five times they didn’t take a polaroid (and one time someone else took one)
my contributions to @lovesquarefanbook :D Rating: G Ao3 Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Realtionships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir / Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug Tags: five time, polaroids, getting together, aged up, prom, wedding, future kids, fluff, FLUFF ALL AROUND, inspired by music, marriage proposal, slow dancing, pre-reveal, post-reveal, prpr Number of Words: 4635 Summary: Snapshots of Adrien and Marinette's love story as they grow up - and always, always more in love Read on ao3
Author Notes: This was written for the Happily Ever After Zine, and I have some amazing memories tied to it. More than half of it was written on a bench in the park in front of my dorm building and like. The vibe alone still gives me life.
For maximum enjoyment, check out these songs: The Good Old Days - Macklemore (ft. Kesha) Hymn for the Weekend - Coldplay Queen of Hearts - We The Kings Best Day of My Life - The American Authors Let's Get Married - Bleachers Praf de stele - Vița de vie Fireflies - Owl City Which you can also find in this Spotify Playlist
1. The Good Old Days
When Adrien gives her his present, he’s positively beaming, and his excitement is contagious. His joy translates into curiosity for Marinette, and as she asks if it’s okay to open his present on the spot, he gets even more excited.
It’s not a big box, and the packaging is clumsily done. She loves it all the more. But however much she tries, she still has to tear it to get to what’s inside.
“A couple months back I heard you say that you hate taking pictures because you always drop your phone,” he says at the same time as she finally looks inside.
A camera. And boxes upon boxes of film.
“Now you have something you can’t drop as easily,” he continues.
Marinette can only raise her eyes and gape at him.
He’s positively glowing.
Somehow, she musters some words, looking at the camera one second and him the next. “But this is a Polaroid,” she says in lieu of a proper response. It’s expensive, it’s too much, it’s perfect. “With tons of film!”
He chuckles. And winks. “Go wild!”
“But this must’ve cost you a fortune!”
“Not really,” he says, but he must see the doubt in her eyes.
He leans forward and puts his hands on her shoulders, hitting her with a proud grin. He’s not even trying to hide how pleased with himself he is.
“You deserve so much more! This is just a small present and I hope you like it.”
The last thing she’d want is to make him feel like she doesn’t like his present, but it’s a weird feeling. He might be saying it’s not much, but it doesn’t feel like it.
“I love it!” she sputters her response, mind almost as blank as all the film in the box. “But wow, it feels like a lot.”
Adrien takes his hands off her shoulders, clasping them behind his back and rocking back on his heels.
She misses the warmth of his closeness but at least she can breathe a bit more normally.
“How about this,” he starts again, changing tactics. His expression is thoughtful but there’s still that note of excitement that hasn’t left his eyes. “Since I got yours, I’ve been thinking about getting one for myself too. How about I do that and we become Polaroid buddies?”
On the one hand, she doesn’t want him to spend even more money on her. Can it even be considered spending money on her?
But on the other, she likes the idea of sharing this little thing with him. She imagines them going on photo-taking dates. Being silly, and serious, and artistically invested in the littlest of things—together. And it’s her birthday. She’s allowed to be selfish. Especially when he seems so happy at the idea.
So she gives a tentative nod—and his face lights up again.
“I hope you’ll have so much fun with it!” he says, beaming at her.
It’s her turn to wink at him. “We’ll have fun together.”
“You don’t have to wait until I get mine to start taking photos with yours, though!”
She hums, bringing the camera out of the box to inspect it. She has no idea what to do with it, but she still points it at him.
“I can do this, then?” she asks, smirking as she mimics snapping a photo.
His face takes on the most precious expression—so betrayed, that she can’t help a laugh.
Still chuckling, she puts the camera back in the box not noticing Adrien taking out his phone. The snap of a photo brings her back to reality, and he grins at her, quickly switching off his phone again.
“You won’t even show me?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him, while trying to sneak a glance at the dark screen.
“Nope, mine now.”
“Then I’ll just have to surprise you with a picture too.”
He lifts a shoulder in a careless half-shrug, but his eyes twinkle and his smile is wide. “I guess it’s on, then.”
Two days later, his chat bubble pops up with three new messages, fired all at once.
He bought his own Polaroid—the exact same model as hers. And Marinette has a photo-date to overthink, scheduled for the next day.
2. Hymn for the Weekend
The déjà vu hits her like thunder and lightning: just a quick flash, but strong—and echoing.
It’s nothing unusual. Just her and Chat Noir at the end of their patrol. The sun is casting him in bronze and gold while the slight summer breeze is turning the moment into something ethereal.
After months of photo-dates, it’s muscle memory, really.
She takes her yoyo, turns it to him, and snaps a picture of his profile in all its glory.
He looks like a snippet of a dream that leaves Ladybug still watching the picture of him even after he turns curious eyes to her.
An eyebrow raised, a corner of his lips quirked up in the beginning of a smile.
She snaps another quick photo.
“You reminded me of a friend right there,” she says, fighting the pull of the picture and reluctantly taking her eyes off of it. Did he remind her of Adrien only after she took the picture? Did she take the picture because he reminded her of Adrien in the first place?
“How so?” he asks, raising his second eyebrow as he turns to her properly.
He makes an exaggerated sound, groaning like an old man as he pulls his legs under him and settles into a more comfortable position.
“I have this friend…” she starts, not quite knowing how to continue.
They take photos together, but it’s more than that. They go on dates, but they’re not quite dates. They spend too much time in front of Adrien’s car talking about the school day and their future plans, and it’s nothing and everything all at once.
She settles on, “We’ve been going around the city to snap pictures for a couple of months now.”
Chat Noir’s face brightens with every word, somehow.
“I didn’t know you were into photography, M’lady!”
“Yeah, I never expected to like it so much,” she admits, opening the gallery on her yoyo. The two pictures of Chat Noir greet her right at the top of her list, innocent and condemning all at once.
She’d been resisting the shy urge to take pictures with her yoyo. It’s no fun if she can’t show them to anyone. But every now and then, every time she sees a building covered in green, or an old couple holding hands, or kids being kids—every time she sees a special moment, she feels the urge to immortalize it in shiny paper and pin it in the album she’d been building.
But the most special of moments are the ones she and Adrien had been competing over—the ones only they are privy to. Sweet little smiles, sunbeams, leaves dusting their shoulders with light; a secret they’re not even aware of and which the other somehow manages to capture.
She still has pictures she hasn’t shown him, all arranged carefully in an album of their own, decorated with washi tape, and fancy markers, and little illustrations she hopes will make Adrien’s day when she finally gives the completed album to him.
And in those two pictures—in those two pictures Chat Noir is Adrien. Lost in thought and ethereally beautiful.
“I’ve been taking a lot of photos recently too,” he says, leaning forward to take a peek at her gallery.
She resists the urge to shy away and reluctantly hands him the yoyo.
“Promising profile pictures, right here,” she says, trying to change the subject. She wants to share every detail with him, yet she wants to hide away those two pictures and put them in a special frame fitting for how precious they feel.
She doesn’t really understand why they feel precious.
“And replace the masterpiece I already have?”
She shakes her head, hoping he thinks it’s a response to the meme he’s had as a profile picture ever since he’d made a Twitter account, but she’s just trying to shake off the feeling that there’s something she’s missing.
The habit seeps into their hero lives, tens of new pictures appearing on her yoyo and his baton.
Two months later she finally finds out what she was missing.
She prints out those two first photos.
One, she adds to Adrien’s album with a smile and a mischievous glint in her eyes. The other, she keeps to herself, to pin in a corner of her corkboard.
3. Best Day of My Life
Chloé could not conceive the idea that they wouldn't have a movie-worthy prom at the end of high school.
Sometimes her stubbornness truly did wonders.
She wanted a prom, so she had a prom—held in her father’s hotel, barely any different than her last birthday party.
But the photo booth is new—set up nicely in a corner, a sparkly curtain as background and a table full of props right beside.
It’s the first thing Marinette notices when she enters the room with Alya, Nino and Adrien, eyes going back to it even as Alya leads them to their table.
Chloé is impatiently tapping her foot when they get there. Her shoes make the sound carry even over the music. It’s just background noise for the moment, only loud enough to cover up the emptiness.
“Took you long enough,” she says, slightly annoyed.
Marinette turns right in time to catch her rolling her eyes, so she quirks an eyebrow as she sets down her purse on the table. She meant to say something, but her mind chose to focus entirely on the way Adrien pulled a chair for her, instead.
She sits down and hopes her makeup hides the blush she feels rising to her face as Adrien pushes her chair and takes the seat next to her.
“We aren’t even late, no one else is here yet,” Nino says, taking off his blazer and rolling his sleeves.
“Well, you’re the organizers, you’re supposed to be here early.”
Marinette is quick to respond. “You hired an entire team to make sure this runs smoothly. You didn’t let us lift a finger for this.”
Not that it affects Chloé in the slightest. “You’re the organizer’s friends, you’re supposed to be here early.”
“You got bored and told me to hurry up,” Adrien finally speaks up, snorting, but Marinette has seen his excitement.
He could barely contain it.
If Chloé hadn’t called him, he would’ve showed up early anyway. Chloé only called an hour early. He’d shown up on Marinette’s balcony even earlier, catsuit dissolving into slacks and a navy button-up, sleeves rolled up his forearms and a tie hanging undone around his neck.
He made Marinette do the knot. Then started pestering her to dress up too.
Then Chloé called and she actually did start to dress up
“My point exactly.”
“Well, we hurried up,” Alya said, pouring herself a glass of water and watching Chloé over the brim. “What now?”
“Now you wonder at my competence and then we go take pictures.”
They laugh. Because it’s their prom, and it’s like in the movies, and it’s surreal. And it’s funny, it’s so funny, how they’re here and living a moment that’s supposed to be big, and important, and big.
It’s their moment.
And, well, isn’t it? They’re alone in an enormous ballroom, and their excitement charges the air like electricity before a storm.
Marinette takes a hold of the camera hanging from her neck and takes it off with a sigh, glancing at the photo booth. “This is useless isn’t it?”
It wasn’t a burden per se. But it was still bulky enough to be slightly inconvenient. And it was one more thing to keep an eye on all night.
“Of course not,”Adrien jumps in, taking it from her hands fast enough that she doesn’t have time to react.
They’ve been doing it long enough to know what’s going to happen next.
Marinette closes her eyes, but she’s smiling.
The camera shutters and a photo comes out with a whoosh that she’s all too familiar with.
Before the first people start showing up, they’ve already hit the photo booth three times. They have complete reign over the machine, and they can pick whatever props they want.
Marinette especially loves the set of photos where all of them are wearing wigs and laughing at each other instead of paying attention to the screen.
The night is less magical than she imagined, yet somehow more. Just in a different way. There’s laughter—a lot more than she’d expected. And dancing—a lot of jumping around rather than the slow dances she’d been hoping for. And there’s their group stuffing their faces with the Dupain-Chengs’ fantastic pastries that Chloé made sure wouldn’t be missing.
Then, there’s the waltz. It’s the epitome of what she’d dreamed of—and it’s not. It’s her, and Adrien, with absolutely no space between them, laughing the whole time, as Adrien looks at her like she’s the stars and the moon, and—is it really something new? Is it not how she looks at him as well?
She dares a spark of hope, but she’s too busy enjoying the moment—being content—to really think about it or be disappointed that nothing really happens. There’s no dip and kiss at the end, there’s no dramatic confession following their clumsy attempt at being dramatic dancers.
The night is young until it isn’t, and when they go for a final round of photos after most students have already left it’s just their group again. Marinette’s feet hurt, and her cheeks hurt, but she’s happy.
She picks up a headband with antennae on top and hands Adrien one with cat ears—a subtle nod at everything they’re hiding, just for them to see and remember.
He’s holding a thin stick with a message to his chest, so close to him, she can’t see what it’s written on it, but she smiles. He returns the smile as he takes the prop from her and puts it on his head with a mischievous excitedness she simply loves.
She sets up the machine, and takes a quick look at Adrien on the screen. The countdown has already started, but he’s not looking at her, he’s looking at the message with a thoughtful expression.
She doesn't think much of it, until she’s next to him, eyes still glued to the screen, and the message is turned around for her to finally see.
It’s reversed, on the screen. Seen in the mirror. But she could read those words upside down and in a hundred languages and still know what they mean.
The count is down to one. She hears the snap of the photo, but everything is already lost to her. It’s only Adrien and the Comic Sans “I love you” he holds with a nervous expression, and his eyes—on her, only ever on her.
That first photo catches her with an open mouth and wide eyes. The second, has Adrien handing her the message—clumsily, somehow still unsure, as if she hasn’t been dreaming of that for the past too many years. The third—the third shows her with her hands on his cheeks and their eyes locked together carrying a conversation only they can understand.
And the last, gloriously big, bigger than all other three, with a fancy generic message at the bottom to remind them it’s from their prom and nowhere else—the last shows them finally, finally kissing.
4. Let’s Get Married
There are icy webs covering the locks on Pont des Arts, and stray snowflakes lingering on them when the wind doesn’t blow.
Adrien catches a picture of her looking at one before she even has the time to register what he’s doing.
His laughter fills the air with warmth when she raises her polaroid to take one of him as well.
He puts the photos safely in a bag he always carries for these dates and goes to give her a quick peck on the cheek.
The kiss was only half an excuse to get close enough to ask quietly, “Is he still there?”
A quick glance over his shoulder gives her the answer. He is. He’s barely trying to be sneaky anymore.
The man has been following them for the better part of their date—clumsily, probably a beginner, still eager for the easy money that came with intruding in a celebrity’s personal life.
After they first noticed him, they tried ignoring him.They’re not doing anything interesting, just taking photos the same way they do every month on photo-dates which have long since become tradition. But the man is persistent.
So Marinette nods and Adrien catches her hand in his with a resigned sigh. “I’m starting to doubt he’ll get bored of us.”
“You’d think he would after watching two people walk around and take pictures of random things for an hour.”
He pouts at her. “I only took pictures of you! Please, give me some credit.”
“Always, Chaton. But you should really slow down or we’ll need to buy another album before spring is even here.”
“Can’t help it when you’re the most beautiful person to walk the earth,” he says, squeezing her hand and going for a quick peck.
Eyes half lidded, she doesn’t give up. “You see me everyday.”
“And every day I thank God for that.”
The kiss they share is a proper one this time, sweet and warm, though still much too quick. For a second, they’re silent after.
“I can't wait until you’re the first thing I see in the morning,” Adrien finally says.
She can’t either, but she can’t help teasing him either way. “Bleary eyes, and morning breath, and all?”
“And messy hair and the most gorgeous eyes, yes,” he responds, giving her a wink.
She sees the moment he gets the idea. He squints the slightest bit as his eyes gleam with more mischievousness rather than love and blissfulness.
“I think I know how to deal with our stalker.”
“He does not need to know we’re moving in together.”
He laughs, because it’s absurd but because it’s still a bit surreal too. They’re doing it. They’re moving in together.
“I mean, that would work too,” he says, still chuckling. “But that’s not what I had in mind.”
She quirks an eyebrow. There’s an extremely simple solution to this, and she still feels obligated to say it—just for the sake of it, really.
“We could just continue our walk, get into the bakery like we planned and get it over with quietly.”
But.
“But where’s the fun in that, princess.”
After all, birds of a feather flock together.
So she moves her head with a curious little shake and waits for him to voice his idea. He doesn’t disappoint.
“We could give them the real big news.”
She squints her eyes. “Not even all of our friends know yet.”
“We better get around to telling everyone faster, then. The photos would take at least until tomorrow to come out though.”
And then, with his most Chat Noir smirk, he lands the killing blow. “I can make it look like an accident.”
It’s her turn to laugh.
“I’m not even wearing gloves, he might have already seen the ring.”
“I think he needs to be hand-held into taking his precious picture,” he says, raising her left hand ever so slightly and asking for permission with his eyes.
She can’t help the giddy smile on her face—she’s been wearing it almost constantly for the entire two days they’ve been engaged.
Marinette briefly entertains the idea of being responsible, but she’s too happy to think rationally. She wants to shout her happiness to the whole world, she wants to talk about his love for hours on end, she wants everyone to know, and even though they’d discussed keeping their engagement a secret, they knew they couldn’t escape it getting out with how much people still fawned over Adrien.
So she lets him raise her hand further, bringing it to his lips in a cheeky kiss that still fills her with all the warmth in the world.
Maybe the paparazzo misses that too, but they stop paying attention to him, and in the twenty minutes left until they’re back to her house, they change the subject altogether. Talking about their future wedding is much better after all.
And when, properly zoomed in and dramatically showcased, the picture of Adrien kissing her hand—her ring—makes the front page of a gossip rag the very next day, their wedding becomes the talk of a lot more people.
5. Stardust
As the confetti explodes in the air around them and the fireworks in the cake light up their faces, Marinette feels so overwhelmed with happiness she could cry.
After a year of talking, and planning, and preparing, she and Adrien are married.
Adrien’s eyes are already on her when she turns her head to him, his gaze already soft and even more loving than usual. The fireworks bring to life a spark that was always there but which now everyone can see, not just him, not just her.
Their glasses clink as they toast, and the people cheer.
They’re on top of the world.
She’s having the time of her life.
Though her feet ache, Marinette is still reluctant to take a break and just sit down.
She goes outside instead, and even though she’s not exactly inconspicuous, she’s still able to steal a moment for herself on the furthest edge of the pool outside of their venue.
She watches the fairy lights hanging above, glimmering in the still water below.
The summer night is still warm, but there are few people enjoying it. Most of the guests that haven’t left for the night yet are inside, taking advantage of the remaining moments of music and fun.
The night is beautiful, but the end of the party is looming in the calmer atmosphere and the music that only faintly reaches outside anymore.
Arms crossed lightly to her chest and eyes focused on the lights, she doesn’t notice Adrien until he gives himself away.
The telltale click of his old Polaroid going off startles her—and has her smiling.
“You’re a sight to behold, My Lady,” he says, catching the photo coming out of the camera with practiced ease and slipping it into his vest’s pocket before it even starts showing.
His sleeves are rolled up his forearms and his tie has long since been abandoned on the back of his chair. He’s glorious.
“That’s the pot calling the kettle back, Chaton.”
She lifts up the camera hanging from his neck and turns to put it away on a lounge chair nearby.
They gravitate towards each other like they always do, her arms around his neck and his around her waist the second she’s back, all the space between them lost as they embrace.
The music inside is a boppy tune from before they were even born, but it’s music, and that’s all Adrien needs to start swaying gently, with small movements of his feet that Marinette has no trouble following despite her tiredness.
They’re in their own little bubble, and Marinette wouldn’t change it for the world.
“Tired, Bugaboo?” he asks after a minute or two of rocking away in silence.
Her only response is a neutral ‘mm’, but she tears herself away from him to see him better.
The proximity makes her catch a stray sparkle in his hair and whatever she wants to say is forgotten as she focuses on that instead.
“There’s confetti in your hair,” she realizes with a chuckle.
“There is?”
She hums a confirmation, but doesn’t make any move to take it away, and neither does he. “Stardust,” she says, eyes drifting back to his.
So the confetti stays, and they keep swaying, gentle smile brightening his face more than the fairy lights.
“Maybe we should go back in,” he says after a while.
She only gets back closer and grumbles, “Too tired.”
But he picks her up with years of practice in sweeping her off her feet, and startles a squeak out of her—and a giggle.
“People will think we’ve left.”
“People can see to their dances and leave us alone for a second,” she mumbles, arms tightening around his neck, but as he starts walking back towards the venue, she gets a better idea.
Tearing herself away from his warmth for the slightest bit, she finds the confetti and takes it away. “Stardust privileges revoked,” she says, trying to tease him.
She could never beat the master.
“Only if you left me,” he whispers, the corner of his mouth going up. And rubbing his nose to hers, he puts her back down.
Later that week, Alya sends Marinette a picture with no context and no caption. It shows her beside the pool, but in the background, Adrien is carrying Marinette, faces close together and noses touching.
+1. Fireflies
Marinette looks at the muffins on the cupboard with a frown and a hand on her hip.
She’d overestimated how much vanilla they had in their kitchen.
She calls for Adrien, hoping he’d go on a shopping trip as impromptu as her baking, but there’s no response.
It doesn’t take her long to find him, but the sight she’s met with stuns her.
There are pictures everywhere, scattered on the floor and in open albums thrown carelessly around Hugo’s room, with Adrien, Hugo and Emma in the middle of their mess, completely absorbed by the stories in front of them.
Their old cameras are there too—on Hugo’s desk, proud, but dusty. It’s been so long since she’s seen them—since they’d touched them.
She couldn't even remember when they’d put them in the attic—she couldn’t even imagine what prompted Adrien to bring them down.
Her family beckon her to them when they notice her, and she decides her muffins can wait.
The realization that they let go of this hobby is bitter. They used to go out regularly for photo dates, they have so many photos they don’t even know what to do with all of them, the memories are sweet.
There are even still unopened boxes of film beside them—all expired.
As she goes back to the kitchen with Adrien in tow, she gives voice to her thoughts; the idea of buying more film and picking their polaroids up again is thrown around, although more as an abstract thing.
But soon enough, as she’s covering the muffins in whipped cream instead of the vanilla neither of them felt like buying, and Adrien stealing muffins like there’s no tomorrow, the telltale shutter of a polaroid makes them realize how much they’ve truly missed it.
Hugo, ever the spitting image of his mother, stands there with the camera in hand and his father’s grin on his face, his sister just a step behind him with the other Polaroid in tow.
“I wanted to see if they’re still working,” he says, and they’re curious too.
They fill the time needed until the photo finally shows with muffin tasting and banter, but Marinette can’t help stealing glances at the film far too often.
The final picture is tinted yellow and has black stains around the upper edges. But there they are, her and Adrien in all their glory, being as in love as they’d been as kids.
Over her shoulder, Adrien lets out a chuckle.
The next day he’s home with a bunch of new boxes of film and an excited grin on his lips.
