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It's another battle that takes all day. Multiple hours. Multiple recharges. And when she needs him most, he's right beside her, pulling her close as they take a quick breather. Holding her together when she threatens to unspool. Solid, grounding words of reassurance and the gentlest purr. He always knows how to calm her down and pick her up, and in that moment, all she can utter is a broken "thanks, kitty" before it's time for another round.
Hours later, they've collapsed on a roof together, her head resting on his shoulder. Not fully freed from the heightened nerves and lowered spirits. Not ready to resume their place in polite society.
"Thank you for earlier," she says simply. She knows he won't need to ask what she means.
"Of course, Bug. You never need to thank me," he says, voice and eyes heavy with his effervescent adoration.
"No, but I want to. You always know what to say, Chaton," she tells him. "Nothing comforts quite like your words."
"Just one of the many services I provide," he says.
"We should buy you a bullhorn. Maybe we'd have fewer akumatizations."
He laughs brightly beside her. A moment later, though, he sits up a little straighter. With his staff stowed at his back, she worries he's now armed with something far more dangerous: an idea.
This is confirmed first thing the following morning. Once the dust settles, it's not unusual for people to talk and gossip about the monster of the day. There's often discussion of the heroes' exploits and victories, or commiserating about the terror of it all. That's not what this is.
"Did you hear it?"
"Yes! It's incredible!"
"Do you think it's real?"
"Do you think it's really him?"
Marinette, on time to school for once, hears her classmates' excited chattering before she's even crossed the road. It only intensifies as she approaches the steps where her friends are gathered. As if sensing Marinette's presence, Alya spins around to face her, vibrating with excitement.
"Girl, tell me you heard already!"
"I've been awake for like 10 minutes, Alya. I barely heard my parents this morning."
Nino laughs, shaking his head as Adrien just smiles. Alya's undeterred, an alarming gleam in her eyes. Marinette's negligence over whatever is a wrong that Alya can right. It's her duty to inform the public and her phone is pressed in front of Marinette's face before any more questions can be raised. On the screen is a video showing a static stock photo of a black kitten curled up beside a roaring fireplace. But it's the audio, the sound, that's key.
Purring.
His purring.
She'd recognize it anywhere. It's never exactly been feline, or even a human impression of it. It's always been something distinctly him. And sure enough, with a quick tap of the screen to pull up the information overlay, her eyes flick up to the hilariously cavalier title ("purr1") and the username of the youtube account:
Chat_ASMR
She sneaks a glance around the courtyard and sees many other kids with their phones out—not strictly unusual—and many of them with phones pressed to their ears, grinning and laughing.
"W-what is this?" Marinette asks.
"Apparently Paris's resident cat boy created a youtube account and his video went viral," she explains, as if that actually explains anything beyond the obvious. Alya's questioning whether Marinette is part of this.
"I think it's funny," Nino says.
"I think it's weird," Marinette says, and Adrien must disagree based on the downturn his expression takes.
Either way, it doesn't answer the principle question:
"Why?" she asks later that night, during a "patrol" that's really a "midnight snack" of assorted tapas and some truly exceptional chicken piccata.
"I thought it'd be fun," he says vaguely, a mischievous smirk on his lips. "I know how much you like my purring, m'lady."
"I do," she almost says, but doesn't.
She's told him she appreciates his words plenty of time, including 36 hours ago. But she's never said the same—or much at all, really—about the magical purring he produces, sometimes during wonderful, intimate evenings like this, and sometimes during awkward, inappropriate moments. She once found it off-putting and now she can't conceive of him without it. Does this video imply he has full control over it? Or was this more the seizure of an opportune moment?
"I thought other people might too," he adds.
Maybe they will.
But maybe she hoped it'd always be just for her.
It's two days later when he uploads more. She wasn't even expecting more, but of course Chat Noir doesn't do anything by halves. It comes to her attention courtesy of Alya, just as before, but with an extra dose of exuberance. It's during the frantic final seconds between Marinette stumbling into the room and the start of class, so Alya only has time to alert her: at lunch she has to check this out.
"This" turns out to be two more ASMR videos.
The first is titled "roof" and shows a picture of the Paris skyline. It sounds inscrutable at first — periodic metal clacking, rushing white noise, a series of slaps. The sequence repeats a few times. Inscrutable to anyone else, she realizes. But she can picture the springing pogo of his staff, whooshing through the air, followed by his boots running across the rooftops. He keeps a constant rhythmic pace and the result is oddly, satisfyingly hypnotizing.
The second video features a quintessential "hang in there!" cat poster. But it's the title that stops her heart dead. Alya says it at the same moment Marinette reads it.
"Chat Noir rescues and reassures you."
Marinette hits Play, and wishes she did so in private.
It's his voice, warm and smooth. Familiar. There's something missing from it, maybe because it's not life-or-death or, she secretly hopes, because she wasn't by his side when he delivered it. But the words are pure him, some variation of what she's heard him offer to akuma victims or when whisking away civilians who'd wandered too close to the war zone.
"It's okay," he soothes, with compassion and just a trace of swagger. "Chat Noir's got you. You're safe now. Everything is okay. Ladybug and I will have things taken care of shortly, so don't worry your pretty little head…"
It continues, but not for long. When it ends she wants to re-listen to it immediately and never again.
"Isn't ASMR audio supposed to be soothing sounds like the purring or crinkling paper or a bubbling brook or something?" Nino asks.
Adrien explains that there's many kinds of sounds that can evoke a strong response, including speech. They don't ask how he knows this. It definitely seems like a thing he'd have read.
Ladybug decides not to mention it during the next akuma attack, because why would she? Chat doesn't bring it up either and she doesn't know what to make of that.
It's several days later that Ladybug collapses into bed, defeated by the exhaustion of a grueling day that began with a fierce, break-of-dawn akuma fight and only deteriorated further from insufficient sleep, oversleeping, punishment at school for tardiness, and general friend disputes due to her flakiness. She's frayed. Her entire body is a wound-up wire, too on edge to ever fall asleep in this state.
A text from Alya informs her that Chat Noir uploaded another video. She groans, rubs her eyes, and dutifully pulls it up to see what her cat has done now.
Chat Noir Comforts You
Swallowing little more than air, she hits Play. His voice begins in earnest.
"It's okay," he starts, much like the last one. "Everything is going to be alright. I know that it's tough, especially when it seems like nothing goes our way. But whatefur happens, I know that you've got this. You are an incredible person, and I know you'd never just give up and stop fighting. And you know what? I'll be right here beside you…"
It goes on, and as her eyes brim with tears, she's annoyed at how he's wasting his words on people other than Ladybug. She's annoyed at how well it works.
This one is longer than last time, but it falls into a reliable pattern of comforting phrases that somehow never sound like empty platitudes. Not when they're coming from him. Not when his words are sincere and inspiring and he speaks like they're truth. Like someone who's really had to fight through hard times, and seen others have to struggle through them, and knows what the other side looks like.
She normally would have patrolled that night, but after the morning battle, it probably wasn't needed anyway. She knows he'd never hold it against her for missing a patrol.
She puts the video on loop and feels her racing heart settle until she no longer feels anything at all.
Sure enough, the next day—one mercifully devoid of akumas—she transforms in the evening and is greeted by a message from the night before. Nothing important; just letting her know he was on patrol, thinking about her, missing her. No guilt or pressure.
He's also uploaded another video, "Chat Noir Defends You," that's a markedly different tone. Harsh. Scathing.
"I won't let you lay a finger on them," he hisses. "You have no right to hurt them, and I'll see to it that you never do again..."
She pictures his tail thrashing in agitation. At points his voice seems almost too close to the microphone, like he's pressed next to her ear, his arms wrapped around her in protection. But Chat Noir doesn't have to do that for Ladybug.
She's hit by the familiar feeling of having time. Of being able to focus on how to use her lucky charm because he's buying her time, right in front of her, spinning his staff as a shield, taunting the enemy, putting the focus on himself, his body fully between her and danger. A place he seems much too at home. It's a different kind of comfort. A different kind of power.
Finding him perched high atop the tower, she doesn't have energy for smalltalk.
"Why are you doing this?" she asks, more curious than troubled.
"I told you. It's funny!" he laughs, but it's not believable this time. She doesn't respond because she knows she doesn't have to. She just has to wait.
"I was thinking about what you said," he continues a moment later, tone softer, "about my words being comfurting and uplifting. I wasn't sure if anyone would actually care, but… well… there's a lot of views."
It's not a boast. He seems more embarrassed than anything else. Like he can't believe he somehow has this audience. Has this power. Like he doesn't know how essential he is.
"I'm glad you found something that resonates with people," she says, leaning into him.
"I know someone else who's capawble of beautiful, impassioned speeches," he says fondly. It's a suggestion. He gives her a look so soppy it's almost indecent.
"Me?" She laughs. "Only one of us can speak from the heart and have it make sense. If I did one of these things it'd just be thirty minutes of incoherent babbling. I'd probably forget to stop recording and then it would turn into me detransforming and talking to my kwami or my parents or something."
His expression is amused adoration and she doesn't know what to do with it. She suspects he'd volunteer to listen to hours of that.
"Good," he finally says. "That means I get to keep your beautiful voice to myself."
She's reminded of her earlier frustration over him sharing the reassurance that was previously exclusively hers. But those video view counts ease the sting a bit. Maybe they'd underestimated how much the citizens they watch over might appreciate a different kind of overwatch. If he can be selfless, so can she. Let him offer up all the comfort his soul can produce.
"How do you do this?" she asks.
"My staff has a thing for recording. Your yoyo does too."
She snorts and shakes her head.
"No, I mean… What are you thinking about when you're coming up with this stuff?" she asks, knowing with utmost certainty that he's about to say…
"You."
She nods and tries to breathe evenly.
That night, when she can't fall asleep because she can't interrupt her mind from all the ways she could screw up and lose and fail, she puts on one of his most pacifying videos and she's out like a light.
It works too well.
Hawk Moth, apparently having rekindled his love for absolute nonsense, starts unleashing at least one new akuma every day, with the occasional double-header. Some are early in the morning, some of them are late at night, and god Marinette hates the man. It goes on for over a week. With one rude awakening after another, slowly Marinette starts to dread even going to sleep. She lies awake, tense on the edge of flinching, staring at the skylight, knowing that the inevitable alarm will spur her to action.
Eager to avoid two stress-induced all-nighters in a row, she once again turns to Chat's videos. It works like it did the previous times. Like it does all the nights after that. They soon become a reliable balm, his voice enabling her to let her guard down, lie safely knowing he's there to watch over her, and drift off to slip uninterrupted.
She forgets to queue them up one night and wakes thirty minutes later, anxious, alone in the oppressive silence. She'll never make that mistake again.
She's now subscribed.
By the weekend, he's uploaded more. Most are in line with his soft and serene ones, and she adds them to her playlist. But there's a few variations. There's another purring one. There's one of him eating potato chips, which she'll question him about later. There's one she suspects was recorded high atop the Eiffel Tower, with the wind whistling past the microphone while he occasionally makes comments about the view, gushing over the beauty of their city, and remarking how happy he is that he gets to experience it with her.
That Saturday, when she's a little too listless to focus on the dress that she promised herself she'd finish alterations on last Saturday, she realizes she needs a break. But her parents are busy, Alya's off with Nino, and Adrien's somewhere else. She can only scroll through her phone for so long.
She considers suiting up and taking to the rooftops just for the exercise. It would certainly help to get fresh air, but more than anything she craves novelty.
In the end, she does suit up. She just never leaves her room.
Ten minutes later, she's made a burner email address and a youtube account and has uploaded what is surely to be the biggest mistake she makes this month. This is confirmed before the first period on Monday when Alya loses her entire mind.
"Oh my god," she says as a greeting. Again, the phone's in her face, but this time Marinette doesn't really need to read or listen. "Ladybug did one now?"
She felt foolish sitting in her bedroom, transformed, plopped into her desk chair, trying to pretend to be someone she isn't really. Or at least someone she isn't always, and certainly didn't feel like right then. It's possible the end result is close enough, as Chat Noir's were.
Ladybug Protects You
"You might be scared, but nothing bad is going to happen to you while Chat Noir and I are here. Everyone knows that this is our city, and we'll protect everyone in it. You're safe, you're loved, and I promise that we're here to watch over you…"
She's not a natural like him but she couldn't bear to attempt a second take. She had to wince when she hit Upload.
"Yeah," Marinette says. "It's… something."
"It's embarrassing, is what it is," Chloé comments as she struts by. "I mean, yikes."
"I think it's amazing that she joined in with Chat Noir like this," Adrien says breathlessly, far too giddy and far too close to her. "Ladybug is incredible."
Marinette could use some convincing that the praise is really for her, but Alya is already ruining the moment.
"Maybe Marinette doesn't really like these hero ASMR videos," Alya suggests to him, and Marinette, red-faced, knows she'll stutter if she tries to update Alya on her new stance. "Wrong blonde?"
Marinette starts sputtering and Adrien wonders why she has a problem with Chat Noir.
But it doesn't seem like she does.
Chat Noir stops by one night, like he's done countless times before, and she doesn't have a problem with it. It's a typical scenario by this point: her working at her sewing machine while he lounges on her chaise. She suspects her partner is starved for companionship and she's happy to offer it up on a silver platter as Marinette. For all his rambunctiousness, there's a side of him that's almost too well-mannered when it comes to being a guest in someone's house. He's a consummate gentleman, and the fact it's her partner only makes it better.
It's not until the next day's upload that she regrets ever letting that rotten stray into her room.
Seamstress Sings You To Sleep
Her hands are shaking as she absorbs the subscription notification. The video is a stock photo of a ball of yarn, but the audio is unquestionably from her room, the sound of her sewing machine laying down a foundation of background noise while she softly sings — sings! — a Jagged Stone song while she works. The song's been stuck in her head all week but she didn't even remember doing that. She's enraged, embarrassed, and flattered, but of course she won't be able to say anything to him as Ladybug, so she has to keep this to herself unless he stops by her balcony again and if he's got any sense of self-preservation he'll know to keep his distance for a while.
"Whoever it is has a very pretty voice," Adrien observes, listening with his phone pressed to his ear.
"Aren't you a musician, dude? She sounds like she doesn't even know what a musical key is."
"I like it," Adrien shrugs. "It's very relaxing." And Marinette's fully prepared to die.
"Did you record a random civilian?!" Ladybug scolds, swatting Chat Noir's shoulder later that night.
"Meowch! Why would you think that?"
"Well, unless you are a seamstress and also a soprano, it's not a big mystery."
"Ah, you're too clever. Okay, yes, I did."
"And you made sure to get her consent to be recorded in her own bedroom, of course."
"Not… exactly..."
She would be justified in being furious over this, but it's a little too endearing. Maybe she's just in a good mood.
"You're ridiculous, Chat."
"It's completely anonymous!" he insists.
She half expects him to say something to the effect of "she'll never know," but he never does. She can't help but wonder if he's aware that Marinette most definitely knows.
The silence that falls between them isn't complete. It's less windy tonight, so the distant sounds of city life lingers and hums through the air around them. They sit. They listen. She wonders if he wants to record it. She wonders if she wants him to record it. Maybe do their own "our city is so pretty" kind of thing.
"When are you going to record another video?" he asks.
"Hopefully never. I'm not good at it like you are."
"Hmm. I disagree, but I guess I'll have to do enough of them for both of us then."
Oh god. She didn't think she was challenging him by declining to continue the escapade, but he's clearly out to prove something because the next one is dramatic.
Chat Noir Takes You On A Date
She can't bring herself to listen to it right away. Not until she's taken a moment to calm down, hit the bathroom, and lock her bedroom door. Huddled with her blankets and prepared to leap out the hatch to hunt for him, she's ready for the worst but it's agonizing how chaste it is.
"Drinks are in that bag, food's in these. I wasn't sure what you might want for dinner, so I picked out a few options for us to sample. This one is chicken piccata and I asked them to put the capers on the side because I couldn't remember how you felt about them. That one's sort of a soy ginger fish dish. I know you've talked about having authentic chinese before but it sounded really good so…"
There's sounds of bags crinkling and cartons popping open and she wonders if he actually staged this whole ordeal for real. She imagines him doing it on a roof all alone, and feels terrible that he had to be.
Like a frying pan to the head she realizes what he's truly done.
"I'm glad we're getting a few hours to ourselves like this…"
He speaks quietly, love dripping from his words. It's not Chat Noir taking some arbitrary general ‘you' out on a date.
"Our city looks so beautiful from up here…"
It's a dinner date with Ladybug.
"It was wild," Nino says the following morning. "I had to turn it off ‘cause I was getting uncomfortable. Like I was intruding. Ladybug is a lucky girl."
"I can't believe this," Marinette moans under her breath.
"Girl, I know you claim to not be on board with this stuff, but it'll make a true believer out of you, I swear."
Preaching to the converted, Alya.
"I don't think Marinette's interested in Chat Noir's date thing, Alya," Adrien says, trying valiantly to spare her awkwardness but making it so much worse.
"Well maybe you could record one for her instead," Alya suggests slyly.
Adrien chuckles.
"Would you find that funny, Marinette?"
Marinette emits a sound like an old steam train.
"Don't ever do that again," Ladybug says that evening, crashing down ungracefully beside him. She considers using her yoyo to tie him up so she can beat him with his own staff, but she just reattaches it to her hip. He watches the motion and his eyes linger.
"Why whatever do you mean, m'lady?"
"You know exactly what you did. You know what you did to me."
"I certainly had my hopes," Chat Noir admits sheepishly.
She wonders if he knows that he crossed a line, because he doesn't always know where the line is. In this case, she's not sure that she does either. She could pick up some takeout and put on his voice in the background, and it's insulting that any other girl could now do that too.
"You could always get the authentic experience," he points out, as though he can read her mind. "You and no one else."
"I'd like that," she admits to herself and him. "I like capers."
She doesn't patrol for long because she can't stop picturing his beautiful mouth as he messily eats forkfuls of chicken piccata.
Ladybug and Chat Noir merch has been a thing in Paris for ages, but the former has always been more prevalent. That appears to be changing, though, with Chat Noir's colors and image showing up on more shirts and stickers. It's due to these videos of his, and she's insulted it's taken this long and this newfound hobby for people to catch up. It's irritating that anyone else lauds his voice over his heroics when she knows both are lifesaving.
Some people also seem to be turning against it. Or maybe they always were but now feel safer being more vocal about it since the fervor isn't dying down and might actually be growing. People like Chloé.
"It's not like his voice is even that attractive," her shrill complaint carries across the lunchroom. "It's all high-pitched and whiny."
There's a sharp crack like a carrot breaking in half.
"Chat Noir's voice is drop-dead gorgeous!" Marinette fires back, and she wasn't even part of that conversation.
"Please, Dupain-Cheng," Chloé cackles. "Please don't tell me you've moved on from chasing my Adrikins for that mangy cat."
A room full of heads snap around as Adrien starts choking on his food. It's not even a subtle hint but taken with other things people have said about him or Marinette recently, it's like his world has shifted from black and white to full color. Marinette, face scorching, slaps him on the back right between his taut shoulder blades and both tingle from the contact. She stares at him like she's horrified by what he might say and it's further confirmation. But he can't possibly turn words into sentences over this.
He excuses himself to the bathroom and doesn't return.
When Chat Noir finally stops by to visit Marinette, she wishes he hadn't because it's like getting caught with her pants down. He knocks on the balcony hatch as he opens it, and she's lying in bed, eyes shut, with the phone next to her playing another of his indispensable calming sermons. She's not asleep yet, but her breathing has mostly evened out and a slight, content smile graces her lips.
He gasps.
It's just loud enough for her eyes to pop open. They stare at each other, daring one another to speak first, silently communicating in a way Chat Noir never has with Marinette.
"I was told you didn't care for these," he says, soul split somewhere between amused and harrowed.
"You grew on me," she painfully admits.
"Wait, were you falling asleep to this, Marinette?" To me, he means. And it's none of her business if his cheeks redden below his mask.
"It's not what you think," she groans. But she trusts him, so if she's going to be an embarrassing wreck she might as well go all-in. "I have nightmares... Akuma-related ones. Lately it's been a lot easier to sleep at night with your voice."
His flush is in full effect and he tries his best to push through it. He can't afford to think about how she feels about either of him. He came with a purpose.
"I wanted to apologize in person," he says, his hand on his staff. He presses the button and her phone dings with a subscription notification.
Chat Noir Apawlogizes For 5 Minutes
"Are you for real?" she asks.
"I wasn't thinking when I recorded you," he says, which is not an apology. "I just thought your singing was nice and wanted to share it."
"You thought my distracted atonal warbling was good content?"
"It's one of my top videos," he says, which is still not an apology.
Sick of holding a conversation with a boy looming over her while lying on her back, she beckons him through the skylight. He drops beside her holding a white take-away bag. He doesn't intentionally draw attention to it but she gestures at it in a wordless question.
"Food. Part of my apology," he offers.
He reveals a container of chicken piccata and her heart leaps into her throat. She normally thinks of her kitty as enduringly kind and caring, so this ambush feels like the meanest thing he's ever done. He's nervously waiting for her to say something.
"How did you figure out my identity?" she asks quietly.
He sucks in dry air and she swears his pupils dilate. He's deathly quiet as only his eyes move to take in her eyes, her hair, her earrings. His throat constricts like talking is the hardest battle he'll ever face.
"I didn't. I just really like chicken piccata, m'lady."
Now who's ambushing who? It's disorienting to see his lady looking so out of her element, but his brain is too fried to overthink anything. It's a shot of adrenaline.
"Marinette," he says urgently. "I really need to show you who I am right this second."
The next day at school, she's there early. She couldn't sleep and his voice certainly wasn't helping. Marinette smooths out her outrageously cute outfit when his car arrives and he hastily stumbles out and crashes mouth-first into her. Doing so in full view of everyone, including Alya and particularly including Chloé and Lila, she amends, might actually be the meanest thing he's ever done. She doesn't care. Both their faces are on fire but they've earned this.
There are questions, because of course there are questions, along with congratulations. Marinette is relieved that, probably due to the necessity of it as a hero, Adrien has an impressive knack for lying. Such as when he clarifies to shocked classmates that he's secretly loved Marinette for ages. She'll have to periodically remind herself that it's not a lie.
Later, on the roof overlooking the Trocadéro, with hours and hours of heart wrenching and heartwarming conversation behind them, the only thing between them now is about two inches of separation. No more secrets. No more misunderstandings. Even two inches feels like too much.
While more free as Adrien and Marinette now, there's still things only Ladybug and Chat Noir can do. There's still this.
"Ready?" he asks.
"Yes."
"I'm going to hit the button now…"
"I know."
"Once I start this—"
"For god's sake, hit the button."
He presses the paw pad and it turns red. Holding the staff between them, close enough that both can talk softly, his free hand's fingers thread between hers. They nod.
"You're doing great," Ladybug begins soothingly.
"We know how hard everything feels sometimes," he says, and the empathy of the sentiment, coming from him, makes her heart ache. "You have challenges in your life. Everyone does. And sometimes they might feel too hard."
"But you know what?" she says. "You're smart. You're strong. You're tough. You always have been."
"You've done so well," Chat says. "Ladybug and I are so proud of you."
"You're a hero, just like us."