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Marinette was gaining weight.
It wasn’t a noticeable change, from the outside, but already at a size 16 Marinette knew her body well.
She had thunderous thighs and wide hips. The daughter of two exquisite bakers, she had always been larger than life, with baby rolls like a popped can of biscuits. She always thought her body would proportion itself out after puberty, that her hips would stretch and smooth out. Instead, she only grew five inches taller and got even curvier hips.
Every morning, she had a chocolate croissant, chomping down on it as quickly as possible as she struggled, late, out the bakery door. Maybe they were finally getting to her hips, after all those mornings. Sitting down, the button on her pants dug into her soft belly, leaving deep red indents. Her jacket felt a little tight at the shoulders, and she just knew.
It was like a rock had settled in her stomach. She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t sit still. It weighed on her mind until she spent more time doing anything to occupy her mind: running around in the back of the bakery, handing out orders, baking pastries for the morning breakfast rush. She would pick up extra patrol shifts, often times without Chat Noir, just to get out and feel her heart pound and hear her blood rushing in her ears.
It made her too tired to think, to pay attention to her body. The only thing it made her want to do was throw herself on her bed and sleep for days.
But every morning it started over, again and again. She felt different, heavier, like she pulled the Earth down and took up too much space. When Alya ran to give her a hug, she could feel her friend stretching to envelope her fully. When Nino slung his arm around her shoulders, it was like a stick, slung straight across with no bend at the elbow.
She felt too big, too wide, like there was too much of her.
Her Ladybug suit had never made her uncomfortable. It was tight, but she felt confident. She could roundhouse kick and throw double punches without breaking a sweat. Logically, she knew the suit didn’t make her strong, but that it added to her abilities. She could eat all the chocolate croissants in the bakery and still toss Chat at akumas like a rag doll.
Maybe it was the secrecy the mask afforded her. People watched day in and day out as she saved Paris, never doubting her ability because of her size. There was a statue of her and Chat in the park, with her curves and all.
When her pants got just a little too tight, she started wearing leggings more. Alya loved it, whistling at her the first day she showed up in them. “You look amazing, Mari!” she stressed, eyeing her friend up and down.
Marinette smiled sheepishly, ducking her head as she slid into their usual seat. The rock settled into her stomach again, Marinette all too aware of her sketchbook in her bag, full of designs she no longer had accurate measurements for.
She had spent a number of nights up late, starting and ripping apart new designs before giving up and tossing on the biggest, most comfortable pajamas she owned and throwing herself into sleep.
One day, after working in the bakery for five straight hours, and catapulting from roof to roof for another two, she was still pacing her room, too anxious to stop. Huffing, Marinette threw on a sweatshirt, climbing up to her balcony with a cup of hot milk.
The Paris night was inky, her lights the only ones on. The wind whistled above her and she sighed, closing her eyes. The night was cool, but she was still in shorts, twisting her legs together and balancing the mug on her thigh. She leaned back, inhaling the sweet scent that always shrouded the bakery.
“Marinette?” a voice said, almost carried away by the wind.
Opening her eyes, Marinette spotted Chat Noir, silhouetted against the street lights. “Chat Noir? What are you still doing out?”
He bounded over to her, sly and quiet as he landed on her railing. Smiling he tilted his head to the side. “I like to use this time to think.”
“Ah, must be the only time then,” Marinette joked, smiling up at him.
“Meowch, Princess,” he laughed, clutching his chest in mock hurt.
Marinette looked at him, head still tilted back. “Do you want something to eat?” she offered, raising her mug. “I can sneak back down to the bakery and steal a croissant.” She wiggled her eyebrows, gently shaking her mug from side to side in an attempt at bribery.
Chat’s ears perked, his eyes widening. “I would love a stolen croissant,” Chat laughed, slipping his feet out from under him and landing silently on the balcony.
Marinette stood from her lounge chair, popping her back before climbing down the ladder. Chat followed, avoiding the steps all together and landing in a squat beside Marinette.
“Show off,” she whispered, grinning as he stood to his full height. “Wait here,” she said, slipping out the door on her tiptoes.
Chat walked around her room, taking in the new designs pinned to her wall. She had stands with multiple fabric swatches pinned to them, sewing kits open in several spots with thread slightly unspooled. He picked up a stack of designs from her desk, thumbing through them.
He could hear when Marinette walked back into the room, and without turning he said “These designs are really good, Marinette.”
Standing beside him, she put a mug and a plate of cookies down on the table as she leered over his arm. Her face as blank as she replied, “Thanks. I’m trying out some new ideas.”
Chat was still thumbing through the papers, but Marinette walked away, lifting her mug back up and settling on her chaise. Sitting on her side, she pulled her knees up and clutched a pillow, hooking her fingers through her mug handle in front of her.
Setting the drawings back on her desk, Chat settled in front of her, on the rug. Mug in hand and plate in lap, Chat smiled as he started inhaling cookies.
Chat stayed as late as he could, the sun almost peeking over the horizon. They had sleep in their eyes, but their faces hurt from smiling and laughing so much. With red eyes, Chat dragged himself out of Marinette’s room.
“I’ll come back, but only for the stolen sweets,” he joked, winking at Marinette.
“Of course,” she agreed, face pinched from trying not to laugh.
With one last lingering glance, Chat disappeared, and Marinette climbed into her bed, happily exhausted.
As the days went on, Marinette found a new distraction in Chat Noir. The bakery and patrol still occupied her time, but Chat took her mind off of everything simultaneously. She didn’t need to move at fifty miles an hour; Chat slowed her down, made it easier to breathe.
But that also meant that Marinette never had a minute alone with her thoughts.
The nights Chat didn’t stop by were always filled with pacing, throwing designs against the wall and drowning herself in her biggest sweatshirt and hot milk. She tried to do her homework, falling farther and farther behind, but she couldn’t focus. Every time she moved she could feel her skin shifting, feel it rolling under her. She was too soft, jiggling in too many places and nothing she did would make it stop.
It was late one night, later than she usually stayed up on a Thursday. Her physics homework was spread out in front of her, as well as sketches from the week. Marinette sat, cross legged on the floor, elbows balanced on her knees and hands in her hair. Rubbing at her temples, she let her hair twist under her fingertips, but the usually soothing sensation was doing nothing to calm her nerves. Pushing forward on her knees, Marinette rocked herself gently, staring at the numbers and the pictures, all of it blurring together, in and out of focus.
There was a tap on her window, and she would have missed it if she wasn’t so high strung. It was so late, far past the time Chat Noir usually stopped in, that she had locked the hatch to the balcony. He smiled at her from the window, waving gently.
Marinette stood, shooting up like a bolt, taking in any distraction she could get. Chat swung in, the cold air wrapping around Marinette.
“Sorry it’s so late, Purrincess,” Chat started, turning to face her. He expected to see a face, pinched but still wrinkling at the eyes in happiness, but she wasn’t even looking at him. Her eyes were glued to something outside, and she was biting on her thumb, a habit Chat learned in the past weeks that she did when she was anxious.
“Marinette?” Chat asked, pivoting so he faced her. “What’s wrong?” He reached out a hand, but Marinette jerked when it brushed against her.
“Nothing,” she said, too hurriedly, pulling her shoulder away from his reach. She forced a smile and backed away. “Didn’t expect you so late,” she said, crossing her arms and cupping her elbow as she continued to bite the top of her thumb.
With all the time they had spent together, Chat had learned a lot about Marinette, and he knew something was up. He bit his lip, looking at her. She was ragged, the shoulder of her sweatshirt hanging off of one shoulder, the sleeve dangling past the tips of her fingers. Her shorts were crooked, the ties settled above her right thigh. Since he always stopped by so late, it became normal to see her with her hair down, the waves brushed out against her pale skin, but tonight it was tangled, like she hadn’t brushed it in a day or two.
And while Marinette was always cautious of how close she got to other people, and weary of people who tried to get too close to her, she had been more open with Chat in the last few weeks. The fact that she was shying away from him now was less than comforting.
Marinette forced another smile at him before walking back to her nest of work. She sat, but popped back up seconds later.
“I can’t focus,” she began, once again pacing up and down her room. “I have chapters and chapters of homework to do, none of these designs are working out, I’m so…” she hesitated, running her fingers through her hair. “I’m taking up too much space, Chat,” she uttered, stopping in the middle of her floor. She was gripping both elbows, slightly hunched as she bent her head.
Shocked, Chat rushed over to her, putting his hands on top of hers. “What are you talking about Marinette? Taking up too much space?”
Marinette shook her head, a bitter smile on her face. “I’m like anti-gravity, I feel like I’m pulling everything down. I’m taking up too much space, I’m bigger than I should be, and I can’t fold myself into smaller pieces. I can’t…I can’t fix this,” she said, the words pouring from her like a broken faucet.
“That’s because there’s nothing to fix. You’re gorgeous, and your size definitely doesn’t matter. Where is this all coming from, why are you talking so negatively about yourself?” he asked, gripping her hard. “Did someone say something to you?” he asked, his voice fiery.
“It’s nothing new, Chat!” Marinette yelled, pulling herself out of his grip and pacing again. “These thoughts are just bouncing around in my head all the time! No matter what I do, I can’t avoid them. I try to run, I try to ignore it, but I can’t! I would rather do anything than have all these thoughts beating me up from the inside.” She was throwing her hands around, gesturing wildly in ways that Chat couldn’t follow. “I can’t focus, and I try to do anything, everything, to stop thinking but then I remember I’m wearing a size 20 sweatshirt and it all starts over again! Chat, I’m bigger than you!” It all just poured out of Marinette, a storm she couldn’t hold back. She had held it all in for so long, tried to deal with it alone, that she couldn’t stop the torrent.
Chat had dealt with everything from giant rock monsters to his own father, and he had never felt as useless as he did right then, listening to Marinette talk about something he could do nothing about. Ears flat against his head, and tail twitching rapidly behind him, he did the only thing he could think of.
Stepping in front of Marinette, he let her walk right into his arms. She stilled, her entire body going rigid. “There is nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, wrong with you Marinette,” he whispered in her hair urgently, his arms wrapped around her in what he hoped was a comforting way. “You could never take up too much space; you give so much, love so boldly, and I know there isn’t a single thing anyone would change about you. There’s just more of you to hold, more of you to love, and there isn’t a single thing wrong with that. You’re the most amazing, beautiful, hilarious person I have ever met, and…”
Marinette looked up at him, her eyes watery and chin just centimeters from his chest, and in that moment, the easiest way to explain what he wanted to convey was to kiss her. He hesitated, staring at her face, her blotchy cheeks, her tense shoulders. It was easy, the easiest thing he had ever done, leaning down to kiss her. He captured her lips in a single motion, moving his hands up and cupping her face. His fingers brushed against her cheeks, and he could taste the milk and croissants on her tongue. She was warm, like a blanket, and he wanted to drape himself in her, drown in everything Marinette. She stood up on her tip toes, wiggling around in Chat’s grip and reaching up to clutch the bell at his neck in one hand and dig her nails into his shoulder with the other.
She pinched her eyes shut, refusing to relax, afraid that if she did that it would all be a dream, that all of it would slip from her grip in wisps of smoke. Chat’s grip on her hips made her feel real, alive in a way that only being Ladybug had allowed her. He breathed against her, warm and sweet and she ignored the pinching in her feet just to taste him longer.
Chat pulled away, his lips pink. His whisper brushed against Marinette’s face, “In fact, let me show you how beautiful I think you are.”
Without missing a beat, Chat lifted Marinette up, grabbing her thigh and hooking it around his waist. He spun, catching Marinette off guard. To keep her balance, she swung her other leg around, hooking them tightly around Chat’s hips instinctively. He was carrying her, holding her, without straining.
He pushed her against the wall, hands gripping her thighs so she didn’t move. Marinette, still stunned, dug her nails into Chat’s shoulders, and he smiled wide, leaning back into her for another kiss.
Marinette smiled against him, her hands creeping up his neck and into his hair. She paused at his mask, fingering the edges before twining her fingers through his blond locks. Chat pulled on her lower lip, and she moved, pressing herself closer to him. His hands were warm on her bare thighs, and Marinette chilled a little at the feeling of someone grabbing them without hesitation.
Chat bent his head down, nudging Marinette’s chin so she was looking up, exposing her neck. It was smooth, pale skin, and Chat placed a feather light kiss against her pulse point. Marinette let loose a high pitched sigh, and Chat kissed his way around her neck, biting down in places as he went.
“You’re beautiful here,” he whispered, lips moving against her neck as he made his way back up to her lips. Pulling her away from the wall, he lowered her against the chaise. Marinette, legs still tight around him, pulled him down with her, and Chat settled above her, hands braced on her hips.
Chat pushed his hands up, moving the sweatshirt steadily higher up her hips. Marinette’s breath hitched, and she grabbed his wrist. Chat looked up at her, hands stilling, his eyes hooded and lips red. Marinette’s hair was disheveled, her eyes bright and wide, cheeks tinted pink.
“Tell me to stop and I will,” Chat murmured, eyes never wavering from her face.
Marinette swallowed, her throat bobbing with the action. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and nodded. “Keep going,” she said, eyes open and already pulling Chat down to her. His smile widened, and he spread his hands out against her hips, partially underneath the sweatshirt.
Marinette’s heart was beating like a hummingbird. She felt like she was shaking, so the more she thought about it the tighter she held onto Chat. His lips were moving against her, and it felt like she was in the middle of the ocean, riding with the waves. His hands were warm on her, almost too warm. He wasn’t flinching at her rolls, the dips and curves. He ran his fingers over her, tenderly and softly, squeezing every so often.
“You’re beautiful here,” he whispered, squeezing her sides. Marinette bit her lip, squeezing him between her thighs.
Chat kissed his way down her neck, and Marinette gripped the bottom of her sweatshirt. Her bellybutton was already exposed, and that was more skin than she had ever revealed to anyone, but she wanted Chat to keep going; she wanted to keep going.
“You don’t have to,” Chat said, stilling on top of her.
Marinette sucked in a breath, closed her eyes, and pulled the sweatshirt off in a tangle of cotton. She held it on top of her in a ball, goosebumps erupting on her skin. Chat inhaled sharply, his hands tightening around the band of her shorts. Eyes still closed, Marinette moved her arms, letting the sweatshirt drop to the floor beside the chaise.
“Marinette,” Chat almost moaned, digging into her hips. “Please.”
She opened her eyes, and the expression on Chat’s face eased the nerves in her stomach. She slacked a little, relaxing her body. Chat was taking her in, all of her, and he looked like he had never been alive until that moment.
In nothing but her bra and pajama shorts, Marinette had never felt so exposed, but the difference this time was that she wanted to be seen.
He captured her lips in a flurry, slipping into her mouth easily. His hands were everywhere, wanting to feel everything he could. He pulled on her lip as he moved down, placing kisses along her collarbone.
“You’re beautiful here,” Chat whispered again, biting down.
Marinette raised her chest, pushing into him and Chat moved down farther. Marinette unhooked her legs from around Chat, keeping them bent at the knee. Chat kissed between her breasts, gently and slowly, wonder filled.
He placed a trail of kisses along her hip, his hands tangled with Marinette’s on the chaise. “You are so beautiful here,” he said, looking up at her before placing one last long, lingering kiss on her hip.
He sat up, pulling Marinette with him, and stretched out on the chaise. Marinette sat between his long legs, her loosely hanging around Chat. Marinette cleared her throat, her face a deeper red now that she was sitting, exposed in a new way. Chat leaned to the side, gathering up her sweatshirt and handing it over. Marinette, pulling the sleeves out, held it against her, feeling no need to pull it all the way on.
“I think,” Marinette said, smiling, “that I’ll need more convincing.”
Chat, his face now a light pink, laughed. “Gladly,” he said, pitching forward and capturing her lips again.