Chapter Text
People were utterly bizarre when it came to the "real person" Ladybug and Chat Noir fandom.
People were also relentless horny degenerates!
The nerve of them, writing porn of her!
Not that Marinette had been looking for it! No. Just stumbled upon it in an accident that was in no way related to a search for Chat Noir hentai and lurid cosplays. And the situation hadn't kind of spun out of control due to the development of porn-brain, sending the capacity to think or moralize out of the window.
Okay. Fine. She'd totally been looking for Chat Noir cosplay.
For design inspiration!
...
But the porn. That was the issue.
Some of it was, admittedly, tasteful.
Some of it was sweet and gentle.
Most of it was disgusting.
Like, really disgusting and incomprehensible.
And some of it was just... florid.
"Chat's engorged-" a snort – "m-manroot! spread wide his radiant Lady's delicate – what the fuck? – heavenly orchid bedewed w- with crystalline droplets of her feminine essence." Ladybug scrunched her nose as she glanced up from her yo-yo screen. Her eager kitten of a partner was currently possessed of a wide grin as he groped absently for another cookie from the plate on the open expanse of rooftop between them, not realizing, in his fixation, that they'd finished them off.
Sigh. What a dork her kitty was at times, his face awash in the green glare of his baton screen. The hot blush, still burning on his cheeks, was just so ... scrumptious, though.
Scrumptious for the teasing; not the eating.
Right.
No eating Chat Noir's face.
Eating pussy was off the table, but in the story, well.
Ladybug rolled her eyes at the same time as she licked her lips.
How much wine had she had tonight? She shot the suspiciously empty bottle at her side a glare, and then hummed her disapproval. "That's a weird way of saying that you shoved your fat cock into my sopping wet pussy."
Promptly, Chat choked, sputtering out a half-mouthful of red wine, just as she'd intended.
Fortunately, as she had to return the wine glasses that she'd borrowed from her parents, he didn't crush the glass itself.
"My Lady!" he coughed, baton nearly tumbling out of his other hand while he whirled on her, eyes wide with horror.
"What?" Ladybug stared at him. Chat had worked her up, eaten her out, and then dicked her (back) down. Well- she looked down at (and upon) the piece of fan fiction on her yo-yo screen once more – literary Chat. "That's totally what she's saying."
"She?" Chat set down his glass and squinted at the text before him, his blush still so fiery that he looked like a red-hot candy. If she permitted herself a glance towards his abs and a little lower, which she didn't but her roving eyes were another matter, she might have seen something else that was pretty red hot. Apparently Chat had a noticeable... thing for reading erotic fan fiction. "You think that a woman wrote this?"
"Well, yeah." She shrugged while reexamining the prose with a more critical eye to allow her sex-sensor for prose style, which was totally a thing you developed after writing for a while, to do its work. Florid. Not quite clear on how dicks worked. Overuse of emotionally descriptive phrases rather than a focus on action. "Actually, it's probably a tween girl who wants her first time to be all sparkly and magical, because she doesn't really have any idea how to sex."
"How to sex?"
"Did I stutter?"
Finger raised in apparent attempt at protest, Chat appeared to find himself shot down by her cocked eyebrow, deflating and gazing up at her with wide heart-breaking kitty eyes through his low-hanging banana bangs.
"I thought that it was romantic," he deflected, his grin bashful in a way that had her heart rate picking up. "I – that is, he was really taken with making it special for you because you're, well, you."
As ever in these moments, his tone was so hushed and awed, a reverent lilt, so that she took a moment to pause and reassess her own dismissal.
Pleasantly buzzed Ladybug could be a bit of a callous bitch, really. She should know better than to just toss Chat's romanticism into his face.
"Okay, fine," she relented while procuring another small box of cream puffs for her sugary sweet partner, who burst and melted at the slightest censure, and handing it over to him, adoring the bright-blooming expression of glee and rapid tail-flicks. "It was kind of romantic, but not really what I'd be looking for in a story."
"Oh?" With the box now open in his hand, Chat was hovering over the confections, dainty claws ready to pluck up his choice. "I think that I like the more emotional ones, you know? So many of these are just he did this, she did that without any real depth or exploration of how we're feeling. Where's the tension? Where's the uniqueness? Where's the complex thematic drama?"
"I don't think that's what people are looking for when they search for erotic fan fiction."
"Well-" Chat waggled his brow, half bowing from his seated position to hand back the box with a gentlemanly flourish. "That's what I'm looking for. Meaning. Not just ... how to sex."
"You probably need to learn that, though," she scoffed, flicking his bell and savouring the chime that rang out over the rooftops.
"Me-ouch, my Lady!" He flinched, hand to his heart, while swooning like he'd been dealt a mortal wound. "Shot to the heart."
She scoffed and slugged him in that thickly muscled shoulder. "Tell me I'm wrong."
He didn't.
She liked that more than she should have.
That was the wine doing the thinking, though.
It was probably going to do a great deal more of the thinking for her, though, she realized, because weird as this story was, sitting on a roof, chatting with her partner and ribbing each other over wine and pastries left her feeling warm.
Her empty apartment, all relationships having been put to the wayside due to her fixation on duty as Ladybug, her commission work, and her course-load never let her feel that. Not really.
But when she returned home later that night, and slipped into her single bedroom apartment, far from Alya and Nino and the Tom and Sabine Boulangerie, that warmth still bloomed brightly in her chest. Snuggling up to her cat pillow, slightly tatty after all these years, but clean and fresh and smelling of home and soaked with all the good memories from childhood, her teenage years, and just this night, she breathed in slowly.
She was asleep in minutes.