hey guys! hope you're alright!

i'm fine, little bit stressed by uni and everything but it's okay!

here is chapter 15, probably my fav one, so enjoy it!

Marinette's entire body is painful. It hurts everywhere, absolutely everywhere . It's like each of her cells is fighting to rebuild itself.

Opening her eyes seems to be the hardest thing she has ever done.

Her senses come back to her, little by little. The white area above her. This annoying beep-beep-beep that never stops. Something pinched around her finger. This weird taste resting on her tongue. And this smell filling her nostrils.

An antiseptic scent.

The white area is a ceiling. The beep-beep-beep is from the machines. The thing pinched around her forefinger, it's for her blood pressure. And the taste in her mouth is probably because of the drugs.

She's in the hospital.

But, mostly, she's alive.

"Marinette?"

Her eyelids finish opening when she hears that voice.

He's alive, too.

Sitting right next to her bed, Adrien has never looked as bad as he does now. His eyes are weighed down by the dark rings under his eyes and he's paler than ever. As if he hasn't slept and left this room in days.

How long has she been unconscious, exactly?

"A—"

There is no way she can talk. Her voice is weak, almost inaudible. Marinette muffles a painful moan: her throat is as rough as sandpaper.

"Shh," he whispers, sitting up. "It's okay. Your parents are fine, they should be there soon, they went out to bring us a coffee."

Since when do you drink coffee? she wants to ask him.

The tilt of his brows seem to do it for her, because a smile curls his lips up, a little. "Since you ended up in the hospital, my Lady."

The suffering in his voice tightens her already tense throat.

Seriously, how long has she been unconscious?

"It's Christmas night, Marinette," he says, as if he has read the question in her eyes, once again.

Two days, that is. She has been unconscious for two entire days.

The last thing she remembers is the body of that little girl crawling out from the path she has cleared out. Then, everything went dark, until there was nothing.

Poppy . Her name is Poppy.

"She's fine, too," Adrien breathes, passing a warm and familiar hand against her forehead. "They visited you, with her mom. They gave you this," he explains, showing with a tilt of his head a large bouquet of pink flowers.

There isn't only this bouquet. There are half a dozen others.

"Your parents gave you one, too. Alya and Nino. Chloé. Nathalie. And me."

Marinette looks at them all. Some are red, others blue. It's a rainbow of flowers and leaves that they've brought to her bedside.

But there is one left. It's darker than the others.

"It's from Chat Noir," Adrien whispers, his gaze following hers.

Marinette looks back at him.

She cannot imagine how hard these last two days must have been for him. If the roles were reversed… Marinette feels her eyes wet from the thought alone.

"I-I… I'm sorry…" she whispers in a hoarse voice.

Adrien carries her palm to his lips. The way he kisses her skin makes her shiver. One gesture is better than a thousand words. It means he forgives her—that he will always forgive her. It means that he has nothing to forgive her, because he would have done the very same thing.

Marinette wants to promise him that it'll never happen again, but it's a promise she'll probably not be able to keep.

Hawk Moth is unpredictable, they know that.

But so are catastrophes.

The proof is here: Hawk Moth didn't cause the collapse of that ceiling, Marinette is sure of it. Yet, it has been the hardest mission they've ever had to face.

"Maybe Hawk Moth has planned all of this, without using his Miraculous, so that you wouldn't be able to use your Lucky Charm."

He has thought about this, during these last forty-eight hours. Marinette sees it in his eyes.

She nods. It's very believable, indeed. Ceilings don't collapse like that, especially in a place as well looked after as the theatre.

"But how… how could he have known we would both be there?"

Something dark passes in Adrien's eyes.

"There is only one explanation: Hawk Moth knows our identities."

Marinette has thought about it. From the second her own question has come out of her mouth. But this perspective is so frightening .

"We'll think about it later," Adrien says. "Rest," he whispers, kissing her forehead.

Sleeping is almost impossible. Marinette rather has the impression of alternating between periods of drowsiness and wakefulness. Her body is exhausted: every muscle is incredibly painful. And her head —Marinette feels like her brain is going to explode. But her mind is only too awake.

She can't stop thinking about Hawk Moth, about the threat he represents, more real than ever. Perhaps it's only a coincidence, and that he has nothing to do with the catastrophe.

Perhaps.

It's this uncertainty that prevents her from sleeping a wink.

She can't get this idea out of her head. Even when her parents come back in her room and hug her, even when an endless relief spreads deep down in her heart, that little voice keeps whispering to her that they could have died because of her, because it was her that Hawk Moth was aiming for.

"We could open a shop with all these flowers!" Tom says, his eyes, glistening with tears, driving away from glances.

Marinette looks at her mom, standing next to her bed, her soft and reassuring hand caressing her hair.

"Chat Noir's bouquet is really pretty," she says.

"Well, you really helped him!" Tom ensures. "You'd be a perfect Ladybug!"

Her entire body tenses up—and so does Sabrine's hand in her hair. Adrien, still sitting next to her bed, seems to be anxious, too.

"By the way, it's weird that she didn't come…" her dad thinks.

Marinette hasn't thought about this detail. That people are going to ask questions about Ladybug's inaction.

"Maybe she was inside," Sabine proposes in a strange voice.

Adrien's worried eyes meet Marinette's.

"No," Tom answers. "I think we would know, if Ladybug had been among us."

An incredibly embarrassing (for Marinette) silence her dad's answer.

If Hawk Moth already knows her identity, Parisians' speculation on it really is the least of her worries. But, that doesn't mean she particularly wants her parents to be aware of it.

Especially after what happened. It's enough tragedy to digest, for now.

"Still," Tom resumes, looking at them three again, " you were the superhero!"

His smile is a mix of pride, devastation and fear. This emotional cocktail fills her with sadness and gratitude all at once.

"I wouldn't have said no to a superhero suit, then," she says, laughing, her gaze steering to her arm.

It's not a real laugh.

Not with an arm in that state.

"Honey," Sabine tells her, "you know what doctors said—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. It could take some time."

Her arm has been fractured, of course. Marinette's blurry brain has only let her understand

crumbs of sentences: doctors have talked about a comminuted fracture, a very tricky operation, a complicated rehabilitation and a mobility she'll maybe not get back completely.

Marinette glances at the external fixator sunk into her arm. It's definitely not pretty to look at, especially with all the wounds covering her skin—she has a lot of stitches.

But, once again, how can she worry about her arm when Hawk Moth can literally threaten the life of every single person standing in this room?

"Don't look at me like that," she sighs.

Adrien and her parents have their eyes riveted on her. It's not pity in their looks, it's a mix of worry, relief and pride.

"I'll be fine," she whispers, squeezing Adrien's hand, still intertwined with hers. "I'll be fine."

Marinette keeps telling herself that it's going to be okay. That today, her arm is going to get its mobility back, that today, they're going to stop Hawk Moth, that today, they're going to find answers.

But weeks go by, and she's still not fine. The New Year passes, Christmas holidays end when they've hardly begun, winter elapses in Paris, spring arrives, bringing warmth and joy for everyone except Marinette.

Because high school is hard, because combining classes with everything else is definitely not getting easier with time, because exams are getting closer, because the year is coming to an end and because her problems remain the same.

They remain the same, but are so different at the same time. Hawk Moth is still there, but there hasn't been any akumatisation since the collapsing of the theatre, last winter—which, hasn't been an akumatisation per se. A month later and Marinette still isn't really sure what it actually was.

Why this inaction? After tens and tens of discussions with Adrien, Alya, Nino, Tikki and Plagg, Marinette certainly has a feeling that the reason isn't a sudden realization from Hawk Moth.

Maybe he really realized that he went too far, this time, and that he came to his senses, Nino had proposed.

Yeah, sure , Marinette had ironically answered.

Hawk Moth, coming to his senses? The idea is so ridiculous that it's almost laughable. Almost. Because it's actually not funny at all. Because things aren't moving forward, because Marinette can't live in this in-between anymore.

So, between rehabilitation for this damn arm which seems to be trapped between two steps, too, patrols, studying and mental breakdowns, Marinette continues her dogged search to know the identity of the person who is literally ruining her life.

It's supposed to be the best year of her life! She's supposed to spend it with her friends, stressing out and studying together, worrying about their future together and partying, because they're in high school, and because they're still only teenagers .

Teenagers who are not supposed to fight the greatest threat of the country. It's not how it was supposed to happen.

Marinette is not fine. She's really not .

Especially since her means of distraction are all totally illusory now. Over, the track team, because of her arm that she now hates perhaps as much as Hawk Moth. Over, the fights at Chat Noir's side against super-villains. Over, the sprinting to clear her head.

Her muscles disappear at the same pace as her hope for her future. She only sees a white page, a page she'll be able to turn only when Hawk Moth himself will feel like it.

There is only one way to carry away all this tension and this negativity from her body.

Adrien. But, this last way is no longer on the agenda.

There is always something. Homework, studying, anxiety of the exams or Adrien's countless activities that he keeps doing—fencing training, Chinese classes, piano, among others. It's her rehabilitation sessions that take her a lot of time or her parents who are always watching her. Of course, it's also Hawk Moth, it's also the questions torturing her mind, it's also the fear that he will eventually decide to do something. It's that nightmarish night that she thinks about again and again: she can still hear the cries, can still smell dust and feel this oppressive sensation. It's also the scar Adam has left inside her, even after all these months. And it's Lila, who has still done nothing—she and Hawk Moth seem to have discovered the word passive-aggressive —while they see each other every day. It's also the result of the admission for Pratt, her fashion dream school, in New-York, getting close.

And if by some miracle, none of these issues is giving her a throbbing headache, there is the exhaustion. The huge, immeasurable exhaustion she never stops feeling.

So, by the end of the day, there is not much left for Adrien. There is not much left for herself, either. She can't remember the last time she opened her sketchbook, when she played video games or when she opened a book other than for school. She can't remember the last time she and Adrien kissed for more than five seconds, when their hands have gone further than the barrier of their clothes.

It happens, of course. But it's not happening as often as it did before.

Marinette sighs, letting her back fall against her chair. Of course, they have had good moments during these difficult months. Patrols can be fun, and they end them on top of the Eiffel Tower, sometimes, talking, laughing or not saying anything at all. These moments are relaxing.

Plus, he often sleeps at hers, so much so that falling asleep in his arms and waking up with his legs interlaced with hers isn't a discovery anymore. It's familiar, it's reassuring. They spend moments with Alya and Nino, too, and sometimes they even don't talk about Hawk Moth.

Sometimes they laugh and talk about normal things and live normally. Sometimes, they're regular teenagers.

Sometimes .

But, this Saturday morning is definitely not part of these times. Sitting at her desk, Marinette is reading and re-reading the notes she has accumulated about Hawk Moth, the hypotheses, and the information she has thus far. She does that a lot: diving back into the words she has written weeks, months ago, as if something is going to become blindingly obvious.

Well, it's worth a shot.

Her pen between her fingers, Marinette takes a sip of her coffee—already the second one of the morning—and lets her gaze wander along the pages blackened by her own ideas.

She observes the notes she has left about that day. It's only a month later that she has had the necessary strength to set every event on paper.

The pages are stained in places—these are tears. The writing is uncertain, the words are sometimes wrong-chosen, deformed the emotion. But the information is here.

All her thoughts are materialized in front of her. Why is Hawk Moth inevitably the one who has caused the collapsing? It's the first question she answers.

I'm sure Hawk Moth is behind all of this. Alya and Nino say that it could be an accident, but it's impossible. Why would the ceiling collapse exactly when I was on stage with Adrien? Why would it collapse at all, when the show was set for months and when there have been practices and checks all the time? It was him. It has to be him. I must have missed something. Maybe he was there that night, just in front of us, and I didn't see him.

Adrien believes me. He says that he has felt that it was Hawk Moth's fault. And I understand what he means. After all these years, we have a sixth sense, a sense that allows us to know when it's Hawk Moth or a catastrophe which has nothing supernatural about it.

And, this time, it was supernatural.

Because it already happened: accidents without it being Hawk Moth's fault. Fires, explosions, all kinds of tragedies. And, there too, my Lucky Charm couldn't do anything. There too, there have been deaths.

But it was different, this time. I can't help feeling guilty every time I think about it, because I couldn't use my Lucky Charm—even if I could have transformed, it would have been pointless, because there wasn't any vilain per se. Nobody saw anything, anyway.

Hawk Moth was aiming at us, Adrien and I. He was aiming at us and he killed people. People are dead. People have been hurt. Because of us. Because we can't stop him, after all these years.

People are dead. I killed people.

I'm not sure I'm that good at being Ladybug, after all. With or without the mask.

Marinette feels tears dripping at the corners of her eyes as she reads her own words. This guilt is only too familiar—she can still feel it deep down in her heart, at the hollow of her throat, and here , in her stomach.

It's not this sharp and harrowing feeling anymore. It's more measured, tinged with reason and perspective, which has taken a long time to acquire. But it's still there.

And it will always be there.

Marinette sighs, the tip of her pen nervously tapping against her notebook. It's barely nine, and yet her brain is already boiling over. She's desperately in need of distraction, of something, anything , for her ideas to be directed toward something other than Hawk Moth's evil plan—whatever that is.

Suddenly, when Marinette is seriously thinking about transforming and going on Paris' rooftops to let off steam, someone knocks.

"Yeah?"

With a kick, she makes her chair turn over itself, ending up facing Adrien who is closing the trapdoor of her room behind him.

"Hey, you."

Marinette feels a little smile straighten her lips.

"Hey," she whispers when he gets closer, dropping a kiss on her forehead, which makes her smile only more. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugs. His complexion is more uniform than usual, his eyebrows slightly darker and his hair is brushed back. He's returning from a photoshoot.

"I had a photoshoot very early this morning," he explains, affirming what she already knows. "It was not very far from here, so…"

He lets himself fall on her couch, covering the cushions with his smell that Marinette likes so much. She gathers a knee against her chest, her heart already lighter than a minute ago.

He helps her. To feel better. To live .

"Not very far like ' really not far', or not very far like ' I was literally at the other end of Paris ?'"

Her smile reaches her eyes when she notices the red veil on his cheeks.

"What are you up to?" he asks, gazing over her shoulder, where her notebook and her cup of coffee are.

Marinette shrugs. "A little bit of morning thinking."

Adrien closes his eyes and she doesn't want to see this expression on his eyes when he'll open his eyelids again, so she turns her chair again.

"Someone has to do it, Adrien," she sighs, closing her notebook—she doesn't particularly want him to read it.

"I know," he answers and Marinette feels herself shiver when his breath hits the hollow of her neck.

She hasn't expected him to be so close.

"I know, m'Lady," he whispers, his chin on the top of her head. "I do searches, too. And so do Alya and Nino. Between the four of us, we'll find something. It's only a matter of time."

Marinette sighs again, even though she's soothing in his embrace.

"We don't have much time anymore, kitty."

"I know," he says again. "I know."

She closes her eyes, focusing on the warmth of his presence, ignoring this fear twisting her stomach.

"Did you eat something this morning?"

"Nope."

"Did you do something else last night?"

"Nope."

" Marinette —"

"I can't," she whispers. "Not when I'm alone. I can't think about anything else."

He makes his hand slide along her arm—her good one. His chin leaves the top of her head and his lips drop to her cheek.

"I can stay with you today," he whispers against her skin. "We can watch a movie and solve this impossible Maths problem that Mrs. Perrin gave us."

"Sounds fun."

His laugh sends a puff of warm air against her cheek. She slightly turns her face, enough to plunge her eyes into his.

"We'll do what you want."

"What I want?" she repeats, a brow raised.

"Hmm…"

He starts to smile. She does, too.

"I might have an idea," she whispers against his lips.

His hand leaves her forearm and falls to her waist. "Wanna take care of Biology instead?"

The laugh which makes her vocal cords vibrate spreads to her heart. Once chuckles stop and smile curl down, Marinette brushes his lips with hers, appreciating the rush of impatience which covers her skin with goosebumps.

Adrien takes care of the rest: he erases the last centimeters between them and kisses her.

When he turns her chair completely to him and when she wraps her right arm around his neck, a sound as sudden as it is deafening rings out.

"Marinette! Marinette! Marinette!" her father calls her, pushing the trapdoor, ending up in her room in a second.

Adrien jumps backwards, all red cheeks and frightened face. Thankfully, Tom doesn't even notice what he has just interrupted—or if it's the case, he doesn't show it. All his attention is focused on the envelope he's holding in his hand.

"Dad?" Brows frowns, Marinette stands up. "What's going—"

The pieces collect in her mind. She can almost hear the click of the gears starting up.

It's a letter.

"Is that what I think it is?"

Her heart is banging against her ribcage, making every beating painful. Adrien moves forwards behind her, his face above her shoulder when she takes the letter between her quaking fingers.

It's inscribed, in cursive writing: Pratt Institute, Brooklyn Campus .

"Holy shit," Adrien blurts out.

The cursing has fallen off his mouth with such a spontaneity that Marinette could burst out laughing. But it's what she's telling herself in a loop. Holy shit, shit, shit, shit—

"Open it!" Tom loses patience.

He's breathing hard and fast, proof that he has run to her room the second they received the letter.

Marinette tears the envelope, her heartbeats sounding against her temples. Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump . It's going to explode, eventually.

Dear Marinette Dupain-Cheng…

Marinette suddenly lowers the envelope, her lips shaking. "I'm freaking out."

Adrien puts his hands on her shoulders, gently massaging her tensed muscles.

"C'mon, honey!" her dad cheers her up. "You wait for this for so long!"

Marinette takes a deep breath, trying to slow down her heart which is becoming untamable.

"They'd be crazy to say no," Adrien whispers.

A shiver of anxiety and haste and him spreads along her back. The letter ends up before her eyes again.

Deciphering the words is hard. It's not so much because it's written in English, but mostly because every cell of her body is nothing more than apprehension and doubts.

What if it's a mistake? What if she doesn't have what it takes to work in this field? What if New York is too scary, after all? What if—

They said yes.

"Oh, God," she breathes.

Adrien hands tense against her shoulders. He has just read the same thing as her. Tom's eyes are opened wide, his entire body waiting for an answer.

"Oh, God!" she yells.

"What?" Tom screams. " What ?"

"They said yes!"

"They said yes?"

"They said yes!" she says again.

While tears start running down her cheeks, Marinette ends up in the arms of her dad, Adrien's, smothered by the love and the pride of a whole life.

Marinette hasn't fully realized how much she loves being Ladybug until she has been deprived of it. She misses helping people, being useful, of course.

But it's mostly the adrenaline . Heart beating faster at every akuma attack, muscles burning during fights, neurons heating up at every Lucky Charm she uses. This feeling of urgency flooding every cell of her body.

Marinette has mixed feelings about this sudden holiday that Hawk Moth seems to have given himself. On one hand, the constant anxiety of knowing that an akuma attack can happen at any moment has petered out, but which has been replaced with the permanent stress of wondering if Hawk Moth really knows their identities. There is also her time which is not used by villains anymore, but which is now put to good use toward unmasking Hawk Moth. There is her arm which doesn't risk getting even more destroyed than it already is, but there is also her body losing little by little its muscle mass and dexterity.

It's a scale tilting toward one side, then the other. A perfectly balanced scale, caught in-between that Marinette hates.

The only thing which definitely has no negatives is the fact that no one has noticed the state of Ladybug 's arm. Patrols are at night, most of the time, and pictures of Chat Noir and/or her are becoming pretty rare, and so are rescue operations they're asked to help with.

Paris is incredibly quiet. But Marinette is only seeing here the calm before the storm.

She's not going to think about all of this tonight. Not after she has just learnt that she has been accepted into her dream school. The one she has watched all these reports about, imagined so many things about, worked so hard to get into. She's not going to think that she'll probably not be able to go because of Hawk Moth. She's not going to think about the way she's going to explain everything to her parents.

Not tonight.

Because tonight, Adrien— Chat Noir —has asked her to meet him on top of the Orsay Museum. He has smiled, with that little smirk she loves so much, a mischievous glint in his green eyes.

Marinette doesn't really feel like Ladybug when she runs across Paris' rooftops. She doesn't really feel like Marinette, either.

She feels like she's a perfect mix of both. Like she's herself .

A grin at the corner of her lips, she uses her good arm to send her yo-yo hanging onto one of the monument's towers. She takes more time than she would've a few months ago and is more breathless than she should be, but she ends up on the roof of the museum with a certain smoothness.

May has already begun, bringing a spring warmth and a cool breeze. The sun is going down over Paris, bathing the capital in twilight reflections and covering the Seine with an orangey blanket.

It's undoubtedly a pretty evening.

"My Lady."

Chat Noir has whispered her nickname at the hollow of her neck, making all of her shiver. His arms wrap around her waist and his lips settle against her cheek.

"Kitty," she breathes in answer.

"Ready to see your surprise?"

Ladybug turns around in his arms. "I have a surprise?"

The light breeze sweeps Chat Noir's hair, so much that Ladybug can smell the honey scent emanating from it. She wants to plunge her nose into it.

But his long gloved fingers softly grab her chin, until her face is completely raised to his.

His smirk doesn't leave him. "Of course."

His lips brush hers, without ever touching them. Ladybug closes her eyelids and doesn't move an inch.

"Follow me."

His fingers leave her chin to go intertwine with hers. He guides her to the main building, the one with the clock. They end up on the platform overlooked by the tower, hidden from public view.

It's mind-blowing.

A bunch of blankets is scattered, covering the cold fabric with layers of soft and comfortable textile. There are tens and tens of candles around them, spreading their light while the sun is still going down over the capital.

Ladybug gets cautiously closer, discovering a basket full of everything she loves. There is chocolate— lots of chocolate—, macarons, a few pastries from the bakery, pictures—she can see Adrien's smile from here—and a notebook which draws her attention more.

She kneels down, lets her finger run along the blankets and a shiver of impatience spreads down her back and she grabs the notebook. Her heart does a loop-the-loop in her chest when she turns the first page. First rule: no physical distraction when we talk about this .

A noise between a chuckle and a sob leaves her lips. "Adrien…" she whispers.

He kneels down next to her, his smile curling up all his lips this time. His thumb comes to wipe down the tear threatening to escape from her eye. "I'm so proud of you," he murmurs.

The next second, Ladybug throws her arms around his neck, nests her face in his neck and hugs him right up against her. She wants to lose herself in his warmth, in his smell, in every one of those things that make him the person she loves so much.

Her skin shivers under her suit when Chat Noir's claws run down her back. Her breath gets stuck in her throat for an instant when a whiff of pleasure spreads at the same time as goosebumps.

Ladybug moves her face away from his neck until she's close enough to Chat Noir's that she can brush his lips with hers.

So, it's what she does.

Except that she doesn't stop at brushing them. She kisses him, kisses him until this little voice in her head, this voice questioning, yelling, whispering, until it's nothing more than silence.

It's so relaxing, not thinking about anything—except about Chat. It's so relaxing that it's becoming addictive. Her lips are surely covered up with the same drug because he kisses her back a thousand-fold.

They end up on blankets which are as comfortable as they appear to be. Chat drags her on his lap and Ladybug gets her pelvis closer to his, until her thighs are on either side of his hips.

Even if they're under their heroic self and their physical capacities are heightened, that doesn't stop them from needing to breathe. So, the kiss comes to an end, but this desire for each other doesn't stop growing for all that.

Everything links up in a crazy race, so crazy that Ladybug has her head spinning. Their transformations disappear, their suits are replaced by clothes, leather by skin.

He's here, so close to her, with his pretty green eyes and his hair reflecting the sunset. He's so close, but Marinette finds him yet too far away.

If she finds him too far away when he's right up against her, what will she do when she'll be thousands of kilometers away from him? Marinette pushes that thought as far away as she can by pressing her lips against his once again. Adrien's back falls against the stone of the tower and his hands settle at her waist. Marinette shivers and her lips brush his.

Adrien's shirt ends up on the blankets. Marinette caresses his shoulders, enjoying the sensation of his muscles under her fingers, of his warm skin under hers. Adrien's lips remove from hers when her hand starts going down along his chest. Marinette can feel the hardness of his abs but she can also feel the shape of his ribs.

She says nothing. Adrien's twitching is saying more than enough.

"You're beautiful," she whispers, kissing his cheek.

She feels his hands squeeze around her waist. Of course, it's pretty much common knowledge that Adrien Agreste is handsome. But Marinette's words go beyond that. He knows it.

It's what he hates the most about himself that she calls beautiful. The scars she has on her arm, he's wearing them inside. He is thin as though his wounds are too big, too important to be only carried by his heart.

As an answer, Adrien makes Marinette's jacket slide down along her shoulders until it joins his shirt and starts kissing every single one of the scars scattering her left arm.

There are a large number of them. From her hand to her shoulder, he puts his lips on every single one of them.

When he reaches the strap of her tank top, Adrien makes it slip along her arm. It's when he notices that Marinette is shaking against him.

He immediately looks up at her. Her eyes are wet.

"Marinette?" he calls her, putting his hand against her cheek.

Her eyelids close. Adrien kisses the tear escaping from her eye.

"Sorry," she breathes.

"No," he whispers, "I am. I should've asked you—"

"Can you do it again?" She shyly opens her eyes. Her lashes are wet with tears.

"You… you like it?"

"Hmmm. Feels good."

He doesn't question the cause of her tears, nor the contrast between the smile on her lips. No, he kisses the scars adorning her arm again, savoring the smoothness of her skin and the warmth of this moment, or the contrary, whatever.

Kiss after kiss, Adrien shows the magnificence of her scars to Marinette in a thousand different ways, just like she's done with him. It's something she has been doing for months: accepting him entirely, loving him even when he's broken.

Marinette's tank top is removed and Adrien keeps exploring her skin. He drops his lips on the scar between her breasts, caresses with his tongue the one close to her clavicle, and the deepest kiss of all: the one on her heart.

Marinette gets closer to him when his lips brush her left breast. His hand joins his mouth and he delights in the rapidity and the intensity of her heartbeats under his fingers.

Adrien knows her body by heart, but he feels like he's discovering it all over again. They've been in this exact situation hundreds of times but it has never been like this .

Tonight, Adrien feels an odd emotion squeezing his heart. Like nostalgia. But why would he feel nostalgia while he is with Marinette at this very moment? He hasn't felt this good for months, so why this uncomfortable sensation?

Adrien repulses these questions deep down his mind and catches Marinette's nipple between his lips. He knows how sensitive this part of her anatomy is.

A smirk draws on his lips when Marinette sucks on a breath and when she moves her hips closer to his. She probably feels it, because one of her hands goes up in his hair, holding him against her—which only gets him to smile more .

His belt leaves his trouser loops thanks to Marinette's shaky fingers while he makes her cotton shorts slide down her legs, asking himself if those aren't actually his shorts.

This ability she has to steal so many of his clothes will always seem funny to him. It doesn't bother him, she's way too cute in his own garments that he would give her all of them if she asked him.

His smiling lips only curl up more when Marinette's eager fingers start to undo his pants. Her frustrated groan turns into a pleased moan when he bites her skin. The warmth of her chest leaves him at the same time as her weight from on top of him.

He looks up at her with red cheeks and half-opened lips, reading his own desire in her cerulean eyes. His pants are quickly removed for her to quickly return against him and for him to quickly kiss her again. His back is against the building again and Marinette's hips against his.

He doesn't know if the muffled moans are coming from her or him anymore, doesn't know if it's Marinette who is grounding against him or if he makes her body move against him.

She's everywhere. He feels her nipples hardened by desire press against his torso, feels her little, yet so strong, hands run along his body, feels the warmth between her thighs rivals his, feels the sweet taste of her lips against his, the smoothness of her tongue caress his, feels her knees on both sides of his hips, feels the light spring breeze brush his bare skin, feels her hair, her endless and satin-soft hair touch the hand he has dropped to her waist.

He feels her everywhere .

Adrien lets his other hand slide down her back, scattering shiver after shiver, until gripping her ass with softness and eagerness all at once. Marinette ground against him again and he has to remove his lips from hers to breathe.

They're panting against each other, lost in their contemplation and their desire.

Adrien lets his forehead fall against her shoulder, trying to calm the drum playing by his heart. Marinette stops moving, too, and one of her hands joins his nape, caressing the hair here.

"Sorry," he breathes between two pants. "I… I need a minute."

"Okay," she whispers with a hoarse voice that makes him shiver. "It's okay."

It's like his brain can't follow his body anymore—or the opposite he doesn't really know which one is lagging behind.

Of course, they've done things during all those months. They're humans, after all, and teens, in addition. But there is always something which makes it so that their minds are never completely there.

There has to be an alignment of the stars for their fatigue and their schedules to allow them to not fall asleep the second they settle in Marinette's bed. But, if this alignment happens, their hands wander, their fingers lose themselves under the cover, their lips caress each other's body. Most of the time, it's only a matter of minutes, because their exhaustion catches them again or because they only want a chaste and chill embrace. Or both.

During all this time, it has happened that a devouring passion consumes them, of course. But they never really take the time. They don't have it. It's not something they do together, but something they do to one another. They don't go further than foreplay, even if Adrien has always find this name stupid. As if it's the first step, the beginning, as if it forces them to continue. Marinette and he stick to that and it's fine with him.

What he really wants is to make her smile, anyway. Her laugh, the dimple in her left cheek, the pretty redness of her cheeks, it's what brings him pleasure.

He drops a kiss against her shoulder, against this beauty spot he likes so much and takes a deep breath, filling himself with her scent that makes him feel like home. She smells like pastries and vanilla, like a Sunday morning breakfast, like this feeling when you remember good memories, like a starry summer sky.

He wants to devour all of her, wants to bury himself inside her until they're one, wants to graft himself to her body for her to be with him forever, wants to bite and kiss and lick every corner of her sweet and soft skin.

"Princess," he whispers in her neck.

"Mhmm."

Her arms are wrapped around his neck, her breasts pressed against his torso. He wants to devore them, too. He loves every centimeter of Marinette but he has to admit that he has a soft spot for her breasts. And for her ass. She does have a really great ass.

(The hand still against it squeezes her skin when this thought crosses his mind.)

(He smiles when Marinette sucks on a breath.)

He finds her breasts cute. It's probably not the first adjective that comes to most people's mind while thinking about breasts, but he's not most people. Most importantly, Marinette isn't most people, and let alone her breasts. They're smaller than those he's seen before, smaller than those he sees on the Internet, smaller than those he has cast a glance over on some photoshoots. His hands can cover them fully, which never stops to fascinate him, how their bodies fit so well. Her freckles run down her chest and there is one, bigger than the others, just above her right nipple. He has always told her that it looks like a croissant and she always answers him by laughing and rolling her eyes.

He puts his lips behind her ear, her hair tickling the tip of his nose. Oh, he loves her hair, too. It's so long now that it's reaching the small of her back and it's so soft. And it smells good. It always smells like vanilla.

"Marinette," he whispers.

"What?" she asks, shivering.

"M'Lady."

"You're gonna do them all?"

The chuckle which shakes his body makes his pelvis move against hers. "Bugaboo."

This time, she moves her face back to look him in the eyes. Her eyebrows are raised and a sparkle of amusement flutters in her gaze.

"What?" she breathes.

"I'm hungry."

Her eyes narrow. "Now?"

"Hmmm."

When she bends over to catch something in the basket he has brought here, he wraps his arms around her waist and makes her tumble against the covers. A yell of surprise escapes her but Adrien kisses her at the same time.

"I thought you were hungry," she articulates against his lips, her hands going up and down along his back.

"I am."

His mouth leaves her and goes down to her neck. He feels the tip of her fingers press against his shoulder blades.

" Oh ," she lets out. "I think I got it."

His smirk keeps going down along her body, reaching the freckles of her chest.

"But—"

Her sentence turns into a moan when he makes his tongue run over the little croissant on her right breast.

"I— I need you to show me. You know, to be mhmm… to be sure."

The blast of air of his chuckle hits the top of her stomach, scattering goose bumps on her milky skin. He likes the stiffness of her abs under his lips, their contraction every time he lowers his tongue on them. Even after months without akumas and without working out, or close to it, she's still ripped. He loves that, too.

His fingers slide on either side of her underwear, kissing her skin as it's revealed to him.

"Don't lose it," she says, panting.

Adrien nods right against her, putting down her panties where their other pieces of clothing are. When he lowers his face between her thighs again, Marinette sits up.

"Wait," she breathes, her cheeks reddening.

"You okay? Wanna stop?" he asks, pressing his chin against her belly button.

"No," she answers, smiling. She seems to hesitate for a moment. "I'm hungry, too," she whispers, blushing only more.

Adrien smiles against her navel. "I've got an idea."

Marinette raises an eyebrow and he kisses her skin one last time. He lets himself fall next to her, back against the covers. "C'mere."

Her brows frowned but her lips curled up, Marinette grabs the hand he's raising to her until her thighs are on each side of his chest.

Adrien looks at her breasts from this angle, eagerness and desire making his heart beat faster. "Turn around."

She does as he tells her, a sparkle of understanding in her eyes. Adrien catches her hips, his eyes rolling down her hair, her lower back, her ass right in front of him.

"You sure about that?" she asks him when she bends over his body and removes his underwear, the last boundary remaining between them.

Her hot breath between his thighs makes him close his eyelids for a second. "Nope," he confesses. "But I wanna do it. Do you wanna do it, m'Lady?"

"I wanna do it," she repeats, a smile in her voice.

"You just have to move back a little…"

Her pelvis follows his words until his mouth is right between her thighs.

"Perfect," he whispers.

He doesn't lose a second. He plunges his lips into the best dessert he has ever tasted, delighting in Marinette's pure essence exploding against his tongue.

"Oh, God," he hears, " Adrien ."

His only answer is to push his fingers a little more against her hips and to press his tongue a little more between her legs. He hears her moan vibrate against him when warmth and wetness close around his erection. His desire explodes in the hollow of his stomach and Adrien has to focus to not thrust his hips into her mouth.

Marinette's hair slides down her back, caressing the sides of his torso while his fingers run along her thigh. His hand joins his lips, coming and going along her skin with slowness and dexterity.

Adrien, his head spinning because of the pleasure spreading in his veins, sinks his fingers between her thighs until two of them are inside her. Marinette's legs start shaking against him when his mouth surrounds her clit.

Breathing is hard, thinking is hard, not raising his hips against Marinette and continuing to move his fingers and his tongue simultaneously when an impossible heat spreads in his navel is hard.

But he stays on track, keeps bending his fingers upward, keeps making his tongue run right up against her, swallowing every drop of her pleasure flowing against him.

Perhaps it's because of pheromones—or something like that—but Adrien really feels like he's devouring the most fabulous desserts. The sweet taste perfectly matches the musky touch which is leaving an oddly pleasant sensation on the tip of his tongue.

He'll never get tired of it. No way.

His fingers have probably touched a sensitive spot because Marinette's moan is audible even if her lips are occupied. He repeats the same movement, again and again, his tongue still on her.

The warmth of her mouth goes further around him, further than usual. He barely has the time to realize it when a wave of shivers makes his legs shake. At the same time, Marinette powerfully contracts around his fingers and her thighs squeeze around him one last time.

Adrien notices he's about to come when he comes. A tsunami of pleasure hits all of him, making him sink his nails in Marinette's flesh and moan unrestrainedly.

He feels everything. Her hair brushing his skin, her juices covering his lips, her nipples tickling his stomach, her lips still around him.

It's intense, so intense he thinks for an instant that he'll never go down off the cloud where Marinette has taken him.

But he's brought down to Earth, on the covers spread on the rooftop of the Orsay Museum, with Marinette. Maybe it's even better than the cloud.

Except here, his brain works.

"Mari," he blurts out when he hears her mouth back away from him. "Mari, I— I'm sorry—"

"It's okay," he hears.

She lets himself fall next to him and uses her last strength to put her head right next to his.

"I swear, I didn't feel it coming, I'm sorry, it was like boom , just like that!" he explains, miming an explosion with his hands.

Marinette's laugh brings calm to his mind.

"It's not a big deal," she says, smiling. "But, let me know next time."

"Promise."

He brings her against him, intertwining their legs, losing his nose in her vanilla hair.

"That was something," she sighs, taking back the covers on them.

"A score out of ten?"

She hums, smiling against his skin. "I'd say eight. Because holy shit , you know."

Adrien's laugh is followed by Marinette's.

"But?"

"I'd rather see you," she says, sitting up.

The cover slides down to the small of her back and Adrien replaces it by his arm that he wraps around her waist.

"You do?"

"Mhm," she agrees. "You're pretty nice to look at."

"My Lady! Are you sweet-talking me?"

Marinette's cristal-clear laugh makes him shiver and warms him up all at once.

"Who says sweet-talking ?"

"It's exactly what someone who's sweet-talking to me would say."

Her amused smile turns into a more mischievous expression. He feels her leg drags above him and her breasts brush his torso.

"Maybe it's what I'm doing."

Every ounce of laughter leaves his body, replaced by goose bumps and a pounding heart. When Marinette's lips brush his, she bursts out laughing, her forehead falling against his shoulder.

"Shit, you're good," he breathes, his fingers caressing her spine.

She puts her cheek between his pectorals, looking up at him. "I have to train," she says, her forefinger tracing the contours of his lips. "When I'll be in New York, for you to keep thinking about me."

Her smile turns into a more serious expression. Adrien's fingers freeze at her lower back.

"Mari… Whether you're next to me or in New York or in China or on Mars , I'll always think about you."

"It's cute," she whispers.

"It's true ."

Her lips curl up slightly, this time.

"I could come with you, y'know."

He has said it. This idea which has implanted in his brain the second she has talked to him about her wish to study there and which hasn't left him since.

"Adrien."

"Nothing is keeping me here. Besides you."

Her big blue eyes are suspicious. As if she's trying to detect if he's serious or not.

"It's the end of the world."

"You're my world."

She sighs and smiles all at once, her gaze losing into his.

"I'm serious."

"So am I! New York is far away, kitty."

"Really?"

Marinette shakes her head, her forefinger sliding to his shoulder. "I think it's a really bad idea."

"I think it's a really good idea."

She sits up a little more, until she's facing him, grabs a cover and wraps it around her body.

At every stated fact, she raises a finger: "You'll be far away from all your friends. You'll have to speak English. You'll have to stand me, all the time. Your father will never agree with it."

Adrien sits up, too, grabs her hand into his, lowering every finger she's just raised: "Maybe, but I'll be close to you, and I don't have that many friends. I already speak English, and you know it. I want to stand you for the rest of my life, anyway. I'm eighteen, so I do what I want."

He raises his brows, smirking, seeming to say so what now ?

He expects her to give him tens and tens of reasons why it's actually a bad idea. Except that it's not a bad idea per se . She's just giving him excuses.

And she just realizes it.

"Are you serious?"

"I'm gonna book my plane ticket right now for you to believe me if you continue."

"Like, really, really?"

" Marinette —"

She screams. She screams so suddenly that he jumps. And she throws herself at him, arms around his neck, mouth kissing his, chest against his.

Adrien can't kiss her properly, he's smiling too much. She's smiling too much. To them both and their big smiles, they look like two fools.

But two happy fools.

Hawk Moth isn't mentioned once. They bypass his name, as if he's some urban legend, a cursed word not to be spoken out loud. They're not going to say that the dream they're building is compromised. They're not going to say that there is a high probability of them never leaving Paris. They're not going to say it, because they already know.

They know it too well.

But tonight, they allow hope to implant in their hearts, weedy and indestructible.

"Can we have a cat?"

Marinette starts to chuckle. "And a hamster."

"It'll be eaten by the cat."

She gently kicks his shin with her foot, making him laugh.

"We'll have a real life," she whispers. "With our flat and all."

"You'll teach me how to cook?"

He knows she's smiling even though he can't see it. The kiss she drops against his jaw makes him shiver.

"If you want to," she whispers.

"Can't wait."

Marinette, a part of her back against his chest, has her legs bent and Adrien has a hand on her left knee, over the cover. His fingers are tapping on her joint, as if he's playing a quiet musical piece.

"Do you think we'll argue?"

"Of course we will," he answers.

His eyes slide along her body, admiring the shape of her breasts only partially covered by her hair which is falling along her chest, the cover winding up against her hips, taking the form of her abs.

"I don't wanna argue with you," she says.

"I want to argue with you."

"Why?" she's surprised.

He shrugs, smirking. "Because we'll make up after."

Marinette bursts out laughing. "You're the worst."

"You're one to talk!"

"It's not my fault, you're too…"

His hand tightens around her knee and he feels Marinette's breath quicken. "Too what?" he says, getting his mouth closer to her ear.

"Too you ."

Marinette raises his face to his. He'll never get bored of looking at her freckles or the dimple in her left cheek and the curve of her nose. Never.

"Are you gonna do something or…"

"I don't know," he murmurs against her lips. "Something like what?"

Her hand joins his, still against her knee, and Marinette slips them both under the cover, between her thighs. He shucks on a breath at the same time she does.

"Something like that."

Her lips half-open against his when he starts caressing her clit still filled with desire.

Her little noises, he'll never get bored of them either.

"Adrien," she pants, getting closer to him. "I—" A moan interrupts her sentence when he pushes his finger inside her. "I need more than that."

His eyes meet hers. They understand each other in one glance. Adrien nods almost imperceptibly, removing his fingers from between her thighs and dragging her on top of him.

Marinette takes his lips by storm, embracing his in a hot and hurried kiss.

Adrien raises his hand, looking blindly for the box of condoms he has brought here. The covers leave their bodies and Marinette pushes her pelvis against his, making him moan in their kiss.

These warm waves start licking his lower stomach again. The softer torture he has ever been confronted to.

Their lips pull apart and Adrien makes the most of it by unwrapping the condom he has just grabbed. Marinette, panting, gets closer to his upper body, until her thighs are on each side of his chest, and takes the protection between her fingers.

Adrien looks at her. He admires the way she throws the plastic with her teeth, the way she wraps the condom around him with disconcerting ease. He admires her hair falling along her body, tickling him in the way. He admires her crimson cheeks, her muscled thighs contract when she moves her hips above his.

For lack of devouring her with his mouth, he does it with his eyes.

"You okay?" she asks him with a soft voice, a hand on his shoulder, the other one around his member she's now holding between her thighs.

Adrien smiles at her and nods. "Go on," he breathes, grabbing her hips with his hands.

It's Marinette's turn to agree with a nod. She slowly lowers his pelvis against his, making them both moan. Adrien closes his eyelids, enjoying the warmth and the wetness around him.

It's been a while since he's been inside her this way. Since her birthday, actually. He has almost forgotten how heady this feeling is, to be one with her.

When her hips are pressed against his, Adrien opens his eyes back. A drop of sweat is running down Marinette's temple. Her eyes are closed.

"You okay?" he asks her with a voice dripping with desire.

Marinette nods, opening her eyelids. "I'm okay. It's just…" she whispers, "it's been a while."

Adrien cracks a smile, his fingers running down her back, playing with her hair. The kiss Marinette drops on his lips is gentle, like the thrust of her hips against his.

At first, though.

Because after a few minutes, they rediscover the coordination of their moves, fascinated by the way their bodies fit together, understand one another, talk without saying a word.

Adrien's fingers sink into the fleshy skin of her hips, Marinette's into his shoulders. Their kisses become more urged, less precise, more eager.

Adrien removes his lips from her to press them against her jaw. "I love when you're on top," he whispers, biting her neck.

Marinette's moan echoes his own when her pelvis falls against his again. "I know," she answers, out of breath.

Adrien's chuckle hits her neck, making her shiver.

She rolls her hips against his, again and again, without stopping. Her languorous and precise moves are becoming fast and rough, thrusting turning into circles of her pelvis against his.

"M'Lady," he moans, kissing her shoulder.

"My kitty," she says back, panting.

All of a sudden, she falls back against him, her body shaking like a leaf, her thighs trembling around his hips. He sits up, enough to see the hair sticking to her sweating face, enough to see the drops of sweat running between her breasts.

Adrien strengthens the hold of his hands around her, sits up until they're both straightened up. Marinette wraps her legs around him, her forehead falling against his shoulder. Adrien's hands drop to her ass, grabbing it resolutely. Marinette gasps.

He starts thrusting her hips against his, taking over. Marinette sighs from relief and pleasure against him. She sits up, revealing the burning inside her gaze. When he quickens his thrusting, plunging harder and faster inside her, Marinette's nails sink into his upper back.

Moaning, groaning, sobbing from pleasure, she lets her head fall back, showing him her breasts fully. Adrien dives forward, kissing the little croissant. His lips drift to her nipple, gently locking around it.

When he raises his hips, meeting hers in a borderline obscene slam, Marinette's moan turns into cries and curses. She contracts around him, wrapping him in her pleasure, breaking and fixing him at the same time.

Adrien buries his face between her breasts, letting himself be overwhelmed by his orgasm.

Marinette's heart beats against his ear at a dizzying speed. She keeps him right against her, one of her hands in his hair.

"Do you think we'll get tired of it, one day?" she asks.

"No," he answers, "never."

"Never," she repeats.

They spread on the covers, sweating, shaking, exhausted but happy. Adrien presses his chest against Marinette's back, his chin settling on her shoulder and his hands tying with hers.

"I love you," he whispers. "Whatever happens, I'll always love you. You know that?"

Marinette kisses the back of his hand. "I do. Me, too, always. Even when we'll be super old and sick."

"In health and illness."

"In wealth and misfortune."

"In happiness and sadness."

"I do."

Adrien closes his eyes for a moment. His eyes are tearing up. "I do," he breathes.

Marinette turns around in his arms. She's crying, too. And she's laughing. And he's laughing. They kiss. It's a kiss full of tears and smiles.

"Did we just get married?" she asks.

"I think we did."

It's silly, ridiculous, stupid, rushed.

It's perfect.

Adrien kisses the ring glowing at her finger.

"I don't know much," he whispers, a tear running down to his mouth, "but I'm sure you're the prettiest of brides."

She drops her lips against his wrist, kissing every corner of his skin up to his lips.

He's so happy he feels like his heart is never going to stop beating so fast, that his lips will never stop smiling. It's too intense to end.

Marinette looks up at him when he slides his finger along her ring. "My mom would have been so happy."

"She's happy wherever she is," she answers, "I'm sure of it."

Adrien kisses her forehead. "I wish she was still alive," he confesses.

It's weird, but even when talking about his mom, his happiness stays at its apogee. Is it like that, to have finished mourning?

"I know," Marinette whispers. "So do I."

If only I could bring her back , he thinks.

A completely insane idea hits his brain.

No. No way. No, no, no, no , he thinks. It can't be… Impossible. Impossible. Impossible .

"Adrien? You okay?"

His mom is dead. And you don't bring dead people back to life. It doesn't exist . He looks at the ring wrapped around her finger, looks at her earrings hanging on her earlobes.

"Adrien?"

His arm tightens around her, bringing her closer to his chest until she buries her face against him.

"I'm okay," he whispers with tears in his eyes.

His happiness, so big and so perfect, crashes down like it has been perched in the basket of a roller coaster. He rushes downhill at a crazy speed, meeting the shallows of a bitter reality.

and... yep. i know, i'm evil.

i'll try to update you as soon as i can but next chapter is the last one and it's veeeeery long. anyway, hope you liked this one, don't forget to leave a comment!

- lucie