Archive of Our Own ^beta

Marinette almost messed up her stitches when her doorbell echoed in her apartment, making her look up in a panic. Her eyes widened when, surprised, she realized that she could see the sun shine through her windows. Which was not good, since she promised Tikki that she was going to sleep tonight— er, well, yesterday night, she figured.

The doorbell sounded again, followed by fierce knocks on her door, waking up Tikki from her nest in the corner of the room. At least, the person behind her door was saving her from a lecture on a healthy sleep schedule. For now. She could have done without the disappointed look, though. 

The knocks came again, and she sighed, looking at her watch and frowning when she saw it was already almost eleven a.m. She had no idea who could be at her door on a Sunday at ten in the morning, but their frantic knocking was starting to get on her nerves. 

“I’m coming already!” She hissed as she unlocked the door when they knocked again, jerking the door open brusquely. Only to blink in surprise at who exactly was in front of her. “ Alya?”

“Marinette!” The woman exclaimed, pulling her into a hug. “I’m so happy to see you! It’s been a while!”

“Um, yeah,” she said with another slow blink. She wasn’t positive it was not a hallucination due to sleep deprivation, though. Damn it, she should have listened to Tikki. “What… um, what are you doing here?”

“I knew you would be sulking home today,” she said, walking past her inside. Which, Marinette hadn’t known she was sulking? She frowned, closing the door and turning toward her friend. “I know we are not as close as when we were teenagers, but I couldn’t let you do that to yourself, Mari.”

Marinette stared at Alya’s back while she looked for… something as she tried to make sense of the situation. It’s not that she wasn’t friends with Alya anymore, it’s just that, well, life got in the way of their relationship, first because they went to different lycée, and then because Marinette accepted a scholarship for the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York.

They still saw each other every time Marinette was in Paris, of course, but she was pretty sure Alya had thought that Marinette would come back, once her studies finished, and that they could somehow restart their relationship where they left it when they were fourteen.

So, when Marinette accepted a work offer in Gotham a couple of months before her graduation, Alya took it somewhat badly, and it only strained further their remaining friendship. Marinette couldn’t regret it, though, as awful as that sounded, even in her head.

Not only did getting offered to be Head Designer before even finishing school had been an opportunity that couldn’t be passed, but Marinette had absolutely zero intention to get the Miraculous back in Paris now that they were not needed there anymore.

She wouldn’t have come back to Paris, even if Bruce Wayne didn’t offer her this job. It had not been easy, at first, not with how most big fashion houses and magazines had criticized Mr. Wayne’s choice of designer, subtly and not-so-subtly jabbing on the money he was wasting on this project because of her. Hell, most rumors had Mr. Wayne buying the fashion house — or hiring her — while he was drunk. 

Marinette knew better, of course. It had been one of her questions when she first met the man. He was actually planning to gift the ownership to Ms. Kyle after their wedding, and Marinette was chosen because Ms. Kyle had been a fan of her work since she met Clara Nightingale, at a gala, and fell in love with the dress the pop star had been wearing. One of Marinette’s. 

It had been two years ago, and since then Marinette was pretty proud of what she managed to accomplish since then. Mr. Wayne was also a great owner; staying out of the creative process and never trying to force her hand in any way, but a true godsend to help her navigate the harsh world that is the business world. It took exactly two meetings with the man to understand that his public image was utter bullshit, but, well, if it was how he wanted it, she was in no place to judge.

Although, Marinette couldn’t help but be a bit nervous about the changing ownership that was coming in the next few weeks, even if Mr. Wayne promised to be available if she needed business-related advice.

Ms. Kyle had been nothing but kind and friendly when Marinette had met her, but it had been to design and tailor her wedding dress. She wasn’t really sure how she would be as an owner. Still, she wanted to be optimistic abo—

A sharp 'snap' cut in her mental speech, making her startle and look up toward Alya, who was now pouting at her, way closer than she remembered her to be.

“Are you even listening to me?” Alya asked with a sigh, her hands on her hips, and Marinette blinked furiously to dissipate the fatigue that she was feeling now that she wasn’t focused on her work. 

“Sorry, I got lost in my thought, I didn’t really sleep,” she said with a small smile, frowning when that made Alya’s expression turn to pity.

“Oh, girl,” she said with something akin to understanding sympathy. Why would her lack of sleep incite this kind of reaction, Marinette couldn’t even start to guess. “This is exactly why I came from Paris today.”

“My… lack of sleep?” She asked tentatively, not sure how Alya could have anticipated that,  Marinette herself didn’t think she was going to do three all-nighters in a row.

“Yeah, sure, let’s call it that,” she said in a tone Marinette wasn’t quite sure how to interpret, before grabbing her wrist and pulling her into her room, pushing her into her vanity’s chair. “Okay, you do the makeup, I’m raiding your dressing for the perfect outfit. Oh! don’t cover your eyes’ redness, okay?”

She blinked slowly, feeling like a fool for how much she did it in the last five minutes, as Alya turned around spewing a mutter-storm under her breath. Marinette could only catch the words ‘crying’, sympathy’, and ‘points’. She was honestly way too exhausted to try to make sense of the situation. 

“Perfect outfit for what?” She asked absently as she perused her make-up products aimlessly.

“To make you as hot as humanly possible, of course,” Alya said in a cheerful voice. “I’m not letting you out of this house in anything less than stunning.”

“We are going out? Today?” Marinette asked, bewildered. She would have appreciated something of a head up, then maybe she would have listened to Tikki and gotten some sleep.

“ Duh,” Alya said, throwing a deadpan look over her shoulder. “Of course today, this is your last chance, Mari.”

Her last chance for what?

“I don’t—” understand, she tried to say, only for Alya to turn on her heels, a dress in one of her hands. 

“I know, I know,” she cut in, holding her empty hand up in a placating gesture. “And that’s exactly why you have me, Mari. I knew you would just waste the day away, but it’s too important to not at least try, Marinette.”

“But I—” don’t follow what you’re trying to say. She tried again, only to be cut by Alya's hand landing on her shoulder.

“Trust me, girl, you are going to regret it forever if you don’t do it,” she told her, looking right into her eyes. Then, she thrust the dress into her arms. “What do you think of this one, huh?”

And Marinette couldn’t help but feel like she was fourteen again, pulled this way and that by Alya’s whims and schemes, and, well. She didn’t get more than three hours of sleep in the last five days and was just exhausted. So she decided to use the technique created and tested by teenage Marinette to deal with Alya; go with the flow.

“If you are taking me anywhere in this weather, I’m wearing pants,” she said with a tired sigh, making Alya smile brightly.

“I knew you weren’t going to just give up,” she exclaimed, making Marinette feel, once again, like she was missing whole chapters of this story. “Deal!”

“Girl!” Alya clamored with a sharp snap of her fingers, making her woke up from her micro-nap with a startle. “We are here, girl.”

It took a minute for Marinette to get her bearing again. They were in her car, but she had been too tired to drive and gave the key to Alya. She fell asleep almost as soon as she had clasped her security belt, letting Alya set up her GPS. 

She rubbed her eyes, glad she convinced Alya to forgo most of the makeup — it had been surprisingly hard, she has no idea why the woman had been so invested in that. Once she was positive she wasn’t going to fall right back asleep, she looked around.

Only to frown, completely stumped by their surrounding.

“Alya,” she started slowly, confusion — and dread — bleeding into her voice. “Why are we here.”

“To crash Luka’s wedding, of course,” she said like it was obvious and Marinette was a complete idiot for not realizing. “He is getting married in Gotham, Mari, where you live. If it’s not the biggest hint he could have given you that he wanted you to stop him, I don’t know what it is.”

Marinette opened her mouth in shock, her lips moving but no words coming through. There were so many things she wanted to say right now. Luka’s wedding was in Gotham because Jagged insisted to have it in his hometown and he had been so insistent, everyone caved. Her break-up with Luka had been mutual, and she got over him years ago. And Luka and Kagami were so happy together, even if she hadn’t been over him, she wouldn’t have said a thing. And, most importantly —

“Mari, girl,” she said seriously, grabbing her upper arms firmly. “You don’t give up on love. Never. Luka is the love of your life, and I would be a shitty friend, worst than I have already been if I let you give him up. Maybe you’re going to hate me for that, but I won’t let you chicken out.”

Then, then , Alya opened her door and sprinted toward the Wedding venue. Marinette's eyes widened comically, panic welling up in her chest. Most importantly; Luka and Kagami got married over a week ago.

“Oh no, no, nononononono,” she muttered under her breath, fumbling with her belt. She sprinted as soon as she was out of the car, awkwardly taking out her heels while running when she almost face-planted. “Alya! Alya don’t! Come back here! Don’t go in there, Alya! No!” 

Where was the fucking security?! Why was Alya able to just storm up the stairs, like she owned the place?! She reached the top of the stairs just as Alya was ready to open dramatically the venue’s doors, and Marinette was internally praying for the place to be empty. 

In desperation, Marinette tackled Alya from behind, but it was too late; the doors were opened and everyone was looking toward them. Marinette looked up, her eyes widening when she realized that the place was very much not empty and, even worse, who the people getting married were.

“Oh my god, I’m so, so, so sorry! Don’t mind us! We—”

“Luka! You can’t— ” Alya said in french, pushing Marinette off of her and standing up. “Oh my god, you’re not Luka.”

“No, I’m not,” Bruce Wayne, her damn fucking boss, said with, thankfully, more amusement than anger. 

“I am so sorry Mr. Wayne, I don’t know what was going through her mind!” She said, face red with embarrassment. She grabbed Alya by the arm, forcing her to face her and hissing at her in French. “Why the hell would you even want to crash Luka’s wedding?!”

“Because you love him!” Alya exclaimed back like Marinette was the stupid one for not realizing it. 

“ No, I don’t! Oh my god, do you realize how lucky you were that there was no actual security—”

“I’m sorry but what do you mean by no security?” One of Mr. Wayne’s best men — or whatever they were called — asked her suddenly. She blinked, the adrenaline rush woke her up but she still needed a second to realize that he asked her that in French too.

“Um, there was no actual security to stop her outside?” She asked in English, a feeling of dread starting to crawl into her gut.  

She had been so focused on Alya’s madness, she didn’t even realize how weird the lack of security actually was. She could feel the atmosphere of the place shift, half of the wedding attendees tensing suddenly. No one had any time to act though, because not even half a minute after the words were out of her mouth, a gunshot resounded behind her, shattering the glasswork behind the bride and groom. 

“Well, you don’t have any manners, do you?” The Black Mask said from behind her, his tone full of fake disappointment as he finishes to climb the stairs, a gaggle of goons behind him. “ I was polite enough to wait for a cue, the officiant didn’t ask if someone is against the wedding yet, miss.”

“Oh my god, what even is my life,” she said, not even realizing she was talking out loud until Alya elbowed her in the gut. Marinette glared at her, they wouldn’t even be her in the first place, if not for her!

“Grab them,” Black Mask told two of his men, pointing at them with his gun.

“Oh no, you don’t,” she muttered in french, pushing her shoes into Alya’s chest and dislodging her arm when the woman tried to grab it. “I’m way too tired for this shit.”

The first two men that tried to take them hostage went down with a punch to the face, the third with a kick.

“Marinette! What the fuck!” Alya hissed, taking a few steps back from the fight.

“You shut up! We are here because of you!” She said back, glaring at her while she took care of goons #4 et #5. “Luka’s wedding was last week! I was Kagami’s fucking bridesmaid!”

“ What? But— I thought you were in love with Luka!” 

“ What?! ” She exclaimed, dodging a kick before kneeing the guy. “We broke up three years ago! It was a mutual decision!” 

“But—” She was cut off by gunshots, and Marinette turned to see that Red Hood was on the scene. She was not going to think about what that could mean. 

“Just shut up about Luka for a second Alya!” She exclaimed in french, whirling around toward her. “We fucking crashed my boss ’ wedding because of your bullshit!”

“I’m so sor— duck !” She did as told, rolling up and kicking the mother fucker in the face.

“Don’t you realize that I’m trying to have a conversation here, Jerk?” She screamed in English, kicking him in the gut. 

It took Red Hood and her barely five more minutes to get all of them, including Black Mask, under control. By the end of it, Marinette wasn’t even angry anymore, just really, really tired of it all.

“Mari—” Alya started, but she just shook her head at her old friend.

“No, no, listen, Alya, I didn’t sleep more than three hours in the last five days,” she told her, exhausted. “I’m too tired for this shit.”

“Ms. Dupain-Cheng?” Bruce Wayne’s voice sounded from behind her, and that made her blood freeze almost as much as the first gunshot had. 

“Mr. Wayne! I’m so sorry for—”

“Mister! I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault, Marinette didn’t—”

“No worries, I gathered the gist of the situation,” he said with a small smile, and Marinette’s heart started to beat frenetically when she remembered that her boss spoke French. “I’m only here to make sure that you’re both alright.”

“Uh, yeah! Yeah, I’m fine! Thank you!” Alya said slowly, and they both turned toward Marinette, Alya elbowing her when she didn’t react.

“Oh. Oh, yes, thank you for the concern, sir, but I’m fine!” she said with a small smile. 

“I told you to call me Bruce, Ms. Dupain-Cheng,” he said with a relieved smile.

“I will, the day you start calling me Marinette, sir,” she smiled, jumping on the familiar interaction like it was a lifeline. But before the man could answer someone Marinette recognized as one of his sons bumped into him, grabbing his father’s arm as he stumbled.

“Hi,” he breathed out as soon as he was securely upward, staring at Marinette with a dumb grin. “My name is Tim Drake and I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

Beside her, Alya let out a high-pitched squeal. In front of her, Mr. Wayne closed his eyes, exasperation etched on all the lines of his face. But Marinette only stared at him dumbly for a minute, not realizing what he was saying. 

When she did understand what he said, the only thing she could do was blush a red even brighter than her old Ladybug’s suit and hide her face in her hands with an embarrassing squeal. Her Boss’  — attractive — son just declared her love for her after she crashed his father's wedding…

What even is her life?!