Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alya could count on one hand how many times she thought she was about to murder her best friend.

This was one of those times.

“What do you mean you’re engaged?!” Nino yelled in desperation from the doorway of the bakery, surprising any and all of the patrons. His customary hat was falling of his head, headphones barely hanging onto his neck, coat half-off, and phone gripped so tight his knuckles turned white.

Marinette squeaked behind the redhead.

In all honesty, she didn’t expect Nino to respond so fast. Or that he wouldn’t realize it wasn’t, well—

That it wasn’t true.

But he didn’t know that.

And he was here.

And he thought she was serious.

And Alya looked like she was about to cause some real, physical damage.

“Wow, I think I hear Adrien—outside—on the street—bye!” she sputtered out, running past Nino and into the street.

Nino who was still dazed and confused and a little (lot) hurt. And staring at his ex. His ex who he was obviously still not over, because he just ran across town during a meeting to see her and to confirm the contents of her text message.

(Somewhere in the middle of it all, the customers had all shuffled out of the bakery through the back door, and so had Marinette’s parents. It was a stand-off, now.)

Alya spoke first. “Why are you here?”

“Are you?” Nino gawked.

The redhead raised both hands. “See a ring?”

“No,” Nino replied breathily, relief all over his face.

“Then no.”

“You’re—are you seeing an—“

“No.”

He nodded, causing his hat to finally fall off. He let it. “Cool.”

Alya raised a brow. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I—“ He coughed, raising his phone. “Marinette—“

“We were talking about a cover story,” Alya said quickly, cutting him off. “Something I had to do for work.”

“Oh.” That’s great, he wanted to add.

“Yeah.” I miss you, she wanted to say.

“Alya?” he asked, somehow finding himself two steps away.

“Nino.”

“Um.” He shuffled his feet.

Alya hummed something sad to herself.

They hadn’t seen each other in months. It wasn’t a bad breakup, per se, but they were close friends… and with Adrien and Marinette completing their small group, it was hard to see each other as just friends when their actual Just Friends™ were in a happy, loving relationship.

They used work as an excuse, because that’s what had caused it to begin with. Then they used the “moving on” excuse, claiming their respective exes would just be confused with them hanging around.

Because they were trying to convince themselves that, too. Because in the past 78 days and 15 hours, they found themselves taking more and more responsibilities at work in an effort to justify that that was why they did it.

“I still love you,“ they said in unison.

Alya stared.

Nino blinked.

“You—you’re a mess,” the redhead said, fixing his coat. Nino noted her blush.

“Your mess, hopefully.”

She laughed, and he wondered how he thought he could ever live without her laugh. “As if you ever stopped being my mess.”

“So about you being engaged…” Nino smiled.

Alya blinked.

“How about it?”

She pushed at his chest, her annoyance and affection fighting to take over her facial features. “Nino!”

He was grinning now—that wide, slightly asymmetrical laughing grin that she loved to see. “What? I don’t want to risk it again.”

“If you think I’m going to say ‘yes’ to flimsy, half-hearted—“

“I promise that had my whole heart—“

“—excuse for a proposal, you have another thing coming! Do something romantic next time!”

Nino froze, his smile only growing wider. “Next time?”

“I—well—“ Busted, she thought. She shrugged, crossing her arms. “Assuming you want to try again.”

“Give me a few days,” he replied excitedly, all but running out the door. “And tell Marinette thanks!”

“Nino!” Alya yelled again, this time in vain. The man had already ran a block away.

Idiot, she thought with a half-smile. He forgot to give me a goodbye kiss.

Chapter Text

Marinette stared at the request on the screen.

Please send your cutest delivery person?

She blinked, mentally noting that she was going to have to tell Alya to put up some rules for the request section of the online delivery form. Click, and off the page went. At least it sounded unsure—probably a dare, she thought.

She shook her head, muttering, “Guess someone’s going to be disappointed,” as she packed in the two pizza boxes into her delivery bag. Why anyone had thought of putting camembert on their pizza was a good idea confused her to no end… except she also wondered how they had camembert in the pantry.

Anyway.

Marinette locked up the pizzeria—this was her last delivery for the night, and Mylène, the cook, had already left—and double-checked the address on her phone before starting up the motorcycle.

(She’d dubbed the red-and-black speed-beast “Tikki” the moment she got it, but that was neither here nor there.)

Ten blocks right and four left later, her motorcycle stilled, and she stepped up to a modest-looking apartment building on the outskirts of Paris.

If she was suddenly nervous, she didn’t think it.

She read the receipt tacked onto the boxes, scanning the names on the list for one Nino—

“Ah, there!” Marinette grinned, pressing the button with her elbow.

A cheery voice answered through the intercom. “Ouais?”

“Miraculous Pizza, monsieur.”

“Oh, awesome! 801, first door on your left from the elevator.”

The low sound of a TV stopped abruptly, to be replaced by the buzz of the door being unlocked. In she went.

Marinette stood in front of the door of room 801 with the boxes stacked on top of one hand and knocked.

And then…

Nothing.

She raised a brow.

Knock knock knock.

She heard two voices inside, the distinctive “Oof!” of someone being pushed, and then the TV revving up again.

But still, the door remained shut.

Marinette huffed, her patience wearing thin. It was past midnight, she was going to be embarrassing herself over their request, and not to mention that paper on fashion trends fro—

She jumped a bit as the doorknob spun, simultaneous with the sound a chain unlocking. Her arm jutted out, stilling the boxes before they could fall.

She should’ve worried about how to keep herself from falling.

Figuratively, not literally.

The blond in front of her had his hair tousled, presumably from the pushing she’d heard earlier. He rubbed the back of his neck, and offered an awkward smile. He looked about her age, and

“I’m sorry about your request—I was the only one on delivery duty tonight,” Marinette heard herself say. She was on autopilot, struck momentarily dumb by his kind eyes and model-like looks.

 “You, uh,” the man said, looking down at his feet, his face red. “You still got it right.”

From inside, she heard a voice snickering.

“Marinette,” she offered, holding up the pizza with both hands.

“Adrien,” he replied, latching onto the boxes as well.

Neither let go.

The TV went mute, and another person started blaring La Vie En Rose on his speakers.

Adrien turned to glare at his friend.

She heard the snickering again.

Adrien looked back at the pizza, his hands still sharing the weight of the boxes. “Let me just—“

“Oh, right,” Marinette said, letting go.

He all but ran inside, and she heard a plop as the boxes found their new home atop a couch, then a quiet shuffle, and he returned to the door holding twenty euros.

“It’s already paid,” Marinette said, stunned.

“Er, tip,” he replied, sheepishly.

“That’s a lot.”

“It’s late—for the trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” she replied a little too quickly, her mind reminding her about her homework.

Adrien shifted awkwardly, a hand returning to his neck. “Then, uh, how ‘bout five and a date?”

She beamed.

(Two weeks later she'd find out that Alya knew Nino and her new relationship was not at all a chance encounter.)

Chapter Text

Kim’s counting in his head, considering how long before he should lift the bar. “Andddd—up!”

Marinette huffs, raising the weights and a clack is heard as they find their holding spot once more.

“Bro, that was awesome. You could lift me!” Kim exclaims, offering her a high five. She smiles, taking it, and he pulls her up.

“Thanks, Kim,” she says simply. “But I don’t see why I should be doing that.”

“Um—because it would be so cool? Seriously, you could like, carry half of the Fashion department on one arm if you wanted to!”

He was gesturing wilder than Chat the other day when he had visited, and she had promptly hauled the hero off her balcony and threw him across to the next building. Marinette blushed at the memory—she’d been exceptionally tired from finals, and he was being exceptionally annoying, for some reason or another.

Endearing, really, if she had had enough sleep that day.

(Spoiler: she hadn’t.)

She laughs then, offering Kim another high-five. “That’s probably true, but also probably a bad idea. They don’t like being manhandled, funnily enough.”

Kim huffs in defeat, muttering, “Sissies,” as he throws her a towel and water bottle.

Marinette checks the time, amused with Kim’s on-going effort to try to get her to do some obvious show of strength at Uni, and she wonders if part of it is to show off to his girlfriend that yes, he too could train the smallest of small and turn them into toned, weight-lifting superhumans.

(She decided early on that it was best to leave out that she was sometimes superhuman.)

The clock says it’s one to one. Her jaw drops.

“Uh, Kim?”

He’s still typing something into his computer—her progress sheet, probably—but he ekes out a small, “Yeah?”

“It’s almost one o’ clock.”

She hasn’t seen anyone whip their head around that fast before, and she hopes he didn’t break anything when he does it. “It’s what?!”

She eyes the clock again. “Now it’s one.”

“Oh, no,” he breathes, shoving everything into his bag. “Alix is going to kill me!”

“Maybe don’t mention you were spending lunch training a girl, either, hmm?” Marinette jokes, helping him pack.

It gives the opposite effect.

“I’m going to die,” he says, frozen in place. “I mean, she knows you and she knows we’re just friends, but you know her—“

Marinette taps her chin, considering the situation. “She’s gonna use it as an excuse to kick your butt, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Tough.”

“Bro,” he says seriously. “Aren’t you supposed to be the helpful one?”

“University has hardened me, Kim. There’s a battle over coffee every two hours.”

“I can’t believe this—this—this betrayal!”

She keeps her face solemn as she pats his shoulder, handing him his bag. “Au revoir, mon ami. Maybe you’ll have a little luck on your side today.”

He’s a little distraught as he leaves, but he runs anyway, and for some reason he thinks Marinette’s words will come true.

Maybe it’s the ladybug he sees on the plant in front of the café he meets Alix in.

Chapter Text

Marinette nudged her friend, grinning. “Alya, I think he likes you.”

“Wh—I mean, of course, I’m great, but—“

“Seriously? He’s been doing weird stunts on the table just to get you to look over.”

“Girl, I’m covering this show. I’m supposed to be looking over.”

“I don’t think he thinks you’re looking over enough.”

Alya elbowed the petite woman beside her, blushing furiously. “The last time I was anyone’s type, I was donating blood.”

Said woman smiled slowly. “So… last week?”

Marinette squeaked as Alya jabbed at her side, not softly. The designer started giggling, her eyes darting from her friend to the DJ on stage. She was enjoying this.

For once, she wasn’t the target of the teasing.

“He’s got a goofy smile,” Alya muttered, effectively calling back Marinette’s attention.

“Ooh!” the raven-haired woman cooed giddily. “Someone likes someone!”

The redhead huffed, lowering her notebook. “Was I really this bad with you and Adrien?”

“Yup.”

“Worse,” a new voice said over the music. Speak of the cat.

Adrien walked up from behind them, dipping his head to give Marinette a quick peck, before wrapping an arm around her waist. “You were much, much worse.”

“And yet, if I wasn’t, this—“ Alya gestured to the two of them vaguely, “—may never have happened.”

“It would’ve!” Marinette argued weakly, her confident teasing taking a backseat. Her cheeks were as red as they were a year and a half ago, when Alya had finally managed to corral them both into a room to talk.

“Mhm,” Alya hummed.

“Eventually,” Marinette clarified. “It would’ve happened eventually.”

“Wow, I sure hope Nino isn’t checking you out,” Adrien cuts in, turning to his fiancée. “Might have to mess up his hat, you know.”

She tilted her head questioningly. “You know him?”

“Yeah, old friend at Uni. We boarded together freshman year.”

“So he’s totally insane, right?” Alya asked hopefully. Maybe she could still get out of this mess.

“Nope,” Adrien beamed. “Best dude friend an overly-sheltered guy could ever ask for.”

Surely there had to be a way out of this mess. “Then why did we never meet him?”

“He moved back to Réunion the year after to take care of his fam. Why, Alya?” Adrien smirked. “Are you trying to get rid of him already?”

“No reason,” she answered curtly. Without blushing. Definitely without blushing.

“Uh-huh,” Marinette hummed, hugging Adrien closer. “Sure.”

“Girl, if you’re trying to—“

“Aaaand that’s it for the one, the only, DJ BUBBLES!” the host yelled enthusiastically as the music came to an end.

Alya balked at the young couple. “’DJ Bubbles’?!”

Adrien let go of Marinette just long enough to turn his friend around. “Wait for it…”

And there, in all his shameless glory, was Nino—DJ Bubbles—standing on his table with a giant wire covered in bubble solution.

Making bubbles.

As if he was five.

“Adrien, can we adopt him?” Marinette breathed.

Adrien watched in amazement as his friend made the longest bubble he’d ever seen in his life as he exited the stage. “Probably.”

Alya watched in stunned silence, half confused as to why she would ever find someone so vaguely childish even remotely attar—

He turned. Nino turned on stage. He turned and looked directly at her, grinning goofily. He raised up a thumbs up at her—at her she knew, because even if Marinette’s teasing was mildly annoying, she knew it had some truth to them; he’d been sneaking glances at her the past half hour.

He looked almost… hopeful?

Someone nudged her from behind—Marinette, if she had to guess—and Alya felt herself smile back automatically. She raised her hand, making an “OK” symbol, and winked.

The four of them may or may not have gone on a double date that night.

Chapter Text

Adrien seethed.

Like, loudly. He was hissing at him. How dare he? He knew Adrien and Marinette were a thing. He knew! He saw it go down! So why was he doing this?

“Adrien?” a voice said. A sweet voice. Marinette’s voice.

He growled.

She tried not to laugh. “You—you can’t be serious—“

“He’s touching you.”

“He’s a puppy, of course he is. He just likes being close, don’t you, Hugo?”

She scratched behind the French bulldog’s ears, his small, white ears rustling as he turned about in her arms.

Adrien growled again, but little Hugo ignored—or didn’t care about—him.

“Why’d you get me a dog, anyway?” Marinette laughed lightly. “Not that I don't love him. Because I do. But you should’ve known with all the—“

“Cat stuff?”

“Cat stuff,” she confirmed, “that this would be at least a little bit hard to handle.”

“I should just take him back,” he answered, jaw tight and fists balling.

Marinette’s eyes widened, and she spun herself slightly, keeping the dog from Adrien’s reach. “No take-backs!”

Adrien blinked. “My Lady—“

“Adrien.”

“It’s a dog—“

“A dog you bought—“

“But he’s touching you—“

“But he just wants to cuddle! It’s a Frenchie, Adrien. That’s literally all they do.”

“But—“ He held up his hand dejectedly. “It’s—“

She booped his nose, laughing airily at his distraught face. “If you knew you’d have a problem with me owning a dog, maybe you shouldn’t have bought me one, huh?”

Adrien grumbled, muttering something about “white dogs” and their “stupid, cute little faces.”

“I heard that.”

He stiffened. She sighed, moving closer to him.

“You know...” she started, closing her eyes. “If you want to, you can…” Her voice trailed off, but he’d already turned to face her, a perfectly-shaped eyebrow raised in inquiry. She raised the little hairball—who had conveniently decided that now would be a good time to stare at Adrien lovingly—and waited.

Marinette watched as the blond fought with his predispositions.

Plagg is in the next room, he thought. It would be like… like…

She watched as his lips flattened into a straight line, his eyebrows creasing his features. He hunched, lifted his arms, reached over…

Then dropped them again. His jaw tightened, and she wondered if he was trying to figure out how to carry the animal or how to strangle it.

Once more, he raised a hand tentatively, offering it to Hugo. Somewhere from his forehead, a single bead of sweat dropped.

Drama queen, Marinette mused silently.

Hugo, predictably, licked. Adrien, not predictably, sighed in relief.

Marinette raised a brow.

“I thought he’d hate me,” he explained, pouting. “I mean, Plagg would, if he knew—“

“Plagg loves him,” she replies with a laugh.

“What?”

“Sure,” she says, helping transfer the small, smiling animal to her boyfriend’s arms. “I brought him into the kitchen earlier to get some water—Hugo, I mean, not Plagg—and he—Plagg—snuggled up to him like it was the most natural thing in the world.”

Adrien gaped at her.

“Seriously, Adrien, you’re the only one who has a problem with this—had a problem with this,” she finishes, gesturing to the sleeping Frenchie in his arms. She smiled at the puppy. “Aw, little baby.”

“You’re telling me that Plagg left camembert to snuggle with a dog?!” he whisper-yelled.

“It’s not unheard of to prefer puppies over cheese, minou.”

“But it’s Plagg.”

“I could argue that Papa’s cheese bread is heaven on earth, but the point stands: puppies over cheese.”

Adrien scrunched up his face. “Do puppies win everything?”

She flashed him a wide, secretive smile. “Not everything, I’m sure.”

“Yeah? Wh—“

Hugo snorted awake by the contact, but settled in again quickly.

Naps over smooching humans, any day.

Chapter Text

“Are they staring at you or me?” Adrien asks in a not-so-subtle whisper.

“Both of us, I think,” Marinette answers, scrunching up her face in concern and confusion. “Do you think they’ll be okay?”

The model stares back at the crowd that has formed in front of them. “Dunno. All we did was hold hands.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Thanks.”

She elbows him playfully. “Not what I meant.”

He smirks. “I know.”

(It’s still weird to see him smirking the way Chat Noir does, even if it is two weeks in to knowing his identity—but it’s a good weird and she’ll take it.)

They heard Chloe first. That distinctive low-growl-turned-screech she’d mastered over the years calling back every student in the room to their sense. Marinette winced, and she felt Adrien stiffen.

Right. Sensitive hearing.

Thankfully, the momentary distraction had caused everyone to wake up from their shocked states, which in turn caused Alya to throw what Marinette assumed was a notebook at Chloe, redirecting her rage.

“You—why—“

“Shut up, Chloe,” Alix said exasperatedly, threatening to chuck her own textbook at the heiress. “Can’t you see something good is actually happening during school hours for once?”

“Congrats, dudes!” Nino cut in before Chloe could retort. He hugged the couple, patting Adrien on the back extra hard as he pulled away. “Hurt her and you die, bro,” he said a little too happily.

Marinette giggled.

Adrien gulped. “That—“

“Was a threat, yes. Mari’s my girl as much as Alya’s, my dude.”

The model gulped again. “G-got it.”

Somehow, the image of an angry Nino was more terrifying than a rampaging Alya.

He shook his head. It’s always the nice ones. I should know. Marinette’s a terror when she’s mad.

Nino turned to the aforementioned girl. “And Mari?”

“Mm?”

“Don’t hurt my main man too bad, huh?”

Marinette smiled sweetly. “Never, Nino.”

 Adrien’s heart flipped a little bit.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Alya cut in, pushing Nino out of the way. “When did this happen? How did this happen?!”

“Uh,” Marinette answered.

“Er,” Adrien added.

“We’re going to have words about this, kids,” Alya said with a wag of her finger and a glint in her eye.

The two turned into varying shades of red. Marinette hoped her friend wouldn’t notice how fitting that would be, considering her, ah, extracurricular activities.

The redhead hugged them unexpectedly, pulling both of them close as she buzzed with excitement. Her words dropped to a whisper, and the rest of the class could’ve sworn that the couple were suddenly statues. “Then we’re going out on a double date, because I am not explaining to Nino the implications of you two getting together at the same time as Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

Chapter Text

“So… ‘Ladybug’, huh?” the blond asks.

“You accidentally eat an aphid one time…” she mutters.

His smirk widens.

He's taller than her, but she could take him if she wanted. Heaven knows Marinette had been considering knocking him off of the roof for the last half hour now.

Him and his stupid, pretty, smirking face. Well! She wasn't going to fall for him because he was attractive, if that was his angle. Marinette Dupain-Cheng may be a grade-A super-spy, secret-identity-keeping-liar, but she wasn't shallow.

And he was several levels of that, following her around at HQ and calling her “beautiful” every chance he got. Smirking. Teasing.

Jerk, she thought, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Why’d I have to get him as a partner?

She must've frowned, because his smirk dropped for a second.

“I—Sorry,” he says, and she's confused.

She's confused because he does, for once, sound sincere.

“I'm not always like this, you know,” he continues, waving his hand vaguely. “Outside of the job—I didn't have a lot of freedom growing up. And I guess you're—you make me comfortable, Marinette. If that's okay?”

“Why wouldn't it be?” she asks immediately, and she's sort of surprised, because a minute ago she would've sworn he was the worst of the lot, but now…

Chat—Adrien, she remembered—shrugs. “I kind of had the feeling that being comfortable was frowned upon.” He laughs uneasily, as if remembering an unsavory memory, and scratches his neck.

“You should be careful with that,” she says, pointing at his hand.

He gives her a quizzical look and she replies, “That’s your tell. Scratching the back of your neck.”

“Oh. You noticed?”

“I notice everything,” she snorts, and he grins wider. Not his usual smirk, but an unmistakeable glimpse into a boy she's never met or trained around. It makes him look much younger—a child gifted with candy, almost.

She smiles back easily.

Mayhaps working with the infamous Chat Noir wasn't going to be so bad after all.

Chapter Text

Alya was grumpy.

Alya was grumpy because her best friend in the whole world wasn't drift compatible with her.

“Alya, I'm sorry!” Marinette pleaded at the cafeteria. “I didn't think—“

“It's not your fault, girl,” Alya replied, waving a hand. Of all the people she was done with at this moment, Marinette was not one of them. “I just—ugh. I really thought—“

The other girl pouts. “I did, too.” She offers her redheaded friend a small smile, grateful that she wasn't on the receiving end of her anger. “At least we're still roommates?”

Alya shrugged, giving her friend a hug. “Small victories, I guess. I can't believe you got assigned to the Miraculous, though—not that I didn't think you had the skill, but—“

Marinette nodded, biting at an apple. “I didn't see it coming, either. It has so much history, and I'm just—“

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” Alya said, getting up. “You are not going to second-guess yourself! You're amazing, girl. And if anyone tries to tell you otherwise, send them to me—I didn't ace long-range combat for nothing.”

“You really shouldn't be threatening other people with sleeper darts, you know.”

“Tomato, tomahto.”

Marinette laughed. “This is probably why we aren't drift compatible.”

“It's not my fault that I'm so good at distracting before attacking, Mari,” Alya replied, a hand on her chest making her look like some sort of aristocrat. She flipped her hair. “There's a reason for my nickname, you know.”

“’Volpina’ sounds a lot better than ‘Ladybug’, if you ask me. At least you've got a more predatory namesake.”

“Hey,” Alya consoled, putting a hand on her friend’s shoulder, her eyes full of humor. “At least your partner isn't a turtle.”

The raven-haired teen laughed. “At least yours isn't the literal embodiment of bad luck.”

“He is cute, though.”

“Alya!”

“So you do think so!”

“His flirting kind of mutes that.”

“He flirts with you?!” Alya said a little too loudly, causing a few people in the surrounding tables to look over. She ignored them. “And you're just telling me this now?!”

“Inside voice,” Marinette hissed, eyeing the onlookers. “I'm—it's not a big deal. He does it to everyone.”

“Uh, unless ‘everyone’ is named ‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng’, then I highly doubt that.”

Marinette gaped.

Alya put a hand put, closing her friend’s mouth. “Believe me, all we mere mortals know about Adrien Agreste is that he's too polite for his own good, and he really, really needs a birthday party.”

Her friend cocked an eyebrow, black hair falling back onto her face.

“His dad never let him have one.”

“Ah.”

“You haven't…?” Alya gestured vaguely at her head.

Marinette shook her head solemnly. “Not yet. We're supposed to do a trial run tomorrow. What about you and Nino?”

“Same. We'll end up working together on the field, just you wait,” the redhead replied excitedly. “Tag team with a tag team.”

Marinette smiled. “That would be really great, Alya.”

Said girl laughed, offering her hand. “Lock it in!”

Marinette grasped her friend’s hand heartily. “Locked and loaded!”

(They may or may not have dissolved into giddy laughter after the fact.)

Chapter Text

Nino was going to explode.

This wasn't fair. He wasn't supposed to be the designated secret-keeper. He wasn't supposed to know. He wasn't supposed to be keeping information for one friend from another.

He hated this. All of this. The secrets. The lies.

He took off his cap, running his hand through his hair in an effort to smooth it, and possibly to smooth out his derailing thoughts.

“You can do this,” he murmured to himself. “You can do this. You can keep this from Alya. You can keep this from Adrien. You can do this, Nino!”

He jolted up in bed, psyching himself up. “C’mon, dude! You can do it!” He turned to the mirror, jumping from side to side. “You! Can! Do! It!”

Someone tapped on his window.

You can't do it! You! Can't! Do! It!

Red and black entered his view and he knew he looked horrified. Would this week ever end?

“Marinette?” he asked quietly, unlatching the panes. “Is that you?”

“Sorry about that—had to use the fire escape. Couldn't risk it,” the young woman replied, handing over the package. The wagging, fluffy package. Her face was apologetic. “And sorry about dragging you into this, Nino. I know how much you don't like keeping secrets from them.”

Nino sighed. He supposed this was worth it—at least he had someone to talk to about his troubles, though it was the cause of them to begin with. “It's… okay. She's cute. Almost makes up for it.”

Marinette grinned. “I'll be over in the morning—she's all set for the night. You have everything ready?”

“Yup.”

“Good,” she replied with a smile. “They’re gonna love her.”

“Uh, Mari?”

The raven-haired woman turned.

“Couldn’t you—I don’t know—have gotten them like, a pie instead?” Nino asked with heavy annoyance. The puppy had started licking his face.

“You can’t take care of a pie, Nino. Besides—“ Marinette pointed at the husky, “—she’s going to be watching our house when we’re out—y’know.” She motioned vaguely to the city behind her, then to her earrings. “Plus, I can get us a pie anytime. Or make one. Seriously.”

“I just don’t like keeping this from them. Especially from Alya.”

“Really?” Marinette asked with a raised brow. “I thought Adrien would be the bigger problem. Considering the dog.”

“Catboy loves all animals, Mari. Just some more than others,” he teased.

The puppy was suddenly not the only red figure in the room.

“I—That’s—shutup,Nino,” she replied, hurrying out the window and down the fire escape.

They present the peace offering when they meet up at the new house—a modest-sized townhouse in the middle of Paris with a room for the boys and girls each. Granted, Adrien had to sacrifice some of his soul (i.e. more modeling gigs) to acquire it, but this was to be their new HQ. A home base for the heroes of Paris, centralized and easily accessible.

And, most importantly, guarded.

“I’m pretty sure a puppy will just… lick intruders,” Alya commented, though her picking up the husky dispelled any doubts as to whether she liked the animal. Her fox kwami flew around the pet in cheeky curiosity before plopping down on its head.

Tikki and Plagg followed, Nino’s kwami still stuck in his shirt (again).

“Dog,” Plagg hissed, but very obviously didn’t object to being licked.

“She’s so cute!” Tikki gasped, hugging the animal.

“Cute’s a strong word,” Adrien argued, not even bothered that they kept the dog a secret. “Like, Marinette’s cut—uh—I—I mean—there’s—haha, I’ll go um—the door—check the lock—and—the security cams! Yes. I—I’ll be, um, back,” he continued, red-faced and clearly embarrassed.

Nino nudged Marinette—who was gaping, mind you—a cheeky smile on his face. “See? Told you.”

Alya laughed.

Chapter Text

It just sort of… happened.

They didn't know exactly when the friend dates started becoming actual, serious, I'm-in-a-relationship dates. Or when the kisses on the cheek in greeting turned into pecks on the lips. They weren't even sure when Marinette started acting more like her usual, Ladybug self, or when Adrien had very openly started making obscene amounts of cat puns.

But it was Thursday—the first Thursday in a month and a half where they were actually legitimately alone—and all decked out for some event Adrien had to go to, and Marinette made her dress (as Marinette does), and for some reason, they had their hands linked and fingers intertwined.

And one or both may have said something a little more real than either was ready to admit.

Maybe the other or both were now beet red, which was less than ideal because it was picture time, and dang Gabriel was going to have both their heads for this.

“You, uh,” the model started.

“Uh, you,” the fashion designer finished.

The photographer motioned for them to move inside and their bodies moved on autopilot, filing into the ballroom.

They were still incredibly red in the face.

“So—“

“I—“

“Ha… haha…” Adrien laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah. Uh-huh. Mhmm,” Marinette replied tensely.

Their gazes simultaneously made their way to their linked hands, causing the two to have double-takes about the situation, and visibly jumping a good three feet away from each other.

This was bound to happen, honestly. Somewhere between all the shameless flirting and high-key life-saving, they’d grown closer in a more personal manner, owing to the fact that they knew now, and anyone with the ability to see would know how much they cared for each other.

(There were multiple instances of Marinette showing up at his door with several boxes of pastries, and Adrien showing up at hers with an excited invitation to some random outing or another.

Alya and Nino may or may not have ditched them at the last second in order to fuel the already-present fire.)

And here they were: stuck in a disastrously romantic setting, escape all but non-existent (mostly because they both promised to be there, and darn it they were stubborn), and they’d just said some words they both knew were true.

True, and now, well… how do you go back from there?

How do you backtrack into friendship after you’ve confessed your undying love for someone by joking about how you would raise your future kids?

Tikki flew up to her charge’s face, booping the Chinese girl on the nose. She kept her voice barely above a whisper, noting their proximity to the blond. “You know, it wasn’t that bad.”

The girl balked. “I just agreed to never forcing our kids to go to formal parties.”

“It’s happened.”

“I don’t want it to happen,” Marinette sighed, before widening her eyes and moving jerkily in protest. “No! I mean! I do, I just—this—not now, and we—we aren’t, you know? We’re not.”

Tikki tilted her head to the side, feigning ignorance. “You aren’t what?”

Marinette waved a hand vaguely.

“That doesn’t help,” the ladybug commented.

The teen sighed again, and the boy beside her looked over curiously. “Dating. Together. A couple.”

“I mean, did you—do you—maybe?” Adrien sputtered out, overhearing her words. Marinette gaped as he continued. “If—I just thought, you know—if that’s what you want, Mari?”

(Tikki made a speedy exit from the conversation, pulling Plagg away in case the cat decided to complain about cheese at the least ideal moment.)

“That’s, uh,” Marinette said, her throat dry. “I mean, is that what you want?”

“Yes!” Adrien answered with the speed of a cheetah. “Of course! Why wouldn’t I?”

She looked at him questioningly. “I—are you sure?”

“I’ve been sure for years.”

“You only knew it was me like, less than two months ago.”

“Years,” he repeated with emphasis, putting a firm hand on her shoulder. “Nothing’s changed.”

“Well… you’ve already kissed me, so…” Marinette reasoned. She leaned on the buffet table, her brows furrowed.

“If we’re basing relationships over kissing, I’d say Alya and Nino have been together since a year ago.”

“True.” She stuck her tongue out in thought. “But… seriously speaking? I really am kind of in love with you.”

Adrien grinned. “Just ‘kind of’?”

“Yes,” she replied unconvincingly, turning red.

“She still has the posters!” Plagg yelled from behind a platter of lobster bites. “I found them last night!”

That does it, of course, and Adrien still has the bruise from her supposedly-joking punch from when he makes a pun thereafter, and they both still dream about the ridiculously well-placed music that played as they kissed in a ballroom in Paris.

Chapter Text

April 2. You have SIX new messages.

Beeeeep.

“Hey, Adrien! My dude! I can't believe it! …Well, okay, I can, because I'm your best bro—best man, eh?—and I totally called this like, three years ago. Can't wait for the date!”

Beeeeeep.

“AAAAAAAAAAAH! Mari just told me! I'm going to KILL you for not letting me in on the plan, Agreste! But I won't, because that would make her sad. Remember, pretty boy—the best friend is worse than the father.”

Beeeeeeeeeep.

“You're really doing it? Ugh. Fine. I promise to be on my best behavior. I can't promise I won't upstage her dress, but that's her problem, Adrikins. …Just kidding. I’m happy for you two, really. Queen Bee isn’t heartless.”

Beep beeeep.

“Congratulations dear! Tom and I are so glad for the both of you! I'm sure he'd say something, but he's ah—well, he's trying to fix a leak, if you follow. But come by tonight! We have to celebrate!”

Bedeepdeep.

“She's a fine young woman, son. You've chosen well.”

Beeeepdeep.

“Hey, le minou. Je t’aime. Thank you. Maman and Papa want to have dinner tonight, if you're free? I know you might have a shoot, but if it doesn't push through—well, they're really excited. I think Maman has clothes for our future kids already? Terrifying, really. I'll see you at eight, okay?”

April 25. You have ONE new message.

Beeeeeeeeep.

“Consider: Jagged Stone and me, the greatest DJ France has ever produced, jamming it out at your wedding. Am I hearing a resounding ‘yes’?”

May 2. You have THREE new messages.

Beeep.

“I actually hate you? I hate you. Why did you buy me fabric. You're an enabler, you know that? You know I won't sleep until I finish this. Ugh. If I win this I'm putting in pigeon feathers just to spite you.”

Beeeeep.

“Oh and bring cookies later, please? I don't have time to stop by the house. Thanks. Love you.”

Beeedeeeep.

“LAST THING: is a Ladybug and Chat Noir themed wedding going to be too obvious? I mean, it's just close family and friends at the actual event, but. Like. I have the perfect gown design, okay?”

May 8. You have FOUR new messages.

Beeep.

“PICK UP YOUR PHONE!!! SHE SAID YESSSSSSSSS!!!!!! DOUBLE WEDDING IS A GO, DUDE!!!!”

Beeeeeeeep.

“I wish you were there! Alya actually CRIED! I have video proof, so don't worry. But she cried, Adrien. Real tears. I'm so happy that she's so happy and ahhhhh!! I’m running over right now—as you-know-who—so keep a look out. I'm definitely going to crash into your window sorrynotsorryloveyoubye!”

Beeeereeep.

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOUR DAD FOR SCHEDULING A PHOTOSHOOT TONIGHT BECAUSE I KNOW YOU WOULD’VE BEEN THERE OTHERWISE!!! DON’T LISTEN TO MARINETTE I WAS TOTALLY COOL THE ENTIRE TIME!!”

Beeeeep.

“Yo, it’s Alix. Kim’s asking if we should let loose the post-engagement-question-poppin’ invites for tonight? I’m assuming Alya said yes. She’s too stubborn to let Nino go, IMO. Hit me up when you get a break, dude.”

May 14. You have ONE new message.

Beeeeeeeeeep.

“Ohhhh snap, are we doing the LadyNoir wedding? Because I’m def game to go full Volpina. Just sayin’. Or I could switch with Spielberg and be the turtle—I rock green, you know. Go over it with Marinette and let me know if it’s a go.”

May 23. You have FIVE new messages.

Beeeep.

“I can’t believe you did that.”

Beereep.

“I can’t believe they did that.”

Beedeeeeeeeeeep.

“You’re all dead to me? Yes. All of you. So dead.”

Beep.

“Je t’aime.”

Beeeeeeeeeeep.

“I’m still putting pigeon feathers on this, alley cat.”

May 25. You have ONE new message.

Beeeep.

“HAHAHAHAHAHA. I JUST SAW THE PICTURES. SHE GOT YOU GOOD BRO! Seriously, I told you Mari would do it. Page 32 was my fave, by the way—the obvious discomfort is just, so. good.”

June 15. You have TWO new messages.

Beep.

“Adrien! Pick up, you jerkwad! Who said you could hang a banner full of cat puns at the wedding? This was not part of my extremely well-thought out plan! DO NOT MESS WITH ME, BOY. I wrestled a crocodile to get to an interview once! I WILL end you!”

Beeeeep.

“Ignore Alya, she's just cranky because I actually let you put puns somewhere in the wedding—yes, you are—no! I'm not—ugh, Alya move—anyway, patrol at nine sound good? I'm bringing the snacks. QB’s coming too, I think. She’s been secretly momming me, but don’t tell her I know. I think she likes to think I detest her.”

July 14. You have SIX new messages.

Beeeeeeeeeeeep.

“Where you at, bro? Do NOT say photoshoot. I will physically drag you out of there myself. As other-me. Because I can. Tempt not the turtle, Adrien.”

Beep.

“PLEASE pick up or show up or SOMETHING. Nino’s begun to party. But Nino-style. I haven’t heard this many—NINO NO! ALYA! HELP—Adrienifyou’reanylaterthanlikerightnowIwillpersonallydestroyyou—NINO NOT THE STAGE!!”

Beeeeedeeep.

“[indistinct part music]”

Beeeeep.

“—MARI CHECK THE BACK, I’LL TAKE THE FR—“

Beeerreeeep.

“—is it acceptable to knockout your fiancé in public? I feel like it should b—BABE STAY AWAY FROM THE TURNTABLE—“

Beeeep.

“Adrien I think Nino just got himself banned from—oh, for—ALYA, he’s loose again!”

Beedeep.

“Thanks for picking us up again, by the way. Je t’aime, le minou. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

August 1. You have TWO new messages.

Beeeeep.

“She asked me to be a bridesmaid? WHY? Did you tell her that I don't actually hate her? Because then you're dead to me.”

Beeeedeep.

“Not that I wouldn't be the best-looking bridesmaid there. But.”

August 13. You have ONE new message.

Beep.

“I got the flowers! You're too sweet. Can't wait for you to get back from China—I love the others, but Ladybug needs her Chat. I miss you.”

September 4. You have THREE new messages.

Beeeep.

“You're the worst, dude. For sure. I know that was rehearsal, but I'm warning you--I'm gonna upstage you, dude. The best Best Man speech is going to ME, and you won't be able to stop me!”

Beeeeeeeeeep.

“Excuse him, he didn't get that new gig that he wanted—oh, hush, you're brilliant; don't worry about it—anyway, I thought it was funny. Less puns would be great, but eh, Mari’s not marrying you for you humor, y’know.”

Beeepbeep.

“Adrien, my boy! May I request a list of those wonderful puns you seem to be making out of the air? I need to expand my repertoire. That was the best punning since I courted Sabine! You're almost at—dare I say it—pun-prime! ( Don't worry. It lasts for years.) Send me those jokes!”

September 24. You have ONE new message.

Beeep.

“Chaton, pick up the groceries when you get off of work, please. I'm running late with this new design. Actually, I should run it by you later… Hmm.”

October 15. You have ONE new message.

Beeeeeep.

“WE’RE BACK! Martinique was amazing. We gotta go as a group next time, man. See you and Mari for dinner?”

November 5. You have TWO new messages.

Beeeep.

“Did you hear? Business school. I actually have to talk about… numbers… and percentages… gross, Adrikins. But… Daddy’s been feeling off lately. Ugh. Why do we have to be adults?”

Beeeeeeeep.

“On a scale from one to ten, how hard would it be to pretend to be a child? As in, sleeping privileges and all? I think five-year-old Marinette severely overlooked the stress if beading a dress by hand. Kill me.”

November 10. You have ONE new message.

Beeeeep.

“Five-year-old Marinette is going to look forward to the entire audience watching and applauding her work on a runway when she turns 24. You were right! Couldn't have done it without you, mon minou.”

November 27. You have THREE new messages.

Beep.

“Christmas party in a couple weeks, yes-yes? Nino’s pretty excited about a housewarming party. Mari’s game. Chloe is too, in her own Chloe-way. Bunch of old college kids are in town, too—Alix, Juleka, etc. Mylene and Ivan said they'll come if we have enough people—something about a group prank? Whatever. You know where to reach me.”

Beeeeeeep.

”I will be flying to Milan in two days. I expect you to coordinate with Nathalie yourselves. Marinette’s line should be presented without a hitch.”

Beereep.

“Alya’s bugging me to call you even though you’re in a meeting—yes, you are, Al—and to tell you to listen to her message. Which you probably have. Because she called firs—Alya, seriously it won’t be that hard to plan—You know what? I’ll talk to you later. Gotta deal with an overorganized journalist.”

December 15. You have FIVE new messages.

“Pickuppickuppickuppickup—“

“—no, Nino, I don’t think he has his phone—“

“Find your phone and head south! We’ve got a big one to deal with—no idea if you’ve heard the news, but I can’t catch you through Plagg, either—“

“

December 28. You have TWO new messages.

Beepeep.

“Hello, Adrien! It’s Sabine. Will we be seeing you and Marinette on the first? Let me know.”

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

“Thanks for the tickets again, man! Best concert ever. Good to see you having fun instead of working all day. Here’s to a new year and plenty more memories!”

January 2. You have ONE message.

Beeeeep.

“Hey, chaton. I'm out right now, and I'll probably be stuck at work until after eight, but check the oven when you get home, okay? I think I left something in there. Silly me, right? Je t’aime; I’ll see you later.”

Chapter Text

He's wearing the shirt.

He's wearing the shirt.

The shirt she gave Chat the other day at patrol. The one she knows can't be store-bought—even if it looks it—because she made it herself. She'd learned screen printing for that shirt.

The shirt currently worn by Adrien Agreste.

In their class.

Proudly.

(Technically, under a very fashionable scarf and blazer combo, but he was puffing his chest out extra today, and she knew it was because of the shirt.)

(Marinette reasoned that she only knew his chest-puffing limits because she was an observant Good Friend™.)

But anyway.

She's freaking out, of course. Because that's Chat's shirt, and if Adrien's wearing it, then frickity-frack, snick-on-a-snack, Adrien-flip-floppin'-Agreste was Chat Noir.

Ugh.

This certainly complicated things. Or uncomplicated things? Were things even complicated to begin with?

She's jolted out of her thoughts when Adrien turns in his seat, beaming. There it is. The shirt. The shirt with the words.

Sun's out, pun's out, it says. The first half is slightly covered by his scarf, but she made it so she knows.

Besides, he's stretching the darn thing down so she can get a better view. "Look at what my friend got me!" he says.

She hears herself say, "Cool!" a little too chipper. Or scared. Maybe excited. It's a very confusing time for Marinette.

"Yeah, right? Father only let me wear it because it's under all this," he adds, gesturing to the scarf and blazer. The latter's folded up like hers, and the scarf? It's the blue one she made him two years ago. It's a little too much to handle, honestly.

She nods like she's in some sort of trance. Her voice comes out surprisingly steady. "That's rough, chaton."

She doesn't realize her mistake until he's doing multiple double takes (quadruple takes?), and he almost says something... when Mme. Bustier calls attention to the blackboard, signaling the start of class.

Marinette shuts her mouth forcefully as Nino physically turns Adrien around to face the teacher. She's red-faced and she knows it, and she has never been more thankful that Alya and Nino know about her being Ladybug, because she's kind of dying here. She figures if she has to keep this from them too she’ll implode.

Alya passes her a folded note. No one heard, it reads on top. Marinette opens it. That said, it's nice that you two FINALLY know? We were running out of disappearance excuses for M. Model over there.

Marinette dares to gape at her friend, who just motions to keep on reading.

She’s red for the rest of the class after she sees it.

Also, dibs Maid of Honor.

Chapter Text

When the light dissipates, the park is quiet.

They open their eyes in shock.

"Are you disappointed?" she asks quickly, wincing.

He laughs. "Yeah."

Marinette wants to punch him. Or run. Or punch him and then run. This cat—this stupid, lying, smug—

"Oh, no, wait—I didn't mean—“ Adrien stutters as he latches onto her arms. (He figures she might wreck him if he lets go, because he's done the dumbest thing in the entire world just now, and to the person that currently matters the most to him, too). "—My Lady, I—“

"Make it good, Chat," she says, jaw clenched and body tensing. She’s scared her voice will break if she calls him by his real name. Were there rules on using her Miraculous against a Chat Noir?

"—I’m disappointed in myself," he finished quickly, daring to laugh a little at the end.

It's absurd. "Why?" Marinette asks, confused. Because this is absurd. He is not disappointing in the least. 

"I should've figured it out." Adrien says it with an airy laugh. He's looking at her with so much of something that she can't help but believe him. 

And also, be thoroughly confused. 

She pouted. "What are you talking about, chaton?"

(If Adrien's heart is pounding harder than usual because she used his pet name in civilian form, he's doing a good job of covering it up.)

"You—you're totally Ladybug at school, Marinette. You stand up to Chloe all the time—you deal with all of us and our problems like they're your own. Well," he pauses, looking down. He barely registers that she's blushing. "I thought you hated me, mostly."

Marinette's redder then ever as she mutters something under her breath.

"What?" Adrien asks.

She mumbles a little louder, and he thinks maybe he's broken her—does Cataclysm work that way?

"Mari, I can't hea—“

"Ihadacrushonyou," she speeds through louder. Her arms are uncharacteristically stuck to her sides, her back straight as an arrow. 

Adrien thinks he needs to be pinched, because this is a dream.

"Have," Marinette adds before he faints from this alarmingly great news. "I have a crush on you."

"Thanks," he replies automatically. For the second time that night, he figures Plagg wants to hit him on the head, and wonders why the kwami hasn't already done so.

(He's used to getting public declarations of love from random strangers, but a mutual crush is a wild card in his strange, misleading life.)

He scratches the back of his neck, sputtering. "I mean! You! Too!"

She looks at him like he's gone crazy, and wonders how she's fallen this deep for an absolute dork. "What?"

"You! I love! You!" Adrien supplies with slight pauses, staring at the beam behind her to keep from losing control of his brain once more. He's not very good at this; they didn't cover "How to Tell A Girl You Love Her" in homeschool. 

"Oh! Okay!" Marinette replies, because this is the opposite what she thought was going to happen. She's been bracing herself for rejection for almost three years now, but this? There's no pattern to follow for this—no cheat sheet sketch, no swatches. It's new and she's confused and he's confused and there's suddenly two kwamis hovering in front of her and what is even going on.

“Finally,” Plagg comments, hovering in front of this age’s Ladybug with the cheekiest smile she’s ever seen. “I don’t think I could’ve lasted much longer.”

“Plagg, be nice,” Tikki says before turning to the two. “But… it is about time.”

Adrien gapes, because that seems like the appropriate response, honestly, and he’s still getting over every bit of news he’s just received. Marinette’s not much better, but if he’s got his jaw on the floor, she’s desperately trying to keep her mouth shut.

The kwamis share a look.

Adrien and Marinette share a very confused look.

Tikki speaks first. “So…”

“So,” Adrien parrots.

“You two gonna be weird all day, or what? ‘Cause I’m hungry,” Plagg complains.

Marinette balks. “We—we’re not being weird!”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re the only one being… weird…”

“Try again, LB.”

“Don’t call me that,” Marinette snaps protectively. She not entirely sure why, of course, but— “Only Chat calls me that. Er, Adrien.” She ends it weakly, gesturing vaguely to the blond. If she notices Adrien’s eyes light up, she doesn’t comment.

(Plagg, meanwhile, sneaks another cheeky grin at Tikki.)

They stand in silence for a full minute, no one knowing what to say exactly, or what to do, or how to go about these things. We’re they a “thing”, now? Were they not?

And of course, when someone’s about to say something—anything—they hear the unmistakable sound of a cackling akuma two streets away.

“Tikki, transformer moi!”

“Plagg, transformer moi!”

When Marinette turns around to run into the fray, Chat—Adrien, catches her arm.

“So tomorrow?”

Marinette furrows her brows. “What’s tomorrow?”

Adrien winks before jumping ahead. “Our first date.”

Chapter Text

“Oh, no. I'm buff,” she says, turning by her mirror. “Alya, I'm buff.”

“Oh, woe is you,” her friend replies, turning the page of her science book without bothering to look up. “’Paris’ Favorite Superhero *Just* Realized She's Buff’—now that's a headline.”

“Alya.”

The reporter put her book down. “I'm just saying, girl. This is kind of a silly revelation.”

“Chat Noir is silly. This?” Marinette argued, motioning to her toned arms, seen now that she was wearing a tank top, “This is a problem.”

“I'd comment on the first part, but I love you so I will graciously skip it,” Alya said, giving her friend a pointed look. Marinette blushed. “Just say you're going to the gym. It's not unheard of.”

“Everyone knows I hole up in my room to work.”

“Home gym?” Alya offered weakly.

“Oh, okay,” Marinette answered sarcastically. “’Hey, Marinette, how'd you get so ripped?’ ‘Oh, y’know, I bench press rolls of textile. Rolls that I can't afford to own, by the way. So the usual, I guess.’—That would go over real well.”

Alya shook her head. “Your room is lofted. You could totally say you've been doing pull-ups or whatever else to, I don't know, stay awake during all your all-nighters.”

“Only someone exceptionally dense would—“

“I agree with Alya,” a third voice said, small and sweet. Tikki flew in from the balcony, smiling as she did so.

“See?” the redhead countered, pushing up her glasses. “T agrees. And she's thousands of years old.”

Marinette visibly deflated. “I don't know about this…”

Tikki flew to her chosen’s face, laughing airily though not unkindly. “Marinette, you're always wearing your blazer. If you happen to take it off in public—and I doubt you will—everyone will assume you've been working out the whole time.”

“…I guess you're right…”

Alya ticked off a mark in the air. “Score 451 for Alya and Tikki.”

Marinette frowned at her friend. “Ha-ha, very—“

Sometimes, the designer was sure she wasn't as lucky as everyone told her she was. This was one of those times.

The trapdoor opened quickly, and a blond head of hair poked in. “Tom’s asking if you guys want—Oh.”

(At the very least, she was lucky Tikki had managed to slip away unnoticed.)

If the now-18-year-old Marinette still liked Adrien that way, she would blush. If Ladybug and Chat Noir weren’t a very public item, she would blush. But also, well, she figured it was a m at his friend’s very sudden buff-ness. So she blushed.

(She didn't like Adrien anymore. Promise. Not even a little bit.)

“Hey, Alya, Marinette. Uh, how did you get so ripped?”

“Oh, y’know, I, um, I bench press rolls of textile?” Marinette replied automatically, and leaned on her table in a feeble attempt at trying to seem nonchalant.

“Rolls that she can't afford to own, by the way,” Alya added with feigned dramatics. Marinette sent her a glare.

“Oh, okay, cool,” Adrien replied, dumbly. “I should try that.”

Marinette gaped at him.

Alya laughed. “Get her some rolls of satin while you're at it, too, marshmallow. Girl needs patronage.”

The model furrowed his brows. “Mari, you know I can always help you get mater—“

“No!” Marinette replied loudly than necessary. “I mean, it's okay, I have my part-time.” And a third of the ad proceeds from the Ladyblog, but you don't need to know that.

Adrien kept his face scrunched in concern. “Okay… But if you need anything—“

“I'll ask, I promise,” she replied with a small smile.

Alya coughed. “Sounds fake, but okay.”

Adrien cleared his throat. “Right, uh, Tom’s asking if you two are hungry? There's some imperfect croissants with our names on them.”

“I'll, y'know, I'm starving, so I'll go down ahead, if that's okay?” Marinette managed to stammer out, helping Adrien climb up so she could climb down.

Click.

“Smooth move, kitkat,” Alya commented teasingly when she was sure the fashionista was out of earshot. “Didn't anyone teach you to knock?”

“Ha-ha,” Adrien replied deadpan. “Remind me never to get on Mari’s bad side. She could bench press me.”

Plagg whizzed by Adrien to Alya’s ear and whispered, “I bet she already has.”

She nodded, remembering yesterday's akuma battle where Ladybug had most definitely had to throw an akuma-controlled Chat at said akuma. Adrien looked at the two of them with a raised brow. “What?”

“Nothing,” the conspirators said in unison.

Adrien squinted at them.

The reporter stepped over, patting him consolingly. “Don't worry scaredy cat. It's not like she's Ladybug or anything.”

“Yeah…” he said, scratching the back of his neck and blushing. “Hey, you know, I think they'd be great friends. Ladybug and Marinette, I mean.”

Alya fought to keep a straight face. Plagg chuckled in the background. “Oh?”

“Sure, they're both nice, and smart, and amazing—“

I can't believe Nino and I have to keep their secret identities from each other, Alya thought, nodding periodically to assure the boy she was still listening. (Note: she was not.)

She rubbed her temple. Especially when they're both so whipped, secret identity or no.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Purrincess,” Adrien drawls out obnoxiously, leaning on her desk and grinning almost cat-like. “Have I told you how wonderful you are today?”

The room of students empties out quickly for lunch, what with the last class dragging on for longer than necessary. Alya and Nino give the two a Look before heading out themselves, not eager to be part of another shut-down via the fashion designer.

Marinette glares at him with equal parts exhaustion and annoyance. “Yes. About five times since last period.” She pointedly shoves her book into her bag.

The model props his chin on his hands. “Ah, but you deserve to be told more times than that!”

“Spare me, poster boy,” she replies smoothly, but not unkindly, rubbing at her temples. “I had a long night.”

“Do I need to have words with anybody?” Adrien replies immediately, straightening and puffing out his chest.

Marinette laughs. Or giggles. Which is weird, because this is Adrien she's talking to, not Chat.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng does not have feelings for Adrien Agreste.

…Probably.

Anyway.

“Settle down, pretty boy, it was just work. I’m fine,” she says then, flicking at his hair playfully. She's not sure when she started doing that, but she finds it a somewhat calming gesture, so she's not about to stop today. Marinette stoops to pick up her bag, and stands up to Adrien’s very close face.

(Neither of them are blushing. This is not a lie.)

“Uh?”

“Marinette,” he says seriously. For a second, he almost sounds like Chat Noir, and she feels her stomach flip. 

He holds her shoulders firmly—again, another Chat thing to do. She scrunches up her face in confusion. “Adrien?”

“I'm always here, okay?” he whispers, looking at her straight in the eye. It's a rare moment of seriousness from him, like when he's studying physics or talking to his dad on the phone. His sadder side. “For anything.”

Marinette nods, and smiles tightly. “Thanks.”

He grins again, taking her hand and bowing dramatically. He leans in to kiss it, but she pulls it away and pushes him back by his nose.

She laughs at his confused face. “Uh-uh. Try again tomorrow, Agreste. I’m not that easy to win over.”

Adrien watches her walk away, barely registering that she just flirted back what?? WHAT????

Marinette turns at the door of the classroom, and speaks with the smallest voice he's ever heard her use. Almost Ladybug-esque. “And Adrien?”

“Yeah?”

“Same with me. About being here. I know it doesn't always seem that way, but you're a good friend. One of my best.” She winks, and he's floored. “If not a terrible punner.”

“Hey!”

Chapter Text

They’re trapped, which is not fine, because there’s an akuma outside, and of all the people in the world, Marinette is stuck in one of the utility closets of her university with Adrien-light-of-her-life-Agreste.

“Don’t worry, Marinette. I’m sure Ladybug will get us out of here,” he says quietly on Minute 1.

I sincerely doubt that, she thinks, for obvious reasons.

By Minute 10, they can still hear the crash of building being destroyed, if Marinette checks the live feed from the Ladyblog to find out that Chat Noir hasn’t arrived either. She squirms, and she’s about to YOLO the heck outta there when Adrien jumps up, jittery and nervous.

“She should be there already…” he whispers to himself, but she hears it because proximity is a thing.

(She’s really glad they’re close, but also not, because her heart’s beating very, very loudly.)

“I’m sure Chat—“ Marinette starts, but cuts herself off when Adrien tenses. “Adrien, are you—“

He turns to her, smiling nervously. “I’m really sorry about this.”

She tilts her head curiously. “It’s not your fault we’re stuck here.”

“Er, not about that, Princess. Plagg—transformer moi!”

Marinette is not okay. There's a green light, and she knew from the command—he's Chat Noir. Adrien is Chat Noir, and she's mentally slapping herself for not seeing it the second he started making cat puns.

Chat!Adrien breaks the door down with his baton, gingerly looking back at her for some sort of confirmation. “I know I can trust you. But, uh, please don't tell Alya?”

Marinette wants to laugh. That's the first thing she's going to do and she doesn't want to lie to him, so she keeps herself looking shell-shocked until he smiles and hops off to fight crime.

She follows a minute later as Ladybug, and when they defeat the akuma, it takes every ounce of her strength to not yell that she's Marinette.

They fist bump.

She runs.

“Well, at least this fixes your boy problem,” Alya laughs, feeding Tikki a cookie. “Like, Adrien’s had a crush on you for years. That is ironic.”

“Alya this is not the t—“ Marinette humorlessly squints at her. “—are you using irony correctly?”

“I'm a writer—of course I am.”

The designer flops onto her bed. “Guhhh. Why is this happening to me?”

Alya climbs up another step, reaching to pat her friend’s head. “Because you're a precious snowflake and deserve the world.”

“Isn't Adr—he the snowflake?”

The redhead fake gasps. “Marinette, I am insulted that you think I mixed up the names of my children. Adrien’s a marshmallow.”

Marinette props up onto her side, frowning at her friend. “In what world do marshmallows and snowflakes go together?”

“The one where they don't realize they're snowflakes and marshmallows, apparently,” Alya deadpans, waving the Ladyblog in her friend’s face. “Because superheroes are also very oblivious.”

“’To err is human’,” Marinette quotes.

“’To err over three years, superhuman’,” Alya counters.

Tikki giggles from under the loft, munching her third cookie happily. Marinette wants to die.

Alya leans on the bedside, cocking a brow. “So.”

The fashionista lies flat, looking at her ceiling. It's exhausting. Boys are exhausting. “I don't know.”

“You should mess with him.”

Marinette frowns, and Alya peaks over her, a serious look on her face.

“Mari, he's going to go insane. It'll be hilarious. And since I run the Ladyblog, I can keep giving mixed signals!”

Marinette turns her head, frowning more. “I thought you swore off messing with peoples’ feelings after that whole stint with Nino?”

Alya waves a hand. “With people who like me. Friends’ soon-to-be-boyfriends are free game.”

“Wow. You're the worst.”

“And you're in love,” the reporter counters. “So sue me.”

Marinette groans. “Too much effort.” She scrunched up her nose. “And too American.”

“Aw, poor baby,” Alya croons, patting Marinette’s head. “Too in love to mess with the nice boy who's been flirting with both her identities.”

“…That's a good point.”

“I'm telling you, Mari—Adrien is weak. And if he's like Chat, he's going to be the easiest target in the history of France.”

Marinette sits up. She doesn't know why she's suddenly in on the plan, but she figures it has something to do with being the one holding the cards on both sides of the mask. Maybe because it's the kind of thing she knows Chat would expect from Ladybug, except she'll be doing it.

And honestly, it's funny—be the string the cat chases.

“Okay—“

Alya brightens immediately.

“—but not too long. Two weeks, max.”

Alya raises a hand and puts the other over her heart. “Two weeks. Max.”

Marinette grins. “So. What did you have in mind?”

She spends every day flirting heavily in class and he almost falls into the Seine at one point during an akuma attack, right before he transforms. She takes to winking at him as Ladybug, too, which is ridiculously confusing for him.

Once, she kisses his cheek when he hands her a present—the week coincidentally had her birthday—and he takes three days to more or less recover.

Alya reports with blurry photos of random people with with black hair and pigtails, and constantly asks Adrien's opinion on the matter. Half the time he's zoned out, staring at Marinette, and the other half he's listening as intently as possible. Once, Alya asks if he thinks Marinette could be Ladybug.

He answers she could be better.

(For the record, it lasts about nine days before Marinette gives it away by laughing as Ladybug over Chat’s flustered behavior, and accidentally calling him by name. His jaw drops and she leaves him in a laughing hurry, greeting him the next day with a brighter smile than all of the ones she'd given previously.)

Chapter Text

“Break,” Marinette breathes, lying sprawled, back on Adrien’s who huffed on the floor. He didn’t care much anymore, giving in and lying face-down on the mat. Marinette closes her eyes slowly; even her eyelids are tired. “Please. Break.”

Fu grins. “Break it is. Come, Wayzz, help me with the tea, old friend.”

Wayzz simply nods and flies beside the old man. Marinette envies him. She just wants to hover to her room. Was that too much to ask?

“You're killing my chosen,” Plagg deadpans, flying near her face.

“Tell him to stop sucking at defense, then,” Marinette counters, still lying on the model. She feels more sweat than human at this point, but it's only been an hour.

…Then again, they never were much for fighting outside of their costumes, so maybe this should've been expected.

Adrien says something under her, but it's muffled by the mat.

“What?”

 “I have excellent defense,” he repeats, turning his head just so. “Ask my fencing instructor.”

Marinette doesn't bother looking at him. “Fire him.”

He juts out his hip and makes her roll to the floor. “Rude.”

“I guarantee you'll be bruised tomorrow,” she says, face enjoying the coolness of the mat. Ground is soft. Ground is comfy. Stay on ground forever. “Fencing isn't the same as superhero fighting, Adrien.”

Something sticks to her whenever she says his real name out loud—it's a secret. Their secret.

She shakes it off. Mentally, that is, because she can't feel 90% of her body anymore, and it's already been a week of this training, and she was so tired, and if she could just reach her bag with the snacks—

“You know you don't have telekinesis, right?” Adrien asks, still flopped on the floor. When Marinette ignores him to continue staring at her bag, he looks up at Tikki. “She knows she doesn't have telekinesis, right?”

Tikki nods, but her smile is unsure. They watch in silence as Marinette grits her teeth in a display of concentration, only to hear a distressed yelp come out of her mouth.

“Marinette! Are you okay?” Tikki asks, flying closer. Plagg snickers in the background.

The girl in question rolls onto her back, dead-tired and hands up to her face. “M’fine. Bih muh tuhngue.”

Adrien's head is by her feet now, and it speaks weakly. “Want me to kiss it better?”

Marinette snorts. “Yuh, whuh noht?”

“Tough,” he replies, dead on the floor. “You insulted my defense.”

“Aw, chaton, I thought you loved me.”

Adrien thinks maybe Tikki’s luck is rubbing off on him, because he's so glad she's too far to see his red face. (Then again, she may just assume it was exertion.)

He laughs awkwardly. It makes his insides hurt, and he knows she's right—he's going to have bruises, and he's going to have to hide them. “’Love is kind’—where in that can you insult my fighting?”

“Fiiine,” Marinette whines. “Your defense is not terrible.”

“Thank you.”

“…But you need to work on your blocks.”

Adrien hopes she can see his glare.

“That's a critique, minou, it's different,” Marinette laughs. She knows he's glaring at the ceiling, but it's meant for her. “Are you going to kiss it better or what? This is a one-time offer, Adrien.”

(It really isn't, but he doesn't need to know that.)

Adrien tenses beside her and she mentally tallies another mark for herself. It's 12-8 and the day's barely begun. She snickers as he fidgets ever so slightly, and stalls to come up with an answer.

He props up. “I—“

“Tea’s ready,” Fu calls, walking into the room with a tray loaded with cups and snacks for the teens, himself, and the kwami. “Up, up!”

There's a collective groan in the room, though Fu and Wayzz assume it's from having to move at all. Tikki and Plagg share a look, and their chosen sip quietly.

There's always tomorrow.

Chapter Text

“She likes you and you like her.”

Alya’s been repeating this about five times now, and Adrien’s been nodding the same amount or moreso, which is making him a little dizzy.

Then again, anything involving a certain fashion designer tended to make him dizzy, so it wasn't anything new.

“Adrien, you have to tell her,” Alya says suddenly, as if it's the first time she's considered it.

Adrien almost nods again, but he stops abruptly and proceeds to shake his head vigorously. “Nooo, no-no, Alya, that's—haha, that is a bad idea.”

She glares at him. He's not sure if there's extra magic on Alya’s side because even her glasses join in on the glaring, and Adrien's mentally kicking himself for forgetting to bring his shades. Alya hmphs, then grabs his arm and drags him to the street behind the school. “You are the worst, you know that?”

The model keeps steady, projecting his photogenic self to keep himself in check. The mere idea of confessing destroys him, because now there's no mask to hide behind if he messes up. “How so?”

Alya puts her hands on her hips. “C'mon kitkat, haven't you been listening to me?”

“Um, yeah?”

She huffs.

“Alya,” he starts solemnly, “it's a bad idea.”

“Hey Plagg, are all your cats deaf, or just this one?” Alya hisses, loud enough for the kwami to hear, but soft enough for Marinette, who just exited the collège, to not hear them. She tugs Adrien farther into the street as Plagg flies out of his pocket.

“Hrmm… he's one of the worst cases, I'd have to say,” Plagg comments, rubbing his chin. “Hard not to hear when you repeat it that many times. I'm actually surprised.”

“Thank you,” Alya says, extracting a chunk of camembert from her bag and tossing it to the cat god.

(They’d taken to packing food for all their kwamis, just in case someone forgot or ran out mid-fight. It was a good practice, and Fu had given them a day off for figuring that out all on their own.)

Adrien gags as Plagg happily devours the cheese. “Still smells detestable, but Alya, seriously—“

The reporter grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him. Aggressively. “You LIKE her!”

“I thought that was establ—“

“AND.” Shake. “SHE.” Shake. “LIKES.” Shake, shake, shake. “YOU!”

She lets him go and Adrien's eyes widen comically. His mouth forms an ‘o’, and Alya is seriously considering forcing him and Nino to spend time away from each other, because they're both oblivious and hanging out nearly every day has only worsened that.

Nah. That’d be too harsh. They'd cry for days, she thinks.

“Alya—“

“Yes, marshmallow?”

“I'm going to tell her.”

Alya nods in approval, and pats his shoulder. “Good man, Agreste. Good man.”

(He does not tell her—he chickens out when he sees her, and Alya has half a mind to strangle him.)

(She doesn't, on account of that would suck for Marinette and like, Paris, and possibly the world, if Chat Noir ceased to exist.)

(She does, however, schedule enough dates with Nino to force Adrien to either sort-of double date with Marinette or be devoid of not-training-or-school-related interaction with his best male friend.)

(Sucker.)