mistkitt | Sidekick Adrien Ficlet Request (Reply)

Originally Posted: 08/05/16

Fic time!

~*~

They say you can’t help who you fall in love with. Marinette Dupain-Cheng knows that to be untrue.

There comes a point where you must make a choice. Will you allow yourself to entertain romantic thoughts about someone who’s caught your eye? Will you give in to the urge to imagine their arms wrapped around you, their lips tickling your skin? And once the urge has been given into, will you indulge in those fantasies often?

Marinette has nipped many a crush in the bud. As Ladybug, she cannot afford to be careless. With every handsome face there comes the question: Is this someone who will be cool with keeping her secret in the long run? Most of the time, she’s too scared to even consider it.

She stands in line at the grocery store, her eyes on a nearby magazine rack. Adrien Agreste graces the cover of a men’s rag, dressed in a suit, pulling at his tie like he’s just come home from a long day at work and can’t wait to get out of his clothes. His hair is slicked back, his gaze focused. Intense. Adrien Agreste: On Modeling and Business, the tagline reads.

Marinette’s fingers tighten around the handle of her grocery basket. The person ahead of her is almost done. She pushes a short lock of hair behind her ear, suddenly aware of how flushed her face is. Like she’s been caught doing something naughty.

But that’s ridiculous; no one is looking at her. No one notices when she slips the magazine into her basket. Nobody cares.

Except her.

She knows that Adrien is in love with her. He hides it about as well as he hid his identity from her: not at all.

When she’s Ladybug, she can think a little clearer. She reminds herself that he’s in love with her superhero persona, not the girl who lets eggs roll off the counter because she can’t ever seem to remember that it’s slanted.

And yet, Ladybug is that girl.

She lies back in bed, holding the magazine over her head, open to the article. Her index finger taps the center of Adrien’s chest and slides down to his stomach.

The glossy page is a poor substitute for the real thing.

The akuma throws Adrien right at her.

She catches him, of course, but they still end up tumbling to the ground in a heap.

He kneels over her, his hands on either side of her body. A stunned moment passes before his eyes go half mast and a lazy grin spreads across his face. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he says.

She’s grateful for the darkness. His proximity summons a blush to every inch of her skin. “Get off me!” she yells, shoving him much harder than she meant to.

Adrien blinks at her, surprised.

She looks away. “Focus on the akuma, chaton.”

No one could blame her for falling in love with her best friend. It seemed the most logical conclusion to two years of partnership, one long-distance, one up close and personal.

She can’t even war with herself about it. Buying the magazine, indulging the fantasies, burning with desire—those were her choices. Conscious decisions made in the light of day.

It takes another akuma, another evening, for her to get up the courage to make her feelings known. His pained cries still ring in her ears even after the Miraculous Cure heals his broken leg. His expression is apologetic as she marches toward him on the rooftop. He’s probably expecting a jab in the chest, harsh words about his carelessness, and she can’t help but curse him for having the audacity to be so handsome when she wants to be mad at him.

She grabs him by the open ends of his leather jacket and yanks him forward. Her lips crash against his. There’s nothing romantic or graceful about it, just four seconds of pure frustration pouring from her body into his. She draws back, but doesn’t let go of his jacket.

“Stupid cat,” she whispers.

His hands settle on her upper arms as he leans in toward her.

“Stupid boy,” she murmurs against the corner of his mouth before he captures her lips in a much gentler kiss.

Stupid me, she thinks as her hands slide into his jacket, spread across his warm chest, and sink down to his stomach.

Much better than a magazine.