#fluff with plot

It's not a special occasion — act casual, but not too casual. You're an adult, with a real, adult life. Act like it.

Here. 12:15am

Carmen shot you one last message as he climbed the flight of stairs that had been slippery from the rainfall earlier that night. He almost couldn't believe why he even agreed to come over so late. It felt so out of character — silly, even. But it was too late for doubts, now that he was already standing outside your door. He stared at the ground, unprepared for the sight of you.

You let out a shaky breath, running your fingers along your now sweaty forehead as you tossed your phone onto the coffee stable. You stepped closer to the door, and it was like you could feel his warmth through the door; like you could see the way his hands still anxiously moved through his jean pockets. You swallowed, carefully creaking the heavy door open.

Fuck.

And there he was: in his grey crewneck that clung onto his frame just a little too tight, making you feel guilty for having him waste 15 minutes of gas driving to North Water for you. But with his hair just a little outgrown, the tattoos on his hands still visible under his sweater, how could you complain?

"Hey." Carmen breathed, putting a hand on the back of his warm neck to combat the cold of his skin. His expression stayed neutral as he swallowed hard, his eyelids fluttering just a bit.

"Hi."

You stood still for a good 5 seconds before clearing your throat, realizing how unprepared you were: in nothing but grey sweats that hung low on your waist and one of Richie's spare "The Original Beef" t-shirts that you cut the neckline off of.

"Uh—"

"Sorry, I Uh— come, come in." Your eyes screwed shut in embarrassment as you walked back into your apartment, Carmen quickly following behind with his hands still deep in his pockets.

You walked over to the warm glow of your kitchen, grabbing the bottle of Chardonnay and Tupperware of leftover pasta carbonara (made from Carmen's signature recipe that you mastered.) from the fridge. Carmen took a seat on the couch, not wanting you to feel like he was following you around.

"I know it's kinda late, but—" You grabbed the Tupperware from the microwave, the bottle of Chardonnay in your free hand.

"No, no, it's fine. Really." Carmen quickly dismissed you, stepping up from the couch and taking the bottle from you. He had a tendency to do small favors for you; and if he could have it his way, you'd never lift a finger again. The two of you sat back down on the couch as you watched Carmen carefully pour each of you a glass. Maybe he really did want this.

"Thanks. I just— I wanted to see you. I don't know. I feel kinda stupid." You shrugged your shoulders. Carmen shook his head and just... admired you. He felt his cheeks go pink, his tattooed hand hovering over his mouth as the other held his glass of Chardonnay close to his chest.

"Don't, I did too. I wanted to see you, I mean." Carmen stammered, taking a sip from his own glass to avoid the chance of you noticing him staring. His tone, that sweet, gentle and sickly tone, made your stomach stir; and the dryness of the wine wasn't helping the nervous lump in your throat.

"How's Tina? Still bitchy as ever?" You changed the subject, reaching over the coffee table to grab the warm Tupperware of pasta, twirling a bite around your fork. You bit down, Carmen's talent smacking you right in the face all over again.

You appreciated every bit of flavor, realizing that maybe it wasn't the way that the pasta was perfectly cooked, or the way that the egg used for the sauce never scrambled— maybe it was just the fact that he made it for you. It wasn't a, "try this for me, chef," as much as you loved those moments at Noma, since it was your little bit of connection through the silent chaos— it was a, "I made this because I haven't learned how else to show you I care."

"Not so much, actually. I think Syd's softening her up a bi–" Carmen was cut off by the sound of your phone buzzing against the couch, unable to stop himself from glancing at the message that pop up on your lock screen. You wiped the corner of your mouth, grabbing your phone and feeling your stomach sink. It was Ashley, your coworker who helped you find the building for your new coffee shop.

I need to talk to you. We're spending money we don't even have bro. Wtf. 12:21am

"Goddamnit." You huffed, your voice slightly breaking with the anxiety that ran through your bloodstream. The blue light from your phone made you feel sick, and Carmen's worried stare wasn't doing anything to help the situation. You put the pasta down on the coffee table, knowing you wouldn't be able to stomach another bite.

"What?" Carmen set his glass down, putting his full focus onto you. His ears perked up like a rabbit at the sound of your frustration, prepared to at least listen.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it." You shut your phone off, tossing it back to the end of the couch. You scrunched your body up, your knees to your chest and your feet planted on the cushions.

"C'mon, don't— don't do that." He groaned, resisting the urge to roll his eyes; instead just looking at you with his eyebrows knitted in concern for you.

"Do what?" You scoffed, a little offended at the idea that Carmen was being nosy.

"That. That weird thing when you get like that a-and you don't tell me what's goin' on. C'mon." Carmen put a hand on your knee, grazing his thumb across the padding of your sweats to soothe you. You debated putting your hand over his, wanting to feel the veins of his digits against your palm, needing to interlock your fingers with his. That same tattoo you drove him to that parlor in New York to get drove you wild. It almost felt like that small bit of distance: that whole year and a half of no contact after you left Carmen Eleven Madison Park, had nothing on your connection.

You ignored your hesitation, draping your cold hand over Carmen's, rough to the touch yet gentle to the feel. Your eyes glanced from his hand, up to his desperate eyes. He bit the inside of his cheek, his grip against your knee tightening just a little more than before. The strands of hair in your face and your exposed shoulders made him question his morals.

Was it normal for him to miss those nights in the white light of that kitchen, sharing his cigarettes with you on your breaks? Was it normal for him to feel important while he rubbed your back as you tried not to anxiously puke all over your chef whites? He knew it wasn't normal for his stomach to turn at the sight of you; trembling with yet a 3rd batch of sauce in your hands, nodding your head as you were told repeatedly that you weren't good enough; that you weren't talented, or passionate, or driven enough.

"It's a work thing. Just— money's tight, y'know?" You debunk Carmen's worries, feeling your heart slow down just a bit as he nods his head, "I understand." But you couldn't hide from him— not with that look on his face. Not with his curls casting a shadow over his forehead and his eyes, similar to his thoughts, narrowed down to you.

"I didn't even finish paying off the building and now I have to pay 7 other people a weekly salary and I'm just— I'm losing my mind, basically." You put your free hand over your eyes, almost as if you couldn't bring yourself to look at Carmen; now that you were just inches away from each other, your fingers keeping you connected. But without much question, he kept his mouth shut. This wasn't the time to bring up Cicero, or the "job opportunities" he had open for you, even if Carmen just wanted to help.

Tonight's about us.

You spent the next hour or so on that same couch, Carmen's arm wrapped around your shoulder as you flipped through old photo albums you kept in high-school. The Tupperware once occupied by the pasta was now empty, and that bottle of Chardonnay was about half gone. Hugs, arms wrapped around one another, wasn't unusual— but this time it was different. It made the tips of your fingers tingle, a swarm of butterflies chasing each other aimlessly in your stomach. His musky cologne, the faint smell of cooking oil and cigarettes that stuck to his clothes, you knew it all too well.

The sound of his airy laugh, whispering little jokes and pointing his index finger at your baby pictures made you feel as light as a feather. The TV remained on, the volume low as Law & Order provided decent background noise; until your eyes moved to your record player. You gazed at the records lined up on your shelf: some by Jeff Buckley, The Velvet Underground, and your most recent record, "Everybody Else is Doing it, So Why Can't We?" by The Cranberries.

"Oh my god," you sat up straight, disconnecting from Carmen's arm as you got up from the couch, "do you remember that time I showed you that one song by The Cranberries?" You kept your head turned away from him as you walked over to the shelf, flipping through each one carefully. Carmen watched you, the slight sway in your hips being a new sight to him. He liked seeing you so relaxed, so comfortable: something he could never really bring himself to be with anyone else.

"Linger?" Carmen answered quietly, his gaze redirected to the photo album as he analyzed pictures of you and your prom date, his fingertip glossing over your image.

"Mhm." You cooed, carefully slipping the record out from the sleeve and gently placing it down on the record player. You hummed as you focused on perfectly aligning the needle with the vinyl. You remembered that night on the subway train in New York, sharing earbuds and listening to the song on your brand new iPod, the city lights shining through the windows behind you.

"C'mere..." You whined, turning back to Carmen after the good minute of instrumental, reaching your hands out to Carmen. He finally got a good look at you, taking the whole situation in. He wasn't a dancer, or even a drinker— but maybe it was time to try something new. Maybe it was time to try you.

"Oh, I don't—" he started, but he quickly stopped. He arose from the couch, already mouthing along to the words: "if you could return, don't let it burn," while you hummed along to the tune. As soon as he was close enough, you rested your hands against Carmen shoulders. It sent a shiver down his spine, making him swallow hard. He tried relaxing, looking down at you and letting his hands make their way from the middle of your torso, and further to your waist. Carmen's touch surprised you, causing your body to just slightly sway side-to-side with bliss.

The Carmen Berzatto I met 4 years ago never would've taken my hand like this.

But just 3 years ago, he listened to you sob over the phone after you lost your favorite necklace while you were visiting your parents for the holidays. And just 2 years ago, he started getting up just a little earlier every morning so he could walk from your apartment complex to the subway station with you. Just 1 year ago, he defended your name around his peers; telling them how extraordinary of a cook you were. And don't even get him started with the second hand embarrassment he received whenever you complained to him about the shitty guys you dated.

"I kinda wish you left with me, y'know?" You whispered, remembering how much resentment Carmen must've had for you when you left.

Carmen couldn't help but dig his calloused hands into your hips when he heard those words fall out of your mouth. You cupped his cheeks, his clean-shaven skin felt soft against your fingertips. You traced your fingers along his jaw, pushing several blonde curls out of his face so he could get a perfect view of you. Carmen admired every freckle, every eyebrow hair, the way your pupils dilated when you looked at him. The corners of his lips pulled into a smile, sending electric shocks throughout your whole body.

You could feel him staring while he struggled to answer, as if the little space between you didn't make it obvious enough. You wondered what went on in that pretty little mind of his; you wondered if he'd changed, and this was your confirmation.

You know I'm such a fool for you.

"I only stayed because—"

Carmen thought about the days where he'd stand outside of your apartment complex before he made his own route to work, wondering if you'd magically show up. You already punched your two weeks in without telling anyone, and you were done packing just three days before you planned to leave. And yet, there was no phone call, no text message, no goodbye, just an ugly argument the night before: an argument that left you sobbing in the morning on your way to the airport.

"What? 'Cause you've got too big of an ego?"

Now, he was in your living room, lips inches away from yours. His hand cupped your cheek, his eyes darting all around your tired face as you danced with your feet planted to the floor. Carmen watched you fight back tears that clawed at your waterline, his heart dropping down to his feet.

"Because I didn't want you to know I couldn't do it without you. I didn't even wanna do it without you." Carmen's voice, despite his frustration, stayed at a low pitch. His throat even slightly raspy, his smoking addiction slowly catching up to him.

You felt every atom of your existence explode. You weren't even a person now, just a being composed of pure light. It was all you ever needed to hear. You didn't need to be convinced not to leave, you didn't need to be shamed—all you needed was to know that Carmen, out of all people, needed you more.

You've got me wrapped around your finger.

You decided that tonight, you'd answer every prayer you ever made yourself. You needed to fill the gap, even if it would create a new one. And with Carmen's gold chain complimenting the protruding veins on his neck, and your desire to pull him down and just fucking kiss him, it was too late for doubts. So, you did.

Those same hands that gently caressed the sides of his face ended up pulling his face closer to yours, just centimeters away until he gave in. His own hands brought you somehow even closer to him by your waist. Your fingers instantly moved to his hair, and you twirled his curls around each of your digits. Your mouths connecting while hot spit coated your lips made your knees weak.

Carmen groaned against you whenever your lips parted, breathing heavily with his eyes hooded. You whimpered his name back to him, foreheads pressed against each other, the vinyl spinning and filling any possible empty space between the two of you. After 4 years, your body prioritized this stupid kiss more than you needed air to breathe.

"Carmy..." You whined again. You wanted more.

"I've got you, Pico."

“Immensely,” he sighed. “You look just as beautiful in the sun as you do in the firelight of my castle. Though I will say…I much prefer seeing your body bathed in moonlight. You look so much more…” He pondered, swirling the blood in his glass. “Natural.” He shrugged, smirking to himself. “And, of course, I don’t have to strain my eyes to be able to look at you.”

She laughed. “Vlad, we can go inside. We don’t have to sit out in the sun. Don’t be a martyr just because you think it’ll make me happy.”

“That’s where you misunderstand, dragă mea,” Dracula chuckled. “I would do whatever I could to ensure your happiness.” His expression grew solemn. “But…you did not ask me here just to discuss my vulnerabilities, did you?”

Aileen's face fell, and that’s when he knew. She sighed. “My family has been sending me letters,” she admitted.

Dracula’s voice came out in a low growl, “About your betrothed.”

“They keep asking me to come back to the States,” she continued. “They’ve begun to make plans for the wedding.”

“To your fiancé.”

“Arranged and former fiancé, Vlad,” Aileen corrected him.

“And what will you write them back?” Dracula asked, a restrained anger showing through. “You have become seduced by a monster of the night and live with him in his castle, where you are doted on night in, night out by his affections, and waited upon by his servants?”

“I’ve already written them back.” Aileen cut him off. With each sentence, her voice grew softer, more subdued. “I’ve told them circumstances have changed. Their most recent letter has told me that they’re coming to Transylvania to meet the fiancé I’ve disgraced them for.”

Dracula was quiet, and Aileen went on, “I’ve already told enough lies about us. I didn’t want to tell any more. I told them the truth: that I’ve fallen in love with a count from Transylvania who makes me happier than I’ve ever felt.” She ran her thumb over her engagement ring. “And we’re engaged to be married.” She looked up at him. “I want my family to be involved in this, Vlad. Even if they never know I’m going to become a vampire…I at least want them to know my husband.”

His voice was soft, subdued, as if he didn’t know what to believe. “You would want your family to know of your union to a monster?”

“You are not a monster,” she snapped, the sharpness of her tone surprising him. She took a small breath and collected herself before adding “Not to me.”

A soft breath escaped him. He looked into the red occupying his glass and thought for a moment. “I…I may need to lock the Weird Sisters away for their visit,” he said. “Florina and Michaela are very well behaved, but I can not risk them being influenced by Monica’s behavior.”

“It’s fine. I understand.” Aileen reached into the basket and picked two of the grapes from the vine they’d brought. “I...I hate saying that about something that sounds so awful, but it’s the best option. If Monica was left to her own devices, she could…” She paused, swallowing softly. “She’d kill them.”

She felt her shaking arm steady when his free hand took hers. “I know,” he said softly. “But I also know that there is one of them that you wouldn’t mind burying.”

“Vlad.”

“Dragă,” he said, tightening his hold on her hand just a bit. “You only need to ask me to, and I will make sure he can not harm anyone again.”

“He’s my father, Vlad.”

Dracula bared his fangs. “A father should not treat his children like pawns for status. You are you. And he should do well to accept that people have thoughts and feelings.”

Aileen's face fell. She couldn’t help it, but a dark thought came to her mind. “If you had never met me…” she asked, her fingers closing around the grapes she was holding. “Do you think you would have agreed with him?”

He was quiet, but still kept his hold on her hand. “In the past...perhaps I would have,” he said. He set his glass of blood inside the picnic basket and his other hand lay itself on her closed fingers. “But I am not that man anymore.” One of his hands came up to gently open her fingers, revealing the grapes inside her palm. “As long as I can remember, I have been taking what I wanted. But even after I tried to take something from you…” His fingers rolled one of the grapes around her palm. “You gave something to me. I can’t remember the last time something was given to me without having to force it to my possession.”

He picked up the grape he was playing with and held it out to her. “I want to give you something back.”

Aileen stared at the grape, and closed her eyes. When she opened them again she looked up at him, as if she were trying to stare into his soul. “You’re trying hard to change, Vlad. I know you are.” She reached up and held the side of his face. “I don’t want my father to make you go off the edge. That’s what he does to people. He purposefully eggs them on and uses their snapping as a reason to discredit them.” Her gaze fell to the soft blanket underneath them. “He’ll use whatever he deems negative to turn you into an enemy. I don’t want you to prove him right. For your own sake.”

They sat together in a moment of silence. Then Aileen leaned towards his hand and bit down on the grape he was holding. Dracula watched her with surprised eyes. “Why, you little thief,” he laughed, shaking his head at the big smile on her face.

“I was going to eat those first,” Aileen insisted.

“And talking with your mouth full. Oh, you rotten child. You were so proper when you first got here.” “You’re always so feral when you drink from the trespassers. Not to mention how often you spook me in the castle halls.” She shrugged, popping the other grape into her mouth. “You made me this way. Accept it, King of Vampires; you’re corrupting me.”

Dracula sighed. “Well, I can only hope I don’t pull you too far down. If nothing else, I would at least like you to remain chaste until our wedding night.”

Aileen looked back at him. “What makes you think I wouldn’t?” she asked. “I don’t have anyone else I want to run to.”

Dracula smiled at her. He reached down and took her hand, brushing his lips over her engagement ring. Aileen watched him, returning his smile. “Would you like to go back inside?”

“Yes, please,” he responded almost immediately.

She couldn’t help but laugh. “At least consider my proposal.”

Dracula smiled. “I’m just very tired.”

“Alright, then. Let’s head back.” Aileen picked up her cup from where she’d set it on the blanket and tried to finish drinking what she’d had left. Dracula, meanwhile, picked up the bottle in the basket and poured the blood back inside. Aileen set her cup back in the basket and closed it up before standing up and getting off the blanket. “Do you want me to carry-?” She was cut off by Dracula picking up the blanket and suddenly pulling it off the grass. “Alright.”

So pretty much since Day 1 of watching Miraculous I’ve been Chloenette trash. I can’t help it! The enemies to lovers trope is a weakness of mine, and the more I sympathized with Chloé as we saw glimpses of her backstory and why she became who she is in the show the more I wanted to see her end up happy! Plus, I’m all about that femslash. I admit that, especially as of the end of Season 3 things don’t look great, but I’m still holding out hope. But, while a would enjoy writing a good canon compliant redemption story for Chloé, I had an idea for an AU a while back that I’m going to be exploring.

Basically it’s the same world as the one we know from the show, and everything was the same up until shortly before the start of the show. On Marinette’s first day of school that year she did not meet Master Fu. Ivan did not become Stoneheart. No one was akumatized. Things went on without superheroes and supervillains for a number of years.

Now, where my story actually starts, Marinette is attending university, and she and Chloé have been dating for a while. She comes into her apartment one day and Chloé is there, having let herself in with her copy of the key. This is normal for them. But then Chloé asks what’s in the fancy box. Marinette is confused until she sees a fancy wooden box on her table. She opens it and out comes Tikki, who’s somewhat mortified that the newly chosen Ladybug wasn’t alone when she opened the box, but at this point it’s too late to be concerned about that because she can sense the miraculous of the butterfly being misused for evil and someone is about to be akumatized!

This AU sees Marinette and Chloé in an established relationship (how they started dating and how Chloé developed in the intervening years will be revealed in the story), and Marinette becoming Ladybug when a fair bit older, with Chloé knowing her secret identity from day 1 (so none of that “hiding my identity from my significant other” drama). Furthermore, it’s not just that things waited a few extra years before kicking off. There are reasons why Gabriel Agreste didn’t become Hawkmoth in this version while Marinette was still in collège, and reasons why things have finally started to happen.

There are, of course, plenty of other changes too. After all, everyone is at least four years older than they are when the show starts (still not 100% decided how long after this takes place, but at least four years). Characters from the class are now working on higher education or starting careers. They’re all different from the versions of them that we know, but still hopefully close enough that it feels true to their characters and not like I’m just sticking canon names on OCs. I am also going to try to stick as much as possible to characters who do already exist in canon. Definitely all of my most important characters are already from canon, but may not be filling the kind of role you would expect them to.

This story will largely be a fluffy and self-indulgent work to show Marinette and Chloé being adorable girlfriends, but I do hope it will have enough plot, drama, intrigue, and action to keep others invested in it. The only ships I know for sure at this point I’m going to include (and can mention without giving anything away) are Chloé/Marinette and Juleka/Rose. I may decide during my prep this month on other ships that will be there at the start, and either now or as I write it I may decide on other ships to develop throughout the story. Some ships that you see may or may not be end game, but I promise that the Chloenette and Julerose are. That’s not to say those couples won’t face problems, but if you want to read it because of either of those ships you don’t need to worry about me pulling the rug out from under you and ruining those.

I also will not engage in character bashing. Yes, Marinette is with Chloé rather than Adrian, but that’s not because he was secretly a jerk, or evil, or anything like that. He’s a very nice, talented, young man and he will be playing an important role in my story. Chloé has been thoroughly redeemed from her bullying ways (though she’s still sassy and sarcastic). Even Lila, while I won’t be ignoring the kind of character she was and I’m not (currently) intending to give her a redemption arc, that’s more just because I don’t have plans with her rather than any intent to bash. If she does become important in the story she will be dealt with as a very flawed, but still very human character, and redemption or not I won’t be bashing her character. (I’m just not a fan of character bashing, especially since whoever you bash is probably someone’s favorite character.)

You may discover one or more characters serving as villains who weren’t villains before, but trust me when I say they all have their motives and reasons and even if they never get redeemed no one has been made a villain just because I don’t like that character.