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fengbi · 7 years ago

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One Day, Three Autumns: Chapter 3

Pairing: Adrienette Tags: Historical AU, China AU, WWII AU, 1930s AU, drama Summary: Shanghai, 1933.

The world is on the verge of war. Marinette and Adrien fall in love anyway, hoping to beat the odds.

One - Two

As July melted into August, the temperature refused to fall while the atmosphere in the bakery continued to deteriorate. Mama and Popo had reconciled their relationship, though both continued to carefully avoid any mention of France, travelling merchants, and Thomas Dupain himself. Despite that improvement, Marinette felt rather down. To make things worse, business was still slow with the relentless heat and humidity.

The slow, drawling days left Marinette trapped in her own mind, replaying her last encounter with Adrien Agreste over and over, again and again. She had analysed their meeting, then over analysed, and then continued to analyse until it all became meaningless.

A small pebble of guilt had lodged in Marinette’s chest and no matter what she did, no matter how she thought, no matter how she justified it, she couldn’t dislodge it. Even if Adrien was a Frenchman, he had not wronged her in such a manner that warranted the harsh words she’d said to him. It was almost fitting, it seemed, that as soon as Mama and Popo were content Marinette would suffer.

With Mama and Popo having taken over the early morning baking for the time being, Marinette spent her mornings by the harbour with her thread and needle. She was nearly finished with the red swallow she had begun work on months earlier.

As Marinette wove the needle in and out, and in and out, through the fan, the waves crashed against the concrete pillars of the harbour. Some of the bigger waves managed to jump up and tickle the soles of Marinette’s bare feet. Her Mary Janes sat next to her.

In her mind, the red swallow did not exist on her fan; the red swallow fluttered in the air of the harbour. The little bird wove in and out and between the massive passenger ships and cargo ships and the smaller fishing ships. Marinette imagined the swallow perched on a rock that was half submerged, pecked at some seeds that had been dropped by a child earlier. The swallow was free to fly wherever she wished, beholden to nothing and no one.

The sudden tooting of an incoming ship snapped Marinette out of her head. With a wistful smile, Marinette noticed the sky had suddenly grown much brighter. While lost in her thoughts, Marinette had finished stitching her swallow. Sighing contentedly, Marinette tied the end of the thread and bit the thread so it broke off before swinging her legs up, out of the water, and back onto the dock. Her feet were still wet so instead of slipping her shoes back on, Marinette opted to go barefoot and carried her shoes by its straps in one hand. Her other hand clutched her now completed fan. The needle had been poked through the hem of her qipao for safekeeping.

On her way home from the docks, Marinette had to walk through the foreign business sector. It was early enough that very few people were out on the street, though Marinette did see more than a few old white men laughing more loudly than was appropriate as they puffed on their pipes. Some whistled at her; when that happened, Marinette bristled but continued walking with her head down. Oh, how she hated passing through the foreign sector.

After turning the corner onto Huangpu Road, Marinette could see the grand Baroque pillars of the Astor House Hotel up ahead. Unconsciously, Marinette’s nose wrinkled ever so slightly with distaste for the blatant waste the Astor House Hotel represented.

Distracted by the hotel, Marinette didn’t notice a small stone on the path before her. Had she been wearing shoes, she likely wouldn’t have even noticed. But as she was barefoot, her leg buckled from the pain when she stepped on it.

“Hsss, ouch!” Marinette hissed as she rubbed her bare foot against her calf. Luckily, the skin hadn’t broken so there was no risk of infection. Thankfully, too, because Mama could not afford a doctor for her.

“Excuse me, I saw you stumble. Are you alright, miss?” Someone had turned the same corner, just in time to see Marinette stumble on the rock. “Marinette?”

Marinette turned to see none other than Adrien Agreste. “Monsieur Agreste,” she mumbled, unsure of what to say.

Adrien Agreste hadn’t been alone, as a pretty blonde girl was on his arm. “Ah,” she said with the typical air of dominance exerted by foreigners. “I see you know this servant. I’ll head back first,” she said airily. Before she walked off, she gave Adrien two farewell cheek kisses which Marinette watched awkwardly, not sure the appropriate response to witnessing such an intimate moment.

Once she was out of earshot, Adrien grinned sheepishly. “Sorry about her, Chloe’s an old friend.”

At the same time, Marinette snapped, “I am no servant!” Immediately following her outburst, she covered her face with her newly completed fan.

Both stood in silence for a few seconds. Adrien chuckled softly with his hand covering his mouth. Still, he couldn’t muffle the sound of his laughter. Marinette blushed furiously and continued hiding behind her fan.

When Adrien didn’t say anything else, Marinette took a deep breath and lowered her fan slightly. Her cheeks were still burning. “I, er, I thought I should apologize for our last meeting,” Marinette said awkwardly, in French. “Please don’t report me to the French embassy….” she added as an afterthought, as the full extent of the consequences of offending a foreigner occurred to her.

“Oh,” Adrien said. For a few seconds, he said nothing, unsure of what to say. “I, er, actually, I was going to apologize. I realized you were right, as we are not friends and I had no right to expect such favours from you. I hope you will accept my apology, Miss Marinette.”

The only response Marinette could think of was: “So you won’t report me to the embassy?”

Adrien blinked, clearly expecting Marinette to say something else -- perhaps even snap at him again. “Why would I report you to the embassy? You have done nothing wrong.”

“I live in the French Concession, Monsieur. I am governed by both the laws of Shanghai and France. You could report me to the embassy and have me tried by the French Consular Court.”

“Why, why that’s unreasonable!” Adrien’s expression clearly indicated this was the first time he had ever heard of the French court.

Marinette smiled bitterly. “The law is the law. What Europeans say becomes the law. It is how it is.”

“But that’s absurd!”

“Perhaps,” Marinette said thoughtfully, looking distractedly at a post behind Adrien’s shoulder. “But more than a few of my neighbours have been tried and convicted by the French courts. It has been decided that a French life is worth more than a Chinese life, that a white life is worth more than a yellow life, and so we live under such conditions.”

“That....that’s…” unable to find words to voice his thoughts, Adrien opened and closed his fist. A new understanding dawned on his face. “You have enlightened me to many truths, Mademoiselle. If I may be so forward, I would like to escort you home. In exchange, I would like to learn more about such truths.”

Finally lowering her fan, Marinette nodded.

Though the walk back to her bakery was uneventful, Marinette realized she had developed a newfound respect for Adrien Agreste. Adrien did not ask any more political questions (unbeknownst to Marinette, Adrien had not wanted to upset her any further), instead asking about the names of the streets they passed and the history of the owners of the small stores they passed.

“Quai de France….that sounds very French,” Adrien remarked as he pointed at a very French road sign they passed. “There is a road in Grenoble, in the south of France, with the very same name. Quai de France…”

“Perhaps because it was named by France,” Marinette quipped.

“What was it called before?”

“This road was built by the French. Although, I’ve heard rumours of some who want to rename it Zhongshan Road someday.”

“Are you one of those people?” Adrien asked, genuinely curious as his turned to face Marinette.

Marinette bit her lip, thinking of what to say. “I...do not know yet. But I do know that I would like to see a Chinese name up there, someday.”

When Adrien dropped Marinette off at the front of her bakery, he grinned.

“I have to thank you, Marinette. I have learned so much from you that I could never have known otherwise!” Adrien was looking directly at Marinette, and she shivered from his gaze.

“I found it quite enjoyable as well,” Marinette smiled back, still somewhat tentatively. “I do not have the chance to speak French often and conversing with you has been quite pleasant.”

Marinette turned away from Adrien, about to enter her bakery when Adrien said, “wait!”

Stiffly, Marinette turned her head to give Adrien a questioning look.

“It’s quite greedy of me, really,” Adrien said bashfully, cheeks tinted red. Despite his shyness, Adrien continued to look Marinette in the eye. “Could we be friends, Miss Marinette? I don’t have many friends and I really did enjoy your company today.”

Marinette beamed. “I think I would not mind being your friend, Monsieur Agreste.”

The silence between the two stretched out for a few moments, both happily revelling in the presence of their newfound friend.

At the time, Marinette didn’t realize, but the pebble of guilt in her chest had finally dislodged and disappeared.

~~~

“Mei Mei,” Popo said, frowning, from the doorway of the kitchen. “Come.” Popo left just as suddenly as she had appeared.

Marinette shuddered. Nothing good came from an unhappy Popo. Wiping her flour dusted hands on her apron, Marinette followed. She followed Popo into their tiny tea room, where Popo had prepared a pot of chrysanthemum tea.

“Popo,” Marinette greeted, eyes focused on her hands. Her fingers picked at the dried bits of dough that clung to her skin and stuck under hei nails. “Is something wrong.”

Focused on pouring the tea, Popo said nothing at first. After she had taken a long sip from her cup, Popo fixed Marinette with an unimpressed glare. “Cheng Mei Yi, I have been hearing the neighbours speak of you.”

Marinette gulped, blowing on her own tea. Though she wasn’t sure what exactly Popo was angry about, she did know that she was about to be on the receiving end of a long lecture. Popo only used Marinette’s full name when Popo was extremely displeased.

“They say you have been speaking with a foreigner.”

Marinette should have known that it would take no time for Popo to find out about Adrien. Old ladies were notorious gossipers and Popo was the worst.

“Cheng Mei Yi,” Popo said, glowering at Marinette, “must I remind you of what trash foreigners are? They are lazy and brainless, knowing nothing of the value of hard work. They think themselves above us. Us! The people of the middle kingdom.”

“Yes, Popo,” Marinette kept her eyes downcast, studying the stains on her apron.

“Honestly, do you forget all our difficulties because your father is a good for nothing foreigner? Once a year, the man comes and traipses through the door as if he belongs here. Here, in our home! He does not even bow in respect! Such insolence and disrespect. No grandchild of mine should suffer through such injustices!” Seeing Marinette’s lower lip quiver, Popo softened her tone. “Mei Mei,” Popo reached out to rest her hands over Marinette’s hands were closed around her tea cup and set the cup gently down on the table, “Popo is just worried about you. Outsiders are never to be trusted. They do not understand the beauty of our culture, of our people.”

Smiling shakily, Marinette thought quickly to shift the brunt of Popo’s anger onto someone else. She said, “yes Popo. I understand. I’m sorry. He just came up to me and asked to walk with me and I was too scared to reject him. I didn’t want him to complain to the embassy!” Marinette rubbed her eyes, pretending to wipe away tears.

“Aiya! Mei Mei, don’t touch your face with your hands! Hands are dirty!” Popo chided, her earlier anger now dissipated. “My poor darling, this is why we must beware those outsiders.” Leaning forward, Popo stroked Marinette cheeks with her wrinkled hands. “Be careful when you go outside, Mei Mei. You never know when those foreigners will ruin you. They are moraless monsters. Promise me, you will be careful.”

“Yes, Popo. I promise.” Marinette couldn’t quite meet her grandmother’s eyes as she spoke.

~~~

Adrien was distracted. He was seated with his father and Natalie, who were discussing fine silk and kudzu cloth with the Chinese merchant seated across the table.

“The silk is fine, but this kudzu cloth looks no different the threads used by the peasantry. It is far too rough and coarse for the fine ladies and gentlemen of Paris,” Gabriel Agreste said, unimpressed. He pushed his glasses up his nose, glaring down at the poor merchant.

“This is very, very good cloth,” the merchant insisted. “Very sturdy, look very foreign. Kudzu cloth is very exotic, will be sold for very high price in Europe!

“I must discuss with my son before any deal may pass. Leave us.” Adrien winced internally as he watched the Chinese merchant bow at ninety degrees before showing himself out.

Though it had been nearing three weeks since he had become Marinette’s friend, that conversation often replayed itself in Adrien’s head. Adrien found that he was beginning to see many of his daily interactions in a new light. When he first joined his father during his business meetings in Shanghai, Adrien took no notice to how people merely bowed at his feet, how people near begged for his business. When Adrien thought back to his first meeting, he had been grouchy and uncomfortable and very difficult. At the time, he had thought nothing more of snapping at, then threatening, the Chinese server who asked if he wanted water. At the time, the Chinese server was bothering him, grating on his nerves.

But now, with the knowledge from Marinette, he was uncomfortable with the person he had been. Just as Adrien was now uncomfortable with how his father treated the poor Chinese merchant who only wished to make a living to feed his family. In France, Gabriel Agreste was known for his short temper and high expectations and Adrien had never given a second thought to the consequences. He almost never saw his father, anyway, so what did it matter who Gabriel Agreste shoved to the ground and stepped on?

As it turned out, it mattered a lot. Because now that he had a new friend in Marinette, everyone he had no given a second glance at before suddenly became people. People with lives and dreams and struggles and worries and Adrien wasn’t entirely sure he liked this change.

“Adrien,” Gabriel Agreste snapped.

“Father?” Adrien was yanked from his thoughts.

“You respond when you are addressed, boy.”

“Yes, Father,” Adrien looked down, unwilling to meet his father’s perpetually icy stare. “I apologize.”

“As I was saying,” Gabriel Agreste continued, “I do not believe kudzu cloth to be of any value. Exotic peasant cloth is still peasant cloth and will not sell. No man of status would be seen looking at such shoddy workmanship.”

Feeling sympathetic to the merchant, Adrien attempted to sway his father’s decision. “Father, could it be possible to buy a small amount, just to feel out how it will be received? Just one bolt, and if it is so unappealing the remaining fabric can be used to uniform our staff.”

“Nonsense,” Gabriel snapped. “My staff will not seen donning the garb of peasants.”

“Monsieur Agreste,” Natalie interjected, a rare occasion. “Forgive me, but I agree with the young Monsieur. This kudzu is inexpensive and I see no harm to one bolt. Should kudzu be as unpopular as you say, we may use it to train new workers on the machinery. It is cheaper than the scrap cotton currently in use.”

Gabriel was silent, still, unused to having anyone voice their dissent. Adrien rubbed his hands on his trousers, trying to ease the clamminess of his palms. “Father?” Adrien said, tentatively, when Gabriel still had not responded after a full minute. “I will take full responsibility should kudzu be a drastic failure.”

“Pah,” Gabriel Agreste sniffed in disdain. “As though a failure could be anything other than a failure. Failure matters little when it is tied to the Agreste name. Very well, we will purchase a small amount of kudzu.” He paused to glower at Adrien. “Let this be a lesson, Adrien. Should this be a mistake, know that failure is not taken lightly.”

Gulping, Adrien said, “Yes, Father.” Beads of sweat dotted the back of Adrien’s neck, though the late August heat was likely not the sole cause for his perspiration.

Banging his fist on the table, Gabriel Agreste called for the Chinese merchant to return. Adrien flinched at the brusque mannerisms of his father.

Within the minute, the Chinese scrambled back into the room. He stood behind his vacated seat and bowed, but made no motion to sit. “Mister Agreste, sir, have you reached a decision?”

Adrien thought Gabriel Agreste’s permanent frown seemed to deepen as he spoke. “I firmly believe this kudzu cloth is the garb of peasants. However, my son believes your kudzu cloth is worth my investment. We will order 50 yards of this kudzu, with an additional 200 bolts of silk in assorted colours. I would like to inspect the colours you have available, before this deal goes through.”

“Of course, Mister Agreste,” the merchant maintained his professional demeanor, but Adrien noticed how the deep lines on the merchant’s forehead had lightened significantly. “Come, I will take you to see the cloth.”

After the door had closed behind Gabriel Agreste’s back, Natalie chuckled. When Adrien gave her a questioning glance, she explained, “It is amusing how eager the chinetoque are to serve.”

“I was under the impression he was a merchant? Is he not a businessman?” Adrien asked, expression carefully masking his confusion.

“This one claims to be a merchant,” Natalie said, finely manicured nails tapping against her thick agenda. As a personal assistant, Natalie was not paid a spectacular wage, though working in the employ of Gabriel Agreste gave her access to some boons of the wealthy. First and foremost, Natalie represented the Agreste image and as such, Gabriel Agreste spared to penny to ensure she looked the role. “Yet, you see how he acts, how he grovels, how he begs and bows, and he is evidently in the wrong profession. The man would make a fine servant, just like all the Chinamen. The chinetoque were made to serve; it is a mystery how their farce of a government attempt to claim independence. How would they fare, without the support of Europe?”

Adrien nodded. Natalie’s explanation made much sense to him and explained some of Marinette’s odd mannerisms as well. How she often bowed as though Adrien was royalty, how she served him egg tarts, how Marinette was so often running errands.

The Chinese, it seemed, were very much everything that Europeans were not.

~~~

“Alya, what is it like in France?”

Alya stood on a basket in Marinette’s room, arms spread, while Marinette ducked under Alya’s arms to cinch the waist of Alya’s dress.

But Alya was too sharp minded to simply brush Marinette’s question as passing curiosity. With her eyes narrowed suspiciously, Alya responded with a question of her own. “Marinette, since when did the conditions of France concern you?”

Focused on her needle weaving in and out mere centimeters from Alya’s flesh, Marinette couldn’t see the suspicion Alya had levelled towards her. “This is the French Concession. Are the laws as unfair in France as they are here?”

“Marinette,” Alya said, after a brief pause. “You hate France. You cringe at the mere mention of Europe. You never talk about the whites.”

Alya couldn’t see Marinette’s expression, but Alya could feel how Marinette’s fingers briefly loosened their grasp on Alya’s dress.

Marinette never responded to Alya. She simply kept her mouth shut and finished the back stitching on Alya’s dress. “It’s done,” Marinette said, stepping back to critique how the dress now flowed along Alya’s figure in the mirror.

Alya would have none of Marinette’s evasiveness. “Marinette, I know you well enough to know you are the absolute worst at lying. Now spill.” Alya crossed her arms and made no move to step down from the bucket.

Sighing, Marinette took a seat on the bamboo sheet on her bed. Suddenly, she was exhausted though the sun had just barely reached its peak. “It’s not much. I’ve just been thinking…” her words drifted off.

Expectantly, Alya stared at Marinette.

“My father visited.” Marinette stared back. “I’d much rather be fatherless, than have one like him.”

“You never cared before,” Alya quipped.

“I didn’t,” Marinette acknowledged. Her hands were becoming restless so she moved to tuck her needle and thread back into her sewing box. “I’m not sure if I care now. But...” Marinette swallowed. Her throat was suddenly dry. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just a passing curiosity. It might be nice to know about those I hate?”

Accepting Marinette’s confusion, Alya finally stepped down from the stool. “Well, remember that you wouldn’t know me if it wasn’t for the French,” Alya joked with a wink.

Laughing, Marinette listened to Alya jabber on about the crazy antics her sisters had gotten into. Though she was attentive, Marinette couldn’t help but think about France. She hadn’t expected Alya to question her sudden interest but now that Alya had, Marinette realized how ridiculous it was to ask about France.

After all, kind words would never excuse a bloodthirsty, greedy nature.

~~~

“Marinette!” Adrien called as soon as he saw Marinette standing on the harbour. When Marinette didn’t indicate that she heard him, he called out again, louder. “Marinette!”

This time, Marinette turned. Though reserved, Marinette smiled when she saw Adrien jogging towards her.

“Monsieur Agreste,” Marinette bowed in greeting once Adrien reached her spot by the water.

“Hello Marinette!” Adrien chirped, bright grin on his face. “You know, you’re not my servant, right? You don’t have to bow at me.”

Marinette’s smile immediately melted into a frown. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t have to bow when you see me,” Adrien said, still grinning cheerfully. “You’re not my servant or anything, so we’re equals!”

“I am well aware that I am not your servant, Monsieur Agreste.” Marinette continued to frown, not sure what Adrien was trying to say.

“So you don’t have to bow.”

Blinking, Marinette said, “Why would I not bow? I mean you no disrespect.”

Now confused, Adrien stared blankly at Marinette. “Disrespect? Is it an insult if you don’t bow?”

“Of course!” Suddenly, Marinette’s eyes brightened, understanding dawning upon her. “I do not know what you do in France, but bowing is a sign of respect.”

“Wait,” Adrien’s eyes widened, the gears turning his in mind. “So everyone bows here? To show respect?”

Before Marinette could respond, a sudden strong breeze hit. Though most of Marinette’s long locks were pulled into twin braids, the wind pulled some of shorter strands out and blew them in her face. Calmly tucking her loose locks behind her ears, Marinette answered Adrien. “Of course! Why else would we bow?”

“Er,” Adrien looked out to the horizon, a shameful blush dusting his cheeks.

With narrowed eyes, Marinette prompted Adrien to respond in a harsher tone. “Well?”

“I, er,” Adrien stumbled over his words, unsure how best to explain himself. “Well, see, in France, servants bow to their masters…” Adrien drifted off, hoping Marinette would understand the words he didn’t say.

Sure enough, Marinette did understand. Glaring, Marinette said, “You believed us, an entire nation, to be slaves?”

Adrien stepped back with raised hands and tried to justify himself. “Uh, in fairness, the Chinese are very willing to work for us!”

Scoffing, Marinette crossed her arms. Though she was quite a bit shorter than Adrien, and had little meat on her bones, Adrien found himself mildly terrified of an angry Marinette. In a carefully controlled voice, Marinette snapped, “We serve because we fear the French consulate and its unfair repercussions. How narrow minded -- to think we want to be controlled by whites!”

Marinette’s voice was quiet, for fear of being overheard, but Adrien shivered nevertheless.

With her arms still crossed angrily, Marinette faced the open sea and turned her back on Adrien.

Adrien stared at Marinette’s back, wracking his mind for something to say. Anything, to rectify the hole he had dug himself into. Marinette’s qipao framed the tense muscles of her back perfectly, clearly indicating her fury to Adrien as if her crossed arms and expression hadn’t been enough.

“Marinette…” Adrien trailed off when Marinette turned around to focus her glare on him.

“What.” Marinette said softly, anger still evident in her quiet voice.

“I, er --” Adrien gulped when Marinette’s glare didn’t relent. He sighed, “I don’t know what to say, Marinette, only that I’m sorry for assuming. I was never taught that China had different customs, see.”

“So you just assume?”

“Well...I suppose it never occurred to me otherwise. So I guess I did assume?” Adrien’s voice faltered slightly. “I just...I don’t have an excuse Marinette. It was a mistake and narrow minded and unfair to think those things about you. But I want to try to make it right and if you’re willing, I would like to learn more about your customs.”

At first, Marinette said nothing, simply closing her eyes and taking deep breaths. Bristling, Adrien waited for her to scoff at him and reject him outright.

Instead, after a few more breaths Marinette opened her eyes. Though there was no hint of a smile, Marinette’s eyes softened. “I am still very angry,” Marinette said, voice tense and controlled, “but I respect that you acknowledge your wrongs.”

Turning back to face Adrien, Marinette looked straight into his eyes as she finished her words. Before Adrien could formulate any sort of response, Marinette bowed. Her waist was bent at exactly 90 degrees.

Adrien didn’t entirely understand what bowing meant to Marinette, but he took it as an acceptance of his apology. Tentatively, Adrien leaned forward, mimicking Marinette’s ninety degree bow.

He didn’t know what exactly his bow would say to Marinette, but Adrien hoped that Marinette would understand it was his way of showing his earnestness and sincerity.

Marinette did see Adrien bow from the corner of her eyes and though he couldn’t see it, Marinette did smile, ever so slightly.

Oh boy I don't know what I'm doing anymore sos

So bowing was a super big deal in China but nowadays it's not really practiced. There are a few situations like when major officials apologize and bow as a sign of humility but you almost never see it in everyday life. Bowing fell out of favour after 1911, before this fic, but because China is a traditional society, I'm making the assumption that bowing didn't completely fall out of favour until the Cultural Revolution.

I'm also making a lot of liberties with Alya's role in this fic but ;w;

Chinetoque is a derogatory French term for Chinese people. Chinaman is another derogatory term.

Kudzu is a a plant native to Eastern and Southeast Asia that is used to make cloth, baskets, and paper. A bolt of fabric equals 100 yards of fabric so Gabriel buying 50 yards is only half a bolt.

Finally, Quai de France is a real street in Shanghai. It's been since renamed Zhongshan Road (as mentioned by Marinette) in honour of Dr. Sun Yat-Sen. In the simplest explanation possible, he's the guy who overthrew Imperial rule and made China a "republic". There's a lot of technicalities and details that explanation overlooks though so if you're interested, feel free to ask :3

The French concession is what they called the part of Shanghai under French rule and the French consular court was a real thing. Technically, because Marinette is Chinese Adrien would have to go to the International Mixed Court but that was abolished in 1930.

And I think that covers all the non-common knowledge in this chapter phew :3

Please like and/or reblog if you liked it!!

#miraculous ladybug #miraculousdaily #ml fanfic #adrienette #ml au #ml fic #adrien agreste #marinette cheng #adrien x marinette #LadyNoir #ladrien #adrienette fanfiction #marichat

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fengbi · 7 years ago

Text

One Day, Three Autumns: Chapter Two

Pairing: Adrienette Tags: Historical AU, China AU, WWII AU, 1930s AU, drama Summary: Shanghai, 1933.

The world is on the verge of war. Marinette and Adrien fall in love anyway, hoping to beat the odds.

One

The second time Marinette ran into Adrien Agreste, it was Alya’s fault.

The fact that Marinette somehow managed to run into the same man again in a city of three million was not Alya’s doing, but the circumstances under which their meeting happened most certainly was.

It was certainly Alya’s fault that Marinette was now in Adrien Agreste’s arms, having literally run into Adrien Agreste. At full speed. It was also Alya’s fault that Adrien Agreste’s hands were now on Marinette’s back. His bare fingers, touching the bare skin of Marinette’s back. Definitely Alya’s fault. It was all Alya’s fault that the palm of Adrien Agreste’s hand was now resting, quite comfortably, between Marinette’s shoulder blades. Adrien Agreste’s bare skin resting against her equally bare skin. All of it was Alya’s fault.

~~~

It started that morning, when Alya had welcomed herself into Marinette’s home as usual. Alya’s mother had returned from abroad so Alya came bearing gifts -- a linen shawl for Popo, a lace parasol for Marinette’s mother, and a dress for Marinette herself.

A dress that had Marinette blushing and furiously shaking her head. “Alya, that’s ridiculous! I can’t wear that! Th-that’s….that’s indecent! So extremely and very terribly indecent I couldn’t possibly!”

Standing before Marinette, Alya held up the dress. From the front it appeared to be a fairly standard dress, the skirt ending at the knee and a modest scalloped collar.

“Girl, you know I love you but you’re being ridiculous,” Alya coaxed. “This is the latest trend in Paris! All the most stylish ladies are wearing this style! Maman brought this all the way from France! Come on, you can’t deny that this dress is absolutely gorgeous.” Alya shook the dress in Marinette’s face.

Covering her burning cheeks with her hands, Marinette studied how the dress flowed with Alya’s shaking. Indeed, the dress was incredibly well made and the thin fabric fluttered beautifully with the slightest breeze. Any other dress, and Marinette would have been thrilled and begging to try it on just once.

“But....but it’s a gift for you! I-I can’t take something your mother gave to you!” Marinette began pacing, throwing her arms up and around in jerky, exaggerated motions.

Shrugging, Alya continued to hold the dress towards Marinette. “But look. It’s blue. You know what blue does to my complexion. I will not be seen looking like a blueberry and it’d be such a shame for such a lovely dress to go to waste. Besides, Maman got me more than just one dress! And this shade of blue does such wonderful things to your complexion.”

Marinette’s face was steadily growing redder by the minute. “But the back! It’s so….so indecent!”

The entire problem with the dress from the back. The back hung open and backless, revealing the wearer’s entire backside, framed by rivets of gossamer fabric.

“My back will be cold! I’ll catch a chilly wind and get sick! I could die!” Marinette continued to protest, hands waving wildly. Alya had to take a step back to avoid Marinette’s flailing limbs.

“None of the Parisian women have died yet.”

Marinette stopped and faced Alya. She blinked, eyes wide and bulging. Her mouth opened and closed, mouthing silent words.

“Nothing to say?” Alya smirked, once again stepping forward to thrust the dress in Marinette’s face. “You know this colour would look stunning with your eyes? Come on, at least try it on. Just once! I need to see how it looks on you!”

Sighing, Marinette ceded defeat and reached out to take the dress from Alya’s hands before she slipped behind her rice paper divider.

“Girl! You look fabulous!” Alya gushed the moment Marinette pushed the divider aside. “This colour was made for you!”

At that moment, the trapdoor flung open and Marinette’s mother poked her head into Marinette’s room.

Immediately, she noticed the dress Marinette wore. “Oh! Is that a new dress? It’s very beautiful,” she said, pulling her upper body into a sitting position on Marinette’s bedroom floor. Her legs dangled against the ladder.

“Hello Madame Cheng! Maman bought it in France and I thought it’d be perfect for Marinette,” Alya said, offering a hand to pull Madame Cheng to her feet.

Madame Cheng studied Marinette.

“Mama! It’s really nothing! I’m just trying it on! Alya’s going to take it back right afterwards!” Marinette protested, her cheeks dangerously red. She took a step back and stumbled into her divider and yelped.

While Marinette whipped around to steady her divider, Alya leaned over to conspiratorially stage whisper into Madame Cheng’s ear, “She’s keeping the dress.”

Madame Cheng’s eyes twinkled as she smiled. “Mei Mei, please twirl for me.”

Biting her lip, Marinette stiffly tucked her arms against her chest and spun around once. The layered skirt floated up, layer by layer, before fluttering back down. Behind her, the gossamer fabric lining Marinette’s bare back drifted up as well, creating the illusion of wings.

“Ah, this colour really matches your eyes. But, Mei Mei, you would be so much more beautiful if your arms were not so stiff!”

“Mama!” Marinette’s hands flew up to cover her face.

Paying Marinette no mind, Alya said to Madame Cheng, “Mari really should show off her eyes more.”

“Yes,” Madame Cheng agreed, “Mei Mei has beautiful eyes. Every other young lady who sees you is so jealous, why must you insist on wearing such dull colours? You must wear this dress out today.”

“But Mama!” Marinette protested. “The wind could blow on my back and give me a cold!”

“It is June,” Madame Cheng said as she descended down the ladder leading to Marinette’s room, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Foreign styles are expensive and difficult to come by. We must show off what we have.”

After her mother disappeared beneath the floorboards, Marinette gave Alya a defeated look. After all, one simply does not argue with a Chinese mother.

Alya smirked victoriously.

~~~

Outside, Alya and Marinette did not get very far before Marinette stumbled over the uneven path.

Marinette’s home was near the docks, and by extension, near the foreign business sector of Shanghai, where rich foreigners experienced the best China had to offer. Close enough that Alya could drop by whenever she so desired. But, not close enough as Marinette’s street was no different from the average street in Shanghai. As such, the buildings were old, storekeepers were forced to live above their shops, and the streets were never even.

So, in all fairness, it was also the street’s fault that Marinette was now in such a compromising position with Adrien Agreste. Just a little. It was still mostly Alya’s fault.

“Oof,” Adrien Agreste had huffed, the air having been knocked out of him when Marinette collided. “Oh God, I apologize for not paying attention. Are you alright, Miss?”

Marinette recognized his voice instantly. With her cheek squished against the chest of Adrien Agreste, she groaned softly in humiliation and exasperation. Of all the people in Shanghai.

Adrien Agreste had taken her groan as a sign that she had been hurt and stepped back, hands moving to grip her shoulders in case she needed support. Quickly, Marinette shook her head frantically, her twin braids flying. “No, no, I’m fine. Just fine.” Her voice was breathy as she stared at her feet, trying to hide her face from Adrien Agreste.

“She’s fine,” Alya piped up. Marinette could hear Alya laughing at her.

Adrien Agreste still sounded concerned though. “Are you sure, Miss? Miss?”

Marinette was squeezing her eyes shut, trying to think of how to get out of this situation.

Unfortunately, Alya was still laughing. “Marinette’s a walking hazard, she’s fine.”

Their first meeting had been days ago, and it would not have been unusual if Adrien Agreste had no recollection of her. Marinette was, after all, just another Chinese girl in Shanghai.

“Miss Marinette?” Adrien Agreste’s tone indicated to Marinette that he did indeed remember her from their less than stellar meeting a few days prior.

With her cover blown, Marinette looked up at Adrien Agreste with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry Mister Agreste, I’m fine. Really, I am. I’m just a little clumsy, you see. But really, this happens all the time and it really was my fault for not being more careful.” At that moment, Marinette realized Adrien Agreste’s hands were still on her shoulders, prepared to steady her if needed. Smiling a smile of false confidence, Marinette took a step back to show she was fine and able to move on with her day.

Only, Marinette stepped on the same uneven spot as earlier and stumbled again. And again, Adrien Agreste caught her.

Alya had stopped laughing after hearing the Agreste name. “Agreste? As in the French textile mogul?”

Having steadied herself, Marinette hissed, “Alya!” Her head whipped over to give Alya a dark look.

But Adrien Agreste wasn’t at all fazed by Alya’s bluntness. “Yes,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “My father is the head of the company.”

“Then what brings an Agreste out to this side of town? This is hardly the place for an Agreste, as you can see.” Alya’s words had Marinette shifting uncomfortably. Though Marinette was no stranger to giving subtly biting remarks, she had already made her peace with Adrien Agreste and wanted to keep it that way before he said something that would brush her the wrong way. Really, all Marinette wanted to continue her day and forget about Adrien Agreste’s existence.

“The city?” Adrien looked confused, and relief flooded Marinette when Adrien Agreste did not appear to be even slightly offended.

“This street. This is hardly a street an Agreste would stand on,” Alya’s saccharine tone was borderline mocking.

Adrien Agreste, however, was undisturbed by Alya’s tone. Instead, Adrien Agreste was more interested by Alya’s words. “This street? I mean no offense, Miss, but this seems like any other street to me.”

Bristling at Adrien Agreste’s obliviousness, Marinette narrowed her eyes. “It really is not,” she said coolly, taking a step away from Adrien Agreste. This time, she didn’t trip.

Adrien Agreste’s confused expression prompted Marinette to continue. “Look at these streets. Does the road where you stay really look like this? Do you see all these people around us?” Marinette gestured at the people walking around them, people going about their lives. “We are workers. Real workers. We own stores, are builders, sweep the streets, open restaurants. We make enough to get by, but not much more than that, and we despise the wasteful style of foreigners. The world does not care for us, and the General has forgotten about us.” Ending her tirade, Marinette smiled a wistful smile.

When Adrien didn’t immediately respond, Alya took that moment to interject, “Agreste, what street are you staying on?”

Adrien flushed slightly when he responded. “Huangpo Lu.”

“The Astor House Hotel,” Alya said, without any hesitation.

Scoffing, Marinette linked Alya’s elbow with hers. “Come, Alya, Mama will need me to watch the store soon.” Before leaving, Marinette faced Adrien Agreste and bowed at 45 degrees. “We will take our leave now, Mister Agreste. I apologize for my carelessness knocking into you earlier.” Then she turned on her heel and walked away.

If Marinette had waited a couple seconds later, she might have noticed the flash of guilt in Adrien Agreste’s eyes.

~~~

Days passed, then weeks, and soon June turned into July. With the change in month, came a change in climate. Marinette didn’t much like the summer months, with its intense humidity and boiling temperatures. Everything was wet and sticky, Marinette always felt that she would never be clean or dry again, and the humidity made it all the more difficult to store leftover cakes and buns.

The sour weather brought with it an unwanted guest. Thomas Dupain, the man himself, walked up to where Marinette was fumbling with the money box. Neither said a word as Thomas Dupain stopped, leaving a counter between the two.

Marinette continued staring at the money box on her lap, pretending she hadn’t noticed her father.

Thomas coughed uncomfortably, hoping to catch Marinette’s attention. Though she paused her rummaging momentarily, she began to pointless shuffle and reorganize the bills in her hands so that she would not have to address her father first.

Although it had not yet reached noontime, Thomas’ face was already dripping with sweat. The lack of a cool gust did him no favours. Even Marinette, long accustomed to the sweltering temperatures of Shanghai in July, had beads of sweat beginning to dot her neck and temples.

As Thomas was opening his mouth to finally break the terse silence between them, Mama stuck her head out from the kitchen. “Mei Mei, would you like a break to dust the cakes?” Before Marinette could respond, Mama noticed Thomas standing, his burly figure uncomfortably sticking out between the shelves of desserts and the small counter. “Thomas, hello,” Mama said in her broken, deeply accented French.

Having her mother there gave Marinette the chance to drop her charade. Almost immediately, Marinette set the money box down to quietly slip past her mother. “I’ll take care of the cakes.”

Thomas watched Marinette’s back disappear behind the door wistfully. “She used to never leave my side, when she was a little girl. Do you remember when she used to cling to my legs to ask me to stay?”

“That was a long time ago and it never stopped you.” Madame Cheng’s deliberately avoided Thomas’ gaze. “To Mei Mei, you are little more than a foreign stranger now.”

“I am Marinette’s father,” Thomas insisted. “I provide you and her with as much as I give my wife and son.”

“You were Mei Mei’s father,” Madame Cheng smiled regretfully, still not looking at Thomas directly. “It has been a long time since you have acted as one.” Seeing Thomas open his mouth to argue, Madame Cheng raised a hand and prompted him to stop whatever he was about to say. “No, Thomas, it has been a year since I saw you last and it will be another when I see you again. I do not want to argue. Please, join us for dinner.”

~~~

In the kitchen, Marinette had just barely started on the cakes before she was interrupted. Popo swept into the kitchen in a flurry of anger. “Mei Mei, was that a foreigner I heard?”

“Father is here,” Marinette said, dusting the sugar grains off her hands.

“Go change,” Popo said shortly, already moving to put Marinette’s unfinished cakes away.

“Popo?”

“Wear your red qipao. The one with the dragon and peonies. Outsiders who lie and debase our lovely Shanghai girls deserve to be reminded that they now have Chinese children. No white man who has been with a Chinese girl can claim to be the superior. We are the middle kingdom, and your scum father will never be accepted,” Popo snapped as she reached for a pot.

“Yes, Popo.” Marinette turned to leave, before stopping to ask one last question. “What will we be having for dinner?”

Smirking, Popo pulled rice and daikon from the cabinet. “We will be having Chinese food, Mei Mei.”

~~~

Thomas Dupain sat uncomfortably at the small table, fumbling with his chopsticks and a bowl of rice placed before him. In the middle of the table, a steaming pot of daikon soup sat with a dish of chive dumplings. A small plate of fermented bean curd and pickled daikon peel was set beside the dumplings.

Popo acted as though Thomas was not there, spooning daikon into her bowl. As Thomas was seated directly across from Popo, she blew on her soup under the guise of cooling her food. In actuality, knowing Europeans did not take well to the strong scent of daikon, Popo was intentionally wafting the scent toward Thomas.

“Mei Mei,” Popo said in Shanghainese, “you chose a good daikon today. Very tender. No strings.”

“Thank you, Popo,” Marinette said. She followed Popo’s lead, silently sipping at her soup and nibbling at the dumplings.

With only Thomas and Mama left to fill the massive gap in conversation, their words were stilted and uncomfortable.

“Thomas, when did you arrive in Shanghai?”

“Just a few days ago.”

“How long will you be staying?”

“I’m not sure yet. I leave when the Captain is finished his business.”

“Do you know where you go next?”

“I have a hunch it’s back to France for me.”

Thomas and Mama’s conversation was broken and forced (and the discomfort only magnified by Mama’s lack of fluency in French), but the mention of France ended any conversation that may have followed.

The four of them sat in a hushed silence, each wishing to cut the tension but none willing to be the one to do so. In the end, it was Popo who spoke up just as Marinette was finishing her rice.

“Why is he only eating the rice?” Popo gestured at Thomas’ bowl, still half full despite it being the only food he had touched during the meal. As Popo spoke only in Shanghainese, Thomas immediately looked to Mama, panicked, awaiting a translation.

Sighing, Mama responded. “My mother is asking why you do not drink the soup.”

“Ah,” Thomas relaxed. “I did not want to be rude, that is all.”

Instead of waiting for Mama to convey his words to Popo, Marinette jumped in to play translator. “He says he thought it was rude to eat more.”

Popo narrowed her eyes, but before she could say any more, Thomas glanced at his wristwatch and jumped up. “I apologize, unfortunately I am late for a meeting with my captain. I hope to be in Shanghai again soon.”

Before he left, Thomas pulled a small, jingling bag from his pocket and set it on the table. He nodded at Popo, smiled at Mama, and said “Goodbye, Marinette,” before turning and letting himself out of their home.

As soon as Thomas’ footsteps could no longer be heard, Popo snapped. “What uneducated foreigners. How rude to eat so little. And not even finish his rice! What a waste.”

“Ma,” Mama glared at Popo, “he can read and write! And has been to school!”

“Yet his unfinished food is now waste. Does he think we’re rich?”

“Ma, he understands responsibility. He leaves us more than enough money!”

“That certainly is true,” Popo said, grabbing the pouch Thomas left behind and immediately began counting the money. “Money is all that foreigner is good for.”

Marinette, knowing that Mama was about to explode at Popo, quietly slipped away from the table. Neither Mama nor Popo noticed Marinette disappear.

~~~

After each visit, Mama and Popo would not speak to each other for at least a week. Popo disapproved of Mama’s status as a second wife (“No daughter of mine should settle as the concubine of a white man.”), and Mama both ashamed she could not be the first wife as well at irritated by Popo’s comments. Tensions were always thick in the following days so Marinette offered to spend her time with customers in the shop, leaving Mama and Popo to knead out their frustrations into the dough.

Summer months were quiet months in the store as well. Soups and fruits were more welcome than breads and sticky pastries in the heat. The stickiness of the humidity was more than enough reason to move as little as possible and so, Marinette spent most of the day alone. Once in awhile Alya would drop by, but with her own mother around for the time being, Alya was preoccupied in her own home.

“Maman is home so rarely, all Ella and Etta want is Maman’s attention.”

“Well, Madame is on break.”

“Ella and Etta have broken a six plates, two spoons, a dozen frames, and a bookshelf trying to get Maman’s attention. And I had to clean all of it up.”

So Marinette spent her time embroidering alone in the store. The stark drop in customers gave her more than enough time to work. She was halfway through stitching a red swallow on a bamboo fan when she heard someone entering the store. Pulling her red thread taut, Marinette looked up and let out a soft, “oh,” when she saw who it was.

“Erm, hello, Miss,” Adrien Agreste stopped beside the bread shelf, his hands clasped together in front of him.

Though Marinette did set her embroidery needle down, she continued to hold onto her unfinished fan. She said nothing, instead she watched Adrien Agreste, expectantly waiting for him to pick something from the shelves and leave.

When he did nothing, Marinette narrowed her eyes. “Monsieur, do you need something?” She wasn’t mad -- she really wasn’t -- but Marinette had more than enough of snobbish Frenchmen with more money than they needed. It had been nearly two weeks since that disastrous dinner and Mama and Popo still were not speaking.

“I, er,” Adrien took a few tentative steps forward, “I simply wanted to apologize for my behaviour the other day, Miss Marinette. In all honesty, I am not entirely sure what I did wrong but I apologize for causing you offence.”

Marinette clutched her fan to her chest. “You did nothing wrong. It is simply that we are incompatible.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Marinette, but I must disagree with you. Our second meeting, when you offered me an egg tart, was quite enjoyable.”

“Then you are simply naive,” Marinette said bluntly. “You are from France. I know the likes of you. You will play with me, enchant me, then dump me without consequence. We are from different worlds and I have no interest in playing your exotic pet.”

Adrien Agreste was taken aback, eyes wide and mouth slightly opened. “I, er...”

“Save it,” Marinette sighed, attention shifting back onto her fan. “I’ve had enough of shameless Frenchmen in this one month to last me a lifetime.”

Though Marinette’s tone was gentle, her words cut into Adrien. He found himself suddenly angry, only seeing red. “I see, Mademoiselle. I see how our handful of meetings have been more than enough for you to determine who I am, and the quality of the nation I am from. I will bother you no longer and I apologize for interrupting your work.”

With his head bowed, Adrien slunk out of Marinette’s bakery. With his back turn to Marinette, she could not see how his face was flushed with anger and humiliation.

Marinette looked up from her fan just in time to see Adrien’s back disappear behind the corner. Though she was still thoroughly incensed from their brief conversation, her chest panged uncomfortably from guilt.

Three

Fluffytalk: There’s a lot of Chinese cultural quirks added in here that would take a really long time to explain so I’ll try to make this short. The important scene is that awkward dinner with Thomas.

Daikon soup: Daikon is the Japanese name. It’s 白萝卜 (Bai Luo Bo) in mandarin which is a white radish but it seems to be most often called daikon in North America so....It has super strong scent that people who don’t grow up eating it (and some who do grow up eating it) tend to find repulsive.

Pickled daikon peel: it’s exactly what it sounds like but I swear it tastes better than it sounds

Chive dumplings: Another very strong scent that I’ve been mocked for by my white classmates ><

Tofu Curd: A side dish often paired with light foods. It looks like a bleached cube of poop but is actually super yummy

Also, in China, when you are invited out to eat you must eat a lot or risk offending the host. Also everyone gets an individual rice/soup bowl but all the vegetables and soups and stuff are all placed in the middle.

Second wife: In China a second wife is basically a concubine and it’s still practiced today (although much less common) and the second wife is looked down upon

If you have any other questions, comments, or just want to talk, feel free to leave a comment/message me!

#miraculous ladybug #miraculousdaily #adrienette #adrien agreste #marinette cheng #ml au #adrien x marinette #adrienette fanfiction #marichat #ladrien

54 notes · View notes

fengbi · 8 years ago

Text

Halcyon

Pairing: Adrienette Tags: Aged Up, Fluff, idek Summary: Adrienette is trending online because of a Buzzfeed article. So, Adrien and Marinette read it together.

“Top 8 times Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng were ‘hashtag couple goals’?” Marinette read aloud. “Well, this should be interesting.”

“Princess! Look at this! We’re trending again!” Adrien excitedly burst into the living room with his laptop in tow.

“Mmm,” Marinette hummed distractedly in response. She was perched on the couch, knees tucked against her chest. Absentmindedly, she doodled sketches in a notepad, already brainstorming for next year’s spring collection. Her debut weeks earlier at the Paris Fashion Week for Menswear and Haute Couture had been a massive success. The critics had loved her Tikki line and she was already overwhelmed with how many retailers were interested in Tikki. Certainly, Marinette was thrilled, but she had almost no employees and needed to begin mass production on Tikki.

And with the next fashion week coming up in two weeks, Marinette was scrambling a bit.

A couple metres before her, the TV was airing some cheesy Chinese dating show that Marinette had flipped to fill the room with some background noise.

“Bugaboo,” Adrien whined, slightly put down by Marinette’s lack of interest. “We’re trending!”

Again, Marinette hummed in acknowledgement but continued her doodling without looking up from her paper.

Frowning, Adrien placed his laptop on the vacant spot beside Marinette. He moved to stand behind the couch, directly behind Marinette and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Princess, you’re so tense. You should take a break before your muscles shrivel up,” Adrien said, fingers rubbing circles against Marinette’s neck and back.

“Mmm I only have two weeks to have my collection ready for Paris Fashion Week,” Marinette protested Adrien’s distraction, but still tilted her head back in pleasure. “I’m only halfway finished stitching the last revision for my Miraculous line and I’m so behind and I’ve already had critics and investors asking about stuff for next year and I don’t even know anything about math or investing and --”

“But you aren’t sewing right now,” Adrien said as he increased the pressure he was exerting on Marinette’s sore muscles. “And you haven’t taken a break in months. Mari, you can’t forget to take of yourself.”

Marinette tried to turn around to face Adrien, but his grip on her shoulders kept her facing forward. “I’m taking a break right now! From stitching! I can handle it!”

“Doing more work isn’t a break, Princess,” Adrien stopped Marinette’s tirade, continuing to massage her tense muscles. “You hired employees for a reason. Juleka can handle mass production and touch ups. Max will deal with the business side of things.”

“But I always hand stitch the runway outfits --”

Adrien cut off Marinette’s protests, “And you still have two weeks to do that. Come on, Princess, humour me.”

Huffing, Marinette leaned into Adrien’s hands. She set her pencil and sketchbook to the side and let Adrien ease the knots out of her back. Though she was loath to admit, Adrien’s hands felt like heaven against her tight muscles.

Satisfied that Marinette was finally taking a proper break, Adrien released one of her shoulders to reach for the laptop he had left beside her earlier.

“So as I was saying earlier,” Adrien placed the laptop into Marinette now vacant lap, “we’re trending again! Apparently Buzzfeed wrote this article on us and now we’re trending. I thought we could go through it together.”

“Top 8 times Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng were ‘hashtag couple goals’?” Marinette read aloud. “Well this should be interesting. ‘Eight: that time when Adrien and Marinette dressed up as Ladybug and Chat Noir for Halloween.’ I can’t believe this is listed! It was only because I forgot about Halloween!”

Underneath the caption was a photo Adrien had shared on his Instagram during Alya’s Halloween party a couple years back. He and Marinette had “switched” miraculous, with Marinette being Chatte Noire and Adrien being Ladybug. Marinette had even tied two little pigtails into Adrien’s hair to complete the look. Using her old red ribbons, of course.

Smirking, Adrien said, “Well I, for one, can believe it. I do make a purr-fect ladybug after all. And you know how Americans always make a big deal about Halloween. Plus, we have the best Ladybug and Chat Noir costumes in the world since you made them.” Adrien leaned down to place a kiss on the side of Marinette’s head.

“I do know a bit more about Ladybug and Chat Noir’s outfits than the average retailer.”

“How did you ever manage to get Chat’s tail to stay off the ground, though?”

Tilting her head back so Adrien could see her face, Marinette grinned cheekily. “Now that, mon chaton, is privileged information.”

Feigning hurt, Adrien cried dramatically, “Oh, how you wound me!” Whilst Marinette laughed at his dramatics, Adrien leaned forward to scroll down the page. “‘Seven: when Adrien and Marinette shared Adrien’s pocket’. Oh that was in Québec! Remember? During Carnival? We had so much maple syrup that day! I think father would have had a stroke if he’d known how much sugar I had that day.”

“Natalie would too,” Marinette laughed. She had imagined a comical and over dramatic image of what she guessed Gabriel Agreste’s reaction to maple syrup would be. “But to be fair, you eat that much sugar everyday.”

“Father and Nathalie still cringe when anything remotely sweet are within a metre of my mouth. So do my model friends.”

“Yes,” Marinette sighed melodramatically, “they have cringed the two times you have had the opportunity to consume sugar in their presence. Though I think your model friends cringe because of quantity of sweets you eat, not the sugar itself. You do eat far more than the recommended sugar intake. Like, a month’s worth of sugar everyday.”

“Still have that hot model bod though,” Adrien winked. “Carnival was great. We should go back sometime with Nino and Alya.”

“We could go snowshoeing! And we could do the team skis so Alya and I can kick your guys’ butts.”

“No way, it’s too cold in Canada. You’d be a frozen little Bugaboo without me.”

“I would not!” Marinette huffed indignantly.

“Princess, I hate to break it to you but you have no tolerance for the cold,” Adrien said in a teasing tone that clearly showed he did not hate breaking the news to Marinette at all. “You even had to stick your hand into my pocket to ward off frostbite,” he looked pointedly at the picture included in the article.

The photo had been sneakily taken by a fan, and it depicted Marinette and Adrien standing in line together for a sleigh ride. Adrien had stuffed his hands into his pockets. Indeed, Marinette had slipped one of her hands into Adrien’s pocket too.

“Well.”

“Well?” Adrien prompted her.

“Well maybe I just wanted to hold your hand.” A light blush tinted Marinette’s cheeks and Adrien couldn’t help but kiss her right then.

“Well I definitely wanted to hold your hand too,” Adrien smiled, kissing Marinette’s forehead before pulling away.

As Adrien resumed massaging Marinette’s back, Marinette scrolled further down the page.

“‘Six: when Adrien wears Marinette’s scarves.’”

Under the caption was a compilation of a dozen photos of Adrien at various events wearing an assortment of different scarves. Red scarves, green scarves, wool scarves, infinity scarves, and the classic blue scarf that had been Marinette’s first gift to him. Adrien was so notoriously picky about scarves that he only wore scarves tailored just for him. And that meant he only wore scarves designed by and hand knit by Marinette. And the press swooned over that fact.

“You do look pretty good in that red one,” Marinette remarked.

“Pretty good?” Adrien feigned offense. “I look purr-fectly fabulous in red!”

“But you haven’t worn that scarf in a while.”

Feeling that the tension had mostly left Marinette’s shoulders, Adrien moved to sit beside Marinette on the couch. One arm wrapped around her waist, his hand continued rubbing her back. “Red is my lucky colour. And that’s my lucky scarf. I have to save it for when my lucky charm isn’t around to ward off all the bad luck.”

“Mmm,” Marinette hummed, unconsciously leaning into Adrien’s side. “And what would that lucky charm be?” she asked innocently, knowing what the answer was.

Adrien pulled Marinette closer. “My princess, of course. The only one who looks better in red than me.” He ended his declaration with an affectionate tap on Marinette’s nose. She giggled, scrunching up her nose.

While Marinette was distracted, Adrien scrolled down to read the next caption. “‘Five: when Marinette tied Adrien’s tie’. Remember that? Our first red carpet together and you spent half of it fussing with my tie!”

Cheeks flushing, Marinette buried her face in Adrien’s chest. “It was crooked,” she said, voice muffled by Adrien’s shirt. “I couldn’t let you walk down the red carpet with a crooked tie! The fashion critics would have slaughtered you!”

“I bet I could make crooked ties fashionable. I’d rock that rebel bad boy look,” Adrien laughed as Marinette tried to burrow deeper into his chest. “Those photographers were so desperate to get you to just look at them. I guess pictures of your back just aren’t worth as much.”

“I had to fix your tie! What kind of girlfriend would I have been if I just let you, a world class supermodel, walk around all evening with a crooked tie!”

Adrien leaned closer to the laptop screen, feigning a closer examination of his tie in the photo. “Hmm, looks perfectly straight to me, my lady. You sure you needed the entire length of the carpet to fix it?”

“Okay, fine, I just didn’t want to look at all the cameras. That was my first red carpet!” Marinette jerked back, cheeks aflame. “The first time I had to be in front of cameras without Tikki! Without Ladybug! And it was all live and I couldn’t make a mistake!”

“I knew it!” Adrien laughed as Marinette glowered at him. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

Shifting so her back rested against Adrien’s side, Marinette grumbled. Still chuckling softly, Adrien read the next caption. “Four: When Adrien was asked what he loved about Marinette. Oh, I remember this interview! You were in China with Mama during this one so you never saw it, but this was a great interview.”

“....is this the one where you spent the entire fifteen minutes talking about me and nothing else? The station that banned you?”

“Hey, that’s only the condensed version of why I love you!” Adrien defended himself. “Those producers just have no taste.”

“Chaton, weren’t you supposed to be promoting your partnership with Unicef?”

“Well if they wanted to talk about Unicef, they shouldn’t have asked about you.”

Though Marinette sighed loudly, she couldn’t hide her smile. “You know, Alya still brings it up whenever she runs into annoying journalists.”

“Oh?”

“You should ask her about it. Apparently she once had to work with a fan of yours who had tried to sabotage her,” a soft smile remained on Marinette’s face as she looked at up Adrien. “Alya said the girl had a boyfriend and flaunted how much better he was than Nino.”

“Did Alya make her cry?”

“Maybe a little. I mean she’s basically condemned to run into people she doesn’t like in her line of work, but I just think it’s especially funny how that one turned out. You should have her tell you the whole story sometime. It ended with the girl falling into a fridge and knocking a pot of hot coffee onto their boss.”

Adrien made a sound of agreement. His hand had made its way to Marinette’s hip, rubbing soothing circles along her side. For a moment they sat in blissful silence, simply enjoying each other’s presence, before Marinette reached forward to continue down the article.

“Three: When Marinette wears Adrien’s clothes.”

Immediately after seeing the accompanying photos, Adrien laughed. A compilation of six photos was attached, all candids depicting Marinette looking very small in one of Adrien’s shirts or hoodies. “Princess, though I love the view of you in my clothes, perhaps you should stick to your own clothes when there are photographers nearby.”

“But your stuff is comfier,” Marinette pouted. “And you have pockets. Big pockets. Pockets that can actually hold things.”

“You can make yourself pockets.”

“Well maybe photographers should leave me alone,” Marinette poked Adrien’s cloth-covered stomach in retaliation for laughing at her.

“In that case, henceforth I vow to defend you from the vicious cameras, my lady.” Adrien brought Marinette’s hand to his lips to place a soft kiss on it.

As Marinette giggled, Adrien continued down the page. “Wow, we’re almost at the end! Two: When Adrien and Marinette set up a foundation together.”

“Well that was purr-etty great of us, if I do say so myself.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, “You only like it because the Purrity Foundation is a cat pun.”

“A life saving cat pun!” he defended, looking at the attached photo. It was him and Marinette surrounded by human trafficking victims and cats. At least a couple dozen cats. Not long after they gave up their miraculouses, Marinette fell into a deep depression when she realized she no longer had a constant companion to occupy her free time and defend others. She was struggling to come to terms with the fact that Marinette wasn’t able to help people on the same scale as Ladybug could. To cheer her up, Adrien established the Purrity Foundation in her name. As a successful model and designer, they had more than enough money to make a difference. So, Marinette decided she wanted to help victims of human trafficking. And Adrien decided that therapy cats were a great idea.

And somehow, it worked.

“I’m glad they’re doing okay now,” Marinette smiled.

“The cats or the humans?”

Elbowing Adrien in the gut, Marinette said, “Both. The kitties get happy forever homes and the humans get a companion and validation. I’ll mock your choice in name forever, Chaton, but thank you for Purrity.” She sat up to give Adrien a kiss.

“Anything for my lady.” Tucking a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear, Adrien cupped her cheek to kiss Marinette again. “Though the name is purrfect!”

Ignoring Adrien’s comment on the name, Marinette continued reading. “One: when Adrien and Marinette got married.”

“Of course it’s our wedding,” Adrien groaned.

With a raised eyebrow, Marinette looked at Adrien with a questioning gaze. “Are you surprised? The media goes insane over every wedding.”

“They didn’t even get photos of our wedding! They didn’t even know it happened until a week after when we shared a photo online ourselves. They only have that single photo from our wedding!”

“Actually,” Marinette interrupted Adrien’s tirade, “they have two photos. Alya posted a picture of my bouquet on her blog when she wrote the post congratulating us.” The picture in question had simply been another flower photo in the internet at first, until a fan made the connection between the bouquet Alya posted and the bundle of flowers in Marinette’s hands in her wedding portrait.

“The point is,” Adrien huffed, “we are plenty romantic without the wedding! What about every time I open the door for you or hold your purse. Or that time I did your hair for an interview! That is plenty romantic! Anyone can get married, but only my lady has a husband who can give her a perfect hairstyle!”

“My hero,” Marinette giggled, wrapping her arms around Adrien’s waist. “I hope you know, the only reason I married you was so I would never have to do my own hair.”

“Really now?” Adrien smirked, previous irritation gone. “And here I thought it was for my feline fine looks. And for my a-meow-zing puns, of course.” As he finished speaking, Adrien dug his fingers into Marinette’s sides, tickling her.

“Minou! Adrien! Ah!” Marinette shrieked.

Once Adrien’s tickling fingers retreated and Marinette regained her breath, she straightened her shirt and grinned at Adrien. “I’ll get you back for that!”

With a wink, Adrien smirked back. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Fluffytalk: First and foremost, I know almost nothing about the fashion industry and have never watched any runways or anything but based on what google and the official PFW site tell me, Paris Fashion Week happens twice a year in late February and September for women’s fashions. Men and Haute Couture is in January and June. I imagine this as a direct follow-up to Arsenic, which has our favourite kitty modelling our favourite bug’s line. So, that would have been the January show.

Carnival is like a Canadian Mardi Gras basically. We have a bonhomme, lots of maple syrup, hot chocolate, various impressive snow sculptures, horse sleighs, and the like. Also, lots and lots of maple syrup. Nomnom. ((Also there’s a lot of snow. It’s mid-April and it snowed about six inches the last two days ;w;))

And yes, Purrity is a play on Purity. I’m terrible at puns I’m sorry English isn’t my first language ^^;;

By the way, halcyon means peaceful, tranquil, etc.

Wow this is a disgustingly long author’s note. I’m not all that happy with this tbh but writer’s block is gross and it’s been over a year since I’ve last written anything worth sharing so.....

#adrienette #miraculousdaily #miraculous ladybug #LadyNoir #adrien agreste #marinette cheng #marichat #ladrien #adrien x marinette #adrienette fanfiction #ml fanfic

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fengbi · 8 years ago

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The Ghost of Christmas’ Past

Pairing: Adrienette Tags: Car accident, cats, tragedy, wheelchairs Summary: Adrien kind of regrets the choices he’s made in his life.

So this is my ladybug secret santa gift for @gr33k-god. The prompt was fluffy, dark, funny, or cool so I guess I went with dark? ^^;;

Adrien sat at home, absentmindedly humming Charles Brown’s Please Come Home For Christmas. Marinette’s cat, Tikki. sat in his lap, mewling mournfully as Adrien stroked her back. His other cat, Hero, was hiding in a suitcase under the bed, avoiding the tension in the air.

With his free hand, he picked at the oversized sweater Marinette made for him seven Christmases ago, their first Christmas as a couple. It was a blazing shade of red, one that burnt your eyes if you looked at it too long, and Marinette had stitched ‘Meowy Christmas’ framed by holly garland on the chest. Adrien had been thrilled with the pun and Marinette complained to no end, but both he and Marinette knew that she secretly loved the sweater as well. After all, it was warm and roomy and soft and made with love.

The room was still. Silent. The only sound was the occasion cry from Tikki.

“I know, I know, I miss her too,” Adrien said softly, sadly, after a particularly loud cry from his lap. He continued stroking the cat, ignoring how his vision was beginning to blur.

He tried to keep himself in the present, concentrated on reality. It was hard, harder than one could imagine, when there was nothing, no one to keep you grounded.

His head lolled to the side.

“Don’t forget the gifts, chaton!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my lady.” Adrien winked at Marinette from across the room, where he was filling a box up with gifts, games and candy canes. Marinette was standing in the kitchen, watching her stew bubble in the pot. She could accept that her cooking ability didn’t quite match up to her baking talents, but her stews were to die for. Even Chloe could begrudgingly admit it wasn’t terrible.

Marinette stirred the stew, ignoring the sounds of Adrien moving behind her, ignoring the crash of one of the cats tripping over a present under their tree. Arms wrapped around her waist from behind and Adrien nuzzled her neck.

“Ready to go, princess?” Adrien laid a string of kisses along Marinette’s jaw line.

Marinette placed a hand on Adrien’s arm on his waist. “Just a moment.” She scooped a spoonful of stew and held it out for Adrien to taste.

“Mmm, it’s perfect.” Adrien slipped the spoon out of Marinette’s grasp to give himself more.

Marinette swatted Adrien’s head lightly and shooed him out of the kitchen. “Save some for the party, you pig. Nino will smack you if you eat it all!”

Adrien threw his head back and laughed, walking away to chase the cats out of the presents.

“Me-yoww!” Something sharp swiped across Adrien’s collarbone, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Adrien’s hand rubbed the scratch on his collar, dull throbbing underneath his fingertips. He barely felt anything.

He looked down to find the previously docile cat now standing on her hind legs, forepaws pushing against Adrien’s shoulders. Tikki was giving him a disapproving look and hissing. Plagg had come out of hiding and was swiping Adrien’s legs. Plagg was unnoticed.

Adrien blinked. When he refocused, he gently pushed Tikki’s paws off his shoulders, picked her up, and set her on the ground beside Plagg.

With Adrien’s lap now vacated, Plagg jumped up and made himself comfortable on Adrien’s stomach.

Adrien smiled weakly. “I can’t win with you two, can I?”

He closed his eyes for a few moments, willing away the tears.

“Chaton, should you really be driving so fast?” Marinette clasped her hands together nervously. “The snow is quite thick and the roads haven’t been shovelled yet.”

Adrien, who was cheerfully singing along to We Wish You a Merry Christmas, stopped singing and reached across the centre console to entwine his fingers with Marinette’s. “It’s fine. We have snow tires. Don’t worry, we won’t get stuck or anything.” He turned to Marinette to give her a relaxed grin.

Marinette smiled back, hiding his uneasiness, and squeezed Adrien’s hand.

They drove along without a hitch, until they reached a bridge.

Adrien was calm when they skidded on the ice. He thought they would simply be thrown into the side rail. It would dent his car, but there would be no lasting harm. He ignored the blaring honks from the cars behind him. His car was big though, and tall, and they were only at the foot of the bridge where the railing was low. Too low.

Marinette whimpered when their car began to tip over, but Adrien squeezed her hand. It would be fine, their car would straighten itself soon enough. He was a physics major, after all, and they didn’t hit the railing fast enough to go over. What Adrien didn’t take into account were the other cars on the road.

The honking intensified when another car in a different lane skidded across the same patch of ice. Adrien didn’t see anything but he felt it when the other car collided with them. Marinette saw it, though. She watched as the car raced towards them, a dark shadow, slipping closer and closer. And then it hit them.

The force tipped their precarious balance and sent them over the railing.

Adrien was still calm, thinking the snowbank would cushion their landing. It wouldn’t be ideal, their car would be totalled, and they wouldn’t make Alya’s Christmas party, but they’d be fine. Adrien was focused on Marinette, but Marinette was focused on something outside. Adrien couldn’t see anything, and summed it up to the snow falling too thickly. But Marinette realized there was nothing to see, because they were falling down a hill.

They squeezed each others’ hand, so tightly that their knuckles were as white as the snow surrounding them.

Adrien didn’t know what was happening. They were still, and then they were moving. Too quickly. They were rolling down a hill, a steep hill. He heard the sound of breaking glass, crushed metal, and vaguely made out the sound of someone’s screams. Was it coming from him? From Marinette? Or was it one of the spectators at the top of the bridge? Adrien didn’t know; all he knew was that he was moving, moving too fast, moving down, that everything was spinning but he couldn’t anything.

They stopped abruptly. There was a loud crash. It was an unpleasant sound. And they were upside down. Marinette’s side was crushed against a tree trunk; a stray branch had found its way into the car, blocking what little vision Adrien had.

“Artie, you okay?” Adrien asked, breathless. The air had been knocked out of him.

There was no response.

“Mari?” Adrien was still holding Marinette’s hand, clinging on for dear life. “Marinette?” But Marinette’s hand was limp. Adrien shook their hands, but there was no response. It was silent except for the sound of his breathing, his harsh, heavy breaths.

Adrien released Marinette’s hand. It fell, slumped against an unmoving leg.

“Mari!” Adrien reached over to shake Marinette. Marinette’s head lolled around weakly, but there was otherwise no reaction.

Adrien felt warmth on his hand and pulled back. In the dim light, he realized it was blood, recognized the metallic scent of blood.

Behind them, the stew they had placed in the backseat had tipped over, contents spilt everywhere. Everything was coated in a red sheen.

Adrien snapped into reality.

His cats were pawing at his legs, but to no avail. After all, he couldn’t feel his legs. They were paralysed, just as his entire life was.

Adrien lifted himself into his wheelchair, and rolled into his room. He crawled into bed, to Marinette’s side of the bed. Marinette’s scent had long faded since but if Adrien tried hard enough, he could imagine Marinette’s scent, pretend that she was only on a short trip.

Tears trickled out of his eyes, pained wails escaped his throat. Tikki and Plagg had joined him on the bed. Plagg nestled into the folds of the blanket. Tikki had squeezed herself under Adrien’s Christmas sweater. After all, this was the closest any of them could get to Marinette now.

The deep snowdrifts leading up to Marinette’s grave disagreed with Adrien’s wheelchair.

“Marinette, my lady,” Adrien cried into the blanket, “please come home for Christmas. Please. I love you.”

It had been a year.

A year without Marinette.

Merry Christmas.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculousdaily #adrienette #adrien agreste #marinette cheng #marichat #ladrien #adrienette fanfiction #ml fanfic #mlsecretsanta 2k16

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fengbi · 8 years ago

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Arsenic

Rating: K Tags: Aged up, post-Hawkmoth, introspective Summary: As Gabriel Agreste ponders his own life, the sacrifices he had to make to get to where he is now, he watches Adrien and Marinette revel in their love. And Gabriel realizes the great debt he now owes to Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Gabriel Agreste knows better than anyone, that with great success come even greater sacrifice.

Because he is undoubtedly one of the top designers in the world and is certainly more successful than most could ever dream of being. Because he has everything that he could ever need, everyone willing to drop everything at the snap of a finger for him. Because he is Gabriel Agreste and he is quite possibly the most powerful person in the French fashion industry.

Yet Gabriel Agreste knew loneliness like none other.

Day after day, he designed beautiful new styles, met with stunning models, travelled to exciting and exotic places, was given premium treatment wherever he set foot.

But no salary was worth the crushing loneliness of having no one who would stand by him, no matter what.

How unfortunate, that he never realized this until it was too late for him.

Standing straight and tall, his arms clasped together behind him, Gabriel Agreste walked amongst the models backstage at his show. He barely glanced at the petty arguments, snide comments, flying hair extensions, and misty clouds of hairspray whilst he walked up and down the rows of squabbling models and fussing designers. With a critical eye, he gave each model he passed a once-over, ensuring the makeup artists and hairstylists were doing their jobs properly. On the opposite side of the room, Nathalie stood, rigid and pencil straight, scribbling something on the clipboard in her hands.

But then in the corner of his eye he spotted a different scene.

Tucked away in a corner was Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Behind Marinette was a hanger rack overflowing with clothes. It was all from Marinette’s line for her Paris Fashion Week debut, Tikki, and even Gabriel had at admit she had a special touch when it came to designing. Even he had been impressed by what he had seen from Marinette’s Tikki line.

Even if he was still a little bitter that Marinette had stolen his most popular model.

The moment Marinette graduated from Esmod, Adrien had been very explicit about only modelling Marinette’s designs. It hadn’t been much of an issue when Marinette was Gabriel’s protege or when she was working and designing for the Agreste brand, but Marinette had bigger dreams than working under another. For her, Gabriel Agreste was just a stepping stone to greater things. So when she left, Adrien left with her.

For a few moments Gabriel stood still in the middle of the room, distracted by thoughts of his son. A stray bottle snapped Gabriel out of his reverie when it went flying past his head. Giving an unimpressed look in the direction the bottle had come from, Gabriel moved on to inspect his remaining models. Every now and then, he would sneak a glance at the corner Adrien and Marinette had declared their own.

There was a time when Gabriel Agreste would have wanted Adrien to find a different girl, one of a higher social standing. Someone like Chloe Bourgeois, a respected politician’s daughter, or any one of the lovely models Adrien met with regularly. Not a novice designer.

Anyone but a novice designer.

There had been vicious fights between Gabriel and Adrien when Gabriel first learned of Adrien’s relationship with Marinette. She was just using him, Gabriel had said, Marinette only loved what she could get out of him. That she only wanted his connections in the fashion industry. His money. Status.

Marinette was in the room when Gabriel said those things. She hadn’t responded angrily, as Adrien had, nor did she burst into tears, as Gabriel expected. Adrien had been on the verge of punching his own father when Marinette laid a hand on his arm and stood on her toes so she could lean up and whisper something in his ear before calmly leading him away from the mansion. At that moment, Gabriel considered this a confirmation of his suspicions that Marinette was just toying with Adrien. After all, she hadn’t even tried to defend or deny any of his accusations.

Then she was accepted into Esmod, even without a reference letter. Elie Saab and Alexander Wang, amongst other designers, offered her internships during her years at Esmod. She graduated at the top of her year. And finally, after hearing countless other designers in his circle briefly mention “that Dupain-Cheng girl” with no mention of Adrien, Gabriel had to admit that he may have been completely wrong about Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Gabriel Agreste wouldn’t apologize though; it simply wasn’t in his nature.

But Gabriel Agreste was no fool and by the time Marinette graduated, he fought tooth and nail for Marinette to join Agreste. Not only did she have numerous other established designers all fighting for her, Marinette was also particularly opposed to working for her partner’s father’s label. That was a battle Gabriel did end up winning, but it was rather pyrrhic as she left a couple years later to build her own fashion empire.

Having reached the end of his line of models, Gabriel Agreste couldn’t help but look back at the corner where Adrien and Marinette huddled. They were standing now, Adrien towering over Marinette while she fussed with his collar. Unlike Gabriel, who looked as polished and put together as ever, Marinette’s smart peplum dress clashed with her hair which had been carelessly tossed into a messy bun held together only by a couple pens. Half her hair was falling out of her bun. Gabriel watched as another of Marinette’s models approached her. She had a crazed expression in her eyes as he spoke, and ended up following him to his dressing table.

While Marinette rampaged through drawers, Adrien had sat back down at his own table. Absentmindedly, he flipped through a thick book -- probably physics -- as calm as could be.

For the life of him, Gabriel would never understand why Adrien was so determined to pursue a doctorate in something as trivial as nuclear physics when he could have a simple and luxurious life by modelling. But Marinette had encouraged Adrien to make his own choices, and Gabriel was no longer in a position where he could dictate Adrien’s life.

With the final touches completed on all his models and a couple minutes before curtain call, Gabriel Agreste made his way to Adrien’s corner. He didn’t really have anything to say, but Adrien was still his son.

But, Marinette reappeared before Gabriel could reach Adrien. So Gabriel stopped in his tracks and watched how Adrien’s face immediately lit up when Marinette set her hand on his shoulder. She had barely been gone for a minute, yet Adrien looked as if she had returned from a long trip and Gabriel had a sudden sense of deja-vu when he recognized that look.

Because years ago, when Gabriel was still an aspiring young designer, he wore that same expression every time he saw Adrien’s mother.

His hearted panged as he watched Adrien and Marinette. There was so much love between the two of them, Gabriel could feel the love radiating from their corner.

The cue for the models to line up backstage was announced, but Gabriel Agreste didn’t -- couldn’t -- move. He trusted Nathalie to handle any last minute issues. But despite the flurry of movement surrounding them, Adrien and Marinette still had not moved.

Watching his son find love was hard. Watching Adrien look at Marinette with such love was hard. Watching Adrien gently tuck a flyaway lock of hair behind Marinette’s ear was hard. Watching Adrien bend down for his ‘good luck hug’ was hard. Watching Adrien lay a soft kiss on Marinette’s nose before pulling away was hard.

Because watching Adrien radiate such love and happiness only made it all the more obvious to Gabriel just how alone he was in that cold, giant mansion of his.

But as lonely as Gabriel Agreste was, and despite the secluded environment in which Adrien was raised, Gabriel wasn’t going to interfere in his son’s life anymore. Gabriel Agreste was grateful that at least his son’s life would not be a lonely tragedy like his own. Adrien was far luckier than Gabriel ever had been.

Gabriel Agreste was not a superstitious man, but as he watched Adrien rush off to join the other models, he couldn’t help but acknowledge that he owed a great debt to Marinette Dupain-Cheng for giving Adrien everything that Gabriel, himself, could not.

This is part of my WORD Project, a collection of non-linear Adrienette one shots and drabbles that provide a snapshot into their life post Hawkmoth.

This one is (probably) set before Periwinkle and Scars.

#adrienette #miraculous ladybug #miraculousdaily #adrien agreste #marinette cheng #gabriel agreste #adrienette fanfiction #ml fanfic

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fengbi · 8 years ago

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@unicorn-aly

ARE YOU CHINESE???

HELLO THERE I AM INDEED CHINESE

@cantthinkofaname98

Is this going to have a next chapter? Or is it just a one-shot?

Typical me, I forgot to mention that it was a first chapter sorry ^^;;

#fluffytalk

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fengbi · 8 years ago

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One Day, Three Autumns: Chapter 1

Pairing: Adrienette Tags: Historical AU, China AU, WWII AU, 1930s AU, drama Summary: Shanghai, 1933.

The world is on the verge of war. Marinette and Adrien fall in love anyway, hoping to beat the odds.

Two

Before you start reading, I want to point out a few Mandarin words I slipped in.

Popo = maternal grandmother (yes this distinction is important) Lao Fu = Master Fu (Lao literally means old and is also used as a title to indicate respect. Kind of like mister) Mei Yi = I don’t think Marinette has a canon chinese name so I came up with Mei Yi ^^;; Mei Mei = means little sister, but also is Marinette’s “nickname” derived from Mei Yi

Also there will be some racist language used to reflect the era. This is not a reflection of my own beliefs.

May, 1933

Marinette likes to think she knows the seas better than most.

After all, the sea has only ever brought her happiness.

She sits in a chair on the roof of her home, poised at first with tightly crossed legs and hands clasped together, set demurely on her lap, and back as straight as a board. Her family is by no means rich, but they are doing quite well for themselves and it is her role to appear a presentable young lady..

Yet, as hard as she tried, it did not take long before Marinette was shamelessly leaning over the railing. Her legs were spread in a most definitely unladylike manner as she thrust her upper body as far out as she could, trying to see everything the outside had to offer. Marinette’s dark hair hung in a tangled heap down her back. She had not yet brushed it that morning, and the morning wind did nothing to smooth her locks. Like her hair, Marinette’s long qipao also fluttered with the light sea breeze, exposing enough of Marinette’s legs that her grandmother would have lectured her for weeks about shame and face.

Luckily for Marinette, there was no one else who could see her. It was still early in the day, the first rays of light breaking over the horizon. The soft, rolling waves of the sea flickering as the water met the light, then breaking into flickering ripples.

It was beautiful.

The tranquility of dawn was interrupted by a blaring horn. In a single swoop, seabirds that had been spread out along the rocky coast rose at once to head out to sea, leaving stray feathers and indignant squawks behind in their wake.

The horn signaled the incoming of a new ship. A modern, English style ocean liner pulled into the port of Shanghai. By the looks of it, a passenger ship. As the sun rose higher and higher, rays reflecting off the water like an endless mirror, Marinette stood. Standing gave her an improved vantage point, and Marinette loved the view she had of the harbour.

She loved the sea.

The burning torches that had illuminated the harbour when Marinette first stepped outside were now extinguished, only a few wispy trails of smoke seeping from the ash. She watched the new ship intently, watching the crew leap from the dock, dropping anchors and throwing ropes.

Marinette could have stood there, on the roof of her home, for hours, watching the men work on the ship, watching passengers slowly file out, one by one all at once. Every person lugged along a large suitcase, perhaps a couple, and some women held their children to their hip. Everyone was visibly exhausted from the weeks spent at sea. For every person she could make out from the crowd, Marinette imagined a story for them.

The little girl with sunshine hair who bent down to pick up a rock was from Germany, was a princess with servants to do her every bidding, and was here to get a new, china doll.

The old man with the hunched back and cane was here to spend the rest of his days somewhere new, having no one left to mourn for him at home.

The pair of young men walking briskly, pushing others out of their way, were merchants on their first journey abroad, first journey away from the safety of their homes.

Marinette loved the sea, and loved the endless possibilities the waters could bring.

~~~

After breakfast, Marinette stood in the marketplace, a woven basket hanging from her arm and on her other side her grandmother’s hand resting in the crook of her elbow.

It was still early, about half past seven in the morning, but the market place was already bustling with people crowding in front of the stands. Everyone was yelling and pushing, fighting for the freshest produce and loudly bargaining with the sellers.

“Mei Yi! Go to Lao Fu and ask for eight pounds of rice.” Marinette’s grandmother, Popo, said into Marinette’s ear. Popo released Marinette’s arm and hobbled away towards a date stand, disappearing into the crowd.

With her basket in hand, Marinette tried to push her way through the crowd. It was no small feat – early morning was the prime time for vendors to open, for busy workers to pick up their groceries for the day and for mothers and grandmothers to come out and fight for the juiciest fruits and leafiest vegetables. There was no guarantee of food, and arriving any later often meant returning home empty handed to angry wives and crying children.

Keeping her head ducked down, Marinette followed whichever direction the crowd pushed her in. She kept her eyes fixed on the ground, carefully watching each step so that she would not accidentally step on anyone’s toes.

Marinette’s legs took her in whichever direction the crowd of busy shoppers jostled her in. She couldn’t tell where she had started, or how far she had gone, or if she was even going in the right direction. Any of other time of day, when the market was nowhere near as crowded, the path Marinette was taking would have been ridiculous.

But Marinette loved seeing all the people around her, busying themselves with lives of their own.

There was something about meeting people you’d never see again that was fascinating, magical. Marinette could have stood in the middle of the market all day, just letting others guide her.

Eventually, some time later, Marinette caught glimpse of Lao Fu’s funny little turtle banner and began fighting the crowd to make her way towards Lao Fu.

Squeezing through a small space between a young couple, Marinette threw herself at Lao Fu’s rickety cart.

“Oof,” the impact with the cart knocked the air out of Marinette, and she stayed there with her upper body dangling rather ungracefully into the heap of rice in Lao Fu’s cart.

“Good morning, Mei Yi,” Marinette heard from above her. A hand placed itself on her shoulder and helped pull her upright, out of the rice.

Lao Fu stood beside her, wearing his signature bemused expression. Marinette never figured out if his natural expression was bemusement, or if he was secretly laughing at her. She’d wondered for her entire life, and it seemed she would go to her deathbed still wondering.

Shaking the grains of rice off her shoulders, Marinette grinned sheepishly with flushed cheeks. “Hello Lao Fu,” she said, bowing at 90 degrees. “How are you today?”

Nodding in acknowledgment, Lao Fu said, “Business as usual, Mei Mei. Eight pounds of rice?”

“Yup!” Marinette chirped, handing her basket to Lao Fu. She watched him hobble over a few steps before Lao Fu set her basket on the cart.

As he scooped rice into Marinette’s basket, Lao Fu said, offhandedly. “Mei Mei, there is still rice in your hair.”

“Oh!” Marinette gasped, her hands immediately flew to her long, twin braids. Grains of rice flew in every direction as Marinette shook her hair out, messing up her previously smooth braids.

As Marinette finished shaking the rice grains out of her hair, she turned and stepped to where Lao Fu was scooping the last of her eight pounds of rice. Lao Fu handed her the basket, now filled with grains of white rice. Marinette opened her mouth, about to thank Lao Fu, when something suddenly bumped into her back, hard, throwing Marinette off balance.

Marinette fell to the ground, her basket of rice tipping over and spilling everywhere. With dismay, Marinette stared at the fallen rice. Reaching over on her knees, Marinette was about to scoop some grains that had fallen in a pile and salvage what little she could. Before Marinette was able to recover her rice, a lady in heeled boots walked by, scattering the remaining rice and nearly taking Marinette’s fingers off.

For a few seconds, Marinette didn’t move, frozen in disbelief. Then, she felt Lao Fu’s course hand on her arm, gently guiding her back onto her feet.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I will give you a new basket. Free of charge.” Once Marinette was back on her feet, Lao Fu picked Marinette’s basket up from the ground and turned to scoop more rice from his cart.

Brushing the dust and gravel off her coat and qipao, Marinette pushed herself back on her feet. As she did so, Marinette noticed another figure standing by Lao Fu’s cart. Looking up, she realized the person was a foreigner. A beautiful foreigner.

A beautiful foreigner with perfect, pale skin and fancy (and expensive!) clothing and angelic hair that Marinette swore sparkled in the sun and big eyes the most beautiful shade of green.

A beautiful foreigner with outstretched hands, as if he had just pushed Marinette.

Angry tears filled Marinette’s eyes. With flushed cheeks and damp eyes, Marinette whirled on the foreigner, glaring, having forgotten about the concessions and the consequences. All she knew at that moment was fury, fury that these foreigners had the audacity to come into her country and her home and push her over and spill her rice that she was purchasing with her parents’ hard earned money.

“You! How dare you!” Marinette shrieked, pointing at the foreigner with an accusatory finger. The foreigner looked taken aback, raising his hands between them. Evidently he had never faced an angry Shanghainese girl before.

Marinette continued, “Who do you think you are? You selfish whites! No honour whatsoever! You come here and can’t even face us on even ground. No, you need to come here and treat us like slaves, like lesser people, to satisfy your own desperate egos. You are despicable. You are nothing. We are a people with a long and rich culture, and we have no room for dirty whites on our land.” She emphasized each sentence by jabbing her finger, as if she were digging her nails into the foreigner’s chest.

The bustling people who passed them by turned at Marinette’s outburst, looking on with mild interest, but continued on their way without even slowing their pace.

At the back of Marinette’s mind, the realization that the foreigner wouldn’t understand Shanghainese hit her. Abruptly, she switched into French, the only foreign language she could speak.

“You disgust me, I hope you know that. You whites aren’t as powerful as you think you are. Get out. There’s no place for whites here.”

The foreigner’s mouth opened in shock, opening and closing wordlessly, clearly not expecting Marinette to know another language. He reached out, and tried to stammer something out, but his voice was stuck in his throat and Marinette didn’t care enough for whatever he had to say.

Huffing angrily, Marinette turned on her heel and stormed away, off into the crowd, leaving her basket behind on Lao Fu`s cart.

~~~

“And he just pushed me! Just shoved into me and made me spill at the rice! No word of apology, no anything! Those whites, thinking they can do whatever they want just because they’re white.” Marinette pounded her fists into her bread, kneading the dough with unnecessary force to vent her anger.

Behind Marinette, Alya sat against the wall with her back hunched over, writing furiously onto a sheet of paper. There was no table where Alya sat, so she made do with her lap.

“Girl, don’t over knead that dough. Your grandmother will skin you alive if anything else goes wrong today,” Alya said, without looking up from her lap.

“Ugh,” Marinette smashed her fist into the dough one last time before walking off to retrieve a baking pan. Her steps were heavier than usual, her slippered feet loudly smacking against the wooden floorboards. “It’s always my fault. Why can’t the whites ever take responsibility for their actions?”

“Because they have been taught falsehoods of their superiority and think they’re some master race and the world is their playground for their delusions.” Knowing Marinette was unlikely to release her anger anytime soon, Alya abruptly changed the topic. “Have you seen the paper today? Some very important businessmen arrived this morning! I hear that a French nobleman even arrived! Word is that he’s looking for a pretty mistress,” Alya winked.

Shaping the dough into smaller spherical mounds, Marinette wrinkled her nose. Her entire body visibly shuddered. “That’s disgusting. I suppose he’s claiming youth at seventy years?”

Alya hummed nonchalantly, “Who knows? Better beware of those fishy Frenchmen, though. I think Grandmother Cheng would rip your hair out with her bare hands if her descendents become any more foreign.” Alya then folded up the paper in her lap and smoothed out her long skirt.

“As if that could happen. We barely even see foreigners anymore. The only whites who didn’t lose everything in the depression are the nobles and they wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this,” Marinette said flippantly. Setting the last bun on the pan, Marinette lifted the pan and pushed it inside the oven.

Alya stood. “But imagine!” she waved her arms around excitedly. “You could be a Madame Chine!”

“More like Madame Chienne,” Marinette snorted. She looked down at the flour and dried flakes of dough coating her hands, then brushed her palms together to scrape the flakes onto the wooden counter. “Though shouldn’t you be more concerned about Nino, than me? Think you’ll become someone’s Madame soon?”

Alya gaped, face pursed in an exaggerated scandalous expression. “We’re only fifteen! Too young for marriage!”

“But not too young for courting!” With her apron, Marinette wiped the last of the doughy flakes from her hands as she winked at Alya. Marinette continued talking, ignoring Alya’s face of feigned disgust. “I’m sure Papa would bake you the most exquisite cake! And Popo and I would make you the most beautiful dress!”

“Why, you!”

Marinette laughed as Alya chased her around the kitchen.

“Just for that I’m going to set you up with the Agrestes myself!” Alya screamed, waving a rolling pin at Marinette’s back.

“What’s an Agreste?”

“Only the most important family in France! Full of snobs and the like!”

“You would never!” Marinette slowed her pace, as Alya set the rolling pin back on the counter. The pin rolled away the moment Alya let go, not stopping until it rolled into a cup of chopsticks and knocking it over. Alya simply laughed and rested her elbow on Marinette’s head.

“We’ll see about that.”

~~~

That evening, Marinette stood outside her family bakery, silver tray of pastries in hand. Her back was rigid, perfectly straight, and Marinette wore a peony pinned behind her ear. She smiled as brightly as she could, though after standing in the humid, thirty degree heat for the better part of the day her expression was rather strained.

When no one was around, Marinette discretely let her shoulders slouch. She slipped a foot out of her heeled pumps, rubbing her sore sole against her other foot. She could feel a blister beginning to form on her toe, not to mention several other tender areas. As she stroked her sore feet against each other, she lost her balance and stumbled. Her tray of pastries tipped, the egg tarts rapidly skidding towards the ground.

A pair of hands reached out to steady her tray. White hands.

Wide eyed and stunned, Marinette looked up and met the brilliant green eyes of the white boy who knocked her to the ground that morning.

He smiled shyly, setting Marinette’s tray straight.

“Er, hi? Master Fu said I would find you at a bakery. I’m glad he didn’t lead me into a brothel or something.” He rubbed the back of his neck and studied Marinette`s egg tarts, unable to meet her eyes.

Unsurprising, given the ferociousness of Marinette’s glare.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them. The white boy waited for Marinette to respond. Marinette refused to give him that satisfaction.

While the white boy rung his fingers out as he waited for a response, Marinette slipped her foot back into her shoe. She gritted her teeth as her blisters scraped against the hard leather of her pumps.

“I’m sorry,” the white boy said, accepting that Marinette wasn’t about to respond, “about earlier? You got the wrong idea, I swear. I was just going to help you up because my friend knocked you over and it looked like a hard landing.”

Though Marinette’s gaze softened as the boy spoke, she still did not respond.

“I’ve never really had many friends because my father always insisted on private tutors. I was really hoping that I’d be able to make some here, without father watching my every move, but I guess it’s not as easy as I thought it’d be,” the boy smiled ruefully. “I’m very sorry for disturbing you, mademoiselle. Please accept this as a token of my apology.” He set a basket of rice on the ground next of Marinette’s feet.

It was Marinette’s basket.

Just as the boy turned to leave, Marinette called out, “Egg tart?”

He froze.

Slowly, he turned back – confusion and disbelief and hope written on his face – to see Marinette with a small smile, offering her tray of egg tarts to him. Tentatively, he reached out and when Marinette lifted the tray to meet his hand, he smiled as his fingers closed around a tart.

“Thank you, my lady.” He was beaming now, and Marinette couldn’t help but feel uplifted at this boy’s elation over such a trivial thing.

“Marinette,” she said. “That’s my name,” she continued after he gave her a confused look, “Marinette.”

In an exaggerated, sweeping bow, the boy bent over to kiss Marinette’s hand. “Adrien Agreste. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Marinette.”

Two

This 1930s China au has been begging to be written okay I had to do it

Also I want to talk about Marinette’s name. So I chose to name her 程美艺 (Cheng Mei Yi)。美 (mei) means beautiful and 艺 (yi) means art which is super pretty so I had to ^^;; Also there are several characters I could have used for her surname, but the one I chose means journey.

By the way, I mention Shanghainese briefly when Marinette is yelling at Adrien because there are diffrent dialects in China and Shanghainese is native to Shanghai. Also, it’s very different from standard mandarin so the rest of China can’t understand it.

And in China we buy groceries everyday. Even now, fridges are tiny and the humidity makes it hard (impossible) for food to stay fresh so we buy groceries everyday. In the morning.

Also egg tarts are from Hong Kong, not Shanghai, but I’m using egg tarts because I think everyone knows what egg tarts are. (And because I don’t know what any other pastries are called in English ^^;;)

A chien is French for dog, chienne is a female dog. Or, a bitch.

#adrienette #miraculous ladybug #miraculousdaily #ml au #china au #marinette cheng #adrien x marinette #marichat #ladynoir #ladrien #adrien agreste #adrienette fanfiction

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fengbi · 8 years ago

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Periwinkle

Pairing: Adrienette Tags: Pregnancy, fluff, domestic Summary: Marinette and Adrien try to paint their baby’s new nursery, but a disagreement ends up with them painting each other.

“So you take the top, I’ll do the bottom,” Marinette said, leaning down as best she could with her bulging abdomen to remove the lid off a paint can.

Standing behind Marinette, Adrien reached down to slip a little white mask over Marinette’s face to cover her nose and mouth.

Straightening back up, without having opened the paint can, Marinette gave Adrien a faux exasperated look. “Ah, don’t distract me!”

With an innocent look, Adrien raised his hands. “Hey, gotta protect my girls, you know? Can’t have those dangerous fumes hurting you!”

Touching Adrien’s arm gently, Marinette quipped, “I’ll be fine. It’ll take more than just a few fumes to take Ladybug down.” Behind the white mask,her lips curved into a soft smile.

But instead of letting them start working, Adrien wrapped his arms around Marinette. His arms cradled her rounded midsection, fingers intertwining beneath her belly for support, locking Marinette in place. Adrien leaned down to rest his chin on Marinette’s head, peppering her hairline with chaste kisses.

Marinette tipped her head back, giving Adrien easier access, and laughed, “That tickles!” She raised her hands to form a barrier between her and Adrien’s lips so she could catch her breath.

“Come on, Adrien, we need to finish this room and we haven’t even started yet!”

With a smug grin, Adrien caught one of Marinette’s hands and brought it to his lips so he could kiss the knuckle. “Whatever my lady wishes.”

~~~

It did not take long for Adrien to realize painting with Marinette was no easy task. Marinette was just as messy a painter, as she was a baker. It was adorable, and Adrien loved how Marinette never shied away from getting down and dirty, but sometimes the mess was just too much for Adrien.

Setting his roller against the unpainted section of the wall, Adrien stepped over the tray of paint to join Marinette. She was struggling to reach the crevice where the wall met the ceiling. Little droplets of paint dripped down periodically, colouring her fingers purple and leaving traces of paint in her hair and on her face.

Adrien stopped at Marinette’s side. “My lady, as much I hate to interrupt your artistic endeavors, I do believe you are now purple than the wall,” Adrien said while laughing, reaching up to remove a still wet blob of paint from Marinette’s cheek. The paint had already partially dried, so Adrien’s thumb still left behind a splotch of purple on Marinette’s cheek.

Marinette’s nose scrunched up in an adorable manner and her paint stained hand rose to swipe at Adrien’s hand.

“What are you talking about, Adrien?” Marinette asked, turning her head to face Adrien. Her eyes widened, giving Adrien an innocent questioning look.

Though he stopped laughing, Adrien continued to grin cheekily. “Darling, you’re all purrrr-ple!”

Marinette continued to look at him, confused. “What? I’m not wearing anything purple?”

“I mean,” Adrien said holding up his now purple thumb, “that you’re covered in purple paint, Mari.”

“Oh! Silly cat!” Marinette laughed, her eyes lighting up with realization. “This isn’t purple! This is periwinkle!”

Adrien stared at Marinette, dumbfounded, while she giggled. Lowering the still dripping paint roller, Marinette dropped the roller on the ground, where it landed with a thunk.

“Isn’t periwinkle the same as purple?” Adrien asked, looking at the dried paint on his thumb.

Still giggling slightly, Marinette wrapped her hand around Adrien’s thumb. “Of course not!” she said, pushing Adrien’s thumb at his own face. “Periwinkle is much lighter than purple! Purple is far too dark and cold for a nursery! It would scare our baby. Look at how much warmer periwinkle is!”

Adrien pulled his thumb out of Marinette’s grasp, though he still held his thumb before his eyes. Turning his thumb, Adrien studied it from different angles, trying to see what exactly Marinette was talking about.. Finally, his gaze flickered back up to face Marinette, though his thumb remained between them. “My lady, I don’t mean to offend, but I am paw-sitively sure that periwinkle is a shade of purple.”

Pouting, Marinette crossed her arms. “It’s periwinkle!”

“Aw Princess, don’t give me that face! You know it makes me feel paw-fully guilty when you pout like that!”

Shaking her head, Marinette reached down to coat her fingers in periwinkle paint, then slashed her hand across Adrien’s chest. Her fingers left a trail of periwinkle on Adrien’s ratty shirt and he looked at her with feigned hurt.

“Why, my lady! How could you betray me like this!”

Marinette smirked innocently.

Adrien got his revenge by capturing Marinette in a giant bear hug, rubbing the wet paint on her clothes as well. Squealing at first, Marinette settled for hugging Adrien back. The paint had not yet dried on her fingers, so she rubbed the remaining periwinkle all across Adrien’s back where he wouldn’t notice until much later.

In the end, Adrien ended up calling Nino to help him paint the nursery.

This is part of my WORD Project, a collection of non-linear Adrienette one shots and drabbles that provide a snapshot into their life post Hawkmoth.

This one is set before Scars.

#adrienette #miraculous ladybug #miraculousdaily #ml fic #ml fanfic

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fengbi · 8 years ago

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Scars

Pairing: Adrienette Tags: Miscarriage tw, older!au Summary: How Adrien and Marinette cope after they lose their child.

It was raining heavily outside, when Adrien opened the door of his own home.

He was greeted by silence.

After toeing off his shoes, Adrien walked down the hall. The little house he and Marinette shared was probably smaller than his room in his father’s mansion, yet it was in this little cottage where he felt most alone now.

It had been over two weeks since they had buried their dead, stillborn daughter, yet Marinette’s mood was not improving. It had not changed. Adrien was at an impasse, and didn’t know what to do, or if he even should do anything. Sabine, Alya, even Nathalie all said to wait, to give her time and space, that it was hormones, that Marinette would be bouncing back in no time.

But Adrien was losing hope.

Marinette had taken to sleeping in what should have been their daughter’s room, lying on the ground at the foot of the crib and staring at the periwinkle walls for hours on end. Marinette didn’t leave the room, as far as Adrien could tell. He brought her food, brought her water and tried to coax her out, but could never get much of a response. Sometimes Marinette cried, sometimes she shook her head weakly, sometimes she slept, but usually she lay there, present in body but not in mind or soul.

Adrien hated to admit it to himself, but he was reaching the end of his line.

Certainly, it must be different, feeling your own child die inside you, knowing your own body is rejecting your child and not being able to do anything. Yet, Marinette wasn’t the only one who lost a child. And now Adrien had lost a daughter, and a lover. The Marinette he knew, and loved so deeply, the Marinette who was Ladybug and stood up to Chloe, that Marinette was gone, replaced by an empty shell. And Adrien hated how Marinette was unresponsive to everything he tried, hated that he couldn’t do anything to help her, hated that he had to deal with everything on his own, hated how they were coping separately, how she wouldn’t lean on him, and he couldn’t lean on her.

Reaching up to loosen his tie and undo the first few buttons of his shirt, Adrien walked past the room where Marinette continued to lie on the ground. He turned his head to look into the room, checking that Marinette was still there. Adrien stopped mid step, in the doorway, when he realized the scenery had changed.

Because today, Marinette wasn’t lying on the ground anymore. Marinette was sitting up, her back resting against the bars of the white crib and blanket thrown off to the side in a tangled heap. Her shirt was lifted to reveal her no longer bulging midsection. With his hands still at his throat, Adrien stood there in the doorway, watching Marinette run her fingers over the loosened skin of her belly.

This was the most responsive Marinette had been since, and Adrien’s heart pounded as he walked into the room to kneel beside Marinette.

Marinette looked at him, tears and sorrow in her eyes, but also a glimpse of relief and love behind all the tears.

On his knees, Adrien gently removed Marinette’s hand from her belly, holding her hand as if it would shatter at any moment, and placed his other hand on her belly. His fingers stroked up and down the same path where Marinette’s had been moments earlier. Adrien followed the raised, redenned skin, where the scalpel had cut into Marinette, and from where their daughter’s dead corpse had been removed.

The scar was smooth and straight, a thin line running from above Marinette’s belly button, down to the top of her cervix.

It was just one of many marks marring Marinette’s pale skin, but it was without a doubt the most painful.

Without removing either of his hands, Adrien forced his gaze away from the scar and looked at Marinette’s face. The corners of her lips curled up ever so slightly, carrying the hint of a sad smile.

Neither of them moved any closer to each other, but Adrien’s thumb stroked a soothing pattern up and down against the scar marring Marinette’s pale skin. Still looking at Adrien, Marinette squeezed Adrien’s hand with a surprising amount of strength in her fingers.

“I’m sorry.” Marinette said, her voice just barely above a whisper. But Adrien heard her words, loud and clear, and squeezed her hand back.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Adrien said in response, just as quietly.

A tear escaped from the corner of Marinette’s eye and Adrien pulled Marinette in close, wrapping his arms around her now much smaller figure. Marinette’s body was tense, her muscles in knots, but as Adrien’s hand rubbed up and down her back, she could feel the tension ease. She revelled in Adrien’s closeness, because she had missed him. Oh, how she had missed her dear chat. For days, weeks, Marinette couldn’t bring herself to face dear, sweet Adrien because she had killed their baby. Because it was her fault she couldn’t keep their child alive.

But Marinette needed Adrien just as much as he needed her, and as she wrapped her arms around him she realized that he too had lost weight.

They didn’t share many words; actions were enough.

Marinette and Adrien sat on the ground together, wrapped in each other’s arms and taking solace in each other’s company, despite their loss. For now there would be no baby catbug, but at least they still had each other to lean on, to love.

Though Adrien was doing much of the comforting, rubbing the knots out of Marinette’s back and whispering loving nothings in her ears, he found the weight on his own shoulders falling. In his arms, he held a shaking and tearful Marinette, but he was finally able to hold her, to comfort her. She was finally returning to life, and tears of joy slipped down Adrien’s own cheeks because all was not lost.

Because they needed this emotional release, together, if they wanted to be able to move on together.

And so for seconds, minutes, hours, they simply curled up together, on the ground of the nursery, healing each other.

With her ear pressed against Adrien’s heart, she could hear the organ beating steadily and she whispered, “I love you.”

Laying soft kisses all over Marinette’s face, Adrien whispered back, “It wasn’t your fault.”

This is the first part of my WORDS project, a collection of non linear Adrienette one shots that are a snapshot into their lives post Hawkmoth.

Next word will be a happier one I swear

#adrienette #adrien x marinette #ladynoir #ladrien #miraculous ladybug #ml fic #ml fanfic #adrienette fanfiction #adrien agreste #marichat #marinette cheng

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