close. She’s so thankful that no one is home, that her parents went to have their yearly romantic walk together around Paris as they redo their first date from all those years ago, because it gives her the opportunity to do this.

Knowing Viperion’s mother, she’s probably heading to the precinct to give the Akuma victim a frown and a scolding or two for behaving inappropriately with Multimouse. She might even cause another Akuma herself, knowing her tendencies to go overboard, and yet her son is completely unbothered, so much more focused on the way he’s helpless to gentle touches.

It’s strange. She doesn’t know if she wants Viperion to be the one caging her in, or giving in to indulging herself for the first time in years. After all, he’s here, in her bed, prime to letting her do whatever she wants, and all she can think about is how happy she’d be if the roles were reversed instead.

“I want to touch you everywhere so that everyone knows you’re mine,” she continues, trying not to think about her hands being tied above her head, two of his fingers teasing the space between her thighs as she whines and sighs. “I want everyone to know that Viperion is mine.”

“I am yours.”

“No, no—” her voice goes soft, cooing, touching him gently on the jaw to make him look at her. His pupils are widening into discs, barely any gold left as she looks him over, something of a ‘fuck, that’s hot,’ pouring off his lips as she does. “Mine. Mine. Branded with my teeth. I don’t want girls to talk to you. Isn’t it stupid?”

He winks at her, just so that she knows that he’s not taking her words seriously. “Not at all. I like you being so possessive.”

Well. That’s a blessing, if she’s ever seen one.

So she does. It’s hard to do much because she doesn’t want to get up and get a hair tie to keep her hair back, but it was important for her to remove the pins in her hair. The hexsteel pins that kept her hair in place, two giant buns that served as an artistic’s representation of mouse ears, are out so she could use it to cut into his suit. Each press of the pins into his suit had made a gasp catch in his throat, his eyes blow out wide, and his mouth go slack as his suit had peeled— she could hear it all with her super hearing. But now, with her hair down, she can barely do much without locks of it getting into her field of view— she whines to herself, trying not to pout too hard, not wanting to peel away and look for something to keep her hair back as she bruises the side of his jaw with her teeth.

He bucks into her, trying to catch purchase, trying for any type of friction that no doubt will alleviate him in his suit. But the hexleather rope is impossible to get out of, and he knows this, his hands fisting at them, trying to snap them off.

But isn’t he a vision. Viperion, the darkened Knight of Paris, reduced to fluttering eyes with every kiss and teeth mark she presses into his neck and teases his skin with her gloved hands, turning into nothing but purrs. It’s not a real purr. But it is something between a moan and a groan, like a rattle, a deep noise that she’s obsessed with, something that she wants to hear ringing in her ears for the rest of her life.

“I mean, y-you can do all of that,” he wheezes again when she squirms on top of him, his eyes blowing out so that there’s no gold left, “you can do whatever you want to me, but— but do you have to do that when I’m like this?”

“Like how?” she cocks her head. “Do you not like this?”

She likes this. She likes how he looks. His hair looks wild and unkept from how many times she’s pulled and combed her fingers through it, kissing him senseless until his eyes glazed over. She’s made sure to keep him comfortable by letting him put his head on the pillow he uses in her bedroom whenever he stays over, but nothing much after that— she doesn’t let him move his hands at all from where they are, tied to her bed posts. Nothing serious. Nothing complex. But to make sure he can’t move at all, she’s used the rope from her tail, tying him into place and not letting him move an inch, using sturdy knots to keep him from wrapping his thick arms around her and using her the way he so desperately wants.

Hexleather is unbreakable, after all, and that’s exactly what her rope tail is made out of. The only way to tear through hexleather is to use hexsteel… her pins have done such a good job making sure she has access to his pale and wonderful skin underneath his suit.

“I like this,” he whispers. “I really like this.”

“Good.” She shimmies forward, just enough to each over and trace her fingers over his arms. He’s huge. By now, her boyfriend has sure to have stopped growing taller, but the end result is that he’s massive, just massive— his arms are thicker, stronger, than would ever be available to her— he takes after his father. Apparently. That’s what he always says whenever someone asks how Anarka, of all people, was able to raise a behemoth like him, while his mother is just as short as her. Even Juleka, his sister, is uncannily tall, like a perfect mannequin with incredible proportions that are so helpful during modeling clothes. They’re proportionate in height, Juleka and her brother, but Viperion obviously has more muscles to pack it, which it makes sense. They’ve been fighting Hawkmoth since they were thirteen— Viperion has sure shown the hardened muscles in stride.

Delicious.

No wonder so many fangirls salivate over him on the internet. And she was definitely one of them before they started dating— dreaming of his gloved hands fisting through her hair and pulling. She’s obsessed with the size of his arms, and how he strains against the rope, triceps flexing under her fingertips as she continues to trace them.

She’s obsessed with the way he bucks up his hips, too, trying to get her attention again.

“Let me touch you, Mousey.”

“Not yet.”

Something strangled catches at the back of his throat. “But, I—”

“Please? I’ve always wanted to have Viperion in my bed. Let me enjoy this moment, Vai.” She rips into his suit some more, holding the pin delicately between her fingertips.

The pin is her seam ripper. Viperion’s suit is her last-minute runway project she needs to tweak. She has enough strength to pull it off, and enough creativity to make it look good. After all, Viperion is the perfect art project already, and she definitely has something in mind for what the finished piece should look like.

But it takes a moment to get the suit to go lower than his sternum. Her pin is small, not made to rip into giant sections of costumes like that Cat’s claws are supposed to, so it’s genuinely difficult. There’s a push, and a pull, and she needs to be careful with the tip end so it doesn’t accidentally knick her thumbpad as she tries to cut into it more, but she flexes and pulls as hard as she can, finding success with a smile when ripping all the way down to his left thigh. He hisses when his skin pebbles from her gentle teasing, blowing against his skin to get him to shiver. What a beauty. Pale, beautiful and perfect skin, perfect for her flat teeth to follow down to his Adonis belt and have her way with him.

Ah, but the star of the show is that cock of his, giving a firm slap against his hip and tensed stomach as she pulls the hexleather off of him enough to reach him— mmm. She likes that. She likes how he’s aching for her, and she can tell he’s desperate by the way he groans— his reddened head with dollops of precome leaking out of him, almost startled when she grips him at the base with gentle fingers. She’s tiny, with equally small hands— she can’t get her fingers to quite touch her thumb when she wraps a hand around him, and the thought is so drooly that she has to adjust her sitting position so she doesn’t get overwhelmed. He hisses when she smears the beads on his flared head, giving his cock a good pump or two, just to get him to stop squirming against the rope that keeps him tied.

“Please, Mousey—”

“Please, what?”

“Stop teasing.”

It’s not every day she has the ability to fold a man twice her size and tie him up, with such a proportionately large cock between her fingers. This isn’t conventional— this isn’t her dream or fantasy— much more interested in the way he’d snatch her up and have his way with her, given the chance to, but she certainly sees the appeal of it as his eyes lose focus when she gives him another good squeeze. She likes the way he’s caught off guard by everything she does, as if he’s purposely letting himself not think ahead and live in the moment instead. This is a luxury, a delicacy, one that she has no doubt she’ll enjoy. It’s different. It’s not normal for them.

Viperion would’ve had her pressed into the mattress by now, a firm hand clamped at the back of neck to keep her from squirming too much as he fucked her. And that— that— that is completely and totally the exact thought makes her head turn into creme brulee. The thing she dreams about the most is his weight on top of her, manhandling her, whispering sweet and gentle nothings about how much he loves her and how perfect she is for him as he punishes her lower body with sharp, stinging slaps to the thighs and fucking her hard enough for her to the stars.

But this is good. This is perfect, too.

“Did you like her talking to you?” she murmurs, as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. She situates herself between his legs, bracing her arms against his thighs, just so she can suck him off properly. She likes the way she can feel his heartbeat in between her fingers, surging with blood and heat— she milks out more beads as she gives him some more pumps, entranced by the transparent liquid that starts to leak down her knuckles.

“You know I don’t mind it— ah— when Parisians—” he holds back an expletive, even though it looks like it cost him, as she gives him tentative and gentle licks. “We’re superheroes for the city. They should— Mousey— be allowed to talk to us.”

“Was she pretty?”

“I have no idea.”

“She seemed pretty interested in you,” she teases. “Asking you all sorts of questions.”

“Y-yeah. Trust me, I remember.”

“You remember her?”

“I remember what happened.”

“What was her hair color?”

He grits his teeth. Viperion has fangs, pretty ones, fangs that she knows feel so nice against her skin whenever he catches her on the way of leaving the shower, always nipping and biting and leaving pinpricks against her upper thighs— now all they’re good for is piercing his bottom lip so hard that he might end up making himself bleed. “Brown?”

Wrong. Black.

“Her eye color?”

“Green?”

Wrong. Brown.

“What was she wearing?” she asks, gently, like a whisper, before licking a long stripe from balls to tip.

“Mousey, this game is way too difficult with you doing this— holy shit—”

She pouts. “Don’t curse, Vai.”

Something hardens in his eyes. “I’m going to get this rope off of me and I’m going to fuck you.”

“You’re cursing.”

“Oh, I’m going to fuck you so hard, sweetheart. Your cunt is tightening up just thinking about it, isn’t it? You’re thinking about it. I know you are.”

She pouts harder. “You’re not going to convince me to untie you. Even if you keep saying words I like.”

Even with his cock leaking, blistering red, Viperion drags his tongue across his teeth to make it clear to her that she’s nothing but prey. “And you know why you should keep me tied up. What happens if I get out of here, hm? What happens, Mousey?”

She swallows. “You’re going to eat me out?”

He grins. “Maybe. But you definitely don’t deserve it— you’re being a horrible superhero right now with how you’re edging me on. After all, a pretty girl like you knows better than to tease me like this. The moment I get off this fucking rope you’re getting spanked.”

Her eyes narrow, trying not to smile. “You won’t be able to.”

“Try me.”

Good luck, but that’s impossible. Hexleather can’t be broken, he knows that. None of her hairpins are close to his hands, either, so he won’t be able to use her pins to get out of the knots she’s made. He’s completely at her mercy, which, poor guy— but the way he stares, the way he’s firm with his declaration— all of it makes her shiver. So she turns back her attention to his stomach, nipping him on his ab, ignoring the way his hips press up to get her focus back onto where it matters— her body is already stinging with the idea of him spanking her, using her, not letting her go until he’s through. But she won’t give up yet. “You really weren’t paying attention to her the reporter at all, were you?”

“I was busy thinking about you,” he hisses when she tongues at his slit, making her all the more dopey and soft at the confession. The girl was attractive, and she knows that, but it must’ve been hard for him to focus. “That little show you gave is all I can think about.”

“Do you think she noticed?”

“Mousey,” he gasps. “Who cares about her? I don’t even remember what she looks like, just— if you won’t untie me, please keep going.”

Fine, fine. He bucks his hips again as she slips him into her mouth, sinking him all the way until her eyes start to burn. He sighs, choking on something when she peels his suit away from the inside of his thigh so she can cup at his balls. He’s strung up, tight, and nearly face-fucks her on accident when she teases him with two knuckles at his perineum. She can’t smile, even though she wants to, so she settles by pressing in her fingers just enough to stimulate, and he can’t do anything but shout.

“Fuck!”

She’d scold him, if she wasn’t busy having something in between her lips. Instead, all she has is a hum at the back of her throat as she pulls more and more of him into her mouth.

She likes sucking him off. She likes the power it brings, to have someone like Viperion to fold over like cards, focus on nothing except the way she keeps her teeth away, letting him fit himself as much as possible into her mouth.

“Just like that Mousey, holy fuck, Jesus— I’m going to make a fucking mess out of your mouth—”

There’s a bit of a vacancy at the back of her neck as he pistons up, continuing to dirty talk her until there’s nothing but white noise between her legs. There should be a hand against her neck, holding her down, making sure that she doesn’t move away as he makes sure she swallows around him instead, but she can make do with this. Besides, with the way he’s groaning, she’s so much more interested in helping him out this way. This is so nice. It’s not often she gets to surprise him, not now that he’s realized that she’s intensely in love with him taking the lead, so she makes sure to appreciate the moment by hollowing out her cheeks.

He goes completely quiet when she does, the chants and groans disappearing under her breath with a good suck. Oh. Hm. She might’ve broken him.

She licks, too, squeezing him at the base while turning her attention to his head, working him up till his stomach is tightening up and his hands are starting to strain in the wrappings she’s made with the rope. His face, pinched, behind that domino mask— he almost looks like he’s hallucinating as she bobs her head, over and over again, oscillating between deepthroating and giving gentle licks to his slit as he can do nothing but moan.

He’s straining so hard against the rope that it looks like it’s starting to burn.

His muscles flex as he squeezes his fists, opening and closing, pink wrapping on his black and turquoise suit. He hisses, trying his hardest not to succumb and end up spilling in her mouth and cursing himself out as he raises his hips to meet her— she’s been teasing him for hours. She’s certain that if she just uses a hint more pressure he’s going to come, right at her fingertips, and she loves the idea.

“Mousey, Mousey—”

She looks up, letting him out of her mouth with a wet ‘pop’. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t stop— wait, Mousey—”

“Stop what?” she grins. There’s a bridge of spit connecting her stick to his cock, and she breaks it with a swipe of her tongue that his Viperion’s eyes sharpening into something ethereal as he tracks her mouth. He’s on the hunt for her, somehow, trying to convince himself that he has the upper hand. As if she literally doesn’t have him tied up in the way she wants him.

“You’re such a tease,” he groans out, like he wasn’t the one cursing expletives at her, saying that he’d fuck her stupid. “I can’t— I need— I have to put my hands on you, I have to—”

He strains harder against the rope. The sound of hexleather squeezing hits her sensitive ears, that delicious noise that makes her shiver— she’s always so more fine-tuned when she’s in her own suit. His palms squeak that stereotypical noise, gentle and bright, as his fingers squeeze over and over again into his fist. Viperion might be strong, and Viperion might have super-strength, but he won’t be able to get out.

It’s impossible.

Not on his own, at least.

“You’re not going to get out,” she teases him with a smile, tracing an up-and-down pattern on his cock with just her forefinger, leaning into her palm. He jumps at her touch, at the way she traces the way he has a natural curve that she always feels when he lets her ride him. Missionary is so good with that pressure pushing up into her bladder. “You can’t. You won’t be able to. It’s hexleather.”

“I know, I know— untie me then, please, I want my hands on you so badly—”

She pouts. “You’re not enjoying this?”

“I love this,” he sighs, his head hitting back against the pillow to look up to the ceiling. “But it’s not enough, it’s not going to be enough, I need you— I just— I want— I need to fuck you.”

“Not today, you won’t.”

“Mousey.”

“You’re staying there until I’m satisfied. Isn’t this a nice Valentine’s Day gift?”

Ah, but Viperion is nothing short of amazing, isn’t he? She barely has time to make it into a promise— eyes widening as resolution sets in his eyes. She squeaks when he tries again, pulling against her rope, unpleased with her answer, only to finally break— break?— through it with a rip. It’s loud. It’s so loud. She pulls away with alarm, sitting up completely, as her rope snaps from the bedposts, still tied to his wrists. There’s a groan escaping his lips as he flexes his forearms, trying to pull apart, something so masculine about it that Multimouse can do nothing but stare at his wrists with a dazed expression that darkens into a blush so hazy that she can’t even feel the hexleather on her skin anymore.

“How did you—”

He snatches her, knocking her breath out of her when his fists encircle her arms. “That’s better.”

“Wait, but how—” she squeals when their roles reverse so quickly, him searching for one of her hair pins, already gripping it in the way she’s shown him how. Her bangs scatter, still dazed, looking up at the ceiling with stars in her eyes as he kisses her over and over again. There’s a tongue, writing letters against her teeth, as his hands slide up and down her sides and makes her shiver underneath her suit, and she can do nothing but squirm and sigh and feel how stupidly flushed her body is starting to get. He pulls away enough to let her complain. “Vai?”

“I have no idea how I did that,” he replies with an exhale. “But fuck, am I happy that I did it. Did I scare you? You look a little spooked, are you okay?”

“I’m totally fine,” she bites her lip. “That was…”

“Attractive?” he raises a brow. “Wait, actually, god I have to come before anything else, I fucking won’t last long— I might as well just come all over your suit, at this rate, you fucking tease—”

“Hey! Cursing!”

“Sorry,” he grins. There’s nothing apologetic about it. Split lip and all, looking down at her with teasing fangs, a track of blood, and a wolfish smile, Viperion has officially got her to where he wants her. “Or, you know what, why don’t I treat you to something special?”

She’s flipped, right over onto her stomach, with a hard crack against her ass reminiscent to the sound of what she’d done to him earlier on in the day. She squeals more at the noise than the actual impact— her hexleather is safe, and sound, and keeps most of the impact away from her sensitive skin.

“Holy— oh—”

But that won’t last long.

He grabs her by the asscheeks, large hands squeezing down onto her skin. She feels the pressure, even through the hexleather, how he’s gripping her hard enough to hurt.

She can’t see, either, with her hair falling around her like a curtain. Her loose hair is officially a detriment to paying attention to anything other than what she can hear. The only things she can see is the wall, her bed— her cat-shaped body pillow that her boyfriend loves to steal from her and cuddle with, and that somehow cute little Viperion snake plushy she’d found at a local art fair that was far too adorable to pass up on. It doesn’t match her room, with all of the pinks and greens, but it’s so cute and so him, that she didn’t dare not buy it when she saw it.

“You’ve kept me in that rope for two hours,” he groans, leaning down to nip her against the shoulder and to rut. She’s heard the noise of his teeth scraping against hexleather before, but it always makes her feet twitch whenever she hears it. “Jesus Christ. You deserve so much more than spanking at this point.”

He’s so sensitive to time. She would make the joke, with a tease and a laugh, but she’s busy hiding her face in the pillow he’s been using as he cracks his hand against her again— oof. Just the sound is enough for the strength in her knees to liquify, for her to turn into nothing but puddles against her own duvet. There’s no use in fighting him over this because she wants this, and wants to pretend that she doesn’t have superstrength either. If she isn’t careful with her hands on her bedframe, she might accidentally bend the metal bar, just because she’s too busy thinking about how it turns her on to be underneath him. It’s so good.

“Vai, oh— oh my—”

“I’m keeping that promise,” he murmurs, nipping at her exposed neck as she shudders. His hips slot against hers, something hot and insistent pressing up against her ass that’s unfortunately covered in hexleather. If only she could just… “Payback for teasing me for so long.”

He brings the pin up to her neckline, making sure not to tangle into her necklace, and starts to rip it down her back. He’s unzipping her from her suit, right down the middle of her back, tracing her spine with the pin as if he’s holding the zipper between his fingers. Oh. Oh! The pin is gentle against her skin, more ticklish than anything else, grazing her like a gentle touch, far different than the actual tearing noise of her suit. The rip is loud— annoying— aggravating to her sensitive ears as he tears all the way down her own thigh. He holds her still with a gentle and firm hand on her shoulder, keeping her down and away from it so she doesn’t get injured.

All she can do is whine.

He kisses every vertebrae he can spot with her back curled in, testing out her sensitivity with the side of his fang. She flinches at it, jerks at his touch, heart racing into her mouth as that instinct of being caught in a predator’s mouth starts to rippled up from her— delicious.

He peels her suit away from between her legs, teasing her folds with the textured skin of his glove. She’s sensitive, too, from all the teasing she’s given him throughout the day, so it’s no contest at all to how easy it is to sink a finger inside with absolutely no hesitation. The sounds she makes— the squelch— is enough to get her to steam red underneath her mask and whimper.

“Please, please, please—”

“I can feel you through my suit,” he groans. “So fucking hot.”

Which, okay. Yes. She’s running a little hot, considering she’s been licking and sucking him for two hours, so she might be running a low-grade fever. They’re still in their suits, which means that they’re full of hot blood and energy to go for a long while. They’ve never actually… done it in their suits before, but she knows that whenever Viperion catches her in her civilian form and refuses to detransform, there’s absolutely no mercy. He’s so hungry for her. For her, for her skin, for her lips— he’s obsessed with her lips and mouth, always telling her what he wants to do to her— nothing about it ever is simple.

“You’re so wet, beautiful.”

“I’ve learned my lesson about teasing,” she squeals out, when there’s a textured thumb against her clit making her see stars. “Please— okay— I get it—”

“Have you?”

She’s babbling. She’s desperate. “Yes. Definitely. Absolutely. I promise.”

“Why is it that I don’t believe you, Mousey?”

“No, no, I promise—” she squeals again. “Oh— gooseberries— ahh— please just—”

“What is it?”

“Please fuck me. Please fuck me. Please, please please— I’m fine, I’ll behave, I promise—”

But clearly that isn’t enough, is it? Of course not. Her promising means nothing if she keeps following his fingers whenever he tries to pull away, eyes rolling and lashes fluttering when the thumb at her clit makes her eyesight go wonky. There’s no point in hiding her desperation. He understands. He knows just how desperate she is when she lets him work her, desperately, up until she’s about to come from this alone.

She whines when he pulls his finger away from her. “What— no—”

“You said you’re going to behave. Stay still.”

Okay. She can do that. She’s good at listening to orders. After all, Multimouse is very good at listening. She has the best ears for it, too.

He’s tall enough to reach for the lube in the nightstand, large enough to barely move away from her in order to grab for it, holding her by the hip as if he’s worried she might scamper off. He’s always smiling at this little lube bottle, the one in the shape of a bear, finding it hilarious that the top of the cap is supposed to be in the shape of the bear’s hat. It’s cute. It looks like a bottle of honey, especially since the color inside is that golden lovely hue that she associates Viperion’s eyes with, but she barely has time to look at it before it disappears from her field of view and she hears him pouring a couple of beads against his length.

It’s drippy. She hears that gentle gurgle of air bubbles as he tips the bottle over, of how it squelches just like her own body did, and she can hear how he generously covers himself from tip to base. He hums from his own touch, barely remembering to cap the bear’s hat back on, before finding himself so much more interested with the way he fists himself, producing that wet slapping noise that she’s familiar with.

The bed creaks underneath his knees as he shifts behind her.

He slots their hips together. Proud, insistent, there’s something firm pressing up against her and how she drools down the inners of her thighs, sticky and borderline uncomfortable. There’s nothing she can do but squirm, hopeful, wishing for him to move.

He does.

“Thank fuck.”

He sinks into her with practically no effort at all, full and searing, stretching her walls to the brim of pain. She’s full. She’s fuller. She’s so impractically stretched to the limit, so close to tearing, that lingering pain nothing but pleasure as she raises her hips to meet up with him as he moans. She’s used to the stretch, used to the way it takes her a bit to get used to it— it’s easier to deal with when he’s lubed up, of course, because he doesn’t drag against her walls— but it’s still overwhelming. His hand up against her hip tightens indefinitely to the point of pain, her hexleather being the only thing keeping her skin from marking up into something ugly and purple. It’s so easy for her skin to stain different colors when around him— she bruises so easily, with her pale-china skin— she’s so thankful for her Miraculous keeping her from hurting too badly.

There’s no mercy when he pistons his hip. She gets it. She does. She’s been teasing him for hours— Viperion is fed up, even with his infinite patience. He moans with each meet of their skin, and how Multimouse can do nothing but enjoy it. Her stomach tightens hard enough to hurt— everything is blistering as he fills her up, caging her in with his arms.

Perfect.

He’s not gentle with her, just the way she likes it. Words of appreciation flow out of him like he’s finally incapable of keeping them back— telling her how much he loves her, how much he needs her, thankful for her touch and how enjoyable it is to be with her. Whenever he stops to breathe, there’s a nip against her shoulder as she fists her duvet into something ugly and wrinkly that she’ll spend forever trying to smooth out afterwards. It’s so good, she can hardly give herself the chance to stop sighing every time they meet each other’s hips.

“I want you to come first.”

“No way,” she whines. “That’s not fair.”

He laughs. “You think this is about being fair?”

“But what about—” What’s the point of anything at all, if she’s just going to lose her train of thought when he wraps one of his arms around her to swirl her clit with his fingertips? His other hand, too, away from the mattress where he was holding on in order to keep stable, pushing her shoulder down and to pin her to the cushion she mouths on, keeping her in place and not letting her move at all— what’s the point of trying to get away from this when it’s so good?

He gives her a pat. And then another one. Right on the clit, right with his fingertips, just enough to get her attention to the slight pain and the overwhelming pleasure, like he’s trying to call her attention back.

“Come for me, Mousey. Right now. Be a good girl and come.”

There’s no fighting it at all. At this point, it’s Pavlovian to respond to whenever he wants this, and whenever he wants her to come. All the teasing, the aching, the aggression over the course of the day have led up to this moment where she can do nothing but cry, fist her duvet harder, and squeeze as the orgasm that’s been leading up to this finally snaps.

“I love you,” she whispers, as she orgasms hard enough for her toes to curl in her boots— ah, but her voice is loud enough to ring in her ears. Everything feels slack, and tiring and sluggish— she feels how her thighs get wetter from her orgasm, and how everything feels so much less frantic. It’s almost a drift, and then some, rubbing her face against the pillow to get that bare minimum of comfort, as everything is just simply nothing but euphoria.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against her skin, kissing the back of her neck. There’s that rattling noise again, that thick and low noise that makes everything feel so lulling, daring her to drift off into sleep. “What a good girl.”

He pulls out of her.

She sits up immediately. Sticky, wet, empty without him, she turns her head over her shoulder, sending her hair billowing. “Wait, wait— where are you going?”

“Flip over for me. I’m eating you out.”

“What?” she squeaks. “I just— I can’t— what about you? Besides, I just came—”

“It’s your Valentine’s Day gift,” he grins. “Well, one of them. Lift those pretty legs of yours, Mousey, the night isn’t over yet— I can keep going for a long while, now that I get to control when I come. How about two more and we’ll call it even from how much you’ve teased me?”

Oh.

Oh, sugar snaps.

AO3 | Want More of this AU? Start Here

[fragileizywriting]

“Try not to turn my clothes into a scratching post, pretty kitty.” Luka groans when she lets him breathe— choosing instead to assault the skin below his mouth with nips to his jaw.

“You don’t want me to give you an authentic distressed feel to your clothes?” Her voice sounds like heat— his vision goes hazy again when her hands rub up and down his shirt— teasingly slipping underneath the hem to trace nonsensical patterns onto the skin of his abs. “What a shame— I was looking for something to get my hands on tonight. I’m so pent up that I could tear up steel with my teeth alone. Why don’t I use you instead?”

“Lady Noire using a civilian as a cat toy?” He gasps— and nearly goes blind entirely when she lifts his shirt up enough so that she can nip at his sternum, and then lower, and then lower— his poor little kitten. She’s hungry, it seems— he’s kept her starving for hours during patrol— and nothing of his own miraculous being just as predatory as hers can stop the way he’s powerless and rooted to the spot from the way her eyes glow at him in the dark.

[fragileizywriting]

locker talk (chapter three) is out now!

pairing: Luka / Marinette (Viperion / Multimouse) word count: 9,846 / 26,058 (in total) chapter: 3/3 rating: E summary: Her fingers are in his hair again, somehow, and she grips him tenderly to not hurt and pull at him— but, gooseberries— it’s so much— she’s not even sure how long it takes for her to come back to reality and blink away the stars from her eyes. He kisses the inside of her thigh. “How are you feeling, Mousey?” “I’m—” Her eyes don’t want to focus. She doesn’t even know what she wants to look at. The ceiling? The blanket? Him? “I’m feeling fucked-out.” That gets a laugh out of him. “Cursing twice in one night? I must be doing something right.”

AO3 | Start Here | Chapter One Link | Chapter Two Link | You Are Here!

Thank you everyone for being so patient! And thank you for all the love you've given me and this fic! You're the best!

She’s never tasted the bitterness of come before.

Okay— she’s read about it. Extensively. She knows that it makes people’s faces pinch, sometimes, when they taste it for the first time because it’s an acquired taste— that for lots of people, the first time tasting it, it’s… strange. Some people don’t mind the taste, she knows— some people love it. She’s spent countless hours scrolling on the internet reading about it on her laptop that somehow has its fans on full-blast at all times, curious as to what it’s like— curious as to what people think about it and how they describe it and if they enjoy it or not— countless of hours of watching videos of people giving blow jobs and moaning afterwards as come spills out the sides of their lips.

Everyone has a different opinion about it.

She’s seen it all— or at least, she’s tried to, being self-conscious about a noisy computer never helps when it’s late at night and she feels like the walls are paper-thin— practicing her techniques on her silicone toy she wipes furiously clean afterwards, hoping that she doesn’t come off as naive when the time comes to actually go down on someone. She’s read, reread, and overread everything she could get her hands on— trying to prepare herself for this ever-elusive fluid that every single person on Earth seems to have an opinion about.

Because that’s what she does, isn’t it? She reads— makes plans— lives in her head making strategies and plans and overprepares. In every single point in her life, Marinette wants to be ready and impress those around her— desperate to live up to expectations. She wants to be prepared. She doesn’t want to be left behind or considered naive for not knowing something.

Multimouse is never unprepared. Multimouse always has a plan. She always has a trick ready up her sleeve— she always has an objective that she squeaks out in Viperion’s general direction when it’s time to defeat Akumas— she always can keep ahead of the curve and be ready.

So she reads. And researches. And learns.

She hasn’t done nearly as much research for something she already has— so even though she’s looked up tutorials on how to give blow jobs, and what it’s like— she hasn’t technically gone out of her way to properly learn how to give oral to what she has between her legs. Obviously she knows how to please herself— and can use that knowledge on whoever, should they be interested— but no one’s really shown up.

She kind of… fell in love with Luka before anything else.

How could she not?

Still, though, she’d poured over all the magazines she could find about the art of pleasing someone— she’s had crushes on all different types of people, even if Luka always came first. She wants to be prepared— she doesn’t enjoy being completely blind when she tries something for the first time in front of other people. She’s not sure if it’s because of her reluctance to show weakness— maybe it’s a mouse thing, who knows— or maybe it’s a form of perfectionism.

Whatever it is— whatever it was— its accompanied her for many curious and many long hours during the nights where she’d take out her toy and please herself and find out every single pleasure point she enjoys. She’s gotten used to the solo action in her life— she’s gotten used to the signs that her body makes when she’s on the verge of orgasming— or when her body craves more.

She wants to be attentive to everything for her partner. She wants to be knowledgeable, so she doesn’t flounder— the last thing she needs is to freak out or go into something blind— she wants to be attentive and helpful and ready and educated before doing it.

Which is why all of it is a surprise to her when there’s come in her mouth because she forgot to pay attention to Luka’s signs that he was ready to come.

“Holy shit,” His lashes flutter as she relaxes her jaw again to let him slip out of her mouth safely without getting her teeth on him. He’s thicker than her toy— warmer, too— but definitely more forgiving with the back of her throat than hard silicone when she relaxed her gag reflex. It’s good to know that he’s sensitive to the way she presses softly at his thigh and his balls with her fingertips— it’s good to hear that bit of a sharp inhale he gives when she makes eye contact with him while she licks him clean at his reddened head.

She’s so happy that she was able to make him come— she almost grins at him, and then remembers that there’s come in her mouth and it’ll spill. There’s a string of it that bridges the side of her lip to the tip of his cock— she breaks it with another swipe of her tongue, still not breaking eye contact with him, giving the base of his dick a soft squeeze.

“Holy fuck.” His eyebrows start to pinch, almost like he can’t make up his mind on what to say to her. He breathes heavily regardless, peeks of his chest rising and falling underneath that wide shirt of his. “Mousey— that was good. Are you— and you’re sure you’ve never done this before?”

His praise feels like fire all over her body— she gives a little nod, looking up at him through her lashes, trying not to catch flame from how feverish she feels.

“Come on, let’s get you to spit that out in the bathroom—”

She swallows when he reaches for her wrists.

Oh.

So that’s what it tastes like.

She understands now— oh, yes— she wants so much more.

Luka’s eyes widen when all she does is blink up at him with her quaint little smile. Time seems to stop for the two of them— and while she can make so many jokes about it and how although Luka never manages to get caught off guard, given his miraculous is about intuition— he looks completely stunned, reaching for her chin and gently wedging a thumb in her mouth to peer inside. “Marinette— did you—?”

“Uhm, yeah— sorry.” She lets him pet at her tongue, even if it tickles— she’s completely pliable between his fingers. “Did you— did you not want that? Or?”

Something flickers on his face— a combination of humor— of shock— of whatever else that she can’t exactly read. “What?”

“I meant—” She can barely squeak— her voice sounds so fucked— she hides her embarrassment by pulling away from his fingers and pressing kisses up and down his shaft. He doesn’t soften in her hands like she imagined he would— she’s not sure if that’s because of stamina or just arousal, but he’s still thick in her palm. She mouths against his skin when he groans. “Did you not want me to do that?”

“Not what I meant— I just— I didn’t think you would—” He sighs, sitting back into the pouf, and— wow, isn’t that hesitation in his voice so good? He’s weak to the way she cups his balls with her palm— she feels how his muscular thighs twitch under her forearms— how addicting. All of this is so addicting. She tucks him back in his underwear with a smile and a bite of her lip when he makes an effort to still her hands with a soft grip on her wrist. “Are you going to make it a habit of keeping me on my toes?”

She tilts her head just barely to the side, trying her best not to pinch her brows together and bite her lip. “Oh. You don’t like that?”

“I love it.” He’s breathless when he laughs, filling her with excitement again. “Every time I think I’ve got ahold of your true personality, you just keep showing me up. Come here— you’ve got some left on you.”

He kisses her.

She wasn’t sure that he’d be into kissing her after he’s come in her mouth— she’s certain that she hasn’t swallowed all of it— but all he does is groan. The hand at the back of her neck is gentle— but firm— keeping her there as he licks languidly into her mouth. She fists his shirt— her other hand against his necklaces and fisting them, too— sighing when he lets her go and nips at her jaw.

“Sit on my bed, I want to take a better look at your clothes and what’s underneath.”

“But you already know what’s underneath,” But she does anyway. She bounces a bit on his mattress once she settles down, smoothing out a little wrinkle on the well-loved blanket underneath her thighs. She feels a tiny bit bashful when he slips his fingers under the hem of her kitty section tee— and tries her best not to giggle or laugh when he tickles her sides.

“You only gave me a peak,” It’s the closest thing to a frown she’ll ever see on his face, but her world is suddenly turned upside down in the literal sense when he flattens his palm right at her diaphragm and eases her onto her back. She does her best not to kick a leg when he kisses her thigh— nips at the inside of her knee— and she helps him pull up her shirt to reveal her bra that matches with her panties. She’s soaking wet from her previous orgasm, it’s true— but the way he looks at her almost makes her come on the spot again. “Oh, so you were planning this, weren’t you?”

Okay.

So it’s not the most expensive outfit out there.

She didn’t go out of her way to buy the most alluring outfit— when she’d gone to the store, she’d fought tooth and nail against Alya’s pulling hands that tried to lead her to the more sensual of outfits. Instead, she’d spent time in the more colorful section of the store— the ones with soft pinks, dark purples, even pretty reds that are just a shade too bright to be considered sexy but just fun instead.

She’d found what she’d wanted after much internal debate with herself— a matching set stamped with pretty little blue flowers. She’s not sure what flowers they are— maybe lilacs, but she’s not sure lilacs come in a blue color— she’ll honestly put down money for them being lilies, in all honesty— but either way, they’re benign and small enough to almost look like dots on the bra unless she actively pays attention to the design.

There’s a little bow in the middle, too— and it seems like his brain is starting to short circuit the more and more he looks at it, smoothing one of his hands up her side along the ribs so he can pet at the ribbon with his black fingernails.

“Is that what you were trying to check for?” She giggles.

“Intuition,” He winks. She really tries her best not to kick out when he presses his flat teeth against her stomach. His necklaces jingle as they hit against each other— and then pool onto her hip— she squirms against the cold metal resting against her skin. Oh, oh— it’s enough to make her eyes roll to the back of her head— she lets a mewl escape from her parted lips. “I just wanted to see if I was right.”

She’s not sure she has total motor control of her lips or tongue at the moment. “What if I just wanted to match?”

“Little mouse, I’ve lived my entire life with two women on this boat. Three, if you count Rose, who’s practically made her house here other than you.” He sits back up, folding her legs over his thin hips. She can feel that sculpted adonis belt underneath her thighs— such wonderful, loving muscles that she wants to hook her legs around for the rest of her life. The brow that disappears behind his bangs makes it all the more obvious that she’s been caught in the lie. “They may be Couffaines, sure— and Rose has certainly adopted the last name for herself— but I’m sure they have some things in common with other women, right?”

She purses her lips, trying not to blush, and definitely trying not to giggle when she hears him mutter the words ‘please tell me I’m right’. “But what does—”

“Rose made me sit down and told me all about it a couple of years ago.” There’s exasperation on his face, as if he’s still overwhelmed by it after all these years. “She made it very clear that people do not match their underwear, and other things, unless they’re trying to impress.”

All she can offer is a very weak ah noise, trying not to blush down to her toes.

Caught her, he had.

One of the many reasons why she hadn’t picked to go full-blown seduction— other than the fact that, in case he’d rejected her, she wouldn’t feel ashamed to look at herself in the mirror when she went back home and detransformed. She’d pulled and pulled at her hair while trying to come up with a solution, even if Mullo kept telling her that nothing would go wrong.

Playful and cute had been her choice to wear— she’s thankful she wore it.

It makes her look soft, she’s sure— instead of trying too hard. The last thing she wants is to give the impression that she’s spent days and days thinking about something obsessively, even if that’s the actual truth. Mullo was going to go crazy if she had to watch Marinette chew through her nails again.

“You’ve never shown up at my house so late before, either— you’ve stayed for a long time during the night during movies, sure— but never showed up this late. Horny little mouse, aren’t you? Showing up in the prettiest outfit I’ve fucking seen.” It should be criminal to look at her that way while slipping his fingers under the band of her panties to tease at her skin. “Poor Mousinette— all drenched with no one to take care of you like you need it. It’s a good thing you came to me, isn’t it? I’ll treat this cunt of yours so well.”

“Vai, don’t be crass—” It’s just instinctual for her to say the phrase at this point, and it makes him smile wider at the wrong nickname. Her scolding dissolves in her mouth when he presses his cock against her thigh— tilting his head to the side just enough to make it obvious he’s challenging her to make him stop while getting distracted.

The hickies on his neck glare purple and blue, almost blending into his hair as it slips partially over his face— it’s shaggy, and long, but curling just the slightest bit now that it’s air drying— so some of the hickies practically disappear. “Sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

She hides her steaming cheeks behind her hands as pressure continues to build and build and build right between her legs at the thought of her putting them there. His neck is littered with them— she was the one to cause it. “Oh— sugarcubes—”

“Is the night turning out the way you expected it to?”

Her breath freezes when two dexterous fingers rub against her clit— a gasp escapes her open mouth. “Vai—”

“Come on,” He teases, “I want you to answer my questions for me.”

“Yes— yes—”

He hums low, a noise of approval that makes her body feel like it’s starting to cook. “Oh, good. What did you plan on doing when you got here?”

“Plan?”

“You always have a plan,” There’s something in his eyes when she meets them again. “And I’m sure you had one when you got here, didn’t you? What did you want to happen tonight?”

She gapes, trying her best to focus while he rolls her clit between his fingers. She takes a pause just long enough that she has to wait a bit to remember what the question even is, and she punches out her words out of her mouth before all she can do is whine and cry. “Oh— I— uhm— I came here to— to tell you the truth, Luka.”

“Did you?”

“And— and other things,” She tacks on when his teasing gaze refuses to leave hers. Is he actually going to interrogate her while doing this? Oh— the thought alone makes her feet twitch. “Maybe kiss you—”

His eyes look almost liquid from how blue they are, looking at her with a soft kind of amusement, like he knows she’s not entirely telling the whole truth. “Just kiss?”

“Uhm— I—” She bites her lip. “M-maybe more.”

“More?” He tilts his head when she doesn’t answer, too busy steaming and blushing red. Something in his gaze darkens as he licks at one of his canines. “You can tell me, little mouse, can’t you? Just like you did before you sucked my dick like you were born for it?”

She’s prey.

He’s toying with her like she’s prey.

The thought makes her suck in a breath so quickly that it hurts— trying her best not to mewl in excitement and jitters.

Yes. Yes. Yes yes yes.

“I wanted more than just to kiss. Much— much more. I wanted to continue— with you? I wanted to continue what we’d done in the closet— uhm— just like we promised.”

His face softens, like he’s realized what he’s doing— like he’s afraid to continue treating her like that. Such a boyish look on his face as she looks up at him from beneath her eyelashes— god— she doesn’t know which version of Luka she likes the most. “Good. How long did it take you to cave?”

“Cave? I don’t understand—”

His voice feels like a fever on her skin from how it buffs and soothes her with its rumbliness— he kisses the inside of her knee and it makes her shiver all over. “How long did it take for you to want to come back to me?”

Oh, this man just wants to hear everything, doesn’t he? He needs such wordy reassurances— it’s as if he doesn’t believe her unless she says it out loud— is that why he never understood just how desperate her crush was until she’d actually said it with all of her words in the closet?

“The moment we left the closet,” She confesses easily. He rewards her with a firm press of his thumb pad down, swirling in circles for a good moment— just enough to make the familiar coil of heat stir heavy— bringing her to the edge, but not enough to get her over it. She stiffens at the sensation— grits her teeth to stop herself from crying out from how delirious it feels when he slows back down. “Vai— please, I— I need—”

“‘The moment we left the closet’, huh? Thank fucking god I’m not the only one— I was about to start an Akuma myself on the Liberty if I didn’t see you again soon.” The smile that pulls at his lips is enough to remind him that he has the ability to mouth and teeth at her skin— so he drops his head back down, and nips at all of the skin available to him. She gasps at the pain that starts to blossom on her stomach— her ribs— her diaphragm. “Pull you into my room and ignore anything Hawkmoth attempted to throw at me, just to keep that perfect little ass of yours to myself.”

“Oh—” She gasps, sucking in a breath. “Oh my—”

“That’s it. Keep making those perfect little noises and you’ll get your first treat.”

She pinches her eyes shut enough to see white stars behind her eyelids.

“Take off your bra for me.”

“What?” She snaps open her eyes, sounding a little breathless.

“Please?” He smiles slowly at her. “I want you to undress yourself for me.”

She scrambles to hook her hands behind her back. The clasp is simple to take off— but she can’t do much of actually taking it off because she still has her shirt on— and her miraculous is in the way, too— god damn it— so he pulls back enough so that she has enough space to slip her arms out of her bra straps and pull her band shirt off with a shimmy and a squirm. He braces a hand next to her head when she lays back down— the snake tattoo glittering blue and gold and she’s certain it’s moving against his skin. “Uhm— w-where do you want me to—”

“Leave it there.” He’s completely distracted, definitely not meeting her eyes— and soon enough, she is, too— her hands grip his damp hair as he makes quick work of the new skin presented to him. His tongue feels hot against her chest— swirling around her nipple and she cries out— he introduces his teeth, too, and it’s enough for her to actually kick out one of her legs and her eyesight to go a little crooked.

“Luka— please— oh sugarcubes—”

“You promised me you’ll get to four,” He reminds her when he pulls his lips off of her enough to respond. Her skin pebbles at the cold trail he’s left behind— chilly as he exhales against her skin. “You’ve already done one, so you have three left— is that enough for you?”

“Yes— yes— it’s enough— more than enough— please, Luka—”

“All of the pleasure you want, little mouse— whenever you want, just breathe and let go. I know you can do it— you’re so good at listening, right?”

“But I can’t—” She squirms, sucking in another breath at his reminder. “Not— not just like this— I— I need— I need more—”

It’s never enough to just have a finger there on her clit— she knows this— because she’s the one who’s spent the last six years learning every single pause and flicker of her body. She knows that it isn’t enough— and yet— and yet— she gasps when he presses down firmly again.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Are you positive that’s true?” There’s a challenge in his voice, she recognizes it instantly— but can barely hear anything else when he moves his thumb at her clit again enough to make her entire core squeeze. He swirls and swirls and swirls— and the stars behind her eyelids are starting to warp and haze into nothing. “Such little faith in yourself. Go on, Mousey. I want you to come.”

“But—”

“Right now,” He nods, as if that was the question she was asking. “I want you to come right now.”

It’s almost a shock to her when she starts coming even before he’s finished talking.

“Oh— my—” She grips his hair harder, trying to keep herself still— trying desperately to listen to the praises that spill out of his mouth and onto her skin as he continues to suck and bite and make good work of her pallid skin and her other nipple. He uses the sides of his teeth to bite on sensitive skin, emulating his fangs when he’s suited up, and oh— it feels so good to have his teeth on her, just like she’s always imagined.

Not even fingered— but she’s so aroused by this man that she’ll do anything his man requires of her if it means he’ll continue— gasping and crying the whole way.

She keeps her voice as soft as she can, knowing that Sass and Mullo are close by and she doesn’t want to disturb them. Sass is a sweet kwami, he truly is— and she doesn’t want to upset the little snake with her noises.

But it’s hard— so difficult for her to keep her voice down when Luka seems to take that as a challenge too, nipping her hard enough for her to yelp and gasp and make noises she never knew she was capable of.

“Good job. Good job.” His voice is low and decadent when she’s done twitching and batting at his thumb to stop. He uses his clean hand to smooth her bangs back, and pet behind her ear— she’s filled with a type of ecstasy that she can’t exactly shake off. Every drag of those necklaces against her chest when he pulls on her legs for her to get closer— every single drag— makes her lashes flutter, her thighs flex, and her walls seize on empty air. “I told you that you could do it.”

She doesn’t exactly have the strength to respond, but forces herself to speak anyway, her chest heaving from her world being turned sideways. “T-two more?”

Oh, isn’t that grin of his arousing?

“Two more.”

She kisses him almost uselessly, her body feeling more liquid than ever— her tongue slow and gentle against his when he slips open his mouth. She helps him take off her panties at mach speed but also infinitely slowly— she’s not sure which direction he slings it off to, but she blinks and it’s gone from his hands— and there are fingertips ghosting against her slit, gathering as much moisture as possible, giving her some brevity on being stimulated on the clit.

A finger slips inside of her.

And it doesn’t take much for a second one to join.

There’s a bit of a squelching noise when he does it— and she steams red to the point where she can almost see it reach her toes— but she throws her head back to appreciate the view of his ceiling instead of dawdling on it too much. She feels the curve of his fingers— insistent and firm, curling to find the place that makes her sing.

Her chest heaves.

“You’re so perfect,” He groans, like he’s the one getting dragged into another building orgasm— like he’s the one experiencing an entire rewrite of everything he’s ever known about his own body. He watches her with those wide blue eyes of his, as if he can’t believe that she’s underneath him— as if he’s completely taken aback that she’s in his bed at all. “That’s it, Mousey. Fuck my fingers real good.”

This body isn’t hers— it can’t be— she isn’t this fast with going again and again. It takes her at minimum twenty minutes to get another orgasm out of herself, and she’s never gone to three before on her own, always so exhausted to keep her fingers between her legs— but Luka’s never been one to stop himself from trying over and over.

Curse of the snake miraculous, isn’t it?

She’s completely at a loss as to why it’s so easy for her to shift her hips and grind down onto his palm— something she would never do if she were in her right mind— but she can’t help it. She can’t stop herself from wanting more and more— sighing softly to the point it’s almost mute in her mouth, letting him coerce her into a third orgasm for the night.

He follows her neck with his mouth— skims her collarbones with his teeth— ribs— stomach— hips— he’s charting something with that smile of his. She’s completely liquid— a certain kind of magma underneath her skin— one that heats to the point of hurting and overflowing when his lips find the center between her legs.

The world tilts for her when she’s licked for the first time.

Oh.

Oh, no— how could she have waited for so long for this? All the articles she’s read about this had tried to explain just how wonderful the feeling is, but, honestly— nothing ever written down would’ve ever prepared her for this.

She wants more. So so so much more.

She jerks at the sensation of his tongue against her cunt, eyes wide and mouth in a perfect circle, her hair spilling down her collarbones. She can’t make up her mind on where to put her hands— but she ends up hiding her mouth behind one of her palms, the other uselessly pawing at the blanket underneath her, hopeful that she doesn’t tear something so very much loved and old. He moves one of her knees over his shoulder, meeting her eyes for the final time before forcing her to pay attention to his tongue and fingers instead.

And she does.

“Oh—” She curls in more— feeling her hard-earned stomach muscles strain in an attempt to keep her up and not flat on the bed. It almost delirious that he manages to push her back with just his palm at her collarbones— like even with her core strength she’s nothing compared to the strength in his left arm— and it burns to know that. This man could fold her— easily keep her pinned wherever he wants her— snatch her and keep her— and the thought makes her body start to prickle.

Because Luka’s strong, isn’t he?

Even with almost ten years of constant dedication to keeping Paris safe with him, Marinette’s not as strong. She’s fit and lean, sure. Loyal to her craft, making sure that she’s always prepared for the next fight. She knows self-defense— she’s gone to classes for it, has certificates and colored belts that prove that even if her miraculous powers are stripped from her, she can still defend herself.

She can easily move out of his grasp if she wants to— even with his strength, with his size, she’s mastered the art of weaseling out of people’s grasps and using their weight against them in order to getaway.

But… but it’s good to lay back and let him push her back down onto the bed with barely any use of his actual strength. It feels wonderful to have him move her and maneuver her in the way he wants like she’s completely caged in by him. Squeezing and hypnotizing her and constricting her just to eat her whole.

“Luka— please, please— oh—”

He’s everywhere, it feels like, licking hot stripes over and over and over— boxing and caging her in like she’s nothing but a tiny animal. She’s polite enough not to squirm as much as she wants to— staying as still as possible to enjoy his tongue and his mouth and his teeth and him, but the desperation is almost too much to handle. His free hand is overloading her body with touch, his palm huge against the small of her waist, or curling up to pinch at her nipple— even soothing her with a gentle pet to the ear and combing through her hair when she cries out.

There’s something a smidge feral in the way he moves his tongue against her, like he’s just as desperate as she is— he’s not gentle with her as he closes his lips around her clit and makes her moan, he’s not gentle with her as he flattens his tongue against her and she can do nothing but exhale, and he’s definitely not gentle with her when he spears his tongue into her, joining his fingers inside of her.

He’s enjoying this as much as she is, no doubt.

But. But but but.

She’s the one that ends up crying behind her hands when he scrapes the side of his teeth against her swollen clit.

She’s the one that squeaks and breaks her promise to keep quiet when there’s a particular curl to his fingers inside of her that find that spot as he pistons his fingers down to the knuckle— that type of curl that makes her breath leave her body with a gasp that is just a touch too loud to be comfortable.

She’s the one who instinctively squeezes her thighs together— putting up a genuine good fight with the strength of his arm to close all the way to his ears. He smiles, of course, nipping the inside of her thigh as punishment when she feels the strength in her legs starts to disappear and fizzle out, letting him win— hiding her face behind her hands.

She comes on his tongue.

She comes on his tongue while crying out his name.

There are tears in her eyes as she registers the fluttering of her walls, as she registers his hums of appreciation, as her body finally lets go of the coil of heat that had been desperate to rebuild and crest like the previous two orgasms hadn’t happened. Her fingers are in his hair again, somehow, and she grips him tenderly to not hurt and pull at him— but, gooseberries— it’s so much— she’s not even sure how long it takes for her to come back to reality and blink away the stars from her eyes.

He kisses the inside of her thigh. “How are you feeling, Mousey?”

“I’m—” Her eyes don’t want to focus. She doesn’t even know what she wants to look at. The ceiling? The blanket? Him? “I’m feeling fucked-out.”

That gets a laugh out of him. “Cursing twice in one night? I must be doing something right.”

He leans over her again, massive— huge— still petting at her face with an expression she can’t exactly read, given that she can barely keep her eyes open. She melts into his hand that pets at her cheek— desperate for more contact— desperate for the way he uses his thumb to massage at a pressure point at her neck. She feels floaty— not exactly there— but grounded with the way he pets at her side and collarbones and shoulder.

“That feels wonderful,” She finds herself saying, letting out a sigh.

“Breathe, Marinette,” There’s that boyish smile of his again. “Come back to me, won’t you? You’re drifting off— I don’t mind it, but, I want you here with me for just a little longer.”

If only meditation felt this good. She takes deep, hopeful breaths, trying to wrangle her brain back from the sated paradise she feels herself casting away to.

She pulls him down by the front of his shirt just when he lowers his guard.

He flattens his hips against her thighs with a muted noise, staring down at her curiously. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She wipes his lips clean with his shirt, fighting back a flushed smile, but failing miserably.

It’s a little difficult because of his necklaces— there’s a bit of a struggle— but he just watches her silently as she pouts to herself, wiping his face clean. Parts of his jaw are slick with her from when he moved his head to bite at her thigh, and she cleans that, too. His necklaces clink together softly as she moves them around so she can wipe him dry, but she’s determined to make him look more presentable.

“You promised me four,” She whispers when she’s done, cupping his cheek.

He takes a good, long look at her, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in her head. If only he knew that there’s nothing but him. Has been for a long, long time— just him him him. “You’re not overwhelmed?”

She tilts her head enough to the side to make it apparent she’s confused. “Do you want me to be overwhelmed?”

“No, no. You’re just looking the most relaxed I’ve ever seen you, Mousey.”

“You’re always so good at doing that to me,” She murmurs, her eyes batting slowly from how lethargic she feels. “You always make me feel so calm. And wanted.”

“I’ve always wanted you. Ever since we first met.” He moves his lips in a way that indicates he’s thinking about it. “I feel like I’m going to end up breaking you if we keep going.”

A whine rips out of her throat when he shifts, trying to pull away from her and settle down next to her instead. “No— no— stay, Luka— come on— I still want more— please stay—”

“I’m not leaving you, you cuddly little mouse,” He laughs into her neck when she pulls him down more with all the strength available to her. It’s hard for her, because she feels like she has no bones left in her body— and Luka still is so massive, and much stronger than her if he really wanted to fight off her grasp, but in the end, she’s able to keep him exactly where she wants him. His erection is stiff against her thigh as she wraps her legs and arms around him, smushing her face into his shoulder, hugging him like she’s trying to cling to him like a full-body pillow. “It’s okay. I’m just trying to not crush you. Are you always this cute?”

“I— I have no idea. I’ve never had someone to hold after coming— pillows, sure, but it’s a little depressing after thinking about nothing except you or Vai or both when doing it.” She mumbles into his shirt when he finally settles back down and she wins the proverbial wrestling match to keep him right where he is.

He makes a noise that makes it obvious he’s interested. “Vai? Both?”

“Make fun of me, I dare you— I now know that you love the mouse suit, and I will use that against you the next time there’s an Akuma.” She attempts a frown, but it comes out more of a sigh, and she just sinks with it, nuzzling into him when all he does is laugh and laugh at her weak threat. “Mmmm. I never knew I could get so handsy and grabby—”

“And cuddly.”

“And cuddly during sex,” She smiles, giggling into his collarbone. “I hope it doesn’t bother you.”

“Are you kidding? Absolutely not.” He kisses her face to prove his point. Cheeks, the closest ear, her temples— her forehead under her bangs, too— he kisses everything. “Nothing you could ever do would bother me. You’re the love of my life, Mousinette— you have absolutely no idea how long I’ve wanted to cuddle up into you like this. And, god— Marinette— not to even mention how long I’ve wanted to taste you.”

She blushes when he cups her face with his giant hands on either cheek. “Oh— don’t say that after you’ve been between my legs, Luka— I don’t want to go shy again just as soon as I’ve started being brave.”

He pulls back just enough to look at her, but not enough to pull away and make her whine again. He looks cute with all those stars in his eyes. “Hm? What do you mean?”

“That last orgasm knocked a few self-conscious thoughts out of my head,” She giggles. “I’m feeling very brave now.”

There’s a challenge glinting in his eyes again. “Are you?”

She demonstrates by pulling up his shirt to take it off of him. He follows easily, his eyes greedy as he watches her pull by the hem. She’s quick to duck when they almost bump their foreheads together— him caging her in, matching her by only having his necklaces hanging off his chest. “Your pants, too. Take them off?”

“I like this bossy version of you,” He nips at her wrist when she curls a finger through his damp hair. He doesn’t want to get up, it seems, because he shimmies around, pulling down his sweatpants and trying to kick them off along with his underwear and socks. She attaches herself to his shoulders when he’s done wrestling himself out of the fabric, also completely naked.

She’s thankful that the porthole’s curtains are closed. But it’s too far in the back of her mind as she feels his sturdy weight on her. They’re skin-to-skin, shoulder-to-shoulder, and chest-to-chest. Wonderful and smooth and comforting— his weight feels absolutely perfect against her.

“Am I crushing you?”

“Do you have your weight on your arms?”

“I might,” He kisses her face. She feels the way his thighs clench in order to stop himself from humping her side— she can’t help the way she sighs into his ear and traces his back with her nails. “The last thing I need is to snap your ribs in because of my weight.”

“You’re not going to hurt me, Luka.” She sighs contently, watching him drop his clothes onto the floor with one of his arms. “I’m capable of not dying, thank you very much.”

“I know that— it’s just— I really did take it the wrong way, Mousey. I really didn’t think you liked me at all as Viperion.” He hums. There’s a certain kind of sweetness to his face. “I know that it isn’t true anymore.”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously.” He repeats. “But I don’t want to give you the impression that I’m scary.”

“I am most definitely not scared of you.” She shifts enough for him to hiss and groan. Oh, this poor man— if she wrapped her hand around him, how many times would it take for her to pump him before he’s spilling once more?

“Okay, okay— hold on, hold it. I need to get a condom right now or else I’m going to jizz— if I reach over to get it, will you let me go or will you make more cute noises again?” Something about his eyes gets a little clearer when he watches her open her mouth to stop him. “Holy shit.”

“Well,” She begins, but has to pause because she ducks her head, a bit embarrassed.

“How— what in the— oh, fucking hell, Mousey.” He laughs. “How long have you been planning on fucking me?”

“You’re cursing again,” She manages to pout.

“Marinette,” He’s exasperated. “You can’t expect me to— at least let me curse one more time— you’re not pulling any punches tonight. Let me react earnestly.”

She taps her chin in thought. “Hmm.”

“Unscripted, at least.” He combs his fingers through his hair— once again, Luka looks completely stunned. It’s hard to see Luka completely out of his element— he always has an air of humility that always translates to him feeling calm and collected in front of other people.

Except right now, of course.

“Fine, fine. One more.” She lifts up a finger as she giggles. “Any more than that and I’m biting you.”

“Okay. What in the absolute fuck.” He laughs hard enough to shake his shoulders. “What other tricks do you have up your sleeves?”

“I do not have any sleeves on, so I do not have any more tricks,” She grins.

“You better not. I don’t think my heart would be able to handle it— knowing that the girl of my dreams is just one-upping me in everything. I should’ve known better than to fall in love with a girl who plays mental chess for fun— is this why you have perfect grades?”

She scrunches her nose at him. “You are so mean, Vai!”

“Little nerd,” He teases, pausing enough to smile adoringly at her. “I love hearing you call me Vai.”

“It sounds like you’re making me say it on purpose,” She grumbles, pursing her lips into a little pout.

“Okay. Answer this question: how long have you been wanting to fu— uh— I mean—” He watches her arm fall back onto her chest as she narrows her eyes at him, uncurling her hands from the flick she was going to give him to his arm if he finished cursing. “How long have you been on birth control?”

“I’ve been wanting to get on it for a long time as a precaution— but I’ve only had my implant for two years, so…” She’s feeling a little bit bolder when he just shakes his head, muttering to himself about how she’s always three steps ahead of him. She’s full of laughter and charm when he kisses her cheekbone. “You don’t need a condom, if you don’t want to.”

“You’d let me have that choice?”

She nods her head hard enough for it to hurt. “Whatever you want to do, Luka.”

He looks at her.

Really looks at her.

She has no idea what’s going on in that head of his, whatever he’s thinking or planning— all he does is continue to blink at her slowly, like he’s trying to give her a chance to chicken out. She continues staring back, looking just as confident, smoothing her palms down his biceps that have her trapped on either side of the bed.

He kisses her again.

It’s not a deep one— just a kiss that’s cheeky enough that she complains when he pulls away so quickly— and it’s enough to get his body to start working, apparently, because he slips his hands under his bed for a shoebox that stores what looks like to be a bunch of condoms, and smiles at her in a way that makes her heart stutter.

“Flip over,” He says, having made his decision.

She somehow manages to almost trip over her legs as she flips over, trying to face the other way— even though she’s not even standing— and Luka snickers when her ankles make a clicking noise when they hit each other and she groans from the pain.

She hears the wrapping of the condom slide open. “Don’t hurt yourself, Mousey, as much as I want to just stare at that ass of yours—”

She glares back at him with a warning. “Luka, you promised!”

“Ass doesn’t count as a curse word, I’m calling it now— don’t— don’t kick me. I’m not as tough-skinned as you think— I will cry. You have thighs for days, and I have seen it with my own eyes how you have kickboxed your way out of Akumas trying to grab you.” He laughs. “Besides, like I was saying: give me a second, you horny little mouse— and try not to hurt yourself while I’m busy putting this on.”

“I’m not trying to hurt myself,” She sighs, letting her hair fall over her shoulders and coat the sides of her vision like a curtain when she looks back to the headboard with a little humming noise. She wants to watch him— but she also wants to feel it like a surprise— she’s on the fence of what she wants to pick. “I think I’m a little too excited.”

“I am, too.” He kisses her shoulder.

It’s so easy for him to start slipping his way into her.

She’s never had sex before, it’s true, but it’s easy for him to slide in from how wet she is. She’s soaking— her inner thighs are sticky from how humid she is and how strands of her come bridge between her soft thighs— and she’s always had the help and use of a toy to keep her company when the yearning got too difficult to bear, so it’s not like she doesn’t know how to adjust.

“Good?”

There’s barely any need for him to pause and let her relax, because she’s perfectly fine and content— her walls stretching with barely any pain when he slowly fills her to the brim.

So she shifts her hips and pushes back into him, all the way down to the base, much to his worry. It’s a tight fit, even with how wet she is— but that makes it all the more enjoyable as her core squeezes and squeezes, stinging from how stretched she feels.

He moans.

“Oh, gooseberries— this feels good—” She makes a noise when he presses the heel of his palm onto the center of her spine, curling it for her and raising her hips up to meet with his. The angle feels weird, now— his cock pressing up against her in a certain way that she’s never done before with a toy— she feels fuller. Much, much fuller— now this has some pain to it. “Oh! Oh! What in the— how did—”

“You look hotter with your ass up and curled spine, Mousey— I mean, that’s just my preference. That’s better, too, isn’t it?” He groans, keeping one hand at the small of her waist to keep him anchored as he snaps his hips against her.

“Yes, yes— much better. Holy sugarcubes.”

It’s hard to keep her sighs of appreciation in when all he does is continuously snap his hips over and over into hers, making it feel like she’s punching out her breaths with every lineup with their hips. She feels like a whirlwind— completely flexible and totally boneless as he fills her again and again, hitting the back of her thighs with the front of his. It’s an easy position for them to fall into a simple rhythm— and the two of them being partners for so long in their lives, it’s not hard for the two of them to figure out how to get each other off and how to take it.

She’s in love with the way he moves his hips.

But…

“You don’t have to be so gentle,” She manages to gasp out when he just barely meets her ass with his hips.

“Yes I do.”

“Vai,” She groans. “Stop being scared and fuck me like you want to— I promise I won’t break. Get as aggressive as you want. Please.”

The next snap of his hips has a bit of actual strength behind it.

Their skin meets with a hard slap that is so lewd— so obviously disgustingly hot that she would’ve burst into flames at the noise— but instead all she does is sink further into the blanket underneath her. Her knees ache from this position— being forced to stay the way she is as Luka uses his weight against her, but she can’t flatten herself on the bed because she’s busy snaking a hand around her front and rubbing herself with her fingers.

She manages to cup one of her breasts, teasing and plucking at herself to the point where she finds herself curling her toes. She sounds desperate, because she is— threading her fingers with his hand that supports him as he fucks and fucks.

It’s delicious.

Oh, it’s so delicious.

“You are going to be the death of me,” He groans against her shoulder.

“That’s not part of the plan,” She breathes out, and she’s happy that it pulls out a breathless laugh from him.

The hand at her hip travels to her clit and starts to roll it between the pad of his fingers. She makes a need, filthy noise, nearly losing all of her strength at her knees right there and almost folding herself in— instead, she lets go of her breast to fist at the blanket underneath her as she’s taken to the edge for the final time tonight.

She’s so close.

She’s so, so close.

“Luka—”

“I don’t— I don’t want to come— before you do,” He answers the question she wasn’t asking. “But I’m still a lot closer than I should be.”

“You can come whenever you want—” She can’t finish her sentence because he flattens her shoulders against the bed with his chest.

“Not a chance.”

“Vai—”

“Not happening,” He laughs. The proceeding slap of skin is enough for her to start seeing stars. “I’m going to— retain some upper hand against you— you little minx.”

He slows down— and she’s close enough that it almost makes her growl at the back of her throat, feeling her inch so closely to the edge and not get anywhere close to it. Instead she groans, desperate, feeling unsatisfied even as he continues to swirl his fingertips against her. “Please, please— stop teasing me— I’m so close, Luka—”

“I want you to come like this.”

“What?” No— no— not this again— she’s not prepared to come like this— “Luka—”

“You can do it, can’t you?” He kisses her shoulder. “Come. Right now, Mousey. You can do it.”

And she just— she just— oh, gooseberries— the coil in her snaps.

Of course he goes back to his brutal pace when she’s finally coming.

She’s exhausted, him still pounding away— him still worrying her skin between his flat teeth, sucking in blacks and blues all over her shoulder without a care in the world— him still somehow swirling his pointer finger over and over and over against her clit.

She’s fried.

She’s completely and totally gone, her body flooding over and over with heat and pleasure, feeling like she’s finished an Akuma battle— her walls squeeze to the point it must be pleasurable for him, because Luka loses the tempo he’s kept in his head.

“That’s it. Good— good.” He groans against her skin when she cups his giant hand with hers, trying to pull his hand away from such sensitive flesh. “Thank fucking god.”

She has enough energy left in her to jokingly nip him on the wrist, scolding him for cursing like she’d promised she would— but squeaks when his hips stutter and he makes a noise that’ll keep her awake for the rest of her life, and he’s— oh. He’s coming.

He groans low and hard enough to make her eyelids flutter— she can feel him twitch, and pulse, and she’s a tiny little bit upset at not being able to feel him leaking between her legs, but the kisses and teeth against her neck and his weight against her back are relieving enough.

Maybe the next time she’ll be brave enough to ask him— but until then— all she does is flatten her hips down on the bed while he tosses the condom away and groans into the blanket when he comes back to wipe her clean of residue and stickiness, and latches onto him for cuddles the moment he has his guard down, not letting him resurface from his burrow of a bed for the rest of the night.

He’s so thankful that he manhandled her octopus-like cuddling body under the covers with him last night.

She’s sound asleep, curled into his shoulder, completely gone and completely useless against him in bed. He feels floaty, and wistful— fuck— three orgasms in one night isn’t something he’s done in a long time. Had he known that Marinette was going to show up the night before, he wouldn’t have wasted his time masturbating in the shower.

Had he known that she’d come over, he would’ve at least gotten his bedroom ready. There are no laundry piles in his room, thank god— but he’s not sure when the last time he’d washed his blanket. Or sheets. At least pushed the amps against the wall instead of the middle of the room like he has it— well. It’s too late now.

There’s a poem just nagging at him to be written down, so he’s slapped his hand around next to the box he uses as a nightstand for one of his journals and a spare pen, scribbling away against the lined sheets of paper as he looks at her while she sleeps.

He hides his face into his notebook when he pauses for more than a second to think about last night.

God. Jesus.

He’s a complete and total sap of a person.

An entire sap.

But nothing that he’s writing down in his notebook even remotely fits his vision of what he wants the song to look like— he’s simultaneously frustrated and full of ideas. Every word that he writes down is from the heart, but nothing he writes is anything good enough whenever he looks back down to Marinette sleeping.

The rhythm of the poem isn’t right— and it’s bothering him that he can’t get it down. He thinks about it for a couple of minutes, letting sunlight filter in through his closed curtains, listening to how quiet the Liberty is for the few moments longer before Juleka, Rose, and his mother come back.

He’s so thankful Marinette is under the blankets with him.

She’s covered up— he’s begrudgingly put a shirt on the both of them— given her underwear back even though, honestly, if she wanted to be naked with just a shirt on, he’d beg for it for the rest of his time— including all of the second chances he would have to keep doing for the rest of his life during Akumas.

This is all just in case Rose was to burst through the door, which is a strong possibility.

The plus side is that it’s one of his shirts, and it’s so large on her that the necklines nearly falls over one of her shoulders if she doesn’t adjust it every so often. He can see all of the hickeys he’s given her against her neck and shoulder every time the shirt slips— she’s an entire canvas of it. The downside is that he wishes he could keep her naked for as long as she wants to be— but knowing his household, the answer is a firm no.

Unless she’s willing to deal with his mom barging in on them both with no regard for privacy.

Unless she’s willing to deal with Rose barging in on them both with no regard for boundaries.

Juleka’s fine. But she’d have to open the door if she wanted to communicate with him, so long as it isn’t through text message— but at least it isn’t because of lack of boundaries.

Still though. He’s so thankful that there’s a lock in the bathroom. His mother is a riot. And doesn’t seem to understand that teenage boys— and now young adult men— have urges.

He has no idea where she went last night— somehow his sister had genuinely been able to convince her to disappear from the Liberty. He owes Juleka about a quarter-million favors, now, and it worries him on how she’ll cash it in— but looking back down at Marinette and how she fists his necklaces on his chest in her palm as she sleeps— he’s so sappy he feels like the smile on his face won’t ever come off.

He watches her doze a little longer, and shifts the bangs out of her eyes. Marinette is a cuddler— and latched onto him for warmth and snuggles throughout the entire night. His heart feels swollen in his chest the more and more he thinks about her desperation for heat and warmth and him— to the point where he’s apprehensive to even keep the notebook and pen in his hands in favor of going back to sleep with her.

She’s so cuddly.

And cute.

In the end, he loses against Marinette, even if she has no idea she’d been trying to convince him in the first place. He drops the notebook off onto the pouf next to him, and makes sure to tuck his shoebox of condoms back far underneath his bed before his mother bursts in on the two of them and makes him— not to mention Marinette— feel scandalized. He hides under the covers with her, shimmying back down and making sure that she doesn’t accidentally choke him with such a powerful grip on the silver cords he has around his neck— and tucks her head under his chin.

He tries not to groan when he hears his mother yell out his name and tell him and ‘ the lassie’ to wake up before she pulls the covers off of the two of them because she needs help moving stuff out of the deck.

AO3 | Chapter One Link | Chapter Two Link | You Are Here!

[fragileizywriting]

C'est la Sea

pairing: Luka / Marinette word count: 9,111 chapter: 1/2 rating: E summary: There’s a mermaid in his bed. A pouty, pretty mermaid on his bed. “Why are you wrapped up like a sushi roll, sweetheart?” “It’s cold,” Marinette shivers, just to prove her point. She collects an edge of the blanket to cover herself back up and make a bigger mess out of the covers, trying to tuck in her tail. “Why is it colder on land than it is on sea? How are you able to withstand this much frost, Luka? Even my scales are starting to go stiff.”

AO3 | Chapter One | Chapter Two

I just can't stop myself from writing Lukanette...

Written for my lovely and beautiful friend @valiantlyjollynightmare !!! Your mermaid AU is so wonderfully written and it gives me so many feels that I had to get the mermaid fever out. Please enjoy!!!

Life is simple and stagnant on land and it goes like this.

Wake up. Put on clothes. Find breakfast somewhere in the tiniest kitchen he’s ever been a witness to. It’s compact to the point that it’s hysterical, and it would probably fit someone of normal size. She’d fit in the kitchen just nicely, because things are about her height and eye level, but he has to crouch in order to see inside the fridge. Why are things so small?

Either way, after breakfast he leaves the house and goes to class.

And the classes are mind-numbing, and repetitive, and after the longest chapter of marine ichthyology he almost sleeps through, he’s on his way to find his friends. He’s made a couple of friends for the few months he’s been around, and tries to socialize with them after most of his morning classes have finished, and attempts to enjoy their company before the second block of afternoon classes happen. His friends are kind, and also in the same field as him, so they’ve mostly come close out of the nature of being in mutual classes, but they’re not anyone he’s really gotten close to.

So he’ll eat lunch with them, at some point. Start his next block of classes, and try his best not to roll his eyes at the casual inconsistencies referenced in the slideshow. Find his friends again, if any are available after class, and eat dinner at some point. Walk home, and politely decline any and all attempts to hang out after they’re finally done for the day— after all, everyone knows that he’s extremely busy studying for his classes.

They ask about her often, ask if he’ll be going to visit her for whatever break they have that gives them a sliver of days between classes, asking for pictures of her and well wishes. They ask about her students, ask if she’ll be getting anything for teacher appreciation week that’s common in Canada, and ask about how his life and family are back there before he transferred.

He makes up lies as he goes, of course, because he’s never actually been to Canada and certainly has never been to Quebec, but it seems to be working. His vague knowledge about the West Atlantic works in his favor because none of his classmates are from there, nor have they ever gone themselves. His friends mean well, knowing the feeling of longing when it comes to missing another person, and always offer condolences to the transfer student who seems to be a fish out of water in a new country with a funny Canadian accent, but they aren’t aware of the true nature of his relationship with her.

They know that he’s married. Human customs are similar to his, and the gold band on his left ring finger is a clear sign. Some people he’s met over the past couple of months have shied away and lost interest in him when they’d looked down to see that he never takes the ring off— he doesn’t hold it against them. His friends speculate about how she manages to handle the long-distance without him, but they have no idea just how hard it actually is.

Because they don’t know about the bond fever.

The fever that makes it harder and harder to breathe without her.

Every moment not thinking of her is just a distraction. Every moment not being next to her is biding time. Food tastes bland, music sounds wonky, and all his body wants to do is move. Staying still will make him curl up and stagnate for the rest of his days, and if he wants to leave this part of his life as fast as possible, he can’t afford to stop moving.

So, he’ll arrive home after school, and check up on the coral and fish in his tank to see if everyone in there is fine and not having a turf war without his knowledge. He’ll attempt to have a conversation with his fish, and feed them until they complain, because he’s never gotten the hang of actually taking care of pets. He’ll spin his ouroboros as he continues to waffle between staying and powering through, or the second option of leaving everything behind and dropping everything in favor of her. Work out to get rid of feelings of loneliness— of this horrible, aching bond fever that grips his heart enough to squeeze and hurt and make him regret ever turning to the surface in the first place.

He’ll take the scenic route, along the shore, looking over the ocean he knows and loves dearly. The sun will set over the sea as he takes a break when the buildup of lactic acid in his body gets too painful. It’ll take him hours, probably, of hard running down by the water, but it’ll be enough to get him to stop thinking about her for even a smidge.

Take a shower, afterwards, and making absolute-positive sure that his ouroboros is safely and securely wrapped around his wrist, lest he loses his sea legs— and try to talk to his fish again to get a conversation. Try to finish his homework before passing out asleep on his bed.

Sometimes he remembers to pull the bedsheets up on him. But most of the time he falls asleep in whatever position he’s laid himself down onto the bed, waking up with his arms and legs facing all the wrong way and the alarm on his phone blaring at him to wake up. He wakes up stiff, and sore, but there’s barely any time to sit back and relax before his day starts all over again.

Rinse.

Wash.

Repeat.

Over and over until the days glaze and mesh in his head.

He’s tired— the fish are his only true company, for now, and they rarely talk to him unless they’re begging for food. Sometimes they have a conversation with him when he really gets personal and deep with them, but they don’t really offer much advice, other than the occasional idea to spice up his diet and take a new route to school.

There’s nothing that can get him out of this slump. Nothing above land, anyway. Some days, on the weekends when he has enough time to, he opens the windows that box his mattress as well as the windows in the living room, and lets the salty breeze fly in through the whole houseboat— indulges in the idea of being back home with her— before he begrudgingly faces back to the stacks and stacks of homework piled on his desk.

It’ll be worth it. Just a year and a half left. The ring on his finger is proof enough of that. The bond fever may hurt, and may try to push him to go home, but he knows that she’ll be upset with him if he doesn’t finish school. She’ll probably shove him back up here herself, with her pouting and determined face. She’s docile, but bull-headed, and sometimes the storms in her eyes are as terrifying as the sea he’s from, and he’s certain that she won’t be satisfied until he has that diploma in his hand.

So, he puts his bag down by the door, kicks off his shoes, deadbolts the door behind him, and goes hunting for anything in his fridge that is available. He’s hungry, and he’s far more metabolic in this form than in his normal one, something about being on land just makes him hungrier— and nothing is safe from him when it comes to food.

His houseboat is about the size of a clam, the kitchen itself smaller than a pearl, but the ceiling is tall enough so that he doesn’t have to keep his head down whenever he walks around, so he can’t exactly complain— even when he opens the door to his fridge the size of a child, there’s nothing but a lettuce head that is definitely more white than green, a small box of blueberries he buys every time he makes eye contact with it in the store and thinks of her, and his leftover carton of eggs. The box of blueberries is full, still, and he’s convinced that he leaves it in the fridge until it rots just in case she ends up showing up and wants her favorite food.

But…

Life is simple, and stagnant on land, and he’s forgotten to do groceries this week.

Rinse, wash, and repeat.

He makes quick work of making the saddest scrambled eggs he could possibly produce in his lifetime, using up all of the leftover eggs— six of them, and he won’t be able to regret the amount of food he’s eating until he wakes up tomorrow with absolutely nothing to eat— and proceeds to bin the shells immediately. He eats over the sink, a utensil in one hand and the handle of the pan in the other, spooning and chasing runny eggs into his mouth, barely paying attention to the flavor.

He’s famished. And it’s not like he’d even be able to taste the flavor, anyway, from how bad his heart hurts. Bond fever is a finicky thing.

At least he remembered to throw the eggshells away in the proper place, instead of letting them clog up the sink.

He’d compost them, if he had any plants to take care of— but that’s always been her department, not his. The walls of his one-bedroom one-bathroom boat are sparse and empty— simply just a bed with a comfortable duvet and blue sheets, his tank full of fish that don’t offer enough company, a desk with some shelves to study at, lined with textbooks, and a wobbly table to eat at. He’d splurged on the extra desk— he could’ve just used the eating table— but knew it was probably better to keep his school papers and food away from each other. Besides, the back left leg of the table definitely looks like it’s about to cave at any point. It’s why he’s started just eating standing up and over the sink.

But she would never let him live like this.

It’s a clean house, and everything has its place, but it’s barren. Almost as if he doesn’t really live here.

And to be honest, he doesn’t. Physically, he spends most of his time here, but— bond fever makes him completely and totally disoriented. Mentally and emotionally he is nowhere near land, but rather in her arms, away from this simple and bland house.

But if she were here… truly here, instead of a fleeting moment…

She would decorate the walls with paint. Put up shelves. Print out photos, and frame them, because she’s enamored with the idea of ink and stains and items that permanently stain other things. She’d taken up to painting quite well, the last time— buying a selection of beginner’s acrylic gouaches in many different colors, and had set to work painting for the first time in her life. The world had exploded onto the canvases. Boats, sunrises, shores from distant islands, a turbulent and salty sea— she’d painted like she was taking a photograph and was developing it right onto the canvas.

He wishes he had the paintings with him now. Anything and everything to keep him company— any remembrance of her is such a blessing. He’ll take it all, if he can. Somedays, the ring on his finger just isn’t enough to keep his heart from hurting. He’ll catch sight of a bolt of ruffled pink fabric in a store window that is so glossy and sheer and delicate that he’ll find himself spinning his ring nonstop, dreaming of being together with her again.

Just a year and a half…

She’d line the shelves with rocks. Trinkets. Keychains from cities they’d gone to together, braided knots, and beautiful jewelry. And how could he forget the plants upon plants she’d shove into every square inch of the place, to the point where the houseboat would be a living and breathing creature from all of the greenery? Sunflowers— peonies— roses— lilacs— geraniums— tulips— every flower she could possibly find at a flower shop would somehow make it onto a flat surface in the houseboat.

This houseboat is empty without her. He spins the ring on his finger, thinking to himself about her— wishing and longing to see her. Just a year and a half more. He can visit on holidays, if he can afford it— but this isn’t just for him. It’s for her, too.

He flicks the light on in his room after washing the dishes, in the process of taking off his shirt, getting ready to try talking to the fish today in the far corner, the furthest away from his full-sized mattress, before giving in to go on a run along the docks. He almost throws his shirt onto the bed— when— well.

That’s when he notices the mermaid on his bed.

The sleeping mermaid on his bed.

She’s dozing off— hidden under his blanket, the mass of blue covers pulled tight around her naked shoulders. One of her pale arms has escaped from the mess she’s made of the fabric, and it hangs off the bed— steam rising softly off of her skin like she’s slowly being cooked, matching ring glinting in the light of the lamp on his nightstand. His eyes widen at the sight of her— the slow and soft drag of her tail fins against the floor as she inhales and exhales, because even curled up she can’t fit all of her on the mattress. She’s never been considered large, not proportionately, but the tail fins are long and delicate, and the mattress is far too small to fit the both of them if he were in his normal form too.

Pink, shimmery and translucent fins flutter as if caught by a slow breeze— petal-like in shape and it always feels silky against his fingertips whenever he’s touched her in the past, and today it looks no different. He follows the line of her fins back up to her tail that disappears underneath the comfortable blanket, where she’s wrapped herself to keep warm from the stale and stagnant air that permeates the room. He’s always liked the temperature around him to be colder, because of how he grew up, but she’s never been able to handle the slight freeze unless she’s been charmed, the little reef-dweller. Either charmed or wrapped up so tightly around him in order to soak up his body heat, nearly squeezing him to death. He sleeps with an eel of a woman, whenever they’re together, completely and totally reluctant to ever let him go.

Like now.

She’s here.

Here.

Strangling the blanket around her shoulders to keep the cold away from her.

His heart squeezes, and he finds himself on his knees, not exactly kneeling on the mattress but rather the floor just in front of her— gently parting the blanket enough to locate her other arm. She hums at the back of her throat when the cold air reaches and pebbles her porcelain skin— face pinching softly at the cold— before she blinks awake when he whispers her name in order to rouse her.

He’s always loved her blue eyes. Especially when they look at him, shining and shimmering like diamonds. “Mmmm?”

“Hi,” He checks her ears for her own magical charm. They’re there, and safely secured on her ear lobes, two perfectly beautiful pink pearls. They had been wedding gifts to her from her job at the school, that many of the parents had chipped in to get her a charm that would be able to withstand long periods of time outside of the sea, and he’s never been so grateful as now to see her wear them. “How long have you been here for?”

She’s always been a slow riser when she wakes up, so the first few seconds of her being conscious again are routinely docile and sweet, and today is no different. Her face softens the moment she recognizes where she is and who she’s looking at, a certain sweetness in her eyes that makes his heart hurt. “Luka? Oh, oh— Luka—”

She latches onto him tightly, pulling him close by her arms around his neck and shoulders with a happy noise. She smells of the ocean, even though she’s dry— her soft black hair just as silky, and just as long as it’s always been. It spills between his fingers as he combs through it, almost liquid on the web of his fingers and down his wrist, and he spends a moment or two just basking in her warmth, basking in the way she sighs against him. She kisses the closest skin available to her, which seems to be his shoulder, his collarbone, his chest, and his bicep— smiling happily up at him when he pulls away enough to look at her in the eyes.

“Marinette— Marinette— I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Her eyes look glassy with tears. “Your fish told me you would be home later— why are you here so early? I thought I had time to surprise you and greet you at the door.”

“You must’ve slept for too long,” He noses at the shell of her ear. “This is about the time I get home every day. But little pearl, what are you doing here? Did you travel safely? Don’t get me wrong, please— I’m so thankful— but when did you show up? No injuries? It’s not a holiday at home, I don’t think, is it?”

“I’m okay. Everything’s okay. No one saw me, and no one tried fishing for me. I just couldn’t keep waiting for you to come back,” She hums. Marinette’s always been a singer, ever since they met for the first time. Always a tune in her voice, always singing and humming away like a never-ending record player. “I’ve missed you so much, Luka, you have no idea— so I just decided that today was enough waiting. I dropped everything off and told my parents that I needed to see you— you, my darling sky.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.” He kisses her. And then again. And then again. And again. He keeps doing it until it hurts to not breathe— but even then, he doesn’t really find the desire to pull away. After all, this is much easier than what he’s dealt with for the past year. “Every day, my heartache just keeps getting worse— this is horrible. How are we supposed to keep this up for another year?”

“And I thought the wedding would’ve been the hard part of all of this— turns out that the bond is just as real as they say.” She giggles as she pulls him closer. He leans over her, wrapping an arm around the smallest part of her waist, resting his open palm on her upper back to support her as he lays her back down. She’s handsy— he doesn’t blame her— brushing her fingertips on all the skin available to her, making an unsatisfied noise when she reaches his jeans. “Take these off?”

Ah. Lovely Marinette. Always so handsy and desperate for close contact— as if he’s any better. He hasn’t seen her in so long, he’s seconds from stopping the pleasantries and letting her know just how much he’s actually missed her. “But—”

“You’ve never been shy before.” She clicks her tongue with a silly little eye roll. She traces his tattoo on his arm, a small smile on her face, following the compass rose’s north tip up his arm. She makes it to the boat with seven sails, before looking up at him rather confused. “There’s nothing you haven’t already shown me— I’ve seen every single centimeter of you and every last scale. Unless— uhm— has something changed?”

“No, nothing has changed— relax that worry in your eyes.” He laughs, and can’t help himself when he kisses her again, slow enough to distract her as he pulls his jeans off, leaving his boxers behind. Her eyes blow wide at the sight of him naked, save for the jade ouroboros around his wrist and the band of his underwear. He hopes it isn’t inside out. “I just meant that I’ve barely been able to look at you, and I know you won’t let me go until it’s tomorrow if I let you have your way. You’re hidden underneath the blanket— let me look at you first before your tail disappears. Why are you wrapped up like a sushi roll, sweetheart?”

“It’s cold,” She shivers, just to prove her point, attempting to pull a fast one on him and reaching for the waistband of his boxers before he snags her wrist with a laugh. Thin and soft shoulders curl underneath his palms in an attempt to stop heat from escaping, and she collects an edge of the blanket to cover herself back up and make a bigger mess out of the covers, locks of her hair spilling over the blanket, pooling to where her waist should be. She tries to tuck in her tail with mixed results. “Why is it colder on land than it is on sea? How are you able to withstand this much frost, Luka? Even my scales are starting to go stiff.”

“Reef-dweller,” He grins.

“Yes, yes, continue to make fun of you poor wife who cannot contain heat because of biology. But you don’t have your scales on you right now, you sea serpent.” She pouts. “I should be much more suited for this cold than you should be, right now.”

He guides her burritoed form closer with a warm smile. Her fins flutter, delicate and sweet, as he pulls her close enough for her to rest part of her tail on his lap as he gently reaches for the edges of the blanket again. “It isn’t actually that cold. You’re just losing heat so you can get your sea legs, remember?”

“Unfortunately, I’m starting to remember the hard way. Stars, I keep forgetting how uncomfortable the transformation is. Maybe I’m doing it on purpose.”

“Let me see you,” He noses at her jawline.

“Only if you promise to warm me up after,” She teases, and she actually manages to snap his waistband against his hip, making him hiss at the sensation. She giggles, kicking up her tail delightfully at the noise he makes. “Please, sky?”

They’re politely ignoring the way he’s starting to fill out his underwear already at the sight of her. It’s instinctual, of course, because of bonds and magic and, well, it is Marinette that’s looking at him like she’s famished. “Of course. You don’t even have to ask.”

Steam billows from the opened pocket of the blanket the moment he unwraps her and finally takes a good look at her. Sweet stars, he’s missed her so much, and he shows her just how much by touching her everywhere. She shivers under his fingertips as he traces the small scales that line her chest and stomach. They’re starting to retreat and fade, now that the drying process is finishing up, but she’s still completely smooth and too scaled to have her human characteristics just yet.

“You’re shivering, my sweet pearl.”

“Yes, but— your hands are so warm,” She sighs.

There’s a gentle swell to her chest, hidden beneath the neat rows of hazy pink scales, but the swell isn’t as much as what she has in her human form. He’d learned early on, when they’d first tried their magic charms and had gained their sea legs, that he loves all versions of her body— including when her chest fills his palms with such softness he feels like weeping, with pink peaks that make her sing whenever he tweaks them. Everything about her is delicate, like the world’s most fragile flower.

But very soon, he’s going to end up with an entirely naked woman on his bed instead of a mermaid. Both are lovely ideas. He’ll be able to watch her wobble on her sea legs for an hour or two before she relearns her balance, and have to guide her by her naked hips if she wants to leave the room. She’ll probably want to stretch her legs, and take a turn about the very small boathouse, but they probably won’t be able to leave the house today. That look in her eyes is telling.

As if he’s any better.

He traces the rows of scales down her stomach, the scales getting thicker and larger as he reaches just about where her tail technically begins at the hips. Her arms, too, have patches of translucent pink scales that are starting to disappear in favor of just skin, and he follows the long line of her tail down with a palm.

He skirts over the area that he knows she so desperately wants to guide him to, gaining a brief huff and pout from her as he instead grazes along her scales all the way to her long and beautiful curtain fin. His touches are soft, and barely noticeable— but it’s enough to get her to twitch.

He starts to tickle her.

“Luka,” She slaps her tail on the mattress in an attempt to make him stop tickling her, and her hand grabs for his— but her laughter is so contagious he can hardly stand it himself. “What— ha— what are you— oh, stars— d-doing?”

“I haven’t seen my wife in almost a year,” He gives her a smile, laughing at the way she squirms uselessly under his hands. “Can I not touch her?”

“You can touch— but—” Such sweet laughter! “But why— oh! Why touch me there when I’m ticklish?”

“Oh? Would you rather me touch you higher?”

“Yes,” She giggles. “Oh, please, I know exactly where I’d like you to touch me. But buy me dinner first, at least.”

“I’ll do more than that, sweetheart.” He licks his lips, watching the way she shifts to prop herself on her elbows. She blows her bangs out of her face when it starts to fall across her lashes, looking at him with sparkling beautiful eyes. She’s so pretty. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all of that, but his love for her has never diminished in the first place. Sweet beautiful melody. “What is it that my lovely girl wants?”

“Hm…”

“Make it count, of course. Your tail is going to disappear soon.”

“How about: you tell me that you want me like this, sky,” She peeks at him from under her lashes.

He wants her in any form, this won’t be too hard. “I want you.”

She’s feeling cheeky, isn’t she? That smile is proof alone. “Tell me you need me.”

“As if I have to say that.” But she prods him with a cute pout when he rolls his eyes, and he acquiesces: “I need you.”

“Tell me you can’t live without me.”

“I’m miserable without you. So miserable.” He means it. And she knows it. “I don’t want to keep doing this long-distance anymore. I’ve never been so miserable.”

She tilts her head to the side with another hum, looking around the room. “Tell me you’ll let me decorate our home— it’s so bland in here. Where are all the flowers? The music?”

“Please decorate—” His brain flatlines. “Wait, decorate? This house? This— our— house? Home?”

“Surprise!” Another peal of laughter escapes from her, and it follows through her body to a delicate flick of her tail.

His eyes widen. “You— you’re staying?”

“Yes!” She nods, shimmying on her elbows as she grins. “Yes yes yes!”

“But— Marinette— you—” Sweet stars, she’s staying. She’s staying. How could he ever want her to go? The love of his life, the jewel in his heart, and his wife— staying for longer than a few fleeting moments when she can afford to slip away from home? Oh— oh— his heart could burst.

“I can’t stay away from you.” She confesses, cupping his hand and kissing the gold band on his finger. She balances her upper weight on her other elbow, but doesn’t seem to struggle under her own weight. “I’m tired of being away. The bond is making me miserable, Luka, and I’ve had just about enough of it. So, I decided to make it easy on the both of us.”

“But—”

She winks. “I know.”

“And—”

“Yes, that too.”

“Also, your job—”

“I know,” Her laughter is so sweet. He can’t even finish his sentences without her answering as if they’re on the same wavelength— oh— he’s missed this woman so much. “I know, sky. I know. But all of it will be there still when we go back next year. My students won’t go to the next teacher until five years from now. I’ve already talked to the other teachers about me disappearing off with you for a year.”

She… she would really be willing to give up everything, just like that, just for him? Her students, her daily work, her desire to teach? Her desire to nurture? All of it, just to be with him? “I can’t do that to you, little pearl. I know how important your students are to you— I can’t ask you to stay away from them. Maybe I should just go home with you, instead.”

“Luka, honestly! You’re not doing this to me, I want to stay with you— and you better finish this degree of yours. You’ve worked too hard! You know why I couldn’t come with you in the first place, but a year has changed and things are better now, my parents got help from a new family that’s moved into the reef. We can afford a year away from home now, my sweet. A real year away. You know I get one year off to stay with my bond.”

“But that was only as soon as you get married— that was, sweet stars— it was eleven months ago.”

“And I never used it,” She informs him, as if he hadn’t also spent the last year lonely and miserable. “So it’s still viable. I told you, I already talked to the other teachers.”

“But our family—”

“—is completely and totally better off without me constantly sighing in their ears.” She shrugs with a soft smile. It’s a little difficult, given that she’s still propped up on her elbows, but she makes it work. “If I touched my ring one more time in front of my mother, she would’ve personally pushed me out of the ocean herself. Not to mention your mother, telling me that ‘it’s not good to leave your bond alone, lassie. Bonds need to be cultivated, lassie’. Two mothers pushing me up onto the docks, telling me to sleep easy for at least one night. Better me than your mother dragging you back home to deal with me and my nightmares.”

She looks thin. Thinner than usual for springtime, and her face definitely looks a little darker than usual. His poor Marinette, how could he have done this to her? But it’s not like he isn’t affected in the same way, either… all of those nightmares and dull days, wishing to see and hold her. “Have you been eating? You’re looking thin.”

Perhaps they shouldn’t keep trying to test the universal truths with their bond. They really need that year together, don’t they?

“Me? You look thin, Luka.” There’s a frown making its way to the edges of her lips. “Is there not enough food for you? When was the last time you ate?”

“Tuttering pearl,” He murmurs. “Always worrying about me.”

“With good reason to,” She pouts. “Of course I worry about you, sky. What kind of spouse would I be if I didn’t ask my husband if he’s okay? Not a very good one, right?”

“I’ve been eating okay. I eat more in this form.”

“You look pale, my sweet.”

“You’re not the only one who’s been having trouble,” He admits. “Life has been so stagnant without you that I’m kind of just running like a machine. The days are all a blur, and it’s gotten to where I don’t even remember days unless I have a test or homework due that day. I already knew that university was miserable, but— ah, little pearl— don’t cry. It’s alright.”

Marinette’s going to burst into tears. “How stupid of me, leaving you alone.”

“No, sweetheart. You didn’t leave me alone.”

“You’re not as healthy as you usually are,” She hushes a bit when he kisses her, but it’s not enough. “I should’ve been here.”

“No. No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one who left, and I shouldn’t have done that to you. To us.”

“I should’ve come with you.”

“I should’ve waited.” He kisses her again. And again. And again. “I should’ve waited just a little longer to come back up here.”

“You would’ve missed the scholarship if you had. Life could’ve waited for us back home— I should’ve come with you.”

Her tears taste like the ocean, too. “It’s okay, pearl.”

“Oh, sky,” Her eyes are so watery, even as he tries to calm her down with a gentle hand running down her scales. “What idiots we were.”

He tries for a smile. “Everyone told us this would happen.”

“They did,” She nods, sniffing into his palms as he cradles her face and wipes her lower eyelids free of tears. “They did, and we didn’t listen, and it’s cost us a whole year away from one another. How were we supposed to know it got this bad? It hurts to breathe without you.”

“I guess we were just supposed to listen to them,” He kisses her when she tilts her head up in an indication that she wants his lips on hers. He kisses her enough to make her eyes slip shut, and for her body to shiver as he reaches around her again to hold her at the waist. Sweet, sweet Marinette.

“Never again. Never ever again. I’m so thankful I’m here— I won’t let you go. I need you so much. Will you have me forever?”

There’s no need to ask. “Always. I did end up bonding with you, after all.”

She snorts, almost surprising herself with the noise. “A wise choice, you know. I’ve been told I’m very ‘agreeable’.”

Luka finds himself smiling. “Which parent said that?”

“Her child was impossible to console, every morning there was a new battle with this student. Every afternoon his mother would tell me that if no one ends up bonding with me by the following winter, she’ll start courting me herself, completely oblivious to the ring on my finger. She’s amazed at how easy I handle children, and I’m amazed she can just ignore the clear signs of me having bond fever for this long.”

“You’re perfect at your job,” They both laugh when he’s close enough to her to press his forehead onto hers. “But remember that you’re not the only one that wants to take care of their loved one. No more bond fever. I promise.”

“Definitely not. I’ll make sure to chase it out of our bodies on my own, if I have to.”

“Won’t stop until it’s gone?”

“Making up for the time we spent away,” She nods. “It might take us a little longer than normal, from how bad the fever’s gotten, but I don’t think you mind.”

“Greedy.” He grins. “How will I survive?”

She folds herself around him, encircling him as tightly as possible while still allowing him to move his arms. There’s genuine muscle behind the delicateness of her scales and fins— and while she can’t actually hurt his skin with her scales from how tough-skinned he is even in his human form, he is worried that she might accidentally hurt herself by how brittle and fragile they are. She’s still drying out, going through the process of getting her sea legs, meaning that her tail and fins aren’t as slippery as they usually are. “You’ve been captured, sky. No use trying to escape now.”

Their charms soak up most of the oils on their body, allowing them to fully dry out and gain human legs. Marinette is in the final moments of the transformation, which gives him about thirty more minutes of enjoying seeing his wife like she normally looks before she’s safely hidden amongst other humans.

But still, unbeknown to his wishes to see her completely laid flat, she continues to wrap around him, humming at the back of her throat as she soaks up his body heat, coiling around him like an eel. Cold little pearl. “Still freezing, my sweet?”

“I’m feeling a little better. I don’t think I’m losing any more body heat, but I’ll take any opportunity to be attached to you. I don’t want to let you go for the next ten days. Or weeks. Or months. What do you say to a whole year of us together in this bed?”

“We need to eat at some point.”

“I believe you said that there are delivery services available?” She hums. “I really liked pizza the last time. Do they make pizza with blueberries on them?”

“I’m not sure they do.”

“They should,” She makes a happy noise. “The taste would be sublime. Blueberries are so wonderful. Or how about blueberries and peaches on the pizza?”

“Humans would probably tell you that the pizza you’re craving is a crime.” His laughter is genuine, bubbling out of him at the idea of Marinette eating a slice of what humans consider revolting. “They don’t put fruit on them.”

“They’re missing out on flavors they never would’ve imagined.” She pouts.

“What are we going to do with your horrifying taste palette? You have the appetite of a sea-dweller. Are you sure you’ve lived your entire life in the reef?”

“All of my years, yes.” She giggles. “I don’t imagine I would be a very good sea-dweller. Much too cold down there.”

He smiles when a shiver travels down her tail at the thought of the water. “Oh, yes, how could I have forgotten that I promised to warm you up? Maybe I should cash that in now.”

A hand makes it to his boxers. She snaps his waistband with another version of her soft smiles and those wandering, glittering blue eyes, and, oh— it’s impossible for him to take off his underwear like this, with her tail completely wrapped around him like she’s a snake— but his wife is nothing short of persistent as she kisses his side. He shivers when her tongue sneaks against his skin, wet and moist, and he can feel himself involuntarily twitch his toes at the feeling. “Maybe I should warm you up instead, sky. You look like you’re having a rough time.”

“Absolutely not.”

“But—”

“You are hopelessly mistaken if you think I’m going to allow you to have free reign of my body before I’m able to enjoy the last sights of you like this.” Even as his toes continue to twitch with the way she mouths at his ribs. “You ravenous woman. You’re terrible at sharing, and I’ve missed you very much.”

“Oh, it’s not as if I can’t just take off my earrings and let you enjoy touching my scales some more.”

“You know what I mean,” He scrunches his nose. “Let me do this properly.”

“I’ll let you do whatever you’d like as long as I get to go first.” She tugs at the elastic. “Please? Just a few minutes, Luka? A decently sized amount of time to get my mouth on you?”

Oh, conniving mermaid. “I do not make deals with you. The last time I did, I ended up getting married to you.”

“As if that’s a bad thing!”

“I don’t regret it,” He shares a grin with her. “Definitely not. But you just have a way of convincing me to do things.”

“Oh, so I convinced you to marry me? Funny, I remember something about how you were convinced you were bad for me, but couldn’t help yourself but to keep trying to court me…” She giggles when he attempts to squeeze out of her grasp, rolling his eyes affectionately. “There’s no escaping, sky. Not with your sea legs, I’m afraid.”

It’s true. He is a lot stronger than her with his tail. With just about anything, really, because merfolk from the reefs are nothing compared to the ones out in the open sea with hardened skin and longer figures, but…

“This bed will break if I get rid of them,” He manages to get one of his legs out, much to her complaints. She’s far too dry for her to keep a genuine grip on him, poor thing. “Stretch out, little pearl. I’m curious to see how well you can last.”

“Will you take me like this?” She gasps, letting him unwrap her enough for his other leg to slip out from underneath her. “Oh, sky, yes please! I’m not sure—”

“We’ll do that next time. I have something else in mind.” Although he’s willing to try. Maybe when she isn’t on the cusp of transforming out of her tail, because that would take a little longer for them to find the best position— she’s always so small and tight as it is. It would be easier in water, of course, so that she’s in whatever position is more comfortable for her, but with his ouroboros on he breathes like a normal human. Sadly, he would probably drown himself.

Marinette would kill him.

A good way to go. But still killed and drowned all the same.

She’s still ticklish under his fingertips when he brushes over her scales again, but her cheeks are slowly pinking as they make eye contact. She’s not shy— definitely not. Honestly, she’s much more adventurous than him, in this aspect, but it’s been so long since they’ve been together, and he hopes that he remembers how to please her to the point she sings. Even though she’s excited, and he can tell by the way her fins twitch at the end of the bed, she mostly keeps still as he follows her scales back to where she’s wanted him to be from the very beginning.

Ah, there she is.

This spot is definitely not dry.

Soft, and full of slick, she opens gently to his prodding fingers with a sigh. Her nails are blunt, but they feel like little needles on his shoulders as she grips him, trying her best not to squirm and overwhelm him. Her body is tightly wound, almost hurtful, and even with the slick she’s not that easy to sink into down to the knuckle like he’d imagined. He hisses at how tight she is, feeling his cheeks heat and something stir at the base of his spine, panting as he hears her squelch as he pushes in more and more. “Why are you so tight, pearl?”

“I— oh— haven’t had much time to myself, the school keeps me so busy—” She makes a noise of contentment anyway, brushing her hair back and around her as he fingers her open. She’s a pretty sight, with her hair long and flat like ribbons near her waist. If he twists his finger this way… maybe she’ll… “And you know I don’t like doing it— oh, stars! Luka, yes, more of that—”

“Easy,” He grins, making sure she doesn’t squirm completely away from his hands. She wants to stay, she does, and he knows that, but she’s always too excited to keep still and let him finish. She wants all of it. She wants all of him, and always ends up rushing to the good parts instead of enjoying the moment. “Finish what you were saying, sweetheart.”

She huffs when he stills his finger, batting her tail along the end of the mattress. “I don’t like doing it alone, you know, and it’s been rather lonely doing it.”

“I know what you mean,” He fills in the silence between her panting, twisting his finger again and making her eyes roll as a groan leaves her.

She bites her lip. “I’d rather you help me out, it always feels so much better— oh— you’re just so good, sky.”

“Oh, am I?” He meets her gaze almost challengingly, slowing his fingers down enough to get a shine back into her hazing eyes. “So does that mean you thought about me?”

Does he really deserve that fin slap onto his shoulder? He would say no, but, there’s not much of an argument to be made when she rolls her eyes. “Of course I thought about you. What kind of ridiculous question is that?”

“Let me guess,” He tilts his head to the side, blinking at her with shaggy hair in his lashes. “Did you think about the last time we did it? How I’d made you sing for hours?”

“No— I mean, well, yes— but—” She moans.

He hums. “You almost woke up our neighbors with your sighs. Pretty little thing.”

“You know, I also thought about my husband hurrying up whenever he decided to finger me,” Her smile curls silly when all he does is laugh and continue to stall. Slicking his fingers against the soft and wet slit, only gently sinking in only to pull out again, making her mewl out. “I want to get you out of those boxers, damn this tail! Your cock is calling my name, I know it— if only I had the legs to catch you with, you’d see the summit of my desires.”

“Oh, I’d love to see that. A reef-dweller, trying to outmaneuver a deep-sea dweller.”

“You’re not as scary as you think, sky,” Her shoulders shake from laughter, and he retaliates by curling his fingers just so in order to get that whine back into her voice. “I’ll— oh my— h-have you know, I got over your differentness—”

“My ‘differentness’?” He grins, but she doesn’t elaborate.

“—within the first year of meeting you. Maybe even the first month— I knew from the moment your eyes turned into gold that I was going to marry you. Our friends were confused and terrified of it— but I knew that you’re nothing more than a guppy. And I knew it from the moment you scales changed colors to match the reef that I had found my eternal love.”

“Sweet,” He muses, trying his best not to blush. “But you are still no match for a deep-sea dweller, my love. They’re tougher than nails. The bullies of the merworld.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s true.” But she doesn’t make eye contact with him anymore, instead looking down at his boxers with a knowing look. His body stirs as she continues to look at him, wetting her lips with a slow drag of her tongue, enraptured by what she sees. “The ever scary deep sea, with their terrifying personalities and scary men who want nothing more than to please their wives.”

“And I, of course, wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Something in her switches, and her gaze snaps up to his. He looks at her shining eyes, watching them widen into a lovely shape as she whines at the back of her throat. “Let me have you, Luka, before I lose my mind from how much I need you.”

His finger goes back to making her sing. “I love it when you beg, sweetheart.”

“Ridiculous man,” She rolls her eyes but it almost feels forced as her face turns redder and redder. “Just— oh— watch out, sky, because once you’re done I’ll return the favor.”

She drags him closer for a kiss. He eases another finger into her, desperate to make the humming noise turn into a full-on shout, but he gets distracted by the way her tongue presses into his. Inquisitive, as usual, his pearl is frantic for him as she curls her tongue into his mouth, parting her own lips in a moan when he angles his head to the side and nips at her bottom lip with his teeth.

She’s alive under his fingers. Tight, yes— warmer than a furnace, too— she’s everything he loves and craves. He’ll chase the bond fever out of her, too, even if it takes him all night, but the way she sings praises of his fingers curling and uncurling in her as he works her open is a sign that it might not be long before his pearl is gushing over his fingers.

But the bond fever won’t be that easy to solve. They have a whole year to make up for, of course, but he’s certain that this is in the right direction. To hell with obligations of tomorrow, or even all of the groceries he knows that they have to go and get when he has her gasping and moaning from his actions— he hasn’t heard her sweet and moaning voice in months. It’s a sweet song that he’ll hold forever in his heart.

“Luka— Luka—” She purrs.

Or tries to, at least, since they’re outside of water and the sound doesn’t travel like it should. Regardless, it’s a rumbly and poetic noise that warms him all over, evidence that the strain in her shoulders is starting to lessen, and evidence that she’s relaxing completely. He almost straddles her, his knees on either side of her tail and careful not to step on her hair, pistoning his fingers in the way he knows will alleviate that curl in her spine.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” He could watch her come undone by him for the rest of his life. “Nothing in the world compares to you.”

Oh, and he knows she loves hearing him say that. Luka knows she’s the happiest when he pays attention to her and goads her with endless amount of praise. None of it is ever lies, or forced— which is probably the reason why she loves it so much.

As if to prove his point, slick squelches out of her as she sighs. She’s taking his two fingers so well, even as it’s a tight fit, even as her body attempts to push him out because his fingers are much bigger than what her body reasonably allows to penetrate her, but still, she’s doing so well— even her scales are shining in the lamplight from the amount of fluid she’s producing, and it makes the pink scales look all the more vibrant. “Sky— oh, please, sky—”

“Just a bit more,” He whispers. “I want to watch you just for a little longer. My darling. My wonderful and absolute darling.”

“Please—” She’s babbling a bit, leaning into his hand he has at her cheek, looking at him with those diamond blue eyes. “Please, Luka, please— oh—”

Oh, he loves it when she begs.

“Come for me?” He nips at her jaw and mouth. He’d bite and lick her at the chest if she had her sea legs, but there’s nothing but smooth scales to mouth over, and it would probably be best not to get any lacerations just because he couldn’t wait for a bit longer. “Be a dearest for me and come for me, little pearl.”

Her tail goes completely rigid when she does.

He feels his fingers get squeezed just as she throws her head back, and catches sight of her earrings starting to glow. He pulls his fingers out just as the magical charms release and stain her skin, and he blinks at the sight of beautiful cream-colored legs wrapped around his hips. Not to mention her pink slit, sticky from his help— he can’t stop himself from going back to her and using his fingertips up and down the sensitive flesh that has her twitching and mewling behind a hand.

“Oh! I— I forgot I’m more sensitive—” She flinches when he comes into contact with her clit. He rolls her flesh between two fingers, enjoying that cute face she makes, before— wait— are her thighs locking because she’s— “Luka— oh stars—”

“Twice back to back, pearl?” His eyes blow wide when she comes back from gasping and crying. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“Oh. I didn’t expect— oh.”

“Sweet Marinette. You’re so perfect, just like usual.” He murmurs as she starts to settle back down, starting to slow her twitching from his fingertips. “How are you feeling?”

“Mmmm,” She hums instead of answering, and he can’t fault himself for chuckling. “That one is going to cost you.”

“Is it?”

But the sight of her is mouth-watering, so breathtakingly mouth-watering— and he’s halfway to just opening her up again with his fingers and exploring all of her new skin available. After all, the swell of her breasts is so appetizing, her face flushed and glowing as she loses a bit of steam in favor of drowsily blinking up at him— he wants nothing more than to suck bruises onto her porcelain skin and have her continuously cry out.

His own arousal is an afterthought, so long as he can keep her with him looking this beautiful and this dazed.

But the world tilts very much soon after he makes that thought.

“Yes, my lovely sky. My turn— I’ll make sure you to give you two as well.” She smiles, saddling him with a fervor that he should’ve expected by now. The space between her legs is sticky and warm, and he can feel her wetness through his boxers as she sits right where he’s sure is most comfortable for her. Her thighs feel like the perfect weights against his hips, slotting against him like a perfect pair.

Her eyes are brown, now, just as dark and vast as the sea he grew up in before meeting her. Her human eyes are beautiful and nostalgic to his past, and he finds himself captivated by them every time. He loves her in all forms, after all, bond or not— she’s beautiful to him in all versions he’s ever met her, even as he plays with the strands of her slightly shorter hair, relishing in how soft it still is against his fingertips.

“Go easy on me, scary serpent, you know I bruise easily,” He grins at her, palming up the soft flesh of her legs. She shivers at it, still sensitive after just transforming. No doubt her body is still trying to make sense of the sudden change, but she seems to be more in favor of putting all of that on the back burner and focusing on him. She captures his wrist, and kisses softly at his ring when she brings his hand up to her face— he tries his best not to pay attention to how her breasts feel like silk against his arm and elbow.

“Not a chance, my dear.”

AO3 | Chapter One | Chapter Two

[fragileizywriting]

bad day blues

pairing: Luka / Marinette (Viperion / Multimouse) word count: 10,418 chapter: 1/1 rating: E summary: “How is it that I can sling myself across rooftops for years, day and night, but I can’t even walk in a straight line once I’m out of my suit and end up spraining an ankle?” “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mousey. That’s not good for you.” “I wish I wasn’t such a klutz.” “You’re not.” Luka kisses the top of her head as a punctuation to his words. “You just had a bad day, that’s all.” “One of the worsts in a while,” Marinette nods into his shirt. “Luka? Could you make it better for me?” He laughs. “And you call me the insatiable one, little mouse.” Her eyes sparkle. “Who was the one that jumped me when I was going to go shower after my pool trip with my friends? One look at me in a towel and suddenly my boyfriend’s hands are all on me— sounds pretty insatiable, if you ask me.” AO3 | Start Here To Read The Whole 'Out of The Closet' Series! | Previous Fic in Series | Next Fic in Series

Here's some more Lukanette! Don't worry, there's plenty more incoming, too. This series is so wonderful to write, I'm having so much fun!!! Especially since Luka is my favorite character 🥺

Enjoy <3

She’s having a bad day.

Like, a really bad day.

There is that whole cake ordering business that her parents live off of, that she helps out with. She’s rolled so much fondant out that her arms hurt, and they’re barely attached to her body when she’s rushing out of the door to get to her class when the second bad part of the day happens.

She spills coffee all over herself.

Well, it isn’t her coffee. Her dad’s been getting into the habit of walking around the bakery and the pantry with his mug she got for him for his birthday, a delicate piece of ceramic that is absolutely dwarfed by her father’s large hands. She’d knocked into him while scarfing down some breakfast of her own, where she’d tried to get bits and pieces of it into her mouth while rolling out fondant for that particular eight-tiered cake that is surely going to be the death of her that she still has to pipe and decorate when she gets back from class.

Her blouse is stained, and it’s warm. It doesn’t seep far into her shirt, because her dad presses his apron right on the stain to soak up as much moisture as possible, but she yelps anyway out of sheer instinct.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine! I’m so sorry for making you spill your coffee, baba. Are you okay?” She waves him off with a little smile. These things happen, it’s okay. Besides, smelling like coffee isn’t the end of the world. It isn’t the smell of a particularly expensive perfume, but she can hardly say no to smelling like coffee when she’s lived at a bakery for the entirety of her life.

“I ran into you, sweetheart, not the other way around,” Her dad shakes his head. “Go change your shirt while I get you some packed food to take with you to school for you and Mullo.”

“Thank you! I’ll be right back.” She kisses him on the cheek, making sure to stay clear away from his mug. She rushes up the stairs, trying her best not to accidentally tear her skirt, but isn’t as delicate to her blouse as she could be. The side rips open. She squeaks while getting it off. “Oh, no! I just bought this!”

“Oh! Is everything okay?” Mullo peeks out from the little cubby Marinette’s made into her own little room.

“Yeah— I’m okay! These things happen, don’t worry. I’m just going to change my shirt into something better and then we can head out, okay?” She snaps open a drawer, tossing her soiled top into the laundry bin near her desk. She’s not opposed to wearing other shirts with this particular skirt, but… she really likes wearing that peter pan collar. This is fine. A normal button-up will go fine with the skirt, even though now she looks a lot more formal than she wants to be.

It’s a good thing her bra is nude-colored. She’s already in a rush as it is.

She hasn’t learned a single thing since school was at a walking distance, clearly, because she’s rushing to get to the metro, running back down the stairs, tugging her backpack over her shoulder with Mullo zipping into the pocket of her skirt, and kissing her dad goodbye and thanking him for the food— all the while trying her best to go over the list of things she needed to do before heading off to class.

Feed Mullo, though the little mouse can definitely go scavenging for blueberries whenever she wants. And yet… Mullo starts to whisper that she’s hungry the moment Marinette makes it down the stairs of the metro and goes pawing for her metrocard. She’s grateful that she’s placed a small container of fresh blueberries inside her backpack, with even a portion of small chocolate chips in the screw-top compartment of the container, just for the little mouse— and the small kwami is giggling and back to being happy before Marinette can even blink.

She looks for her metrocard. It’s on the inside of her phone case, which is good, so she’s able to go through the ticket booth with no problem— thank goodness. She doesn’t need another stressor for the day— but she needs to make sure she repays the bill for her monthly pass before the next month arrives so that she isn’t late trying to pay for it the day of, and hopefully she can remember this thought for long enough to write it into her agenda so she doesn’t forget during the week.

Oh, gooseberries. Hopefully she’s not late.

She checks the time on her phone once she’s safely situated inside a subway car, only to look at the turned-off screen with a confused noise. She tries turning on her phone but blinks with so much confusion when the black screen refuses to light.

Wasn’t one of the things on her list to make sure that her phone was charged last night?

What in the world happened to her phone battery?

She tries to think about it, pinning down that the only real reason it would be out of battery would be if Mullo wanted to use it to watch videos or listen to music while Marinette was asleep.

She makes sure to unzip her bag, peering down at the little mouse kwami with inquisitive eyes, trying to understand why her only communication device isn’t charged, speaking in a hushed voice to not alert anyone in the subway car with her. “Lolo, did you watch videos last night?”

Mullo is asleep. At least she remembered to put the lid back onto the container, which is some good news. Marinette can’t feel too upset, looking at the little creature. It’s a good thing she packed her bag and made sure to grab her portable charger— it’s not often that Mullo gets in the habit of overusing Marinette’s phone— but she’s always prepared, just in case. Mullo likes texting Sass, too, though all their texts look like gibberish to her and Luka whenever they try to reread it.

She opens the front pocket zipper with the cute little mouse charm attached to the handle and freezes.

This isn’t her school backpack.

She’s not sure how it didn’t dawn on her before, but this isn’t the right backpack at all.

The only thing it has is a plastic bag with her swimsuit she’d used during the weekend— it’s not exactly dry, given that it’s been in the baggy for at least four days since she’d come back from the pool with her friends. That’s strange— she’s not one to just drop her bag off to the side and not put away her stuff— so, what gives? She chews on her nail while she thinks about what could’ve possibly distracted her from hanging up her swimsuit and letting it dry, and stopped her from putting away this particular backpack, and squeaks to herself when she remembers.

Oh. Right. That’s right.

Viperion had shown up in her room just as she was going to go take a shower— having completed patrol on his own because he wanted her to have fun with friends and go swimming— and since her boyfriend is somehow allergic to learning how to swim, he’d happily shoved her out of the house with the pretense of keeping Paris safe while she relaxes for once in her life— no wonder she’d been so distracted and completely forgot about the backpack.

He’s so insatiable, nowadays, wanting to spend so much time with her that it’s completely pointless to try to keep clothes on around him. He’d taken one good look at her while she was making her way to her bathroom tucked into her towel and had decided to wash her himself— joining her in the shower without even taking his suit off.

She knows that their hexleather is water-resistant— but she didn’t know that it’s enough to keep water from completely entering his suit.

He’d cleaned her inside and out— pressed her up against the bathroom tiles, hopeful that she would keep quiet, as Viperion slicked two fingers inside of her.

The hexagonal grooves on their suits had never been something she’d even considered until now— it was obsession at first touch, in all honesty.

Her back is filled with love bites and possessive teeth marks that make her toes curl in her shoes when she thinks about it more, or remembers it whenever she brushes up against her shoulders. Not to mention she feels a comfortable full-body ache when he finally slips away to go home— she’d spent the rest of that afternoon in bed, curled up, dreaming of the day the two of them can always wake up next to each other.

She shifts in her seat, feeling damp and uncomfortable. She misses him already.

But all of that means… her school backpack is still at home. And she’s carrying nothing except her wet swimsuit, instead of her agenda and planner and notebooks and sketchbooks and pens.

Oh, sugarcubes.

It’s fine, though. These things happen. Sometimes no matter how much she plans and prepares, the universe sometimes throws her for a loop, and that’s okay. A good planner knows how to plan for things going wrong— even if she doesn’t want it to happen in the first place.

In all honesty, this is probably not what Luka meant when he said to let things flow and don’t let things bother her, but it is kind of hard to stop her tendencies to want to plan for the worse.

Okay, so how does she fix this?

She has a lecture that starts in about twenty minutes that she can technically skip out on and go back home to grab her things, assuming she switches subways at the next stop. Since she’ll be late, she might as well change out of her clothes, too, into something much more suited for her. She doesn’t like wearing button-downs— especially since, oh, gooseberries, it looks like she’s missed out on about three buttons and gotten her neckline skewed. There’s no point in even fixing it, as long as she’s able to tuck her miraculous back underneath her shirt without someone seeing it.

What else does she need to do?

Well, she definitely needs to make sure she gets the right backpack the next time she slips through the door. Make sure to bring another container of blueberries, too— she never knows when there’ll be another Akuma, and of all things to not be worried about, this is something she’ll never stop.

Everything will be okay. No worries. The lecture wasn’t that important, she’s sure of it.

The moment she makes that same thought, the subway car slows to a crawl. The lights in the car flicker, and she looks around to the other passengers, hopeful to see anyone who has any idea of what’s going on.

Everyone looks nonchalant. They probably assume it’s an Akuma, at this point.

“We are having technical difficulties,” The subway car emits a tinny, metallic little noise from the speakers near the doors. “Please stay calm and wait while we fix it.”

Marinette groans. Okay, maybe she’ll be late for a lot more than just her first class. This is fine. Things happen. Things like this just happen— she just needs to relax about it. At least it’s not an Akuma— and it’s not like she can be blamed for the subway being stuck.

There’s just nothing to entertain her, though. No pencil, no pen, no paper to doodle and keep her occupied. No phone to listen to music or keep her busy. Just her, the plastic bag with her swimsuit in it, a sleeping kwami, her breakfast, and half a container of chocolate chips. She might as well start eating now, since there’s nothing else to do— eat and think about her boyfriend’s pretty blue eyes.

-*-

She has— well, had— a pop quiz in her missed lecture.

Worth twenty percent of her grade.

She stumbles into the classroom after everyone’s starting to clear out, looking for the professor and her continuously bored glare she gives to the class on the regular. “Uhm, excuse me— sorry, I didn’t attend class today because of the metro—”

“You can’t make it up.” Her professor says, collecting a thick stack of paper into her briefcase. The only professor she’s ever met to actually use a genuine briefcase— it makes her look more like a lawyer and less like an introduction to fashion history professor.

“Make it up?” Marinette blinks, confused. “Make up— make up what, exactly? I wasn’t in class.”

“The quiz. Twenty percent of the grade, of course, because no one in class was answering my questions today for some reason.” Because Marinette’s the one who usually answers for everyone, of course. No one stepped in, probably, because they were most likely too comfortable with her answers to actually come up with one of their own. “You missed out on the quiz. You can’t make it up.”

“Oh.” That’s fine. Things happen. Sometimes the universe just throws curveballs— her grade in this class won’t suffer. “Uhm. Is— is that all I missed?”

Her professor gives her a good look. There’s something in her dull, tired eyes, like she registers who Marinette is in the class— and what she brings to the lecture hall. “I’m going to give you the homework, even though I technically shouldn’t. You’re a good student— you’ve never been late to class— and definitely never missed an entire lecture. And today, without your questions, it was completely and totally quiet.”

“Oh.” She repeats. “Th— uhm. Thank you.”

She pulls out another stack of papers, handing her a stapled group of paper from the top. It looks ridiculously thick— as in— maliciously thick. Maybe at least thirty pages. “Here’s the homework. Make sure to finish it by next class.”

One week to finish the assignment. No problem. She can do that.

“Of course,” Marinette breathes, slightly overwhelmed, looking over the title of the assignment. She has no idea where to begin— the lecture today must’ve been all about it. Maybe she can find one of her classmates and ask about it? Although, she’s never really made a friend here before… “Thank you very much.”

“Don’t make it a habit to skip,” The professor calls out to her as she leaves through the door.

“Understood,” Marinette mutters under her breath. The strap of her kitten heels breaks when she runs her foot too close along the doorframe as she leaves behind her. She trips, falling into her second person with a coffee today, spilling all over her shirt again. This time, it’s cold— it’s an iced latte, of course, and ice cubes fall down her collar and into her shirt, and pain blistering up her ankle.

She tries to walk it off, she really does, but it ultimately just collapses back onto the floor the moment she tries to put pressure on it. Mullo comes out of hiding when she makes sure that there’s no one around, asking if Marinette’s okay— and all she can do is just smile at the little kwami, trying her best not to wince.

Today just isn’t her day, is it?

-*-

By the time an Akuma actually comes around, and tries to do damage in the city of Paris, Multimouse is running on fumes from how close she is to breaking down.

She’s weaved and dodged most of the attacks, relying on her rope to get out of the way. Her ankle doesn’t hurt as much when in the suit, of course, because the magical properties of the miraculous make it so that they focus on the fight first than anything else. She can put her weight on it, which is the good news— and that’s enough for her to walk and run and jump rope when she needs to.

Seeing Viperion is such a blessing. She hasn’t been able to text him much all day, aside from the vague ‘good morning’ text she sent when she finally managed to get her phone to turn on— she’s been too busy to respond to all of the texts he’s sent throughout the day.

Hopefully, she can talk to him after the fight is over. She needs a little bit of downtime.

But she can’t exactly focus on how thankful she is to see him when she’s in the middle of weaseling out of the Akumas grabby hands. She tucks and weaves, snaps her rope out like a whip when she needs to, and does her best to roll out of the way of the Akuma that falls into their trap using the Liberty that sends him spiraling across the city with it. Viperion is nearly on the other side of the city taking care of the sentimonster when she feels her ankle start to blister in pain again, indicating that she’s putting far too much stress on the ankle for even magic to make it stop hurting.

By the time they’ve got the Akuma purified, the sentimonster dealt with, and the victim is in safe care with the social worker from the workforce that’s been assigned to assist people who have just been Akumatized— Multimouse can barely stand up. She chooses, instead, to keep sitting down on the lip of the sidewalk between a couple of parked cars, her legs spread out in front of her, trying her best to seem like she’s just out of breath. She keeps her right boot completely straight, hopeful to not put any more strain on her ankle, but lets her left boot sag against the asphalted road, and tries her hardest not to hide her face in her hands.

Viperion makes his way back to her after he’s done talking to the social worker.

“Mousey?”

“Hi, Vai,” She speaks into her gloves. Some battles are just too difficult for her to focus on, and trying to keep herself from doing something just isn’t worth the effort anymore. “That was a tough one, huh?”

He sits down next to her, shoulder to shoulder. There’s probably not enough space for him in between the cars, since his shoulders are wide, but he makes the effort anyway. Besides, if it’s truly that bothersome, all he has to do is give a gentle push to the car next to him— the miraculous suits give them extra strength, after all— but even without the suit, he’d probably be able to push it forward. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” She leans into him. “I missed you so much.”

“You didn’t text me today like you usually do,” He murmurs into her hair. He’s a thick wall of heat right next to her, and she’s so thankful for him like usual. “Everything okay?”

“Everything is— it’s fine— I’m sorry. I forgot to charge my phone last night, and Mullo was watching videos while I slept, so my phone just went kaput.” She smiles in her hands when he makes a noise meaning that he understands exactly what she means. “I only got to text you when my phone was back on. I’m just tired, really. I’m not having a good day.”

The road is going to be populated soon with whatever foot traffic it usually has, now that the Akuma’s been taken care of. They need to probably get up to higher ground before the people of Paris come out to ask for autographs or selfies— and, okay.

She wants to give everyone the best treatment possible, of course, but she’s in absolutely no condition to do that like this. Definitely not like this.

It’ll be better for everyone’s comfort if she doesn’t stay around to listen to what people have to say about the fight— she’s Paris’s sweetheart, she knows, but if anyone says anything remotely negative in her direction, she’s pretty sure she’ll start crying.

Not to mention that if she hears anything bad about Viperion, she’ll start crying while beating civilians off with a ten-foot pole. She’s not in the mood at all to continue behaving like the sweet little Parisian Princess today— she can’t do it.

“Are you stressed out?”

“Yes. Very much. Ironically, the Akuma was my break from stress. Imagine that?”

He laughs. It’s a loving noise, usually, but there seems to be an edge to it this time. “Do you want me to help you with that? I think I saw an alley over there. Let me help you relax.”

She steams red behind her gloves. Oh, she knows exactly what he means— and, well, the answer is always yes. “Yes— but maybe not here. People are going to show up, soon, and I’m already in pain as it is—”

Viperion looks at her. She can tell because her face starts to prickle underneath her gloves. “Pain?”

She takes a deep breath, looking up at him. His hair is starting to curl around his neck, it’s so lovingly him that she can’t help but comb her fingers into his hair and smooth it back. The confusion on his face morphs into contentment as she takes her time brushing his bangs back, getting a good look at what the top of his domino mask looks like. “Nothing’s wrong— things are fine. Everything is fine. Sometimes things happen, and we can’t control all of it.”

Liquid golden eyes look back at her when she’s done petting through his hair and, he— he smiles at her. Really smiles at her— he knows that she’s trying to repeat the quotes and virtues that he usually says to himself. His smile makes his domino mask crinkle, the scales on his hexleather shimmering turquoise and green, and it’s not exactly a front when she smiles back at him. “That’s true. Sometimes things happen that we can’t control, even if we really try, but sometimes we can fix whatever is hurting us. So what really happened, Mousey?”

“Just a bad day,” She uses her left foot to brush against his, taking her hands back from his hair to follow the scale pattern on his chest. The muscles underneath are no illusion— he’s truly that filled out. She likes physical contact with him, just as much as he loves physical contact with her— and she finds a certain kind of sweetness in the way he leans just slightly into her touch as she traces his collarbone. “I’m not kidding— I’ve been having a really bad day.”

“The Akuma didn’t help all that much, huh?”

She cups his cheeks with her palms. She can’t feel him, because her fingers are covered in protective hexleather, but it means all the same to her when she presses their foreheads together, smooshing their bangs against one another. “I don’t know about that. I’m getting to see you, after all— I love being able to see you, Vai.”

His eyes twinkle as he laughs, giving her a kiss. “Stand up for me? I want to check if you’re missing any body parts.”

“What? I’m not missing anything.” She finds herself laughing at the strange request. “See? Look: I have my two arms, my two legs. Tail is still here, and so is my miraculous.”

“I don’t know about that,” His face is oddly serious, even as she continues to giggle. “Wiggle your fingers for me so I know they’re still there.”

“Vai,” She makes a face as she laughs. When he implores her, she rolls her eyes, twiddling her fingers in the air. “Told you.”

“All ten fingers?”

“I think so,” She breaks into a grin. What is this man on about?

“Let’s see.” He takes her hands in his, bringing every single finger up to his mouth so he can count them with a kiss. “One. Two.”

“Oh my gooseberries. Vai,” She giggles hard enough for her shoulders to shake.

“Don’t make me lose count, Mousey, this is important. Three, four—”

“How did I get so lucky to have you?”

“I think it’s the other way around, honestly. Five, six— how did I get so lucky to have you?”

“By treating me like this,” She can’t help but bite her lip when he makes it past seven and eight. “By treating me so sweetly.”

“Sue me, little mouse. I like treating my girlfriend well. Nine, and ten.” At the tenth finger, he kisses where her fingernail would be, then her knuckle, then the back of her hand. He kisses up her arm, too, all the way up to her shoulder as she snorts and giggles, until he tilts his head and kisses her against the jaw, finally completing his quest and kisses her softly on the lips— she melts. He keeps the kiss soft, though— and if her ankle wasn’t rolled, she’d honestly climb into his lap for more than just something so chaste. She deserves it, after this horrible day— and he always makes her feel loved and comforted. “I think your hands are okay.”

“You think so?” She feels a little dopey from the kiss.

“Move your feet, too, so I can figure out if your legs are still attached.”

She moves her left foot only, letting her right boot rest. Instead, she pulls up her right leg, hoping to look like she’s just switching up her sitting position, but that’s enough for Viperion to break eye contact with her and look at her knee. “See?”

But he’s smarter than that. “Ah, there it is. So you did injure yourself during the fight?”

“No. I— uhm— no. Not during the fight.” She’s not lying, but her smile dies down as a quiet contemplation morphs on his face. “It’s— I’m fine, Vai, honestly, I’m okay. My ankle will be fine after some ice, I’m sure—”

“Oh, Mousey.” He looks hurt for her, immediately swiveling in his seat to look her over. He grabs gently for both of her legs, lifting them up to place in his lap, and gently starts to move her foot at the ankle back and forth.

The first leg is the good one, so she barely even reacts— let alone blinks— to him swiveling her ankle around and testing the elasticity. But her bad ankle— oh— it’s enough to make her start to squirm.

His eyebrows pinch when she continuously flinches, her half-sentient tail batting against the asphalt behind her as she tries her hardest not to cry out in pain. He supports the back of her ankle with his palm, and doesn’t let her foot rotate when he puts her leg back in his lap. “When did this happen, baby girl?”

“It happened at school,” She hides her face back into her gloves. “Just the cherry on top, honestly. I fell and twisted my foot. I thought I was okay, but— I can’t walk in my civilian form.”

“School? And you fought the Akuma while injured? Oh, Mousey— I’m so sorry, I wouldn’t have let you stay alone with the Akuma if I had known. What else happened? Tell me what’s wrong.” She feels the gentle pressure of his thumb against her calf, even through the hexleather. “Maybe I can help you. I sure want to try, at least.”

Why is he so gentle with her? Why is Viperion always so sweet and soft to her— kind and loyal?

She knows why— there is the whole ‘they’re dating’ part of the answer— but honestly, how did it get this way? When did Viperion become the boy she fights crime with, day or night, live or die— to the man who snags her just before her showers, who makes it a habit to make her toes curl every time he sees her, who is happiest when she cuddles and routinely hides in his bed with? How in the world has she gotten this lucky?

How? How did she get so lucky to have a man so conditioned to care about her?

Why did he ever fall in love with someone like her— someone who needs everything to be in its place or else she has a nervous breakdown? Someone that loses her demeanor when there’s even a slightest mistake, because everything needs to be perfect or it’s not worth doing at all and— and— why would he even stay with someone like her like this? Why? She’s completely the opposite of him— so— why does he stay and deal with someone so completely different than him in every single aspect?

The thought is enough to make her cry— and— oh— that’s it, really. That’s what makes her push over the edge and start hiccuping into her hands, tears falling down her cheeks. “Oh—”

“Mousey, it’s okay. Shh. Your ankle will get fixed up in no time, okay? We can fix this.”

“I’m sorry,” She says, more to herself than anything else, gesturing to her leg before hiding back in her hands. She sags against him so easily when he pulls her onto his lap. “I’m sorry— I’m so sorry, Vai. It’s not just— just the ankle— I’m just—”

“I know.”

“And— such a bad day—”

“Breathe, Mousey,” He traces circles against her back.

She gasps for breaths between sobs. “And I just— I really did try to not let it get to me— I really tried—”

“You did very good. You are doing very good.”

“It really hurts, Vai, I’ve never rolled my foot before, it’s so painful— and I know I’m going to be in more pain when I’m out of the suit. I’m so exhausted, Vai— today has been so difficult.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Where does she begin? “So much coffee on my shirt, I smell like an espresso machine—”

He listens to her ramblings, even if they don’t make any sense without the full context. He’s gentle when he shifts her even closer, making sure that her foot doesn’t hit up against the car next to them, tucking her in next to his collarbone and letting her cry it all out. His chest is so warm against her. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“And then the subway— and I don’t have more blueberries for Lolo right now because she ate them all already, even after I went back home and refilled her cup—”

“We can get more in my house, it’s okay. All the blueberries Mullo could want.”

“And I was also stuck in the subway for two full hours with just a swimsuit—”

“You went on the subway with only a swimsuit on?” He makes a face. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“In my bag,” She explains, even if it doesn’t make much sense, sniffling around her gloves. “I mean— I picked up the wrong backpack— the wrong bag— before leaving the house and it was just my swimsuit in there— the subway got stuck and I thought it was because of an Akuma so I was just—”

“Take a breath, Mousey.”

She sucks in a breath, trying to fill her lungs in all the way, before the inevitable fresh wave of tears that she continues to border on. “And I— I couldn’t— even text you. I couldn’t, because my battery was out— and I was underground— and— oh, sugarcubes, I was so bored— I just kept coming up with more and more ways to sneak off the train without being seen because there was nothing else to do and I ended up overthinking everything.”

Everything. All of it. Every single thing. If she’s doing well in school— if what she’s trying to get a degree in is even worth it— if she’s wasting her time not focusing on defeating Hawkmoth— if Viperion even finds her necessary in fights. After all, most of what she does is just a distraction for him to get close and defeat the Akuma— but there’s not really a genuine need for her since all he has to do is move his ouroboros miraculous over to the side and turn back time and do whatever needs to be done, right?

“I thought about how you’re so much better without me during Akuma battles— I thought how much of a klutz I am— I thought about how I always have these nervous breaks whenever something goes wrong and you always just deal with them and I wish I could just stop worrying about every little thing without making it into a thing— and— and—”

Gentle hands make it to her wrist, and she looks up, sniffling and biting her lip. Viperion’s smile looks soft on his face as he wipes away her tears— golden eyes looking at her like she’s the most important thing in the world. He kisses her forehead, her cheeks— her nose, too— all in favor of getting a smile back onto her face. “None of that is true, okay? There’s no need to overthink about any of it anymore. You’re okay, you’re here— exactly where I need you to be. You are the entire reason why Paris is safe every day— I’m just here to keep you company, in all honesty. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known, little mouse, and I absolutely cannot do any of this without you.”

Amazing woman? Has he met his own mother before? “But— what about your family—”

“I’m aware of what I’ve said,” He smiles. “I don’t deal with your problems, we deal with our problems. You getting worked up about something is something we both work on together— I’m not going to let you suffer alone when you’re nervous about something.”

She blinks slowly at him, her lashes damp and full of tears, only being able to offer him a watery and a heartful: “Oh.”

He nods, encouraging her to smile back. “Everything’s going to be fine, just like it always is, okay?  You’re not a klutz. You’re doing great. Everything is going to be fine.”

“But—”

“Breathe, Mousey. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She looks at him in the eyes, her breath slowing down, looking around them to see just how empty the street is. It’s an unpopulated street to begin with, so there are only a couple of shops at the corners, nowhere near them where they sit in between the cars, catching their breath from the battle. “I’m— I’m going to be okay. I am okay.”

“You’re okay.” He nods, smiling gently, taking her hands in his.

“I’m— I’m fine.” She takes another breath. She still feels watery, still feels like a wet sponge, but it’s a little easier to breathe. “Sometimes days just don’t go my way, no matter how much I plan for it.”

“Good, good— but you’re forgetting the second half of that.”

“The second half?”

“For every day that it happens, whenever your days don’t go right, I’ll be right here for you to cry on because you and I have always been a team.” He kisses her bangs, smoothing his gloves at the back of her head, behind the buns in her hair. “As much as I don’t like seeing you cry, baby girl, I know that I’d rather see that, than have you bottle it up inside.”

She sniffles, giving him a little smile when he pulls away to gauge her reaction. “Thank you, Vai.”

“I love you.” He kisses her on the lips again.

“I love you, too.” She ducks her head as a blush stains her cheeks underneath her domino mask. “Oh, I’m— I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For crying on you and turning this into a mess.”

“My girlfriend seeking out comfort from me— what a scandal, little mouse,” He teases with a flash of his fangs. “How dare my Mousey want reassurance from me.”

She has the reflex to giggle, even though there’s a bit of tears still trying to make its way down her face. “It’s probably not what you had in mind for today, huh?”

“All I had was work today,” He wipes at her cheek again. “The Akuma is always unpredictable, but it’s not like your parents don’t know why I have to leave the register when our phones start to ding with the Akuma notification, right? And I’m always thinking of you, so, in a way this is sort of what I had in mind.”

She kisses him. It’s not as quick as it should be— it definitely isn’t as innocent as it has to be, given that they’re in public and they haven’t technically told the public yet that Viperion and Multimouse are more than just a duo, not to even mention that they’re a lot, lot more than a duo now, if her wandering hands are any indication— but she breaks away just before she has the urge to shift her position on him, laughing softly when he narrows his eyes at her. “We should— uhm— probably go back, right? Your mom is probably calling your phone right now, asking why in heaven’s name you picked the Liberty for the trap location— Alya will be here any moment now to ask things for the Ladyblog.”

“Hmm? What did you say? I was too busy living in the moment of hearing you laugh again. Such a sweet melody.” He looks back up to her from looking at her ankle. She has no idea what’s going on in that head of his— and it bothers her, because she so desperately wants to know, even as he gives her a wink and a smile.

She’s so thankful for this man. So ridiculously thankful.

She bites her lip to stop herself from smiling harder. “We need to go. Out of here. And I need a favor.”

“I’ll do whatever you need, Mousey. What is it?”

“I need you to marry me.”

His eyes widen, completely caught off guard. “What?”

“I mean— I mean carry—” She gasps, hiding her hands behind her mouth. “Oh gooseberries— I’m so sorry. Sorry! I meant carry, I promise! Slip of the tongue, oh sugarcubes— I’m so sorry— that’s not what I meant at all.”

“Breathe, Mousey, come on.” He snorts so hard that he has to hide his face behind his hands, shoulders shaking in mirth. “Obviously I’ll carry you. That’s without question— I’m not letting you walk like that. Come on, let’s get you back home.”

-*-

Marinette’s finally sleeping by the time he’s back into her room.

They’ve wrapped and bandaged her foot, kept it elevated and out of the way for her. She sleeps soundly, even as he struggles with her trap door to not make any noise. He’s not good at being quiet when he really tries— the universe is always out to get him whenever he tries to do something quietly. Or maybe he just gets too self-aware of himself.

“How’s she doing, Sass?”

“She’s been sleeping for the whole time since you brought her home,” The little kwami answers just as softly. There’s a couple of doll-sized lounge chairs on her nightstand, as well as a small little dining table with a couple of cushioned seats— it looks like a playset, in all honesty, but they’re the perfect size for the two kwamis to sit and eat away at their food.

Sass looks like he’s finished with his eggs, which is good to see. Mullo is still working on her blueberries, chewing through each one almost anxiously as the two kwamis watch Marinette rest. He’s never known just how many blueberries is enough for Mullo, so he’d grabbed a heavy container full of it and put it in a small basket to keep her entertained.

“Is her foot going to be okay?” Mullo squeaks out.

“She’ll be fine,” Luka sits on the floor to be at eye level with the kwamis. He takes a couple of berries in his hands to snack on in order to have something to do. “She’s never hurt her ankle before, so it’ll heal up fast. Master Fu wrapped it up for her, after all— her uncle wouldn’t lie, would he?”

Both kwamis nod in agreement.

“I feel like this is all my fault,” The little mouse makes a face. “I should’ve helped her today, I shouldn’t have been quiet the entire time. Maybe things wouldn’t have gotten this bad. Maybe I could’ve told her she was taking the wrong bag— or maybe I could’ve remembered to plug in her phone. I fell asleep watching videos on mermaid history, I’m pretty sure— I don’t think the videos were worth her twisting her foot.”

Sometimes kwami and holder are really alike, huh? Even the face that Mullo makes is so reminiscent of Marinette, it’s incredible— he tries his best not to smile lovingly but can’t help himself. “It isn’t your fault at all, Mullo. There’s no point in thinking about what you should’ve done— all of it has already happened. It’s okay.”

“She’s never gotten injured like this before for as long as I’ve known her— and you said earlier that she hasn’t torn any muscles since I was given to Luka. Her ankle will heal before you know it.” Sass is quick to pet his friend’s arm. “But until then, she definitely won’t be able to act should an Akuma arrive.”

The room goes silent again as the three of them settle back into what they were doing. Sass is curled up, of course, enjoying the luxury of the little doll chair that is stuffed to the brim with cotton and sewn expertly shut. The dollhouse furniture looks well-loved, though— he’s under the assumption that Marinette most likely bought second-hand miniature sets for Mullo to play house in when she had first been given the mouse miraculous. There’s no dollhouse in sight around anymore, but the bookcase near Marinette’s bed still has two cubbies empty in favor of a little curtain pulled open to reveal two fake little rooms.

There’s a little closet rack full of little clothes. There are hats lined up against the bookshelf wall with two slits on the sides to make space for Mullo’s ears. There’s a doll bed with a blanket and a cushion— there’s a couch and potted plants all made out of felted material in order to decorate the space. A rug, too, underneath all the furniture.

All of these little trinkets and toys, so loved and cared for by a young girl and the love she has for her mouse— now something cherished by a young woman. “You know, I’ve always wanted to ask— how long have you two known her?”

“The Cheng family has always kept the miraculouses safe,” Mullo bites into another blueberry. “We’ve been passed down for generations.”

“Well, usually. Master Fu is the guardian right now, but he’s making sure that Marinette is the next guardian.”

“I know that, yes— but I meant Marinette specifically. How long have you two known Marinette?” He turns to her, wondering if she’s in any pain. The inflammatories must be working well in her system because there’s nothing on her face that indicates that her foot’s been wrapped and bandaged to stay still.

“We’ve known her ever since she was little. About eight years old, maybe? All of the kwamis loved playing house with her— the little princess was always so sweet and lovable. Growing up an only child was really lonely for her, so we played with her whenever we could.” The dollhouse furniture makes a lot more sense now. “You name it, we played it. Hide and seek, dollhouse, tea time, dress up— princess and the knight, too.”

Of course Marinette would’ve made them little clothes, how could she have resisted? The idea is adorable.

“Kaalki would frequently run away from Master Fu’s place in order to come play with her. Who could blame him? I for one loved it when it was tea time. Princess always made deviled eggs, just for me.” Sass slips his eyes shut to sleep. He always gets tired after eating his share of eggs following an Akuma attack— Luka’s thankful he works at a bakery, where eggs are plenty.

Sass is out like a light.

Mullo giggles to herself, holding a giant blueberry between her two paws, turning to him in her little chair, speaking as quietly as possible. Marinette may be asleep for longer, but Sass’s hearing is always so sensitive— they don’t want to wake either of them up. “I just ended up being the lucky one that got to stay with her. All of the other kwamis were really upset when they heard that I was her permanent friend— especially Kaalki. They all loved playing with her. We’re sure that Plagg and Tikki will love her, once we find them again.”

So much history between Marinette and the kwamis. No wonder Sass was so happy when they’d finally revealed their identities to one another. “Hey, Mullo— how come she didn’t tell me about her ankle?”

“She didn’t want to worry you.” Mullo replies in her soft, tiny voice. “You both needed to focus on the Akuma first.”

But in the end, she’d hurt herself. What he wouldn’t give to second-chance her ankle back to normal— but it’s been hours, not minutes, since it happened.

He takes his time eating the handful he’s picked from Mullo’s basket. The blueberry is sweet in his mouth, and tasteful, and something quiet to do while he looks at Marinette’s sleeping form. She’s working herself too hard, isn’t she? Trying to keep up with all the things at university— and trying to keep up with everything at home— and definitely trying to keep up with Akumas on top of it all. They haven’t technically even been on dates together, if that’s something she even wants, because her life is so full. It’s commendable, but watching the girl of his dreams get pulled in all different directions makes him understand entirely why a multitasking miraculous is the perfect one for her.

“You should rest, Luka. It’s getting really late.”

“I don’t know if I should— I don’t want to accidentally wake her up.”

“She’ll be more upset if she wakes up and you’re not in bed with her,” Mullo argues. He smiles, because he can’t help the humor at the sincerity of her words. “You should join her.”

He’d have to take off his jeans, and go pawing for one of his shirts she’s stolen from his room in order to not get flour all over her bed, but it’s doable. Her parents already know he’s up here, after all— he’s said he was going to check up on her once his shift ended. Her parents had let him go without barely any warning gaze— in fact, Mrs. Cheng had implored him to spend the night and make sure Marinette didn’t attempt to run off, in case another Akuma were to pop up.

They trust that he’s a good person and will actually stop her from leaving the house. And he doesn’t want to disappoint.

The last thing he wants to do is go back home and listen to the absolute earful he’ll be getting from his mom about using the Liberty as bait, so he’s going to camp out in Marinette’s room after sending about a billion and one heart emojis to Juleka, hoping she’ll try to keep their mom out of trouble.

Maybe it’d been a bad idea to tell his family about his identity— just his family in general. It’s safer this way, now that his family knows, so there won’t be any nasty revelations down the line and his family won’t turn into Akumas (and if he has to fight Reflekta or Captain Hardrock any more times in his life, he’s going to quit) but now there’s the added bonus of his mom knows why he disappears all the time.

So.

Heart emojis sent to Juleka it is.

“And what about you? Won’t you be going to bed?”

“I’m still hungry, so I need to dip downstairs and get some more food, if that’s okay. Or, better yet— do you want me to take Sass downstairs with me when I go?”

He raises a brow. Surely she doesn’t mean to imply… “She’s— Marinette— come on, Mullo. She’s injured.”

“I’m not sure she needs her ankle for that!”

This doesn’t top the weirdest conversation he’s ever had, but this is definitely up there. “And she’s asleep— I’m not comfortable with the idea.”

“She’ll wake up soon. You should ask her then, obviously.”

“Mullo.”

“You’re two aren’t our first holders, you know, we’ve done this so many times before.” Mullo giggles behind a paw. “So, do you want privacy? If you don’t, I’ll stay right here. Mari likes to tell us that we’re as scary as actual dolls, sometimes, with our beady little eyes.”

No one has to tell him that. He learned the hard way when he’d woken up the first time with Sass looking straight at him. Beady little eyes indeed— it’d scared him shitless and almost caused him to scream at a bleary five in the morning. Sass is a terrifying little creature when he wants to be.

“Maybe it’s a good idea to give us a bit of time.” He tries not to blush when Mullo tilts her head in acknowledgment. “I don’t think she wants anything except sleep, but, who knows.”

“We’ll give you all the time you two need,” The little mouse nods. She grabs Sass’s sleeping form by a paw, taking one last bite out of the remaining blueberry, before the two of them phase through the floorboards down below. Sometimes kwamis are weird little creatures with all of their powers, honestly— he’s gotten used to Sass appearing out of thin air in his attempts to scare him, but it’s always so concerning to see it happen without that context.

He lifts himself up from the floor, peeling open some of her drawers in search of one of his shirts. She’d taken his pleading to heart, and now has a steady collection of his clothes starting to grow and multiply in her closet— he’s running out of his own clothes, honestly, but he can’t say no when she smiles at him like she always does before squirreling away a new shirt into her bag when she wants to keep a piece of him with her.

He should probably take some of these shirts home with him, though. If the point was for her to smell like him, well, he should probably make it happen.

He folds his shirt and jeans. Marinette doesn’t have piles of clothes everywhere unlike him, so he makes the executive decision to stack his clothes on her desk chair. By the time he’s going back up the ladder over to her bed, Marinette’s shifted onto her side, facing him— she wakes up the moment he tries to shimmy his way under the covers with her.

“Oh. Hi.”

“Hi.” She has pieces of her hair catching in her eyelashes— he brushes it away, shifting closer to her. Her entire bed smells of faint traces of lavender, what a nice scent. “How are you feeling, Mousey?”

“A lot better,” She’s quick to smile, even as she’s groggy from sleep. Adorable. “Probably because of the amount of pain killers I’m on right now, though.”

He laughs. “Master Fu told me you don’t usually take painkillers. You must just completely relax under it, then, since your body isn’t used to it.”

“I don’t think I tore anything, did I?”

“No, I don’t think so. Your uncle said you’re fine, after all, but you should just stay out of commission for this week until you can put weight on that foot again.”

She looks so disappointed. “Where’s Lolo?”

“Downstairs. She’s probably eating through your entire pantry at the moment.”

“And Sass?”

“Went with her. Mullo took him to give us privacy. Are you okay?”

He should’ve known better than to relax his guard around her. The moment he’s completely at ease in bed, she grabs for him, pulling him so close to her that they’re perfect puzzle pieces. “How is it that I can sling myself across rooftops for years, day and night, but I can’t even walk in a straight line once I’m out of my suit?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mousey. That’s not good for you.”

“I wish I wasn’t such a klutz.”

“You’re not.” He kisses the top of her head as a punctuation of his words. “You just had a bad day, that’s all.”

“One of the worsts in a while,” She nods into his— hers?— shirt. “Luka? Could you make it better for me?”

He laughs. “And you call me the insatiable one, little mouse.”

Her eyes sparkle. “Who was the one that jumped me when I was going to go shower after my pool trip with my friends? One look at me in a towel and suddenly my boyfriend’s hands are all on me— sounds pretty insatiable, if you ask me.”

How can she blame him? She has such soft and delicate skin. Everywhere.

He loves touching and feeling her up whenever she lets him and asks him to. Not to even mention her ass— god— he could write so many songs just about it— he likes biting her everywhere he can, and he’s sure he’d done exactly that while sneaking his way into her shower box. Marinette always takes to bruising really well when it comes to him teething at her, she blossoms into hickies whenever he has his mouth on her. Not to even mention just how excited and turned on she was when he’d finally fingered her to completion.

“I don’t believe you were complaining, were you? Besides, I was just giving my girlfriend what she likes the most.”

She snorts and giggles. “And what is that?”

“Word is around here that she really likes Viperion. Has lots of fantasies about him— and, hey, I’m a pretty understanding guy. If my girlfriend wants to call out his name instead of mine, I get it.” He loves it when she laughs this hard— it’s always so much better to hear her laugh than it is to hear her stay quiet and in her thoughts. “It’s a good thing he likes helping out, too. The guy’s taken a real liking to my girlfriend, even though I’ve heard that him and Multimouse are a thing.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She smiles against his mouth. She’s feeling a lot better now, he can tell, because her hands disappear under his— seriously, hers?— shirt, teasing all of the skin available to her. Her fingers are ticklish against his chest and abs— she’s just as handsy as he is, most of the time.

“Insatiable,” He kisses her before pulling down the covers.

Her sleepshirt is soft and stretchy in his hands, and it’s easy to pull it up enough so he can kiss her stomach and hip at the waistband of her panties. He’s careful with her leg, of course— he doesn’t want to move it, just to make sure the wraps on her ankle don’t come undone by accident. He helps her out of her underwear slowly and gently, pulling the cute panties off so he can get her completely bare.

Such cute underwear. But then again, he’s always a little biased to anything green or blue— and the mint green color is adorable on her pale skin. The cut is cute, too— he doesn’t know enough about women’s underwear styles, but these are a lot cuter on her than he’d imagined. They rest just at her hip, with a pretty little scalloped edge that is just a smidge too Marinette for him to reasonably handle.

But he likes her better naked, of course.

“You’re already this wet?”

“Don’t tease, Luka.” Her hands disappear under her shirt. He doesn’t get to exactly see what she does underneath with her fingers, but it doesn’t take much brainpower to recognize the arching of her back like she always gets whenever he’s pinching at her nipples.

He follows the line she’s made with her body with an appreciating gaze, kissing up and down her thigh so slowly that she makes a frustrated noise. “Awh, don’t be like that, Mousey. Tell me why you’ve soaked through your underwear, I’m curious.”

She groans. “I thought of you the entire time I was in that stupid subway.”

Oh, did she? “No wonder you’ve been so tense today.”

She makes eye contact with him after a little flinch and a little exhale— she must’ve pinched herself just enough to make it count. “I was thinking about what you did to me in the shower. You’re such a glutton, Vai.”

He grins at her. Oh, he loves it when she calls him that. “I’m not so sure about that.”

And gives her what she needs.

He takes his time licking between her legs, even though she’s wet enough that it wouldn’t take much effort at all to slip his fingers into her. He likes this part, personally, even to the point where he shifts his hips down into the mattress to alleviate some of the pressure building at the base of his spine, starting to get desperate himself. It’s always so satisfying to go down on her— the noises she makes are always so attractive, and he loves making her come without much regard to himself. Marinette isn’t loud when she vocalizes her likes and dislikes, but not because she doesn’t want to be— she always hides her mouth behind her hands— and it always feels like a contest.

Today is no exception.

Her ribs heave under her shirt as he licks and licks, swirling his tongue at the place she loves the most. Her sighs are soft and sweet, even as he pulls her good leg up and over his shoulder, burying his face into her cunt as she makes a noise halfway between an exhale and a laugh.

“Who’s the glutton now?”

He makes a humming noise, not exactly interested in answering her question— he’s more in favor of showing. He’s glad to help, after all— pulling noise after noise from her when he licks his way into her, digging his tongue in as far as he can possibly reach. Her hips lift, using his shoulder as an anchor, and she moans— but still, again, it’s so soft and nearly quiet like she doesn’t want anyone to know what they’re up to. Always so considerate of others.

Cute.

By the time he’s got two fingers dipping into her, she’s wound up tight already. He can tell by the way she twitches, how she bites the fleshy part of her thumb— and how she bites harder when he uses his free hand to cup her ass and give her a squeeze. Soft. Soft soft soft.

God, so deliciously soft.

“Luka,” She whispers, trying her absolute hardest to stay quiet as he curls his fingers into her. Her free hand makes it to his hair, brushing it back so sweetly— she’s more cuddly this way, than an actual sexual deviant, like she’s desperate for reassurance. “Please please please?”

He loves it when she starts to beg for more and asks for more physical touch whenever he makes a home between her legs.

“Easy, Mousinette. Take a breath,” He kisses her thighs, liking the way how her thighs get sticky and messy with it. She sucks in a breath at his suggestion, looking at him with her hazy, pretty eyes. “You’re almost there, aren’t you?”

“Yes—” She cuts herself off with a particular sigh that makes him piston his fingers more into her. She reaches down with the hand that was in his hair, gesturing for his hand underneath her to join her. “Could you— oh— please—”

“There you go. That’s it. Come whenever you want, baby girl.” He intertwines his fingers and clasps hands with hers, giving her one last swirl and flattening of his tongue, before he feels her start to come on his fingers.

“Luka—” He doesn’t let up once he recognizes the exhale, or the squirming— especially not when he feels the attractive fluttering of her walls. She squeezes and squeezes, milking his fingers desperately.

He can deal with his erection later. For now, he slowly eases his fingers out of her, and kisses her thigh again when she complains about the loss of his hand between her legs. “How are you feeling, Mousey? Better?”

“Always am when I’m with you. Sex or no sex.” And— oh— if he wasn’t so desperately hard in his boxers, he’d fall in love with her on the spot all over again. She’s always so honest with him— it’s always such a shock, even when he knows that’s just how her personality is. He watches her eyelids struggle to keep open, even as she raises her hands up in an attempt to coerce him to bed— barely clothed, with a sleep shirt that covers nothing except her chest and her shoulders at this point. “Come cuddle? ‘M tired. I want my boyfriend.”

“Probably not a good idea. I’m going to end up dry humping you— I’m so fucking horny.”

“Vai…” It’s so heartbreakingly cute that she tries to be stern even while falling asleep. “Cursing.”

“Sorry,” He laughs, gesturing to himself even though she’s not really looking at him. “I’ll be right back. I should probably go take care of my di— uhm, I mean, this— in your bathroom, and wash my hands too.”

Her face unpinches. “But what about cuddling?”

“I will after I clean you up,” He kisses the lines of her abs— pulling her shirt down enough to get comfortable. “If you fall asleep can I still towel you off? You know I don’t like it when you’re left messy.”

“Always take good care of me.” She mumbles, completely oblivious to the way he hides his steaming face behind his hands. She nods a confirmation, patting the spot next to her. “And then after cleaning come cuddle. Please.”

By the time he’s made himself orgasm while thinking of her, and washed his hands clean of her, and made sure that she’s no longer sticky between the legs— Marinette is still bravely putting up a fight with sleep. He helps her put on some new underwear, making sure that she doesn’t move her ankle as much when he does it— but he’s completely caught by surprise when she pulls him in for a hug— and, honestly— he should know better by now.

He loves it, though.

So much.

AO3 | Start Here To Read The Whole 'Out of The Closet' Series! | Previous Fic in Series | Next Fic in Series

[fragileizywriting]

Multimouse Main AU Pairing: Snake!Luka x Mouse!Marinette Entire series written for: @keentrigger Rating: E Words: 26k for Locker Talk 10k for Bad Day Blues 4k for Pork Buns 7k for Sweet-and-Sourdough Heart

Multimouse and Viperion have been fighting Akumas since they were in their early teens. Viperion is the city's silent guardian and silent knight— Multimouse is the city's perfect princess— which is completely and totally opposite from their real personalities. They also have crushes on each other, oblivious to each other's struggles— that is, of course, until they both hide in a broom closet together, trying to escape from an Akuma.

Locker Talk (Completed): Read on AO3 | Read on Tumblr

Bad Day Blues (Completed): Read on AO3 | Read on Tumblr

Pork Buns (Completed): Read on AO3 | Read on Tumblr

Sweet-and-Sourdough Heart (Completed): Read on AO3 | Read on Tumblr

[fragileizywriting]

Work in progress! Here's a snippet of the next fic Save The Date (in order to celebrate getting 6k hits on this AU!) as always, a read-more whenever I post for this AU because it's always indulgent!

“Lolo?” Her head snaps back up when she finally registers what she’s looking at, tossing her towel onto her desk chair as she weaves around furniture to get to her clothes she’s separated out. She’s full of giddiness, and excitement— as well as confusion, staring down a scrap of fabric with the word sweetheart stitched onto it. “What is this?”

“You don’t have time, Princess, you gotta put on your clothes! You’re already late as it is. Luka’s gonna be here any moment for your date!”

“I’ll get ready as soon as you tell me what this”—she waves it around, gesturing like a crazed woman—“is doing on top of the outfit I picked out yesterday?”

“Do you not like it?” Mullo hums, taking a small little paw up to her chin to tap. “I thought you would like it. It’s your favorite color!”

“My favorite color is pink, Lolo,” she doesn’t have time for this! “Not blue!”

“That’s not true. You said last week you love Luka’s hair color.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s—okay, focus. Lolo, could you tell me where you even found this? Oh gooseberries it even has the tag on it! This is so expensive! Where did you get this?”

“The lingerie store,” Mullo replies with a face that reads she’s amazed that Marinette is even asking such a dumb question, “try it on! It’s your size, too, we made sure of it.”

“W— hold on— we?”

“Uhm.”

“Lolo! How did you buy this?”

“Your card?”

“I meant how. You went to the store? Physically?”

“Well— uhm. Yes…?” Mullo sits on top of the neat pile of clothes as Marinette continues to panic. “Trixx and I went.”

Oh gooseberries!

“You made an illusion of myself in order to buy me a bra with a matching thong?”Marinette groans. “I don’t even wear thongs! I’ve never had one in my life—”

“—It’s a gift! It’s your first one, right? Think of it as a thank you!”

“Lolo!”

“I think Luka would like it a lot,” Mullo gives a little smile, “it’d be a nice surprise when you two finish your date, right? Come on, hurry! He’s going to knock on the front door before you know it, Princess, and you still have to do your hair.”

She waffles between the two options in front of her, trying her best not to waver. Stick with what she knows? Hipsters and boyshorts? Or try something new? Luka would like it, after all… and it is in his favorite color.

She snips the tag off with her fabric scissors, pointedly ignoring the way Mullo cheers.

Oh, gooseberries.

[fragileizywriting]

WIP WEDNESDAY? WIP WEDNESDAY! Here's something I've been working on for my Out of the Closet AU! (insert read more for privacy because this AU is nothing but indulgent sin)

“I hope there will be. I’ve been dreaming of this moment for years,” Viperion grins to the cameras as Multimouse struggles to feel anything below her knees. There’s something liquid buzzing in her system that makes her sag against the loveseat, trying to maintain composure, trying not to wince at the way the bullet stops vibrating inside of her and makes it all the more apparent to her how absolutely damp she feels in her hexleather.

There will not be enough blueberries in the world to get Mullo to not laugh at her.

She feels herself drifting.

The rest of the interview is a blur for her, even as she responds to questions and continues to look sentient and conscious, but she’s only truly focused on the way Viperion’s thumb drags across the back of her hand. And even though she can’t feel it because of the hexleather, it’s enough to keep her body wanting more.