princess belle tutu dress

Sing Me To Sleep

A Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Cat Noir fanfic
Summary: In which Marinette nurses a concussed Chat back to health. Unabashed MariChat fluff.
Snippet: Marinette observed him briefly as he reclined on the couch, eyes closed with a look of self-satisfied contentment on his features. She was tempted to snap at him and tell him not to get too comfortable – she wasn’t going to wait on him hand and foot indefinitely – his cockiness definitely didn’t need any bolstering. But he just looked so peaceful, like he was right at home and this was the most natural place in the world for him to be. ‘I wonder how mom and dad would feel about taking in a stray cat…’

Originally posted on fanfiction.net and archiveofourown.org on 03/26/17, reposted here since I want to make my more memorable one-shots available on tumblr.


Pinks and yellows, frills and lace, sparkles and glitter – these were the things cherished most by the merry toddler as she twirled about the room in her favorite dress-up tutu. Today she was Princess Belle, beloved by all her plush animal subjects in the kingdom of her living room. An elaborate spread lay in front of her as she danced, so she was careful to avoid the delicate plastic teacups and the croissant Maman and given her for her afternoon snack. Her world of make-believe was full of sunshine and rainbows, despite the grey and wet atmosphere that hung around her ‘castle’.

Rain began to patter against the windows, but she fancied it to be the sound of the court minstrel striking up a jolly jig for the beloved princess to dance to. As her pace quickened, she became lost in her performance, her adoring subjects cheering for their beautiful leader to dance faster and faster. It was in her fervor that she forgot to carefully check each step before she made it, so when a flash of bright light shone in her peripheral, her distraction cost her an unfortunate misstep and she found herself tumbling headfirst into her tea party. The clap of thunder that followed rattled her nerves even farther, and soon the shock of her fall gave way to the realization that she was in pain, and scary loud monsters were coming to storm the castle.

“Marinette! What’s the matter?” her most loyal knight hastened to her side, leaving his post in the kitchen, where he had been working on preparing that night’s royal feast.
Through sniffles and sobs, the child fell into “Her royal knight, Sir Papa!”’s consoling embrace and first chastised him for getting her title wrong – again. “I’m not Marinette; I’m the princess!”
With a soft chuckle, Papa argued, “Every daughter is a princess, so even if I don’t always call you my princess, you always will be, mon petite Marinette.” Rubbing her nose affectionately with his own until she giggled, he then repeated, “Now tell me, Princess Marinette, what seems to be the trouble?”

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