Work Text:
“Well, at least it stopped bleeding.”
“Exactly why I told you I should stay in the suit, my lady.”
“Yes, until Plagg is going to tear you a new one. You can’t just waltz into a fight while being injured!” Marinette sighs deeply, the damp towel pressed against Chat Noir’s back. “You should know better. He did tell you, didn’t he? The suit –”
“… can’t undo any kind of state the wearer was in prior to wearing it. I’m pawfully sorry.”
“Get out with your puns.” She glares, even though he can’t see it. It takes her way too much effort to lift the towel a bit, revealing torn leather and a deep slash, starting next to his left shoulder blade and winding its way down to his waist. Angrily red and swollen skin surrounds the injury. The sight alone makes her wince. The bleeding has stopped, and she carefully inspects the wound. “God, this looks painful. How are you feeling?”
“Purrfect.” He tries to sit upright, flinching as soon as he moves just a centimeter. “See. All good.”
She swallows gently. Glances down at her kwami. “My Lucky Charm could heal all the other slashes. Can’t we do anything about this one, too?”
“I’m sorry,” Tikki mumbles around her macaron. “If it wasn’t directly caused by the akuma, there’s nothing we can do.”
Marinette sighs. “’Rushing to my side’ is not a good excuse for getting yourself hurt, Chat.”
His shoulders tense. “I would never leave you alone willingly. Especially not during an akuma attack.”
She exchanges a look with her kwami. A beep rings through the sudden silence. Gently, she lets her hand brush his waist, drawing a soothing pattern over it. “You know how much I care for you, right?”
He doesn’t answer, shoulders still tense.
“You know how much it hurts me to see you hurt, right?”
He still doesn’t answer, and his lack of a response is accentuated by another beep, the final one. Marinette waits for the detransformation; for a torn leather suit to be replaced by a torn T-shirt, dried blood having colored it almost black in parts. The bright green light stings in her eyes for a moment before cat ears have vanished for good.
“How dare you?” another voice hisses.
Maybe not her place to be privy to this conversation. Marinette exchanges another look with Tikki before sliding to the edge of the bed, slowly and carefully getting up.
“Plagg,” Adrien returns tiredly. “Sorry. I know you said –”
“It told you to take care of that wound first! You were almost hit by a freaking steel beam, kiddo! Just, what the hell!”
“I know. I’m sorry, it’s just –”
“You should be an adult, and you’re acting like some dumb teenager! No wonder you two still can’t control when to detransform!”
“Hey,” Marinette mumbles under her breath, but Tikki’s gesturing calms her down until she leaves the room. Despite her protective instincts, she closes the door behind her. Then she crouches, back leaned against the door. Plagg’s muffled voice reaches her. His need to reproach Adrien is understandable, at least.
“I bet I’d react similarly,” Tikki offers as she lands on Marinette’s shoulder. “We care about you deeply, after all.”
“I care about him too,” Marinette mumbles. “And he’s an idiot.”
“An idiot who would run into a fight injured to protect you.”
“Is that concerning?”
Tikki gives a half-amused sound. “It’s sweet. I think.”
“It’s dumb. I need him for more than one fight.” She takes a breath. “I need him. I really do.”
Inside her room, the bickering goes on, and slight amusement blooms in her chest when she realizes she can’t hear a single word coming from Adrien. Serves him right, at least.
She goes to distract herself by entering the kitchen area. The fight has left her exhausted. Not physically, it never does; but her mind is still racing. Chat Noir got injured so badly that her body is still shaking. The wound carried over from his civilian self only made it worse.
Blood on black leather is hardly visible. It glitters darkly in sunlight, and it melts into the fabric on her deeply red suit. All because he was an idiot and had to catch an attack that was meant for her. There’s only the occasional akuma that can cut through their suits’ magic, but exactly those are the scariest.
It’s not the first time this happened. And that fact alone makes it all the more terrifying.
Tikki is watching her as she chops vegetables. The knife flies down. The end of the carrot rolls over the kitchen counter, comes to a tentative hold. With a trained hand, Marinette turns the carrot, letting the knife rush down once again. A loud thump as metal meets the wooden chopping board. She’ll need to peel the skin off. She wishes she could keep mindlessly going at it, slashing the carrot into pieces. Like that akumatized villain did to Chat Noir. With a cold laugh, and with cold eyes. She grits her teeth. Fingers cramping around the knife. Blood turns dark when it drops down to the pavement, and it’s only bright red when it’s smeared over pale skin.
“Marinette?” she hears Adrien’s voice.
Her grip on the knife loosens. She looks over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“I think I’ll need another shirt.”
“Sure! Sure. I washed some of yours.” Something holds her in place. Doesn’t let her get away from the spot. “Tikki, could you …?”
With a concerned look, Tikki nods and floats away. Marinette turns to her chopping board once more, realizing she cut off way more of the carrot than she needed to. She takes a breath, another one. “I’m making dinner,” she continues, strictly staring at the blurry sight before her. “I hope you’re in the mood for sweet potato curry.”
“I’ll help you. Just give me a minute.” The sound of steps.
Marinette pulls herself together. Swallows several times. Of course he’ll help. He always does. She’s such a loser, god. Wiping her cheeks, she searches for the onions, hands shaking slightly as she starts peeling it. Cutting it in half. Cutting it into little tiny pieces. At least the sting in her eyes really hurts this time, and she sniffles lightly as she keeps chopping up the onion. Until a voice joins her once again.
“So, Plagg is finished with his lengthy homily.”
“I’m glad,” she brings out.
“Tikki told me she’d do her best to – oh. Hey. Are you crying?” A warm arm touching hers, and she is wiping onion pieces from the knife as a finger on her chin gently guides her to look at him. A sprinkle of amusement in green eyes. “Onions? Those fiends.”
“They sure are.” She sniffles again. “How are you feeling?”
“Just a flesh wound.”
“Ha ha. Don’t joke about this.” She can’t even touch him, seeing as the onion’s juices are still sticking to her fingers, so she settles on a stern look. “How are you going to explain that wound to your agents?”
Adrien shrugs. The gesture makes him wince instantly. “Tripped and fell,” he brings out as he tries to rearrange his face into an easygoing mask.
She hates it.
“Don’t ever do that again,” she says, holding his eyes.
“I will always try to protect you.”
“Adrien –”
His finger slides down. The loss of contact almost hurts. His face is so close, and god, the thought of having him in so much pain – the thought of losing him – her heart clenches so painfully she feels her eyes sting once again.
“My lady, you mean the world to me and nothing less.” A somber expression, a husky voice. “I will always try to protect you, no matter what it takes.”
She wants to shake her head. It’s almost too much. There are so many profound words lying on her tongue, but they all get stuck in her throat, and none of it will leave her lips. Not even as he clears his throat, averting his gaze for a second too long. Because he means the world to her, too. He does, yet she doesn’t find the words to tell him.
“Go and sit,” she instead tells him. “You need to rest.”
“And let these cruel onions make you cry? Over my dead body.”
She knows the words were meant as a joke, but they still make her flinch. At the reaction, Adrien’s face falls a bit, and he tilts his head down as if trying to make himself appear smaller.
“Too soon?”
“Too soon.”
“All right. I’m sorry. Then I’ll let myself be spoiled.” He sheepishly smiles one last time at her before turning away. She watches him. At how he’s moving with caution. A kind of caution that only someone freshly injured and feeling the consequences would show. She disinfected the wound, inspected it for any dirt and other foreign objects, watched as swollen flesh turned white under too much pressure, heard him hold in a pained hiss, and damn it, god damn it –
She turns back to her chopping board, letting her knife fly down onto another onion.
She feels watched, but she doesn’t really care. As long as it’s only Adrien, there should be nothing to be embarrassed about. Not the tears still collecting in the corners of her eyes. Not her concern turning to anger at his mindless antics. She needs a safe ground, she needs to catch herself, and so she keeps talking.
“You should be glad Alya isn’t home. She would have grilled you for hours on end on what you’re doing here that late in this state.”
The answer comes after some seconds of silence. “She also had a broken finger once. You remember? Tenth grade, the summer festival.”
“Yes, but not because she ran into a fight.”
“She always runs into fights. Even now.”
That, she can’t argue with. One last slice, and the second onion is ready. At least the tears have dried. She reaches for a sweet potato, trying to peel it with her nervous fingers. “I never had to see an injury like yours on her, though.”
No answer. She doesn’t really need one. The knife slides from the hard skin of the potato twice. Cursing under her breath, she tries another time. She didn’t even notice steps behind her. Not until a hand closes around hers, the warmth of a body behind her caging her in.
“And with how you’re acting,” she hears his voice close to her ear, “you’ll be the next one with a wound that won’t stop bleeding. Let me?”
At least he can’t see her face. Reluctantly, she lets go of both the potato and the knife. Watching as Adrien peels it with skilled hands, still standing behind her. Arms surrounding her. Showing her that he’s here. That he isn’t going to leave. That she isn’t going to lose him. She wants to lean into him, but doesn’t dare to. His cheek is pressed against her temple, and she feels his heartbeat as he slices off the last little patches of potato skin.
“Sure you don’t need my help?” he says, sounding just a little bit teasing.
“Yes. I need you to rest.”
“Okay. I will.”
He puts the items in his hands down. He puts his hands on her shoulders. Just a few seconds. Just his breath breaking over her scalp, making goosebumps rise on her skin. Just something that could be a fleeting kiss pressed to the crown of her hair, or a little touch that doesn’t have to mean anything. Then he moves away.
Her heart is beating so loudly he must surely be able to hear it.
“Take off your shirt.”
Adrien looks at her. “Very forward, my lady.”
She raises an eyebrow at him, shaking the tube of gel in her hands. “I got this from a pharmacy just for you, and yes, I’m going to use it. So, off with your shirt.”
“I gotta admit, you’re making me just a bit nervous with your demands.”
She is pretty sure it was only a joke. Still, there is some slight unease in his eyes when he reaches for the hem of his shirt. For a moment, Marinette wonders if she crossed an unspoken line. But then, he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing a body that gets her breath stuck in her throat.
But this is something professional, and she won’t let any kind of irrational feelings get into this. Just her making sure no scar will stay. Just her making sure to at least give something back.
“Come here,” she says, quickly averting her gaze from him and sitting down at the edge of her bed instead. “Sit down, kitten.”
“Won’t even leave me a choice, huh?”
“Pawsitive,” she mumbles half-heartedly, hearing him chuckle.
There is something way too tense about the atmosphere. Even as Adrien dutifully sits down in front of her, back turned to her. Even as she eyes the wound. Only two days. It isn’t that swollen anymore, but the skin around the slash is still red, and the scab having formed above it makes the injury look uglier than it really is. A wave of guilt hits her. She unscrews the tube’s top, squeezing some of the cool gel onto her fingers.
“Thank you,” she hears him say. “You didn’t have to.”
She bites the inside of her cheek for a second. “Who else would be able to treat the injury without asking questions?”
“Plagg?”
“Sure thing.”
His little laugh turns into a shuddering breath when the gel touches his skin. The reaction alone forms a knot in her stomach. Carefully, she starts massaging in the gel. Top of the injury to bottom, watching how his lungs expand in harder breaths.
“Hurts?” she asks quietly.
“No. No worries.”
She swallows, fingers tracing the slash down to his waist. “You’re shaking.”
“Not because of … Don’t worry.”
Marinette pauses. Her heart makes a hard jump. A frame broader than hers. Strong shoulders, not too little muscle and not too much. Pale birthmarks on tanned skin. She remembers what she is supposed to do, and her fingers are trembling when she resumes her actions. Circular motions, gentle touches, and he is still shaking slightly, and something inside her is shaking with him.
Being with him became easy after knowing what she knows now, and still – she always wondered. About his endearing words, about the softness he looked at her with, about that last step neither of them ever had the courage to take, and she suddenly doesn’t want to stop touching him. Because the question in her mind becomes pressing, overwhelming.
What would happen if she touched more than only his wound?
What would happen if she tried to show him how much he means to her?
The gel has set. Her fingers stay on warm skin. She slides closer, a tiny bit. Feels her breath catch in her throat. Hesitates longer and longer. Until she finally lets her hand wander from its previous path, instead following the invisible line Adrien’s birthmarks form. Down to the base of his spine, making him shiver so hard she swallows. Up to his waist, closer to his injury.
“My lady?”
His hesitant voice awakens her from her daze, and she quickly draws back her hand. “I’m – uh, I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s …” He falls silent again.
But neither of them moves.
She almost feels dizzy. A fleeting exhale escapes her. She musters all her courage, and it’s terrifying, and yet her hand twitches to touch him again. So she does. Bringing her palm to his waist, only something faint and soft.
“Is that …” She doesn’t even know how to ask, what to ask. All she knows is that it feels right to be that close to him. All she knows is that his body is warm and inviting, and her instincts scream for her to hold him, to be held by him. But words fail her, and she stays where she is, unmoving and weak.
“Are you counting my birthmarks?”
There’s something fragile to his words. There’s something she can hold onto, a silent question he never uttered, and Marinette feels her fingers grabbing him tighter. “Yeah,” she breathes. Her hand moves back to the base of his spine, tiny hair standing on end as she rakes a nail over his skin. Birthmark to birthmark, bottom to top, lingering on every single one of them. Sparing his injury. Until she arrives at his shoulder blades, finger stilling on the base of his neck. “Nine. I counted nine.”
And now? She doesn’t know. She’ll have to move away. She’ll have to say something. But before she can pluck up the courage, he is faster yet again.
“There’s a scar somewhere between my shoulders. Can you see it?”
“Really?” She removes her hand, looking for a tiny white spot. Finds it next to his left shoulder blade. “Oh. There. What happened?”
“You remember when I was absent from school for a week in eleventh grade? My father had one of my birthmarks removed. Didn’t fit his aesthetic, I guess.”
Spoken with such nonchalance, using such an easygoing tone. Sudden anger pulsates through Marinette’s veins. That man that shouldn’t even be called his father. That man she would like nothing more than to throttle with her own hands, hurting her kitten like that again and again. She can’t help herself as her thumb brushes the scar, lightly and carefully.
“Scar or not, birthmark or not. You’re still beautiful, kitten.”
She hears him exhale. She hears him laugh quietly. “Not as beautiful as you are.”
“Charming.” She attempted to sound teasing, but the word only escapes her in a faint whisper.
She just wouldn’t know what to do without him.
He went into it with no hesitation at all. He caught attacks that were meant for her without batting an eye. Like he always does. Making her feel like she matters, like she truly matters. She doesn’t know how to put it into words. She doesn’t know how to give him back as much. She only knows that every scar of his is also hers to bear, and the urge becomes stronger and stronger until she allows herself to lean forward, to breathe a feathery kiss onto the patch of white. The heat of his skin next to her cheek, his intoxicating smell, and when she puts a hand on his shoulder to brace herself, she feels him shiver so hard her heart thumps.
“Kissing it better?” Maybe it should have been a lighthearted quip, but Adrien’s voice sounds too husky.
“Yeah. Does it help?”
He moves. She realizes he is about to turn around. Panic rolls over her, and she holds him in place by moving closer to him. Her cheeks are hot, her mind is a mess, and she lets her forehead rest on his shoulder.
“Sorry,” she whispers over his skin. “I – I’m … It’s just, I …”
But she still doesn’t know how to say it. That she’d like nothing more than to kiss every bit of pain, every memory of hurt from his body, from his mind. She doesn’t know how to tell him how much he means to her. She only knows one truth.
“I can’t lose you, Adrien. I can’t.”
“You won’t,” he whispers back.
“Then you can’t run into fights like this. You can’t get injured like this. It’s …” Her hands on his shoulders, her face still hidden. “You can’t risk your well-being for me like that. Please, you can’t.”
She sounds so desperate. Desperate for him to understand. So much so that it’s embarrassing, and she can’t bring herself to move away from him. Not until he breaks the silence between them.
“Let me turn around, Marinette. Please.”
She hesitates. Fingers digging into his shoulders, reminding her that he is here. That he truly is here. Then, slowly, she lets go of him and leans back. Trying to hide the sting in her eyes. Trying to meet his gaze without flinching away as he turns around, one leg dangling from her bed, the other one crossed. She lets her fists sink down to her lap, green eyes holding hers. Full of tiny fleeting feelings she can’t quite name, something that makes her breath hitch.
She doesn’t know what she expected. Nothing, really. When he reaches for one of her hands, she almost flinches. He sends her an uneasy smile, guiding her fingers to his left elbow. It takes her some time to trail the movement with her eyes, and she frowns as he brushes her fingers against a particular spot.
“Can you see it?”
She leans a bit closer. A tiny line of white, hardly visible on his elbow. “Another scar.”
“Yeah. Wanna know how I got it?”
His hand slides off hers. But she doesn’t stop touching him. Carefully, she traces the scar again. No palpable unevenness. Something anyone could easily overlook. “Tell me.”
“Tenth grade. You were attacked by an akuma – as Marinette. I jumped in – as Adrien. I don’t know if you remember, but I pretty much made a fool of myself.”
She pauses. Looks up into his eyes, a spark of amusement shining in them. “I remember. You landed right on a rock, didn’t you? Bled like crazy.” Her fingers enclose his elbow, press against his skin. “You didn’t make a fool of yourself. You didn’t even know I’m Ladybug back then.”
“See.” A whisper that goes right through her, that makes her heart flutter. “And still, I wanted to protect you. I needed to protect you.”
The softness in his eyes makes her knees weak. She swallows gently, looks down at her hand. Turns his arm with her free hand until she can drag a finger from the inside of his elbow to his wrist. It’s a privilege to touch him like that, a privilege she usually can’t allow herself. And god, she doesn’t want to stop. She wants to give him back so much, but she can’t, she can’t, and she releases a shaky breath until she slides so close their knees touch.
Not looking into his eyes, she resumes her journey. From his wrist back to his elbow, up to his shoulder. Savoring every tiny touch she is granted. She hears him breathe, but he doesn’t move. Not even as her quivering fingers splay over his chest, feeling for his rapid heartbeat.
“Ten,” she mutters.
“Ten?” he rasps.
“I’m counting birthmarks. You don’t have too many.”
A rhythm that is making her dizzy, just as wild as her own. “I see,” he replies. “Do you want to keep counting?”
“Yes.”
So she does.
Twelve, she tells him as her forefinger drags further down. Thirteen, as she reaches his stomach, feeling muscles quiver underneath her touches. Sixteen, as she brushes his hipbone just barely, his sharp inhale setting something inside her on fire. Eighteen, twenty-one, fingers becoming bolder, palm pressing against his waist, and when she arrives at twenty-four, a patch of white underneath his collarbone makes her pause. She trails it carefully.
“Another scar?”
He hums lowly. “Ah. Yeah. I think I got this one in ninth or tenth grade. Akuma attack, again. It healed up pretty quickly, but my father wasn’t too happy. Made some shootings difficult.”
“Not because you tried to protect me again, right?”
A little laugh. “I think I was just clumsy that time.”
Marinette glances up at him, being met by a warm smile that melts her from inside. No going back, she tells herself.
She doesn’t even want to, anyway.
“Do you want me to kiss it better?” she whispers.
His smile falters. He keeps looking at her. “Do you want to?”
Her hands on his shoulders. Feeling for the spot they connect to his neck, feeling for tense muscles, and she slides closer, closer still. So close his hand comes to rest on her hip, and the look he sends her, full of wonder and awe, makes a fleeting feeling dance through her stomach.
Instead of answering, she leans down. Until her lips meet warm skin, until they brush the tiny scar. She hears Adrien’s inhale, feels his grip on her hips tighten, and she needs more. She needs so much more. Heart racing, she kisses his collarbone, his neck. His hand wanders upwards, pulls her closer, and she sighs, nose brushing his jaw, arms wrapping around his neck, her body screaming to be near him. Her hand on his back pushing him towards her –
A pained hiss.
As if stung by an adder, Marinette jumps back, letting go of him in the process. With her hands in the air, she stares at him. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she brings out as she watches his strained expression.
“Oh, no, don’t worry. Just – didn’t even hurt.” But even through the easygoing expression he is trying to show, it’s clear as day what he is trying to hide from her.
Marinette’s face heats up with guilt and shame. “I … I forgot you’re running around with a giant injury. Oh god.”
“Really, no worries.” The grin he tries to show makes her cheeks turn even hotter. “I got a bit distracted too.”
The urge to run away and hide is so strong that she has to look away. But that’s what she did time and time again. Hide from her feelings, from the truth. Hide from how much he really means to her. So she scratches her cheek, sighs, sits up straight again. Looks him in the eye.
“Does it still hurt?” she asks.
“No.” Innocent green eyes, and she stares at him sternly until he rubs his neck. “A bit.”
“Okay.” She slides behind him, shaking out pillows and setting them up. At his questioning look, she nods at the little sitting space she built. “There. So you’re more comfortable.”
“Being taken care of like that … I could really get used to this.”
She has to smile at his silly grin. “You wish, kitty cat. Come on, make yourself comfortable.”
He follows her command. She’s glad that this way, she has a few second to collect herself. She waits for him to shift in the pillow mountain, and when he seems all set, she tries to keep her breathing even and relaxed.
She can’t.
“You know,” she starts, avoiding his eyes in her absolute nervousness. She is kneeling next to him, just near enough to softly take his hand into hers. The touch makes him jump, but he doesn’t retract his hand. “There are some scars I could show you too.”
“Are there?” Sounding so careful, so utterly awestruck – her heart is beating too loudly, and she slowly guides his hand to the hem of her shirt. Giving him second after second to back out again.
He doesn’t.
She doesn’t stop until his hand slips underneath her shirt’s fabric, every second becoming even more nerve-wracking. When his fingers touch her stomach, she gives a tiny sound. Adrien looks up at her, and even though her face turns hot once again, she doesn’t look away this time. Their eyes staying locked, he runs his palm over her stomach, up to her rips. She forgot what she wanted to do in the first place as she has to close her eyes, sinking into the feeling of warm fingers grazing her skin. His soft touches are enough to make her dizzy.
“Where?” she hears him ask through the veil of lightheadedness.
“Hm?”
“The scar you wanted to show me.”
She wrenches her eyes open again. An almost amused smile on his face, an almost hungry shimmer in his eyes. “Ah. Right,” she mutters, letting go of his hand. Instead, she moves to shove up her shirt, slowly and tentatively. He follows her movements, and his smile slowly falls from his face.
Somehow, it’s scary. Somehow, it’s so thrilling she is starting to quiver. The way he drinks in centimeter after centimeter of naked skin, the way his fingers dig into her harder the more he gets to see. She stops before exposing her bra, and she can’t keep the tremor from her voice as she points at a place on her right ribcage.
“There, somewhere.”
Frowning, he leans closer, his fingers brushing spot after spot. She resists the urge to close her eyes and give into his touches yet again. It takes seconds upon seconds until his fingers still on a spot, thumb stroking it gently. The moment their eyes meet has Marinette shaking from head to toe.
“What happened?” he asks quietly.
“I think … Tenth grade? Akuma attacked, I panicked while searching for a place to transform. Tripped and fell.”
He keeps looking at her. A longing she knows too well, one she never dared acknowledge, and she wants nothing more than to finally give herself to him in every way.
“Want me to kiss it better?” His raspy voice, his longing look, and she can’t hold back any longer, can’t help but to fall.
“Yes,” she answers.
She lets herself be pulled closer by tender hands until she is straddling his lap. She leans into the warm hand on the small of her back holding her in place. She releases a sound when Adrien presses his lips against her skin, kissing her scar with a fondness that makes her thighs quiver. One of her hands sneaks into his hair before she can control it, and Adrien follows her cue, his lips wandering on. And his hands do, too. Hips to her rear, the back of her thighs, and when he kisses the spot above her navel, she whimpers with need.
She wants to kiss him. She needs to kiss him.
She plucks at his hair as gently as she can. His groan washes over her skin as he kisses a trail up to her breasts. Hands on her waist, gliding over her curves with a carefulness that makes her breathing quicken, and he presses his lips against the valley between her breasts. The fabric of her pulled-up shirt is in the way. His hands wander higher, but instead of undressing her, his fingers wedge themselves underneath her bra clasp without opening it.
Being touched like that is almost too much. Being worshipped in a way that makes her head spin. Kisses that become more careful. By the time he finally pushes her shirt further up, she is panting so hard it feels like she is hardly getting any air, and she lifts her arm as she lets him pull the fabric over her head.
“Adrien,” she mumbles as his lips continue their slow journey. Up to her collarbone, her shoulders, and she can’t help herself any longer. Her hands feel for his hard chest again, for his shoulder blades, carefully paying attention to his wound this time. Adrien doesn’t stop touching her. From waist to hips, tracing her spine, pushing her bra strap out of the way to kiss her shoulder.
“Yes, my lady?” he finally answers.
“You sure are taking your time, huh?” Her breaths are impatient and hard, and it’s almost annoying that she has to hold herself back from being too rough with him. “What are you doing? Counting my birthmarks?”
“I am,” he mutters, and she feels him smile against her skin. “I’m just very thorough, sorry. Can’t leave out a single freckle, now can I? That wouldn’t be fair.”
She almost wants to laugh, but his caresses feel too good, and instead, she lets herself be pushed closer and closer. Until their bodies are melting against each other, until warm lips arrive at her neck, kissing a trail up to her jaw. Little sounds keep escaping her as she brushes her fingers through his hair, heart beating up to her throat. Kisses peppered over her cheeks. Freckle after freckle, warm lips brushing the corner of her mouth, and she presses herself closer to him.
“I love your freckles,” she hears him whisper, and she shudders again and again. “Every single one of them.”
Her mind becomes a mess. She reaches for the back of his head, tries to get him to where she needs him, but a hand on her chin holds her in place as he keeps placing kisses on her heated cheeks.
“I love the many things only I get to know,” he mumbles lowly. “The things only I get to see about you.”
She becomes almost desperate. “Adrien,” she whispers, searching for his lips with her eyes closed.
A shaking breath. “I love –”
You, her lips answer when they finally find his. Soft, warm, tender, brushing hers so lightly goosebumps rise on her skin. She sighs, fingers digging into his scalp as she pulls him closer. Lips sliding over each other, moving, searching, finding; hands on her waist, on the base of her neck, burning her up under his endless warmth, breaths mingling in the space between them. Their lips separate, foreheads against each other, hands feeling for anything they can reach, and she feels like drowning as she kisses him again.
She could kiss him forever, she thinks.
After seconds and seconds, she leans back. Fingers feeling for faint stubble on his jaw, thumb grazing that tiny scar underneath his left eyebrow, one that no camera could ever catch. She leans her forehead against his again, the tips of their noses brushing, and the way he plays with little hair at the base of her neck has her shiver in his arms.
“Promise me,” she murmurs against his lips. “Promise you won’t ever get hurt like this again. Adrien – Chat, I … I need you. I need you too much.”
A warm hand on her cheek. “I need you too.”
Her heart is exploding. Every beat is too much. She kisses him again, longingly, softly. Kisses him until all air has left her lungs. Her eyes sting when she cradles his face in her palms, and his smile is shaky when she looks at him.
God, she does need him. So much that her heart is bursting.
“You didn’t promise,” she notes.
He seems to search her eyes. “And I can’t. Sorry, but that would go against my plan.”
“Your plan,” she repeats, raising her eyebrows.
“Yeah.” A smirk forms on his handsome face. “Because every time I get injured, who nurses me back to health? Exactly, my lady does. Her and her incredible kisses. I’d be an idiot not to make use of that, right?”
She sighs, and laughs, thumbs softly stroking his cheeks. “All right. No more kisses for you until you promise.”
“Oh, that’s playing dirty.”
“That’s playing it smart.”
“Well, all right.” He leans closer to her ear. “I promise I will forever protect you. I promise I will forever stay by your side. I promise that you won’t ever lose me.”
She didn’t expect those words to hit her that hard, and her heart is clenching as she carefully wraps her arms around his neck, the feeling of having him that close to her soothing and exhilarating all at once. “That’s not what I asked you to promise.”
“It’s the only thing I can promise with absolute certainty.”
She kisses his temple, his cheek. God, I love you, her lips breathe over his as she kisses him again.