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ao3bronte · 6 years

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Sommeil

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A continuation of ML Fluff Month.

Sommeil - Chapter 5 Unexpected Reveal

si on sortait prendre l'air / au lieu d'me prendre pour de la merde / prends-moi la main

Let's set the scene.

There's an empty bottle of Champagne on the desk poised just far enough away that the pooling condensation doesn't bleed into Marinette's acceptance letter to the fast track program at the Institute. She’s one of three to have made it, her men's line a roaring success with the judges panel even after Nicolas’ scene stealing meltdown, and Marinette hasn't stopped glowing since, especially since Chat came by her bedroom earlier that evening with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Brut in one hand and two flutes in the other.

“To fashion!” he announces, giggling like an idiot as they tap their flutes together for the umpteeth time.

Marinette grins, “To fashion!”

Chat takes another sip and leans back against her kitten pillow with a wink, “So does this mean I get the suit jacket now?”

“It’s all yours,” she replies, sliding down onto her belly beside him, “I might need it back though. Mme. Sotnikova said that she might have some clients who are interested in using it in the men’s fashion show in January.”

Chat’s eyes seem to glitter in the lamplight as he takes another gulp, “Yeah? That’s amazing Marinette.”

“I think so too,” she agrees with a blush, peering up at him through her eyelashes. His transformation is back to the way it is normally, his sharp fangs and wild hair seemingly forgotten for now, “I guess I’m going to be a lot busier once January rolls around.”

“And then it’ll be me finding ways to get you to fall asleep,” Chat says with another wink and the suggestive meaning behind his words are not lost on her. Gawking, her face heats up and the saucy quip she’d usually have come up with as Ladybug suddenly dissolves on her tongue.

“Chat got your tongue Purrincesse?” he flirts, and there’s spice in his eyes as he wiggles his eyebrows, his tongue peeking out passed his teeth, “Oh wait, I guess I already did this morning.”

Marinette chokes on her Champagne, “Chat!”

“What?” he blinks those wide kitten eyes of his, that telltale smirk belying his innocence, “I was just telling the truth.”

Marinette tries to gain back her composure by draining her glass all in one go and Chat has to fight to keep from cackling, “I’m sorry, did I break you?”

“Nope, nope nope nope,” Marinette’s head is spinning ever so slightly, the delightful mix of alcohol and flat out nervousness and elation hitting her bloodstream like a concrete truck, “You need to behave.”

“Yeah?” he bends his elbow and props his head up on his palm, glancing down his nose at her with the kind of smouldering look that’s so much more paralysing than it used to be. Shivering, Marinette feels the same foreign feeling from this morning burst into flames low in her belly in a way it never has before, “I’ll be so good for you.”

Marinette reaches out and snatches Chat’s champagne, chugging it in an act of self preservation, “Y-yeah?”

“Oh yes,” he bats his eyelashes and what is going on between her thighs? , “And if I’m not, I’ll let you punish me however you see fit.”

kathunk

When she looks back on this moment, she’ll likely blame the alcohol. She might even blame Chat too, what with the way his pupils seem to dilate, his tongue running across his lips in a way that has her leaning closer, drawn in like a butterfly to a flame. Every inhibition she’s ever had around him has fallen off the tracks and into the neighbouring ravine as his mouth part to speak, his cheeks flushing pink as his free hand gently settles on her hip. It's nerve wracking in the best of ways and even though they’ve slept beside each other and kissed each other before, they’ve never quite done something like this.

“Marinette?”

There’s a question on his tongue, one that speaks of the same nervousness she’s feeling, that same unmistakable tension from the force that’s driving them closer like an elastic band that’s just about to snap, “Yes.”

“Yes?”

Marinette doesn’t bother quelling the whole body shudder that rockets up her spine, “Yes, now kiss me.”

And well, he really doesn’t need much more of an invitation than that.

Diving back in with all of the gusto from earlier that morning, Marinette meets him halfway and it’s nothing like their first kiss where they’d all but slammed foreheads, clacking teeth in earnest. No, this time it’s sloppy and messy and it occurs to her that Chat may be even more anxious than she is, what with the way he keens and warbles restlessly, the purr buzzing up from his chest a counterpoint to the way his hands stutter and stop as they roam. Bravely, Marinette tries to steady her own jittery movements and buries her fingers in his hair, relishing in the way he gasps against her mouth as she tugs, the painful pleasure sending him reeling.

“I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing,” Chat mutters against her lips after a while, tucking an errant curl of hair behind her ear. She’s already well aware of this, having discussed their singleness repeatedly for months, and she hopes he understands just how much she can relate, murmuring encouragements against the corner of his mouth as she tugs him closer. Relaxing in her arms like the slut for praise that he is, he slots their lips together again and gently brings her lower lip between his teeth before breaking the kiss altogether with a sigh, smiling as she groans in protest. He traces his fingers down the side of her neck as an apology and kisses her softly along the same pale stretch of skin, paying special attention to the constellation of freckles trailing down beneath the shell of her ear.

“Glad I’m not the only one,” Marinette murmurs back, tilting her head to the side as he kisses towards her collarbone, moisture brushing over her skin as he nods.

“It was like I was possessed earlier,” Chat explains and Marinette’s eyes blink a few times to try and regain her senses, her lips popping open with a gasp as his tongue dips into the notch between her collarbones, “I was me but it was...kind of a crazy version of me.”

“Yeah?” she responds breathlessly as she rolls onto her back, her nerve endings utterly overwhelmed as Chat continues to plant soft, deliberate kisses along her exposed skin, “W-what did your kwarmi say about it?”

“He told me I need to chill out before I transform,” he snickers and the shock of hot breath is enough to inspire goosebumps to break out along her décolletage, “I was so furious when Nicolas hurt you—”

“Hush,” Marinette bats him lightly on the forearm and closes her eyes again, luxuriating in the kiss he leaves on her jawline, “I don’t want to think about him while you’re kissing me.”

“So this is…” Chat trails off and Marinette sighs, tipping her chin down to stare at him, “Is it alright if I keep going?”

“Yes Chat,” she assures him, her voice taking on a sort of desperate edge as he breathes against her skin, his green eyes seemingly glowing with the praise, “So stop talking and start kissing. Now.”

A knowing smile stretches across his lips and he chuckles lowly, scooting a little farther back onto the bed, “As you wish.”

It’s January and Marinette doesn’t know whether she's coming or going half the time, her world a vibrant ball of insanity and swathes of fabric wrapped in sewing needles and pin cushions. She’s running herself ragged, much to Chat’s chagrin, who's been sleeping like the smitten kitten he is every night in her bed, always fast asleep by the time she finally crawls in after midnight for a snuggle. She calls him the perfect bed warmer and he happily adds that to his job requirements; as the official Keeper of Marinette’s sanity, Chat takes his role very seriously.

“Do you have the dress bags?”

“Check.”

“Extra pins?”

“Packed them last night.”

Chat hands over her purse, “Your brain?”

“That’s debatable,” Marinette smirks and adjusts the strap so it doesn’t dig into her neck, “But I brought a change of clothes so I look somewhat presentable backstage.”

“You’re going to do great Marinette,” Chat announces proudly, wrapping her in another quick hug, “I wish I could be there to watch.”

“I wish you could be there too,” she agrees, ducking her head as he plants a kiss against her temple, “I’m really nervous. I still don’t even know which models will be wearing my designs!”

“That’s because Mme. Sotnikova is taking care of everything,” Chat assures her, leading her over to her trap door as the wintery morning sun peers in through her windows, “Your job is to arrive, deliver the clothing and roll in all the accolades you’ll get after the show!”

Marinette grins as his confidence flows through her, “I hope they love it. This could be my big break, you know? And remember how I told you that one of the models bought my design? Well, they're wearing it tonight and the other two suits are up for sale tonight too, which is like, insane. I can’t believe it!”

“Which design did the model buy again?”

“The suit jacket that you liked,” Marinette grimaces, “I promise I’ll make you another one.”

Chat seems to take it in stride, “It’s all good Purrincess. Just being your model is enough for me. Can you imagine? One day I’ll be able to brag to everyone that I was the suit model for the world famous clothing designer Marinette Dupain-Cheng!”

“I don’t think so,” Marinette begins to blush in earnest and bats him on the forearm, “Especially if I don’t leave soon which means that you have to get out of here too. Will I see you tonight?”

“And every night after,” Chat replies, pressing a kiss to her lips before opening the door for her, “For as long as you’ll have me, I’ll be here.”

“Thank you,” Marinette beams, hauling her dress bags and backpack full of designing supplies down the stairs, “Be safe today.”

Chat offers her a mock salute and a wink, “Always. See you later!”

The suits are delivered and the scene is set. Marinette quickly follows Mme. Sotnikova down to another part of the backstage area and scampers over to where she’s been told to go, sitting down on one of the makeshift stools in the corner that Mme. Sotnikova has claimed for her own. Shadowed by her personal assistant on one side and her business associate on the other, the Russian woman debriefs Marinette quickly, her good mood only evident by the slightest of upticks in her left eyebrow.

“All suits have been suitably tailored yes?”

Marinette nods vigorously, “And twice measured. There shouldn't be any issues.”

“I expect no less,” Mme. Sotnikova taps her perfectly manicured nails twice against her clipboard, “It is future of your career in fashion. You will be remembered for only good or bad reason after today.”

Gnawing on her lower lip, Marinette doesn't know whether she needs to pee or throw up, “I'm confident that everything is perfect.”

“You don't look confident,” Mme. Sotnikova states flatly, her face as blank as ever, “Stand up straight and change clothing. You look like student, I need designer. This is biggest night of your life, act like it.”

“Yes Mme.,” Marinette all but blubbers, her nerves beginning to get the best of her. How was she going to make it through tonight? She knows her products are perfect but what if something goes wrong backstage while she's in the gallery with Mme. Sotnikova? What if a model spills water or a makeup artist drops mascara down the front of the fabric or a quick change assistant rips the lapels—

“I can hear you thinking. Stop,” Mme. Sotnikova raps her pen down on the table in front of her, causing Marinette to flinch, “Change your attitude. You would not be here if your designs were not good enough, yes?”

Marinette desperately tries to swallow the raging nest of butterflies threatening to burst through her stomach and manages to do so, if only barely, “I’ll try.”

“No, you will do,” Mme. Sotnikova counters with an arched brow, “No one will buy from shy designer. You have already sold one suit, I want second and third sold for good price to fund your next project.”

“My next project?”

“Yes,” Mme. Sotnikova’s lip twitches upwards and Marinette takes that as a good sign, “And you will need money from sales for materials. I have two fashion houses interested in collaborating with my students and I have already assigned you.”

“ Two fashion houses ?” Marinette’s jaw drops, “Which two?”

“Zegna and Eidos,” Mme. Sotnikova replies with the slightest of smirks, “It is unusual for woman to make name for herself in men’s fashion but I have seen stranger things.”

“Wow…” Marinette trails off, her eyes rivalling the circumference of saucers, “That’s amazing!”

“Yes, but you won’t sell clothes looking like that. I hope you pack something nice?”

Marinette nods dumbly, still utterly shocked by the fact that two major names in the men’s fashion business were looking into her designs, “I made an outfit specifically for this event.”

“Another thing to sell,” Mme. Sotnikova’s eyes practically gleam with the possibilities, “Change clothing and return. The show will start in one hour.”

“Yes Mme.,” Marinette hops off her stool and snatches her own dress bag from the table beside her, running off towards the bathroom. Her heart is thudding furiously in her chest with nerves and anticipation, her thoughts and pulse an absolute mess in her head. As a little girl, she’d always imagined herself designing dresses and skirts and lacey ensembles...who would have thought she’d be hitting the fashion scene with three custom made floral suits for men?

The source of her inspiration comes to mind.

With a private smile, Marinette disappears into the largest stall and secures her dress bag onto the hook, zipping it open and pulling out the first item on the hanger. It’s a silk camisole she’d picked up at the discount store and tailored herself, stitching a gorgeous line of black lace to accent the sweetheart décolletage. She shucks off her shirt and throws off her bra, slipping the camisole on over her bare skin.

“Brrr,” she shivers, bracing herself at the odd sensation as the silk brushes up against her bare breasts in a way that reminds her of Chat’s curious leather clad fingers after a long patrol outside. He’s the most tactile person she knows, not that she’s been handsy with anyone else mind you, but she’d be lying if she said that she didn’t fantasise about those hands of his on her body at least once a day.

Marinette unclasps her jeans and lets them drop to the floor, gathering them into her waiting hands only to be thrown into the bottom of the dress bag. She fishes out the item on the next hanger and smiles victoriously, especially since she’d managed to hide it from Chat’s prying eyes so it would be a surprise when he'd visit tonight.

If she’s going to be known for menswear, she might as well flaunt it with a gorgeous pair of slim, high-waisted trousers in the same dainty jacquard floral design as her matching slim, stretchy woven blazer with snappy peak lapels. The darting is meticulous, the hemming succinct, the silhouette both feminine and sleek in a way that positively screams power move. She grins as she slips the jacket over her shoulders and leaves the front unbuttoned, tucking the silk camisole into the pants to accentuate her waist.

From the bottom of the bag, Marinette fishes a pair of simple back pumps and pops them onto her feet, packing up the rest of the clothing and walking out and take in her appearance in the mirror. She’s almost ready, but a quick change of hair style will fix that right up as she tugs her ponytails out in favour of a messy bun on the top of her head. With her neck exposed, her fellow designers will be able to see more of the hand sewn detail work of the suit as well as the sneaky, yet vibrantly apparent Marinette sewn into the line of the lapels in the same vibrant pinks that dominate the majority of her custom pantsuit design.

With a swipe of lip gloss and a quick wink to herself in the mirror, Marinette hits a power pose and struts out the door towards Mme. Sotnikova's corner with all the confidence she can muster. She’s one of the top design students at the Institute and she’s at the most important show of her life so far.

That, and she’s Ladybug. With or without her spots, she’s going to rock this show tonight.

The lights drop and Marinette shifts impatiently beside Mme. Sotikova, her fingers itching to be of use. She wishes she could be back there with the rest of the design team but she supposes her suits are safe with the Institute’s professionals, and since she’s still just a student, she can’t be back there once the show gets going anyway. She’s not exactly complaining mind you; getting to sit in the gallery is no small honour and Marinette can hardly believe all of her hard work has led her here to this moment.

The music begins to throb from the speakers and Marinette waits on baited breath, eager to see which models will come out first. Thirty different independant companies are being featured in the show and the organisers have partnered up with Paris’ best modelling agency to show off the stunning array of menswear that doesn’t belong to larger, more well known houses. There are many other small time designers here who are just bursting through the glass bubble of obscurity and into the raging world of global recognition and Marinette still can’t believe she’s sharing air with these people. She knows she’s lucky to have had this opportunity through the Institute but damn if she isn’t excited as the first model struts down the runway wearing a plaid ensemble so garish that it screams haute couture.

Twin models Félix and Florent pose with matching sequined coats that light up the gallery like multi coloured disco balls. Isha shows off a houndstooth three piece with a wide brimmed hat and studded loafers. Micah wears a fur coat so fluffy it nearly eclipses his entire body and Oskar totes a romantic silk pussy-bow blouse in the same pink as Marinette’s own stunning ensemble, of which she’s already received a smattering of compliments for already. Mme. Sotikova looked about as impressed as she’s ever seen her and it gave her the burst of confidence she’d needed to shake hands and bump shoulders with various people in the industry as they’d made it into the gallery and sat down.

“Oh!”

The first of her two suits for sale walks onto the runway and Marinette nearly swoons, the crisp pastel green of the breasted jacket practically sinful against Victorien’s ebony skin in the downcast lights. Posing, he cocks his hip just so as he hits the end of the platform and Marinette’s heart flutters to a halt in her chest as he turns around and offers the crowd a steamy smoulder, blowing her away. She’d been proud of that suit but holy hell did it look stunning on him and clearly the crowd around her agrees, taking notes on their notepads or typing furiously on their tablets.

Several more models step onto the stage before her second design makes an appearance and Jin rocks it like the sassy rockstar he is, all legs and swagger and long black hair that make her knees weak. How did they get so many attractive people in one space? And how did they get so attractive in the first place? It reminds her of Adrien in a way, a boy she hasn’t seen in months except for his Instagram posts and Snapchat stories. He made a few posts about being backstage at an event today but he hasn’t geotagged any of them so he’s probably in New York again or Hong Kong or—

Merdemerdemerdemerdemerdemerdemerde!!!

“Is that Adrien Agreste?!”

“Shh!” Mme. Sotikova hushes her as Adrien struts across the stage in her white floral jacquard suit jacket and holy fucking shitshitshit, is that—she can’t even—what in the everloving ASDFGHJKL?!

Marinette alternates between silently screaming and hyperventilating in her seat as Adrien makes his way up the runway, his trademark smirk on his lips literally ripping the air from her lungs. She can hardly think let alone convince her heart to keep functioning as he pauses at the end and finds her in the crowd, his bright green eyes drilling into hers as if he’d known exactly where she would be sitting. Choking, she promptly enters cardiac arrest as he winks at her (AAaaHhHHH!!!) and turns back around, his hips moving with the music in a way that has her thighs throbbing and her head spinning because Adrien Agreste is the one wearing her suit on the runway, which means that Adrien Agreste is the one that bought her suit jacket, which means that Adrien Agreste has something on his perfect body that she made, which means Adrien Agreste will wear it again, which means—

Marinette blacks out for several minutes and even though her body is doing a fantastic job of keeping her upright in her seat, her brain has completely flatlined. She cannot wait to tell everyone she knows about it and the thought alone of telling Chat when she gets home makes her heart soar. He’ll be so proud of her, knowing that her designs are being worn by the city’s most famous model and she hopes she can speak to Adrien too after the show, even if it’s just a quick thank you for purchasing her piece. She knows they went to school together and they were close friends, but he’ll let her take a photo of him for her Instagram right? Would it be uncool to ask? Would he even be allowed to? Then again, he’s here as an independent, not as a representative of Gabriel so maybe…

The show has ended and she’s somehow managed to follow Mme. Sotnikova backstage again. The Russian woman has sent her assistants out to talk to the reps from the interested companies about her suits and Marinette can hardly keep her feet planted on the ground, her entire body floating on cloud nine. The only thing better than this would be defeating Hawkmoth and finally being able to see who her boyfriend is; with no suits and secrets between them, she’d finally be able to stop the kissing and heavy petting and finally ( finally!) lose her V Card to the boy who'd somehow managed to steal her heart away—

“Hi Marinette!”

She spins around and nearly smacks her face into Adrien’s floral printed chest, “Adrien! Hi!”

He chuckles as she stumbles back and he reaches out to steady her, the warmth of his hands seeping through the fabric of her own suit, “Your outfit is gorgeous Marinette. I’d say that I didn’t believe you made this, but after wearing this amazing jacket, I believe you could make anything.”

“Th-thank you,” Marinette practically melts at the compliment, glancing up at him with the kind of gobsmacked expression that reminds her of what she was like as a kid, “I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it!” he says, spinning around on the ball of his black and white loafers with a laugh. She smiles and takes in the whole ensemble, the snakeskin pattern on the shoes with tassels shaped like shark’s teeth hanging off the tongue, the silky white trousers with the subtle fleur de lys pattern all along the fabric, the…

...wait a minute...

“Anyway, these trousers have a fleur de lys pattern on them, kind of like an overlay, but it’s so subtle that it won’t distract from this awesome flower pattern on the jacket.”

“Oh, and shoes! I picked up these loafers recently, they’re black and white and have these fun little shark teeth tassels at the front.”

Fucking

“They’d be totally unexpected, or I could just go with the plain black ones, or the steel gray…”

Way

Marinette feels the blood drain from her face as she glances back up at him, her jaw unhinging with a clatter to the floor. He’s just smiling that usual smile of his, but those eyes, those bright green infuriating eyes are gleaming with the kind of mischievous bullshit she’s long associated with her asshat of a partner and Marinette doesn’t know whether she wants to punch him in the face or kiss him stupid.

“Someone wants our picture Marinette,” he says with his perfect voice, snapping her out of her borderline murderous reverie, “Come stand beside me.”

She nods dumbly as Adrien wraps his arm around her waist and tucks her in closer to his side. The photographers, and there are a few of them, ask her to smile but she can hardly hear them speak over the voice in her ear as he leans over, his lips scant centimetres from her skin.

“We make the purrfect pair, don’t we?”

Marinette chokes.

Miraculously, they somehow manage to pull off a picture and miraculously, Marinette somehow manages to extricate herself from his grasp long enough to toddle over to the nearest table, Adrien sauntering along in her wake. She's gaping like a fish and he's beaming like a ray of pure stupidsunshine and if Mme. Sotnikova hadn't chosen that exact moment to crash their conversation, Marinette might have just slapped him for being so damn calm about it all.

“M. Agreste,” she greets him, her steel grey eyes appraising him briefly before turning to Marinette, “I have clients for you. Come.”

Marinette turns long enough to nod to her Russian mentor before shifting her focus back to him, the two handsome, blond objects of her affections all rolled into one in all their matchless glory standing before her. How did this happen under her nose? How did she not notice after four years of school and what, twelve thousand pictures of him on her walls? She practically stalked him at one point, memorising his schedule in some pseudo suave attempt to understand the Adrien behind the camera, and what a creep she’d been! And that same boy had been in her bedroom! He’d seen all the crazy photos! He knew how borderline insane she’d been as a teenager! He knew everything and she'd been ignorant to it all!

“Your teacher is waiting for you,” he says with a tip of his head and the move is so horrifyingly catlike that she can practically paint his mask and ears on with her mind’s eye, “You shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

Marinette finally manages to unglue her tongue from the roof of her mouth and narrows her eyes just enough to make sure he knows she means business, “You and I are going to have a talk tonight.”

“At least I’m still invited,” he replies, and his smirk dissolves into a look she’s much more familiar with, his eyes finally showing some of the nervousness he must have been hiding underneath, “The usual time?”

“Don’t. Be. Late,” she makes sure to punctuate each and every syllable in a way that makes him shudder in the best of ways. He’s always liked taking orders from her alter-ego; why should this be any different?

Chat Adrien gulps audibly, “God, you’re gorgeous when you’re angry.”

“And you’re just gorgeous in general, but that doesn’t negate the fact that I have every intention of killing you tonight.”

Adrien has the gall to laugh, “Okay one, these trousers are way too tight for that kind of talk and two, Mme. Sotnikova is going to kill you first if you don’t get over there.”

Marinette scowls, “This isn’t over.”

“And thank god for that,” he winks, his smile as impish as the little glance he gives her over her shoulder as he turns away, “À plus, Purrincesse.”

#mlfluffmonth #miraculous ladybug #marichat #ml fic #brontewrites

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