Chapter Text
Alya supposed that it’s only fitting they returned on the day of one of the worst akuma attack she had seen. It wasn't like she was new. She’s been a part of their team since it was a team and not just a duo.
But this— this was beyond what Alya’s seen. Not beyond what she’s heard about, however. Chat and Ladybug had always braved the worst alone.
(It was some messed up sense of heroism. A saviour complex, if her AP psychology was doing her any good.)
“Cara!” she yelled out, reaching for him. Nino was only mere footsteps away, but Alya felt like he was a continent out of reach. He called for shelter before shielding them both from a styrofoam bullet the size of a car flying their way, the momentum pushing them into a line of cars.
“No sign of them?” he asked, slightly out of breath. Alya would find it slightly cute if they weren’t about to be crushed with a nerf gun.
Alya flicked through her phone again, dialing Ladybug, Chat, and Ladybug again. “Nope,” she answered, gritting her teeth as their shell was pushed back again.
“They’re okay, right?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly, because she didn’t. Chat Noir and Ladybug were the most powerful of them all, that much was common knowledge. But, there were storms the two of them couldn’t weather.
Alya hated herself for not pushing further on where they were going. “I don’t know,” she repeated, “but I think we have bigger problems.”
“No shit,” Nino replied, smiling at her for a split second.
They’re okay. They can do this. They’re Nino and Alya. When has there been a problem they couldn’t solve?
Alya surveyed her surroundings for a moment, pausing when her eyes glazed over a small boy (Four? Five?) hunched under a car, wailing into his scrunched fists.
She could hear her heart break.
“Shit,” she grimaced. “Keep yourself safe, okay?”
“Always will,” he replied before pushing forward, running in the opposite direction.
She sighed, looking up at the sky for any sign of red or black.
She’s always wanted to prove herself. Show that she can do this without anyone. Prove to Ladybug that— even if she’s matured greatly since she was fourteen and awestruck— she isn’t that annoying little blogger with a death wish anymore.
She had always been told she had a tendency to bite off more than she can chew.
Let’s go, Césaire. This isn’t the time to self reflect.
She ran.
“Hey,” she whispered, slightly breathless. “It’s okay. I’m Rena. You’re safe now, okay?”
His crying didn’t lighten.
Shit, okay.
“You just need to get out from under there, okay? And we can find your parents.”
“Don’t talk to strangers,” the boy choked out through his cries. At least he had some life teachings memorised , Alya thought, even if slightly inconvenient.
“Hey, Little Guy, we’re here to help, okay?” Nino said beside her, causing Alya to have a double take.
“What the hell are you-“
He flared his nose. “The love bugs showed up.”
*.*.*.*
Marinette was elated.
Truly, this was the first time she had felt this good in weeks , months, maybe even ever.
Adrien. Chat Noir. Adrien Noir, even. It didn’t matter. They were both the same, and they were hers.
She smiled at him, catching his eye as he smirked back. “Ten,” she mouthed from the opposite side of the street, “tops.”
“Cocky,” he remarked with a respectful nod, swinging his baton around in hypnotising circles. “Eight.”
“Overconfident,” she laughed, jumping on top of a car as she narrowly dodged a bullet. The styrofoam melted over the street , creating a bubbling, sticky miniature sinkhole. “You’re on.”
And as they fight, Marinette felt like the biggest idiot on the planet for not noticing how similar the lovable jerk in the black cat suit and the golden haired model that sat in front of her in her French Lit. class were.
Because Chat is so graceful in his movements, his footfalls light as he jumps from pillar to post, almost like Adrien in those three weeks of Phys Ed. where they learnt to plié in their classical ballet course (for which he was insanely overqualified.)
And Adrien is so quick-thinking during their class debates on character victimisation — or less seriously, whether the original Ladybug and Chat Noir movie or the sequel is worse (and fuck, how the hell couldn’t she see the genuine disgust in his eyes)— that she could see it through his puns and his quips.
And even in the way Chat looked at her, now she could see that he had the same admiring gleam in his eye that Adrien held the first time he gave her a black umbrella.
She was distracted.
Maybe that was why she barely had time to react before the akuma ( Sharpshooter, as he had called himself) fired at her.
It was an easy dodge, but she could see Chat tensing up at how close it got to her.
Another thing she should’ve noticed.
He came behind her, twirling his baton to make a shield. “You’re okay?” he asked, looking her up and down.
“I’m fine,” she reassured him, rolling her eyes playfully. “I’m fine.”
“Good,” he said, more so talking to himself. “Good.”
“Do you think we can get back to this?”
He glared at her, barely hiding his smile. “We seem to have about four minutes remaining, My Lady.”
They made it in three.
*.*.*.*
“What the fuck was that?” Nino asked. His clothes were disheveled, a patch of wetness on his shoulder from tears and snot and who knows what else.
Alya was in shock, to be truthful.
She and Nino had their moments. The moments where Nino would grab her an apple juice from the cafeteria when he knew she was in the middle of writing an article and wouldn’t stop even for lunch, and when she could tell what song he was listening to just by the tapping of his feet. And when Nino would know to cover her with a flick of her eye, when Alya would take off Nino’s glasses and kiss his cheek.
But, Alya didn’t feel like she had seen a moment. Alya had seen the rest of their lives, played out right in front of her.
They had bounced off of each other: any time Chat had made a move, Ladybug had known exactly what to do to make it work. Ladybug had nodded at him, once, in the middle of a strike, and Chat had immediately changed trajectory and hit a spot that had Sharpshooter fumbling over his feet.
She had felt like an echo in every conversation she had with them. “What the hell was that?” she asked, and the two had the audacity to look confused. “What was that?”
“That was an akuma battle?“ Chat Noir answered, genuine puzzlement on his features.
“I don’t think that’s what Rena means, A—“
“Okay!” Chat interrupted. “Rena, do you need me to pick up your jaw? It seems to be on the floor.”
Nino punched him lightly in the arm.
*.*.*.*
“Hey, Love. Can we meet later? There’s— There's something I have to talk to you about. Nothing bad, I promise, just— just something I don’t think I can say over the phone. Text me when you get this. I love you.”
Marinette's heart races as she listens to the voicemail.
It can’t be anything bad, she reminds herself. He would say if it was bad.
It’s not bad.
Even so, her heart doesn’t calm down for the rest of the day. She texts Adrien to meet her at the tower at 9:30, and at least two of her cuticles are tinted with blood from the amount of hangnails she picks at throughout the day.
She’s there ten minutes early, swinging her legs on the top of the Eiffel tower.
It’s only when she sees him that she calms down.
You would think after two years, six months, and a few weeks of dating, Marinette Dupain-Cheng would be used to the sight of Chat Noir.
She isn’t.
The light jacket around him isn’t much for the cold chill of December, but the pink tinge to his cheeks absolves any complaints Marinette may have had.
“Hi,” she says, standing up and wrapping her arms around his neck. His eyes look back into hers, a small, genuine smile gracing his lips.
“Hi, bug,” he replies, and Marinette melts even in the freezing December air.
They sit down, and the silence is anything but awkward. It’s peppered with Adrien asking her about ESMOD, her asking him about his haircut and what he had for dinner yesterday.
When it falls quiet again, she listens to the hum of his chest until he speaks. “You’ve only lied to me once.”
“What?”
“When we were in Tibet. You lied to me.”
Her heart sinks to her feet. “What do you mean?”
“You said our friendship wouldn’t change if we knew each other’s identities.”
“I upgraded,” she hums with a crafty smile, lacing her fingers through his. He takes his other hand and rubs at the back of his neck. “Are you okay?” she asks, gazing up at him through her lashes.
He stalls for a second, pulling a box from his jacket pocket.
Yeah, Marinette’s heart may be in her feet, but all of the blood in her body is rushing to her head.
What the fuck, she thinks. I’m twenty. We’re twenty. What the fu—
“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You fell into my life at fourteen and fell into me at eighteen,” he says, his eyes seeing more than what Marinette is showing him. “This isn’t an engagement ring. It’s a promise— or more so, a reminder. A reminder that you, Mari, are the best thing to ever happen to me.”
It’s a split second before she’s kissing him.
*.*.*.*
Master Yang takes the stack of letters from Feng, his proud teen eyes staring up at him. “Thank you, Feng.”
“Of course, Master,” he responds before leaving.
He flicks through the letters, pausing when Chinese changes to English on the description. His breath stalls when he sees the return address. He reaches for his letter opener, cleanly slicing through the envelope.
Dear Master Yang
It is to our great excitement that we invite you and 7 plus ones to join us on the 29th of July at La Madeleine Church, Paris, to celebrate the union of
Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng.
Please return this invite to sender with
- I graciously accept and will be accompanied by plus ones.
- I regretfully decline and send my well wishes to the couple.
Please look overleaf for menu options and notes from the Bride and Groom.
— Natalie Sancoeur on behalf of Gabriel Agreste
He quickly flips it over, eyebrows furrowing as he peers at the neat script of Marinette’s handwriting.
Dearest Master Yang, we would be honoured to have you. Please bring Feng. We need a trustworthy ring bearer :)
Much love,Your Ladybug and Chat Noir x