#unforgetabelle

[savethelastdan]

“Alya stared up at the flashing screen, her eyes repeatedly skipping between two different departures as the board scrolled through the day’s flights. One to St. Petersburg, the other to Vienna. Both left in thirty minutes, one headed where she should go and one where she wanted to go.

How much longer are you in Vienna? My gig is for another two weeks. Why? How would you like an unexpected guest? Depends. Is she a redhead? I have a soft spot for redheads ;)“ 

[unforgetabelle]

FINALLY I’m getting around to editing and posting some of the stuff I’ve been working on over the last ehhh...year? (This one was started in Nov 2017 as my doc reminded me. eekk -_-)

Anywhoo, it’s a continuation of my series of stand alone stories that fit together (Coming Around Again), so I hope you enjoy!

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A New Start

ao3  |  fanfiction

Marinette stared down in disbelief, struck motionless by the object in her hand. Something meaningless turned precious in the blink of an eye. She almost hadn’t bought it, thinking she was just stressed...crazy...imagining things. It seemed wasteful. A waste of plastic. Was it even recyclable? She didn’t even know! Clearly she was not ready for this responsibility. Was it too soon? She didn’t feel prepared. What if she was horrible at it?

Her mind started to spiral and her knees gave out. She caught herself on the edge of the bathtub and sat there. Setting the pregnancy test on the closed toilet seat, she closed her eyes and tried to regulate her breathing. Then she imagined his face. 

Adrien when she tells him the news, shock morphing into exuberance as he picks her up and swings her in a circle...Adrien singing in his horribly off-tune voice to her growing stomach...Adrien disheveled from lack of sleep, rocking a baby in a sunny-yellow nursery...Adrien zooming a spoon like an airplane into the giggling mouth of a baby, pureed carrots somehow smeared across his smiling face...Adrien effortlessly braiding their daughter’s hair on her first day of school, the two singing along for the millionth time to a child’s song...Adrien shouting on the sidelines of her soccer game, pride in his eyes as she falls but gets right back up again… Adrien shopping for prom dresses with the keen eye of a fashion mogul’s son and spending an obscene amount of money on the one that is just perfect...Adrien clapping and cheering louder than anyone could imagine as she walks across the stage and accepts her university diploma...Adrien, gray and distinguished, walking their daughter down the aisle, tears in his eyes as his lips linger lovingly on her forehead before giving her away…

She opened her eyes and looked back down at the stick, her hands coming to rest on her still-flat abdomen and her breathing normalizing again. She may not know if she could handle this, but together, they could. 

“Marinette?” She looked up to see Tikki’s head peeking through the bathroom door. Her eyes immediately on her chosen’s face, trying to decipher the riot of emotions there, until Tikki’s gaze fell to the test in front of her and tears spring to her eyes.

“Marinette?” Tikki asked again, her tone irrevocably changed as she regarded her girl with shining eyes.

“I’m pregnant, Tikki,” Marinette said out loud for the first time, her voice shaky with disbelief but lips turning into a hesitant smile. She watched through a watery gaze herself as Tikki pummeled into her face, the two laughing joyously at the wonderful news.

Tikki floated back, her face glowing with excitement as she bobbed in the air.

“You’re going to be a marvelous mother, Marinette.”

“You really think so?” Marinette let her insecurity infuse her tone, looking at her friend with a worried gaze. 

“Of course! Is that what you’ve been doing in here so long? Quietly panicking?” Tikki fixed her with her all-knowing gaze and Marinette just grimaced in response. Her kwami rolled her eyes, affectionately tugging a strand of Marinette’s hair.

“Okay, up, up! We need to go tell Adrien!”

“What, now?” Marinette laughed, her own excitement building at Tikki’s response. “He’s on patrol,” she reminded her friend, remembering Adrien’s strict orders to stay home and rest when she mentioned feeling a bit queasy earlier that night. 

“So, find him,” Tikki emphasized her words. “Let him tell you what an amazing mother you will be instead of silently stewing here in a pot of irrational fears.”

“I’m not stewing,” Marinette muttered, letting Tikki pull her out into the living room. Her kwami just gave her a sarcastic look and Marinette sighed.

“Okay, okay, fine. You win,” she acquiesced and Tikki smiled triumphantly. “Tikki, spots on!”

Sparing a moment to glance out their back window--to make sure no one had decided today to start taking in the sights of the back alley--Ladybug  confirmed the the coast was clear before lassoing the chimney of the adjacent building and pulling herself up to roof. She broke out into a sprint immediately. Even all these years later, there was nothing quite like the feeling of running full-speed across the rooftops of her city. Feet light and wind in her hair, she craved the burn in her muscles as she pushed them to their enhanced, miraculous limit.

She wondered how this would change. She knew enough to not think that she would have to stop her patrols completely. Exercise wouldn’t affect the baby, although the citizens of Paris might be shocked to see a pregnant Ladybug swinging along the Parisian cityscape. She’d have to back off from any dangerous situations for a while, but Chat was more than capable of handling akuma victims, and she could be close by to cleanse them. Maybe Fu even had some ideas about what to do. This couldn’t be the first time a miraculous holder needed to take a brief hiatus. 

Except, it wouldn’t exactly be brief. Newborns took a lot of time and effort too, and it wasn’t like they could call a babysitter every time an akuma appeared. Not only would that look suspicious, but the pesky butterflies had a habit of picking the most inconvenient times to appear. Maybe if they lived closer to her parents…

Ladybug mind was still negotiating internally with herself when the din finally reached her; the unmistakable sound of a battle far too familiar to her ears. She ran faster, reaching the clearing and spotting Chat in no time, but this was different from any battle she’d seen before.

The streets were clear on the late summer night, no civilians even hovering at the edge of the fight to watch, and when Marinette finally recognized Chat’s opponent, she understood why. He wasn’t battling just another akuma. He was battling Hawkmoth himself, and as she watched him block his assailant’s parries, always on the defensive, Ladybug realized something worse.

Chat was losing.

~*~

Chat could concentrate on nothing other than the adrenaline that coursed through his entire body and he cursed himself for allowing the whim of nostalgia that brought him to this moment. With Marinette ill, and him patrolling along for the first time in recent memory, Chat found himself tracing an old familiar route from his first years as Chat, which inevitably took him by his childhood home. It had been four years since he’d seen his father last. After their falling out over his mother’s ring, Adrien never saw Gabriel again. He received an unfeeling card every birthday, and Gabriel had sent a gift and note to the wedding, but other than in fashion magazines, his own father’s face had become a relic of the past. So, as he vaulted past the austere stone house, Chat couldn’t help but take a quick look.

Maybe it was curiosity or some lingering nostalgia for a time when the house had held some joy, but Chat found himself hopping the fence and taking in his old surroundings with the strange disjointed view of his older self. Approaching the house from a completely different angle than he ever had before, his gaze caught a flash of purple light from the rose window at the rear of the property. Strange, he thought, how you could live somewhere for so long and completely miss design elements. Chat must’ve noticed that window before, but he couldn’t conjure it up in his memory. He supposed he’d spent so many years trying to escape this place, he’d never really gotten to know his own home. 

Movement in the window caught his eye again, and Chat couldn’t help but give into his curiosity, scaling the large plane tree in the back yard until he had a clear view into the window.

What he saw there changed everything.

The man on the other side of the window stood in the center of the barren room, framed dramatically in the light of the moon through the ornately shaped glass. His eyes were immediately on Chat.

Whether it was the movement in the tree or his glowing green eyes that gave him away, Chat didn’t know, and he didn’t stay to find out, jumping from the tree and vaulting as far away as he possibly could. When he reached a small empty plaza on the edge of the arrondissement where he currently lived, he finally stopped, mind reeling with what his eyes just witnessed.

That’s where his father found him

Chat didn’t know how long he’d stood in that empty plaza, but when Hawkmoth appeared, he finally began to function again, the rage pouring through his body.

“How could you!” Chat spat, fists clenched and eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

Hawkmoth didn’t even flinch at the venom in his voice, though his eyebrow quirked in consideration, studying Chat like an interesting specimen.

“I suspected this years ago,” he intoned finally, hands resting casually together on his cane in front of him. “I thought I had disproved my theroy of you being Chat, but I should have known when I saw that ring on your finger. Apparently, my affection clouded my judgement.”

“Affection,” Chat repeated, rage giving way to pure disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

Hawkmoth sighed in exasperation.

“I’m not in the mood for one of your tantrums, son.”

“No,” Chat raised a hand, his mind finally clear. Resolve infusing in him as he regarded the man in front of him anew. This wasn’t his father. Not anymore. He’d made that choice long ago for both of them, and while it stung to know his father had been the antagonist of his entire life, it also filled him with pity. What must his father’s existence truly be like?

“No,” Chat repeated. “This isn’t about us. This is about your actions for the last decade, and it ends now.”

He took a step towards the man who was his father and held out his hand.

“Give me the miraculous, Gabriel.”

Hawkmoth’s eyes narrowed slightly as he appraised the man in front of him but made no move to surrender. 

“I did this for us,” he finally said, his voice taking on an unfamiliar soft tone, and Chat steeled his will against the explanation he knew would follow. “For our family. This was the only way to save us.”

“It’s too late--”

“To save your mother.”

Hawkmoth’s words stopped Chat’s next words, but he refused to let himself be taunted with the impossible. His father was clearly unwell. This man had unknowingly and then knowingly put his own child in direct danger of akumas for years, and now he expected that same son to believe it had all been for him? For their family? Chat just shook his head sadly.

“Maman is dead,” he replied.

“Not forever,” Hawkmoth finally took a step towards him, an unnatural gleam in his eye. “I just don’t have the power yet, but with your miraculous--” 

“Hawkmoth--”

“--and Ladybug’s, I’ll be able to perform the ritual--”

“Gabriel--”

“I’ve preserved her for years, planned for years--”

“Father!” Chat finally shouted, bringing his mad ramblings to an end. The shell of his father looked at him again, confusion coloring his expression when he didn’t find his own excitement reflected on his son’s face.

“Adrien, she’s not missing, that’s just what I told everyone. I can bring her back.”

“No,” Chat shook his head, voice strained as he pushed past the pain of the final confirmation that his mother was truly dead. “No, you can’t”

“I can.”

“You won’t,” Chat amended. “It’s not natural, and she wouldn’t have wanted it. I won’t allow it.”

“Allow it?” He hissed in return. Hawkmoth’s eyes morphed, tilting dangerously in a split second, and Chat finally realized just how broken his father had become.

“Give me your miraculous, father.”

“You think you can command me?” he laughed, shaking his head erratically. “You’ve always been an insolent--”

“Gabriel--”

“MY NAME IS HAWKMOTH,” he shouted with abandon. “And this ends now.”

[unforgetabelle]

A New Start (part 2)

Part 1

ao3 | fanfiction

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Chat didn’t even see the throwing star coming. Having fought Hawkmoth for over a decade, he thought he knew all of the villain’s tricks, but that was before, when he was fighting off the man’s lackeys. In one-on-one combat, Hawkmoth had no time to conjure up an akumatized victim. That hardly slowed him down.

As he fought against his father and tried to get close enough to the miraculous clipped at Hawkmoth’s neck, Chat quickly found out that his talent and skill in battle was hereditary.They parried, cane against pole like makeshift fencers, and Chat was finally grateful that his father forced him into fencing for so many years. With that training, along with his years as Chat Noir, he was holding his own, but he lacked strategy. It had always been his weak spot, and why he and Ladybug made such an excellent team. She made up for where he faltered, and he she. But currently, Chat didn’t have a spare moment to call for backup, and the man across from him was not suffering from any similar qualms. What Gabriel may have lacked in speed due to age, he more than made up for in cunning, as he seemed to anticipate his son’s every move.

  That was the worst part: Hawkmoth could read Chat like an open book. Of the few and far-between sentimental moments he shared with his father during his childhood, Gabriel would often remark how similar he was to his mother.

“Your expression,” he had always said. “Your expressions are so similar to hers.”

Chat always held on to those words as one of the few fond memories he held of his father, but he saw now that that shred of sentimentality might just be his undoing. Chat took one misstep, and Hawkmoth pounced. Belatedly, he realized he’d been backed against a wall, and Hawkmoth unsheathed the knife hidden in his cane with a flourish, positioning it flush against Chat’s neck.

“Your miraculous,” he stated, little emotion coloring his voice despite his apparent victory. “Son.”

Chat stared at him, trying to find some semblance of the man who was his blood. He clenched his fists fast, prepared to fight to the end, when his ears twitched to attention, picking up one of the most familiar and beautiful sounds to him. One look at Hawkmoth’s face told him the man had yet to notice the telltale metallic scrape of her yoyo or the quiet thud of her landing, and Chat forced himself to hold his father’s eyes lest he give away her location.

“Never,” he seethed back, finally responding to Hawkmoth’s demand just as he saw Ladybug’s yoyo wrap around the villain’s waist. The man’s eyes momentarily widened as Ladybug pulled him away from Chat, giving him just enough distance to break free.  As Hawkmoth stumbled backward, Ladybug released him just long enough to get a better hold on him, this time lassoing him around the biceps and pinning his arms securely to his sides.  

Chat shook out his shoulders as he watched his father, his longtime-foe, struggle against his partner’s unbreakable hold and pursed his lips. So this was how it ended. 

“Stop fighting,” he spoke softly, watching as Hawkmoth’s eyes shot towards the knife he’d dropped at Ladybug’s arrival. Chat sighed, kicking the implement far enough away so the possibility became non-existent. Even restrained, he wouldn’t give up. Chat shouldn’t have expected anything less. “If you ever cared about me, the least you could do is not make this harder than it needs to be.”

“If I ever cared?” The man who was his father spat vehemently. “You’ve always been an ungrateful child, Adrien.”

Momentarily distracted by the pure venom in his eyes, Chat almost missed the flick of his hand as he released the last of his throwing stars, cleverly concealed in some hidden sleeve pocket. Unencumbered, and adrenaline still rushing from their fight, Chat’s reflexes kicked in easily as he dodged the flying missile. He had begun to sigh in exasperation, ready to end this when a gasp that echoed a few meters away alerted him that his wife had been less fortunate.

His eyes instantly found Ladybug just as her yoyo dropped from her grasp. He watched motionless as her hands moved to clutch her abdomen, the torn fabric of her suit was already soaked through with blood. His next movements existed in that temporal space where time seemed to pass at double- speed, yet still in slow motion.

Hawkmoth broke free of his restraints, but not a moment elapsed to allow triumph to take over before Chat’s fist pummeled his face, knocking the man out cold with a single blow. His hand grabbed at his collar, tearing the miraculous off his shirt and rendering him helpless, all as his body continued to move past the man and towards his wife who shakily stood still too far away from him.

He reached her side just as her legs gave out, his arm cradling her to him as his free hand increased the pressure she was already exerting on her abdomen. 

“Adrien,” she breathed out, horror evident in her voice.

“Shh, Mari, it’s okay,” he soothed. “We’ll get you to the hospital. You’ll be alright.”

“No, Adrien,” she insisted, one hand moving from her side to grip his collar. “The baby.”

~*~

She watched his eyes widen in shock for only a moment before her partner sprung into action. An instant later, she was in Chat’s arms and he was valuting them onto the roofs. She held on securely, gritting against the pain and dizziness as she wrapped her legs around his waist to try and free up his movement as he frantically carried her across rooftops and towards the hospital. Never in her life had they moved so fast. Whether it was time seeming to escape her as she fought to remain conscious or some miraculous burst of speed on her husband’s part, Marinette would never know. All she remembered was she blinked and suddenly they were dropping down into an alley next to the hospital. It lit up in the glow of their combined colors, and she caught a single glimpse of Tikki’s worried face before her eyelids slid shut to the sound of Adrien’s shouts for help.

~*~

Adrien had not taken his eyes off Marinette in what felt like hours. Even though the clock assured him no more than 30 minutes had passed, he had no plans to leave her side until she opened her eyes again. 

It was a mild case of shock, the doctor had said. Thankfully, the “mugger” had horrible aim and while the wound was deep, it was clean and the muscle would stitch back nicely.

“No where near the baby,” she had assured him. “Don’t worry, dad.”

He didn’t respond as she and the nurse left the room, his heart constricting in his chest. 

Dad.

He was going to be a father.

The joyful news warred in his bruised heart with that night’s still raw revelations and actions of his own father, but as Adrien looked at the woman in the bed before him, he felt himself start to heal. The slight anxiety that arrived with the news that he would soon be a father-- would soon be responsible for the physical and emotional, rearing and well-being of another life-- was overwhelmed with the joy that was the knowledge of who that being’s mother was. 

Marinette was the balm that soothed his worries, because even though he didn’t know how to be a father, he knew how to love Marinette. And loving this baby, an extension of her--of them--already came as easy to him as breathing. He may not have had the best model on how to be a father, but he did on how to love. His mother, his wife, his friends, his in-laws… His family. With them, this baby would never for a moment wonder what it was to be loved.

As for figuring out how to parent, it would be a first for them both. Together, they would make their own way.

She just needed to wake up first. 

As if on cue, Marinette’s lashes started to flutter against her cheek, and he squeezed her hand lightly in his, leaning closer to make sure his face was the first thing she saw. 

“Hey, Bugaboo,” his whisper was hoarse as he reached up to brush the bangs off her brow. Marinette’s eyes blinked slowly, nose crinkling adorably as consciousness slowly returned to her. Her memories of the night weren’t far behind, and her hand immediately flew to her stomach as her eyes sought out his. 

“You’re fine,” he was quick to assure her, his voice hitching on his next words. “You both are.”

He saw her sink back into the bed then, the panic draining from her body as her eyes softened. 

“How long have you known?”

“You don’t remember telling me?”

“I…” she squinted, as if trying to spot the memories somewhere in the distance before shaking her head. 

“You told me right after-- just before we left that plaza,”  Adrien changed course, determined to focus on the good. “So about 2 hours and some change.”

She squeezed his hand still holding hers, piecing together the words he couldn’t bring himself to say.

“I was coming to tell you,” she continued. “I imagined a slightly different reveal.”

“Less dramatic?” He guessed, but she only snorted at him.

“God no! Have you met you?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, but Adrien couldn’t keep the smile off his face. He was just so relieved to hear her laughing. To hear her happy and safe. 

“Maybe a little less bloody,” she allowed when her giggles had subsided, and regarded him with a sad smile.

“Mari,” he began, forcing himself to continue even as his throat choked on the words that came next. “If anything had happened to you--to the baby--I--”

“Shh, I know, chaton,” she placed a hand against his cheek and Adrien leaned into the warmth greedily. 

“How will we--with the baby--how…”

“I’ve had about as much time to process it all as you, and I just don’t know,” she answered when he’d trailed off, unable to voice the words though he knew they needed to be said. There was so much to consider. How could he have a baby and be Chat Noir? Was it even safe for Marinette to transform pregnant? What would they do when the baby came? They couldn’t leave at the drop of a hat anymore, not both of them, and they were only their strongest together…

Marinette brushed her thumb against his cheekbone, bringing him back to the present with a knowing smile.

“What I do know is how happy I am,” she continued and Adrien felt the first real smile spread across his face all night. 

“We need to talk, but not now. Nothing needs to be decided today, right guys?” Marinette looked down towards their joined hands and Adrien followed her gaze to see Plagg and Tikki peeking out from beneath the thin hospital blanket. 

“Nothing except what kind of cheese we’re going to celebrate with,” Plagg corrected, lifting from his hidden location with his signature smirk. Adrien felt his shoulders relax as Plagg’s words lifted the moment out of its melancholy. Tonight was for celebrations, of family, whether they be human or ancient god-like beings. And although the news meant the day they had to part loomed a bit closer, they were still together now. The people he loved most were all in one room, and they were multiplying by the second. 

~*~

Tikki looked at Plagg, her partner’s face spreading into a rare soft smile as he caught her eye, but she couldn’t ignore the sadness there too. The same ache reflected in her own heart, and she knew immediately that their thoughts were the same. 

It wouldn’t be long now. Hawkmoth may be defeated, but there was still an imbalance in the universe, there were still battles to be fought, and the change was inevitable.

There was a reason they never stayed too long with any one holder. That much power, for too long...it tore at a person’s very core, draining them or making them crazed. Tonight, seeing the state of Gabriel Agreste, reminded Tikki all too well of that truth. As much as she tried to ignore the thought of leaving Marinette, the time was coming. 

She needed to savor every moment they had left, but the storm was still off in the distance. Now was a time to celebrate a new life. A new start.

[unforgetabelle]

A place to land

(4932 w)

ao3   fanfiction

Alya stared up at the flashing screen, her eyes repeatedly skipping between two different departures as the board scrolled through the day’s flights. One to St. Petersburg, the other to Vienna. Both left in thirty minutes, one headed where she should go and one where she wanted to go.

Resigning herself to the option she knew would win out in the end, she walked to sit in her terminal, took out her phone and texted Nino. Pausing only momentarily to gaze at the lock screen, a sunny picture of them both in Barcelona taken months before, she quickly opened up the messenger app and started typing.

How much longer are you in Vienna?

My gig is for another two weeks.  His reply took no more than a minute to come through and Alya smiled, leaning back into her seat. They were in the same time zone for once, but it was nearly 10 in the morning. There was only one reason Nino would be awake at that time on a Saturday, and it was because he was stalking her flight progress. Three years of a long distance relationship, each of them jetting off to often-times far flung places, and Nino still insisted on having detailed flight numbers and schedules of her travels. Without fail, he would track her progress until she reached her destination and called to check in. Her parents often joked that they never needed to worry about her travels because she had an ever present vigilante in Nino.

Her boyfriend wore the label with pride, and while she rolled her eyes at times, Nino was always quick to remind her of when she got stranded on a layover in southern India during monsoon season. Without cell service, and the wifi down, Alya had been sure she would be stuck in the country indefinitely, certainly missing Marinette’s line debut two days later. Nino, having tracked her progress, wasted no time in booking her a train north to an area where flights were not grounded and got her a one-way ticket to Paris. When a member of the airport staff had called for her and then proceeded to hand her a print out of the messengered tickets they received from Nino, Alya had never before been so grateful for Nino’s quirk.

With anyone else, his behaviour might seen crazy, but with Alya flying across the world constantly, to far off and sometimes to unfriendly regions, she knew it was his little way of looking out for her from afar. Besides, crazy was normal for them. And without Nino, Alya would have missed her best friend’s debut as a fashion designer. Without him, Alya would be traveling the word listlessly. She may not have an apartment as home base, but she had a Nino. He was her place to land, always. Her home, and she hadn’t been home in months.

The Austria flight was looking more and more appealing by the second.

Why? Nino texted again. She knew his schedule, so he (correctly) assumed there was an ulterior motive to her questioning.

How would you like an unexpected guest?

Alya held her breath, watching as his typing bubbles appeared on screen.

Depends. Is she a redhead? I have a soft spot for redheads ;)

Alya smiled at the comment. She’d known Nino for over a decade. He didn’t have a soft spot for redheads. He had a soft spot for her.

She’s currently veering dangerously towards a copper-head, she typed back with a grimace. Too much time in that Moroccan sun.

Alya grabbed a wayward curl, pulling it taut and nearly doubling its length. Morocco had been surprisingly humid during her time there and extremely sunny. Her mother would scold her SPF usage to see how dark her complexion had turned, and her hair, usually a subtle auburn, had lightened considerably. While she usually passed as brunette in most lights, there was no denying the decidedly orange turn her hair had taken.

A little more foxy than normal?

His reply came and Alya snorted out loud, drawing a bemused glance from those sitting near her. The word “foxy” took on an entirely new meaning between the two of them and Alya couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the reference. One halloween when they’d both happened to be in the US for work, she‘d thought it’d be funny to dress up and partake in the holiday. Finding a cute little fox onesie, she bought a box of temporary hair dye to match the orange color scheme. The hair dye, as it happened, was not temporary. Nor was Nino’s memory of the incident. Still, remembering him coming home to their apartment and finding her snuggled in the pajamas, with a matching turtle pair for him, was one she cherished. They leaned into the American tradition, watching zombie movies and handing out candy to the never-ending stream of trick-or-treaters that knocked on their door. Better to reminisce on the night itself than on the true horror that came days later when, her hair still orange, a bemused Nino fished the dye box out of the trash and read out her fate.

Choosing to ignore his bait, she responded.

Nothing a nice dose of Viennese winter won’t cure

Nah ;), his text came through with a wink. I’ll pass. Wouldn’t want to make my girlfriend jealous

Alya felt her face drop into a deadpan expression as she responded.

I think she’d be okay with it

I think she has an assignment in St. Petersburg for the next month, Nino shot back. If my calculations are correct, she’s on her way there right now.

Not if she changes course to Vienna

Alya

Nino

You are on your way to St. Petersburg, right?

She pursed her lips, looking up that the monitor that proudly displayed a departing flight to Russia, already starting to board, but felt her eyes wander to the terminal across the way. How hard would a ticket transfer really be? Would it hurt to at least check and see if there were seats available?

Yes, she finally texted back, resigned. But I could be on my way to Vienna. I’m in Prague. It’s a short flight from here!

Alya, don’t, his response came almost instantaneously and Alya felt a pout start to form on her face. Her boarding group was called and she reluctantly shouldered her bag and stood in line. Just to rub salt in the wound, she ended up directly behind a couple, arms wrapped around each other as they giggled at something on the girl’s phone. Alya’s own side felt dramatically cold watching them, but she tried not to be too bitter. How many times had she stood with Nino exactly the same way? Gushing over some comments on her articles or listening along to a new mix he’d pieced together? She’d inevitably laugh at something he said, triggering a chain of events so reliable she could set her watch by it.

His hand would squeeze her side. She’d look up with a smile. He’d place a kiss on the tip of her nose. She’d crinkle it in response and then frown until he gave her a proper kiss.

Someone else might call it predictable, but Alya called it tradition. They’re own little ritual. It had been over a year since she’d been in Paris and seen her family, almost a year since she’d seen Marinette, and four months since she’d seen Nino. She’d been so far from any semblance of home for so long. For someone many would consider rootless, Alya craved her traditions, especially with Nino.

We haven’t been this close in forever. Alya knew her whine would be easily detected through text, but she didn’t care. She rarely whined.  Not a needy person in general, the sentiment carried over to how she was in a relationship. It was a big part of the reason why she and Nino could be apart for long periods without either of them going insane. They found contentment in each other no matter the distance. Even the months they lived side by side, neither was attached at the hip, easily sharing their time while still remaining independent people over all. He was her complement in every way. They both valued their space just as much as their intimacy.

And when they were apart, even in the moments she missed him like crazy, she had very much a ‘keep calm and carry on’ attitude. They were solid, and he was only a phone call away. Their separations were always temporary, and as far flung as they traveled, home was always a call, or a plane, away.

Still, even the calm and collected Alya Cesaire gave in and whined every once in a while when she missed her boyfriend. Balance was the key to any relationship, after all.

Don’t you miss me? She asked, trying to suppress her smile as his response came immediately.

That’s a ridiculous question, the green dialogue bubble popped up, followed aggressively by two more. I haven’t seen you in months, the second read before being pushed up by a third. I missed you as soon as you stepped on the plane in August.

Then it’s decided. I’ll see you in Vienna!

Alya, no. You have to go to St. Petersburg. Nino’s messaged pinged as she handed her passport to the smiling flight attendant.You already accepted the contract. Isn’t this the story for that anthropology magazine you’re trying to work for?

Yes…

And you’re just going to, what? Not do it? Nino’s messages started coming in with a fury, but Alya was having far too much fun to break the news that she was already on the plane.

Alya Charlot Cesaire, he spelled her full name deliberately. Are you running AWAY from a story?

No. She typed back insistently, annoyance at his accusation pricking even as she knew he was baiting her. I’d be running TOWARDS my boyfriend

What happened?

Why does something have to have happened? She asked as she walked onto the already crowded plane, making her way slowly towards the budget seats in the back. A seat was a seat, and for a two hour flight, she was not paying a 150% markup for the promise of 2 centimeters more legroom.

Because Alya Charlot Cesaire does not run from her responsibilities, and she never breaks a commitment once made. Nino wrote back. How do you think I convinced her to stick with this travel weary DJ?

1.Stop referring to me by my full name, you weirdo. I feel like my mother is scolding me. Alya rolled her eyes, typing in her second to the list before stowing her bag in the overhead and falling into her seat with a plop. 2.Let me live my life

The last of her row to arrive, Alya sunk into her aisle seat and buckled up. Sharing a polite smile with her row mates to be civil, she quickly turned back to her phone to protect herself from opening up the floor for any airplane-small-talk--arguably, the worst incarnation of the discourse.  

And you’re stuck with ME, she added after Nino hadn’t responded in a few minutes. Which is why I’ll see you in Vienna in a few hours. BYE!

Alya, his answer came instantly, but she didn’t respond.

ALYA, he tried again. DO NOT GO TO VIENNA

Why :(, she shot back. I’ve never been to Vienna! It’ll be educational!

She saw his typing bubbles pop up, but didn’t give him the chance to interject.

I can even make a few blog posts about it, she wrote.Come on. Show me around your home of the last few months!

His typing progress appeared and disappeared a few times before his answer came through.

Alya, no, he finally responded, just when Alya started to worry she had actually managed to convince him. Nino appeared to be soft spoken to most people, but Alya knew he was as stubborn as she was once he made up his mind. For her entertainment value that morning, she was counting on it.

Please?

No

Nino :(

No

Pleeeaaassseee??? She added the letters to draw out her whine, and smiled when she saw his response hesitate.

...No?

Alya chuckled, mentally amending her earlier evaluation of Nino’s resolve. He was stubborn...until it came to her.

:D That was practically a maybe

That was my will weakening as I imagined your damn pleading eyes, he responded, And that stupidly cute dimple you get in your left cheek when you pout. Alya could practically see him now, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

God dammit, Alya!

Admit it, she texted back, smile on her face in full force now. You miss me

I have admitted it, he wrote back. In this very conversation, no less

She felt a soft smile come to her face, as she leaned back into the seat. The flight attendants were saying something over the loudspeaker now, but she was only paying attention to Nino.

Doesn’t mean I think you should come to Vienna

But, Niiinnnnoooooo

Stop. You have a job to do, his response came through, and Alya knew instantly she was dealing with serious Nino now. One after another, the statements popped up in her messenger.

You have contacts waiting for you

People you’ve been emailing for months in preparation for this

People who trust you

People whose story you promised to tell

Are you really going to up and desert them?

:( Alya texted back with a sigh, and though Nino had ended her fun, her heart warmed. He got it. He understood why it mattered; understood the compulsion she felt to explore the world, telling people’s stories. He understood her, even in the moments she really wished she could be the type of person to throw responsibility to the wind and go see her love.

Just two more months, he wrote, instantly consoling. We’re going to spend all of February together in Reykjavik. 28 whole days. You’ll be sick of me by the end.

Impossible, she wrote back. I will never get sick of you. Of that, I am positive.

Her neighbor opened the visor on the window, and a flash of gold on her finger urged her to add, And I have a ring on my finger to prove it

You have my class ring--which you stole--on your finger, his response came, and Alya imagined Nino rolling his eyes on the other end.

Same thing

Absolutely NOT the same thing, Nino wrote, taking her bait as he always did.(And when I offer you the real thing, you better act excited, and not like we’ve been engaged since uni)

It was an open joke with their friends and families about when the two would ‘settle down’. To Alya, it really didn’t matter. Nino was her other half, and everyone who was important knew that. She didn’t need a slip of paper or a party to announce that to the world. Nino, on the other hand, took the topic of their marriage very seriously. While he hadn’t proposed to her in so many words, Alya never doubted the inevitability of their marriage. The official commitment in the act was important to Nino, so whatever her personal feelings about the redundancy of it, it was important to her by proxy.

Nino, you’ve been stuck with me since lycee, she reminded him gently. Ring or no ring.

But , she added with a smile. I’m a fantastic actress and I promise I’ll give you your movie-magic proposal moment

Remind me how I ended up with you again? His response came, reading in a fondly exasperated tone.

Sheer luck and a bizarre zoo incarceration :)

Nino sent a smiling face back before changing back to the topic at hand.

How much time until you leave for PIE?

A few minutes, she admitted. I’ve been on the plane for a while

I figured

I still miss you. Next time, I’ll actually be getting on the other plane

If you had set your mind to come, there would be no stopping you. I wouldn’t bother to even try

Alya smiled at her phone,

Good, as long as we’re clear

Call me when you get there

Yes, sir

I love you

I love you, too, she typed.Even though you refuse to let me come tell you so in person.

Nino sent an annoyed face, but she wasn’t done.

I’m just so unwanted :(

Believe me, his response appeared. Nothing could be farther from the truth

Oh? Do tell ;)

His typing bubbled hesitated, before a wink emoji appeared teasingly on the screen.

Spoilsport, she responded, her eyes catching the flight attendant as she started to make her way down the aisle, no doubt beginning to instruct them to turn their phones to airplane mode.

It’s a good thing you’re so cute, she continued in a hurry. Otherwise I’d have tired of your antics long ago

Yes. Thank god for my devilishly good looks and charm

Who said anything about charm? She asked, blinking innocently at her phone as if he could see her facial expression through it.

My girlfriend. Do you know her? He wrote.Tall. Red hair. Loves to mock me?

Great ass?  She typed back, just as the attendant passed and gave her the stink eye for not heeding her ‘shut off and store’ warning.

The best

You lucky boy, she risked one last message, catching his response just as she went to switch off her service and the plane began to move.

Don’t I know it ;)

~*~

Nino looked at the monitor to confirm the flight one more time before finding somewhere to sit and wait. He let an exhausted sigh release from his body as he settled into the cool metal bench and let the familiar sounds of travelers calm him even as his fidgeted with the small ring circling his pinky.

Airports had always been a comfort to him. Even in his earliest memories, they were a constant. What started as multiple trips a year to visit family abroad had evolved into his roaming lifestyle, and throughout it all, airports were a constant. No matter where you were, whichever culture and whatever language, airports all felt the same. There was a familiar logic and atmosphere to the transit hubs, and Nino had always felt at home on these cusps between worlds.

In the last few years, airports had taken on even more meaning to him. They represented the worst and best moments in his life. So many times, in the stark fluorescent light and gleam of over-polished tile, he’d watched her walk away from him. His only consolation was knowing that months later, he and airports would once again be on good terms, because as many times as he’d watched her walk away from him, Alya would always walk towards him once more. Nino never had any doubt that she’d be back. Alya always came back to him, and he to her. No matter how long they were apart, or how far they traveled, they anchored each other.

People often viewed the depth of their relationship with incredulity. How could people who were apart so often truly have anything lasting and stable? Even his best friend looked at them with confusion at times. While Adrien was the last person to question their dedication to each other, he often wondered how Nino could stand being away from her so long. His dude was on edge after only a week away from his home and his wife. Nino and Alya’s far-flung relationship was probably Adrien’s nightmare, and a part of Nino understood where he was coming from.

He’d be lying if he said he preferred the long absences of his other half, but it didn’t throw him into anxiety like it did Adrien. Alya had a passion just like he did, both of them chasing dreams and music and stories wherever they called. It was such a large part of what made them who they were as individuals, sacrificing it for the sake of being in the same geographical location had always seemed frivolous.

And while they both had plans to settle one day--or at least, to control their careers enough to be vagabonds together--even if it stayed like this forever, Nino wouldn’t trade it for a stationary life with anyone else. A week by Alya’s side was worth an eternity with anyone else, and despite her teasing, he knew she felt the exact same way. Nino may not always know what city he would live in next, or when the music would call him, but if there was one thing he was forever sure of, it was her. Alya was his home. Wherever he traveled, he knew she held half his heart, a beacon guiding him to wherever she was should he ever find himself too weary of his roaming.

Which, currently, happened to land him in St. Petersburg.

When the owner of a franchise of clubs had approached him about a month-long gig in Russia the week before, Nino wasted no time jumping at the opportunity. His current location had certainly given him exposure over his months there, but he had tired of living his life with the constant possibility of being dropped from the schedule. They contracted him weekly, which wasn’t unheard of in the industry, but after being a regular for two months, Nino had expected some confidence to be reflected in an actual contract. It wasn’t. While he was prepared to finish out the three month engagement they had agreed on verbally, when he was offered the opportunity to move along two weeks prematurely, he felt no remorse about informing the club about his change of plans. He’d appreciated his run, and had secured multiple invitations from talent hunters of other cities while there, but the owners had never felt the need to formally bind him to stay the length, and therefore put their money where their mouth was. Which made it all the easier for Nino to jump at the opportunity that would take him to where he truly wanted to be. And to whom he truly wanted to be with.

A week later he was in St. Petersburg.

A gush of air announced the opening of the automatic doors leading out from the international baggage terminal, and Nino was instantly on his feet. The St. Petersburg airport wasn’t busy in the early afternoon on a Saturday, but Nino would have found her had she been one in a crowd of thousands. Hair knotted in a long braid that fell in an escaping tangle over her shoulder and rucksack secured to her back, Alya walked through the doors in a huddle of other passengers, nose already pointed at her notebook as she prepared for her next piece. As convincing as her promises to drop it all and come find him in Vienna would have been to anyone else, Nino knew better. Nothing could keep her from a story for long, especially not one she’d been preparing for over six months. A decade of growing up by her side, and nothing had changed that.

Which Nino was grateful for, otherwise her impulse earlier would have turned his carefully planned surprise into a unfortunate missed connection.

Nino smiled as he tried to catch up, watching her artfully weave her way around other travelers, eyes never once leaving her notes as she made her way towards the exit. Alya only stopped when the sliding doors opened and a rush of winter air reminded her she certainly wasn’t in Tangier anymore. Tucking her book under her arm, she reached to pull gloves out of her pocket, one falling behind her, directly where his feet had just come to rest. He snapped down to get it and was waiting as she turned to look for the lost article.

Eyes scanning the floor first, Nino tried not to laugh at the comical nature in which her gaze froze as they reached his boots--the same ones she’d bought him for Christmas last year--before shooting to his face. He didn’t even had the chance to speak her name before Alya was in his arms. He buried his nose in her hair as she wedged her face against his neck and Nino took his first easy breath in a month. Yes, they had no qualms about living apart, but that didn’t negate the fact that the shape of her pressed against him was something  his body mourned like a missing limb when she was gone. She wasn’t necessary, but his life was better when she was in it. Only in her presence, did he feel truly whole.

Just as he closed his eyes, savoring her nearness at last, the love of his life and other half of his heart pulled away and deftly punched him in the arm.

“Don’t, Alya,” she glared at him, her voice deepening in the approximation of a man’s. “You need to go to St. Petersburg, Alya.”

“Is that supposed to be me,” he grimaced, adjusting his glasses but not avoiding her gaze. Even annoyed, he didn’t want to miss a second of her.

“You’re a little shit, you know that? I can’t come to Vienna, but you can drop everything and come to St. Petersburg?”

Alya planted her hands on her hips, but didn’t move away when he stepped forward, grabbing her one bare hand and beginning to slip her dropped glove over her fingers. Her nails,  green the last he’d seen her, were now a muted orange. Still chipped at the edges. Always chipped at the edges.

“We both know, had you really intended to come to Vienna, I would have had an Alya on my doorstep, not one texting me what ifs,” he started, slipping her fingers one by one into the glove even as she pouted. “Besides, I was already here when you texted. You were about to ruin the surprise.”

“Because I love surprises,” she grumbled, but he gave her a pointed look. “Okay, fine. I like you surprises.”

He smirked, finally having the the glove securely on her left hand, Alya still completely unsuspecting.

“How about one more Me surprise?” Nino asked, lowering to one knee before her and watching as Alya’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Wha--Nino--”

“Alya Charlot Cesaire,” he began, trying not to laugh at the way her eyebrows shot up in surprise and eyes started to dart around the now-empty arrivals gate.

“Now?” She squeaked and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Now,” he confirmed. “I’ve spent too long waiting for the perfect moment, wanting to give you all the magic you deserve, but every moment with you is miraculous. Good, bad, near or far, you are the home I come back to time and time again. You make my life indescribably brighter, simply by existing. Would you do me the honor of calling me your husband?”

Alya’s eyes shone with unshed tears as she lifted a hand to cup his cheek.

“Dammit, Nino,” she whispered, a single tear tracking down her face as her lips tipped upwards. “I’m supposed to be the level-headed one in this relationship, and here you are turning me into a complete sap.”

“So, that’s a yes?”

“Of course, that’s a yes, you goof,” she rolled her eyes with a laugh, her hands grasping his collar and pulling him back up to standing. “Now are you going to kiss me, or--”

Nino wasted no time, cradling her head in his hands. His lips seeking hers through their pair of ridiculous smiles, and just barely managing some approximation of a kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” he tried to grumble even as his shoulders shook with laughter. “Will you stop smiling? I’m trying to kiss my fiancé, here.”

“Oooo, fiancé?” Alya wiggled her eyebrows but held up her left hand. “Such a fancy title, and yet...I don’t see the hardware to back it up.”

Nino lifted an eyebrow, and, with a swift tug, deftly dislodged the very glove he’d put on her hand minutes before.

“Oh, no?”

Alya looked at her hand and gasped, her face dissolving into true shock now as she took in the diamond and topaz ring sitting in place of his old class ring. The same ring Alya had admired over a decade ago at the first family gathering he’d brought her to. The same ring his grandmother had given him when he turned eighteen...and reminded him to use yearly.

“You sneaky bastard,” she cursed, shaking her head with a smile. “You really did it.”

“Gave you a movie-magic proposal?”

“Made me fall even more in love with you,” she replied instead. “And people think I’m the overachiever.”

“I’m only an overachiever when it comes to you,” he grabbed her hand, still suspended in shock between them, and placed a kiss to her palm. “My fiancé is a hell of a woman. It takes a lot to keep her on her toes.”

“So what you’re saying is,”she walked her fingers up his chest as he stepped forward. “I now officially get an eternity of Nino surprises?”

“If you think you’d be okay with that,” he shot back.

“Okay with it?” Alya smirked, her hands having reached his chin to angle his face closer to hers. Her lips caught his in a searing kiss that shot through his body like molten lava, his knees slackening as her arms encircled his neck before she pulled away, breathless.

“I can’t wait.”

[unforgetabelle]

New story up!

B3 & B7

“Shit!” Adrien rushed to the pan on the stove, the acrid smell of burning garlic quickly filling the small kitchen as he tossed the charred its contents into the sink. Looking at the blackened pan in dismay, the blonde hung his head before moving to run the still smoking pan under the water. He possessed enough domestic knowledge to know it needed to soak, but as soon as the water hit metal a billow of steam rose up to drown him. Dropping the pan and moving back to catch a clean breath through the cloudy kitchen, Adrien cringed as a creaking noise sounded from the sink. Tentatively, he peered over at the pan before cautiously grabbing the handle. He set it on his butcher block counter and watched it rock back and forth: completely warped. He cursed again. He should have listened when Nino told him to get the more expensive, but better made, set for his kitchen, but Adrien was trying to live normally and not buy anything too extravagant. More than anything, he was annoyed by his own stupidity. While he was definitely no domestic god, he was a physics graduate for crying out loud! Rapidly cooled metal became warped or brittle. It was basic science. Adrien turned off the water and moved to lean against the opposite counter. Running his fingers over his face, he took a deep breath before turning to the fridge with determination still intact and getting the ingredients to start over. He could do this. He had to be able to do this. He needed to prove to himself that he was a fully functioning human out on his own in the world. For some reason, being able to follow a simple recipe had become his symbol of achieving this. When he’d finished university and expressed his desire to move out, his father had been surprisingly supportive. After years of homeschooling and then commuting to classes from home, Gabriel thought it would be a good life experience for him to live alone, away from the luxuries of a fully-staffed house. His father was internationally famous now, but had come from much humbler beginnings. Adrien always wondered if his years of steadfastly fighting to achieve what he had was part of the reason he’d become hardened to the world. And to Adrien. Since he’d moved out, though, Adrien and Gabriel’s relationship seemed to only get better. He hadn’t gone far, just to the next arrondissement, but Gabriel was genuinely pleased to see him every Sunday when they met for lunch. It was a development Adrien’s hadn’t anticipated, but welcomed wholeheartedly. So, he was determined to make it work. Besides, he liked living on his own. He’d found a sparse but decent apartment and furnished it with run-of-the-mill furniture. Posters in loving tributes to his fandoms blanketed the walls and his meticulously arranged bookshelf of books and dvds was dotted with his far-too-extensive collection of funko pops. It wasn’t much, but it was his, and he was determined to learn, as Nino put it, to become “a real boy”: domestic responsibilities and all. First step: he needed to learn how to successfully feed himself. Adrien moved the warped pan off to the side, and grabbed another off the hook on the wall. Turning the burner on low, he added olive oil to heat up slowly and moved to start mincing the garlic. Again. He had just dumped the first minced-clove in the oil when he was assaulted by another burning smell. Looking down in confusion, he considered the pan of oil. He let his hand hover over top, and noted that is was still relatively cold. Smoke started to collect in the galley kitchen and his nose directed him to the oven. The lasagna. “Shit, shit, shit!” He spun around the small space, grabbing desperately for pot holders and yanking open the creaky oven door. Holding his breath, he transferred the baking dish to a trivet on the counter, setting it down so hard tomato sauce billowed like lava from its depths, splattering his shirtfront. He didn’t stop to clean it up though, desperately rushing to open a window and dispel the smoke making breathing currently impossible in the apartment. Just as he unlocked it and shoved it open, an obnoxious blaring resounded throughout the apartment. He’d set off the fire alarm. Again. “Shit,” he muttered, repeating what seemed to be his motto for the day. Sitting dejectedly on the window sill, he ran his still-mittened hands through his hair before pulling back and realizing they were covered with ash and the burnt remnants of his dinner. Pursed-lipped, he just nodded in acceptance. Through the blaring of the alarm, he vaguely heard a subtle chime and turned to regard Plagg who had chosen that moment to languidly appear from his bedroom. They regarded each other for a moment before the cat made a retching noise and promptly hacked up a hairball in the doorway. Adrien simply nodded his head once more, accepting that his life had deteriorated into one grand Murphy's Law spectaculathon. “Purr-fect.”

~*~

Marinette’s head lay on her desk, her chair pushed back and arms swinging uselessly towards the ground. She was stuck. Again. She groaned, just to make a sound and prove to herself she was at least capable of accomplishing that much, before letting her butt slide off the chair and crumbling into a heap on the floor. Maybe if she contorted her body into as many strange positions as possible, one would finally push the artistic-powers back up to her brain and finally get rid of whatever was blocking her inspiration. It hadn’t worked yet. It wasn’t like this was her first fashion competition. She’d done it over a dozen times, even winning some, but this one had higher stakes. She was set to graduate this year, and while she’d had the opportunity to volunteer on some shoots and had been shadowing Madame Tikki at her boutique for nearly two years now, this competition came with the chance for a real internship. The beginning of a chance at a real career. At Agreste Galleries. She groaned again, flopping properly onto her back and throwing an arm over her eyes to block out the lowering sun streaming obnoxiously through her large picture windows. Even in her annoyance at the brightness, she smiled a little and internally thanked Alya’s forward thinking. Picking the apartment with west-facing windows as opposed to the east-facing one that was slightly bigger had been the best call. She couldn’t imagine how much grumpier she would be having to contend with sunrise if sunset made her this annoyed. Nevertheless, she propped herself upright, staring at the horizon as it faded in a million colors, and begging herself to see something. Anything. Sunsets were beautiful. Poets wrote profusely about their wonders. Artists marveled at their kaleidoscope of colors. What did this fashion designer see? Not the vivid scarlets fading into soothing periwinkles. No. She had one thought. Sunsets get their color from air pollution. “ERGGHH!” she screamed and slumped back into the floor. Closing her eyes, she started her deep-breathing exercises instead. Counting methodically and working herself into a meditative trance, Marinette finally felt her heart begin to even out. She latched onto the tranquility, letting nostalgia overtake her as she thought of early morning summer strolls through the city...late night movie binges with her papa...weekend trips to the coast with Alya…. That was something. She thought of the beach. Not of the undulating waves, but of the sand. A million shades from pristine white to a deep mauve. Its faceted surface catching the light just so… She squeezed her eyes tighter, finally feeling on the brink of a breakthrough, when she was interrupted by a muffled blaring and her vision vanished. Her eyelids lifted slowly, an angered frown taking over her face as her brow furrowed. “Seriously?” she shouted to the empty room, her aggravation palpable. That was the third time the smoke detector had gone off in her neighbor’s apartment this week. She’d been concerned the first time, but it always went out after a few minutes. Her new neighbor was either the world’s worst chef or a pyromaniac. Marinette shot to her feet, shrugged into her sweater and hustled out the door. Padding barefoot around the corner to the apartment that backed up to hers, she stopped in front of apartment B3 and pounded on the antiquated oak. She smiled momentarily at the solid sound her knocks made as they echoed through the cramped halls; those doors were just one of the few old-world design charms that made her fall in love with the apartment complex built in the twenties. It had survived so long in their city, standing at a proud 10 storeys. It had been through wars. Call her a sentimental fool, but it made her believe she could create something as resilient and lasting. That is, if its newest resident didn’t burn it down. And if she could finally draw something. If her neighbor’s overzealous smoke detector had anything to say about it, she’d be stuck behind this inspiration block forever. Marinette was grinding her teeth in aggravation now, raising her hand to knock again, when the door finally opened. Out of breath and clearly frazzled stood a man, about her age, his probably-blonde hair darkened with what looked like soot and his maybe-green eyes hidden behind smudged glasses. Add in the tomato splattered gray shirt and ripped jeans that weren’t faring much better, and Marinette was comfortable enough to label the boy a hot mess. Her anger immediately drained away at the far-too-innocent look on his face, and when he opened his mouth and started to speak, she had to forgive him for interrupting her process. He was clearly having a far worse day than she. “Hi,” he gasped, somehow out of breath. Marinette knew the size of these apartments, so there was no way he was like that just from running to grab the door. It was just another hint at the chaos that must be happening inside.

Read more

[unforgetabelle]

By popular cough*unanimous*cough request, today’s fic is...DJWifi! :)

Something More

(8,535w)

ao3    fanfiction

“I feel like I’m talking to a renowned writer. Well, in this case, a future renowned writer.”

Alya opened the message on the dating app again and smiled for the thousandth time. She was never impressed with the physical compliments men tended to throw out there, but complimenting her writing skill? This boy knew how to hit his target. Alya took a deep breath to calm the giddy feeling boiling up in her before pocketing her phone and trying to focus on the task at hand.

She turned, starting to busy herself at the cash register, when she noticed a pair of very blue, very keen eyes staring out at her from the face of her smirking best friend.

“I wonder what could possibly have you smiling this early in the morning?” Marinette drawled as she swept up in front of the counter. “It wouldn’t be a certain nameless boy writing you sweet nothings from afar, would it?”

Alya stared back at her friend, giving her an innocent smile as she replied.

“Some of us just happen to be morning people, Mari. Not everyone needs to be forcibly dragged out of bed and fed several cups of coffee just to resemble a human being before the morning rush.”

Marinette’s teasing smile fell as she glared at her best friend.

“Hey!” She pointed the broom handle at Alya indignantly. “I’ll have you know that I only had one cup of coffee this morning and am feeling quite chipper at…” she glanced at the clock, her smile coming back in full force as she noticed the time. “Five of seven in the morning.”

Right on time, five minutes until their official opening, a signature knock tapped at the door and Marinette spun towards their first customer.

“Oh, and this newfound energy has nothing to do with your dashing frequent customer turned favorite blonde beau, hmm?”

Marinette spared Alya a glance over her shoulder, giving her an unapologetic smile and shrug, before unlocking the door and throwing herself into Adrien’s arms. Alya just rolled her eyes with a smile, turning to grab the rest of the stock from the back kitchen before they officially opened for the morning, and giving the lovebirds a few moments to themselves.

She liked Marinette’s new boy and was genuinely happy for her friend. She’d invested way too much energy not to approve, watching the two dance around each other for months before she finally forced Mari to make a move. They were adorable and complemented each other like a couple of a few years rather than a few months, but as much as Alya loved seeing her friend in love, there was only so much cooing and cuddling she could take in their presence.

Especially since some nasty green part of her that she eternally hated had always been jealous of the way her friend seemed to be a magnet for male attention.

Not that Marinette flaunted it, or really was aware of it in any way, but growing up, Alya had never dated a boy who hadn’t had a crush on Marinette first. Despite Marinette’s single status for the entirety of their lives, until recently, her friend always seemed to have a slew of guys vying for her attention wherever they went. Marinette was oblivious and awkward and would never believe it, but Alya had spent their university years steering her away from creeps at parties and bars and playing the excuse for a quick escape from nice boys Marinette didn’t have the heart to tell that she wasn’t interested.

And Alya didn’t truly mind. They were a team, and she’d found her dates her own way. Alya’s wit and personality shone through to compensate for whatever immediate appeal she apparently lacked, but her natural cautiousness when it came to her heart still kept everyone at a safe distance. Her few flings were fun while they lasted, but no one got too close. Alya never allowed herself to like them more than they liked her. She never put herself in a situation where she could be hurt.  

But now that her and Marinette had finished their undergrad and were moving on in life, Alya craved for something more. She had watched her friend shine as she’d come into her own throughout university, slowly building a foundation for her online store and finally making enough to afford to move out--as long as she kept morning shifts at the bakery. Then, when she’d met Adrien, Marinette seemed to only glow brighter, finding exactly the right person at what seemed the exact right moment in her life. And together, they were beautiful.

Alya wanted that, too.

Make no mistake, Alya didn’t need a man. Just like Marinette, she’d come into her own during their time in university. She was a successful investigative blogger who was partially fulfilling her novelist dreams by writing short stories on the side. She worked part-time in the Dupain Bakery, and between that, her advertising partnerships on her blog and commision work, Alya supported herself just fine. She and Marinette shared an apartment a few blocks down the road, and were never short for rent. Alya was a complete person... but she still craved to fall in love.

Maybe it was simply that her romance novel obsession had finally permeated into her typically logical head, but Alya had always dreamed of walking through life with a partner, to share her dreams, her worries, her laughter and her tears. She wasn’t too proud to admit she was tired of waiting.

Perhaps it was seeing Marinette so happy. Perhaps it was finally feeling secure and whole in her own. Perhaps it was the fact that she was about to turn twenty four and felt ready for the next stage in her life. Or, perhaps, it was the messages archived in her reluctantly-downloaded dating app from her very sweet mystery boy.

A new notification popped up on her screen.

“Good morning!”

Alya smiled, taking in the sweet message, from the timestamp--sent early because he knew her schedule-- to the smiling sun emoji. For someone who kept everyone at a distance, this boy just might break her of old habits.

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[unforgetabelle]

As promised, here is my fluffy lil ficlet to celebrate my one year writing anniversary! Enjoy!

Over-purr-tective

(1180w)

ao3

Marinette rolled over--at least, she rolled over as much as she was able at this point-- and folded her pillow over her head, trying to block out the ambient noises that seemed to echo tenfold throughout the room. It was strange, really. She’d lived in the city her entire life and could easily sleep through blaring sirens and car horns, but the somewhat exaggerated footsteps of her upstairs neighbors? Consistently woke her from a dead sleep.

And tonight it seemed like they were at it again. How dare they walk in their own apartment while she was trying to sleep. The nerve of some people.

Even in her semi-conscious state, Marinette smiled at her own ridiculousness.

The pillow failing to muffle the sounds, she turned slowly to her other side, her body even more cumbersome with the added weight of sleep, and searched for a more effective silencer...or at least one that could distract her from her grumpiness at being awoken. Body finally pivoted, she slung her arm across the bed and was annoyed when no part of her encountered her husband’s warmth. Peeking open and squinting despite the darkness of the room, she looked over his rumpled side of the bed in confusion.  She ran a hand along the sheets and frowned when she felt their chill.

Marinette propped herself up on one arm, her sleepiness slowly draining away as it was replaced by confusion, and rubbed her eyes in an attempt to adjust to the dim light from the street as it highlighted a shaft of the room. A thud sounded again followed quickly my a muttered curse and Marinette realized the noise that had woke her hadn’t been their neighbors at all. This time, rather, it was her insominatic husband.

Sighing, she slowly slid out of bed, shoving her swollen feet into slippers and shrugging on his robe--the only one that fit her anymore--before wrapping it snuggly around her even more swollen abdomen. Commencing her waddle down the short hall, Marinette grumbled in annoyance. One month left--if they were lucky--of uninterrupted sleep, and she couldn’t even enjoy it because someone decided to have a late-night party. Shuffling still towards the living room, and trying not to become even more angered by how slow she’d become in her state, Marinette almost walked right by him.

She paused in the doorway, peeking into the the second bedroom in the small apartment, and felt her annoyance fall away. There, bathed in moonrays and the light of a single lamp, was Adrien, hunched over a wrinkled piece of paper and surrounded by parts of their formerly-assembled bassinet.

“Chaton,” she whispered and his head jerked up, her voice carrying to him effortlessly in the stillness of the night.

“Bugaboo,” he smiled back anxiously. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Hair flattened and weekend scruff unkempt, Marinette smiled at how very un-model-like Adrien was in that moment. Clad in a pair of old sweatpants riddled with holes and a tee shirt so faded the former design was indiscernible, the young man sitting in the groutfit before her certainly didn’t resemble the blonde boy on the magazine covers she’d plastered to her walls. He was real.Unedited. Beautiful.

And clearly a little insane.

“Do you want to tell me why you’ve dismantled the bassinet we spent four hours assembling this afternoon?”

Adrien’s only response was to hold up a screw. Marinette sighed.

“I told you,” she wobbled into the room and carefully lowered herself at his side. “They always put in extra parts.”

“But what if it was important?” Adrien quickly picked up the argument they’d been having since their little nesting project had finished earlier. “What if this screw was really the cornerstone of the whole bassinet foundation? What if, without it, the first time we put her in there it just…” He swept his hands outwards, releasing a dramatic puff of air from his lungs as he did so, and Marinette couldn’t help but smile, laying her head on his shoulder.

He’d been perfectly attentive ever since she shared the news of their new addition, and she knew it was in part an overcompensation for his own childhood. He was determined to be the father he’d never had, and if this was what he was like even before the baby was born...she’d better get ready for a lifetime of reigning in his overprotective-papa tendencies.

“I love you,” she whispered. “And you’re going to be the best dad in the world.”

“Thanks, bug,” he wrapped an arm around what was left of her waist and leaned to place a kiss on the top of her head.

“But,” she continued with a smile. “You’re driving me crazy. The bassinet is fine.”

“But the screw,” he practically whined and she laughed, poking his side.

“Fine, if it makes you feel better, I’ll have my papa come over and help you put it back together. Between the two of you and your overprotectiveness, there’s no way it will be anything but perfect.”

She kissed his cheek and moved to stand. He immediately was on his feet and helping her up, all the while throwing her a shocked expression in response to her declaration.

“I am not over-purr-tective,” he returned indignantly and she laughed louder at that.

“Oh, minou,” she patted his cheek consolingly. “Yes. Yes you are, with me and the baby. You’ve just learned to hide it better with me.”

He smirked then, not bothering to deny it.

“I refuse to a-paw-logize. My love knows no limits.”

“I would never suggest otherwise,” she returned, smile still dancing on her lips as she turned back to begin the long trek back to bed. Just outside the doorway, she called out over her shoulder. “Just try not to smother the baby before she’s even out of the womb.”

She walked a few feet down the hall before she heard the padding of socked feet scamper up behind her.

“Fine,” he whispered, wrapping her in his arms and deftly sweeping her off her feet.

“Adrien!” She cried in concern, but he lifted her extra weight like a feather. Just an added benefit of marrying a superhero. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“You told me to stop being overprotective of the baby,” he replied.

“So you thought to smother your wife instead?” She raised an eyebrow as his mischievous grin slipped onto his face.

“Only in kisses, M’Lady,” he responded as he started to pepper her face in kisses, legs still steadily taking them down the hallway.

“You are a ridiculous man,” she managed between giggles.

“Only for you. I’m only ridiculous about you,” his lips finally met hers as he placed her back in their bed. “And you.”

His moved down, lifting her shirt and placing a delicate kiss on the swell of her abdomen. Marinette melted, watching the love of her life murmur sweet nothings to their coming joy.

“Goodnight, Emilie,” he murmured before replacing her shirt reverently and gathering her into his arms, their baby girl nestled between them. Safe and sound.

[unforgetabelle]

Kick the Dust up

(6819w)

ao3

“Mimi!” A decidedly male voice shouted, his steps growing closer by the second. Marinette heard the rustle of leaves as someone grabbed onto the rope swing and opened her eyes just in time to see a boy swing above her. In a brief moment of clarity as his form blocked out the sun, Marinette saw his face transform from mischievous jubilation to horror as he realized that she was not in fact “Mimi” and he was about to cannonball and splash a complete stranger.

Read the full story here