miraculous sins

marinette x chat blanc

BLANC SLATE

Marinette has a dream about Chat Blanc that takes an unexpected turn

Four years later, Marinette still had nightmares.

No matter what she did or what she drank or how she slept, the nightmares would come by waves, assaulting her for a few weeks at a time and then vanishing into the night until the next one came along. It was exhausting.

Tonight was one of those nights—the beginning of the cycle. It was like she could feel it in the wind, illogical as it sounded—just an ominous shadow, looming over her.

Adrien never noticed. He was always so busy with papers and learning to run the company that he barely had time to see her, let alone guess that she was having chronic nightmares, and that they involved him, all in all. She didn't blame him, though. It's not like she told him.

She never had the guts to tell him about Chat Blanc.

Sure, he had one or two dreams about it, but he always shrugged it off after a shudder, and Marinette smiled every time, telling him it sounded crazy.

He didn't need to remember that.

Tonight, as she prepared for bed, she had the horrible feeling that she'd be plagued by nightmares. She was right.

She knew it was a dream from the beginning. It usually went like that for her, although that didn't make dealing with what came any easier.

She stood on the roof of the bakery, surrounded by water. Chat Blanc stood in front, not facing her. One of the things that unsettled her was the fact that he wasn't a child. It was like he had followed her through her teenage years, sinking his claws and not letting go.

Marinette stood there, unfortunately in her pajamas. She should've felt exposed—vulnerable. Yet there was something about the situation that didn't quite bother her. Perhaps even her dream self knew that there were more important things to worry about than her state in clothing.

"Chat N—Blanc?" She called tentatively. She honestly didn't know why she was doing it, anyway. Adrien was too far gone at this point in the dream to answer coherently. And even if he could, what did she expect? There was no real answer he could give her that would help her in any way...

Unless he knew who Papillombre was. But what were the odds of that?

So Marinette stood there, waiting for... what?

"Marinette," Chat's voice sliced through the silence. His head was barely tilted to the side, but it was clear that he was aware of her presence.

"Adrien," she replied. Her voice was low, but she could hear it over the sound of the wind whipping around her. For a dream, it seemed awfully realistic, she thought. She crossed her arms over her chest, as if cold. "What are we doing here?"

"Doing?" Chat Blanc asked. His voice was low and innocent, and it made her shudder to remember his singing tunes the day she met him in real life. He turned around and met her eyes, blissfully unaware of her hesitance. "Why, My Lady, we're just together. Or isn't that enough?"

"Of course it is," she said softly. Marinette looked around her—there were only the tops of some building peeking through the sheets of water, and in the background, the tip of the Eiffel Tower. She resisted the urge to grimace. When she turned her head, Chat was in front of her, barely a foot away. She gasped and took a reflexive step back: Chat stepped closer.

"Chat—"

All she could see was his smirk.

"What's wrong, my Lady? Can got your tongue?"