Notes: Sooooo I may have somehow gotten myself addicted to Miraculous Ladybug (yes the animated children's cartoon). I have fallen head first into the fandom and now I cannot find my way out, so this is me accepting my fate and adding my own contribution to the fandom.

Tumblr: blog/ameliaadriannawritesfanfiction

Enjoy?

The building wailed as it's metal structure collapsed, bricks loosening and crumbling as if they had aged decades in mere seconds. The sound could be heard from miles away, ricocheting through the quiet Parisian streets like thunder. Fine dust filled the panic thickened air as the last bricks fell. Those in the vicinity scattered, tourists screaming of earthquakes, locals screaming of things much worse.

Chat Noir flicked one silky black ear, stretching his slim fingers as he admired his handiwork. A shot of adrenalin soared through his body as another, closer scream sounded. The woman was the first to spot him, a tourist, judging by the lanyard hanging from her neck. She stood frozen, her pale hair tangling in the wind as she stared wide-eyed at the leather clad man. Young, pretty, possibly an exchange student. He sauntered over to her.

"Darling", he purred, leaning forward to whisper the word against the shell of her ear. He reached a hand up and ran a gloved nail along the fabric of the lanyard, slicing through the thread easily and glancing towards it as it fluttered down to the ground between them. "I must suggest that you run."

His mouth stretched into a teeth-revealing grin as the girl hastily stepped away, stumbling over a stray piece of debris and tumbling backwards onto her rear. She had reached her hands out as she fell and she whimpered as the delicate skin of her fingers came into contact with the glass-scattered street. She stared at her lost lanyard incomprehensively before raising one hand to her newly bare neck. Green eyes watched as blood trailed down her fingers and stained the white collar of her shirt red.

Her eyes trailed over his body, acknowledging the tight leather suit and momentarily pausing at the sight of the thin tail flicking out behind him. They widened at the sight of his hands, coated in thick black gloves and tipped with razor-sharp nails, before coming to rest on his mask covered face. Her body twitched as she sucked in a harsh breath, her teeth biting down hard enough to split one pink-stained lip as she scrambled to get back onto her feet. Eyes focused on him as she stumbled back, she didn't see the debris until one slim heel lodged itself in a broken brick. Her delicate ankle let out a crack as she collapsed.

Her scream echoed through the empty street. Bloody hands grabbed the injured joint before recoiling. Her eyes, wide and honey-brown and terrified, flickered back up to meet his.

"P-please", she mumbled in broken French. "Please."

Her voice was soft, musical. Irish or British or Australian.

His grin hardened, eyes flashing dangerously as he slowly reached behind him and wrapped his fingers around his baton. The girl flinched at his movements but he merely placed one end against the ground and, with a wink, propelled himself into the air and onto the roof of a nearby building. His gaze lazily moved to stare past her and hesitantly she allowed hers to follow.

A single man stood amongst the wreckage, his hair and suit a brilliant blue. As they watched, a single drop of water soared through the air and splattered against his nose. The man grinned and suddenly more and more water sought him out, water climbing up from the drains and running down building walls and flying wildly through the air, as a wall of water grew beneath him. Chat Noir leaned against his baton as he watched the girl struggle to stand. His eyes gleamed as she fell, her ankle collapsing under her weight. She glanced back towards the tsunami, now almost as high as the building he stood upon, and let out a desperate gasp as she began dragging herself towards the nearest building.

It would offer her little protection even if she were to somehow reach the building, but Chat Noir admired her survival instincts all the same.

"I am Pompe Hydraulique."

The water babbled louder than an aeroplane as it rushed down into the street. The girl finally let out a sob as she watched the wall of water descend upon her, her tears merely flying forward towards the water.

A thin red string wrapped its way around the blonde, latching itself around her waist before she was unceremoniously wrenched into the air and onto the roof adjacent from Chat Noir. She screamed as she landed on her injured leg but reached out with shaking hands to clutch at the spandex covered leg of her saviour.

Chat Noir scowled, tail curled and eyes narrowed as he watched the polka-dotted heroine gently straighten the injured woman's leg. As if she had felt his gaze, her blue eyes glanced across and held his. He felt his lips stretch into a grin as she stood and swung her yoyo, letting it fasten around one of the industrial poles jutting out from the top of the building he was on. Swinging across, she landed softly at the edge of the building.

Blue met green as her eyes hardened behind her mask, "Chat Noir."

"My lady," he replied.

" I thought that cats were supposed to be scared of water"

"Not all of them."

He stepped forward, watching as her eyes flickered back towards the opposite roof. Her back was tense as she moved her feet, mirroring him as they began their usual game of cat and mouse.

"I thought that I would stay for the show", he grinned.

She glanced back towards the building again, fingers twitching as another wave of water began to form, "You're sick", she muttered.

"Oh, I don't know about that. Vulnerability brings its own degree of . . . fascination, don't you think, Bugaboo?" He let his eyes trail past her and lock onto the pale figure crouched across the street.

Her eyes widened at the implication and he watched as her shoulders straightened and her feet slid apart. She only showed her intentions a split second before moving but he'd had two years of practice when it came to her.

He'd had her memorised in one.

He was ready, his own stance balanced, as she lunged at him. She swung her yoyo inventively, furiously, only for him to slide out of her path. Using his baton he thrust his body up into the air and landed crouched atop one of the many metal poles that poked out from the roof of the building. She twisted below him, turning her body to face him, simply to have him leap towards the next pole. He had chosen the building for that exact reason; she would have trouble swinging between the close-knit poles, whilst he would have no problem leaping atop them.

Her yoyo shot out, her mouth twitching as it ensnared his hand, only for his mouth to answer with a smirk.

.

She was screwed, utterly and completely screwed. She had known it the second she had flicked her wrist and sent her yoyo spinning towards him, had known it by the delighted glint in his eye.

She had done the exact thing he had hoped she would. She watched as he sat there, crouched back on his heels atop the pole with her string tangled around his hand, and smirked.

His smirks meant trouble, a hint of white teeth and dark eyes and danger. His smirks meant pain and cruel laughter and cunning plans.

Apparently this time that plan included twisting and turning and leaping between poles with a flexible elegance that she would never be able to accomplish in her wildest dreams. Her yoyo was left spider-webbed around her, tangled around poles and threaded through itself and knotted hopelessly. She should have known better, he had played the same trick on her countless times over the past two years.

He stood, that dammed smirk still stuck to his face, and she steadied herself. This time she would be ready.

He jumped, baton extended towards her, and she twirled to the side at the last possible second. He landed in his signature crouch and, before she could even acknowledge the fact that he hadn't tried to hit her, swung the metal rod into her exposed ribcage.

She hadn't been ready. Fire soared through her body, her breath departing in desperate, pained gasps as she fell forward and grabbed her side. He had cracked a rib, or two; she was lucky she didn't have a pierced lung. Stepping forward he placed the end of the baton below her chin, lifting her head with ironic tenderness. Her eyes narrowed as she glared but she knew that she looked as bad as she felt. He watched her, eyes glittering, as a laugh bubbled up from his throat. His laugh could scare a hardened criminal; his laugh did scare hardened criminals if the rumours were anything to go on.

"Aww Bug, I'm sorry. Did that hurt?" He moved the baton, letting her head drop back down, before roughly running it along her injured side.

It took a considerable amount of effort on her part not to scream; he liked it best when his victims screamed. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream.

He pulled back, and she took the chance to roll out of reach as he went to swing again. Her teeth clashed together as she put pressure on her side but she was able to stand again. He watched her with predatory eyes as she desperately tugged at her yoyo string. Her weapon, being specifically created for her use and her use only, had been slowly retracting back into its original form as she caught her breath. Finally wrenching her weapon of choice free she turned back to him, only for him to press his foot against her chest and shove her over the edge of the tower.

She swung her yoyo around desperately, wincing as she was pulled to an abrupt stop only meters from the ground. The trembling ground. She looked up and watched wide-eyed as the, once again, towering wall of water began to collapse.

"Lucky Charm," she summoned. A polka-dotted crowbar landed heavily in her hands and she quickly scanned the street for useful objects. Darting over to a storm drain she used the crowbar to pry open the drain entrance and, without thinking twice, flung the dense metal circle towards the Akuma victim. The object sliced through the water wall and, with a sickening crunch, made contact with the man's face. A piece of paper was knocked out of his grasp. Not giving him a chance to recover she dove through the water, landing in a roll – much to her discomfort – and snatching up the paper.

A notice of discharge, of course.

She tore the paper down the middle, watching as the butterfly fluttered up from the split. Its wings glinted a dark purple in the sunlight as it began moving back towards the man. Swinging her yoyo she proceeded to capture and cleanse the delicate creature. Stepping back she lifted the crowbar carefully and threw it into the air, allowing her magic to fix what it could.

The man in front of her faded back into his blue and black buttoned uniform in a pink flash, although his nose appeared to be broken and blood slowly dripped from a nostril. The water covering the street hastily began to retreat, the few drops still slipping down her waterproof suit flying off in various directions. Her ribs throbbed as the magic repaired her suit, thickening the loosened stitches.

Tikki had once told her that, had things been different, her magic would have been able to heal anything. The ruined building behind her, her ribs, even death could have been remedied. As it were, she sent an apologetic smile towards the man in front of her, helped the injured girl back onto the ground and made her way home to assess the damage to her own body.

.

A single white butterfly landed on Chat Noir's outstretched arm as he watched Ladybug swing out of sight. She was not his to defeat; she was his to weaken, to mock and provoke and exhaust. She was not his to destroy. That was the one condition to the deal he had made two years ago; Ladybug was off limits.

Hawkmoth had made it abundantly clear that he planned to destroy her personally.

"Girl, I'm telling you, this is going to be huge."

"I know that it's going to be huge, that's what I'm worried about," Marinette sighed. She ran her fingers through her hair, yanking out her hair tie and gathering her hair to re-do her ponytail, "How much of the grey do you think I'll need?"

Alya snorted, "You're the one making the dress, how am I supposed to know? Don't change the subject."

Marinette ran her fingers over the fabric, reaching back behind the counter to grab the scissors before measuring out what she needed, plus extra, and carefully beginning to cut, "Look, I just think that maybe aggravating a supervillian isn't the best way to get your name out there. Besides, it's not like its really news to anyone at this point."

Happy with her selection she began folding the material before setting it aside, making a mental note to remember to take it home with her at the end of her shift.

"It is news if nobody has actually reported it yet', Alya replied, "Sixty-five deaths Mari, sixty-five people are dead and nobody is talking about it. And that's not even including people who have died in attacks."

Marinette frowned, "I know, but–"

"Don't you even care?"

"Of course I care Alya", she snapped, "I'm just saying that I'd prefer it if you didn't end up being number sixty-six."

Alya leaned across the counter to wrap her arm around Marinette; she squeezed her side gently before pulling away. Pain flashed across Marinette's face briefly.

"Is your side still hurting? I thought it would be better by now. You didn't bump into your desk again, did you?"

Marinette blushed, "No I, it was better but I tripped over one of the fabric rolls out back a few minutes before you came in. I must have landed on it funny."

"You know, I distinctly recall you telling me about the dangers of interning at the news station a few months back. All that 'painting a target on my back' shit you droned on about. Who would have guessed that the real danger was hidden in the back room of a fabric store?" Alya teased, eyes looking around at the stray fabric rolls pointedly. "I mean if this is what it looks like from the front, then I'm not sure I even want to know how chaotic it is back there."

Marinette laughed, rubbing at her ribs subtly, "You really don't. I've actually gotten lost a few times."

"Oh girl, you are hopeless," Alya grinned.

They looked up at the sound of the bell jingling; a small group of twenty-something's stepped inside curiously. Each of them cradled their round stomachs lovingly. Marinette gestured towards the 'baby's first' section of the store and watched as the to-be mothers flicked through the booklets. Alya stepped to the side and scrolled through her phone as Marinette served them.

Marinette watched Alya glance over at the women, her eyes jealous as she regarded their growing bellies. With tense shoulders she pointedly focused back on her screen, her eyes glazing over when she thought Marinette wasn't looking.

Alya and Nino had had a pregnancy scare a year ago, it had been ill timed, they had only been eighteen at the time, but Alya had never looked happier. She would sit around reading parenting books and drinking vitamin drinks and thinking of names.

And then one night Marinette had received a call from Alya. She had rushed over and driven her distraught friend to the hospital even though the amount of blood could only have meant one thing. They had been right of course, and a month later Marinette had thought that Alya might have even been ready to continue – not move on but accept it, maybe – until the results had come in.

Alya couldn't have children, something had gotten messed up inside of her and her body wasn't able to carry a foetus past the first few weeks. When they told her she had shrugged, laughed it off by saying that Nino would just have to deliver the baby instead. She had spoke about the alternatives with her doctor.

And then Marinette had taken her home and stayed the night. Alya had cried herself to sleep in her best friend's arms; loud, hopeless sobs over what she had lost.

They hadn't spoken about it since.

The women left and Alya turned to Marinette with a grin, having blinked the unshed tears from her eyes.

"What time do you get off?" She asked, "Nino's DJing at the club, wanna come get drunk?"

Marinette frowned, "I can't, I have class in the morning."

"You always say that, it's been months," Alya protested.

"That doesn't make it any less true," Marinette shrugged, "Be careful though, I know that you're pretty familiar with the whole club scene but still, it gets rough sometimes and I worry."

"Will do, girl."

"You're late," Chat startled at the voice, having just slipped through the open window, "I thought that we agreed upon twelve."

"You agreed on twelve, I made no such promise."

Gabriel Agreste sat with his hands clasped together behind his back, every inch the disapproving parent he was. Eyes narrowed, he watched as his son collected a towel and cleaned the blood from his leather-clad fingers. When he was finished he tossed the towel towards his bathroom and detransformed in a flash of green. Both men watched as Plagg whizzed out from the ring and lazily made his way towards the cupboard filled with foul-smelling cheese.

"Was there something you wanted?" Adrien asked.

"I wanted you home by twelve."

Adrien scoffed, "Well, I'm home now."

"Next time be home by twelve," Gabriel ordered.

"Or what?" Adrien snickered, "You'll akumatise me? We both know it doesn't work that way."

Gabriel's eyes flickered towards the crumpled towel, "I do hope you didn't make a scene again."

"Adrien didn't," he smirked.

Gabriel frowned, "Adrien."

"Don't worry, I haven't forgotten the agreement: Adrien gets to quit modelling just so long as he stays nice and good and polite for the cameras. Chat, however . . ."

"Speaking of Chat," Gabriel began, "I noticed that he showed up to lend Pompe Hydraulique a hand. You've been quite helpful as of late."

Adrien shrugged. He walked over to his closet and tugged his shirt off. His muscled back rippled in the moonlight as he stretched his arms above his head, arching his spine like his feline namesake.

"I was bored," he replied, as he pulled a clean shirt on.

"Well, I appreciate the effort nevertheless," Gabriel frowned, "Not that it made all that much of a different to our spotted friend."

"If you'd let me use my powers for more than just annoying her–"

"No, Adrien," Gabriel cut him off, "Ladybug is not yours to fight. I will acquire her Miraculous on my own."

"But–"

"I allow you your freedom, I don't question what you do when you're out all night as Chat. All I ask in return is that you Leave Ladybug to me. It that truly so much of me to ask?"

Adrien rolled his eyes, "Fine. Whatever. Are we done here?"

"Will you be back by twelve next time?"

"I doubt it."

Gabriel stood and sent a calculating look towards his son before he nodded, "I suppose I should have expected as much, goodnight Adrien."

Alya was hung-over. As Marinette watched, her friend stepped out of Nino's car and buried her face in her boyfriend's chest. He caught Marinette's eyes and gave a guilt-ridden shrug before Alya half-heartedly slapped his arm. Marinette walked over and placed the hangover hat atop Alya's head. Large, black and wide-rimmed, Marinette had made it after experiencing her first hangover. The dark material flopped forward to effectively block out the sun, a pattern of lace flowers trailed up one side.

Alya grunted thankfully and pulled the hat more securely down on her head.

Marinette watched her curiously, "How many coffees is she running on?"

"I managed to get her through three but I was worried the fourth might have ended up coming right back up, so that's up to you," Nino replied.

Alya leaned against his chest, curling away from the mid-morning sunshine and groaning at the sound of their hushed words. Nino ran a hand along her back gently before nodding at Marinette.

"I know, usually that would have her less", he made a vague gesture towards his girlfriend before continuing, "But last night, I don't know, something must have set her off."

Marinette frowned, "It's fine, she's next to the design studios today. I'll take care of her."

"Thanks, I gotta go though. It's my week in the recording studio and if I'm not there on time they'll skip me."

Nino leant down, carefully lifting the brim of Alya's new hat and softly pressing his lips to her forehead, "Feel better," he whispered, "I love you."

"Love you," Alya mumbled, eyes closed with a content smile on her lips.

He straightened, grinning at Marinette, "You're the best, Mari." He cast one last tender glance towards his girlfriend before he rushed off towards the recording studio on the opposite side of campus.

Marinette turned to her best friend, "You're a mess."

"What do I have on today?"

"Who do I look like, Sabrina?" Marinette asked. Alya peered down at her from behind the folds of her hat, eyes big and pleading, Marinette sighed, "Communication Studies, building 19.101."

Alya grinned, "Thank you. But you can't be Sabrina because, one: that would make me Chloé, and two: Sabrina moved to London and you're going to be trapped by my side forever."

Marinette laughed and wrapped an arm around the other girl's waist, pulling her towards the University coffee shop. She ordered their usual coffees, with a shot of hazelnut for herself and an extra shot of coffee for Alya. Alya flopped onto a chair, tugged at the brim of her hat and fumbled around with her phone, hastily dimming the screen.

"It is ten o'clock in the morning," she groaned when Marinette sat down across from her with their drinks, "How are so many people awake?"

"Hey, you can't complain. I've been here since —"

"Since eight, I know. You inhuman beast," Marinette shrugged away the comment, having long since grown accustomed to Alya's aversion to morning people.

Marinette passed the cup of steaming coffee across the table to Alya, who wrapped her hands around it and inhaled greedily. Alya wiped a finger along the rim of the cup, picking up a froth of sweet foam, and stuck her finger in her mouth.

"So," she asked as she wiped her wet finger against her jacket, "what's up with you, anything new?"

"Since last night?" Marinette asked, confused.

Alya shrugged, "A lot can happen in one night."

"Sure, if you count sitting around re-watching old design shows and stabbing myself with pins, as a lot."

Alya rolled her eyes. "You need a life, girl," she said as she sipped her drink.

"I have a life," Marinette retorted, pulling her coffee closer to absorb its warmth.

"Right, let me rephrase that: you need a boyfriend."

Marinette snorted, "Doesn't that go against our proud feminist beliefs? Needing a man to have fun?"

"I'm not saying that you need a man to have fun," Alya grinned, "I'm just saying that having a man is fun."

A sharp laugh cut through the air and interrupted Marinette's next words, "As if she could ever find a guy. I mean, seriously. Look at her."

The two friends turned around in their seats.

"And how's your boyfriend going, Chloé?" Alya grinned.

Chloé bristled, her eyes narrowed at the red-haired woman, "I am single by choice. Unlike some of us."

"Yeah, by the choice of every man who you have asked," Marinette muttered.

"What was that?" Chloé demanded.

"I said," Marinette stood and grabbed Alya's arm, "that we were just leaving."

Marinette yanked Alya's arm as the taller girl stubbornly remained seated and reluctantly she stood. Chloé huffed, arms crossed in front of her chest, as her eyes followed their movements. Marinette grabbed her cup, gulping down the rest of her coffee as she made her way to the bin before pulling Alya away from the Coffee shop.

Once they were out of sight Marinette groaned, "All of the Universities in Paris on offer and she just has to choose to study fashion at this one."

Alya nodded her support, eyes glued to the screen of her phone as she scrolled through her email. She lifted her coffee up to her lips and made a startled sound against the rim of her cup.

"What?" Marinette asked.

"Sixty-seven."

"Oh," Marinette frowned. "Who?"

"More low lives, one of my sources said that they were found early this morning," Alya threw away her half-empty coffee as they passed a bin, "The cops aren't doing anything, as usual."

"And you're sure it was him?" Marinette questioned.

"Know anyone else with claws sharp enough to rip out a man's throat?" Marinette's face fell and Alya sent her a pointed look, "That's what I thought."

Marinette had lost Alya somewhere in the chaos of the crowd. They had assumed that it was safe to go out after the Akuma attack four days earlier. There was never more than one attack per week. Usually. They had been shopping when it happened; one of the buildings surrounding the shopping complex had collapsed out of the blue and the Parisians had panicked.

Chat Noir, who was rumoured to have the power of destruction, was capable of obliterating an entire building in seconds. It had become his calling card almost, and where Chat Noir was, an Akuma typically followed.

So Marinette immediately turned to grab Alya, only to find her best friend had been swept away with the crowd. Marinette looked around at the people rushing by, desperately trying to spot the head-haired girl amongst the sea of strangers.

A scream cut through the air as a woman was yanked into the air. The woman let out a shriek as her arms, seemingly by no intention of her own, suddenly shot out in front of her, forearms hanging limply from her elbows. A needle and thread appeared in the woman's hand and the woman reached up and began sewing her mouth shut.

Marinette ducked behind an oversized fake plant as two more women were pulled into the air. Slowly, the newer two began the painful process of sewing their lips together.

"Brilliant," a voice exclaimed. An older man stood in the middle of the abandoned courtyard. His white face paint was cracked and had begun to peel away from his skin, giving the impression of fractured porcelain. Thin white strings dangled from his wrists and elbows as he lifted his hands in glee.

He gestured with one arm and the three women above his head began to dance in harsh, jerked movements.

"Marvellous, truly marvellous."

The man continued to orchestrate the women, Marinette watched as he forced them into twists and turns and dips and dives. Hidden behind one of the felt leaves, she leaned forward to properly assess the Akuma victim. So far the source of his power was still anyone's guess.

"Hiding, are we?" a soft voice whispered, breath warm against her ear.

As Marinette spun around, startled, her hands moved instinctually to protect her face, but powerful fingers captured her wrists. Chat Noir grinned at her, his smile wide and predatory, as he dragged her out from her hiding spot.

"Maître de la Marionnette, I found another for you," Chat held Marinette out to the man proudly.

Maître de la Marionnette lit up, "Look at that face; such pale skin, such vibrant hair. Beautiful, wouldn't you agree?"

Chat transferred one of Marinette's wrists to his other hand; using his newly freed hand he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and grinned.

"She's quite pretty, I'll admit. Perhaps too pretty to become one of your dolls," he traced a claw along her bottom lip and looked her in the eyes as he spoke, "I could think of a thing or two these lips would be better suited for."

She met his gaze and glared, "Fuck you."

He blinked, eyes widening in shock for the slightest moment. His gaze drifted down her body before green eyes locked back on blue.

"Maybe later," he smirked.

Marinette recoiled, her lip curling in disgust. Chat chuckled at her reaction before one black ear twitched, seconds later a crash was heard from the opposing roof.

"Ladybug," Chat hissed, cocking his head away from Marinette.

Maître de la Marionnette copied him, the floating women turning as he did. Marinette took the opportunity to twist out of Chat's hold; she yanked her wrists back towards her chest and ran through the shopping complex.

"Let her go," Chat snapped from behind her, "We have bigger problems."

Marinette ducked into a store, leaving the door cracked open behind her. She sighed in relief as Tikki rushed through the door moments later.

"That was stupid," Marinette declared, "I owe you one."

Tikki smiled up at her charge and allowed herself to be swept away by the magic of the Miraculous at Marinette's next words.

"Spot's on!"

Fight scenes are hard and I will probably try to avoid them in the future if possible. Also, the legal age for buying and drinking hard liquor in France is eighteen so they're of age. Also also, I am a tea drinker and have no idea about coffee sooooo . . . *shrugs* sorry if their coffee orders were weird or whatever.

And yes, for the purpose of this story I have made Gabriel Hawkmoth. I don't know if that will end up being canon or not but for this story it is. More of everyone's past will be revealed later.

It took me a long time to be even partially happy with this chapter but oh well. There are parts I could possibly rewrite but if I did that this would never be uploaded. Feel free to tell me if there are any major mistakes that I have somehow missed.

Feedback makes my inspiration flow more quickly. *hint hint nudge nudge*