X + Y = ...

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There came a time in life when people are assigned partners or a group to work with. Rarely does it matter if you get along with the person or not, but what matters is the end result, no matter how it was reached within legal and ethical parameters.

If Marinette Dupain-Cheng could strangle the person who put her with Damian Wayne, then she would. Damian Wayne was, on all accounts, an entitled, arrogant bastard who had the brains and brawn to back it up, much to her chagrin. He was intelligent beyond his years, an Adonis with symmetrical features (that may or may not have influenced her new designs and sketches), and somehow had the maturity of an old wise sage and a thirteen-year-old brat all at the same time. He berated her on the little mistakes she made and poked at the contributions she made to the project in question.

It wasn't like she was a saint either. After the initial bumpy meeting, she would blow her fuse earlier than she did with her friends, and snark made its debut into her attitude. Funny enough, it only came out when she dealt with him.

They were too opposite of each other to get along, yet too similar to each other to let bygones be bygones. Both of them were bull-headed, independent, creative diverse people who work against people two or three years older than them. But where she was bubbly, he was prickly. Where he called it realism, she called it pessimism. Her idealism was his half-witted optimism. Stubborn to a fault, they both were unwilling to see the other's side. She hated him, and he hated her.

Jon was her — their, if they were being technical — only saving light in this whole fiasco. He stepped in before the arguments got too big, slinging an arm over Damian's shoulder, or asking Marinette about her latest fashion project. His smile was their saving grace, and she wondered, on more than one occasion, how he managed to put up with the asshole that was Damian Wayne.

Which brought her to her impromptu lunch with Jon in the campus cafeteria. It was not a date, thank you very much. Or at least, that's what she was telling herself and the little Adrien devil sitting on her shoulder. Jon was there to accompany Damian, and Damian was there to attempt to finish their project together.

At that moment, Damian was out buying his vegan lunch while Marinette and Jon had already found a table and were chowing down on their homemade lunches. She had almost rolled her eyes when he made a snide comment about her squished pastries, biting back a remark about how spoiled he was, buying subpar lunch at a cafeteria that jacked the prices way too high.

"Jon," she whined, slamming her head on the table. "Why, why are you friends with the démon himself?"

Jon gave her a smile, gulping down a bite of his sandwich. "Our dads are friends, and we've been friends since I was twelve. We get along."

"But why? You are like me, so how can you put up with him, but I can't?" She wanted to point at him with her chopsticks, but she could already imagine the earful she'd get from her Maman. She shuddered at the thought. Maman always knew, always.

"Why? We're two different people, so I guess opposites attract." He took another bite of his sandwich, eyeing the crowd.

She stared him down. "Let me put it this way. We," she gestured to the two of them, "we are like terms. X, if you will. Now, he is Y, which is the perpendicular to X, and by all means, should not get along. How is it that you intersect with him while Damian is like a parallel line to me?"

"Because..." He trailed off, trying to process what she said and refute it at the same time, gave up and shrugged. "I don't know. Something about getting put in near-death situations where you can only rely on the other person just does it. You learn to get along."

Marinette blinked at his unflinching smile. Dazzling, yes, and she never would have thought he talked about being in near-death situations if she hadn't heard it herself. They stared each other down. She wanted to know what he meant. He started sweating under her gaze, sandwich laid forgotten in his hands.

He looked away first. Ha.

"I think I can hear Damian calling me. I'm just going to—" He muttered and cut through the crowd like a blade in water. Not even ten seconds later, he emerged from the crowd again, dragging along a grumbling Damian behind him.

Her face twisted, pastries forgotten on the side. "How the hell did you hear Damian calling out to you?"

"Please, I could hear the both of you from a mile away." The green-eyed boy scoffed. "Maybe you should get your hearing tested."

She narrowed her eyes. "If you were listening, you would have noticed I was talking about hearing you, not—"

"Ok then." Jon interrupted, seeing the signs of a brewing argument. "How about we just chill for a bit, maybe not kill each other until the rest of the day?"

They glared at each other from the corner of their eyes and gave a solemn nod. Jon was trying to make an effort to get his friends to like each other, and they both agreed to compromise for Jon. It didn't make it any less irritating to sit with each other though.

Jon grinned. "Great! Now, I think we were in the middle of discussing our favourite heroes the last time we sat together."

Damian and Marinette groaned. If there was one other thing they agreed on, it was their mutual dislike of whatever topics Jon brought up. Specifically if it had to do with heroes.

-----------------

Marinette stretched her hands up, rolling her neck. "I think that's it. The hell project is finished."

"Yes it is." Damian cricked his neck with his hand, groaning.

Jon looked at them with puppy eyes. "Come on, it couldn't have been that bad."

"Jon, I don't know where the hell you've been for the past two hours, but this was absolute hell." She glared at the innocent boy, who answered with a blank stare.

"Save it, DC." Damian huffed, not looking up at her. Jon's face lit up at the nickname. In his eyes, it was a step forward to friendship between the stubborn geniuses. "Kent isn't going to suddenly become more aware just because you've pointed it out. You have to wait for him to come to the conclusion himself."

Jon looked like he sucked a lemon. "Hey, rude much!"

"Everything I've said was true, and you know it." Damian rolled his eyes. If she got along with the boy, she would have laughed. As it was, she settled for a minute smile. "And if we're talking about rude, then I would appreciate it if you would not insist on using my phone to talk to Dupain-Cheng between classes."

"What?" Jon's face lit up Peach pink, and she felt hers do the same. "I mean, you're the one with her phone number for the project—"

"—and it's not as if you hadn't memorised her phone number already." Damian gave her a terse nod. She stared at him. What was he doing?

Before the two stunned people could move, he stood up. "Now, if you will excuse me. I have better things to do with my time than to watch this paltry game of chicken."

They watched as he strode off, and the room was quiet. They couldn't make eye contact with each other, and their eyes were glued to the table.

Come on, Mari, she thought, new country, new university, new you.

She took a deep breath, glanced up then back down again. Nope. Couldn't do it that time. Maybe once more.

This time, she met shy blue eyes and a blinding smile.

"So..." He trailed off, phone in his hand.

Her heart fluttered, and she channeled as much Lady Noire energy as she could. "Can I have your number?"

He nodded and gave her that wonderful heartthrob smile she loved so much. She almost melted on the spot. Oh Kwami, she was doomed from the beginning.

hello and welcome back to hlmhlmn! they've exchanged phone numbers now, marriage is next— kidding. but anyways. thank you again @maribat-calendar-events for the lovely prompts and i hope you stick around <3

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Saturday is Apple Pie Day

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This was a bad idea. This was such a bad idea. Why did Tikki let her do this? In fact, why did she let Tikki encourage her to do this? This was going to be a disaster. A total catastrophe. A glorified mess. She should have never even thought about doing it.

So, why on earth was she standing in the middle of the Kents' kitchen in Smallville, Kansas, rolling out pastry dough on the tiled countertop?

"If I knew this is what you looked like, I would have insisted that Jon bring you over sooner." Martha Kent gave her a beaming smile, mixing the cut up apples in a well-loved ceramic bowl. "It's not everyday my grandson makes such kind and pretty friends."

Marinette blushed, focusing her eyes on the sweet shortcut pastry in front of her. "You're too kind, madame."

"Psh, I tell it how I see it. And please, call me Martha." She paused to pat Marinette's head. Marinette's chest felt warm, and she grinned. Her Papa used to always pat her head in the kitchen when they baked together. As she got older, she was in the kitchen less and less, but he never stopped crushing her in his bear hugs.

"Then, thank you, Miss Martha." It felt wrong calling the woman by her first name alone. Her Maman and Papa brought her up with manners, and it was unfathomable to abandon them, especially with Jon's grandmother.

Martha nodded her and gave her a knowing smile, which she returned with a sheepish grin.

"Well, Marinette," The elder woman rolled up her sleeves. "These pies aren't going to bake themselves. I still need to give you a taste of my world-famous apple pies!"

Marinette almost laughed out loud. Jon had promised his grandmother that he would help her make some of her mouth-watering apple pies for the local county fair over the weekend, but his dad had an emergency at work, so the whole Kent family were staying back in Metropolis. There wasn't anytime to find another person to help Ma Kent, and the job called for at least two or three people. He didn't know what to do, and he never wanted to disappoint his grandmother, even if she said it was fine.

In the middle of the night, either early Saturday morning or late Friday evening, he called Marinette. She was the only friend he knew that was available and wouldn't blow up the kitchen five seconds into picking up a bowl. A bowl.

A roaring siren blast into her ears, and she cracked open her bleary eyes. That wasn't her alarm clock. This was her ringer for calls in the middle of the night. It was the only thing that could wake her up. It also was the same alarm they used in Paris when there was a Code Black akuma. Without looking at the caller, she swiped at the screen.

"Whoever you are, you better be either calling me to inform me of someone's death, or you are calling to call yours in at an earlier, more convenient time."

"Hey Mari," Oh Kwami. What the hell was Jon doing calling her at...

She glanced at her digital alarm clock beside her. "Jon, what the hell are you doing calling me at four am in the morning?"

"Is that the time there? I'm so sorry for calling you so early in the morning."

If this was Adrien speaking, she would have already hung up, or at least threaten his demise. But since this was Jon, she was cool.

"What do you want?" She winced at her tone. Apparently, she should add blunt to the list.

Either Jon was a saint, oblivious, or he thought the matter was of utmost importance. "I need to call in a favour. It's really important to me."

Marinette wanted to stab herself, but she didn't hesitate with her next words.

"I'll do it."

Biting her lip, she slammed her fist into her thigh to prevent her from screaming at herself. Desperate, much? Yes, but she would rather be called pathetic, thank you very much.

She could feel Jon smiling through the phone. His voice said it all. "Really? Are you sure? I haven't even told you the favour yet!"

"Trust me, I can do it. It's a Saturday." She waved off, trying to play it cool. "It's not like you're asking me to steal someone's phone to delete an embarrassing video or text."

She paused, thinking about it. Then, she shrugged. "Even if you did ask me to do that, I've been there, done that. It would be a piece of cake."

"What?" She cringed. He was not supposed to know that.

"It doesn't matter. So, what was the favour again?"

"Mari," Her heart stuttered at his tone. It sounded like he was whispering directly into her ear, even if it was probably because he didn't want people around him knowing she had committed a felony in the past, and was willing to do it again. God, the power this boy held in his hands over her. "Did you just say you stole a phone—"

"—moving on—"

"—Mari—" "—nette? Marinette?" The bluebell-eyed girl snapped to attention, and Martha chuckled.

 "What's got you in a tizzy?" She nudged the younger girl with her hip. "Thinking about my grandson?"

Her cheeks warmed, but she shook her head, averting her eyes to the dough she was stretching over a pie dish. "It wasn't anything like what you're thinking, I promise!"

"A shame, then." Martha pinched her cheek with flour-dusted fingers, making her glance up. "You'd be perfect for him. He needs a woman with a level-head on her shoulders, much like his father."

Marinette lit up like a Christmas tree. It wasn't everyday you got compared to Lois Lane, one of the most successful working women in the world. Not only was she a Pulitzer Prize winner amongst her many awards, she was an independent figure who stood in the field of journalism and made a name for herself, unafraid to risk her life to get the truth and justice.

"Thank you, madame." Marinette stretched out the pie dish lined with dough.  The elder women waved her off, accepting the dish.

"No need for thanks. And, as I've said, call me Martha." Beaming at the blushing young lady, she started to scoop some pie filling into the dish.

Marinette started to roll the other dough out, being careful not to break the butter up too much. The heat in the kitchen caught up to her, but it was a heat whose familiarity grew with years of living with bakers for parents. She was in her element, and it made her calm. It was going good. As long as she kept her cool, she could potentially make it out of this without embarrassing

"Grandma!" A boy called out from outside the house. "Dad dropped me off, so I'm here to help!"

The back door burst open, and a beaming Jon Kent came ambling into the kitchen. He grinned, dipping his index finger into the bowl where they had mixed the apple mixture in and put it in his mouth. "Mhm, that's some good apple."

Marinette's did all she could to keep herself level. She needed to be calm, to be ice cold. No emotions at all. If she didn't, then Martha and Jon would both know. Her face would be too red. So, she took a deep breath, forcing her body to relax. It was like she placed a stopper on her emotions, just like in Paris. Shuddering, she shook all thoughts off of Paris. She came to Metropolis for a reason.

Martha let out a hearty laugh. "Too late for that offer, but thank you so much, sweetheart!"

"Always happy to help, Grandma." Jon grinned, and he turned to Marinette for the first time since he entered the room. "Thanks so much for doing this, Mars."

Shit. Emotions down, emotions down. Marinette smiled. What are you doing, idiot? Stop smiling! If she doesn't smile, it would be weirder. He just thanked her. What was she supposed to do, not smile and be a bitch? Point taken.

"Anytime, Jon." Martha glanced at the two of them and shook her head side to side, handing Marinette a bowl of cream and a whisk.

"Oh, youth. What a beautiful time for love." She winked at Marinette, and the young girl flushed, all control over her body gone as her face lit up redder than Rudolph's nose.

"GRANDMA!"

Marinette took pride in not being the only flushed teenager in the room. Maybe it wasn't as one-sided as she thought.

Nah, she thought, busying herself with the cream. Get your mind out of the gutter.

oh mari. oh poor poor mari. the power you hold over this boy... thank you so much again @maribat-calendar-events for the lovely prompts!

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Like a Baby Otter

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This was it. This was where she would die. She had faced countless monsters, demons straight out of her nightmares, the end of the world, her greatest nemesis, herself. How could this be the end? It couldn't be, it couldn't.

But it was. She could feel death calling to her. Agony crawled up her throat, heart twisted and cold. Betrayed by the person she called her brother in a parking lot behind a Taco Bell.

"Mari, I swear to kwami, if you do not get out of the car, I will break down the door myself and carry you in there over my shoulder."

She glared at the grey fuzzy fabric on the vintage car's roof. "This car is worth more than your salary tripled. I'd like to see you try, traitor."

He groaned, and she heard a loud slap. "C'mon, Mari. I'm supposed to be the dramatic one, not you."

"Yeah, well you should have thought about that before you dragged me to a Taco Bell to have a date with Jon." Marinette hissed, curling up against the dog plush toy she kept in the car as a pillow.

She refused to make a statement on who she got it from. ("I don't see why I need a reason to get a stuffed toy.") Nor did she go into detail as to why she made it a little flannel jacket ("They were leftovers!"), and she rebelled against the very idea of talking about it in English ("We are French, we speak French!").

While Adrien was her brother by all accounts except blood, he was also a romantic, and a massive dork. He saw Marinette, in all her flustered glory, pining over the sweet Metropolis boy with the clunky glasses and the cute dimples. The one who lent her his flannel jacket when she got cold on her first day at the University of Metropolis. Adrien saw the way her eyes lit up whenever the black-haired boy walked into the room, the way her cheeks flushed when she waved at him.

Adrien also saw the way the blue-eyed boy's gaze always roamed the room, landing on her without a fail. The way his dimples deepened, and his laughter became fuller as he stared into Adrien's little sister's crystal blue eyes.

He thought things would run their course. It was only a matter of days. One of them had to step up to the plate and ask the other out. But days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into a semester. They were no closer to getting together than they were at the start.

So, Adrien decided they could use a helping hand. Another week of subtle nudging went by, and all that came out of it was a pitiful "not-a-date" amusement park outing that set them back a further two steps because the two became even more awkward around each other, if that was even possible. This may have also led to the incorporation of Kujo, the flannel-wearing dog plushie, into the Dupain-Cheng sibling's daily car rides.

Adrien snapped. He had had it with the two idiots oblivious to the other's feelings. They were going to get together by the end of this week, whether it was by fate or by his own hand. It had nothing to do with the fifty dollars he bet with Damian about Jonette (Marinette and Jon's ship name, patent pending). Nothing. How dare you even insinuate he would bet on his little sister's love life. For shame.

He was about to yell out for Plagg to come out, hoping to scare Marinette, when the gods decided to favor him for once.

"Mars?" His sister jumped up, smashing her head against the backseat.

"Jon?" She bounded out the door, leaving Adrien gobsmacked. He had been trying to get her out of the car for the past ten minutes— "What are you doing here?"

Jon rubbed his neck and glanced at Adrien. "Adrien said you wanted to talk with me? I don't know why we're in a Taco Bell, of course. I mean, not that Taco Bells aren't good, but they're not where I expected we were gonna meet— not that I didn't want to meet you because I did want to meet up with you—"

Oh god. Someone, anyone, please take Adrien out of his misery. There were two of them.

Adrien did what he did best. He meddled in his little sister's love life, yet again.

"I'm starving," he groaned, slinging an arm over Marinette's shoulder and pulling her forward so she was closer to Jon. "I'm gonna head inside, order something for all of us, then come back out. Jon, do you want anything?"

"Uh, you choose, I trust you." Jon fidgeted with his glasses, noticing the increase in proximity with Marinette. Adrien gave a feral grin, patting his little sister on the shoulder. Oh, Jon better put trust in him after today.

"Great, have fun, you two!" Before any of them could protest, Adrien bolted out of there faster than they could say 'Superman'.

And then there were two.

mwahahaha that's the end of day 6, folks! sorry to leave you like that, but i hope you enjoyed it. as always, like, comment, and reblog! big shoutout to the lovely people at @maribat-calendar-events for creating supermari may 2022, and I'm looking forward to seeing what you all are creating for this month. ciao <3

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Shoelaces

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And then there were two.

They didn't speak to each other. It was awkward without Adrien there anymore. She looked up, and averted her eyes down again. She tried again. Nope, that didn't help. If anything, he looked even more nerve-wracking. When this is translated from Marinette-language to normal people language, it meant he felt even more handsome every time she looked back up.

They couldn't say anything. Well, Marinette couldn't say anything. What do you say to someone who you're in lo– someone you like when your pseudo-brother set you up to potentially have a date? No amount of nudging could make it less awkward.

Jon braved the silence. "So...uhm... your shoes are nice. I really like your shoelaces."

"Thanks, I got them from the president." She fought the urge to slap a hand across her mouth. He meant the way the string was laced, not the actual shoelaces, and he wasn't on Tumblr (to her limited knowledge). This was not the time to expose how much of a degenerate she was.

Silence rose again because how do you follow up on whatever curveball that was?"

He either was an angel, a saint, or desperate to move the conversation into something he could continue. "How are you doing today?"

"I'm ok." She shrugged, fiddling with the skin around her thumb, a bad habit she picked up since she started embroidering. The amount of times she pricked her fingers with the needle and caused the skin to start breaking left her picking at the old skin to make the fingers smooth again. She could feel Jon staring at her fingers, so she stuck her hand into her jacket pockets and shot him an embarrassed smile.

"Nice weather, isn't it?"

Jon glanced up at the overcast clouds, smiling, and Marinette wanted to smack herself. Nice weather? She couldn't have come up with something better with that though, so she shouldered through. Today was getting better and better.

"For flying, it's perfect." Jon said, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Not sunny in the way that the sun would blind you, but clear that you can pass through the clouds without water getting in your way."

Jon froze at his own words and diverted his gaze back to his shoes like she did earlier. By pure chance of luck, the blue-eyed girl didn't notice.

"Flying, huh?" Marinette remembered the days when patrol had the sun glaring in her eyes, or when the rain came pouring down. It sucked swinging to and fro from buildings and rooftops. "I see your point. You fly?"

Jon's eyes bulged out. "Flying? Well, I mean I'm not a flyer really, but I heard from my mom's helicopter guy that it's really hard flying up there when it's really sunny and sometimes I hitch a ride with them and everything—"

"Helicopter guy? You have a helicopter guy?" She couldn't help the laughter bubbling up from her throat despite the attempts to suppress them.

His cheeks turned into peaches. "No! I don't have a helicopter guy. Nor do I have a helicopter, for that matter. It's my mom's helicopter guy! I swear I'm not like Damian with Alfred."

"Wayne has a helicopter guy?" She shook her head. "Of course he does."

"It's not what you think." He chuckled. "Alfred's his butler, but everyone knows he's basically the Wayne grandfather. Truth be told, he's kind of like a great-uncle to me because the Waynes and my family are so close anyways."

Marinette couldn't help but grin. "So, to sum it up, you don't have a helicopter guy, you have at least two helicopter guys, and at least three helicopters because there is no way Bruce Wayne only has one helicopter."

Jon's cheeks darkened, but he shot her a grin, leaned in, and opened his mouth in what would have been a witty retort, no doubt about it, but all she could focus on was the dips of his lips and the dimples on his cheeks. She could smell woodsmoke from his jacket — the flannel one she made him. Warmth filled her gut, swishing and bubbling like a roaring volcano.

Adrien chose that glorious moment to jump in.

"Hey guys!" He skidded to a stop between them, holding up a greasy paper bag. "I got the food!"

Marinette wanted to throttle him. The blonde boy remained oblivious.

Jon, who noticed her murderous gaze, shot her a twinkling smile and a heart stopping wink, and it was her turn to freeze, blushing tomato-red, glancing down at the floor again.

"Ah," she stared at Jon's red converse with black shoe laces instead of the traditional white. "Nice shoelaces."

Jon's smile lit up the sky, and she swore the clouds parted right as he sent her a beaming grin. "Thanks, I got them from the president."

Adrien didn't know it, too busy with his achievement of buying food from a Taco Bell for the first time (the real reason why they were meeting at a Taco Bell instead of anywhere else), but he just accomplished his goal for the day. Only twelve more steps in the plan to achieve Jonette as endgame. And no, he was not going to give in to Damian and call them MariJon, he wouldn't!

here's day 7, it's ten days late :)))) and it's short as well :(((( thanks @maribat-calendar-events for the prompts!

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