NORMALLY, MARINETTE DUPEIN CHENG liked to think she wasn't as clumsy as she thought she was.

But after nearly getting run over by a truck, tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, and getting about thisclose to hospitalizing an old woman crossing the street, Marinette finally had to come to the conclusion that her clumsiness was most likely a phenomenon all on its own.

"It's official," she told Alya as she staggered forward in her thick three-inch heels, one arm clutched tight against her best friend's side. "I'm the queen of clumsiness."

Alya only laughed, steering her away from sticking her foot in the wrong direction and ending up in the middle of traffic again. "I can't argue with that. You being in those heels is a hazard to everyone within a five-foot range."

Marinette glared down at her blue pumps. She was never really graceful to begin with, but at least her pink flats were comfortable. These pair of monstrosities on her feet, though? They were really testing her patience.

"It's not my fault that the ground just hates me and the walls always seem to get in the way," she said stubbornly. For a brief moment, she contemplated stashing the offending footwear in a nearby shrubbery and walking to school barefooted, but since they were borrowed from Alya and she would probably end up getting her toes massacred along the way, she dismissed the idea. Besides, she had to admit, albeit begrudgingly, that they matched the blue dress she was wearing and made her whole outfit seem all the more sophisticated.

Alya patted Marinette's arm as they rounded a corner. "Don't stress over it, girl. Just try to remember what I taught you — heel down first, and then your toe. Once the dance has started, I'm sure you'll forget all about trying not to topple over."

"Easy for you to say," Marinette grumbled with a pointed look. The redhead simply oozed confidence in her deep maroon dress and spiky heels — which, by the way, she walked in as if she were floating.

But as their school steps loomed into view, a notch of unease began to form in the pit of Marinette's stomach for an entirely different reason. She gulped loudly.

The annual spring fling wasn't obligatory to attend, but ever since she heard Adrien was also going, she'd dragged Alya over to her house and nearly combusted in her excitement to create her very own, very blue costume, complete with a bedazzled neckline and a soft hem trimmed in tulle.

Now, though, she felt silly. She picked at the azure hem of her dress. All the other girls, including Alya, had bought their outfits at one of Paris's many boutiques, while she stuck out like a proverbial sore thumb and her dress would probably become a laughing stock the minute her presence became apparent and then Adrien wouldn't look twice at her and dance all night with Chloè or Lila instead of her and and and —

"Marinette," Alya said in exasperation. "Will you stop looking so twitchy? I know what you're thinking, and you have to stop right this minute." To emphasize her point, she jabbed a finger at Marinette's chest. "You look great and your dress is one of a kind. All you need is some confidence, all right? You're going to slay."

Marinette jerked her head up and down, inhaling a deep breath through her mouth until her face was big enough to resemble a chipmunk. Confidence. Yep. She could do that, right? She just needed confidence. Like Chat Noir.

Thinking about him made her attention go to the little pouch she had disguised as a purse by her side. She'd tucked Tikki inside of it comfortably enough, but she was hoping this evening wouldn't warrant any akumatized villains. It was bad enough that she had worked this hard to get her entire costume assembled — she didn't want one of Hawkmoth's victims ruining her chance to get a dance with Adrien.

She sighed dreamily as his face swam to the surface of her memory.

Alya's eyes rolled skyward. "Are you done overthinking everything?"

Marinette bobbed her head. "Right. Of course!" she cleared her throat as if she hadn't been having a creepy fantasy about the cutest guy in all of Paris just three seconds ago. It was, however, in vain. No matter how hard she tried, she knew her face was practically an open book with her emotions laid out for everyone to pick apart bit by bit at the seams. Unlike Alya, whose poker face was both infuriatingly impressive and unwavering, Marinette couldn't disguise her emotions even if her life depended on it.

It was at times like these she wished her alter ego was her true identity, and that the girl who couldn't even navigate across a street without having at least three angry horns blasted at her could just disappear, tucked into a small pocket and forgotten forever.

Still, she stuck out her arms by her side, fisted her hands, and followed Alya up the steps with her resolve starting to build back up. She couldn't let her crazy doubts empower her. She could do this. She could strut into the school's gym, flip her hair like Chloè, and march up to Adrien Agreste to ask for a dan —

With a yelp, she found one of her heels missing a step, and before she could find her balance, she was already falling backward, arms flailing wildly, a scream lodged in her throat.

As she proceeded to teeter over the edge, she began to wonder what exactly heels were even invented for other than causing her awkwardness to amplify.

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This is something I'm working on because I feel like writing something that's utterly candy-coated to the point where your teeth ache with cavities at all the sweetness.

So, yeah. The rest of the chapters are probs going to be much longer. Let me know what you tthink, though, bc I'm trying not to let the characters be too OOC! This is also posted on my Wattpad account, plushteddies

Also, just curious about which ship you guys like:

Marinette • Adrien

Marinette • Chat Noir

Ladybug • Adrien

Ladybug • Chat Noir