The soft crinkle of a snack bag was all that filled the kitchen at midnight—until a warm weight wrapped itself around you from behind.

“Hmm… I’m booored, Marinette sighed into your back, voice soft and sleepy.

You glanced down to see her in your oversized black sweater—looking about ten sizes too big on her and ten times too adorable. Her navy blue hair was scooped into a messy bun, cheeks a little pink from sleep… or something else.

Then you turned and saw it: the face. That face.

Bottom lip bitten, eyebrows raised just enough to scream “pet me,” and eyes so big and pleading they short-circuited your brain. She was clinging tightly, impossibly close—and there was a tiny, suspicious blush dusting her collarbone.

Your eyes narrowed teasingly. You saw something pink and lacy under her black sweater that barely reached her upper thigh. She had something pink there and it seemed like she was wearing lingirei!!