Top Posts Tagged with #jimari

what you’ve kept hidden (i’ve always known), 7.2k words, Marinette Dupain-Cheng/Jim Lake Jr.

My Jimari Secret Santa gift to Aly (let me know if I should tag you!) combining the prompts for a confession with angst and a cute first date. Also on Ao3.

The video is blurry, filmed from a cellphone camera just behind a nearby building, but it's the best they have. There aren't any news crews in the area, but Toby is diligently looking for any other coverage on his phone. Jim doesn't think he could be watching this without him.

The camera is shaking as it shows the back of a man in a purple suit, holding up a girl with one hand and reaching for her earrings. Ash falls from the sky around them, and there are sirens in the distance.

It can’t end like this, is all that Jim can think. Ladybug's too strong, too skilled, too smart to be caught like this. She must have some sort of plan, some kind of power that can fix this. He’s seen her do it before.

Reports of magical heroes in Paris had slowly made their way to Arcadia a year ago. While most people had thought it fraudulent or some kind of publicity stunt, Jim was far less likely to dismiss claims of magic these days. He’s followed her rising career through a few blogs and home videos, watched a couple of newscasts, and found some comfort in the idea that he's not the only hero out there. He almost envied Ladybug for being able to go public with her identity, being able to see and communicate with the public she was protecting. At the moment all he feels for her is cold dread.

Hawkmoth makes a quick movement, and there's a shimmer of pink light. Jim wants to look away, grant her the privacy he knows is being violated, but can't seem to make his eyes move. As the costume falls away revealing a very familiar looking face, his jaw drops.

“Marinette?”

—

Jim doesn't quite remember when it started. Somewhere on the forums for one of the many games they both played, teaming up to defeat virtual monsters and chatting only through text. Over the years they’d grown closer, started voice chatting and then video chatting, beginning to share a little more of their lives and themselves. Their relationship had lasted far past the usual expiration date of online friendships and they were still going strong. She was the only reason he still spoke French, and he helped her with her English homework. They had fallen into an easy pattern of late night gaming marathons in middle school and homework sessions in high school, calling each other to chat during the time zone window where neither of them were sleeping to chat and swap baking tips and laugh over bad jokes.

She was the first person he’d told about Claire, back when he had time for things like crushes. She’d encouraged him to ask her out, and Jim had countered asking when she was going to do the same for Adrien. He wanted to tell her about the amulet, but knew that there wasn’t a chance. Besides, what would she be able to do? She was an ocean away, and even if she was here it wasn’t like she could grab a sword and fight Bular for him. Or so he’d thought.

“Is it Steve again?” she’d asked one afternoon, when training had gone rather poorly and he’d signed into their video call exhausted and with the beginnings of a rather sizable bruise on his shoulder. She couldn’t see it, but she was perceptive enough to notice the wince every time he moved.

“It’s not him,” he promised. “I’m doing some… extra curriculars. After school credit stuff.”

“Oh?” Marinette asked, her eyebrows rising. “Like what? I thought you had to turn down culinary club.” It felt like almost a lifetime ago, when he’d been occupied with trying to keep his grades up and take care of the house, when the fee for participation had been enough to make him put off joining until he could find a summer job and pay for it himself.

“Yeah, I joined… wrestling,” he decided, racking his brain for what kind of extracurricular could involve physical injury. “Trying to get my phys ed mark up, I haven’t been doing so great.” Which was true, due to a lack of attendance rather than ability but Mari didn’t need to know that.

“Wrestling?” she echoed, confusion in her expression. Jim had wondered if she was going to press, felt a cold knot form in his stomach at the thought of lying more to her. But to his relief she’d only frowned and accepted it, saying that it sounded dangerous and she hoped he’d try to be safer before changing subjects.

Now his mind is running through those old conversations, wondering if he’d missed any of the same signs from her. Any sprained ankles or healing cuts, any sign of a burden they could have shared.

“Marinette is Ladybug? Your Marinette?” Toby is saying, but Jim can hardly hear him over the buzzing in his ears.

Hawkmoth has dropped her, and she's coughing. Jim realises that he’d been strangling her, that she’d have a necklace of bruises marring her neck tomorrow. If she makes it that far, a nasty voice in the back of his mind whispers, one Jim immediately shoves away.

“Come on, Marinette,” he whispers, leaning closer to the screen like he could reach her through it. Hawkmoth has grabbed her arm and is starting to drag her away, but another figure strides forward and stops him. Chat Noir, Jim thinks with a rush of relief, and then anger, because how dare he let this happen to her? How could he let it come this far, let her be unmasked on live video, let her stand up to a supervillain by herself?

He redirects that anger, since Chat Noir has been trying to protect her, is probably taunting Hawkmoth right now trying to get him to release her. They're too far away for the video to pick up on their audio, but not far enough to keep Jim from seeing how he raises a hand, threatens to slap her. And how she flinches.

Then Chat Noir moves, lunges forward and there’s a flash of light that turns the video into a blur of static. They sit there in horrified silence for a moment before the feed shuts off completely, leaves them staring at a dark screen with an error message.

“NO!” Jim screams, and Toby’s scrolling through his phone but he’s not fast enough, Marinette is in danger RIGHT NOW and Jim doesn’t know what’s happening. Can’t see if she’s hurt more, can’t see if she’s gotten free, can’t see if she’s even still alive and nothing matters in this moment except the fact that there’s an ocean between them keeping him from helping her and he’s terrified.

It’s the longest two minutes of his life until they find another video, but this one’s only Rena Rouge. “-all okay,” she’s saying to the reporters who have finally showed up, far too late to catch anything other than a repaired and empty street with their cameras. “Hawkmoth has been defeated and turned over to the proper authorities, and everybody is safe.”

The reporters are falling over themselves asking questions, most about Ladybug ( what’s her name , like it’s not going to be all over the internet within the hour), and Rena declines to comment. “There will be an official statement released in the future,” she says before leaving, a pale and shocked reporter taking her place in front of the camera. She can only repeat facts Jim already knows, so he turns off the television and sits there in silence.

“She must be okay,” Toby finally offers, and Jim nods. Marinette has to be okay, not because of the reporters’ questions or Rena’s composure or even because she’s Ladybug, but because the alternative is too terrible to think of.

“Do you ever feel like you need to be perfect?” Marinette had asked him once, when Jim had noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the flat tone of voice, dulled from her usual vibrancy. “Like everything’s depending on you, and if you aren’t enough then people will get hurt?”

All the time, was his answer, but he couldn’t say why so he didn’t say it at all. “Do you feel that way?”

“Sometimes, yeah,” she said, and he knew that she too really meant always. “It’s just a lot, you know? With school, and the bakery, and…”

“And the akumas,” Jim guessed. The previous day had been a particularly drawn out fight between Ladybug and an akuma, and while he’d been confident Ladybug would win he still worried. This was Marinette's home, her friends, her school. And although they hadn’t discussed it in detail, Marinette trying to change the subject whenever he asked questions until he figured she simply didn’t want to discuss it, he knew the akumas fed off emotion. What was that like, being unable to let yourself be truly angry or afraid, with the constant threat of being weaponized hanging over your head?

“You don’t need to be perfect,” he’d told her. “You just need to be you. That’s all anybody can expect.”

“And what if I’m not enough?” Mari had asked, and Jim had wished that he could place a hand on her shoulder.

“You’re always enough,” he’d said.

Now he's wondering how many other conversations they’d had that were really about Ladybug, and wondering if there was anything he could have said that would have been better. Encouraged her more, made her job the tiniest bit easier. He can't remember saying anything monumentally stupid like let Ladybug handle it, but he wouldn’t put it past his memory to be a bit faulty on this matter.

How had he not known? How had he missed all the signs? Him of all people, who knows exactly what it's like to be fighting evil in between classes, how it feels knowing that you're the only person standing between genuinely evil beings and your home, what it's like keeping everything secret as you attempt to live a double life without either side crumbling.

He’d messaged her as soon as he got home, a quick are you okay before he realised that her phone was probably turned off if she wanted to have any peace. If Jim was exposed as the Trollhunter, everybody would be too busy with the underground secret society of trolls to really bother him. Ladybug was a national figure, and she’d just been unmasked on live television.

So Jim starts stress baking, because while he can’t make sure that Marinette was okay he can make sure that this pie crust stays perfectly golden brown. It doesn't help much, Marinette and baking being permanently linked in his mind after too many nights spent on the phone trying out new recipes together, but at least he’ll get some muffins out of his anxiety instead of just a sleepless night.

“What happened?” his mother asks when she comes home to a kitchen filled with assorted baked goods. She knows him too well for him to pass it off as nothing, and besides he’s tired of lying, but he doesn’t want to tell her about Ladybug. Maybe she’ll find out, but it’s not his secret to give.

“Marinette’s in trouble,” he says. “I haven’t heard from her, and I can’t...” he trails off, unsure what to say. Can’t stand not knowing, can’t help her from here? Can’t breathe properly until he hears her voice, hears from her that everything will be okay? All true, but saying it won’t change it.

“Oh honey,” his mom says, and she’s hugging him and Jim lets himself fall into the embrace. He hopes Marinette has her parents with her right now, hopes they’re hugging her and letting her melt like he is now, hopes more than anything that she’s safe and happy because she deserves to be.

If she were here nothing would keep him from getting to her house. He’d scale the wall and meet her on her balcony, wait by the back door until somebody let him in, do whatever it took to see her. But all he can do is wait for her to reply.

His phone is ringing. In the moment it takes for his half asleep mind to register the noise he’s already reaching for it. The ringtone is a familiar rock song, one he associates with Marinette before Jagged Stone, and a shot of adrenaline clears all the remaining drowsiness from his mind when he remembers why this call is so important.

“Marinette?” he says, the words tumbling out of his mouth as soon as he presses the button and lifts the phone to his ear, and he hears ragged breathing on the other side.

“Jim,” she gasps, and he feels as though a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” he asks, standing and starting to pace.

“I’m fine,” she says, and then she’s crying. “I wanted to tell you. I’m so sorry.”

“Mari,” he says, wishing that he could be next to her, wrap an arm around her shaking shoulders and hold her close. “I don’t care about that, I’m just glad to hear that you’re safe. You don’t know how worried I was.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she replies, and he can still hear the tears in her voice. He hates the sound, hates her choked gasps as she cries, but would take them any day over not hearing from her at all. “I wanted to tell you, I just couldn’t. Hawkmoth... “

“I know,” he says. “I understand.” And he does, more than she knows, and a knot of guilt forms in his stomach. He knows how it feels to want to tell, to share this incredible burden with your best friend, and he understands exactly what prevents that. “I’m just glad you’re okay. You don’t know how scared I was.”

“I know,” she says, and she sniffles. Her tears seem to be running out, and Jim takes a deep breath.

“What happened?” he says, and then it all comes spilling out. She talks about the plan they had, how she was going to be the distraction, how it all went wrong when they found Hawkmoth’s identity (and something in his chest clenches at that, the scar of an old betrayal aching again), and how the ladybugs repaired all the physical damage but they couldn't undo the unmasking. All of Paris knows who their hero is, after she’s worked so hard to keep it a secret.

“I was so worried you’d be upset,” she says. “It’s been such a big part of my life, and I wanted to tell you, but… ”

“I understand,” he says. “Superheroes always have a secret identity.” She gives an embarrassed laugh at that, and he could picture the blush spreading across her face. “Marinette, would you promise me something?”

“What?” He had been sitting down but now he stands, walking over to the window as he decides how exactly to make his request.

“Please, don’t do this again,” he says. “I know you’re a hero, I know you’re smart and capable and strong, but please. Don’t put yourself in danger like that again.”

“Jim… I don’t think I can promise that,” she says, and Jim nods. It’s part of the job, and he can’t make the same promise back. Though she doesn’t know it he's been as much danger as she was, if not more. And he probably will be again.

“I know, I know,” he sighs. “Just… be careful. Seeing you in danger, and I was too far away to do anything, and I… I haven’t even gotten to tell you…” he trails off as his mind catches up with his words. Tell her what? That she makes him smile more than anybody else, that hearing from her always makes his day better, that when he thought she might have been killed the world felt wrong until he heard her voice? All true, but not what he’d been about to say.

“Jim?” Marinette prompts, and he mentally shakes himself.

“We haven’t even gotten to meet,” he says. “In real life. And you’re not allowed to be hurt before that happens.”

“Right,” she says, a bit of a smile returning to her voice. “But all bets are off after, right?”

“It’ll be different after we meet!” A smile begins to tug at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll be able to protect you.”

“Which one of us is the superhero again?” And just like that they fall back into their usual easy banter, and it feels like nothing has changed. It’s like he always knew, like no secrets have ever hung between them, because more important than her being Ladybug is her being Marinette. Yet woven through it all is a pattern of relief, a whispered we’re here and we’re safe as steady as a heartbeat carrying their conversation.

They talk well into the early hours of the morning, and when his alarm wakes him Jim finds the phone fallen on the pillow next to him. They must have fallen asleep talking, as the phone informs him they spent far more hours on call than he remembers, and there’s a text from her. Goodnight Jim! Thank you.

He holds his phone to his chest and stares at the ceiling, eyes stinging from not enough sleep, and wonders just what he had been about to tell her.

—

They parked a news van outside her house. She kept the curtains drawn and couldn’t go out, communicated to her friends and other heroes over phone calls and video chats. The official press release had been delivered by Rena Rouge and Carapace. Chat Noir had vanished; Marinette told him that his identity wasn’t her secret to share, but he was safe and recovering. But Paris still wanted to hear from Ladybug, and she just wanted to be left alone.

Chloe had surprised both of them by hiring a full bodyguard detail to guard the shop. Marinette thought it was her way of apologizing for some of her earlier behaviour at school, but she was mostly grateful that she hadn’t asked any questions. Her parents were trying to run the shop but kept getting people who just wanted to meet her, and had ended up resorting to mainly doing deliveries to keep gawkers out of their house. Marinette couldn’t leave, and although she tried to stay positive Jim knew she was feeling trapped.

“Come stay with me,” Jim had said, the words out of his mouth before he could think them through. But it made sense. In America less people knew or cared about Ladybug’s secret identity; she could take a vacation and wait out the media storm, return when she could take a walk outside without needing to worry about paparazzi.

It had been a whirlwind of planning, dates and phone calls from both their parents, but the day has finally arrived. Chloe lent Marinette her private jet; her parents will follow in a few days once they can close down the shop and move into a small condo they’ll be renting. So Jim has prepared a spare bedroom, given what little Ladybug memorabilia he has to Toby with threats to keep him from showing her any of it, and warned the trolls that he’ll have a houseguest. He has not informed them that he’ll be telling her about being the Trollhunter. It’ll be easier to ask forgiveness than permission, when they don’t know Marinette like he does. She can keep a secret, and she deserves to know.

He had thought about bringing a sign, but was worried it might call unwanted attention so refrained. Now he wishes that he brought one, if only to have something to hold. What’s he supposed to do with his hands? It’s ridiculous, this is Marinette, but it’s also the first time they’ll be seeing each other in person and he can’t help but feel suddenly uneasy, like something will go very wrong the moment she steps off the plane. What if he steps forward to greet her and steps on her foot? Or trips and falls into her? And that breaks her nose? Or maybe he’ll knock her over completely, and...

His catastrophic thoughts ground to a halt the moment he sees a flash of hair so black it’s almost blue, and suddenly he’s running forward and so is she. They have never met each other before but they’re flying into each other’s arms, and she fits so perfectly it’s like they’ve done this a million times before.

“Hey,” he says, a little breathless as he pulls back to look at her in the eyes, and he’s smiling so broadly that his cheeks hurt. Marinette’s smile is even more beautiful in person.

“Hi,” she replies, and they stand there for a moment in each others’ arms only to jump apart when his mother clears her throat.

“Marinette, it’s good to meet you,” she says, pointedly ignoring the blush spreading across Marinette’s face. Jim can feel his own cheeks heating and suddenly finds the floor very interesting as he attempts to gather himself, to concentrate on all the words he was planning to say instead of only thinking of the way she felt in his arms.

“It’s lovely to meet you too Ms Lake,” Marinette says, composing herself quickly and holding out her hand.

“Please, call me Barbara.” His mom shakes her hand with a warm smile. “How was your flight?”

“It was good, thank you,” she says.

“First class treatment! What was it like?” Jim asks, and she grins at him.

“I saved you some of the pretzels,” she says, pulling out a package of them from her pocket.

“And this is why we’re friends,” he says, and she laughs.

“Because I give you food?”

“No other reason,” he says.

“Glad to hear your friendship is so easily bought,” she teases. “A single pack of stale airline pretzels?”

“Private jet pretzels,” he says. He returns her grin and then their smiles soften. “It’s really good to see you.” The words aren’t enough, can’t convey the sense of rightness he feels at having her here, but she seems to understand anyways.

“You too.” Marinette blushes and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The moment is broken by a man clearing his throat, somebody who looks like he just walked out of a Men in Black movie which is contrasted by the pastel pink suitcase and duffel bag he’s holding.

“Excuse me ma'am, we can bring your luggage to the vehicle,” he says, and they’re both stepping forward in tandem.

“Oh, thank you but that’s okay,” she says, while he’s saying “I can take that for you,” and thankfully the man doesn’t fight as they pull the luggage from his hands (her with the duffel, him with her suitcase) because even with his Trollhunting-obtained muscle Jim’s not sure he would win a tug-of-war with him.

“Shall we?” his mom says, leading them out to the car, and Jim feels a rush of excitement as it begins to sink in that he can finally show Marinette his home.

“It’s not a limo, but I hope it’s fancy enough,” he says, and she rolls her eyes.

“I’m sure I’ll manage.” Then her mouth quirks up in a grin that he recognizes, and she takes off after his mom. “Race you!” she calls.

“You don’t even know which one is ours!” Jim shouts back, while trying to convince the wheels on her suitcase to maintain a pace they were never built for. They fall into the backseat with flushed cheeks and racing heartbeats, and he spends half the drive home pointing out things for her to finally put an image to and the other half admiring how much better she looks in person compared to a video feed.

—

The creaking floorboard wakes him up. Not that he’d been sleeping too well anyways, his dreams a confused muddle of anxiety he's thankful didn’t break out into a full nightmare. He considers rolling over and trying to go back to sleep, but then remembers that Marinette is here and there’s a chance Draal has ignored all of his warnings and decided a midnight snack is appropriate right now. It takes a moment to locate his house robe and shrugs it on over his pyjamas before creeping into the hallway. Marinette’s door is also open.

He finds her in the kitchen, softly opening cupboards. She’s already located a mug and it’s waiting on the kitchen island, and her eyes go wide and she winces an apology at him when she sees him.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” she says, and he shrugs as he heads for the drawer where they keep their tea bags.

“It’s fine,” he says, holding them up for her to inspect. “Chamomile?” She nods and he starts the kettle boiling. “Jet lag? Or something else?” She looks away, and the dark rims under her eyes are too pronounced to come from one night.

“I don’t think I want to talk about it right now,” she says, and Jim nods. He pours them both a cup and beckons her over to the couch.

“If we use subtitles we can watch something,” he says. “Unless you’d rather be alone.”

“No,” she says, sitting down next to him. She’s wearing a blanket over her shoulders and pulls it up, tucks it around her until only her head and her hand holding her tea are poking out. “Company is good.”

They don’t say anything else as Jim pulls up Beauty and the Beast (the Disney animated one, she’d told him years ago it was her comfort film) and sets the subtitles to French. They’d been speaking English all day with only occasional slips into French, but he thinks she might need something familiar right now. Halfway through the villagers singing about how strange Belle is she shifts and her free hand creeps out of the blankets to the couch cushion between them.

“I keep seeing their faces,” she whispers, the words solemn and heavy. “There were casualties when we fought him.” He hasn’t heard anything about casualties, probably because Lucky Charm always fixes everything at the end of the battle. Everything but the guilt in her voice, the fear in her eyes, the way she flinches when he reaches out and takes her hand in his.

“It was his fault,” he says. “Not yours.” Her breath hitches a little, and he knows she’s on the verge of tears. “You saved them. You did everything you could, and you won.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“What?” He turns and looks at her, the movie forgotten as he tries to figure out what on earth he has to be disappointed about.

“I know you admired her,” she says, her eyes flicking over his face. “Ladybug, I mean. And to find out that it’s just me, and that I’m…”

“Marinette, you’re amazing,” he says honestly, squeezing her hand. “You’re brave and selfless and kind, and the only difference between you and Ladybug was that she had superpowers. You’re a hero with or without them. I could never be disappointed.”

Maybe she moves towards him or he moves forward first, but however it happens they’re bundled together in a hug. She’s shaking, and Jim wishes more than anything that he could take this from her. She doesn’t deserve this burden even if she is strong enough to carry it, and it’s a tragedy she has to.

She pulls back a little and they watch Belle sing about adventure, still wrapped in an embrace made mostly of blankets, and when Maurice heads into the castle he shifts slightly and reaches forward for the box of tissues, silently offering it to her.

“Thank you,” she says, grabbing a few.

“I wish I could help more,” he says, and they both know he’s not talking about the tissues. She looks at him, eyes still a little too wet, and gives him a smile.

“You did,” she says, quiet conviction in her voice. “Jim, you were my rock. Some days the only thing that kept me sane was knowing that I’d be able to talk to you afterwards, even if I couldn’t tell you the details.” He tightens his arm around her shoulder but says nothing, and her face scrunches up in a frown. “It’s true, you know,” she says. “I didn’t need you fighting beside me. I just needed a friend. And you were always there, no matter what time it was or how little I was saying.”

Their minds are likely both flashing over other midnight conversations, texts sent in the middle of classes and calls made by sneaking out of study hall, and although they were sparse on some details like names and events they certainly hadn’t hidden how they were feeling.

He still feels guilty, still wishes that he could have been next to her in that final battle and all the previous ones, but he has to trust that whatever little he was able to offer was enough.

The movie goes on and he feels something in his chest tighten at the library scene, as all the characters sing about something there that wasn’t there before. But was it really, he wonders? He always wants to protect his friends, always wants to help people, but sometime when he wasn’t looking Marinette quietly claimed a piece of his heart that he only just realised was missing. Falling in love with her was so easy, so natural, that the landing was soft enough to go unnoticed.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he whispers as Beauty and her Beast dance through the dazzling ballroom, and his stomach falls at her silence until he looks down and realises she’s drifted off to sleep, head using his lap as a pillow and hands curling around the blanket.

I’ll tell her soon, he promises himself as his own eyelids start to droop. But they have time, and right now they both just need to rest.

—

It was an awful fact that whenever one promised to do something tomorrow the fated day never arrived, forever shoved aside in favor of endless todays until it's suddenly Marinette’s last day staying with him. She still likely has a few more months in Arcadia, but the packed suitcase in the hallway makes him feel like his window's closing. It was so easy to let their conversation be light and easy, to spend their days biking through the town and introducing her to his friends, that he’s managed to put it off until now. But today would be the day.

They’d planned a picnic. Just the two of them, and if he’d actually had this conversation before this could be their first date. She’d insisted on finding a red checkered blanket to spread on the ground (they’d eventually found one in a thrift store) and they’d made each other weird sandwiches (peanut butter, bacon, and banana for him, pear walnut for her), and everything was loaded in his picnic basket. The amulet was in his back pocket.

Maybe it’s better this way, he thinks, staring at his bike like it'll offer some sage wisdom for the situation. If she doesn’t feel the same it would be awkward if she was still in the same house. Or if the trolls freak her out he supposes she won't mind moving, but he can’t help but feel that confession will be the easier out of the two. After all, he’s met Tikki, and kwamis seem a bit more shocking than trolls.

“Ready to go?” Marinette asks, closing the door behind her, and Jim nods and smiles as she mounts her bike.

“No earrings?”

“I think Ladybug deserves a day off,” she says, and he wonders if Tikki knows some of what he wants to say and has decided to give them alone time. “Let’s go!”

She’d memorized the layout of the town very quickly, something she credited to years of biking being her main transportation through Paris. She also had a bad habit of looking for cars driving the wrong way while crossing the road, and he was trying to at least get her to look both ways before darting out into the street. His caution has sadly not yet caught on, and she’s quickly outpacing him as they ride towards the woods.

They dismount and leave their bikes behind a bush before walking further into the woods, Marinette admiring the surroundings with wide eyes.

“No forests in Paris?” Jim asks, and she shrugs.

“There’s some parks, but nothing this size,” she says. “And this is just here. You can walk in any direction and run into more forest.”

“Maybe we can go camping,” Jim suggests. “When your parents have gotten settled in, we can spend a weekend at Yosemite or something.” He hasn’t gone camping in years, but he’s learned plenty of wilderness survival skills from Blinky. Granted he was fairly certain only a few of them applied to humans, but it would still be fun. He’d probably find trollish lessons fun if he was doing them with Marinette.

They plan their camping trip as they cross a river, and Marinette’s laugh distracts Jim enough that his foot slips off a rock and ends up drenched in river water. She’s concerned at first but soon enough they’re both laughing over it, and they finally reach the clearing. Buttercups and daisies dot the grass between dandelions, and they spread the blanket and lie down, looking up at the cloudless sky.

“I bet the stars out here are beautiful,” Marinette says. “We have to come back some time at night and stargaze.”

“I can try and borrow Toby’s telescope,” Jim agrees. “Have you gone stargazing before?”

“Not really,” she says. “You can’t see too many in Paris from light pollution, and my nights were usually too busy to stop and look. You?”

“Same,” he says. “I’ve tried to pick out constellations a few times, but I’m terrible at it. They all look the same to me.”

“You just have to start with what you know!” Marinette says. “Find Orion’s belt or the Big Dipper and go from there.”

“So you have gone stargazing!” He props himself up on an elbow to look at her, and she shakes her head.

“No, I’ve just used star maps,” she says. “I was making a skirt design that used constellations and I wanted it to be accurate!”

“You know you could probably just make random dots and nobody would know the difference, right?”

“I would know the difference!” she says, sitting up. “Haven’t you ever taken pride in your work? Done it right for the sake of doing so?”

“Of course! I used to drive my mom crazy by insisting on making pie crusts from scratch.”

“They taste better that way!”

“Exactly! But I never had time to make them, so we went without pie for a while until I caved and went store bought.”

“Jim!” she gasps, her hand covering her mouth in faux horror. “Never let my parents hear you say that, they’ll never let us speak again!”

“Scandalous, I know!” he agrees. “But if I have you to ask for help I won’t need to resort to such desperate measures in the future.”

“You can spend all day baking with my dad, he’ll love it,” she says. “He thinks that’s the best way to get to know somebody, so expect an interrogation while making a layer cake.”

“An interrogation? Don’t they already know me?” Marinette blushes and looks away.

“They do, but not as well as they want to,” she says. He sits up, but she still refuses to meet her gaze. “After all, they think… well…”

Tell her now, his mind screams at him. This is the perfect time! But suddenly his tongue is made of lead. “Marinette,” he says, and it’s a wonder she can hear him over the sound of his suddenly too loud heartbeat. But hear she does, and her head turns towards him maybe a little too quickly.

“Yes?”

“I…” And despite how much he wants to tell her, for whatever reason the only words he can force out of his mouth are “Would you like a sandwich?”

“Oh,” she says, deflating a little. “Yeah, sure.” His hands tremble a little as he opens up the picnic basket and passes her the food. He grabs his as well; the plan is for them to take the first bite at the same time, but he’s not sure if he can manage to eat anything from the way his stomach is twisting. “Ready?” Marinette says with a grin, but it’s not as wide as it was before.

“Wait,” he says, and she wrinkles her nose at him.

“This is a bad time to tell me you’re allergic to peanut butter,” she says, and he smiles.

“Not that,” he says. “I was actually going to tell you… well, I…” She doesn’t say anything, just stares at him with eyes bluer than the sky, and Jim wonders why this moment is harder than leaping into the Darklands.

“Marinette, you’re a great friend,” he says, and he wants to kick himself as he sees her face fall. “That’s not what I meant!” he says, and now she just looks confused. “I mean, I wanted to say that while I love our friendship, I also… I might think of you as more. More than a friend.” HIs cheeks are ablaze and he can’t meet her gaze, instead choosing to focus on his sandwich. The pickle juice will make the bread soggy, but eating it is the last thing on his mind.

“Jim, is this a date?” Marinette asks, and her voice is soft enough that he can’t discern her feelings.

“Maybe,” he says. “It can be, if you want it to be.” And he’s so ready to hear her gently turn him down (he knows she likes Adrien, and he’s just Jim! He can’t hold a candle to an actual model) that he almost misses her reply.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, I’d like this to be a date.” He looks at her, and he’s never seen anybody look as happy as she does in that moment.

“You mean you-”

“Yeah,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think I’ve liked you for a while now. I just wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”

“Me neither,” he says. “I thought Adrien-”

“We’re friends,” she says. “And Claire?”

“Friends,” he says. They went on a date once and it was terribly awkward, and at the end they agreed a platonic relationship was better. But he doesn’t want to think about Claire right now, not when Marinette is there and she apparently likes him too. “I figured it out when I was watching the battle,” he confesses.

“Because you learned I was Ladybug?” she asks, and he shakes his head.

“Because I realised I couldn’t lose you,” he says. “It was more of a catalyst than a deciding factor.” It’s not Ladybug he fell in love with, it’s Marinette and all the little things about her that make her extraordinary.

“I figured it out on the plane ride over,” she says. “Alya told me to tell her all the details about ‘my new boyfriend’ and I spent the whole flight thinking about that.”

“Oh,” he says, and his cheeks are beginning to hurt from his smile. “I should have told you sooner, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes!” Marinette agrees with a laugh. “We could have been dating this whole time!”

“It’s only been a few days,” he says. “And besides, I don’t think we would have done anything too different.” Now that he thinks about it a lot of their excursions around the town could have been dates: going to the museum, petting the dogs in the pet shop, eating at his favourite cafe, visiting the library.

“I could have done this sooner,” she says, and she leans forward and kisses him. It’s a quick peck on his cheek, but he feels as though a shock of electricity has gone through him. “Sorry,” she says, pulling back. “I should have asked first.” But he puts down his sandwich and reaches out for her, slowly cupping her cheek.

“May I?” he asks, and she nods. And he lowers his lips to hers.

It’s not like a dream, or something magical. It’s better than that because it’s real, he’s really and truly here with Marinette and they are kissing, and when he finally pulls back he can’t help but marvel at the flushed and beaming expression she’s wearing because of him.

“You’re lucky I did that before I ate the sandwich,” he says, and she laughs.

“I’d let you even with pickle breath,” she says, and not even the strange food combinations they’ve made can cause their smiles to dim. They eat and exchange the second half of their sandwiches, and drink lemonade and eat apples and toss the cores as far as they can (he’s got more strength, but yo yo throwing has made her accuracy unbeatable). And as the shadows are beginning to lengthen he doesn’t want to leave, exit this perfect afternoon and go to the next moment where he’ll have to let the rest of the world into this new and wonderful thing, but decides that since the future will hold second and third dates and hopefully many dates after that it won’t be so terrible letting this one end.

“I'm really glad that you finally told me,” she says as they pack up the picnic, shaking the crumbs off the blanket before folding it. “Despite how hard it was to get the words out.”

“Next time I’ll just use Romeo’s speech,” he says. “But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Marinette is the sun.”

“I’ll need to brush up on my Shakespeare if I want to keep up,” she says, and he shrugs.

“If you want, but I can’t think of anything better than you,” he says. “The words you speak, I mean. And the way you say things.” His cheeks are burning again, but she smiles at him and gives him another kiss.

“Sometimes you talk too much,” she says, and he nods and kisses her again. All good things must come to an end, as kisses are limited by lung capacity, but he can’t bring himself to mind now that the prospect of many more kisses await both of them in the future.

“If this is the result, I don’t think I mind being unmasked,” she tells him, and he nods. “Plus, we don’t need to play the awkward secret identity game this way.” With a flash he remembers that there were two things he wanted to tell her about, and while he doesn’t think this will be a dealbreaker he’d much rather get it out of the way sooner rather than later. He’s learned his lesson about hiding things from Marinette.

“Actually, there was one more thing I wanted to tell you about,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the amulet.

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