Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Queen and King of Hell have a true love, and he is in the form of a boy.

In fact, he’s in the form of a young demon; expressive eyes and mouth form a childish expression, one that is full of love. Adopted when he was only an infant, Chat Noir is the only son of the two. Healthy. Happy. What more could they ask for? 

He knows that his parents are endeared by the way he smiles, showing his teeth— though they’re serrated and fanged, his mother never fears the bite that could follow. Instead, her touch is soft and coddling, though he’s old enough to be taken seriously. He’s eleven! Practically an adult, is he not? Would anyone believe otherwise?

Not everything is wonderful, though. Nightmares have been plaguing him for weeks; the normally excitable and friendly Prince has become a shut in, refusing to step out of his room out of fear. Instead, he stays in his parents room when he can, sleeping under his mother’s arms and wings, not wanting to have any other dreams…

Normally so cheerful, loving, excitable and mischievous, Chat Noir has lost all sense of himself. His parents have noticed it. The maids have noticed it. Quite literally everyone in the whole castle has noticed it.

Including one very familiar face in the castle.

“Starlight, my apologies,” Tikki tells him, opening the door to his room. “I think it is about time that you get out of bed, don’t you?”

“I’m not moving,” he proclaims. “I am done for. The nightmares so so terrible, Mom. I can’t… do this.”

Oh… oh, how her touch against his forehead is so soft. “I’m aware that you’re struggling, Chat. No matter how much I wish I knew what to do, I can’t find a solution.”

“I want to sleep,” he bemoans. “When was the last time I got bedrest?”

“I’m not sure myself. But I do know that there is someone willing to find out for us. I’ve come to tell you that Marinette is here.”

“Marinette?” Chat squeaks. Sitting up in his bed, eyeing his mother as she paces onto the carpet and makes such a face— a grimace, or something of the sort, mixed with a bit of humor— as her only son scrambles to make the covers of his bed look more appealing while he refuses to get out of it. “You’re lying!”

“Most certainly am not,” she giggles. The noise is like the ringing of bells, shimmering in the air the way that her large and pearlescent wings bat so slowly behind her firey curls. “You know she is headstrong. Your excuses haven’t been enough to convince her to keep clear as your… illness persists.”

Oh, no! “Where is she?”

“Down the hall.”

“Down the hall?” he cries.

She’s on her way? Oh, Fates! What is he to do? Marinette can’t— shouldn’t— see him this way! She is not part of the family, no, but she’s someone very dear to Chat Noir. One of the only friends he has in this castle, Marinette is Tikki’s pupil, already titled Ladybug. She’s a prolific witch, studious and brilliant; the two of them study together when applicable, in the bowels of the royal library, trading information with one another like they’re secrets— every time he leans close to her, he smells the faint perfume of cherry blossoms and cinnamon staining her skin. 

Her smile is that of stars. He’s never had a friend like her ever, and perhaps the feeling is mutual, because he’s missed their study sessions for the past two weeks because of fatigue and enough is enough for her. And now here she comes!

Is it obvious that he likes her?

And for her to see him in his sleep clothes! What is he to do?

“Let me help you tidy the bed before she arrives,” Tikki whispers, magic pooling out of her hands to straighten out the covers. The mess he’s made of the quilt is neatened into perfect lines, even as he sits straight in the middle of the massive four-postered bed.

“Mom, is there any way for you to get her to not come in here?” he pleads. “I’m— I don’t want her to see me like this!”

Tikki laughs again. “I’ve tried. She’s uninterested. She wishes to see you.”

Just the person he hoping wouldn’t approach the door… there she is. Oh, does she notice the way Chat’s ears pin back? Does she notice him swallow empty air? Does she notice that he’s all but hiding under the covers in fear? And what does he have to fear, anyway? Certainly not her crystalline blue eyes. Certainly not her pale, alabaster complexion, delicate like the gossamer wings that flutter behind her. Certainly not the way she smiles; warm, soft, approachable that makes his heart palpate erratically like he’s woken up from another terrible dream!

“Chat Noir?” she asks, hand on the door handle while she peeks in. For a girl so sure-footed, she also has many moments where she doubts herself… and yet her face blossoms into a smile once she confirms he’s in here, shifting the poppy-seed freckles on her face like gods are able to move constellations. “There you are! You’re alive!”

“Marinette!” he squeaks.

“Forgive us for hiding this from you,” Tikki states, glee in her eyes as Marinette shuffles her boots just at the doorframe. “You understand the care it takes to keep this information away from those who wish to use it as a way to harm, don’t you?”

The little witch does not look at the Queen in the eyes when she bows. “Of course, your highness. You have my word.”

“Oh, it is a shame,” Tikki continues, while Chat shakes like a leaf with nerves. There are Akuma butterflies in his stomach… “He’s been ill with these nightmares for a long, long time; it is only recent in the past few months that it has resurfaced in a way that we cannot handle. I wish to be here for him, but my duties make the effort thin. His father is busy tracking down the perpetrator of the nightmares, which leads to the comfort and care part lacking.”

Marinette sees the opportunity just as Chat Noir does, and the two almost bowl over each other to speak first. 

“I can help!” Marinette offers.

“There’s really no need for Marinette to be here!” Chat tries again, voice high and creaky.

“Perfect!” Tikki chirps, ignoring her son entirely. Such cruelty! “Thank you so much for offering to help, sweet dear. I’ll send a maid in a few hours with some food.”

“It is an honor to help out in any way I can.” That face of hers stays demure until his mother is gone. Quick, like a flame, Marinette practically shoots out of her spot to tear off her boots the moment the door closes with a satisfying click— she’s alive, grinning at him with such a wonderful laugh, wings glittering and shiny and so, so beautiful. “Finally!”

What can he even say? Mouth gaping open like a fish, eyes wide and no doubt his brown skin is turning amber and scarlet, seeing her here, what words could possibly come to him? “Hi… Princess.”

“Hello, Kitty-cat,” she replies with a grin. There is a blush on her face at the nickname, and surely his face is also just as red.

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Of course! I was starting to feel restless… I haven’t seen you in forever,” she sighs. Her boots are off. It’s likely that her apron will, too, that beige smock that covers the front of her dress because she has a pretention to be absolutely careless when it comes to her clothes. There’s a reason why unlike every other girl her age, Marinette tends to wear darker colors and matching ribbons: dirt is hidden against black and dark reds. Aprons can minimize the damage, but there is certainly no hope against her after a few days time. Boots properly kept off the rug and in the corner, mismatched stockings come into view as she wiggles her toes on the stone floor. “So, tell me, what really is going on? How have you been? What is this about nightmares?”

“Nightmares,” he replies, swift and dead and dumb. “R-right, yes, nightmares.”

“What’s been going on?” she tries again. “Your mother spoke about how you aren’t even sleeping, anymore. You’re not showing up to the library and I’ve missed you.”

“I’m too scared to sleep, now. The… the visions and the noise from the nightmares scare me too much— the voice is horrible. Not to mention what I see— I can’t do it. Not on my own, I need my parents nearby, but they’re so busy trying to figure out what’s wrong that sometimes they can’t be here. It’s better if I don’t sleep— I’m really afraid to do anything. I don’t even the last time I slept correctly.” How awkward he feels… it’s not every day that the girl he likes ends up in his room… true, she stares at him like a specimen, and he’s wary that she’ll start poking and prodding him with a stethoscope that is very much cold, all in the name of science and progress, but she’s still Marinette. “Oh! Uhm— I’ve missed you, too.”

Her eyes are back on him after looking around his room. “You did?”

“Very much.”

“Because of our studying?”

“Well, you are my friend,” he wheezes. “I think that’s more important. I’ve never been all that fond of studying.”

“I wish I were so carefree like you,” she giggles. She’s taken an interest in one of his shelves, where a small little wooden toy in the shape of a girl with a dress stands right at the edge. A knobby little crown perched on her head. He’s kept it there since his father made it for him, just so he could have it ready for her birthday. “Some of us just aren’t as talented with magic like you are, you know? We can’t just afford to not read.”

Does she know what she’s saying? She’s the most talented witch he’s ever met. Maybe he’s being too harsh on any other witch he’s had the opportunity of greeting, but there truly is no one compared like her. Is she talking about how she struggles with reading? From what he’s understood, words dodge in her eyes. A simple line of spells and brewing instructions have her struggling to read; she claims that the letters turn into nothing, or jump to other lines of the page, and give her headaches. Has she been bewitched? He never sees the issue on her papers. No wonder she reads so much. She chases them all throughout the book, almost in tears, only relaxing when he reads for her.

Your voice is so lovely, she’d tell him, and he’d spend the rest of the reading stammering like he’s never learned how to speak at all.

“I think you’re much better at magic than I am,” he mumbles.

With a pat to the large messenger bag crossed over her chest, she beams with pride. “Speaking of, I think I know how to solve your nightmares.”

“Do you?”

“I do! It’s an idea, of course, because I am not an expert; clearly the Queen may be of more use to you than me, but you know I enjoy having a willing participant to try out a few tepid spells, but I really do think these might have some effect.” 

She’s climbing onto the bed as they speak. 

She has wings, can most certainly flutter up, but seems to enjoy the struggle; the bed is tall, very tall, and Chat is used to the height because it was created by his father— a god, of course, taller than any and assumes that his own son will be taller than most— so poor Marinette struggles ever the more as she grins and giggles, hands on the quilt and grabbing uselessly for purchase. Maybe he should help? He’s quick to crawl over to her and pull, willing that his tail doesn’t wrap around her or that his long claws dig into smooth, porcelain skin. Oh, she’s so soft, even though he only touches the sleeves of her dress…

“It is magic, then? I— oh!” There is a witch in his arms! Marinette flings her arms around him into a hug— he’s helpless to reciprocate, helpless to find himself purring as she giggles in his arms, all soft, all pretty, all full of layered dresses and skirts that remind him of a blooming rose. She’s warm. Oh so warm. Devastatingly warm. Has he brushed his teeth this morning? Surely he’d remember such a thing… at least he is thankful that he had the sense to change into fresh clothes after his horrible nightly bath.

“Oh, Kitty-cat, I’ve really, really missed you very much these past weeks,” she murmurs into his shirt collar.

He’s found himself rather cozy in this embrace. “Me, too.”

“You know, the funny thing is, the library is scary without you.”

“But I’m the scariest demon there is? How is that possible for you not to fear me but fear an empty place?”

“You can’t imagine how terrifying it is to be at our desk and hear voices,” she tells him, gripping him tight. “Disembodied voices are not fun.”

“That’s… weird.”

“Isn’t it? Something that we’ll have to uncover when you recoup.” Oh… she pulls away so suddenly… how he wishes she wouldn’t… “I’ve brought a few spellbooks that might have some sleeping spells. I’ve made them the best I could.”

“This won’t turn me into Sleeping Beauty, will it?” Before he’s able to fight himself about it, he cuddles close, shoulder to shoulder as she digs through her bag. The bed is more than big enough for the two of them to lay down and spread their arms and legs and tails and wings and never touch— this is just for her sake, of course, and no one else’s. Those gossamer wings of hers frost over if she’s too cold. 

“If I’m required to fight a dragon to awaken you again, I dearly hope not. You’re more fit for that adventure, I’m afraid.”

And of the kiss at the end? They won’t mention it.

“Show me what you have?”

“It’s a combination,” she explains, tucking her feet underneath her. Stripe socks disappear under the lovely and cute circular skirt of her dress. “These books only carry halfway. The second half of the spell is presumably the dream part.”

Will she find it strange if he smiles at her in the way that makes his ears twitch? It must be written all over his face that he has so much affection for this girl in front of him. Be still, fast-beating heart…

“If there is any hope, I believe it can be you to find a solution to my problem.”

Peacefully asleep while holding hands, they’re none the wiser to the maid that walks in with a tray full of food and warm tea. Both on top of the quilt, not even covered up, slow breathing permeating the room.

Chapter Text

How breathtaking this kiss is! 

Truly, it takes her breath away! Is it fair to say that this is the best kiss she’s ever had? Oh, but there’s no competition, is there? She’s never been kissed— certainly not as softly as this, with a claw under her chin raising her mouth just slightly for him to be able to reach— but as far as kissing goes, this is… perfect.

Why are Chat’s lips so soft? The kiss is so tender, so sweet, gentle in the ways she’d always wished it would be but had known better, considering that Chat Noir is never gentle in anything that he does, too brazen and exciteable to go slow in any sort of the word. He’s allergic to anything remotely slow. But his lips are soft, just like she’d imagined, and his touch is gentle, just like she’d wished, and who is to care about them both hidden away in an enclave of the hallway?

Even with the bustle of all the maids and butlers and servants in the castle swishing their skirts and clicks of their boots against the stone floor on the other side do not deter her from pressing her lips against his like she’s willing him to stay put; the way he kisses her is soft, slow, gentle, afraid to spook her— unhurried, too, though he’s late (oh so late!) to his prior engagement! Just a moment ago he’d echoed the request that’s been buzzing across the halls all morning, that the Queen and King are waiting for him, and consequently her, in the throne room! Why is he here? Why is he gentle when he kisses her? Why did he wait until now to approach her, after so long of her stewing in affection for him?

Oh, it’s written all over her face how much she adores him, isn’t it?

Nearly twenty years old and she finally gets her first kiss! Why did they have to wait until his twenty first birthday?

Marinette’s breath holds still when he backs away, a near lifetime of quiet passing them by as they look each other over.

“Oh,” she whispers.

Chat, the dense man, pins his ears back. “You do not reciprocate.”

“What?”

“Have I messed this up?” he whispers. Whispers, because anyone can hear them through the walls should they just try to open up their hearing— it is hard to have privacy in the land of demons, even if they put up a sheer, gauzy silencing spell— she should through one out, but sudden movements might end up spooking him. “Have I… oh, Fates, have I read this wrong?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You do not reciprocate.”

She’s mindful to not scrunch her face too hard. “What gives you that impression? What in the three Realms are you talking about?”

“W-well, I—” his Adam’s apple bobs in front of her. “You’re… I imposed.”

“Chat Noir, you’re the only person I’ve met other than myself that has a tendency to overthink things.” The fact that he always does it for the inconsequential things is also something to note. “Imposing what, Kitty-cat? I kissed you back.”

“Did you?”

“Didn’t I? Didn’t you feel it? It’s true that I’ve never learned how to kiss until now, but the principle seems simple— did I mess up?” She might as well grab him by his collar again and kiss some sense back into him. “This might be a little bit better, now that I know how to angle my head.”

So she kisses him again.

The angle is hard, because he’s just so tall— massive, the height of a god and just a little bit more, while she’s still at her normal, natural, human height. She could open her wings and hover to give him reprieve, truly could, a smart move compared to everything else, but why bother? Why not make Chat work for another kiss? Have him bend at the waist, his hand against the wall for balance while she holds his jaw between both of her hands and kisses him just the way he’d kiss her. Oh, his lips are even softer. What does this man of all people need lips this soft? Such an expressive mouth that hides serrated teeth that she’s witnessed pooled with blood after fights; why does the kiss feel so perfect? Oh, he melts. Oh, he’s goop. If she steps back and finds and actual cat in her arms instead of his demon form because he poof!ed on accident, she wouldn’t even blame him…

When they step away again, Chat’s face is wonky and willy, plastered on his face in a skewed manner that has her giggling.

His voice is soft. “I thought you and Luka…”

“I thought you and Luka,” she adds, biting her cheek. “Wait, did you kiss me, even thinking that me and Luka were—”

“I had my doubts about it,” he wheezes. “I— I wasn’t sure, and you never made any reason to prove my theory that you and him were together… this is why I thought I’d messed up.”

“But you did regardless?”

“I approached you very slowly!” he whispers. “Plenty of time for you to back away and tell me the truth, Princess!”

“The truth is I’ve wanted to kiss you for a very long time,” she admits. There’s a lock of curly hair in front of Chat’s face. Perhaps she should move it for him? 

“Ever since I met you,” he blurts out. “The first day at the library, I thought you were the most beautiful girl to exist. When you gained your wings, I thought you couldn’t get any more beautiful. You’re now a woman, and I have been proven wrong— the only person who could be more beautiful than you as a girl is you as a woman.”

Oh, her face is scarlet! “Did… did you practice that?”

“Very much,” he admits with a soft laugh, embarrassment stamped across his face. “I get tongue-tied every time I think about you.”

Oh.

Oh, well… his words definitely deserve another kiss, don’t they?

“You know, this”—she touches his mouth with her thumb—“was not slow at all.”

“What?”

“The kiss. It wasn’t slow. You call that slow? It felt rather fast, actually.”

Humor bleeds tension out of his skin, his shoulders falling nice with his dress shirt. Oh, the King and Queen are going to be so confused, wondering where their only son is! It’s true that the castle is large— she’s frequently gotten lost in the labyrinth of hallways that follow no logical pattern— but the son who grew up in these stone walls surely knows his way around!

“You thought it was too fast?”

“Absolutely hurried, my Prince.” She taps his mouth again. “I beg your pardon, but you will have to try again to prove to me that you meant to go slow.”

“Will I?”

“Of course you will.”

“Of course I will,” he muses, stepping closer. He kisses her again. And then again. And again. Over and over until he’s purring, even in his demon state, hand on her waist and she mumbles to not let his claws dig into the fine fabric of her new dress, one made specifically for today’s meeting in the throne room where the King and Queen are awaiting them both; oh, how he shirks away, eyes wide and ears pinned back when he remembers that they’re late to see his parents, deciding to find solace in between a pedestal of a decorative gargoyle statue and a wall instead of meeting their responsibilities!

One more kiss before they go, though.

Or maybe a second one?

They part again with stifled giggles when the King’s booming voice echoes throughout the castle, knowing that his son enjoys procrastinating.