Chapter Text
Ladybug swung through the window of her new apartment, cracking into the still-unfamiliar sill with her knee. Reflexes dulled after a hard night, her body jerked violently at the impact, which would have been fine except that the vanilla schnapps in her non-yoyo hand tipped, sloshing out most of what little remained in the bottle.
“Gah-shiddin-fehkhg,” came the slurred curse, her distress more at the waste of alcohol than any pain. The Ladybug suit was magic, after all. Too bad it couldn’t help her hangover. Or maybe…? Nah. There was no way Tikki would approve of Marinette’s current state of shitfacery. Ugh. Lectures from tiny gods were the worst.
But! A groggy light bulb went off above her head. Tikki was always concerned about Marinette getting her eight hours. If she fell asleep transformed, Tikki probably wouldn’t rouse her just to scold her. Hahaaaaa. Loophole, sucka. With very little further ado, Ladybug stumbled over to the crappy, new-to-her, dorm-issued bed and flopped unceremoniously onto it.
Only to leap back in surprise when she landed on a lump of blankets that had way too many arms and legs.
“Whah?” the lump mumbled. A tangle of blonde hair emerged from the covers, followed by eyes that promptly flung wide in shock. Probably at the sight of a superhero sprawled on the floor rubbing her ass, but honestly, who could say. “Ladybug?! How— what, uh, I mean, uh…”
Oh, snap. She hadn’t realized she’d gotten fucked up enough for hallucinations. She pulled herself together enough to sit back on the bed, blinking as a lamp came on. “Holy shit.” Nice one, drunk brain. “Gotta say, not my number-one choice, but not bad.” Wink. “Not bad at all.”
“Wha-aaat?” the intruder squinted. Oh, wow. So that’s what bedroom eyes look like.
“Well, I mean, obviously this is a dream.” And given who her brain had conjured up, probably a naughty dream at that. Which seemed like her first stroke of good luck all evening, so she’d take it. Him. Both of the things.
“Ladybug?”
Oh, right. Imaginary boy talking, mustn’t be rude. In her defense, it was kinda hard to focus, what with her blood alcohol level and all. “Sorry, what was that?”
“I… okay, nevermind, just— what makes you think this is a dream?”
“You mean besides finding Parisian it-boy and supermodel Adrien Agreste in my bed?” Her balance faltered, but she played it off, swaying towards him and fluttering her lashes in a probably-good-enough facsimile of sexiness.
“Your bed?”
For a figment of her subconscious, he sure did ask a lot of questions. She aimed a flirty boop towards his nose and ended up poking him in the cheek. “Silly heartthrob, this is my apartment.”
“Uh… Ladybug? It’s really not.”
“Sure seems like it.” Standard-issue dorm layout, built-in bookshelves, computer desk, stack of moving boxes. Maybe a few things were out of place (but really, nobody could remember where anything wound up on move-in day.)
He sat up straighter. “No! I just haven’t unpacked everything yet.”
She rolled her eyes and scanned the room. “That’s my Jagged Stone poster.”
“I like Jagged Stone,” he defended.
She waved towards the TV stand. “My copy of Ultimate Mecha Strike III.”
“Lots of people—”
“And do lots of people have a framed selfie of Chat Noir and Ladybug too?”
“Probab—”
She pointed to his chest in triumph. “My Ladybug pajamas.”
He spluttered. “They don’t sell them in men’s sizes!”
“They don’t even sell them in women’s sizes!” she countered. “But at least I can fit into a children’s XL.” She took a minute to appreciate his biceps in the tight red shirt. Thank you, horny drunk brain.
“Huh?”
Oh crap, she’d said that out loud.
“Besides!” she rushed on, “the window’s open.” There’d been a floor meeting about how all the building’s windows were sealed shut due to some fire safety thing, not that anyone had factored superhero strength into those plans, so even if by some ridiculous coincidence she did live in the same housing complex as Adrien I-can-afford-a-penthouse Agreste, hers would still be the only open window.
“But—”
She moved the finger that was still pushing at his cheek and pressed it to his pretty, pretty lips. This fantasy had gotten really conversation-heavy, and she was wasting valuable REM time. “Listen, hot stuff, do you want to talk about whose place this is, or do you want to not talk?” She waggled her eyebrows just in case he didn’t get the picture. “You know?” Wink. “Wink?”
“Did you just— mmmph!”
Gentle hands grasped her shoulders, prying her off before she could deepen the kiss. “Ladybug.” He hung his head with a sigh. “LB, you’re drunk.”
“I’m not that drunk,” she huffed. Wasn’t he here for dream sex? What was so wrong with her? Last she checked she was still a fucking superhero.
“You taste like a distillery.”
“And you’re kinda picky for someone who’s not even real,” she shot back. Then her actions registered, and a familiar prickling in her eyes turned into an onslaught of tears. “Oh god, I’m a jerk.”
“What? No!” He started rubbing soothing circles into her upper arm. “No, why would you say that?”
“Because! I can’t just assume that because you’re a hot guy and you’re in my bed and this is a sex dream that you want me to kiss you! I’m such a creep!”
“Aw, Ladybug, you’re just… it’s late, and you’ve been drinking, and—”
“I’m a bad person!” she sobbed.
“No! You just don’t have your usual filters at the moment, that’s all, right?” His fingers fidgeted, torn between pulling her close and staying on their comfy shoulder-perch.
She tipped forward, rubbing her sniffles into his chest. “I sexually harassed you! I’m a sexual harasser!”
“Shhh, hey, shhh…” He settled a hand on the back of her head, petting in calm strokes down the side of her neck. “Look, I would love for you to kiss me if you were sober.”
She pulled back a fraction, blinking wetly. “Really?”
“Really.”
“I didn’t nonconsent you?”
His face scrunched up on one side. “I mean…?”
“Oh, god! ” Sobs turned into full-out wails as her forehead thunked back into his shirt.
“Ah, fuck.” His arms tightened around her as she cried it out, murmuring soft reassurances in her ear and combing through her hair with his fingers. Once the waterworks had dissipated to a manageable level, he carefully sat her up and brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “Want me to make some tea?”
She hiccuped, searching her brain to remember if she’d unpacked her electric kettle yet. After a beat, Adrien flushed and started to scratch the back of his neck. “Or um, I could bring you some water? Gatorade?” His eyes darted to the bottle of schnapps laying in a puddle on the floor. “You should try to stay hydrated.”
She peered at him in mild distrust. “This is a really weird dream, I hope you know.”
“That’s because it’s not,” he chuckled. “But I’m still happy to take care of you.”
“Whatever you say, Dreamdrien… Wait." She could do better. "Adream Agreste."
“Hey, you punned!” He grinned impishly, proud for some reason. “So… if you’re sleeping right now, does that mean you’re getting some beauty Agreste?”
A grimace twisted her mouth. “I tried getting some, you dork.” She slumped at the reminder of how he’d shot her down. “And why are you channelling Chat Noir? Is everyone gonna act like him today?” What the hell, drunk brain.
“Oh…” Adrien went quiet, guilt flashing over his face, which number one, made no sense, and B, ticked her off.
“Yeah, oh. Anything you want to ask?”
“Did…” He cleared his throat. “Did something happen with your partner?”
“No.” She let out a long breath. “Not really.” She pressed a hand to her stomach just as it burbled. “Man, a baguette would be really good right now. And some ham. Anything, really, to soak up the booze.” Adrien scrabbled over to his desk and came back with a power bar, some weird brand her parents must’ve snuck into her snack stash. “Thanks, I’m starving. Oh, guh. Hold on. Okay, maybe it’s just—”
One and a half burps later, she felt good enough to continue. “So earlier this guy, he helped me move a few boxes in, and he seemed nice, you know? Not like a Nice Guy,” she tipped an invisible fedora, “a regular nice guy. And we were talking about art, and I thought, ‘Oh, good! A cool neighbor, that’s good!’ But, noooo, of course not…” Rambling, Marinette. Apparently that particular bad habit followed her even into her dreams. “This guy Theo, you won’t believe how he tries to pick up girls.”
Adrien’s brow furrowed, but he tilted his head in silent encouragement.
She leaned forward and waved an imaginary coffee cup. “Can I tell you a secret, beautiful?” she smarmed, in a nasal imitation of Theo’s earlier line. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m Chat Noir… and I’d love to be the cat that gets your cream.”
“The hell he did,” breathed Adrien.
“Mm-hmm. Super gross,” she agreed, dimly noting how Adrien’s jaw had clenched. “I guess it’s not a huge surprise that someone’d impersonate us in order to get laid, and this fucking clownfish didn’t even look like Chat, plus, I know my kitty’d never treat his identity like a goddamn wingman. I know that.” She scrubbed at her face, muffling her next words. “But still, for like, two tenths of a second, I almost…” Her breath hitched. “Arrgh, people suck.”
“Ladybug.” Adrien’s fingers curled tentatively around hers. Oh sure, now he gets handsy. “Do you want to know who Chat Noir is?”
“You’re my subconscious,” she peeved, picking at the bedspread. “Shouldn’t you know?”
He swallowed. “Pretend I don’t.”
“Ugh, fuck!” She threw her hands up and glared. “You need me to say it? Of course I want to know who he is, I’m in love with him!”
“Wh— you— uh?” Adrien gaped at her, and honestly? She was fucking done. Because he looked downright flabbergasted, like it was so inconceivable, like— like just because she had to keep cool and composed in front of Chat, she couldn’t possibly have feelings for that selfless, brave, punny, sex-haired motherfucker. And Adrien kept staring, mouth like some terrible species of surprised blonde carp, and she felt her face heat up in annoyance, because yeah, she might be forced to lie to everyone else in the world, but damn if she was going to lie to herself.
“That’s right!” she exploded. “I’m head over heels for Chat Noir! I mean, how could anyone not be! Well, except the assholes he lives with, which, whoo boy, don’t get me started.” She barreled on, ignoring the statue Adrien had turned into. “But it doesn’t matter, because Hawkmoth is a butterfly-shaped pile of expired taco meat who would probably murder my entire family over a piece of fucking jewelry, so I can’t slip up for even a second.”
She jumped up and started to pace, arms flapping as she built up steam. “Anyway, when a huge dude in Supreme Court robes is throwing razor-sharp window blinds at you, there’s not exactly much time left for romance, you know?” Her nostrils flared. “I love being Ladybug, but sometimes? Seriously, fuck my life, because if I get distracted by my stupid crush and his stupid ass, millions of people could die !” Fists clenched imploringly at nothing. “I mean, God, it’s impossible. Do you know how tight Chat’s suit is?” She got in his face. “Do you?! ”
He squeaked out, “I, uh, might have some idea?”
She grabbed her pigtails with both hands and pulled, hard. “Just once, just one of these days I’d love to go, ‘Hey, Chaton, I know you think I don’t realize how much you like me, but I actually feel the same way, like really super hard, but it’s kinda killing me because as much as I want to push you against a chimney and try to count your abs with my mouth, my fucking earrings are beeping again!’”
She cut off suddenly, her harsh breaths the only sound in the room, and the energy drained out of her as quickly as it had come. “And now I’m talking to myself in the middle of the night. Yay me.” She sank back down onto the bed, leaning heavily into Adrien as his arm automatically rose to support her.
“Oh, my Lady,” he whispered. “I had no idea.”
“What are you talking about,” she grumbled, pushing her face into his sleeve. She was so tired. “By the way, your shirt’s covered in snot.”
“Bugaboo,” Adrien crooned, palming her cheek and lifting her face to meet his eyes. “Have you really been hiding your feelings from me all this time?”
“Ah,” she yawned. Well played, drunk brain. “I get it. You’re Chat Noir now?” As if she needed any more proof this was a dream. She dragged a hand limply through his hair and squished his chin with the other. “Alright, I could see it.” She snuggled into his neck and closed her eyes, just for a second. “Now will you make out with me?”
An airy laugh escaped his throat. “Still think this isn’t real, huh, Bug?”
“Don’t care anymore,” she mumbled, slipping further down the blankets and trying to tug him with her. “You’re warm.”
“And you still need to drink some water.” He nuzzled her forehead. “Just a second, okay?“
“Mmm,” she grunted, fresh past the point of coherence. She felt Adrien stand up and head towards the minifridge in the room. After a moment, he attempted to press a dewy bottle into her hand. “Nnn!” she whined.
“Come on, my Lady, just a couple sips.”
She groaned and lifted her head just enough for a few decent-sized swallows, before a trickle snuck down her neck.
“Fffff! Cold!” she groused sleepily, and rolled away in protest, burying her face in the pillow.
And instantly jolted upright. “What the fuck.” She swiped a hesitant hand across the slimy stuff now smeared on her cheek.
“Is that Camembert ?”
~o~