Work Text:
“So… when were you gonna tell me that you know Chat Noir?”
Marinette sputtered, choking on the coffee she was drinking. “I—I have no idea—“
“Save it, girl,” Alya said, cutting her off. She raised her phone, a clear image of her and Chat lounging on her roof. “The evidence is incriminating.”
“That—he visits sometimes. He saved me once, a few years ago.” It wasn't a lie . Technically.
…Maybe a half-truth.
Alya eyed her suspiciously, cocking a brow. “A few years ago? Does Adrien know about this?”
Oh, boy did Adrien know. She put on a nonchalant smile. “They know each other, too. We promised not to tell anyone.” Marinette made a note of putting extra emphasis on the last word. “Sorry?”
Thankfully, her friend seemed satisfied with the excuse. “Can't be helped, I suppose. He is a superhero.”
She mumbled on about those “darn secret identities—didn't they have any pity for us journalists?”
Marinette shook her head, a small smile gracing her features. She discreetly brought out her phone, sending a simple text to her boyfriend while Alya went on with her mini-rant.
[To: Adrien (^-_< ^)b]
Le minou may need to stop visiting.
[From: Adrien (^-_< ^)b]
Oops. Alya?
[To: Adrien (^-_< ^)b]
Bingo.
[From: Adrien (^-_< ^)b]
Maybe Mme. Spots should drop by instead?
She blushed at the implications of the nickname, grateful Alya was too busy jotting down notes and actually doing her work. Granted, her job was to figure out a way to learn Ladybug and Chat Noir’s identities, but still.
[To: Adrien (^-_< ^)b]
Last I checked, I wasn't married.
[From: Adrien (^-_< ^)b]
Not yet ;)
Marinette could feel herself melting. If she turned into a puddle inside the café, would everyone blame the coffee? Would Alya notice her red color, or the grin she was fighting to keep down?
[To: Adrien (^-_< ^)b]
You're five.
[From: Adrien (^-_< ^)b]
And you, my Lady, are a ten.
She really, really hoped Alya wouldn't look up. Every time she thought he'd lose his charm on her, she ended up blushing from noon to night. Her phone buzzed again, showing another text from Adrien.
[From: Adrien (^-_< ^)b]
Shoot’s starting in two. See you tonight, mon cœur?
[To: Adrien (^-_< ^)b]
Oui, mon minou! Don't be late.
They'd known for years. The initial shock had worn off considerably quickly, and they'd settled into an easy friendship in their civilian identities, both agreeing to at lease ease into the relationship for their friends’ sake. He'd bought her flowers a month later, on Valentine’s Day. Alya squealed like a good, supportive friend, and Marinette didn't need to act much to go full red—in the face, of course—because he'd done it in full view of everyone at school. And that was that.
(Nobody questioned when a LadyNoir picture had showed up a month prior on the Ladyblog , with the two sharing a kiss on the rooftop of the Collège Françoise-Dupont. This was expected by the masses, and all Adrien and Marinette had to do was nod and comment about how “it was about time.”)
That was, what? Five, six years ago? It made Marinette’s head spin. A cryptic text from Adrien wasn't anything new, but ever since he'd gotten the nerve—courage?—to act like Chat around her as a civilian , she wasn't always entirely sure if something he sent was a joke, or completely serious.
Stupid text messages and their lack of subtle communication. If he'd even try to tell her that in person, she'd know. He'd wink and he'd smile, and his eyes would look on longingly as they shone. She saw it every time he told her he loved her, Chat or not.
Maybe that's why it was in a text, and not a call. Maybe—
“Girl, your coffee’s gone cold. Are you alright?” Alya asked, her voice full of concern.
"F-fine,” she lied, chugging down the drink. “Just work stuff.”
Well, technically, if being Ladybug was a job, and Ladybug was with Chat Noir, and Chat Noir was implying they would be getting married, then it was work stuff, right?
“You'll be fine. Your father-in-law loves all your stuff,” her best friend encouraged.
“Alya!”
“I'm just saying.”
“And how would you feel if I started making jokes about Nino’s dad like that?”
“Oh, girl,” Alya said, waving a hand dismissively. “Nino’s waiting for our ten-year anniversary. We both know this.”
More like setting the date for your ten-year anniversary , Marinette thought, careful not to use the information as a bargaining chip. Nino would have her head. “Well—your face is a ten-year anniversary,” she said lamely.
Alya tried to hold back a laugh. “Aw. You're adorable. Good try, though.”
The noirette rolled her eyes in defeat. The things she did to preserve proposal surprises.
***
“Quiet night, my Lady,” Chat saluted as she approached the roof he was on. “Not even a single purr son causing trouble.”
“That's in your top ten,” Ladybug answered dryly. “Top ten worst, that is.” She leapt the last distance, landing gracefully by his side, and quickly planting a kiss of his cheek. “But I still love you.”
Chat grinned. He was lucky. Well, she was lucky, and he was lucky by association. They got to spend their last year of high school together, causing a stir amongst their classmates at finally realizing they were meant to be. University was a fun—albeit hectic—ride, filled with overnights and a seemingly endless stream of fabric for Marinette, and business and physics classes for him. There was many a double study date during that time, and thrice as much coffee and caffeinated tea was downed in an effort to finish the applications for internships and final assignments.
And the internships… Chat was beyond overjoyed to learn that his girlfriend had been accepted into his father's company the summer after freshman year, and even moreso because he had yet to formally introduce her to his father.
Take that, nepotism.
She was a constant in the company since, taking every break and summer vacation by the reigns as if she never had a shy phase in her life. Gabriel Agreste adored her and her work—she took criticism like a champ, and she was too stubborn to quit.
He, in turn, got to help out in the business side of the bakery—he loved it there, the feeling of home etched in every nook and cranny of the townhouse.
Besides, Marinette’s parents were absolute angels, and he really enjoyed their company.
An extra incentive to have her permanently in his life.
“What's going on in the head of yours, Chat?” Ladybug asked, careful to use his alter ego in case a snooping Alya was around. “I thought we agreed daydreaming on patrol kind of defeated the purpose.”
“Sorry, my Lady,” he replied smoothly, hunkering down his features and desperately trying to keep his voice neutral. “There's been a lot of things going on lately.” Please think I'm talking about Nino.
She sighed. “Yeah… did—“ she glanced around, looking for her friend, satisfied with the absolute lack of Alya that evening, “—Nino figure out a plan yet?”
Yes, hello? I would like to thank every single non-evil kwami in existence.
He shrugged. “He's still ‘waiting for inspiration to hit’.”
Ladybug rolled her eyes. “One job.”
I would like to revise my previous statement—a big thank you to the evil kwamis, too.
They patrolled Paris in a comfortable silence, Ladybug assuming Chat was too tired from work or something or other. He did have a long shoot today, after all. Chat gave her some complementary quips as he passed her every now and then, assuring her that he was paying attention, if not slightly distracted.
They stopped at the Eiffel Tower out of habit. Lazing about on one of the beams, Chat watched her slide down beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder, her breathing steady and strong. He looked up—there was a full moon tonight, and it was late enough to lack a crowd. He could do it now, he thought. Take her all the way up to the peak and transform back to Adrien Agreste—Adrien, who, in the past month, had had a small, bespotted box hidden away in a secret pocket of his shirt. A pocket Marinette had added a long time ago, in an effort to give Plagg a better hideout.
The black kwami had told him to marry her then and there. Tikki had told him to shut up. Marinette had blushed. Adrien had almost died.
That was five years ago; the summer between high school and university, when she'd noticed Plagg was always scuffling about after detransforming, and Adrien would always have to hold the kwami as he recharged.
I should do it now , he reasoned with himself, the night air overtaking his senses. The smell of bread and freshly-cut fabric was especially strong tonight. Was his heart beating too fast? Could she hear it? He hoped she was asleep. Or tired. Or—
“Are you okay, Adrien?” she asked softly, her arm hooked under his. She didn't turn her head.
“J-Just cold, I suppose,” he answered lamely.
He felt her move her head, and imagined her scrunching her nose. “It's summer.”
“Ah, right.” Goodbye, Adrien. Goodbye, Chat Noir. You tried so very, very hard.
She finally pulled away, making him look her in the face. “Is there something you want to talk about?”
“Uh…” Sure! Yes! Will you marry me? I would've asked six years ago, but we were eighteen! So! Will you? “N-Nope. Nothing.”
A trademark Marinette Uh, okay, I guess? face stared back at him.
Stupid stutter. Stupid butterflies (in his stomach, not an akuma). Stupid proposing being stupidly hard to do for a stupid model/businessman/rocket-building enthusiast. He feigned a yawn—he knew she wouldn't buy it, but whatever, he was desperate. “It's very late, my Lady. Shall I drop you off?”
She smiled playfully. “I think I should be dropping you off this time. Remember?”
A memory of a text brought him back. He grinned sheepishly. “That sounds purrfect, Ladybug.”
***
Time slowed in the coming weeks, and Marinette watched her world crumble. Adrien had started to stay away more and more. Even as Chat, he kept his distance, and she'd caught him stuck in a daze more times than she could count.
It was almost a month of this behavior, and she was getting worried. Did he not… did he stop…?
She couldn't think the words. This was Adrien. Chat Noir. Low-key timid, model-businessman-physics nerd Adrien. Selfless, caring, loving Adrien. Gigantic dork and fanboy Adrien. The guy who had her back in every fight. Her own personal cheer squad. Her best friend. The love of her life.
So why is he always so distant? she thought painfully. Why can't I read him anymore?
“Marinette, you're overthinking things,” Tikki consoled, squishing her face with tiny kwami arms. “I'm sure everything's fine.”
“Thunks, Tukki.”
The red kwami pat her chosen’s face. “Now hurry up, you're going to be late.”
The noirette smiled softly. “Like Nino will be on time,” she commented, picking up her stuff: a stack of poster-sized photographs of said man with her best friend from a trip to Martinique and on a few of their most memorable dates, a roll of lace, and her purse.
Tikki frowned. “He's the one proposing.”
“Which is exactly why he won't be on time,” Marinette laughed, her previous worries gone. “He's worse than me when it comes to talking about feelings.”
Her phone rang, and Adrien's scrunched up face showed up on her screen, making her smile. Was she really worried about this dork?
Click. “Oui?”
“Your carriage awaits, my Lady,” came the charming reply from the other end of the line.
“On my way, mon cœur.”
If only she'd remembered he'd made a quip on marriage just a month ago.
***
Adrien smiled widely as she slid into the limo beside him, instinctively looping her arm with his. He kissed the top of her head. “Got your stuff?”
She raised the pictures and lace. “You?”
He nodded his head at the rest of the limo, and she followed his gaze. There was a rolled up carpet and several stacks of newly-bought candles. “All here.”
***
“I mean, I guess what I'm getting at is—will you marry me?”
The words struck Adrien with a force. He was seeing his future. This was going to be him in a week’s time. He was going to be the one down on one knee, proposing to the girl of his dreams.
He almost died.
“Ow!” Nino yelled after Alya punched his arm, the ring dropping onto the carpet. “What was that for?”
Adrien looked on, arm around a worried-looking Marinette, trying to figure out if they should be rushing in or staying back in the shadows.
The redhead pulled up the bespectacled goofball on the ground, kissing him to shut up his further protests. “For being a romantic,” she said finally, as they parted. “I can't believe this. I can't believe you did this.”
Nino frowned sarcastically, picking up the ring. “Okay, I know that you know that I like it when my work is praised, but seriously? I kind of need an answer. This ring is expensive.”
She punched him again, lighter.
He grinned, the light from the candles reflecting from his eyes. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Alya replied with finality, embracing him. “Now get your accomplices out here, you doof.”
Nino nodded, and Marinette raced Adrien to their position, jumping onto her friends excitedly.
They lit up Paris with laughter that night.
***
Adrien fidgeted in his seat as they rode to her house. “Marinette?”
“Hmm?” she answered sleepily.
“Je t’aime.”
She snuggled closer, her eyes closed. “Mm.”
A little later, he carried her into the bakery, nodding in quiet greeting at Tom and Sabine as he went.
***
They didn't see each other that week. Adrien was throwing around ideas with Nino, and his photoshoot schedule took up everything else.
Marinette attempted not to think about his lack of communication as she patrolled the night streets alone.
It was Saturday.
Marinette smiled. Adrien had promised a night out, and had only told her to dress up. This had to be a good thing, right? An attempt at reconnecting?
She sighed, trying to keep her mind off of things. She reached for her newest creation: a navy blue dress trimmed with white, with little intricate details spread around. It was simple, just like her.
She grinned.
***
“It's going down tonight,” Adrien spoke into the phone in a hushed voice, careful to make sure Marinette wouldn't be able to hear if she came out of her house all of a sudden. She still lived with her parents, the bakery providing her with a rent-free lifestyle until she was ready to pay for her own Parisian apartment.
Or, better yet, move in with Adrien in less than a year.
He hoped.
“—well? Adrien? Are you listening to me? ”
“Huh?”
A sigh. “I said, don't overthink things.”
“Oh,” he said, as Marinette walked out of the bakery. She was dressed in a simple navy blue semi-formal dress, but it knocked the air out of his lungs anyway.
It was something that wouldn't draw attention to her. She did that a lot ever since she'd started getting traction in the fashion industry—she didn't want someone to accidentally notice her features were glaringly close to those of Ladybug. It also, unfortunately, made her cut back on red clothes—Adrien’s favorite on her.
A rustling sound in his ear reminded Adrien he was on call. “I gotta go. I'll meet up with you and Alya tomorrow.”
“Hey, man, just don't—" Click.
He grinned. “Shall we?”
She took his arm.
***
Honestly, he was planning on proposing on the school steps where they first became friends, but this dinner was going horribly and he needed something to salvage it.
Marinette had sensed his nervous energy, and he had kept stammering all through the meal. Oh, he was in for it now. He was going to mess it up worse than when Dark Cupid attacked. They sat in an uncomfortable silence, Marinette’s smile slowly dying in favor of a sad frown. What was she thinking? Did she think he was incompetent? Not that she would be wrong, but would she say ‘yes’ to an incompetent person?
He watched as her eyes flicked to the couples in surrounding tables, noting how those guys were talking and laughing, and just generally being charming, and he was being the worst communicator in the modern age.
Stop overthinking, he thought. He frowned at his food. Was thinking about overthinking considered overthinking?
Marinette reached out a hand, touching his. She gave him a concerned look, asking to be let in.
Adrien smiled lopsidedly.
He put his free hand into his shirt, searching for the box.
Wait.
Shirt.
He changed his shirt.
“Adrien?” her voice called sweetly, trying to ease him out of the shock of being a completely useless human being, c'mon, Adrien! One job!
“I—uh, bathroom. Be right back!” he said a little too loudly.
Marinette stared at him, incredibly confused and extremely concerned. Which he didn't notice. Because he was fumbling around in his shirt pocket vainly trying to locate the box with the ring, the ring he “needed to give her” because he “needed her with him forever” and “Plagg, get out of the way! I need to check that pocket!”
An explosion from the restaurant caught his attention, then the unmistakable cackle of an akumatized victim.
Guess the ring would have to wait.
Again.
***
“Oof, that was… not fun,” Chat commented, landing beside Ladybug at the base of the Eiffel Tower. How did they always wind up in the most romantic spot in the city during an akuma attack? Well. Usually.
Sometimes.
When he was being bothered by asking The Question.
Which was every akuma in the last two months, give or take two.
Ladybug was silent.
“My Lady?” he asked, forcing himself to stand. “What's wrong?”
“You tell me,” she replied with a strange tone. Discomfort? Confusion?
Hurt?
“I have no idea wh—”
“Seriously, Chat?” she frowned. He didn't like it when she frowned. “You've been… avoiding me.”
He looked around, checking to confirm that there was no crowd to listen in. “Marinette… what are you talking about?”
“You're always out, or working, or something , and we've met up maybe thrice in the past two months, and—”
Two months? What did—the ring . Two months ago he'd started trying to give her the stupid ring.
“—and that.”
Adrien blinked. “Huh?” Way to zone out at the worst time possible, champ.
She sighed, putting a hand on his cheek. “I know you're busy. But you used to always make time—a text, a call. And you used to listen to me.”
He was busy with something he couldn't talk to her about. Busy plotting and re-plotting with Alya and Nino and Marinette's parents.
He was so busy trying to make her happy that he forgot to actually do it.
Her arms were crossed now. The defensive position she loved to take when someone tried to ask her about Ladybug. “If this isn't… working , for you, then…”
What? “What?” he repeated vocally, dumbfounded.
“You don't have to pretend for me, Chat,” she said sadly, her hand still on his cheek.
Chat. They were too far away to be heard by anyone else, and she called him Chat. Separating herself. Separating him.
“I'll see you around,” Marinette said quietly, none of the usual humor in her eyes. He knew what she meant.
Around, as in, if she did. Not on purpose. Not on a date. Not to hang out. Not to together.
In hindsight, he should've yelled after her—should've chased her down and told her why he was acting so oddly, so not-Adrien-esque. That he loved her and wanted her to wear the ruby ring he'd had handcrafted for her. That he was being weird because he didn't want her to find out.
But he didn't, because he was still in shock that she would even entertain the thought that she didn't make him happy. Didn't make him laugh. Didn't make him feel at home.
When his head cleared, the rooftops were empty.
And frankly, so was he.
****
She closed her blinds and pretended to sleep. Tikki huddled beside her, saying nothing. It wasn't the time for words.
Adrien came by. She knew, because he'd meowed outside her window, pretending to be a cat to lessen suspicion. She didn't go up the trapdoor to see him. Not this time.
She guessed that he left around 2 am, after a soft whisper that she couldn't—or wouldn't—make out.
*****
“Je t’aime,” he whispered, his eyelids drooping. He wanted to stay here. Stay awake and explain in the morning. Except he had a long day and knew he wouldn't make it for much longer. “I will fix this, my Lady,” he promised to the night. “I'm so sorry.”
******
Three hours and a lick of sunrise later, she finally slept, the dried tear marks on her face the only reminder of the night before.
*******
It should've been illegal for the weather to be so nice when he was feeling such inner turmoil. It wasn't fair that everyone else should be enjoying the sun and breeze when his entire world had just disintegrated into an unsalvageable mess.
Adrien kept walking toward the spot they'd agreed on: a cluster of trees in view of the fountain. He was supposed to come with Marinette.
He was also supposed to be engaged.
Alya had her blog open on her laptop, sifting through comments and clearing out the ones breaking rules. The glinting ring on her hand left Adrien in pain. He kept walking towards them.
“Wow, you look—” Nino started, but his fiancée elbowed him.
“Nino!” she glared. “Finesse. What happened, Adrien?”
He visibly drooped. “I think—I think she broke up with me.”
Alya’s jaw dropped, and Nino resisted the urge to throw her own advice back at her. This wasn't the time.
“She—why?” Alya asked in a moment of clarity. She looked personally offended that her friend would do such a thing.
“Because I was being distant.”
“Oh, bro,” Nino chided. “You overthought it, didn't you?”
Silence.
Nino adjusted his cap. “What is the one thing I told you not to do?”
“Overthink things…”
“And what did you do?”
“…overthink things…” Adrien sighed. “I just wish—”
A beep from Alya’s laptop announced some sort of milestone reached on the Ladyblog.
Adrien’s eyes went wide. The gears started turning.
“Sorry,” she said, closing the computer. “Go on.”
“Actually,” Adrien started walking backwards, eyes wide and a plan forming in his brain. Forget the risks , his heart told him. This is worth it. She is worth it. “I gotta go. Idea. Thanks for the help!”
He ran, leaving two very confused friends behind. He didn't care. He was going to see them again, very, very soon.
As Chat Noir.
*******
“Alya Césaire!” a dark figure yelled. “I am in dire need of your ex purrtise!”
The couple turned. Nino wrapped his arm protectively around her. “Spoken for, dude.”
“I'm aware, monsieur,” Chat replied with a mischievous grin. “In fact, as you are her cameraman, I may need you as well.”
Nino looked at his fiancée. Alya shrugged, as confused as he was. “Uh, sure? But you and Ladybug will owe me an interview afterwards.”
Ha. Sure. “Ha! Sure,” the black cat grinned. “Now, where can we film? In private?” Up the street. At your studio.
Alya shared a look with her fiancé. “Our studio’s up the street,” she responded when Nino shrugged. “Follow me.”
*******
The red light blinked on, and Nino gestured for Chat to go ahead.
She'll watch this. Alya would force her to. And she'd watch it to humor her friend. Because she was that kind of person.
He gulped. “Uh, hi,” he started, an awkward smile on his lips. “I know I'm… not your favorite person right now. But I'm sorry.”
He saw Alya raise a brow, but ignored it. “I didn't mean to treat you that way. I—you might not believe this, but I really do love you.”
Alya and Nino shared a look. What happened to the ever-sturdy LadyNoir relationship? it asked. And how is this also happening with...?
He kept going. “I love watching you work at the Trocadéro. I love how you concentrate so hard that you forget I'm there—”
Alya frowned, whispering to Nino, who had backed away from the camera. “The Trocadéro?”
Nino raised empty hands, shaking his head.
In front of them, Chat continued his spiel.
“Isn't that Marinette’s favorite spot to work?” the filmmaker asked quietly.
“Yeah, but…”
“—you never could get the smell of bread out, even if you tried. I hope you never do—” Chat continued, Alya’s eyes widening as her brain grasped at the evidence.
“There's no way,” she hissed.
“There's some way,” Nino hissed back.
“She's been dating Adrien,” Alya argued, making sure to keep her voice down.
Chat didn't notice, opting to go on and on about Ladybug’s other hobbies and skills.
Skills that sounded an awful lot like those of Marinette.
Nino hunched, a frown on his face. “Correction, babe: she was dating Adrien.”
They turned to watch Chat closely, and Nino saw him pull up a small object that he was hiding in his fist.
His eyes widened.
The camera shut off abruptly, both Chat and Alya turning to Nino in surprise.
“I know that box…” Nino said slowly, pointing. “I was there when he bought it—I was with—”
Chat let the transformation fade, his eyes containing a small smile. If he didn't get Marinette back, at least he wouldn't have to hide and lie to his friends anymore.
“—Adrien,” Alya finished, her eyes wide. “That's why you knew. About everything.”
“Sorry,” he said with a shrug and a cat-like grin. “We didn't want to drag you guys into it.”
Alya’s eyebrows shot up. She was right. “You—‘we’ ?—Then—”
“You didn't think I'd be proposing to someone other than my girlfriend, right?” Adrien laughed. “I'm a one-bug kind of cat.”
“I'm…”
“Impressed? Confused? Amazed?”
“SO mad at BOTH of you!” Alya said through gritted teeth. “If I weren't so happy, you would be dead meat right now, Agreste!”
“Oho,” Adrien grinned as he stepped over to the window, transforming back to Chat Noir and wagging a finger at her. “Soon you'll have to be careful when making threats to that name.” His confidence dropped. “Hopefully.”
And with that, he left Nino in a surprised state, his jaw still on the floor in delayed shock, with Alya calming down enough to try to get him back together.
*******
Marinette’s phone rang. “Hello?”
“You need to check my blog.”
“I'm not really in the mood, A—”
“Now, Marinette,” came Alya’s stern reply.
“Wow, pushy. Hang on.” Marinette turned to the computer, typing up the address for the Ladyblog, and plugging in her earphones.
“Trust me, it's good.”
The noirette snorted. “Okay, whatever you—”
EXCLUSIVE: Chat Noir’s Plea to Paris Superheroine, Ladybug!
“Alya?”
“Yes?”
“What is this?”
“I don't know. Maybe you should watch it.”
Marinette laughed awkwardly. “Why—why should I watch it if it's for Ladybug?”
“Because I know. Now watch it, girl. And don't worry. It's only seen by you.” And with that, Alya hung up.
“I—” Marinette said to no one. “What?”
She pushed away the flood of questions (most of which included How did she find out? and Am I really the only one who can see this?), opting instead to watch the video.
The video that detailed how much he loved her. Loved, present tense. As in, currently. Right now. Still.
The video where he talked about her hair, and her smile, and her eyes. The faint scent of bread. The familiar callouses on her hands. The loose threads on fabric that were always in her hair—the ones he liked to remove just to make her blush. Or to get close to her face so he could kiss her, then make her blush. The fact that she wouldn't drink her medicine unless he promised to give her sweets afterwards. The way she drew—her furrowed brows and the look of pure determination on her face. The way the light shone on her face. How the wind blew her hair. Her heart, and her innate need to help others. Her.
The video that ended abruptly with Chat—Adrien, pulling out a small red box with black dots. The camera cut off seconds before it fully came on screen, but she knew as she stared at the frozen frame of the last shot.
She knew what it was.
Marinette dashed out of her office, promising to work on her designs at home.
She had another seam to fix.
*******
She would come. He knew she would come. She always came.
Except in the last couple of weeks. When she didn't. Because there weren't any attacks. And she was trying to get over me, oh, no—why did I ask her to come?
“Salut, le minou,” a gentle voice called, making Chat jump. She landed beside him gracefully, a familiar tug in her heart.
She asked before she lost the nerve. “What was in the box?”
Chat Noir looked up at her, eyes shining, the red and black box inside his clenched fist. He really didn't want to drop it. He smiled wide, lovestruck at her—her in her entirety.
Marinette Dupain-Cheng. 24 years old. Black hair, blue eyes, freckles. The softest and strongest voice all in one. Could bench press double his weight.
His own personal cheer squad. His best friend.
The love of his life.
He lifted his fist, uncurling his claws to expose the small ring box. “A question.”
“Are the answers multiple choice?” she asked slowly, walking closer. They were on the roof of a building that was exactly halfway from her house and halfway to his.
“I hope not,” he answered with a small laugh as she reached him. “Unless they're all pawsitive.”
She didn't open it. She didn't have to. “With you, they always are,” she said, kissing him.
He stared at her as she pulled away, his body emitting nervous energy.
“Yes, Adrien,” she whispered as she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him. “Of course it's a yes.”
“You sure know how to make a cat worry,” he said, nuzzling into her hair.
“You sure know how to make a bug worry,” she countered.
He pulled away enough to open the box. “And meow you're going to be stuck with me.”
Marinette nudged him, laughing and letting him slip the ring on her finger. “Oui, mon minou. A fate worse than death.”
“Ouch!” he said in fake anguish.
“You big baby.” She tiptoed, kissing him lightly. “Now… how does Alya know?”
*******
“I'm just sayin’, a double wedding is super cool. Especially now that we know… y’know,” Nino said, gesturing awkwardly.
Adrien frowned. “You just don't want to pay for yours.”
“I would be lying if that weren't a bonus.”
Alya facepalmed. “I agreed to marry you?”
“Sure did,” Nino grinned, teasingly. “Who's the big idiot now?”
“Still you,” Marinette and Adrien said at the same time, causing all but the DJ to laugh.
“Oh har-har. Remember who's playing the music at your wedding,” he threatened.
“Oh, so it's ours again?” Adrien laughed.
“It's—oh, shut up,” Nino conceded, slouching. “Go save Paris, or something.”
As if on cue, a herd of screaming people came running past the café the group currently sat in.
The other three turned to Nino.
“Whoa, hey—I didn't do it. Cross my fragile heart,” he swore, his eyes wide. Beside him, Alya picked up the camera.
“We’ll aim for the Champs-Élysées,” Marinette whispered across the table, her and fiancé—she never grew tired of saying that—getting up and quickly leaving the café.
“Got it,” Alya nodded, clasping her friend’s hand. “Be careful.”
The superhero pair shared a smile, nodded, and ran.
********
Alya smiled as she uploaded the video that night—she and Nino had had a clear view to the superheroes’ position, and Ladybug and Chat Noir’s intertwined hands at the end of the fight in full, glorious HD was something for the record books.
…Or maybe their kids?
She could see it now, Marinette and a small child with dirty blonde hair and a gaping tooth on sketching away on her desk:
“Mama?”
“Yes?”
“When were you gonna tell me that you know Chat Noir?”