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"What I've also heard is that you have had to come alone tonight. Again."
"Ah. Yes," she hums, her smile faltering. Then she leans closer and her voice drops low as she adds in a conspiratorial tone. "Maybe you wouldn't believe it, but Chat Noir isn't the ballroom dancing kind," she tells him — the very same excuse Adrien had to feed her — and he's compelled to laugh along; if nothing more, at the dramatic irony.
"Or so I've heard. Can't blame him too much, though. Granted, with four paws he must have two left feet."
- “On Borrowed Time” by @miabrown007
We’re finally sharing our pieces for @mlbigbang
I had the opportunity to work with the incredible Mia on this project. I’ve said it before and I will say it again, it’s hard not to get inspired by such a wonderful story!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
The life of Paris’ Golden Boy is all shine and glamour; blindingly bright smiles, neverending parties, bargaining for just a shard of time for being happy. But that’s alright; Adrien has long given up the false hope that someone will get it.
That is precisely why it’s a spectacle when she does, when she barges in like a hurricane in crimson and turns his life upside down. Heaven knows, it’s time for the wind of change.
***
aka Adrien and Ladybug run into each other at a gala. then at another. and another. some would say, it’s a bonding opportunity alike moonlighting on a civilian’s balcony
gala friends Ladrien for this year's @mlbigbang, letsgoo!!
don't forget to check out the stunning illustrations @curlymakingswirlies made for this chapter! <3
On Borrowed Time (words, Teen, 1/3 chapters)
Time is of the essence, my dear, his mother always used to say, but Adrien was so young back then — just a kid trying to sneak away from his mother’s skirt in the crammed and stifling ballroom — he never really got what she meant. He had a vague understanding of it, something about time and timing being important, but he could never put a finger on the reason behind the benevolent smile on his mother’s face, and then it was too late to ask.
Now, Nathalie has her own motto.
It’s something something being punctual like clockwork and skilled in social situations like a particularly agreeable Swiss Army knife. And though Adrien can’t recite that by heart, it still holds true enough to his motherly heritage of time-themed wisdom for him to do his best to follow — even if his stomach violently contracts at the thought of the strained vivacissimo his life has to adhere to if he wants to keep up. But he understands, of course, that as the ambassador of the Gabriel brand, it's essential that everybody, all day long, like him so much.
According to his father.
In all honesty, his father would probably be ecstatic — as ecstatic as it gets for a man who has never once smiled in the last ten years — if Adrien wasn’t just an attempt at emulating the perfection expected from him at the price of sweat and tears. (Not that it's much of a concern for Gabriel on a personal level, but, quite frankly, a crying teenager in the charity gala's bathroom is the definition of a PR disaster.) But Adrien — despite his father's valiant attempts at concealing this shortcoming — isn't perfect.
He’s French.
French, with all the ups and downs, all the over-the-top romanticism and rebellious streaks, all the moony-eyed, longing stares that follow her carefully — always observing, but never close enough to reach. He can’t help it, though. The way she pulls him is like a rule of nature, a crimson inevitability. Unbidden, unconscious, unparalleled, and Adrien knows no other option than to succumb to it, to her celestial power of baring his soul and making him feel Frencher than he ever thought possible. When he’s with her, he can’t help his slowly crumbling essence surging for the surface with a new force; can’t help his heart leaping to his throat as he's being reminded — in the sweetest, most torturous ways possible — that Paris is the city of love.
And Adrien, Adrien's Parisian to the core; even if his core — doesn’t matter that he wishes to wear it on his sleeve — only shines through when he’s with Ladybug.
*** 21:00 ***
It’s ‘by pure accident.’
The charity gala’s ballroom is gargantuan, filled to the brim by the crowd of celebrities, politicians and businessmen. They bustle around — chat under the pompous chandeliers, shake on agreements by the chocolate fondue fountain, and hover on the dance floor to the string-quartet’s beat, in what appears to be a poor substitute to rehearsed ballroom dances none of them are well-versed with. The maroon tapestry could sing odes about the Parisian elite’s secrets and illicit escapades, but it keeps them all; its discretion only rivalled by that of the catering staff and security.
Adrien doesn’t care much about rumours either. He’s on a mission of ‘pure accident’. The sole objective is talking to her; a worthy endeavour, even if it only lasts for a minute.
He drifts next to her at the bar, in the most casual manner he can manage. His fingers fiddle with the cufflinks of his dress shirt; his arms by his side, prim and proper, instead of reaching out and pressing a kiss against her knuckles. But he still flashes his Frenchest smile at her, because that’s not something within his control to amend.
"Good evening, Ladybug!”
"Good evening, Adrien!" It's hard to believe, but she beams right back, as if he just made her night by this chance encounter. "It is a lovely night. You should really try the champagne," she says, her voice airy as she swirls the drink around in her own glass.
She's making smalltalk. It's only natural. After all, right now he’s no more than an acquaintance; and she definitely doesn’t have any idea that this almost stranger finds the way fizzy drink drizzles out of her nostrils, when he makes her laugh too hard, quite charming.
"I've heard it's pretty good," Adrien nods, never one to be remiss about the rules of conversation.
That is—
He nibbles on his lower lip before continuing. "What I've also heard is that you have had to come alone tonight. Again."
"Ah. Yes," she hums, her smile faltering. Then she leans closer and her voice drops low as she adds in a conspiratorial tone. "Maybe you wouldn't believe it, but Chat Noir isn't the ballroom dancing kind," she tells him — the very same excuse Adrien had to feed her — and he's compelled to laugh along; if nothing more, at the dramatic irony.
"Or so I've heard. Can't blame him too much, though. Granted, with four paws he must have two left feet."
Ladybug laughs at the stupid joke, and oh, if that isn’t the most beautiful sound. “That’s exactly the kind of thing he’d say. I don’t believe him, though,” she muses, a fond look in her eyes as she shakes her head gently, the flyaways dancing around her face like a holy halo. “I’m sure I have enough experience for the two of us, I could teach him the basics pretty fast.”
Adrien’s breath hitches because oh, the way she says she misses him beats her laugh anytime, even if only by a hairbreadth.
“I’m sure he’d like that,” he says, clearing his throat. Her words make his heart swell, and the bigger it gets, the easier it is for it to spur him on, to make him a little more daring than his father likes. "But since Chat Noir isn’t here tonight… Maybe I could keep you company instead of him?"
Ladybug just stares at him for a long second, eyes wide and mouth forming a little ‘o’, before life returns to her face and she looks away, her cheeks tinted pink under the scarlet of her mask. "It wouldn’t be the same, but I'd like that. I'd like that very much.”
"It's a da— deal, then," Adrien grins, toothy and giddy, trying as he might to swallow back the word ‘date’ from the tip of his tongue mid-sentence, because no. It is most definitely not a date.
He extends his arm to lead her to the dance floor, or out of the city hall — truthfully, he doesn’t even care as long as she stays this close — but just when he does, a cold voice calls from behind his back.
"Adrien, you have to meet Mr. Giorgio in five minutes. I hope you didn't forget about your duties!"
His shoulders sag but he hides his clenched jaw behind a million-watt smile as he turns. "Of course not, Nathalie. I'll be right there!"
An apologetic glance at his Lady is enough for her to let go of the ball gown she has just pinched up to float to the dance floor. She wraps the gloved hand so far extended for him to take around her torso.
"I'm sorry, Ladybug, it looks like you'll have to take me up on my offer another time," Adrien sighs.
"It's alright, I understand!" she says, but her sour smile makes Adrien wonder if she’s choosing her words carefully, deliberately avoiding saying ‘it’s no problem’. “Have a good time!" she offers, and he can only nod, heart aching.
He never has time. And he certainly never has a good one without her.
☼ Contributor Spotlight! ☼Bringing another absolutely beautiful piece of art to the table is @curlymakingsw ! Her piece for this project is a wonderfully soft Ladrien moment, a snapshot that shows how much she loves them!
☼ Contributor Spotlight! ☼
Bringing another absolutely beautiful piece of art to the table is @curlymakingswirlies! Her piece for this project is a wonderfully soft Ladrien moment, a snapshot that shows how much she loves them!
smooch prompt!!! chat noir and mari laying together in her bed watching a movie on her laptop— chat noirs completely passed out in her arms and mari is just watching the movie with her lips mindlessly resting on his forehead/temple😭 not exactly a kiss but im so soft for it
i couldnt visualise it with a laptop for some reason so i hope the phone is ok🥺
Adrien is sleep deprived. And touch starved. And lovesick. Coincidentally, napping in Ladybug’s arms cures all that.
But what cures the complete and utter meltdown it causes when your partner thanks you for sleeping with her?
aka the fic inspired by @hey-its-laura-again's art finally comes to its end with some Adrinette <3
Marinette always had a perfect plan, alright. Whether it really required getting Adrien’s whole photoshoot crew bouncing on their feet and whipping out dresses and makeup sets in every possible shade of red was… debatable. However, her policy for the occasion seemed to be ‘go big or go home’, and so Adrien decided to invite the national TV to his ‘first public photoshoot with his girlfriend’. Just in case.
By this time ‘Ladrien’ was trending for a solid week — earning him a very uncomfortable visit in his father’s office — but, rather surprisingly, no akuma was threatening his personal safety; which made Marinette wonder out loud if they were just that lucky or Hawkmoth had some sort of secret agenda here. Adrien didn’t want to think much about his posters adorning the walls of Hawkmoth’s evil study, so they left the speculations at that.
Nevertheless, in the light of the public opinion, it was no surprise that Clara Contrard, editor in chief at the gossip column, pounced on the invitation.
“Shouldn’t she be here already? We are supposed to go live in five, right after the evening news,” Clara said, tapping her stilettos against the concrete of the outdoor pavilion.
“Well, she’s not very punctual but there’s no one more reliable than her. She’ll be here any minute,” Adrien assured her. He was fiddling with the cufflinks of his button-down, trying as he might to not laugh at Clara’s expression that was only bound to get more dissatisfied.
“Obviously,” she said, visibly suppressing rolling her eyes. “I’m well aware that we can trust her with anything but she has to understand it’s crucial we stay on schedu—”
“Adrien!”
The vehemence with which the cameraman spun in the direction of the set’s entrance almost threw Adrien off balance, but he just stepped forward, opening his arms with a dazzling smile. He was all too aware of the way every gaze instantly snapped to his girlfriend — eyes bugging out and make-up palettes shattering on the floor. However, when Marinette beamed back at him — her visual resemblance to Ladybug minimal, but the unmistakable confidence shining through — he couldn't care less.
Her lilac dress swirled around her knees, her midnight locks flowing after her as she ran down the alley of roses leading to him. Her smile was the sun drying up the puddles after a summer rain.
Adrien’s heart swelled as he scooped her up by the waist and spun her around, letting her laugh soak him until she bent down and kissed him. And wow, there was just something about the eerie silence all around them and the way the corners of her mouth quirked up at the sound of it.
When he put her down she interlaced her fingers with his before extending her other hand towards the slack-jawed Clara. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!”
It took the reporter a moment to get her shock under control, but eventually, she shook Marinette’s hand with a stiff motion. “It’s nice to meet you…”
“Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she beamed.
“Some might also know her as ‘Pyjama Girl,’ ” Adrien supplied unhelpfully, earning himself a swat on his shoulder. He only snickered and pulled her closer to press a kiss against the crown of her hair.
“Well, that’s. Nice. Adorable, really,” Clara said with a forceful clear of her throat that told them exactly how nice she found the situation. “But, and forgive me for saying this, you aren’t Ladybug.”
Extremely huge thank you to @miabrown007 for this gorgeous masterpiece of a fic!!! If you haven’t read this, you absolutely should because it will surely warm your heart and definitely make you laugh!
Get ready to meet our wonderful contributors! We have an incredible team of creators working with us to bring Adrien and Marinette’s scrapbook to life. Keep an eye on our socials for WIPs as we move into the creation period!
If anything, he vibrated with energy, way over his head. A sensible explanation for why he didn’t notice the storm clouds that sneaked up on the city during his patrol until it was already too late. He couldn’t get home in the downpour. (Not even mentioning how unsuiting and letting his pent up energy over today’s events be slaughtered by Plagg’s unimpressedness didn’t rank high on his wish-list.)
In the light of these, he didn’t mull over it much whether, or whether not, seeking shelter under the overhang on Marinette’s balcony was his brightest idea ever. Not that he was an unwelcome guest there, or the girl wouldn’t have invited him in without any fuss, but lately his monthly visits had turned into multiple times a week, and he didn’t want to abuse her hospitality.
However, if he didn’t make a sound, she would never even know he was there.
Who could have foreseen that dancing in place — in an attempt to pass the time, and as a substitute to running around rooftops, chanting ‘Ladybug-is-in-love-with-me!’ — would cause some noise? Like the shatter of a mint plant’s pot on the tiles?
Although he was without the unhelpful guidance of a Lucky Charm, Adrien tried to clean up. He swore under his breath as he only seemed to spread the soil around the tiles more. (He may have legally been prohibited from saying the f-word — really, it was part of his model contract — but he was a cat of many talents. A decent vocabulary, and thus the ability to find loopholes very much belong to his assets.)
Probably due to these totally unpredictable complications, the skylight banged open, and a blob of midnight emerged on the ladder. “I swear, if the lady next door keeps forgetting to let the window open for her cats when it’s raining like this—”
Marinette came to a sudden halt, and stared directly into Adrien’s soul. He stared back, a potsherd in one hand, a handful of dirt in the other.
“Hi!” he croaked out.
She crossed her hands over her chest, a smirk tugging on her lips. “Looks like my hunch was right. It is a cat after all.”
“Caught in the flashlight,” he chuckled awkwardly. He made a new, valiant attempt at cleaning up, but the soil only ran out between his fingers. “I’m sorry about the plant. I just wanted to seek shelter from the rain, and there was an… accident.”
“Don’t worry about it! I’ll take care of it tomorrow,” she said. “But you could have just knocked on the door, you know.”
“I didn’t want to disturb,” he said sheepishly.
(His reservation had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he wasn’t sure, in his current state, he was capable of holding a coherent conversation that went beyond ‘Ladybug the most girl ever’. Absolutely nothing!)
“What are you talking about? You’re never disturbing, Chat. Now, come on in, or you’ll catch a cold!” She waved with her hand — a weird gesture, but most likely an invitation nevertheless, since there weren’t enormous flying bugs in the night air to be chased away.
Adrien hesitated only for a second before he kicked off his boots, in order to avoid getting her sheets dirty. He climbed through the skylight and settled on her bed, his legs comfortably stretched out. The fairy lights hung up all around her bed only provided a dim light, but even Marinette — who didn’t have super senses — could see just fine. Her smirk at the neon-green toe beans on his socks was enough indication of that, even if she didn’t comment.
“I’m guessing you didn’t plan your night like this, but if you have to pass the time anyway... Do you want to play?” she proposed.
She extended her little finger, and searched for his eyes, waiting for him to meet her. He did, and they shook on it, like always. It was the inter-good-friends-only-you-don’t-know-just-how-good abbreviation of ‘I swear to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth’.
Adrien grinned. “You know that I always want to play! Truth or dare?”
