ladynoir stan

Name: Kyra Nickname: I don't really have a nickname but few people can call me Ky Zodiac: Scorpio Height: Around 5'3. Last movie I saw: I don't watch movies anymore, but I did see some clips of Frozen 2 on YouTube. Last thing I googled: It was most definitely not Math puns, pshh. Favourite Musician: Harry Styles, The Beatles, ABBA, and Adele are some of them! Song stuck in my head: Baby One More Time - Britney Spears. Other blogs: I have a couple. My main one is @/zenniknina Do I get asks: Sometimes? I hoard the ones I've received. One time, @seleneslyre-writes sent me an adorable ask and I've never posted it! Just kept the cuteness to myself, some could say. (Whispers: And the lies) Following: 123 Amount of sleep you get: Sleep? Who's that? Lucky number: 3 What I’m wearing: A dress! Dream job: I'd like to become an author someday, among other things. Dream trip: One of my best friends and I want to visit Antarctica to see the wildlife there! Favourite food: Chocolate ;) Play any instruments: I'm learning the piano! Languages: English, some French, and some dialects from India.  Favourite songs: Falling - Harry Styles,  Ashes - Meghan Trainor  More Than Friends - Jason Mraz, Meghan Trainor  Before You Go - Lewis Capaldi  I Love You 3000 - Stephanie Poetri Vienna - Billy Joel 

The end of the world does not end with a bang. 

It ends with Ladybug, her hands — dieu, her hands — tangled in his hair, her breath and soul pressed against his, giggles spilling from an open vessel. 

Kissing Ladybug was unlike anything Chat Noir had ever known, inexplicably beautiful and incredible like a painting etched with the raw algorithm of human emotion. 

“I’ve —” The word is punctured with a kiss. “—been meaning—” Another delightful kiss that sends his heart soaring into the yawn of the universe. “—to do this for ages.”

“I love you.” Chat murmurs, soaking in this dream, for it was an exceptional one, crafted by Morpheus and all the Olympians combined. “I love you so much my heart hurts with the intensity of it.” 

Chat Noir moves, presses a fragile, shaking kiss on Ladybug’s neck, where suit met vacancy and was rewarded with a blush, blooming like roses in the prettiest of gardens. Would it be a shame, a pathetic waste of his time to indulge in this dream — this fantasy his mind has offered him? 

There aren’t any possible scenarios to explain this magnificent daydream. The real Ladybug had never shown interest in him — and loved a boy who she compared to the sun. Yet, here Ladybug exists, nearly sending him to a collapsed pile of ardent love. 

“I love you.” Ladybug grins, bright, happy and warm. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

“You’re the most wonderful dream.” Chat replies, pulling her closer to his chest, and ended up landing the pair of them onto the floor. Would he wake up now—?

Ladybug bubbles over him, a sunrise stretching her face, and squeezes his hand. “Hi, hi, hi.”

There were times when Adrien worried he would lose contact with Ladybug, and he would never know the person under the mask. And, there were moments, painful and heartbreaking nightmares where all his memories with Ladybug, the proclaimed love of his life were conjugated by his memory, mere hallucinations driven by insanity. 

It terrified him to think of either situation, of not seeing this vision, who truly looked and acted like a goddess, the only person in the history of the universe who had the ability of squeezing a man’s heart by simply existing. 

“Hi, Bug.” Chat lets out a soft breathy chuckle, and somehow manages to summon the ability to reach out to bounce a stray curl of hair. Dieu, even her hair was beautiful. “I don’t want to ever wake up.” 

“Do you think this is a dream, minou?” A delightful laugh is followed by hands fumbling to squeeze his cheeks as if to assure him that there was more to her than cosmic dust and wisps of imagination. “If this is another cheesy pick up lines, I swear I’ll throw you off a roof — no matter how much I love you.” 

“You’re sending me mixed signals, my heart. On one hand, the Ladybug in my dreams finds my puns hilarious but on the other hand, you’re telling me you love me. Me!”

“Yes, you. You’re wonderful and —”

“What about the other boy?” 

“I need you.” Ladybug murmurs, staring at him like he’s hung her the stars which is ridiculous because it was her who — by sheer will and grace — brought him the very moon and the entire universe. “You’re my partner, and when I’m with you, I feel like I’m at home. And, isn’t that the very definition of love — of comfort and home?”

Chat adjusts the pair of them, a sea of diamonds glittering and echoing in his eyes, and kisses her forehead tenderly. “You’ve made my entire life, Bugaboo. Thank you — for existing, for dieu, everything and for giving me a chance.”

The rose colour of Ladybug’s cheeks is very distracting, indeed. “Finally convinced yourself you aren’t dreaming, minou?” 

“No.” The answer is soft, and truthful. “Oh my dieu. If I’m not dreaming, does that mean I’m dying? Is that why you’ve kissed me — as my dying gift?” 

“Stop being so dramatic.” Ladybug lets out a breath —  a curious combination between a laugh and an exasperated sigh. “And, just kiss me, already.” 

one:

The first time she saw him was on a billboard.

People were beautiful, Marinette had thought, and had impulsively stopped in the middle of the street, regardless of the fact that her tardiness would reflect badly to her customer, and could lead to a failed commission.

It wasn’t an unusual photo, just a beautiful boy with sparkling eyes focused on the stars like he was merely greeting them.

Marinette wondered what went through his head when the camera flashed, whether he was startled from his daydreams, shaken from a mist of a memory or a wish, or if he’d simply smiled that model smile and walked away, hardly a glitch in routine. 

Models were like actors. They could pretend they saw fields dotted with peonies and roses, shimmering under the teasing brush of wind when they looked out through a window, even if the actual scene was merely concrete buildings and worn trenchcoats. 

There was a sea of people swarming around her, like drops echoing together towards a union to form a tide but Marinette remained stuck, like a halted laugh in photographs, a grain of salt hidden in the chipper.

It read this: The Agreste Fragrance. Out now 

Instinctively, she snapped a photograph of the billboard. She doesn’t know who the model is, has never seen him before, but there was something about his smile — the kind of smile that makes you nostalgic for something you’ve never been apart of, but could hope to feel the essence of —  as cliche as that sounded, that resonated with her.

two: The second time she saw him was on Alya’s phone. They were playing Truth or Dare, as silly as it was the first time they played it a decade ago, and Marinette’s wormed herself a way to send a message to any contact. Honest, she meant to send a stupid, rubbish message to Nino - Alya’s boyfriend, the one that surprised her friend with a dozen daisies, the very day the pair had met, but her thoughts abruptly pause at the background.