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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.
It was a picture of a group of friends, all cosy and shadowed near a fireplace. There was Alya, arms wrapped around Nino, Rose with her lips pressed against Juleka’s rose tainted cheeks and there was him .
Scrawny, beautiful him, and unfortunately standing far away from the single dim light bulb in the room. If she were to focus, zoom in, she could have seen him, but Marinette, almost adamantly, tore her gaze away, her scrutinizing, treacherous brain already in the means of attempting to decipher the man’s face.
The thought was infinitely terrifying as if she's just been instructed to jump off a plane with neither safety nor wits intact.
She knew, without a doubt, that the man in the picture was her partner.
[ How? ( 8 Marks. )
Perhaps, to any other citizen, that might have been just about any boy, with a ridiculous pose, but to Marinette, part-time superhero, who spent her nights redefining the meaning of parkour as Ladybug, knew that it couldn't have been anyone else than Chat Noir.
She had made fun of that pose their very last patrol, and he’d laughed, posed that stupid, distinguishable position.
Only he would drop his identity because of a pose. If Marinette didn't know better, she would chance a guess that her best friend was a model.
And, if that wasn't enough of a reason, she had spent nights dancing with him, only shadow and touch guiding her.
She didn't need to see a clear view of his face to tell that the man standing, arm resting on a block of picture frames and nostalgia, was her best friend.
Chat Noir had seen her, surely, if he had looked at the photographs lining Alya’s wall. Could he have recognized her, like she him? ]
Chat Noir was someone who ran along the same circles as her, who wore flannel and ladybug patterned socks.
Not that she was surprised.
He had confessed, multiple times, to owning merchandise with her theme printed on it. And, she’d bloomed as red as roses but merely nudged him away with an exasperated yet fond huff.
If she wanted to, she could have asked for his name then, could have asked if his eyes were really that beautiful of an emerald shade, and could have wondered if his laugh had the ability to send any listener — and, not just her — to an emotional, and poetic state.
A passing comment, This is such a cute picture. Wish I could have been here. (And, introduced myself to some people.) and Alya would have spilled secrets, beautiful names of introductions and stories of names that Marinette had ached to know, for the past couple of years.
(“That’s Felix! He’s the landlord and hey, we passed by him and thought why not invite him along?”
Mon Dieu. What if her partner was actually the landlord? Would that mean she would never be able to go over to Alya’s place again?
Or, what if he was actually a very close friend named Mark Junior and, oh , what if Alya threw her a surprise birthday party and invited Chat Noir, and she’d have to ask him his name, whether he was enjoying the party, and shake his hand, the one she traced on, under leather. )
“Mari? Girl, are you still there?” Alya leaned forward,and glanced at the phone, the screen still at home screen. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Marinette coughed, and clicked the off button. Chat Noir faded from view, yet lingered in her thoughts. “I've actually rethought my whole stand on this matter. Don't want to go snooping through your contacts and find something.”
Alya’s hair shook with the force of her laugh. “I don't send Nino any M rated stuff. You know neither of us are comfortable with that kind of stuff.”
“Yeah.” She attempted a smile. “Doesn't mean I won't find anything gross. And, besides. I’ve gotten a much better dare for you."
“Yeah?”
“I want you to call up your boss and tell her that no, there are not, in fact, twenty vowels.”
The pillow that she faced the next second wasn’t surprising in the least. Neither, was the joint laughter that rang out, lost somewhere between Chinese food and keychains.
It was almost enough to distract her from Chat Noir, with his messy hair and adorable spotted sweater.
Almost .
three
Marinette exhaled, and lifted her coffee cup towards her lips.
It spilled a little, with fingers pinching in surprised pain, but it hardly did anything to block the shock that Marinette currently bore.
Her partner — the very Chat Noir — was standing right beside her. She was positively sure of the fact.
“—shut up, Nino. Miss Bustier hates me . Did you see the glare she was giving me last period?” Her partner — a figure quite hard to ignore — was saying. “I genuinely thought she’d throw me out.”
“Throw you out?” The response is a loud cackle. “Or, ask you to teach alongside her? Dude, you're her favourite student. You literally got her muffins on the first day of term.”
Marinette adamantly blocked the noise, and focused pointedly on her phone, which currently displayed a meme of Chat Noir.
Damn it.
“I — stop laughing, Nino!”
A terrifying thought struck her then, like a bolt of lightning. The chances of her partner knowing their Nino are slim, nearly non-existent. Perhaps, it wasn't Nino, after all, merely a figment of Marinette's dramatic, illusive imagination that constantly made the worst worse.
“Dude, I'm just stating the facts.”
Laughter blares out in the studio, and it was so painfully familiar that Marinette shut her eyes and winced at how easily the memory of Nino laughing and sliding his cap back in place played in slow motion after he — funnily enough — repeated those particular lines.
“Say?” Nino continued distantly, oblivious to Marinette’s ongoing breakdown. “What happened to the girl you're seeing? Am I going to meet her soon, or what?”
( The scene is set: Nino on his way reaching for the extra packet of sugar that he always put on everything, noticing her sitting by herself in the corner, brightening up immediately, and yelling out her name. Chat Noir locating her, realizing that Marinette was his secret girlfriend and, obviously, the beginning of the end occurs. Or, simply a quick, terrifying end. Either way, or. )
“—She's amazing, dude. Last night, we were watching Tangled: The Series at er— her place, and dude, she made this joke about owls, and as I died laughing, I couldn't help but think about how much I love her.”
Marinette bloomed and tucked the grin on her face in her chest. They rented out a studio apartment, and filled it up with a couple of items — two mattresses, biscuits, beverages, medical supplies and admittedly a projector to watch films or so.
It was helpful, whenever it was too cold to patrol and they wanted to meet up, or if superhero duty resulted in a few scraps and bruises.
She couldn't remember the joke she cracked, but it had involved a pun and repeating the word who. Mostly, the moment was spent transfixed at her partner’s face, starry eyes reflected at her before he kissed her, trading the breath in her lungs with a laugh.
“Marry her, bro.” Nino cut in, adding shockwaves to Marinette’s poor, flimsy heart. “It looks like you're the only two people who share the same kind of humour.”
And, before she could take offence to that statement, for it was simply a tragedy to claim her sense of witty humour and sly remarks on the same level as Chat’s pinning self, her partner responded with a breathless laugh, and the words: “I intend to.”
“I love you.” Ladybug claimed the moment Chat Noir vaulted over the roof, and threw her arms over his neck. “So much.”
“Well, hello to you too.” Chat hummed, and held her impossibly tighter, and placed his nose in the corner of her neck, puffing her hair out with his breath. “And, I adore you too, mon ange.”
The wind ruffled through, crisp and sweet, and teased Marinette’s ribbons. It was dangerous to tell him this, but the declaration spilled out of her lungs, like sand through a child’s hands before she could stop it.
“I heard you today at the coffee shop.” Ladybug whispered, and noticed the way he stiffened immediately. “Don't worry, I didn't figure out who you were but I saw the back of your head as you left.”
“Oh.” He pulled away then and offered her a wobbling charming smile. “You didn't happen to hear anything I said, did you?”
“I intend to marry you too, Chaton.”
Chat Noir — the epitome of suave, and dreamy — squeaked. “Well, that answered my question. Also: really? Oh my god. Are we engaged?”
There were many things Ladybug is associated with: kindness, courage and maturity. Some were blessed to see the tendrils of laughter scattered around her cheeks and her eyes, the laugh that she created after particular things, that always seemed silly in the setting sun and under the glittering sea when the world was a massive, enormous area of potential. Rare was the gem who had stumbled on the envelope of time where Ladybug bloomed under the pretence of a blushing, shy wonder.
Ladybug peeked at Chat, eyelashes fluttering like the wings of a bird about to soar. “Well, I wouldn't negatively answer that if you were to ask me.”
Chat Noir stared at her, enthralled beyond vocabulary, with awe replacing the shock in his jade eyes. “My Lady. Before I say anything, I want you to know that I adore you, more than anything ever since I'd met you. I promise to care for you, give you waffles every damned morning you want them. With three cups of tea before ten in the morning. And, —" The beginning is cut off with a hasty laugh, and arms flinging themselves over the bearer’s neck. “It’s difficult to think right now, Dieu . I'll propose to you a thousand times to make up for this one, but will you marry me?”
“Yes.” Ladybug giggled against skin. “I'll marry you, Chaton.”
(And, only one person would know how much Ladybug loved kissing her best friend — and how it felt like every moment was the beginning of the greatest moment known to civilization.)
four:
“I'm going to kill you.” Marinette squeezed her eyes shut as if exertion would be enough to rid the memory flickering at the forefront of her mind. “Prepare your will, pretty boy.”
“I'm sorry!” Her partner responded, sounds of evident scrambling distinct. “I swear I didn't — you know I’d never. Urgh! Plagg !”
“Sorry, kid.” The kwami drawled, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. “My paws just slipped, you could say.”
“LB, Dieu." Chat Noir murmured, and with eyes shut, she knows he’s pressing a palm against the back of his scalp — a nervous tick recently noticed alongside a few other variations. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have —”
“No, it's alright.” Shaky laughter proceeded a discreet twist of her fingers. “I'm just surprised, that's all. I didn't even see you properly.”
“Still.” The tone was equally parts pressed and pained. “If I hadn’t suggested the idea — Look, I know it was risky in the first place and I went ahead with it anyways so—"
“It's okay, Chaton.” Ladybug interrupted. “Is it alright if I look now?”
“Mmm? Oh, yeah!”
Stars appeared over the bridge between her eyes and Chat Noir. When they had come up with the idea of video calling — without revealing their faces — it seemed pretty igneous at first, albeit bizarre. Few would spend their time gazing at bare fingers, and wishing , but it suited them, though Marinette always ended the call feeling a tad helpless. In a way, this was their own revolution against the internal war of the Miraculous.
“I miss you, Chaton.” Marinette blinked, a tear spilling on her viewed finger. She doesn't rub it off, but watched it nestled in the crook of her nail and desk. “And, I just saw you. I can't wear the ring the love of my life gave me because of one damned person."
“Hey, Bug. We’ll have all the time in the world one day, alright?” Despite his attempted cherry picked words, there's a river of sadness dancing through the syllabes. “Someday.”
Marinette echoed the sentiment. “Someday.”
“So, Buginette, am I as gorgeous as you've dreamed?”
The laugh that rang out in response to that statement wasn't enough to alter the tide of the world, but it did end up making her feel better.
That night, after throwing much caution towards the winds, Marinette snapped a quick photo of an old photograph — a little girl in a red frock, and navy hair cascading over her shoulders. It was folded, creased by time, assuring her that the only people who had seen the picture were her parents excluding the present company, of course.
lb
love u
cn
Oh mon Dieu
My heart.
You didn't have to, first of all, and I really REALLY hope you know that but I love this so much and I love you.
I'm going to treasure it forever.
Thank you, love.
You’re adorable.
lb
we make an attractive couple.
cn
Can't deny that.
Power couple who? Oh yeah, IT’S US.
+ one:
It's funny, really, that the first time Ladybug and Chat Noir meet without the magical masks, they’re wearing a fabric coated one.
Masquerades were plentiful in France, especially when Christmas winnowed in. Previously, Marinette hadn’t any reason to go, considering she thought staying indoors was a rather splendid way to spend time, but this year, she had her partner to meet without a magical mask, getting in the way at least. She could hold his hand, and show him the way her engagement ring sat on her bare fingers.
“Chaton!” Ladybug squealed delightedly, and threw her arms around the person in relation, after she located him — a boy standing at the entrance, red scarf draped around his neck like he said he would wear for her. “You’re here!”
Hugging her tightly, Chat Noir spun her around, her dress billowing around her like a girl in a field filled to the brim with flowers. It was a fantasy, cultivated mainly with the influence of the internet, and a rich love for romance culture.
“My Lady!”
Setting her down, Ladybug was greeted with a wide smile, and her heart just about fractures right in the middle. Chat Noir was gorgeous. Even that was an understatement for all the words in the vocabulary couldn’t come close to the sheer flawlessness of him. Evidently, the suit altered the pattern of his eyes, for they were a shade lighter but still the colour of shards of emerald, that reflected under moonlight.
“I love your eyes.”
“Yeah?” Yet, another soft smile was passed — one sure to send her soaring into the heavens like Icarus once did. And, when a blush crept onto her cheeks like a viper in a garden, he added,“I love you and how I can admire you blushing without the masks getting in the way.”
Ladybug hummed seriously. “Yet another tragedy of the Miraculous. It hides not just your eyes, but my embarrassing self. What a shame.”
In response, Chat tickled her, only stopping when her giggles led to a couple of strange glances. It wouldn’t do to attract any attention, not when they wanted to spend every second with barred masks.
Offering her a glass of red wine, her partner led her past a string of paintings, stopping at a couple to either pun at a particular bizarre scene, or in one case, to recount a vivid play of two forbidden lovers who were driven barmy by a pair of socks.
This was love, she was sure, to find laughter and happiness in quiet moments — when the world seemed to stop, and the only people alive were them, exhilarated to a point that one would consider them drunk. Perhaps, anyone in the company of her partner would experience the same for there wasn’t anyone like him — someone so magnificently charming and beautiful that the mundane appeared organically composed of a magical melody.
“There we go!” Chat murmured, only to stop short at the scene — a balcony overlooking a canopy of cosmic, glittering stardust tucked behind a curve of pillars. “Oh, shit.”
“What?” Marinette responded, and scanned the room. There wasn’t any reason for her partner’s ever paling face, and the sudden way he had clenched her hand for a brief moment, besides the overly pretty imagery, and a man walking towards them — a man who wore a distinctive red cap, and who had begun to wave his arms at them in a pronounced, exaggerated manner. “Oh shit.”
“Any chance we could slip away?” Chat frantically whispered. “He might be waving at someone else?”
“Dudes!” Nino — in all his prime and glory — hollered through cupped hands. “What are you two doing together?”
“He knows me!” Marinette responded just as frantic. “I’m a close friend!”
Stunned, Chat could only gape at her, instead of proceeding with the sensible option of running away with her as far and as fast as the wind could carry them. “What?”
“Bro!” Nino clasped Chat’s arm, and pulled him into a hug. “I thought you were busy tonight.”
“Well, yeah.” Her suave boyfriend, who wasn’t very suave at all responded nervously as he rubbed his neck. “How did you recognize me?”
“You’re my best bud. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t recognize my future husband?” Fate intervened then, and led Nino to focus on her. “Dudette! Wait, what are you doing together? Oh my god. Marinette’s the girl?”
Perhaps, it would be considered strange if Marinette were to book an ambulance, in relation to a severe case of an individual, that would be herself, on the brink of a mental breakdown, but the thought did seem terribly appealing, especially if it involved her person being removed from this scene. However, knowing her ironic luck, the situation would carry itself onto the vehicle too.
“Marinette?” Chat tasted the words, awe soaked thoroughly in his tone. “Yeah, oh god, she’s the one.”
“What the shit, dude?” Nino adjusted his cap, and fixed her an alarming look. “I don’t even know what to say. Are you guys serious? Alya is going to flip out.”
It was clear that her partner wasn’t in any position to take charge, since he decided his sole purpose of the evening was to stare at her dreamily, which not only was a severe hazard to Marinette’s heart, but it additionally proved disarming when Nino continued to gape at them, waiting for an answer.
“I’m sorry, Nino.” Marinette responded, tucking off her mask, and pointedly ignoring the way her partner seemed to melt even more. “I’ll talk to Alya. We weren’t ready to let anyone know.”
Here, Nino threw a concerned look at her partner, to which the latter responded to the silent interaction with a tilt of his head.
“I can’t believe my two best friends have been dating each other in secret .”
Chat Noir nodded when Marinette tapped her ring finger against his palm, and raised their joint hands, showcasing a glittering gem. “Well, actually .”
After the nearly chaotic screaming and the muffled congratulations occurred, Nino was sent off by Chat’s hasty departure when he ran towards the balcony, carrying Marinette on his shoulder.
“See you for brunch tomorrow!” Marinette announced as she watched Nino turn the corner, still looking like he had entered a daydream. “Tell Alya to bring some heart pills!”
Shutting the doors, Chat Noir set her down and kissed her wrist tenderly. “Marinette, Marinette, Marinette.”
It seemed almost magical then, as if they were two actors starring in a fantasy, ethereal movie, where the birds responded in kind and the stars seemed to align for one, precious moment. Suddenly, the chain of effects leading up to the reveal didn’t seem to matter, for in the end, it was just them — her partner tracing her cheek, and kissing the freckles that were always hidden by the mask as he sang praises about them.
“Adrien.” Chat murmured as he kissed a symphony on her throat. “Adrien Agreste, that’s my name.”
“May I?” Marinette placed her fingers onto the corners of his mask, and at his affirmative nod, gently shrugged it off. She kissed the bridge of his nose, under starry, soft eyes. “I love you, Adrien.”
It was wonderful to love a part of someone, but it felt infinitely, and miraculously gratifying to love someone wholly. Dawn would bring a new series of consequences, but with her partner, Marinette believed life had the potential not to be perfect, but somewhere close.