Chapter Text
No one in the history of the world can ever blame her for doing this, okay? This is just part of the entire personality that is Lady Noire. And there is no problem— ever— in being herself. Sure, maybe to some people there is, because she’s considered ‘violent’ and ‘volatile’, but usually those people who think that are affected with Akumas, or are created using a peacock’s feather; she has fun with those, shakes them between her teeth until they’re limp, but that doesn’t mean she’s always violent. She’s a good person!
The city of Paris likes her a lot, after all.
She’s considered Paris’s sweetheart, an absolute confectionary puff of a woman in the public eye. Children aren’t afraid to approach her and ask for help, and strangers always take the time to say hello. Sure, she’s bloody and screams and snarls and hisses at villains, but she’s a sweetie everywhere else. She’s won accolades for it. Maybe she bribed the judge with a bunch of macarons, but her point still stands, which is: she’s a sweetheart, not always deviating towards violence.
She’s just a kitty. Who blames her for biting?
Mister Bug knows that, too. He praises her and gives her affectionate headpats whenever they’re near each other and he can’t contain it, because she’ll give him her soft eyes and a little smile and he’ll snort, do this little thing with his nose that she absolutely loves, crinkling it under the hexleather domino mask, and reach over to pet her hair. She purrs and he laughs, and maybe sneaks in little kisses between the two of them, but they try their hardest not to show it in public. No one needs to know that the superheroes are dating.
That’s not enough, though. She needs more. She needs more kisses now. Anticipation bleeds on her skin the more she thinks about how much she wants it, imagining those beautiful lips pressed to hers. Would it be wrong to ask for a make out session? Just one. Just a teeny, tiny one… that’s not so bad, right?
Superheroes aren’t supposed to date.
But she can sneak into Adrien’s apartment while wearing the Lady Noire costume, can’t she? Who’s gonna stop her? Hawkmoth is terrified of her. No one even nearby has the sense to spot her on this balcony, because there’s no one on the roads, because practically no one’s awake. And certainly not the man himself, who’s currently busy drooling on his pillow, probably super asleep.
She’s a cat through and through, and seeing someone— her someone— asleep and cozy and soft and wonderful blossoms this type of feeling inside of her that is much too important to ignore. So what, if it’s super early in the morning? So what if she makes it through his window and quietly closes the latch back up? So what if Adrien continues to sleep all the way on the other side of his room, on his bed, hidden under a single, thin blanket because Adrien refuses to understand the concept of layers? The sight is important to her all the same.
Approaching him is almost far too quick, and she can’t even savor the experience of being in his room while he dozes off. It’s always so quiet here. Soft. Adrien decided to paint his walls a soft taupe color that borders purple, and had asked her if she wanted to help, but the walls are almost grey in the moonlight that scatters across Paris’s rooftops. At least he kept the painting on his wall. The shaggy carpet on the floor is nice. His bookshelves are kept clean but not sparse. He also has that same American-king sized bed, which is far too much mattress for a single man, but she’s never really complaining about it when she joins him for a snooze— all in all, Adrien is stuck in that transition look on his apartment, not quite sure what he’s doing with it yet, but he’s trying.
At least there’s a bed.
And one handsome man in it.
Gah! So handsome!
Ah, she can’t contain herself. She can’t stop herself from tip-toeing close, hiding a smile behind her hands as she finally takes a look at him hidden from that single fitted blanket. He likes to burrow like a mole, hiding under a sleep mask he got accustomed to because of his childhood bedroom’s giant, sunny windows, only his nose peeking through the mess he’s made. She recalls a few years ago Adrien mentioning he used to be afraid that a vampire would bite his neck while he was asleep, and hides himself under the blanket as if it’ll protect him.
“Sunshine,” she whispers, waiting for a response. “You awake?”
Nothing except silence and a few distant cars beeping reply to her.
“Wake up,” she tries. “Come on, please?”
Adrien stirs, but not by much. He’s on his back, now, only thing visible is his nose. Golden curls peek out from underneath the sleep mask, making him look oh-so-silly, and it’s too much to contain as she bites her lip. He’s just so cute!
So who blames her for crawling onto his bed?
Who blames her for slinging a leg over his hip so she can sit down on him?
Who blames her for placing her hands on his chest— or what she thinks is his chest— and starts to knead?
She’s just Lady Noire.
And yet Adrien makes a noise at the weight that presses down on his stomach, something also that sounds like a sigh, but less relaxed and more what just woke me up?
“Hi,” she purrs out.
“Mmmm,” is his reply.
“Whatcha up to?”
“Mmmm.”
“Oh,” she continues, cocking her head to the side. Adrien’s arms are flailing underneath the blanket; she scoots back just a bit to give him enough space to get his arms out, and while one of his hands reaches for hers, the other pulls up his mask to— see nothing, actually. It’s pitch-black dark in here, but her superhero suit gives her the advantage of seeing in the dark, so. “Yeah, I get that. Wanna wake up, now?”
His eyes are still very pretty, even in the dark. He’s got that expression on his face that is both disoriented and tired, blinking sleep out of his eyes with the way he creases his brows, as if thoughts are too difficult for his tired brain. She watches, enraptured, as blonde eyelashes hide beautiful irises in the color of emerald and deep forest green, and kissable lips turn thin at the idea of being interrupted from his beauty sleep.
He makes a noise that she can’t quite hear all that well, but she knows that it’s not a good noise.
“Kitty?” There’s a pause as if he’s waiting for her to acknowledge him, but the two of them know better— if this were an intruder, someone that wasn’t her, he would’ve been much more awake, much more prone to pushing her off. “What… time is it?”
“Internal clock says five in the morning,” she chirps. She looks over to his night stand. “Digital clock says five twenty.”
“Why are you awake?” he asks, wheezy, tired, head going back onto the pillow. Morning voice laces his words like a warm blanket, and she likes it, kneading into his chest more and leaning down into his space. Behind her, her tail gives a slow sweep, even as she hums out something soft and delicate— Adrien notices how she suddenly turns catty and sweet, because his hand comes up to pet her jaw, even if he’s not looking.
They stay like this for a bit.
She likes that sleepy breath of his that is just so deep, that movement of his chest underneath her hands is methodical and nice. It helps that it’s a beautiful sight, too, but it’s just so sweet. She takes it all in; how his thumb rubs little circles on her jaw, tracing her cheek all the way up to her cheekbone where hexleather covers her face in a protective layer, and then back to her jaw. His touch is noncommittal and nonsensical, a patternless stroke across her cheekbones that reads lazy and tired. Still though, his touch is so comforting, and he smiles a bit when she leans into his palm to get more and more of it.
She purrs into his hand. “What do you mean? I’ve been awake since four.”
“Why—” Adrien seems to swallow his own words, realizing the predicament, because she’s the daughter of a baker and this is practically noon to her. “Okay,” he mumbles, voice soft and rolling, puffing out his breath. He rubs at his eyes with his other hand. “Why are you waking me up so early?”
“Because I missed you.” Duh. “We’re going on a date today, remember? We’re getting breakfast?”
She was promised croissants, after all. And pain au laits. Chocolate muffins? All things she can get at home, but it means something, going out with Adrien instead. She likes how he holds his coffee mug and sips; she likes how peaceful he looks while smiling at her from across the little breakfast table. She’s been looking forward to this all week, and had done her best to clear her schedule as much as possible, so they would have time to be together. It’s not easy being her— either Lady Noire or Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the two of them are always so busy. She’s living two lives, after all.
“Not at five,” he whines. His voice cracks. Her heart swells with affection, to be able to see him so vulnerable like this. To everyone else, Mister Bug is a monolith of pride and power, of strength and courage. To her, he’s just a man groaning into his elbow about the audacity of being woken up before noon. “Give me a few more hours.”
Adrien is not at all a morning person, which is such a shame, because he definitely should be. After all, Adrien’s the color of the morning sun with his amber skin and golden hair that he takes on after his mother; but looks aren’t everything, and she almost takes pride in the fact that he’s such a night owl. Adrien loves reading until it’s way too late in the morning, while she enjoys the sunrises and getting an early start to her day, and it would be funny and ironic if she didn’t find it as endearing as it is. She’s got a love-struck look to her, she does, because she can feel the way her lips pull to the side as she looks down at her boyfriend— her boyfriend!— who’s sleepily trying to go back to dozing off while she kisses his cheek.
“Morning breath,” he says, trying to complain. “I just woke up.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, Charming, I won’t kiss you on the lips. Even though I want to.”
“It’s gross.”
“Trust me, the things I’m willing to do with you, this doesn’t even come close to gross.”
He snorts, making a face that’s both him laughing at what she’s said, as well as thinking about it on his own.
She keeps giving him kisses. Smattering him with pecks and smooches on the cheeks until he turns red and embarrassed at how much she’s giving him is her favorite hobby, and she follows the contours of his cheekbones with precision and accuracy of someone who’s done this before. She lifts up his sleep mask to place more on his brow bone, purring louder until he laughs again, puffs of breath and low chuckles, with her claws gentle in his hair when she brushes her fingers through them.
He’s perfection.
“Come sleep?”
“I’m not tired.”
“Detransform,” he tries again, patting the empty space next to him. In an act of confidence that only ever oozes out of Adrien when he’s either Mister Bug or awake at five in the morning, he lifts up the single blanket, beckoning her to come closer. “Plagg is keeping you too much awake.”
She laughs. “Hate to break it to you, but this energy is all me.”
“You take your meds yet?”
“Not until breakfast, no.”
But Adrien, sweet Adrien, will not be convinced; he’s just as stubborn as she is, and much better at making her change her mind than anyone else. “You’re so warm. Come here. Cuddle with me.”
Awh, she just can’t say no to him, can she?
“I don’t have my PJs on.”
“You can steal one of my shirts.”
Of course she can. It would be a crime if she couldn’t. What’s a Kitty without anything to steal?
She’s quick to detransform, losing sight of that golden smile, casting his apartment room into shadow; she scrambles for his nightstand and grabs what she feels is one of his pajama shirts, the only person in her entire world she’s ever met that keeps their pajamas there. She’s able to change without problem, listening to the soft deepening of Adrien’s breath, indicating he’s falling back asleep, only to go pawing for him while she tries to get back on the mattress again. Plagg has disappeared; more interested in Adrien’s vast collection of socks where Tikki undoubtably is snoozing on her own.
“Where are you?” Marinette asks.
“Over here.”
She practically oozes on him when they finally find each other’s hands. To be fair, he’s warm, and the chill builds up on her skin like frost now that she’s out of her suit; Adrien’s in a long sleeved sweater, and something soft for pants, so this is nice to cuddle into. How could she ever deny herself the chance to curl up to this?
There’s only one pillow in this giant bed, but they’ll make do, especially with the way that Adrien folds her in, tucking her under his chin. This feels like heaven.
“Sleep,” he mumbles.
“Do my eyelashes tickle your neck?”
He laughs a little bit. “Yeah.”
“I’ll try not to blink.”
“Close your eyes and sleep.”
In all honesty, it’s not that hard to fall asleep. Adrien’s breath is slow and tranquil, and his heart practically crawls because of his good health. It’s a metronome, just like the one he keeps on his piano, softly swinging back and forth with every tic of his heartbeat. He smells like his soap. The one that costs a ridiculous amount. The soap that she absolutely takes a bit whenever she’s showering in his bathroom, because it smells like him; smells manly, for lack of a better word, something strong in it to give it the impression that it was made for someone with money. It’s soft on his skin. It builds up on his neck and collarbones where her nose is pressed into, slowly slipping back into sleep with him.
Before she knows it, she’s out, too. The only man in the world who can possibly knock Lady Noire out.